Dodgey City bookkeeper Gemilly “Jem” Johnson (or Johnston) manifested at a 4th wall of town.
“Duck duck duck,” she said, walking like such. “Cluck cluck cluck,” she improvised, making director Kurt Strawb (he got a 4th!) cringe off-screen. “Now *where’s* that John? I’m ready for my close-up!” she called in the air while waddling. “I’m *ready*… for my CLOSE-UP!”
Close enough.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0036, 0118, Nautilus, NORTH
The Nautilus map in my skybox is lighting up again. Jem’s Dodgey City in the northeast corner, along with neighboring Blacking where Midge critically observed it across the water from her colorful beach towel. Yd Island and Darla and her Umbrella Club to the southeast, also observed from a distance by prevert Albert. Then Fordham in the lower center, the old Collagesity location which is now surprisingly acting as a hideout of some kind for Franklin aided by greenie friend Apples and the sentient tree known as Unch — you remember Unch don’t you? From the Rubi Forest? Think back. And then in the center center that mysterious place known as Perch-Mistletoe where we also see Franklin, this time interacting with Albert directly but who then turns into or reveals himself as Baker Bloch instead, with Franklin likewise realizing she’s Wheeler Wilson. The 2 main core avatars of my blog and attached photo-novels in other words, the great male-female (or female-male) duality. What it all revolves around. Then in the main arm of the Starfish Lake or Sea to the northwest of that we have Dr. Mouse’s practice which Albert also visited and turned into a baby apparently, a symbol of rebirth. Another pin is lit up beside it but we can’t speak of that yet. Place called Dub — displaced actually. To this couch so we can talk with him/it.
Another form:
Another:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dub,_Arkansas
Then moving to the west and the south again, directly below Dodgey City we have another mystery area centered by a place called the Art Box which we’ve visited several times before in our blog chronicled journeys, and which will surface again soon in relation to the missing file or files mentioned by Midge. Then to finish up for now, in the north central, we have the location of the map itself, my Lebettu Castle on Rooster’s Peninsula, my new home as of the middle of photo-novel 33 back in the late spring now. It’s been a perfect match so far. There’s no question I had to downsize.
Collagesity back in the days
“You know it’s not a nice place over there,” she said in her wise voice about the “town” across the water, this Dodgey City where we’ve just seen our now familiar friend Jem — Gemilly Johnston (or Johnson).
“What’s your story, then?” I asked down to the Grandma type figure in her old fashioned clothes, cane clutched to breast as she lay on a colorful towel at the beach house rental. She’s thinking about it. “Missing file?”
Instead of answering me directly, she said: “It’s good you’re back on Nautilus. It’s even better you’re back on the mainland, off that island — even though it technically is part of the continent.” She stared over again. Hard to read her emotions from this distance. Sad? Worried? Angry? Perhaps a mix of a number of these.
“About the file,” I insisted.
“Well, my name is Gemilly Johnston — Jem for short — and these are the books I’ll be keeping up with (!).”
So cheerful that first week, she says, reviewing her introductory video, whiskey sour in hand as usual when looking at this type of stuff. So many videos in her collection now. But this was one of the clean ones, before the dirt and grime of the city, this Dodgey City, became fully evident, thanks to John. *Not* Jim.
“I live about 1500 meters up in a nice house with a beautiful perpetual sunset, right on the beach. See? (she indicates a hand, an arm) I’m already working up a tan (!).”
If I could go back and kill her — myself — I would, thinks Jem here, wanting to wipe that ridiculous smile off her face with a rag of acid. OK, maybe Texas Pete.
“The house is owned by John L. Brown, who is also my boss, who is also my, ahem…”
Boyfriend? thought present Jem. Fat chance.
“… cousin,” past Jem completed her sentence.
Wait, is that possible? present Jem thought. She reversed the video, started over. At 2:32: “cousin” again. She doesn’t remember saying that. Plus it wasn’t true (!!).
—–
But John L. Brown for one knew it was and changed the wording yesterday after also slyly suggesting she take a day off for mental health reasons and look at old videos from the archive to soothe her nerves, especially recommending — or starting with — the one she’s viewing right this moment. Jem eventually figured this out as well as she continued to sip (or at least try to contain it to a sip) on one of her whiskey sours and ponder and ponder. Cousin — that aspect conveniently forgotten, conveniently wiped from memory, just like she was trying to wipe the happiness and naivety from her past self’s face back then in her imagination. She imagines someone standing behind her, looking at her as if on a video, trying to wipe something from *her*.
