Category Archives: Wallytown/Fishers Island^

reverse mode still

I got out of the car the black dog was driving. He exited too, went over to the skeletons playing cards with themselves to sniff for more clues. I was told to touch something. I tried and tried and finally found the right object. Everything swung into place.

So that’s where the magic will happen, I thought while staring over at the chair. Or un-magic; removal. They’ll start with the head, they told me. Remove the black until I am white as a flower, menace no more. But did I believe them? I could call the black dog back over from the skeletons and high tail it out of here if I wished. I still could back out; I had that option.

—–

“Jenny,” he exclaimed, looking over at the crashed ship in Wallytown. Better phone up Wheeler and tell her the bad news.

—–

“But Speck and Crazy *saw* it,” the tinny voice came just later over the phone. “It landed at Castle Town.”

“Nope,” I countered. “The witnesses were wrong.” Just like with us.

—–

The wrong one walks into the Castle Town bar to meet her mates.

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00250115

She told me to shut the door if I was going to make those kind of rude noises. I hadn’t realized anyone else was here; concluded all of these so-called people were actually bots — unreal avatars. Filler. But she spoke to me while I smoked on the toilet. I was trying to purge myself of Tennessee so I could get back to Elsie outside but here was something different, a real “flesh and blood” type who I might talk to and get actual information from about what was going on in town. Like the old days; pre-bots. The bots, true, saw everything, but they were programmed to move certain places, complete certain gestures. Unless this was a really advanced model from, say, Ohio, there was no way she could speak to me like that. She could hear my noises, she could tell I hadn’t shut the door. I had to go find out who this lady of the darkness was. Maybe my head could override my hips for a change.

I suddenly recognized her while she continued to eat. “Oh. You’re that Oz lady, the one with the puppets. I saw one of your shows.” I saw the *beginning* of one of your shows, he thinks, until distracted by baubles as usual. Not Elsie in that case but another. I think her name was Gertrude.

“What do you know… of Oz? What does *anybody* know of Oz?” She slurped her noodles again, another type of rude noise. Tit for tat. Definitely not a bot.

Then the drunk outside joined us and things got really interesting.

Soon we had quite the crowd and I lit another fag, taking it all in. Chatting! Actual chatting. About Seven. Turns out Bimbo, formerly O’Bimbo, and Jimbo, formerly O’Jimbo were brother and sister, some say twins. Some say: one and the same.

I crouch down like a monkey and wait for the rabbit.

Suddenly I was back at war, like in childhood. “Hold your fire!” she called over.

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unjarred

I decided to have tea with another while I was there, perhaps the brains of the operation. One Fern Stalin, not a redhead perhaps surprisingly but still eating at commissary kitchens with the commoners. I ask her about the operation.

“We created it all,” she was explaining. “This art town — we’ve taking over the whole island, actually. And we’ve just plain taken over, period. Your rule is at an end. You should have invested in the Toddles storyline more, gone all 200 meters worth on it.” Brains indeed.

“Toddles could come back.”

“Hmph,” she expressed and turned her head to the left, to the sea. “That island over there is as much toast as your wee yellow one. She’s stuck in the pavement, under the street actually. She has no more power.” She ends with finality.

“New Island?” I questioned,  seeing the direction she indicated. I tried to decipher the meaning to this clue. Photo-novel 9 was all about New Island, but we move away from it in novel 10 to the present one, across that bridge just over there, the New Island bridge. But this was Fisher’s Island. *They* have taken over Fisher’s Island. What did this mean? A return to the Omega continent? I as Baker Bloch wasn’t sure this was a good idea. We had kind of wrapped all that up in novel 10, especially as extended to novel 11. Omega continent: covered.

“We move you where we desire.” Witch power she was on about again. I recall that a witch lived on New Island, and probably still does. The same or connected? I ask her this. She got up and ran across the bridge we just spoke about at an impossible speed for a normal person. The she ran back — the path was smoking where she sprinted so fast she was going. “Forgot my lipstick,” she offered as an excuse for leaving, then applied it to her lips. But then it became a piece of straw as she changed into the next (Lichen Roosevelt). We had a nice discussion as well but it was more oriented to comedy instead of gravity.

“And that’s why the French don’t wash,” she ended what I later understood was part of her monologue.

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butterflies 02

“I feel like I’m at a dead end, Wheeler.”

“Hold still, please,” requested Wendy Wilson Wheeler, painting flowers instead of Baker Bloch but not telling him this.

“It’s just…”

“Are you not happy that I finally found my husband?” Significant pause. “Because I lost him for a while.” She decided to paint the blooms the same color as her skin this go around. *She* is blooming. Is that good?

