While Ted went to get help, I watched her start jumping up and down on the thing, the alien object — whatever it was.
At the same time nearby:
I tried to turn off the noise of the bouncing bed springs but couldn’t. Something was coming to a peak. Grant!, she shouted. Grant!!!
We were back.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0208, New Mexico, The Waste^^
weekly message from the Spiritually Okay League (SOL)…
They say in order to properly enter the Void, you have to leave the old self outside, crushed by its dense, massive weight. Another trick is that you have to come in aerially through the hayloft instead of the front door, else you just find yourself entering yourself entering yourself in a kind of mirror world funhouse that never ends.
Once safely inside, you can do a massive amount of good and evil to the world you then control, depending on where the Void is placed, in this case the central lawn of a New Mexico ghost town, turning it from dead to living, if at a price. Thank you Aztec warrior! For being so valiant and brave. For carrying things through to their logical conclusion despite the rather overwhelming odds against you, materially emotionally mentally. Tintown, the true and real one as opposed to those fake, reflective others, will not be forgotten. It lives on, if only in a type of graft form. Good enough! Better than evil enough.
On with the show…
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0037, 0208, New Mexico
Jem, in her place, saw something trapped and bobbing around the water in front of her as well. Not a coconut this time — that would be too obvious, right? (or redundant) But something more unusual in design. A face!
On a rotating ovoid or egg-like thingie. Another one in the water just below, a duplicate of the first. But — here’s the thing — *right* on the Heart Line of the Heterocera Continent I was reexamining today in tandem with a re-reading of photo-novel 13, where everything was readjusted in a way. The almost 1/2 sim property’s title is Kii’Wik Sanctuary, with a description as follows: “Settled by refugees from the Amazon Jungle, Kii’Wik Sanctuary’s a place for creating, learning & relaxing.” The more immediate prompt for exploring this particular part of the Heart Line first outlined in 13 is the parcel’s logo: a red hand, not quite a red palm, as in palm reading, but close enough to do the trick, perhaps. To explain this and complete the loop: Heart Line, as well as the complementary Head Line also forming a diagonal line across the continent, are named for 2 prominent hand lines (Heart and Head) used for soothsaying in palm reading. The whole continent then becomes symbolic of a gigantic hand.
Very close to something…
above and below
—–
And then 2 more about 15 meters away inside a cave behind the waterfalls — and, again, *right on the Heart Line*. How coincidental. Both underwater in this case, but not twirling around madly like the first pair found. Very slow and calm rotation instead, matching the tranquil nature of the pool.
Looking back, Jem here is as close to the southeast corner of the sim (Ufeus) as she can physically get within the confines of the cave (3/4), with the underwater pair directly in front of her at 10/10 or so, and then the first pair at 20/20 or thereabouts. All on the Heart Line passing through the sim, indicated by matching longitude and latitude lines measured in meters from its western and southern boundaries starting at 0/0 and ending at 256/256. The symmetry begs the question: What lies at 30/30, 40/40, and 50/50 and so on? Jem explores this.
This strangely uprooted pair of palm trees at 105/105 certainly caught her attention. Palms again.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0208, Heterocera, Iris^^==
“Isn’t it beautiful, George?”
“Musician here,” requests George, who goes by that around other people generally. “Until we’re properly married anyway and tied the knot between us.”
“Oh George,” she said, and kissed him in front of the vanilla layer cake also tied with a knot, anticipating the big event. There’s no doubt they like each other a whole lot, probably a whole whole lot. But do they love each other? Now is the time to find out if ever.
“Now your turn, George.”
“Your turn, *Musician*, what? Your father is standing right over there.”
“My father has been dead for 10 years. That’s *your* father. Newt, remember?”
“Newt, right.” He remembered. He thought.
“And he’s been calling you George for I don’t know how long. Probably since we started dating. *Anyways*, kiss me again. Put on that new hud you got and let me have it. Newt’s too busy trying out the tea to pay attention. Plant a good one right on the kisser.”
Wait… that *was* her father. He said this to her as she puckered in front of him, making her think as well.
“Oh George,” she decided, “let’s not argue about relatives right here, right now. Let’s focus on us. Whatever family issues remain to be solved, we’ll be the stable point in the middle of it all — that’s the important thing. ” She then made the first move herself right when Newt — whoever’s father he was — put his own thing to his lips, synchronicity noted.
And let’s go with Shelley’s father. Too much lead up text to change if I don’t. It’ll work out.
(to be continued of course)
Before the shooting day, Wheeler explained to Sugar her motivation for running her shack out in the center of nowhere. “It’s about the citizens and denizens of these woods,” she indicated, “the fresh pies you can harvest from the pecan and apple and cherry trees about this time of year and how pleased they are that you can bring such joy into their otherwise rather empty lives by filling them with your, erm, lovingly prepared food.”
“I think I get it,” she says in her not near as deep enough voice. Wheeler tells her she needs to change it before Donald shows up and the cameras switch on. “How’s this,” she tried again almost an octave lower.
“Better. Keep practicing. We have an hour.”
