Tag Archives: Allen Martin^*++++

abduction

We do not purport to know what’s really going on at this French rr station with its blurring of time.

But could it be something to do with, for example, *this*?

Out on the platform, people walk one way…

… then mysteriously switch directions for the next shot.

A man appears just in this one photographed panorama and then vanishes. The logical answer is that this is the cameraman himself. Why the similar jacket and shirt to the other man here, though? Is it just chance; did they think this resonance funny and thus the jumping out of 1st person perspective and into the photo? Why at *this* station of all places? The Center of the Universe.

At the end of the camera’s journey on the platform, time is different in the mirror…

… from reality.

For the ultimate answers we may have to look upwards.

https://bakerbloch.com/2017/05/09/52988/

“She’ll get back here,” he said. “Go ahead… continue.”

As Baker spoke, the rest of the “Wall of Ass.” disappeared behind him, leaving Dali’s paintings alone in the apartment.

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Lord’s burg

“It’s time to get a form, Summerhill Nova,” The Lord said in her head, the same one that spoke to fellow Oodite Ben Wolf, and perhaps still does (more later on that — involves the *second* Bena — we’ll see what happens). Oh, they don’t call themselves that name any longer. Christians they are now. No more underground planchette movements in the middle of the night. That can only spell TROUBLE. Wegee is no longer the key. *Visibly*.

Summerhill knew full well who the Lord was. She use to rent to him. But 20 linden dollars a month and her will to charity can only go so far. *If* he returns it will be for the regular price, the one everyone else pays that stays “x” amount of time. And it will depend on the destruction of Collagesity. Just like before. And she told him that in *his* head.

I asked her about the missing wall at the Point of It All, the one where my collage formerly hung in the underground, where The Musician became Sikul Himakt once again several years back now to translated the codes and symbols correctly. She said it was just a building mistake, corrected at one point. Didn’t have anything to do with me and my art. Oh, but I begged to differ. It has *everything* to do with it.

“When you erased that wall — those *rooms*,” I explained patiently in her head, “you changed reality. Something was let loose; something was lost.”

She asked again about Pitch Darkly so I told her the full story of what I knew up until now. She was rather shocked he was in Bena. And even the older, original house in Instabar, about as close as I could get to that summit that represents the “featured” peak of the present section.

“You’ll have another Red Pepper incident if you don’t watch out.”

She was right, I realized while spotting an avatar in the house just above it. I wisely decided to delete the structure…

… delete the structure

… delete the structure. Oh heck. I can’t do it.


Blue #3 door to Sister sim that caused Baker Bloch so much trouble when he went through it is wisely blocked now by art.

She kept pressing. “What of the name Bemberg for, er, my sim?”

I said it was an Oracle thing. Like Sikul Himakt. Like Vainom Kug. I resisted saying once more she didn’t die in Vain but in VHC City, but I did segue from that into telling her there was a Firesign Theater angle to all this, involving member Phil Austin in part. Maybe in a major part. I explained the choice of the name Melder for the sim her church was in. And next door: Fharsine. “Melder points to Elmer and the underground,” I said. “That’s why you are…”

“… white as glue?”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0018, 0306, Corsica, Heterocera, Instabar^, VHC City^

not what they seem

There are so many stories to tell about Corsica, as it’s turning out. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do an adequate job. How to match the potential of the continent??

Always the peaks not too far away, always surprising me with their appearance. Peakology to complement the already established Sinkology? It might be so.

I’ve hardly begun to scratch the surface. Better get back to Bena…

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Clemscott

“The more I look at Greenup 03, Broken Heart, the more I think it is about Spica just above the celestial equator turning into Vega and igniting brighter in the process, like, um, an ant being burned by a magnifying glass. Tonya Two Egg — the close Spica binary star — is stuck like unto a frying pan in the Horizons-Spica sim which is actually the Horizons-Vega sim, unable to remove herself from intense scrutiny. The ice fishing shack is a time and space portal. Can she reach all the way back to VHC City and heal the wound?”

But Broken Heart is instead staring toward Greenup 02 on the opposite wall, thinking:  This is you, Jacob I. my friend, my comrade. Prince Martin. Will you be able to heal *yourself*?

—–

“All the dreams reaffirm the same location and the same needed action, Mary,” Pitch speaks from the viewing platform after parking the freshly stolen orange beetle at the appropriate spot down below.

“It all makes sense now: apple, orange, yellow fruit — banana…

… and then the giant lime on Merlin’s Mound — thank you Wheeler Wilson!”

“You’re welcome!”

“This is clearly ‘Floydada’, the start of ‘Pumpkintwisters’ analysis.”

“Nifty,” Mary replies while beginning to eat a peach.

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Blue

At the beginning of the blue path near Osborne’s Woody’s house, Sikul Himakt The Musician spotted him, sitting alone on a high perch overlooking the Magenta Sea.

