Category Archives: 03

June 27, 2025 · 2:24 pm

00470303 (6666 posts, 666 pages — coincidence?)

“And so that’s how it all started, this story of FILE derived from TILE,” observing Nauty declared in his wise guy way. “We simply had to move Firey from 4th to 1st in this bottom group of 4 to spell out the word F-I-L-E with the first letters of their reordered names. F stands in for T because these are the 2 straight letters of the alphabet which can contain 7 sub-letters per the TILE game structure. The BFDI object-character colors here also match the 4 of TILE in red green blue yellow of course, although the individual letter to color correspondences are different from the game board. I could go on and on, but I’ll ask you the burning question that now presents itself up front and center alongside or even on top of repositioned Firey: What happened to the Dream Island all these characters were so fiercely battling over, often to their deaths? We know the answer to that too, given it presents itself as a constant in *our* world.”

“Constance,” I say to this, citing the name of the FILE sim that is also the name of the island in question.

“Correct,” he wheezes. “We should return but I’m not sure that’s possible given all else that’s happened in the meantime.” Since the demise of my attempted urban center there I dubbed Constantynople, I understood. Back toward the end of photo-novel 39 I believe. Checking….. checking….. Yes. 39. The island seems to have changed little in the intervening 2 or so years, indeed an aberration for such a large group of separately owned properties in the ever changing world that is Our Second Lyfe. It truly appears to represents some sort of sticky outie constant.


pin filled map of Constance Island with my former Constantynople at the top

“But we still have, let’s see, the rest of FILE,” I said, “the other 30 sims in this column that Constance more or less centers. Minus the hacked off 1 at the top.”


Constance Island in the middle of the 32>31 Nautilus continent “FILE” (purple column)

“Exactly centers including the hacked off 1 at the top,” furthers Nauty, knowing his continent better than me, since it is the same as his body in essence, pins stuck just there there there there, and so on and so forth. Constance is just a start. But also an end. “(The sim of) Ten Pages is 10 up from the bottom,” he continues with his FILE knowledge, “indicating that the 32 minus 1 (the top sim was wacked off in the retirement process), taken as a whole, are pages of a book, perhaps a chapter, perhaps more.”

“A section,” I say. But then I knew it had to be 2 if so.

“The… doorstep to the Temple of TILE was positioned right smack in the center of the 32 sim FILE,” he pinpoints while wheezing out.

Suddenly I knew what had to be done.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0303, Constantynople, Goikyland, Nautilus, NORTH, Rank & File, Temple of TILE

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June 24, 2025 · 1:54 pm

00470302

“I wonder if Rockstar is mad at me. For, you know, not getting the Beethoven thing; being, ahem, deaf about it.”

“Nah. He’s going through a lot of crap in his life right now,” I continue talking to myself on a high road over on the old continent of Our Second Lyfe, a location pointed out to me by an old acquaintance. “I’m just being paranoid, creating situations where there are none. Okay, better get back to Vortexville or, maybe better, ‘false’ New Island so I can kickstart my new novel again. ‘The Hmm.’ Bothering another one of my, he he, *allies* for a change. So naughty!”

“Yes?” he wheezed, manifesting on the ledge before me.

“No not *you* Nauty,” I said, looking over at him, not too surprised by the sudden manifestation for some reason, as if I was expecting it. Nothing’s changed: he’s still the same old Nauty with long, sharp pins stuck through his burlap body just there there there and there. We might seem equal in stature from the above snapshot…

… but we’re not. Not much different in that regard than, say, towering Kong up there is to me judging by his big foot over there from this angle. Not much different atall. Hmm.

Suddenly just like that I was in a different place with more pins, many more. This was Nauty again, I understood, but turned into a whole continent, or a representation thereof. I walk through his pin marking the former location of Spongeberg’s Mystenopolis…

… toward Center.

(to be continued)

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June 24, 2025 · 5:47 am

00470301 (Now I am become Life?)

