Why did the graphic artist we hired — this Hazel or Mid Hazel or sumtin — turn Fisher Island into New Island, Jay Woodhull thinks later while enjoying his nightcap spliff and staring at Wednesday’s edition of the “New Island Gazette”. He looks at the inside curve of his left metal hand, spilling some pot ashes on the blurb below. “But they got the palms left, um, wrong — three instead of four, hmm.” The palms began to smolder, and Jay gathers enough sense to snuff them out with his other hand.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0009, 0303, New Island
“The 3rd, Baker Bloch. Er, Pitch Darkly. Maybe you should just *turn into* Pitch Darkly since you seem to like the character so much. Right Mary?”
“It might be nice,” Mary said from behind them. She then hunches over further so she can see the Wisconsin map with the proximate New Island and Fisher Island better. “Do you think this will convince this Leeman or Leemon? There’s Sunset Beach in the lower right corner (after all).”
“His childhood home,” Bill finishes. “Well, it’s obvious something is going on in this and that other Wisconsin location at least.”
“Outagamie County,” Pitch Darkly adds. “Leeman there as well, mirroring the Leemon in Missouri. Only other one.”
“Right,” reinforces Bill. “You getting all this Mary?”
“I… think. Where’s the Wisconsin Leeman? Do we have a map of it as well?”
“Of course,” declares Bill, returning to the Oracle home page and looking up ‘Leemo’. Only 1 direct hit: Leemon Missouri, but with a lone variant of Leeman. Which leads us to the only other Leeman, in Wisconsin. She clicks the appropriate link and adjusts the map.
“Just a placemarker,” continues Bill. “But perhaps an effective one. Subtle but effective. It’s in his home county, you see. The new one.”
“Oh.” Mary scratches her head. “So Fisher Island is right next to New Island in Beaver Dam Lake, Wisconsin…”
“The two biggest islands of 22 in that lake,” Pitch tacks on. “And that’s the only New Island in America besides the one in the big swamp in Georgia. (Which) probably doesn’t count.”
“Fisher Island is a blog invention,” continues Mary, slightly irritated at her train of thought being interrupted. But she gets over it quickly — fascinating subject for her. “New Island is also a blog invention but… connects to Leeman or Leemon’s New Island through Barnaby Point. Barnaby Point exists in both.”
“Correct, Mary,” replies Pitch, proud of his studious spouse. For he had married Mary on March 25th of this year in the Cult of Oo’d Church, the only place of worship in town at the time. One could say they were still in their newlywed phase. With all the attached highs and lows, of course. Tough dealing with New Life situations; but they were managing. Now that Pitch was out of the thick of his Russian phase. Still… the statue… “Art gallery laden Barnaby with its Barnaby Point in *his* New Island also being near the Sunset Beach of *his* New Island,” Pitch states. “Couple of miles apart.”
“Artist Point,” utters the freelancing Mary. “‘Artist Point Interactive’… that’s the *Hazel meeting*. Mentioned in Pot Head’s and Sheriff’s new business blurb in the ‘New Island Gazette’ *Our* ‘New Island Gazette’.”
“They are no longer Sheriff and Pot Head in this blog,” corrects Bill. “They are Marty and Jay or Jay and Marty — take your pick. They are too stoned at any one point — get it? point — to care which of their names comes first, I would venture.” Bill was known for her bad puns, but at least she has a bit of a sense of humor now. Unlike olden times when she first came to power in Collagesity. She’s softened. “I’m tired,” she suddenly declares. “This meeting is over. Go back to your Darkly Manor and think of things to discuss in *our* next meeting. Which is tomorrow. And I expect *you two*” — she turns and points to the two 4 handed librarians sitting around The Table — “to contribute as well. And not just ‘carrot’… and ‘glasses.’ Something substantial and with meat that we can lay out on the table and feast upon. Beef or chicken. Or at least fish. Can you do that for me, hmm?”
The librarians stare at each other, knowing they can’t.
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“What you writing there b-b-boss?” asks Marty Claflin, formerly known as Pot Head.
“Oh just some ideas about our business,” replies Jay Woodhull, formerly Sheriff. The Sheriff. But his law upholding days are over for now.
“M-Mabel coming back tonight?”
“Oh, I doubt it. She has to sing at the Cult of Oo’d in Collagesity tomorrow. She told me she’d most likely be staying over there tonight to save prep time in the morning.”
“G-g-good.”
Jay puts down his pen and stares at Marty. “Why’d your studder come back? Hey, look over there… out the bay windows,” he says suddenly while pointing. “Someone’s coming.”
