“What am I going to do, Giant Tiger? Tessa soo wants to find her half brother, the one that’s been on the lam for so long. Full sister Lisa is trying too, but she got stalled at New Island. Oh Tiggie, if only red hadn’t been swapped with orange back in the days.”
“20 – 09,” pronounced the tiger, very communicative for his kind. This is why Charlene the Punk liked him so much. She came here sometimes near the Rubi Woods to chat with him, confer with him. Because he was very wise as well, as all tigers are. Most just don’t like talking to humans and their ilk very much. Feel like it’s a waste of breath to them. Better things to do, and so on.
“Are – you staying with – Jeffrie?” His voice was deep, like the depths of the jungle he originates from. Deep with tone, deep with wisdom. Giant Tiger knew that this was not a good idea. Most likely.
“Well, we both got kicked out of Green Yarn together I’ll give you *that*,” she said, still swinging upside down toward and away from him, but with her head now getting swimmy. She rights herself in the seat, considers the issue again from a more sober point. Charlene knew Giant Tiger was still listening to her, wasn’t distracted. He was patient too — another virtue. In fact, I don’t think he had any bad qualities to him. Except the voracious appetite that sometimes included human babies and even toddlers. Toddles and he wouldn’t make the best of friends, for instance. I suppose that aligns him with the Oz Tiger, who desired the same and lamented his need to do so. And it also makes sense that the Tiger is so near the Rubi Woods, come to think of it, since that’s Oz related as well with the ruby slipper connection and all, although that’s just from the derivative movie and not the books, where they were instead silver. But… *that* goes into the whole Sylver Forest which the Rubi Woods are just a remnant stand of timber from. 4 sims it covered back in the days. 20 – 09 or so.
(to be continued?)
An invisible cartoon boy, Martha Lamb thinks, studying Falmouth 36 once more on the 4th floor of the Fal Mouth Moon gallery. Hugged and loved by a visible cartoon girl with red shoes. Perhaps they are future lovers, or perhaps brother and sister. Maybe he has a defect that hides him from view — a malady — but is loved by his sister still. Odd that I think this, she ruminates.
Then over here, further away in a field, the inversion: girl invisible and boy visible. The “E” on the next collage over blinks on and off. This *is* love; mutual exchanging.
“He’s in the Great Black Swamp, Hucka. In the past!”
“Bella. *Not* Bellissaria, YUCK. Maybe I should take off my glooves before typing! Back to the controls of this ship-thing!”
“*There*. That’s… WHHHATT? BellISSIMA now. Maybe it’s my lack of a 5th finger, like Jerry Garcia. Surprised I did so well in school with that handicap! Brains over body I always say, although I have *both*. Except for the 9th and 10th fingers and toes. Oh well. I’m TIRED. I’ll try this planet, er, sim for a while. Belli-e-ss-s- *IT* can wait!”
“Funny how I can see the bottom of this waater now, YUCK. I don’t remember being able to DOO that before, HEE. And reentry has stripped the wood paneling off my ship, HAR!”
“I’ll try THIS house. Has a better viibe.”
“Hmm. No one here except little critters like *me*. Guess I’ll just swiing here a bit and wait for somone to show up, WEE!”
“OOOO. A RAINBOW butterfly!”
And that’s when Sandy Beech woke up.
“I see… you have the answer.”
“Truth,” he shot back. And then he asked his name.
“You can go home now.”
“I had to move. The houses and structures kept closing in. Soon *I* would become a house, a structure. Time to go on. I searched for a sim, a place for center. Nothing would be as perfect as Purden, the 128 128 128. I had moved before, returned. I knew what it took to be Mobile and the consequences suffered or endured because of it. I changed. Out of the ground and into the air and all was different. I could be either male or female since I was both. I had to retain some green in my form but that was about all. I could even be a car. Right Alena?”
“Right Core,” he spoke out the side of his-her mouth to the other being inside the tree.
“Good thing we both can breath underwater,” returned female Alena from the other side.
“That’s just what I said when I showed up here in Iris!” offered listening Snowmanster, still present at the psychic talking tree in the exact center of The Shallows. 128 128 again, but without the third 128 this time. Not perfection. But it seems to do for the moment.
Floating Old Grey in her bubble piped up for the first time during the visit. “I was killed. Murdered. By…”
“Now now, Old Grey. Don’t try to think too hard. You’re freshly dead after all.” Snowmanster stood back and looked at her, snowy hands on frosty hips in a studying gesture. Core-Alena as one was scrutinizing her as well. She floated, she bobbed and weaved seemingly at random but basically in the same spot.
“Oily way,” the tree being(s) said after an interval. “That’s the phrase I was thinking about back there.”
Time to ponder Gong again and the Flying Teepot.
Later they all ate sushi with oversized toothpicks at Black Diamond’s. Big Wanda with “deflated horns”, as I’ve called her floppy pigtails, was in charge, Spore’s plan in action. Master judo samurai Black Diamond (background) gave Little Oakley Annie the honorable name Green River during a pre-meal tea ceremony and her mama the name Kummer, which was short (he explained) for, “coming mother”. Or so that’s what they thought he meant. We were working with places in Washington again, switched from Illinois switched from Mississippi. Faulkner had no hold here, the Rule of the 100 and the way of fame and fortune conveniently forgotten. Zzz was not about Faulkner, nope. This was the mother, this was the father, but not the son, the fruity one.
