“Linda, I’ve decided we’re going with Legos for the next album.” Marty turns in his chair. “Come on in boys.”
Category Archives: Splinterwood
The wrong Baker Bloch has moved on. Peter then manifests the hole in the plot physically in Sanderton. “A *rose* would help,” he says while energizing the situation, as he can. And so he becomes one. Peter Rose — Peet Rose. An Old Red Star. Back to the past we go. He moves within.
Sorry, he’s having a little trouble.
He – moves — *within.*
Baker Bloch eats alone in Sanderton. He knows he’s at the end of his rope. All he has left is improvisation.
The lag meter is low today. He can invite someone else in to dine with him. Who will it be tonight? So many to choose from.
But he decides on Axis, since he knows he should enter the current story sometime but hasn’t yet. Might as well get it over with. They switch places for a particular reason, one with the other.
“How’s Venus?” he begins about Wheeler with her new name, her new doo.
“She’s all right tonight,” spoke Axis levelly. “Mars too.”
“And you are Peter as well, Axis.” He indicates Axis’ outfit with a nod of his head while still eating his cherry pie that’s he’s moved across the table with him. “The Tron thing and all. Seems you are *stuck*.”
“I am,” Axis replied plainly, continuing to stare. He hadn’t rezzed any food. He didn’t know how long he would be here. Needed to get back to Venus…
“I’ve been seeing Hucka Doobie myself.”
“Oh?” From Axis’ surprised look on his face, Baker Bloch knew what he was thinking.
“No, no, not *that* kind of seeing.”
“Oh.” The tone was flat now.
“No, we’ve been talking about the plot, the paper or papers it is written upon, and the holes therein.” He takes another bite, cleaning the fork as well, per usual. “Thought — well, thought you might have some thoughts on it tonight. I’m, er, (bite) kind of at the end of my rope.” He pondered the elephant again just around the corner, and the various parts.
“Follow your nose,” Axis said, then disappeared.
Baker Bloch took a couple more bites before uttering, “Well, that was a lot of help.”
The Ant returns to his temple.
As soon as he enters the tunnel he hears the phone ringing with his sharp ant ears.
Hurrying upwards, he realizes who it must be.
“Oh dear, oh *dear*.”
At the top he desperately looks around for the phone. Where did he put it last? The rings persist. She won’t let up, he knew. Maybe he left it upstairs. The rings seem closer than that, but he decides to check. Can’t find it down here after all.
Up he goes!
Yes. Closer now. But *where*?
Aah. *There* you are.
But then he remembers it’s not a ring you can actually answer.
“Still no answer, Green. I bet he’s a thousand miles away from here, pheh.”
“Maybe you should give it up for today, Pink,” Marsha’s closest friend SEAN wisely advised. “There’ll be other gigs.”
The Man(n) finds The Men again in Penning. Fascinating.
Must have something to do with the nearby Linden pine forest, he concludes correctly.
He decides to stay in this sim and paint. But how to get rid of what’s already here?
He then eats with 3 ant related avatars…
… before falling asleep on a starry horsie.
Night night, Mr. Man(n).
“Thank you for meeting with me tonight, Hucka Doobie. Corsica is my greatest challenge”
“So I’ve heard.” She swigs a beer as well. “Well — *ahhh* (wipes mouth of frothy foam) — I’m here to help you. For sure. Go team.” She wants to raise her arm here for unity but finds she can’t.
“Thanks. See if I lean back, Hucka, I’m right on the line at 162/162. The planners of the Melder sim, these *Elmers*, must have known about this new Diagonal in my estimation and taken steps to incorporate its energy into…”
“… their plans,” finished Hucka Doobie in the gap. Another beer gulp. “Well, it’s a very interesting theory and I suppose it has to be true on some level.”
“Can you feel it?” requests Baker Bloch. “I’m right on it but I’m just wondering if it works in proximity (as well).”
“Not really. But I don’t really work that way.” She emits a secret smile here, like a Mona Lisa. “You know,” — she looks down at her beer, her free hand — “*I* could have gone out with the Good Rev. Amos T. Sandman. It didn’t have to be Wheeler.”
“Yeah. I think it *did*.” Baker Bloch looked over, thinking Hucka Doobie was an attractive woman, but Wheeler… Well, Wheeler is Wheeler.
She has her ways. Hucka Doobie is fantastic as a spiritual guide to the blog. No need to bring her into all that. If necessary I’ll get Baker Blinker to talk to her. “We, you and me Hucka, are alike in that way.” He points back and forth between them.
“Anyway, The Diagonal doesn’t necessarily work that way.”
“Doesn’t it? Didn’t Sid Viscous and Martha Lamb get engaged on a Diagonal and then seal the deal there?”
“I suppose.” Baker considers. “But that was the Heart one. The Head one was probably different.”
“Yess… but what is *this* one, the new Diagonal? How does *it* function?”
Baker ponders again. “Well, it’s obviously about religion.” He elaborates. “The tree church at the first of this section is on it. And then here — Summerhill’s church.”
“This is not Summerhill’s church,” Hucka Doobie speaks plainly, looking around. “But I know what you mean.” Another swig. Hucka Doobie considers that she may always be alone. Without love.
Summerhill Nova’s other job besides running the Bemberg sim in its entirety was preaching to the congregation who congregated at Church of the Elmers in Melder in its entirety each Sundae. Unlike with the Main Church of Cheese, usually a packed crowd for this one, and no exception this day. They began by honoring a fellow parishioner who had been killed in the recent, new troubles down in, “Bena or Bennington or whatever they call the miserable village these days,” white Summerhill lectured from her white pulpit in her big white church to a host of white people dressed in black. She knew harping on the evils of their degenerative sister sim to the south was a certain crowd pleaser. Then she started talking about Ben Wolf.
“I know many of you’n’s frowned when we accepted Ben into our congregation. You said he smelled weird, especially around the full moon. You said he howled when he went to the bathroom. You complained — silently mainly — when we found out his wife the Irish Lass (Summerhill couldn’t remember her name right off either) was also a beast underneath it all, a fox in her case. Yet he heard the calling of the Lord (Summerhill stops here, as if hearing my voice as well), and came to us for guidance, for shelter from the harsh world he saw around him, trying to tear his very limbs apart, pull his very head out of his body and parade it around for all to see and mock. Yes, this Ben, this *Wolf*, was just as much a *man* as any of you lot here.” She pointed around the congregation for emphasis, singling out various men. “And what else has he done for the church you might ask? Well, we set him to tasks — menial tasks but after all he was grateful just to be here. I think each and every one of you will agree that the 17 bathrooms spread out in our various churches across the compound look spotless now; he will be hard to replace for sure in that area.” Agreements and nods across the congregation here. “And what of tree trimmings, and the squirrel bombings, and so many more tasks we set for him that he accomplished with great joy, great glee, great triumph. No, this *man*… will be sorely missed around these here parts.”
“And now — a word from the widow, an exile from Bena or Bennington…” she stops here and covers the mike with her hand, calling over to Phyllis Phox sitting in one of the nearby lawn chairs positioned below the main congregation. “What’s the name, dear?”
“Phyllis,” came Phyllis’ answer, not understanding what Summerhill Nova meant.
“… Phyllis,” Summerhill then continued, thinking that was the correct name of Bena/Bennington now. Phyllis approached the podium to scattered applause.
(to be continued)