Category Archives: Lower Austra^


He finally thinks to go inside somewhere and tell someone about the accident, the terrain shift. Paul is dead! it appeared. And Ringo. And John. Especially John, it seemed, deeper in the dirt than the others. He’ll remain in the Cavern now, trapped in the past forever and ever… And the future, as it turns out.

“Can I speak to the manager in charge?” Newt said to Sue Anne the counter attendant of the moment.

“How about the owner?” She indicated Evelyn Hart (“Rag Doll”) to her right, his left.

She was already pondering possibilities, seeing his own name above his head. Newt, she thinks. Odd — peculiar. Like the sim I — I mean, everyone here in town… controls. SODA. “Order something,” she decided to request, staring straight into his eyes over 01 02 03 04 gullies. “Some kind of drink. A soda perhaps.” Would he? Did he know the ultimate secret?


Afterwards, he tried to isolate everything associated with the mysterious crash she talked about. 309 prims total in the linked objects, including this wagon that just happened to have formerly appeared in Squared Root City over in Nautilus, a town now defunct as we know from the last photo-novel (37). He recalled he use to be able to sit on these steps. Here:

Whatever happened to the younger guy with the pure white hair? he wonders, thinking back. And then remembers the truth, the transformation.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0313, Jeogeot, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Squared Root City, Sunklands^


She took her leave with this after pitching an attached deal about a descent into Microcosm. Pat came as requested.



“Future… woman from the future…”

“… was here. I know,” said Pat. They kept in touch.

“I am (his head started vibrating)… *sorry* about before (stopped vibrating, as if hard-to-express emotions caused it — probably do).”

“PM,” she pointed to herself, “to AM,” she pointed to him. She then also pointed with the other hand and then alternated points with each in a playful manner. He hesitated but then joined in the fun. They were, in essence, poking at each other from across the Table. Everything was okay. Then he told her about the pitch. Did Pat know already?

They jointly decided she needed to be banished… to the 512 they also owned in the sim. “Poison,” he said. “Poison,” she said. They could have been talking about a sugary soft drink but weren’t. So much to that show as probably opposed to “Futurama”. So dang funny! Often lands hard.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0212, Lower Austra^, Wild West


It was a retirement gift of sorts but I needed to brighten clean up the place.

Getting rid of the big dark box in the fronting lake helped.

Because Lemon Free State may be going away soon. Fruit headed Mike ponders possible futures without it. And perhaps without Pat as well. They get along so well together, though! Table meeting, then. Before it’s too late.

Upstairs. Quickly!


“Woman -from -the -future!” he began in a clipped way, making her respond that she’s just across the table and not far away in time. No need for shouting or such clear enunciation.

“Clear,” he said to this. “Big Box.”

“Yeah, that’s done.”

“My… boys.” He cocks his head while looking down a bit.


He looks up. “Pat. Pat, yes. Pat just join. AM for PM. W-whatever that means,” he admits.

“Oh okay,” says the woman from the future, who we’ve called Eyela before, because of the supposed singularity. But really she has 2 eyes — just covers up one with gears and pretends it doesn’t work. So, different from that show she’s derived from. Speaking of which…

“‘Futurama’… dead,” he sputtered, looking at her hair now.

“Yeahh,” she acknowledges. “Jokes didn’t land hard enough. Unlike *yours*.”

“Ermmmm,” he says, which could mean agreement or disagreement or nothing at all, reader’s choice.

“‘Adventure Time’. I’ll say it if you can’t. How close are *you* to your source character? And — I think us cartoon characters should stick together. Not war with each other. I can co-exist with you.”

“Ermmmm (must mean disagreement or displeasure because of what’s to follow). Pat,” he insists. “You get up now. Buh bye, now. Buh bye.” He waves her up. She huffs but raises from the chair anyway, prepares to leave. His eyes go blank for a second.

“I-I have summoned Pat. Pat will come now.”

“Not what I’ve heard,” Eyela, this woman from the future attempted to joke.


