Category Archives: 0308

the goats know

“It’s a trance club, sir. Are you sure you want to go in there?” She looked him over, noted the dated clothes, the glassiness of his aging eyes. Might not make it out. Like a lot of them; like *most* of them. There’s a queue of carcasses out back still. Ready to be buried alive as if antiquated VHS tapes.

He knew he had to. For Shelley. Yet another door was opened that he possibly couldn’t walk back out of.

He stopped his simple walk in the midst of it all. Cold breath came out of his mouth. Must be 20 degrees below what it was in the foyer. Maybe 30, or even more. Moon indeed. And it could be getting colder ta boot. Yes: people, susceptible ones, could die in here, he thought. And he had some kind of lingering chest congestion he couldn’t get rid of.

He stared over at her, prepared to start her yoga routine on the green bamboo mat, turning green herself in the process. True center. He recalls the 108/108/108 spot in Perch-Mistletoe where he also stared at bamboo, a whole wall of it there, across the canal that evenly divides that most central of Nautilus’ sims in two. This is 108 as well, he realized. Moon itself.

She begins the motions.

Soon after our Wolvie, born oh so shortly before, was no more: absorbed.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0308, Nautilus, North

00350308

I was wondering when you were going to show up.

The duck, not the screamer, although they obviously could be related, especially since there’s a hand pointing from the former to the latter. Now to back up…

—–

“I’m going into The Void, Shelley. If my face is worthless then I want to do away with it. My rocket launches Thursday after next.”

“After next what?” she replied calmly, taking this new development in stride. She was expecting something drastic — just didn’t know what. Tension had been too high lately.

“More details later,” the ironically named Johnny Ubermodel responded. He was just making all this up. He simply wanted a reaction. Would she come? But (he though while staring at her) — why would she? Her face was *perfect*. Child-like and innocent but old and full of wisdom at the same time. “I bought The Void Machine on the marketplace. You can check if you wish.”

“I believe you.” She didn’t believe him. This was all about that comment with the TV. And, of course, the attached threat to leave this place, this lake with its forest in the sun and set out for — sanity?

“We could live at 7000, 100000, heck 1000000. Sky’s the limit as they say,” and he couldn’t help a small smile here on his goofy mouth too close to his nose and eyes. And that nose!

“Johnny. Johnny Supermodel.”

“Ubermodel,” he correct.

“Yes…” She’d heard about eels but couldn’t fit it in here. Irrelevant in the big picture.

“You’re not going. I know. You’re going to the bus instead, despite the lack of animations for what we need to do to make us happy.” Make *me* happy, he thinks here. Her: obviously not so much. “You can drive away into the sunset.”

“Johnny,” she tried to placate. “I know I made that comment earlier about your face, and how are you going to be a porn star and make money to redo it when you have it in the first place. I mean…”

“I know what you mean. I’m too ugly to get my foot inside the door of the business, even though I have talents — enhancement — elsewhere.”

“Yeah.”

“So you think I chose The Void over reality.”

“Umm.”

“Shelley.”

(pause) “Yes?”

“I’m going into The Void.”

—-

But he didn’t. He eventually got another job that paid even better than the porn one and got that face and went on to live a successful and happy life. But not with Shelley.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0308, Hana Lei^^, Omega^^, Southern, The Cross^

3D triangles

She suddenly stopped the 1947 BLACK BEAN ROD 9 in the middle of the road and looked over. Pyramid. Just like pictured on The Bill. Gold tip at the top. Then…

…. Barry walked out of the Chinese restaurant on the other side with their take out orders, still looking for his. Dunce he remains; making a lot of D’s. Well: only 3 this year, an improvement. He obviously chose this location for Eyela to pick him up for symbolic reasons. Seeing the boy, Eyela forgets the before times, becomes absorbed in the Gold experience. She has the key still, hidden deep deep deep in her pockets. 319. Alls she knows now is that the room is somewhere around, and that Barry is with her.

He’s still walking in place, waiting for her to change into his Mom. Should be any second.

Aah. What the heck (door slam). We’ll just go with Eyela as his Mommy. But we may still change the name to Pink. I’ll dig up some more appropriate hair soon.

“Mmm. Smells good!” she says pleasantly, and then motors down the highway to parts yet unknown.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0308, Gold City, Jeogeot

ocean view!

Things are still a bit up in the air as far as neighbors go but it’s official. I and my family of avatars live on Rooster’s Peninsula in a castle. I’ve given up premium membership and being a land owner, renting for now (4096). I was *very* pleased how much of old Collagesity I could transfer to the new property with it well under 1/2 the size. Thing is, no galleries are present, which means I’ve decided to to make it private. It is “merely” a place to hang my hat, along with acting as occasional “movie set” for the blog — and attached photo-novels of course. How’s that going? Quite swimmingly still, thanks; although the production of posts has slowed a bit in the last month or two. May be just the sheer weight/complexity of the project as it churns on and on, now reaching almost 32 1/2 individual works. Nautilus remains a focus, as I’ve stressed recently. I still live there, just in the North instead of Lower Austra. I feel the downsize is complete. I’m very satisfied. About 400 prims (land impact units) left to work with in a skybox, etc. I have room for continued experimenting.

