Category Archives: 0304

00360304

“Why do you always pray to your God?” asked Sam Bee, listening in while trying to read. “Why not your ancestors, your Ma, your Pa?”

“Listen, Durexian heathen,” spoke Barren Monroe, mixing the best and worst aspects of soldiering in one. “If I wanted your opinion I’d ask it on the battlefield tomorrow. Where I could smash in your head without any consequences.”

Silence between them for a while, then. Both listened to crickets and the sound of distant cannons, becoming fainter with each passing day now. The battle and also the war along with it was about over. Both knew it.

Barren thought about renewing his prayer but decided not to. What was the use? He’d be going home soon. He’d hear enough about God from his family after that, thanks to the Triangleist church they all belonged to. Praying to his Ma, his Pa, pheh. Ridiculous savage. Instead: “I can’t believe the army came to this. Sharing (*spit*) a tent with the enemy.” Many times he wish he could spray bullets into the thin membrane of a wall separating the two, the green-blues from the red-yellows. But he’d be executed if so. Kill only on the battlefield between 8 and 5, the superiors commanded. When you get back to your tent you can trade all the verbal acidities you want, but no physical interaction. Pretend like that thin membrane separating the two of you is a thick sheet of bulletproof steel several meters high. Impenetrable. We will allow that you can hear each other but not see each other. *No* physical interaction, they doubled down as both sides ran out of money as the war dragged on and on.

Problem was, many tent mates got along, even became friends and promised to pay each other visits — sometimes extended ones — after the war was over. There was even rumors, substantiable no doubt, about tent mates being more than friends, way beyond enemies on the other side of the spectrum. Lying together in one sleeping bag, and not because the cold was closing in from the north as August became October became December, although shared heat could start the whole thing.

Such was certainly not the case with Pvt. Barren Monroe and Cpl. Sam Bee, from vastly different backgrounds and status. Barren belong to dirt poor Triangleists who only had their Father-Son-Fruity One centered religion to cling to in times of desperation, which was often. Sam Bee belong to an elite family from Wampumtown, his father and his mother both raking in the cash from a lucrative Voodoo practice specializing in pincushion dolls. Sam had talent too in that area. He planned to return to the business after the war; already had a number of clients lined up thanks to high connections. True, they were discarded clients of his parent, no doubt, but you have to start somewhere, work your way up the ranks. He’d deal with the troublemakers with a smile on his face, basking in the sunshine of an ever brightening future.

“Tomorrow, heathen,” spoke Barren Monroe again. “Tomorrow it is,” and then rolled over and tried to simmer down his boiling blood enough to sleep. Tomorrow, he thought, imagining a head like a piñata, ripe for bursting. If he waited too long he wouldn’t have the chance. Already he strains to hear the sound of war in the distance. He’ll miss it greatly.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0304, Corsica, Northwest^

00350304

“We got us a femboy here, Walter,” Chuck says, also indicating the chest while the other watched. “A frigg’n *fern*, yeah,” he now laughed. Chuck knew what that meant and Walter did too. Fern was code for “fun with blue”. They said this exact thing to Shelley, going as Scheldon today to more easily break into houses. What had she gotten herself into, though? She should have never worn that alpha on top. If they only knew.

“No, you don’t understand,” she attempted in vain. “It’s just the pandemic…weight gain…” All she could do was stand there and take it like a, well, woman actually. Franklin had one but she didn’t. Hers was fake as stated. “Just lift it up,” she said, “lift up the shirt and see; it’s all still down there still,” but they were having none of it this morning, needing a little bit of ball breaking to start the day off right — any excuse.

“Ready, set,”

—–

“You can put down the sign Johnny. We’re here. The South I suppose.”

“Awww,” he exclaimed with a voice between a man and a child. “No one honked at it. Not one single car or boat or whatever.”

Probably because you look like a total dork, Shelly thought from the front, glad for the failure. *She* certainly didn’t want to see it. Or did she? “That’s too bad,” she said aloud.

“And I wore the pants with the loose zipper so I could get them down easier.”

What a *dork*, she thought again for emphasis. How did I get stuck with this looser? She thought back. She was in the North, yes. She was being arrested. Then: black, I mean *blank*. White out, actually.

Johnny finally laid down that confounded sign and peered out the window. He could see water. He knew it was Linden because of the reflections — Shelley always had the advanced graphics on when she drove to see better. Nice here; a bit of shade — an actual wooded area, a small forest, in front of the bus now. Shelley knew where she was. But how?

There were several things Shelley wanted to do. She wanted to play the drums in back.

Check. “You sure play super,” spoke Johnny, falling a little in love with the young lass who picked him up along the highway about Linesville. About where the North and South meet. “South,” he said to Shelly about his destination. “Me too,” she said back. “How deep are you going?” “How deep are *you* going?” he questioned back. “Oh, a lake.” Then she drew a blank again. Someone had told her about the lake and given her a bus, apparently, but she couldn’t recall who. A lake with a forest and lots of sun, she remember it being described. The magic bus will get you there, she also recalled. She got there, yes, but it was as if someone or something else took over the steering wheel.

