Category Archives: Corsica^^

East (World of Lemon)

It was a peculiar dream for the boy. A happy Green in the midst of a sea of unhappy Red. And he himself: that color. He looks down at the world that he doesn’t realize is Earth but knows is a globe. “Our Second Lyfe looks strange today,” he says, studying it. Maebaleia — thicker or something — and over there, Zindra, he thought. The forbidden continent, ha ha. I’ve seen pictures. And up there: Corsica. Loooonnng. But Nautilus… *Nautilus*…

He wakes up. Also stirring Lena Horned is ready to go home and he’s in charge of seeing her there. Groggy Zach Black says he’s going to stay a little longer and drink some more coffee and sober up. I was the sane one right now. But was I unhappy? Did I really have a good boss? Yes, he decided, looking down at his real yellow skin on his hands and arms. I answer for Red but she also answers for me in the lonnng game, which I’m playing. Because one day I’m going to marry her, different species or not, he determined then and there. Lena was leaning on him now, still struggling to put one foot after another. It was up to him to protect, she said. Use the powers of the Great Black Swamp, The Abyss, if needed. But *carefully* and also only what you absolutely have to. The Abyss, pheh, he thinks. He’s not sure it is a real place yet.

In another dream, he was a circle that had been straightened out.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0311, Corsica^^, Horsa^, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Nautilus^^, Omega^^

really big shoe tonight

“We bagged him,” Gotham remembered later. “Green as the grass we just smoked.” He was both right and wrong, as he often is. The vision, the hallucination, was real enough. He just couldn’t pin down Time and Space amid all the Options. “I… remember… looking down at him.”

“Those eyes, yes,” Man About Time agreed, having experienced kind of the same thing. Sort of parallel visions, at least for about 20 or so seconds, just enough to finish the joint, pliers extracted from a green, yellow, and red pouch between them just earlier. Gotham always came prepared. He had to. Else: chaos; lost in The Abyss. He didn’t want to go there again until it was unavoidable, like every night upon falling asleep. 20 or so seconds was all it took, the last toke for both of ’em. Indeed: they had bagged one.

Dare they go see if their joint vision had produced reality?

“He’s in that tent. I know he is.”

“Nah,” countered Gotham. “You’re an inexperienced toker. You don’t understand how it works.”

—–

“Told you.”

“Look! At your foot.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0202, Chilbo^, Corsica^^, Instabar^, Jeogeot^^, Maebaleia/Satori^^, X-City^

joint venture

“Still smoking with the nose instead of the mouth,” Gotham observed in his chair across from me. Me? Man About Time, but changing fast (again).

I stared over at the joined tile on the far wall while speaking. “Let me tell you a story, Gotham, about how I joined a group to find bigfoot. It all started on a porch in a chair. I was in disguise (cough cough).”

I had taken off my shoes in order to help think (cough; *toke*). The cold rock patio (*exhale*) kept me alert and on task, brr. Changing perspective, I knew it had to do with the, um, tent in the same sim. I’d seen this (*toke*) tent before. In Insipid… oh heck, what was the name of that sim. Intrepid.”

“Instabar,” offered Gotham. “I’ve read the attached novel,” he explained. “Pretty good, except for The Man in the exact center. Highly unlikely,” he judged. Side note: Gotham was pretty much the same when high as not high. He’d smoked so much down through the years that he had become the pot. “Hi pot!” he exclaimed first thing in the morning, burying his thumb and fingers in the bag to protract the sweet monie. He’d gotten small so many times…

“I was… *there*.” It was about as much energy as I could muster in the moment. Mustard. Ketchup. Condiments! I realized, mind yelling much louder than mouth could. I need a Hot Dog!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0201, Chilbo^, Corsica^^, Instabar^, Jeogeot^^, Maebaleia/Satori^^, X-City^

correspondents

My dearest Fern. Thank you for the recent email. It was so nice to hear from you again. Yes, I’m still stuck with the apples (bleh!), but the chafing has gone down thanks to Dr. Lice (he’s so nice). And Dr. Maggot has helped out as well; reduced the mass. But enough of me; how are you?? You said you were in this place called Paper-Soap now. Is that 2 sims rolled up into one? Resurrection of the dead, eh? Sounds like you have your hands full analying the place. Good that Dr. Mouse gave you a room at the asylum from which you can better study the incoming patients. They all must have fascinating stories, what with being recently dead. Lots of memories to rehash and recall while there’s still time, as you put it.

I miss you so much. You are a part of me! My white VW Beetle (white as my skin!) is still running swell, thanks to Dr. Armadillo over in Beat-town. All my doctors are so swell! CC is a wonderful place to hang out. I just discovered a Bellisseria Welcome Center here. Of all places! My art is going great — trying not to use swell again in a sentence. You warned me about repeating my words; shows symptoms of lowering IQ, and that as we get older we lose brain mass. If only I could apply that naturally to the body (apples) as well! That would be swell, haha.

