Category Archives: 0703

February 11, 2025 · 5:45 pm

00450703 (the monster within)

Greg was also into painting trees that came from seeds, including that persimmon in the dead center of Juho we mentioned before. Here: a willow pretty nearby it at the end of the short lane known as Makers Way, Greg’s artistic and otherwise home in the still-being-developed burg. He feels he can speak to this particular tree even, hear its words, understand the language of the long, willowy limbs often swaying and sometimes rustling in the winds. “Greg Ogden,” they seemed to whisper call to him more than once. “More green, more green!” And sometimes he would change with this and sometimes he didn’t. Depends on if he’s heavy into the oils or remains more on the surface with quicker drying acrylics and watercolors. Here he dabbles in acrylic; we appear to be safe for now. 🙂

Soon he tires of outdoor stuff and returns to his newly revamped studio now chocked full of pictures of the female anatomy instead of male, the studio apartment where he lives and bathes and such just above, a one to one match in space and clutter one floor up. He always leaves the front door slightly ajar just in case he forgets his keys. Could return in one of those artistic dazes, he figures, especially if he shifts over to oil. He remembers his uncle locking himself out of his music shop for weeks because of a similar jazz trance induced by something as simple as a passing car radio. Sensitive shopkeepers responsible for the opening and closing of doors must be cognizant of their own weaknesses and adjust accordingly.

How about STAB for a name? he thinks while walking through the shop’s red facade. Short and sweet and evoking lots of the same color. Also short as in the lane he lives on. Eye-catching. And as a bonus he won’t have to repaint. STAB it is. Goes along with the blood theme of his new help wanted ad too; he’ll simply build upon it to create the perfect logo, he thinks in the moment. Good luck Peter Melanchton! Thanks for your service, but I don’t need you any longer, I don’t even need your sister any longer.

I have Redd.

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November 20, 2024 · 3:48 pm

00440703 (all)

And so let’s end where it all began. With a cube. In the Back Rooms. But we must add more text and context.

None of this is finished. We have reached a dead end, plywood *blocking* our way again. Besides the highlighted cube, notice also the bit on the sickly yellow wall to the left here projecting through as a line. Future promise but also current limit.

We are going to get answers, though the journey will be hard at times, with many pitfalls to navigate. Let’s call these: falling into the flesh pit, mystery no more. The Back Rooms is actually uplifting in this way. Sometimes I wish it had all remained plywood, this Our Second Lyfe. Would certainly help with lag (!).

We toil endlessly in a 9-5 grind but ultimately use our copiers for nonproductive things like tomfoolery or worse.

We are hanging by a thread, producing writing but only of a disjointed mix of color, font, and narrative.

We wade through pools of shallow knowledge, hoping to get to deeper ones soon enough. If we live that long, pheh (plywood again).

We are bored. We are not fulfilling what we are suppose to be. The powers that be knew this would happen. They gave us a break. Many.

As in bathroom. So many toilets to choose from but only one is real. No people at least, but of course that’s part of the whole problem.

We must come back up to the world, move to the main building by the holidays with all the other 9-5 grinders and out of this Back Rooms place with its pitfalls and dead ends. Things will be okay; you’ll see. Night writing instead of day. Continuity instead of disjointment through increased psychic abilities. Let the photo-novels begin!

END OF “SUNKLANDS 2024 LATER”!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0044, 0703, Back Rooms, Maebaleia/Satori, X-City^

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August 11, 2024 · 8:21 am

00430703

“Never forget. Our purpose is to secure and serve (soive), brothers and sisters. We’ve closed a portal but opened a dimension jumper. Be strong in our quest. Remember to sign and endorse your checks. Because coffee is more important than food itself because it provides food for thought. I’ve gone on long enough. I’ve provided you with enough clues to start your own search for the truth. Don’t listen to just me. Listen to your own thoughts, your own beliefs on the subject matter. Draw your own conclusions. Use the brain you were given. Rock* demands it, the Gods of the God himself or herself or itself. Anyway, good luck seekers. Baker B. outta here.”

END OF “SUNKLANDS 2024 MIDDLE”!

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February 6, 2024 · 6:33 am

00410703

He enlarges himself beside his office so he can better peer over the tops of internal buildings and view the object while still remaining clandestine in the dark. Probably; maybe the sleep deprivation is really catching up with him now and he’s beginning to lose his mind. Enlarging himself? He hasn’t resorted to those tactics since the early days of Collagesity (!). But they’re readying another ship to travel into space and he has to know the ins and outs, and since he has another job in the day when people are actually awake to answer questions about it…. well, circumstances seem to dictate this.

