Tag Archives: Duncan Avocado^*~~%

Pipe Room 03

Her future besties Tronesisa “Blue Eyes” and Duncan “Avocado” were already there, playing up a storm. She realized a Void needed to be filled. The drum set beckoned. She already had drumsticks sticking out her back pocket. She tended to carry them everywhere she went now. The drumsticks were sure to go.

She sits in the middle, sticks at ready.

Tom Banks reenters the room. “Oh, so you’re trying to get out of this through a trance, huh.” He draws his gun again.

There was only one thing left to do for Marsha “Pink” Krakow. “Hit it!” she shouted at the top of her lungs while the sticks traveled down. The whiteness takes her.

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color

Instead, Duncan Avocado finds himself in the southeast corner of the sim of Blue on the Old Continent (Sansara), zooming in on a strange PLime flag adorned with a fused plum and lime.

Lime is the sim immediately east of here, and Plum lies immediately below Lime. Blue is the color of the pool ball he couldn’t remember the number of, but he’s not here in Blue for that reason. Instead: following leads from Kowloon. The place has magic. But Our Second Lyfe as a whole still retains the ways — YES — *before* the coming of the Blimey Limeys, as some in the Pot-D circle of more English persuasion decry the Lindens, the overlords to this world of ours. Because there was certainly a world before this world. Duncan originally found that out through Nautilus, then it spread to other continents, Maebaleia/Satori and its North-South split most prominently perhaps. You have to be quick to receive the proper messages coming from this world. And Duncan, thanks to his Pot-D training the last year, had learned nimbleness, beyond mere polished dance moves. He can dance through associative links now as well….

So Blue is still the mystery to be penetrated, he contemplates further from a nearby, green checkerboard sofa.

He remained on the Old Continent for a long, long time, never to return to Kowloon and its mysterious ways. The associative links took him elsewhere.

But we ourselves must remain in the Kowloon’s Gate Reborn themed sim a bit longer. At least until the end of the current photo-novel. Because Fish Head indeed has more information at his disposal now, thanks to the listening pipes. Goodbye Duncan! We’ll catch up with you soon enough. Happy dancing!

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zeroed out

When Duncan was rudely woken up he was falling. The 87 Room he had been sitting in and composing songs to mark time was suddenly no more.  He fell on top of what was left of room 71 — its roof it appeared. Or maybe the floor of 72.

Certainly time to go groundside now and contemplate the next move. The 100 Story Building of Kowloon was no more. Will another replace it? Time to talk to this Fish Head hub-of-a-man to get the latest….

Oh. He’d figured something out in the meantime. The one ball in pool is *not* blue, as he had mistakenly thought before; been a while since he played the game. That’s instead the two ball. And two of the 3 remaining pool stools in what use to be Room 87, all exposed in contrast, were colored wrongly. The 3 is colored yellow instead of red and the 2 is orange instead of the yellow it should be — orange belongs to 5 instead. Only the 8 stool is aptly hued. So the question remains: what number was under the XVideos labeled laptop?

Ahh, never mind that now, Duncan thinks while peering around at inky space dotted with milky stars. A new stage beckons in Kowloon below, perhaps a new building along with it. He jumps and falls again…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0603, 100 Story Building, Kowloon

“Countdown”

A series of pictures inside.

But what Duncan found really curious was the seeming resonance with the 100 Story Building still present as of this writing over in the Kowloon sim, understood through notes supplied by his employer (PotD). Specifically Story/Room 87 and its own symbols of billiard balls: stools representing 8, 3, 2, and then also the 1, but with that particular seat covered by a laptop with a prominent XVideos sticker. We’ve talked about them before in this earlier post of this here photo-novel (17).

Note the visible stools 8, 3, and 2 add up to 13 again. Something is hidden or covered up in each case, the Great Deceiver in action.

Duncan, then, has a plan. He feels his time in The Waste is over, East-West loss exposed. Much like this particular version of Kowloon’s 100 story building has served its function and is scheduled to be demolished in a day or two or so. He will *sit* in that room, waiting for the end. Then dust himself off in the rubble after the 87 story fall and move on from there.

He decides to write a song about the experience to mark the time.

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roamings’ end

Duncan Avocado was wandering around the various stairs, tunnels, beaches of The Rot, thinking he’ll never be able to figure out The Waste. Huge! And dangerous.

While ruminating this, he spots what appears to be a face in the rocks at the top of a nearby, ruined tower. I’m not one to focus on seeing faces in random patterns (pareidolia), but I thought I would note this one, especially since it seems to represent a *particular* face to me. That of Richard Milhous Nixon, our 37th president who resigned in disgrace in 1973 and was known, through the infamous Watergate Scandal, for his trickery and deception. A nickname became Tricky Dicky.

I’ve highlighted the face a little through black outline to the right. He even appears to have a little horn sticking out of his forehead, marking him as the Great Deceiver. Compare with here (hint: Nixon’s conspicuous nose is, cartoon-like, exaggerated in the rocks):

In his new book One Man Against the World, Tim Weiner explores some of the questions surrounding the presidency of Richard Nixon, pictured above in the Oval Office on Feb. 19, 1970.

Duncan also thinks back to the 13 billiard ball he found fronting a Southern residence of The Great Fissure, just beyond its lip. Or I guess, since we’re talking about the South, we better call it the Great Fracture or face ramifications.

Note the horns again in the “hell’ sign above the horseshoe framed pool ball.

This could be the home of Fracture biased Jed Campton, then, but Duncan couldn’t tell. There was no one inside. Duncan had a hard time tracking anyone down in this sim, and considered himself lucky that there were weekly meetings of residents at the Last Drop where he could *eaves*drop on local gossip. The Gossipers they called them back in Jackson Bloch’s day. Before the erasure of East-West. He understood that part too, thanks to Gabriel’s dream.

