Tag Archives: Marilyn^^~

Marilyn Monroe type

“How are we going to get up *that* thing, Mr. Archer?” Toddles said in her wee, cute voice, so full of hope just moments before. Then they heard the roar and remembered. They’d forgotten for so long. The obstacle.

“How are you with barrels?” Archer returned, thinking of a solution. Toddles would go up first and then lower down a rope or something.

Toddles suddenly had a growing spurt, then another, then another to make 3 total. She was 5’10”. Then three more to reach the needed height to simply pick up tiny Mr. Archer (to her) and set him on top of the reverse falls along with the car, then step up herself via a large rock pictured above.

“Handy you can do that!!” he shouted up when they were back together on another rock.

“WHAT??” she replied from a great height, and then shrank down again.

“I said…!!”.

“No need to shout now, Mr. Archer. I’m right beside you here.

“Please… call me Peet,” he requested, seeing her quick dry herself as well. She had shrunk down three but not the remaining. She remained a pretty big girl. Pretty grown up. “We’ve been through a lot.”

At the “Picturetown 30 miles” sign he wondered if she was ever going to step back down those original three. She was not a toddler. In fact, she offered to drive after Niagara.


entering Picturetown

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Her Majesty

Hmph. This wasn’t here last night (when I passed by). Changes again!

And where did my red cap go??


The Cones (formerly Victory Restaurant)

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Deep South

Marilyn was incredulous. “Cook tonight?? Andy, you can barely make *soup*, hmph.”

“I do all right.”

—–

Nearby:

We missed out on our chance at Elberta, brother of mine. She’s gone.”

“Toothpick’s sister? She’s right up there.”

“I know. But that’s her *picture*.”

“Oh.” Boos scratches his unbagged head.

Bogota took another look at the framed photos on the wall through the holes in his skull; had a realization. “Wait… that’s *Amber*. Remember Amber?”

“The wrestler?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember Neck City?”

“It’s coming back (!)” The memories were focusing…

—–

Nearby again:

“Sure glad to have Amber back,” Dickie Doom states while looking over at his golden hued daughter preparing the food for tonight, but wife Debbie knew that wasn’t her real name. Not any longer.

“Dick. We need to talk.”

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site manager

“I’ve been mean-ing to ask you,” coos Marilyn, washing her hands before exiting the joint just as she did when entering. “How’s Di-nah doing? I never see her around any more.”

“Oh, pheh,” Moe waved off the poster behind the wash basin. “That old thing? That’s just an expression. You can do it by yourself if needed. Right Zapppa?”

Zapppa continued to look at the counter, obviously uncomfortable in the moment. “I’m not here for small talk, Moe,” he said in a big voice. He then stared straight into his eyes, determined to get it over. “You’re fired.”

Moe picks up a beer glass, wipes it, sets it down again. “It’s — it’s that girl, isn’t it? She’s *helping* you.”

“No, I didn’t say that.” He gets up to leave; reaches into Cassandra’s brain container first.

“Hey! Where you going with Homer’s head?? And, hey, what’s, er, this here at the bottom of his jar?”

“Retirement pension!” Zapppa shouted back before disappearing over the Montana horizon, knowing that egg would take him far.

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no Bigfoot

“It didn’t work out for us in Cassandra City, Moe.” Man About Time (MAT) looks over at revolving Homer. “But maybe it will work out here. In another city: NWES City. The City.”

“Town,” Moe gruffed back at sitting Man About Time (MAT). “Check the latest *town* council meeting notes. Here, I’ll send you a notecard.” The bartender was clearly miffed about the decision.

Man About Town checks the notecard; then: “I see.”

“Diamondfyre was the deciding vote,” Moe went on. “East and West decided nay, and North and South decided yea. So it was up to Diamondfyre to tip the balance — the, er, unofficial 5th sim of the town. Northwest if you will.”

MAT was still staring at the notecard in his inventory. “I’ll fight it,” he declares mildly but firmly.

“It’s partly *your* lot’s fault, see. You Collagesity people, moving in here and renting here and there and there and there. Like this joint. Does Moe’s really belong in this town?”

“Yes,” issues MAT promptly. He stares at the revolving head again. But perhaps not Homer, he thinks. Maybe that’s the key. One of them. Removal of the head. But Moe already said he wouldn’t travel without the head. So here we are.

“Moe,” MAT decides to venture after a sip of American beer. So insipid. “How close are you to retirement?”

“I don’t know,” he returned roughly. “5 years?”

More like 5 days, Man About Time then thought. Maybe even 5 hours. The head spins ’round for one of its last times here.

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variables

“I’m tired of all these books, Ross C. Go into the future and get me some clean ones, without the virus that’s going all around the place.”

