Category Archives: Big Woods

February 7, 2024 · 5:54 am

March 12 1951

The file was as thick and complex as St. Dennis itself. “How did you find this office?” queried Chef-Inspector Petty, watching her closely as she studied it, watching the eyes dart about, noticing the scars cutting across her forehead, eyes, nose and cheeks somewhat redden in the excitement.  He could look past it. He wondered if she had any hair underneath that metallic green hood. And what up with the 3 eyed owl perched on her shoulder (!)?

“A little birdie told me,” she answered, which he assumed was the owl again, whose middle eye quickly winked at him right when he thought this.

“Oh. Yes. I see.” He kept staring at the owl, then, but no more obvious winks were produced. Just a steady stare with intermittent, calm blinking, each eye taking a turn now. He decided to ask the sex.

“Um. Both I think.” She was still staring down at the files, flipping pages rapidly in the swift reading. Was the owl helping her with this too? he pondered. Odd thought, he realized. But nothing was ordinary about this case, nothing atall.

“Light okay?” he thought to ask, although he had no way to increase it. Electric grid didn’t get this far in Aisle of Palms yet, on the opposite side of town from the generator in the Blue Feather and attached Perch Restaurant. At least the sun was coming up now. She’d been reading for about 20 minutes.

“Fine.” Looked like she was about 2/3rds the way through the file. He then thought he was peering down on her a bit, understood that he had missed the mark on the size change once more. He’d have to wait to adjust. Can’t risk shaking the table and jostling the pages out of order or something. He’ll just be patient. He looks at the watch still not on his wrist. Sunrise in 7 minutes. He’d have to excuse himself and go to his other job soon, the chef-waiter thing. Looks like she won’t be finished by then, he gauges. Would she allow this? The owl and its three eyes kept staring, blinking.

“Ah HA!” she then emitted, spreading out and then matching the edges of 2 pages she’d reached in the file. The owl then turned to her as she turned toward it. “You seeing the same thing I’m seeing?” Both looked down in synchronization. Both were staring at a picture of St. Lemon, before the beheading and the replacement with a giant lemon. Dennis again.

Another 2n1, both knew. They understood where to place the time machine.

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February 6, 2024 · 6:02 pm

00410704

He gives her time to look around the office, check out the maps, the painting, the works on the bookshelf, even the files in the filing cabinets if she wishes. What does he care? Sleep deprivation again we’ll assume; might as well burn the place down, he thinks while yawning for the 1000th time tonight. He finally gathers the energy to enlarge himself again — *just* enough to do the job (no overshot or undershot this time!). He waits for her to walk out, snooping apparently done.

“Find what you need, my fine lady?” he calls over, shocking her of course. It’s here he notices the face scars as she stares over with wide eyes. Too bad: otherwise quite pretty.

“Are you him?” she decided to stand her ground, defend her actions. “Are you Petty?”

“Some call me that. Some only know me as Chef. Or Inspector, depending on the time of day. Or depending on whether it is day or night I should say. You’re here at night. I assume you’re looking for Petty the Inspector, then.”

She approached him, scars looming larger. What *happened* to her?

“I also go by different names,” she said in turn. “Some call me Beautiful, some Plain. Some call me June, some Jane. Right now I’m June — night-time for me as well, I suppose. But the scars are there to remind me of Jane.”

“Yess,” he said. “Wondering about that. How did–”

“I just told you,” she cut him short. “I’m a 2n1, just like you. We have that in common but we have so much more. St. Lemon of Troy — the painting within. Do you know about Dennis?”

“Dennis,” he said thoughtfully. “Let me think…” Let me think of a *lie*, he says to himself. He *knew* he shouldn’t have hung that painting on top of everything else. His brain’s starting to operate better, perhaps because of its change back the correct size.

“St. Dennis, yes. The one that lost his head in the transition. The next time, the next go, he wore a helmet, golden in color. But it still didn’t protect him from the eventual consequence. So he had to be *deflected*.”

She know about that as well, he thinks. “Well,” he says to this. “Saints Hotel is a pretty nice place to stay, nice compensation. And anyway, I’ve heard that he and his *gang* have finally made their way down to the big city, the 8th wonder of the world some call it.”

“Where’s the auto in all this?”

