Category Archives: Estate

review

Cassandra City still holds promise but probably not for this here current photo-novel. Baker Bloch must take his leave, rented apartment in town unused. Big Dick, a Phil actually, waits patiently in the corner of his hotel lobby, looking forward to more communication through the aether.

—–

Story possibilities in Heartsdale, a major driver early on in photo-novel 20, have most likely been exhausted as well. Let’s return there for a similar, final shot: Baker Bloch in front of Small Wood posing with Teddy, a black and white horse owned by an avatar named Zero.

Both glimpse Philip Strevor through a broken gate to the sidewalk. Strangely, the duplicate Yoko Ona that also walked around this particular Heartsdale block is gone now. Yoko as a whole has probably moved on from this sim.

—–

There seems to be more in Iris, a place to be focused on still. For example, there’s a kind of, um, inexplicable “hole” in the center of the 4-5 sim region owned by [delete name], who may actually, in Real Life, be [delete word]. If so, *Crooked* seems to be a link. The prominence of the Moth Temple seen in the background here, the “eye” of the whole Heterocera continent, could play a role in the hypothetical overshadowing of this mystery spot.

—–

Toppsity? I’m not sure what took place in the trial of Yoko Ona. We *know* that she spat on Baker Bloch when he tried to turn her right-side up from upside down while both were fishing in Heartsdale Bay, the last Heartsdale related post in this here photo-novel actually. You don’t spit on the chief avatar of a blog, the one the owner most identifies with, and get away with it — at least in the blog itself, where we still are last time I checked. (pause) Yes, I just checked. We are still in the blog.

But the witches of her coven eliminated original judge Tronesisia: drowned, with a possible saving ship arriving too late in the early afternoon after the late morning accident. Then the several witnesses we know of — Miss Raincoat (aka Sammy Whatammy), Uncle Stinky, and probably Crayola as well (aka Tammy Whatammy?) — have all been linked to maleficent forces too. Wait, let me check that again. (pause) Uncle Stinky has *not* been associated with such forces. He still can be used by the prosecutor George A., who we’ve not talked about since that particular post either. So we should return to Toppsity and finish the trial. Defendant Yoko Ona may be called to the stand herself. *That* could be interesting.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0614, Cassandra City, Heartsdale^^, Heterocera^^, Iris^, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Toppsity

handoff

“It’s a good strawberry shake. I wish we could have enjoyed such a shake while growing up.”

“What do you mean?” asked Poetry, truly confused in the moment.

Parasol changed, staring sideways at… “What did you say the name of that movie was?”

“‘Hot Rod Girl,'” Poetry said, not noticing the change and responding to earlier conversation.

“Another thing I could not enjoy.”

Poetry noticed the change.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0504, Hana Lei^^

Kennedy for president

She was trying to determine an exact year here in this place. “Hot Rod Girl”: she remembered that film from the early 60’s — maybe late 50s. But she wasn’t allowed to go to such a racy flick. Some said there was a bit of nudity involved (!).

A black lady in the nearby pink diner. Black people are not allowed in this diner. Not in the early 60s, and certainly not in the late 50s. She gathered she was about 18 or so, or about the same age as herself. Her profile picks led Poetry to this sign which she also didn’t understand, being from the past and all. A relic.

Well of course Black Lives Matter, thought Poetry at the time. That’s why we made them separate but equal (!). She wanders into the gallery of the woman, named Eight. Was Eight code for a gang member? A revolutionary? She’d heard of such people. The single name of a letter or a number came to her mind. She was becoming more ensconced in time. 1921 may be next…

She was looking for particular evidence that would support her now outdated slant on reality. Could she snap out of it?

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0503, Hana Lei^^

Stormy

The jazz and beatnik club known as The Dive was actually just a front for the numbers station in a secret room below the establishment. An old bomb shelter. Charlie Banana became humanized after being successfully contacted by Poetry Dancer. They listened to the artful tunes of D.J. Marty, still intent on finding out whether Yoko was a good or bad witch. We’d determined that Mid-Hazel was the real manipulator behind the scenes. Another All the Numbers situation, most likely. He played his Pepper album both forwards and backwards at once to attempt to create a third, higher perspective. Lt. Salt entered the club and killed them all bought them all drinks. It was an unexpected result.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0502, Hana Lei^^

Orange you glad to see me?