Ross C. bleeped and blipped and estimated that it would take 5 man-hours to return from the future with the equivalent amount of books currently in Andy Warhole’s library, 1/2 of art and 1/2 of other. He never reads them, however. He just likes their appearance in this room when visitors come around. Which should be tonight for Marilyn, Hilter, and the rest. The party starts in 3 hours. Not enough time, Ross C. realizes. She tells her master this.

“Then just get rid of the lot of ’em,” Warhole waves off. “Build me a big aquarium and fill it full of colorful and exotic fish. Get the color pattern from my Marilyn screenprint, the one from Niagara (movie).” Ross C. does the blipping and bleeping thing again and now estimates this will take 10 hours to create, or twice as long as the new library of books. She tells him this.

“Then let’s just, I don’t know, *move*. What are we doing here anyway? This is not my apartment; these are not my books. I don’t have an apartment in the City. I live on the east coast, next to the clean, refreshing Korean Channel full of war ships and war planes and flags and explosions. So exciting. Move our asses, yes. That’s what we should do. That other art fellow lives here instead, Barry or Barren or something or other.” Warhole looks out the window. “Why he’s just painted that Super Building over there, turned it into a *Supper* Building to make Dinner Girl and her lot happy.” Warhole sighs. Ross C. waits patiently for more orders. They always come. She knew they didn’t have to move since they don’t live here in the first place. Or do they?

Warhole settles back into the plastic pink couch, resigned to host the party since everyone is already invited. “Destroy the bookshelf, yes. Just destroy the wall. Why do we have 2 rooms in this City apartment? Studio apartments are where it’s at. I am an artist after all, Jesus. Destroy the wall.”

Ross C. estimates that it will take 2 1/2 hours to destroy the bookshelf and the wall between the 2 rooms of the apartment, fusing them into one. But that doesn’t include the cleaning up, which will take an additional 1/2 hour. “It will be close, master,” she offers in her metallic way.

—–

I loove what you’ve done to the place, Andy. It’s so — open!”

“Thank you, Marilyn.” Ross C. hides in the corner behind the door with the filled dustpan, unable to escape when the first wave of guests arrived.

—–

“PERfect!”

Party over.

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you got it: maps again

“A message to all my fans out there. Some like their Pink hot.”

—–

“This will never work, Elberta,” Toothpick states at another low point. “You’re so beautiful and I’m so… ugly. Never mind the whole brother-sister…”

“I’m going to stop you there, potential husband of mind. No, better, I’m going to *absorb* you. I want to see what happens.”

Toothpick/Filbert was at a low point, as stated. He had nothing to lose. “Take me.”

—-

“He must never find you, Ross C. He’ll destroy our little square world if he does and make everyone in it miserable.”

“Happy (*zip*) unhappy,” she sputtered.

There’s only one way out. *Become* the world, see. See me in him and him in me.”

Robot from the future Ross C. saw the truth in it.

—–

Hotgirl was freed from Misery Cabin but was unable to speak about her experience there for a while.

Old reality was flickering on and off.

She eventually made her way back to GASTON.

—–

“What we *need* to do,” old companion Domino told Hotgirl Hitgirl Hitgerl Hitgurl Hitgal while they watched piled up house band Firesign Theatre play for the 4th time tonight at the Rhino, “is to similarly change *Misery*… to *Mystery*. That’s what [delete name] indicates.”

“Shuts your trap.” But the seed had been planted.

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pink and brown

The Fuhrer was furious. He glared at each in turn. “Why didn’t you *tell* me I was dead, Andy… Marilyn.

Where’s your Ross C. anyway, Andy? I need to talk to the robot from the future about the, well, *future*.” He looks out at the sea and northern part of the sacred isles. He can hear but not see the battles raging on more behind him. “*Japanese*. How *dare* they continue fighting beyond my death. The war is over!” Another plane crashes into another ship, spewing metal and glass and bodies all around. Hilter stills doesn’t turn. Andy decides to explain to him gently; bring him back to Earth in at least a virtual manner.

“Your name is Hilter, bud. This guy who’s dead in this paper, a lookalike mind you but only that, is named *Hitler*. It’s not you. You are just a man wearing a Hitler, er, Hilter costume. Halloween’s coming up, and then X-mas after that. You are merely dressed for the seasons. You have forgotten who you truly are. At the core.”

“Yes,” Marilyn breathily adds but stops there. Andy has stated the core issue and that was enough for the present. Andy Warhole is surprisingly lucid these days. Perhaps he’s finally gotten over being kidnapped by David Bowie in yet another ship, a terrifying experience that made his hair turn white.