“Auto?” He still couldn’t help play dumb within the flow of truthful revelations. Force of habit.

“You know which auto. You have pins of Yvonne, Dorenna and, yes, Anton inside on the Nautilus City map. Anton from Anson. I understand you were there when it first appeared, or when — I suppose — it first decided to reveal itself.”

“The Bug, yes.” Enough talk for now, he decided. He remembers that he’d locked the filing cabinets before enlarging himself tonight. At least he had the sense to do that. But perhaps it was time to look inside.

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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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February 3, 2024 · 4:36 pm

straightening out the past

They’d found it at the bottom of the sea just north of the boat house where she was staying. An Anton avatar was there in the Anson sim — so close of a name it couldn’t be an accident. Spiderwebs covered this orange version of a VW Beetle but she knew it was the same. Had to be. Someone was playing Grand Theft Auto in Our Second Lyfe and it all led up to this place. Shoes inside, she recalled. Of a ruby variety. Stolen as well.

Roger Pine Ridge kept looking at the flickering white glow beneath the water that he knew was Anton. Shoes stolen; mission accomplished. Like finding the ruby slippers of Oz, he thought. Anorexia’s gonna be pissed off as hell.

He looked over at the green robed woman beside him, face harshly illuminated by the glare of the flashlight she held. Scars. “I’m just waiting for the significant other to finish up inside,” he explained from his *self named* chair.. “How about you?”

—–

Cyberpaperdoll walks out of Fae’s Boat House with 50,000 lindens in hand.

“Come on, Biker,” she said just above a whisper toward the closest Pine Ridge chair. “Time to go.”

“Don’t forgot to sign the guestbook out there!” Jim the Pirate Bartender called from within, a request they most definitely ignored while leaving.

I should have kept the name Kelp, she pondered while still staring at the pirate ship in the bay from the balcony of the big white empty house. The owner, Shippe, *must* be the same as Jim the Bastard Pirate from back in those days. Too coincidental (once more). And as Anton is likewise close to Anson, so her own chosen nickname at the time, Kelp, is to Kulp, as in Nancy Kulp as in plain Miss Jane from the “Beverly Hillbillies” TV series, replaced by similarly plain Miss Janet in Grand Theft Auto, Ski Inn bar parallel. The one who woke up Philip Strevor to who he really is.

Apparently the opposite happened to his partner-in-crime Marion Harding back in the past which may be the same as the present. From the same deck she sat on and read her book of spooky stories in the dark one year later, he dove into the sea that represents the unconscious, intent on finding the vanished auto that was his little Bug. Where did it go? Back to the beginning of this here photo-novel? Think, June Bug, think!

Then she realized: Chef-Inspector Petty would know about Anson. He was there with Baker Bloch when the original auto was found. He’d probably have records of it in his files.

Now to figure out where he ran his private dick nighttime business in Aisle of Palms. In Perch Restaurant as well? Another 2n1? So many questions, but we’re still indeed nearing the very end of the thing.

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January 30, 2024 · 4:05 pm

00410613

Baker Bloch and bee-person/blog guru Hucka Doobie share a pizza while Philip continued to play his game over there, watching from afar as the virtual trailer park slowly repopulates itself with killable, expendable NPCs.

“You sure bringing Strevor back is a good idea, Baker? He’s kind of a psycho after all, especially if he’s off his pills. Does he have his pills on him, Baker? I hope you made sure of that. Else… we could be in a lot of trouble shortly… after he’s finished with his game and becomes bored again. Boredom leads to violence in this case. Believe me, I’ve seen it up close and personal when I was going out with Marion that brief bit in Gaston.”

“Sure it is,” Baker defended the idea. “He’ll, in fact, lead us right to your true love Marion Star Harding. They’re natural partners in crime — different types of partners.”

“I wondered about that for a while,” she said, scooping the artichokes off her slice. Baker knows I don’t like artichokes! she fumes internally. Yet, in his selfish manner, he ordered them anyway, not thinking about his dinner companion. So similar to Marion in that way, she thinks. But she loves him anyhow — both of ’em, she reckons. In different ways of course. Now.