“I had it all, Musician,” the figure spoke without turning. “A fantastic new woman in my life, a faithful son now free from possession. Investigation over. No one died. And then it was all taken away. Woody became Allen, and the 4th wall was erased, just like in the hit film ‘Purple Rose of Cairo.’ Ever heard of it? Stars a man named Baxter, but not Ted. I don’t think.”

The man never turns around, but The Musician knew who it was, of course. Recently deceased Allen Martin.

“Jasper is waiting,” he said cryptically to end his dialog.

The Musician glances behind him, wondering where Colon was. But the snake had vanished, just like Morris before him. And then, in turning around, Allen Martin had disappeared too. The Musician was alone. Time to find Woody.

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Around Town

Baker Bloch marveled at the constantly changing furniture in a VHC City store called Prim Possible.

Wheeler mulled over multiple realities surrounding the death of Allen Martin while sipping expresso at News and Views across from the famous hotel.

Snowmanster kept spinning around and around in his CB Dylan Dresser at Bemberg Towers Apt. #6, unable to enter this dimension.

Across the tracks in a tiny two story house, a fly got stuck in Pitch Darkly’s wine red nightcap.

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OPD

“No Woody, you cannot be a Musician in this story as well. Now put that away and get ready. It’s time.”

“Hello my love,” Old Man Allen Martin said. “For the last time.”

Wheeler could not help. She just had to watch. And, yeah, it was painful. Very painful.

Then it was done. Correct reality locked in.

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Piggies

It was somewhat before sunrise when Allen Martin began writing to his deceased wife Carol again.

Dearest Muffin,

I hope you had a peaceful night. Me… not so good. I have some news for you. I don’t want to hide anything. You know my devotion to you my sweetest will never be over. Marriage is not, until death do you part. It is forever in another, special way. Yet, things do happen in physical life. Time moves forward. I’ve met someone else. I don’t know if it will work out but I just wanted to be straighforward and honest with you. This is not a usurpal of our love. Not atall. It is a continuation in a strange way.

He paused; peered over at his now ordinary looking son Doogie snoozing away after another tough night of transmogrified grilling on the part of possessor Petty. Victim this time: Allen Martin’s landlord Summerhill Nova. Emerald tablets? What’s that mad inspector on about now?? He returned to his scribing.

I know my feelings are real in this case, but we are the rock, the foundation. This is just a new branch sprouting on an old, old tree.

He paused again as Doogie let out a loud snort.

I want to reassure you our son is fine. Do not hate me for what I, we, did. The gas station was about to be repossessed. I had to provide for Doogie. Irony, eh? Possession for possession. I hope and pray it will be over soon. But Petty is going off onto so many tangents. How about the actual *killing*, sir. Address that for a change.

He put his pen down on the desk. It was no good today. A proper letter to his wife would have to wait. He sat up on its top, looking east this time instead of west.

Wheeler. What demon are you as well?

She also snorts.

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t&a

In his newly rented, creepy basement apartment, Baker Bloch rezzed the entire “Wall of Ass.” created a number of years back now for the Biggie Gallery in Sunklands, only to delete most of it in favor of Salvador Dali’s last painting, “(The) Swallow’s Tail”. Seemed appropriate.

A knock at the door, then. Strange, Baker Bloch thought. No one knows I’m here yet except the landlord. Should I even answer it? It’s the dead of night. Vampires most likely. Fresh blood smelled. The knocks resumed, then a voice. “Baker, it’s me. Martin. Allen Martin. And Wheeler.”

—–

“Nice hat, Martin,” Baker Bloch spoke.

“It’s Allen, actually. Martin is a last name.”

“Oh right. Like the bird.”

“I suppose. Have we even met? I know your sister Baker Blinker, of course. She was my landlord over in Collagesity North.”

Baker Bloch ignored the sister misnomer re Baker Blinker. “I don’t think we have. But there’s a lot of characters in the Collagesity stories now. Perhaps our paths have crossed already and we’ve forgotten. Yes — come to think of it, I believe I saw you eating alone in Perch one night.”

“I did that sometimes, yeah.”

“I understand you have a son.”

“Doogie, yeah.”

“Something has happened to him?” He looks over to Wheeler for help. “See, I was over at your apartment just last night, Martin, er, Allen. Sorry. I was called over there by Petty.”

“I see,” states Allen Martin, repositioning himself in his chair. “How’s the investigation going?”

“Queerly,” answers Baker. “Odd accusations being tossed about. Stuff that doesn’t seem possible.”

“Like what?” Wheeler remained queerly silent. Then she was gone. Baker Bloch turned to Allen Martin, who just shrugged.

“She’ll get back here,” he said. “Go ahead… continue.”

As Baker spoke, the rest of the “Wall of Ass.” disappeared behind him, leaving Dali’s paintings alone in the apartment.

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It didn’t take them all that long.

They’ve found the secret rooms.

Clown Central.

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