Tag Archives: Baker Bloch^*++@

Collagesity?

Big, new development happening now. Can’t talk too much about it yet. Safe to say the Lebettu Castle is going away. Found a parcel that’s twice as big (8192) I can rent for less than 400 lindens more, or about 4/3rds the cost of the former. And I own the top of a mountain (!). Emerald green it is. Put another castle on it already, but a second option is the Temple of TILE. Then down in the valley below, on the western edge: the return of Sunklands Institute with its Perch Restaurant and Table Room, etc. Some ground galleries will also appear, and maybe a couple of others in the sky. More very soon!

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00360509

“Baker Bloch’s soo gullible,” spoke Hucka Doobie to our right, certainly *not* an insect in this situation. Instead: a full fledged woman, complete with all the working parts. “He thinks I’ve reverted. Why would I want to be a bee again? I gave that up ages ago, along with the attached masculinity. And I’ve been faking the transformation back for months, maybe years.”

“Yeah,” chipped in Barry Deboy, famous artist of the Yellowmoon peninsula with his latest series, “Adventures in Tintown”, being a much talked about hit and spectacle. Imaginary defunct tiny town on the outskirts of Mortons Gap, residents say, marveling and shaking their collective heads at the inventiveness. What will that genius come up with next? “He thinks I’m scared of the Ant Castle up here,” Barry continues. “Why… Ant’s one of my best friends (!).” He turns to his right. “Aren’t you Ant?”

Ant didn’t remember or recognize the fellow but he acknowledged the close friendship anyway. That’s the problem with running a business the size of a small banana republic. Lots of friends — hard to keep up with. He’ll take the guy’s word. “Sure, chum,” he said, hoping to catch his actual name later.

“And I guess he thinks you live over in Fearzom on that smaller mountain to the southeast. Good one, Ant.”

But Ant *did* live there. He didn’t live here, in the skybox above the location of his old castle. Back ran the castle and its grounds now, rebuilt from the ground up after the fire explosion of ’83. Ant actually didn’t live in Our Second Lyfe at all. He’s too busy with his business, with his many friends. Real Life we’re talking about here. In Our Second Lyfe he was just an ant, nothing less nothing more. An oversized one, true. And he invented the Bell telephone. Oops, there’s a ring now. The Devil probably, since we were speaking about it.

“Gotta take this.” Ant was hoping it was a call leading him back to the Real World. Exoskeleton costume starting to weigh him down. He answers with his free hand, Tom Collins in the other. Barry’s rock’n a Russian Roulette, and I believe Hucka Doobie holds some ginger ale. She’s not against imbibing but not on the job. And this definitely was work. Acting. With these Bozos. She wonders again if Barry is borderline autistic, so bad he was at it. She’s about convinced. The topo maps did it for her. But he makes up for it in other areas, she thinks (see: last paragraph).

“Hallo?”

Ant sets down his drink and moves away from the others after hearing the voice. Devil indeed.

“Iiii… didn’t expect to hear *back* from you so soon, he he.”

Answer.

“Comedian, yeah. Always. Soo… (he lowered his voice even more) have you made a decision about the girl? Will she be able to keep, you know… her *head*?”

Hucka Doobie knew what the call was about but she prepared to feign ignorance. Barry just wanted to get back to his collages. More fame, more adulation!  It was like a drug to him.

They were dating, by the way. Barry and Hucka. Baker Bloch had no clue about that as well.

(to be continued)

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triptych interpretation 02 of 02

Hucka D.: In 4b, like we said before, the boy at the tree with the Tintown sign looks down at the missing letter, the missing Y that makes it Tinytown, which it is. I should also say that Tinytown no longer exists, another victim of the pandemic. Like Sissy’s most likely.

Baker B.: Good. Mortons Gap is emptying of meaning.

Hucka D.: I think you want to bring up the 2 PLACEs.

Baker B.: I think that’s taken care of in the text of the photo-novel before, Hucka D.

