Tag Archives: Man About Time^*~~~~~~~

really big shoe tonight

“We bagged him,” Gotham remembered later. “Green as the grass we just smoked.” He was both right and wrong, as he often is. The vision, the hallucination, was real enough. He just couldn’t pin down Time and Space amid all the Options. “I… remember… looking down at him.”

“Those eyes, yes,” Man About Time agreed, having experienced kind of the same thing. Sort of parallel visions, at least for about 20 or so seconds, just enough to finish the joint, pliers extracted from a green, yellow, and red pouch between them just earlier. Gotham always came prepared. He had to. Else: chaos; lost in The Abyss. He didn’t want to go there again until it was unavoidable, like every night upon falling asleep. 20 or so seconds was all it took, the last toke for both of ’em. Indeed: they had bagged one.

Dare they go see if their joint vision had produced reality?

“He’s in that tent. I know he is.”

“Nah,” countered Gotham. “You’re an inexperienced toker. You don’t understand how it works.”

—–

“Told you.”

“Look! At your foot.”

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joint venture

“Still smoking with the nose instead of the mouth,” Gotham observed in his chair across from me. Me? Man About Time, but changing fast (again).

I stared over at the joined tile on the far wall while speaking. “Let me tell you a story, Gotham, about how I joined a group to find bigfoot. It all started on a porch in a chair. I was in disguise (cough cough).”

I had taken off my shoes in order to help think (cough; *toke*). The cold rock patio (*exhale*) kept me alert and on task, brr. Changing perspective, I knew it had to do with the, um, tent in the same sim. I’d seen this (*toke*) tent before. In Insipid… oh heck, what was the name of that sim. Intrepid.”

“Instabar,” offered Gotham. “I’ve read the attached novel,” he explained. “Pretty good, except for The Man in the exact center. Highly unlikely,” he judged. Side note: Gotham was pretty much the same when high as not high. He’d smoked so much down through the years that he had become the pot. “Hi pot!” he exclaimed first thing in the morning, burying his thumb and fingers in the bag to protract the sweet monie. He’d gotten small so many times…

“I was… *there*.” It was about as much energy as I could muster in the moment. Mustard. Ketchup. Condiments! I realized, mind yelling much louder than mouth could. I need a Hot Dog!

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red diner

“It was fun playing Kickass Boos again,” he said mildly, per usual. “I enjoyed yelling. I’m not… a yeller.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” the Controller said back. She had more plans for Kickass. And his brother — also named Kickass, Bogota in his case.

Now where was I?

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0029, 0117, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Neat Town

camping

The first night staying in Neat Town I shared a cabin with a guy named BOOS, oddly enough. I was checking the blog for new posts about Cass City (no go) when he began to speak about the main topic at hand.

“Have you seen one?”

I was still busy with the search. “Cass City + Windmill”. Nope, hadn’t been there in a couple of nights, not since meeting — who was it? — Percy Pierce (of course!) at that place next to the railroad that runs between Cass City and Scratchy — almost runs. Strange that those 2 cats control all of Our Second Lyfe. Or so Percy says. Overlords, eh? Not the Lindens. I looked over. I could only see the top of his blue body from my position, not even a head. “I’m sorry… what did you say?”

“I *said*, have you *seen* one? The samsquanch.”

“They wha-? Oh.” I think back to the big bigfoot statue at the entrance to the campground I decided to stay at to begin my exploration of the town and its environs. “You mean sasquatch. Yes: bigfoot.” I tried a search on the tag Percy, then started with Guy/Guyd. Aha (!) Benjamin Guy *is* Guyd — with an extra letter. Figures.

“Bigfoot yes, whadd I say? I have.”

Axis-Windmill set the laptop aside, figuring he’d have to follow through with the conversation or else get no more work done tonight. “15 minutes,” he requested as politely as possible. “Then I must get back to my business. I have an important blog to run now.”

BOOS would not be deterred from his subject. “They came down in a, get this, *shoe* on the western edge of town, a *giant* one. They started unloading red houses, started dotting the landscape with ’em. The shoe flew away. The bigfoot started moving the houses into position. A town was born. A *neat* town.”

Axis-Windmill’s forehead furrowed, trying to wrap his brain around what the heck BOOS was talking about. Neat Town created by bigfoot or, er, bigfeet? “How many?” he decided to reply.

“How many what?”

“How many bigfeet did it take to create the town? Or were involved?”

“I don’t know. *Ten*? What does it matter? We’re talking about *bigfoot*. He’s *real*.”

“I’m sure there are women bigfeet as well.” Axis-Windmill wasn’t going to let go of his new appelation. Bigfoot plural: bigfeet. He’ll look up if anyone else calls them that after he’s finished talking with BOOS. He checks his watch: 8 minutes now.