Big Wanda spoke. “Little Annie Oakley, *sorry*, Green River, has fallen asleep again, cutting zzz’s instead of being in the moment. Too much fighting in life will do that, drain you of the oh-so-precious life force because you have done so with others.” She turns. “But you’re holding up well, Old Grey. How’s that floating device going?”
“Pretty good,” Old Grey admitted, knowing indeed what is holding her up and propelling her forward. Snowmanster and she will be at the tree again soon. In fact: they’re there.
“Interesting,” Core-Alena says to begin in his-her feminine/masculine voice and staring toward Old Grey’s way.
He finally figured out how to remove the giant acorn of a head. He was relieved to find his own head still within, or perhaps it just grew there, like a seed in a pod, ready to hatch forth at the right moment. He pulled and pulled and pulled and finally it was there. Fully formed, seemingly. But the bikini top and especially bottom with attached tail remained. That was part of the new body apparently, part of the assimilation. 2 Sandy’s in one now. One Piece Sandy again. He had (seemingly?) woken up, but not in a good way.
And to top it all off now, he had big hands, like the greeter at the door of Bar FF. Odd name; he couldn’t think of what the initials could stand for. Probably something Japanese related, he realized. He couldn’t see the writing on the wall while staring down at monstrous appendages.
Sandy wasn’t alone at the bar. “I believe you know my father,” the 1/2 snow 1/2 sponge being spoke over.
Snowbob’s *mother* Snowmanster exits the closet again, looks around. “Well *this* is different. Underwater, eh. And apparently I can breathe underwater, lucky me. Now to find Old Grey once… oh. There you are!”
“A message to all my fans out there. Some like their Pink hot.”
“This will never work, Elberta,” Toothpick states at another low point. “You’re so beautiful and I’m so… ugly. Never mind the whole brother-sister…”
“I’m going to stop you there, potential husband of mind. No, better, I’m going to *absorb* you. I want to see what happens.”
Toothpick/Filbert was at a low point, as stated. He had nothing to lose. “Take me.”
“He must never find you, Ross C. He’ll destroy our little square world if he does and make everyone in it miserable.”
“Happy (*zip*) unhappy,” she sputtered.
There’s only one way out. *Become* the world, see. See me in him and him in me.”
Robot from the future Ross C. saw the truth in it.
Hotgirl was freed from Misery Cabin but was unable to speak about her experience there for a while.
Old reality was flickering on and off.
She eventually made her way back to GASTON.
“What we *need* to do,” old companion Domino told
Hotgirl Hitgirl Hitgerl Hitgurl Hitgal while they watched piled up house band Firesign Theatre play for the 4th time tonight at the Rhino, “is to similarly change *Misery*… to *Mystery*. That’s what [delete name] indicates.”
“Shuts your trap.” But the seed had been planted.
The stage is set for Toothpick and Elberta’s “Beech vacation”, a test run. Mr. Z and Mrs. M won’t like it but the wedding has been slightly postponed. Trouble is, Toothpick (and Elberta) aren’t even sure now, when checking, that Munday is actually a day: seems to be a mash-up of real days Sunday and Monday, borrowing letters from each. If so, that would mean there are actually 7 Happy Days already instead of 6, which throws everything off, and also explains, it seems, why olive colored alien Carrcassonnee can’t become fully alive at the Temple of TILE. Because the non-olive eye is the 7th (prim), Tin and Gold both. Self. POLK. “I need my voice!” she says inside. 6 + 1.
“Budweiser casserole’s ready, dear.” Toothpick didn’t budge. He wasn’t even sure which was which. He was both on the couch and announcing that dinner is served. He had on coveralls but he also didn’t. This wasn’t working. 7 had been reduced to 6 and the 1 was missing. And that 1 was him. Zeroed out. Time for Newtonia Cashcow, aka Tracy Austin, to step in, 88s accompanying her as usual.
I, as the Man About Time, decide to meet her at Axis’ coffee shop in the heart of the city as we’d done before but find it closed. Newtonia then invites him, me, over to her apt. for coffee. He watches tv while she changes upstairs into something more comfortable — “less period,” she puts it — but I know this doesn’t involve romantic advances because we’re related. Brother and sister as well?
Hmm. He’s (I’ve) seen this video before. But where? Fuzziness consumes again. I decide to get rid of the I. He’s been asleep for an indefinite time when she arrives back downstairs, offers him some hot Sumatra. “Rats!” she exclaims. Forgot the sugar. She goes upstairs again. She’s trying to be funny. It’s working! After putting lumps in my java she calls me Willard and asks how my gang is doing and if we’re still working on all those map things. I jump back in the picture and say, “yes,” because she just alluded to them. She asks about the mouth of hell and the cave between two synchs and the hole in the cave and why it leads to the center of the Earth where gravity becomes comedy. We talk about a lot of things and I know what she says because we sort of speak a common language. I realize, at the heart of things, she’s just as much in on this communication as Toothpick/Filbert. I needed to talk to the female half for a while, for a post or two or close enough. Grahams. I ask about the Grahams and she produces two, one cracker each. She puts on some Crosby, Adler, Fraud and Young. Spoken book, each taking turns explaining their theories of psychoanalysis with the first and last also involving music. “That is one river of words,” she says when they finished, wiping off the extra sugar from her lap in preparation for the next act. “Like the Mississippi and Amazon. 12 tiles each.” She moves atop her chair and starts to scratch herself like a Monkee for all to observe. I decided to put an end to it for tonight. More soon.