Category Archives: 03

Frank *What*bert?

“See? Right at the beginning of Frank Albert Rd. in Fife: a (robed) Freman. This is suppose to be Frank *Herbert* Rd., and perhaps in the future it will be. If the descendants of Albert agree to it. And why shouldn’t they? With some kind of compensation. We’ve been in Tacoma before? I know we have,” she answers herself. “Proctor St., I believe. Another road, a foreshadowing. Don’t you think?”

There were no blue eyes, but the resonance was still unmistakable. Speaking of which…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0317, Purden/Snowlands^, Sansara^^, Washington

Fife

“Carrot… radishes,” Ruby Alien recites for Alysha down below, perhaps at roughly the same time as the Dr. Mouse-Jeffrey Phillips interaction one floor up but perhaps not. Maybe later in the day. Wait… Dr. Mouse was thinking back there that the shooting day was almost done. So let’s go with the “roughly the same time” framework. The light (Still Life) seems similar, etc.

“Yes, in Space you can play around with combinations, not worry about Earthly standards. And over there, a tomato pepper.” She points to the far array of plants in this particular greenhouse enclosure of the Mars or Mars-like base.

Ruby Alien glances nervously out the window into the surrounding dunes. The nearby big red mushrooms have dissolved into irresolved triangles. “The… fidgety one. He will — return?”

“Yes, don’t worry about him, Ruby my friend. My *alien* friend.”

“*Fellow* — alien,” Ruby corrected in her measured manner. She was slow but certainly not dumb. She knew she was safe — for now — in this airy place in the sky above the Angels airport. She was not lost now except to the ones she was suppose to be.  Alysha had reassured her several times that the nervous policeperson outside was merely a prop, and a buffoonish one at that, ready to shoot his foot off for a certain number of guffaws. “He comes with the territory,” she said. “This airy hill or mount.”

“Cut!” Ronald shouts from the side. “Done for the day!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0316, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

still life with lemons

“You see, once I get the location and then the proper people it all flows pretty freely. I usually can’t go back and edit, and if I do I usually revert it to the original language. Just clean up stuff is usually all that’s permitted, some tense correction and such — sometimes.”

“Fascinating stuff,” replied Dr. Mouse in his always slightly sarcastic tone to Collagesity town leader Jeffrey Phillips — *still* leader, despite the recent death, thanks to Wendy and the wedding vows, which have been renewed several times since. It is good that he is attached to her. “But we’re not here to talk about how you create blog posts in this here Sunklands. Instead we need to talk about the *girl*.”

Jeffrey Phillips tried to figure out which girl. He didn’t want to embarrass himself (again!). “Yes, she *is* a problem,” he decided to say.

“Problem?!” spat back Mouse. “Salvation more like it (!).” Dr. Mouse waits a beat, allowing Phillips to deliver his next line. He looks over at the top of his cane resting against the table edge. He decides to slightly suck at the roughage sticking to his teeth. Hydroponic vegetables — not his dish. Give him some red meat and a side of something else with meat in it any day. Jeffrey Phillips has obviously forgotten his lines. He glowers a bit at him, even. Shoot, he’ll have to improvise. I doubt Ronald would want to reshoot this late in the day. “Yes, like I said: *salvation*. We’re obviously talking about Ruby Alien here.” Dr. Mouse keeps staring and the actor (Jim Hayseed) through him. Go ahead and bring up *Alysha*, he simmered internally.

“I…” he sputters, “think we’re actually then talking about…”

“Alysha, right,” answers Dr. Mouse for Jeffrey Phillips. Finally back on script.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0315, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

ears for hears

As soon as I found a correct location to teleport in and sat down at the first table I saw, I realized I had not only visited here but I *lived* here. I recall Burro Alley. I recall the policeman, perhaps named Brown or maybe just living in a brownstone apartment. He was *after* me. He was asking two hookers about my location in an alley across from the alley (*The* Alley), but the one who cooperated didn’t actually know anything. The other did, but she was from the country. *My* country.