“Awwww,” BOOS waves over at me. “You don’t believe.” He rolls over and pretends the conversation is over, baiting me. So I decided to take it.

“I believe. No, truly, I believe. Tell me (quick search for “Rebl” now in the pause)… more.” I’ll half listen for the remaining, let’s see, 6 minutes now. Won’t be long.

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BoB

“I’m not dead!” he cried to all those sitting around the grave site looking down. “It’s *just* a ring.”

It all came together at the end for Mouse. Too late, of course.

—–

“So this is it,” Man About Time exclaimed mildly. As usual. “The thing that did him in.”

“LOVE, yeah,” answered Jeffrey Phillips, wondering how he himself could talk again. He died as well (!). “He… couldn’t pass through the O, got stuck in it. Spy Guy Benjamin tried to help, but…”

“… got stuck himself,” completed MAT for Jeffrey, having read the story up to this point too. What was the point? Just close the damn coffin lid why don’t you.

“He can’t die in Vain.”

“He didn’t,” answered MAT truthfully.

“Good for you, MAT,” said Jeffrey Phillips. “I didn’t think you would take this so swell.”

“It’s just a game. Endtime.”

“Yes, death will do that to you. Lure you in, like a fish. And when you land on the shore — it’s *only* when you land on the shore…”

“You see the water,” completed MAT again.

—–

Next door (sometime in the past):

They say the doctor before this new one, Jr. — he was married to an alien woman. Found her spaceship crashed up in the hills.”

“That’s — not — right,” the littler golden robot squeaked back.

“You’re right, Jr. It *wasn’t* right. He should have turned her *in*. And now he’s paid the price: banishment. *Now*, are you ready to go inside and let the new doctor, this Diper fellow, take a look at those gold plated tonsils?”

“Guess — so.”

“You guess so.” Claude Sr. blew out air from his mechanical lungs. “I had mine taken out about the same age as you are, in fact, the exact same age.”

“12 — I — know.”

“That’s right, Jr. 12. All mechanoids have to have their original tonsils taken out, then. Else: viruses.”

“I — read — the pamphlets.”

“Nice.” But Claude Sr. knew it wasn’t tonsils that were taken out. The pamphlets lied. He’d find out soon enough. Just like with Santa Claude.

They head inside for the operation.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0603, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^, Paper Soap

00280306

I must get down the continent to confer with Jeffrey Phillips and partner Man About time concerning the future of Collagesity. But I already see the writing in the cards. It won’t last. Collagesity is a place laden with collages, of course, but isn’t a proper archive. It’s where Baker Bloch *made* the collages, or helped inspire them as he hung each one individually in its gallery upon creation. That way he could better see the evolution of the series. But (this kind of) buck stops with the newest series called Picturetown. This is a *different* Jasper, not Illinois but Iowa. And this leads us to (the) Nautilus (continent) as a whole. We have our centering. But this centering could occur *anywhere* on the continent now. It doesn’t have to be between the two roads 13 and 14. It could be here — at Rooster’s Peninsula. Certainly there’s more neighbors around to give me energy.

The dancer, he remembers. The fox on the run. Jasper itself. Must see if she’s still there. But that’s the siren’s call again. The dancer who is the world.

I suppose I should go see if those curtains are still there on the slopes of Roost Peak. Could it spell curtains for… me? It brings me back to confusion on what exactly is the body, the neck and the body and the head attached to it. Maybe Stumpy could help (again), since he was able to reattach his own some time back. But first: curtains.

—–

Not there now.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0306, Nautilus^^, Rooster's Peninsula

new neighbors

“You know that’s (*yawn*), my castle up there, Hoppy (stretches arms). This place is soo relaxing.”

Windmill Man, named to be changed soon, realizes he has a lot of time to learn the ins and outs of this here Rooster’s Peninsula, since he plans to stay a while. Does this mean the end of Fordham’s Collagesity down in Lower Austra? Could be. He must confer with town leader Jeffrey Phillips and right hand man Man About Time soon. Couple of weeks. But first…

… the Prog Rock museum down at the neck of the peninsula, and where Shelley (daughter?) recently woke up Jacob I. and allowed him to return. The sleeper has awoken; Roost Never Sleeps.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0028, 0303, Nautilus^^, Rooster's Peninsula

squeegeed

“Using the tip from Sally, we followed the car all the way to the entrance of the park but could go no further. *Fifes* Grove Park, like in Barney Fife.”

“Like in Barney *Rubles*,” emphasized Man About Time, fascinated with the new information. He hardly ever emphasized anything in his speech, so mild manner and calm and cool and collected he is. But this seemed different. They had found a way… inside.”

“I thought you might want to know, being second in command of this here chilly town in the mountains.

