Category Archives: 0512

November 16, 2025 · 2:27 pm

00480512 (happy (cobalt = Kabusie?))

There’s Wheeler, my better (female) half, carefully walking the 8-5-6-7-4-1-2-3-0/ blue-yellow-red-green-cobalt-violet-orange-marroon-white segments of the ground level labyrinth again.

But there’s not a lot else in this 2 story Temple of TILE mostly under the waters of the Nawt Vaya Sea. No piano like before, no place to sit atall. 39 prims to play around with on the property. I could bring back both the piano and pipe organ with that, ALL KEYBOARDS.

Wheeler stops before crossing from green into cobalt again. “Is this suppose to be *me*?” she calls up. “What kind of girl do you think I am, hubby of mine?”

You know what kind of girl you are, I wanted to say back down. But instead I said: “I’ll remove it asap. It’s certainly in bad taste anyway, considering what happened to Freddy.”

“There.” We wouldn’t see a difference from the above angle but there’s a difference. With the subtraction of 1, Mercury X. Rising stands alone with no 2 to follow.

Now walk, Mercury X. Rising, walk. Live again! Wheeler should have been passing by this transition spot in the labyrinth right about… here.

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August 9, 2025 · 9:18 pm

00470512

Everyone Says “Hi” 24 x 24 on panel.

A painting inspired by the David Bowie song and part of the PBJ show with Jay Jacobs, Feb 2016.

It was weird, as I was painting this I couldn’t get any of the characters to smile. Later I found out that Bowie had passed away that day.

Here is a link to the song. https://youtu.be/um05lJzXD0w

—–

Just in his own little island, Jeffrey Phillips remained happy, clutching his Philip Linden doll to his partially bare bosom and remembering his connection with another Phillip named Jeffries, his name kind of reversed or where it came from. White was his world; pure; removed of color and complexity and foldouty nature. But all around this everyone was sad and unable to smile. Jeffrey knew something had to change. The Real World must intrude on this rosy environment. Again.

“INSERT THE THORN,” a voice boomed up in the air somewhere. *sliiiidee*

Ahh: there it is, brown instead of white like all the rest. A sticking point as it were, an impasse.

—–

And just like that Shelley was banned not only from that “new” sim but the kingdom/queendom as a whole. Good to know how they feel about her. Like another Brown, Molly this time, an unsinkable force to reckon with, however. I must MAKE SPACE for her whims and fancies while remaining active in this Our Second Lyfe. But not there obviously.

So Rose Heaven is no more for me. And David Bowie remains dead.

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May 9, 2025 · 2:38 pm

00460512 (Big Boss 02)

“Oh my GOD, you’ve *got* to be kidding,” says Fran to Cloe after Benny Right Horn tried to persuade the 2 girls in the same way as his actually handsome brother Jer Left Horn did over 5 years before. Nudity permitted on the docks: he’s taking “advantage” of that allowance as well.

Cloe said, “what? what?”, not looking away from her phone or turning around. She was still searching for that video of the cow blowing the farmer’s hat off without moving its mouth, ha. She knew Fran would find it hilarious.

“He’s actually got *2* censors to cover his ass it’s so massive, one for each cheek.”

“Speaking of asses…” And Cloe shows Fran the found video.

“Wow,” says Fran after the 7 second clip was over. “That was loud.”

“And windy (!). Soo… what were you saying?”

“Never mind.” Fran had enough of “bad” asses for a while.

But he had an ace in the hole. Or in the front. Oh no oh no, Benny don’t do it. But he did.

“Oh giiiirrrrls.”

Fran’s jaw drop when she saw Benny’s “pipe”. Benny was an old porn star. Like recently featured blog actor Drew “Grumpy” Cleveland currently residing in the Omega continent’s Castletown. You remember: from photo-novel 43. In fact, let’s have it that Drew started out as Benny’s stunt double. And perhaps also visa versa, each taking turns with each other, depending on the nature of the film. Drew liked front and Benny liked back. The arrangement worked out swell for several years. They easily edited the horn that grew out of the right side of his head in post-production. When *needed*.

And because of the turn, he’d get that information about the cat-people (aliens). Now to the caves to find them for real. No pussyfooting around this time!

“See ya later… giirrrls,” he said in parting after putting his clothes back on front ways. Slooowly.

“You bet!” said still slack jawed Fran. “What-ever,” said still phone playing Cloe, looking for more funny videos for her dear dear friend Fran.

