The house fronting the pool was currently unoccupied, and at 900 a week rental may remain so for a while — *I* certainly can’t afford it. What quickly caught my eye: the “Briar Wick House” was created by a company called ROOST. Check out their logo:
Despite the wall between us, the dog next door kept barking at me. I knew I would need a new dis-guise. I decided a black man might do the trick. I called in Duncan, who was, after all, part of the crew; on the payroll. His VHC City apartment was back on the radar, ward George still in tow. But George was too young to be sent to this place, this paradise of sorts. I worried about him meeting the wrong kind of Adam and Eve, ones guided by the snake instead of the God. For this was a fallen place at the rotten core of it (Apple). Marty was still with me; we were still flying high. I decided to stay in the air for a while. The oxygen, although thin, was free up here. We’ll leave the storytelling to others. Goodbye for now! (zoomm!)
The fog was thick in Collagesity tonight, so much so that the script I had prepared for certain actors there could not be read. We’ll have to look elsewhere for plot…
Maybe it will come from the outer islands of Nautilus, basically half encircling the roughly square archipelago of a continent from Castle Valeria to its nw all the way down to little Dizadare Isle more in the se, just nw of the tip of Yd Island, which in Lemon World speak, is the *origin* of All Second Lyfe itself and the source of the letter change from i to y to protect the youth and innocent and such. The Ratzenburger Rabbit is still around.
Jeffrey Phillips goes there tonight for spiritual renewal and warmth. Because it gets f-ing cold in mountainous Collagesity during foggy season. He can see a new plot line now. Jasper County, but the other (Newton) one. The one not yet used.
She dreamed she was in a grim place. She had to get to the head before the head got to her. She saw the head, the head sawed she! Little skulls littered the cell floor. Like hers.
“I need to find you 102.”
Two realities were superimposing themselves on top of each other, inadvertently (perhaps) creating chaos and confusion. He simply didn’t know; he simply couldn’t understand. In the moment.
I’ve created the bare bones of a consignment store on my Rubi property not seen since the very beginning of this here photo-novel, number 22 in a series of 20. The first thing I decide on to fill out the 4 square emptiness is a Volvo station wagon, which definitely does *not* have two handles on its back door nosiree.
Let’s just prop it up outside for now against the building’s unfinished, plywood exterior.
Then I add another image inside that has become meaningful to me today: the collage characters I call Source (Male) and Lake (Female) — perhaps another version of Adam and Eve and the whole Apples story — *hiding* something. Like we are seeing through a wall into another dimension.
And since the Tacoma consignment store the impossible station wagon is driving by on N Proctor Ave in that first picture above is named Megs and Mo, I suppose Cassandra City’s Moes Bar is related somehow. The transparent Source and Lake image comes from M & M as well — very important there. More soon.
“Phil had the richest, most complicated sense of humor of the four of us,” said his Firesign Theatre partner David Ossman. “He loved what he called ‘the stupid’ and he could twist it into surreal pieces of head-beating comedy. His High School Lunch Menus, the Irish guy who taught how to paint like the insane, the Funny Names Club of America. He had the whole range. Bergman and Austin were really the Lennon and McCartney of the group.”
It fits, but I don’t think it *fit* fits. That is, it slots — barely — into this side of the 640 square metere parcel I just rented in NWES City, but stylistically there’s something left to be desired seemingly. Back to the drawing board… the positioning still appears “meaningful”, hmm.
Maybe it does fit in there.
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.