Tag Archives: Improvio

trailers and chairs

Earie was walking past the red, blue and yellow chairs positioned in front of the art trailer when he heard Pretty Man snoring. At first he couldn’t tell what the sound was, but then a loud, pig-like grunt firmly indicated to him the presence of another human being. He moved toward the trailer’s dark interior and watched the folded body on the dirty mattress and rugs within heave up and down a minute, sometimes with a twitch. This guy was obviously in deep dreamland. Shame to wake him, Earie thinks, and decides to move onward through Central Park to the Joint Joint, where Jacob I. and Broken Heart Jackie were most likely waiting. But with an even louder grunt, Pretty Man then rolls over on his other side and opens his eyes. “Don’t pull a knife on me, friend. I ain’t dangerous.”

“Sit up, then, and let’s take a look at you,” the pink haired punk commanded. He didn’t have a knife on him currently, but two pistols were tucked in the back of his belt. Pretty Man sat up and started looking all around, as if in a haze. “Art is everywhere,” he then said. “In the sky, in my hands.” He looked at his hands. “In your hair.” He gazed at Earie’s mohawk. “*Especially* in your hair. Where you from, fellow dude?”

Earie had concluded this person was obviously stoned on something. He definitely *wasn’t* going to tell him where he lived in town. So he made up a place. “Butcher shop,” he said. “Upstairs.”

“Ah, Wanesa the Slasher. And I didn’t know her shop had an upstairs… thought they cut that off back in the 30’s.” Pretty Man stared at Earie’s head again. “Your mohawk thinks you’re lying,” he said, and then laid back down on the old mattress in the trailer and started to laugh, face upwards and arms spread. Earie wondered if he could tell just by the tone of his voice or if he’s one of those true psychics. Their services are more expensive than the whores. Sometimes you can get a two for one deal at a discount, but he’s only heard about such things; Earie doesn’t engage with Gaston’s Berry imports if he can help it. And, gandering at Pretty Man’s current pose, this led to the another thought: that this *man* in front of him could be a woman in disguise. He’s never heard of a male psychic. Or a male prostitute, at least around these parts.

“What’s your business, here, partner?” Earie inserted amidst the continued chuckles. He voiced some of his suspicions. “Man whore? Man *psychic*?”

Pretty Man’s laughter petered away, and he dismissed Earie’s guesses with a wave of his hand. He sat up again. He stood up out of the trailer, looking in the direction of Earie’s Yellow House. Does he know already? Earie pondered. He briefly goes around the trailer’s corner and comes back with a cup of coffee, steaming hot somehow. He sits down in the red chair. Earie just stares at him, wondering if he should take a seat as well.

But then Pretty Man pops back up and states, “this isn’t the right chair,” and then looks at his coffee. “And this is not the right drink, pheh.” He spits the beverage he just partook of out on the road beside him. Pretty Man goes around the corner of the trailer again, returning with a beer bottle this time and hops back up in the trailer, leaning against the wall. “The red one is not mine,” he reinforces. “That’s… what’s his name?” Earie gets tingles. He *must* know.

Pretty Man moved to the edge of the trailer again and looked directly into Earie’s face. “Chro-ma,” he pronounced distinctly. “Sit down in your *yellow* chair, and let’s have a talk Earie,” he then said to the stunned punk. “And of course I’ll take my blue one.”

Improvio.

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Filed under Gaston, Second Life, Uncategorized

st>rs

After The Blackstars’ latest jam session, lead singer Improvio and drummer Woody Woodmanson hung back in the sky island to chat about the band’s future. Howard, Pretty Man, and Sheriff had all headed to the Ear Bar down in Soho.

“Well Woody,” began Improvio. “You said you had something to talk about. I think it went pretty well tonight. Band’s pretty tight. I had worries about Pretty Man especially but it’s all shaping up. Pretty Man’s not just another pretty face but has real talent at the keyboards.”

“*Howard* was on the keyboards tonight. Not Pretty Man. You need to turn around and acknowledge the band now and then.” Woody was in an unusually pissy mood tonight. The rehearsal didn’t go as well for him as it did for Improvio.

The blue lead singer tried to assuage his wood toy drummer. He changed the subject for a moment. “Tell you what, why don’t you take me down to the center of the Purden Woods tonight and show me this Core-Alena tree you’ve been on about. How about that?”

But Woody would not be deterred. “Here’s my thing,” he said, continuing the mood. “Sure we can jam and jam and jam until we toast ourselves to death. But it’s all spinning wheels and slinging mud. Nothing’s *written down*. Jam, jam, jam,” he said again. “We need…”

“No,” broke off Improvio. “I’m not going back to Gaston and interact with those other two.”

