After all the actual avatars had moved over to Perch (diner) for after-meeting drinks, Gordie Down, formerly Curled Paper, said his first meaningful word for no one except us, the reader and the writer of this here blog. “Grote,” he uttered, not loud enough to attract the attention of others. Instantly he felt his physique change, growing in some spots and retreating in others; no need for Baker to get those apples. For the first time, he-turned-to-she began to dream. The result was a whole book which remains unpublished to this day, “Winesap” taking its place in the instant of the moment.
Tag Archives: Grassy Noll^*~@#$
If only they could have brought the ocean all the way up to the docks here and made NWES City a true port, thinks Baker Bloch, staring out at same. Maybe Sammie Parr, Tenty, the rest could have been saved, maybe the Black Ice Market here would still be thriving and providing talky tubes for beloved pets, etc. He sighs, turns.
If Spunky’s also goes that may be it for this side of town. And if one part crumbles then the rest fall as well, all 4 jigsaw pieces. And that means the 5th, orange, Sunklands Institute in effect, will be meaningless too. Might as well move it back to Iris, then; Bella (squirrel) could have proved that.
Speaking of which, I must get to the Blue Feather meeting over there, called specifically because of new developments in Bella, Belle- seri… sare… whatever (think “Bell is serial”, baker b.!).
“So you see,” he says a bit later at the meeting, comprised of himself, Wheeler Wilson, Grassy Noll, Chef-Detective Keat Owens, and Gordie Down (formerly Curled Paper), just like before, “this wheel of avatars found by Bixyl — lemme see (Baker squints at the media feed), looks like Shuftan — occurred just after the completion of photo-novel 22, the one prior to the current one.”
“Hi!” repeats “Winesap” reading, light bulb headed Gordie Down. Baker and the others look at him, jointly wondering if he’s ever going to become a functional member of The Table they all sit around and participate in. Baker also makes a mental note here to get those apples for him as requested by Wheeler.
“Yes, hello once again, Gordie.” Baker decides to try to prod more out of him. “What do *you* think of this circle or wheel, Gordie? Do you think it represents the nodal photo-novels 1-4-7-10-13-16-19-22, like we talked about before? At the time, Wheelhouse (sim) was at the top of the developing continent and Wheeler (sim) at the bottom. This circle was created just over from Wheelhouse. We think it’s All Orange, Gordie (Wheeler and Grassy nod in agreement), but… what about you?”
No success on that front! They’ll try again another night.
Grassy produces his gifts: 1st, an Iris lantern representing the sim Sunklands Institute just left and Grassy’s home still. “I miss you over there!” he adds while shedding a tear or three from his wonky eyes with black, ping pong ball type pupils darting all over the place.
“Well, we’ll miss you Grassy. But you can come over here to visit any time you wish. You and Roger Pine Ridge both.”
“Roger,” Grassy uttered, as if he’d forgotten about his remaining Iris neighbor for a long time. He hadn’t invited him over for months. Must rectify that asap. They had to talk about Sunklands leaving. NWES in general. Should *they* leave? Nahhh, Grassy the green Mmmmmm thinks here. We’ll hold down the fort. Baker and Wheeler will most likely tire of NWES and return to the heart of it all, the closest place where Lindens and non-Lindens, their users, actually coordinated and cooperated with each other. Until it all fell apart with Jeogeot. *Here*. “Um, sure, Baker Bloch. We’ll come visit.” He included Roger because he knew Roger would be there too. Because, deep down, as has already been stated in that last post, they are one and the same. Grassy has no neighbor except himself. But he likes to pretend. Those kind of toy avatars are heavy into fantasy overall, hence the popularity of the 15 minute cinemas dotting the their base metropolis of Hermania over in Herman Park — one around every corner, it seems. Fellow toy avatars Mossmen don’t like the cinemas, and prefer to deal with the real world, plus the 15 minute films are ideal for the Mmmmmm’s much shorter attention span. Mossmen and Mmmmmm’s are opposites in that way. And so much more. Back to the meeting…
“And an Iris dance pad,” he says while producing his 2nd and last gift from his inventory while still proudly holding out his 1st. “Got it free on the marketplace. How serendipitous (with the M&M)!” It was a bigger word Grassy liked to throw around a lot in public now, replacing “accidental”. Grassy was starting to believe that all life was meaningful, at least for toys. He wasn’t sure about the humans.