After the meeting, Spongeberg rendezvoused with Mmmmmm toy avatar and old friend Grassy Noll by the pond not far below Carolin’s new place. Sharing a bottle of mulberry wine they start talking about the past, namely Spongeberg’s former home of Mystenopolis and its towering statue of Christ the Redeemer just up the ridge, now derezzed quite a few years back along with the town itself. He misses the place and laments its passing.

“But we still have the Faune,” Grassy said to all this, firmly in the present while staring straight ahead at it. “Its opposite but also complement. Your 12×12 ‘Atom’ founded in Mystenopolis can still be used for constructive instead of destructive ways. Time can be reversed, *hiccup*. Excuse me!”


Spongeberg back at his Route 14 home recovering from the drinking and thinking about what Grassy said.

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April 13, 2025 · 1:32 pm

00460317

Wheeler started to sit down beside Charlene and Emily in back but Willa Brown Halter instead waved her up front. She didn’t want the newly minted mayor to be seen with a *Downtown* Brown, hmph. Besides, she was up next. After Wolvie’s sentencing was over.

“What happened Madam Mayor?” Willa asked about her delay after she sat down beside her.

“Well, we fell in a plot hole,” Wheeler started another prepared joke. “Did I say plot hole? *Pot* hole I meant, as in one of Builder Bob’s diggings.” She glanced at him in the next bench over with his pipe still on shoulder.

“Funny,” said Willa. “But you’ve actually stumbled into your subject matter for the day. Infrastructure.” Funny indeed.

Then at the main stage:

“So,” said Judge Tronesisia (hi Tronesisia!). “You’re telling me, with your *bigfoot* costume on right now which you were caught in, that you didn’t put on this same costume and walk perpendicular through the Nawt Vaya tunnel walls while you also photographed yourself doing the same?”

“That’s right, my liege.”

“We have the photograph, I’ll remind you. *Proof*.”

No answer.

“Last chance to plead guilty,” warned Tronesisia.

Wolvie kept silent. As was his plan all along.

“What gives?” whispered Wheeler to Willa in the pause.

“Oh, this will wrap up soon enough,” Willa dismissed the whole hearing. “Just some *Downtowner* caught with his pants down again, ha.”

“Then I have no choice but to sentence you to *3 years*…” Gasps all around.

“… probationary work,” finished the judge, making another juicy dangler. Sighs all around now. Everyone seemed to like Wolvie and didn’t want any lengthy imprisonment to befall him. He was just trying to help out his kind, most thought. “You’ll tell kids about bigfoot,” Tronesisia further decreed, “maybe even participate in that film your sister Charlene The Punk Brown is making deriding the subject.” Charlene gives the judge a thumbs up from the back, just as happy as Willa was disappointed. Pants down, the latter thinks. Downtowner! How could they ignore the facts!

Wolvie leaves the courthouse room pants head down. But it was all play. He dare not look at the smile on his sister’s face lest he break out a big one too.

“Okay, Wheeler,” urged Willa. “You’re up. Get over there before the townspeople and belt out your plan to fix *infrastructure*.” Bob was so excited about the topic that he shifted his pipe from left to right shoulder. No more fun with holes, he thought punnily. Funds *for*.

“Aheemm,” she begins nervously, eyeing expectant Bob with his 12 foot pipe. “This is what I have in mind.”

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April 13, 2025 · 1:30 pm

00460316 (reversed course)

Charlene saw her coming up from Downtown and recognized her — like Wolvie before — from that maid cleaning video also available in Emily’s store. Despite the different hair. What gives?? she thinks, and stops in her tracks to find out as best she could.

“Wheeler, I gather,” she began. “The new town mayor.”

“Charlene The Punk,” said Wheeler, also guessing the identity of the person before her. Not a video this time, but print. She spotted the blue fingers left by the Ball.

“Where are you going?”

“What do you mean? I’m coming to see you.”

“I *mean*, the town meeting is in 15 minutes — I didn’t mean, come see me now, pheh. I was heading there myself. *You’re* suppose to be the leader of the thing. Not a new town name this time like for the first, but perhaps something even more important. And directly following up on the first.”

