Tag Archives: Bartholomew Smipson^*+++++$

October 10, 2021 · 7:11 am

shockers (L is for Red)

He told me to look for Green…

—–

“Alright, let’s give up the gig. *Master*.”

—–

He said to give peace a chance and that Horsa is the place. Go see Lena Horned. “She’s the complete package,” he reiterates with others.


after the gig

—–

I was back in Bellisaria. Red’s daughter, or at least the (old?) neighbors.

I decide to head west into Cowabunga. Misdirection? We’ll see.

I spotted something to the west after I entered the northeast corner of the sim. Just plain colors. I went there next…

What was it?

I see. A *witch*.

“Welcome.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0029, 0310, Bellisaria, Horsa^, Maebaleia/Satori, Neat Town, Western Hills

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October 8, 2021 · 4:26 pm

the sphere is the cube is the sea is the whale

She couldn’t stop playing with the Cube of Space, no matter how hard she tried. She’d given in to the urges, complacent in the moment…

—–

She always knew she’d return to (the general) Crabwoo (area). Horses — in the middle of Horsa, or at least an ass, donkeys they call them around these here Northern parts. Loaded down with flowers for the market. And where was that place? That’s what she had to find out next.

—–

She hadn’t heard good music in what seemed like ages. Yet here she was, listening to the beautiful crooning of famous Lena Horned in a cafe she just stumbled upon by accident it seemed. Rehearsals of course, else the place would obviously be packed. Another black person accompanied her to her immediate right drinking bitter wine. Zach Black — caved in to the pressure from the central government of the South. “You help her reach her highest peak pitch or else,” Jer Left Horn demanded in the alley out back of his Cass City club, brother Benny Right Horn with grease monkey wrench beating in hand next to him. A threat in other words. If nice doesn’t work then it’s back to the routine of being bullies, which they’re better at than regular diplomacy anyhoot. Horns of Hatton must be completed. A continental tour will be the warmup. And thus here she is, in the far North, ready for conquest like the British Beatles did with America. Similar. “We have to get you another hit,” said Zach Black after the alley scene was over, now understanding his position in the big scheme of things. Else: walking dead. Like Jim A. Brown before him.

The phone rings for her but is answered by another. She has a personal assistant now. Thank Gods. Time for herself at last.

“Yello?”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0029, 0306, Blue Feather Sea^, Cass City^, Horsa^, Maebaleia/Satori

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October 8, 2021 · 8:59 am

white on black

I just *love* this music, Swanky. She’s my brother, you know.”

“Indian?” he asked.

“But American. Not Asian,” she clarified. She didn’t think. Point is, she was home, listening to her old music on her old phonograph player. All the Wells: well well well. That was an old joke she shared with Patty Spearmint, her bestie since grade school going on high school. Schneider would enjoy it too. If he were alive to hear it. All the Wells were musical, geniuses even. Rosie decided to part ways with the rest and become a scientist. Now she worked on the Crabwoo Revitalization Project or whatever the heck they’re calling it these days. Blue Feather Redevelopment Initiative — something. And she had that single eye which was different too.

They tried burying it in the front yard that day, but it just popped right back up. They had to accept her as a sister, albeit different.


Rosie at work, realizing she should have bought a telescope instead of a microscope for future research.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0029, 0304, Bellisaria, Blue Feather Sea^, Continent 02, Maebaleia/Satori

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September 4, 2021 · 9:11 am

little one (backs turned again (hidden in corn))

“I don’t belong here,” he said to friend Horace later on down at the docks in a kind of goodbye. “I’m not who I seem.” The wheels in his head kept spinning ’round and ’round.

—–

We go one outfit up for the next section: Harrison Ford Jett. We return to Collagesity and its Boos Gallery with Fern and him.

“So the taijitu ball was rolled over, giving the Mouse another head to replace the one just crushed like a…”

“… goose egg,” finished Harrison. Fern stared at him, wondering how much he knew about McCoy.

“The meteor, yes. Impach. Let’s move over to the Power Tower now — want to show you another baker b. work.” Things were different now, she realized. De ja boom and paths change. She’s glad, because she misses Harrison. And those apples.

—-

But for Harrison Ford Jett, Fern never made it over to the Power Tower. Alone, he stares into the eyes of hate.

Where is he (*panic*)?? Oh: there.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0028, 0408, Collagesity Fordham, Kowloon^^, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

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July 29, 2021 · 5:11 pm

tables turned

He was on a tightrope above the city, higher than ever. If he fell this time he may never make it, Yellow Family below absorbed by Black Mouse by this point up in space. Sacrifice. A menace revealed. To the left: death. To the right: death. Only center is safe, and that’s a narrow line indeed to navigate.

