Category Archives: 0701

01-

On a tip from someone in Squared Root City, she decided to confront them, this bigoted “Annaberg” audience, in a private public post. “Who are you!?” they cried from their respective positions after she had assumed not quite front and center stage but a viewing nonetheless. “A witch?! What bedevilment is this??!!” They studied her from their angles in the half darkness. Since red was involved, some of them wondered if this was the ancient hagg Morgan returned to them, who also goes by Morgaine and other similar words. They shuddered at the thought. They’d all read the legends, good and bad.

She realized they wouldn’t recognize her — in the present — without her beret on. She changed/she turned. The light on her face increased, emphasizing it over the rest. “You!!??” they cried even louder, seeing before them now the white woman associated with raspberries who loves black. “What *is* this??!!” they demanded.

“I am presenting myself to you as I am. One who has been tested for alien powers and abilities. One who is indeed part alien, as witnessed by my pink-ish skin, at least in comparison to you lot. One who has a vertical and a horizontal line up top. One who has a cylinder at the bottom, several in fact. One who has the colorful markings of a modern, because I am also that. I have fish, I have butterflies, I have hearts, I have writing, I have rings and stars, I have designs of odd origin. I am… me.”

This *is* Morgan, some had determined, since the red remained in the lone shoe on her feet, the left and not the right. And they were not wrong.

One also being tested dared to approach her through the mistletoed entrance with luckily a Julia and not a Julian, or else all would be too upset to continue watching and return home to view current black and white reruns of “I Love Lucifer” and such. They danced in complete sync as if on a granite hilltop between two sims. Then the N was regained and all went to hell. The bell was back.

“Let’s meet at your place instead,” past Hucka Doobie determined.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0701, Jeogeot^^, Lower Austra^, Mountain Lake^, Omega^^, Squared Root City, Sunklands^

Stan Gunderson

He came in on a tulip plane from Maebaleia (continent), vowing never to return. “Black and white tv’s,” he complained to the airline reservation agent whose name he didn’t catch and then regretted it later. Raspberry colored, she was, at least in dress — complete with seeds, ha. An idea is planted. A secret revealed. “Greyscale, even — that’s the name of the *leader* for Christs sake.” He’d received a free ticket to the capital city of the South from his cousin Vinnie. He should call him — right here and now at the airport — give him a piece of his mind about the recommended vacation spot. No *wonder* the lout gave up his ticket, he thought. Nothing there but chickens. And worse!

Only much later would he learn that Maebaleia is the same as Satori, and that he’d neglected to visit the much nicer North in his travel. Vinnie provided him with another free ticket — even went with him this time to make sure he didn’t stray too far south. They stood on the edge of the Guy Linden owned Gangkhar Rabbit Hole and marveled at its unicorn nature. Once there were two such things, on either side of X-City, King city of the north. For the king had risen again to compliment his southern queen. The black menace with two protruding round ears still hung in the sky but they’d learned to make peace with it by eliminating capitalism. Communism or at least Marxism has its advantages.

“Mae Baleia. My name is Mae,” she said more distinctly through her thick (Russian?) accent when he returned this time. *That’s* where the confusion all started. This gall darn agent (!).

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0617, 0701, Horns of Hatton^, Lower Austra^, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Nautilus^^, Rim Isles, Southwestern, X-City^

00250701

The tiles behind the stove were falling off. And she’d left the burner on again.

“Oh mom,” he complains. “What are we going to do with you?” He turns the knob to the off position and starts clearing the air.

—–

“We have to fix TILE,” Man About Time urges, making his pitch. “Carrcassonnee has become Sepisexton, the 7 and the 6 at once, and is roaming the metaverse unchecked, freeing demons right and left that she can use at her disposal. We’ve already clocked 4 with the same name of Jenny.”

“Jenny is *not* a demon,” countered Mabel, present for the debate. “She’s just… very orange.”

“Aldebaronian,” clarified likewise alien Roger Pine Ridge, who also made a window in his busy schedule for this important discussion.

