He wanted that dress but his mama wouldn’t let him have it. This is Jemison after all, where a man is a man and a woman is a woman and neither the two shall mix. At least in the same person.
So later he went off and invented his *own* Jemison. A whole planet’s worth of it. Worth it? (500 million) Maybe.
But doesn’t its capital and largest metropolis look like my Collagesity from a distance? Kindof queer.
Collagesity Rubi, c. 2014
Now where’s that man-woman who started it all inside?
(TBC)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0048, 0307, Alabama, Google Street View, Heterocera, Rubi^, Starfield
And red roses weren’t the only thing that’s turned blue in Elizabeth Perez’s mind. The scans of her brain itself were doing so, revealing new neural links replacing the normal red. Same for her husband Madison, the wannbe mayor of this here Nightsity. Formed for mind control purposes obviously. Cutting the head off from the inside, yes: that’s how I described the process for them in a previous photo-novel. Their story still remains uber interesting within this alternate Cyberpunk 2077 universe we’ve concocted here.
More soon.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0307, C2077, Charter Hills
“Hi Bob. I guess you *saw*.”
“Yup. Took her long enough to get here.”
“Tell me about it. How’re the pipe repairs going?”
“Slow too. Funds running out in town I guess you’ve heard. Mayor’s going to hold an emergency meeting next week.”
“Yeah I heard.” Of course she’s heard. She’s dating both the mayor’s daughter and mayor’s son at once. She gets gossip in both ears at night. But… she must make a decision soon. Which side of Mother’s ocean she likes to collect the shells from.
“Welp, better get back to it. While we have the money.”
“Right. Just going down to see Charlene. Be back in a moment. You try to do your work a little *quieter* out here, he he he.”
“Ho ho,” says Bob, starting to drill a 2″ bore hole in a sewer line. But she was serious. Please the f- be a little *quieter* out here, she begs internally. And… hurry the f- up with these repairs why don’t you. If funds are running out, shouldn’t you be doing double time out here? But maybe she’s not thinking straight because of the noise. Anyway…
“Byyye.”
—–
“Have you heard, Charlene?”
“About the town meeting? Sure sure. I’ll be there with bells on I suppose.”
“NO. *She* came.”
“She?”
“Yeah, you know. HER.”
“Umm… oh, you mean Blue Moon Kentucky the so called pop idol. Yeah she stopped in the shop here looking for the video store. But she couldn’t help checking out her section over there to see what I’d stocked before she left. Not much — just 1 album from her solo period. That’s the only stuff I can even stand from her. I think she was kind of wearing a bit of a scowl when she left, ha.”
“But, Charlene, the *plan*. She knows that I know and I know that she knows.”
“So you told her?”
“NOooo. It was just a look,” Emily tried to explain.
“A look,” Charlene said rather skeptically.
“Yeah. A look. She knows. I know.”
“Hmm.”
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0046, 0307, Jeogeot, The Burg
In Charter Hills…
… the day time stood still.
Headless.
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0045, 0307, C2077, Charter Hills
On her way to work, Debbie drives past the old location of The Fern restaurant, lamenting its absence. Now a Crucial Fix coffee shop, still cool but not the same. She especially loved talking Plastic Cutlery with the owner Fern Stalin, a common love interest. Fern dated Plastic in the 00s and Debbie went out with Mr. Cutlery in the 10s. She wondered whatever happened to him. And her.
Later, walking back to the parking deck on her way home, Debbie wondered about the likewise missing Middle of the law firm Slaughter Slaughter and Slaughter, Upper and Lower still around. She makes a mental note to check up on that too.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0044, 0307, GTA
But does he really?
He goes into his bedroom to make a call to Lester, telling him the assassination is done and that he wants his money and new house for the job. After Lester says it’s a done deal, all his personal belongings disappear before his very eyes.
“What the???”
Frank Lynn wakes up, rises off the wide if short couch he fell asleep on. 8:30 in the evening: time to get in a real bed, he figures. He has 7 king size ones to choose from now, depending on which direction he wants the sun to be when he awakens in the morning after a refreshing 8 hours, beyond just these dratted accidental “power naps” of his. Ghetto dreams, pheh. Aunt Jen can only haunt him from them on a couch like from his youth, falling asleep to “Aqua Dude Hunger Force” reruns on the boob tube or something. He’s so far above his gangster roots and Aunt Jen and her woman power ways it’s not even funny. He thinks about the wide if not high garage full of short, powerful yellow cars — horse-powerful. He runs through other aspects of his wealth and influence in his head. Asylum Inc. He *will* make it a reality.
Time to get back to the Red book colored blue. He has them all about the house to find easier. If he misplaces one, there’s always another to fill in right around the corner. Always puts him right to sleep. *No* ghetto dreams in an actual, full sized bed. Power.
