Tag Archives: Myrtle Beech^^+++++

August 16, 2023 · 4:37 pm

heart of the island trail

They left their familiars behind at the campfire, Mary and the 88s. We may catch up with them later. But first…

“Okay, all together with the magic donuts,” Wheeler commanded with the chocolate, Baker the strawberry. “One… two…”

Didn’t take long before she was somewhere else, being someone else. “Baker, w-where’d you go? Baker!? Suddenly she had to go, she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t shut the door for privacy. A little girl passed by.

“A little privacy?” she asked, making her stop and stare. Uncomfortably. “A little help?” She wanted the girl to shut the door and go away, because going away then shutting the door was impossible. “Little girl… your name please, little girl.” But then she recognized her. Shelley Struthers. From Hooktip. Just down the lane from her. Or up.


Shelley wasn’t suppose to talk to strangers, especially ones with long green noses and who smelled bad in the moment. Through the hat — different than the one Wheeler wore upon entering the woods in the heart of the island — she gathered she was confronting a witch. And it was strangely satisfying to see her obviously doing the thing that outhouses were made for. Gratifying indeed. She took in all the various, accompanying facial expressions. Why was this so fascinating?; like getting a mustard and ketchup laden hot dog with relish ta boot, she thought. So odd. The situation lasted a very long time indeed, probably much longer than possible actually. The witch had been saving it up for just this special moment, it seemed.

“*Thanks* little girl, er, *Shelley*. Thanks a *lot*,” she managed after it was finally over, door still open all this time. Then she realized she could have just “touched” it and shut it all along. In the heat of the moment, she forgot how Our Second Lyfe worked. “I’m *not* real here,” she muttered as a reinforcement. “I *didn’t* have to go to the bathroom — especially like that. I *could* have shut the door all the time. Heck, I didn’t even have to get seated. How’d *that* happen?” She looked up; Shelley was still there. “Well, move along… or speak or something. Don’t just keep standing there staring. Show’s over anyway.” She stands and finds she is clean down there, despite the lack of paper. Things were kind of getting back to “normal” in a virtual sense. And then her new hat was gone, replaced by the old. The girl extended her hand.

“You haven’t been here before, have you?” Wheeler shook her head and then grasped.

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August 15, 2023 · 12:12 pm

00390415

“Why from the Abyss,” she answered the hot dog guy, trying to guess the ambiguity. The Christmas look and the green nose didn’t win him over. “Gracious goodness I’ve forgotten the name of this festive thingamabob growing out of my nose,” she said just earlier, talking about it before he did, they all did (in her mind). “Not mistletoe — that’s for hanging *above* your head, not *off* it, ah ha ha ha ha!” Did the laugh convince?

“Well it looks like a big long booger,” he said crudely, and then asked if she wanted relish on her big loong dog. Disgusting. Why did she come out of hiding in the first place? To deal with lowlifes like this beach bum? This nobody? “Where you from? Woman?”

—–

Where indeed? There were *elephants* in her Abyss now, another sign she had to go, along with the rest of the avatar family. Zimmy is obviously Jimy. Jimy Z., gone as sure as Zimmy since he was also dead. Only the symbolic Liverpool plane remains: big red machine, twitch of the Morgan, lumber for a Bench. Red as Rose, another archetype and more obvious. Red Star becomes Old Red Star and is banished from the game he so so loves. They bring in a Foster boy and he turns out to be just as legit as any of ’em. Conception is an error caught between the legs. Perez just is. Geronimo! (and he died) Griffey had a Junior who took control. One through eight complete. Visible compendium. No need to worry about the zero and the nine. They were enough by themselves to carry the team through any troubles, ride it to victory. Never mind who pitches what. What’s the pitch, Pitch? Didn’t matter. They were enough. Biiig lumber.

She went to talk to Willy Wonka in the past present future to give him a piece of her mind, dodging big piles of elephant doo all along the way. They met at the south end of the property, where we’ve been before, CROOKED in clear sight through an opening between palm trees and rocks. “You *don’t* understand,” she complained while indicating. “Those are *historic* buildings over there.” “That *junk*?” he reiterated, trying to think of new and more effective ways to derender all that for his fancy smancy artsy fartsy photos. “It looks like, I don’t know, a giant kid ate a whole bunch of tinker toys and legos and then threw up.” “*Moard* *Ling*”, she kept defending. “You’ll never hold a candle to him… Wonka.” It took a while but she had learned to respect the prolific prim creator, stuck in the past but with lessons to teach. Sometimes the past is better, at least in part, in ways. This is what she learned from Constantynople, soon to be no more here. She was about to have her last pass through it. She spotted the purple garbed guy — another *former* after all, another one living in the past. Why can’t he *see*?