Well, better end. I’ll write again soon, I promise. Good luck in Paper-Soap! Send me an im when you’re settled in and we’ll catch up in person.

Harrison Jett checks spelling and a bit of grammar then hits SEND. Done. Back and forth contact fully established with the person who means the most to him in his life so far. That is, before he met Bluebird.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0109, Bellisaria^^, Corsica^^, Paper Soap

00260207

“I hear you got a new job over at the airport terminal, Ginger. Life must be treating you good.”

“Just shut the f-ck up while we wait for Snowmanster, Marty.”

“Oooo. Touched a nerve, did I? Life *isn’t* treating you that well.”

“If I had a gun…” she seethed, not daring to glance in his direction, because looks could kill at this point. Plus there was Lemon to deal with. Always in the background: funny foot Lemon, always with the guffaws. She couldn’t ask about him because she wasn’t sure he was alive or dead. Life (and death) is so confusing in this land of 2. Just ask holey headed Kolya, who Marty kind of invented after all, Marty kind of made him up. “Penny Lane,” Ginger realized at some crossroads while they were still living together. “Arnold Layne”! The great 2n1 that started it all. Takes 2 to know. It all fell completely together before it all collapsed utterly apart, with him over there on the couch and she in her bed, sometimes with another after that. Tom the milkman, Ben the paperboy, er, man. Man, she meant there in her thoughts. 18: old enough, or so he said. Then Jake the butcher; the candlestick maker — she even forgot his actual name and he had come over more than once. Unlike One Time Feldon. She remembered his name because of the Oracle. Feldon — Fieldon. He was 30 but didn’t look a day over 10. And the fun they had that one time! “Water’s on!” he called from the bathroom at 5 in the morning. She’ll never forget that line. Then Marty came home early at 6 from one of his blasted solo tours and put a stop to all that. All she had was the once. But it might have been enough, because she had memories. And a hi-fi tape, ha. Yeah, they got back together. Before Ringold came along and drummed him out of the picture again, maybe for good this time. They hadn’t spoken since, but they had to divide the house. Hence the visit here, to the Illuminati once more. Whom Marty vowed that one time back in Spring ’64 that he would never revisit, till death do them part.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0207, Corsica^^, Urqhart^

lone choice (cake eaters)

I thought I recognized you… *mother*. Now talk before my finger gets itchy.”

“Talk to Cory. Talk to Cory!” she defended herself, panicking to get out of the crosshairs.

She meant Austin of course. Austin knew everything, or at least a whole whole lot. Enough to survive any firing of questions.

Or was it Eckert. Peter?

Knowing mother most likely had an aunt or two packed away in her back pocket, Dinner Girl called for reinforcements, which meant W since no one else really wanted the job, none of the other cores that is. Plus she wanted to buy some clothes from the freebie stall this particular realtor of the lower central northeast sector of Corsica had set up ’round back, maybe a summer dress or a pair of sandals or a straw hat. Something that started with an S to go along with the hissing of summer snakes. So I guess we’re dealing with a Joanie.

Make that Hidi.

Dinner Girl covered her while she went around the corner to shop. Play before work, she always said.

As she perused the contents of a box full of swimsuits, red tie donned Jefferson Thomas studied her intently, wondering if she was a member of Pot-D or Pan-Z or perhaps both. Like himself.

“You there!” Dinner Girl called over, spotting the threat. “Back away from the hamburger girl!” Mother took the chance to hightail it out of here herself but was gunned down in crosswalk, a distraction that allowed JT to escape with the girl. Like they had it planned all along; sacrifice for the greater good and all.

—–

15 hours later, a rose holding bride posed for a picture outside the house across the road, just wedded again to the late great Jeffrey Phillips. “It was the only way to bring him back,” she lamented later to a broken-hearted Kolya back in Nautilus or thereabouts, his lemonade gone stale again.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0206, Corsica^^, Urqhart^

00250602

Sometimes you can’t help yourself. You have to take a snapshot.

Flash! The world is gone, then reappears. Blue Berry Girl sits on a rock, trying to figure it out. “Norris. Be *quiet*,” she demands. But Norris had said nothing in fact, not being alive in any way except through remote animation. She takes him everywhere. We could call him a constant sounding board. “Norris. Stop picking at your nose!” That kind of thing.

Flash! The brightness then dies down from the last pocket of virtual reality. A pond with real seeming rocks lining it. They sit down again, tired from the 50 meter walk, or Blueberry Girl imagines Norris is tired. Looking down, she then wonders when and why she painted her fingers (and toes) such odd colors.

“Norris. Stop *humming*.” Blueberry Girl imagined her constant companion was humming a Schuman, perhaps the one with the red eye (hopefully).  But then Norris stops and doesn’t start again.

“What *are* these rocks?” Blueberry Girl asks. “They seem… *different*!”

