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

00280306

I must get down the continent to confer with Jeffrey Phillips and partner Man About time concerning the future of Collagesity. But I already see the writing in the cards. It won’t last. Collagesity is a place laden with collages, of course, but isn’t a proper archive. It’s where Baker Bloch *made* the collages, or helped inspire them as he hung each one individually in its gallery upon creation. That way he could better see the evolution of the series. But (this kind of) buck stops with the newest series called Picturetown. This is a *different* Jasper, not Illinois but Iowa. And this leads us to (the) Nautilus (continent) as a whole. We have our centering. But this centering could occur *anywhere* on the continent now. It doesn’t have to be between the two roads 13 and 14. It could be here — at Rooster’s Peninsula. Certainly there’s more neighbors around to give me energy.

The dancer, he remembers. The fox on the run. Jasper itself. Must see if she’s still there. But that’s the siren’s call again. The dancer who is the world.

I suppose I should go see if those curtains are still there on the slopes of Roost Peak. Could it spell curtains for… me? It brings me back to confusion on what exactly is the body, the neck and the body and the head attached to it. Maybe Stumpy could help (again), since he was able to reattach his own some time back. But first: curtains.

—–

Not there now.

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oh so central line

Mother Piper was happy. She’d get to see her little boy all grown up — Cory — after, what has it been, 2 weeks? 2 long, she thinks while still smiling, still grinning. But she makes the mistake of doing this directly for the camera and the scene has to be reshot.

“How’s Cory still a little boy and all grown up at once?” It was a logical question from Wheeler (Wheeler!), and I didn’t come back with an immediate answer. In fact, I believe I was eating food. Or downing a milkshake. I couldn’t manifest the correct reality and so Cory remains both. I said this out loud after finishing my bite or slurp, whichever one had actually happened.

“We have reached the end,” then states Wheeler with finality. “Our Second Lyfe must merge with Our First Lyfe. You have found the doorway.” She shoots a pretend kiss at me, lips puckered and becoming one with each other. 1 pink.

“Wendy has found the doorway,” I said, trying to at least temporarily forget that mistletoe was also involved but finding it hard.

“Another doubling,” Wheeler points out.

“Wendy, though — in this case — is short for Wednesday. As in, it’s not Tuesday still, it’s the day after that. Just through the doorway that leads to the sim directly below Quietly…”

“… Tuesday, I know,” Wheeler completes for Baker (Baker?).

“How about this: Cory’s mother — just Mother…”

“She has a name,” Wheeler begins again with the critiquing, like clockwork except the second hand sweeps in 5/4th time.

“I can’t recall it,” admits Baker — we’ll keep calling him Baker. Baker B., the author of this here photo-novel, 27 dot dot dot…

—–

“Happy days: that could be the name of this post, but starting with Saturday in this case and not Sunday like in the famous song sung by Fonzarelli and others.” Wheeler had another point. Might as well get to a detail of that map.

—–

Stacy Wallop slaps hands with bit actress Katy O’ Leary for good luck before passing through the doorway again to reach Sidechick at the Fish and Chips van. Irish, you see; everyone did it with her. Ol’ Red Hands they starting calling her, but that was mainly because Stacy forgot which hand her knife was in that one day and accidentally stabbed her.

She passes the map, getting into character just before the sim crossing. Wednesday no longer. Clocks were ticking down.

(to be continued?)

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four

He studied his hands while they waited on their food. “I think I’ll keep these for a while, Wheeler. I can play the guitar real good with them, frets included.”

“Call me by my real name,” she purred from across the table.

“Wendy,” he acquiesced, staring into her eyes. The scars around them were disconcerting but they were suppose to be. He could look beyond. He wondered about the 2 eyes becoming something else. Pools. Vortexes. He looked away, just in time. Back to the hands…

“The tune was called–”

“I know what the tune was called,” she interrupted. She smiled. The location brightened considerably, he staring down all the time. If he had a watch on the wrists of his new hands it would be…”

But you know.

—–

Done.