(to be continued)

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January 23, 2025 · 9:25 am

00450512 ((more) animals)

Horses.

Bison.

And, as we’ve already seen: sheep (like Fred). But no humans except for this fellow casting his own shadow against one of those old fashion Dutch windmills this time and who doesn’t really count except to one.

That was about to change. As instructed by tech wizard and friend to the gang Lester from up above (or sideways or whatever) in Lost Sanos, Grand Theft Auto, he waits at the Ells bridge for the other human now inhabiting this Netherworld to drive up. But, standing here looking out at the canal heading in the right direction to end this, he’s had a good long time to think about the decision. He’s God-like or at least a God wannabe here. What is he when he returns to the, er, surface? Just Philip Strevor, small time criminal with big but in all likelihood impossible dreams for greater glory. And he’s a *bad* person up there — he admits that now. Down or over here — Hell, Heaven or wherever — it’s all morally ambiguous. He has to see this through, he’s realized. Find out what’s at the finish line. SE corner it is!

earlier:

“Okay, Mikie, I’ve arranged to have a *gold* car waiting for you when you crash. Not silver, not copper, not any other shiny metal. But: gold. If you choose silver you’re in the wrong one and you’ll derez in about 15 minutes I’ve estimated and that won’t be pretty. So make *sure*.”

“Got it,” said Mikie. God knows he knows what gold is like, he thinks. He’s dreamed about having it in great abundance all his live long life (live long life again?).

“I’ll set the coordinates to crash you as close as I can but I can’t risk landing on top of the rigged thing. So it will be at a distance, I don’t know, maybe 5-7 minutes away tops. That’ll give us 8-10 minutes wiggle room. Once you’re in the car you’re safe. The car’s body will become one with yours, just like (with) the plane before. You’re merely making a *transference* of the container.” He turns away from the computer and his typed out plans and toward Mikie to emphasize his point. “Do – you – understand?”

“I- I think so.”

“You *think* so… or you know so?” Lester wants a yes, which he gets with, at first, slow and then more steady nods and finally a verbal confirmation.

“Yes,” Lester mirrors, turning back. “You’ll understand or you’ll die. You can’t live without a body there. Only Philip can do that because, well you know.”

“Because he’s already dead,” finished Mikie for him.

“Yeah. So *don’t* let that happen to you. This isn’t easy to set up, believe me. If I wasn’t a genius of the *highest* rank–”

“I know I know,” says Mikie. “You’re a genius, Lester.” And Mikie wasn’t being his usual sarcastic self for a change. This was big, he knew. This was bigger that his dreams of huge amounts of gold, potentially. This was a gateway to the afterlife we were talking about. Something that could reshape the world as we know it — and bring them untold fortunes in the process. They could *control* the access.

—–

“Okay, Mikie,” he says to himself after disengaging from the plane and looking around. “There it is over there between those 2 buildings. Better hustle.”

“Made it! And 11 minutes to spare, ha ha.”

He goes inside.

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November 3, 2024 · 4:17 pm

00440512

He sat down on the toilet even though he didn’t need to go to the bathroom. Mechanism, you see — no inner fleshy workings of that type to maintenance. He needed *oil* yes. Oil to think. Because he was lost. Lost in a forest that had inexplicably, to him, turned white. Too early for snow he knew. Maybe some kind of virtual blight? But here he is, trying to cogitate with the limited power he had left. Suppose to meet someone named Fern here who would take him to an isle named after food. 2 isles actually, she said, a 2n1, she described it. Breakfast… and some other type of food he couldn’t recall.

He also couldn’t recall how to contact Fern for help. She was not the same core as him; he had that at least. Something about flesh again. Yes, he went into the bathroom to think about flesh, hmm. The bathroom and its toilet would help him remember.

If he just had his trusty oilcan he could squirt some in his left right ear and the gears would begin to spin properly up there again. But he lost it somewhere in this forest, too confusing with its whitewashed nature to retrace his steps to that tree stump he left it by.

*Sally*, he then recalled. He could ask his *wife*. His better, mechanoid half. Yes, of course. Sally. Speed dial so he didn’t have to come up with the number. He could ring her up in his head they were so close. Almost the same brain workings.

—–

Sally woke up with a ringing in her head, cursed the extra glass of diesel wine she had before bed, then realized what it was, *who* it was. “Hello?” she spoke to no one around.

“I’m in trouble, er…” Long pause.

“Sally,” Sally said, understanding that he *was* in trouble if he forgot her name in the moment. Lack of brain power, lack of oil most likely. Where *is* he?