“Cool!” Johnny exclaimed about lake. “Can I come too?”

And here they are.

Second: the dance.

“You sure can dance swell,” said Johnny, watching on very interested. He was definitely beginning to fall in love. He could stare at her for days.

Third: smoke another joint on the side of the bus. Johnny joined her of course, tied with a tether by this point.

“Boy you sure can smoke,” he said while puffing away on his own, edging a little closer to her between the 5th and 6th tokes and again between the 11th and 12th. He’s starting not to make a lot of sense around the girl, so smitten he was. Compliment *everything*, he decided.

Then he showed off a little too much as he ran inside, honked the bus horn, and then held up a second sign different but similar in style to one he displayed all  during the trip down. Would she? he pondered. Is she even going to turn around? Would she at least find it funny?

She did, lucky for him. Else: more ball crunching. But the bus had run out of animations for the poor, sex starved lad. Shelley and Johnny remained separate until 2 days later when something else happened, something out of the blue. At the same time, Shelley remembered.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0304, Omega^^, Southern, The Cross^

00340304

Humorously designed sign at the beginning of a local trail you probably wouldn’t know about unless you’re a devoted mountain biker, since it’s way up a 750 foot knob (The Knob). Not the easiest location to reach by foot.

And on the other side of this same trail: that damn moving gnome. The other day I dared to touch the possibly cursed object for closer examination. It looks to me upon turning it over that the name of the little f-er is Stinkerfoot — logical extension of “…inkerfoot”.

But when googling Stinkerfoot up popped at the top of my search results this video of a song called “Stink-Foot” by Frank Zappa from his most famous album “Apostrophe”, its closing track. This album also contains the well known “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow” I just referenced in a recent post.

Google also offered to search specifically for Stinkerfoot instead of the suggested Stinkfoot, but upon doing so understood why they substituted the latter in the first place. Nothing really significant found using the former. So there you have it. Zappa works his way back into our story from a direction you might least expect.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0304, Blue Mountain, County Park

return to Rooster Peninsula

Trying out the Lebettu castle location again. Also have Fordham’s Collagesity still, although without the 3072 square meter rental connecting the high Temple of TILE (1024 sq meter parcel) to the lower rest of the town (8192 parcel). Lebettu: only a 4096, thus saving me 30 dollars hard US cash a month in the overall projected downsizing. Choices choices. But it’s all good.

The land around the castle is a little unsettled right now. How it shapes up could swing the deal either way.

Also: What to do with the Temple of TILE and all the Collagesity collage galleries? Storage? Could be.

Whatever happens, Nautilus will remain a focus and an emphasis. The blend of Our Second Lyfe with First.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0304, Collagesity Fordham, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

You Tar. Me?

Jey looked at Tar doing some work around the house finally. Glad to see him away from his desk writing that novel about death and destruction — bring him back to the land of the living. “How’s the plot going on the new one, dearest?” she asked to pass the time. “32, right?” she guessed the number. She wasn’t sure but she thinks that what he’s up to, along with some other stuff.

“Right, right,” he said, continuing to toss the salad after chopping the baby carrots, cucumbers, and onions with his power dagger, slice-slice-slice-slice-slice. Green must be evenly mixed with all — just like with him. “Actually the latest scenes are set much in a place like this.” STOP

START “Much like Ontario.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised at this. “The place next door?”

—–

Joey, with an extra letter this time, thought someone dropped a yellow marker off the whiteboard into the floor to leave only red green blue but it turned out to be a bleed-through from another reality next door. Wendy.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0304, Wendy-Ontario

two primary cores now, racing to a portal at the corner of a sim

“Who’s that over there?”

Standing up from the magical bench of his namesake island where he was just born, Baker Bloch sees the Fox on top of the lazy and knows he must begin his underwater quest or mission commanded by this nefarious Mr. Low, who lives in the temple ruins just right over…

… there. Not the animal on top of animal spectacle Low the Ancient evilly insinuated, but obvious enough, he supposed. He was told he had exactly 199 seconds now to construct the demanded, fake cemetery and not one second or minute or hour more. One dive, one portal, and 200 seconds later: done.

But the situation had changed from before, the Before Times we’ll call them. Mr. Low didn’t need a highchair positioned above the pretend graves of 3 fallen comrades to know what we’re talking about, calling down to them that he was lowest no more. Shouting down to them.

Because, using hindsight again, he was still a baby obviously, with his lowest of the low tantrums and fits. When will he be able to truly say “hi” to the rest of the world and act like a proper grown up? Probably never, I’m thinking, or a very very *very* long time in the future only guessed at through layers and layers of needed “lesson lives”.


then


now

“One of us may not come back,” spoke Joey to similarly white haired partner/rival Methany on what amounts to be the same island almost 14 years later.