“So beige,” said MAT almost religiously. But he understood. “In case something happens to me,” is the unspoken sentiment.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0027, 0212, Iowa, Lower Austra^, Nautilus^^, Upper Austra^

00270210

Spying from a safe distance, he watched her enter the library on the southern edge of Collagesity and the Fordham sim as a whole. She stayed until about 1/2 past 6, and then exited with no books checked out as far as he could tell. Tim Bean had retired from the library in ’72, about 2 years ago minus a year or three. Right now it was auto-service in there until they could get a new person. She had her pick of the books, then, but she seemed not to want any. Then he remembered *he* had the monster book, found in The Abyss temple atop unique, unicorn-like Fissure Mountain over on the old continent of Sansara. Maybe she came out with nothing because *that’s* the book she was looking for — interesting.

He could slip a note under her door at the Kidd Tower where she was staying, directly beneath the apartment of Man About Time, a kind of vice chancellor to the city and a right hand man to himself as head honcho. He’d made his peace about the resurrection through the marriage to Wendy over in the Urqhart sim or thereabouts. Man About Time would still have to bid his time to become the ruler of this here fair burg.

“Meet me at Perch (restaurant) at half past 7 in the evening after today’s tomorrow,” he decided to word it, with just the right amount of detail, he felt.

In the meantime, he was due to meet with Man About Time anyway concerning the town budget wars so he slipped in a couple of questions about the new gal. Sally was her name, MAT said. Sally Nugent. He gathered she came from a family of monsters, because the pictures he helped tote upstairs for her all had people with green or bloodless white skin, with fangs in their mouths or bolts in their necks.

Bingo.

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Newgal

“It’s moreso now don’t you think?” speaks Jeffrie Phillips to sometimes/always companion Charlene Punk Brown, perhaps the best of all his girls. She puts up with a lot at the very least. “The hair, I mean.” He points to his own hair here between bites of the spinach pizza. “Blue. Whaddaya think?”

Charlene also steals a glance, trying not to be jealous. This *could* be her replacement. Why did she arrive so mysteriously in the middle of the night, as they say, on a plane originally bound for Starfish Sea, or Starfish Lake as some call it? Jeffrey said it landed just outside the town over the sim line in Siliconicus. He said he’d been meaning to put a small landing strip over there if he could only figure out how to position the anchoring prims properly, since it’s not technically his property but instead abandoned land — a lot of that in Siliconicus, which is commonplace in the beige highlands part of the continent. She *is* cute, probably as cute as she is. She’d also look good in that pink babydoll Jeffrey keeps around, she suspected. Maybe she should dye her own hair blue.

“Are (bite) you going to answer me or not, woman?”

“Woman?” Not now she isn’t. “Listen *man*–” but then bit her tongue as Jeffrey hesitated to take another bite, waiting for a lashing, which he knew he probably deserved. Sometimes he slips into old world talk, as his daddy use to say. Poor old dad: he hadn’t thought about him in a while, nor ma-ma. They didn’t approve of his playboy ways so he had to leave the family hearth. So long long ago at this point. Seems like a different lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he ventured, then finished his bite.

“No — me. And in answer to your question it does look a little bluer. Is — she really the woman of your dreams?” She meant *in* your dreams but she let the statement stand, too ashamed to go back and correct it. She flushed a bit, even. He stared at her, trying to figure out how to get past this awkward moment so he could finish his pizza.

—–

He couldn’t stop thinking about her as they lay in bed later, bedposts not put up yet so nowhere to hang his tie and suit. They remained fully clothed. Charlene wasn’t anxious tonight to slip into that babydoll. She was just as worried as Jeffrey was excited. “What do you think she was looking up on the interwebs over there?” he asked his likewise restless partner. “Man About Time said she was a scholar of some kind, but he didn’t know what of.”

“*I’m* a scholar,” muffled Charlene, mouth to pillow. She moved so she could more easily speak to her partner. “Perhaps you got us confused with each other. Let’s try that quiz again.”

“Okay,” he relented, knowing he may or may not pass it.

“Alright, who’s your wife? An easy one to begin.”

He knew he shouldn’t say, “you” — that never seemed to work. He remembered the roses. He remembered the checkerboard face. Or chessboard face, take your pick. “Wendy,” he said.

“Right, and where did you get married? I’ll throw that in for a new wrinkle.”

“Er… Urqhart?” He remembered a house across the road from the Illuminati place.

“Correct. And *why* did you get married… to Wendy? And, say, not *me*?”

“Because…” He couldn’t remember that part.

“Yes?” She wasn’t going to drop hints, it seems.

He simply didn’t recall that he was recently dead and had been resurrected by the power of the vows. It happened a lot when he’d just returned home.

(to be continued)

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