I was part of the Black Lake Bunch, also known as the Black Lake Gang or Purple Bunch. There was one in it who didn’t like me, didn’t approve of me. She said: why don’t you appear as you really are in this Second Lyfe of ours. She also mentioned the plug. I said the plug covers an avatar defect. I said it monitors the surroundings, giving me indication of friend or foe. Right now it was hurting like a mother fo. Red. Indication of foe. I moved away from her, unfriended her, even though we were never friends. Blocked I think is the word, yes. But the other remained kind of a friend, like Thatch. She was helping protect me. Red turns to green. The Alley is just across the way. There we find PROBABILITIES, exactly what I was looking for. An ESCAPE.

“Helloo Wanda,” spoke the woman nearest me after she turned. She had a mocha cappuchino in her hand, made by Stenson the nice black lady that I also recall. The woman with the cappuchino was named… funny I couldn’t recall, although I’d seen her face a lot. Gertrude. I think. Jacksonia Andrews approached from the west, bringing me a pink drink that I realized I ordered all the time. It was a given. “Thank you Jacksonia,” I said as she handed it to me, cool as glacier. “Just what I needed for my aching feet.” “Haven’t you got a transplant yet?” she asked. “You’ve been talking about a transplant for forever, Wanda. Also: hadn’t seen you around in a while. We figured… we figured you were back at The Factory.”

“Feet,” I said back, trying to remember what she spoke of. I remembered her name at least. Now to the details. *This* was a factory as well, I remembered. But faces, not feet. Alice over there, sitting with new hands on old knees. I then knew, I then recalled. Not just face: feet, hands, any body part could be remodeled and redone and revitalized. I was here because of my feet. I stayed in a brownstone apartment, but not next to the officer who was looking for me. I was on a waiting list. Jenny said they could fix me up.

I poured the cool, glacial water on my feet. I had just added 5 more minutes to my stay, with a total at 7 minutes now. I had time for a couple more angles of investigation. I knew quite a bit more already. I decided to talk to Alice. She worked at the airport as some kind of receptionist. A lot of people around here worked at the various airports dotting the continent. Planes kept this landmass alive, vital. It was at the crossroads of everything.

Then I remembered *The* Crossroads, like this place had *The* Alley. 61 and 49, green and gray. Back there at the Airton airport on the mountain that is also a hill there was a gray grey laying next to me. My duplicate was being formed, but they couldn’t figure out how to move gray into green by gaining 12. They weren’t working in base 12 and remained in base 10. I had been saved so far by their more primitive mathematics. But still: time was running out.

—–

The doctor got out of his car. He had been there all along, observing and listening, taking notes, just like me.

“I heard something about numbers. Should we be working with different numbers? Would that solve the problem?”

I hate when people get in my head like that.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0314, Nautilus^^, Slaashsides

boy next door

I was five years old. And I was preoccupied with the prop that was in my hand, because it was a toy turtle. But I had to pretend it was a real turtle that the audience just wasn’t seeing, and it was dead, so I was supposed to be crying and very emotional, and I remember him looking at that little turtle and talking to me about how it was kind of funny to have to pretend that was dead. So I recall just a very relaxed first impression.

JOURNAL, DAY 5

I met Thatch at a Northern Sea location. He said (in essence), “Come with me and I’ll take you somewhere. Kings Stone,” he said. “Or maybe Kingston… King *Something*.” I knew he was trying to communicate effectively. I had just been to the place he perhaps indicated, but I wondered if it was really the jazz club in Kings Stone he meant. He seemed confused. I knew Kings Stone was next to Druids Post, and there was also a Kingpost to the west. Maybe Kingston was (instead) Kingpost. I would go to both locations and check. In the meantime, I noted that we, in this underwater location, were just next door to the Slaashsides community up in the air in the sim west of here. My neck was starting to hurt slightly. I knew I had to move. Here is a picture of Thatch. He claims he didn’t know what he was looking for here (in Our Second Lyfe), or whom. I told him that maybe he was looking for me, but he hesitated about becoming a friend. I of course knew to quickly back off, then.

His shirt appears to have the word KANE upon it. Or maybe, upon inspecting again, it was KANI.

I looked at the dress code rules (at the jazz club). I would not fit, perhaps. I would have to return, in a different costume. My energy was running low. My wrists above my feet were beginning to ache a little. My arm, where they punctured me with a willy tip day before yesterday’s tomorrow, was sore. My feet were sore. My RIGHT HEEL hurt a bit, always a bad sign. Sign of trouble. I would check out the second “Kingston” location of the night.