“Sure, sure, er, Wheeler.” Wendy had stopped asking him to call her by her character name. She is Wheeler, true. And she’s found her Axis. “What of, um, the other one?”

“You know who the other one is, *blog leader*.”

“Sure, sure, eh, Blob? he he.”

“Listen, I can keep them both. I’m a big girl. I can have more than one [boy].”

“Is it fair to *them*, though?”

“They’re the same. What do I care?”

“What *do* you care? I mean, you already had Tr-oop. Opp, Tropp.”

“I like to play one off the other. It makes me feel… important. Needed. I am Queen of Our Second Lyfe. But you are not the King. You are like… a Prime Minister, yes; with all the useful stuff, the power. I am more a figurehead.”

“Can I move now?” Baker Bloch’s neck was beginning to hurt. He’d stood in the same place too long. 156/156. Right on the Diagonal of the sim they’re in, and the only place in the room it falls on. So he has to stay, and Wheeler tells him this.

“You are at a dead end,” she reinforced after a while, washing her paintbrush of pink in the turpentine jar. “It’s time for the witches to take over.”

Earlier:

“Okay I’m done with this one. Let’s move to the other side. More light.”

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L$2989?

The blue eye is closed on the Moth Man as he stares out at Bottle Mound on Fishers Island. Interesting. Noting.

On to Wallytown proper to view the bell shaped rise with the crashed UFO beside it on the beach from a different angle, as it turned out.

“He won’t get off my car, Mr. Z,” complained Zapppa’s seated brother-cousin Zipppy, a well thought of Wallytown mechanic in its California half. Nevada beyond the wall is a different story, where he’s wanted for at least 3 criminal acts: grand larceny, manslaughter, murder even. “Screams he’s in love with it and wants to speak to someone named Wheeler about buying; thinks he can get a good deal that way. Thanks for coming by and helping me. It’s kind of an antique you know. It’ll cost him X amount of dollars. Could he just be talking about buying the wheels off this jalopy? And since it’s split in two pieces currently to make a novelty couch, we’d have to charge mucho extra to put it back together. Could he be… insane? Mad?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” replied Zapppa, who was indeed Mr. Z but not the one we’ve already met. Better resist call him that from now on. And we’ve already also run across someone with the tag of “Mad”. Best not to use that again as well. Let’s just go with Mercury. Mercury X. Mr. X. Because that’s what they’ll have to charge him. And let’s similarly name Zipppy Mr. Y. Although this is probably a one-off for him in this here photo-novel; we’ll stick with Zipppy, then. And Mercury X. Mercury X. Rising, let’s say, with the X silent. Like the original Star Wars movie from 1898.

They end up just deciding to give the car away for basically free. Madness. All four of ’em: W mixed in with the other three now and turning them all back into letters, shall we put it.

Wheeler (Ms. W) then returned to her well placed friends at the Annapolis MD consignment shop we saw toward the end of photo-novel 20. She had no need for money with besties like that.

Dorothy inside promptly wrote W a check for X amount of linden dollars to make up for Y and Z’s loss.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0022, 0313, Wallytown/Fishers Island^

dolls

Geez, what a pathetic prop. Grey intestines look *nothing* like that.

On to the interesting subjects… just around the corner.

Ahh so. An actual living, breathing vein and artery person. Thanks to *us*. And then her sister, but without the internal circulating system. Sorry, Girl 01. The sister — Girl 02 — will have to remain on the ship. But *you*…

—–

“I was a girl with long, spindly legs,” spoke Misty Felton to her new bestest friend Sep Felton back at the latter’s apartment (125 Wall Lane, Wallytown). They hadn’t determined a blood relation, if there was one to be found. To Sep, that left the door wide open to… experimentation.

“Interesting,” Sep replied. “I always imagine horses. It affects people different ways. So I take it you like the dance… oh, silly question; you were gyrating just as hard as I was during the heated moments. But not as hard as Molly, tee hee. A better question would be, what didn’t you like about the dance? Personally, I was a little disappointed that Molly was glitter-free by the end. But it’s a small criticism. How about you?”

Chatty again, Misty thought. But with that nice, pleasant tone. Still probably makes up for it. Yes, it turns out that Molly’s routine involves *one*, count ’em, one dance throughout, but with many variations of themes tried. On and on the music went, a combination of Pink Floyd’s “On the Run” and Judy Garland’s theme song “Over the Rainbow,” as Sep explained. Being from 1920, Misty wasn’t familiar with either. Combined title: “OTR” of course. Born to be mashed up, as Sep also said.