“I don’t know,” he spoke back, understanding her thought. “Somewhere white. The trees… are white.”

She intuitively remembered the “blight” starting in upper right central Maebaleia, in the middle of that new super city developing there. “Hold on,” she thought back. “I’ll be right over.”

(to be continued)

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July 26, 2024 · 7:24 am

00430512

He actually turned the other cheek after I verbally abused him. When did monkeys, representing animals in general in this scenario, become more dignified than humans?

Knowing Fern performs before the green screen again while pal Frank Lynn observes.

‘Phil. Phillie,” she calls again from the rail.

“And *cut*,” the director directed. “Anyone got any rock cocaine because that was *brilliant*.”

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April 21, 2024 · 3:21 pm

00420512

Pitch Darkly and especially (of course!) born fisherperson Mary Ball Darkly were so successful on their extended angling vacation that they had to rent a truck to bring the caught loot back home to Aisle of Palms. “Hope you brought your appetite back with you too,” issues Mary while staring at the smelly crates piled 3 high in its bed, knowing they had limited space in the manor’s freezers.

Now to get down to serious issues once more: the Ball situation. They were four weeks late getting back as it was. Too much fun! Couldn’t let it end despite the potential cost. It’s all virtual reality anyway, said Pitch to Mary after their huge haul at Fox Island (alternately Squirrel Island) in Endlessly Antipodal. So it was on to the Amazon Basin and piranhas/electric eels after that to finally get the cold of Walsh County ND out of their bones and blood, and then All Orange to finish up, a virtual fisherperson’s paradise as indicated by Mary’s knowledgeable friend Sandy Beech way way back in the days. Just got around to getting there. Sandy’s never wrong about these things, she knew. Best fry cook in the whole of Great Belt where he comes from, she’s heard from not one but several sources.

“Are you sure this is right, Mary? Fish in a *volcano*?”

“Emm, maybe I got the wrong color in that name. All Green?” she tested, burning through yet another line. “Brown?”

“Let’s go, Mary. Well have to rent a truck to get back our vast haul as is. We have enough.”

“Alright.”

“Plus the Ball situation; Baker wanted us back there a month ago.”

“I know I know.” Mary starts packing up the tackle…

… just in the nick of time as it turns out. *Great balls of fire* that was close to where they were standing! And more on the way. Get off that erupting mountain quick guys!

But, as we know, they got home okay, phew. Mary wasted no time in placing a call to so-called expert Sandy Beech.

“All *Blue*,” he erupted back when hearing the color she chose to remember in their by now long ago conversation about the place. “There’s no fish in a volcano!”

But, savant that she is, Mary still caught a couple.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0042, 0512, Big Woods, Great Belt, Hana Lei^^, Jeogeot, Middleton^, Xilted

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January 13, 2024 · 3:56 pm

00410512

“I found the ship at a golf course sim which was closing up — got a cheap deal on it for that reason. Plus it was a mess, all cracked up on those rocks over there as you can see from the photo.” Black Pearl provided a photo to Red Dead Beardy Head much like the one below where she is finagling the deal with a woman named Libra Neptune who, of all places, had ties to Saint Dennis. So it seems like she has the power to manifest such realities. I, the writer of this here blog and attached current photo-novel, had no idea the Black Pearl ship would be here too. A gift, we can call it, ‘nother one.

“How ’bout Davy Jones?” said Red Dead still beside her in bed, although it was a different night than before. Plans had advanced. The restored Black Pearl, ready for space as it would ever be, parked in the vacant lot in back of downtown. They were staying in the captain’s cabin, testing it out. Well stocked with Caribbean White Rum — good start.

“Not needed in this story,” she replied plainly about Jones, knowing what he was referring to. *Her* Black Pearl was different from Sparrow’s. This was from a woman’s perspective.

—–

They were walking into town for a morning drink and a bit of breakfast when Black Pearl spotted her walking below Parrots for Pirates.

“Libra??”

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October 30, 2023 · 1:52 am

00400512

He had returned but he found himself more and more excluded from Ozma’s inner circle after a lukewarm reentry. “It’s *temporary*, dear,” she kept repeating to him. “I brought you back after all. You’re *here*; back in Oz, back to patrolling the Yellow Brick Road. And boy dear howdy that took some smooth talking to the inner council to get done,” she often reminded him. “So be *grateful*. You’re not out *there*.”

