This boat remains landlocked.
I have them now.
Category Archives: Wild West
statement of fact
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0505, Crisp Sea, Lower Austra, Nautilus, Wild West
Frenscent
The white block shoes were not ideal for walking on rocks but she had to find something on this beach, perhaps a discarded *Can*.
There!
But how to kill that man who found it first and then dispose of the body? Issues. Always issues.
Pincushioned Nauty hid behind a nearby tuft of grass ready to run interference on this beachcombing chump if needed. He’d found MOA and that called for protection. Because *everyone* still in their right mind was looking for it, good or evil. Miss Ouri: probably evil since she’s emphasizing kill over kiss, death over love.
Whatever you seek with focused intent, there it is. Fear (tentacle emphasis) can bring you to this point as well.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0504, Crisp Sea, Lower Austra, Nautilus, Wild West
00320413
It was getting foggy again. They must be close to the library. “Who are you?” she demands from the nefarious agent before her — ‘nother one — on this 3rd of levels, with yet another door to go through to reach the absolute end. “47,” he said, still reading, which was a lie because he was 23. Woman now: no hair on the lip atall. Thanks to the drink. “Reading about you, actually.”
“Oh yeahhh?” She was trying to act tough, heard gays or lesbians tend to do that. Stereotyping, even though she is one of ’em now.
“Um, yeah,” he answered plainly back, wondering about the posturing. She adjusts and leans left. She thinks it is the right thing to do — to back down from this man who seemingly has a plan. “Panama,” he continues to follow that last sentence. “Bridge between North and South.”
“Phooeysticks,” she barked, and then actually covered her mouth, wondering where the words come from. Phooeysticks? What kind of childish utterance was that?
But then she remembers saying it, long ago. In a crib by the silver shore. She said it to her Pop.
She looks toward the end which is not quite the end. “What’s behind the curtains, Pop?” She was talking in her head to her long dead father, going on 20 years now. “Oz,” came the kind voice back. “Or Ozzie; whichever you wish, darling.” She now knew she was dreaming but couldn’t wake up still. “Go to the pulpit and see,” requested the voice again. Agent 23 remained silent and frozen, his role done for now. She proceeded forward and sat.
—–
She still held the pop in her left hand, which was the channeling device. She still heard Pop in her head. “Feel the landscape, feel the *ground*,” as the lightning struck all around the picture before her. The tree! she thought. The swamp tree, but a… tamer one. One I can actually deal with. Not the one…
She recalled the last level. Sykes.
No need to go there now.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0413, Long Islands, Nautilus, Wild West
games now
There it was, plain as day. Between the Whac a Pirate and Pack Man. And bottles at that, or so it said. She’d been fooled before. Dare she? She approached the portal, prepared her quarter for entry into the proffered slit. More channeling tonight, because Joey was about to turn gay. One touch of the magic pop to her lips (*drop*)…
There, ahhhhhhh.
Now to ditch this bitch wig and find the next door.
There! Behind the Hook A Duck.
She ain’t scared of no witches (but she should be).
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0412, Long Islands, Nautilus, Wild West
00320411
The cracks of thunder behind the door should have been a clear warning for danger ahead, along with the illuminated cracks in the wall beside it. But Joey ignored them all, going through door after door to reach the ultimate end. John L. Brown tried to warn her, albeit faintly, albeit sarcastically. “Don’t go,” he whispered over after she went through, and then had a giggle. Count him among the nefarious agent types. Joey: good. But Ontario had become malfunctioning thanks to the deletion of half the town and so she was back here, trying to retrace her steps to the… tree. Or whatever the thing was: family tree perhaps, like in genealogy. She had to fill in the memory gaps. She resisted the urge to become plastered beforehand; wanted to keep her mind open just like the doors that were presented to her, 1 2 3.
Onlooking John, seen by us but unseen to Joey, tried to determine what species she was and correctly guessed Venusian because of the blue-green skin. Or blue and green skin. But orange eyes. Alien obviously.
There she goes!
“Don’t go,” he whispered as the door closed behind her, even hitting her rump a little bit. The giggles begin.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0411, Long Islands, Nautilus, Wendy-Ontario-, Wild West
putting the hat back on
She was back on the beach taking over the responsibility of reading *his* book while Allen floated in the sea a bit. Yellow floatie — instant attractor; which then placed similarly yellow Jennifer on his former beach towel. Archibald was not needed no longer since she had absorbed all he had to offer. She bid him well, departing with, “have fun with yourself,” knowing he already loved her a bit too. She had that effect, with the eyes and all, 9 to 10 legs, etc., etc. Perfection, she says to herself, not being boastful but just honest, she thought.
She wondered how chapter 1 could be in the almost exact middle of the book but there it was.
She read about a happily married couple who happened to be nudists and were about to join a related swingers club but for good, noble reasons and not the usual ones. They were trying to solve a crime, a murder, puzzle pieces still being arranged and put together. They then stare at red.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0205, Alien Island, Bay City/Nova Albion, Nautilus, Sansara, Wild West
00320204
“Perhaps it’s not Alien Island but *Allen* Island.”