Hucka D.: 2 PLACEs at once (Hucka D. presses). This is another pointer leading to the triptych. It all leads there.

Baker B.: Okay, good.

“Adventures in Tintown Part 4b of Tin”

Hucka D.: 4b, then. The people with the narrow woman from 4a, most likely her family, have their faces covered by white ovals. To their right we have a ring of ghosts, also with oval white faces or heads. You made the association, thus the triptych continues to the right and not the left at first. You insert the smallest Tintown sign in the darkness behind the ghosts and the whited out face people (in 4a), a mother and her child perhaps. Maybe the narrow girl is the same woman’s daughter.

Baker B.: One of the faces is round and not ovoid. Can you comment on that?

Hucka D.: This is the middle of another simple 2 part collage that you prepared in anticipation of the triptych, although you didn’t know it at the time. The middle head becomes round, and with two oranges eyes, it appears. That’s about all I can say about it for now.

Baker B.: Thank you. Then moving on, we shift from Mortons Gap Kentucky to Tin Town Missouri, from a batch of old photos by, let me see, Russell Lee, who is famous for such things.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russell_Lee_(photographer)

Hucka D.: Pie Town, New Mexico, I note in the article. Pietmond.

Baker B.: Right. Blast from the past.

Hucka D.: Lets move to 4c, the last panel which will bring us back to the first.

“Adventures in Tintown Part 4c of Tin”

Hucka D.: Selves, you’ll notice, in the collage, not Self. There is more that one Self. There are 3 in this collage, according to size. The second is 61/100ths the size of the first. The third and last is 61/100ths the size of the second. Although these 3 come in 5 bodies, there are only 3 heads, matching the 3 Selves. Two have been cut off. You sure that Shelley is okay? She’s very important.

Baker B.: I know — extraordinary. She’s okay.

Hucka D.: What are these Selves, then? You find them in Tin Town MO which originally was named Gold. Ronnie Self the rockabilly wannabe star who didn’t quite get there. But he lends his name to the Triptych. He too is part of this (process).

Baker B. (after a pause): The ratios seem important. If we assume a steady reduction, the first is 100, then the second is 61, then the 3rd would be 37.21 almost exactly (checks). No: *exactly*.

Hucka D.: Extraordinary.

Baker B.: Then the simple 2-n-1 collage Barry Deboy holds in the last post before you showed up for our interpretation, Hucka D. (Mortons Gap sign/ “Does this look square to you?”), is the last element inserted here, cutting off 2 of the 5 heads…

Hucka D.: But adding 2 of its own heads (nutcrackers on sign). One obviously truncated (pause). You sure?…

Baker B. (guessing what the bee-man was going to say): Yeah, she’s all right. Anything else?

Hucka D.: I was going to ask you the same thing. Oh — Bat Boy. Zebrasil. Very important. Only the ZE remains (in 4c). Flying toward the First, the largest Self, the most immediate. You.

Baker B.: Thank you, Hucka D. And we’ll work on…

Hucka D.: … Amagon, yes.

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triptych interpretation 01 of 02

Hucka D.: I will forgive you for Amagon. The three lights. Wheeler.

Baker B.: Thank you, Hucka. So you are ready to begin?

Hucka D.: Yes.

“Adventures in Tintown Part 4a of Tin”

Hucka D.: Tinytown changed to Tintown. The missing Y is spotted by a boy in 4b. This is 4a.

Baker B. (clarifying): The boy at the largest of 3 such altered Tinytown signs. The one whose head is slightly cut off in the editing process as he looks down.

Hucka D.: Yes. The blade in the background? You didn’t get to that yet. Has Shelley regained her head?

Baker B.: Dunno, Hucka D. I would assume so. Since I have her active in another window opened up right now.

Hucka D.: What’s she doing?

Baker B. (checking): She’s in the middle of Extraordinary.