“Weelll?” said expectant Wheeler after a significant enough pause. Stop with the danglings and parts 01 of 02 and the to-be-continued and shite, she thinks.  Then she spotted other Downtowners moving Uptown too, understood that Charlene was telling truth.

“Just follow me,” Charlene said, and proceeded past Wheeler. “I’ll take control,” she hurled back. “*Maid*.” A now completely floored Wheeler didn’t think she had any choice; Charlene knew too much. And Wolvie! She picks herself up off the slanted Midtown pavement and moves back toward Uptown’s Town or City Hall like all the rest.

(to be continued)

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April 13, 2025 · 5:00 am

00460315

Wheeler first heard the term Blue Balls while on the toilet reading about it in a conveniently placed local history mag. Being an excellent writer because of all those professor papers, Charlene “The Punk” Brown had no problem getting an article published — with permission from her sometimes lover and owner of the actual (tape) object Emily New Moon of course. As it turns out, the name originates from the Blue Balls Hotel, built more than two hundred years ago and which stood on the southwestern corner of town, right where the ice cream vendor Newt and she were eating at just several days back. Make that several weeks back as I’m checking. The builder, John Wallace — by chance the father of Builder Bob often noisily working on those pipes just outside Emily’s video store to her irritation — hung a blue ball out front, calling it “The Sign of the Blue Ball”. Locals soon began calling the town Blue Ball after the inn, which soon turned into Blue Balls as another ball was added to the first when no one was looking or paying attention.

But wait there’s more. The town’s name has a suggestive second meaning according to the 2nd paragraph of that article, identical to the slang term “blue balls,” which refers to, according to Charlene’s text, “the sexual condition of temporary testicular and prostate fluid congestion due to prolonged and unsatisfied sexual excitement.” After an initial leak by Marg “The Town” Gossiper, word spread quickly. A town meeting was speedily organized, a new name demanded. “Well, if not Blue Balls, then what!?” George “The Grill” Foreman called from in back of the rowdy, crowded room on the second floor of what soon became the town hall building, prompting mumblings of “What are we going to call this burg?” all around. No one could come up with a replacement name. And thus they settled on The Burg for lack of creativity or any other option. “Call it what it is,” finished Tom “The Surface” Smith. Oh, and then they all went over and burned down John Wallace’s Blue Balls hotel along with its offensive sign to seal the deal.

Wait! More. Left in the ashes of the catastrophe was a fireproof safe holding the most valuable of John’s valuables (he had many). And in that safe amongst diamonds and rubies and gold bars and gold bonds and the like was found the actual reason for the establishment’s appellation, a sex tape to be short, starring a young, novice actress in the field soon to become a much much bigger name in another. “And the name of that young actress,” Charlene finished part 01 of her promised 2 part article, “is none other than, get ready! (to be continued)”

*Fascinating* read, *friend*, Wheeler sarcastically and playfully thought about the cliffhanger while putting down the mag beside the toilet and finishing her business here. Now to get over to town hall and see what she’s facing in her 1st day of managing this here crazy town… *burg*!

But the subject would not go away, hmph. An envelope labeled “Paradise Found?” with a map of a certain Pennsylvania county all marked up inside laid atop the mail heaped up on her desk that morning, big pile courtesy of outgoing and not-giving-a-damn-on-her-last-day Electra. Sent by Charlene of all people. “Come see me,” indicated a handwritten note also within, along with the address of her records store down in Downtown (this was Uptown). Like Wheeler didn’t know that bit of information already, ha. And so on what she planned to be at least a 2 hr. 1st day lunch break that’s exactly what she did.

Blue Ball here on the map and not yet Blue Balls, you’ll notice. That might be a key — we’ll see.

