Category Archives: 0503

Turkey Day for most

After dinner they all gathered around the boob tube to watch Greyscale Kimball give her annual Thanksgiving speech about the state of the South. “It is good,” she exclaims while the snow clears from the picture. “It is strong,” she follows. “The Heart Queen and I continually work together to make things better for all of us, including the conquered if not the vanquished.”

“I wish she wouldn’t talk like that about the North,” Lisa opines from her middle position. “Everyone knows it comes back to bite them in the ass now.”

“Lii-sa,” Bartholomew complains about what he considers a cussword in the house. But he looks around and sees no parents in the room and realizes all is okay. It’s just the kids. The parents are upstairs — doing another annual tradition while the children watch TV. Bart forgot that fact. He tries to block out the faint noise of bedsprings, which he thought was the small twittering of a bird outside before. Now he can’t get it out of his head. He moves toward the TV. “Don’t mind if I turn it up, I suppose.” Points to his ears. “Can’t hear.”

“It’s these old Sylvanias,” says Rose Wells the neighbor who they often pretend is their sister or at least sister-in-law, big for her age of 12. She’s already studying boxes, wondering what’s in the far corners of space while chewing choco chip cookies late at night on top of her house. She intuitively understands the cube, if not tangibly yet. Models would come first. Then reality. “Greyscale forbids the sale of colored TVs beyond the Line of Demarcation,” she finishes.

“The old battle line,” chips in Bart, hip to the 3 1/2 day North-South War from sex history class. Taming the elephants from the Shallows (Flats to the Northerners) was the turning point, he recalls. Just bulled right through the lines after that. He tries to focus back in on the speech…

“… Sinkology has proven, once and for all, that the Pipersville bomb was never set off. The South has nothing –”

“Hey, Rose,” he says to his faux sister beyond Lisa, having heard all this before a hundred times and getting bored.

“Shh,” she says back, still interested.

“– no one was hurt, no one was even injured. The bomb–”

“Hey. Rose,” Bart insisted. “I saw you up on the roof the other night. What are you studying? Stars?”

“– the inevitability of colored TVs to corrupt…”

“Space itself,” she decided to answer, turning away for the moment. “I’m making–”

“– and the corruption spread from town to town, region to re–”

“… a model.”

“Oh?” Bart was interested.

“Will you 2 please pipe down,” said Lisa between them. “Do you want to switch places with me, Bartholomew, so you can talk to your *real* sister?”

“Pheh, ain’t nobody claiming we aren’t yellow.” “Bird twitterings” upstairs again. Greyscale was wrapping it up.

“And so, the Queen and I bid you farewell until next year when, special surprise, the *King* will be joining us.”

All stare at the black and white TV with open mouths. Snow comes in again, hiding the exit ceremonies. Static fills the air, just in the nick of time. Mom and dad upstairs had just reached the end as well.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0503, Bellisaria^^

stepping out

John thought and thought and realized he wanted a Corona-V. “The new one,” he uttered in calm, stoic way, fit for a Man of Faith. Lamb was behind him now, supporting him, uplifting his career. He must get back to the parish. “I hate to do it but cancel that, Jack.” Man of Science was not amused. “John, *how* am I suppose to keep in bus–“, but he was cut short. John had disappeared (again). Jack re-turned. “I guess this one’s on you,” which user Peter Oesso didn’t argue with.

Come on, *dance* with me boys, the blue haired witch requested in her mind from the corner. Soon they were with her.

—–

“*Just* escaped, whew!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0503, MISTY MO^^, Yaya Land

00270503

“Ahem. Gentlemen… and women. As you can see. We have a problem. With the Portal.”

“Why is it called *Moster*… sir?” Officer Jetski in back. He’d just checked the description, which most of the others sitting around the conference table had already done and came up with the answers themselves.

Chef-inspector Petty was trying not to turn around. The effect could be blinding. “Typo I suspect. Someone probably drunk when creating it. Or possibly a misleading name… can’t be traced back that way.”

Silence for a second except for the steady humm of the… well I think it called itself Dinah earlier on, or that’s what several of them thought they heard upon its appearance. Like an announcement: “Dinah: front and center.”

“I can’t get through.” Agent 47 up front.

“Me neither.” Agent 23 across from him. “It’s jammed…”

“… the system.”

