Category Archives: 0603

BoB

“I’m not dead!” he cried to all those sitting around the grave site looking down. “It’s *just* a ring.”

It all came together at the end for Mouse. Too late, of course.

—–

“So this is it,” Man About Time exclaimed mildly. As usual. “The thing that did him in.”

“LOVE, yeah,” answered Jeffrey Phillips, wondering how he himself could talk again. He died as well (!). “He… couldn’t pass through the O, got stuck in it. Spy Guy Benjamin tried to help, but…”

“… got stuck himself,” completed MAT for Jeffrey, having read the story up to this point too. What was the point? Just close the damn coffin lid why don’t you.

“He can’t die in Vain.”

“He didn’t,” answered MAT truthfully.

“Good for you, MAT,” said Jeffrey Phillips. “I didn’t think you would take this so swell.”

“It’s just a game. Endtime.”

“Yes, death will do that to you. Lure you in, like a fish. And when you land on the shore — it’s *only* when you land on the shore…”

“You see the water,” completed MAT again.

—–

Next door (sometime in the past):

They say the doctor before this new one, Jr. — he was married to an alien woman. Found her spaceship crashed up in the hills.”

“That’s — not — right,” the littler golden robot squeaked back.

“You’re right, Jr. It *wasn’t* right. He should have turned her *in*. And now he’s paid the price: banishment. *Now*, are you ready to go inside and let the new doctor, this Diper fellow, take a look at those gold plated tonsils?”

“Guess — so.”

“You guess so.” Claude Sr. blew out air from his mechanical lungs. “I had mine taken out about the same age as you are, in fact, the exact same age.”

“12 — I — know.”

“That’s right, Jr. 12. All mechanoids have to have their original tonsils taken out, then. Else: viruses.”

“I — read — the pamphlets.”

“Nice.” But Claude Sr. knew it wasn’t tonsils that were taken out. The pamphlets lied. He’d find out soon enough. Just like with Santa Claude.

They head inside for the operation.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0603, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^, Paper Soap

leading

“You weren’t here the other night.”

“I wasn’t,” he admitted.

Both stared at the same spot for a while. Finally:

“Expecting someone?”

“Nope.” Clear and crisp from this stranger with new arrival to town Greg Ogden, free to roam now that Dr. Mouse had retired over in the Asylum where he was staying. But Dr. Mouse knew this of course; he was monitoring the situation closely. Currently he was seeing the spot too through his bug and was wondering the same thing that Greg Ogden was: what gives?

—–

It actually didn’t take long for Greg, and Dr. Mouse through him, to figure out Brut, as he called himself, was part of the plasmic Anomaly that threatened to take over the town. He was indicating himself.

—–

He recalls… a caterpillar.

*Now* what’s he staring at?”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0603, Paper Soap

the one and the many (Lost Angels)

—–

“We’ve lost the Angels airport with the red Kentucky book, W. I can’t find a substitute.”

“Check SL Marketplace for heart chair.”

—–

“No go. We’ll have to ask Alysha.

The emergency vehicles at the airport in the same sim are gone too. The many and the gone.”

—–

“Think I found something: ‘wire chair’ instead…”

—–

“Boy, *Hidi* found it quick. But still no book. It’s not the same table and set of chairs. *Looks* the same… but different (animations).”

“Shoot. (pause after mild cuss) Might as well have her shop some more while she’s there. No harm in trying demons.”

“Demos,” I corrected.

—–

17 hours later:

“We’ll have to try something different.”

“No go on Angels, no go on Demons. Only one direction left.”

“The way of Norris,” I guessed. Neutrality.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0603, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

Birthplace of Bogota — BoB

“So is this it?” he asked. So innocent and mild-spoken, not like in the Big Dream I had. I’m reassured by his physical presence. This is not a monster before me (!). It was all imaginary; unreal. Like with that girl in the 1898 Oz movie.

“Yes, Man About Time — MAT.”

“Thank you,” he replied about me adding the way he likes to say his name. Like someone named Matt in our world — *your* world. “Welcome MAT!”, and so on. It reminded me of something else.

“Do, ahem, you remember Marcus Fox Smartville? I believe you may have met him on News Years. Not this year but maybe one back.”

“Of course.” He twirled around in place on the edge of the road. Highway 14, the compliment to Highway 13 on the other side of the peninsula we live upon.

“Explain your relationship — if you don’t mind.”

“I am he,” he said plainly, flinging his arms about again. He looks up at the colorful sign, continuing talk from before. “So this is TILE.”

“TILE indicator, yes. The gallery across the road pointed it out. One Barret Darkfold. Interesting art within as well.”

“And you’ve contacted him?”