—–

Okay, I’m beside the sign Philip said he would meet me at, Marion Star Harding thinks; now I just wait. He sniffs again, his face screws up like a walnut again. Philip better hurry, though, or I’m going to catch some kind of respiratory disease just standing here so close to that cursed sea, he thinks, not being able to get the rotted egg and salt stench out of his nostrils despite breathing through his mouth once more. What horrible germs and viruses are going down in his lungs?

Meanwhile on the opposite side of town, still portal hopping Marsha “Pink” Krakow seemingly arrives on the scene in her orange VW Beetle. After a long 2 1/2 month journey we’ve finally come full circle, you and I my loyal reader. We’re ready to end it here. But first we need to get Philip and Marion beside the same sign in the same town. A phone call from the latter should do the trick.

—–

“I’m here,” Philip said to his natural partner but not his lover. “Sorry about the mistake.”

“It’s that game again,” guesses Marion correctly. Distraction, he knew.

“Yup. Sorry again. Wrong reality.”

Having circled around the village in search of the correct Aisle of Palms indicator, the orange VW pulls up in perfect synchronicity. “Get in,” she said, and, without words, they did. They’d been expecting her. Their beloved Billie Jean Kidd in yet another guise, the third and final gang member and a shapeshifter of some power. She can take the appearance of a kid, an old woman, a young lady, a dog (poodle), and last but not least, a Bug. In short, Marsha “Pink” Krakow was never in the car to begin with here.

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January 29, 2024 · 10:43 pm

Gunn City

Of course I had to steal Bombay Beach’s Aisle of Palms street sign and make it my own welcoming sign to the city. I’m talking about Aisle of Palms again of course, My Second Lyfe style. And then it was logical to position Trevor Philips’ look-alike Philip Strevor in the Perch Restaurant table above it. Let’s check in on what he’s up to.

Well, currently he’s starting to play that game he loves called Gunn Mobile Trailer Park, with a style so similar to what his doppelganger up in Bombay Beach’s own double of Sandy Shores experiences each and every virtual day. I wonder if he understands the bond?

Soon he comes to a critical point, building upon hours and hours of non-stop action and violence. 223 trailer park residents and visitors killed in a murder spree no one will soon forget in the overarching Mobile, Alabama metro area and indeed the whole state, at least according to future newspapers he has access to at this level like “The Bermingham Journal” and “The Phoenix City Citizen-Gazette.”

He’s killed everyone off, with no further need of his avatar’s trusted .45 caliber combat pistol. Can he deposit it into that glitch he’s learned about through a Youtube tutorial and progress beyond the park, venturing into the Mobile-Tensaw River Delta region and its vast swamplands? He knows he’ll encounter Indians there: the famed Bottle Creek tribe most noted for their large platform mounds NE of Mobile and with many rewards to reap along the way according to that video. But he cannot find them if he still possesses the gun. The makers of the game wanted the player to learn a moral lesson beyond just learning how to aim and kill in the most effective manner.

Just as an experiment, he places the gun in the glitch but knows, all along, he can’t go through with it. Instead, weapon safely back in hand, he’ll have his avatar lie low for a couple of days while the trailer park repopulates itself with outside NPCs. Soon he’ll have enough to start the murder spree all over again. And, in his head, it will continue like this, week after week, month after month. He reckons it will never get old — at least until they release version 06 of the game with its updated graphics and even more intense killing scenes. He can’t wait. Projected date of release: Fall 2025. But will his beloved character Cloe Prince return? he wonders. And if not, will he form such an intense bond with a new lead “protagonist”? Will Cloe become — gasp — obsolete in the eyes of others? Will he stick with her even so? He knows he can’t, though, because the character doesn’t make the man. Instead: the instrument of death he or she wields. And it could be a he the next time around. He’ll get use to it. You see the irony here?

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January 25, 2024 · 3:47 pm

00410609

“Excuse me, sir. If I could interrupt you for a moment.”

—–

“And so as you can see, basically when we cross the Dewberry stream we’re already upon New Site and Chapter 03.” Baker Bloch looked around at the assembled members of The Table, a larger number than usual just because this was such an important new development: the potential end of Our Second Lyfe. “Questions so far?”

“Are we still in Randolph County?” queries Wheeler directly across the table from Baker, still dressed as Atlantis High Priestess and fresh from another shooting scene.