Whatever followed Petty through the Portal to this sheriff’s office was taking over the whole of Soap.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0503, Paper Soap

Michigan

“We’ll call this Little Lake George. Or Big Lake George — just *Lake George*. I can’t tell if you’re big or small right now.”

“I’m *13*,” spoke the floating boy over to the famous and/or infamous British musician from the 60’s or thereabouts. Our Marty, currently with red hair instead of black.

“So: big. Just Lake George, then.”

“Let’s just go with… Lake,” he measured out intelligently from his reposed position, knowing more than he let on. Aunt Clare had taught him a lot about TILE.

They stayed in their positions for a while, he floating on Lake and Marty dipping his shoed feet in same, testing the water to see if he could safely take his loafers off. George, in fact, was doing the same with his clothes, with his feet already being bare and exposed. They were indeed one here on this OWL island in the Southwest of Nautilus continent, ready to begin their next adventure.

—–

“One Blue Eye gone from OWL, W. We must be in Arkansas.”

“Or Missouri,” she offered.

“But probably Arkansas,” I returned.

“Probably, yeah.”

“Because of the red.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0503, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^, Rim Isles

confluence

“Hey Samuel. Remember when we had two feet apiece instead of the 4 between us?”

“Never mind that,” he answered Reggie. “I’ve got more sand in this bag to put them on.”

“Excuse me, guys,” he said, feets still moving. “Just passing through.”

“Sure, sure mister,” they both exclaim, then remember to put a little on their eyes first to keep up the illusion.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0503, Pickleland

i’ve got a bike

Hidi wonders why a pink rabbit head is perched atop 6 Minute Hill over on Jeogeot where she had followed a, well, rabbit trail of leads to tonight. Nothing much else in the sim besides this banned section of land bought about a year back.

In the place where she just came from over on the Omega continent, someone insinuated she looked like Wendy. “Are you trying to sell me a burger?” went the brief conversation — I’m paraphrasing, but Hidi thought it funny because she, as Wheeler, often *does* dress up as Wendy the famed burger queen these days. She wonders what that means as well, because: probably something.

As she’s looking around, the only other non-abandoned parcel in the sim belongs to a group she was allowed to just join headed by a gal avatar named Fry. This rung a bell as well, because in RL I had just visited a quite mysterious seeming place named not Fry but very close: Frye, a formerly unknown (to me) small cemetery on the side of a very familiar mountain. I put two and two together to make five as I’m often wont to do. But All Black lies in that direction, at least in this particular location. Black Rose (Thorn) black…

It suddenly struck me that the Omega continent city I just said Lisa the Vegetarian owned, perched between two mountains as it were, was actually owned by a guy avatar named Frye — totally in-sync spelling this time. And there’s a whole ‘nother set of reasons I assoc. Lisa the V. with Frye involving *MASH*ups. And I’ve thought of a name for the burg: Bridge Town.

“We are very understanding, baker b. That’s why I rented out the other side of my other mountain to that company I don’t directly associate with but understand: needs. We do not judge. We are not Judge Frye.”

We are not done here by a long shot.

Philip Strevor has moved from the middle of the road (not caught in the headlights like a deer?). The small city remains active and alive.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0024, 0503, Mountain Lake^, Omega^^

Magick Shoppe

“Okay, so it looks like the 6th is not going to show up tonight. Let’s start, then.”

TILE Channeler Olive Oylstick looks around the table, making intense eye contact with each one. She puts the 6th out of her mind, and the 7th, the I, she doesn’t even consider. Violet Dawn (6th), I’m sure, had better things to do. NO — no bitterness. She use to request that they all hold hands, but this is modern times and hands are full of germs and viruses. We do not even shake in this era of post-apocalyptic habits. She senses nervousness. “Everyone stop stirring in their seats,” she requests. “Stillness; the spirits are here tonight. I sense them all around.” Olive closes her eyes. Several others do as well, including Charles Brown to her left, estranged brother of Charlene who knows her deepest, darkest secret and foolishly told it to one of his many chicks one night when drunk on Speckled Hen. That’s why he’s here. Wendy Wilson to his left? The Oracle commanded she be present tonight in the Bellissima sim, often mistaken for one on Bellisseria or Bellisaria or whatever the hell it’s called. See? It could happen to me, and it could happen to you. Sandy Chic (3rd stated member; left of Wendy) is no more to blame that any resident of this here world. The 4th is Rabbit M4, appropriately, to the right of Olive to complete tonight’s “circle” and who has a secret life on the continent but, again by mistake perhaps, often ends up here instead. Maybe he just likes Olive — that could be it. We’ve introduced the characters (except Violet). Now let’s get to the plot.

