Category Archives: Hana Lei^^

00310301 (antique art (and pottery))

“Yosemite,” she cussed, seeing where it came from.

She knew the picture of the “Monolith…” *had* to be here. But where?

Suddenly she was gone, a piece of art herself. The price she paid for a photograph.

Or was it a painting? She’ll never know now.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0301, Hana Lei^^

00310217

‘There’s that *duck* again. Lemon, pheh.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0217, Hana Lei^^

simple walk

“What are you looking for, Crystal? A lemon? This is not a lemon. But: close! Over here. Behind the blue and green pillow thingies. Beyond the small forest of trees. Persimmons? Never mind that now. To the lemon (!).

“The boy is trying to tell us something. A magic mirror (!). I know, cut down on the parentheses. And the exclamation marks. And the capital letters, semi-colons and colons, parentheses within parentheses (etc.).

“It’s Ketty! Richard Ketty. Not Petty! He’s different. He’s from Randolph County. Wait!”

Crystal said she would take it from here, and: thanks (!).

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0215, Hana Lei^^

Pitt Stop

Her lawn looks like a meadow
And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
And the Queen Anne’s lace!

“The car wanted to live. The car wanted to *stay*.”

“Great, W. Can I call you W. still?”

“I am the two within the one, the complex within the simple. Look for me. Balance.”

“O-kay.”

“Continue, then.”

“*You* continue.”

—–

“We are in the car. We are the rib, the singular, heading to the complex, the duality. Eve. Adam from. 2 in 1. 2 brained.”

“And what does that mean?”

“We have to stick to the simple.”

“But we are heading to the double. Double heads.”

“No (!).”

“Yes.” Simpler. Smaller. No exclamation point; no capital letters. Just acceptance. 2n1.

“What about left leaning?” I grasped, trying not to Fall.

—–

Flipping to the Orient, I knew this was about me, then. The red green blue yellow “tiles” in the back were me. The colorless, X-ed out head openings (“hello!”) of the Zebra are me, ready to reveal themselves in the move away from occident. Me. Sozzy Bozo has a mask over his eyes — similar. It should be over his mouth. Point made.

—–

I had to incarnate again soon, before the dawn’s early light at least. Else the night would be “wasted.” I decide a variety of photos would do the trick. Presenting: Snapshots from the East.

This was a kind of creepy one. Glimpse into the Abyss, brr. So cold.

Then lightening up as the red green blue yellow return. Goal carts! (red starts)

Traveling further back, 2 toys mark the entrance to a passage, perhaps of life itself. Ur-state. One toy, the blue one, did not “evolve” past the second. Both remained simple. We are onto something. Not dodging an issue no more.

We are now even before the start of the race out back. Orange appears across from the green, from the blue. Out of place. King Bill. He is whole. He is *orange*. Here is where we should have started. And so I placed myself there, before the beginning. Let’s try again.

“I found something, W.”

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pins

“I miss Baker Blinker,” confesses Baker Bloch to Wheeler afterwards. The story was interesting fer sure. Morgan, pheh. Tess… hypercube. Wormhole again! They were indeed connected, like two particles that act as one over a distance. But not the 2 Bakers, queerly enough. Not any more. Wheeler had usurped.

—–

“Are you ready to order?” Peter Soso, back from a watery grave or something. So hard to remember some of the characters, or at least their backstories. So many now. Must simplify. I’ll make it a 2022 resolution. But the presence of Soso here was already complicating matters. He was blunt. He was not in the mood to chit chat. He probably didn’t even remember me, if we’d ever met. I looked into his merman eyes, scanning for recognition. I remember him being with Prissy, a mer-creature like himself. But then…

“I’ll have a hamburger,” said Wheeler across from me. “Extra blood.”

Disgusting. “Veggie burger for me.” In tandem, like I said. I set them up she bowls them over. Again and again.

“Very well, sir.” He turned to Wheeler. “And sir.” He took our menus and made his way back to the kitchen down the pier to place the orders.

Well he obviously doesn’t remember *you*, I thought about Wheeler. Along with her “man suit”, she was wearing her flip style hair tonight, which made me start thinking of Baker Blinker. Tag team wrestlers they were, at least at one point in time: Flip and Magicka Bean. I had to ask. But first there was the little matter of her Morgan story.