It was a small place, giving better indication that Thatch was a true messenger.

On to the second.

I had also been here before. I noted that there were cypresses, in its two expressions, dotting the doubled islands of the sim, its only land. I channel some of my energy from my right foot to my left foot to remain grounded. I had about 15 minutes before the pain would come back. I also decided to dip my feet in the (cool) water by dangling them over the edge of the pier.

I watched a helicopter land in the strait between the islands. It didn’t stay long enough to make friends with the pilot. Thatch might be the only avatar I talk with this night.

I noted from afar that the pilot then disappeared but his helicopter remained. This would be right on the line between Scar and Funnel. I noted that if you slash someones sides a scar would remain. A scar is also usually a line. The pilot appears to have “talked” to me after all. Slaashsides is the true destination.

I returned to Thatch and stole a bit of energy from his feet, since he now seemed inactive — AFK as the locals say. I calculated he wouldn’t mind. He was kind of my friend after all. Friends help friends. After draining the energy of his feet and also the wrists above them I figured I had 20 more minutes to work with than before, making a total of about 30 now. I had time to visit Slaashsides itself. Just next door.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0313, Gno Kingdom^, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Nautilus^^, Outer Islands, Slaashsides

new direction

She’d lost her spaceship. She thinks she may have left it back in what the locals called Mayberry, an airy mountain of a hill (or something). But she was too tired from all the walking and searching to get off these Lost Angel chairs right now. Maybe in a 1/2 an hour. But maybe: never. The many and the *done*. Truth be told, she was a variant character anyway and will probably not be missed.

—–

Troop was a truly important character though, and it’s baked into his name: True Opp. He started out as a “mere” toy, an Mmmmmm, just like his cousin Grassy from another mother who just happens to be sisters with his own. They don’t talk about Jerry any more. And Philburt is right out of any discussion between them. But Uranus… ahh, that’s a different topic and one that’s interested both of ’em for a long time, starting way back when Tropp, then just Opp or Campbell O’Pine, had his first (Sunklands blog) post dedicated to himself.

“Well it looks like I found it, Grassy,” he says 1/2 to himself, since the only other person in the room was only 1/2 listening. “Uranus; the blue planet.”

“There’s someone out there, in the dunes,” the other person spoke. “Someone… fidgety.”

“Okay, CUT! Let’s change fidgety to nervous. Is that okay, Campbell?”

In another scene later that day:

“Alright, then the crook comes in and you drop your gun and it hits the floor and goes off, hitting your right heel. This is going to be *hilarious*.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0312, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

Y and Z are 10 and 11

It was time for a longer post else we get off track. Wendy had her man, strapped to the Big Wheel, a prisoner in other words. In his own pirate ship: trapped by a woman of all things. But he suspected a man-woman because of the strength, the speed. He was wrong… kind of. “Gotcha!” she exclaimed as the tire iron came down on the knees and then the head. If she was truly a man he might be dead. As it was, he almost bled out, but was brought back by her powers of the mind. Hidalgo — but enough said of that (magic practice) which also gained her many more years than her immortal contemporaries. Only Mummy Suisan out in Swannanowhere had outlasted her. How many years now? She decided to count them out tonight (again) while — whatshisname listened in, helpless to turn off his ears by plugging them with his fingers or something. That was another point to this. She decided to use the base 12 way of counting just to prolong the agony a bit more for him. She stopped at 143Z to see if his head had started to bleed again (only a little). At 1Y876, she thought of the 765 Village and the hidden green grey alien there and how Brut or Burt or Brutus had turned all traitor on her and taken over the Fortress for himself in its two locations to bind the magic more tightly. She hit (whatshisname) on the noggin again simply because she was frustrated now. And, heck, she’d lost her count. She’d have to start over again. At 765 she spaced out and lost count a second time. “One,” she began once more, “twooooooo (*yawn*).” Finally getting sleeepy. She lets him hold her in his arms but just one trick and he’s back on the wheel. She uses the rest of her daily brain power to heal his head completely.

