Category Archives: Hana Lei^^

Y and Z are 10 and 11

It was time for a longer post else we get off track. Wendy had her man, strapped to the Big Wheel, a prisoner in other words. In his own pirate ship: trapped by a woman of all things. But he suspected a man-woman because of the strength, the speed. He was wrong… kind of. “Gotcha!” she exclaimed as the tire iron came down on the knees and then the head. If she was truly a man he might be dead. As it was, he almost bled out, but was brought back by her powers of the mind. Hidalgo — but enough said of that (magic practice) which also gained her many more years than her immortal contemporaries. Only Mummy Suisan out in Swannanowhere had outlasted her. How many years now? She decided to count them out tonight (again) while — whatshisname listened in, helpless to turn off his ears by plugging them with his fingers or something. That was another point to this. She decided to use the base 12 way of counting just to prolong the agony a bit more for him. She stopped at 143Z to see if his head had started to bleed again (only a little). At 1Y876, she thought of the 765 Village and the hidden green grey alien there and how Brut or Burt or Brutus had turned all traitor on her and taken over the Fortress for himself in its two locations to bind the magic more tightly. She hit (whatshisname) on the noggin again simply because she was frustrated now. And, heck, she’d lost her count. She’d have to start over again. At 765 she spaced out and lost count a second time. “One,” she began once more, “twooooooo (*yawn*).” Finally getting sleeepy. She lets him hold her in his arms but just one trick and he’s back on the wheel. She uses the rest of her daily brain power to heal his head completely.

Out like a light now, but this was a test. She knew he could twist her head off if he desired — she had given him her superpowers as well. But if he still had the *mistletoe* somewhere upon his body — and she knew he did — then: no. That small sprig of evergreen would take them both a long long ways.

(to be continued)

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saturnine

She looked down at her, this Winnie, but obviously Wendy again. As she was Wendy. We’re all Wendy in this Second Lyfe of ours, a Wendy City of sorts through and through. Cub Run. Centerpoint. Release the Pooh! she wanted to command from afar with voice so loud you could hear it clear over to Heterocera. Allow Winnie to become Wendy!

Someone asked once why she wasn’t herself in Our Second Lyfe and instead always in disguise, a strange question at the time but perhaps starting to make some sense. The man-woman uttering it was obviously kind of insane, though. She suspected a sea monster because of the seaweed hair, despite the pink tutu. Release the Pooh, she also mentioned. The famous toy bear rolled the wagon with the honey pot down the cobblestone street of town, pausing in front of Perch to peer in at the past. Spaced Ghost turned back into Space. The honey pot was suddenly something else; the held red umbrella was both inside and outside at once…

The pirates were coming and she didn’t know what to do. Directly over the throne now, they had stolen her mistletoe. She wasn’t jovial about it.

They’d make landfall by nightfall. The clock kept ticking, tick tick tick.

I should strike first, she suddenly realized, thinking of the Big Wheel and the 12 at the top. Everyone was scared of her, after all.

“Gotcha!” she exclaimed at 12:37.

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name of thrones

She spoke down to him, hoping he would complement her shoes. “No, this is the Pearl Throne, not Pear. I’m afraid you have the wrong location.”

“I’m sorry mum.” He begins to take his leave. Seems he’d journeyed a long way for nutt’n.

“WAIT.” Sally suddenly recognized him. “You’re… the man under the mistletoe. I know you from that portrait.” He was in disguise but the pointy ears he tried to hide under his antique slouch cap gave him away. This was a man of Jupiter — another planet.

“Lose the old skin,” she commanded from her perch, with mistletoe just behind. “Lose the cap as well. Heck just put on your birthday hat and come here.”

—–

“I swear it’s here somewhere. Eddy,” she spoke to the sea turtle floating before her. “Do you know?”

“I’m sorry mum,” and took his leave.

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menstrual show

“I don’t think Marty has any right to judge art from my town, Buster. *My* opinion.”

“You are right,” Buster replied. Better get to a picture of ’em.

“I went to the Fortress today, Buster,” Duncan Avocado confessed to his boss, the Pot-D Deputy Assistant Sub Vice-Chancellor for Internal External Affairs.

“I know, Duncan.” He nods toward the tracking skeleton heart medallion hung around his neck.

“Oh, yes,” Duncan replies, fondling it. “Forgot.”

“The Fortress is not for you.” Sterner now. “It is for someone else.”

“I know: Hidi.”

“Well… *whoever* it is, and you don’t need to know that yet.”