But it’s been months again, maybe years. When would his so called probation end here in the cornfield far away from a central power he was use to? Contemplation like this naturally led him to check the clock that always beats the times in his chest. 7:15 in Quadlingland, 3:15 in Munchkinland. And in the center, the middle, well: heartbreak.

He watched her slip away in the stalks, reminding him of that old Oklahoma song about a quirky little alien who comes to Earth and can’t get enough of corn, all types. He involuntarily begins to sing it in his head.

I like cornflakes, corndogs
I like corn bread and cornstarch
I like the band Korn and popcorn, I like all kinds of corn
ALL KINDS OF CORN!

He can’t recall the rest and, anyway, Ozma had already disappeared down the rows. Their meetings were almost as brief as in the Lost Forest when he was truly exiled. Now it’s still a false exile, an ostracizing by the rest. Scarecrow barely talked to him, feigning being constantly tied up with businesses of the mind. Lion similarly excused himself when encountering the famed metal being, saying he had to face down or have a tangle with this or that adversary who still lived some distance from wherever they were standing at the time. And Dorothy… he doesn’t even like to think of Dorothy.

—–

“I thought we were going to replace Dorothy with *me*,” spoke up the precious precocious child listening in on Marsha “Pink” Krakow’s latest version of her novel with a working title of “Lost Path of Oz,” changed from the earlier “Forgotten Road of Oz.” “After all, L. Frank Baum’s greatest goal was to please a child. And what better way to carry on that tradition than to cast me, a child as child can be, in the leading role of your book. Similarly, Vain and Artery Boyy replaces Lion, and Rock” — she looks over at him, dumbly counting the fingers on both hands over and over to make sure they’re the same on each — “well, we’ll work on him,” she admitted, sharing a smile with Pink about the irony.

“Maybe,” gleaned Pink, “maybe *you* should replace the Scarecrow, Toddles. And Rock can play Dorothy — you know what I mean.”

Toddles as the brains of the operation. She instantly likes! She automatically sees it is the right change to affect.

“No one is going to play ANYTHING until I get some ANSWERS!” Toddle’s grandma Alice Farrowheart had shown up at the reading in the so called Center Hole of Big Sandy. With a loaded shotgun.

Marsha quickly checked to see if this was in the book as well.

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August 23, 2023 · 6:30 am

00390512

She doesn’t think about it much these days except perhaps when she’s on the john, with a better view of the thing. F/A-18C Hornet BA v. 2.2-8, she learned and memorized for those who’d inevitably ask about it upon hearing where she lived. “No, no one was hurt,” also usually had to be said after a follow-up question, those that didn’t remember the details of the crash. “Yes, we’re fine,” sometimes had to be added.

They were on vacation at the time, more properly, a “staycation” — 1/2 and 1/2 (here we go). Chet stayed home at night to look after the dogs while Phyllis spread all her creative stuff out at the Holiday Begin motel in Myrtle. Chet drove back and forth each day. Chet was always dressed for the holidays so it didn’t have to be a full time thing for him, or at least that was his rationale for the 1/2 and 1/2 deal instead of just staying put with her at the beech, a 35 minute drive. Plus the dogs, he’d always say. But, in truth, he was delving deep down into the mythology of Willy Wonka, strangely called Willa Wonky in those days in late August Mays, before the advent of videotapes and widespread distribution. “It almost wasn’t made,” he said after arriving one fine morning — well, all days, she recalled, were superb during her stay. 70s for a high; not too hot, not too chilly.  Nary a rain cloud in sight. Just perfect. Room temperature.

Shortly after the staycation was over and all were back home together again (happy dogs!), he found the virtual chocolate factory, not come across before because it wasn’t attached to the search word “Wonka” he had been using in his Our Second Lyfe research. Then he found more in the same sim: an ode to a TV series called “Once Upon a Time” he’d strangely not heard of, despite its relative popularity as well as being created by some of the same writers involved in “LOST’, one of his favorites. He, per usual these days, sent Shelley in to explore further.

Upon teleporting into Chet’s earmarked spot, Shelley thought she saw a giant rat’s tail quickly slither into the hole in front of her. She had to follow; rules of the explorer.

She walked past the thing (just a *mouse*, she tried to calm herself, despite its enormity), trying to hide her fear and staying away from it and its food as much as possible.

Just by it, the walk turned into a sprint to finish. She was inside.

“I have a tale to tell, I have a tale to tell!” the mouse called after her. But didn’t follow. He smelled a reptile in that direction: danger.

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