Category Archives: Chilbo^

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I occasionally stop by here, a house to the south of Chilbo on the Jeogeot continent, to check and see if my star is still there on the porch where I put it, oh, say about a year ago by this point. Owner of the house and attached property is a bigfoot researcher, like myself. 🙂 Guy named Snow. And the creator of the star is also a Snow — small world, or so they say. The first Snow is also co-owner of Roberts and Franklin Investigators in Towerboro on the same continent.

Has Robin Williams pic and quote in his profile, thus the decision to place the star here. Williams was a big fan of Firesign Theatre. And a couple of years back, in the sim of Moork, I found a small parcel owned by Uh Clem, a name derived from one on their “Bozos” album already mentioned in this photo-novel by Peter Ladd, nephew of Mr. Babyface. Tonight I found an Ahclem avatar in the same group as the person who owns the Ouroboros property seen in the last part of my last post here (and who has a Firesign Theatre quote in his profile). And, to remind, Shelley Struthers, an all important character now, extraordinarily so, is based on a Shelly I found in Our Second Lyfe who is also a big fan of Firesign Theatre (another one of their quotes in her profile; is, like myself, a member of the only Our Second Lyfe Firesign Theatre group I know of) and whose apartment she has owned for at least several years lies directly on the triple number of Hooktip, on the Head Line of the Heterocera continent. Keep in mind that we just found more oddities on the Heart Line, its matching diagonal from that particular continent. You can get a glimpse of what I’m working with, all the connections. It is, indeed, a Matrix.

But I believe I know what’s on top of the box now. And the bottom. Nautilus, my *home* continent now (not Jeogeot, not Heterocera) is at the bottom. Top is Reality: an approximately 10×10 mile square in the middle of Ringgold County in the south of Iowa. And then they begin to interpenetrate.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0210, Chilbo^, Heterocera, Iowa, Jeogeot, Nautilus, Towerboro

mightier?

She’d left the water in the shower running but it was on purpose: to prove a point. Or, better, to remind her of something. A key, 2nd shower really not needed since no poop is involved.

She was finished with her clients but there was more work to be done tonight before going home bed. Check on the Duck. Because she was about ready to kill someone…

… with writing. “Dear,” she called over to her ex but both still using Gold for a surname. “How do you spell asimilation? With that extra s I’m always mising? Dear oh dear. There I go again!”

“Answered yourself of course,” he responded, not staring up from the folded newspaper. 20 dead in Uptown this year so far. What is Gold City coming to??

“Yes,” she realized. “All I have to do is look down.”

“Or straight ahead…” *sip*

“… if a computer is involved, yes.” Which it wasn’t in this Gold City experience of hers. She preferred pen over keys here. Must be something about running away as fast as possible from the Ebony and the Ivory. Dove’s where it’s at now. She just used it in fact. In the shower. Which she needs to take another of. *No*. She has the key, she reminds herself again, still writing, still scribbling sideways across the yellowing paper, perhaps parchment. *Barry* is the one. He needs the shower. But where is Barry?

Still scribbling, still writing.

Newt sets the paper down. He’s had enough bad. Now for good. “I’m glad I found you again Eyela. Just mised you in the church, ha.”

She looked down, emitted a small laugh as well. Good one, Newt. Then she took the pen and struck out that sentence. Then another, and another until the whole paper was full of lines. Newt was gone. Newt, her ex, perhaps even still her husband since she’s reverted back to Eyela and/or they still share the same last name, was never here. Or else he left earlier. She writes alone.

Later she sits in bed staring at the sword, wondering how to turn it back into a pen. Looks like actual killing is in order if she doesn’t succeed with this.

Because the Duck is right beside her.

“Paul?”

“Yes?” he quacked.

“I think… it’s… time…” STAB

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0315, Chilbo^, Gold City, Jeogeot

missing letter

He made sure he was wearing the right colors.

We are here.

“I am looking for my red and green umbrella,” he spoke as clearly as possible through the rusty metal window.

Umbrellas, Alysha thought. But: close enough! “Come on in.” (creaaakk)

*There* you ares, he thought, spying them when entering.

Oh dear. What’s this?

“No more war. No more war! Stop *NOW*.”

“What are you *doing*. You’re going to *KILL YOURSELVES* ahhhhggg!”

“Move along. Nothing to see here. Move along.” (kkaaaerc)

“Now you know,” she said, still inside. “It’s all about Castor.”

How could he live with this?

