Tag Archives: Baker Bloch^*+++++@

November 29, 2025 · 8:15 am

00480607 (Jeogeot continuation)

He was in the cemetery again or perhaps just outside, Linden-Linwood-Lime all arranged around an edge that =s the county of Genesee in the state of New York in the country of Our US of A. “A linden in England is called a lime,” he recites again while standing amongst the limbs of the small tree, his head dangling there like a low hanging yellow-ish or green-ish fruit or something. Primed for a fall if he didn’t watch out.

(It was) an old mantra dating from his days as a Greta Gaeta bartender in what I dubbed the sim of Clemscott but is really, actually, just Clewis in a name change I can’t even recall the rational for now, more (heretical) mythology imposing on HIS (Our Second Lyfe) reality. “Who was that shadowy figure?” he also said at the time about the African-American boy who left the overgrown lime on his bar counter and then mysteriously disappeared down the stairs never to be seen again by him until the Omega times.

He also remembers a monk entering the sim of Rookwood — true name this time — looking for the place he would be buried among all the dense growth of linden trees and plants, perhaps representing the burial of Linden Lab created Our Second Lyfe itself. Right now it is in its “gracefully aging” stage.

Moreover, in the top photo of the present post we’ve returned to another cemetery in Virginia like this one. More Lime.

Parallel stones.

Careful, Philip Linden. Careful. Avoid the trap of Vertigo; don’t fall in quite yet. We need you still. All of us, the Bakers, Wheeler, all the core figures. Don’t go right now. Wait a spell. Your time has not yet come. Hang in there baby, etc. TBC

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November 10, 2025 · 8:02 am

00480504 (Old Railroad Grade (C is 4…))

“Caledonia has been mentioned in 48, *cement pond* has been mentioned. That’s 2 in a row. And then Baker obviously, since that’s me: baker b.! And through baker b., both Baker Bloch and Baker Blinker, the original male-female duality of the blog and what everything builds around. And then Maxwell to end — she’s obviously around as well (wife). So that’s 4 in a row again, just like here in your castle, Frank. Whaddaya think, huh? HUH?”

“Get out,” Frank says to this issuance. Philip starts to leave. Frank catches him. “No no, I mean, get out of him, baker b. I want to talk to Philip directly.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Philip” turns around, returns to the couch. Baker exits the body; Frank has learned enough from him. “W-where am I, w-what *happened*?”

“Never mind all that, Philip. You’re back and that’s the most important thing.”

“I *am*?”

“Yeah, it happened again. You got all dizzy and had a lie down, let’s say.”

“I *did*?”

“Yes, you *did*.”

“Huh. I can’t remember.”

“Of course not.”

“I can’t remember *any* of that. Was I high on speed? Was I playing High Speed? And, worst of all, was I playing High Speed while high on speed?”

Frank decided to say, all of the above.

“Golly.”

“Golly Miss Molly, yeah.”

Philip looks up at the video feed, at the map. “W-what’s that? 4?”

“Yeah.” Must still be doing a little channeling, Frank rationalizes this insight. “4 in a string,” he explained, “but I think Caledonia is 4 instead of 1. It’s reversed from what I saw before here. I’M WITH STUPID — that indicates (the holder is) the wife. And (stone holding) hubby baker b. is being pointed to, ha. Veery clever. And cement turns into concrete to seal the deal. Concrete, Washington I’m talking about here, which use to be named Baker. I checked: former towns Cement City and Baker combined to form Concrete back in 1909. So there’s that.”

“But… why am *I* here?”

“I told you. You were playing pinball. In the wrong way. Again.” In truth, *Edward* turned into Philip while Mouse had a bit of a lie down after all the excitement. He was in the spare bedroom that Philip uses occasionally. No room today. Well, there’s never any room in the tiny bedroom adjacent to the stairwell. STOP

GO “What’s this, then. Adjacent?”

“Yes, Philip. The tile before the 1st. Le Roy. Lime, indicating lime Jell-O, a new, 5th flavor added to an original 4 in 1930. We have to go down. Something — is there. TBC

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November 9, 2025 · 8:55 am

00480502

“What you looking at now, Dr. Mouse? More Youtube poop?” Frank Lynn was truly curious again. What was his dead roommate up to?

“Not *technically*. It’s a video about Grand Theft Auto, you know, the place where *you’re* from, both you and Philip.”

“*Oh.*” Now Frank was *really* curious. “And, let’s see (he peers closer at the screen), there’s a giant eyeball, I see. And… a star?”

“Rockstar,” Mouse answers. “Like the company that created GTA but also your friend. They connect through the lines.”