“Why don’t we just go inside the bar and look at the girls. Maybe that’ll calm you down,” suggested the suddenly sage artist formerly known as an a-hole of a man.

—–

“*Japanese*!” Hilter starts once more. Didn’t work.

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new again!

After publishing for real, I add categories (essentially: locations) and tags (essentially: characters) as needed. I’ll just do it again in this new post (“new again!”) to illustrate. Then if the reader desires, they can check back and look at the history of a particular location, a particular character. Here’s what we have for Andy Warhole, for example:

https://bakerbloch.com/tag/andy-warhole/

From this you can see that the last post he was in before “new!”, published a couple of weeks ago and called “customers”, also contained the same characters: Hilter, Marilyn, add in Gabby Truth this time. So let’s just, for fun, check Gabby’s past posts:

https://bakerbloch.com/tag/gabby-truth/

Ahh, you see? He also has a history with these particular characters, stretching back to photo-novel 14 and his time in Toppsity on the Maebaleia/Satori continent while living there with his brother Amos, who was, let’s see, about a month and a 1/2 back, declared dead due to repeated self ignitions, 7 to be specific as I’m checking.

https://bakerbloch.com/tag/amos-truth/

A sad tale. Gabby still lives in Cassandra City

https://bakerbloch.com/category/virtual/maebaleia-satori/cassandra-city/

to the south of Toppsity

https://bakerbloch.com/category/virtual/maebaleia-satori/toppsity/

and last time I checked (“customers” again) was working in my Moe’s tavern there as a soothsayer, using tarot cards, 8 ball, and roshambo together to create the most effective vortex of timely prognostications. He told Hilter recently that he was already chancellor of Germany even though it was only 1919, another time and space and collage confusion. He dispensed timely if watered down wisdom to Andy Warhole about his art career and the impending doom he sees. Casey One Hole, one a-hole of a guy. We should get back to him.

https://bakerbloch.com/tag/casey-the-alien-casey-one-hole/

And what of Gabby and Amos’ seldom seen brother Keith B., hmm?

https://bakerbloch.com/tag/keith-b/

So much to keep up with these days.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0021, 0506, Cassandra City^, Heterocera^^, Iris^, Maebaleia/Satori^^, Toppsity^

new!

The buffet was already laid out on the serving table at The Cones, my latest local eating and drinking establishment but this time for core avatars only, where they can let down their hair and be themselves and mingle amongst their other selves without the need for masks and separate identities. Take silhouetted Andy Warhole here on the upper deck, waiting for his date Marilyn to show up. But actually they were one core avatar and each knew the other knew this. In the moment. So while he waited, he was actually waiting for the single user of both, the single core used by this user, to simply change his costume to Marilyn’s, switch chairs, and then combine snapshots of each into one composite photo to make it seem the two were on a date. This happens over and over in the outside world, with little recognition by the avatars themselves. But here, at Sunklands Institute in the great Iris waterlands — swamp some derisively call it, like Roger Pine Ridge back in the days — separation could be relaxed and examined more from a distance, a perspective. Photo-novel 13, in fact, is all about getting back to core — that could be a subtitle.

The sun had just set when Warhole switched chairs and the collaging process mentioned above took place.

“Marilyn, so glad to see me, ahem, you again.”

“It’s purrr-fect here,” she cooed while staring out at the spot where the sun had just set, seeing no aftereffects commonly known as twilight, or the refraction and scattering of the sun’s rays caused by the atmosphere. Strange — this wouldn’t happen in the real world. Real Life. She decided to ask about this.

After Andy Warhole uttered the almost obligatory 5 or 6 repeats of her name, all in the same monotone, he responded properly. “No this isn’t real for certain, this — *world*.” But not being very philosophical he had no more to say about this. The DJ for the night showed up, and he mumbled, “About time.” It was Hilter, Chancellor of all of Germany by this point in time but not the all encompassing evil dude we know and despise by a slightly different name. So: 1939. Twenty years after the publication of the infamous Red Book.

Actually I have to bring in another core avatar to play Hilter, since Baker Bloch doesn’t have that costume or what’s more commonly called, in Our Second Lyfe terms, an “outfit”. So Bracket Jupiter is logged on since he does — two core avatars here are logged on simultaneously, which is common and even necessary in my work. He takes his position while I make another collage of Marilyn and Andy in the background. I add facelights to both to help highlight their position. Hilter waits calmly for it to be over before starting his first tune. And what would that tune be, you might ask? 1939… lemme check. INSERT PHOTO HERE

I believe it was Pink Floyd’s “On the Run” combined with Judy Garland’s “Over the Rainbow,” but difficult to say definitively because of the confusing effects of yet another collage.

(to be continued)

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