Tag Archives: Carolin^^+++++%

00480105

In the sim of Juho that New York transplant Carolin stands at the center of above, the blight was getting whiter which meant worse. Central persimmon tree that formerly existed on this very spot: gone. Soon all the citrus trees, including the more lemony ones, would also be affected, she knew, and another reason for staying here in the first place might be lost. Nawt Vaya — the water of Jeogeot’s largest and also probably only inland sea has power but not unlimited. Soon things will begin to disperse again, although Our Second Lyfe will retain its primary importance in the blog and attached photo-novels. At least while the *latter* is also still around. Do I see an end? 47 and counting now. Not really.

Carolin turns. Better find Sep over at the stylist to get that butterfly hair in place again.

—–

“Yeah, that’s pretty red, Lexi, I mean, Shelley, AHEM, I mean — *Wheeler*. But we’ll get you set up again.”

——

“*There*.”

Back to my old self, she thinks. Now to try it out on Frank Lynn sitting over there getting his own kind of haircut. She looks over, making sure he makes eye contact with her. There! No sign of recognition. Ex-cel-lent.

Now to change out of these silly child’s clothes too.

She stares at her reflection again. Eat your heart out, Frank!

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00470216

He exited the stylist with a haircut so bad that Google Street View decided to blur it out. Which gets to Spongeberg’s next point…

“Minoa was like a bad haircut in that the stylist had to go, the designer. So I moved you to Fordham up on the beige ridge above us, placed you in a corner there. Eventually this led to Eddy in the current photo-novel, child of Hermon who is also a monster created by another, the CREATOR in this case. Stylist is another word.”

“Snip snip here, snip snip there,” I said to this, thinking of a lion. Thinking of *the* Lion. Gurdjieffian.

I am the stylist he speaks of, I knew by now.

“What couldn’t you fix about your creation, Wheeler? The hair. That jagged, ragged black awful hair.”

“I tried. I really did.”

“By making his face your own. Like staring into a pool of water.”

“Right. But he changed, became independent of me. Through New York.”

“Through *Black Lake,* New York. Old Gregg.”

“I guess,” I answered, thinking of another bad haircut.

“Eddy might be different,” Spongeberg continued. “So also says New York. 2 Coopers as it turned out.”

“Me as Shelley,” I noted. The red haired version, just to mix things up.

And so we’ve come back to the second…

… which is actually the first.

Spongeberg hee-hawed about it and then took his leave from us, also ending this section.

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00470215 (enter The Destroyer)

“Psst,” Wheeler whispers over to Carolin after commenting on the 2 Coopers. “What’s Spongeberg doing here?”

“Oh,” said Carolin, looking over at the couch where he was sitting, just biding his time it seems. “I was going to use him in this particular scene instead of you. Then I thought since we were talking about your name and all and your prominent role as chief female in the blog, I’d just have you enter instead.”

“Oh. Well, what’s he still doing here?”

“Oh, umm, well. Umm… I guess he must still be pertinent,” she realizes. “He’s, er, a resident of this area after all, along with that being his last name. “Spongeberg Resident!” she calls over, jolting him awake from his micro-nap. “I’ve decided to have you in this scene after all. Come over here and join Wheeler and me. I assume you know Wheeler.”

“Everyone knows Wheeler,” he said distantly but moving closer in his cool, sauntering way after managing to get up from the couch. “Especially me.” He was upon them.

“Hi Wheeler.”

Carolin waves for her.

(to be continued)

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00470214 (somewhere in the lower central part of the virtual Our Second Lyfe continent known as Nautilus…)

“Hi. In today’s post we’ll be taking a closer look at New York state, filling in the corners and gaps. Okay, let’s start friend!

“First up we have the village of Malone in the upper eastern part of the state which produced former vice president William Wheeler who served under Rutherford B. Hayes and succeeded Henry Wilson in that post. But not *this* post, ha. Okay, I’ll cool it with the inept humor. Wheeler Malone Wilson: the full name of the primary female of our blog succeeding, in her own way, Baker Blinker. She claims to hang out with Rutherford B. Hayes in some kind of time machine situation who she calls R. “Booger” Hayes and also says is the first president of the United States never to be its president. Moving on…

“… to Owls Head just beyond Malone, formerly known as Ringville.

“Oh look. Here comes Wheeler Wilson in the flesh to join us. We were just discussing your middle name.”

“Malone?” she asks while walking into the scene.

“Yes, as in reviewing the corners and gaps left in New York to end the current section also known as New York. Here, have a seat beside me.” She rezzed a chair next to the fern.

“Thank you.

“Well… did you mention the ‘fo fo fo’ chat of basketball legend Moses Malone, predicting a 4-4-4 sweep for his Philadelphia 76ers in the 1983 NBA playoffs and its 3 projected series? Off by one.”

“Making it a Baker’s dozen sweep, yes. No I haven’t mentioned Moses Malone. Do you want to talk about Malone town’s Chasm Falls next to Owls Head-formerly-Ringville or do you want me to?”

“444 doubled up, even,” she starts again without a beat. “Its cemetery a chasm itself, one that everyone eventually has to fall into. Those who wear the owls head rings when entering are doubly damned or at least doubly troubled.”