“I hope it’s you,” wittily returned Methany, because it was in the script, the white one. Thanks to the entrapment of Crystal in the art (and pottery) gallery, they had moved past monolithic orange (or red), but blue (or violet) and the possibility of 3 (or even 4) loomed ahead.

“Oh look, here comes Hamlet the 199 pig to remind us that we must act quickly and dutifully to complete our mission or quest.” Blast from the past.

Silence for a bit as neither acted, then, “I can’t believe you held that nasty skull in your hands and talked to it.”

“Only way to find out,” Joey countered. “Let’s go!”, and she dived into the Bay of Pigs first, quickly followed by the other. Surprise move to begin — any small advantage along the way may be the decisive one, she figured. ‘I hope it’s you,’ pheh. Well — right back at you “partner.” She kicked bubbles in her face to reinforce the edge. Feel the bubbles of the lost second, *eat* the bubbles, SWOOSH.

Wheeler always had the advantage thataway over Baker.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0304, Corsica, Omega^^, Sansara, Splinterwood^, Urbane Blue/Fishers Island^

Dairocha Castle (one letter)

She knew what we had to do as soon as she spotted the floating Fern in the corner of the stone cottage overlooking Urq*u*hart Castle: return to the library.

He turned his back on her, deciding not to look. “Here ’tis!” she exclaimed after searching, reaching. “Fern’s book!”

Two copies, even. He knew one of them would not make it back on the shelves. They had to find out what kind of *Monsters* they were dealing with, Loch Ness and the rest.

But his steely grey eyes couldn’t help wander once in a while as he studied. He was thinking about the past. And the future.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0304, Dairocha, Nautilus, North, Scotland Highlands

white on black

I just *love* this music, Swanky. She’s my brother, you know.”

“Indian?” he asked.

“But American. Not Asian,” she clarified. She didn’t think. Point is, she was home, listening to her old music on her old phonograph player. All the Wells: well well well. That was an old joke she shared with Patty Spearmint, her bestie since grade school going on high school. Schneider would enjoy it too. If he were alive to hear it. All the Wells were musical, geniuses even. Rosie decided to part ways with the rest and become a scientist. Now she worked on the Crabwoo Revitalization Project or whatever the heck they’re calling it these days. Blue Feather Redevelopment Initiative — something. And she had that single eye which was different too.

They tried burying it in the front yard that day, but it just popped right back up. They had to accept her as a sister, albeit different.


Rosie at work, realizing she should have bought a telescope instead of a microscope for future research.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0304, Bellisaria, Blue Feather Sea^, Maebaleia/Satori

“6 miles and 7 seconds” (track 2?)

I *just* missed a performance of the Rolling Joints at this here local bar, but the owner, one Greg Ogden (*not* Oden, he insisted; and only the 1 “g” in the first name and not 2 as well) assured me they would return. In the meantime, he assuaged, we have their many records to enjoy, including the essential double album “Pricky Fingers/Let Them Bleed”, which he’s about to play here after removing the 2 discs of wax from their sleeves. “Gotta get in the right mood,” he says while standing pretty still, trying not to sway to the 1st track (“Hearts of Spades”) that he already hears in his head. He’s trying to clear it. The sound should be immediate and impactful with no echo.

Later I found out that Greg use to be called Rooster by the locals on account of his red hair and sometimes red outfit. It made me wonder.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0304, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

pay Day, pay her now

“Let’s see, we’re looking for a bug green alien about 8 foot tall. I don’t think we’re going to miss her coming through unless they chopped her up, eh?”

“A little less with the wisecracks, Hal, and more with the observing. She could be all bent up in a smaller piece of luggage, we don’t know. We don’t know much about alien physiology. Do we Hal?”

“Um, guess not,” he replied, thinking, you’re not really my boss, Jill, you’re just an on-site supervisor. I don’t have to listen to you. In fact, I could report you for abusive language right here and now. Except you’re a woman and I’m a man — the chumps at the station would laugh me out of the airport if I tried to pull that one. Still…

“Hal,” she said, looking at his glazed eyes. “A little less with the daydreaming too, hmm?”

—–

“Okay, so I’ve actually been counting cards and… I’ve seen an extra heart being played.” Silence from the poker people around Andy, use to him being jovial and fun. No one except Otis had seen him in this light. But Otis didn’t mind, since it meant the *real* game was starting now. “The alien has left the station,” he imagined saying into a nonexistent talky device strapped to his wrist.

—–

Burt, coins already inserted, hits play on a song about two lips and how they are like one pink, smiling at Doris Lilly all the time, dining with her starter husband Jack. Like Otis, both are happy the gears have been set in motion.

From the track, Thelma Louise Day at the pool table knows what’s going on too, and that a substantial check would be coming up soon. All her hard work as a snitch at the office canteen finally paying off!

Standing directly above Hal, co-conspirator Howie Sprague dares to snap a photo of the valuable cargo leaving the bay, smuggled right out from under his eyes. Jill was spot on! Alien physiology is little understood, especially since the one in this game can change into *liquid*.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0304, Nautilus, North, Upper Austra^