“Thank you Grassy.”
“Indeed, thank you,” added Wheeler.
Curled Paper Gordie Down to finish. Meeting adjourned. Time to find them apples and maybe an orange to spare. Banana? Not in this case. Mae West would not be glad to see him.
“Thank ya’ll for coming, and I’m happy to see Wheeler here on time for a change, ha ha.”
“I ran all the way here from Picturetown. Didn’t want to miss this. Important!”
“Indeed it is,” responded Baker Bloch. “And also at the meeting we have Grassy Noll, who represents toys and non-human avatars in general. Hello Grassy!”
“And I am representative of all males of a human variety and Wheeler here the females of same.”
“Hi Grassy!” Wheeler called over. She was indeed happy to be here. And indeed relieved she didn’t have to be in charge of it all any more. Sunklands Institute was fully away from Iris and the Heterocera continent now and fully integrated into NWES City here as the “orange piece”.
“I have some gifts for the temple!”
“Well, uh, that’s great, Grassy,” replied meeting organizer Baker Bloch, knowing this wasn’t truly a temple but letting the error go between his legs, as they say locally. Good ol’ Grassy. Everyone liked Grassy! Except, of course, his Iris neighbor Roger Pine Ridge, who was, after all — deep down — the same. Oh, that reminds Baker Bloch of his announcement.
“Ahem, before you get to the gifts, Grassy. I’d like to also state that Curled Paper is officially a part of the table and not merely a prop, like, er, the Librarian over there. And, to go along with this, he has a new name: Gordie Down.”
Wheeler turns to light bulb headed, Winesap reading Gordie Down beside her, formerly Curled Paper. “I thought you were a woman,” she states to him. “I thought he was a woman,” she states to Baker Bloch.
“Not any more. Anyway, it was never really determined.”
“I though it was,” Wheeler held steadfast.
“Nah, not that I recall.”
“*I* recall it. I count the women in this blog. I keep tabs on all that. My responsibility, or one of them, is equality through numbers. The blog holds steady at about a 3:2 ration of men over women avatars. We’d like to see it raised. Curled Paper here was one of ours, and now he’s one of *yours*. We ask for compensation.”
Was Wheeler threatening to *boy*cott the meeting if she didn’t get a female replacement for Curled Paper, now Gordie Down? He decides to back *down*. “Alright, okay. Gordie can be a woman still. We’ll pick her out some apples later on.”
“Oranges. We like to call them oranges now.” Baker Bloch knew that Wheeler was joking now. Orange was reserved for something else.
(to be continued?)
“Catvas I always smells of bird,” Bill complains. “And Catvas II of fish.”
“You smell of lion,” Grassy continued the grousing. “And I smell of, um, sodden earth? Haystacks?” He looks down at his white, sneakered feet. “Haven’t quite pinned it down.”
“We’ll get to Montana and then we’ll know.” Bill leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Got any more of that wacky weed on ya? I brought some tweezers.”
“Then I’ve got the pony, hehe. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
“I was surprised to find (The) Bill still living in Iris in that neat shack of hers with the great view of the Moth Temple. I thought she’d moved on long ago. But time traces have a way of lingering — if you’re alert to the situation. Which I try to be, bananas and other fruits be darned. Sox. I’m wondering about black and white again tonight, expanded into green and blue vs. red and yellow. Just like the Mmmmmm’s, poor bastards. I suppose Mmmmmm Grassy Noll is still around, maybe even Roger Pine Ridge. Yes, we must journey back back back to Iris, the “eye” of Heterocera. Just for a bit.
“I think we’ve about got it, Grassy!”
“Grass, please,” he reprimanded about his name once again.
Unlike before, they were working on the Flip side this time.
Our Second Lyfe winked on. The other eye had been opened.
