Category Archives: 0211

the process or result of joining two or more things together to form a single entity

He decided to kneel in front of the crucifix and pray for a plot to manifest before him. Or around him — couldn’t hurt. Wheeler, who seems to have reverted to Wendy, a thought of obsolete character she plays — red headed — is *trapped*, perhaps by pirates. On this continent. Nautilus. It seems we go 2 steps forward then 1 back. Or is it the other way around? Both (he realizes). Wheeler Wilson is also Wilson Wheeler. Black is White, in a yin yang fashion. FUSION. That’s where they took her, these pirates. I realized I had to send another agent out there. Let’s see, who we got (in the closet)? Joey “The Venusian” Avatar is still working on that case over at Long Island. Where are we on that? Must have a meeting of the agents to keep up to date with the most recent information. Then Dickie Doom — and Debbie Doom; Dickie recently met with Jennifer M. Friend on Alien Island which seems to be a mispelling of Allen Island — misspelling — just like in the Oracle. And the Oracle is kind of back (!), death knells premature.

Baker stands as they go off again outside. Death for others if not himself, he knows. What is this world coming to?

—–

They reconvene down at Manolis on this small Greek paradise isle, a restaurant specializing in soups and subs in no particular order. They talk after ordering, sub for Baker Blinker and, of course, soup for Baker Bloch to balance everything out. “Someone will have to get married — again,” he puts forth in the brainstorming event.

“Axis and Wheeler, pheh. We tried that. 2 steps back 1 step forward. Then 2 steps forward and one back.”

“Yeah I recall,” Baker Bloch responds, thinking of the inky black car that needed to be manifest at the time for traction. Ratmobile or something. Black and evil whatever. Tropp and Treelor never stood a chance. Tropp! Baker then thinks, and says the name aloud for the female version of his type, his kind.

“Possibility,” spoke Baker Blinker before him. “I’ve been in Wheeler’s shoes, you know. I understand what it feels to be trapped. You, as a man, just don’t understand.” She looked around the joint, and all the men with their open mouths eating food, their lip smacking. “Might as well be *all* pirates,” she summarized her feelings in the moment.

“You are me and I am you,” Baker said, and even reached across the table to hold her hands, look steady in her eyes. “You are a beautiful girl.”

“Why thank you (!)”. This cheered her up. Suddenly the mouths were far away. She was thin, very thin, but that was just her build. And tall. Thank you! she thought again in her head. I’m beautiful too, she realized. Just not what, er, Axis wanted. Axis? Tropp? They had to make a decision about the groom.

Baker Bloch briefly thinks that he and Blinks should get married instead, revisiting an old subject that she pushed in early days, before the realization that they were closer than husband and wife, closer than brother and sister. They were one. True fusion indeed (already). He let go of her hands as the brainstorming continued.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0211, Nautilus, North, Upper Austra^

00310211

Mrs. Ordinary drank red wine at 3 PM in her kitchen, trying to numb her nerves and pondering how to get rid of her aunt who was suppose to stay through next Wednesday. She couldn’t take it any more. Tomorrow they would hike into the mountains of Yellowmoon and she would tell her. Get a room in town or leave. Sucking on teeth in the middle of the night, snoring, getting up early and staying up late watching cartoons on TV. Yosemite Sam, pheh. How did we come from the same gene pool? I need my 9 hours beauty rest and she needs like 5!

She awakes at 8:25, a bit before the 9 she usually does. Elvira of course was already in the living room watching the boob tube. The sound of an especially loud cartoon explosion stirred her. Seems like Bugs pulled out the atomics in a desperate attempt to win the mayoral race from Sam this morning. He planned to get rid of all insects when elected, and Bugs had no choice but to try to stop him. Atomic cigars — that should do the trick. But, no, here comes Sam again, all blackened and without hair or clothes but still quite alive, ready for yet another battle in the war that will only end at the ballot box.

“Elvira, could you please put on some clothes, hmph. And what’s that all over your face, dear? You look like a golden statue.”

“Avocado mask. For the man who is suppose to enter my life today. My horoscope predicted (!). Here.” She picks up the Daily Toilet and rustles it in front of her naked body, then offers it over to her, which Liza (Mrs. Ordinary) reluctantly takes as the TV explodes again. “There… take a look at Scorpio. You’re Taurus… you may not understand, being from the Earth and more grounded with your own life in general. Scorpios need relationships. Scorpios need…”

“Don’t say it, Aunt. Not after last Friday when you brought that town bum Otis back and kept him all night on the couch with you. I know what you need.” Doctored watermelon this time, but of course Sam emerged okay.

