PHOTO-NOVEL 41
00410408
Newt called his wife with the exciting news. “Listen honey I know we’re kind of stuck in the moment but I’ve stumbled upon an important lead.”
(reply)
“We’ll right now I’m *physically* stuck — in some rocks it seems. Anyway it’s in a place owned by Pan… actually shortened her name to that from a longer form beginning with those same letters a couple of years back. I made a note to ‘STUDY Pan’ in the Real World — thinking here more of Peter Pan and Neverland and such — and then lo and behold when Baker logged me in tonight, seconds later, I was standing on land owned by this virtual Pan. It’s a way we can go — *potentially* go — from Flores back to Our Second Life. Through Amiable.”
(reply)
“It’s a long story. But Baker and his *own* wife are headed to Charleston, South Carolina tomorrow. Obviously I’m talking about Baker B. and not the components Baker Bloch and Baker Blink–”
(reply)
“It’s a triangle. We enter the real world but there’s only one spot there we can get back — theoretically again.”
(reply)
“I will.” And with this he hung up. Now to get himself unstuck. He has a path to follow. He stares into icy water and sees it is so. Here he also makes a mental note to drink more water to prepare his avatar body better. Because something is coming up. Something big.
the return of googly eyes
Happy New Years everyone! Hope yours will be starting off fantastically.
Tomorrow I plan to begin renting 10,725 square meters of land on the continent of Jeogeot, Gods willing. I think my earmarked parcel is safe until then because of this…
… an “intrusive” aisle of palms on an elongated 512 parcel in the middle of the thing. In fact, that’s a tentative name for the town I want to construct here, a rehash of Constantynople which is a rehash of Fordham’s Collagesity and so on and so on down the line.
Just like 8 years ago, the wife and I have returned from a vacation in Charleston SC and also nearby Folly Beach, the latter becoming more and more the center of focus during our almost yearly sojourns to the world famous metropolis around Christmastime.
It all seems to fit together seamlessly *because of* and not despite the invasive palms.
And then there’s also the London Tower Bridge nearby, which, in this virtual version, just lost 1/2 of itself. Wonder why? Maybe I’ll be able to find out from my new neighbors.
I must keep my eyes peeled for more synchronicities, ha.
And I plan to recreate the dead parrot statue as well in some fashion. Blackbeard’s? (Bluebeard’s?) To be seen.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackbeard#Blockade_of_Charles_Town
Aisle of Palms…
… is a go!
More details very soon.
00410412
Shaping up!
00410413
He knew he shouldn’t do it but once he got the idea in his head it was stuck there. Paint — watercolors of course — this red headed bathing beauty in front of him as an abstraction, red all over and with a round head instead of natural. Chroma, he knew. His former existence. “Okay, keep still,” he requested to his paid model for the day. “I’m about to start.”
Wannabe boyfriend but way-too-plain, way-out-of-his-depths Butchie Hawkins looks on very interested from the other side of pool dipping Carrcassonnee (she’s back!). What he lacks in looks he makes up in mind powers, namely psychic abilities. He’s going to ask her out after all this is over. He’ll be more on her level then. Because this wasn’t just a painting. This was *real*.
—–
Later:
“What have you *done*?” she cried, no longer the person she knew and loved and admired inside the finished product. “Where *am* I?”
“Just follow the yellow ball,” he said from his side, also part of the art work now. “Follow it all the way into the grave.”
She backed out of that death scene as fast as possible but she was indeed the ball now. Stuck.
“Thanks for *nothing*,” she said as she bounced away, cash in hand but wanting a lot more for what he did to her image. Greg Ogden had made a breakthrough today at the Aisle of Palms Pool. He didn’t have to paint pretty all the time. He could paint ugly.
Jack
The “ball” inverted and bounced out the other side…
… and although not a Dodge Darty still darting toward the head of a smoking hot man positioned at the base of (a beaut of a) Washington state butte called Steptoe.
Honing in on its target…
Bullsear BAMM! The end result wasn’t pretty indeed. Not hot atall now.
Mission accomplished.
00410415
He paused in his magical spinning to admire the ocean view. Back on Jeogeot, he thought with satisfaction. It seems we just left.
A knock at the door. “Dear,” spoke over interwebs watching April Mae Flowers, the wife of many years, “are you expecting someone?”
Actually, he was. She’d caught up with him, just as he’d planned. He said to his wife: “Yes. It’s an acquaintance from Corvo. She’s cool with the gold. Go ahead and let her in.”
“Albert, if you would,” requested April Mae to their Selenite butler behind her, always at ready by the fireplace with whatever the elderly couple needed, mainly tea but occasionally other tasks. Like now. “Certainly, mum,” he said in that trilling, alien voice of his, laying down the tea tray on the, let’s see, fireplace mantel and proceeding to the door.
“Welcome,” he issued to the stranger outside. “Mssr. Gold said he’s expecting you.”
“Indeed he is,” she said.
“Hi Supergal Ruby!” he called over in the waning light after opening the other door remotely. Time to turn the lights on in this interesting new development.
Humanvillians no more
“So tell me more about this young girl you met. Corvo, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, well you *know* her name. Supergal Ruby. And you know she’s engaged… or reengaged to be more exact,” he tried to reassure his wife. “She and Greg Ogden had been married before. But…” Herbert Glenn Gold wasn’t sure he wanted to bring up the death of Greg’s interim lover Mr. Babyface in that Korean Channel water funnel. Simply because he wasn’t sure he was really dead.
“But what, dear?” April Mae said in the gap. “Is… is there a problem in paradise?” This was what she sometimes said when she sensed trouble in a relationship. And this one, she felt, threatened hers. She had been quite insecure — and understandably so — since the Merry Goldbusk debacle over in NWES City. And now they’ve returned to the same continent of the indiscretion — probably adds to the paranoia a bit.
“I don’t think so. Anyway, that’s why I invited them both here,” he followed up on earlier conversation. “Greg is happy painting so I provided him with models.”
“Models, hmph. Is that what you call them?” She was usually more tolerant of Herbert’s eye wanderings but her biorhythms were on the downswing today. Perhaps too much tea lately. But Albert makes such a fine pot!
“Now now, April Mae. They’re only cheap mesh statues really. Like all those ones standing outside Baker has lined up for potential use later on.” They were on the wrong side of the house to look at all that mess so April Mae didn’t try. Flesh and mesh, she thought here. Unreal but still tempting, she felt.
“Soo… she was just here to pick up the 2 coins and then leave. And you said she knows what to do with them.”
“She knows. But she just has to remember. There’s 2 directions here,” he says as he cuts another piece of pizza and gobbles it down. “She can pawn off the golden coins for quite a small fortune actually.”
Unwise, April Mae thinks here about his earlier actions. Risky and unwise.
“*Or*,” he continues, “she can use them as *evidence*.”
“Atlantis, right.” She cut her own piece, she accomplished her own gobble. “And what about Bermuda?; you mentioned a Bermuda. From the way you described it it sounded more like a person than a place.”
Thinking of her newest dress with all the parrots, Herbert Glenn Gold decided to deflect here again. “No, it’s a place. A triangle, actually.”
Another funnel, he then realized.
—–
“I’ll take everything you have,” she said shortly after entering the store and the introductory chit chat was over with Hector Big Parrot Bird Guy. “Including these 3. Including *you* if you wish, she thought but didn’t say out loud. There had to be limits to all this silliness.
“Molly, Polly and Folly are *not* for sale,” he returned in a haughty voice more human than bird. “They’re my friends. They keep me company. I can’t be entertained by reading all the time.” He finally looks up from the book about non-parroty things, stares into her eyes. “But the rest are yours. Take them, I don’t care. I’m just an unpaid employee minding the shop while the owner is away. I don’t know when he’ll be back. He’s been gone for days, maybe years even. I don’t care,” Hector reiterates.
“Free?” she said.
“Free.” I can replenish the stock in a blink of an eye. *Those* parrots aren’t real; mere 2d replicas. Only these three here are real. My friends, as I said.”
Molly emitted, “You’re darn tootin,” to this.
Polly squawked loudly as if in agreement.
But, without chatter herself, Folly just looked around from her own perch at everyone involved. She personally had her doubts that *any* of this is real, pet shop and all. And where was Victor Ratt the owner? Rumor has it that he’d been kidnapped by pirates.
Only the unreal parrots in back knew for sure and they weren’t talking either.
(to be continued)
00410417
Hector put on his pirate outfit so as not to spook the poor little flattie birds with their quite limited two dimensional brains, different from Polly, Molly and Folly in the other room. He wasn’t one of us, he was one of them (!), they collectively thought. Because they didn’t want to be free. But Hector was offering them to customer Atlantis High Priestess (Bermuda) for just that. A chance to be out of their cages and gone away from here. No More Imprisonment.
He opened the first of 4 cages in the room, intending to shoo the 4 colorful birds within out the door. An alarm unexpectedly sounds when he does. Victor had set a trap! he thought. “Those birds will never be sold,” were the last words he said as he slammed the front door, never actually intending to come back to the cursed place as he called it. Inherited from his father nicknamed Birdbrain for buying the shop in the first place, all he wanted to do was make a little money off of it so he could turn into a woman, his true dream and ambition. And that woman — money acquired in other ways — had been standing before Hector in the front room, unrecognized because of the workings of the various hormones he/she had taken and was still taking in smaller measures. A Victor to Victoria transition; ‘nother one.
While she was out of sight in the back room, Victor-now-Victoria also took the opportunity to change. She emerged beside him, sirens blaring in the distance, likewise dressed as a pirate. The dress makes the woman, the way you dress is who you are, and so on. “I’ll take it from here,” she said. “You should hightail it out of here while you can.”
And so that’s the appearance she had later down at the police station located underneath Starbuccaneer’s Coffee Shop, so full of beans that they had to open the back door to release pressure several times a day.
Victor had indeed been kidnapped by pirates, but the pirate currently sitting in the holding room with all the warning signs was also him. But, really, outside the skull and bones decorated outfit you could never tell.
00410501
“We’re only rescuing you from yourself, ma’am,” spoke Officer Howard earnestly, responsible for the check in. “What if, say, I ran up to Starbuccaneers just above us and Barista Wanda — or whatever her name is; I just made that up — Wanda, say, gave me a free coffee this morning, on the house just for being a cop. And then let’s say I take a couple of sips and then give it over to Officer Brendan, and Officer Brendan gives it to Officer Ferguson, and Officer Ferg — well I think you get the point. Pretty soon there’s free coffee all over town and Starbuccaneer’s is not making a dime off of it, business closed. So you see it’s dangerous, really dangerous, to offer stuff for free in a capitalist economy. Say, if we were in China or Cuba it would be different.”
