Tag Archives: Jeffrie Phillips^*++

March 14, 2020 · 9:13 am

2n1

“I saw it,” he reaffirmed afterwards, sitting on Urqhart Hill looking over the valley, water filled in the dancing fire vision. “I guess the dam would have had to been at about Marty’s house here, then run across the gap connecting Urqhart Hill with, well, whatever that opposite peak’s name is over there.” He looks toward it as if Marty’s house was transparent. And perhaps it was in the moment, just in that instant.

Now let’s draw back and look at the whole thing, at about the same angle Jeffrie saw it in his fire vision.

Behold: the Indian Lake (Sox Pond) basin. 1919. The year fire met water and neither won.

Better get down to the bar and meet the others, he ruminated/thought/pondered.

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March 14, 2020 · 7:55 am

good day sunshine

“We *dance* the celebration of life, of victory,” interpreting Audrey [delete last name] declared to lover and fellow dancer Jeffrie Phillips spinning around the same, fire centered circle.  “Urqhart has, amazingly, been *fulfilled*. The past can be revealed. Behold!”

Within the fire, a vision appeared about the valley below to Jeffrie. A sim sized lake — or pond — or *both*, filling up that central sink we’ve been mentioning lately, straddling the sims of Urqhart here, then Ensleigh to the west then Malhaven to its north and finally Yia Yuto to complete the (fire centered) circle. Indian Lake, he realized. But also Sox Pond. 1919, the year Big Black Smoke descended upon it and wrought its damage.  An important — very important — link between Virtual and Reality in this here blog. Pennsylvania (state) and Corsica Prime (continent). Corsica is an elephant.

“Will Marty be joining us?” queried Jeffrie Phillips, building up quite a sweat trying to keep pace with jumping, jiggling Audrey.

Marty joined them. “I’m happy too!” he proclaimed, starting to dance up a storm with the others. Employee Arthur Kill then appeared behind him, just glaring around. Get this love peace crazy shit out of here, he wanted to say, but bit his tongue because of a paycheck coming up. A big one. Big Black Smoke one.

They danced until the sun came up and then a little more.

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March 13, 2020 · 9:50 am

Corsica is one.

Jeffrie Phillips is in Lexicolo tonight, following up more leads. The Larch rode this train, he meditates upon. Before he became The Man. Car no. 1 here, then no. 3 in back. Plane 003 (wall) to the side. We must think of planes, trains and automobiles but also birds, planes… Jeffrie harks back to perhaps The Man/The Larch’s most prominent nemesis, the arch one: Super Duper Guy. Faster than a speeding bullet he was claimed to be. More powerful than a *loco*motive. Take ex and i out of lexicolo and there you are (nuts?). Hmmm. There’s that cleft rubbing again — deeper and deeper. Yes this assignment, obviously a blue rose one (recall the blue rose in killer Arthur Kill’s lapel), may turn him bonkers. Lip trilling finger land.

Oops. He’s off! Let’s see where this loco ride takes him.

He spots the elephants, large and small, rolling away but can’t get a good pic of them as the train rounds a bend. These will have to do for now.

—–

There they are!

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March 12, 2020 · 10:41 am

freedom 02

The gothic house near the lip of Centre Sink or whatever. He sighs and says aloud, “whatever,” then returns his attention to the crosses (knives) in the yard next to it, like little escaped, pixelated birds heckling his lack of knowledge about the whats, wherefores, whys. Like the death of Vainom Kug over in VHC City, who, he vows to his own grave, did not die in Vain (but instead in that city). Maybe he should consult with Vain and Artery Boy on the subject. He scratches his chin again. He’s wearing a cleft out on it with all the pondering, considering, ruminating he’s done lately. Hmm, sir. Hmmm again. Hmmm.

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March 12, 2020 · 9:30 am

freedom

Jeffrie Phillips begins his latest assignment proper back in Instabar, the sim highlighted in section 3. Might as well be Sector R.

Perhaps the last dinner of the late, great Mr. and Mrs. Achilles T. Pippin — The Pippins, he considers, who of course include Mary with her red umbrella we suspiciously see little of, even though at least one character says she carries it around all the time. Better check on that, he thinks…

He finds the red wine stale but acceptable for an Australian. Better start looking around for that umbrella, he ruminates.

Hold on, he ponders. This seems unusual, hmm. Cyan… cyanide. Cy Twomile, one of the two most recent victims in this here photo-novel, even though he’s locally known as Big Black Smoke. Derogatory racial name? He better find a computer somewhere.

But what’s this? In the Peppins’ living room: red, blue, and then a yellow lemon on top. And cyan turns to red in inverted color mode — which he, like Aqua Dude before him, can switch on and off when needed, which he does here.

Yes, something about that coat hanger or whatever it was, he contemplates while sitting in the swing beside the 32 square meter house that caused all the messy Instabar trouble in the first place. Buster Damm, hrmph. Popping in and out of this reality at his convenience to cause harm and mischief, like a little, blood sucking gremlin or something. If only we could trace him back to his Pot-D origins.

He decides to check the “coat hanger’s” description remotely while enjoying his hot coffee the swing graciously provided for him, pretty good for Cambodian.

Ahh. *Cage* stand. Bird cage. But where’s the bird? Or *birds*, even?

He travels further back in time than ever to find out.

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March 11, 2020 · 7:51 am

angles

—–

“Don’t turn around Jeffrie. You’ll draw suspicion — eyes everywhere here in Fearzum.”

“Okay.”

“Just listen.”

