Category Archives: 0613

July 20, 2018 · 6:34 am

outside

If I could just block out Linden — Philip Linden – and make Tronesisia whole(some?) again, she could come back to life and reestablish lemony goodness over blimey lime at New Island. Sight returned, *smell* returned. But while the kiln exists, the firing could happen again. Over and over. Female receptacle.


Artist Point, July 20 2018

Ratzenberger could become the original Our Second Lyfe sim, not Da BOOM. Ratzenberger and its *still present* wacky rabbit. Pretty amazing.

Mr. Matrix, equipped with his own ratmobile, had laid the bait several months back in the Pond District’s Rodentia. Cheese for the rat, but also carrot for the rabbit. Rat bit. But then he determined that he was probably the rat (bit) himself he did seek. Another wacky loop.

So that’s it. I must return to the Pond District and follow up on the story of Mr. Matrix and also Wheeler’s presence there. Mt. Pond outside a window. Paint bait. The wackies look on and get organized and in line behind her. “Paint paint paint!” they shout in unison. “Art art art!”

She must return to the point of it all.

She imagines dreaming on its top.


Rodentia, July 20 2018

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May 2, 2018 · 7:49 am

dance

Only minutes later, the dawning sun was shining on an observing Sidechick, still standing just beyond the crossing bridge.

Ahh, beach access.

Mystery crevasse?

The beach. *The* Beach? He then spots them just down the cliff.

A Rainbow Sphere (!). And the Golden Orb, ruler of all here.

Nothing else to do but…

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February 14, 2018 · 7:24 am

stripes

He was staying with Thimble these days, another dancer. Not that their relationship was all that serious of a thing to him — when was it? — but her second floor apartment’s view toward the Gaston-Berry Police Station put her top shelf over the other Berries.

And, yeah, The Berries really dug Duncan. He was different, unique. No, I’m not really talking about his singular status as a male African-American in Sugar’s employment. It’s just that they could see the inner boy within, the core innocence, unruined — unlike the case with about all of them. It attracted these kind of women like flies unto maple syrup.

But tonight we flip sides of the record. He had to dance for a dude. Alright, cool, cool, he said to himself when learning about the assignment. It’s all for the art form — good to keep practicing and staying limber. And he gets to keep all his clothes on; no funny stuff there. Sugar said the guy also requested that he doesn’t look at him. “Just focus on the dancing,” she ordered. “Don’t make eye contact. Just interact with him in as minimal a manner as you can get away with. He’s probably self conscious because of the damage to his face. I don’t know what happened to him — don’t really care. He paid good money and that all I need to know. And you too.”

—–

Midway through his first sequence, the bleached face man spoke. “You don’t even know who I am, do you?” But Duncan kept to his routine per Sugar’s instructions and didn’t answer.

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November 28, 2017 · 7:27 am

Alex and Albert

“Still no pot here,” complains a peering Chuck Cheese, out on bail for an hour from the Gaston-Berry Police Station. “Where *is* Alex?” She pauses. “Or was it Albert?”

Quickly checking the world map, she sees a green spot moving toward her own green spot. “Someone is coming. Could have been tracked. Bail time’s up anyway. Got to head back.”

—–

“Good. You’re back on time this time I see. But what happened to your hair?” asks Maury “Jiff” Monroe, the police staff psychiatrist.

“I sometimes take it off at night. Bed time, right?”

“Wrong. Interrogation time.”

Chuck blows out air in exasperation, rolls her eyes, and flings herself down on the cell cot. “15 more minutes down-time? Pleeeasse?”

An acquiescing Jiff goes back to his cubicle waiting for 10:15, when the grilling will resume. First off, he needs to find out about this Alex or Albert. Each bail period, Chuck spills a little more of the beans. It’s almost as if she’s doing it on purpose. Is she? he asks himself.

—–

“Why did he steal her color?” asks a studying Billy Jean Kidd over in Middletown.

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September 25, 2017 · 4:11 pm

missed

“I have a confession to make Nancy.”

“What is it Danny my love?”

“I killed the giant sloth causing all that ruckus over in Lapara. I was *so* thirsty.”

“Did it do you good?” his anime girlfirend asked.

“Oh man. Still draining the carcass over in Yellow Grass.”

Nancy had to ask something else. “Did you (also) kill Renaldo O’Donnell?”

Danny looks straight in her eyes. “There have been 7 carcasses within that grass the past 2 weeks, all animals. Does that answer your question?”

“Vampire or not, I’m just so glad you’re back.” Mouths full of chocolate chip cookies still, they share a crumbly kiss across the table.

Nancy kept forgetting to tell him that her Owls Head ring went missing right after he reappeared in town.

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July 11, 2017 · 5:15 am

Studies

Baker Bloch has determined that The Millers of Castle Knight (so named because they’re always milling about the place) are actually Knights as well, one black and the other white. Unlike chess pieces, you can’t tell them apart by appearances, only by what color square they’ve landed on at any given time through predetermined rules. Both hail from Soso, but not Collagesity’s SoSo Mall (just unsealed and reopened!), although they might claim to be so. This one instead. Their common ancestor: Newton Knight, leader of the Free State of Jones who was buried in Jasper County Mississippi with its Ted (and Turnerville) and Baxter also. Right hand man when carving out his Unionist knightdom in the middle of the Deep South was also named Jasper (Collins). Newt’s story seems to have deep significance. Hole to another dimension.

Baker is also still studying the Nancy archetype, and has determined that the 3 US Robertson Counties play a role. Ridgetop, above Bakers in Robertson County Tennessee, was formerly called Nancy (post office name). On other side of this county — northwest corner — is an Adams, famous for a particular, bad witch. In the north*east* corner of Robertson County Kentucky we have an Abigail. East and West: 2 bad witches, he’s decided, just like with Baum’s Oz. Matched up and read together, Abigail Adams is the wife of the second US president and the mother of the 6th president. Mary Ball needs to study this early champion of women’s rights. Future son and original president George doesn’t learn a New York lesson and gets outflanked at the Battle of Brandywine. Political career scuttled. Own grandpa Osborne Well perched on a high hill, master of all British Bermingham. American Muff sealed off and compartmentalized.

And then the 3rd and last Robertston County in Texas: Seale, Headsville, Bald Prairie.

We are on the home stretch…

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March 6, 2017 · 8:57 am

Continuation

In a dream, Old Grey was hobbling up Alpine Way just beyond the western border of Meribel, heading into the oh so white mountains again. “If I can just reach that bench over there I can rest again,” she says to herself. But it was a struggle, like walking uphill at a 60 degree angle.

Hummie the Hummingbird lept off her shoulder again, trying to encourage. “You can do it you can do it you can do it,” the bird twittered at a rapid fire pace in front of her…

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…then sped to the bench to wait. Faintly, Old Grey could still hear it trilling the same encouragement at intervals.

—–

“Halfway there maybe,” she said, panting.

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—–

“Jesus Christ.” Her whole body was sweating. “And (wheeze) this is still basically level ground.”

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—–

Another round of encouragement from Hummie. “You can do it you can do it you can do it.”

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—–

Old Grey died from heart failure just in front of the bench. Behind it, Pop-up Rock had come out of his hole to see what all the commotion was all about. “She couldn’t do it she couldn’t do it she couldn’t do it,” Hummie explained.

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—–

Old Mabel woke up.

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