“What about… Jerry Lind, the Asian Indian–”

“We know about him as well. And he’s both American and Asian: a mix.”

Duncan thought of the red complexion and understood. “They were headed to the Fortress.”

“I said I don’t…” He blows out a tiny puff of air from his small vampire body, trying to calm down. “Just show me the new Willendorf.” He was ready to blow this joint, his regular hangout beside the railroads. Still red hot and angry “policewoman” Angelina Dickenson lives just down the tracks, but in a different sim. He’s safe here, he considers again. But he remains trapped overall in the southern part of VHC City. Best he and Betty move somewhere else. If only Nautilus’ version of Collagesity were a bit bigger, had a few more shops for the wife to frequent. But alas: not so. Baker had decided on a regular 8192 parcel and that wasn’t enough for extras like that: only what he deemed so-called *historic* buildings, like the Blue Feather, like the Temple of TILE, like Fal Mouth Moon and the Castle and a couple of other ones. Not enough.

—–

Quickly they were in the gallery Duncan im’ed Buster about earlier, staring at the new Willendorf. Skyscrapers loomed above them. This was Middletown obviously, Duncan opined to Buster. Buster wasn’t sure. A gallery from the *future*? But it had happened once before and very recently. What can of soup had Marty opened up with his TWO TO KNOW project with Roger? Will traces of Middletown keep showing up and showing up until it’s finally *here*? he pondered correctly, knowing more that he knew at the time of the month.

Duncan closed his diary and stared at the tulips. So close.

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00260314

Duncan *knows* about this art, Marty thought while staring at the Eve guided by the snake instead of the God. He believes he sees her inner parts and looks away at something else more in the distance. A man eating brains out of a skull — still disturbing but less so.

Roger Pine Ridge walks into the door. Marty remembers the deal: 57. Or was it 56? Maybe it’s the last number that counts, the 7 and the 6. Throw ’em in a cup, rattle them around, see what comes out. Quantum state; Black Hole, even. He beams at Roger, knowing he has the upper hand again. Yelloo.

“Let’s go,” Roger requests, eager to get out of this place full of “artists”.

But first: “Nothing in the library about Roost or the Roost Never Sleeps attached castle.”

“Have you tried *Rust*? As in Neil Young?” Marty’s hand switches from upper to lower and Roger is in charge. “Let’s go,” he says again, not taking no for an answer. “NOW”.

“‘Kay,” is all Marty could weakly manage in acquiescing.

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00250701

The tiles behind the stove were falling off. And she’d left the burner on again.

“Oh mom,” he complains. “What are we going to do with you?” He turns the knob to the off position and starts clearing the air.

—–

“We have to fix TILE,” Man About Time urges, making his pitch. “Carrcassonnee has become Sepisexton, the 7 and the 6 at once, and is roaming the metaverse unchecked, freeing demons right and left that she can use at her disposal. We’ve already clocked 4 with the same name of Jenny.”

“Jenny is *not* a demon,” countered Mabel, present for the debate. “She’s just… very orange.”

“Aldebaronian,” clarified likewise alien Roger Pine Ridge, who also made a window in his busy schedule for this important discussion.

“No, like I said, there are *4*.” Man About Time remained fixed about the unfixed nature of the town’s chief religion, the one it is known for through the temple and some other stuff.

“Boat,” Baker Bloch piped in. “I recall a boat. Didn’t that crash over in Wallytown, though?”

“*Wallytown*,” stepped in Wheeler, “is something we’re *not* suppose to talk about. Not after the shower.”

“Counter that,” uttered Carrcassonnee propped up in a corner, unable to walk still or talk very much. She was basically limited to things that belong in a kitchen. “Spachula,” she offered further. “Scrape up eggs off counter. Will stick if not scraped. Spachula.”

The rest tried to figure out what that translated to in the latest Carrcassonnee limited language issuances. Probably something to do with eyes again. Or “I”s. Despite the split, MAT had gotten her this far, which was something, they agreed.

“Danny. What say you?” Danny was, once more, Man About Time’s right hand man, just like in the past. Pickleland in the sideways world, his trusty plunger turned back in time. Tiger.

“Radar.” Another simplistic issuance but followed up by 176 more sentences that I won’t write out but explained very well what the lack of radar meant to the Schuman without the N. Because there was Sector R to deal with now. “… mustard,” came the end of his last sentence of the 176, describing the color of the entity most responsible for the confusion. Earlier words in this sentence and the 175 preceding it elucidated a robot from a sideways world, probably Oz, who wormed their way into susceptible people’s lives disguised as a “best friend”, as he had called it. This was the case with Barry.