“John L. Brown,” she muttered with Texas Pete, add a little Oklahoma from beyond the screen. She turned (toward the camera?). Time for my close-up.
Ahh, this is nice, Abbey Abdominator thought. Away from always spying always recording Ruttitutii the Star Team or whatever robot. Can eat and drink in peace here at base quarters. Quiet as ocean. Speaking of which…
“Sure you can have a piece of Stiggy’s birthday cake if you wish,” spoke Elanea the amphibious looking bartender. “They left the whole thing. Turned out it wasn’t his birthday, ha.”
“Lemme guess,” said Abs (Abbey) back. “His death day instead.”
“Oh you’ve heard the joke!” and moves to cut him a slice. Just like the underwaters to come up with something like that. The cake is presented to him on a small plate with a fork and a knife. He cuts bites chews. Tastes like chicken. Still pretty good, oddly enough.
“Soo, hear MM is in trouble with HR. DOB is in doubt. So is DOD.”
“We’re pretty sure she was born in 1997,” said Abs to this, feeling free to discuss such matters here. “But DOD is 2021 by one account and 2012 by another. We know Bigfoot is involved.”
“Bigfoot?” Marlena Elanea hadn’t heard of such a thing.
What would be the underwater equivalent? Abs thinks here. Can’t come up with it. “Yeti?” he tries again. “Abominable Snowman?”
“Like you!” Elanea said. Abs had to grin a bit. It was a kind of joke he hadn’t heard in a long time, unlike the birth-death one which was common. It reminded him of childhood growing up on Xenon 10-C. “Hey, Abdominal!” the bullies of his elementary middle high school chided. “Ever get those extra stomachs back from your Maw?” Punching would come later, when he learned boxing from the zombies and rabbits. For now — then — he took it. He’d store up the negative energy. He would expel it on them full force later. And: here he is. At the top, a bona fide Wizard, a superior to men and women and reptiles and amphibians alike. But was he *really* in charge of the latter? He’d ordered cake from froggish Elanea. He decided to test further. She’d have to obey, right?
“Soo, what are you doing after your shift? Have a couple of hours free this afternoon.” Would she actually sleep with a Grey? Everyone up top knew he didn’t have one. Did she?
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0614, Little Hell, Omega^^, Southern
“The same four numbers. Over and over.” She turns after observing. “Punch them into me, Ensign. I have to know what this is about.”
“But… your condition. Ma’am.” My probable baby! he thinks.
“Never mind that just do as you’re told. Here I’ll hold the chest keypad close to you.” Just like I did last night, Lt. Clotheshanger thinks. The Deep South has a way of making higher and lower come together like that outside the harsh, dividing glare of daylight.
Behind them and at the same time perhaps:
“Is this a formal complaint, Ms. Mantell?”
“Mandell, she says to this, use to mispronunciations of her two given names. So close on either side. “Martell Mandell” she says in full.
“Yes, certainly Ms. Martell.”
“*Mandell*.”
Pause as Shirley studies one of the provided photos in her mind. “Right, Martell,” she finally acknowledges. “So Ms. Mantell (Martell rolls her eyes), tell me about this Harry slash Jerry?”
“I’ll take over here, Martell, if you don’t mind,” spoke immediate superior Abs — Abbey Abdominator — sitting beside her at this meeting with HR. “We have reason to believe this file was stolen.”
“Interesting,” HR representative Shirley Stall says to this. A ringing in her ear. “Hold on,” she requests, “I have to take this.”
6 minutes later, she returned her attention to the file. “Sorry,” she excused herself, “I had to listen to all 24 permutations before she let me go. The boss, you know.”
Abs looked over at Martell who looked back. Synchronicity of thoughts. Spider!
“There was a horse involved.” She paused, reconsidered the communication. “No: a dog.”
Horse becomes a dog! Another forewarning.
She shakes it off, second photo replaced back by the first. Then she additionally realized that the second *came* from the first. Spider was in Collagesity. Spider was (back) in the collages!
