“Here come the rest,” says John the Mind Reader to his character supervisor Al. “Better wrap this up.”
“Beans,” Al says to this, which encapsulated everything they just spoke about in a word.
Category Archives: 0215
small European counties
Barry Deboy made simple collage-photos about it later:
“No luck, chief,” Officer Blair spoke over the police radio. “We’re sitting right outside 102 — been here for about (checks his watch), 17 hundred hours.”
“Since 7 this morning,” chipped in Officer Doublebush riding shotgun, simplifying Blair’s language as usual. Blair continued. “If that old scoundrel Charles Nelson Blinkerton is here, then it’s like he disappeared into thin air. Over.”
“Roger that,” replied the chief. “Keep… your position. Over.” Lt. Tank Bazooka had made a decision. The military needs to be called in. Hesitating only slightly, he punches the big red button on his intercom to start the process.
—–
“Wonder what kind of conspiracy theory Tank roped us into this time, ha ha.”
“UFO’s?” also laughed Officer Gore, riding shotgun. “Portals out the desert?”
“Shakespeare, pheh,” said Officer Chamberlain to this. “And now a surrealist painter come back to life.”
“Pop,” said Gore. “Pop artist. Like Luxemborg.” He meant Lichtenstein of course. Or did he?
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0037, 0215, New Mexico
Krazy and Kooky fer sure
The 2 “PLACE”s in the following July 2019 images don’t have anything do with each other except they’re both located in Mortons Gap, KY, lie on opposite sides of the same block in an e-w direction, and use apparently the same type of font and letter placement (notice the similarly askew “L” in each case). The first, with the red “C”, is a restaurant, perhaps now defunct (M & J’s Place). The second is a church (Place of Grace, with the “o” missing in “of”, you’ll notice — another “different” letter), also seemingly defunct now. Chance I come across this match just casually checking out the downtown area through Google Maps Street View? Maybe. We’ll go with maybe.
But I suspect not.
Moving out into the country a bit and continuing the playfulness, we have this tall farmer out in a field, perhaps surveying his land.
Let’s zoom in closer.
OMG. Where are his arms?? And that head!!
Kentucky
“Told you there was those type of holes on The Cross. Shall we?”
“Jesus, Shelley. You’re going to get us sent to the *Bad* Place with talk like that.”
“I think,” she ventured not too boldly, “we’re already there.”
“Right, heh.” After laughing nervously, he looked around, under the Umbrella again. Shelley applied more lotion. She did this every morning; said she always woke up with an itch. “How is it today?”
“Still there.” Legs now. In just a minute she’ll go inside and do the rest. Couldn’t wait until after breakfast. More bothersome than usual for some reason. Thought it was getting better.
“You really need to go to the doctor. How long has this been going on now?”
“2 months?” she questioned, trying to think back to the beginning. It was all her damn fault. And, yes, let’s blame the pandemic again. Laziness of hygiene for one. Folds increasing on the skin.
“Does it bother you when we…”
“No. No effect there.”
“That’s because we’re in the other Life. The Second one. If we were in the First, if we were real flesh and blood people, then…”
“Yeah,” she answered. “Guess so.”
—–
“Alright I’m ready.”
“Just a minute, I’m checking the stocks.”
Men, she thinks at the doorway under the mistletoe. This is going to end just like with George. The Preacher continues to be unhappy.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0215, Omega^^, The Cross^
00340215
‘There (!). At the corner of the cemetery. Just like you predicted.”
“Just like I *directed*,” corrected Baker Blinker. Back in the saddle as I said, mysterious incapacitating illness over. Zapppa it was, but with an extra p. We’ve seen him before.
He turns. They’ve seen him and that’s all he wanted. Now to find that grave which told him everything, how it begins, how it ends, all the stuff in the middle.
There were quite a few to examine…
… not even counting the 3 tombs marked Henderson, Williams, Bennett. Those don’t sound right to him, though.
But *this* could be it.