“I can’t think of anything,” Misty offered to Sep’s question, hoping to switch the subject back to the spindly legged girl. And the sister. What *were* their names? It was right on the tip of her tongue.

Just when she was thinking this, Sep leaned over the counter separating them and pecked a kiss on the lips fronting said tongue. It took her breath away. But it wasn’t unpleasant. On the contrary… “You know I may be your great grandmother or something,” she said to put some distance between them again.

“Nope,” spoke Sep. “We ruled all that out. We called mom… we traced our ancestry back 4 generations. Thanks to Uncle Bert as well. (The name) Sep’s just a coincidence.”

Hmm, pondered Misty. She decided to reintroduce the subject bothering her more than anything. She was a little irritated that Sep had skipped over it so quickly. It seemed super important to her. Horses… why did the music invoke horses for her? She decided to say this aloud, then work back to the girl. Sex, or whatever’s coming up, could wait. “Why horses?”

“I’ve always liked them. In a past life I imagine myself being a horse. Tricksy. And with Capricorn my stud lover. We’d gallop the fields to the Misty Mountain, where the lighted ones are found, the beings who lead us down to the big head Brainard in the valley beyond. Altona.”

“That quite a fantasy you have going there,” opined Misty with a slight laugh and shake of the head. Misty Mountain? she then thought. Why *my* name? Again she decided to vocalize her internalizations. “Coincidence about the Misty Mountain?”

“Oh… didn’t think about that. Yes: coincidence. Chance — again.” But suddenly Sep knew that Misty and herself couldn’t be a couple. Because something *had* happened beyond that mountain; down in the valley. She was remembering this now — lingering effects of The Dance. They had both been *absorbed.* Assimilated… yes, that was the word she was looking for.

Misty was thinking the same word at the same time. And realizing the same thing about the couple part. Their minds were synchronized now. Because, actually, they had one mind.

That of Brainard.

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bar none

They stood there for a while, just staring at each other. The 2 “heroes” had gone elsewhere. It was only the girls now.

Already in costume, Molly Lustrous walked into the bar and took her customary violet latex seat at the base of the stage. Queen of The Dance at night. But by day?: humble, naive Natali Woodhull, counter attendant at a rival bar in town on the other side of the wall. The California part as opposed to this dry, desert Nevada (according to California).

“15 minutes late,” bar owner Natsu Lemon called from in back. “That’ll be taken off your wages.”

“You don’t *pay* me enough to show up on time,” Molly replied in a rough hewed voice, showing both age and wisdom. “I make my real money from my *customers*, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” the owner replied sardonically.  They often played these roles before the dancing commenced. Where Molly showed her *real* value. Yes, Missus Lemon would certainly pay Molly more if she knew she would quit. But she also knew that Molly loved doing her craft, and this was the best venue in town for that. More tips for certain. And Natsu allowed some, er, experimentation in form.

“Hi Molly!” Sep Felton then cheerfully called over. “Can’t wait to see the act again tonight.” She walked toward the violet sofa; Misty followed her, still stunned from the revelation. We’re not in Second Life any longer! “Molly, this is Misty. Misty: Molly.”

“Pleased to greet you.” Molly stuck out a glitter covered hand. Misty grasped and shook it. Some of the glint came off on her own hand, which Molly noticed. “Sorry about that. Gotta get some better glitter — more sticky.” She turned her head back to Missus Lemon at the counter. “If *someone* would *pay* me more,” which the bar owner just waved off with an, “Oh, you.”

Dirk Jeter then showed up. Tom Sprout. Derek John Toms and his cousin Billy Budd Grant from out of town. But not out of Orient, importantly. Then Stacy Augman, Pretty Pat Puffcake, Jimmy the Geek, Orange U. Glad, and finally the mayor himself, Struddledoo Lemony Pie Chittles the Third. “Quite a crowd,” Molly whispered to herself while looking around. She seemed to do her best work with more people in the room. More energy, she surmised.

Misty and Sep wedged in between Batty Man and Superduper Guy on the couch, who had also slipped in again from the back door. “Smoking a fag,” whispered Sep to Misty in explanation. “*Anything* goes here.”

Clapping. Molly took the stage, a wonder of shine and glamour. Whistles. This would be a good night for her.

The audio began booming out of the speakers to each side. Clapping grew louder as the motions started, the gyrating. Molly was in superb form.

—–

Misty suddenly remembered the ship.

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perpetual Xmas

Funny how I asked that girl what she wanted and she said veins and arteries.

Hope she’s happy.

—–

Occident to Orient, yes.

Bar in Another World to Bar Lemon. Let’s see if Wheeler, ahem, Misty is here yet.