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0043, 0307, GTA, RDR2
“I’m going to give you something at the end of your trial run that will seal the deal,” spoke Pot-D Sub Vice Regional Deputy of Internal External Affairs Buster Damm sometime during their meeting in the southern part of VHC City, probably more towards its end rather than the beginning. “It’s a skele-heart pendant. You wear it around your neck and we can monitor you at all times, know your whereabouts, what you’ve been eating, how your bowel movements are going, so on. Not creepy at all, right?” he tried to lighten the mood on the very serious situation. Crack Pot-D agent Duncan had been gone for weeks, maybe years. Buster had finally caved in to getting a replacement. But not without some serious study. His plan is that there will be *2* agents this time backing up each other, one black, as it were (like Duncan), and one white. Damm had strong suspicions that Duncan had disappeared because of the color of his skin. The southern part of the Omega continent where he was last seen — the so-called Dixie of Our Second Lyfe — remains in a quite primitive state in terms of racial justice. People like that could vanish into the night and not be heard of again. Buster said a lot of these same things to Karl, who graduated top of his class at Marydel State University of Connecticut’s Massachusetts. Nick, his potential new partner, did the same at another prestigious if traditionally rival college. Buster arranged a meeting between the two that morning. He had to split, he said, anxiously eyeing the light continuing to wash across the table they sat at as the sun rose on another hateful day. But not before saying, “take away the skin color and you guys have a lot in common. I think you’ll get along swell.” If you don’t try to kill each other, Buster also thought while he walked away but kept to himself. Worth a try. Results could swing wildly either way.
10:15:
“Hi, I’m Nick. You must be Karl. Putter there partner, he he.”
He couldn’t shake back because the matching animation in his inventory didn’t work for some reason. Nick was insulted that the shaking gesture wasn’t reciprocated. Karl was offended by Nick grazing his uneaten croissant with his extended hand — rude, he thought. The awkwardness continued when Nick said, “Hey if you’re not going to eat that croissant mind if I do? I’m starving.” He ended up eating his soup as well since his rather dirty looking shirtsleeve grazed the top of that in reaching to grab the croissant. Things had gotten off to a rocky start, Buster’s fears instead of hopes beginning to be realized. Maybe, he considered later, he should have just tried harder to find Duncan, find out what the real story is behind his disappearance. Maybe Dixie is not as bad as it use to be, hmm. One way to find out.
He left them trading punches behind the SoSo Bakery after yet another argument over a meal and went on his way.
“Get that nasty ass hand outta here you cretin!”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0042, 0307, Heterocera, VHC City^
Station attendant Ginger directed Marsha to a large square map hanging on the back wall. “So it is Lucky,” she said to herself, looking at the name of the nearby motel on the map. Just down the tracks as it turned out.
But in the unaltered reality, it wasn’t.
Mouse was right all along.
—–
“NC,” she said, staring up again. Could be either one still.
And then she walked inside the property to see what up. A considerably younger Octavia Tart awaited her appearance.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0041, 0307, Blue Mountain, Google Street View, Haze County, Paper Soap, Soap
“Superman!” she remembered to correct about the vision from photo-novels past inspired by her writing. “Apeman and Superman on either side. And then Tinsman, like in ‘The Wizard of Oz’.”
“Interesting,” Serenity said to this, having been an L. Frank Baum and Judy Garland fan for years. She liked the ruby slippers.
“And then… can’t quite make out the last. Anyway, the *4th* we’ll call this man. *Imaginary*”, she recalled. “An imaginary man. Not real.”
“Virtual?” Serenity tried to guess.
“No, nothing like that. Something incomplete.” She put her finger to lip and started to think even deeper. I believe she may have even fallen asleep on the spot, perhaps from lack of nutrition. Yes, let’s go with that.
She had a dream where she was the sponge, the little square being from that television show. Bahahaha! she heard coming out of his mouth. He didn’t understand the square before him at all the Tinsman beside it was explaining, even if he was the same. Other shapes would have to be pulled in.
She woke up beside Serenity in the bed. Had she been drugged instead?
“I hope it was as good for you as it was for me. Shelley who?” she attempted to joke once more, and rolled a bit of Marsha’s pumpkin blonde hair around her little finger in a loving gesture that perhaps Brown within would appreciate most of all.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0040, 0307, Bellisaria, Heterocera, Rubi^, Sandfly
1st: Robert Matthew. Or Matthew Robert, whichever. Like Shelley and her horse before him, came down from Beatrice, via a rowboat in his case but, later, some say a duck to match his yellow. Or a yellow horse, whatever. Anyway, here he is, arriving from the north. Invited by Constantynople Prime Minister Baker Bloch himself to solve some obvious town issues. Too much human stuff going on; it’s becoming a weakness, maybe even part of a curse. Like Robert’s old Soap swampland he fortunately sold to a gullible man from Mark Twain, Florida.
“Town hall, please.”
“Right, then left through the tree, hehe, huhu, hooo.”
He watched him walk away, then: “Did — did I do well, Tom?”
Reply in head.
“A white aggie, eh? Best one yet!”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0307, Constantynople, Nautilus, Rank & File
Sunklands 