Category Archives: 03

Yellowmoon Ridge

There’s grass (living) and there’s hay (dead).

Dr. Back appears ant-like on the hill. No going back.

“It’s a girl, Mrs. Kill.”

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Mortons Gap, Corisca, Our Second Lyfe

Greater and lesser.

OMG, Barry’s here. Fishing. The magic continues…

We’ll catch up with him a little later (!).

RN earns cash by making pots. Well: *a* pot. And it’s coming along very slowly, it appears.

Many cats in the city.

Will meditate for money. Arthur Kill decides to join him in the background.

A single red tree (object of meditation).

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gamers

—–

“The guy’s been there forever,” whispered Shelley.

“I really want to play Pac Man,” replies Arthur in a not as hushed voice.

“How… (she glanced over) how about Space Invaders? Right next to him — you haven’t played that as I recall.”

“Really?” is all Arthur could say to this, giving her a look. Pac Man is classic. Space Invaders is a game for *kids* in his opinion, a shoot-em-up. Not even on the level of archaic Pong.

—–

They went next door to sip on saki for a while but the bleeps and blips from the now lone player at the arcade persisted. “Might as well go back to the hotel, dearest. Prepare for Liz again. I’m kind of eager to try out that broken telephone booth outside — see what kind of action that can produce.”

But Arthur wouldn’t relent, not for that and apparently not for anything. He’d stay here at the upper end of Mortons Gap until the ends of the Earth.

Does this also spell the end of Arthur in our story? Shelley has many suitors available to her, it seems. But there’s Liz. Yes, Liz. Arthur also recalls that and finally relents and goes back to the hotel, eventually ending up at the booth like she desired.

“Hello?” she starts the roleplay. “Is this the Moon?” She slams the receiver back into its carriage. “Damn thing’s broke — no *4*!” On cue, a telephone repairman saunters up to the booth outside, loaded down with the tools of his trade around a maximized belt. Until he dispenses with it.

“Dang, Shelley. Just not in the *mood*. Can’t get *over* that guy back there!”

Yes, Arthur might need to disappear from our story for a while. There’s always Keanoob. And Edward, who most call Eddy these days. Might as well drag another character into the story. Appears to be a motif for the novel by this point — character overload. Location will help stabilize: Mortons Gap here. Both of ’em, actually. 2 places at once.


“she just wanted to be included”

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“Over here, Arthur. Behind the bushes!”

—–

“Black against white. As it should be.”

—–

“You’re not ashamed of us still?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, well. The bushes.”

She sighs. “It’s just so we could get more romantic. Towel has a better view of the rocks over there I like so much.”

“Ropes, yeah.” Arthur stared out, thinking of George/Musician. “Have you heard from him lately?”

“Him?”

“You know. Him.”

—–

“Strange dreams, yeah.” Continuing, he thinks to himself.

“Moon is bright tonight. Better get you back to the hotel.”

“Okay.”

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more transmutations

Bach: The Golderg Variations is the debut album of Canadian classical pianist Glenn Gold. An interpretation of Johann Sebastian Bach’s Golderg Variations (BWV 988), the 1956 record launched Gold’s career as a renowned international pianist, and became one of the most well-known piano recordings.[1] Sales were “astonishing” for a classical album: it was reported to have sold 40,000 copies by 1960, and had sold more than 100,000 by the time of Gold’s death in 1982.[2]

In 1981, a year before his death, Gold made a new recording of the Golderg Variations, sales of which exceeded two million by the year 2000.[3]

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we’re painting a picture of a place

He stared over at it while she stared at him. “Remember that day when we opened the box and came here?”

“Best day of my life,” said Lucy to this. Limes. Box full of limes. Unlimited tequila.

“I mean, we were *there* — Real Life — and then we were here — Second Lyfe.”

“And we had 3rd Life on our computers instead, yeah. Cool. Really neat. I instantly turned myself into Leia from Star Trek.”

“I mean,” he continued on this track. “You remember smells. Don’t you?”

“Smells?”

“And touch. Feeling and touching. Not just seeing, not just hearing. There use to be 5 senses, Lucy.”

“It’s beautiful here,” she deflected. “I can feel the spray of the ocean if I close my eyes. I can hear the porpoises. I *feel* like I have a purpose here — that’s the only ‘feel’ I need.”

“Okay, how about smell?” he tried again. Did *he* remember smell? He couldn’t quite recall it now. Maybe all a dream. He tried to trace it back. And why this fascination with Shelley when he already has Lucy? They’ve been married 6 years, been buried longer than that, but that was just a past life. Someone allowed them to open the box, someone raised them from the dead. Here. Small box for a coffin, but there you have it. More symbolic than anything, he reckoned.

“It’s been there for 6 7 years. Have we even tried to move it? Even once?”

“2019,” said Lucy to this. “Hurricane coming in. Wouldn’t budge. We came back and everything was okay. The only lingering effect was this pool of water that partially submerged our back yard. Water never left. But we always wanted a pool.”

“Not this kind,” shot back Keanoob. He didn’t *feel* like sitting down beside it today, partially submerging himself in this pool or whatever the heck it really was. A curse, he gathered, quite a long time ago, actually. Probably 2019 again.

He’s going into the mountains instead.

“Ant Castle?” Lucy said to this, use to his wandering off by now.

“I think I’ll go visit Barry instead at his studio.”