“But we’re not anywhere,” Bermuda (Atlantis High Priestess) countered. “We’re right here. In Aisle of Palms on the Jeogeot continent. Neither here nor there.” Kind of like the Azores, she thought to herself.
“Well,” said Officer Howard back, taken aback a bit, “I don’t know about *your* user but *my* user comes from the good ol’ red white and blue US of A up there in the Americas, no communism in sight. Er, except for Cuba as I think I mentioned before. Anyway–”
“*Anyway*,” interrupted Bermuda, eager to get this over with and be locked inside her cell, safe from what she senses might be a growing mob. “I believe I get a phone call?”
“Indeed, ahem, indeed you do,” said Officer Ferguson, suddenly tired of lecturing the virtues of trickle down economies. He indeed got his coffee free from Starbuccaneer’s this morning from someone named Wanda, indeed shared it with Brendan who shared it with Ferguson and on down the line, everyone in town with their required caffeine high and no one else visiting Wanda this morning. Like the Loaves of Bread story from the Bible, Howard being a modern day agogo Jesus. Yet he still didn’t know he had that power. Too bad he didn’t also have the Savior’s power to resurrect himself because, after the decaffeinated 3PM afternoon break mob led by Jittery Joe was finished with him, he’d need it to continue.
“Let’s GET HIM!”
“YEAAHHHHH!!”
00410502
“Now stand back you dangerous lot, especially *you* Jittery Joe. NOW. I let Steady Susan and her twin Steadier Suzanna go because they were just up there trying to find a private spot to phone breakup with their boyfriends Bob and Roberto the Thompson Twins. But the REST of you are just as culpable as Joe in my police rulesbook. Jittery here is already on record saying he’s up to about 10 coffees a day, so its more understandable he loses control sometime in the afternoon. But the REST of you are somewhere between 3 and 8 cups a day I’m guessing.” General murmurs of agreement all around, even Jerky Jack in back who was actually up to 9. He didn’t want to highlight himself in the crime any more than the nickname already indicated. “So there wasn’t NO NEED for a mob scene… and a killing. No one knew that the late Officer Howard had the Jesus power to make many drinks out of one drink beforehand. And it was WRONG to assume he had that second and final Jesus miracle power to resuscitate himself after a snuffing to follow the first. WHO among you lousy lot thought that he was going to resurrect himself, hmm?” Hands went up one by one until all were raised. They’d read their Bible good. Only 2 miracles recorded and verified in all 4 Gospels. And the second logically followed the first they all assumed. They’d get the satisfaction of killing Howard, they felt, without the dire consequences normally associated with such actions.
“OKAY, then. Now here’s what we’re going to do. Tomorrow I’m going to temporarily let you out of this temporary pen,” and here Officer Brendan shook his head at the number of ’em, way too many to hold in their regular 2 cells which were occupied anyways. They had to be moved to the vacant house next door, guards at the front and back, guards to the sides. “Yes, you’re going home, then, and put on your Sunday best and we’re all going to march, together, down to the cemetery and honor the man whose life you took in the prime of his, well, life. Jittery Joe, you’re going to say some nice words in parting and I want each and every one of you to shake his widow’s hand and apologize for your dastardly wrong. Am I rigghhht?”
“Yes, Officer Brendan,” they collectively muttered almost in sync with each other. But also each and every one was thinking: when did Howard get married??
That morning is when. To Bermuda herself. She reached across the table to pick up a magazine to read while he kept processing her record and he stopping typing and reached with his hand to grab it. 5 fingers interlocked with another accepting 5 fingers. Since Howard was a Justice of the Peace alongside being an Officer of the Law, they could tie the knot then and there, before the mob took action on one of ’em, maybe both of ’em. Another logical progression, but one that turned out to be very right instead of very wrong. Bermuda was set to inherit everything, including the patents.
(to be continued)
00410504
There’s pirates all over town doing who knows what, she thinks, and yet he’s always here at the pool, staring at the girls. I should probably report him.
—–
Some pirates are here to look for treasure, some pirates just want to hang around bars.
And as we’ve seen, one pirate in town sells parrots and one pirate *is* a parrot wanting to sell parrots. But neither making a good effort at it.
We should probably get back to the former. In her cell. Away from the mob. For now.
Who is this strange woman dressed as a pirate? thinks not-so-easily-fooled-as-the-policemen Michelle Roundup — or so she believes — peering in at the enigmatic expression on her face, blank in a way but also revealing so much. Pretty deep facial scars — checks with being a pirate. Tattoos, some of a lewd variety — also check. One of a treasure map, even, a big one covering most of the body as she personally found out this morning during the prerequisite cavity search — even took some pictures of the complex pattern, writing in her report that it could be related to the crime. Which reminds Michelle: she needs to send the other in-house inmate John of Arc over to scrub off or paint over a curiously similar treasure map on the side of the Hole in the Wall bar. Here:
Does one somehow have something to do with the other? she ponders. She tries to compare and contrast in her mind — X marks the spot in both cases. Did so called *Bermuda* commission both, possibly? The computer lists her as a Victor, owner of Parrots for Pirates pet shop in town but gone missing for quite a while until her return just day before day before yesterday’s tomorrow (yesterday). Obviously this is not Victor. She explained it through a more gradual sex change involving hormones; described it as a Victor-to-Victoria conversion, as if the switch was built in to her birth name. Interesting, hmm. She rubs her chin with her free hand, the one not holding a billy stick. And why did she bring the stick to the cell in the first place? Then Michelle realizes why: she’s as culpable as the men. She stares into those eyes. No one, not male or female, could resist, she understood. The power of being both sexes in one? Yeah, we’ll leave that as a question.
(to be continued?)
00410506
Michelle returned to the graffiti on the side of the Hole in the Wall bar, but not with paint. Instead she chose another art form to practice today: collage. John of Arc was left back in his cell. She decided she had to do this on her own — for now.
“What are you doing, Love?” spoke Sparrow in his smooth, pirate voice to her side, always peering down this direction from his perch in front of the bar. “You’ve dissected public property, Dearest.”
“I’ve *confiscated* public property. *Dearest,*” she spoke back harshly. And she almost had it before the interruption. She was mapping out the differences in the two treasure maps she had found this week, one here and one on the body of new prisoner Bermuda, aka Victor Ratt the owner of Parrots for Pirates, as we’ve already reviewed. Charged just yesterday for not charging customers for his/her goods.
“Almost all treasure maps have an “X” (at the end of a dotted line),” offered devil’s advocate Sparrow. “Almost all involve a pirate ship; almost all involve dragons or octopii or some strange watery creature.”
“*No*,” says Michelle to this. “The patterns are just too similar. You have the islands with the 2 palms trees in both. You have compasses in both, although I don’t think it centers on the compasses.”
“Again–” started to counter Sparrow once more.
“I know I know,” interrupted Officer Roundup. She exhaled deeply. She kept staring.
“Well let’s review, then,” Sparrow continued to help from his observing perch. “With — Triangle isn’t it?’
“Bermuda,” said still staring Michelle.
“Bermuda, right. Well, Ms. *Bermuda*’s treasure map began at the palms.”
“Right right,” cited impatient Roundup. If he’d just *shut* *up*, she thought… but still, he may be able to help, being a pirate and all. And what of silent Hook so far? Always peering into that *2d* version of the ending treasure. Nothing to add in the real world.
“And what part of the body, hmm?”
“The… calf. Yes the calf on the back of the leg. Then it winds up” — and here she traced the upper progression with her billy stick — “and passes the pirate ship; *first* in the graffiti, with the palms being second in that case. And then the dragon or whatever.”
“What part of the body are we up to?” spoke Sparrow.
“We’re circling around the rump, yes.”
“And the X at the end?” Sparrow’s eyes became wider in anticipation. Michelle caught the look.
“*Not* where you think, Perv.” Back to the map, back to the X. “At the ribs, actually,” she realized aloud.
“*Welll*,” said Sparrow to this, looking over at Hook in a knowing way. Hook just kept opening the chest, peering at the treasure, and then shutting it and repeating the action. Over and over. “I think we *both* know what that is.”
Michelle kept silent for a minute, brain wheels spinning. “Adam and Eve?” she finally outputted. “The *rib*.”
(to be continued)
off to a flying start
We have a sign…
… and are directly tied into our neighbor’s road system to the south in two places. Super nifty!
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of downtown from the sign, we find a parallel Michelle Roundup examining another object. Just ribs now. But soon…
“Should be ready by the christening,” spoke mastermind Red Dead Beardy Head, a pirated version of himself from another open world game.
“But… how are you going to get it down to the sea?” she logically asks about the still skeleton of a thing.
“Don’t need to.” He turns and points up toward the circling seagulls. “Space.”
00410511
Soon after leaving Aisle of Palms, the pirate ship ran into choppier waters rounding Thailand, encountering unexpected waves of stretch marks in trying to stick to the prepared dotted line of their journey. But this was only prognostication derived from the leg, with the actual voyage into space and not sea still lying ahead of them. Keeping with the body analogy, The Black Pearl was about to set sail for the fabled or perhaps fantastical Islets of Langerhans, said to dot the Pancreatic Sea in considerable numbers and whose shores are protected from harsher elements by huge ribs of sandbars, or so the legends go. The parallels to all this in space could only be guessed at (islets = asteroids? etc.).
Hopefully the sea and its islets haven’t been removed from the body in question and the dotted line they’re following turns out to be more akin to this, ick. In other words, the chest had been opened and the buried treasure within removed. Like coins in a gold bullion, maybe the islets themselves are this trove. We’ll work on it.
Barfly Sparrow has a secret.
“Hold *still* Prisoner Bermuda or whatever your actual name is while I take this final shot.” Officer Michelle Roundup had started at the end and worked her way back to the beginning. As shall we.
There. The Black Pearl is now in Aisle of Palms.
00410512
“I found the ship at a golf course sim which was closing up — got a cheap deal on it for that reason. Plus it was a mess, all cracked up on those rocks over there as you can see from the photo.” Black Pearl provided a photo to Red Dead Beardy Head much like the one below where she is finagling the deal with a woman named Libra Neptune who, of all places, had ties to Saint Dennis. So it seems like she has the power to manifest such realities. I, the writer of this here blog and attached current photo-novel, had no idea the Black Pearl ship would be here too. A gift, we can call it, ‘nother one.
“How ’bout Davy Jones?” said Red Dead still beside her in bed, although it was a different night than before. Plans had advanced. The restored Black Pearl, ready for space as it would ever be, parked in the vacant lot in back of downtown. They were staying in the captain’s cabin, testing it out. Well stocked with Caribbean White Rum — good start.
“Not needed in this story,” she replied plainly about Jones, knowing what he was referring to. *Her* Black Pearl was different from Sparrow’s. This was from a woman’s perspective.