All Hidi can think to do to help is jump into the next section, the next book. Alice in Wonderland is done and over with. Time to head through the Looking Glass.

“Don’t worry,” he says below, waiting for her. “I’ll catch you.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0518, Nautilus, New York, Retirement Islands, Wild West, Wonderland

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July 29, 2021 · 4:12 am

Art Box

He wanted to scream but couldn’t open his mouth to do it. Stuck. Just like in life.

Realities were shifting around for him more rapidly than ever, almost at a blur’s pace now. Time to calm the hell down. Where’s that green phone and D Flat ring when you need it?

Lunchtime now. He wondered if any of these other dudes he was sitting with on this beam in the sky had any packets of mustard for his sandwich. He hated bologna without mustard. But with it: best thing ever. “Wanda forgot the mustard again,” he said to Fred beside him, lifting the top slice of bread to show the non-yellowness within.

Yellow yellow yellow. He was remembering something. Tumbling, he fell into a different reality, different universe really.

Wanda was with him, now called Hidi, true face hidden beneath towering blue hair. They had kids between them. Yellow ones, all beaming smiles at the camera. “Cheese!”

He tried to reach for the ringing phone but it remained just out of his grasp. Blue anyway; probably wasn’t for him, and neither was Wanda-now-Hidi and the in-between kids.  And now he’s checking, the key is D, not D Flat. Too far away from Middle C to matter. Oh well. On to the next!

“Let me try!” Hidi exuded, poseball whisked away as she selected the next.

“Get it?!” she shouted down to Kolya far below after assuming the new pose. “I’m a banana!” Kolya didn’t get it, the one within not yet ready to be peeled. “Very appealing!” he shouted up, trying to be funny despite the confusion. The holes in his head began to hurt. He forgot to eat his sandwich before he left that one reality, but there was the problem with the mustard. Then, with the vertigo induced by hunger apparently, he fell off the beam into a family centered by beaming yellow kids. Well, except for the middle one, who was too small to smile and just sucked on her pacifier to indicate being please in the moment. The camera’s eye moved onward…

Kolya selected one but it turned out to be Hidi’s pose again. “Whaddaya think? Giant tigers!” He’d seen this before. But where?

Then he remembered (again). Picturetown. Must – get – back.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0027, 0515, Canada/Picturetown, Nautilus, New York, Retirement Islands, Springfeld, Wild West

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May 17, 2021 · 9:09 am

even oddballs

“Maybe *this* is what I need in NWES City. A Penny Lane style magic shop. Or mystic shop. Whaddaya say, Marty?”

“Roger. We’re here to talk about my death. Right over there.” Marty points to the chair at the window where he was stabbed in the heart and bled out only the night before in this central Eveningwood location. So central, so *middle*. In the future if not now, the town will be called that because of its sensual nature. Middletown, with any sign of Eveningwood swept away as in a raging fire or something. But for now the signs remain. Clues and signs.

“You *know* why we’re here Roger. Evening out.”

“Right: takes two to know. What, er, does the book say? About the spell. Can you reverse (the murder)?”

“It says: look in the beech grove for the answers you seek. Marg will be waiting.” Marty looks up at Roger. “Marg? Like in the game? I *killed* Marg.”

“No,” corrected Roger Pine Ridge opposite him at the fortune teller’s table. “You said Marg killed everyone else, including the ragamuffin — I think.”

“That’s not true.” Marty puts hand to chin in thinking mode. He tries to remember the order of things. Marg bludgeons Homer with her purse, then, yes, *kills* Boss Burns, then Willy comes up, steals the purse, and goes on his own murderous rampage. Marty puts down the book. “We’re looking for a man named Willy, then. He may go by Willard.”

“George?” spoke Roger back, knowing the name.

—-

With this, they head back to the Blue Feather in Collagesity to study the table in preparation for future actions.

“We’ve left Merry Gouldbusk, Eraserhead Man, Barry De Boy back in the dust. Looming ahead are both Sandy Beech and Buster Damm at 58.”

“Duncan will never allow us to reach Buster together. We’ll have to stop before that. Don’t want to anger him! No telling what powers he has now. He’s at least 2 nights ahead of us in the search.”

“For… Yelloo.”

“Exactly Mr. Roger Pine Ridge, my fellow 54.”

“For now.”

“Let’s agree, then, to stop at 57.”

“Make it 56,” Roger urged, knowing a bit more in this area. They bickered on it. They settled on it. [Delete number] it is.

(to be continued)

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May 17, 2021 · 7:21 am

having a hoot

“Look out below! Coming down,” he continued while sliding.