(to be continued)

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“Redtime Stories”

“I found something, W.”

“I did too (!). You go first.”

“Wellll.” STOP

START “You know how the last photo-novel ended in 256, when Norris, aka Harry finished downloading the entire Red Room, as Casey One Hole entered and saw his own Ass — edness.”

“Yeahhh?”

“I found the continuation. It’s a wormhole.”

“Funny.”

“How?”

“Not hahaha but hmmm… kind of funny.”

“Kind of funny or fully funny, in a hmmm way?”

“Do you want me to continue or not?”


what B., aka Baker Bloch found

“Okay your turn, W.”

“Oh, mine’s nothing in comparison. Really (!).”

“Try me.” Baker Bloch knew they worked better in tandem than separately. She’d found something.

“Okay (!). If you insist.”

“Just put a picture in the blog like I did. In this post.”

“What post?”

“You know what post.”

“I Don’t Know, hahaha.”

“Hmmm.”

“I know. I’m delaying. But for a reason.”

“*Where* did you find this? How about that to begin.”

“Morgan.”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0031, 0101, Hana Lei^^, Mountain Lake^, Omega^^

something to crow about

Back in Whippersnapper, Baker waited outside for a new Christmas shipment of antique art (and pottery) to the Blue Baron’s.

“Monolith…?” he questioned when it finally arrived from ports unknown. “Let me check,” offered Chuck Wakdins the delivery man, and looked down his inventory list. “Which one,” he finally said, “Ansel Adams or, let me see, Greg Ogden? New guy apparently.”

Suc-cess!

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making shit happen

He was getting sucked down into the 3 sim region. Typical; can’t help himself.

Something about ghosts and busting them. Busts! He recalls now. He’s about to get busted for the drug ring he supposedly runs. But it’s really just wrestling on the side, until the money starts rolling in with the art and all. Sepisexton awaits atop the Monolith of Paper-Soap with more pills for thrills. Let’s go there now.

She stares at the crying lady again, another lone, dark figure in the distance. She begins.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0507, Hana Lei^^, Paper, Paper Soap

00300506

He visited an art gallery to see how much he could sell his works for in Our Second Lyfe. He was encouraged(!).

Hmm…

… sensing another pattern.

The owner requested, “no photos,” on a sign at the entrance but I figured that was of individual pieces. A mere boy tries to “fish” paintings illegally through the upstairs ceiling, probably being short on cash or perhaps for black market purposes. Greg Ogden makes a note that things like this can happen but doesn’t report the young fellow. He’s potentially doing something illegal as well snapping these photos. Let hot water stand.

He looked and looked but couldn’t find the art work that a fiend of a friend indicated was here: a copy of Ansel Adams’ famous black and white photograph from the 20’s called “Monolith…”. He knew that people — some people — stupid ones — would think that he was piggybacking on the fame of an established artist, despite the fact that Adams worked in a different discipline. Plus this was another Whippe sim, like the one he’d just left in Section 04 back there with its Black Lake, etc. How’d *that* occur? Must be yet another indicator that he was on the right track to come here, check out prices, capture (on film) the red dressed lady and the fox, see the boy fishing for valuable paintings through the ceiling, and lastly, lastly, Adams. Where was he? The photograph could hold the answers to everything.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0030, 0506, Hana Lei^^

00280317

He didn’t get much information from that pothead Pine Ridge but he understood Lamb had flown the coup. Peter Paul and Mary I mean here, featured in photo-novel 05 and a bit of photo-novel 06 if memory serves. Mr. Babyface came here to try to persuade his nephew Paul (and the rest) to return to the Land of the Living, as he called it, get away from this Hana Lei and its huffing and puffing and boys bringing more rolled up paper all the time, just like clockwork. You pay them, they come and never stop, the jerks. “Vicious cycle,” he said. “You’ll end up like Syd,” he furthered, pointing out the famous downfall of one of Paul’s rock heroes. “Dead… or worse. Dead in your head, which goes beyond physical death because the mind goes beyond the body. You better think about that the next time you take a shower with that cat soap you like.” He decides to leave it at that. Paul stares at him, much like Roger stared at Jacob later on, all glazy eyed, like a glossy pot ready to go to market, ready to have another plant inside it. He didn’t need to ask the Time because he knew what it was, shortly followed by Money, shortly followed by death. And worse. Brain Damage.

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