It could have been different.

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August 13, 2023 · 4:57 pm

dream ended

Welp, my stay on the island of Constance didn’t last as long as I hoped it would. Leaving in a week. Immediate neighbor called my town there *junk*. Another neighbor has blocked it off with a big screen. Shame. But where to next? Maybe take a little break from virtual land ownership, rent smaller places for a while? NWES City remains an option, a strong one. Perhaps the most logical one. Just like I’ve done before. But playing around with this “island-state” certainly was fun, I’ll say! Our Second Lyfe is soo mutable.

I’ll take the redecorated CROOKED with me wherever I go. And I can keep exploring the island from a distance, without all the involved money. I’ll regroup elsewhere. Though it might take a while to get back to this finely balanced point. Goodbye Myrtle and the rest! Let’s see what happens this week to tie a bow on the process.

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August 13, 2023 · 9:17 am

00390412

And so he’s come full circle, staring at a wall screen that shouldn’t be here. Constantynople should be integrated into the rest of the island by now. Yet: segregated still; central importance not realized, not understood. Myrtle’s urgings to her neighbors remained in the future, hidden in a probable reality, perhaps never to see the light of day and, if so, perhaps just falling on deaf ears, as she was once deaf to the situation. Yet she saw CROOKED (in the future), she saw the light, thanks to the Abyss and Axis. She turned.

—–

“Hooray, he’s back!” cried the standing yellow porch ickle upon seeing him enter the square. But Mr. Z was not nearly as enthusiastic as when this first happened over 2 months ago, shortly after Constantynople itself was formed. Now it just seemed old… and tired. He says goodbye to the excited ickle, arms still raised in joy, and lumbers up to his 2nd floor apt. pondering next steps. Zimmy, if only I’d found you in Southside, he thinks, head in hands, about ready for a good cry. Now I am still alone. The tears begin…

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August 11, 2023 · 8:42 am

Big Red Machine (skirted)

She could of course still summon him when needed, like during meditation. Not the meditation itself for the need but what usually came after, another afterthought of sorts, the byproduct of two souls being one. If she falls, he falls, so intertwined are their individual pieces by now. Which will inevitably happen: all things spring up and all things fall back, product of the clocks and the seasons. Always blue yellow blue yellow to go along with green red green red, if you will. A complete TILE is the only way to revolve in time. They had understood this ages ago, back when they were still kits, still in the box yet to be correctly assembled by the mother, the father. They’d tried once before, but left out some parts and the whole thing fell to Hell, a screw missing here, a joint missing there. But when they finally followed the instructions the way they were suppose to be: perfection. A girl and a boy both. Adam and Eve reborn. “I will call the female X,” the mother said, approved for such things. “And the boy: Z,” the father said, looking down on his own and then glancing over at what the wife had done, seeing it was good too. “We have done well Myrtle. My Myrtle Beech.” Sand was in his eye; he was dreaming but it was still real, just as X and Z, later Xia and Zimmy, were real. One could absorb the other if needed for protection. X could move up to Z and Z down to X. But given the circumstances of Constantynople and the arrangement at the top of the Kidd Tower, it had to be this way: Z to X. Mr. Babyface stares from his staring chair, understanding this. “Xilted,” he says, knowing it was behind him as well and no longer Zebrasil now two floors above in the alphabet. The Gods have spoken.

“Zebrasil,” he said, staring up through the transparent canopy of the bed and thinking of top vs. bottom and bottom vs. top. “Xilted,” she said in turn, pondering the same. There were degrees to it, well 3 that they could count in the current game. The 4th would represent the Null, the Void, the Absent; the return to home. Nothing to keep them apart. They were just on the surface still, first base yet to be encountered.  No sin in Cincinnati.

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August 10, 2023 · 8:27 pm

00390408

She checks her nails to make sure they made it through the teleport okay. “I’m glad you didn’t give away my location, Myrtle. That’s very sweet of you — protective almost.” As stated in the last photo-novel, Xia knew that Myrtle loved her. It was all games beyond that core truth.