—–
They were walking into town for a morning drink and a bit of breakfast when Black Pearl spotted her walking below Parrots for Pirates.
“Libra??”
00410513
“I hear the perch is good here.”
“Don’t be silly, dear. They don’t serve fish this early. These are *landlovers*.”
“Oh.”
“So… *Libra*. Is it still Libra? I mean, since we’ve been walking? It was Libra about 10 minutes ago and I’m just wondering if the name still sticks.”
“You can call me such but, admittedly, I go by many names.”
“Yes, I’m seeing the bigger picture now.” She looked over the parrot dress, which Libra aka Atlantis High Priestess aka Bermuda aka Victor/Victoria redonned shortly after being released from jail by Officer Michelle Roundup. Some sort of pirate convention in town; they figured they would need the cell soon enough. Assign a hefty fine for the crime and move on.
“Where is our waiter?” asked impatient Red Dead Beardy Head. That man over there in the other room had been staring at him all the time. Is that our waiter on a break — taunting me? he wondered. Turns out it was.
4 handed Keat Owens, waiter/chef by day, private detective by night. He’d learned to sleep with his eyes open but he needed to wake up now and go to work again.
00410515
“If we discover a new land in the ship I think we should call it Redlands. After our current hangout. Whaddaya think?”
“How about *Black* instead. Er: Black Nation, say.”
With his quicksilver mind from all that pirating business down through the years, Red Dead Beardy Head thought of a compromise. “*Well*,” he started the new pitch. “Since red and black are both card colors, 50-50 for each, how about a card game. Say: Poker.”
Black Pearl laying beside him had to smile. He certainly was honoring both him and her with the name. But she couldn’t help countering with: “Black Jack. I say Black Jack. Fits the card part. 50-50 on the cards.” But my color up front and on top again, was the implied meaning.
“Okay, got another one. How about, say, *Hearts* — Heartsland. Like our two hearts are joined beyond just playing poker.”
“Awwww. How *sweet*.”
“Red on top, I know.”
“Yup,” she returned crisply, knowing the game was on again. “Spades,” she countered logically. The game of Spades, like we have the game of Hearts. Except, let’s see if I remember, *spades* trump everything; a black suit trumps everything.
“Okaay, but if I remember correctly (thinking quick again), Black Lady and Black Maria are variants of Hearts (game). So *if* we find new land, how about we stick with Heartsland — but the capital or the town we found there or whatever will be called Black Lady. I mean, Black Pearl of course.”
“Make it Black Maria and we’re good,” she finished the negotiation. Maria was her mother’s name as it turned out. Good to honor ancestors in a new land. Remember the past and roots while at the same time moving forward beyond them.
Heartsland, slightly changed to Heartlands, stuck. But Black Maria turned out to be Valentine.
(to be continued)
Officer Howard’s wife
—–
“So how did you become an owner of a golf course? Libra is it still? I mean, as of 10 minutes ago?”
Libra aka Bermuda aka Atlantis High Priestess aka some other titles I’m not thinking about in the moment decided to be pretty honest for a change. “It all started when I got some money in St. Dennis.”
“St. Dennis?” replied Red Dead Beardy Head to this, tired of staring at Petty who was their waiter, convinced he is asleep instead of glaring at him. He’d heard of people doing such with their eyes open, and he was correct in this deduction as we’ve seen in an earlier post which this post is a direct continuation of timewise. We’re back with him and Black Pearl, soon to set sail in their sea ship to the outer depths of space, grilling just found Libra Neptune in recently founded Aisle of Palms on the Jeogeot continent of Our Second Life. Libra certainly had a story to tell, with a lot hanging in the balance.
“Money?” Black Pearl continued Red Dead’s line of inquiry. “From whom?”
“First off, let’s drop the pretense. I’m not really Libra. My actual name is Wheeler. I am what you could call a co-owner of this town. I *play* Libra.”
Wheeler let this set in a bit, then added: “Newt is my husband. But Newt is actually Baker Bloch, kind of Baker Bloch’s replacement. We’re king and queen — of sorts again.”
“King…” said Red Dead Beardy Head, utterly confused look on his face.
“… Queen,” continued Black Pearl again for him, just as shocked.
“Yes, that’s right. King and Queen. Of Aisle of Palms. On the Jeogeot continent. Of Our Second Lyfe. But, thing is, St. Dennis is separate from all that. St. Dennis is elsewhere. St. Dennis is (part of) the Shangri-La you seek. And I know the correct way to get us there.”
(to be continued)
00410603
https://marketplace.secondlife.com/p/Rue-Saint-Denis-for-classic-or-BOM/15679735
“Well it was a foolish outfit and I was a foolish girl at the time. Blonde hair; rosy red cheeks after that, but not from rouge. Syphilis I contracted — still trying to be frank and honest with you guys. But it eventually cleared up when I got out of that crazy, mixed up place of a land full of bad, bad people. Arthur gave me some money. You see–”
“Arthur? Arthur Kill? I know him.” Red Dead Beardy Head again there.
“Err,” said Libra. “Yes,” she decided. “Yes, let’s go with him. Married to Shelley Struthers (partly named for Sally Struthers, TV daughter of Archie and Edith), right. It fits!”
“And what of Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow?” Black Pearl responded to a slightly earlier declaration.
“The same,” Wheeler continued with the admissions. “Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow equals Shelley Struthers along with 2 other components, a kid named Frankie Brown who provides some gestures and perhaps a conscience, and then another kid called Marsha. Shelley is the (grown up) body for the 3. Body, mind, soul we could call them, with the Marsha brain aspect up front and on top.”
“So… let’s cut to the chase,” said RDBH, trying to regain his wits in the barrage of strange information. “How do we get to the X on the pirate map?”
Wheeler dressed as Libra in her parrot dress exhaled. “You can’t… not with that ship.”
“You *sold* me that ship,” replied Black Pearl to this. “You *implied* it could.”
“I was wrong. That ship will divide the 2 of you. I know this because I understand the perspective from the opposite direction. I know the endpoint. I was *at* the endpoint. Red Dead Beardy Head,” she addressed the male partner of the 2 sitting across from her in the Perch Restaurant of Aisle of Palms, open for business at 10 but not serving fish until 4 to his disappointment. No perch in Perch yet. And will our damn waiter please wake up! he was thinking just before this. “Red Dead,” Libra said again, “you and Black Pearl will break up if you try to go in that ship. It’s certain death up there in Outer Space. I’ve seen the future!”
“But — you *sold* it to me.” Black Pearl was smelling a rat as big as a human and named Victor-not-Victoria. “You said the golf course is closing.”
“The golf course *is* closing,” followed Libra Neptune closely. “The Black Pearl was smashed up on the rocks outside. I fixed it up. But really, I didn’t fix it up. Not in the way that could take you safely to the X.”
“*Finally*,” said Red Dead, seeing the waiter shake his head and blink a couple of times before fully reopening his eyes. He’d been woken up with a poke from the right. Manager Percy had let him sleep until 10:15, feeling sorry for the overworked man who toiled both day and night, with few minutes for rest in-between.
Now, in the moment again, he was upon them. Talk of the ship and its position at the head of 2 streams of virtual reality would have to wait a bit; after some bites. “Sorry for the delay. Our breakfast special is perch,” he said, knowing it was unusual but wanting to please an irritated customer and his friends. He could hear like hell — just had to process all the information right after coming back into consciousness. Being both waiter and chef, he could make this so.
00410609
“Excuse me, sir. If I could interrupt you for a moment.”
—–
“And so as you can see, basically when we cross the Dewberry stream we’re already upon New Site and Chapter 03.” Baker Bloch looked around at the assembled members of The Table, a larger number than usual just because this was such an important new development: the potential end of Our Second Lyfe. “Questions so far?”
“Are we still in Randolph County?” queries Wheeler directly across the table from Baker, still dressed as Atlantis High Priestess and fresh from another shooting scene.
“Tallapoosa, actually,” replied Baker. “Same with The Barroom, same with Mary, Camp Hill, Slaughters.” I through the brain of Baker Bloch make a note to look up all US Slaughters after all this is done.
“Hmm,” said Wheeler. A pause here.
“Grassy?” Baker spoke to the green Mmmmmm being sitting to Wheeler’s left. “Any thoughts?”
But Grassy was biding his time until spring and the return of outdoor plants, ready to make a move in the Mystery Spot of nearby Boulder highlighted in a section 02 post of this here photo-novel (41). “Not at this point,” he said, knowing he represented all Toy Avatars, all of his kind, in this opinion.
“Very well.” He turned to *his* left. “Newt: any comments or opinions or whatever?”
Newt, with old Axis-style pitch black German coat worn over modern agogo red-yellow-black German t-shirt, was also biding his time. Until Baker Bloch handed over the reigns of Aisle of Palms to him; make him mayor or whatever the title turned out to be. Maybe even King? With Wheeler his Queen, if so. After all, Baker Bloch is just kind of a Prime Minister figure in all this, having most of the power to create, etc., but not being the legal ruler of the land. That remained in Wheeler’s hands. So far.
Baker looked 2 seats down. “Hucka?”
“I wish to come back into the story,” she spoke plainly, directly, looking at him then looking at everyone else at The Table, wanting them to understand she was dead serious about this.
Another pause. “Well, okay. We can make that happen. Right gang?”
Murmurs of agreement all around, even the usually silent 88’s sitting to Wheeler’s right. Everyone knew the spiritual importance of Hucka to the blog, a type of Holy Ghost to the thing.
—–
Afterwards, Baker thought back to meeting the Bishop in an unexpected place off Old Wagon Road in central Maebaleia (continent), Our Second Lyfe must remain relevant being the overarching message he relayed. And then he took him diagonally to Redlands for a demonstration.
(to be continued)
00410613
Baker Bloch and bee-person/blog guru Hucka Doobie share a pizza while Philip continued to play his game over there, watching from afar as the virtual trailer park slowly repopulates itself with killable, expendable NPCs.
“You sure bringing Strevor back is a good idea, Baker? He’s kind of a psycho after all, especially if he’s off his pills. Does he have his pills on him, Baker? I hope you made sure of that. Else… we could be in a lot of trouble shortly… after he’s finished with his game and becomes bored again. Boredom leads to violence in this case. Believe me, I’ve seen it up close and personal when I was going out with Marion that brief bit in Gaston.”
“Sure it is,” Baker defended the idea. “He’ll, in fact, lead us right to your true love Marion Star Harding. They’re natural partners in crime — different types of partners.”
“I wondered about that for a while,” she said, scooping the artichokes off her slice. Baker knows I don’t like artichokes! she fumes internally. Yet, in his selfish manner, he ordered them anyway, not thinking about his dinner companion. So similar to Marion in that way, she thinks. But she loves him anyhow — both of ’em, she reckons. In different ways of course. Now.