Olive opens her eyes. “All Orange. There’s someone inside you.” She turns to Wendy Wilson who is actually Wheeler. Wendy admits this.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0023, 0503, Bellisaria^^, Hana Lei^^

variables

“I’m tired of all these books, Ross C. Go into the future and get me some clean ones, without the virus that’s going all around the place.”

Ross C. bleeped and blipped and estimated that it would take 5 man-hours to return from the future with the equivalent amount of books currently in Andy Warhole’s library, 1/2 of art and 1/2 of other. He never reads them, however. He just likes their appearance in this room when visitors come around. Which should be tonight for Marilyn, Hilter, and the rest. The party starts in 3 hours. Not enough time, Ross C. realizes. She tells her master this.

“Then just get rid of the lot of ’em,” Warhole waves off. “Build me a big aquarium and fill it full of colorful and exotic fish. Get the color pattern from my Marilyn screenprint, the one from Niagara (movie).” Ross C. does the blipping and bleeping thing again and now estimates this will take 10 hours to create, or twice as long as the new library of books. She tells him this.

“Then let’s just, I don’t know, *move*. What are we doing here anyway? This is not my apartment; these are not my books. I don’t have an apartment in the City. I live on the east coast, next to the clean, refreshing Korean Channel full of war ships and war planes and flags and explosions. So exciting. Move our asses, yes. That’s what we should do. That other art fellow lives here instead, Barry or Barren or something or other.” Warhole looks out the window. “Why he’s just painted that Super Building over there, turned it into a *Supper* Building to make Dinner Girl and her lot happy.” Warhole sighs. Ross C. waits patiently for more orders. They always come. She knew they didn’t have to move since they don’t live here in the first place. Or do they?

Warhole settles back into the plastic pink couch, resigned to host the party since everyone is already invited. “Destroy the bookshelf, yes. Just destroy the wall. Why do we have 2 rooms in this City apartment? Studio apartments are where it’s at. I am an artist after all, Jesus. Destroy the wall.”

Ross C. estimates that it will take 2 1/2 hours to destroy the bookshelf and the wall between the 2 rooms of the apartment, fusing them into one. But that doesn’t include the cleaning up, which will take an additional 1/2 hour. “It will be close, master,” she offers in her metallic way.

—–

I loove what you’ve done to the place, Andy. It’s so — open!”

“Thank you, Marilyn.” Ross C. hides in the corner behind the door with the filled dustpan, unable to escape when the first wave of guests arrived.

—–

“PERfect!”

Party over.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0503, Black Ice, NWES Island^

upstairs

“50 thousand lindens. *50* *1000*…”

“I heard you,” Wendy spat back. “W-why would I want to give up my chance for stardom in this Popeye film and put all my marbles *here*? I’ve *been* here. I worked with Bob Waffleburg before — *we* did.”

“Just put on the dress and we’ll see,” encouraged Sandy Wannabe, still not fully character-actor Sandy Beech but getting there.

Wendy was thinking she *has* on a dress — but she complies. It was a lot of money.

—–

*There*.

“Hmm. Needs more blood,” he opines, fully transformed now with the sight. Inwardly he was thinking: this looked good! They were about ready to get down to some serious business.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0021, 0503, Apple's Orchard, Jeogeot^^, NWES Island^

Kennedy for president

She was trying to determine an exact year here in this place. “Hot Rod Girl”: she remembered that film from the early 60’s — maybe late 50s. But she wasn’t allowed to go to such a racy flick. Some said there was a bit of nudity involved (!).

A black lady in the nearby pink diner. Black people are not allowed in this diner. Not in the early 60s, and certainly not in the late 50s. She gathered she was about 18 or so, or about the same age as herself. Her profile picks led Poetry to this sign which she also didn’t understand, being from the past and all. A relic.

Well of course Black Lives Matter, thought Poetry at the time. That’s why we made them separate but equal (!). She wanders into the gallery of the woman, named Eight. Was Eight code for a gang member? A revolutionary? She’d heard of such people. The single name of a letter or a number came to her mind. She was becoming more ensconced in time. 1921 may be next…

She was looking for particular evidence that would support her now outdated slant on reality. Could she snap out of it?

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0020, 0503, Hana Lei^^