“No, like I said, there are *4*.” Man About Time remained fixed about the unfixed nature of the town’s chief religion, the one it is known for through the temple and some other stuff.

“Boat,” Baker Bloch piped in. “I recall a boat. Didn’t that crash over in Wallytown, though?”

“*Wallytown*,” stepped in Wheeler, “is something we’re *not* suppose to talk about. Not after the shower.”

“Counter that,” uttered Carrcassonnee propped up in a corner, unable to walk still or talk very much. She was basically limited to things that belong in a kitchen. “Spachula,” she offered further. “Scrape up eggs off counter. Will stick if not scraped. Spachula.”

The rest tried to figure out what that translated to in the latest Carrcassonnee limited language issuances. Probably something to do with eyes again. Or “I”s. Despite the split, MAT had gotten her this far, which was something, they agreed.

“Danny. What say you?” Danny was, once more, Man About Time’s right hand man, just like in the past. Pickleland in the sideways world, his trusty plunger turned back in time. Tiger.

“Radar.” Another simplistic issuance but followed up by 176 more sentences that I won’t write out but explained very well what the lack of radar meant to the Schuman without the N. Because there was Sector R to deal with now. “… mustard,” came the end of his last sentence of the 176, describing the color of the entity most responsible for the confusion. Earlier words in this sentence and the 175 preceding it elucidated a robot from a sideways world, probably Oz, who wormed their way into susceptible people’s lives disguised as a “best friend”, as he had called it. This was the case with Barry.

“Very good, thank you Danny. I will close then, for now, by saying that every state of the US is also a state of mind. Think about that.” MAT stares them down from his position in front, on top. For the moment and, hopefully, for the future.

Of the 10 people in the meeting, only 2 thought about bordering states with this, and that is only because they shared some of the same static, been out in the same snowstorm and not made it back in time for supper and a movie that one instance. And suffered the consequences.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0701, Collagesity Fordham, Hana Lei^^, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^, The Waste^^

liquids

The day of the Great Jump had come and gone, and Elvis Kannelvis hadn’t participated. Instead he stayed in the small Linden Wood, learning more about The Line with each passing night. No one knew where he was — the woods had a way of hiding people like that as well. The hole was not made to be jumped into; it was a mere pointer to the Guy who owned it, who then pointed him back to The Line. Blue Berry Girl took his place in the event. Blue Berry Girl never had a chance, her round, juice filled body pierced by the jagged sides of the hole less than halfway down, with a pool of blue-violet at the bottom marking her failed effort. Not Linden water, because that would be a little further down still and the hole didn’t penetrate that far. Unlike the former Ulyanovsk Oblast hole strangely (yet again!) equidistant from the central crossroads of X-City as this Gangkhar Hole. This was false water, false liquid. Not Linden. Not Guy. Guy had pointed elsewhere.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0024, 0701, Maebaleia/Satori^^, X-City^

00220701

Mercury X. Rising’s still down there, heh. Waiting for Wheeler. He’s certainly in love with his car.

Man About Time — MAT — turns. “And what about you my friend. My best friend. Are you ready to really turn over this time?”

—–

MAT phoned up Toothpick. “The wedding will have to be called off. I can’t get Wheeler, I mean, Carrcassonnee to start.” Toothpick begins to sob profusely. MAT reconsiders. “There *is* one other option. We have the beginning of a new town suburb, one that might seal the deal and make 90 into 100. Are you ready to take that chance, make the leap across a small but not insignificant gap?” Toothpick stopped crying, wiped his eyes, blew his nose. “Sure,” he was finally able to speak. “But what?”

“St. Mary’s. Just behind the Bigfoot Bar, or what use to be that bar. Moe’s I think it is called now. In fact, I own it. I own the church. I own the land bridging the church with the bar with the gallery with the apartment. I own it all. Your wedding to Elberta would help seal the deal. In fact, I think I’ll invite a good friend of mine who happens to be a grey seal. Can you find it? Just behind the Bigfoot Bar. Quickly, before he turns into a snow covered Yeti and we’re all in danger. Can you handle it?”