She shifts her weight, ponders another possibility. “What if Iii…” She ponders some more.


“… do *this*.”

“My boys!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0211, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Retirement Islands, Wild West


“At the cascade at the end of the stream that was his creek, Mike made peace with those he formerly warred with and screamed and hollered at. ‘Absolution.'”

“Cool, Hucka D. Thanks for showing up, by the by.”

“You can thank Barry for that.” She turns and plants a big wet one on her constant companion’s unyielding lips, surprised at the display of emotions from the usually placid, former bee-person. Insect no longer. No signs of antennae, even. Just woman.

She turned back, stared again. “Now you just have to figure out the Lyra connection. Prism.” With this, she and Barry took their leave of the place, my new-ish Nautilus property with 2 galleries now set up, Bogota and Edwardston. I had much work to do. Collagesity was *kind of* being reborn?

But I was also in Michigan. Let’s check in on Baker *Blo* there, where he spent his first night while distant relative Lottie McDottley was regenerating from a misplaced and mistimed hug, thanks to the ectoplasmic puddles that made sure all death, all disease, all foul play, was eventually cleaned up as in a refreshing fruit combo drink downed on a sticky ass summer day. Do you see how this keeps carrying over, Mike? The reverberations? Water would be best. Like from your stream. Absolution.

“Okay, alright. I’ll talk to Hill about it.”

“You do that.”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0113, Lower Austra^, Michigan, Nautilus, Wild West


“Don’t you remember? There should have been 2 explosive fires, larger and smaller, burning downtown before the change of INGO back to pre-film INGSOC. Can’t you recall?”

But Patient 00 Mr. Beech changed as well that day, becoming disambiguated in the resulting Endless Window.


“Right there in the cartoon overlapped with the man,” Hucka D. continued with the Silverton collage analysis in the recently reset up Bogota Gallery on my new-ish Nautilus property, Barry De Boy right by her side as it was these days — changed as well. “Osseo,” she read. “Happy Motoring. Ossemotor.”

“I’ll have to pack first,” I said grumpily, unhappy about the needed travel.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0111, Jeogeot, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, NWES Island^, Wild West


“Heyy. Howdy! Welcome to 108. You must be the Golden Girl I’ve heard about.”

“Well,” I said. “My hair is golden for sure. Some say dirty blonde but I like the metal.”

“Who doesn’t, who doesn’t? Come on in. I have *so* many things to show you, Golden Girl! Mineral. Plant. Animal. You name it!”

“I think you just did.”

“Hee hee, you’re a bright one. A big bright piece of shinyy gold, yeahh.” He waves without speaking again. He’s fading.


“I found this after the dream. He must have been from the Moon.”

“Or the *Moon* of the Moon,” spoke the old hag more wisely than me, per usual. Not a golden girl any longer but, ooh, once upon a time…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0108, Lower Austra^, Wild West


It was a beautiful tree but it was also the end of April. Arbor Day had come and gone, the last possible excuse to keep up such a thing. So she dove in…

“You can at least take down the stuff over the mantel and bookcase while I’m working, Johnny. Pitch in, please.”

But Johnny kept talking to Cylinder Rodman about Ossemotor, how it ran, what kind of oil did it use. Especially about the oil. Gloria sighed, knowing all that was important. But does she have to do *everything*. At least clean the cat litter every once in a while, Johnny, she thought as the last snow ornament was plucked from the tree.

She stood back. I could still live with just white lights. *Something* is coming up. Memorial Day, that’s it. A couple of American flags and war emblems of some kind and we’re good to go for another month. With this, she plops herself down on the couch next to Johnny. “Okay, got anything?”

Ex-Marine Cylinder looked at Johnny for cues on how to proceed. It was his girl, after all, his filly as he sometimes puts it. His horse was put back in the stable a long time ago. He’s working for God now.

“Explosions,” he started. “The first one *perhaps* excusable. The second: just plain carelessness. A crime, Gloria. That’s what we’re facing.”