(to be continued)

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April 12, 2025 · 10:39 pm

00460314

They put her up in a motel across from City Hall where she’d be working most of the time. She took Electra’s room, who, being the former mayor of this here burg, had left the scene for parts unknown, perhaps back to her original home in the Sansara continent’s snowy region. She left behind an assortment of, here, little used shawls, coats, and toboggans in this much more temperate climate of middle southern Jeogeot, so hasty she was to get out of town. Disgraced (!). She didn’t even say goodbye to her kids Wolvie (originally: Bert) and Charlene, since she hadn’t been on real speaking terms with them since they started dating the same person. Wolvie she wasn’t as mad at. But *Charlene* — how dare she date a another girl. Now it became really dirty, this threesome. She wondered if they did it that way — all 3 together I mean. Emily had enough such tapes at her disposal that they could get ideas. In fact as she was thinking about it she’d bet money on it, perhaps up to 10.

Back to Wheeler and the present. We’ll deal with Electra and the consequences of leaving her children behind later. Right now there was only a bed in her room, a small dresser, a Gustav Klimt painting print called “The Dancer” from his late period, and that’s it. She logically wondered about closet space for her many clothes she’d recently bought on the marketplace, discount mind you, because you can find so many cheap there, especially older models (she doesn’t mind retro; thinks it’s got a strong future). Not living in the shadow of her locked-in-childhood looks daughter, she can experiment, mix and match blouses, skirts, and shoes and such. She’s kind of living the life, come to think of it. And all this mayor stuff is just for play. She’ll invite Newt over as soon as she fixes up the room to her standards. And then perhaps think about a larger occupancy for the both of them. If it comes to that. 1st “proper” date tomorrow beyond just the marriage and attached rendezvouses. Not ice cream this time but an actual meal in an actual, pretty upscale restaurant. More details very soon.

(to be continued)

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April 11, 2025 · 6:59 am

00460313

She thought she’d go back to the beginning of the road, where she started her story in this here Burg of the general Nawt Vaya region of the Jeogeot continent of the Western Hemisphere of virtual Our Second Lyfe. A call, I believe. No, perhaps a calling, as in a profession. She was always bright, super bright in fact. The unusual drew her attention. Cryptozoology was eventually the chosen study. She’d be a professor, occasionally publish articles and present papers and have a rather easy life of it as more a skeptic on the subject than a believer per common public opinion. Then the call — yes, a call was also involved, as in phone. Someone dialed all the numbers except 4, which would instead connect you to The Moon. “Hallo?” she said from her faculty desk next to the faculty lounge whose thin walls enabled her to keep up with all the local faculty gossip. Dr. Brown dating Dr. Green to the chagrin of Dr. Blue? All in a day’s listening.

“It’s me. Wolvie.”

“*Wolvie*. You old dog. Hadn’t heard from you since–”

“Lester’s Bay, I know. I ran away, sorry.”

“You ran away as a *dog*. Dude, what gives?”

“I’m… not who I seem.”

“I *gathered*.”

“Anyway. Charlene. I need some help. Something in your department.”

“Tell me about it, bro of mine.” She knew it was one of those loose ends in her life that eventually had to be tied up. Her own flesh and blood brother a shapeshifter! But academia called and she put such psychic phenomena out of her mind. She had grades to worry about, peer pressure, etc. She was young in her position, with tenure a fur piece down the road.

“Bigfoot,” he just blurted the name out, which he knew would catch her attention. “Sighted in your vicinity.”

Her vicinity, let’s see. Yes I guess this would have to be Nawt Vaya State University, then, hmm. Interesting. Perhaps a strong Psychics department. Or maybe that’s Physics. Anyway, the link had been made, the one between Charlene and Wolvie her brother, not Psychics and Physics. Although maybe that fits in too.

“Give me a location,” she cited rather mechanically, more a professor’s standard tone in this dog eat dog world of general college academia, especially for a female professor who, by default, had more to prove.

He did more than that. He sent her a picture. “Bigfoot!” she cried aloud, giving Dr. Black a start from his faculty lounge chair just beyond the wall. “So it’s real.” And just down the road from her in that Nawt Vaya underwater tunnel, she observed.

She understandably took the rest of the day off to investigate. Which eventually landed her on the doorstep of Roberts and Franklin in one of those 2 locations shown before, just as Wolvie planned. Charlene would do the choosing for him, as it turned out. Should have seen it coming.