My Nautilus master map with its 100+ pins is still around.

My Martian “city” centered by a giant golden robot statue remains (great!).

The library is still there…

… along with its Special Collections Room.

Dungeon, Table Room, Perch: all accounted for; all part of the castle.

Abbreviated version of the Kidd Tower: a little bit awkward in placement but necessary I feel to complete the deal presently.

Now… who still lives here?? Is Man About Time still in charge since Jeffrey Phillips went away? How about Mr. Babyface, Danny, and the rest of the identified Collagesity residents? Do they still have homes *here*? Good, solid questions to be answered soon enough, I’m supposing.

It’s a beautiful day in a wonderful world. As usual.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0308, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

Ontario

Archibald woke up on top of trash. Typical. But this time his shoes were gone. He rises up and dangles the bare tootsies over the grate to the underground. Where he stayed, he remembered, either in Apt 1 or Apt 2. The only 2 down there, not counting Black Bart’s old place, which was unfit to live in at the moment. They must have dropped down through the grate while I was stirring in my sleep, he rationalizes, but then realized someone could have taken them, maybe the other from the underground. Black Bart? Nah, he’s gone; the rumors couldn’t be wrong what with all that happened before to the poor, pitiful dude. Joey his neighbor? Could be for a prank. They were kind of seeing each other and kind of not. It was one of those “it’s complicated” relationships. He recalls, in his hangover-ish grogginess, that she keeps seeing things bleed through from the other side. Like that yellow marker the other day that *wasn’t* a yellow marker. Like, well, *me*, he then thought, dusting the dust off his pants and standing. Portals — yes. The dream comes back. A girl went through who specializes in burger, then he emerges in this burg so he becomes her burger. Strange thought. He opens the grate and moves down the ladder, ready to confront Joey with the theft, careful not to step on anything sharp or slippery. Difficult, because there’s so many things like that about the place. The underground, pheh, he ruminates as his socked feet touch the bottom. And people thought that was only confined to the dreams man made.  Man-made dreams.

He walks up the stairs to the viable apartments, not hearing anything behind Black Bart’s old one downstairs for a change. But he hasn’t much hope the silence will last.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0308, Wendy-Ontario

00310308

We start again not at Ruby’s left leaning wagon in Spirit Witch where Waldrop was summoned but instead at the nearby community of Bear occupying a tiny island in Moomit Bay directly below Monevole. Baker Bloch bares his head in deference to the great King of the island: Ted, of course. Ted Bear. You had to bare something, he gathered, to have an audience with him. The hat would do, Ted indicated to the newest visitor to his islet kingdom. Thank you, he added. He was glad of visitors and wished them 24/7. He was an extreme extrovert, thus his isolation in the bay as everyone around him tired of his constant visiting and hovering. We’ll come to you now, they all said around him, wishing him well on his new venture. He didn’t understand at first, cried a lot, but then came to accept his “imprisonment.” *Selective* extroversion, that’s the key, they said, still gathered around him on the shoreline but shortly to leave, back to their spouses and siblings to heave a big collective sigh of relief that Ted wouldn’t come a knocking on their door tonight or tomorrow night or hopefully ever again. Something is not right with you, they said, almost at the end. This is the only way. And then they were gone. Ted turned on the radio. Storm a brewing. More tears fell. The lighthouse blinked on and off at his bidding but there was no way to go inside. The toys down at the beach played on. His only companions now except for the occasional visitor, the ones who cared. Ted foresaw in the palm leaves the coming of a tall, white eyed stranger, a cowboy, no a spaceman. Half and half, although he wasn’t suppose to use that phrase in front of anyone else. Keep it to yourself, they also said that day they left him on that islet, never to return again to normal existence.

So he was not surprised at the appearance of me, Baker Bloch or Baker B., who fit the description of the prophecy. “You have to bare…” he said to me because it was part of his sentence on the islet. Like I said. “… something,” he completed, looking me over good, picking me apart even. I took off my hat. It seemed to do the trick, like I also said before.

Looking at my shiny dead dome, he decided I should go one or two or five steps further and turn into a bobblehead of myself. “This is so we don’t feel you are talking *down* to us,” he says in his bear voice, tamed from years playing with human children. He hasn’t eaten anybody since ’62. Not since he was an actual bear, himself shot in ’65 and stuffed into a toy. He was soo happy at first! A toy! he cried. I can do *anything*, play with anyone, *be* with anyone. Humans watch out! And they did. And so he was here.

So *I* did, and he promptly gave me what he declared was my own island as a reward… just right over here within close earshot; they could talk all the time, he said, trying not to show too much excitement. I had successfully become one of them, whatever that actually meant.

