“Why do you keep your bathing suit on (in the tub)? You understand we’re married — no need to be formal.” But Wheeler, I mean, Eyela knew it was necessary. Eyela Gold, her newest incarnation. She also understood she had to ditch the purple hair in order for it to work long-term. Newt would lose interest if not. He preferred the new now: Newt likes new.
“It was a successful party, dearest,” she decided to say, dodging a bullet. “Trouble is (she suds her suddenly aching head while also rubbing/massaging it) — I… don’t remember much about it strangely enough. Like it was all, I don’t know, a *dream*.” She produces something from her hair; instantly knows it is the key. She hides this fact from Newt. She quietly places the golden object on the floor behind the tub, waiting to be picked up later when Newt had gone to bed or else to his study, if he can find it. 319, Eyela Gold reads on the thing. She must cover this fact up.
(to be continued)
She finishes prepping her wig as Jeb drives up in his beat up old red truck. She knows him by another name but we know him as Black Bart. Dairocha has followed us, the reader and writer, here to this motel out in the sticks of Nautilus, one blending into another. This is (part of) the secret. That the inside has become the outside, flipped out and away from itself. Much like her bangs.
“Darling, you in there?” Grown-up Tessa decides that the reader and writer shouldn’t see her present lover, perhaps future husband. If things work out for her. A whole castle? She can get away from it all. (knock knock knock) “Darling?”
“There have been other libraries in other places. Like Crabwoo.
“Right, Karoz?” he prompted after turning.
“Are you going to answer my question about the Abyss or not?” Dave’s blue-green roommate for the exciting semester replies while applying the last bit of mascara to his face. Wendy! In all its glory. They finally made it after a long, hard stretch of work. Reward!
In a different part of the dream, Karoz looks up to see a whale sized blimp pass over a backwards blue E, otherwise known as a schwa. Red seems to be a theme for tonight but it’s not Devil Dave this time. Instead, a car, and a particular car at that. One plucked from the Iowan hypercube they knew so well now.
“Your burger, sir,” Wendy offered from the side… with a side (fries), prying him away from the aerial spectacle. Perhaps he should get back in the car to receive.
(to be continued)
“Busted!” police agents Crack and Whack shouted after they broke down the door, leaving Greg Ogden in pieces. No longer would he be known as the artist of the “Monolith…”, history conveniently rewritten. All he had left afterwards was cartoons, sunrise to sunset, Sam and the rest. One day he picked up a watermelon and threw it out the window into the woods and then went there, finding a triangle. He approached cautiously…
“Is the camera on?”
He looked over at the illuminating glow. “Yes I think so, mum.” They settled into their cue spots, got into character. Annnnnd ACTION.
“The *thing* is,” Crystal’s replacement Methany began, emphasizing a different word this take just to spice, er, things up, “I was looking in the wrong triangle before. *This* is the triangle. Where Baker Bloch was born — this island.”
“Rodeo, yes mum,” said Carl, his first line in this scene. No relationship to Karl that I know of, although both seem to be bartenders. His character knew this was Baker Bloch instead of Wheeler Wilson before him, and that dark had switch to light, camera rolling. Thus the white hair, the white script, everything. She *was* the triangle.
Someone’s trapped in the art!
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0302, Nautilus, New Island^, North, Omega^^, Paper, Paper Soap, Sansara, Slaashsides, Wild West
“Well take a picture, silly. I can’t hold this posture forever.” SNAP
Outside: Ghost. *Ghost* of a ghost, so doubly so.
Whose picks led me to this:
“What do you say, dear? The rooms are real cheap and we get to explore fabulous John Fitzgerald Kennedy City this way. We’re right in the middle (!).”
“Okay, darling. But then we must get back to Collagesity and see what’s left of it. Strange about the doubling of the Falmouth name in these locations.”
“Yes. More reason to stay here.”
He recrosses his legs. “I suppose.”
“We can make… a honeymoon of it.”
Axis-Windmill doesn’t say anything to this. He’s not ready to commit to such a pact, or even admit they are married to each other as husband and wife. Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. Let’s play it loosey goosey, he thinks. Besides, he’s Baker Bloch for the moment, and the male Baker doesn’t marry anyone “beneath” him in the photo-novels, which is everyone else, even his female counterpart Baker Blinker, traditional blog spiritual guide Hucka Doobie, and the rest of the cores. If he could just shift over to another particular core… he shifts in his seat with this thought. He has the urge to get up and dance. “Any music around here?” finally came a response, which made Alysha Raspberry huff and recross her own legs. She knows Falmouth Gallery in Collagesity won’t be any better. *But* (she considers again), they could stay in Danny’s trailer. If he’s truly gone. One Falmouth at a time, though.
