Category Archives: 0505

7:25/7:50

“Well if it isn’t the commander of the British invasion,” spoke Fern Stalin softly to Lichen Roosevelt at the bar, receiving a small chuckle. Lichen was usually the witty one, surprising her. “This should be fun,” she said back, watching Alysha continue to walk toward still reading Bartholomew.

“Hi. Finished yet?”

“Last paragraph, *ugh*.”

—–

“We’re going to leave them all in; remove the cross outs instead. *They’re* the mistakes, starting with Carumba.”

“I… understand.”

“Is the soup good? I made it myself.”

“I….. love.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0505, Horsa^, Maebaleia/Satori^^

narcissist

“You’re not going to Mary… me?”

“No,” Hector Horace Howard said in response. “You are for another, alas.” He added the last word in as improvisation. He looked toward the director for approval, with none coming. He was looking for himself.

—–

In other local news, Hatti, the witch who told everyone at her doorstep to go away, has gone away herself, house (and also apparently hat) deleted. I think we have yet another piece of the overall picture puzzle.


“Goodbye 108. Goodbye V-Gate.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0505, Nautilus^^, Rim Isles

holding a banana

“‘sunburn by noon, clammy at night, cracks in the earth, pavers delight'” She stopped quoting the poem she’d spontaneously made just 15 minutes ago while studying the damaged cement before her out of boredom; paid attention to a potentially paying customer approaching on same. We’ll see how this goes, she thinks.

“Yelloo!” Stu Umbriel said in greeting.

—–

Earlier/later:

“Yelloo!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0505, Paper Soap

two of a kind

“I broke it. My phone (*sob*).”

“Alright, alright,” Justin Dustbin hurried up former 2nd cousin once removed Beverly Dooright, found crumpled and discarded outside a local club. “Just how much do you *want*.”

“I’ll have to replace… my face!”

“So, erm, 500?”

—–

Yeah, I just spread my arms out like this to look big, you know, like an animal…”

“Yeah, like *this*,” Sugar McDermitt imitated, spreading his arms as well.

“Like an animal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Rooaarrr, heh heh.” Sugar claws the air in front of him then returns his arms to his side.

“Yeah. Oo ga oo ga oo ga, huh huh.” Pissy Demwit beats on his chest; arms then return to side.

“That… that banana ran all the way back to the fruit stand he came from, har.”

“Yeah. Lickity split,” reinforced Sugar again.

“On *Sundae*.” They almost split their sides with this, laughing and laughing as Biker Mann finally drove his XK59 motorcycle away, having enough of it. He had other concerns today besides talking to two ruffian *meatheads*.

—–

It came to be called the Pigeon Butt Murders, because there was one roosting on the rear end of every found corpse. This was the first. John E. Weissmuller III, a former special ops swimmer for the pentagostal church out on loan to the navy.

And where was this off duty swimmer/sailor heading to on main street in Slaashsides when he got whacked on the back by a still unknown assailant? Jim’s Club, the very same we’ve seen Justin Dustbin and Beverly Dooright on the other side of just a minute ago in this here blog post. They shortly become victims nos. 2 and 3. Nearby Sugar McDerrmit and Pissy Demwit, arms still raised to sides: nos. 4 and 5. Biker Mann drove away. Biker knew more than he was letting on. He knew these guys were as much toast as bacon and eggs, and that they’d never be harassing a poor little innocent fruit child again.

—–

She warned him at the bar earlier on. I believe it was about 1/2 past 6. “I don’t like seals, leeches, or any other type of animal. I’m going to do away with the lot of them, starting with the area just around this club (*sip*).”

Biker Mann drove far on his XK59 that day, but not to the police, because he was on the lam himself for a series of serious crimes down in Slayertown. He had no right to judge a fellow murderer (etc.). Later they became husband and wife for a spell, but that was after the kids had themselves already grown up to become looters and burglars and so on.

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0505, Nautilus^^, Slaashsides

00250505

Sandman stood before the Portal to newest region of Pickleland, deciding whether he really wanted to enter. He’d been practicing his Canadian for months so no problem on the language front. It’s just — the hellish stuff and all. Was Sally worth it in the end? And what about the spacecraft he’d seen landing *without a crash* just beyond the high ridge behind him now. Was it an omen? Something had happened; something had been invented. This should be a Portal *outta here* he realized. Time had been changed/altered. The PickleSong part of Pickleland should not yet exist. And David A.B. didn’t know this fact either when he sent him away.