“Made it I see,” Marty greeted him nonchalantly. “My new personal shadow.”

Roger Pine Ridge walked over. “Whatchadoing?”

Marty has wife Marg bludgeon Homer with a weighted purse to begin, then answers. “Trying, ahem (death of Boss Burns now with purse), to figure out the clue Duncan Avocado got from this game.”

“Duncan *who*?”

“Avocado.” Marty has Willy walk up to Marg and belch in her face, then steal her deadly purse and kill Mo the bartender with it. Quick as a wink.

“Well I say. Listen, how much longer are you going to be here? In this, er, *firehouse*?”

“I am the fireman,” Marty states plainly. “As long as I wish — this is my project.” Death to Principle Poop now.

“O-kay.” Roger Pine Ridge tries to decide how to exit gracefully from this awkward situation. He was tailing Marty to this Eveningwood place, true, but didn’t expect him to be engrossed in anything like this, and declare it was totally a situation of his concoction and that he had everything under control. Fires rage outside! But here he was, cool and calm and collected, like it was pouring down rain all over the countryside.

“Just — gotta — find — the ragamuffin.” Many bleeping noises now. “*There*” Skateboarding Bart Smipson got run over by a doughnut truck headed to Homer’s.

—–

Roger Pine Ridge decides to wait on the roof. Everything seemed familiar. He stares out at the Eveningwood cityscape realizing there were were no raging fires and that Marty was right and he had everything under control, at least here. The light side of the moon rose over the horizon. Yes, must have been a trace of that brain damage he feared so much, the other, thought-to-be-left-behind Roger leaking in a bit.

Marty beams up, beaming. “Found it!”

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May 11, 2021 · 9:06 am

recognizer

He found himself playing this game in an arcade. They’d sent Hidi back home, saying the place, this Eveningwood, was too dangerous for a gal like her, all tempting and such. It was a job for a man, they said. A black man. “Me?” he asked, knowing the answer. The look in Buster’s eyes told him. “Me,” he answered himself. Thus: here.

He’d never heard of The Smipsons but he was told to play the game with the little yellow fellow named Bart. He needs to be fast on his skateboard to outrun all those giant tigers, Duncan thought, seeing the kid soar through the air like a bird or a plane.

If only he’d learned Roman numerals before entering that zoo.

“Yelloo!” Homer Smipson said in greeting. Duncan had his clue.

Peter Oesso upstairs, in contrast, had nothing.

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March 23, 2021 · 4:06 pm

pink punk

“Did you know I have a hole in my back, Jeffrey? Do you even notice these things?”

“Let’s not argue tonight, Charlene.”

Pause. “Anyway, I guess coming here gave me an excuse to wear that hot pink dress I haven’t worn since, oh well, I suppose since I walked under that marquee in Picturetown and then glanced down the alley at skateboarding Bart Smipson. The bastard.”

“Now now, Charlene. He’s just a kid, a ragamuffin of the streets.” Smaller pause. “Plus, he’s probably dead. We’ll find out soon. Because of the next place we have to visit. Fern’s already been there. Which means you will be there. Eventually.”

“Pheh.” Charlene the Punk reached behind her shoulder and felt the hole in her back, suddenly becoming self conscious of it. She then drew her attention forward again. “And who’s this suppose to be? Me in the past I suppose — presume.”

“That’s the idea. Felicia Mae Appletree, but not the Smipsons teacher, the one who would have taught Bart most likely.”

“Pheh.”

“Instead, the child, the daughter. Maebaleia tattoo already on her back — she’s too young for that.”

“I have a tattoo of a *hole* on my back,” Charlene complained. “I don’t want to hear about some itty bitty upper back tattoo.”

“Central back.” He had walked behind the bar and checked. That’s how he knew where they needed to head next. Fern must have planted the idea in the young Charlene’s head. If this is Charlene, and it appears it is so.

“Does she *talk*?” Charlene the Punk says exasperatedly, about ready to leave if some kind of music doesn’t start soon. And no Residents this time or she’s outta here real real quick. She’s already told Jeffrey that, who assured her that’s it’s only Pink Floyd music offered here. She checks to see where his hands and fingers are, though, and notices that some remain hidden either in darkness or in clothes. She will not be entertained by the mastications of Homer; she was never one of those kids.

Boxes of donuts were rolled out on the stage. Charlene the Punk was outta here quicker than a pig with wings.

—-

“Have a seat, er, Felicia,” offered Jeffrey after the exit. 10 years younger, underaged even for him. Probably all for the best.

“Tell me about the tattoo; I dig it,” Jeffrey requests after the entertainment starts. Turns out she was one of those kids after all. She’d just forgotten what she had dug.

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