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0613, collages 2d, Little Hell, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Omega^^, Southern
“I know this man!” says Martell Mandell out loud. She couldn’t help it. “Fieldon!” she tacked on, thinking about 300, thinking about a lot of other stuff. Like time and space shifts. She begins to prepare for telling her alien boss, Abbey Abdominator, about the discovery. “We *must* investigate,” he says back to her in a daydream. Hopefully her imagination turns out to be correct.
—–
“There! Told you!”
“Just because it’s a New Jersey substation of Nautilus and just because he likes to wear grey doesn’t mean he’s the same guy, Martell,” says Abs back to her upon seeing the “proving,” remotely taken photo in his mind. “I’m Grey. If I were standing in front of, say, a New Jersey welcome sign would you also think I was Harry, hmm? Besides, he denied he was Harry — said he was instead Jerry. I read the report you sent me. I’m not that detached from my position here at Star Team Interplanetary.”
—–
“If only Collagesity were still around,” she lamented while they looked at another photo she’d found in the Archive, hope waning.
“If only we could follow this probable route still up Highway 13 and down Highway 14 around and around…”
“Wizard,” says Abs to this. “Cube.” Her world turned inside out. And the Grey was the Man on top. Superior. *Not* a humbug.
“Look around, Martell. Where do you think you are? They are appearing all over the place. We have a way to go back *now*.”
“The… Void?” she answered, hallucinating the past. Shirley?
Still sharing her pictures, Abbey sensed a discrepancy between red-violet and yellow-green. These were not the same cubes. “No. Not The Void, Martell. I’ve changed my mind. We’ll go back to Nautilus… Jersey. But in that special way like we did before. And heading in backwards just for kicks.” Maybe that will solve the discrepancy I sense, he says to himself.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0610, Illinois, Little Hell, New Jersey, Omega^^, Southern
The Musician had a plan. Play his last gig at Pink Think before returning to Nautilus and take Shelley with him, freeing her from the prison cave closest to The Void in Gemini (4006m). That’s how he can keep her from opening the door to her cage. Power. Power behind powers. He thinks she’s ready. He’s delusional. She’ll never forgive him, although she feigns acceptance to escape.
Albert and Biff sit around the wall still from the ensuing gig at their tea table, the music too deafening to their more sensitive ears. Plus they’re all too familiar with the notes and beats. They’d rather remain in the bar with at least equally-sensitive-to-sound Marilyn, a light in their darkness now. True they were were resigned to their entrapment here in Gemini, not being as blind as The Musician. But they were still trapped.
Marilyn? With Fern now, catching up — Fern said it was super hard to find her in the sim, what with all the cubic meters to cover from top to bottom, all 16 stories of 256x256x256 of it. Claude never showed up, intervention with the 3 beastly boys delayed. Or did he? Fern changes to demonstrate what happened.
She was back on top, ha — in charge. “The *clue*,” she said while nursing a red cocktail 1/2 in Claude’s body, educating Marilyn/Lichen as well as putting her back in her place, “was the receiver part. I live in a receiver, like a jeannie lives in a bottle. Get it? Like ‘Jeannie and the Tiger’. You remember? We watched that summer before last — it was just showing, by accident let’s say, on the Cartoon Network where we usually hang out. We switched over from ‘Dirty Duck’. Do you recall?”
“I remember,” said Marilyn, marveling at the brains, the brilliance, of her partner in crime once more. If only she had my humor, she thinks. Always pretty dead serious about stuff, like this. I’m not really surprised that Fern has outmaneuvered me and don’t really care. I could make 10 jokes about the situation right now, make light of it.
Yes, I suppose they made a good team, nay, a great team, especially after Marilyn/Lichen decided to ditch the horse and the association with The Void. Because this was the ultimate lesson learned for the traveling bartender in the sim of Jem– Gemini. Avoid the Duck.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0515, Gemini, Hana Lei^^
“Yeah, I don’t actually *live* in a receiver or am the *same* as a receiver. I don’t know what got that notion into your head. And I even have a pretty modern (phone), cell and all. I can even look up things on the Interwebs with it, like the difference between a mouse and a dormouse. Just doing that–”
“Fascinating,” Marilyn playing Lichen Roosevelt said on the other end, a word she just heard on TV. “I only thought,” she defended her logic, “you know, like Paul Warfield.”