Okay, she’d finally found something that interested her in the past. A numbers station, broadcasting all the figures. She could call somebody! She first thought of Charlie Banana, an old lover. Good ol’ Charlie. Peach of a guy. But then a Siamese cat suddenly landed on the table from somewhere on high and talked to her instead. Wrong Charlie contacted (mentally). He said she’d missed something in Paperville and that she needed to return. Thinking the cat meant her blue-green shoes, she stated to it she’d already retrieved them, and plopped them on the table in front of him to gander at. As you can see, she’d also bought a matching dress in the meantime to fit in better with the past all around her.

Was it the shoes? the God-like cat thought, still ready to fill a void if need. But now Axis was in control of Paperville. Poetry Dancer here’s brother, or maybe former brother. And then there’s lover Barry X. Vampire. She desires the past, though. Charlie Banana. All the numbers. He better say the shoes were what he was thinking of and take his leave; regroup; try to find another angle (of communication). The past is the past, though. No changing or altering it. That’s why he doesn’t like to go there — here. No malleability; he likes malleability. Change. Flow. The Siamese cat takes its leave.

“I’ll leave you with the other Charlie,” it said/meowed/purred to Poetry. “It’s my mistake; that was the Charlie you desired in the moment. Not me. My bad,” it apologized again, and then wondered if he was overdoing it.

Charlie poofed out. Another Charlie poofed in. All the numbers.

“Hi doll baby.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0501, Hana Lei^^

shoes

“Beautiful place isn’t it?” spoke the biker to his side. Hmm: Biker. “You won’t find a better place.”

“I don’t expect to,” returned Barry X. Vampire, knowing he was being kicked out by the head honcho. “Get your own sphere,” he said on our tour of the underwater gallery, seeing many of the iterations of Paperville in the past. “Collagesity can be as important as Paperville,” he then furthered. “You think about that upon your return.

Barry X. Vampire later contemplated the two were a balance, one focused internally and the other outside of itself, as in the great outdoors. They are kind of backwards from each other in this respect.

In this moment, the train outta here should be arriving any minute. Poetry had to run over to the apartment to retrieve a final thing, she said, but met Hucka Doobie sitting at Peter Oesso’s old spot on the way back. “Don’t — I know you?” she wanting to ask while glancing over, but didn’t have the time. She just passed and nodded.

Hucka had done her work. She would be remembered later on.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0417, Abbey^^, Corsica^^, Stranger Creek

1921

“I wanted to show you this underwater gallery, Barry, to demonstrate that Paperville has gone through many changes, some resulting in the disappearance of the village altogether, at least for a while. The important thing is that the concept carries on. And this same thing should happen to Collagesity. I’m sorry. I cannot allow you to stay. You of course can take Poetry back with you. You have to find her sister for one thing. Please keep up; we’re nearing the end of this section of our journey.”

—–

“You can look and you can look but you won’t find your sister in these series of pictures, Poetry. Axis, the New God of Paperville after all, said she hasn’t been here in a while — ran off with a fellow named Biker several years back now. Went to a place on the mainland called Iris, like an eye. And she was searching for an ‘I’. It went missing in a jumble of tiles numbering 25 down from 26. Now we are on a similar journey, Axis states. A search for center.”


missing “I”

“But we’re *in* the center (sim),” a disappointed, sad Poetry countered Barry, still peering at the people, still searching. That *could* be her in the far back with the white robe, she thinks, eyes squinting in an attempt to focus. Axis, although a New Near God, might not know *everything*. There’s always the 5 percent chance out of 10 that marks it down to 9.5. He has a Diamond of a mind now thanks to Cat-Witch, a true return of David A.B. to his perch at the center of it all. To him…

“Margret,” he prompts, interrupting her reverie and saying her real name for the 1st time in a while. She knows she must pull out of the past…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0416, Abbey^^, Corsica^^, Stranger Creek

New God

“Paperville. It’s certainly an interesting concept, Hucka. And I might have met Zappa here. It’s like he just strolled by when I was walking my cow around like a Monkee. Said my music was too white, and I indicated my body, which is very white indeed. Well, cream colored. Skin colored — see there how racist I am Hucka Doobie? I think of skin as white, cream, but there’s all hues. Red, yellow, green —

“Not yet,” Hucka Doobie replied. “Mabel is a forerunner.”