“I’m listening.” Jeffrie Phillips was patient that way. That’s why they paid him the big bucks.

TronAxis continued, leaning in a little closer. “There’s trouble in Urqhart, Jeffrie. The story there ended too soon and Baker Bloch has to fill out the rest. *Your* mission, if you so choose — and that’s why we’re paying you the big bucks (Jeffrie Phillips nods here) — is to find out who lives in that Gothic House on the edge of Centre Sink. Just a little over there in front of me. He stares toward the small, granite topped mountain in that direction, knowing the central sink lay not far beyond.

Jeffrie Phillips, from his angle, was looking toward a larger version of the same, intuiting that the answers they seek lie in that direction as well.

“I’ll get on it as soon as you pay for my breakfast,” Jeffrie requested, knowing he was well worth it. Later researchers found the tab to contain 3 eggs, toast and waffles, although they weren’t sure who ate what since it was all in one bill.

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February 22, 2020 · 8:18 am

university towns?

Audrey was, as usual, dancing an Irish Jig. Jeffrie Phillips was enjoying the scene, but they must get down to business soon. One more dance, though.

“Try 13 now,” he requested.

—–

“Whatever happened to Marsha, by the by?” Jeffrie asked after Audrey had given him the latest update. He didn’t need the information but he wanted it. Sounds familiar.

“Oh, the usual. Marriage to some slob and now they’re pinned down with the standard 2.5 kids. Thank you for not wanting any. Teepot has enough. The *world* has enough.”

“The world is not long for us anyway. No use in bringing someone new in to experience all that misery.”

“Agreed,” Audrey quickly followed.

“Well… we’ve tracked Casey One Hole down to Danshire before his disappearance, along with the Small Kowloon House. This is right outside Phyllis and Ben’s home — no accident there. And now Ben might be recalled to the old country, thanks to Host Charming. No accident there either. One chance out between two worlds.”

“Don’t say that,” red pendant wearing Audrey requested. “It reminds me of the girl we had to kill.”

“Kill off,” red tie sporting Jeffrie elaborated. But the Kidd remains within. They didn’t know of Tronesisia’s big picture plan.

—–

“Who are you??”

“Don’t be afraid,” Billy Jean spoke to Katy from the other side of the walkway. “It’s only another Kidd.”

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December 31, 2018 · 9:57 am

Rest

—–

“*We* could have given him riches,” protesteth Jeffrie Phillips back in Teepot. “Jewels, diamonds, the lot.”

Peter pauses. “You did.”

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December 21, 2018 · 7:12 am

continuation 01

The bridge is derezzing behind me. No time. No time!

ZIIIPP.

It’s my worst nightmare.

—–

“He should’ve stayed, you know. We would have gotten him some linden plants around here. He didn’t even ask.”

“Shush, Jeffrie. I’m reading. The book is being written again.”

—–

Of course the treasure is here, fools, escaped prisoner Casey One Hole thought from his perch while staring toward the simulation. One comes with a snowy peak, one doesn’t, duhh. And now it’s all mine to find since the Klancaster Dixons are out of the picture.

He peers upwards. Hmmm, snowy from a distance, but even higher up close. Artificial rock on top.

And between the decoy treasure and this peak is that treehouse over there — an actual house in a tree. Perhaps that’s where it is. Simple as that.

“I don’t *need* the treasure,” he says to himself while descending toward it. “But I certainly *want* it.”

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December 20, 2018 · 7:45 am

pause 06

“I see we’re wearing matching trackers.”

Duncan looked down. “The Pot-D pendant?” Yes, it was red and hanging around his neck as well. He hadn’t thought about it before.

“Except mine’s from Pan-Z, the other, newer organization that does those kind of things. More thoroughly, if you ask me. Much more.” Jeffrie Phillips was wondering how the *heck* Duncan was going beyond the mirror book via improvisation. He stared through him to the 3 trackers he knew dwelt within, one by one by one.

Then: “I of course know you’re in there… *girls*.” But Phillips knew not who he was dealing with (Ragdoll titters here). These were battle tested *women*, fighting for the core of Pot-D which they understood to be ultimate truth.

“We know about the treasure,” they admitted (Indigo). “We know about Big Baby Jane” (Ruby). “We know about *Audrey*” (Ragdoll). “Audrey,” she repeated through Duncan’s lips. He gestured toward the black and white, zig-zag patterned chairs they sat in. He pointed out the “teapot” between them. He indicated an owl decorating a fluttering national flag he rezzed out of his inventory, bought at the Snowlands infohub just before teleporting over here.

“‘The owls are not what they seem,’ I know.” Jeffrie paused. “So you’re just *handwriting* this in. To make, I don’t know, a more satisfying ending?”

“Yes,” they admitted as a collective.

“Is it working?”

—–

“*Is* it working, Ruby?” asked Indigo to her left, sensing the fatigue. “We can’t go on much longer. The 12th (novel) awaits!”

“We *have* to continue onward,” implores young Ragdoll to Ruby’s right. “Duncan knows who Jeffrie Phillips is, and that the treasure guarded day and night by Big Baby Jane is a, um, red herring, a duplicate of the one near the Snowy Peak. Another decoy.”

“Can we compare the 2 treasures again, just to make sure?” Ruby knew they could. “Hold on,” she says. “We’re almost done!”

Yes. The same. “Well, that does it, I think,” Ruby then says, finally lifting pencil from paper. She shuts the book. “The treasure cannot be found here.” She puts it back on the shelf at the end of graphic novels journals 1 through 10.

But they weren’t quite yet finished.

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