“Moving us to the next county over and its Coopers Corners just below Palmersville,” says cap wearing Carolin. “In the lower eastern part of the state we have Coopers Corners again, a location that actually masks the first in our country’s official geographic database. 2 Coopers.”

“That must have been the one just found you told me about,” says Wheeler.

“It is (!).”

“Cool.”

(to be continued)

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00460614 (Windsong the 4th)

Guyd had smelled it for a while with her more sensitive nose even though Rebl hadn’t heard anything with her sharper ears because of the masking water portal sounds, Benny Right Horn’s plan all along. The same smell as with the dog-man before on the tracks. He was off the tracks… and close! They dare not move from their secret room in the caves. The Mother Ship had been alerted to the danger. Should be arriving in, let’s see, 3 weeks. 3 weeks! Not enough time! It will be the end of time literally for them now, they feared, they knew!

Then Rebl heard. Not a horrible thing on the radio this time like w/ the bombing of New York in photo-novel 17 but from beyond one of the two rock walls that protected this room, left and not right. But what’s direction in a cave system like this? So let’s call it right…

… as in Benny Right Horn. Right outside after learning of the secret passage from Windsong Fairy, left bleeding out in the portal stream after a scream — that Rebl picked up on. Attracted by the guitar of course, which Benny played splendidly this morning after warming up quietly all night. She had to show up. She had to proposition again. Like with Douglas (successful), like with Carolin (not successful but she’s still working on it — *was* working on it). Benny knew she couldn’t resist. He’d get the information out of her just like he did with Big Ass Franz down at the bar. Both dead, it seems. Benny had to make sure Franz didn’t contact the cat-people to warn them. Same with Windsong Fairy — couldn’t take a chance. And here he was. And there they were: trapped. Does this particular photo-novel have a happy ending? Or a tragic one? Only several more posts to find out!

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00460613 (library & cave (Windsong 3))

They were disappointed that they couldn’t sit directly across from each other and talk. Tessa had found something in her book about the Windsong fairy and wanted to tell Carolin. But she had to wait. All she could do in the moment was give a big thumbs up to her mate, her gal pal from the old days in the caves. Carolin returned with a thumbs up of her own. She’d found something too. Cat-people. Secret room. Somewhere around the Windsong portal. So two Windsong finds. Although they couldn’t talk with each other to coordinate the tales and make them as one. Because that’s what they were.

Benny Right Horn knows this too now, having visited the End of Time library several days back and coordinating the two stories himself. Rebl and Guyd were two cat-people, cat *aliens* indeed, who were left behind as the rest of their kind boarded the Mother Ship waiting for them in space and went back home to their red cube planet, probably circling the giant red star Betelgeuse by the color of it, Benny determined. And that’s where my brother must have gone, he thought. He’d also heard about the 1 after 909 ship from Big Ass Franz the bartender at the castle in the skies. Upon threat of death, sharp and long knife blade held to throat. Despite his flabby, unkept appearance, Benny had expert military training in the Queen’s army too just like his trimmer shaped and sharper dressed brother. The Queen, who just happened to be their mother, insisted on the training; knew it would come in handy to save their lives not once but a number of times most likely. She’d seen them argue as toddlers and then argue and fight in their schools as children and teenagers and then argue and fight and argue in their jobs as so-called grown ups quote unquote. Troublemakers these two were. But they were *her* troublemakers still. She had to make sure they were protected.

He wouldn’t stick to the tracks this time, because that just shoots you out the other side, he knew from his prior visit. But he also wouldn’t try to pick his way through the rest of the dangerous, labyrinthine cave system to find the cat-people’s hidden lair and be led astray that way. He’ll stay put in one place, and he knows precisely where this should be.

The pretty nature room adjacent to the watery Windsong sim Portal. Whatever goes down, it will happen here — he’ll *make* it happen.

Setting up camp for  the night…

… and *quietly* warming up on the guitar, he he he. He’s had expert training that way as well — but it’s been a while.

(to be continued)

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00460612 (Windsong Too)

“Uh, *Tessa,*” Carolin says to her on the Isle of Crow after the fairy had just manifested out of thin air in a puff of semi-sparkly dust. “Be-hind you (!).” Tessa stops playing the guitar, turns.

“I wass acttraccted by the musss-ic,” the odd looking entity started with a bit of a slurpy slur. “Bea-uu-ti-fful! Won-dder-fful. And that’ss jusst youu!” she tried to compliment the player. Too creepy? She doesn’t want to project creepy and odd. Yet she always seems to fail at this.

“Why *thank* you,” says Tessa, studying her face, her features in general. She didn’t want to seem too surprised at the sudden appearance. After all, this was End of Time. Weird occurrences and appearances happen with some frequency here, she knew from her extended stay back in the day. But she hadn’t returned since she was a kid. Not even a teenager then. It took her many years to refind this magical place. And of course she had to uncover the whereabouts of her old friend and former fellow cave resident Carolin to tell her too. “We can go back (!),” she says during that in-person meeting in Nawt Vaya I hinted about before in this here blog and attached photo-novel. “We can find the cat-people for real (!!).”