Out like a light now, but this was a test. She knew he could twist her head off if he desired — she had given him her superpowers as well. But if he still had the *mistletoe* somewhere upon his body — and she knew he did — then: no. That small sprig of evergreen would take them both a long long ways.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0311, Hana Lei^^

saturnine

She looked down at her, this Winnie, but obviously Wendy again. As she was Wendy. We’re all Wendy in this Second Lyfe of ours, a Wendy City of sorts through and through. Cub Run. Centerpoint. Release the Pooh! she wanted to command from afar with voice so loud you could hear it clear over to Heterocera. Allow Winnie to become Wendy!

Someone asked once why she wasn’t herself in Our Second Lyfe and instead always in disguise, a strange question at the time but perhaps starting to make some sense. The man-woman uttering it was obviously kind of insane, though. She suspected a sea monster because of the seaweed hair, despite the pink tutu. Release the Pooh, she also mentioned. The famous toy bear rolled the wagon with the honey pot down the cobblestone street of town, pausing in front of Perch to peer in at the past. Spaced Ghost turned back into Space. The honey pot was suddenly something else; the held red umbrella was both inside and outside at once…

The pirates were coming and she didn’t know what to do. Directly over the throne now, they had stolen her mistletoe. She wasn’t jovial about it.

They’d make landfall by nightfall. The clock kept ticking, tick tick tick.

I should strike first, she suddenly realized, thinking of the Big Wheel and the 12 at the top. Everyone was scared of her, after all.

“Gotcha!” she exclaimed at 12:37.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0310, Hana Lei^^

name of thrones

She spoke down to him, hoping he would complement her shoes. “No, this is the Pearl Throne, not Pear. I’m afraid you have the wrong location.”

“I’m sorry mum.” He begins to take his leave. Seems he’d journeyed a long way for nutt’n.

“WAIT.” Sally suddenly recognized him. “You’re… the man under the mistletoe. I know you from that portrait.” He was in disguise but the pointy ears he tried to hide under his antique slouch cap gave him away. This was a man of Jupiter — another planet.

“Lose the old skin,” she commanded from her perch, with mistletoe just behind. “Lose the cap as well. Heck just put on your birthday hat and come here.”

—–

“I swear it’s here somewhere. Eddy,” she spoke to the sea turtle floating before her. “Do you know?”

“I’m sorry mum,” and took his leave.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0309, Hana Lei^^

oh so central line

Mother Piper was happy. She’d get to see her little boy all grown up — Cory — after, what has it been, 2 weeks? 2 long, she thinks while still smiling, still grinning. But she makes the mistake of doing this directly for the camera and the scene has to be reshot.

“How’s Cory still a little boy and all grown up at once?” It was a logical question from Wheeler (Wheeler!), and I didn’t come back with an immediate answer. In fact, I believe I was eating food. Or downing a milkshake. I couldn’t manifest the correct reality and so Cory remains both. I said this out loud after finishing my bite or slurp, whichever one had actually happened.

“We have reached the end,” then states Wheeler with finality. “Our Second Lyfe must merge with Our First Lyfe. You have found the doorway.” She shoots a pretend kiss at me, lips puckered and becoming one with each other. 1 pink.

“Wendy has found the doorway,” I said, trying to at least temporarily forget that mistletoe was also involved but finding it hard.

“Another doubling,” Wheeler points out.

“Wendy, though — in this case — is short for Wednesday. As in, it’s not Tuesday still, it’s the day after that. Just through the doorway that leads to the sim directly below Quietly…”

“… Tuesday, I know,” Wheeler completes for Baker (Baker?).

“How about this: Cory’s mother — just Mother…”

“She has a name,” Wheeler begins again with the critiquing, like clockwork except the second hand sweeps in 5/4th time.

“I can’t recall it,” admits Baker — we’ll keep calling him Baker. Baker B., the author of this here photo-novel, 27 dot dot dot…

—–

“Happy days: that could be the name of this post, but starting with Saturday in this case and not Sunday like in the famous song sung by Fonzarelli and others.” Wheeler had another point. Might as well get to a detail of that map.

—–

Stacy Wallop slaps hands with bit actress Katy O’ Leary for good luck before passing through the doorway again to reach Sidechick at the Fish and Chips van. Irish, you see; everyone did it with her. Ol’ Red Hands they starting calling her, but that was mainly because Stacy forgot which hand her knife was in that one day and accidentally stabbed her.

She passes the map, getting into character just before the sim crossing. Wednesday no longer. Clocks were ticking down.

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0308, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^