“Red, green, blue, yellow, yeah,” Frank Lynn recites. “I remember. His creation is like my creation, me being baker b. the user.” Frank knew he had the power to channel all that. Thus the high castle in the skies, the resonance with Heaven here with a capital H. Little *h*ell is far away now for him. But Philip… different story. “What does it mean?” Frank asks. “The picture here, the Rockstar and the eyeball with the lightning bolts. Jupiter?”

“Could be could be. I have to go to the table now. I have to make notes. Please don’t unfreeze the image on the screen here while I work over there.” He points backwards with his cane from his viewing chair, toward the kitchen we saw him sitting at with Frank and Philip a couple of sections ago. I don’t believe he’s shown up in this here blog and attached photo-novel since. Time to bring him back I guess. Oh wait… what’s happening? He’s now on the floor . He’s shaking… violently! Frank… do something! Move the table and its contents to start! TBC

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November 9, 2025 · 8:06 am

00480501

And so I, through Frank Lynn, went back to Jelloab from my home base in Jeolla 2 sims west and took another gander at Tobor, still trodding between sand and sea at this location. Well, not sea like Nawt Vaya sea, an inland body of water. This was an ocean, the great Our Second Lyfe Ocean that surrounds all mainland continents and all islands and archipelagos everywhere in this metaverse, the great unifying element one could call it. Note Jelloab and Jeolla start with the same 5 letters which can spell Jello, as in Jell-O, as in the gelatinous, sugary substance which can be consumed for dessert by us humans, invented in Le Roy, NY by Pearle Bixby Wait in the late 1800s. We should probably earmark a visit to that location via Google Earth or Google Street View soon? Anyway, I think I’ve had enough of the ocean for now. Goodbye beach girl! “What’s your name?” I decide to ask over before vanishing. “Greta,” she said, which I quickly realized was an anagram of Great, continuing that thread. From the ocean, I understood. A spirit, a conduit. “Greta, you say?” “Yes,” she replied. “Native of the area?” But she didn’t answer, just kept staring at the sea ocean in a silent kind of way again. Toward Tobor. I realized my time at this shoreline was truly done.

Snapshot of an inworld map of Jeollab and Jeolla before leaving with my current location marked by a blue person icon and my homebase almost directly to the west marked with a red house icon. You can see the whole Nawt Vaya inland sea next to my home, which, like I said before somewhere, is the largest inland body of water on the Jeogeot continent and the only one I would deem worthy of a sea appellation instead of a pond or lake. My opinion (my mythology).

Let’s keep all this geography stuff in mind as we move forward here. TBC

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October 25, 2025 · 12:44 pm

00480403 (where do *we* end?)

And so the real world smacks us in the face, the ear, turning it blue. I said it’s a lobe cyst and the doctor said I could have it drained or just — his recommendation — leave as is. It still itches. The man before me doing the metaphorical slapping seemed a nice enough fellow otherwise in an odd way, but maybe an odd good way? Intelligent for sure, but does he having a beating heart, a true conscience? He *couldn’t see the pond*. I’ve been studying his choice of profession this morning a bit, what I can understand of it. Works to streamline the health care billing system which drives down payments on both patient and provider sides. What a mess this country is in. Would his business suffer if we, as a whole, moved into some kind of universal health care model following all other 1st world, high income countries, simplifying the process? Probably — unless this potential change is baked into its plan. I try to put myself in his shoes, see affordable health care for all while keeping the business side solvent as an attainable goal and not a pipe dream some make it out to be. Socialism — worse: communism. Do the majority of people in his business see it this way? Or is this just a pure capitalist, profit making affair? I don’t know. Again: the mess. Nothing is pure capitalism, nothing is pure socialism. Neither can work alone. That’s why we have government bailouts at the inevitable recessions, and so on. But I’m not a businessman. I think it starts at the top and works downward. If businesses are to be treated like individuals then they, too, must find their heart, the conscience — the caring for the others and, turning to actual individuals again running the businesses, not just some immediate family situation; preserving the bloodline. Taking care of those who are like you and have chosen similar paths in life and are doing well in the current, top bloated economic situation. Trickle Down doesn’t work without checks and balances to power-grabbing. You can’t keep giving people at the pyramid peak all the breaks, the piled-up advantages.

My whole way of life has been upended — NOT. I’m in excellent health for my age. I can walk up and down and sideways on hills with no problems now, unlike this past winter with the hip issue. I can go go go and I’m taking advantage of it. But… has it finally caught up with me, this boundary stretching lifestyle of mine? I have problems with them. That’s why this blog has been labeled purely educational and out of the profit loop. We have pensions and other retirement incomes, especially when we’re both past 66 and ss fully kicks in, which will happen soon. We’ll be okay. I’m thinking more of others. I pity the younger folk of not only this country but of the world. I’m bouncing around, I know.