—–

Toothpick rings up Elberta. “We must get to 245,” he spoke without emotion, trying to complete…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0701, Marwood, NWES Island^

resonant

“This place reminds me that we need to check in on Roger Pine Ridge back in Iris, Hucka Doobie. I wonder if he still has that Indigo child’s sphere; perhaps putting it on when he wants to know about all the secrets of the world.”

“This place reminds *me* that we have our own underwater world — alongside Roger’s.” Do you see how I’m posing, she thinks, striking another one. Can you see me atall?

“I guess we better move along, Hucka Doobie. Enjoy the rest of the show.”

She stands up, tired of the talk for tonight. “You go ahead without me. I’ll catch up with you at Sunklands.” She disappears.

Baker is left alone to explore the fabulous Indigo Waters sim pointed out to him by friend Veyot. But he doesn’t mind since the dazzling sights are such a distraction.


Baker suddenly has a craving for pie.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0021, 0701, Hana Lei^^

07 01

“Today, class, we’re going to talk about a historic event that happened right here in Toppsity. It was 11 years ago. No doubt many of you remember what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, I know Mrs. Orchardsity. Was it — The War?” Abigail always wanted to be the first to guess one of Mrs. Orchardsity’s queries. Most often she was wrong, like this time.

“No Abby,” — for that’s what she wished to be called now. Abigail was too formal, and she told the teacher and other students at the beginning of the semester this in no uncertain terms. “The War was further back in time. 1873-1874.” Catalina Orchardsity knew that it was really 1873-1873 but tacking on that extra year sounded better to the ears. Catalina Orchardsity was not a strickly “go by the rules” teacher. She bent the rules. She bent history a bit too. Because she knew it was malleable in the first place. Her ultimate goal was to eliminate The War altogether. Stretch it out in time until it was too thin to exist. Right not it sat fatly in the middle of 1873. She knew it had to start moving in order to lose weight, lose significance in time. This is what the coven taught her.

Bert Bright who always sat up front, second chair from the left next to his best bud Bud Dimm (2nd cousin to Dimmy Gene who we’ve already met in this here photo-novel), spoke up. “The Witch Trials.”

“Precisely, Bert…”

“I was going to say that,” grumbled Bud Dimm to his side. He always muttered this to one of Bert’s bright answers.

“Now, now, Bud. You know Bert is *much* smarter than you. Take it like the little man you are. Chin up!”

Bud raised his chin up. He liked being reinforced that he was much dumber than Bert; gave him an excuse for his lack of answers. He was satisfied with the brain that life had provided him and wanted no further advance in society than a low paying, menial job. He had been taught well.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0020, 0701, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Toppsity^

Corsican Collagesity 01

“It really is very nice, Hucka Doobie. But — where are all the *new* collages?”

“Well,” she responds to Marty as they keep walking toward the Temple of TILE, perhaps the final destination of the night. “*That* process has basically been absorbed in the generation of the Collagesity *photo*-novels, photos equaling vague or simplified types of collages quite often. Like this.”

Marty looked over at the profile of the walking bee-woman. “Like what?”

“Never mind,” she says, “that wasn’t for you.”

“Hmm.” They continue forward toward The Junction. Official name? They pause here.

“Temple of TILE — thataway, Marty. Barry X. Vampire’s new writing house: dead ahead. Which way do we go?”

“Is this, ahem, another *collage*? One I can’t see?”

“Maybe, er, baby.”

“Listen, baby. I must be going. Lemon is coming over for stew, bringing Yoko Ona. The “Coming Up” song really worked! He’s back in business. Solid lime-green he is. You should come see him.”

“I saw that Barry X. Vampire had written about that,” spoke a noncommital Hucka Doobie. “But — what of the solid lime green auto? Back in Storybrook.”

“Oh that place is so *history*,” quickly replied Marty, waving his hand in dismissal. “Lemon’s taken its place. You have to choose between green and yellow. You can’t have one over the other.”

