Tag Archives: Liz^^+++++%%

00400609 (Perch)

The slideshow they had prepared was *bore-ing*, but at least she wasn’t in Rockaway Beach Municipal Prison any longer, thanks to her mother. But it was thanks to her mother, she reminded herself, that she was in there in the *first* place. What did she do wrong except be adorable, she couldn’t help laughing at herself.

She looked out the window, at the large, altered American flag flying out there. At least they also like Obama, she thought about the face superimposed atop the stars part. But maybe this is just an older parcel and he was still the president when all this was formed, this *reform* camp. Land description does say the owner is not that involved in Our Second Lyfe any longer. Would explain why the mug of Trump isn’t around, because it sounds like the guy, from a glance at his other interests (suggested open gun carrying in Our Second Lyfe? say whaaaat?), might be a follower of *that* cult. Cults attract cults after all, refuge for the causers.

And what’s all this stuff about worshiping Venus?

This is what you get for following a Head without a Body.

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another try/revisions

“Senseless war, Speck. Redshirts a plenty.”

“Our past, Cpt.” He arches one of his non-spiraling eyebrows ever higher while checking the tricorder he holds in his hand. “Aand. Our future I’m detecting.”

“How– can… that be, Speck. I… mean…”

“I know what you mean, Cpt.” says Speck, the person playing him thinking that Don is overdoing it again. Shakespearian actors, pheh. He: a Marlowe fan. “Time… doesn’t seem to factor into the equation. Nor space.”

“Space and time, Speck,” gruffly cussed Doc just offcamera here. “Is that all your Vulcan mind can comprehend? There’s such things as *feelings*.”

He turns toward Doc and thus offcamera as well. “I understand feelings too, Doctor. I’m half–”

“Just… stop it– guys.” Cpt. again of course. “This is just– what the Daruvians want us to do. Bicker… amongst ourselves.” He turns halfway toward the camera, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He’s hatching a plot in his mind, a play within a play. “What if… *we* become the actors they *want* us… to be.”

“Or not to be,” Speck chipped in with a rare kind of joke.

Doc — offcamera still — huffed. “You *act*, Cpt. — like the Daruvians are also anything but barbarians. They’re not, dammit. I’ve seen what they did to Jed. Right in the head in bed until he was dead.” He stares intensely at the Cpt. and then Speck. Or so I’ve been told.

“Jed was… an anomaly, Doc.”

“He was a *person*,” counters still fuming Doc. Always angry. Grumpy. “Just because he had 8 arms and a head the size of Nebraska–”

“I’m picking up on something else,” interrupts Speck, always checking for logical developments. “The situation inside the arch has slightly altered to make it a bit more interesting. The primitive weapons known as muskets… are now hoisted over their right shoulders. Not their left.”

All watched as the guns were then lowered and turned. At them.

“RUNNN!!”

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synchronicity02

Tired from her “tour” and walking so much, Marsha “Pink” Krakow sits down at a conveniently placed bar in the middle of it all. She would have settled for water but all they had here apparently was alcohol by the looks of it. And also no one tending the thing. She ended up pouring her own beer, an Anheuser product, probably Busch. Only one other person in the place and that was a woman dressed like a horse sitting at a table against the wall. She figured: protection, like she had on her cow suit for same. But in truth this was the bartender on an unsanctioned break, black mare outfit merely indicating her employee status.

She dreamed of being a novelist, Star Team fan fiction to be precise we could call it. She was waiting on the publisher to judge her latest effort, a two-pronged story about the perils of asteroid belts and also belts in general, including one the Captain wanted his new favorite helmsman to start wearing. He introduced it to her by saying it could transport her to another realm altogether and that he could then join her there if they were properly synchronized. Then the asteroid belt hit and they had to laser a hole through the biggest, darkest one in order to make it out and continue toward their destination. “You see?” she said to her publisher who was interested but not sold yet, calling to ask more questions to assess the ultimate value of the book — money value obviously, the way publishers have to be these days in a dog eat dog, capitalist driven world. “It’s all Freudian (she continued). Readers would eat it up without even knowing it’s trash at the bottom. Or, to use another analogy, wouldn’t even taste the normally intolerable hot spice I added to the meal.”

Shady Lane Publishers worried about the Star Team angle, obviously a nod to Star Trek. They consulted their own team, legal in that case. No go, they said. Can’t take the risk. And so Liz was served with a big thumbs down the day after the call. And here she is. Drinking on the job because of it.

She got the Pleiades angle from a map conjunction in Pennsylvania…

… and a map conjunction in Pennsylvania.

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from star to shining star

“How far to the Pleiades star constellation formation, Helmsman Pickard?”

“Um, just checking,” replied the red uniformed man to the right, hands all over the controls with much accompanying typing noises. Finally he answered: “About 150 parsecs still, mum.”