He starts digging.
dangerous
“It’s a beautiful land, this Dairocha. But ultimately it does us no good if the library still isn’t there. Central! Right Wheeler?”
Wheeler, having determined this some hours back, had already left the scene. She was ready to complete this here photo-novel section about the Nautilus North elsewhere. She was Alysha now, aka Helen aka a lot of other names. But especially Helen, she felt. The antique village of Lips or One Pink called.
Under the big cross at the top of it all, he too changed. Sheriff R.V. Trailer it is to end. Wait!…
Just below. Sweeping. Lots of it; multiple brooms obviously involved. It reminded him of another place he needed to go first.
Multiple sweepers don’t remain any longer at this southeast corner bar of Odie just off Route 12, to his disappointment. Then he met grown-up Tessa and things changed even once again. He was immediately attracted to her waist high tattoo of 2 six shooters. How clever, he thought. Pointer. She leaned over and said her new name in a low voice, obscuring the ink.
He automatically leaned in too (*kiss*), One Pink or Lips transformed.
Fusion or thereabouts
“Over there is the Greek isle. And beyond it: Dub’s Jungle. They *know*. But, after all, this is a part of Nautilus too I suppose.”
He looks around at his tent site. “Wheeler?”
It’s so beautiful here, so compact, thinks Tom, still looking for Stan but allowing time to take pictures during the search too. Maybe Jim would know the whereabouts of Stan, since he is a friend of both. Tom doesn’t know Stan as well, but Stan owes him money. How much? one may ask. 5 dollars? 50 dollars? Enough to make a relative stranger go in search of him. Why did he owe him money? Jim knows Stan and Tom, or, to put it better, Tom knows Jim knows Stan (and visa versa). But he doesn’t know who Stan knows yet beyond the triangle, can’t see into the unknown. Because there lies Erik.
Actually Tom met Erik through Stan already and suspects that’s who he actually gave the money to. We don’t know the specifics, but that’s what I have so far.
A little help here, Hucka?
Nothing.
—–
Meanwhile, Erik cooks eggs and bacon in Manolis while Susie waits for more customers to approach. “Alright over there?” he calls to his cashier who he plans to fire in a couple of days if business doesn’t pick up. “Perfect,” she replies, and flashes him an appropriate symbol.
It’s just stuff like that he doesn’t like. He flips over the eggs and then perceives the quiet through the sizzle. Someone’s got to put Alvarado on the map! he thinks. Maybe he can devise some kind of fake murder story to draw in the tourists, something to spice up the appeal or broaden the knowledge of the place. He tries to come up with a name as the bacon is now done; slid off the skillet onto a waiting plate. Eggs: just a bit more. Eggs Benedict, he thinks, watching the white continue to set. Combines the name of a traitor with something symbolizing eyes, as if something is there to *look* for — or at. But then he forgets the insight until the next day, when a customer walks in with a camera still in hand and recognizes him.
“Erik?”
Erik turns. “Stan?”
“No: Tom.”
“Tom, right right. Stan’s friend.” He returns to his cooking. 5 customers in here right now, an onslaught for him. 4 eggs and 6 slices of bacon sizzling in one pan. It will be a tricky juggling project and he needs to concentrate. And Susie conveniently on lunch break, bah.
“That right.” Tom waits patiently, shuffles his feet. “How’s business?” he decides to ask in the awkward space, not hearing Erik offer anything about the money he’s owed, and the paying of it. 50 dollars. *No*: 500. 500 dollars. He said his business was doing badly and that’s why I, Tom in the moment, am asking about it, trying to jar his memory if he’s even forgotten about the loan. Maybe just avoiding the subject — probably. He decides to take a snapshot of Erik and put it on his blog with the caption “traitor” underneath it. Is that the right word? Tom decides it is. Erik eases two of the 4 eggs onto a plate. They appear to be eyes to Tom. I *see* who you are (!).
His body was found the next day in the bay, mission accomplished.