“Paul Whatfield?”
“Never mind.” She backed out of Miami back into Cleveland. “Jim Brown,” she blurted out to her surprise. “Jim *L.* Brown, not the other one, the twin.”
“What about James?” replied Claude the Receiver. This was old school talk, like high school. He’d left all that behind in joining the University of Life here in 1000 City, or so it was advertised. 4 more years to go, a long long 4 years, with debt mounting up each semester he stays. He’s learning about the birds and bees this morning from old Ms. Crumplebottom, facing away from him and preparing to add information about flowers and trees and the Moon up above into the overall equation, like work clothes. Whatever, it all ends with Love. He wonders how she can remember back that far; all the parts must be long broken down there. But I suppose there’s always heart.
“Cartoons,” said Marilyn, surprising herself again. “Jem. Jemini.”
“Jemilly Johnson? What about *her*?” Claude was getting impatient. He didn’t want to miss any nuances from the lessons. One flower appears as the chalk dust starts to fly again, then another and another. A tree with a massive trunk shoots up from their midst. And between the boughs near the top as the stars come out: The Moon. Where did The Sun go? he had to ask himself.
“Um, uh,” delayed Marilyn. “We have a situation,” she decided to say instead of answering Claude directly. “Just get down here. On your lunch break if needed. What time is school over, actually?”
Claude mentally checked his schedule. 1 o’clock: Mixing Business with Pleasure, 2: The Overarching Problems of Time and Money Inevitably Leading to Brain Damage, then at 3, oh he’s finished at 3. He says this to Marilyn. The Musician is paying his bill and about ready to leave. Marilyn looks at the wonky grandfather clock on the far wall between Biff and Albert. 4 more hours! How is she going to keep them all here together until the Receiver comes. Alcohol of course, for The Musician at least. And free tea for the teetotalers over there at the crazy table. She offers George another one on the house.
“Gee thanks!” he says, sitting back down. His gig is not till 7. He has the time and the money to kill more brain cells.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0035, 0510, Gemini, Hana Lei^^
The door to the place in the sewer was open, unlike before. Now casually dressed Roberts sat on one of the reddish chairs within, facing another. Franklin? If John L. Brown is such, and perhaps he is. He got Jem high as a kite with the Duck dope over in Ontario to save or at least extend her short simulacrum life, and everyone knows *Benjamin* Franklin is an expert kite flyer, perhaps a drug user himself? Firesign Theatre seems to think so, at least in one strong probable reality. And besides, John’s already called himself Benjamin Franklin for just those very reasons in part 01. So there’s that.
Or Franklin could actually be Johnny Black who just arrived, since namesake Johnny Cash, Man in Black, was famously married in Franklin KY to June Carter in 1968 after getting his license over the line in Tennessee, probably passing through Black Jack south of Franklin in the effort, shared between the two states — yet another black then. And a separate community named Black Jack exists just to the north of Franklin, firmly in Kentucky in its case. Speaking of cases, pilot Thomas Mantell was born in this same Franklin and very mysteriously plummeted to his death just outside the small KY town in ’48 while chasing what he and others identified as a bonafide UFO, very near Black Jack and the Tennessee line again, even though he lived in a different part of the state at the time. So he is another aspect of Franklin definitely, representing the uroboros where cradle links up and even eats grave, causing a perpetual loop.
Roberts invited Johnny Black in, seeing him space out thinking about some of these same associations. John L. Brown then waved high as well. Appropriate. Someone was also in the pool ahead of him, although he couldn’t tell what or who. Perhaps green? Oh, and when he made his way inside and stood between them, he was standing right smack dab in the middle of what townspeople called The Anomaly, thought to be gotten rid of. Nope. Just showed up in a different place and in a slightly different form.
One thing we know is that the green thing in the pool *isn’t* Norris, who is instead dead behind swifter Johnny in the sewer, victim of a zombie attack it appears or something. We wish him well in the afterlife.
Oh look. It *was* Norris in the pool — *just* formed. Another Franklin! And perhaps the truest one.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0034, 0607, Kentucky, Paper Soap, Soap, Tennessee
Sunklands 