Boundaries — I want a world where ALL generated societal information is free and open to use. Creativity ultimately lies in the psyche of the collective and not the individual working within it utilizing smaller goals. We are all standing on the shoulders of giants. We build up from the past, coral-like, to make our future to be continued. We are never alone and never have been. We are all ONE.

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August 13, 2025 · 8:17 pm

00470601 (The Hmm)

“I live in a very white house starting with a white roof you can clearly see from the air — why I made it that way.

“Um, white ceiling fans…

“… white power outlets.

“White paint all around. Every room, every piece of furniture, every piece of art even. I like white. And, hopefully, my family likes it *too*. They haven’t complained *so* far (laugh).”

“Soo, ahem, back to The Hmm.”

“Oh yeah (laugh). The Hmm. Well, we logically suspected the new gas compressor station across the rails — really white buildings over there and I respect that but, you know (laugh), I had to get to the bottom of this thing (!). So I went over there one day, complained that we were hearing that dad blasted hmm in my house over 400 yards away, and it seemed, well, it seemed to be affecting our health (!). And, you know, could they DO something about it? I was sure they were the culprit, the source of it all. And you know what they said, they blamed everything else. Electrical lines, the railroad, water pumps in a nearby pond, Interstate 84. Could be any of these… and more. But not *gas lines*. And they laughed right in my face! (laugh). And me a retired mechanical engineer. Heck, I probably knew how their operations worked better than 80% of them over there. Not as much difference between machines and chemicals as you’d think.”

“Understandable that you were irritated,” I tried to empathize. “Is that when you decided to move away? To someplace new?”

“Well, the wife and I thought, maybe we should try out a new town to get away from the sound. ‘New town’ we kept saying to each other when discussing it — over and over. And then it hit us: Newtown. The town right next door to us. We could start new; fresh. It seemed *fate*. I told her, honey, our house is just off the Newtown topo map, which I knew from my hmm research in the local area. But shortly I realized the gas compressor station was actually just *on* the Newtown map, which seemed to be a bad sign. No, the hoped for sanctuary turned out to be *much* much further away, not one but *several* oceans away. It all started that very next day, when I found the drawing of the woman running on the beach at a Newtown flea market while we were checking out the place. Giselle, ha, was actually a bit jealous of my obsession with the drawing, with *her*. It was the whiteness, you see.”

“We’re talking about New *Island* here, right?” I suppressed a joke about him skipping right over New York.

“Yeah. Our brief dream of living in Newtown only pointed to this actual new place where we could truly escape the problems with The Hmm. By being immersed in it!”

“You found the source.”

“Indeed we did (!!).”

“Not gas lines?”

“(Laugh) No, but that’s part of it too. It all came from that novel. By the girl.”

(to be continued)

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August 4, 2025 · 2:32 pm

00470505

It was so dark he couldn’t see his hands but it didn’t matter. Baker Bloch knew he couldn’t play a lick, much less Beethoven. Tickling the ivories was more (female half) Baker Blinker’s thing. And his vampire alter ego Pitch Darkly’s come to think of it. He could change over, actually. But he decides to instead recede into shadow again, letting Newt be his new self once more. Question, then: could *Newt* play the piano? Let’s give him a minute and then turn on the lights to see.

—–

*click*

Kind of! Certainly not Liszt but is that an ineptly played Spongeberg Invention, perhaps No. 3? It turns out to be No. 4 but, point made I suppose. He can play *some*. He has hands of sorts, a bit mangled but they’re what they are at this stage of his finely aged life. Good enough for what he needs. Besides, he has other talents to practice…. ineptly, ha. Writing I’m talking about here. We better get back to it…..

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July 7, 2025 · 6:31 am

00470314

Something’s happened over in Crooked, psychic Myrtle Beech intuits from her position at the center of the island while spying the distinct looking Constantynople building through a gap. One person would definitely know and that’s Old Orange (= All Orange). On her way…

“Okay, Old Orange. Start moving your dangly red legs which are the same as your forked tongue and spill the truth for a change!”

Old/All Orange complies.

—–

MEANWHILE… world maker Philip Linden had made it over to Constanynople library’s Special Collections, despite his head blowing up about 57 times now on his journey across the island south to north. “What’s in those crooked bookshelves over there?” he couldn’t help asking room attendant Swanie Rivers, trying not to flap her wings in disgust and irritation despite the gum. And the gun; both poppers, if both dormant for the moment. Tough stretch of land in the middle of the island — The Abyss some call it — and he decided to pack some heat in his pocket beside his pack of Wriggles chews already planted there. Back to the crooked shelves, he believes he’s seen them in a dream.