(to be continued)

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April 9, 2025 · 8:06 am

00460312

“There she is, Emily. The new mayor.”

“*Not* the same as the old mayor,” replied Emily, trying not to look behind her. It was hard. And what was all that butterfly, um, *gear* she was wearing? But it was just all part of her power. She couldn’t help asking aloud, though. She leans over, and says not far above a whisper: “Butterflies?”

“All part of the power; perks of the job,” responded Charlene. Knew it.

“Who would *want* that?” Still leaning, still just above a whisper.

“I hear ya. But…” she decides to say since they were leaning in to each other, being more secretive. “What about Wolvie?”

“What *about* Wolvie?” Emily says.

“You know, because he’s, ahem, the mayor’s son. Like I’m the mayor’s daughter. *Old* mayor. And *Shelley*.”

“Shelley’s not in this story,” shot back Emily New Moon, tired of hearing about the old. New is the thing now. And Wheeler fits right in, she thinks. She’s tired of the mother-daughter-son talk, the Unholy Triangle. Speaking of which…

—–

“I wish, Edward, that you’d be more sympathetic to my plight. I’m *married*.” Edward, her Ed, was in danger of fading away himself under her new butterfly power and he knew it. Wheeler had to disappear in order for him to even been seen atall in this setting. He had no other choice than to wait in the background, biding his time. At the backwards flowing waterfall.

(to be continued)

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April 8, 2025 · 9:34 pm

00460311 (3Ms)

“Are we keeping you up, Ms. Wilson?”

“Oh. *Sorry*.” Wheeler quickly moved her feet off the table, sat up straight. She realized she’d made perhaps a grave mistake falling asleep at the employment assessment meeting here in The Burg. But it was all part of the play, the fun and games. None of this really mattered except *as* in a play. “I’ve been, ahem, sleeping in my car lately,” she tried to excuse her pretend drowsiness. “After I left my last job.”

“And, let’s see, that’s as a maid, I see. Interesting job description. All sorts of tasks — laundering, ironing, vacuuming, window cleaning, in a, quote unquote, semi-aquatic setting? Can you explain further?”

Yes, it was a skybox partially filled with water. My 2 feet were always wet, she started the joke she’d prepared beforehand. Make that 3-4 feet since the water went that high, ha ha.”

Wanda Wilma Willa Brown Halter didn’t laugh or even smile. “I’ll just add to my notes: owner fetish,” which Wheeler knew would be pretty correct. She knew she was always being looked over. “So… why did you choose The Burg to come to after this, Ms. Wilson? Your old job was in the upper east central lower part of Nautilus, which is a virtual hemisphere away from here.”

“I have a friend here,” she lied or pretended. “Charlene Brown, er, just Charlene Brown. You may even be related. I couldn’t help noticing your Brown middle name on your card.”

“Charlene Brown and I are *not* related,” she returned quite firmly. Charlene was Downtown, she (Willa): Uptown. The two sets of townspeople which include the two sets of Browns try not to mix. Clean and Dirty was another way she thought of them. Ms. Wilson here, she thinks, seems to fall into the Downtown category too despite the maid cleaning background. She’d deduced, correctly, there was a dirty aspect to that too. Friends with Charlene who’s also friends with fellow Downtowner Emily New Moon the smut store manager — that also fits. Sounds like the pay was for *show*.

And this time, she did crack a smile. She thought of Wheeler Wilson’s leg tattoos as well, the blue and red fish making their way up the right one to who knows where. She imagines a homecoming fish bowl for the 2 on her stomach for some reason. Reinforcement of The Core.

The meeting ended with Willa determining the only job Wheeler was qualified for was the just vacated mayor’s position, highest actually being lowest in this here Burg. Straightening her hem so you couldn’t follow her fish too high, she sat up and (reluctantly?) shook Willa’s hand to seal the deal. Mayor Wheeler Malone Wilson she is. Again.

(to be continued)

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