Cpt. Extra Ordinary knew that *Earth*, their origin point, was less than 150 parsecs from the Pleiades. She makes a note to replace Pickard with promising jr. officer Lulu U. Hooroo, a black woman from Silver City, New Mexico in the 1950s. She’s certainly capable for the position, plus it will add much needed diversity to the bridge. Not a black, yellow, red, or brown person in sight here, although Helmsman Speck opposite Pickard is half Vulcan. Or so everyone is telling her — she has her doubts still; looks like another white thoroughbred male actor to her from Cookie Cutter California.

Afterwards:

“That was soo much fun! I can’t wait to get to the Pleiades to see what they’ve set up there.”

“Soo… you really think you’re going to the Pleiades, to that distant star constellation formation?” said the woman opposite her, readying to reprise her role as Helmsman Hooroo from the original Star Team series.

“Well, sure. Don’t you?”

“Oh sure, sure. It’s all real. If Dolores Cannon says it’s real then it must be real.”

“Dolores who?”

“The Big Sandy woman. She’s not a channeler after all. She’s a reporter, an investigator. The spirits do not speak through her just *to* her. From various sources, filtered through various human vessels.”

“*We’re* on a vessel,” spoke Mrs. Ordinary, the Extra removed from her name immediately upon exiting the holographic bridge. Yet the unreality lingers. “The USS Galaxy,” she recites. “Class 4a starship, which replaced the class 3b Ararat which replaced the class 2f Cuthand. I know my Star Team stuff. And I knew the distance to the Pleiades. Inept Helmsman Pickard will be replaced the next time we step up on the bridge. *You’ll* be there with me instead. And maybe I’ll keep Speck there, maybe not. Depends on what the blood tests I ordered show up with. If thoroughbred white like I suspect — outta there too. We’ll replace him, yes, with someone Asian, maybe an Indian.”

“Back to the Pleiades,” steered “Hooroo” toward the main problem again, the main sticking point. There was no stage set up for them in the 7 star star constellation formation. Despite what Cannon relayed in Book 1.

I can feel her laughing behind the scenes. I think she may be part of my “council”, perhaps as a counsel.

(to be continued)

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00390313

“‘I look like a prettier Jesus.’ Love it. Do you recall?”

“No,” replied Clemenesta, not as convinced as her partner Laura about the ineffectiveness of Christianity in comparison to TILE. Or FILE.

“Back behind the church. Underneath the neon sign — practically neon itself with the day-glo. And then there was something else behind it, away from the dumpster.” Laura tries to make out the words in her mind but can’t. “Nah, it’s gone.”

That dumpster is sin, thought Clemenesta here, drawing a line. I do not accept the eradication of the rank in total favor of the FILE; I will not accept that. Nor the things written upon it. “Who’s prettier than Jesus?” she decides to word her skepticism. “You?”

“*All* of us, maybe,” replied Laura, waving her arms around the bar even though no one else is there — oh, here comes someone, she then sees. Two young people walking in. Probably tourists in town what with the look in their eyes. Maybe from the hills.

“I think it’s *one* particular person you believe is a prettier Jesus,” spoke Clemenesta, acting like a maw now, which she was. To Laura, who was her daughter. “I think you know who that is. You worship *her* — try to weasel your way out of that (!).”

Laura thought of the 7th, and what *could* happen there if one allowed it. The pew was all set up. The gap between humanity and God filled. Blue and yellow blue and yellow blue and yellow. And from it the green and the red, in that order. Or so most Tilists say; there are some who put red over green as they do 6 over 7. But they are in the minority: every 6 out of 13 or so.

“Maw,” she finally relents. “The FILE is everything. The FILE saves, just like TILE saves. Jesus, the rank, can be cast aside now. It is *his* will, even. Yes, I went ahead and said it. It is his will,” she repeated. Clemenesta kept giving her that look (“the eye”). She would not be won over that easily.

Harking back to the neon cross, Laura envisions Jesus sacrificing his central s to saves to be done with it.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0313, Black Ice, Jeogeot, Maebaleia/Satori, Neptune, NWES Island^

before and after

Hi me!

Minutes later, being the narcissist he was, Robert was still staring at himself as two strangers in town came up, asking for directions to a local bar. Laura and Clemenesta were already there.

(to be continued)

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FILE and TILE apparently have a close close relationship

In the TILE Church of Neptune, she read from the good book of Matthew, by memory of course, since she was married to the lout.

“And yea, some say he came from the North to fabled Constantynople, like a slut on a horse in the water. Some say from the South, like a pole cat, slithering along inside the night sky like a dove or train. To those who say East or West we abhor you, ignore you, blank you in the streets, hold you contemptible in court. There is only FILE… not rank. I do not even capitalize a single letter of the latter, yet the former is shouted from the streets, the towns, the continents, the whole world. Even if, yea, it is only 31 sims of length in an up and down manner. The 32 was lopped off, like an early retirement. We pray to gods for the time to make up for it and, yea, the gods deliver.”