“Oh dear. Is that our *porter*?”
It was a coastal afternoon sort of day. He tried his luck with a passing fairy who spoke two octaves above him. “Crabwoo?”
“What was that?” she buzzed, and was gone.
“Darn.” He shakes his head. “Fairies,” he utters. “Everyone says they know everything but I haven’t seen nothing yet from the lot of ’em.” He imagines spitting on the ground, this *dreamscape*. He wakes up.
Shelley made it no secret that she wanted another baby. She tried provocative pose after provocative pose for enticement, even buying this giant cat-girl scratching post to aid. “Dear,” she called over to Tommy, reading another magazine at the top. Herself again, of course. “Yes, what is it?” He mixed a dab of indifference into the tone. Hatti’s influence again (of course). She’s a genius at recipes, he thinks often, especially deadly ones. But just plain harmless tasty ones too. Half and… “Dear,” she prompts again, seeing she’s losing him to the dreams. Snores would soon follow if she wasn’t quick. She assumes a different pose to change the scene. She puffs her stomach out to appear like it’s got another baby in it already. This time he takes the bait. But that was his plan all along. Julia here we come!
Out in the yard, the mannequin shuts her ears and eyes, having enough of babies. Where was her own? She didn’t care; she put it out of her mind. Eyela erupts from the ground behind her, another spat-upon fairy.
The front doors remain locked.
Now back to Bellisseria to investigate the other Star family. This was the spot on the new diagonal where it would all start, I know that now. Project Endgame has begun.
Meanwhile, in a strong probable reality lying directly south of the 765 Village sim-wise:
“How — long are you going to — keep me here?”
“Well, darling,” dishwashing DON’T SAY WANDA Leslie replied back, up to her wrists in suds and grease, “that depends on what the appraiser comes back with. I’m guessing, gee I don’t know, about 195.3 lindens to the inch. And since you’re a tall one…
“It’s not — right.”
“I know it’s not right, dearest. It’s not right that we live in such *squalor* just because Uncle Stan rode that bright idea rodeo of his right down into the *ground*.” She poked her finger with a knife she was washing and uttered a “hell” here. Ruby caught the association.
“Stan — was bad?”
“Indeed he was, darling.” She looked over at the 8 foot tall, insect green alien, probably of a species they call the greys. Said she was looking for the fortress and she said, “hell, I got a fortress you can stay in,” and knocked her on the head. She woke up in the trailer. She’d been here ever since, although she was allowed to go outside and stare at all the strange graffiti on the high privacy walls surrounding the abode. This person was a renegade, perhaps from the law itself. She kept saying her no good son-in-law of a husband would be back any day now. A-ny day.
“I’m home, maw!” *GUSH*
“*Lordy*, JUST in time. Quick go get the pipe wrench from the outhouse! Mind your pretty green feet you little alien!”
I speculated that the community knew about The Diagonal. W’s first foray into the region produced a default landing point of 181/181, which placed her in this almost impossibly and certainly impractically weighty clock tower. 558 prims! Certainly we must question whether prim/ land impact count is managed effectively here, which may actually bode well for a more penetrating examination.
She found a place to catch up with the local news and find out more about the town. Lots of changes, lots of updates. And a statement: if a building falls on you DON’T PANIC. Our crack hospital team will patch you up in no time. Hidi looks up into the rafters with this. This one seems sound enough. She’ll stay a bit longer, have another cup of coffee and read some more. Apparently the local police force is hiring. Maybe she could work as a beat cop to pay what is obviously going to be expensive rent here. Local general hospital hired new chief administrator; you can legally purchase weed here: local pot shop has just been taken over by the Greentree family. Wasn’t she just reading about Greenforests somewhere? And then, to finish off, an advice column by Aunt Auntie. Oh dear, Hidi thought. This town promises to be more than expected! Something about playing rough then playing nurse, dot dot dot.
“A cypress forest without eucalyptus is nothing.” Jeffrey Phillips was trying to get a rise out of Randolph the Bastard Pirate and mate Wendy sitting down the table, but useless so far. “Orange is not a fruit,” he said, peering in their direction again for a reaction. Blank. Time to move on from this Valeria stone cottage on the north end of the island. Castle up next.
“Cypresses. So many cypresses,” he grumbled, walking up the rise.