—–
7 o’clock. Donald is preparing pancakes and muffins wearing only a thong; his duck costume hadn’t come back from the cleaners yet. Ace the Gopher was assigned to run over there and check on its status. Yet the cameras were rolling. “We can add the costume to this particular scene post-production,” explained CGI specialist Forrest Ferment. “The cost will be low as long as he stays perfectly still or almost so.” As the scene basically demanded, lucky for them. Sugar had just popped several of her freshly plucked pies into the pre-heated oven and took the opportunity for a break. This is where the dialog begins. Donald to her side was engrossed in recipe reading. “Stay that way,” guest director Wheeler said, filling in for a sick Baker. “Just cut the 2 places where you whisk and beat.” Baker would not be happy later when she reviewed the day’s reels in her bed. “Movement,” she complained. “Keep the eye engaged and moving. That’s what the whisking is there for, that’s what the beating is in place for.” Then Donald’s costume shows up from Clyde’s and everything is back to normal. Time for the denizens and citizens of these here woods to wake up and smell the coffee, namely Sugar’s patented cinnamon recipe with a dash of nutmeg and a pinch of coconut. Nostrils flare, bedroom slippers are slipped on. Soon all will be here, ready for their pancakes and whatnot. Center of Woods stirs to life.
(to be continued)
“As you can see, young man, my black piece — the bishop I believe, unless it’s the rook — is turning into a white piece. This is how I propose to win the game.”
“Forfeit?” I guessed, knowing the overwhelming odds against him.
“Hardly. Look at your hands.”
“W-what the??”
“Your — move.”
“I haven’t forgot about you,” Baker Bloch reassured Baker Blinker as they play a strange duet, uninhibited by time and space. “It’s just…”
“… things have become complicated, I know,” she finishes for him, still on the same page.
They share a memory.
Boss’ seat can’t be sat upon. Ferns harvested from a larger wall and merged together into a smaller one.
Duo. Wallonia. https://modemworld.me/2021/08/21/get-out-in-second-life/ http://virtualinsanitysl.blogspot.com/2011/11/insanefocus-exhibition.html
In Hrosskell below Erik beside Leif, Baker Blinker stands.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0208, Bellisaria, Nautilus, North, Upper Austra^
“There goes that red car again,” spoke Leslie to Darla. “Must be stuck in a time loop.”
“Um hm.”
Leslie hesitated but then couldn’t resist. “57?” she guessed.
Darla turned. “33. Corn chips,” she explained.
“My daddy died at 33. Avalanche.”
“Switzerland?” Darla ventured, unable to think of any other location for such a phenomenon in the moment.
“Flavor,” countered Leslie. “Octopi balls,” she furthered. “Straight from a witch’s kitchen if you asked me.”
Darla also hesitated but couldn’t resist. “62?”
“Psychic!” Leslie exclaimed back. And that’s what Darla did for a living after that fated encounter in a bus stop in fabled John F. Kennedy City that hot day in May’s July’s August. Until the living ended. She had a packet in her purse even then but of course couldn’t resist. That’s always the story. Path of least resistance. Psychics are often the most vulnerable even though they can see the finale more clearly. It’s like a giant game they know they can’t win but play anyway. Throwing money away. Machines again, hmph. Chips, creatures: it’s all the same. Crushing them down to size.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0208, Bay City/Nova Albion^, Sansara
“What are you doing now, Raspberry Girl?”
“You wanted to learn about Nautilus. So here I am. In another boat: yellow, small.”
“Yet we all live in one according to John.”
“John is key. Lemon.”
“Is that your house in the background there? The raspberry colored one?”
Still inside the hole, her body pivots toward the beach behind the little sub. “Suppose so. Could be.”
“You’re studying Monkey City (too), I assume.”
She turns back. She doesn’t seem to have anything to say about this so I explain a bit more. “This is where a place called Monkey City existed, say, 5-10 years ago. Full of skyscrapers. I picked up the resonance with my own Monkey City immediately.”
“This sim?” She knew it was this sim, since she was me as well. She’s just playing dumb right now. Might as well call her a possum.
“Oh Raspberry Girl,” I uttered, and she shut the lid with this.
Later I found her combing the beach outside her shack in a similarly colored paddle boat, heading for a castle…
… of sand.
“I hear someone.”
—–
He was getting valuable information out of this Cornfeld fellow, Natha Neil I believe. Green Acres he comes from (he claims). Farm living. Delight — for him. I tried to keep him on track about the city. “Neat Town?” he replied. “Never a city. More a *Hooterville*, in that…” I stopped him. The guy would have been right at home in Horns and with the old religious man. Dig a little beneath the surface and it’s always Hooterville for these lot — Fraud had it right in many ways. “But Red started it,” I furthered. “Unloaded her shacks out of a giant, mossy green shoe with the help of an octopus.” “Squid,” he replied, but didn’t elaborate. So he knew about that event too (!). “So it is true,” I said to him. He looked away with this, more toward the center of town. “You’ll find more information in the diner, *her* diner.” I took my leave. “Ask for Green!” he shouted as I left the grounds.
—–
Out back:
“Henry, I told you not to drive this thing when you’re drunk. It’s been in the woods for 50 years (!). You’ll explode (again).”
Too late.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0208, Horns of Hatton^, Maebaleia/Satori, Neat Town
Sunklands 