—–

No, that’s just me. Talking to Batty Man. What a loon! Also introduced me to his pal Superduper Guy. Both jerks to the nth degree. Althougth Batty Man saved some face by talking about his cats for 2 sentences. I turned to Superduper: You have any cats? He didn’t even know what one was. Is that one of those scrunched up dogs? he replied. So that was the end of him. Batty Man still has a chance. Of course I can swing both ways. Hehe, *Felton* might be convenient. Neither of us would even have to change names if it went that far. Which it won’t, of course.

I didn’t use to be this way, she then pondered. Too close to Lemon here. Lemony Past. It is powerful.

Misty/Wheeler walked in the bar.

“Oh hey. Rescueing me from *these* two chumps you are.” She stood up.

“Hi. You must be Seppy — Sep.”

“I am in the flesh. With my dark lemon peepers along with me.” What kind of joke was that? she asked herself. But: appropriate to point out at this moment. She gauged Misty’s reaction. She kind of looked around the bar without replying. “I like your hair,” I said to bridge the pause. “We have the same taste in color and style.”

“We do?” I replied from the other side. I looked down at my glove covered hands, the Edwardian Dress, looked up at the brim of my bowed hat. Took it off, even. Peered all around it, examining every corner.

“You okay?” the Felton opposite me asked. “You look a little… discombobulated. Said you were from out of town. Is that out of town Occident or out of town Orient? There’s a difference.”

“I know there is,” replied Misty/Wheeler matter-of-factly. “I… I don’t know what year it is,” she admitted, looking at the hat in her hands again. “Space is not currently my problem. It’s *time*.”

“Ahh, I see.” Sep glanced back down at Batty Man to the right, Superduper Guy to the left. Both were nodding. “You’ve been lemoned,” she said to begin an explanation.

Batty Man and Superduper Guy instantly changed places with each other.

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void

I can’t do it. I can’t buy the 0 cube for 0 dollars, despite the hover text indicating otherwise. The Heart Line has failed me. Art, really, has failed me. Art and Heart together. I have been here all alone.

Better get to Wallytown, then. Meet my future Love.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0013, 0604, Heterocera^^, Wallytown/Fishers Island^

town City >

I’ve got to text Baker to come find me and get me. But what year is it? 2020? 1920? If the latter, then Septimius might be of aid. If the former, then Baker alone.

She looks down at her spacesuit like garb; realizes it has to be the former.

Unless we had children, she ponders further. Grandchildren. She searches for Wallytown + Septimius. Name is probably archaic but it’s worth a try.

She studies the search results. No Septimius. On a hunch, she tries Seppy. No luck again. Then Sep. Sep Felton. Ah ha. 8 hits down. Sep Felton. 128 Wall Lane. Number: 882-226-4371. She dials through her notebook.

“Hello?” Female voice — Wheeler was thinking male.

“Hi. Is this Sep? Sep Felton?”

“Yes?”

Wheeler decides what to say. “I’ve been looking up possible relatives in the area. My name is Felton as well. By marriage.”

“Well, that’s interesting. I only know of 1 other Felton, and he’s over in Meat City. Runs a small packing industry. No relation, though.” The voice was pleasant, inviting.

“I was wondering… could we meet sometime today? Or tomorrow perhaps? I’m only in town the two days. Today would be preferable.” Wheeler was thinking: it better be today. I’m ready to get the heck out of Dodge!

“I get off work at 5. How about 6? Bar Lemon is a popular place to meet. Dancers there as well. We can chat before the entertainment. Molly, one of the dancers, is a good friend of mine. She can get us a good deal on drinks.”

How strange, thought Wheeler. Of all the places. Does she know as well?? “Swell,” she answered. “See you in a couple of hours.”

“Thanks. It will be nice to compare family trees. See if we’re actually related. Perhaps you’re instead related to Sven over in Meat City. Or perhaps — I’ve often wondered this too — there’s a missing link between the 2 Feltons. We would be so isolated otherwise. Perhaps we can figure it out together. That would be nifty.”

A little chatty, thought Wheeler. But otherwise: quite nice. Pleasant — that’s important. No nasal in her voice. “Super. I’d like to see the dancers.” It was a hobby of Wheeler’s as well. So many dances in the world. So many more to learn.

“That’s wonderful. I’m a dancer too, but not professionally like Molly. Just amateur stuff.”

Queer again, thought Wheeler. Just like me once more. But enough talk for now. “Goodbye. I’m looking forward to it.” She touches the phone symbol on the notebook, making it turn from green to red. Disconnected. But later, perhaps connected in a much more meaningful and deeper way. Love.

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