“Another dream: I was at 23:23, the place *and* the time. This was the…”
“… beginning?” He’d heard this too. Male-female synthesis. “So we’re back to trying to track this 102 fellow. Or 102 girl.”
“Yeah.”
—–
Category Archives: Sections
Cowboy (revealed 02)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0029, 0104, Canada, Canada/Picturetown, Google Street View, Heterocera, Pond District, Rubi
00290103
“Oh it was just awful, Zach. That *look* in his eyes.”
Always the same, Zach thinks. She repeats herself over and over about their description, these “walking dead” as she calls them.
“But then the last dream I had about David Bowie was *fun*. Cute umbrella people — New People they called themselves, but come from a flooded country. They turned into umbrellas — that stopped the rains. Very cute,” she reinforced. “And David Bowie was their leader (!). Except he called himself… umm.” She couldn’t recall the name Bogota, because that could put a kind of damper on the cuteness. Because: another walking dead obviously.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0029, 0103, Cass City+, Heterocera, Maebaleia/Satori, Rubi
not a full deck
She sat as far apart from him on the bench they shared as possible without being *too* obvious about it. Along with looking just plain awful he also reeked of dead flesh — death itself. Yet he talked as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He was chattering on and on about his club — Jim’s Club, before he insisted that you add an A. to it, a Brown, or an A. Brown if you wish. But not plain ol’ Jim; not after his club sank after, first, Your Mama and Keith B. left, and then Lena herself. She’d never known him as Jim A./Jim Brown/Jim A. Brown, since she hadn’t seen him since the fall of the Club — last fall she believes. She only knew him as Jim.
“Jim,” she began innocently, trying to excuse herself and daring to insert his name in his soliloquy. Bad mistake.
He waited for more which didn’t come, then: “Jim. That’s it? As in Jim’s Diamond Club, red and black together to make something not quite as good as either separately? *Jim*?”
“Yeah: Jim,” she repeated. “Isn’t — that your name?” She was sweating now. She shouldn’t have wore her fur costume she was going to sing in tonight. Probably brought back bad memories for Jim (Jim?) and his club — same outfit she wore at times there, she now recalled.
He stared at her: no life atall in his eyes. “Call me that again and you’ll be as dead as me. Get it?”
Lena Horned got it. She just let him talk and ramble on about the past after that. Finally he’d unwound everything he wanted to say to her. He got up. “Well, ’bout time to head back into the grave, honey. I thank you. I think you’ve — saved me.” He left the park, sauntering up the street he came down from, into the sunset. She stayed on the bench, wondering what just happened. She better get back to her apartment and talk to Zach Black about all this, before she forgets. Was this all a dream? she wondered, snapping her fingers and finding they just pass through each other. Yeah: dream.
Thank Gods. She takes the tension out of her shoulders and heaves a deep sigh and wakes up, Zach’s arm draped about her midsection. Her new man. Her new *club* man.
“The past again?” She’d been fidgeting for a while, keeping him awake. He contemplated prodding her but just let the dream unwind. Always the sigh at the end to wake up. He knew it wouldn’t last long; never did. The dead can’t leave their grave for too long.
(to be continued?)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0029, 0102, Cass City+, Maebaleia/Satori
contemplating blackness
Lena Horned waits at the park for everything to rez in. Then she takes a picture to remember it by. The day she met Jim A., aka Jim A. Brown aka Jim Brown. But don’t call him (just) Jim. What would they talk about? A new gig at his old club? Hardly. Jim A.’s a washup; she’d moved on, starting with the success of what turned out to be her signature song, “The Ballad of Stormy Daniels.” Who knew a court transcript would so successfully transfer to song lyrics (!?). But she’s having trouble following up on her initial success. Repetition for gain of fame is not the same as mutable creativity. Ask David Bowie: she’d been getting into his music lately, determining he’s half black himself. Has a black wife, his soul mate. Lena Horned had met her once at a fashion show. She had wisdom in her eyes. She was a deep soul — just like David.
There: a picture.
And there: Jim A./Jim A. Brown/Jim Brown.
“Hiya.”
But Jim wasn’t fully formed and apparently only Lena could see it. Instead: walking dead. Too late to run.
“Hello.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0029, 0101, Cass City+, Maebaleia/Satori
Carrcassonnee: a little batty
“We’ve got to get you back to Collagesity and remove Perch and see what went wrong!”
“IIIIIIIIIIIII.”
END OF “SUNKLANDS PHOTO-NOVEL 28″!”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0028, 0616, Paper Soap+, Soap
“reality”
Where is she/he? she thought from her Waiting Bench.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0028, 0615, Hills of Bill, Maebaleia/Satori
Satin
In his old cave, he worships the wife before entering the coffee shop proper. Here lies truth, even though the shop itself is now broken. Broken truth, then.
“You’ve mutated so much it’s hard for me to recognize you these days. If it wasn’t for those eyes…”
“That’s what I’m here to talk about,” interjected Ruby, now our familiar green grey alien. “The *I*.”
Seven, Axis knew. The six and the seven. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have killed that old man with the kane.”
“Michael,” she said. “Plank of wood… I’m getting.” She became embarrassed about her wealth of knowledge and decided to reel it back a bit. Starting: now.
“Well, that’s what led me to *here*, yeah.” Axis took her in more. What a long way she’s come from his little Ruby, a naive girl of 15 1/2 not ready for the world at large. And here she is, beyond the world entirely. Extraterrestrial. Should’ve known, he thought. She always had the — best of hearts. Didn’t belong on Earth. “Well… you’re in charge,” he found himself saying. “You’re the boss. Where to now?”
“You’ve found the cave, good,” she said calmly. “Now you must find the art. Collage or painting? Choose.”
He looked into the multicolored flower with this. He knew he was being hypnotized but decided not to fight. Why keep going? Ruby was beyond what he was — a pure heart, a pure soul. He was ready to give it all up, the world conquest, everything.
She didn’t ask him to show her the other one, the person he stares at in the mirror. Probably already knows, he realizes. And doesn’t care. So… perfect. He must worship her as well.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0028, 0614, Jeogeot, Neptune, NWES Island
six and seven
She woke up with her mission. Go through the SOS flea market toward the plane. Find the hole in the fence and turn left. Therein lies the answer to everything, or at least 42. What’s within will not be what it seems.
—–
The plane, check. But not the flea market before her. The cat on a nearby plank of wood meowed an answer but it was not 42. Something about dinner time being only 2 hours or so away now. Useless for her, although encouraging for the cat. She moves right, since left is…
… hold on.
In the secret basement lair of the large house to her left, biggest in town:
Only 2 hours till dinner time, thinks Greg Ogden with exactly the right number of G’s in his name. Better change.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0028, 0613, Paper Soap+, Soap
all together now
“Wrong Way Winnie (Sheltering the Tou)”:
“Looking at a Cave that is not a Cave (Satin’s Rule!)”:
“The Situation Escalates (Bored Removal)”:
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0028, 0612, animation, Bogota, collages 2d, Ebbert
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?)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0028, 0611, Nautilus, NORTH, Rooster's Peninsula
Sunklands 