“*Why* would we do *that*” countered Carolin, having a quite different experience with those caves. Imprisonment! At least for a couple of days. Until Glinda got her out and sent her home. Back to New York where she was trying to get to all along. Mannikins PHEH, she can’t help but cuss inwardly, an old old grudge. Turned her against magical beings in general, truth be told. So she was certainly *wary* of this fairy. Wary of fairy wary of fairy, she chanted in her head to drill the wariness in. So back to the current dialog…

“Would you like to be a ssstarr?” the being mildly slurped and slurred. “Would you like to be a rocktt sstarrr?”

“Maybe,” Tessa lied, not trusting the creature before her either. A magical proposition. Always a bad thing, she believes.

“Would you like to have luxurriousss hairr?” she continued with it. “Would you, would you like adddoorration, like looking in a mirrorr and alwayshss seeing beauty. Puurrre beauty.” This worked before, the fairy thinks. Why not now?

“How about if she doesn’t? interjected Tessa’s mate on the bed with her. “Will you just leave us alone, then?” Blunt Carolin, more a glass half empty than full kind of gal. But a gal pal still.

“I… will leavvve,” the queer little fairy agrees.

“What’s your name? Fairy?” Carolin continued with the grilling.

“My namee?” She seemed to be actually thinking about it, like she didn’t know. “Scharlie,” she came up with. “Peet,”

“You don’t look like a Charlie or a Peet,” countered Carolin.

“Nooooo. Your contactss. Fairiess too!”

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00460606

Tessa (after getting a busy signal for the fifth time at the station and then giving up): “Oh DARN. And I so so wanted to catch up with my old old friend Carolin from the Caves. I have news about them!”

MEANWHILE… Seventy-six radio station manager Marty had been stabbed in the head, heart and hands, leading to a severe decrease in health. Only the hustle of local paramedics Charlie and Peet saved his sorry ass.

https://www.morningagclips.com/head-heart-hands-and-health-a-short-history-of-4-h/

“Can… of worms,” he said up to them weakly as they carted him off in a gurney to the Chilbo General Hospital where he stayed a week I believe before getting strong enough to leave. But employee Carolin would be gone by then, unable to be canned by him for her troublemaking down at the station because she had, in essence, canned herself. Back to the caves with Tessa, who’d caught up with her by other means, in-person visit I’m guessing.

The stabbings? Cat-people, cat *aliens*. Who were looking to get back to their cubic, red home planet at any cost. Or so THE OTHERS would have you believe. Others led by the Horns (= Big Bosses).

(to be continued)

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00460602

She was already on her 3rd coffee and 4th Blue Moon single of the day. From her solo period of course. She doesn’t like the Cracks, her old group, nearly as much, prefix them with US, UK or any other country — doesn’t matter. But her solo period, especially after the suicide/murder attempt (another reader’s choice): primo. Pure punk while also somehow remaining pure pop, unholy yet uncannily successful marriage of the two. She takes another sip while she listens to another tasty lick from the guitar of none other than Cary E., soon to be known as Car E. and then just CARE w/ all caps, logical terminus reached on the name transmutation process. Formerly of Sunamai of course, helping out Blue Moon on this particular track called “No More Big Leagues,” a minor hit that kicks off her first solo album “Louisville Cardinals” — playing on the fact that the state of Kentucky contains no actual big league baseball team unlike neighboring Ohio with its Cincinnati Reds and Cleveland Indians and likewise neighbor Missouri with its own double team pairing of St. Louis Cardinals and Kansas City Royals. But believe me, don’t let the name fool you, she imagines saying to her brother Ted, more fond of the Cracks (a Crackhead of course): the album is definitely big leagues, and she then imagines herself laughing at his irritation to this statement of fact. “Johnny Rose Bench” is also a pretty well known love ballad from side two. And of course there’s “Elvis Esley.” Or Isley — no one really knows which except Blue Moon herself and she’s not saying.

The old timey dial telephone rings beside her. Probably station manager Marty, she reasons, calling to complain that I’m playing too much Kentucky and to cool it with the Blue Moon. She decides then and there to play the entirety of the the “Louisville Cardinals” album, just not lift the needle off the spinning vinyl record after the first track is done. And maybe play all the rest of her solo work — in order — after that. Take the phone off the hook and just *do* it. She calculates how quickly Marty could get here from Chilbo for the canning.

Can of Worms, yes, she thinks while track 1 ends and track 2 (“St. Louie Blues”) begins. Just like in New York.

(to be continued)

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00460601

“Morro Bay??” Dreaming Frank Lynn was expecting a sign for Paleto Bay but got a surprise, Real Life location intruding in on Virtual here. He suddenly has another important piece of the puzzle. Now to find the Rock.

“There!” he said, seeing it coming into view in the distance after passing a large beach dune. Well… sort of, he thought. Not quite Morro Rock but pretty obviously the duplicate down here. And out there in the bay beyond it: the 4 islands with the, um, bodies. 2 apiece, he knew. A central mystery. 4 islands, 8 bodies. Infinity.

Carolin manifests back at the center.


888 Infinity Lane

(to be continued)

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