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rolling with a number

Ahh, just as I suspected. An early form of The Rolling Joints controlled by Jon Deere, their *manager*. I wanted to say, “Hi George,” but I didn’t want to interrupt their playing. I could still hear the green clad Sheriff strumming along to the same, partially improvised tune “(“4:20”) in the distance; just around the corner. But (she thinks while staring into the bakery), it seems I am already here…

He dare not turn around to see that schweet secret smile. He must remain a baker dedicated to his craft.

Almost ready.

(to be continued?)

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d & b

“We have something, Hucka, er, W. Something not from the Oracle but directly from the land. BAT overlaps a southern wall of BATfield (sim) just beyond.”

(no answer)

“Here’s a link to this Bat d’ Af which I knew nothing about before. Probably, most likely, just an accidental overlap or conjunction, highlighted here through my photo.”

(no answer)

“Anyway:”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battalions_of_Light_Infantry_of_Africa

I wondered about Marilyn being involved too. Breezy.

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the one and the many (Lost Angels)

—–

“We’ve lost the Angels airport with the red Kentucky book, W. I can’t find a substitute.”

“Check SL Marketplace for heart chair.”

—–

“No go. We’ll have to ask Alysha.

The emergency vehicles at the airport in the same sim are gone too. The many and the gone.”

—–

“Think I found something: ‘wire chair’ instead…”

—–

“Boy, *Hidi* found it quick. But still no book. It’s not the same table and set of chairs. *Looks* the same… but different (animations).”

“Shoot. (pause after mild cuss) Might as well have her shop some more while she’s there. No harm in trying demons.”

“Demos,” I corrected.

—–

17 hours later:

“We’ll have to try something different.”

“No go on Angels, no go on Demons. Only one direction left.”

“The way of Norris,” I guessed. Neutrality.

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finger pointing

“They called it McIntyre’s Switch because it’s in McIntyre (sim) and it’s where people and people-like animals came to get turned on. Obviously Lemmy is a pusher.”

“That’s pretty good,” W admitted, just around the corner. “What about Sweet Lips (then)?”

“I’m getting to that. And: thanks!”

—–

“They called him a racist rat after he had established his 1st diner in McIntyre’s Switch. But for a white supremacist, he was pretty hip. He enjoyed black music, and that turned him around. He said it was just a club for socializing, this whole… *persona*.”

“The whole white rat thing,” said W, still into it. “So tell me about this, um, Social Circle.”

“Thanks again. He was a reborn white supremacist because he had gotten rid of all the black thanks to the good doctor. This was, of course, long before he himself became a Mouse, as in Dr. Mouse. Back then he was mere Paul Black, a vet studying to be a dr. and desiring to move from animal to man status and get out of the shadow of his more successful brother.”

“Brothers,” chipped in W.

“Okay. (pause) So that kind of clears up the doctor’s origins.”

“But they rejoined forces later on, this doctor and his mouse, his greatest creation as it turned out, much bigger than the Bendy thing.”

“Another removal of black, yeah. And — here — you can *see* Sweet Lips (sim) just out the window of the establishment. This proves it is directly linked to the Oracle.”


window to Sweet Lips

“And Paul’s Switch. That would be sometime in the 60’s. Well, obviously, at or around the time of Penny Lane.”

“And Arnold Layne.”

“I think we have all we need tonight.” W started putting things back in her pocketbook, viewable from just around the corner.

“I forgot to mention that Lemmy is also a mascot.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.” She had almost finished gathering up her stuff. Lipstick. Toothpick. Mascara. And a little special toot for later. McIntyre’s Switch indeed.

“No, but you see, Lemmy is also a tree… tree mascot. Greentree.”

“Gotta go. See ya!” And she tooted on the way out, being good at hiding it. Good at hiding in general.

(to be continued)

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loop

From the top it looked like 2 giant, naval style oranges frantically trying to merge. But from the bottom: 2 dancers (with All Orange highlighted), obviously having a good time with their parachutes.

Where did they drop in from?

“Questions,” warned W, still observing from somewhere nearby, perhaps behind that palm tree with the woody woodpecker pecking up the wrong, Yelloo upward.

“More dancers nearby,” spoke observing George now, hidden at the bottom of his small pool. Big George, small pool. A Lake he just proclaimed it ironically enough, but more firmly aligning himself with TILE. MUST STUDY.