“Of course.”

“But to the Pen Temple. It’s actually Penntemple.”

“So I see. Like Paperville is almost Paperville but not quite. And then there’s Pageville somehow, er, laid atop Paperville. Like, well, a transparent, um, page or something.”

“Fifty-six. Look into fifty-six.”


Peter walks through the tunnel leading to the temple and changes into a former form in the process.


Pens within. And some pencils.


A secret door, leading to…


Home. Director’s seat. Axis Original, Authentic.


Now to get to back to work.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0415, Abbey^^, Corsica^^, Stranger Creek

walk talk

The cat is the room. The cat is (waving) the room.


“Hiii!”

Follow me, it commands. “Follow Charlie,” it follows me, specific about a name. Charlie was at the bottom of the stairs leading to the market. “I’ve never been to the market except that once,” I talk back, trying to remember the once. I had to publish privately and review…

“Take your time,” it meows. “What’s time in a town without time?” he purred philosophically, also thinking about the rapidly spinning town clock. Sometimes it slows down as well. That one time it stopped. All turned dark. And then, another, it was a blur. White all around. Then occasionally it mimics our sidereal time, closely followed or preceded by our *real* real time. They’re not that far from total agreement these two types of time are. I think they can strike a deal down the road somewhere; agree to all the numbers.

—–

“Thank you for waiting, Charlie. Turns out I’ve never been to the market. Another (type of) false memory.”

“No problem. Time: again.” The cat yawns and then continues to stare. I understand that he is ready to ascend. *We* are ready.

—–

“What do you see?” asked Charlie in a voice full of meow while stepping aside near the top.

“Um… the marketplace?”

“*The* center,” it pursues. “You stay here (long enough), you will meet *everyone*. Including the one you will. Are you ready?”

“Um, sure.” I walk up a couple more steps and there we are. Gemusy Market according to the globe/map over at the school that I remember from yesterday. Today (something).

—–

I compare the price of berries, while Charlie talks to calico cat friend Fred about the ups and downs of town, not leaving out the good for the bad. I take a bite of strawberry just to test. Eww. Rancid. Then another: delicious. I see what they mean.

—–

“Over here now, new friend,” spoke/purred/meowed Charlie that God-like cat, ready to step into the God void if necessary. If needed.

“I see you. Taking a break?”

“No. Have you seen enough of the market? Are you ready to enter… the director’s suite? Just over there.” He points his head over there. A dark and sort of ominous, luminous tunnel.

“Director?” I queried, picturing a beret wearing older man in a fold out chair labeled “director”. Not too far off, but not too close either. 1/2 and 1/2.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0414, Abbey^^, Corsica^^, Stranger Creek

Paperville

Sun bathed Poetry, hovering on her more inaccessible balcony, stares over at the town clock, trying to get her bearings. 12:30, no 1:30, no 2. Is this another 5/4ths time keeper? She decides to give it up and go inside to ask lover Barry X. Vampire, since brother Peter Oesso isn’t available right now. Neither would probably lie to her, but Peter was the best bet. For now. Family is forever.

—–

“Barry, is this a sim or a planet?” she starts, trying to figure out the time flying thing. Soo frustrating this place is, arrrgh! She longs for center (sim) again.

Barry, seeing lover Poetry Dancer getting ugly, tells her to go ask Peter. “Just down the stairs outside at the small cafe,” he directs while holding his stuffed stomach full of bread and butter. No use in compounding the mood.

“Thanks,” she barks while angrily striding toward the door. *SLAM* “For nothing,” she then mutters just outside. She takes a deep breath. Calm again. Callmm. She is beautiful once more.

—–

“You can’t see the clock from that balcony,” Peter replies truthfully while continuing to read the town paper at his new table away from the former, umbrella themed one with the perpetual, unreadable music score laying upon it. “Impossible — it’s completely sideways to you there. Might as well be a clock yourself, heh.”

While reviewing the truth of his statement in her mind, Poetry suddenly remembers she has a sister. A brother and a sister. She tells this to Peter.

“Sidereal?” he exclaims, forgetting about the paper, the city as a whole. “What kind of name is *Sidereal?*”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0413, Abbey^^, Corsica^^, Stranger Creek