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She walked right past the baby doll, not even tempted to pick it up for a cuddle. She was more grown up than infantile Jeffrie Phillips in that way.

She had to see for herself. The mother! Poor Katy Kidd. Another infant grown up too fast, thus the madness. She walked between the Big Boy legs, which probably wasn’t an error in this case. Just something she had to do to go inside.

She stops to ask a survivor if the beach was still straight ahead. The head nodded without sound. She wondered if this could even be All Orange in another guise. After all, a bloody dress was involved.

It was getting even creepier but Toddles kept moving forward toward the sea, the beach, the… explosion. A stick figure on a bike skirted her to the left without apology… a white doll boy in a tilted chair with slackened mouth also in that direction.  Straight ahead: another survivor. One of the lucky ones that was able to receive a mask.

“Is this the way to the beach? Darn bike!”

Another silent affirmation. She kept walking, rounding the old boathouse to the right to meet up with The Librarian, still perusing that Octopus book from the last photo-novel. The stench was becoming overpowering for the little girl. “Where is she?” Toddles demanded, tired of looking and wanting to get the hell out of this hell. She just had to see for herself. I still don’t think it was an error to enter, but we’ll see.

The Librarian didn’t stop reading but tilted his head to the left, indicating that direction. And there she was, face down in the sand. Or Toddles assumed it was her. She inched forward, the awful smell thicker and thicker.

She stopped at the tire. She could get no closer without fear of passing out. But she knew it was her now.

Katy Kidd, a little more grown up than we’ve seen her before. But definitely not reaching adulthood now. Toddles could go to Picturetown with a type of closure.

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winter is here

She was walking past the Rosehaven Yarn Shop when she had an epiphany. She goes inside. This is *my* shop, I mean, *queendom*. But someone else would disagree. A brother! He would say *kingdom*. So much like… who? *Mother*! And I take after… the father, pheh. Tully. It’s all coming back like the hot kiss at the end of a wet fist (thanks Peet!).

Winter. Just like when: Baker!

She stands on her Castle and thinks about Sanctuary.

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Since a Rosehaven Yarn Shop exists in both, I’m playing around tonight with a further melding between Picton, Ontario and NWES City of Our Second Lyfe.

Best additional resonance: the overlap of the also recently opened Her Majesty in NWES City with the Regent Theatre of Picton. Notice the parallel crowns in the center of the matching pictures below. And then notice that a girl wearing all black except for a hot pink dress (and seemingly holding a somewhat less hot pink colored coat) is walking directly underneath part of the theater marquee featuring the name *Pink* Floyd. Best guess: since Her Majesty is a bigfoot/yeti in Our Second Lyfe, and a black furred bigfoot is seen standing in the other doorway of Her Majesty (the main doorway here is framing Queen Elizabeth with a kind of menacing look — pic stood out for me) with footprints from him (or her) leading down the sidewalk, then the black clad woman must also be a bigfoot in my eyes, perhaps Her Majesty again in some queer way as transferred from virtual to real. The pink overlap is just a way to highlight this.

And so the actual name of Our Second Lyfe’s Her Majesty may be Vic, don’t you think. Or Vincent.

(to be continued)

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Deep into the night, far past supper, the person formerly known as Amber and several other names decides to go into the city. She sits on the subway, wishing the town council would vote to get it up and running. But they have so much else on their plate! She’d have to walk.


A new store: Rosehaven Yarn Shop.

But she didn’t have time to investigate tonight. She had to get back home to the Deep South of Black Ice by sunrise or else be found out by the parents. She was a man. She was a woman. Onward to the Red Rose owned by a Peet Aries who she’d never met but Dr. Baumbeer, the current renter, spoke glowingly about. Dr. Baumbeer: another changer, she thought as she passed the yarn store and kept in a straight line northward.


She had to stop to look at a map…

… then she recalled the Red Rose wasn’t actually in the Neptune sim she was currently passing through. Instead: Apple’s Orchard. Where she or he had his or her earliest memories of the city. Good times. She remembers something about a neck. Neck City it was called back them, but that was a faulty implant, pheh. Much like… here she reached up with her left hand and felt something that had changed in the meantime. She recalled Sandy Beech doing the same. Or was it Herbert Dune. She looked around, feeling people watching her — cameras. But no one spotted.


Like any urban area worth its salt, the city was changing.

She couldn’t go down this road any further — blocked in this direction. She checked her watch. 4:15. Time to be heading down to the lower side of Black Ice and crawl back in bed. The Red Rose must wait, she realized. For tonight at least, she would remain a woman.

(to be continued?)

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Charlie on the spot

The witnesses sat around the pit containing the crucial and central psychiatrist stand, two to the right…

…two to the left.

All were reading and not seeming to pay attention except one. The true witness: Norris, also known as JERRY or Harry. For he had seen much more than the others on his couch of stripes (etc.) and was curious how this would all turn out for Bill.

No one was looking at Norris now so Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer’s evaluation could begin.

“So, my queen. Let’s get right to the point.”