“Channeler,” I observed myself. “TILE.”

—–

And now: correct upwards.

“Oh, I know. Blue blue blue!” George cried, knowing we were one short in that category. But which one? Michigan: above and beyond them both. The 26th. Where was this photo-novel, 26 in a series of something, taking us?

I could feel W frowning behind that left-behind tree.

Younger George now: “I always wanted to play this game. Richochet.” He tosses another marble, perhaps a blue.

“This is your time, George. Enjoy the game! Soon you will be 13 again and forget about all this.”

“No I won’t!” he protested to the big eye, and gathered up what he tossed while marking the spot of the furthest marble for future reference.

“We are almost done here, George. It’s time to find your future place in the spheres.”

“I won’t let you down!”

Back down.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0504, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^, Rim Isles

Michigan

“We’ll call this Little Lake George. Or Big Lake George — just *Lake George*. I can’t tell if you’re big or small right now.”

“I’m *13*,” spoke the floating boy over to the famous and/or infamous British musician from the 60’s or thereabouts. Our Marty, currently with red hair instead of black.

“So: big. Just Lake George, then.”

“Let’s just go with… Lake,” he measured out intelligently from his reposed position, knowing more than he let on. Aunt Clare had taught him a lot about TILE.

They stayed in their positions for a while, he floating on Lake and Marty dipping his shoed feet in same, testing the water to see if he could safely take his loafers off. George, in fact, was doing the same with his clothes, with his feet already being bare and exposed. They were indeed one here on this OWL island in the Southwest of Nautilus continent, ready to begin their next adventure.

—–

“One Blue Eye gone from OWL, W. We must be in Arkansas.”

“Or Missouri,” she offered.

“But probably Arkansas,” I returned.

“Probably, yeah.”

“Because of the red.”

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serendipity

“I call this my pagan grotto. As far away from Christ on the other side of the property as you can get.”

“Houses?” young George guessed. Clare didn’t answer, turning more into Wheeler each passing moment.

—–

“It was the time for exchanging bodies to keep the enemy confused. Enem*ies*. Us Supernovas had to stick together. But then…”

“You were killed,” George said, following up on what was revealed just 15 minutes back in the conversation they were having in the “pagan grotto.”

“Well, the *character* was killed off, yes, or in danger of being so. The actor playing the role decided not to renew the contract. I was the understudy. I stepped in. Fortunately I grew into the part and no other, more established actor was sought for after a while. Stacey stood up for me and that was a big boost.”

“Summerhill… Nova?”

“Yes, my sister. In the role of course. I don’t have a sister in real life. Just Duncan.”

“How…did you become estranged? Is that the word I need to use?”

“Not quite estranged. Obviously he has a different body than he did before.” Pause. It was difficult for Clare Nova to explain to George the constant switching of bodies. Must be in the 1000’s now. “Let’s begin at the beginning,” she decided. “1st there was Baker Blinker, then Baker Bloch, then…” Another pause. “No, let’s start instead with me.” She remembers it all now, memories locked into place. “Wheeler. I took over. All except… for Baker Bloch, the 2nd who then became the first as Baker Blinker, the anima to his animus, faded faded faded away, Karoz along with her.”

“Who’s this Karoz?” young George questioned again, not having heard that name enter the story yet.

“A green being. Blue-green actually. Baker Blinker and he were married. I’m trying not to pause so much, George,” Clare-Wheeler admitted. “We’re getting close to the end; must hurry.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I won’t ask so many stupid questions, pheh.”

“Not stupid, George. It’s just…” Pause.

“There you go again!” he pointed out.

—–

“Almost 5 years,” she closed the story for George 15 more minutes later. 5 years, she reflected. Time to end it? She looked over at the vast snowy expanse to the south of them, the distant white mountains. She could just walk walk walk until the cold took her in. Purification; cleanliness. She would be free, then. Just like Baker Blinker before her. Let another take over. She then looked down at her clown clothes and realized she was stuck. Oh Baker Bloch, she thought, seeing the man behind the man behind the child.

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