Hucka D.: Ahh, appropriate. Have you figured out what she is?

Baker B. (thinking back to 4a and the altered sign): Gold?

Hucka D.: Gold and silver. And platinum. There’s something else coming up.

Baker B. (after a pause; he’s looking in Extraordinary): Okay.

Hucka D.: Are the 3 lights there?

Baker B.: Yes.

Hucka D.: Can you close the window? (Baker B. closes the window) Back to 4a (pause). Obviously Spider has returned. He’s inside the collages now. For real. He’s alive (inside of them).

Baker B.: Yes. Fascinating.

Hucka D.: So that’s one thing predicted in these photos. Can I say these photos are all taken from Tinytown or thereabouts, on the outskirts of Mortons Gap?

Baker B.: I think you just did.

Hucka D.: Kentucky, the actual one, the real one. Not Mortons Gully in Our Second Lyfe. That’s just a 1:1 match from the Oracle.

Baker B.: Good to say (again).

Hucka D.: Not much there otherwise. Sissy’s is closed. Shame. She just wanted to fit in.

Baker B.: Or, alternately, she just wanted to be included.

Hucka D.: Put a picture up of what we’re talking about.

“she just wanted to fit in”

Hucka D.: Another simple collage — 2 part. Like all of them are. Until we reach the triptych which goes round and round… and round.

Baker B.: This is (in) Mortons Gap again, just to clarify.

Hucka D.: Right. (he pauses to look down at his hands; just yellow pollen covered balls, like at the beginning; he had regressed that far) Back to Tinytown which was changed or altered to Tintown. The narrow woman is interesting: one eyed, like Leela.

Baker B.: We call her Eyela.

Hucka D.: Right. She was set up as well (by the powers that bee). That led from the original altered photo, a simple 2-n-1, with the Y dropped out of Tinytown, into the triptych. The triptych was the goal all along. Another altered sign, I’ll note, in the dark backdrop behind her — less obvious; could be missed.

Baker B.: Yes.

Hucka D.: And the bat boy… but we’ll get to him in part 2. Or part 3.

(to be continued)

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00360503: the birth of Santman

“Now this is what’s so fascinating to me,” spoke Baker Bloch, taking over his father’s talk show business. Just until he mends from that broken hip. Should be off the crutches in another day or 3. “So let’s review: you moved from behind the camera to in front because Ricky Cargo got shot in the head with a real bunch of lead — no death here!” he shouts toward the audience, which got a roar. “And so you played in ‘I Love Lucifer’, for 6 years as the male lead — didn’t say lead!” More laughs. “Then you quit that show after they moved the location from the city to the country (Sandman nods here with a soft “um hum”), then you decided to get that age operation to better exploit your chances in the then lucrative child acting business.”

“More money, uh huh. After you subtract all the cost of living stuff, the houses, the pools and cars and, let’s see, women I suppose. Women of the night.” He laughs a bit here and the audience too. They’re still with him. They’ve bought into this whole story. Baker Bloch almost has as much talent in the build up as his father. But still he hopes he gets well soon and returns.

“Let’s see, the next job is then little Richie Pettry in the ‘Dick van Duck Comedy Special’. Aired on CBS for 3 years.”

“Four. Counting the Christmas season. Ran for 6 episodes actually.”

“And I believe that’s the first Christmas season in television history.”

“Television *comedy* history. There was always Bing Cosby.”

“Right, forgot,” exclaims Baker Bloch. “But that started the whole Santa thing. Tell me about that — I know we’re getting off-topic again but the story is fascinating. We’ll return to the child acting soon.”

“Well, that was part of it. At Christmas a child needs, what? A Santa. To sit on his lap, tell him what he or she wants for Christmas.” He gestures placing an imaginary child on his knee during this.

“We all know that *now*. But back then — brand new! You invented the holidays, Sandman. Have you ever thought about that?”