Hiking today. How could she possibly meet a man way up there in the grey nothingness where no one hardly lives? But she did. Another Ant, but not the human kind. It’s like they both fell into the TV set after putting on their walking shoes and came out in Looneytoonville with Bugs and Sam and the rest. And perhaps they did.

She took one last look at the TV before switching it off. The cartoon had changed. She hesitated, then sat back down on the couch with her aunt, the paper still opened up to the horoscope section between them. Expect a tall, spindly stranger to enter your life today, it said. She studied the small orange castle on the screen, noted the pixelated cartoon man pulling the cartoon woman toward him with an impossibly long and wavy lasso, then entering the castle gates with her, the assumption being they got “married.” Over and over this happened. It did not get boring.

“What’s the name of this one, Elvira?” The show predicted the future inside the past. Then they were *there*.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0211, Corsica, Northwest^

00300211

The principal seemed to take a shining to Dimmy Gene but in truth he just wanted an excuse to hang around Marilyn more. She had that effect on men, made them do bad and irresponsible things. Like letting Dimmy use his expensive computer for his supposed homework. “I know you like souped up things,” he said to the dim witted man-boy after his sex history lecture at the main auditorium below the Pear Room. People need to know how their sex is chosen and make wise decisions about it, he offered to school district superintendent Jonathan Petri Dish one day in early May. He thinks back to his own childhood. Not even a week old and they decided he would be a boy. All the aunts and uncles hadn’t weighed in yet. Cousins usually got a vote too. But, no, his old man, his old pops couldn’t wait. So while his mother Doris was busy reading her fashion and furniture magazines one day, engrossed in the moment, his father decided for all of them, each and every one. He was still king of his domain, he rationalized, not knowing there were other pieces on the chessboard of life that made it all work in unified peace and harmony. It took Doris several weeks but she finally realized. She’d been focusing on the navel and feeding the blasted thing day and night before then, navels being common to us all, whatever sex. The milk had to be *just* the right temperature else the navel rejected and they’d be up all night again. But one day, while he gurgled out more white on his blue bib, she understood. There was a hair on his upper lip, a single hair but one is enough to know. 3 weeks later they had to start shaving him as well. Oh for the old days, when sex was determined in the womb, way before birth. Now there were so many choices — well, two. But two very important options I think we all would agree.

Where was I… oh yes, Dimmy and the principal’s souped up computer, just like he had a souped up car now and drove all over his new town with Marilyn normally by his side. She’s normally with Gene they all agreed, which in time — but not too much time — was shortened to Normal Gene and finally Norma. Because they had gotten married and she’d acquired her first diamond ring on her left hand, which, since it was pretty small in comparison to the rest on her right, she wore on her pinkie, and joked all the time about having Dimmy wrapped around her little finger, usually to a gusto of laughs from a crowd of admirers. People, well, men, flocked to her everywhere. She grew tired of it. “Dimmy,” she requested one day in late May. “Drive me out to the country. Go fast enough where my hair will be billowing in the wind at a 1000 miles an hour. Go fast enough that it will *never* return to its normal, lackluster appearance. I want to be billowy… *forever*.” And she had her wish.

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0211, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

controlled

“Awfully nice for you to come over and cook me dinner again, Alysha.”

Alysha, she thinks. *That’s* how he sees me now? “Sure, honey,” she says. “Anything for my number 1 man.” Number 10 at best she calculates to herself. She’s just that deep into it. Horns of Hatton, pheh. Manga, huh. She sprinkles spice on the meatloaf and asks him what he’s up to today, hoping the heck she wouldn’t be involved. But she does feel sorry about the hands. The Abyss will have its price, she thinks. And the Abyss is very close here. Very close indeed. About as close as that big whale circling around this treehouse.

“Business down South,” he answers from his rocking hammock. “Have to take Pricky.”

Thanks Gods, she ponders. “Oh? Big haul, then?”

“More marine life, yeah. Squid, I think. Or octopus — can’t recall right now. Anyway have to go to Cass City to pick it up; haul it up North somewhere. Meat Town I think it’s called. I’ll have to look it up on my map.”

*Neat* Town, Alysha thinks from the sink, pondering whether to add poison to the recipe to stop the whole thing. She knows why she’s here now. But not to kill him, she realizes. Instead: kiss; use her magical powers.