“He can *smell* the trouble,” onlooking Registered Nurse Griselda spoke to the little pumpkin headed demon below her (Steve). “More senses over there beyond sight and sound.” And therein lies part of the problem.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0505, Pickleland

00240505

It almost ended just off the mountain today but not quite; held it in. Back on the mountain tonight with Tessa (safety). “Don’t go past the Easter Island head,” the owner requested, and so she didn’t. But this allowed her to explore Bridge Town on *this* side of the gulf. As long as she didn’t cross the bridge, the one I *barely* made it back across, pheh. But should I have?

Maybe I should name this side of the small burg Necksity or Neck City but I’ll go with Fryburg. Because it is *actually* owned by a Frye, who I’m going to change to Fry, along with that small cemetery on the side of the RL mountain that Lisa the V. probably owns as well, along with Rich. Rich = snowy peak? It’s all coming to a head. In some fashion.

Tessa explores Fryburg — again, she is allowed this because it still lies on the mountain with the butterfly themed tree house.

It would be logical, I suppose, to find Fisher within, since Fisher is the same as Fry in the big picture, and also Fisher, as you may or may not recall (probably not) is *married* to Lisa the Vegetarian. All that drama happened in photo-novel 10. I thought 9-10-11 would cover the Omega continent, and we wouldn’t have to return for any length of time. I seemed to have been wrong. This mountain is important. Frys — all dead at age 65 or earlier. All living now on that mountain which was a blessing. And an impossible mid-winter sun flower just outside the cemetery indicating Lisa’s presence. How beautiful!

A bright idea comes to Tessa as she looks around. One of these, er, airships could be the way she’s suppose to escape the mountain. How about that largest one, that piece of steampunk *junk* over there. She’s good with Grandpa’s narrowboat, which is now hers (if she can make it back home). Maybe she can fix up this old thing to make it run properly.

Fisher within wondered how long it would take Tessa to figure it out. If she has half the brains that his wife did: not long. And so it came to pass that Fisher and Tessa soon made off for parts unknown, but not for at least several more posts. Probable destination: Castle Town, to meet up with the transmogrified Barry De Boy.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0024, 0505, Mountain Lake^, Omega^^

00230505

“A whale can be a thing.”

“A whale can be a *ghost*.”

“Ghost thing!”

—–

So many wanted to get through. Well: seven. I had to control them all, give them *say*, but not overwhelm (me). I wondered where the 7th, the I, was again. I hadn’t thought about it before the meeting much. Put it out of my mind for real, as I *tried* with the 6th. There is no Sunday in week: that sort of thing.

We had to get Carrcassonnee back up and running or Sepisexton would have her run of the place, the 7 and the 6 at once, hiding behind each other, taking turns facing the world. But maybe that’s they way it is suppose to be. In these here photo-novels, 23 in a series of 20.

Olive… Sepisexton. That was a long time ago. What’s black and white or yellow and read all over. Triangle of witches — always works that way. They swallow each other whole again and again until they all blend together, like butter. Better get those flapjacks ready because it’s suppertime. I should go on a walk.

Olive Oylstick gets up, deciding who to take with her. She must get back to Bellisaria soon. Landing on Bellissima, like with all the others present, was a mistake, a variant attractor (or something; I’m not a maths person). The Bellisarian squirrel walked into the Magick Shoppe and I knew what had to be done. It was both a heaven and a hell: an endpoint all the same. Our Second Lyfe ended here, or became First Life I suppose if it is the hell aspect. The whale sings. The Light of Aurelia shines over all.

“We’ve reached a limit, Wendy,” spoke Sandy Beech on that Hammerhead Light dock across the bay from the Shining thing. “The Twins commanded the dress, but if the dress doesn’t fit…”

“It doesn’t,” reinforced Wendy Wilson by his side, who we know now is part of the Breezy archetype.

He turns away from the light and toward her, the dark passenger. “Will you go back to ‘Burger Wars’, then? That simple is it?”

“It’s never that simple.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0023, 0505, Bellisaria^^, Hana Lei^^

zzz aaa

“Now. Isn’t that a lot better than that nasty old gun, eh? Corona-V. Won’t let you down, hehe. 9 out of 10 pirates — *recommend*.”

“Who *are* you?” she said to the tiny green creature on the pool’s edge beside her with the projecting, announcer-like voice. She was getting use to honing in on the frequency, like a small radio that blends into background noise at first.