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really big shoe tonight

“We bagged him,” Gotham remembered later. “Green as the grass we just smoked.” He was both right and wrong, as he often is. The vision, the hallucination, was real enough. He just couldn’t pin down Time and Space amid all the Options. “I… remember… looking down at him.”

“Those eyes, yes,” Man About Time agreed, having experienced kind of the same thing. Sort of parallel visions, at least for about 20 or so seconds, just enough to finish the joint, pliers extracted from a green, yellow, and red pouch between them just earlier. Gotham always came prepared. He had to. Else: chaos; lost in The Abyss. He didn’t want to go there again until it was unavoidable, like every night upon falling asleep. 20 or so seconds was all it took, the last toke for both of ’em. Indeed: they had bagged one.

Dare they go see if their joint vision had produced reality?

“He’s in that tent. I know he is.”

“Nah,” countered Gotham. “You’re an inexperienced toker. You don’t understand how it works.”

—–

“Told you.”

“Look! At your foot.”

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joint venture

“Still smoking with the nose instead of the mouth,” Gotham observed in his chair across from me. Me? Man About Time, but changing fast (again).

I stared over at the joined tile on the far wall while speaking. “Let me tell you a story, Gotham, about how I joined a group to find bigfoot. It all started on a porch in a chair. I was in disguise (cough cough).”

I had taken off my shoes in order to help think (cough; *toke*). The cold rock patio (*exhale*) kept me alert and on task, brr. Changing perspective, I knew it had to do with the, um, tent in the same sim. I’d seen this (*toke*) tent before. In Insipid… oh heck, what was the name of that sim. Intrepid.”

“Instabar,” offered Gotham. “I’ve read the attached novel,” he explained. “Pretty good, except for The Man in the exact center. Highly unlikely,” he judged. Side note: Gotham was pretty much the same when high as not high. He’d smoked so much down through the years that he had become the pot. “Hi pot!” he exclaimed first thing in the morning, burying his thumb and fingers in the bag to protract the sweet monie. He’d gotten small so many times…

“I was… *there*.” It was about as much energy as I could muster in the moment. Mustard. Ketchup. Condiments! I realized, mind yelling much louder than mouth could. I need a Hot Dog!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0201, Chilbo^, Corsica, Instabar^, Jeogeot, Maebaleia/Satori, X-City^

three of ’em 02

We keep following breadcrumbs. The newest one? The Beer Tent in Dalnim, a part of the Greater Chilbo area. Recognize the tent?

Yes, very tasty.

To backtrack…

Further…

But then: sidetracked.

“Do you have a tummy ache, little boy?”

“A mild one, yes sir.”

“We’re *all* sick,” the child opposite him at the Mad Hatmaker table spoke up. “It’s the magic mushrooms in our tea and coffee. We — didn’t know.”

And then *another* one just down the hill, but not owned by the same avatar. The house with the sick children lies between.

—–

The Man About Time finally returned to the empty Instabar parcel that inspired his trip. This was an easy one. He downs another satisfying swig of Flasche Oettinger Export and contemplates what to put within.

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greens

“What is this suppose to be again, Karoz?”

“It’s called ‘Dance #12,’ and it’s beautiful. I love everything about Chilbo, Baker Bloch,” the alien green being reinforced. “I feel like I am home here.”

“So you’ve said.” Baker didn’t think he was going to budge Karoz’s feelings today. Nor any day perhaps. Maybe this *was* home to him. But what of 7 Stones, then, and the duplicate temple there? It’s time to start pondering — the end?

“Let’s go see it once more,” Karoz requested to his old friend. They’ve been together for over 10 years now, Real Life time. And all those stepping stone years perhaps lead to this moment, this decision. To stay in Chilbo forever or attempt to reintegrate he and his wife Baker Blinker back into a self contained village populated only by alts. Collagesity I mean there, and, now, its replacement, 7 Stones, a chip off the old block.

—–

“Marvelous, eh? Like it was suppose to be there. All along.”

Baker admitted to himself that the temple looked good up there on its perch, overlooking the town. “You know they didn’t want us here, Karoz,” explained his friend, his family. “They thought the collages — too derivative.”

“That’s just your fears.”

“No, I think it’s true. Fleep wanted me here; tried to encourage me. But forces behind the scene persuaded her otherwise, or just overruled her. Perhaps on this and a lot of other matters as well. You have power struggles in a town like this, not solely ruled by alts and their characters.”

“I understand that.” Karoz gazed up the hill, inspired. “But we can change that. We don’t emphasize the collages. We emphasize the philosophy *behind* the collages.”