Woody stopped walking on the log and hopped off, holding his brightening key in front of him.

“I’m getting a message from the Great Cheese,” he spoke solemnly. There was a small pause, then: “Yes, you must return to Gaston. But it’s not Gaston, it’s *Garson*.”

“What?” exclaimed Improvio, as he turned to see what Woody was transfixed by. A large, bald man with queerly tilted head had appeared on the edge of the sky island.

He steps further…

“Alright I’ll go back Woody,” proclaims a totally spooked Improvio.

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Filed under Purden/Snowlands, Sansara, Second Life, Uncategorized

blackstars

It’s time for Improvio to strike out on his own.

Hana Lei…

… and Leona too.

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Filed under Purden/Snowlands, Second Life, Uncategorized

color row

One day, after a particularly intense jamming session the night before, The Musician woke not beside Terri but *as* Terri. Although his name was now Earie. Some people called him Chuck. He lived in the Yellow House — been living there for a pretty good while.

Siblings Chroma and Improvio resided in the same row of houses, but remained in cocoon form, chained to a more basal music. He was the first to emerge.

He gives Improvio next door in the Blue House a ring, knowing he wouldn’t be up, hehe.


“Don’t answer it.”

Chroma (Red House) was usually down at the waterfront by now, studying symmetry in objects washed up on the beach. She jots down a lot.

Right this moment she happens to be scrutinizing an old waterlogged book found floating underneath a rickety pier.

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finishes 01

Story Room brought down the house last night at Rocky’s. Literally, because the MaGill home next door fell off the edge of town with the vibrations. Thump thump thump thump from 6 to 12. Everyone in Astarte loved it, though. Teebestia actually turned into a black woman for several minutes of “Fire Ants,” much to the surprise of accompanying Hoss. A minute after 12 he asked her out on a date. “Sure,” she said, doused in sweat and still wildly swaying to the music only in her head now. “Malone Central okay? They have a new Starbucks.” And so another couple was created in Olde Lapara Towne, adding to Nancy and Danny, Bettie and Buster, Tronesisia and Peter, Mary and Paul. Another happy ending. But what of Rocky? His piano eliminated from the stage due to lack of space, he sulked in the back. Even Terry had brought a date: Wanesa, the local butcher. He pondered his options while watching lead singer Improvio pretend-spitting into the crowd for the umpteenth time. Stay here in Olde Lapara Towne and go back to his crawlspace in the hotel, or head to Collagesity with Baker Bloch, Wheeler Wilson, and maybe a couple of others. Lamb had left the scene just before the concert began. Peter, Paul and Mary, each loaded down with as much weedy grass as their backpacks could hold, had used the sand dune/sand castle portal located directly beneath Rocky’s to transfer to Melancholy Island, with a change in disposition there surely to follow. They would never return to the town which had displaced pastoral folk music in their hearts with the sturm und drang of punk. Thanks to that cursed ring.

(to be continued)

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Filed under Heterocera, Lapara, Second Life

Buster’s return

A bad moon was rising over Vampire Island, telling Buster things he didn’t want to hear. He better head back to Lapara before it’s too late.

—–

Oh no. Baker Bloch with Chroma and Earie!

It was too late?

Turning away from Lapara’s yellow grass and looking across the sim line toward Astarte’s new and colorful bouncy castle, he knew there was only one thing to do in this situation.

While playing again, Buster accidentally finds his answer with a clear view into Clownski’s upper floor.

Renaldo O’Donnell lives!

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Filed under Heterocera, Lapara, Second Life, Uncategorized

cat and dogged

“Good tomato juice,” says the blue clad Improvio, swigging it down.

“Coffee’s nice as well,” speaks Inertia in turn. “We’ll have to keep this place in mind. They have food too.”

“Met some people, auntie, while I was waiting for you. A couple. One of them said they lived around here. The other said she might move here. Can’t remember their names.”

“Don’t talk to strangers,” the pale woman warned. “The band’s the thing. I see you have the ring on.”

He exposed it more. “Yes, I love it. Thank you so much. Now I have the Spirit of Punk at my disposal. There’ll be no stopping me.” He gulped. “Us, I mean.”

Inertia smiled. “You were always my favorite, Improvio. Ruthless and dogged like me; that’s why I decided to give the ring to you and not Chroma or Earie. You will lead us to the promised land. Have you spoken to Rocky Racco yet? You must sway him to our side. That is a primary goal.”

“Primary color goal,” he added playfully.

“Yes,” she said, looking him over. “Red and yellow might as well be dead and stashed away in that tall grass beneath the train ramp.” Inertia then scowled toward the shop window. Both knew the cat listening in on their conversation would also have to be killed and put within same.

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Filed under Heterocera, Lapara, Second Life, Uncategorized