By the time they’d finished, Alysha had had a chance to alter the map. The whale ended up going the wrong way and never reached its intended destination. Roth wasn’t fired, but he never saw his precious, red headed Alysha again. Blonde Wanda filled the void, but Wanda couldn’t cook worth shite and had to be disposed of herself. Fed to the sharks, some say, although she actually just went back to Bombtown and eventually married a man with 3 eyes. Then came Sally. Or was it Shelley? No: Sally.

“Do you want some meatloaf on your spice tonight?” she called from the kitchen, preparing for the worse.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0211, Cassandra City^, Horns of Hatton^, Maebaleia/Satori, Neat Town

00280211

I can’t see the castle on this peak either, Shelley.”

“Silly. There *is* no castle on that peak. Not any more. Not for a long time. The reason you couldn’t see it on the other peak we just looked at is because your draw distance was too short. Don’t you know *anything* about Our Second Lyfe, tee hee?”

“Suppose not.”

“That’s where Ruuster’s castle use to be, though. Some say he was an actual rooster, a creature. Some say he was called that because he *roosted* on the peak, like some kind of bird, rooster or no. My papa taught me that. Said sometimes there’re multiple ways of looking at the same thing and sometimes none is right but at the same time *all* are right. Do you know what I’m saying?”

“Suppose,” he repeated. Shelley started wondering about his brain, and maybe she didn’t finish the boy properly — left holes where thoughts should be, rationalization. “You say… we’re suppose to get married.”

“Um huh.” He was still staring at the empty beige peak, perhaps 50 meters higher than the one they are on. He was staring at himself.

“Can you elaborate? I mean, it’s rather shocking that you know that.”

“I can see the future.” He turns. “You can see the future. We are all angles.”

“Angels?” She purposely misheard him but he didn’t laugh, didn’t get the joke or just didn’t care. Maybe both are right, she realized: angles *and* angels. Are *they* angels?

George turned back to the beige mountain seen through the diamond paned window. “Roost never sleeps. It’s an ironic name, then, because that’s what birds or roosters or whatever are suppose to do when they roost. Sleep.”

Maybe his brain is alright after all. Those are pretty deep thoughts he’s thinking there, she thought, pondering the irony herself. Her daddy had said the same thing. Roost never sleeps, corrupted to rust never sleeps.

George looked down from the peak to the green grounds below. “Well well well, if it isn’t the Wells.” Why did the boy say *that*? Is someone actually approaching? Or was this just more word play?

“They’re trying to find the front door,” he then said. “Better go down and help them”

“The… neighbors?” she guessed. He just stared at her again and then extended his arm. “After you.”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0211, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

Hollywood

They were all dead now, these “monsters”. All except herself. She stared at the empty space that should have held her own picture, thinking back to the time they first discovered her superpower. She was called the ugly duckling, the unpretty one who instead seemed to be cut from the cloth of the ordinaries all around them, the mundane, the *muggles* to borrow a phrase from another supernatural mythology. Must have been blinded Uncle Sam on a town bender, they figured. But as they aged, she didn’t. They then traced the genes back to Great Great Great Aunt Selma on the father’s side, who was from a long line of immortals. Then they traced the whereabouts of Selma herself, living under a new guise in Cheeseburger, Wisconsin down near the city dump or city hall take your pick. “Of course she has powers,” Selma replied in a middle-aged voice about Sally’s seeming normalcy, at least judged by the outer world that we, us non-monsters, live in. “Why would she be staying with you otherwise, humm? Uncle Sam has nothing to do with this; she’s actually the oldest of all of us.” She addressed each of her visitors individually: “Great great grandson, great great great niece and nephew(-in-law), great great great *great* grandson. Meet your ancestor with a family name so long that it would take the rest of the day to pronounce. I’d suggest you just keep calling her Sally, then, but respect the hell out of her from now on and look to her for sage advice instead of just ridiculing her looks.”

Even Selma is dead now, since the great majority of so called immortals are actually quite mortal and only live to be a couple of hundred years old at the most. Sally is a little different, since both her mother and father were pure bred. But one day, still a long way down the road, it will catch up with her.

She had to say goodbye to each one, watching them fall like dominoes in time’s passage.

—–

Jeffrie’s note came under the door. Without opening it, Sally remembers how she was slipped under the door, as it were, of her own great x 2,375 niece and nephew(-in-law)’s gothic Mockingbird Lane abode by parents long in hiding themselves. Marge and General Johnston I think they’re calling each other these days. She’ll have to look them up sometime. “Uncle Sam’s kid, yeah,” she presented herself at the threshold, luggage just behind. Stooping down in the present, she picked up the note and read.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0211, Collagesity Fordham, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Upper Austra^

this story has teeth

Hmmm. Tempting, he thought while reading the “clothing optional” signs he was passing. But I must focus, on Shark Rock tonight, at least to begin. I *do* need to shed this Santa costume sometime. Maybe wait till when I get back to the Blue Feather with Wanda, he he.