Myrtle smiled through the relaxation. She needs this after Mr. Z’s visit! Float in Xia’s sky tub, albiet with clothes on because she was ashamed of, to her, “cow-ish” body. With Zimmy still nowhere to be found. Because he was she. “Think nothing of it,” Myrtle said, floating a little closer to the dress, those legs, those… eyes. Deep pools of God stuff — if only Xia would put that hand back on her dress so she could see them. “Are you going to sit on the edge all night or are you going to come in with me?” She splashed a little water in her direction in an attempt to get her wet to begin. Only her toes now. She needed it all.

She is mine, Myrtle thinks, splashing some more, coming ever closer. Mr. Z can’t have him back, damn the whole TILE angle. “Damn the whole TILE angle!” she said up to Xia, who replied with a, “Damn right!” and jumped in if only to obstruct the view again, soon to be enveloped by arms but, as usual, rejected. She was saving herself for Zimmy. Games.

And then Chet came into her life and Myrtle was still an afterthought.

(to be continued)

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August 9, 2023 · 9:30 am

barn raised

Backpack loaded even more down than usual, Mr. Z sets off for the opposite coast, Southside some call it, more private than public as “Northside” here is more public than private.

He drops down beside the yellow ickle who bids him farewell and says he wishes he could go as well. Mr. Z points out that he’s a figurine and not really an avatar able to move about or he’d gladly take him along with him, if only to help carry his heavy pack. “Thank you,” the ickle said to this, happy to be even thought of.

Below Constantynople, he quickly encounters elephants where once was an empty Abyss, and not too long ago. Despite a tiger also being in their mix, he safely makes his way to the ridge in the distance that marks the boundary of Myrtle’s property, the highest point on the island despite being only about 15 meters above sea level.

Finding the Passable Property Corner (PPC), he successfully bypasses the ridge to entering Myrtle’s public part.

Damn. Forgot to close the outhouse door, she thought while staring at it from the single room she lived in, which Mr. Z. subsequently has to walk by to get to the house.

Cow, eh? How appropriate. He ignores the lingering smell while skirting, sights set on his goal.

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August 4, 2023 · 7:52 am

extreme resonance

“Well I have to admit I’m *jealous* Mr. Z. You’ve done such a fabulous job here…”

“Aw *shucks*. T’wernt nothing.” His true face on the many masked backpack he always carries around identifies itself by turning slightly red here.

“And I’ve, well, I’ve barely touched the Temple of TILE. So jealous…”

Mr. Z reached over, patted his hand. “We’ll work on it… *together*.”

“Sweet of you.”

“But first I have to make a journey. Across the island, south side instead of north. I have to go see where my cousin is, the other Mr. Z, the one they specifically named and called Zimmy. Last I heard: with a Beech.

Al’s cell phone rang. “I have to take this,” he said to the historian living on the second floor of Crooked in the village of Constantynople who had just recreated, to the best of his ability, the famous TILE channeling room where a 3rd cousin to himself and Zimmy, Olive Oylstick (who we’ve already met in this here photo-novel at the end of section 01), gave the virtual and real worlds her uber-important manifesto. All the answers to the universe, some say are in there. Trouble was, no one really knew how to properly decode the almost indecipherable document yet. Mr. Z was hoping that this re-creation was a step in that direction, along with coordination with Al and his high connections, TOM we’re talking about here. Who is on the other side of the line with Al now. Let’s listen in as best we can.

“Yeah it’s a nice day here in Constantynople, thanks for asking. What’s on your mind, TOM?”

Reply. I thought I heard the word Jasper, which was confirmed just ahead.

“Oh. Sorry to hear about that, TOM. So, hmm, I guess you’ll be staying in the Waste now. Is that where I find you?”

Longer reply. Perhaps a minute or even two.

“For now, huh?” Al responds. “Seeing what develops in Jasper — not giving up on it. Okay, as long as I know where you are.” Then, glancing over his shoulder at the setup within, Al gives him some news that he thinks will cheer his superior boss up.

(to be continued)

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July 14, 2023 · 6:41 am

X’s and

Mr. Babyface’s big mouth on his huge head forms an O. He realizes he’s been staring at perfection all this time, volcano at top, familiar green green Xilted and its now grassy fields at the bottom. All answers lie here.

