Category Archives: 0704

February 1, 2023 · 9:52 am

00360704

“What are we negotiating *now*, Young Me?”

“The return of Karoz Blogger to Mainland, Jeogeot continent in particular. Somoco specifically. The Julia House to pinpoint.”

“Ahh,” spoke the old hag that was also Shelley. “You want a return to the *N* (for it).”

“Not… necessarily.”

“You *know* what that means,” she says while nodding her head up and down in an irritatingly frantic way to Shelley.

“I… do.”

—–

Wasn’t going to happen, both knew, but they were playing along. The unexpected beaver float in the cove out back pinpointed *this* location. Something had to happen here. They were experimenting. They started again.

“You *know* you will retain your current form.”

“Yes,” said Shelley back to her older self. Much older.

“You and Arthur will continue to be married. Might be rocky. Might be bumps in the road. Maybe a pothole or two. But you will persist. I should know.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you want–?”

“No.” She didn’t.

“Get in the float,” the old hag then said. “Easy as that. Transport,” she explained. “From this photo-novel to the next. Just get inside. Enjoyy.”

Shelley stared over, wondering if this was on the up and up or not. She couldn’t tell. The old witch was ahead of her again. “I’ll… give you a big ol’ choco chip cookie if you do it. You can hold it in front of you. Like a steering wheel. You are a Carr… repeat after me. You are a Carr.”

“I am a Carr.”

“You are a *Carr*.”

“I *am* a Carr.”

“You are… well, you know the rest.”

—–

“Come on, Carr,” urged Clifton Mahoney, full transferred over from Baker Bloch. “I know it’s early but your bath is 5 days overdue. Get your drying moss ready.”

“Broken,” the great olive being replied.

“I know. We’re going to get you fixed up… cleaned up.”

“Not what–”

“I know. Come on, get up. I know you can do it.”

“Need… help.”

“Why I’m here.” And he moved toward Carr to help her get started.

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November 28, 2022 · 5:28 am

wheel (red-violet opposite yellow-green)

“You look troubled, Harry.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“Yes. For using my real name. Amanda.”

“Yes, thank you too. I understand the frustration sometimes.” Juanita doesn’t look off-screen for direction, thought Jerry within Harry here. She goes with the punches. She’s a winner(!).

“The only thing worse than a child actor is an actor acting like a child,” Harry says, still improvising, still venting.

“So true,” Amanda replies.

—–

“Should we stop them? asked Thomas behind the scenes to Kurt, knowing when Jerry gets on a roll like this it could run a while. Look at “Mission Impossible”.

“No, we can edit later,” director Kurt Strawb, a 1/2 himself, says back to his assistant on the set. “Let him say what he wants to say. Heck, this is about the only time he’s actually acting, you know. During the ad-libs. He gets into them, lets his personality go.”

“I hear ya.”

—–

“5,000 dollars, Amanda? Try *50*, as in 50,000. That’s what my daily debts are up to.”

——

“So true to real life,” spoke Thomas, marveling at the acting that wasn’t much of an act atall.

—–

Across the room:

“Would you look at him over there, *acting* like nothing has happened. Do you know how much that weasel bastard owes me? Do you want to wager a guess?”

Tom and Jerrie (different!) stay quiet. Sam the Taker who is also Sam the Toker is on a roll too. 10 ones? Try one. As in: one. It was all a ruse, a scam.

(to be continued)

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December 31, 2021 · 7:03 am

00300704

She was staring not at the fire but a little bit up and to the right like she was good at. That should have been me, she dwelled.

Nearby, Baker Bloch had gotten pretty good on the piano, graduating from “Chop Sticks” to chromagraphic lines of modality. Next up: half lines; doubly long. He can hardly wait. Full blown computer music could be next.

The swallowtail flag points to it: Rainbow Sphere.

“Baker?” she called over as he hit Middle C once again, as he’d done over and over tonight. It stayed lit up from use as his fingers retreated.

“Yes?”

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November 7, 2021 · 7:07 am

00290704

He’d landed in the right spot. Now to end this.

—–

You’ll have to excuse our friend Square. He hasn’t caught up with the book yet.” He looks over, notes the blonde hair. “I see you’re turning into Jennifer Lane again. Good one. Veyot likes that one.”

I took another sip of of my 4 shot latte and wrote:  “Yes, I further said it was a real place, and *now* — since I spoke to her — (the maturation) means something else. Retirement, the library becoming an increasingly far away and fuzzy edifice after that. I proceed forward with my new life, my new eyes. I will have no need for physical books any longer. I am my *own* book. I am beyond my Firesign Theatre period, having absorbed the Piera (“Billfork” through “Uncle Meatwad”). I am even beyond the positive carrcasses (“Cpt. Mouse” through “Shiny Hare”). I enter something different.

