Tag Archives: HAIRCUT

00480611

Perspective has changed at De House. Mann has lost wo-Mann in a way, in a manner. A hole has been formed in the middle. Witches. Which witch is which? What is good and what is baad?

“Interesting art you have there up above the bar now, Daisy. Another Corona Non while I have your attention, thanks.”

“The art?” She turns and looks up. “Yeah, it’s the alcoholic sea monster there in the middle, obviously. And the pool it’s in: the Nawt Vaya Sea. I found it in the user’s inventory. He indicated the association.”

“User?”

“Yeah, baker b. The user who controls us all, or at least while we’re on his land I suppose, this Nawt Vaya Free State on the shores of same.”

Biker Mann takes another drag off his cigarette, attempts to take all that in. He decides to focus on the art, the meaning. “Soo… is that a painting or what? Looks more like a photo.”

“It’s a collage, silly. You know that.” Daisy Flathead looked flatly at him, anticipating more. Hopefully the discussion will get seriouser from this point on. She decides she needs to add some information here and does so. “It’s… not a part of any series that I know of — not really.”

“The houses,” Biker kind of interrupts. “The same?” making her turn around to stare again. “90 degrees?” he furthers. “3 years?”

—–

“Oh, and the central figure, er, figures. The brown statues that grow shorter with time.”

“Do they?” It was Daisy who was trying to catch up now, mann overtaking wo-mann once more. In this certain situation in this certain time in space.

“Yeah. The acorn topped head.” He pointed to Daisy’s flat one. “It’s Pierrot again. Did you get that?”

She didn’t. But then she makes a decision after continuing to gaze. “I — don’t think they’re the same.”

“Aren’t they?” he pressed.

She checks again. “No,” she judges firmly.

“Okay, okay,” he gives in, seeing the pretty different designs on the, er, helmets of each. Head tops. “Then let’s shift to the hole in the middle.”

“Nawt Vaya? Sea?” she added.

“Kind of I guess. But (moreover) the hole made by the line figure collapsing inside his own clothes that obviously overlaps the brown statues. Where, um, does that hole go?”

She notices the hole, she notices what is highlighted. Thinking of Grant’s Hill again in Missouri and nearby Siloam, she says the word in her mind.

Just then, Philip Strevor pops his head in the door, asks about Nada. “Seen her?” he finishes his introductory paragraph.

“Nada? Yes, she came in here earlier with Lexi,” Daisy provided him. “Said they were headed up to Juho. Said something about a haircut.”

“Oh no,” says Philip. “Oh *no*. WITCHES?” And he ran away from the bar to the North as fast as he could, hoping to catch Nada before she made a big BIG mistake. TBC

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0048, 0611, collages 2d, Jeogeot, Juho, Michigan, Missouri, Nawt Vaya, NVFS

00480407

I stumbled out of the Athens restaurant, trying to get away from the doubling and the confusion as fast as possible. The tape wouldn’t work, the tape wouldn’t *work*! And I didn’t know where I was; it was all a maze of streets and jumble of people, people everywhere going in all directions at once. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I felt I was going to scream. I did. I wake up.

—–

He’d heard about a bar up the coast under new management and decided to check it out. “Pirates,” he muttered while pulling in and seeing the treasure map graffiti on the outer wall. But some of them are okay, he remembered. Like Randolph, which started him wondering where in the heck *is* Randolph the Bastard Pirate? He hadn’t seen him in years, it seemed. Anyway, he thought, better head in. Gotta get past that outside pirate first, he he. I’ll bump him real good to make sure he knows who’s the boss. “‘Scuse me fellow.”

Hmm, just passed right through the guy. One of those lifeless flatties, he thought.

And then, inside the bar, more flat, a haircut this time, apparently ongoing judging by the proximate hand with buzzing razor.

“Corona Ultra then, lady,” he ordered after picking his seat and getting the name of the house brand. He needed more alcohol to deal with the strangeness here, but then was greeted with: “We only got Non. No actual booze here, not after the attack by the alcoholic sea monster. Don’t want a return,” she said flatly, as was her overall style and the overall style of the bar as a whole, starting with the flat treasure map, the flat pirate flattie leaning against the front door outside.

“Oh. Okay. A Non, then, I guess. Do I still have to–?”

“Yes,” she said, anticipating the end of his question about paying for the thing he doesn’t desire. She’d heard it before. Several strangers coming here and asking the same. Like Peet Pelican over in Juho. Like Sachie B. from Vortexville, Raymond from Redwoods, Stillman from Stiletto Heels Hills. Drinkers like to drink what they call the real stuff, the real thing. But she’s aiming to change all that with a Non brew that will knock them off their heels, especially Stillman with his stiletto shoes I suppose.

While he was waiting for his drink he didn’t really want to pay anything for, the man simply known as Biker further inspects the place. “What’s with the robot?” he queried.

“Oh, came with the place,” she said while pouring. “I guess that it dropped down from the hillside above sometime during the renovation and just got lodged inside. So I set it upright, let it walk in place again. He’s harmless. I think. Anyway, I haven’t decided if I want to keep him or not. There’s another one, another robot — smaller — still up on the hill about to tumble over the side too. Maybe he’ll join him soon. Dunno, in summary. I call him Clocky but he doesn’t speak, he doesn’t have any soul that I can tell. Maybe he just needs reactivation.”