“She’s in good form tonight,” said Sally Spear to Sarah Shake one row down from the front to make it an even 6, counting the 4 filled on the other side of the aisle. It was bad luck to sit in the 7th, which represented the missing sim. “Keep a gap between you and the gods,” Suzanna Oh 2345 said another time (paraphrasing). Like the good and great and wonderful letters of our TILE have gaps between them to protect the singular entity, some 1 and some 2. To those who say 3 or any other number we abhor you.” (etc.)

Like Laura and Clemenesta behind them, they were staying at the Foxy so-as to be close to church and emergency worship sessions, etc. Because definitely their soul needed to be saved, they felt. Jesus let them down — was cut off — because he and his clan were missing the 4th, the yellow some say, others: green. The 4th is the shadow, the thing not wanted to be dealt with. Yet all 4 embraced it; began having private TILE meetings in the old Video Days Rental building where it all started, over in the Black Diamond part of town. Never mind that the place now sells tattoos. Definitely part of the magic! 100 lindens per week rent well spent, especially split between the lot of ’em. A secret door connected the 2 parts.

Then one day the door went away and Laura and Clemenesta were alone, no robots around. It was just them all along; they had awoken as if from a dream. Newton.

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Foxy

“Yes, my love. I mean my *lord*. The Hills have been exposed, one greater, one lesser. Just as you requested. The one opened up…”

(reply (in head))

“Yes, my… lord. At once.”

—–

7:06pm, in a secret rendezvous spot in Nightsity Harbour:

“He wants to invoke Horns of Hatton again, weight challenged brother of mine. Let’s try once more.”

“But… *Maw*.”

“She’s been overruled. The King is in charge now. The Devil, red as. And also, of course–”

“– our father,” completes Jerry. He pops his off, Ben does likewise. They exchange; they restick. Ben is no longer Ben but Jer. Jerry is no longer Jerry but Benny. Now all they have to do is find Lena the one who unites. They’d heard… Silver City, New Mexico, the place of the choppers.

—–

“Keep your eyes peeled, requested driving Jer to riding Benny. Grant County is big enough to hide someone for a while but not that big — not as big as it use to be. We’ll find her.”

“We will.”

“Maybe even try Tyrone next door.”

“Azure? Could she be (hiding) in Azure?”

“Blue.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0037, 0516, Google Street View, Nautilus, New Mexico, Nightsity, Upper Austra^

Ben

“Oh it’s a God awful outfit, this Crazy Blue.”

(reply)

“*No* I’m not going to keep wearing it. I just tried it on just for laughs and giggles. If anyone was here looking at me, what they’d be doing.”

(reply)

“Well, that’s very kind I suppose. But it comes off in a moment.”

(reply)

“Just stop it, *you*.”

—–

“Is she gone yet?” asked the bigger boss about the singer Edward Daigle was suppose to fire today. They were out on the docks to afford more privacy. Plus it was a starless and bible black sky, nothing to distract from fully enjoying a blood red moon.

“Not quite. I’m letting her work out her shift before telling her.”

“But it has to be today,” the bigger boss reinforced. “Someone else is coming in. She doesn’t know it yet but she is.”

Edward had a pause. The bigger boss was flirting with Shelley just yesterday as she still clung to his arm. What’s that girl up to? Could it be?

“Who?”

“Oh you know her. You know her well.”

*Gulp*.

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the witch cometh

“It was the end of the line for me, Baker Bloch. Car broke down, you see.”

“I see.”

“Couldn’t go further down this road. Had to give over to another.”

“Who is yourself,” the male Baker attempted to clarify.

“No.” Fellow core Wheeler Wilson left it at that. I suppose it was like saying Baker Bloch here was the same as Clifton Mahoney — oops, there he goes again.

“You’re breaking down too,” Wheeler pointed out, staring over at the new figure. We’re *old*, Baker Bloch. Time to yield. There’s… even Liz standing behind Shelley now, 2 down the road instead of 1. Clifton Mahoney—” But Wheeler shut up here, not wanting to revealed too much future stuff again. No need to know about Carbon Glow right now.

Baker/Clifton extended his draw distance out to the maximum (512 meters), stared out across the flat plain toward the mountain he now rents the top of. The castle never rezzed above the bus stop in front of him, although it did when checking from this very spot yesterday. He sat and sat…

Broken once again. Our Second Lyfe has a fatal flaw, he thinks.

Wheeler could view it fine but she could see in the dark. And twice as big. Secret weapons. Among others.

“Nice redwoods over there,” Wheeler tried to deflect. But he couldn’t see them properly neither in the moment. Moving on…

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