“Tallapoosa, actually,” replied Baker. “Same with The Barroom, same with Mary, Camp Hill, Slaughters.” I through the brain of Baker Bloch make a note to look up all US Slaughters after all this is done.

“Hmm,” said Wheeler. A pause here.

“Grassy?” Baker spoke to the green Mmmmmm being sitting to Wheeler’s left. “Any thoughts?”

But Grassy was biding his time until spring and the return of outdoor plants, ready to make a move in the Mystery Spot of nearby Boulder highlighted in a section 02 post of this here photo-novel (41). “Not at this point,” he said, knowing he represented all Toy Avatars, all of his kind, in this opinion.

“Very well.” He turned to *his* left. “Newt: any comments or opinions or whatever?”

Newt, with old Axis-style pitch black German coat worn over modern agogo red-yellow-black German t-shirt, was also biding his time. Until Baker Bloch handed over the reigns of Aisle of Palms to him; make him mayor or whatever the title turned out to be. Maybe even King? With Wheeler his Queen, if so. After all, Baker Bloch is just kind of a Prime Minister figure in all this, having most of the power to create, etc., but not being the legal ruler of the land. That remained in Wheeler’s hands. So far.

Baker looked 2 seats down. “Hucka?”

“I wish to come back into the story,” she spoke plainly, directly, looking at him then looking at everyone else at The Table, wanting them to understand she was dead serious about this.

Another pause. “Well, okay. We can make that happen. Right gang?”

Murmurs of agreement all around, even the usually silent 88’s sitting to Wheeler’s right. Everyone knew the spiritual importance of Hucka to the blog, a type of Holy Ghost to the thing.

—–

Afterwards, Baker thought back to meeting the Bishop in an unexpected place off Old Wagon Road in central Maebaleia (continent), Our Second Lyfe must remain relevant being the overarching message he relayed. And then he took him diagonally to Redlands for a demonstration.

(to be continued)

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January 19, 2024 · 7:14 am

00410603

https://marketplace.secondlife.com/p/Rue-Saint-Denis-for-classic-or-BOM/15679735

“Well it was a foolish outfit and I was a foolish girl at the time. Blonde hair; rosy red cheeks after that, but not from rouge. Syphilis I contracted — still trying to be frank and honest with you guys. But it eventually cleared up when I got out of that crazy, mixed up place of a land full of bad, bad people. Arthur gave me some money. You see–”

“Arthur? Arthur Kill? I know him.” Red Dead Beardy Head again there.

“Err,” said Libra. “Yes,” she decided. “Yes, let’s go with him. Married to Shelley Struthers (partly named for Sally Struthers, TV daughter of Archie and Edith), right. It fits!”

“And what of Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow?” Black Pearl responded to a slightly earlier declaration.

“The same,” Wheeler continued with the admissions. “Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow equals Shelley Struthers along with 2 other components, a kid named Frankie Brown who provides some gestures and perhaps a conscience, and then another kid called Marsha. Shelley is the (grown up) body for the 3. Body, mind, soul we could call them, with the Marsha brain aspect up front and on top.”

“So… let’s cut to the chase,” said RDBH, trying to regain his wits in the barrage of strange information. “How do we get to the X on the pirate map?”

Wheeler dressed as Libra in her parrot dress exhaled. “You can’t… not with that ship.”

“You *sold* me that ship,” replied Black Pearl to this. “You *implied* it could.”

“I was wrong. That ship will divide the 2 of you. I know this because I understand the perspective from the opposite direction. I know the endpoint. I was *at* the endpoint. Red Dead Beardy Head,” she addressed the male partner of the 2 sitting across from her in the Perch Restaurant of Aisle of Palms, open for business at 10 but not serving fish until 4 to his disappointment. No perch in Perch yet. And will our damn waiter please wake up! he was thinking just before this. “Red Dead,” Libra said again, “you and Black Pearl will break up if you try to go in that ship. It’s certain death up there in Outer Space. I’ve seen the future!”

“But — you *sold* it to me.” Black Pearl was smelling a rat as big as a human and named Victor-not-Victoria. “You said the golf course is closing.”