“Better call. You remember what happened last time.” Barry really gets involved in his art, as Keanoob found out that day.

Ah heck, he’ll stay local and go check out the Durexian-Trojan War Memorial again. In a park across the road; only 200 meters from here. Sometimes he can still hear the distance cannons if he lays real quiet in the re-created Durexian-Trojan shared tent over there. You lose a sense or 3 you gain a sense or 3. Or so they say.

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00360311

She figured if she didn’t find paradise in Mortons Gap, where would she? Bartender Keanoob was cute, and also a good talker. Not that she’s looking any more — she has Arthur after all. They’re married now, at least last time I checked.

Yes, married. This is most likely their honeymoon destination. There were some Durexian-Trojan war memorials here, plus the Ant Castle, whose history also fascinated Arthur. Shelley was pliable — she could go anywhere as long as there’s beach, sun, drink and decent internet access. It was okay here, not the best but doable. She could log onto 3rd Life relatively easy, although for best results she had to reduce her graphics by getting rid of all the shaders. And also minimizing the screen at times. But it was manageable. She’ll play on it a little later, after Arthur has gone to bed. But first: a drink.

“Lemon’s freshly squeezed, Shelley,” spoke Keanoob in his pleasant Japanese accent. He didn’t look like he was from that country but he claimed to be a native. He points to the lemon tree that we look between the split trunk of in that photo above.

“Oh dear,” she said, looking at the time on her watch. “Better get back to the hotel, Keanoob. I’ll have to save that drink for later.”

“Oh okay. You know where to find me!” he called as she dashed off.

He put away the lemons, cussing at his lack of action. Shelley had that effect on men, though. Made them want to follow her to the ends of the Earth, Second Lyfe style. Funny how 1st and 3rd Life are spelled with an “i”, while Second isn’t. Must be a middle problem.

Limes. Only stuck with limes now. “Tequila, Lucy?”

“Sure.”

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B52 (Bingo)

“When do you leave?”

“Day after tomorrow (pause). It was a lot of money.”

“I assumed so. Coming from Back.”

“Just a shadow figure,” Charlie Banana reinforced to his best mate Hatti, currently without one, blue hair which can sometimes be mistaken for black fully exposed. Both mate and girlfriend. But not wife. Perhaps they never will be now. “No face.”

“I know the feeling (another pause). You know Shelley and I go back a long ways. In some ways we’re closer than sisters. I understand her and she understands me. We discussed it on a beach far away from here once. Far away in time now as well. Hard to recall what we spoke of. She already knew about Liz there. And, of course, I had…” She tried to remember but couldn’t. Then she did. The eternal lover now. If he assumed a certain shape. Charlie Banana could be the same.

“Are you going to the Ant Castle first?” she began again. “Or just Mortons Gap in general?”

“All I know is that it has something to do with dogs.” His voice was pleasant, melodic even. Hers: a little more shrill but not unpleasant. They could both pose as ordinaries to others, which they weren’t. You have to be at least 108 years old to join the club they’re in, which includes the Silvers of course, the founders and owners. Brought all the way here from Neptune by the powers that be, some say. But we happen to know it’s Mars.

—–

We could have guessed hot dogs, we could have guessed feet. But it was actually dogs.


“Simmer down out here,” spoke Banana from the balcony, tired of the constant yelping and baying. Moon indeed.

A mysterious stranger arrives from the sea to the west, ready to rock his world.

(to be continued)

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What would Roger Pine Ridge do?

Charlie Banana saw it all from his DJ booth, the setting up of the ironically named Happy Rezday decorations, the lowering of the temperature, and then the entrance of the man himself, who was only part so, the other half being… he thinks it is mink. Should have made himself into a coat before venturing in here, but I guess that’s the point anyway. Sacrifice. Vulnerable sort. Chest congestion. 108 did him in finally, a triple threat in this case, a deadly threat, then. He should have seen it coming when Amazon was purposely changed with Amagon to bring Hucka Bee into the picture, not human atall now although still a man. Bee-man. Where are we on that?

He wasn’t surprised when he was intercepted after his gig was over at 10. Money was thrown at him, a lot of cash. Replace Wolvie, the mystery figure said, back turned. As always. Just a sort of shadow figure he was.

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the goats know

“It’s a trance club, sir. Are you sure you want to go in there?” She looked him over, noted the dated clothes, the glassiness of his aging eyes. Might not make it out. Like a lot of them; like *most* of them. There’s a queue of carcasses out back still. Ready to be buried alive as if antiquated VHS tapes.

He knew he had to. For Shelley. Yet another door was opened that he possibly couldn’t walk back out of.

He stopped his simple walk in the midst of it all. Cold breath came out of his mouth. Must be 20 degrees below what it was in the foyer. Maybe 30, or even more. Moon indeed. And it could be getting colder ta boot. Yes: people, susceptible ones, could die in here, he thought. And he had some kind of lingering chest congestion he couldn’t get rid of.

He stared over at her, prepared to start her yoga routine on the green bamboo mat, turning green herself in the process. True center. He recalls the 108/108/108 spot in Perch-Mistletoe where he also stared at bamboo, a whole wall of it there, across the canal that evenly divides that most central of Nautilus’ sims in two. This is 108 as well, he realized. Moon itself.

She begins the motions.

Soon after our Wolvie, born oh so shortly before, was no more: absorbed.

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