“I see.” (TBC)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0048, 0407, Europe, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya, NVFS, South Lake, Vortexville

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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00460201 (time reversal)

—–

“Well it’s just beautiful hair, Ms…”

“Wilson,” said Wheeler. “Wheeler Wilson.”

“Like the dams, then,” responded stylist Sep to this.

“And the Vice-Presidents, ha (!).”

“Oh yes, that too,” said Sep, barely remembering the latter fact from her “1800s Sex/History Education” elective humanities class taken over at the local college along with all the cosmetology ones needed for that associate degree. “Soo… what’ll it be today?” Marveling Sep was thinking while continuing to wash: I personally wouldn’t change a thing if I had such luxurious locks.

“Chop it all off (internal gasp from Sep?). Dye it pink. In *short*, I want the Butterfly. Number 25. I saw it on your ad.”

“Oh, *very* popular. All the Butterflies are selling well currently. Must be the Spring in the air. Time of transformation,” she waxed philosophically. “Change.” Washing done now, Wheeler sits up as Sep begins to towel her dry.

“Indeed.” This long hair Magika style is for the winter, Wheeler thinks. She wants her scalp to breathe now. Sunlight; warmth. And… a new man. Who is the same as the old man. Old Man Newt, ha, distinctive in his growing greyness. Will meet him next. Under the parrots, or as close as they could get.

—–

“What do you think?”

“Perfect.” But while saying this she was looking at the reflection of the guy in the next chair over instead of her own. So familiar. Where had she seen him before? And why was he just sitting there instead of getting his own hair cut or styled? Queer.

(to be continued)

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00430308

“I have a weakness, Clyde. I  can think wide easily enough, think about it all day long, all day and all *night* long. But I have trouble with *tall* — height.”

“Height challenged, yes,” spoke the psychiatrist back to his most famous and most wealthy client. Money to throw away on a doctor of the mind. All night and all day.

Clyde looked over at the 5’7″ Frank Lynn, soaking wet. He’d just emerged from the pool; took a quick swim to relax himself before the session. Albert didn’t have time to towel him down today, so busy he was with all the horses out back in the unmowed pasture. Dr. Clyde Ramsey came to him — house call. 2x the amount of money compared to back in his downtown office, he warned ahead of time. “No problem,” Frank replied, and they set up the 1st session. This was the 4th. This was the one where they started into the nitty and the gritty of the Martian problem, Asylum Inc. and all. This is the one where Frank revealed his big big plans for the future.

Albert came in through another door, smelling of stallions. Now Frank could get dry and gain an inch or two. Like the instant haircut he can receive from entering one of his many short cars except reversed.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0308, GTA

but the trees are flaming too

—–

Well I can certainly see why he’s called the Sandman, she thought. Better find Arthur, I mean, ahem, *Lemont*, down at the beach. But first… hair.

—–

“Oh I don’t want it cut,” she spoke upward to the dark, animalistic face hovering over her. “Just washed. I can’t cut my hair. My husband would be so disapproving (!).”

“That’ll be 55 dollars either way,” hissed the stylist. They didn’t click, she knew. Best to cut ties early before more energy drain. She can find another stylist later on. Anyway, Arthur *would* be happy. “Don’t change a thing,” he often speaks about her appearance, always making her cringe inside a bit. He wants stasis; she wants change. Yet he kind of controls her, she admits. She’s aiming to change that. The stylist must be more of his working.

“Credit it to the house,” she said when leaving, which caused even a bit more confusion.

——

“Why don’t you get out of that duck outfit and put on that cute, black bathing suit I bought you a while back.” Or was it purple? he thinks to himself, not being able to clearly picture it in rehearsal for some reason. Dark, anyway, he resolves the issue for now.

“Ohh… you know how easily I burn. I’ll keep these on.” She settles back into her chair, pats her hands on her covered knees to reinforce her staying put point. Eating away at the control. One nibble at a time.

Arthur settles back too, resigned to their current attire. “Soo. Tell me more about this Sandman.”

“Oh he’s rich.”

“Yeah, I gathered.” He looks around. Sand everywhere… at every level. Desert oasis he has here. An oasis from… Second Lyfe.

“We met through Edward. At that party his friends threw. One of those nights you were away. How’s the quest to find the ultimate Shakespearian role going by the by?” She hadn’t asked before on purpose. Arthur trusted Edward, she knew. As much as he trusted Keith with her. They were wedded in his mind. But Edward was certainly different from Keith, despite the friendly neighbor persona. Edward had designs. And she was stringing him along. All for the art mind you, she thought. The newest romance novel. I want to make the 5th different from the 4th which is different from the 3rd, etc., improvements and refinements all along. Edward is my sculpture, my newest muse even. I’m still married to Arthur certainly, she keeps pondering. No change there, whatever happens.

It was here she remembers she was married to Lemont. Not Arthur. He stares over at her, waiting for her next lines. Control.

(to be continued)

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