The wrong Ruby suddenly appeared on the beach across the water. I realized I had been trapped as well. I believe she may have been cackling but it could have been the sound of a sudden gush of cold wind blowing across my bare head atop my now diminutive body. Then the others appeared…

I was no extrovert but it was the same with me. They were irritated and they decided to isolate. I counted at least 7 people on the shoreline who I thought were true friends.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0308, Lands End, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Wild West

fairy blue 02

Deals were being swung all day. Belinda Mae Appletree called her mom, asking for a raise in allowance from 5000 to 10. Dirk Besmurk wondered if he could even afford a fish taco from this central vendor after purchasing a loan on a Ferarri 5000 series from Jebadiah Bush, a former snake oil salesman at Barkley’s hired by the Princess to do her dirty work. And the Princess? Well, we’ve discussed the Princess of the Diagonal already in this here photo-novel (30) but apparently this one is different. No pictures this time — just rumors. Gossip has her as a ditzy blonde, centered by a pole that revolves around and around like a rotisserie chicken being devoured, bit by bit, by onlooking lingering eyes before its time. 15 she was when she inherited the castle from her aunt’s mom’s cousin, one Felicity Day Daghound of the Dartmoor Harbour Bay area — thereabouts.  She was just too young for the responsibility, in other words, to be thrust out into the world of Mann at such a tender age. It basically ate her alive; close enough.

—–

They caught up with each other, twin to twin. “Have you heard the latest about the castle?” the black and blue one said to the red and white one. “Dairocha?” the other spoke back. “I’ve heard about the incident in the library and the theft of the all important Monster book. Marilyn was not pleased.” “*Marilyn*,” the first said, “is at the Princess Castle. You mean the Princess Castle, right?” Wrong.

The book flips back.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0308, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

oh boy

He was paler behind the smoky glass but Duncan knew who this was. Indian Wells, part Asian part American. The 3rd wheel to complete the black and white, male and female synthesis. Because everything that was understandable needed to be read… red. It was his job (to observe). He noted the presence and moved on, later thinking how he could get the lost musician back to the other Wells. Little did he know that sister Rosie was behind the disappearance all along. They were studying him (!).

White Mage: I think I’ve changed my mind. I *will* join the new storyline.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0308, Blue Feather Sea^, Maebaleia/Satori

fan

He got a little lost trying to find the prog rock museum on Rooster’s Peninsula. I guess he’s been confused ever since Kowloon and its twisting maze of streets and alleys. Never got over it. As he liked to say about Grandmama and Grandpapa there: often visited but seldom seen, pheh. And now Grandpapa is dead. Killed by Axis (but not during the war). Guy will get his revenge. Through “Lamb.”

But first a little “Foxtrot”.

He ponders the doors in front of him and what they block inside. Although this isn’t the prog rock museum, it still seems relevant. “Chamber of 32 Doors.” He always seems to ultimately be thinking in terms of “Lamb”.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0308, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

oh so central line

Mother Piper was happy. She’d get to see her little boy all grown up — Cory — after, what has it been, 2 weeks? 2 long, she thinks while still smiling, still grinning. But she makes the mistake of doing this directly for the camera and the scene has to be reshot.

“How’s Cory still a little boy and all grown up at once?” It was a logical question from Wheeler (Wheeler!), and I didn’t come back with an immediate answer. In fact, I believe I was eating food. Or downing a milkshake. I couldn’t manifest the correct reality and so Cory remains both. I said this out loud after finishing my bite or slurp, whichever one had actually happened.

“We have reached the end,” then states Wheeler with finality. “Our Second Lyfe must merge with Our First Lyfe. You have found the doorway.” She shoots a pretend kiss at me, lips puckered and becoming one with each other. 1 pink.

“Wendy has found the doorway,” I said, trying to at least temporarily forget that mistletoe was also involved but finding it hard.

“Another doubling,” Wheeler points out.

“Wendy, though — in this case — is short for Wednesday. As in, it’s not Tuesday still, it’s the day after that. Just through the doorway that leads to the sim directly below Quietly…”

“… Tuesday, I know,” Wheeler completes for Baker (Baker?).

“How about this: Cory’s mother — just Mother…”

“She has a name,” Wheeler begins again with the critiquing, like clockwork except the second hand sweeps in 5/4th time.

“I can’t recall it,” admits Baker — we’ll keep calling him Baker. Baker B., the author of this here photo-novel, 27 dot dot dot…

—–

“Happy days: that could be the name of this post, but starting with Saturday in this case and not Sunday like in the famous song sung by Fonzarelli and others.” Wheeler had another point. Might as well get to a detail of that map.

—–

Stacy Wallop slaps hands with bit actress Katy O’ Leary for good luck before passing through the doorway again to reach Sidechick at the Fish and Chips van. Irish, you see; everyone did it with her. Ol’ Red Hands they starting calling her, but that was mainly because Stacy forgot which hand her knife was in that one day and accidentally stabbed her.

She passes the map, getting into character just before the sim crossing. Wednesday no longer. Clocks were ticking down.

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0308, Lower Austra^, Nautilus