“Good, good,” he said. “All and well.” He becomes Square and makes another collage.

“These…overlaps,” he says, now studying, now reading the physical book again while turned away, “are becoming interesting. Comings and goings. Dr. Mouse arrives at the same time he departs.” He turns the page. 5 seconds later: “And *Zach and Lena*. Aren’t they a couple already?”

I check his pronouncement with my already changed eyes. “Yes. Too much information,” I decided. “We must end and then begin again. Clean the slate.”

He switches sides of the couch again. “Downstairs first,” forward looking Circle requests. “We must speak with a few more people in this one.”

(to be continued)

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April 16, 2021 · 6:42 am

zircon encrusted tweezers

Perhaps the Kidd Tower never should have been eradicated from this cozy corner of NWES City, Man About Time thinks while flying above it all again. It’s another “what if…”, but the Kidd Tower remains in Collagesity, on the *Nautilus* continent. Not here, though, in its more natural position on the Jeogeot continent which NWES City acts as a crown jewel of — was *suppose* to act that way. Now its Black Ice is being depopulated, victim of urban overbuild. But I still have Moe’s in Apple’s Orchard, he thinks. And Charlene still has her coffee bar down in Black Ice, and Stumpy still lives with fellow head Gotham above the record store there. Gotham, he realizes. A black person in Black Ice: exactly what I need. He knows where he must head next.

—–

“You’re not suppose to smoke it in your *nose*, you silly person,” he exclaimed as they lounged around in his and Stumpy’s apartment and partaking a bit before heading out to… where? Not much left in Black Ice except Charlene’s coffee bar. Gotham tells Man About Time this.

“Then let’s (*cough*), go to Collagesity. Mabel will be singing (*cough cough*) at the Montana Bar tonight.”

“Really?” said Gotham, use to strange pot talk and the lies it can surface. Blue over red, as Stumpy might explain it. Or something — he can’t remember the exact phrase he uses right this moment. Also something about octaves. And doctors.

“Yeah (*cough*).” Man About Time can hardly breathe now. He had to get out of here. It was foolish for him to toke, even if only through the nose. He was still high enough to fly. He could go back over to Apple’s Orchard right now and probably see the Kidd Tower there in that cozy corner, like it never left. He remembers that Mabel wasn’t singing tonight, and that the Montana Bar hadn’t been built yet. But it will. If other things line up as planned — dominoes. “Let’s, er (*cough cough cough*), go to my place over there instead.”

“What place? You don’t live *here*?”

Man About Time didn’t have breath to explain. He could only manage: “I’ll (*wheeze*) send-you-a-link,” which meant a teleport invite. He knew his apartment was home base — easy reach — and that he hadn’t changed it to the Blue Feather yet. Why would he?; he wasn’t ruler of Collagesity *yet*. Mabel’s dad wasn’t Billy Ray Cyrus — *yet*. Charlene the Punk wasn’t Fern the super-witch…”

“Link to where?” Gotham interjected, making Man About Time remember to teleport himself. But he ended up just falling asleep on the couch afterwards, forgetting about Gotham until the morning. He phoned him up.

“I was waiting here — *all* *night*,” Gotham protested about the disappearance and the missing invite.

“I’ll make it up to you,” came the mild reply. “Montana, I mean, Mabel is singing next week as it turns out. Everything lined up.”

—–

That night at Moe’s Bar:

“Stumpy. Where’d you get that poster?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Why?”

“Was Dinah, Moe’s…*wife*?”

They’d both find out at Mabel’s Montana gig.

(to be continued)

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November 5, 2020 · 7:14 pm

wedding 02

Barefoot Toothpick had a dream that night. The overalls were removed again. He was walking across a field of delicious green grass that should be a paved, car filled street toward a building that would answer it all. Instead it was full of playing kids and supervising parents who were also having fun, shrugging away the burden of responsibility for the time being. Fun. Toothpick should be having that too. But he had other things to do he knew were both right and wrong at the same time. It was as if truth were suspended in mid-air before him off a bridging pole.

The location? Picton, but it wasn’t called that any longer, not after this festival or whatever it is. The name was now Pict on Pict, short for Picture on Picture, a new blog category. Heck, let’s just call it Picturetown, or maybe Frametown if we draw out a bit more. But we can’t right this moment because of the setting, blackness or the abyss all around. Picturetown it is.

Elberta meets him near the threshold. Certain Death is both at the front window and nearer the door, another 2n1 situation since time is overlapping here again (Munday = Sunday + Monday). She knew she’d have to lose the body to go inside. They hold hands.

Not what they were expecting.

