Category Archives: 0609

Frank Park/Bull Mountain photos

Area 54 (where are you?).

A welcoming sight in the woods (reversed; w/ balancing male and female rock piles).

Detail.

Bottle tree. Just been added to the day before this photo was taken.

Sitting Bullrock (not to be confused w/ much larger Bullrocks way up the mountain slope; maybe rename one or the other; this is where I *sit*).

In a different meadow: both a white-ish golf ball and large-ish white rock (“Diamond”) placed here.

This overall location framed by the 2 welcoming sight rock stackings is *mysterious*.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0608, 0609, Bill Mountain, Frank Park

dream 009 (one after 909)

“Aww *raspberries*!” he cussed after running me over in his little purple car, him with his curly purple hair and dark, tall attitude and altitude. *Finally*. I’d been asking for it since John F. Kennedy City when Jeffrey Phillips almost did it with red. He prodded me with his foot to make sure, but I was sure dead all right, raspberry beret crushed and mixed into a bigger mess that was formerly my somewhat dense but pretty enough head. Maw was right. You can’t be in two places at once when… can’t remember the rest.

He could never have me.

He withdraws foot from leg, knowing it was The End.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0608, 0609, Nautilus, Omega^^, Retirement Islands, The Cross^, Wild West

00310609

Backpack laden Mr. Z arrives at the islet home of Tina and Louise but decides not to bother them, knowing he must get to Alan and Hale on the main island before the worst of the storm hits. He takes one more look from his center position on their mooring deck before moving on, a closer lightning flash bristling the hairs on the back of his neck next to the mask that screams the most.

“Watch out!” it seems to say. The watch-over says watch over. Too late: he’d been spotted and then invited in for a spot of tea.

He soon learned that the girls remained friends but had split up as a couple, with Tina keeping the main house and Louise sleeping over there in the former guest treehouse, at least until she could find new digs, perhaps with the man they called the Professor up in Trueblood, The One, she sometimes called him. Tina technically owned the property after all — Louise felt she had no choice except to take the smaller place. The black haired beauty invited Mr. Z to stay with her, jumping the gun on her former redheaded and at least equally stunning roomie. She wasn’t going to accept second place no longer.

Later at the treehouse they lit a joint and got down to it. Scrabble. After smoking Mr. Z admitted to Louise that redheads were more his bag and that he was disappointed that Tina hadn’t invited him to stay in the main house instead. After turning over the scrabble board and spilling the pieces all about the place, she slapped him and said he could go to his Tina, his dream girl, and that she had the Professor after all, no matter how distant he was from her in the moment, those many sims to cross to get to him up in Trueblood. She could wait until they’re together, PHEH. “Out… OUT!” she screamed, waking up the screaming mask who did likewise. “Told you so!” it seemed to say as another lighting storm started on the coast.

Next up: Alan and Hale and the attack of the howling Howell monkeys.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0609, Nautilus, Retirement Islands, Wild West

something to crow about

Back in Whippersnapper, Baker waited outside for a new Christmas shipment of antique art (and pottery) to the Blue Baron’s.

“Monolith…?” he questioned when it finally arrived from ports unknown. “Let me check,” offered Chuck Wakdins the delivery man, and looked down his inventory list. “Which one,” he finally said, “Ansel Adams or, let me see, Greg Ogden? New guy apparently.”

Suc-cess!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0609, Hana Lei^^

00290609

“Yes, you’ve named a number of the Paper *Kings* and I thank you for that, Elvina.”

“You’re welcome, Buster.”

“Inspector,” he corrected. “By night. Chef by day.”

“Then…” She bit her tongue. He *must* know. “But…” she started again.

“Yes, ‘but’. We’re looking for the kingpin, Elvina, and you know it. They just call themselves the Kings, collective, to honor him. He was secretly elected — as we understand it down at the station — on Thanksgiving Day of last year…”

*This* year, Elvina thought, but kept her mouth shut (again).

—–

Turns out the plural version of the name was just an oversight. The gang working with the actual King would never dare call themselves such. On a tip from Elvina, mistake responsible Lester had to change all the related graffiti in town the next day.

“Okay, one down, Lester,” said Custer, in charge of the clean up, “and who knows how many to go. We’ll just walk around some more, pheh.”

“Yeah yeah, sure. Anything to appease the boss.”

“He ain’t elected yet.” But Custer knew he would be elected. Again. There were powers outside of town that would make sure of it.

Lester pointed toward the motel. “Over there I think.”

“Let’s go,” Custer waved.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0609, Paper Soap, Soap

00280609

“Long ago, the Lemon peoples blocked this peninsula off from the rest of Nautilus for a special role. To provide the Great 4n1 a place to play and romp. Roost Never Sleeps was built on the highest peak. There the Lemon peoples made friends with the Great 4n1.”

“Lemme get this straight. The big 4 prog rock groups became friends with the Beetles. Here.”

“Yes,” replied Hoppy back to Herbert, formerly Windmill Man or in tandem with that name. “There were 3 Beetles, a Great 3n1 if you will. The main Beetles had a doppleganger double in both music and comedy. In most unexpected places!”

“Shame the castle is gone now.”

“We have a new one!” exclaimed Hoppy. “Yours.”

“No,” replied Herbert, trying to let the little floppy eared fellow down easy. “My castle will not stay, Hoppy. Mine is destined to go the way of The Roost.”