—–
Okay, I’m beside the sign Philip said he would meet me at, Marion Star Harding thinks; now I just wait. He sniffs again, his face screws up like a walnut again. Philip better hurry, though, or I’m going to catch some kind of respiratory disease just standing here so close to that cursed sea, he thinks, not being able to get the rotted egg and salt stench out of his nostrils despite breathing through his mouth once more. What horrible germs and viruses are going down in his lungs?
Meanwhile on the opposite side of town, still portal hopping Marsha “Pink” Krakow seemingly arrives on the scene in her orange VW Beetle. After a long 2 1/2 month journey we’ve finally come full circle, you and I my loyal reader. We’re ready to end it here. But first we need to get Philip and Marion beside the same sign in the same town. A phone call from the latter should do the trick.
—–
“I’m here,” Philip said to his natural partner but not his lover. “Sorry about the mistake.”
“It’s that game again,” guesses Marion correctly. Distraction, he knew.
“Yup. Sorry again. Wrong reality.”
Having circled around the village in search of the correct Aisle of Palms indicator, the orange VW pulls up in perfect synchronicity. “Get in,” she said, and, without words, they did. They’d been expecting her. Their beloved Billie Jean Kidd in yet another guise, the third and final gang member and a shapeshifter of some power. She can take the appearance of a kid, an old woman, a young lady, a dog (poodle), and last but not least, a Bug. In short, Marsha “Pink” Krakow was never in the car to begin with here.
straightening out the past
They’d found it at the bottom of the sea just north of the boat house where she was staying. An Anton avatar was there in the Anson sim — so close of a name it couldn’t be an accident. Spiderwebs covered this orange version of a VW Beetle but she knew it was the same. Had to be. Someone was playing Grand Theft Auto in Our Second Lyfe and it all led up to this place. Shoes inside, she recalled. Of a ruby variety. Stolen as well.
Roger Pine Ridge kept looking at the flickering white glow beneath the water that he knew was Anton. Shoes stolen; mission accomplished. Like finding the ruby slippers of Oz, he thought. Anorexia’s gonna be pissed off as hell.
He looked over at the green robed woman beside him, face harshly illuminated by the glare of the flashlight she held. Scars. “I’m just waiting for the significant other to finish up inside,” he explained from his *self named* chair.. “How about you?”
—–
Cyberpaperdoll walks out of Fae’s Boat House with 50,000 lindens in hand.
“Come on, Biker,” she said just above a whisper toward the closest Pine Ridge chair. “Time to go.”
“Don’t forgot to sign the guestbook out there!” Jim the Pirate Bartender called from within, a request they most definitely ignored while leaving.
I should have kept the name Kelp, she pondered while still staring at the pirate ship in the bay from the balcony of the big white empty house. The owner, Shippe, *must* be the same as Jim the Bastard Pirate from back in those days. Too coincidental (once more). And as Anton is likewise close to Anson, so her own chosen nickname at the time, Kelp, is to Kulp, as in Nancy Kulp as in plain Miss Jane from the “Beverly Hillbillies” TV series, replaced by similarly plain Miss Janet in Grand Theft Auto, Ski Inn bar parallel. The one who woke up Philip Strevor to who he really is.
Apparently the opposite happened to his partner-in-crime Marion Harding back in the past which may be the same as the present. From the same deck she sat on and read her book of spooky stories in the dark one year later, he dove into the sea that represents the unconscious, intent on finding the vanished auto that was his little Bug. Where did it go? Back to the beginning of this here photo-novel? Think, June Bug, think!
Then she realized: Chef-Inspector Petty would know about Anson. He was there with Baker Bloch when the original auto was found. He’d probably have records of it in his files.
Now to figure out where he ran his private dick nighttime business in Aisle of Palms. In Perch Restaurant as well? Another 2n1? So many questions, but we’re still indeed nearing the very end of the thing.
00410703
He enlarges himself beside his office so he can better peer over the tops of internal buildings and view the object while still remaining clandestine in the dark. Probably; maybe the sleep deprivation is really catching up with him now and he’s beginning to lose his mind. Enlarging himself? He hasn’t resorted to those tactics since the early days of Collagesity (!). But they’re readying another ship to travel into space and he has to know the ins and outs, and since he has another job in the day when people are actually awake to answer questions about it…. well, circumstances seem to dictate this.
Footsteps behind him. He quickly micronizes back down to ordinary size or attempts to. Overshot! — you see, this is one of the dangers of enlarging in the first place. But maybe all for the best, since he didn’t think he was spotted that way. *No one* comes to his office. He’s embarrassed about the smallness of *it*, which he’s hidden in the bowels of the otherwise empty, cold and foreboding so-called “Cement Village” for this very reason and then put out rumors in the community at large that the place was haunted. Plus the population wasn’t ready for the truths within yet. St. Lemon of Troy.
Indeed she hadn’t spotted him because of the size. She walks within, intending to snoop around while no one was apparently home. Yes, she thinks. She’s in the right spot. Yvonne, Dorenna and Anton marked on a Nautilus City map.
00410704
He gives her time to look around the office, check out the maps, the painting, the works on the bookshelf, even the files in the filing cabinets if she wishes. What does he care? Sleep deprivation again we’ll assume; might as well burn the place down, he thinks while yawning for the 1000th time tonight. He finally gathers the energy to enlarge himself again — *just* enough to do the job (no overshot or undershot this time!). He waits for her to walk out, snooping apparently done.
“Find what you need, my fine lady?” he calls over, shocking her of course. It’s here he notices the face scars as she stares over with wide eyes. Too bad: otherwise quite pretty.
“Are you him?” she decided to stand her ground, defend her actions. “Are you Petty?”
“Some call me that. Some only know me as Chef. Or Inspector, depending on the time of day. Or depending on whether it is day or night I should say. You’re here at night. I assume you’re looking for Petty the Inspector, then.”
She approached him, scars looming larger. What *happened* to her?
“I also go by different names,” she said in turn. “Some call me Beautiful, some Plain. Some call me June, some Jane. Right now I’m June — night-time for me as well, I suppose. But the scars are there to remind me of Jane.”
“Yess,” he said. “Wondering about that. How did–”
“I just told you,” she cut him short. “I’m a 2n1, just like you. We have that in common but we have so much more. St. Lemon of Troy — the painting within. Do you know about Dennis?”
“Dennis,” he said thoughtfully. “Let me think…” Let me think of a *lie*, he says to himself. He *knew* he shouldn’t have hung that painting on top of everything else. His brain’s starting to operate better, perhaps because of its change back the correct size.
“St. Dennis, yes. The one that lost his head in the transition. The next time, the next go, he wore a helmet, golden in color. But it still didn’t protect him from the eventual consequence. So he had to be *deflected*.”
She know about that as well, he thinks. “Well,” he says to this. “Saints Hotel is a pretty nice place to stay, nice compensation. And anyway, I’ve heard that he and his *gang* have finally made their way down to the big city, the 8th wonder of the world some call it.”
“Where’s the auto in all this?”
“Auto?” He still couldn’t help play dumb within the flow of truthful revelations. Force of habit.
“You know which auto. You have pins of Yvonne, Dorenna and, yes, Anton inside on the Nautilus City map. Anton from Anson. I understand you were there when it first appeared, or when — I suppose — it first decided to reveal itself.”
“The Bug, yes.” Enough talk for now, he decided. He remembers that he’d locked the filing cabinets before enlarging himself tonight. At least he had the sense to do that. But perhaps it was time to look inside.
March 12 1951
The file was as thick and complex as St. Dennis itself. “How did you find this office?” queried Chef-Inspector Petty, watching her closely as she studied it, watching the eyes dart about, noticing the scars cutting across her forehead, eyes, nose and cheeks somewhat redden in the excitement. He could look past it. He wondered if she had any hair underneath that metallic green hood. And what up with the 3 eyed owl perched on her shoulder (!)?
“A little birdie told me,” she answered, which he assumed was the owl again, whose middle eye quickly winked at him right when he thought this.
“Oh. Yes. I see.” He kept staring at the owl, then, but no more obvious winks were produced. Just a steady stare with intermittent, calm blinking, each eye taking a turn now. He decided to ask the sex.
“Um. Both I think.” She was still staring down at the files, flipping pages rapidly in the swift reading. Was the owl helping her with this too? he pondered. Odd thought, he realized. But nothing was ordinary about this case, nothing atall.
“Light okay?” he thought to ask, although he had no way to increase it. Electric grid didn’t get this far in Aisle of Palms yet, on the opposite side of town from the generator in the Blue Feather and attached Perch Restaurant. At least the sun was coming up now. She’d been reading for about 20 minutes.
“Fine.” Looked like she was about 2/3rds the way through the file. He then thought he was peering down on her a bit, understood that he had missed the mark on the size change once more. He’d have to wait to adjust. Can’t risk shaking the table and jostling the pages out of order or something. He’ll just be patient. He looks at the watch still not on his wrist. Sunrise in 7 minutes. He’d have to excuse himself and go to his other job soon, the chef-waiter thing. Looks like she won’t be finished by then, he gauges. Would she allow this? The owl and its three eyes kept staring, blinking.
“Ah HA!” she then emitted, spreading out and then matching the edges of 2 pages she’d reached in the file. The owl then turned to her as she turned toward it. “You seeing the same thing I’m seeing?” Both looked down in synchronization. Both were staring at a picture of St. Lemon, before the beheading and the replacement with a giant lemon. Dennis again.
Another 2n1, both knew. They understood where to place the time machine.
00410706
“The only Theft name of *any* kind in the US according to the old GNIS database was ‘West Central Texas Auto Theft Task Force’, a building in downtown Anson TX. The new database contains no listings with Theft. The old location, the whole *name*, was *stolen*, in effect: theft of Theft. I actually visited the site and found no Auto Theft Task Force office, much less a whole building devoted to the matter. I looked all around the supposed address, with only a bricked up side door and an unmarked back door fitting the Google Map directions. My theory is that it only existed in the first place as an indicator.”
Petty was furiously taking notes opposite yammering June Bug Johnston at his small office in the so-called Cement Village, hidden itself from the surrounding town of Aisle of Palms. The discovery of the 2 matching Dennis’ issued forth a torrent of words. She was *so* close to the answer (The End). The sun having rising about a 1/2 hour back now, he was late for his other job at the Perch Restaurant. But Manager Percy would understand. Overlaps sometimes happen with such a busy soul. Many a night he postponed sleuthing activities when a late dinner party arrived, or a bus full of tourists pulled up 5 minutes before closing. Too bad Percy doesn’t believe in phones or he’d ring him up. Mother’s exploded after she left it ringing too long one day; killed her and mortally wounded Aunt Gertrude who was playing strip poker with her at the time. Blew off a valuable piece of her body but she survived. His mother Wanda Bertaaa Doris’s naked parts were scattered about like a broken Humpty Dumpty. Speaking of which…
“… Humpty Dumpty sea ship modified into a space ship,” June Bug continued in sync with my own internal dialog. “Jim the Bastard Pirate–”
“Wait. *The* Bastard Pirate? Jim Randolph?”