Or was it Angela?

He passes from Nightshark into the parcel with Shark Rock the next sim west, but I’m not sure if there’s any causal connection. Thus the investigation.

—–

Huh. I wonder if this little fellow here is suppose to be me? *I’m* the shark.

The message seems to be reinforced by what is perhaps the progeny all around.

—–

“Wanda,” he calls over to the girl across from him back at the Blue Feather Table.

“Angela,” she corrects, blonde hair combed over one eye.

“Sure, sure. Ahem: I’ve made a decision about the suit. I’m going to keep it on for a while longer. (pause) You can exit through the side door just over there. Make sure Wanda doesn’t see you as you slither away into the night.”

So there was a Wanda.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0211, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

Mistery Island

“So that’s one dead intruder taken care of, but more will come. Original Fern,” he declared in his tiny, maniacal voice full of greed and thirst for power, “you must find the witches and take care of them — cut off their *head*.” He rubs his little green hands gleefully as he does every time the subject comes up.

“Yup,” came the simple reply from even slightly smaller Original Fern (OF) beside him, killing laser put away for now. Rael-Anon never had a chance with this gunslinger of the Old East, a tiny who would rather speak with action. A fly lights on his nose and he swats it precisely back into the hell it was spawned from. He picked the dead carcass from his nose and ate it, with then small crunching noises emitting from his masticating mouth as he continued to stare at Spore, his fearless, intrepid leader, the one who calls the big shots. For now.

“My sacred *shards*” — he watches the spore shards in front of him turn another color here, gold to red this time — “will tell us what to do now that the Strange Orb has been released. All is going according to plan.” (rubbing of hands here again) He turns his attention to the steady green orb hovering above the center of the table and the broken shards that use to contain it as a slightly larger orb. Unwavering green from mutable green, gold, red, blue. Original Fern has his mission.

Sammy the Featherfloater swept in from the skies, his head juxtaposed with the green sphere from this angle. “Sire. The ship has landed in the Northern Sea.”

“Good good. OF — on your way.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0211, Maebaleia/Satori, Outer Islands

00240211

“I was on the Diagonal next to the Not Quite Gazebo, named so because it wasn’t (quite on the Diagonal). The moon was made of cheese. I try to transfer to the tower which I *know* is on the Diagonal but can’t quite reach the center (Diagonal). Instead: on one of the edge seats. The moon is not made of cheese. I wake up, still looking from the point of the Not Quite.”

“And then the lane,” spoke [delete name]. “Cherry Lane.”

“No, that was something different. In the land of Hana Lei.”

“Which is a catch all name for locations that you don’t want to list out.” Silence for a second, as if Jeffrie Phillips was checking this fact (he was). “Yes… but no. I mean, it wasn’t Cherry Lane on the Diagonal. Instead a path through a clearly haunted or haunting woods filled with wolves, especially at the bend where the path or trail leaves the Diagonal. That was before the Not Quite Gazebo. I wasn’t Peet Archer. I wasn’t wearing the tuxedo to indicate I was Young Kane who was never called that (strangely).”

“Go on.”

“I was…”

“Blue Thorn?” guessed [delete name].

“I can’t recall,” responded Jeffrie Phillips, thinking hard. He was pounding a fist into his skull three times. Then three more. He recalled. “Niagara. Peet Archer was at the top. I put him there. I was…” Again a stall. The 1898 room was powerful that way — squelched speech. He wondered again who was beside him in that room while he dreamed. Someone from Hana Lei perhaps.

“Go on, Jeffrie. Do you need some water? Do you want to continued another night? We can wake up at any time. I clap my hands three times, and then three more.” He clapped his hands three times and then three more.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0024, 0211, Green Yarn, Rose Heaven^^

pointless (what’s the use)

Tree being Lemmy pretends to nab Bartholomew Smipson with his net…

… only to toss the transformed weapon into the air in a gesture of forgiveness for an old feud with the boy’s father involving a knife wound to the head. Homer thought he was just a mascot. He wasn’t. Bygones be bygones, though. Anyway, he tires of being mobile.

We will have to look elsewhere for explanations about the young skateboarder’s disappearance. Lemmy retreats inside the town’s famous lemon tree, feet back in the ground once more.

What an imagination!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0023, 0211, collages 2d, Springfeld