Footsteps behind him. He quickly micronizes back down to ordinary size or attempts to. Overshot! — you see, this is one of the dangers of enlarging in the first place. But maybe all for the best, since he didn’t think he was spotted that way. *No one* comes to his office. He’s embarrassed about the smallness of *it*, which he’s hidden in the bowels of the otherwise empty, cold and foreboding so-called “Cement Village” for this very reason and then put out rumors in the community at large that the place was haunted. Plus the population wasn’t ready for the truths within yet. St. Lemon of Troy.

Indeed she hadn’t spotted him because of the size. She walks within, intending to snoop around while no one was apparently home. Yes, she thinks. She’s in the right spot. Yvonne, Dorenna and Anton marked on a Nautilus City map.

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September 4, 2023 · 7:00 am

no friend

“Do you like him dearest? I gave him my eyes. Well, I gave him eyes *like* mine to be specific. Buttons, see?”

Sarah jumped off the ground, turned toward the muffled voice speaker. She tried not to gasp at the sight. After all, Our Second Lyfe is full of strange avatars. But this one seemed different… realer. Scarier. “I’m… so sorry… miss. We didn’t, we didn’t…”

“See a green dot at the trailer?” Mid-Hazel completed Sarah’s thoughts, the counterpart to Al, the love of his life by now, even though she may have to be put in “storage” again until he can figure out how to get to the wedding part. He’s committed to a future date, though — whenever it can occur. “Thought you were alone at the place? Yeah, I just pop in now and then. Coincidence, we’ll call it I’m here when you’re here. Serendipity. *Synchronicity*. Are you aware of that term my dear? Do you know the meaning?”

“Yes,” she spoke, brushing her hair away from her blue eyes and trying to make herself more presentable to the… whatever it was she was facing. Old Hag? Witch? Maybe a combo of several archetypes… yes, another term she learned in her college psychology classes, Jung touched upon here there and there.

“Then you’ll know this is *fate*, this meeting is.”

Al appeared from behind some bushes. He’d heard voices but he had to finish his tinkle, nature being the harsh bitch she is (he was thinking at the time). Both turned toward him.

“Ahh, and the *man*. Always a man lurking around for a pretty thing like yourself, honey.”

Al walked up, confident that they had a right to be here because of the orange trees and because of what they found beneath them. More orange. Pumpkin orange. “I assume this is your land, um…”

“Hazel,” spoke Mid-Hazel. “The central one. Two on the end,” and she extended both arms and looked at each “hand” that wasn’t there, “but I’m the most important. They say if you’re in the middle that sometimes you’re simply in the way. And so it is.” She collapsed both extremities onto her heart to indicate herself, the center, the void in middle of it all — no hands to mask. Mid-Hazel, Witch Hazel to some, especially if you’re from the West Coast. “We were just talking about eyes, young man; my kind of eyes,” and she indicated the larger pumpkin creature again.

Suddenly Sarah was teleported about 10 yards away and then quickly walked back, thinking she did it to herself somehow. But she didn’t. She was simply standing a bit too close to him and he didn’t like it, this mustachioed fiend of the night.

(to be continued)

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June 20, 2023 · 5:03 pm

5th

It was her 1/2 hour “lunch hour” and she decided to explore the sim, mainly remotely but with some direct teleports. She’d discovered Tigger Peak, currently covered up with false landscaping. And a larger club and bar in the ne corner of the sim — maybe she could get a job there to earn a living instead of working for Al the slave driver. Then, the last parcel she checked (she was going to be late getting back but who cares at this point, she thinks), the Land of the Cows. And she’d found their throne tucked away in the loft of a barn. Seeing no green dots indicating other residents nearby she dared to directly sit in it from her remote viewing spot.

She looked down and counted her white gloved fingers. 10 instead of 8. Good. She was still whole. Like proper milk, 5 percent instead of 2, or at least 4 to make the ratio come out correct. She’d held out her number challenge hand and someone grasped it. She was saved by the FILE, she knew. She had to keep abiding by the golden rule. But nobody said she had to keep working for *Al*. Heck, she could work here, with the cows, be a type of secret, inside agent uncovering their inner workings, including 4 stomachs we assume. But everyone knows that. Deeper secrets; beyond strange body workings. She could see into the soul of the cow, beyond the black and white, and peer deep into red, the ultimate unity. Like alchemy. But… where was the citrinitas? she wondered with this train of thought. The yellowing? The missing 4th? Ah… “Eureka!” she shouted, leaping out of the throne, attracting the attention of at least one other. Someone named Beckett, an expert on historical. An expert on all things missing in the now. Including himself.