“The same. Anyway he was *suppose* to pilot the ship all the way to the Red Dead planet but he crashed in the sea. Thing couldn’t take the pressure of the strange atmosphere and anyway, he took the wrong ship indicated by his pirate pal Black Pearl, wise in such matters.”
Chef-Inspector Petty, still an inspector despite being on the clock as a chef (and a waiter), thought back to his giant self peering out over tops of internal Cement Village buildings to the new ship parked out back, ready for space exploration according to all the rumors and gossip about town. The *correct* ship according to Black Pearl. Jim Randolph the Bastard Pirate had gotten the wrong vehicle from the right creator as we spoke about before.
Petty’s sharp ears then heard the ominous roar of a tour bus roll into town from the south. “*F -it,* June Bug,” he cussed, checking his nonexistent watch again. “We’ll have to resume all this in another post. Gotta get to the restaurant!”
fingers crossed!
He’d left her alone to study further as he went back to Perch, but how much more was there to learn? She knew the VW was X-ed out for a purpose which then has something to do with this hidden office of his in Aisle of Palms’ so-called Cement Village, still being developed, still being filled in. The whole place was named for the event.
Things were getting fuzzy as the current novel recedes and the next novel begins to focus in. Like a right eye being closed and a left opened, we must shift from one to the other to keep having visions. My apologies to the reader for leaving so many questions unanswered but it’s all part of the game. 42 will answer EVERYTHING. I promise.
End of “Sunklands 2023-2024 Winter”!
PHOTO-NOVEL 42
00420202
He continues to puff as he stares at the Big E on the now shared table, a ritual of sorts. He doesn’t know quite what to make of it still except that it’s perfect in its own way, and a worthy additional the TILE family of absolute glyphs. He stares at the green green sim of Xilted, thinking back to his own experiences there, 0202 as well and exactly 3 novels back. More perfection.
00420302
“I found this in the same county as White Stone, Hucka. Merry and Mary, just like in St. Merry’s (?) Church.”
“Follow up on that,” she requests. So I did. I talked to Pastor Ziegler about the weird conjunction.
—–
“That’s interesting it’s Mary Ball there as well.”
“As well?” I prompted.
“Yes. Mary Ball is the mother of George Washington. And it happens that it’s Pitch Darkly’s Mary’s maiden name too. Can’t be coincidence.”
“Again,” I replied.
“Especially since they also have a kid named George, come to think of it. Not sure how old the boy would be now. Maybe even a teenager?”
“He was growing up fast the last time I checked,” I agreed
“Anyway (*sigh*), this is certainly a mystery indeed. Another Virginia neck mystery.”
“First Susan and Shadow. Now this. Lively… variant names of both Pitch Penny and Catch Penny, inferring a battery in baseball. Balls are more lively than they use to be back in the dead ball era, before the death of Indian Ray Chapman via beaning and the cleaning up of (the ball and) the game, giving hitters the upper hand over pitchers (and catchers) from that day forward. Martyr, some say because of it.”
“I’m glad you are confiding all this to me,” spoke Pastor Stephan Ziegler of the 1st Church of St. Merry’s — yes, that’s the name — who seemed just happy to be part of the town story again. Aisle of Palms… stated he loves it in all its interesting twists and turns. I thought to myself that he’s probably just glad I didn’t instead go to Rev. Amos T. Sandman across the street at the rival Fries with Cheese Church with my insights — gives him the upper hand there as well. But of course Amos is rarely in the building because of the smell. Allergic to cheese of all things. And they built the church out of the material, as traditional states. No one can really stay there that long without wearing clothes pins on their noses, and so that became part of their traditional as well, part of ecclesiastical lore.
Fries with Cheese office manager Martha Lamb takes note of Baker’s exit from her second floor office window while getting ready to go home herself. She can free up the nostrils at last. Worst part of the job — everything else she loves, just like Stephan, who she perceives as a direct arch-rival, assuming that role for the mainly absent Reverend, she feels
—–
Walsh County (Pitch Darkly)
“Look dear, I caught another one (!).”
“Hold on, Mary. Hold on. It’s Baker calling.”
“Baker? Hi!”
(reply)
“Yeah, we’re getting along great. A little cold of course but it is North–”
(reply)
“What was that? Hold on, let me take this darn Russian cap off with the ear flaps and all.”
—–
“Okay go ahead, sir.”
(reply)
“Yeah, I heard that now.” He covers the phone with his hand and whispers over to fishing Mary. “Baker says he needs to talk to us as soon as we get back to town.” He listens again…
(reply)
“Mary Ball, eh? Well that’s *one* of her names.”
(reply)
“George, right.” He removes the phone from his ear but doesn’t cover the face up this time while saying over to his wife in a louder voice: “He wants to know how you acquired the Killing Shack, you know, the one over in Epping Woods.”
“Why does he want to know that?” She was happy fishing right now. She didn’t want to be reminded of that horrendous past on her well deserved vacation. Calm, she said to herself. Caalllmm.
“I’ll ask him.” Phone to bare ear again. “Baker, what’s going on?”
(reply)
“Virginia neck country again, eh? Just like with—”
(reply)
“Dead ball era, huh? That’s *my* era, where I came from. Where the *ERA* was real low, he he. Get it? My era. My ER–”
(reply)
“Okay, thanks. See you when we get back.”
(reply)
“We will. Thanks.” And Baker Bloch hangs up on the other side.
—–
“Did you mention the antipoison?”
“No,” Baker responds to Hucka. “I thought he’d had enough to chew on today.”
“Agreed I suppose. So we’re on for next Tuesday?”
“8 o’clock sharp.”
(to be continued)
00420310
“We should really think about renting this 4096 parcel, Baker Bloch,” said Cheesehead Martha Lamb, really trying to help, really trying to further the cause of her hometown Aisle of Palms into the future. “I mean, look at the colors on the sign. TILE again, even.”
“Yess,” spoke a still unconvinced Baker, true owner of town since he was the Mr. Moneybags of the place. He’d have to pay the extra rent. He’d have to find ways to cut back in the real world to justify the cost. $50 artistic allowance each month. This would top it out. Maybe unsubscribe to a TV app…
“You can build a new and true TILE Temple. You can make a true aisle of palms leading up to it. The place is desecrated as it stands. Part of the temple destroyed, palms removed. Look over there (!).”
So Baker Bloch turned around with Martha Lamb (who was actually Wheeler playing a role) to stare at the missing parts of the temple, the missing palms, even Danny’s trailer on the side of Fal Mouth Moon gallery. Who will clean up the bathrooms there if Janitor Danny doesn’t have a place to live?
“2 months,” spoke Martha. “2 month trial. 30 bucks extra during that span. What could it really hurt?”
He (I) counted it up in his (my) head. Close to 16000 square meters, almost a 4th of a sim. Cooperative neighbors. It all seemed set up.
“Alright,” Baker said. “I’ll probably do it.”
“Fine. I’ll tell Stephan. *We’ll* help out with the money.”
Sure you will, thought Baker. Sure you will.
00420311
In the middle of the night, I decided to fix the deletion issues of Aisle of Palms myself and keep it from Wheeler until later. No need to log in as her tonight too. I got rid of the damaged Temple of TILE after placing a new one atop it, moving the whole thing several yards to the south to hopefully take care of the property line issue. Planted two new palms at the pool beside it to replace the two that were deleted under similar circumstances, moving them a bit south as well. I chose not to restore the trailer on the back side of Fal Mouth Moon, and instead focused on creating a new living space in this very interesting building behind it, with the same creator as several other structures in town already (Herbert Gold and April Mae Flowers’ Gothic Deco House; police station; base of Fries with Cheese Church (the part not made of cheese)).
Interesting: only after setting it up did I realize it had a basement to go along with the other 3 floors, ha. So I had to dig one so that the rooms would be accessible. I can put the house toilet there, and maybe a washer and dryer. More details soon if needed.
And so the other consequence of this is that I’ve decided not to rent more land for Aisle of Palms but to keep things as is: cheap and still pretty large. Could change my mind but probably not. I’ll gauge Wheeler’s reaction tomorrow when I tell her the news. I don’t think she wants to rent it herself but I could be wrong. Hard to judge what is obviously my more earthy, feminine side.
00420312
The 12 prim “elegant tree” outside thrashed about like it was a storm all the time. He guessed he could get use to it. He contemplated again asking Baker Bloch to turn the building with his new apartment around, having it face east instead of west, over the similarly new Temple Aisle we’ll call it for now. The one controlled by Wheeler, along with her developing bar next door, just north of this building as the temple is directly east. Fascinating recent developments happening in town, he admitted. He’d moved (copied) most of his Cass City apartment decorations back over to here since nothing seemed to going on in that Maebaleia continent city, however interesting the layout of the full sim burg remains to him, He was head of the city council over there and he’s probably the same over here on the Jeogeot continent in Aisle of Palms. He served as the same in Kangerootown, actually. Like many in our family of avatars, he gets around, serves useful purposes in a lot of places.
He gets up and stares through the far window of the room at the ghost in the cemetery the thrashy tree is positioned above, an old pirate he gathers. He wonders which one? Bluebird, he guesses solely because of the blue-ish glow about the apparition.
He remembers Wheeler asked him to bring some bar stools over to her developing establishment next door. Unable to concentrate on his letter to an old friend, he decides to head over and see how she’s doing — saw the green dot that represents her presence still lingering over there. He’ll check his inventory when he’s able to eyeball the situation but he’s sure he can help her out.
Thing is about this building is you have to make sure you close the doors behind you or they remain open — they don’t automatically close like most in Our Second Lyfe. And there are so many of them here. Newt dreads getting the 1st heating bill because he’s kind of an absentminded fellow, lost in deep thought most of the time. He’s left them open more than he remembers to shut. If only Wheeler was *here*, in this 2 room apartment with him, to help out instead of being over at the Blue Feather all the time. At least that’s where he thinks she is — another thing to ask her, actually. On his way…
… but not before staring out the hallway window toward the ocean, glittery in the moonlight. Okay, maybe he won’t ask Baker to turn the building around.
—–
“4 enough, Wheeler?”
“Yes but we’ll have to turn them around of course.”
“Oh, ahem. Sure.”
“And you’re sitting on some eggs I left over there in a frying pan. May want to clean yourself up afterwards.”
