History tries to snap the correct placement of Schubert within but Beethoven always gets in the way.
In the other direction, Brahms overshadows Strauss.
Using his shield as a camouflaging device, David A.B. sometimes liked to mingle with the commoners, the ones far far below him on a scale of 1-10, he being a 10 or a 9.5 at the least. Nothing to see here, he says in his mind about himself while looking around. Certainly no *God*, your creator, amongst you. No, just an ordinary Joe waiting on his train. Just like the lot of you. Joe was a good name, he then thinks. I believe I’ll keep it for this part of my journey. He turns to the Ordinary reading the paper to his left. “Joe’s the name,” he spoke in as ungodly a tone as he could muster. “How about you?”
“Ted,” came the fainter answer. “Ted Johnson.”
“Just waiting on the train, hmph,” Joe states the obvious. Ted returns to his funnies. ‘Hatfield’ — so humorous.
“Oop, there ’tis!”
Gazing Eric Gordon beside Ted exclaimed, “It’s like it just appeared — out of *nowhere*.”
Ted looked up from his cartoons. “Wow, that was super fast today. Usually I sit here for over an hour.”
Not on my watch, David A.B. says inwardly.
“Hmm, Hucka Doobie. Top of the bridge here in Kabu is where photo-novel 8 ended. It’s the lone pick of Uh Clem who has a 512 in Moork. Robin Williams (Mork) was a noted big fan of Firesign Theater, appearing on the 2001 PBS Special ‘Weirdly Cool’ celebrating the group. Uh Clem refers to a character on their 1974 album ‘We’re All Bozos on this Bus’.”
“Featured in ‘Pretty Bunnies’. Good night to you Baker Bloch.” Hucka Doobie appeared in front of me atop the Kabu bridge. “You are following the breadcrumbs, good. They will lead you to the center. They will lead you to the *egg*.”
“Robin Williams’ egg. Mork’s I mean.”
“Yes. In part.”
I point behind Hucka Doobie. “What about that big cube of cheese over there?”
“The cube is 64x64x64. On the ground, it occupies exactly 1/16th of a sim. It was created by GeneralFyad between Dec 15 and Dec 22 of last year, thus over 2 months ago. There is one house, a House of Mizu structure, fully inside the cube. 7 other houses are partially within to various degrees.”
“All of this is super important. I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Nighty night.”
I’ll show Hucka Doobie I’m onto something. 2 1/2 months is a long time not to visit your house. *8* houses, but maybe the one in the middle doesn’t count due to fishbowl effect.
It’s not in the center of the sim but I’m also not in the center of photo-novel 18.
This Uh Clem 512 and its lone object has something to do with something!
She walked and walked, further than ever until the one track became two, as it always was. And always will be. She sat down in the middle of the split to remember who she was/is/will be.
I am Tessa from in or near Twin Peaks, she told herself. Old and yet young here. Between the red and yellow in front of me…
… and the blue and green behind.
Split. Like realities.
She will not move until someone comes and helps her choose.
But then a scary bug appears beside her and makes her choose anyway. “Shite!” she exclaims while jumping off the bench onto the wrong track.
The year: ’42. She heard distant bugles. A faint smell of burnt copper was in the air. She knows which reality she’s in. And it’s not the right one. The Realm of Fear.
End of Time was a *sanctuary* she realized. Once she stepped back in the light, all was exposed for what it is.
But she must forget all this and get back to the cave. It was only an experiment, see, a dream even. Trouble is, she was heading the wrong way.
“I’ll never get through all these books, Chesteria A. Arthur. Conquerors draw the worse lot!”
“The whole assimilation process, yes,” speaks Grey Scale’s mate from behind. She thinks: we must get rid of this blue vase I’m leaning next to and kind of hiding, yes. And that one over there as well. Don’t have Grey Scale be reminded of her blue enemy in any way. The Big Blue Machine. Like a sleeping blue whale. So deep, so blue.
“You’ve become quiet, Chesteria my love, my dearest. Please keep talking to distract me from these confounded histories before me!”
“Okay. Just don’t turn around. I have something between my front teeth and I’m presently sucking it out. Keep at least pretending to read and I’ll move to you.”
