Category Archives: 0510

00320510

“So you see, Man About Town–”

“Time. Man About Time,” MAT mildly corrected.

“Yes, of course. Anyway, we don’t need to be a part of Lower Austra. We are more than capable of protecting ourselves with our large ships, *huge* in the case of the Pompelmoo here.”

“I see.” Indeed this particular boat stretched from one corner of the namesake sim to the other, darn near close to 400 meters total then.  MAT admittedly couldn’t wait to explore it more, along with the rest of the island, this Trinidad? “Did you say the name of your island here was Trinidad?” he tried to clarify.

It took Zapppa back, to when he first found the island himself. A lone painter was there. Rock painter, before they moved all the rocks to make room for the ships. Named the Captain but not because he was a naval hero or anything. Jon Carson tried to get to the bottom of it, my mate in the tiny “Annoying ZZ Mat” that made the trip from Nautilus City to the southeast, he reminisced. *Barely*. Almost sunk along the way. “Sink Sank Sunk” we nicknamed it after that, because it produced the same results over time. And now I’m with a man named Time. Funny how things go in a big circle — MAT again and all too. He’s finding out himself how special this island is. “Trinidad?” he finally answered. “Well, that depends.” It’s the same thing the Captain said all those years ago.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0510, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Trinidad

Collagesity

Still relevant!

More soon…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0510, Collagesity Fordham, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

pulling a Rundgren

She listened to Keith B.’s drumming, trying to determine whether it was ultimately soothing or just irritating. Somewhere in the middle, as a lot of stuff is, she thought. He hadn’t answered her earlier question about what he found out at the ranger’s station this morning; dodged the question in fact, it seemed to her. Just started drumming after lunch. Drumming and drumming. Her right hand wanted to clap, but her left hand wanted to slap.

“I — feel — so — *young*!” he called over.

Pheh, she thought, not noticing the difference while looking away. Might as well still be peeing in his outhouse.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0510, Paper, Paper Soap

Hookton Hill

Lengthening their draw distance a bit as Keith B. recommended, they both stared out at Clarksey from this low granite summit to the north.

“It’s big, Shelley.”

“Jennifer,” she corrected.

“It’s big, Jennifer,” he began again, then backtracked a bit to “…biggish”. “Ambitious,” he started once more.

“I get the picture.”

“It’ll get more people.”

“Hmm,” she declared. “How many now?”

“Five, I think. Wait: four. Clovis fell into the gorge the other day. Decided it was too dangerous to stay what with his drinking problem. Flew away from Enceladus day before yesterday. You just missed him over there, then.”

“Nice people over there,” she replied. “This one guy, Marion Harding, a Cowboy, even offered to drive me over here from the airport.”

“Who was the pilot?”

She wanted to say Indian but she knew that wasn’t possible. Indian was her brother — 1/2 brother — from another mother. Like Rose — full siblings those two were. “Can’t remember,” she decided to utter, trying to mask the hesitation. Memory gap! ‘Nother one.

“Did anyone follow you?” Strange question from her old Papa. But there *was* someone, someone black. Check that: someone named Black. A, um, black man. Doubly black.

“No,” she issued. “No one. Strange question from you actually.” She took drama in high school. She could still act a bit if necessary. But she’s remembering (!). A trio of men: Cowboy, Indian, Black. And behind them: still fuzzy. Maybe someone named… Frank?

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0510, Purden/Snowlands^, Sansara

00280510

Hatti the witch disappeared from the cell block. Across the aisle, fellow prisoner Patrick McDonnelhany’s head turned into a pen. Or pencil — hard to tell from this distance, Stu Umbriel thought. He turned around as well, tried to look beyond the frame by facing it squarely. No luck. He remained panicked and in character. Fern Stalin spoke.

“We are at 42, Stu. The Answer. Are you ready?”

Was he? He looked to the right. He looked to the left. No escape. He was as ready as he’d ever be. Which was never.

—–

“The director is dead,” she deadpanned to Chef-inspector Petty upstairs. “Killed in the Biker Bar and Grilling explosion day before Sunday of week before last month’s Tuesday. Do you recall?”

Or course he recalled, he thinks. He was first on the scene, picking at the bones and flesh of the unfortunate victims. Like Hank Graphite and his gorilla bodyguard; like Ted 02 the half android cyclops; like family challenged Sugar McDermit and bar owner Biker Mann. And then: Biker Chick, also known as Chuck Cheese also known as Heidi, formerly Penn Mann. The director of this here photo-novel, 28 in a series of infinity apparently (ha). We’ve been without direction, then, since, let’s see, post 00280110. Quite near the beginning, then. Fern says all of this to Chef-inspector Petty, omniscient narrator in the moment. Could have been before she went downstairs to the cell block, could’ve been afterwards. Doesn’t matter in the moment.

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0510, Paper Soap, Soap

more Paper…

The description just said “Shadow Girl”.

“Alysha?” he called up.

Then she was there with him, staring into what appeared to be the heart of the swamp taking up a big chunk of the sim. Chunkey was its name; perhaps a Chuckey within, without the “n” this time. Alysha would know. He asked her.

“Yellow fellow,” she replied, noting the sun was coming up. Soon safe to move.

“Yellow?” He looked over at Alysha, noted her race.