Hoppy shed a tear with this. “I guess we’re stuck with just the one.” Both looked up.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0609, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

00270609

“You know, young laddie, I was going to be big. I don’t mean psychiatrist big. *Big* big, as in owning my own franchise of Pooping Pigeons. Well, someone decided to drop a big big *poop* on that idea. Came back on me, all my past, all my *medical* doctoring. I had to switch doctors, in that I became a psychiatrist instead of a physician. It was just that dramatic a change.” He pointed his cane in the direction of the tunnel and the train station now, past the statue with the pooping pigeon on its shoulder that triggered this whole soliloquy.

“Gee spot — right over there. Came in the tunnel. The Asylum sits on top of it.”

“Did you know,” young Peter File spoke absentmindedly, not really paying attention to the doctor’s ramblings, “I can balance this little paper hat on my nose?” He blew at it with his mouth; the object didn’t move. He sat up, looked at the doctor as if just waking up. “Paper,” he spoke more seriously, taking in the landscape. “We’re in *Paper*.”

“Been here for a while, yes. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Things *changed*.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0609, Paper Soap, Soap

links

“Have you heard, the news, Douglas? “‘Daily Toilet’ says Picturetown is back on the map and humming.”

“Distractions,” offers Douglas Blue Feather, the local sheriff ’round these parts. “Us Angels should stick to what’s good for us. *Dreaming*.”

“But reality beckons!” Douglas hated when Yellow Purse Kimball shouted during a game. And this is the first hole (!). What will the 8th, the 11th, the 16th bring? A noisy snack of Big 60 cookies in assorted vanilla, chocolate, strawberry packed away deep in his golf bag? Gum chewing; finger snapping; whistling; singing, even: “Singin’ in the Rain”? Weatherman Fox Stet, a professor of biology over at Camden Yards, forecasts a good chance of storms this afternoon. Per usual in early May or June or whenever the f-ck it is now. Along with the wind of course, the constant evening billowing.

“Better finish by 2,” Douglas says, looking up in the skies. Clear sailing so far. He glances over at his golfing partner already swatting away. “Maybe, Yellow, we should save the putting for the actual green and not the tee.”

“Hey, I’m just practicing!” The shouting again. Oh looky, there goes the first piece of gum into his mouth. It was going to be a long round of golf. The only reason he’s doing this in the first place is get the scoop on Picturetown, because Yellow Purse Kimball has inside stuff. But he mustn’t be too obvious about the prying, the digging, the scooping. “Vanilla and chocolate,” he imagines saying to Don the ice cream vendor between front and back nines. “And top it off with, let’s see…”

“Strawberry?” guesses Don, still 9 holes away in dream-reality but already scooping away at the brown and and then white filled buckets below him in his imagination.

“Let’s go with lime.”

——

“This is absolutely the longest f-cking round of golf I’ve ever played, Douglas thinks after 2 pieces of gum, 5 whistles, and 15 hums by his count. And we’re only 1/3 the way through! Don and his delicious, home made ice cream, sorbet and sherbet is still 3 holes away. Can he hold out for his just reward? But he’s already got some scoops, so to speak. Information, that is. White Palace, Toddles the precious precocious child stuck exactly halfway between 23 22 and 22 23. Male and female. This information definitely didn’t come from the “Daily Toilet”. Inside stuff indeed. He looks over: at least Yellow Purse is on the green while putting now. Can you take any longer to make a shot? Oh, there’s goes the humming again, the stalling. He’s recalculating his line. Might as well dream about ice cream again, pheh.

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0609, Angel's Rest, Canada, Canada/Picturetown

7 > 6

She kept perusing the Oracle while waiting. The blue of her dressed matched the blue of the distant sea. Alpha… Windy, she studied. Wait… stop. Protection, she determined. She is Windy. Or Wendy.

Baker was waiting outside. She had to make a decision about an outfit. Wendy wouldn’t do — that’s kind of the base one for her now in its two twinned forms, one to build upon, like the old Wheeler-Bowie costume. Blurmaid at the last island down, she recalled. Should be something to do with Queen and King, since Corton is involved. But she and Baker weren’t Queen and King. The marriage witnessed by Speck and Crazy over on Grandpa Cliffs turned out to be a sham, a lie even. It was all too British, with true bridesmaids Fern Stalin and Lichen Roosevelt nowhere to be found. She had been on her own and didn’t even stand a chance.

Look at the bastard out there, still in his wedding tux. The audacity! He probably thinks I’ll do it again, be tricked once more. But he doesn’t know me deep down. I don’t put up with such shite.

Sure hope Wheeler picks a better outfit than Blurmaid this time, he thinks while staring up and trying to spot her through one of the house’s many windows.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0609, Nautilus, Rim Isles

The Land of Blue and Purple (final?)

In teleporting around Thornwood tonight, I realized that the foxes Muff and Birmingham, last seen in a NWES City wishing store, were getting along better, which means everything was more in balance in Our Second Lyfe and beyond.

The Diagonal was okay now, but I had no place there. Or did I? No, no, if I open up that can of worms, then karma will come into play again and I’ll have to dig deeper into Rose Heaven history — make it up, in essence, which I’m not sure if the locals, as a whole, would enjoy. The Mist represents a barrier. I have to have cooperation to continue. And I’ve decided the cooperation should come to me instead of visa versa. It’s something I’ve learned. Don’t draw attention to yourself.


23, 23, 23

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0024, 0609, Rose Heaven^^