“Yes. Because his is the closest registered gallery to Collagesity as I found out last night, and also that our names are alphabetically next to each other in a member list of the Virtual Soho group, which I just found out tonight in looking up something totally different. I told him I thought it was funny: these two found juxtapositions of ourselves in two nights.”

“It’s the bridge,” he suddenly said. “It points right to the sign.”

I looked north. “Bridge of the 7 Chickens?”

“Yes. It points directly to this… TILE substitute,” he reinforced.

The individual tile numbers are not exact but the colors match in two different ways, red for L and blue for E, just like in the letters of TILE. But this is LOVE, of course, so the O and the V don’t match the letters. But they match the remaining colors of green and yellow. This is TILE.

“Shall we go see the art?” I asked him after nothing else seemed to need adding about the sign.

As we started walking, 2 pods flew by us and pulled into a small station just ahead. We took it as yet another sign…

… then I found another pod across the bridge. I hopped in, leaving MAT behind.

MAT decided to check out the Darkfold gallery by himself. “Didn’t even say goodbye, hmph,” he muttered about my quick exit while passing through the multi-arched entrance.

—–

Ahh. Quito’s Garage. The place Karoz Blogger got married way back in novel 2. And I was just here.

—–

Soon I was back where I started. The pod had suddenly decided to turn around in its journey not far past the garage. As if it was all about that.

“How was your trip?”

“How was *yours*?”

“Colorful,” he replied over.

“Mine too!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0603, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

Four Corners

“Dum de *dum* de *dum*.” Riiiiinnnng. “Oh dear.” Riiiiiiiinnnng. “That’s the phone.”

“Where, honey?”

“Over… *there*.” Riiinnng.

“Over where, honey?”

“On the wall.” Riiinnnng. “Just over… *there*.”

“The wall… the phone on the wall?”

Riiinnnng. “Yes. Don’t you remember. The phone… on the wall.”

“The *pay phone*? The one that hadn’t worked for 20 years?” Rinnnnng.

“Yes. I think. Go check. I’m scared. I’ll be back in my room.” Riinnng.

She was so happy just seconds before. Now the world seemed to be ending.

Riinnnng. Herbert Glenn Gold walks over, answers the phone. Riinnnn– “Hello?”

—–

“You have become old, Stefan.”

“No… not old. I can still rock.”

“You are a classical man through and through now. Get up out of the rocker. You cannot rock any longer. You are an old man. You…”

“Pansy,” he said, trying to reassure. “I acquiesce.” Old Stefan steps away from the DJ equipment and the dance floor as a whole, walks outside, stands in the flower bed.

—–

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0024, 0603, Bellisaria^^, Four Corners

2(0)1

“Thanks for helping out, Charlene Brown.”

“I’m busy: but I’m here.”

“Okay, so there’s the two girls who must have seen Bart, yacking in front of the Giant Tiger painting. This would be catty-corner to you standing at the intersection of, let’s see, Main and Elizabeth. Bart should be skateboarding by you right this instant.”

“I see nothing.”

“So let’s just swing the camera around and… Charlene? Where’re you going? Come back!”

I finally spot the pink dress wearing punk again just beyond the Rosehaven Yarn Shop, about to walk under the Regent Theatre marquee. But she’s way ahead of where she should be. Where’s she going?

“I see him Baker Bloch!” she suddenly exclaimed as I pull back beside her at Main and York.

Three Beatles were crossing the road in front of me and I knew this was a special, sacred spot.

“And that’s how Bart Smipson travels between Picturetown and NWES City,” I write in a letter later to Hucka Doobie. “Through that alley with the 102 graffiti. He’s indicating how he does it!” I sign my name with love and stick it in an envelope addressed to the White Palace.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0023, 0603, Apple's Orchard, Black Ice, Canada/Picturetown, collages 2d, NWES Island^

Barry 02 01

He woke up somewhere very different than before. Twilight. The lamp had not been turned off from the night. The cat Nappy purred beside him, half aware that his master had awoken. 1/2 and 1/2 once more, but I’m suppose to limit (that expression) to one per photo-novel section at the most, as prescribed by my word therapist Bob the Knob who I don’t really like that much so I may insert it more. Or less. Damn Bob. Recommended by Richard, who I haven’t talked to since session 3. Or was it section 3? NO, there was no Richard in the story.