“In NWES City?”

Johnny looked confused at first but then the expression cleared. “Yeah.” Cylinder nodded with him. “We have to go back.”

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She caught some of the discussion from her rocking chair while perusing the paper (“Decatur Herald”), words like Oklahoma, Geronimo, Olive, Slick. She gathered an oil spill in the Panhandle which was not all wrong while being, at the same time, not at all right. Not 1/2 and 1/2. How to put it?

Blah blah blah Canada. Blah blah blah Ossemotos. They really need to turn down the blasters over there, Gloria thought about the music booming one dock over, the party getting more raucous as nighttime approached. Penny was preparing for her surprise entrance up in downtown Nightsity, applying hot pink lipstick while yawning for no good, real reason, effects of that dratted, psychic mountainair again. *Not* Ossemotos, she realized as the lyrics “Dam dam Amsterdam” blocked the next passage of discussion, followed just as loud by “Dam dam Rotterdam,” and “Dam dam Beaverdam”. Osse-motors.  As in ancient Nigerian oil port . *Motor*. She’d heard about it before through some military people she use to, ahem, date up in Dodgey City. And Zach Black was spilling his guts about it. Nigeria to Canada, Nigeria to Canada. Marines. But, most importantly, black gold. Texas tea. Texas Pete? “Texas Pete?!” she rather shouted through the boom. One of the two turned, the other being deaf.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0106, Lower Austra^, Michigan, Wild West


He was tired from all the talking so he laid down on the Rattan Lounge Chair to rest his mouth and brain. He pondered that he said too much. He *did* say too much. Must have been all the truth serum he was injected with day before yesterday at the dentist still working some of its wicked magic. No more soda! she warned. “I *don’t* do soda,” he exclaimed to this, and so the shot, the getting out the truth. Dentists in Lemon Free State are allowed to do that these days. Some blame the Sprite campaign back in ’95, but that was a more pristine and refreshing drink than others. So mouths one of the Hills, the bigger one, the one who Mike called his greatest player ever. He left himself open for foul play with that. Down the line it leads to the unethical dentists, the doctors who would rather perform surgery than reveal truth. We, as a society, are being *poisoned*. I’ll say it again. *Poisoned.* What say you to that, Mike, Grant?

Just as I thought.

So Zach Black defended himself afterwards to the dentist, remolding his words and saying that it was a combo of both lemon *and* lime. Together they make one fantastic *clean* drink. It was a fruitless argument and both knew it at the time.


“So tell me more about this Oracle. *Mark*.”

(to be continued)

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She looks around the sauna, thinking: Jake’s a good guy, so’s John. Jim for that matter, although he does a bit too much coke for me. Will rot out his teeth one day soon down the line. But none of them are Edward. Where is my sweet, dear Edward now? Still with Shelley? Maybe even, dare I think it, *Penny*? How ironic that would be. He was toying with both of us.

Maybe I should go with John, Sandy thinks, leaning over and blowing on his hair, a possible sign of things to come (she hopes). She looks around again after retreating. Did anyone notice what I just did there, what it potentially means? Jake seems disinterested. Jim is busy with his coke. Sarah in the water is just bending down again and again trying to get the attention of the others in the room. Besides me of course. Or maybe me as well, who knows? I’ve heard rumors, but maybe that’s just more Penny foolery and trickery.

Yes, Jake definitely seems more interested in Sarah than me. I’ll mark him off. Down to Jim and John. But as she’s thinking this, Jim takes another deep draw off his coke, says “ahhh”, and smiles widely in her direction, teeth already showing a tiny bit of wear and tear. Looks like it’s down to John. She leans over once more, blows once more. His hair smells nice, like lemons. He’s also orange tinted like me, Sandy thinks. Good that the orange people stay together. She blows.

They hooked up, this Sandy Hook and John Helms fellow, but she found herself thinking of Edward all the time. Sweet cute adorable Edward. Where *is* he?

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