She took the note and ran with it. “Not that kind of yellow. Say you had a soda, you shook it up. What would happen?”

Kolya imagined an explosion. He said this.

“Correct. Imagine this explosion *inside* someone.”

—–

She turned shadowy again. Kolya followed her out into the swamp itself, from whence she came.

He understood she was receding. Only armed with a minimal amount of info (probably enough, though), he was on his own again. In this Paper-y sim that this time wasn’t either Paperweight or Paper itself. A different Paper.

On to the sim rim swamp shack.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0510, Hana Lei^^

Duncan’s hidden

Go to the temple of the tor now, she commanded again. Would Alysha listen this time? Before, she had teleported directly into the ship, enthralled by its shadow. But maybe she could escape the shadow this time and come into the light. “Jasper,” she spoke. “The turtle’s name is Jasper, not Meanie,” she said later on when the shades were drawn again because of the intense sunlight. Too close to a Star, dancing to the beat of a different drum. “Maybe a Moon this time,” said Dr. Paul Mouse, still with switch in hand, if not a kane. Close enough. And a reddish rear was nearby too, plopped painfully on a central log and not facing away from a wall no longer. He will get his revenge.

Peter Oesso strolled down the beach, looking for shells. Shellman some called him. Then he found a miniature Venus of Willendorf and we were on our way…

—–

That’s not a beaver down there, Dr. Mouse.” STOP

“Oh yes it is.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0510, Amazon

house on the hill

“Hi. I’m here to fix the toilet?”

“Oh stop it Dany. Dany without the extra N. Do you know who I even am? Do you know who you are?”

“I’m Danny,” answers Dany, not remembering the missing N for the moment. Tools of the trade in hand, he had his mind set on righting a bathroom today. Blood was mentioned in the phone call he received. Probably clotting. He was confident he could solve it all with his trusty plunger. He told this to Keith B., who we haven’t seen in this here blog and attached photo-novels in a while, at least several back.

“Listen,” Keith B. responded as a tangent. “Listen to the naked man play the piano so wonderfully, like a Little Steve.” Keith B. spoke directly to the naked man playing the piano, hidden in the above photo by Dany. “Do you know Little Steve Wonderful, Schumann? Schumann with an extra N?”

The playing stopped. It was the infamous Booger T. Hayes mention all over, minus the scream (I think). After a weighted pause, the music began again, fingers flying even more rapidly. But not a lilting piece this time. Something gross and confusing and inept; heavy handed. Aberrant if you will. A.B.

“The diamond lies outside the head,” spoke Dany, suddenly in a trance as the notes flew around the room like dark, radar-less bats. In fact they were bats; at the time.

“Good, good,” Keith B. spoke over the weird music and attached wing flapping. “So you know the problem now. The *real* issue. Not… some stupid toilet overflowing with blood thing… although we need that fixed too if you don’t mind.”

“Not atall!”

—–

“I’m finally done sir. It was a clot after all. I had to rinse the blood out of my mop 17 times to get it clean. I won’t charge you for that.”

“Good, Danny with an extra N,” spoke pleased Keith B., bats or bat-like notes having receeded and Schuman (without the extra N now) on the couch with him wrapped in blanket. “Do you play board games by chance?” he then ventured, staring more intensely at the blonde youth. “I think we should play a board game next. Wegee — just under the table there. If you don’t mind — back acting up and all,” he excused himself for not bending down to retrieve. He just wanted to see if Danny was still following orders, though. Because if the N returns to Schuman: he’s done for the day.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0510, Pickleland

you are what you hear

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0024, 0510, Maebaleia/Satori, X-City^

Bake’s

“Peppins, Pippins, Pippens… the name shifted all around down through the months, now almost years. It all had to do with that Peppi machine: that was the center it all revolved around, The Diamond some call it. David A.B. put his heart and his brain into designing that machine; literally for the brain. He knew what was just around the corner. A beat up old station wagon with an Illinois license plate reading BDR529, intent on harm. He didn’t have much time.”

“But what does this *mean*?” ask Poetry Dancer, with Jeffrie Phillips for the moment. Until Charlene Brown the punk woke up about 11 o’clock. Morning walk he could say, building up a sweat by running in place for a couple of minutes. Poor Charlene — so involved in her cryptozoology dissertation writing late into the night that she was oblivious to the transgressions. Jeffrie was taking full advantage of that. The bastard. But a smart bastard, perhaps the worst kind.

“It *means*, my dear, that the death was planned; on purpose. We must track down this Sammie Parr, who is in the collages after all. She is an amalgamation of 5, just like me. That means…”

“Pot-D. *Sorry*. I mean Pan-Z of course.”

“Yes. A rival member, perhaps rogue. *Obviously* rogue because of the murder and all. David A.B.’s brain must have been in there all right.”

“But what will they do with it *now*?” queries Poetry Dancer further, no ugly in her face for the moment.

“They got him to the hospital through trickery, just like before. The brain I mean, and not the host.”

“Of course.”

“It’s Mid Hazel,” he suddenly intuited, putting collage pieces together in his own brain. “She’s up to something.”

“Oh dear.”

“More… *cake*?” he said after a weighted pause.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0023, 0510, Black Ice, Heartsdale^^, NWES Island^