I’m admittedly getting a little confused about all the names (finally! the reader might utter here). Barry DeBoy who just woke up here in a strange but then very familiar land shares a first name with Barry X. Vampire who arrived in our text in photo-novel 18 — and also *writing*, at least partially, said photo-novel. He was a creator like me within the pages posts of his own creation. Mirror within mirror, etc. But the mirrorings seem to be increasing lately. It’s time, for example, to face the fact and the music that the two Barry’s in our novels — let me check (checks) — yes still only *2* Barry’s. Anyway, they are probably the same, and my rational — well, I won’t go into it in detail but let it just play out in the text. Returning to the awakening DeBoy version, then…

Took him a minute to realize where he was after gaining consciousness but as he looked around at the tall, brown grass, the dilapidated buildings and signs, it dawned on him, as the sun, let’s say, gained height over a yonder horizon. Home. Maw may even be here, even older than before. Some called her Pink, some just called her Star, but her actual name was Marsha. Marsha “Star” Pink.  All three were correct, I suppose. But what am I doing here thinking about names? I must think about *action*. Barry tried to recall where this shed was in relation to his house where he grew up as DeBoy, who started as simple D-Boy (one who makes a lot of D’s, etc.) but then changed in stature within the community as he received the tie from… who? He recalls something about another Barry. Himself? he realizes. From the future or from the past?

Suisan might know. If she’s still around — or still alive for that matter. Always wearing that mask while growing up, always afraid of the germs and viruses swarming, she put it, in the air all around us. And now her fears have come to fruition. The Jasper virus, the mother, is here. He peers in the direction he remembers that his mother lives in. Home. She could still be there.

But then another whole series of memories locked into place. His mother had died! Along with Suisan, along with a friend named Brown. Along with another friend named Green. Maybe someone named Olive, even. This was a land of… he looked down at his hands. He attempted to swat one with the other but it only passed through. Yet another dream. His mother was dead but then she was alive, at least during *parts* of his childhood. How could this be?

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0603, The Waste^^

rhode crossing

The house seemed empty. But it had a portal room.

In the thin woods eyes were watching.

Or not.

Maybe 1/2 and 1/2.

We should walk back to GASTON.

.daor eht ssorc mih gnihctaw ,nacnuD desserpmi na denipo ”,onimoD ,naem uoy tahw ees I“

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0021, 0603, Gaston^^, Nautilus City^, Nautilus^^

around Cassandra City 02

Dimmy Gene never did get a copy of “Moby Prick”. The other bookstore in town closed 10 minutes before he arrived. He’d have to lay out of school (once more), maybe ride his motocyclone over to Toppsity. But first: an early movie. Cheaper that way.

2:00 in the afternoon and hardly anyone is here. Oh right, everyone *else* is in school, studying away. Studying to be grown-up dunces, he muses, thinking of his father Daffy Gene and his family run chain of fine clothing stores. He’s set up to be another Gene in their line of production. Well I’m *bucking* the system. Buck “Moby Prick.” Buck the red book, even, although he’s heard it’s better than the other. A whole bookstore devoted to that one book, he thinks again, not quite understanding the impossibility of it.

Great. Another movie about the future being in the past. Oh well.

He runs and gets some popcorn, mountainy dew, and candy before settling back in for a long one.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0020, 0603, Cassandra City^, Maebaleia/Satori^^

the story continues…

SEAN “Green” Penn was the last person who lived on Arnold Lane, now covered in sand and almost forgotten in time. And now he was leaving as well, heritage perhaps lost to the town. Back to New Orleans where he came, back to The Man and perpetual plans to move to Little Rock in Arkansas and decrease the blues a bit. Just a little, just enough to put thoughts of ending it all out of the picture. The more limiting framework of a polaroid might help here again, so he took Pink’s with him, studied it until sometimes late at night when the moon was full and the stars were obscured by lighted sky. “We will be married one day and I can reveal to her my truth self, black behind white. 28 years old and developing rheumatoid arthritis in my back and neck and not a 15 year old with developing acne.” He’d learned that from Olive, *remembered* it because of her. Now the heritage was with him. He must return.

It was 5 years in the past 5 years in the past 5 years in the past. But it was also present. Marsha “Pink” Krakow had a choice to make.

“Welllll. I guess this is it, Marsha. Out with the Old, in with the New, as they say.”

“New *What*, though?” asked Marsha, piggybacking on something SEAN had revealed earlier in the evening. Marty had sent former top assassin Arthur Kill away — a possible way to cross the river into Staten Island and New York proper. She *knew* that. But she kept asking. *Was* she a star? *Could* she be? She stared over at SEAN, studied the lines on his concerned face, the pain of realization. No. She couldn’t go with him. Not now not ever. Storybrook remains Story*book* forever and ever. There were different currents, true, but only one unity under church and god, and that church had a red top. STAR, she must be.

She picked up the drumsticks she brought with her and went over and kissed SEAN full on the lips before departing. Back to the “Good Side” and loving parents who are, yes, split right now because of her, but also loving and caring still. And Dogg! Who could forget Dogg, both shades of him. A true Great Dane he is.

SEAN will be *fine*, she tried to reassure herself as she walked away from Arnold Lane that night, tears in her eyes. I will send him another polaroid when I become a true star to cheer him up again.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0019, 0603, Corsica^^, Storybrook^