Was it as simple as that? the male Baker pondered. And where was Baker Blinker today? What was *her* current ruling on the subject? Baker Bloch guessed that she’s going along with Karoz, as usual in the end. She bends her will to his. At least about all this TILE stuff: temples, colleges, etc.

“Okay, let’s go see what you’ve got so far, Karoz.” I through Baker Bloch have accepted the idea of letting go.

“*Swell,” and he dashed up the green, green slope with this. Like a man of 30 instead of the 60 he is.

I admittedly had a hard time keeping up.

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no room

Karoz spoke over to the meditating Baker Blinker. “The Oracle Tree is broken, yes, but it’s still good to be back.”

“Chilbo. Without the ‘l'”

Few souls reach the top of the Oracle Tree. It was planted obscurely, in a small backwater of the Metaverse, with its uppermost branches hidden in the clouds, across a narrow path that’s easy to tumble off for the uninitiated traveler.

But now that you’ve arrived, relax a moment, ponder the blueness of the sky or the twinkle of the stars, and think about the view.

Perhaps you’re looking for a bit of wisdom from the Tree. It has such a promising name after all. “The Oracle Tree,” one thinks, “It must have something to say.”

But it doesn’t. It’s a figment of someone’s imagination, left behind as a monument to creativity, exploration, wonder, and fancy. A whimsical flower perched atop, I wish I could see it flutter in my imaginary breeze. Yes, someone came along to this spot and planted The Oracle Tree, and left us no bits of wisdom at all.

Though perhaps that isn’t true either. Perhaps there is wisdom in the expression of our imaginations, our flights of fancy, our whim. Tinkering and messing about to make our dreams visible, to ourselves and to others. Perhaps make them more real in this world and the next.

That’s the wisdom I’ve taken from the Oracle Tree, and I pass it on to you, traveler. Build something wonderful for the next person to find.

Safe journeys through the Metaverse. It’s certainly a curious place.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0013, 0310, Chilbo^

15 minutes later…

“Did you get the information I wanted, Norris?”

“N-no. Not yet.” He was trying very hard not to perspire, show fear. But Casey drew it out of him. He *fed* off of it. “I guess… you heard about the beaver?”

“The beaver is not of my concern,” Casey said mechanically. His whole tone of voice was drained of emotion. Casey knew that Jeffrie Phillips would soon be reading this blog post and catching up with him. He needed to stay one, preferably several steps ahead in the game. And we’re not talking about Grand Theft Auto here, ridiculous bank heists and shite.

Norris continued to stare forward into the red curtains. He’d been doing this for as long as he could remember. Weeks, maybe months. Years, even. He had *hoped* that Casey would stare straight ahead as well and not at him. But he could repeatedly sense what felt like two laser beams burning into the back of his head. Cheater! Trying to extract the needed information that, yes indeed, he had. Prison schematics.

But Casey already knew this.

The suspiciously tanned man moves forward on his couch and leans toward Norris’ head, his mouth not half a foot from an ear now. “There’s a par three at the back nine of my club,” Casey hisses menacingly, “where the flag pole sometimes goes missing when I make my holes in one.” He withdraws from Norris and gets up to take his leave. “You think about that over the next several days.”

Norris finally couldn’t help himself. “Don’t… *look* at me,” he said weakly.

“You have until Monday to get me that information, Norris. ” Then he was gone, silent as a cat.

—–

Karoz Blogger was next for a visit.

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here and there

“So you’ve decided to play the role of Clare Nova, Wheeler. Third Nova sister.”

“Third *found*,” she said. She takes another sip of her Cabernet Sauvignon wine. “Somewhere in this store is the appropriate avatar. A step up from (Summerhill) and (Golden Bee-ing), true. Something with a little more meat and flesh. Maybe the ancient alien.”

“Study up more on the real Clare Nova,” Baker Bloch suggested. “Find out additional stuff about her land and its relationship with The Diagonal. We’ve already discovered that obelisk tucked in the southwest corner of Hooktip right on the line…

… and then an accompanying leaf screen in *Leaf*roller to the immediate south.

Synchy stuff still going on.”

“And the multiple rose pictures The Musician found in Sister galleries,” reinforced Wheeler. “In his dreams.” She turned toward her Musician, now fully awake and tinkling the ivories of a nearby piano. The tune for the day: David Bowie’s “Alladin Sane.” Third take was the charm.

“Where’s Baker Blinker?” Wheeler suddenly asked.

“You know where they are,” Baker Bloch responded.

“Oh yeah. Chilbo.”

—–

“Where’s Wheeler?” Karoz suddenly asked.

“You know where they are,” Baker Blinker responded.

“Oh… yeah.”

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