“Maybe.”
“Picture this, ahem: Allen Yellow, our “Alien, Yellow” from novel 13, actually got to marry his friend Jennifer he met at Misty MO and now they live here, at this condo tower. The island is named for him — he owns it, or mostly does.”
“Perhaps,” she reinforces, thinking they have other locations to focus on now. They have a name, whether it’s Alien or Allen.
“Maybe he accepts the name Allen — I think he actually does this in 13. He dons a helmet that has an extra pair of eyes and which makes him look like a frog, a big yellow frog.” He turns to look in *her* eyes, trying to determine a color. Green? Blue? They could argue about it all night and then wake up the next morning and start over again. She better take it from here…
“Do you love me still, Allen the yellow alien? My Alien, Yellow (snicker)?”
He couldn’t hear anything in that helmet but she knew he did.
—–
He tried not to look in her eyes, knowing the paradox lie there, the stuff of irreality. Instead he focused on the mission.
“What,” he starts, “does he know?”
“He swallowed the frog to Prince story hook line and sinker,” Jennifer M. Friend stated proudly. They were hiding out behind the office, away from prying eyes down at the beach, Allen’s included. He was busy with the book she recommended. A tome about Prince Isles formerly Frog Isles. And without any frogs atall, apparently. They vanished overnight! How could it be?
“He thinks,” speaks Dickie Doom playing the part of Archibald now, “the helmet is needed?”
“He’s worried he’s going to lose his frog-like nature as well. So he wears it all the time now to keep an eye on it. I sometimes turn down the volume on his ‘ears’, just so I can speak to him without him knowing, a kind of sounding board — bounce ideas off of him that he doesn’t need to know about or understand.”
Dickie Doom/Archibald doesn’t respond any more since his allotted 10 words are up. We’ll see if he has anything to add to this in the next post (checking).
No. He doesn’t.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0204, Alien Island, Kentucky, Nautilus, Wild West
Alien Beach (specifics)
“Well, Wheeler. There it is. Alien Island. The new foothold.”
“And here we are, still not together, still not a couple, Peter and Prissy swum away to some secluded haven in the sea.”
“He stole my hat!” Baker Bloch exclaims again, this time aloud.
“Indeed.” She noted it was back. Did *he* notice?
“What… do you make of it?”
“Do you know what hat stealing means? Hat removal?” she rephrases.
“Umm.”
“You know.”
“Sex?” he guesses, then realizes the obvious. “Ted Bear,” he says, segueing into Wheeler’s new train of thought.
“About this time in the past,” she began, “we showed a film. ‘3 Friends of Belleville.’ Remember?”
Baker thought back to a Table meeting that seemed far far away, almost hidden in time if it weren’t for memory reinforcements; continual; eating through time like sideways ants. “Yes. We could have moved backwards from Belleville into Billville: ‘Billfork’. But we instead moved forward.”
“‘Pumpkintwisters,’ yes,” Wheeler agreed, and then studied the shore again in front of them. Not looking back, not looking *black*.
Baker thought about Mabel, how happy she was. *Wait*. That wasn’t it. “Wilson Wheeler?” he said, testing her name. She didn’t answer. Her task for the night seemed done.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0203, Alien Island, Carrcass+08, Nautilus, Wild West
retired, 2nd foothold (between black and white)
“So here we are again. Water. Mask. But you hear me clear as a belle.”
“So pretty here,” Baker Bloch deflects, emphasizing the so so much he shows up. “Oh… hello.”
“Hello,” Peter Soso says cheerfully to his side, just glad to be a part of the action again.
“Always someone between us, Baker Bloch,” she says in response to the manifestation. “And look. Now Prissy has arrived. Just because I said *that*.”
“Hello,” Prissy says daintily in her octave higher register. Both arrivals merpeople, both in love. Unlike Baker and Wheeler who are faking it at best. Instead (for them), a Prime Minister-Queen relationship, with no King involved. Unless Axis-Tropp counts. And I suppose he does, at least up to two.
“We’re back to square one,” Wheeler who is not a mermaid exudes, joined feet a false narrative. Likewise for the male Baker. “257.”
“We’re just off the coast of Alien Island and that is something to hold onto,” he says. “We’re on another lead. We’re still in the Wild–”
“Don’t say it,” she requests, thinking of Adam. And his own Eve. She postulates: Baker took over. About 2016 or 2017. About the time of the first third photo-novel. Passed the baton. That’s perhaps the only reason why we’re *here*, at this far point in The Pattern. On the Shoulders of Giants, she also ponders. Time to give something back.
“Someone else approaches,” topmost Prissy says, her head strangely merged with the surrounding kelp, weed in sea talk.
Just later:
“It looks like, sir,” Peter proclaims, “that you are still trapped in black, at least a byte.”
He took my hat! Baker thinks instead of correcting him with “bit.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0202, Alien Island, Long Islands, Nautilus, Wild West
Merking about
“Ahh, my Queen approaches!”
“Just *stop* it,” he heard through the water and mask.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0032, 0201, Long Islands, Nautilus
Sunklands 