(to be continued)
simple walk
“What are you looking for, Crystal? A lemon? This is not a lemon. But: close! Over here. Behind the blue and green pillow thingies. Beyond the small forest of trees. Persimmons? Never mind that now. To the lemon (!).
“The boy is trying to tell us something. A magic mirror (!). I know, cut down on the parentheses. And the exclamation marks. And the capital letters, semi-colons and colons, parentheses within parentheses (etc.).
“It’s Ketty! Richard Ketty. Not Petty! He’s different. He’s from Randolph County. Wait!”
Crystal said she would take it from here, and: thanks (!).
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0215, Hana Lei^^
00300215
Brend woke up, having fallen asleep while reading the book about dreams. The Princess of the Diagonal’s portrait loomed above him. He looked around. Nowhere in sight. Probably out exploring leads while the day people are safely tucked in bed, some having drawn the covers over their head. It was getting cold in the Nautilus highlands. Soon the frost would move down into the coast here. Time to go buy a jacket, he contemplates, maybe a tweed one. He probably has the place to himself for a while, perhaps the rest of the night. Good time to get some work done himself.
—–
He contemplates the square before him while drinking molten silver, as they call the spiked coffee drink round these parts. He thinks of a joke here: “Do you know where the Nome King lives?” “I don’t know. Al-as-ka round.” A variation involves Anchorage, and, rarer, Douglas Fairbanks. Back to the map.
—–
“It probably all starts in Alaska don’t you think?” offers W. from the side. “Northernmost — the cold moves south; down. Parameters established — upper limit. John Fitzgerald Kennedy City,” she then utters, looking me straight in the eye.
—–
We start, of course, with the Diagonal, he thinks while studying. A lot of people enter that way; exit through Borneo. Like Marion Star Harding and his plane that turned endless instead of finite. He wore his inflammable suit which means it didn’t catch on fire which means he didn’t die. The Princess of the Diagonal is a bonafide expert on planes. She created this airport. She created Airton Hill itself, aligned it with Mount Ayr up in the through the (common) air.
—–
“You are going far,” W. encouraged. “You will get there tonight.”
—–
He drew back. He took another sip of the spiked beverage. He’d lost Iowa. He recalls the old days, when a seed was planted just east of Des Moines. JFK took a bullet for it. What would *he* sacrifice?
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0215, Iowa, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Upper Austra^
levity needed
By 9 o’clock she had him sweeping the floor while she kept reading recipes, trying to decide. One thing she knew, butter would be involved — not glisteny enough now. She floated some toward her from the table.
Peter Cotton wasn’t surprised, because of the hat and all. And he’d heard rumors in the village about witchcraft up on the hill. So when Hatti propositioned him in the streets of VHC City after his shift at the mill he thought he’d give it a try — something new. His current girlfriend Frieda Friendly wasn’t hacking it for him in the bedroom right now. He desired something a bit more, um, magical? Maybe. Different anyway. He didn’t know, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he wanted change, and change he would get. If he wasn’t killed first by the dinner.
Peter Cotton was best friends with Tommy Tailgate, who also got propositioned in this merry month of May (or August (or October)). He was also on a date. “Excuse me while I go powder my knees,” said Shelley Struthers later on at her Top o’ the Hill Hooktip apartment containing that ultra mysterious and perhaps ultra powerful triple number of the sim: 135, 135, 135, highest on Heterocera’s Diagonal as a whole, with an old name of Head. There was no Heart now, so the additional description of Head wasn’t needed no longer. There was only one. Art’s place along with the proximate heart is gone. Abandoned land. “You just sit there on the ottoman,” she requested, knowing it would eventually work its magic if he stayed still long enough. 135, 136, 135. Very close. Close enough, as indicated.
Shelley stared into the bedroom mirror and it mysteriously cracked. Didn’t seem like a good omen. Maybe she should have a rethink about her vanity, she rationalized. Go tell Tommy to move from the ottoman to the couch. A calmer, cooler date to begin, yes. And go out to eat as well.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0215, Heterocera, VHC City^
Sunklands 