Flattie cleaning robot-lady Ross C. slides through the secret door connecting SC with the rest of the library and takes a listen while dusting the totally straight shelves — easy work. Is this really Merk Coolie Brighton in disguise? she thinks. She’d only seen him twice since his death almost 3 1/2 years ago, job killed off along with his Records Center, which he had become the functional manager of down through the years. Blue Boy, she thinks. He called me Blue Boy! Do I *look* blue to you, Merk Coolie Brighton? But I can hear him say he was just trying to kill off the library in turn, making everyone he actually cared about within a color of his TILE, red yellow green blue, with me at the end timewise. It was all up to me to find out the truth, she thinks. 42. Bad juju, and so on and so forth.

But she can’t quite make out what they’re saying, what Philip Linden or what appears to be Philip Linden actually came here for. If it’s that book, that one single book, then she can slam the door on the subject, case closed. But if it isn’t… then the door remains open.

It all depends on what happened in Crooked.

(to be continued)

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July 5, 2025 · 6:57 am

00470311 (level 9223372036854775807 = trap?)

I spoke clear and distinct into the Air. “I’m here looking for a BOOK.”

No answer for about 15 seconds, then:

“WE ARE HERE.”

I think that’s *Lauri*, I realized. I pondered what to say next. Simply repeating the request didn’t seem right. They knew.

I had to specify.

“31 pages with a 32nd ripped out,” I tried.

15 more seconds, then:

“CHECKING.”

10 more seconds, then:

“LIMITING QUERY TO PICTURE BOOK, 32 PAGES MAX. PLEASE RESTATE REQUEST.”

Picture book? I thought. I didn’t even know what that really meant. I assumed: children’s book. What children’s book did I know?”

“‘Little Black Sambo,'” I said once more into the Air.

2 seconds later: “THAT REQUEST IS NOT ALLOWED.”

O-kay, I thought. Good the library has some kind of racist filter, I suppose. Although someone old enough with a valid ID should be able to request the material anyway. Just then:

“PERHAPS SPECIAL COLLECTIONS CAN HELP YOU SELECT A PICTURE BOOK. OPENING A CONNECTION…..”

Hmmmm. Dare I? It would mean returning to the beginning of it all. Perhaps losing everything that’s happened since in the process. All those hard earned years of service.

Couldn’t do it. Like Denmark, something rotten went on there. 42. Bad juju.

I’d have to keep working from outside the system. Nibbling away on the periphery.

(to be continued)

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June 27, 2025 · 2:24 pm

00470303 (6666 posts, 666 pages — coincidence?)

“And so that’s how it all started, this story of FILE derived from TILE,” observing Nauty declared in his wise guy way. “We simply had to move Firey from 4th to 1st in this bottom group of 4 to spell out the word F-I-L-E with the first letters of their reordered names. F stands in for T because these are the 2 straight letters of the alphabet which can contain 7 sub-letters per the TILE game structure. The BFDI object-character colors here also match the 4 of TILE in red green blue yellow of course, although the individual letter to color correspondences are different from the game board. I could go on and on, but I’ll ask you the burning question that now presents itself up front and center alongside or even on top of repositioned Firey: What happened to the Dream Island all these characters were so fiercely battling over, often to their deaths? We know the answer to that too, given it presents itself as a constant in *our* world.”

“Constance,” I say to this, citing the name of the FILE sim that is also the name of the island in question.

“Correct,” he wheezes. “We should return but I’m not sure that’s possible given all else that’s happened in the meantime.” Since the demise of my attempted urban center there I dubbed Constantynople, I understood. Back toward the end of photo-novel 39 I believe. Checking….. checking….. Yes. 39. The island seems to have changed little in the intervening 2 or so years, indeed an aberration for such a large group of separately owned properties in the ever changing world that is Our Second Lyfe. It truly appears to represents some sort of sticky outie constant.


pin filled map of Constance Island with my former Constantynople at the top

“But we still have, let’s see, the rest of FILE,” I said, “the other 30 sims in this column that Constance more or less centers. Minus the hacked off 1 at the top.”


Constance Island in the middle of the 32>31 Nautilus continent “FILE” (purple column)

“Exactly centers including the hacked off 1 at the top,” furthers Nauty, knowing his continent better than me, since it is the same as his body in essence, pins stuck just there there there there, and so on and so forth. Constance is just a start. But also an end. “(The sim of) Ten Pages is 10 up from the bottom,” he continues with his FILE knowledge, “indicating that the 32 minus 1 (the top sim was wacked off in the retirement process), taken as a whole, are pages of a book, perhaps a chapter, perhaps more.”

“A section,” I say. But then I knew it had to be 2 if so.

“The… doorstep to the Temple of TILE was positioned right smack in the center of the 32 sim FILE,” he pinpoints while wheezing out.

Suddenly I knew what had to be done.

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