Tag Archives: Duncan Avocado^*+%%&

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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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0017, 0508, The Waste+

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 of 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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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0016, 0616, Black Ice, Jeogeot, NWES Island

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?”

—–

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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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0015, 0515, Google Street View, Illinois, Maebaleia/Satori, Pipersville/Sink X, South Dakota

Return 02

“*Now* can I enter Pipersville?”

“*Thank* – *you*.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0015, 0501, Maebaleia/Satori, Pipersville/Sink X

dharma

“So how did you find her?” queries Trojan-Durexian war vet Sam Bee, back from the dead.

“Accident,” answers fellow vet Duncan Avocado. “About like everything here. That matters.” They both watch her hover around some more.

“Carol?” calls Sam Bee toward it after the wait. He looks at Duncan. “Could it be…?”

“I think it has to be. A cemetery with one ghost and no headstones. This is the town.”

“Better follow her, then.”

—–

“Well. You are the *Pumpkin King*, after all.”

Duncan always hated that war derived name. To death.

—–

The ghost disappeared on this parcel. They stopped. “This must be the place she wanted us to visit,” spoke Duncan A. “Another empty cemetery?”

Red stop sign; red rent overdue box, they noted. Then something else red more in the distance…

… but on the same parcel and in line with the other two.

—–

66 sign, which probably can be expanded to 66.6. Owned by the Red Devil himself.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0015, 0409, Gregson, Maebaleia/Satori

false paradise

It’s going to be tough finding Blue Feather Douglas in the North without falling over the edge. 128/128 here again: right on the edge. I must use caution.

This central island (across the bridge) may hold answers.

So pretty here. Some thread of the storyline must be found.

Tempted to stay on this island forever, but must return to the beginning.

Start anew.

Think of the Trojan-Durexian War again. The last thing I want to do. But I also cannot cross that bridge again. Ever.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0015, 0408, Gregson, Maebaleia/Satori

The New Truth

Cathy A., natural mate to Marcus Fox Smartville and also a DJ like Grey Scale Kimball, had long dug Elvis White but didn’t know about Elvis Black until he showed up at one of her pretend gigs in Kensington’s Serenityville day before Wednesday. Always with the primmy rose she was, thus couldn’t spin the other record, the dark side this time. Like the South — but they were *barely* in the North now. North side of the middle that is (Hills of Bill/Neutral Zone). But, perhaps: close enough.

Elvis Black, who of course is our Duncan Avocado in disguise once more, just sat on the wooden bench on the far side of the lawn, letting his presence be known. He didn’t want to seem threatening at all, just seen. Here was a keeper of the portal, he thought from within. Like Marcus before her. Maybe they’re even one and the same, or at least soulmates. I think with the common rose it’s obvious. Is it the *same* rose?

—–

Day after Thursday he stands before Cathy, turning Grey in the process. Exactly east from this spot on the day between Sunday and Tuesday of the previous week, Gabby Truth saw it coming.

“You have lost the West but gained the East,” he spoke, seeing visions in his scrying ball once again. “But, at the same time, you have lost the South, but gained — yes — the North.” He draws back his white, pancaked face from the glow. “Interesting.” He looked over at Elvis Black — black Elvis. “All the 4 directions at once, blabber de blah…”

But they weren’t “all at once,” as Gabby proclaimed. He had himself lost separation of time in his chatty mannerisms. Elvis’ — Duncan’s — losses were 2, the latter nested inside the former. This was not seen today, this between day.

—–

Duncan becomes fully Grey on a day of the week further down from Friday. “I have lost the South but gained the North,” he said in DJ character, staring at the 2 records, spun and un-spun.

Gabby Truth finally remembers to turn off the light in his crystal ball.

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Return

TO BE CONTINUED…

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