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“Great,” whispers Urch to Turch. “We have to sit next to Smelly Santy; got here too late.”

Luckily Turchin McGurchin was perhaps the only person in the hobo camp who even compared in odor to “SS”, as everyone called him, and correspondingly minded less than anyone else about sitting within his circle of stench. Barely hesitating, he plopped his old bones next to him and offered salutations. Urch took a deep breath and then took the seat opposite Turch.

At the other table of the mission sat Jim Jackson Jones Johnson directly behind Urch, who we’ve met, then beside him the old man who likes to read books over at Furry Karl’s Joker’s Wild bar, then caddycorner to him another shabbily dressed man reading a book who looks suspiciously like the Librarian in a new guise, and lastly Tronesisia, the pleasure bot of the camp, although no one acknowledges her by that title. Currently she’s playing around with a giant 3×3 rubic’s cube, and having no difficulty getting each of its sides to turn a solid color again and again after a reset, the object of the game. She’s very fit in both mind and body, as the camp found out 2 years back when she first showed up as another one of those exiles from cursed Bennington.

There was a polite period of waiting before Turch moved to the food buffet on the opposite wall. Everyone else had done eating, with paper plates and utensils already disposed of. Despite the stomach rumblings, Urch decided to beg off food this morning, saying she had a lot on her mind and didn’t want to weigh her body down. “Oh?” said the stinky but kind Santa being at her table, trying to help. “Did your brain eat something disagreeable in the last several days? That could do it.”

“I don’t think that’s quite it,” offered Urch, use to SS’s strange words.

“Then perhaps a parrot brought the disease in from a foreign tropical country, perhaps that one with the long coastline. Seas breed disease. That’s why the one word is nested in the other.”

“Could be,” Urch said, trying to agree with Smelly Santy so the conversation will end in this direction. “How’s Farmington doing? she then asked. “I heard you went back there for a couple of days.”

“Nice in late autumn when the leaves are dive bombing off the trees and creating bloody colors on the ground. But this is early spring apparently.”

“Then how was it?” asks Urch again. She was use to this drill about having to ask the same question to Smelly several times to get a type of proper answer.

“The sand blurred the dimensions between people into fuzzy cantaloupes. Dust everywhere. Hoofprints. You know the story.”

“I do,” Urch began again. “And how was it by the way?”

“Oh kids are fine. The wife is asking for the alimony check. The elves are back at work.” Smelly Santy paused, the corrected himself. “*Out* of work again. It’s early spring, right?”

“Right, SS.”

Turch now returned to the table with a plate containing a huge egg and piece of bacon, obvious products of the Bennington experiments. Suddenly glad she wasn’t eating this morning, Urch excused herself to check the upstairs. She was looking for someone in particular.


“Get me a glass of water while you’re up, Urch,” Turchin McGurchin requested before she left, nodding toward the food bar. “And don’t forget about telling me about your dreams,” he then demanded. He was hoping that Urch would spill the beans wine while he ate, but there’s that condition of hers to cope with. Poor Urch, he thought. Always running away from food and eating.

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“I’ll have what he’s having, Furry Karl.” Karl pours Karoz Blogger a glass of red house wine. “Add it to my tab,” Karoz then says, making the bartender sigh but nod.


“Pay up by the end of next month,” he warned. “And Tom’s rent is due as well. Where’ve you been? Galavanting around space still?”

“No,” says Karoz. “I’m done with that.”

“You mean *Wheeler* is done with that,” Furry Karl corrects.

“Yeah,” Karoz admitted. He took a sip of wine and looked down at his hands.

“Well… good to have you back still, I suppose. Just kidd’n. I missed you. A little.”

Karoz smiles. “I’ll pay you back, Furry Karl, I promise. You know I’m good for my word. I’m pulling some extra shifts at the Bodega Market to make up for lost time. And Wheeler granted me a stipend. I’m working for her, and I’m working for Tom.”

“How did Tom the Busker get ownership of that market again?” queries Karl, referring to the store directly across from his own establishment in SoSo Mall.

“Excuse me,” said the stranger also drinking wine to Karl. “Do you have a magnifying glass by chance? I can’t seem to read this one particular quote in lower type.”

Furry Karl looked annoyed. This stranger had been sitting at the bar for what seemed like a week to him. “No, I don’t have a magnifying glass. And this isn’t the library, by the way. That’s through the mall and down Old Cannon Road to your left. Maybe ol’ Bean will have a magnifying glass over there. Why don’t you try.”

“Oh, I think I can just make it out, thank you anyway,” says the stranger, eyes closer to his book now and either oblivious to Karl’s annoyance or just not caring if he does notice. He murmurs softly to himself now as he reads.

“Anyway,” Karl continues. “Spill the wine.”

Karoz tips over the wine glass.

“Not *literally*!”


“Sorry,” says Karoz. “So clumsy.”

“I’ll go get a rag from in back,” says an exasperated Karl.

