Category Archives: 0611

00340611

And so we return to Nautilus to end, lawnmower Jacob I. still firmly asleep down at the Progressive Rock Museum on Rooster’s Peninsula where I virtually live and own a castle now.

At least Newt, formerly Windmill Man formerly (and then more recently) Axis, has lost some of his evil in returning the Modern German colors of red and yellow to his natural or core black. Stay that way, I can hear Pauline Silentghost say from her similar perch over at the AF subcontinent of Sansara, a Void Ocean away from here but clear as a bell to me.

The rocks know.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0611, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

with Rotate and Bob

“I don’t think Jem is going to return again tonight, Bob,” red headed Rotate spoke over from her orange mushroom, not wishing to currently fly because of sadness. But Bob was more uplifting.

“He has his wood (bob up). He can chop (bob down up). He’ll be fine (bob down up down).”

“Master Daigle doesn’t think John is going to do a *bit* of good in this matter,” Rotate insisted. “I heard him talking to himself last night through the leaves and the limbs.”

“You should leave the trees to themselves (up down up down). Soon you’ll have deadwood on your hands. Like Ebony (up).”

They weren’t suppose to talk about Ebony and both knew it so the matter dropped. But what about Dove? Rotate thought. But what about Ivory? Bob thought.

The blue haired and blue clothed latter hadn’t gotten the news received by the red former. The white pixy had changed her name, thanks to Greenleaf, the opposite of Deadwood. And then the alphabet spread out before them on the forest floor under a big maple like soup, ready to be spooned.

“Mmmmmm dead,” one of them sung softly when tasting.

—–

“Why do you always say that when we’re about to play?” the other asked, rolling the dice. 12; 2 six shooters. As high as you can get without careening a car over a bank into Thirteenville, as the locals say. Already on L, she thinks. This could be another quickie.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0611, Jeogeot, Towerboro

boulder scene/Little Tramp

“So I went to the middle of The Cross, the middle of Lineside (which is the same), just to see what was there. The well was gone, you know, the one Lou and Morris declared was the center of the world or something.”

“*Well*,” she exclaimed back. “I never.” Because she knew the center of the world was in Arkansaw, some say Miss Ouri. But it was probably Arkansaw. Or not. Debate for another time and place.

“Yeah, I had a hard time getting there with the ban lines and all but I finally found it. A rock, you see — ‘nother one. And a grassy little hill attached to it with water sprinkling all over the place.”

“Your mouth is getting lazy again,” the other with the first complained, probably Venus since she was more sharp mouthed, perhaps part bird herself with the beak and all. But that was just (in) a dream.

“Knoll,” the first defined more clearly. “Toys.”

“Yeah, those too,” admitted Blue Bird, looking to her right and left as they approached, threatening to close her in on this very spot in the center. Or as close as she could get. “I touched the green star near me. I began to dance. I seemed to worship the rock, become one with it even. That seemed to drive them away. I was alone again, but I kept wanting to dance and worship. I realized I was someone else in the moment.”

“Inky Man?” asked Mistress, the first more clearly defined as well. “I recall: Inky Man.” STOP

In her mind, she saw the black figure approach and then recede. Just like a toy.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0032, 0611, Nautilus, Omega^^, Retirement Islands, The Cross^, Wild West

jungle news

Jim and Natalie returned to their home base banana tree after successfully killing off Alan and Hale, only to find that they had missed their baby boy Gill’s first word, according to left behind/ too young to be in battles/ older brother Skipper. His own name. Then to their delight he said it once more. Gill again.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0611, Nautilus, Retirement Islands, Wild West

solid southwest

“Oh yeah, um, hi Baker Bloch (waves vaguely).

“I’m here to, um, check out the Rock, uh, is that it?” Man About Time points toward what is indeed The Rock. Marty was perched on top of it last month, listening to rock (music): himself, singing about listening to what the Mann said. Would he (did he)? Can he sing a Christmas song now up there? A day too late I would think. Then *Perch* emerged from beneath the mossy veil a couple of weeks ago — ever so briefly, because he is gone now. And frost has appeared on the veil…

“I’m going over there now,” he called to Baker in his unfocused way. But Baker couldn’t hear him because he really wasn’t there. Like Perch himself . Due to the eye/face’s disappearance, the door has been open for a return to Collagesity — *finally*. I suppose that’s where he could be pointing to but probably not. The odds are against us.

Nope (I checked). Better get back to Paper-Soap.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0611, Nautilus, Southwestern

00290611

“I lost you in the tunnel!” director Percy Pierce complains as Axis-Windmill tries to defend his disappearance from a the scene.

“Well, ahem…”

“And I see you brought your two cat friends along to help your case. She turns to the red-blue eyed one on his right. Rebl *lawyer* is it now?”

“Yes ma’am. Axis did nothing wrong,” she begins in her purry way. “He followed the G-Spots through the tunnel to the missing letters.”

“Letters?” Percy Pierce spoke. “Don’t you mean: *letter*.”

A pause. “A moment with my client,” Rebl then requests, which Percy agrees to. Whispers; heads nodding and shaking; green and yellow eyed Guyd on the left side joins in the conversation. Percy can only make out scattered words (Paper, King, Soap, couple more). Finally: “enough”, she says. “We must get on. 9:30 shoot tomorrow. We must all be fresh.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” says Rebl in turn. “Don’t you mean: *shot*?”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0611, Paper Soap, Soap

more

“This is Scooter. Scooter this is Herbert. He just woke up today.”