“Well… I can’t take credit for St. Patrick.” Laughs from the audience. He stares out at them lovingly, knows they’ve footed the bills for his many yachts and mansions down through the years.

“Okay,” says Bloch. “Let me cut to the chase — Tommy’s telling me we need to go to a commercial break.”

“I sat on his lap,” says Sandman, getting the core of it. “I… told him… I wanted a duck for Christmas.” Chuckles from the audience, most of them not even paid studio laughers by this point. “I wanted to *be* a Duck (dramatic pause). So he ate me.” Stares even wider eyed at the audience, who have lost it. Everyone knows the story. It made broadcast history.

(to be continued)

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00360502

Pretty long ways from home, thinks Clifton Mahoney, now to the east of Chapel Vile on The Trunk instead of west. Maroonville, some call  it. Others: Redtown, a generic nickname, also referring to one of the 2 encompassing sims of Red Marsh, not to be confused with Red Mars which currently doesn’t exist. Anyway, it all centers around this namesake cafe that Mr. Mahoney waits in, biding his time before an ace that also denotes a whole pack, bringing us back to Sarah and her gum, which, although it can be made to pop by those with talent in that area, I don’t think qualifies as an actual weapon. Maybe it’s code for gun, maybe not. We’ll catch up with her soon enough. Back to Clifton…

Wonder where Sep is? he ponders. Said she had something important to tell me.

It’s really strange. At the same time the other day I had Baker Bloch teleport into Maroonville through Red Marsh, I had another window open for a map to a now nonexistent clothing shop in the sim of *White* Marsh that Wheeler planned to then visit. Just coincidence — same *exact* time. I think of the red and white queens of Alice’s adventures in “Through the Looking-Glass,” opposite and complementary pieces of chess. That’s where I also found Leni, dancing up a storm in her 68 iterations, more than I’ve ever found before and perhaps the full pack. Hmm.*

Then there’s Whispers Family Photo Mall also found by accident. I miss the guy.

——

*and this is not the 1st time I’ve had a map sync involving the Red Marsh sim. See here:

https://bakerbloch.com/2020/04/03/flashback-friday/

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out back

“*Say*, Hucka D. It’s your car again. You know, the one you got from the Mountain in the Air.”

He needs to stop trying. Hucka D. is not coming back. Instead:


“Heater Presents”

“All the hard, impermeable rocks are tucked safely inside, Jackie. I think we’re ready to roll.”

“I’ll get the butter.”

“Funny. I’ll drive while you sober up.” Burt edged around her; entered the cab.

“I’m not drunk.”

“Power I’m referring to,” he said, rolling down the power window in preparation. “Get in.” He opened the door on the other side; rolled down its window too. Burt figured they needed the fresh air after what they’d been through.

—–

The road turned from pavement to dirt, then back to pavement and then finally to rock. “It was rough, Burt,” she said, bouncing along, voicing her confession, knowing the end was looming. “All the dust and the visions.”

“I know. I have a wife, daughter and dog. I’m more rooted than you. I only saw dust,” *bounce*. A hard one there. Took out a tire.

“Sawdust, good.”

“Yeah. 2 comedians on their way to the gas ovens to dispose of the evidence.”

“They’ll never miss us.”

The heavily illuminated crematorium revealed itself around a last, dark, rocky, really bumpy turn in the road. Heaven for some. Heavenly illuminated. They had to stop for a bit and admire it; the flaming entrance like a door to Hell. It *was* Hell. The place was both — 2 places at once. Burt used the pause to check the tires. 3 flats. Perfect. Just enough air left to make it to the end.

They knew the rocks wouldn’t survive the intense heat. They donned their inflammable suits, but it was only for show: the bodies would be consumed along with the stones.

Burt climbed back in; gave the gas a go, opened the passenger door (your choice).

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looking toward BoShek again

“Vast swaths of abandoned land in the middle of continents, Hucka D. I’m not sure the study of Peakology is even valid any longer.”