Norris had an independent thought for a change. *I* rock! he realizes. He is alive, resurrected even.

“Scratch scratch scratch!” went the seagull down at the rocks like a demented violin, trying to tell them the truth but being unable to communicate effectively being a simple bird and all. He has plans to change himself.

—–

“Another dream, Charlene. I was a dummy.”

“Aww,” she says with fake pout. “I’m sooo sorry.” She rubs his arm. She hands him his red tie, which he must put on first thing even to get out of bed.

“I saw rocks. I woke up. I was a violin. I was a seagull.”

“There there, now now.” She was rubbing the other arm now. She was patient. Jeffrey Phillips was doing right by her these days. Collagesity was not that bad. Once you get use to the crime and the background shooting and looting. As long as you’re in bed, say, by 7, and wear your noise cancelling headphones to go to sleep: you’re okay. April Mae Flowers was still in custody. There has to be more criminals, especially given the 5 sets of fingerprince and, well, the continuing crime, only slightly abated much to Jeffrey’s chagrin. He returned to continuing chaos. The paperwork containing the police reports among other things piles up. He works through it one day at a time, inch by inch, foot by foot. Then he comes across this.

—–

“The sun is hot today Norris,” she says, looking up from her hands into the cooler trees, trying to spot the seagull that had flown away from the toasty rocks down at the shoreline. But in vain: the demented violin sings no more.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0025, 0602, Corsica^^, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^

x’s and o’s

Goodbye Ant Castle at the end of Eleph’s Trunk. I feel like I hardly knew ya.

The only related castle remaining on The Trunk is Harrison Ford Jett’s, whose enhancing apples were recently mentioned in relation to a city crime. The City now. But was he suspected perpetrator or victim in a series of 4? And is he truly a man or a woman? Perhaps it doesn’t matter; let’s go with it doesn’t matter.

“Sure you can stay with me, Ant. Until you get your 6 feet back on the ground.”

“Thanxxxx!”

—–

That taken care of, let’s move back to The City and the Happy Travels Travel Agency…

“Hellloooo. I’m ready to go on vacation. Hide away again.” It was typical of Hidi to do so; in her genes, one could say. Speaking of which…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0211, Apple's Orchard, Corsica^^, Gaston^^, Northwest^, NWES Island^

lighten up, er, 04?

“I was hoping the picture would help me get a new house.”

“Not if *I* can help it.” Saffie was a rival renter. She wanted the best for her and her family of 5 children, 3 dogs, 2 ferrets, and 1 husband. For now.

Marty checked his watch. “Where *is* he?”

“*She*,” Saffie helped for the moment at least. “Snowmanster is a  *she*, jees. Do you want to get a better house or not, blimey?”

“Blimey?” He stared over. “You’re British?”

“No.” But Saffie turned red here. She knew she’d slipped up. She also looked at her watch, hoping that Snowmanster would show up asap. Before too much was revealed.

“Do you know Liverpool by chance?”

“I don’t eat meat,” she returned dumbly.

“Ahh. A Vegetarian. Then you must know *Linda*.”

“Lisa?” Didn’t work.

“*Yes*. Her too.”

Where was this going? At least we escaped the pitchfork guy, blimey.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0203, Corsica^^, Urqhart^

lighten up 03

Spongebub, through his new, lightened up picture, led me to this crosswalk in front of an apparently secret, or maybe not so secret, Illuminati center. After playing around, logically enough, with Illuminatus the God of Chaos and Destruction crossing the road in front of Annie Lee (hi Annie Lee!), I decided to go with Marty. He moved across this very same road back in photo-novel, um, 20, when I was still based in nearby Urqhart. To a bigger house — didn’t work out. It was simply too ugly for Marty to continue with his role in this location. The Urqhart (or thereabouts) version of Collagesity soon succumbed as well. Tower destroyed. So here’s the walking Marty version of the above picture.

Where’s he going? Is that still beer he’s drinking or has it turned to lemonade (in the meantime)? Is it yellow still? Looks kinda green to me, a green-ish tint anyway. Snowbob must be around. Maybe Snowmanster too.

No, there’s Snowmanster crossing the road instead of Marty. He’s going to visit his son, Snowbob. *Sorry*, *she’s* going to visit *her* son.

“It’s about time we brought her back,” I can hear Spongebub say over in Iris. So let’s turn the camera around a bit, follow Snowmanster inside, and see what we have…

And I think I’ll go with Marty instead of Snowmanster here after all. He may be meeting Harrison Jett instead of the latter meeting… well, let’s just have a look.

Turns out Marty is meeting Snowbob, jees. Wonder what *they’ll* have to talk about? Can we tune in? Maybe we need a translator.

“He SAID, he’s LYKEN it!!”

Must be talking about the picture Marty brought with him, hmm.

“Bring it in my OFFICE!! And we’ll see how it works THERE!!”

Okay, you can stop now.

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