“But you *can*.” Marty didn’t understand this. After pecking her cheek with a swift kiss he chose the path to the Temple of TILE to get to the Circuit La Corse which would take him home. Hucka Doobie stood her ground, staring ahead at Barry’s place on Collagesity’s edge and wondering what just happened. Next to the town dump currently he is. Barry hadn’t complained about the smell yet. Perhaps that’s a bad sign about his health.

—–

“You and Marty had a *what*?”

“I think — it was a kind of date (!)”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0019, 0701, Corsica^^, Urqhart^

Across

Dennis Jarman knew that someone important lay dead in 7 that came from previous numbers. He ran back the reel of time.

“Nick Barkley of Big Valley,” he spoke aloud, observing the past from a relatively safe distance. “Should’ve known: Big Valley was always pumping out the big V.’s (Villains). Graduate of Chry University like me. Or was it Chry State — never can recall. One’s team wears yellow-green and the other red-violet. Barton — that was it. Nick’s opposite at, yes, Chry State. Ned Barton I believe. Unless it was Nick and Nick was Ned. Barton-Barkley, though. Pretty sure I got that right at least. Better check. If I shout loud enough he may hear it as a tiny whisper. But also, better get ready to amscray if he’s the wrong Chry. He must not know of my past present future in any way. I’ve talked enough; time for action. Time for *time* action. Nick Barkley!!” he cried across the gap of space and time. Barkley lowered his gun and looked around on the ground, as if for a mouse. Good, thinks Dennis Jarman. He doesn’t know where I am. “I’m glad you lowered the gun!! Now lower your *shield*!!” This would be the proving test, because Chry State graduates don’t know what shields are, the tool of a soft and not hard scientist. One who believes in psychics as well as physics. Nick Barkley, who was truly Nick Barkley, lowered his shield. He looked in the direction of Dennis Jarman, saw an outline forming. “Good, good,” spoke Jarman over to Nick and walked toward him, form becoming corporeal for the latter. “Now give me the shield and let’s go home. We have a lot of tape to look at.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0018, 0701, Ashenlave^, Corsica^^

end 01

Parasol was so close to the man with the answers (Patriotic Soup Restaurant cook) but yet so far. The bearded lady’s answer to the location of Kuckoo’s or Palace Hotel was: “Ask the fish butcher at the flea market. He knows everything and everybody.” Another dead end, then, for, as we know, the underwater butcher knows nothing. She decided just to wander a bit more before totally giving up, and stumbles (and bumbles) upon a passageway she didn’t think she’d explored before in her many travels through the city now. She touches something and then finds herself here…

…. confronting a white rabbit on the sky object’s edge. Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, murdered in “Collagesity Photo-Novel 16.”

Parasol didn’t know this fact, but quickly gathered she was talking to a ghost. “Your plan would not have worked,” he called over in earnest after introducing himself. “The whiteyes would not implant correctly over your own eyes and you would have been found out immediately and killed. Just like myself.” He faded from view with this, but the brief encounter provided Parasol with more valuable information than she had hitherto received from anyone in Kowloon. My plot would not have work! she said, spinning the possibility, nay *actuality* around in her mind. Because she knew it was true as soon as it spilled out of the dead doctor’s mouth. White rabbits are true guides. They do not seek to mislead in and of themselves.

Parasol looked up. Another mass of black and white color directly above her head. She flew up…

… to confront *another* white rabbit at the same position on the taijitu symbol’s edge. The symbol was smaller, brighter, and with a more irregularly shaped edge (with a good number of rounded protrusions) than the otherwise duplicate one immediately below. Another 2-n-1.

This white rabbit, taller and appearing feminine in the dim light to Parasol, introduced herself as Charlie in about an octave higher register than the doctor before her. Feminine indeed, although possessing a uni-sex name. “I am the continuation of the doctor,” she spoke, and then Parasol was in a very different location again. Very low instead of very high.

She stared up. The spinning, red fabricy doctor had just finished fixing the first red eye and was about to start on the second. A beam shot up from the “unfixed” eye, destroying the aberrant being in one poof of smoke. She stood up. Was she alive or dead? She couldn’t tell as she walked down the trench toward the surface again…

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0017, 0701, Kowloon^^