“The golf course *is* closing,” followed Libra Neptune closely. “The Black Pearl was smashed up on the rocks outside. I fixed it up. But really, I didn’t fix it up. Not in the way that could take you safely to the X.”

“*Finally*,” said Red Dead, seeing the waiter shake his head and blink a couple of times before fully reopening his eyes. He’d been woken up with a poke from the right. Manager Percy had let him sleep until 10:15, feeling sorry for the overworked man who toiled both day and night, with few minutes for rest in-between.

Now, in the moment again, he was upon them. Talk of the ship and its position at the head of 2 streams of virtual reality would have to wait a bit; after some bites. “Sorry for the delay. Our breakfast special is perch,” he said, knowing it was unusual but wanting to please an irritated customer and his friends. He could hear like hell — just had to process all the information right after coming back into consciousness. Being both waiter and chef, he could make this so.

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January 18, 2024 · 9:21 am

Officer Howard’s wife

—–

“So how did you become an owner of a golf course? Libra is it still? I mean, as of 10 minutes ago?”

Libra aka Bermuda aka Atlantis High Priestess aka some other titles I’m not thinking about in the moment decided to be pretty honest for a change. “It all started when I got some money in St. Dennis.”

“St. Dennis?” replied Red Dead Beardy Head to this, tired of staring at Petty who was their waiter, convinced he is asleep instead of glaring at him. He’d heard of people doing such with their eyes open, and he was correct in this deduction as we’ve seen in an earlier post which this post is a direct continuation of timewise. We’re back with him and Black Pearl, soon to set sail in their sea ship to the outer depths of space, grilling just found Libra Neptune in recently founded Aisle of Palms on the Jeogeot continent of Our Second Life. Libra certainly had a story to tell, with a lot hanging in the balance.

“Money?” Black Pearl continued Red Dead’s line of inquiry. “From whom?”

“First off, let’s drop the pretense. I’m not really Libra. My actual name is Wheeler. I am what you could call a co-owner of this town. I *play* Libra.”

Wheeler let this set in a bit, then added: “Newt is my husband. But Newt is actually Baker Bloch, kind of Baker Bloch’s replacement. We’re king and queen — of sorts again.”

“King…” said Red Dead Beardy Head, utterly confused look on his face.

“… Queen,” continued Black Pearl again for him, just as shocked.

“Yes, that’s right. King and Queen. Of Aisle of Palms. On the Jeogeot continent. Of Our Second Lyfe. But, thing is, St. Dennis is separate from all that. St. Dennis is elsewhere. St. Dennis is (part of) the Shangri-La you seek. And I know the correct way to get us there.”

(to be continued)

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January 16, 2024 · 9:18 pm

00410515

“If we discover a new land in the ship I think we should call it Redlands. After our current hangout. Whaddaya think?”

“How about *Black* instead. Er: Black Nation, say.”

With his quicksilver mind from all that pirating business down through the years, Red Dead Beardy Head thought of a compromise. “*Well*,” he started the new pitch. “Since red and black are both card colors, 50-50 for each, how about a card game. Say: Poker.”

Black Pearl laying beside him had to smile. He certainly was honoring both him and her with the name. But she couldn’t help countering with: “Black Jack. I say Black Jack. Fits the card part. 50-50 on the cards.” But my color up front and on top again, was the implied meaning.

“Okay, got another one. How about, say, *Hearts* — Heartsland. Like our two hearts are joined beyond just playing poker.”

“Awwww. How *sweet*.”

“Red on top, I know.”

“Yup,” she returned crisply, knowing the game was on again. “Spades,” she countered logically. The game of Spades, like we have the game of Hearts. Except, let’s see if I remember, *spades* trump everything; a black suit trumps everything.

“Okaay, but if I remember correctly (thinking quick again), Black Lady and Black Maria are variants of Hearts (game). So *if* we find new land, how about we stick with Heartsland — but the capital or the town we found there or whatever will be called Black Lady. I mean, Black Pearl of course.”

“Make it Black Maria and we’re good,” she finished the negotiation. Maria was her mother’s name as it turned out. Good to honor ancestors in a new land. Remember the past and roots while at the same time moving forward beyond them.

Heartsland, slightly changed to Heartlands, stuck. But Black Maria turned out to be Valentine.

(to be continued)

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