Marty’s heart began racing. “W-w-where?”
While Marty’s head was turned, Jay took the opportunity to knock the crap out of it with his metallic left hand. “OW!” he yelled, but with no studder. Jay’s quick remedy had worked.
“Thanks,” Marty managed after a moment of rubbing. “I think.”
“No problem, Marty.” He began writing on his notepad again. “Now about that business plan…”
—–
Meanwhile in Mabel’s duplicate (and original) Scarlet Creative Sylvia House in Collagesity, she sits on her DaD Design knitted pouf freebie and stares out the front window into the woods, trying to spot Unch, an old game. It’s good to be home, she thinks while continuing to peer and squint. Too bad I can’t stay.
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Encouraged by up and coming studios like Swanson’s Gallery and Artist Point Interactive (API), Marty Claflin and Jay Woodhull, two self confessed potheads, have decided to start a parent enterprise for New Island studios as a whole. You buy into the company — NEW ISLAND STUDIOS — you get promoted in the biggest and most popular Second Lyfe art venues, plus even off-world platforms like Grand Theft Auto, Mortal Kombat, and Minecraft. Way to go Marty and Jay! Here’s wishing you guys the best of luck in your new (island!) business venture. We’re sure to be hearing a lot more from these two wacky stoners in the coming months and years. Decades! Call 709-576-8220 for details.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0009, 0216, GTA, New Island
At the Black Star Diner, Animaid-X lobbed an idea to Annie that she ultimately couldn’t refuse. Free dance lessons for a year in exchange for complete servitude to her master. Two left feet soon changed into a left and a right, each knowing its exact station. Unlike Sister Martha Lamb, she could then see all around, but at what undifferentiated price? And the pills! So many. They always seem to be around.
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12 year old, sand flea ridden Shirley Boot was scratching the top of her fanny before boarding the FB Lollygagger Raft 2.0 when she saw something glimmering on Yd Isle out in the bay, almost at the exact same place where Mabel was standing the day before when she found the talking red violin.
Taking a closer look, she suddenly had another itch which couldn’t be satisfied.
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“Interesting art, Mrs. Fogg. Are those Second Lyfe images?”
“Always,” Wanisa Fogg would usually reply to such a question, but presently she was crying. Profusely. Mabel’s red violin she had found earlier in the day lay central on the table. The fog always swirling around her was as thick as it had been in many a year. Grieving fog. Even after all this time.
For this was what her seafaring spouse was always looking for. Perfection, he termed it. But it never came; was never collected, crumpled and ruined, on the ocean floor, much less bobbed up on the surface in absolutely pristine shape. May 28, 2018. A magical day in Mrs. Wanisa Fogg’s life. This is when she learned the truth about her husband’s death. And also his rebirth. On Yd Isle.
“Hi! I’m a talking violin!” it said.
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“Hold on. What’s that over *there*?”
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“I have delicious sandwiches over here, Mr. Leeman. Mr. Leemon. And watermelon…” Mabel knew it was no good. If this *was* a spell, the theoretical creator of New Island itself was mired deep. He was simply immobile now. But still the resemblance to Smelly Santy couldn’t be denied. She had checked earlier in the day — just after the sun rose — and taken snapshots. She went over and compared again, “show attachment” option on.
Yup, they’re the same.
She looks over at Volkswagen Gurl’s house, gleaming white bright in the noonday sun. No sign of the chatty owner, though.
Mabel then gazes north into Yd Bay and the small isle there, about the same size as much more noted Fisher or Fishers Isle to the south, but 3 palms and the truth this time, ha, instead of 4. Linden palms 1 and 2, as she’s currently checking. Fishers Isle’s palms are mesh objects in contrast.
She decides to fly over.
Snorkling comes to mind again while she stands upon it– exploration of the sea life surrounding New Island. That’s a thicket of purple Irish Moss sticking out over there, for example. She can see this happening soon.
And then another island a little beyond. Larger, but no palms this time.
Yd Bay, and another thicket of Irish Moss within. The great chunk of cheddar that ended the life of Thadeus Fogg must have been situated just between me and that point of land, Mabel speculates, trying to recall the tragedy as described in the “New Island Gazette”, then a 20 page publication instead of the 5 it has dwindled to in present times. She wonders how the Widow Fogg is doing.
And decides to pay a call. Maybe she would know more about Leeman or Leemon. Or maybe Mid-Hazel?
Permanent bay dweller Timothy Sprawled saw it all, but he’s been unable to relay what actually happened for a long time. Decades and decades.
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Sunklands 