(to be continued)

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February 1, 2023 · 7:35 am

Bathtime

https://bakerbloch.com/2016/01/23/fourth/

When Karoz reached Baker Blinker’s porch, he heard running water. What he saw inside was also beyond his comprehension.

He found he could not move. Neither did Baker Blinker.

—–

Baker Blinker, put at least temporarily in charge of the new town upon the absence/disappearance of twinned soul Baker Bloch, looks over. “You’ve returned,” she said about the great metal being, only noticing him now after 5 minutes at the Blue Feather Table, as if he’d just been reglued to time and space.

He said he had a story to tell in his deep, robotic-but-still-warm voice, then paused. Baker Blinker feared another Big Freeze, like when she first met him (as Karoz relayed about the meeting later on — she, like now for a bit, was unaware of his presence in her “house” at the time). But then he moved his mouth around as if being oiled from within, then continued.

This is where Baker Blinker learned Tin S. Man was Tin, well and good, but he was also 11. She looked all around him like a cubist painting and then realized he was gone again. Portal. Like a winked off TV screen, shades pulled. Tin S. Man was in Soos no more. “Find me,” she thought she heard to end.

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November 27, 2022 · 5:17 pm

00350703 (one off)

Inky McOilwell just before getting fired, then terminated. Didn’t see or hear the leak behind her on Sunday’s Tuesday’s Thursday of last week’s Monday’s Wednesday. The specific day was Friday I believe, unless it was Saturday. Unhappy for Inky whatever.

Despite the loss, the ridge rig kept working, thanks in part to today’s fresh recruits…

… like Ginger here, just come over from the satellite base in Azzlebury and preparing for her 10th bath of the day.

And… is that Franklin watering the plants over there? She’s alive (!).

Jesus, Lichen and Liz in their horse costumes coming through the gate now too!

—–

Fern felt she was still 1 step ahead of them, despite the progress. “What did I do to you to deserve this is all I want to know,” the fellow boat riding minion spoke up to them from his tight fitting cage.

“You exist,” spoke Fern as plainly as possible. “1/2 fruit or vegetable, 1/2 robot… all bastard. And where’s the banana I gave you to eat? Did you throw it overboard? I don’t see the peel. Better not litter in this water. You know what happens to people — and creatures — when they misbehave around here”

“I–I…” He admitted he ate the banana, peel and all. He was confused about what he was suppose to do. Yeah, he was told not to litter. Why do you think he did it? he asked them.

“Throw him in the water,” Boatman Neil said for not the first time, tired of the yapping and begging and whining. “Let the underwaters have him.” He thought about his own encounter with MessianSphere not 3 years ago. But somehow he escaped. Or did he?

“No. We need him,” spoke Fern softly back to Neil only. Because she had a plan. Fern always had a plan, for every occasion. And 7/6ths into a photo-novel still without a plot was a special one indeed. Unprecedented if memory serves, unless it was 11, 16, 21, 26, 31.

We move on…

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September 28, 2022 · 1:43 am

00340703

“Who is it baby doll?”

“It’s the *agency*.”

“Well, keep trying to smile.”

“Hello?” she says. “Yeah, this is him, well, his proxy.” She winks at actor Lemont Sanford, currently unemployed but not caring. They’d made so much on the dog.

A pause as she listens to the other party. Then: “Back? Kill van Kull? I’ll tell him.”

Lemont Sanford, best known for his role as Arthur Kill back there, picks up that there’s no one else on the line. This was all a sham. “Your *synthesized* part is all lined up,” she said, putting away the phone — somewhere. He couldn’t help note the purple again.

10 days later they were back on the set in Middletown getting married to a new wedding theme, someone name Bodenheimer I believe. 10 weeks later the character played by the actress divorced the SOB. But not before something happened, something very important to the future of this blog and attached photo-novels.

In a word: Liz.

END OF “SUNKLANDS PHOTO-NOVEL 34”

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December 30, 2021 · 5:56 pm

102 year war

Sorry SA, but Clyde, like an elephant, doesn’t forget that easily.

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