“Alright.” She feels Chesteria’s hot, 1/2 cheetah breath against the back of her neck now. “Maybe I’ll read aloud to you. Then you will feel the weight of your eyes too. Listen: ‘In 1312 the village of Horns-on-Hatt was formed with 15 soldiers of the disbursed Copper Queen’s army. Items included 10 cows for milking, 5 golden rings, 25 standard issues of toilet paper bark, 50 bayonets, 22 rubber gloves, 14 fishing rods for the hobbit pond, 77 individually wrapped pieces of copper colored candy for the boys and girls, 88…’ well, you get the picture. Do you see what I mean?” She abruptly shuts the book without saving her place somewhere near its beginning. Dust flies from it, making golden-silvery glints in the air where the sun shines. “And, you see (she waves her arm around the table here) there’s maybe 20 more to go through. I’ve done 6 — *started* 6. I just can’t even get through the 1st chapter of most. If you can call these sections chapters. ‘Moby Prick’ did writing right. These (she waves again around her) are just ephemera, the flotsam and jetsam of dull, boring grey life. Soldiers’ lives at that in this case.” She pounds the book before her with a flat palm, as if trying to compress its three dimensional nature back into 2. “*Cartoons* would be more entertaining. *Much more*. In fact…”
Chesteria was reading her mind. She had the newspaper funnies in her back pocket, ready to whip them out to stave off breakdowns. Grey Scale Kimball eagerly pushes the “soldier book” away and flattens the funnies before her. Almost immediately she begins to smile. “Hehe. Hatfield. So funny.”
They had finished their meals and were eating dessert by sunset. Hardly a word had been passed between the husband and wife all the time. Finally, after several spoonfuls of gelatin instant pudding: “Who’s in the cave with Mabel and Tessa, Herbert?” No immediate answer from her husband, so April Mae ventured some guesses. “Could it be… Jethro? Bauer?”
Monsieur Gold set his spoon down rather noisily on the table with this. No, not *Jethro*… *Bauer,* he thought, but also admitted to himself that he was blocked in that direction.
“I didn’t mean…”
“I know what you meant.”
They ate in silence for a spell again. Then: “I’m going to the cemetery tomorrow,” spoke April Mae. “I haven’t been in almost 3 weeks.”
“Suit yourself,” came the quick followup. “Make sure you fill the narrow boat-plane with gas before bringing it back.” He dare not request the other thing in his mind; that she *please* *please* be careful with it this time and don’t run into that God cursed dune again, which just happens to be jutting up in the middle of God awful nowhere for some reason. Away from the rest of the Omega continent peaks.
“I think I’ll take the gardener with me this time.”
“Why don’t you do that.”
At sunrise on March 19 2018, Baker Bloch teleports into the very center of the Threesun sim (128, 128). He’s right on top of a larger statue, whose position logically marks this center. So: interesting at the beginning.
The statue is one of three in the subterranean chamber he manifests within, all positioned against the same north wall. Notice that a 4th enclave on this wall is empty (one to the far left here). Are these chess pieces again? Baker ponders. The description of the objects don’t seem to lend more to this possibility.
Then on the west wall, what are obviously representations of the “three suns” in question: 3 metal circles with 8 irregularly placed “flames” apiece. Seem to be made of copper or bronze.
Baker spies a small container or coffer in the center of the altar below them. He approaches… and opens.
Time to take this to the next level.
Rey Wisa, aka Ellen, exits the chamber through the tall, metallic west doors.
Oops, wrong one.
Philip Strevor became bored waiting for Marion Harding to show up with the new recruit to their gang, and started poking around the upper floor of Raven Manor, one of the largest buildings of Capitol City and located in the sim of Babablacksheep.
Hmm, he pondered. Wonder why this big office has a map of Terra Aurca on the wall instead of Gaeta V or Capitol City or sumtin?
He sits down in the centre of the room and thinks: One day I will be a big shot in this town and command from a posh desk like this. He pretends that people are seated opposite him, asking for favors.
“I see, Mrs. Brighton,” he says calmly for the set up. “But *no*, we cannot lend you 10,000 lindens so that your little boy can get out of jail. You can see him in 10 years!” He slams his hand down on the desk to punctuate the idea and then laughs heartily, head tilted backwards. He laughs so hard his sides start to ache. He must be careful.
Marion opens the room’s large oak doors with the fresh recruit in tow. “There you are. Playing like you’re important again?”
Laughter died down, Philip merely grunts.
“I haven’t seen you in about a week, Philip. You’re wearing short sleeves. But where’s your cybernetic arms? What’s happened?”
Philip doesn’t answer but instead stands up stiffly and goes over to the recruit and starts looking her over — he even sniffs her several times during the process. He turns toward Marion. “A *kid*? You said there was a twist, but… a *child*?”
“First off, introductions,” Marion replies, steady in the face of fury. “Philip Strevor, this is Heidi Hunt Ives. Heidi: Philip.”
Heidi Hunt Ives, who is of course Billy Jean Kidd again, extends a hand. “Please to meet you Philip.”
Philip doesn’t shake her hand. He instead roughly takes Marion’s arm and leads him to a far corner of the room. “A word, please,” he says as they walk.
Chance? Heidi thinks with amusement while watching them recede from her. Chants?