“Pierre, I mean, The Man About Time, had come down from Canada to US. He’d used the virtual continent of Maebaleia (alternately: Satori) to great effect, having helped forge an agreement between Lime World and World of Lemon in its central Hills of Bill. From this time forward, they would be sideways to each other, these two I’s.”
“These two eyes?” Grassy Noll interrupted Hucka Doobie. “What does that mean?”
Hucka Doobie pointed back and forth between Grassy and himself. “US.”
A beautiful day was dawning in 7 Stones, Our Second Lyfe. Like always.
“F–k the gallery’s inventory list,” Danny Pajamy decides in his bedroom office. “I’m playing my *new* game again, he he. The one that won’t quit on me.”
Because of this he missed the sale of “Humanvillians” the day before and altered history.
“What now, Grass?”
“My ice cream’s starting to melt all over this trampoline. Better hop to it!”
So they hopped on a nearby bus destined for parts unk.
“I could have swore this train was a bus when we started, Grass.” Spongeberg turns. “My drink machine!”
“Ahhh. Want one Grass? They’re simply the best. Pure cane sugar refreshment.”
Puzzled Grass kept staring at the bus-train and not Coffee Mix swigging Spongeberg. “No thanks,” he managed.
“What are we staring at now, Grass? A cube?”
“A red blue yellow spinny cube thingie, yeah.”
They gaze some more.
“Is it ‘s’pose to be relaxing? It’s not relaxing. Rather: a mess, a jumble.”
“We should move on, then, Spongeberg my friend. Like the night…”
“Fine with me.” They get up and move on.
“I’m not sure this is the healthiest of places, Grass.”
“I’m not either.”
“I’m not ready to die again. Right this minute. It’s painful!”
“I know it is, Spongeberg. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I brought you back. This isn’t fair. This is not the place I would have picked either. This Our Second Lyfe.”
“Good idea to get me set up at my potential new digs. Cheer me up.”
“I’m trying. You got those freebies at the furniture place just across Route 14 in front of us. Very handy.” He peers toward the far window. “And if you look at just the right angle over there you can see the giant faun statue. Reassuring, I suppose…”
“… that some of what I remember as My Second Lyfe is still here, yeah,” Spongeberg completes the Mmmmmm’s angle.
“13 and 14’s where it’s at, Spongeberg. You’ll love it here. Much better than those messy, ol’ woods.”
“Another investment of yours, Grass?”
“Yeah. I’m branching out. Like a tree.”
“I don’t know.” Spongeberg keeps looking around. “Animations are pretty primitive overall here.”
“Oh this is just the base, the Linden beginning. Lindenning. At the top’s where it’s at. 13 and 14. Connected now, like they’ve always been in hypertime. And hyperspace.”
“You *do* remember I use to live here. Mystenopolis.”
“Of course. And you’ve found the great faun statue intact and have decided to resume living here and move away from the messy woods. I know.”
“I haven’t given up on Whitehead Crossing.”
“I know that too.”
“Maybe we should start with stuff you *don’t* know, then.”
“Oh I know a lot. A-M. Maybe N-Z. It depends… well, on Karoz really.”
“One more thing, Grass. Before you commit to this. I can die. Unlike any of the other core avatars. It just happened to me. On Highway 13. Or maybe it was 14.”
“That’s okay,” assured the giant, green toy to his destroyer friend. “I actually know all about death and resurrection. We Mmmmmm’s have quite the short life span. I’ve died several times while existing in Our Second Lyfe.” He edges closer to Spongeberg. “Listen, that’s what’s so fascinating about the appearance of Gene Fade here. He swore he’d never return, since you age about 7x faster in this place. Now he didn’t die while here, because Mossmen like him naturally live so long anyways. *Anyways*, we’re opposites, see. Opposite sides of a spectrum.”
Spongeberg keeps looking. “Any liquor around this joint?”
“Here’s your rainbow daiquiri, sir,” announced Male Goth Avatar, currently serving as bartender at the End of the Line Inn.
“Great, thanks. Anything for you, Grass?”
“No, I’ll just keep staring at this wall while you imbibe. You take your time, though. We have plenty of time here. Plenty.”