“Ahh, ha ha. I see.” Might as well have been on his face.
(to be continued)
—–
“Yellow Jack” shaping up (also: Conejo)
She was at the point of auditioning acts for the new bar. This one was a stand up comedian from Cork.
“What do you call a parade of rabbits hopping backwards?”
“Receding hare lines,” he answers himself after a beat. She finds that joke especially pertinent, since she copied a lot of this decor from a place named Rabbit Island.
Rabbit Island items: free to copy yourself!
“I don’t need to hear any more,” she spoke up. “You’re on the bill.”
00420314 (snow)
“Is that sup-pose to be… me? IS THAT… suppose… to be… MEEE? What’s going on here? Wh-wha–”
“Let me show you your future to explain,” I said back from beyond the 4th wall.
“Yeah okay yeah I guess I see your point I guess I see.” He shook his head. “Jack, eh?”
“Jack,” I said. And then I showed him where I took out (the) yellow.
00420315
“Hucka D., there’s no doubt that this newer and truer Aisle of Palms in the same named town is connected to our Fal Mouth Moon animation. There’s even an equivalent of Steptoe Butte there in the background if we extend our draw distance to 512 and then shorten it back to 128 and take a photo before the landscape shortens again in turn. Mount Chinhae we can call it, after the sim it is situated on the lower end of. Sacred after this I would suppose.
“Fascinating. Keep it up.”
“The bar with the red rooftop to the left, like the dart in the collage is red tipped. Tipping allowed after all in the bar.”
“Tone it down a bit,” Hucka D. requested to this. “Focus on the *obvious*. What are we looking at?”
“Jack’s bar, obviously. (Bull’s) Ear for a target (name), but we had to settle on Bar since we couldn’t get the needed lights in the ‘B’ to stop functioning and turn it into an ‘E’ — shame.”
“We’ll work on it,” said Hucka D.
“So instead the dart turns into a cigarette or cigar which may be the same as a joint. This indicates that Jack is smoking hot. Icily cold later on. After the process is finished. The ear is removed from the side of the mountain revealing Lloyd the bartender for who is really is. The fuse on the bomb is lit. The color inverted VW, yellow at the beginning, speeds on to its destined destination.”
“Boomb! Bullsear!”
“Should be,” agreed Hucka D., already hatching more plans to make it so.
“What did you just call what you did, Dragon? Bulls-*what*?”
00420401 (Mr. Price)
“I-I don’t need someone t-to… guard it with his life, j-just… be around.”
“We’ll be waiting in the shadows,” his new client assured the owner of the bar. “Ready to strike when they make the wrong move. We’ll keep it clean here.”
“I like that. And if they *don’t* — they gotta pay the price.”
“Now you got it Dragon.” Points at Dragon. “Now you got it.”
—–
“So what is this magazine you brought with you today, Baker Bloch? SecuroServ? Who’s that?”
“Let’s call it a… bleed-through from another reality. One important to know about, Wheeler.”
“He’ll probably be showing up soon,” he added. “To secure… and soive — just a warning.” He picks up the magazine from the counter and hands it directly to her. “Being the manager of this here bar, I’d recommend studying up.”
00420404 (Mr Price Too)
So to bring all this together:
“The two processes across the road from each other are one. It all broils down to a chicken situation. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? This represents the art on the two sides of Grant Price Hill Rd. in Bear Lake PA, human-made and who-knows. Why does the chicken cross the road? Because he’s already on the other side. Add in Happy Town and we have the full explanation. The blurred out figure beside the canoe is Gray Man. And… he’s probably Grant Price too.”
“Or Grant Hill,” Baker tries to quip.
“Has he shown up yet at the bar? Grant Price I mean?”
“No,” answers Baker to Hucka D. “But I believe he might be in the alleyway outside.”
“Guarding the place already?”
“Maybe (!).”
00420405
I remember seeing you at the other Jack’s, the one you modeled your new bar on. I’ve been taking care of you for a loong time, Wheeler. Watching over you; waiting in the shadows, as I like to say. Ready to pounce when trouble comes up. And it will.
00420406 (LSD (strutt’n Struthers))
“Sato is from the North.”
“From the North.”
—–
“She’s pretty good — ‘Classical Gas’ I believe. But her yellow-ish skin doesn’t show up well against the yellow background. NEXT!”
“What’s this electro-crap?” spoke Martha Lamb/Wheeler to Baker Bloch, who was helping out again. Wonder what happened to former helper Newt? Anyway, he answered: “It’s Osamu Sato, a very important figure now in the blog, or at least the current photo-novel. 42. Remember? We were suppose to answer everything in this one?”
“How’s that going?” said Wheeler to this. Very predictable. And right on the mark.
“And it’s played by Kangarootown’s very own Okama Majo. Very close. Maybe the same.”
“Alright,” Martha Lamb/Wheeler relented. “If you insist.”
“Arkansaw hog calling by a Fayetteville boy named Don — insisted on standing in front of the stage to what he called, ‘have more impact on the audience'”
“Absolutely,” judged Martha Lamb/Wheeler, not needing to hear more than a couple of ‘SUUUUUUEEEEEY!’s.
And then, ahem, Shelley Johnston Struthers to end. Had to be.”
“Always wanting the spotlight,” Martha Lamb/Wheeler started the complaints. “‘Strawberry Fields’ again from the sound of it.”
“Actually it’s ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’… to go along with the Osamu Sato stuff.” The chorus started.
“Ah yes, I see. Comes with Osamu? I mean, Okama? From Kangarootown? Golden Jim?”
“Yes,” answered Baker Bloch plainly.
“Okay, let’s see them all together now. Even the one I rejected. I’ve changed my mind.”
“There’s one more figure we need to fit in make it all work,” said Baker, who didn’t elaborate but perhaps didn’t need to. Linen. So close to Lennon as Okama is to Osamu. Shelley wasn’t actually singing anymore. Just channeling.
00420408
“Oh no! Look out Linen!”
“Behind you!”
They gave Okama Majo a cheap high-rise apartment in town so that he could rehearsed with his new band easier. Name still pending. Don wants to call it “Sueeey!” — totally predictable, still being a kid at heart and mind and all and not thinking of others that much while living in his own self-centric universe. Classically trained guitarist No Lag V is leaning toward “Gas Solid Liquid Plasma,”, with her as Gas and, as she said, the others will figure out their own state of matter over time. And then Shelly inserted her own name into the discussion: “The Dream Emulators”. Okama? Let’s actually give Okama “The Dream Emulators” suggestion and leave Shelley’s for later. Currently she’s off in her own dream world over on the western part of the Jeogeot continent, spending time with imaginary boyfriend Eddy D’Aigle instead of hubby Arthur, who may be out of town himself acting again. Shakespeare never sleeps.
He knew he shouldn’t do it but Okama is searching old tenant Mr. Babyface’s Internet history for clues about his nature. What led him to take that small boat so close to that Korean Channel funnel, obviously marked on the map, and get sucked in, never, it seems, to return to the land of the living? Soon — too soon probably — he comes across Babyface’s theories about an alphabet hidden in a column of sims on the eastern side of the continent, the opposite part from where Shelley currently is; she’s just that off-base. Okama is the one we should stay with…
—–
“Orgamast?!” he shouted, spotting the name of the “O” sim in the Korean Channel and realizing it was so close to Orgasm (‘nother one!). Let’s back up…
—–
00420409 (from the old blog)
To introduce: All 7 sims beginning with YEO in Our Second Lyfe are found on the Jeogeot continent. So let’s start the quote…
The highest and lowest of the YEO sims are directly north and south of each other. This would be Yeolmae (north) and Yeongheungdo (south). Yeolmae almost touches northern coast of Jeogeot, just missing by less than 100 meters. Yeongheungdo *just* touches the southern coast of same, with its southeast corner barely extending into the ocean a couple of meters total.
On the below map [see former post], positions of these two north-south YEO sims are marked by an A scrabble tile (Yeolmae) and Z scrabble tile (Yeongheungdo). In-between we are able to exactly position the remaining 24 letter tiles of the English alphabet in order, since the two sims in question lie exactly 26 sims apart. In other words, 1 scrabble tile here fills the same space as 1 SL sim. To me, this relationship is meaningful, and equates the whole of Jeogeot (remember these two YEO sims basically mark the exact height of the continent along this vertical line) with our alphabet….
So finding this Jeogeot-alphabet relationship, I started playing around with inserting tiles in other places around the continent. My first thoughts were that perhaps the 5 remaining YEO sims (of 7 total) represent the 5 letters that only have 1 scrabble tile assigned to them due to their relative lack of use in writing in comparison with the others (j, k, q, x, and z). However, in experimenting further I fairly soon discovered what must be the most interesting additional relationship: the fact that the names of the 30 sims of the Korean Channel begin with all but *4* of the alphabet letters, these being c, t, v, and y. If we subtract the two sims lying outside the main 14×2 column making up this channel — the very similarly named Darcy’s Cove and Darcy’s Harbor — the weirdness is even tightened a bit more, since the same 22 letters appear out of *28* chances now.
I’ve simply listed out these 28 sims in alphabetic order at the end of this post to further illustrate the oddity [see former post again]….
And so we’re caught up a bit with the back story. To the present once more…
00420411
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-OYPicGH_E
Happy Town train flying over LOVE again and outta there.
Half of the Tower Bridge (*not* London Bridge (!)), which was the same percentage I encountered next door on my neighbor’s plot when setting up Aisle of Palms back in the first of January.
Googly eyes on the Our Second Lyfe version…
… which is the same effect most LSD characters have when viewed in a certain set of textures (one of 4 in the game) called Distortion or Downer.
Interestingly these type of googly eyes will not appear on Tower Bridge — which also happens to be found in the LSD game — because it doesn’t have a face. Here we almost seem to have a crossover effect of sorts between LSD and Our Second Lyfe going on.
LSD’s Tower Bridge with normal (Static) textures
Btw, even though the bridge next door was deleted in full soon after I arrived in the area…
… the dead parrot statue still remains underneath the Parrots for Pirates Pet Shop in my town, a lasting aftereffect.
00420413
“Bridges, Wheeler. Tonight’s theme is bridges.” (*click*)
—–
“How about this. The last thing you see before a 30 day dream ends are bridges. What do you say to that?”
“I say we’re about to see Linen again.”
“The man in charge,” agrees Baker.
“But,” corrects Wheeler, “that wasn’t the actual end of the dream. Instead: ship. Sunken.
“Natural World is next. Horses!”
“Vast,” agrees Baker. “Most important. Connector,” he elaborates.
“Map to end,” says Wheeler.