“Better stick with Nautilus,” said the Hucka D. who was not Hucka D. if still yellow. Square. “Bahahahahaha.”

—–

One of the people at the bar lit up. One of the people at the bar spoke. “I know I’m not your type.” (long pause). “I realize the kids may be involved.” (long pause) “You’d give that up for me?” (long pause) “Sally doesn’t have to know.” (long pause) “Eliminate the middle man, right.”

She gets up, this Mrs. Ordinary, and moves 10 feet down the bar, which is further than anyone else here could.

“I have a house and home, you see.” (long pause) “I’m a better person than you.”

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1st NODAL

Peakology, Hucka D. I’m becoming interested again.”

“Corsica,” Hucka D. uttered to this. “Corsica Corsica Corsica!” But it wasn’t Hucka D. Instead: someone else yellow, someone else who wasn’t who they seemed to be. Square. Wearing pants.

—–

“So when did you start smoking again, Petty? It’s disgusting. And stand back from me why don’t you? This is not your scene.”

“*All* mysteries are my scene,” the confident chef-inspector replied, puffing even more rapidly. Smoke gets in his eyes but he isn’t bothered. Point is: they’re in his as well. Petty wasn’t going to budge from this spot; he was as if pettrified. This might not be pretty; this might get ugly.

“Listen, *Pettry*.”

Officer Glammerpuss stopped. Did he just call the inspector pretty? Close enough. His face turned red. Love. But also smoke.

There were a lot of things going on here at once. Racism, social inequality, sexual issues, rise of the machine age, to mention just some I’ve spotted so far.

And kitty kats.

(to be continued)

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00360403

2 helpful links I’ve found in the past 2 days.

https://www.byrdie.com/how-to-be-creative-5095410

https://www.loudcoffeepress.com/post/theory-of-obscurity-the-artist-in-relative-isolation

I can look at this playfully. A man (or woman) writes a story about a journey to The Moon that’s pretty much a straightforward success w/ friends, family and public. The second, which involves a journey inside the Earth this time, is also viewed favorably, albeit with less enthusiasm. You’ve done it once, you’ve had your time in the limelight, others might say here. Or they may invoke elements of imposter syndrome — oh you’re just like so-and-so; *love* his or her stuff (i.e., you are a reflection of his or her greatness). The writer reassesses — there were elements of the second that didn’t follow the pattern of success of the first. He (or she) could then isolate these elements as best as possible: and either eliminate them or accentuate them in the next work. 3rd book, fork in the road. One 3rd book, the elimination novel let’s call it, marks a return to the form of the first in the public’s eye. Let’s say we have our protagonist go back to The Moon for it. *Love* The Moon, others might say (friends, family, public) — just like so-and-so’s work, they might echo. Second 3rd book, the accentuation novel, goes down a rabbit hole, knowing approval from others would not be forthcoming (but still maybe putting blinders on and hoping for the best). The writer sticks to the surface of the Earth, deals with *real* issues he or she sees around them, explores them in depth; rips off masks so precious and valued to people of the time. Could be racism, social inequality, sexual issues, rise of the machine age, to name a couple that come to mind. True to form, most, perhaps even everyone, turns away from the work and the writer, urges him (or her) to get a *real* job (you’ll never be so-and-so). The 3rd book may not even be published or publishable (in its age). Yet this person knows it’s their best and moves forward, out of the spotlight now, even if he (or she?) has to shovel coal for a living. The 4th is even better and expands on some of the best bits of the 3rd. The writer is truly learning to write. The 5th expands on the 4th. The 6th expands on the 5th… (if he or she gets this far, poverty perhaps taking its inevitable toll).

People do not want to see the reality inside them. Fear dominates. Preservation of a mask self that is in denial of the Great Inside. And just plain fear of the new — we all have it. Some also fear a return to the old. Fear all around.

Here I’m thinking more 19th Century than 20th or 21st but maybe I still have a point, hmm.

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