“Very good, thank you Danny. I will close then, for now, by saying that every state of the US is also a state of mind. Think about that.” MAT stares them down from his position in front, on top. For the moment and, hopefully, for the future.

Of the 10 people in the meeting, only 2 thought about bordering states with this, and that is only because they shared some of the same static, been out in the same snowstorm and not made it back in time for supper and a movie that one instance. And suffered the consequences.

(to be continued)

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dream’s end

Of course I got lost in the maze that is my home. This happened even in childhood when I was more familiar with the place. But when I spotted the dummy with the red tie in the middle of the road I knew I was close. Me! They made me a martyr, just because I was special. The 5 were still inside of me all right, all taking orderly turns now, no fighting or jostling for top position. They’ve learned to cooperate. I’ve taught them well. Along with Miss Graham of course. I wonder where *she* is now?

Onward to the motel.

—–

The door was open. “Mom?” I called in.

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army of one

Bestie, as I liked to call him, was always the best. He constantly pointed out to me when I was down and out that I was a writer as well as an artist, and to find the balance between the two represented my path in life.

The path between the canvas and the typewriter here led to… mom? Suisan? I had to find out (again). And to somehow avoid Schuman without the extra N if possible. Don’t piano around with fiddles! I was on my way. “Thanks Bestie!” I called back, thanking him. He tipped his mustard colored metal helmet at me in parting, however brief. He would return. He was almost a constant shadow, as they say, in that I’m able to muster him up in any time of trouble. Like now! How to end photo-novel 25, a series of 1. Forward! (hup hup hup)

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GUMMMMP!

Q: Who is Publius Enigma, what is the meaning of it all, and what is the treasure to be had? A: (Uncle Custard) As the Infamous Q has emphasized, ‘you humans are so limited’. This is a project for all those out there with higher IQ’s, it does require a mastery of diverse languages, along with a lot of spare time.

The Publius sim was a stranger one, so close to Public Nudity yet so far. Not being multi-lingual I decided to tread lightly from this central spot, a default landing point on a bridge. I looked down. I recall the red dress. And the woman inside.

—–

Hucka Doobie continued to read on the floor, then, momentarily: “22 is a good one, Baker Bloch. I think I might like that best.” About 20 minutes later: “Here, just here.” She points to the book before her. “Barry DeBoy is in The Waste but it’s *not* the Waste. What was the name of that place?”

Baker Bloch was still fiddling around with the piano, to mix a metaphor. He paused in the effort to recall, which he couldn’t. “Something about numbers,” is all he could distantly offer.

“We should look that up. The place should be separated from The Waste. Not everything has to be Hana Lei if it is the unknown.”

“Suppose.” He started again with the bad “Chopsticks”, hell bent on mastering it before night’s end.

—–

My home! I think excitedly while still peering down. Pink’s motel that she runs. *Mom*. And… Suisan. I am D-Boy, which means I make a lot of D’s which makes me a Dunce with a capital D. So says Suisan. Before she fully understood my special gifts. I learned to make Art with a capital A, an accomplishment that needed to be acknowledged. I stare into the transposed Tiger’s mouth. Black Diamond. CITY.

A friend waits outside beyond the screened in studio. “Hellooo?” My best friend. My only friend. I wind him up and he winds me down. Now we just have to figure out how to return to the White Palace and get that ruby red key.

—-

“Got it!” But Hucka Doobie was fast asleep by now.

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00250607

“I gave at the bank, bud,” she offered the ragged man with outstretched hand. He’d almost heard it all now. Onward…


…. to the temple in the center of Silent (groundside). Sep Felton (= Baker Bloch) felt there may be clues about how to proceed with the development of TILE here via the proferred slideshow. Red green blue yellow, after all: Rainbow Sphere.

But she was probably quite a ways off still, trapped in red and yellow unable to reach and incorporate green and blue on the far side. Working theory.

I know the creator of all this. He camped in the Rubi Woods next to my beloved Collagesity a while back. I was worried about him at the time. The camping lasted for days and days. Now I see it as a retreat. A place of silence. Funny how Carrcassonnee camped with friends Tin S. Man and Homer Smipson at almost that exact same spot way back in 2016, if not *the* exact same spot. I’ll have to get the coordinates. Far out (like Silent).

http://wiki.secondlife.com/wiki/A084_(Silent)


unexpected visitor (!)

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