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September 9, 2020 · 2:56 pm

end

She was waiting to get her red tie and watching DeBoy up front ask question after question to Miss Graham the teacher. Soon she would be as inept as him but it wouldn’t last long. She had some cheat notes. The 5 looking on were eager to have a new host. Their stares through a window to her soul made Hucka Doobie nervous and scratch her arm until it almost bled on top of the bleeding heart tattoo that came with the body she’s had, oh, since Tammy Whatammy pushed her into that collage and sent her reeling reeling reeling (back?) to Gaston and that jail cell with *him*. The Most Ancient One: Casey One Hole. Another scratch here.

Miss Graham was readjusting the vast series of equations on her blackboard to include the new variable: the snapping red tie, which we know now is the same as a picture taking camera. Hucka Doobie had been exposed, with the prints now developing in a Red Room not far from here. On Level D I believe. She had no other choice, then. The red tie must go along with the red dress. Wish someone would have told me that before, she thinks while the chalk dust flies again up front, a finalizing equation.

What of Baker Bloch? Who will take care of him now, act as his sounding board when needed, give him sage advice when necessary (a lot!)? The people here helping with the transition say his other part, Baker Blinker, flew in from Chilbo yesterday but only to say goodbye, really. She, as Magika Bean, is starting her wrestling tour with Flip Bean — Wheeler — day after tomorrow’s Tuesday. Another jett plane flying not to war technically but certainly to battles. Battles do not necessarily add up to war all the time. Magika and Flip are friendly adversaries if you know what I mean, another 1/2 and 1/2, but she wasn’t suppose to use that expression for a while. That’s what the intervention group told her and she’s following through, kind of. 1/2 and… jeez. She rolls her eyes here while glancing up front again. Oh, something is happening making the situation slightly more interesting now. Miss Graham is pulling DeBoy by the tie toward her! She’s… planting a kiss on not his head but… his lips! She’s dragging him sideways now with the tie past the board with all the equations, and then behind it. She’s…

Hucka Doobie can’t look any more. But she’ll get his tie this way. Until she decides to relinquish it herself in the same manner.

—–

She looks at the 5 after it’s finished. She scratches again.

Miss Graham approaches down the aisle; soon they’ll be a part of her. Here comes the tie. The head passes through the knotted hole. Miss Graham straightens and tightens it around her neck. She feels them enter, one by one by one until all 5 are there to say, “hi!”.

END OF “SUNKLANDS 2020 LATER”.

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July 19, 2020 · 7:34 am

Judgement

Although she was still probably the 256th most craziest thing in a crazy town of 256, it was determined by the court that Yoko Ona most likely had high functioning autism. Thus the lack of facial expressions. Thus the focus on marriage as a 50-50 split. She didn’t ask for more, but she also didn’t expect less. John and she were one zygote, traveling toward a rebirth across the universe. There was nothing evil in her since she was acting logically according to this premise. It was divide and conquer to others but just separation from unity for her. The verdict: innocent for reasons just listed. She had to undergo therapy. Thus the reason for the construction of this additional floor in the Burger Joint building. Her mental health and well-being were just that important.

All the witches in the coven chipped in to pay for it, Mid-Hazel footing the largest chunk. They all showed up at the first meeting, ready to support. Prosecutor George A. was not allowed, since he would just focus on the spitting, the humiliation for blog owner Baker B. in front of a cluster of Heartsdale fisherman eager for a show. Any kind of show in that milquetoast town. Baker B. through Baker Bloch forgave her.

The elemental battle within Toppsity was just theatrics, the court also judged. Tronesisia was not dead. Most likely she would appear again, fully functional and unscathed, in the next photo-novel (21!).

Yoko Ona had already been rejected by the town, thrown head down over the wall about a 1/2 year back, only to find her way further south, in the *deep* deep south, to Cassandra City to attempt to create a roshambo triangle, one hand on top of another hand on top of another hand and so on and so on. This created the bomb.

She *had* to make up for it, reverse the powers as it were. Another zygote affair. She and John together synthesized World of Lemon to parallel Lime World (aka Linden World or Lindenwold) in order to heal Our Second Lyfe and make North and South function together again. In the other directions, World of Lemon controlled the East, Linden World the west. From *Our* Second Lyfe perspective, it all begin in Da Boom with a great boom signaling fusion and spread. From the *other* way, we have Ratzenberger as the original sim and its absorbing, black (hole) rabbit, a sucking mechanism. All this was logical and true, one begetting the other (begetting the other). The problem had not been solved because there was no problem to solve. All was good, all was balanced.