(to be continued)

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report 04

We understand the mysterious cactus bud art depicted on this Northerner’s rock is actually Podge and Spleenburster, who we already know from the Monoflo Pinion book found in Hambone.

It’s the oldest story in the world. Two men bicker over territory only to resolve their differences via a nice, shared meal.

I include the whole story at the end of this report for context. Note that it’s the Great Fissure in the book, not the Great Fracture. Northern appellation, then.

According to Gabriel (again), an alternate text with just words and no pictures is titled “Olive Green Pink”, which he claims is about 10x as long, or about 200 pages he estimates. I am still looking for a copy. I assume it goes into much more detail about the lives of this ghoul and mutant, along with the smoothskin or cowboy, the Pink of the title obviously, as Olive is Podge and Green is Spleenbu(r)ster.

Another note: Gabriel is a channeller.

Here ’tis:

THE GHOUL & THE MUTANT

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the F word

I’m going to *search* out meaning in life while I have it. Like this Great Fracture or Fissure. What is it? Why do people live around it? Fractured — like this world, this estate. Why exist here?

—–

I’ve got to get out of here! thought Duncan Avocado while staring out from the Great Fracture or Fissure sim at the Spiral Jetty over in Hambone. Create some interactive land art; take some Real Life photos; something! Jackson Bloch did it. I can too!

But, no, his assignment tonight was to head down to the Last Drop at the west lip of the Fissure and interact with the locals; try to get some dirt on what’s going down. Besides lip rocks.

—–

“I dreamed last night,” began weight challenged Gabriel again, “that the Fissure was a great mouth, trying to tell us something. You know, that rock in the middle, that pillar, was the tongue.”

“We Camptons like to call it *Fracture*, reiterated Jed across from him for the hundredth time. It was a great debate: Fracture or Fissure. Another one of those split worlds, like we’ve seen with continental names Maebaelia or Satori. Another of those South-North separations, even. Because the South side of the Fissure, Camptons included, preferred Fracture, while the North side — Gabriel, et al. — preferred the obverse. One could *observe*, from above, the mouth speaking, true. Breaking away from Gabriel’s glare, Jed allowed him to continue his story, name problem set aside for the moment. “Alright,” he encouraged. “Go ahead.”

Duncan listened carefully from a nearby chair as the fourfold truth was told about the sim.

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penultimate

“Help Tronesisia. I’m stuck between the floor and ceiling!”

“Get down from there, Duncan,” she pleaded again. “You’re going to hurt one or both of your keyboard playing hands (!).”

Alice Farrowheart walked into the psychedelic records store looking for her husband of 40 years. Ignoring Duncan Avocado doing a one handed stand on a bicycle seat — she’d seen enough of those kind of circus acts this week over at the bot cafe — she spotted the small, grey alien sitting on the opposite side. Oh well, she thought. At least he’s upright. I’ll ask him instead.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Oh, ahem, what’s that?” Ingo pretended to shake himself out a daydream, but he knew full well where he was and what he was doing here.

“I’m looking for Fred. That’s my husband.” She came closer to him. “About yea high; wears a cardigan.”

“Nope,” Ingo exclaimed. “Just us freaks in here today. We *wish* more people would come in and buy stuff. That would allow us to get better instruments, do more gigs. You see, we’re a band.” He pointed around the room, ending with himself. “Her, and him over there, and then me. I’m the drummer. You may have heard of me. Ingor Ratts. I was pretty famous back in the days.”

“No, sorry. I don’t think I have.” But she was more trying to ignore the large red rat that had just emerged from behind the counter. It reminded her of…

—–

“Baumbeer!” she exclaimed while waking up. “Baumbeer was killed by the drummer!” She must get to Black Drake asap. Now where is that confounded belt?

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R

“I *knew* I’d find you here, Eighty-eight.”

“Yeah. You know I can only get so far from you, Apple of My Life.”

“How’s your flu going?” Sarcasm.

Eighty-eight didn’t answer, but instead looked to the door. The door to *her* night club. She was the Star. It all revolved around her. Like planets.

“You gonna stick around and hear me play?” she then asked, not seeing the person enter that she wanted to. Her voice was steady, unfaltering. She knew what she was doing and was in command. Not Tracy Austin Newtonia Kashkow. The latter wasn’t use to that and didn’t like it. Not one bite she didn’t.

—–

She sat at the drum kit, calmly waiting while the singer and keyboardist remained frozen around her (like planets).

Her lover entered with the sphere.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Just afterwards his car parked outside burst into flames. Like the Sun.

—–

“I think I get it,” exclaimed actress Alice Frame in her rented apartment next to Spunky’s while reading the latest script. “Ingo is controlled by the Sphere, the Sphere is controlled by…”

—–

“HIT IT!”

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landmimes 01 02 03

“Go ahead and take off your head and roll it into the center of the sink. That way you’ll be free of it. You can enter Pipersville unencumbered.”

“Of what?” Hucka Doobie speaks behind me in the void. “Yarns?”

—–

https://www.amazon.com/Giant-Ball-String-Arthur-Geisert/dp/061813221X

Beyond the resourcefulness of its porcine citizens, there wasn’t much to recommend the small mining town of Rumpus Ridge. But even in such a hardscrabble place, they had created something they could be proud of: over the years they had collected the biggest ball of string in the world. Folks came from miles around to see it. But one night, a flood carries their prized string away and washes it ashore near the town of Cornwall. Rather than return it, the Cornwallians decide to keep the string for themselves.

https://foursquare.com/v/porters-sculpture-park/4cb6046256fca1cd653a5318/photos

—–

“See what we did, Keith B.? I *told* you we couldn’t avoid Horns.”

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