00420506
The attic space of Newt’s 4 story Big Victorian Townhouse has been turned into an LSD Dream Emulator mini-museum, namely for objects and spaces found in the central building of the game called Bright Moon Cottage, pictured on Newt’s computer here also located in the attic. Newt noticed the structural similarities between the 2 virtual buildings shortly after first learning of LSD through Youtube algorithmically generated video suggestions about 3 weeks ago now.
Here we peer down through the invisible ceiling of the place, much like Arthur did earlier at the St. Dennis gallery from his phantom room above. Let’s take a look at the individual rooms while Newt finishes his dinner. Gotta eat sometime in Our Second Lyfe!
In the immediate area of dining Newt are, left to right, a bookcase similar to that found on the 3rd floor of Bright Moon Cottage, a futon with sleeping figure inside, and then the most detailed topographic map of The Natural World Newt could find, the largest location of LSD Dream Emulator and one acting as a connector between all other major locations, 5 in number. These include the Bright Moon Cottage itself, situated on an “island” in the center of the map, the game’s ground zero of sorts as individual dreams of its 365 day dream cycle most commonly start here.
And then just around the corner we have a Television, Teddy Bear, and a Pterodactyl figurine on a fireplace.
Next room down the hall of the attic comes Giant Head and Book.
And then in the final room we have Dying Woman with Giant Astronaut looming over her. The layout of the objects in Newt’s townhouse is not exactly the same as found in Bright Moon Cottage, as I’ve smushed the several floors there together to condense. However, I feel the, er, space vibes are similar.
Now I just gotta go to the marketplace and find some bird cages to finish.
—–
There I suppose. Let’s call it a night.
00420507
He was on the first floor of his Victorian house now working with the heavy duty computers when she passed by outside. He instantly recognized her from Cass City. Marsha “Pink” Krakow. But which role is she assuming under that overarching persona today? Secretary Berta Brainard? Or pawnbroker Pinkie Brainerd? Neither as it turned out — she had another one to go along with the new location. This is the way she bypassed her paralysis demonstrated in the middle of novel 41 and also a bit with the car wreck in the current novel. Like a female before her named Ball, she desired now to become a top notch comic. She’d warmed up in St. Dennis on the Red Dead planet with a smash act which she headed… without a head. Now it was time to up the ante here in Aisle of Palms. She knew psychedelic artist figure Okama Majo would be looking on.
She backed up and took the right turn to Bull’s Bar. Security agent Grant Price let her pass without inspection since he recognized her from the posters.
Inside a crowd had already gathered. She sat down unobserved at the bar and ordered a stiff one. She was kind of irritated that the animations in the stool didn’t allow her to properly close the front of her dress but she found one that somewhat retained decency. Only the bartender could see her anyway and since he was only a head, well, probably not too interested in her body.
She turned.
00420508
Damn. Wrong turn again! she thought. *There’s* Newt’s Victorian townhouse. Just gotta find the in-between path now to the bar, pheh.
Newt watched her once more from his downstairs computer desk, even though he was on the wrong side of the house this time. The *right* side of the wall, though. Outside.
The Natural World.
This was big, he knew. Very big.
00420512
Pitch Darkly and especially (of course!) born fisherperson Mary Ball Darkly were so successful on their extended angling vacation that they had to rent a truck to bring the caught loot back home to Aisle of Palms. “Hope you brought your appetite back with you too,” issues Mary while staring at the smelly crates piled 3 high in its bed, knowing they had limited space in the manor’s freezers.
Now to get down to serious issues once more: the Ball situation. They were four weeks late getting back as it was. Too much fun! Couldn’t let it end despite the potential cost. It’s all virtual reality anyway, said Pitch to Mary after their huge haul at Fox Island (alternately Squirrel Island) in Endlessly Antipodal. So it was on to the Amazon Basin and piranhas/electric eels after that to finally get the cold of Walsh County ND out of their bones and blood, and then All Orange to finish up, a virtual fisherperson’s paradise as indicated by Mary’s knowledgeable friend Sandy Beech way way back in the days. Just got around to getting there. Sandy’s never wrong about these things, she knew. Best fry cook in the whole of Great Belt where he comes from, she’s heard from not one but several sources.
“Are you sure this is right, Mary? Fish in a *volcano*?”
“Emm, maybe I got the wrong color in that name. All Green?” she tested, burning through yet another line. “Brown?”
“Let’s go, Mary. Well have to rent a truck to get back our vast haul as is. We have enough.”
“Alright.”
“Plus the Ball situation; Baker wanted us back there a month ago.”
“I know I know.” Mary starts packing up the tackle…
… just in the nick of time as it turns out. *Great balls of fire* that was close to where they were standing! And more on the way. Get off that erupting mountain quick guys!
But, as we know, they got home okay, phew. Mary wasted no time in placing a call to so-called expert Sandy Beech.
“All *Blue*,” he erupted back when hearing the color she chose to remember in their by now long ago conversation about the place. “There’s no fish in a volcano!”
But, savant that she is, Mary still caught a couple.
00420513
She didn’t understand. These kind of jokes killed it in good ol’ St. Dennis. The beheading was a shocker and a stunner there but here, just groans of, what was it, disgust? Even, what-*ever*? So when the main act started warming up on the stage to her right everyone who was anyone flocked over there, leaving her with, who was it? The ogling Thompson Twins? Obviously here for more than comedy or an attempt at such.
“Stand back, she’s mine.”
“Oh no you don’t,” said the brother, trying to regain the advantage.
Then when lead singer Shelley hit the stage and started dancing and singing to Linen to appease the band’s God, things changed once more. She became who she really was back on the Red Dead planet. Atlantis High Priestess aka Libra Neptune, inextricably linked with the other 2 girls in a symbiotic triangle.
How to get out of this?
00420602 (rockstars)
On his days off, Grant (aka *Fred*dy) Price likes to roam the streets of Lost Sanos, sucking up people’s dreams to replenish needed energy for his various security assignments. This unsuspecting guy walks right into it.
Meanwhile, on another planet altogether (most say), Arthur sees horses at the end of a tunnel.
“We got a second one!” shouts Newt from beyond the 4th wall as Arthur reenters the light.
00420605 (immobile (paying the price))
Day 042:
I manifested on an island in the void I couldn’t move away from — no bridges — so I took a picture before the dream ended. Crystal (at the peninsula’s tip). Have to look that up.
Yes, there it is. I’ll just place a little (red) pin on that island to remember…
—–
“Remember what?” Wheeler tested later, looking at the pin with him.
“I… forget!”
“Gray Man, hmph,” exclaimed Wheeler to this. “Wiped you out again. You’ll have to start over.” She looked at him instead of the map to emphasize her point. “Stick to The Natural World as much as possible, Newt. He doesn’t go there. You won’t be as, um, *abstracted* there.”
“Okay. I’ll try.”
“Now sit back down here and let’s begin Day 043 while I watch and advise.”
“Alright.” He sits back down like a good boy.
00420607 (05 and 06)
Perhaps the last major building has been manifested in Aisle of Palms: the original version of the Edwardston Station Gallery, holding the entire “Art 10×10” of 100 collages I created in 6 series from 2004 to 2009. Not the prettiest of structures with its plain cubic form, admittedly, but effective in its role. 6 floors, 6 series, with all but 2 and 5, or Rose Hill and Hidalgo respectively, holding 20 collages apiece. Those 2 floors/series contain 10 in contrast. I’ll get to what occupies the other 1/2 of the 2nd and 5th floors in a bit.
The immediate prompt for me rezzing this structure is that I wanted to show Newt (or whoever) that the fox-to-dog conversion of Jim Randolph the Bastard Pirate in St. Dennis recently was seemingly preordained. The Yale-*Newt*on series of the “Art 10×10,” its 3rd, dates from 2006, going on 20 years ago at this point. Gosh, where have the years gone (!). Anyway, when we reach the 4th collage of that series we come to this dualism again: fox vs. dog or, more precisely, fox against dingo, for the orange dog of the work, titled “Outfoxed?”, is suppose to represent such, as the orange-ish dog in St. Dennis is in kind.
Then in the next two collages of Yale-Newton, making a type of animation with each other, we see the fox and dingo again, the in-taking of water if you will (“Diamond Dog”)…
… and then the release of same back into the atmosphere (“Coasts is Clear”), as the original Diamonds sign on the roof of the depicted restaurant bearing the same name is multiplied 16-fold and becomes a country unto itself, let’s say — our country, built up from the middle, this Diamonds Restaurant in a central state of Missouri, until it extends ocean to ocean. A seed becomes a tree.
And then in the next collage, the 7th of the series (“Here’s Lucy”), we come to another depiction of the word “diamonds”, now in connection with the initials LSD like in the famous John Lennon song we saw Shelley Struthers singing earlier in her band audition at Bull’s Bar in this here blog and attached photo-novel, 42 in number now of course. So I have a feeling this could reference Osamu Sato’s LSD Dream Emulator game on top of the drug and Lennon song — additional foreshadowing. More on this aspect soon, I’m predicting.
That bubble topped mound in the middle of the 7th collage being threatened by bulldozers is actually where it all starts to kick in, the whole “Art 10×10” and my journey into the world of digital collaging. Looks like fellow collage artist Barry De Boy will be our observer here instead of Newt, perhaps gaining inspiration for a jump start of his own art. Wendy is a muse!
He follows The Beatles’ yellow submarine between Greenup 05 and 06 as it floats downstream, into the tunnel of night lights, illumination in darkness.
What will he find there, a fox or a dingo? I’m guessing both. In fact, make that a certainty.
00420612
It took a supreme effort for him to break away from the Big E or, alternately Big Schwa always sitting in the middle of his Aisle of Palms’ Kidd Tower dining table, ready for further examination and scrutiny. But he did it; returned to his hometown and his Bach/Reger/Kajiura played on a silver cello purchased in the Isle of Love. He played to his loving doll Mob (pronounced: Mobe), who listened with rapt attention as usual.
Good ol’ Mob. He misses her when he’s away… plus the cats big and small of course. And he just f-ing needed to get away from the band for a while. No Lag was pushing them in a classical direction, Shelley was pushing them in a rock direction, Don just wanted everyone to call hogs like him, like the kid he is. Be like me! he indicated all the time with his actions and speech. But bar manager Martha Lamb wanted him there as a kind of front man and bar owner Bull Dragon (or Dragon Bull; *not* Ball Dragon or Dragon Ball, though) went along with it, seeing the appreciative crowds. Maybe they’re getting *too* big, too popular, thought Okama not once but a considerable number of times in the last week as they did nightly gigs to growing audiences. Poor opening act Marsha “Pink” Krakow who wanted to be a Ball herself wasn’t hacking it, though. He felt sorry for her, was *envious* of her even. Furniture comedy, he speculated at the time, watching her perform only for the ogling Thompson Twins if anyone at all. Like Satie had his furniture music. “Pay no attention to us musicians,” the eclectic Frenchman spoke to audiences of his day, over 100 years ago, so far ahead of his time. He said to just enjoy the pieces of the art gallery they were playing at, and so on. And so it is with Marsha but in a kind of reverse way. “Just enjoy the musicians on the stage over there; pay no attention to me,” she seems to broadcast lately. A conceptual art comedy piece in the style of Kaufman or maybe Hicks. But certainly not like iconic 50s star Lucille Ball as she originally desired, one of the greatest of all female performers period. This was undesired art but maybe she’s seeing the irony of it. He’ll have another word with her about the whole, er, *concept* when he gets back. But he needs to stay here for at least a week to calm his nerves. He needs to stay away from the Kidd (Tower) and he needs to stay away from the kid (Don).