—–

I have decided to downsize in Our Second Lyfe and My Second Lyfe in particular. Corsica turned out not to be the be all end all of mainland continents, the best fusion between virtual and real, namely through the state of Pennsylvania. All this still applied, but Peakology in and of itself is not the way forward. Neither is Sinkology, although that may be closer. With this I have created the Sunklands Institute from the old Blue Feather Building of Collagesity and set it down near the middle of the Heterocera continent, its eye. I will not worry about North-South-East-West from this point on as much as *Center*. I have made stories of all mainland continents and a good number of estate regions. Corsica is essentially “covered”, along with Jeogeot, Satori/Maebaleia, Omega, Gaeta, Heterocera, Sansara, Nautilus and even Linden home masses like Nascera. I have taken Collagesity about as far as it can go. I do not make collages any more outside of the photo-novels and that context. It is time to go home. Heterocera is as close to home in Our Second Lyfe as I can get. I have to return to the source.

END OF “COLLAGESITY 2020 MORE MIDDLE”!

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May 28, 2020 · 5:56 am

Corsican Collagesity 04

And so we end at the Hills of Bill again in the center of Maebaeleia, where an agreement between the World of Lemon and Lime World was forged, thanks to Yoko Ona in large part. She is a witch, true. But, we hope, a white one, working for the forces of good instead of evil. That is really our only hope moving forward. Because if not — we’re *all* screwed.

—–

“The agreement, dear *Lindens*,” she speaks in the yard before the legendary trailer, is that John and I will move forward into a new continent and create a new religion called *Peakology*, beyond the Sinkology that has dominated Our Second Lyfe so far. The first 3 true peaks are the Hills of Bill here: Turtle, Sifton, and then right here, at the highest, the namesake Bill Hill. We go within to sign the contract, to seal the deal. The continent of *Corsica* is born from *Maebaleia*.

“Okay,” Phillip utters.

—–

“Phillip, are you paying attention?”

“I’m paying attention.” He stops attempting to see the shortest of the three Hills of Bill, Turtle Hill (or Butte), from this higher vantage point. About 2 sims east it should be, he estimates correctly. But the blinds block his vision. He is blinded in that direction. But he could have *swore* the agreement was suppose to be signed there, in that more centrally placed position on the continent recently devastated by the 3 1/2 day North-South Civil War. He and Flat Ebbe and Flat Rodvik, Lindens all, are here to put a stop to all that. They were willing to admit failures in the past that caused all the conflict and division. But why the switch of location? It seemed meaningful. He couldn’t get it out of his big fat head. Options, he kept thinking. Options are important.

In truth, everything was still secretly revolving around The Room, even though no one present understood that.

—–

Phillip just blurted it out as Yoko Ona was penciling in some final corrections on the contract at the dining room table. “Why *not* Turtle Hill — or Butte?”

“This is the *highest* of the hills, the *namesake*. We talked about this in the phone call from this morning. You sure you guys don’t want to sit down?”

“They’re fine,” Phillip answers for both once more. “The Flats are only here as witnesses.” In case something goes wrong he says to himself, hoping for the best (again).

She slides the amended paper across to him. He moves his elbows closer to the blue table to study. He’s read it all before, but just wanted to note the changes Yoko Ona mentioned in the call. “Bill Hill,” she insisted in it. “Turtle Hill (or Butte) is *in* the Hills of Bill but not Bill Hill itself. It should be signed there.”

“But Turtle is more central,” he began the counterargument, which continues.

He imagines staring down at a giant lime instead of a contract. Where has he seen this before?

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April 3, 2020 · 8:12 am

07 04

“I keep telling you Wheeler, er, Venus, that Corsica is an elephant. It keeps coming up again and again. And by this I don’t mean Bracket’s foolish Comma Islands. The *real* Corsica. The one with crates with meaningful content.”

Wheeler/Venus waves her hand dismissively toward the thing both blue-green tinted beings were staring at: the, um, *object* in the middle of the room. “Continent… content. What’s the difference. Just open it will you. Get this photo-novel done.” And I was *so* looking forward to playing Venus Flytrap, she seethes inwardly. Axis is just going to nip it in the bud because he thinks we should refocus on Red Star, blocking up reality like, well, like *Seven* never existed. Seven Across, 7th seal, whatever. Seven is gone. Five is apparently where we’re at and where we’ll stay. Square of Mars.

“I have one more mission to accomplish before we can wrap things up, open the crate. Hucka Doobie is set to go to the northeast corner of Jumboro, right beside your New Orleans Blues Little Rock club, to revisit the *Jumbo* Core related skybox that Baker Bloch got, er, blocked from several days back.”

Wheeler would have had a glimpse of hope for Seven — the lives and potential deaths of Chry State’s Thomas Main and Chry U.’s Nick Barkley, etc. — if it weren’t Hucka Doobie heading the mission, because, from what Baker Bloch told her recently, the bee person seemed to hate her now. No way is she going to produce evidence for the continuation of Venus Flytrap, pheh. Is she?

One way to find out.

(to be continued)

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