“Why I’m a *friend*, a guiding spirit if you will, yes.” Spore rubs his miniature hands together in diabolic glee. Plan Z was working perfectly. Except he’s decided to trim the name down to Pan-Z to separate it from that other guy with a plan about the canal that didn’t work so well. NWES City remains in pieces. “Now just rellaaxx and forget *all* about that awful black swamp, eh? Settle back. You remain a star, don’t worry. I’ll be back shortly.” He patters off, still rubbing his hands and snickering underneath his breath. Oakley Annie floats and sips for a while, thinking of the past.

“You use to be *my* friend,” Big Wanda with new doo spoke, sitting up for emphasis.

“Well things change, what can I say.” She looked over. “What happened to your horns, the thing that gave away your sign?”

“Aww, got tired of them.” She patted her hornless head, indicating her pigtailed hair she replaced them with; kind of floppy horns if you will; deflated almost. “Looked much better on the other version of Elberta I have,” she opined about it, “the one that was going to marry–”

“Don’t tell me,” Oakley Annie beams with new psychic insight because of the brew; in the dark no more. “Toothpick.” She cackles. “*That’s* what Spore was going on about with the guy with the failed plan, ha.”

“You’re not the only one who’s dead here, Oakley Annie. I am too.”

“I know.” She almost reaches back into the box to produce a beer for Big Wanda but then remembers this is all imaginary; in her head. Big Wanda was not dead, not yet. She hasn’t tasted cool happiness at the end of a long, dusty trail.

Another sip (*ahhhh*). Spore says she can stay in his land for as long as she wants, and she has nowhere to go. Could be a while (*sip*).”Who can I speak to next? Who will fill that vacant hole of a zero doughnut this time?”

She trembles despite the good vibrations. “Mom?”

Truly dead this time.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0505, Hana Lei^^

new!

The buffet was already laid out on the serving table at The Cones, my latest local eating and drinking establishment but this time for core avatars only, where they can let down their hair and be themselves and mingle amongst their other selves without the need for masks and separate identities. Take silhouetted Andy Warhole here on the upper deck, waiting for his date Marilyn to show up. But actually they were one core avatar and each knew the other knew this. In the moment. So while he waited, he was actually waiting for the single user of both, the single core used by this user, to simply change his costume to Marilyn’s, switch chairs, and then combine snapshots of each into one composite photo to make it seem the two were on a date. This happens over and over in the outside world, with little recognition by the avatars themselves. But here, at Sunklands Institute in the great Iris waterlands — swamp some derisively call it, like Roger Pine Ridge back in the days — separation could be relaxed and examined more from a distance, a perspective. Photo-novel 13, in fact, is all about getting back to core — that could be a subtitle.

The sun had just set when Warhole switched chairs and the collaging process mentioned above took place.

“Marilyn, so glad to see me, ahem, you again.”

“It’s purrr-fect here,” she cooed while staring out at the spot where the sun had just set, seeing no aftereffects commonly known as twilight, or the refraction and scattering of the sun’s rays caused by the atmosphere. Strange — this wouldn’t happen in the real world. Real Life. She decided to ask about this.

After Andy Warhole uttered the almost obligatory 5 or 6 repeats of her name, all in the same monotone, he responded properly. “No this isn’t real for certain, this — *world*.” But not being very philosophical he had no more to say about this. The DJ for the night showed up, and he mumbled, “About time.” It was Hilter, Chancellor of all of Germany by this point in time but not the all encompassing evil dude we know and despise by a slightly different name. So: 1939. Twenty years after the publication of the infamous Red Book.

Actually I have to bring in another core avatar to play Hilter, since Baker Bloch doesn’t have that costume or what’s more commonly called, in Our Second Lyfe terms, an “outfit”. So Bracket Jupiter is logged on since he does — two core avatars here are logged on simultaneously, which is common and even necessary in my work. He takes his position while I make another collage of Marilyn and Andy in the background. I add facelights to both to help highlight their position. Hilter waits calmly for it to be over before starting his first tune. And what would that tune be, you might ask? 1939… lemme check. INSERT PHOTO HERE

I believe it was Pink Floyd’s “On the Run” combined with Judy Garland’s “Over the Rainbow,” but difficult to say definitively because of the confusing effects of yet another collage.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0021, 0505, Heterocera^^, Iris^

orange crested

“I’m glad you’re black again, Parasol. Now I can get rid of that White Elvis hairdoo. Back to the old self, ahh!” He settles back in his beach chair, taking in the waves.

“How about the ant? There’s always the ant to deal with. Ant,” Parasol by his side reinforces.

The Mann looks from the waves up to the mountains. “I’ll deal with that later.”

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Filed under 0020, 0505, Corsica^^, Northwest^