“Scooter eats rats,” the horse neighed, and was off again, chasing another one. They watched him attentively move to the edge of the green plateau…

… and then dive into the bushes.”

Scooter doesn’t really eat rats,” said Hoppy in a lower voice in case Scooter was listening in. Horses could tune into about 5 different conversations around them if needed and understand everything in every single one. “He just chases them, then *pretends*. Or maybe,” Hoppy says in a rethink, “he just pretends *everything*.” Hoppy hadn’t actually ever seen a rodent in the woods. Except for Wilber the Vole, who doesn’t count (uneducated).

Scooter emerges from the bushes about where he entered them and walked to his grassy spot again. “Scooter ate rats. Scooter sleepy now. Goodbye.”

—–

“Okayyy, then moving on, we have Jerimy here on the picnic table, enjoying… well, what’re you eating Jerimy? Don’t say rats, hah.”

“Spinach.” And Jerimy takes another bite of his blueberry pancake. But Herbert notices he sounds exactly like the horse in saying this.

Hoppy looked up to Herbert, sensing the confusion. “Lots of comedians here, you see. Horses that pretend to eat rats, bears that pretend they are horses eating rats — er, spinach — in turn. Bears are super mimics.”

“Bears are *super* mimics,” says Jerimy in exactly the same tone and register as Hoppy, except emphasizing the word “super” a bit more.

“See?” He turns back to Jerimy. “Where’s your mother, Jerimy?”

“Shot.” Now he sounds exactly like Jackie the swan.

“Now, Jerimy, that’s not very nice. You shouldn’t make fun of tragedy.”

Jerimy makes a series of machine gun sounds, then a loud whistle as if a plane was plummeting from the sky, then an explosion upon impact. Hoppy was shaking the resulting spittle from his entire body and Herbert was shaking it from his shoe and the lower part of his trousers.

“Radius: 10 feet,” then exclaimed the young bear comedian (comedian?). “All debris must be cleared up by O 9 o’clock.” Radio announcer now. Jerimy’s a regular listener of the BBC, especially enjoying war dramas like “Mary Queen of Scots”. “Penguins,” he then utters nasally, imitating something else, perhaps another voice from the radio. “Bloody *stupid* penguins.”

“Jerimy?” Hoppy was trying to get the cub to focus. “Where’s Mama?”

“Mama.” The voice of a human baby now. “Ma-ma. Ma-ma.” He pretend sucks at a milk bottle: “*slurp slurp slurp* *BUUURP*”.

Jerimy, that’s *rude*.”

“BUURRRRRRRRRRRRRP!” Half the birds in the surrounding woods flew from their perches. Several thought they were being shot at with some kind of special gun. One fainted and fell to the ground. But he was okay (Billie Perch, a Hollywood starling).

“Done, Jerimy?” Hoppy thumped a rabbit foot and crossed his arms in exasperation. Bears could be trouble, especially if they go on a comedic roll. How to slow it down?

(to be continued?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0611, Nautilus, North, Rooster's Peninsula

Yelloo!

After work, Wheeler returned to the theatre to watch more of Kane, studying each clap closely. Stu Umbriel mosied in, and seeing Wheeler down front suddenly had a hankering for a frozen one. Kolya (aka Ben aka Gus) came in immediately afterward — they either walked or drove over together — and then the last of their party sauntered inside as well, a person they derogatorily called Chief, because of his Indian heritage. Thing is he sat down on *top* of Kolya and kind of merged with him, Devil power showing its pitchforked ways again. Stu didn’t look over, just glad it wasn’t him this time. Chief had been taken over for sure. Maybe it’s the common redness, he speculated while woofing down another popped kernel. He watched Wheeler pop in hers. Maybe they could pop some common food together sometime, he thinks, seeing something different in the claps as well. Just keep studying, he said to himself. We’ll compare notes later. As soon as I can ditch the Devil Boys.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0611, Paper Soap, Soap

00260611

“You have to let her go, doc. She h’ain’t human. Heck, she’s hardly animal at all. Green blood instead of red, two hearts instead of one. It *doesn’t* take two to, you know,” and here John Frank Baum Ritter, husband of formerly heard from Texarkana Ritter, thumps his chest bigly for Dr. Paul Mouse. “One’s perfectly fine for all the pumping and such.”

Dr. Mouse thinks back here to his estranged wife, out in the beige hills even above Collagesity a bit. Only a shack for her now, but the one eye sees fine. He was looking for her the other day when he spotted the smoking, crashed saucer with the red and green lights in a small hollow to the west, perhaps in Baddest. And then Ruby laying beside it in a tall heap. 8 foot? he was trying to guess the height even from a distance. He gets closer, the bug green growing more metallic with each step. A bug, he though. A bug will fall her. Even then he knew, because he was also an alien of sorts, also psychic to a significant degree. Thus the rather frequent sightings of his mouse pal Pansy, the famous rodent who was never famous and instead replaced by another. The Pooping Pigeon was suppose to be his revenge. Now he will get his own through Ruby. He *will* discover a cure.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0611, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

slipperman (filling a hole)

“AYYYEEEEE!!”

—–

“I do believe he was trying to say your name at the end,” spoke Walter, also looking down on the mess below.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0611, Nautilus, Rim Isles