Knocks downstairs. Wendy has arrived at her destination. Confrontation time; brace yourself Okama!
PHOTO-NOVEL 43
00430115
Clarence spied something that really got him excited. Bootleg VHS Tapes, he pondered, looking more in the distance than what one might expect, someone like De Boy for instance. That must mean there’s old time users around. He’d ask the girl. But first, down to the business that brought him here.
“Would you like to be a model, dearest? Aisle of Palms has an opening.”
—–
“Found him,” she said to Clara Bellissaria, a name mispelled on purpose. Because she was a spy too, the first found.
Clarence and Clara, yes. Makes sense now, Fern thought. Father and child. Fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, and so on.
“Come on, Lichen, let’s go,” Fern said, seeing Clarence move with Redd toward the tapes in the game within a game. “We need to have a word with this *model*.”
—–
From the northeast and one floor up, old time user Martha spies Clarence + Redd + Tape Girl from between 2 bushes to angle a whole ‘nother level into our story.
00430116
“Well I’m glad you threw on *some* clothes. A bit of bosom still hanging out there I see. Can’t resist.”
“No,” she said nonchalantly, and purses her lips even more in disdain for the discourse. “Whadda ya want? Tobacco? Because that’s all I have to offer.”
“I *want*… to know why Clarence the Spy was here in the first place. And what the assignment is. You’ve already been a model in Aisle of Palms. To the painter Greg Ogden, remember? Why did Clarence approach you about going back?”
“Because he recognized me, I suppose. Recognized talent, like the first guy.”
“Well tell me about the 1st guy for criminy’s sake.”
“Bald. Old. Reformed stealer of art he told me. Gold I think is the name. Remembered me and the girls called him Old Gold after that, yeah. ‘Is Old Gold gonna pick you up in his Oldsmobile this evening?’ Stuff like that… silly girl banter. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh I *understand*,” replied Fern, feeling slighted about her superior brain power. “First you put on a bathing suit, then some revealing red lingerie, and now this, about as fully dressed as you can get, I suppose. I know your type. You didn’t like being *abstracted*.”
Redd said nothing to this except, “you done?”
“Yeah, I suppose I am.” She knew who “Old Gold” was, of course. She couldn’t talk to the wife about this for discretionary reasons. But maybe Greg would know something.
“One more thing. Do you know where Greg Ogden is now? We haven’t seen him since he finished your so-called portrait. I’m speaking for all the members of the Baker Bloch family, extended and otherwise.”
Redd looked around then leaned forward, reducing her voice. “Buy me out of my daily requirement of smoke sales and we’ll talk. I’ll be free to leave my post, then. Boss just wants X amount of money per day. You’ll give him that, then I’ll tell you the information you need.”
*Knew* there was something here, thought Fern while she reached into her gray capri pants to retrieve her wallet. Wait… how’d that *pistol* get in there??
She finally wakes up.
00430315
She came out of the dispensary beside the quick fix ganja vending machine V sipping chamomile tea and staring at the Black Star on its side and wondering how long Bowie had been dead. At least 8 years, she reckoned, maybe 8 1/2, the length of Fellini’s career up to the movie of that same title.
Her attention then shifted to the crime scene in the plaza slightly below her from this vantage point at the top of the cement steps, the heart of her po’ faux Nightsity, one of a handful I’ve found in Our Second Lyfe in the past month and a 1/2 or so. Another Blue Moon Kentucky killer victim, she gathered, 3rd this month of May’s June soon to slide into July. Should’ve shut down that so-called secret strip club behind the *sometimes* locked door weeks ago because of them, she thinks. Now another lies fallen.
Chef-inspector Petty studies the body outline and blood splatter volume and directions with rookie Dirk Bejirk, uselessly drawing a gun on the now vacant crime scene with no perpetrators in sight. Petty’s on loan from Aisle of Palms where absolutely nothing has happened since the end of the last photo-novel 2 months ago, not at the Perch restaurant in the Blue Feather complex during the day (chef 1/2 of his life), nor at the investigative agency in Cement Village at night (inspector 1/2 of his life). He’d even managed to get a proper amount of rest lately because he could now sleep on the job — both jobs — and get away with it. No more. Perch manager Percy Bidercy had to lay him off because of the lack of paying customers. The clients at the agency were also basically nonexistent. Put all this together and we have the current scene: Petty working in a different spot.
“It’s that strip club,” offered gun toting Dirk, still pointing at air. “City council should’ve shut it down weeks ago.”
“It’s not the strip club,” said Petty, defying common opinion. He gobbled another goober (peanut), trying to clear his mind of distractions. “Dirk, why don’t you go pick us up some food at that Chinese restaurant we passed on the way here. Bucket of Egg Foo Young for me. And a large Cokey Cola.”
“Shouldn’t drink sugary drinks, new boss.”
“Shut up and do the only thing you’re good for at this job. *Fetching*.” Petty kind of hated being so harsh to the rookie but tough love goes a long way. He’d know. Sgt. Petterson busted his balls enough in his early police/detective days to make them turn blue at times. Which, actually, also pertains to the current crime.
“3 Blue Moon crimes in the last several weeks,” he spoke to no one since a put-in-his-place Dirk had gone to fetch their food and drinks. He arrived on the scene for the first victim. He was just glad to get the job, glad of the income finally flowing into his bank account once more. Only after the 2nd did he start to get interested in the case itself, start to dig deeper into the facts. Then the 3rd here really took the cake. Fern arrived in “town”, also from a different dimension. Gave him information he couldn’t believe. We’re living in a simulation; none of this is real!
00430602 (shining)
Baker Bloch stares at Ring Lady in Falmouth collage 07 and decides he must call a town meeting before things progress further. He *rings* up Wheeler, she rings up Hucka who still isn’t really talking to the male Baker. He rings up Newt which is kind of himself — in the same room. He rings up Baker Blinker his original female counterpart and still is in ways. And last: Grassy, representative of all things toys. How exciting to be getting the cores back together, chatting with each other again.
“Status report, Wheeler,” he requests to his right from his seat of power at the Blue Feather Table. “How’s daughter Shelley doing over in Heterocera?”
“Hooktip, right,” Wheeler clarifies. “Well, she’s going back her roots. And, no, before you say it it’s not brunette.”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” says Baker Bloch, serious for tonight’s meeting. Tonight’s important important meeting. Because all of Collagesity Aisle of Palms is at stake.
“Newt. To my left. Hi, first.”
“Hi.”
“We haven’t talked in a while.”
“Since Friday.”
“A year ago, yes.”
“Approximately.”
“How’s *your* daughter doing? Jennifer isn’t it?”
“Shelley,” answers Newt the same as Wheeler. For it is their child. We went over that in novels 34 and also 35. And some in 36-39 as well. Before the Big Change in 40. When Newt points this out, talk shifts to this change.
“40 is where I started reading Dolores Cannon and her Convoluted Universe series,” begins Baker on this new theme. “40 is where, through (the conduit of) Bellissaria, things started to head offworld. And then Aisle of Palms was founded (in 41). Current base; for 1/2 year now. About the last time we talked, Newt.”
“Approximately,” he said again. But what’s time in a town like this?
“So this brings us to the question: What if we just head offworld *permanently*? Exist in Youtube videos about Grand Theft Auto, Red Dead Redemption, and Cyberpunk 2077? Before getting a better computer and purchasing all those games and being able to walk inside them with an actual avatar, mind you. That could take another year. Years. Newt, we may not be talking with each other again until after that decision is made.”
“Fine,” he answered, knowing it didn’t matter in the long run. Baker was him and he was Baker. *All* were Baker. Besides Wheeler, besides Hucka, besides Baker Blinker, Grassy and some other cores. But mainly Wheeler. She was the new female to Baker’s male, the queen to his prime minister (of Aisle of Palms). He holds the power but she holds the jewels. They must be a balance. Newt doesn’t really play a role in this except as an exteriorization of Baker, a way for Wheeler to have a husband and so have Shelley as her child. Married to Arthur Kill still, yes (novel 35), but flirting around with Edward Daigle (37-43). Can the horses keep moving together in the same direction?
(to be continued)
00430607 (archipelago?)
“As you can see when we change the map into something more modern, Feedem becomes Freedom. This is probably a mistranslation, then, but significant still. Because it indicated where Arthur and Shelley should go to rekindle their marriage. And with his money from all those roles in all those Shakespeare plays — worldwide, mind you — he bought a top of the line yacht to celebrate the find. Actually he found the yacht and pretended to buy it but never mind that now. So there they are on this hot tropical island, complete with a dog named Chomp who keeps chasing his own tail. Twins.
“I’ll open up the Table to questions.”
(to be continued)
00430610
“So as you can see very clearly in the next photo, Ring Lady’s, let’s see, *right* eye begins to form in the middle of the upper central guy’s forehead, obviously scrubbed clean by Kubrick to emphasize this very transition. I’m amazed more Shining researchers haven’t found it.”
“And now we think this woman is a Ryder?” Wheeler to his right tries to clarify in her own head. “As in Winona?”
“Correct,” answers Baker Bloch, the male Baker at the head of the Table, head visible only from the hat up in this angle. The female Baker (Blinker) couldn’t make it — head cold. But Newt was here to his left if with no visible head. And so was huge, green headed Grassy sitting across from Baker. He’d just finished his talk about Kabusi in the Cyberpunk 2077 game platform, and how it leads to Soos. Leading to this.
“Do you think *Winona* knows about this? Perhaps through Rolling Stone?”
“Maybe,” says Baker to Wheeler. “She’s a bright little girl.”
“So the woman, this ring woman, in the Shining’s ending photograph… is…”
“Ryder, yes. The same.”
And clearly with the ring that becomes Jack’s left eye, she noted in the 3rd photo Baker shared for further explanation. Glowing as if radioactive. And apparently it was. Uranium for Uranus.
—–
PHOTO-NOVEL 44
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Sunklands 