The distraction worked. Karoz didn’t have to answer another question about Tom for almost a whole week. And by that time, he’d also figured out some more lies to tell about his job over at New Island. Polishing the silverware; yeah that’s it.

When Furry Karl returned, Karoz had already cleaned up the spill with a borrowed book. “Well, I suppose it’s time to get going,” the stranger said, making Karl’s frown turn upside down.


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Old Mabel’s Night

… discovering graffiti on the back of Furry Karl’s Joker’s Wild bar…


… learning that the word “SoSo” may actually derive from the older “Soos”…


… finding another Soos at the Table Room…


… discovering another Mabel (“Another twin!”) and ordering a L$50 cap from the Second Life marketplace…


… wearing said cap while studying up about this strange, parallel universe at her new home…


… having a dream about a giant Jiff wearing Brenda’s war helmet and peering into the Blue Feather at a burning lemon…


… having a dream about meeting Snowbob’s Great Uncle Spongebill Triangleslacks while Chesterton the Librarian eats noisily in one corner.


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most likely probably still

9:30 pm.


“The usual please, Furry Karl.”

“Coming right up, Baker Bloch.” Karl reaches into the cooler behind him a pulls out a tall can of Krings, popping it open and positioning it on the counter. Baker partakes.

“Ahh, good beer after a long hard day of work, eh Karl?”

“I suppose. I don’t drink myself.”

“Oh right,” says the male Baker. “The farming incident.”

“And the prostitutes. And killing that guy over in Bennington… besides all the other stuff done there.”

“Well, that’s all red liquid under the bridge for you Furry Karl. Clean sweep in this here Collagesity. New beginnings. Here’s to new beginnings.” He raises his beer.

“I can’t toast with you, but I’ll second that anyway. Listen, um, Baker. I can’t really talk much tonight. As you can see (Furry Karl looks around), the bar’s pretty busy.”

“I noticed that. Demon Days.”

“Yup. Gates of hell opened wide this weekend.”

Baker Bloch also looks around. “None in here at the moment I can spot, though.”

“Oh, they’ve been here. The mall’s been invested with them. Especially the Santas. I’ve counted at least 3. So… enjoy yourself here. Drinking alone tonight?” Furry Karl tacks on.

“No. Old Mabel will be joining me. We’re going to talk about her new living quarters — Spongebub’s former home.”

“Good, good.” A bald headed demon enters the bar and sits down at the last stool; starts to play computer cards as both Furry Karl and Baker try not to stare. “Okay, gotta run,” Karl says, moving toward him.


11:15 pm.


“I’m sorry once more I’m so late, Mr. Bloch. It’s just that Unch was there (!). I could see him finally. And from that perch on the southwest corner.”

“Next to Perch, yeah you told me.”

“Sorry.” Old Mabel realized that she was repeating herself in the excitement. “I dare not fully approach him yet. It is a him, correct?”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Baker responds. “I’m not sure he’s — or she’s — anything. Like the typical plant, I suppose. Minus ferns?”

“Mosses, maybe,” Old Mabel offers. “I’m still getting familiar with terra firma flora and fauna.”

“Right. You should have been here earlier, Old Mabel. Place was jumping. I think Furry Karl will be alright in this new location. It’s just so… in the middle of things.”

“Malls are special places,” agreed Old Mabel, taking a sip of her lemonade. “Well lighted. You can accidentally bump into your friends and neighbors without having to telephone them up.”

“Good point,” agrees Baker. “You get the social niceties out of the way without a social commitment.”

“I’m learning your ways.” Old Mabel smiles at him, studying his rugged orange face and dead white eyes. Yes, he’s still most likely the one, she thinks. Despite demon Jiff offering to change over his body to a larger and greener variety. Despite Snowbob and the day before yesterday. In the closet.


1:00 am.


“You’re so strange, having to sit with your back to the wall if anyone else is in a room with you.”

“One demon left around,” Baker Bloch whispers to Baker Blinker. “And it has to be here.” The small cyan demon squeaks in return — good ears on this one.

“Good that Old Mabel is getting adjusted. Maybe now she can get over this dislike of Wheeler, since she’s getting over, well, *you*.”

“I don’t think she likes Wheeler impersonating me at times,” Bloch agrees.

Baker Blinker sighs. “So where does that put *us*?”

“Same ol’ same ol'” the male Bake responds. “We are the parents of all that’s around us.” He waves his arm.

“I don’t think Karoz is coming back,” Baker Blinker says, tears starting to form in her eyes.

“Oh sure he is,” Baker Bloch attempts to comfort. “Wheeler’s probably sent him off on some crazy assignment to retrieve an ancient diary again.”

“She’s still looking for Number One, yes,” a sniffing Baker Blinker agrees, taking a sip of coffee with a shaky hand. “Muff-Bermingham was a bust. Plus the war started while we were there. Greens versus Grays. The one Little is involved in. A shame Old Mabel hasn’t heard a thing from him since he left.”

“Hasn’t she?” The male Baker eyes the female Baker knowingly.

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Demons in Collagesity







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