Al temporarily staying over at the Temple of TILE until they get a true custodian of the place was thinking along the same lines. Paradise found. His itchy and scratchy down there has suddenly and, to him, miraculously cleared up, even though it appears to be exacerbated especially by heat and it’s now basically the middle of the summer. Subtract the bit o’ heartburn which he’s not worried about (he’ll adjust his meal again tonight to further pinpoint the issue), he realizes he hadn’t been this healthy in years. From this center of power combining present past future, he wonders what’s next for Shelley, for Arthur and Edward, for Mr. Babyface and whoever shows up to be his companion and sounding board for more Big E/Big Schwa theories in the Kidd Tower, perhaps old lover Greg Ogden (who can still change into green green Gregg Oden when provoked), or maybe nephew Peter Ladd, a cousin of Lamb’s Paul and thus from a different mother, even though they both call Babyface Uncle.

Mr. Babyface has the impression that Shelley and her boat boys will be moving out of the top of Kidd Tower soon, tired of the limited space there. Soon, then, his dining room and his staring chair will be backed by (the map of) Zebrasil not Xilted, as he moves out of W (lower) and X (upper) back to Y (lower) and Z (upper). That’s his hope.

In other locations, Mr. Z has dropped his backpack and its many masks collected over both real and virtual continents in the second floor of Crooked, determined to make it a home too, as well as a space to further the TILE study group he wishes to jump start here in town. The standing yellow ickle just below is sure to follow; another Lamb — and a needed 4th color to balance the other 3, red green blue. We’ll soon see.

But Mr. Z has a journey to make first. He additionally senses he must unite public north and private south into one to make Constantynople and Constance Island as a whole truly fulfilled; be made a *constant*. Myrtle Beech must be visited. And he needs to get the lowdown on the whereabouts of his own cousin Zimmy.

But I forget. Mary, the third member of Lamb to add to Peter (different from Peter Ladd) and Paul, is already here! And so is hubby Pitch Darkly. They’re established at Darkly Manor, their old home from Collagesity back in the days, back when it was set up right next door to the sacred Rubi Woods. Through a transparent upstairs wall they could stare directly into the many linden trees, the cypress 1’s and 2’s, the eucalyptuses, and, most mysterious of course but only occasionally, perhaps only that one time, Unch himself, the fabled 200th tree of the forest, the one that has the ability to uproot itself and go walking about the place. Being a Linden creation and thus supposedly permanent, the forest is still there. Just not Collagesity. The also sacred 97/97/97 spot that once united Collagesity directly with VHC City on the same continent of Heterocera is protected from alteration, i.e., terraforming from the outside, the thing which ruined the parallel 97/97/97 in VHC City, psychically uncoupling the 2 burgs.

And what of Shelley? *She* is from that same diagonal line crossing the continent, its very tip top in fact in Hooktip, a suburb of VHC City — 135/135/135. Another perfection, it seems. Mr. Babyface is huffing and puffing on his recently purchased Blue Pennant tobacco by way of Hana Lei which replaced inferior Red Dragon, still staring, still preparing in his mind. Won’t be long now.

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June 23, 2023 · 9:40 pm

red over blue (Democracy continues)

It’s a very blue place, she thinks. 10:01 AM. Yet she stares.

Wonder why Myrtle doesn’t like linden plants? she ponders.  I’ve *always* liked linden plants. Maybe the only one she respects, the branchy winter tree with no leaves, is my *least* favorite, hmph.

Someone else should be with me here in this lonely spot, she ruminates. Someone else blue.

She suddenly has the urge to get up and dance. Must be the costume. And the place.

—–

“I see plumeria over there,” she spoke later to rail sitting Edward, her chosen beau for the day. She’d changed into something safer, something non-dancey, urge abated. “I see palm tree no. 1, palm tree no. 2. And then a cypress tree 1 just up the hill. What’s not to love?”

“Different strokes for different folks,” Edward offered to Shelley’s continued rant. She just couldn’t get the logic of Myrtle’s opinion.

“Very regimented. *No* chaos. No mention of mainlands. What a mess! she might exclaim. Yet… she’s there. On Constance.”

“*You* put her there. Even gave her that weird belly button, the on and off thing.”

“The Abyss must be a key. That’s where we meet, her and me. That’s where I can tell her off if she doesn’t friend me.”

“Drop it,” urges Edward to the girl, perhaps the love of his life. If Wanda doesn’t enter the picture again. “Let it go.”

“The *island* is all about that merger.” But as she spoke this, she began to doubt her words. It was more than just that.

—–

The next day Shelley replaced Edward with Arthur in the sim of Escanes and they studied the illegal TILE treatises of Bart and Lisa in a sand covered underwater room directly beneath a false island planted with those plumeria and palms, thinking their actions there were unexposed to the prying eyes of superiors on the FILE. They weren’t; didn’t call them that for nutt’n.

(to be continued)

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