Tag Archives: Pietmond Boy^*!%

show i can all

Old Reading Man and Little Reading Light were the first to arrive, and, big surprise, each whipped out a book from their deep pockets and began reading.

What LRL was scanning had more to tell. St. Croix’s Diamond Keturah, but the Keturah was missing. A seismic activity earlier in the day had temporarily erased it from the island’s map. But the name would return soon enough. Such things always do.

Later, Biker Jones and Ranger Johns guarded the entrance to the meeting room, keeping out riff raff like the “reading twins” as they jokingly called them. “This is an *action* room,” they said to Old Reading Man and Little Reading Light after arriving themselves, telling the the two to remain sitting in their seats and just keeping on doing what they’re doing and stay out of it.

Meeting room. Action galore. Tronesisia led the charge, but many more straggled in between 7:47 and 8:01, with Carrcassonnee the last to arrive, saying she’ll just, “squeeze her big butt in against the wall over here,” as she put it. So: Carrcassonnee lives!

Others present, going counterclockwise from Tronesisia: (floating) Wyn Galbraithe from Lapara, Cardboard Derek Jones (no relation to doorman Biker Jones that I know of), Redbot, Old Man Baby…

…. and then, continuing to circle around, Carrcassonnee, whom we’ve spoken about, then, er, I guess that’s Doogie Martin (?), then Grey Seal who just wallowed out of the nearby sea to join in, then Furry Karl (another resurrection?!), and then a figure most commonly called Pietmond Boy in the blog, I believe.

Let’s pause here before continuing the character introductions to gander at two art pieces on the wall, the first hung directly behind the seated Pietmond Boy. It might be familiar to regular blog readers, being, at the base, the same as the famous painting “My First Sermon” by John Everett Millais, mentioned in Martin Gardner’s “The Annotated Alice” as probable direct inspiration for Tenniel’s illustration of Alice riding in a train in chapter 3 of “Through the Looking Glass”.

But there’s some twists here. Parts of what appears to be *another* picture bleed through around the edges in mysterious, blobby patches. We see the image of several ducks — or at least their heads — just behind or beyond the seated girl, for instance.

And then on the opposite side of the door from this, a now sideways Bunneh 02 and his egg and candle holding cushion cover up what appears to be another figure, perhaps from a bathing beauty poster, say, like in a mechanic’s garage.

Then continuing our introductions, we have Ben Thar (Mr. Bean cutout, actually) beside the Bunneh 02 art, then Bluebot (counterpart to Redbot across the room), then Second Lyfe founder Philip Linden standing behind Tronesisia in the corner, and lastly Ross C., another robot who may be a servant or some equivalent to the central Tronesisia.

Out in the hallway, yet another robot, named Claude — a golden hued gezzer made in ’25 — attempted to do the unspeakable to same just before the meeting (about 7:47). To excuse him *just* a bit, he *does* remember Tronesisia from Bennington when she was a mere pleasurebot and not the important and distinguished Collagesity novel character she’s known as today. But at any rate — and very justly of course — he was then promptly banned from the Meeting Room by Tronesisa who obviously spurned his advances. Get to reading the Collagesity graphic novels, Claude! Tronesisia has come a long long way from where she use to be back in those dark days.

Claude was only there because his perpetually smoking and toking brother Punky was acting as receptionist for the gathering out on the front porch. Claude had to drive his sibling around since he lost his feet in that rabbit tossing accident in ’92.

Punky was also known for his womanizing ways, and, similar to his brother, made little to no attempts at hiding it. Many times they had fought over the same “floozy dame”, as they sometimes labelled them.

In yet another room of the house, Original Eve (still macabrely clutching her dead child Oliver), Pigpen from the Grateful Dead, and couch sitting Norris/Harry waited for their chance to join in. It never came.

Nor did it for the 3d Venuses who just showed up at 8:15 with *way* too many friends and were barred from these kind of meetings for life.

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Mission

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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.

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“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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Home

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Urch finally woke up after what seemed like weeks of dreaming. But it still took her almost an hour to physically move away from the bed. Everyone else had already gone.

She took advantage of the solitude; kept thinking and reviewing the series of dreams in her head…

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Finally she realized she was hungry. Everyone else was probably already at the mission beside Fal Mouth Moon receiving breakfast. But she still dawdled.

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One floor up, she met Jim Jackson Jones Johnson also hanging behind the others. They sat down on the couch which doubled as his bed. He complained about the poor condition of his back for half an hour. Urch moved on…

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… to the third floor. Old Turchin McGurchin still hadn’t woke up. Urch decided he needed to be roused. Sometimes when they sleep this late they’re actually dead. Urch was greatly relieved to see the old man stir after being yelped at.

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“God?” he began. He looked up from the bed at Urch, eyes focusing. “Oh… it’s only you Urch. Breakfast time?”

“Sure,” said Urch. “Wanna walk over there with me? I’ve got some more dreams for you to analyze.” Turchin McGurchin was probably Urch’s best friend at the hobo squat ruin they called home, a kind of, um, poor man’s father figure.

“First I have something to show to you,” Turchin replied. “Top floor,” he commanded.

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“Newcomers, Urch. Call themselves The Martins. Like the bird.”

Urch kept looking at the Spookmobile still parked on the lift inside the garage. It seemed familiar.

“I believe I might have dreamed about them last night,” she says to Turchin McGurchin. “I believe they have… a pet. Not a bird but a snake.” She was suddenly remembering more. “A bigger snake that turned into a smaller snake. Shrunk down.” She moved her hands apart and then slid them together as an emphasizing gesture. Urch then realized or remembered that *she* was such a shrunk down being. She was John Jack Lemon, old man and child at once. She sat still for several minutes.

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“You okay, Urch?”

She roused herself, then got up from the ledge. “Sure, Turch. Let’s go get that breakfast. Lemme help you up.”

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The Core

Baker Bloch walks back into his Collagesity from the front gate of Old Mabel’s Clarity home (new name!) and pauses to admire its complex collage of structures.

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Ballerina returned to her rightful place beside Boos, check.

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A new being in town. “Welcome stranger.” No answer.

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Marv Taylorson never opened that garage of his here, thought Baker Bloch while passing. But Allen Martin’s got a much better setup over in Collagesity North now. He reminds himself that he’ll have to pick up the Spookmobile tomorrow. 5000 lindens for repairs! Well, that blows most of the money Baker Blinker made on the recent land sale over there, pheh.

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Into the private Blue Feather he goes to catch up with the town’s core constituents, meaning Baker Blinker, Hucka Doobie, and himself essentially. And also share news about Wheeler and Karoz Blogger over there on New Island. Karoz is returning for real this time! But alas — no, he shouldn’t think that. But Wheeler is coming back as well. The “Bill”, ugh.

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——

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“Thanks for sitting down here for a change,” said Baker after they had arranged themselves around a table on the bottom floor of the Blue Feather. “I’ll take one of the seats looking away from the forest since you two were so agreeable. But isn’t it beautiful?” He glances at the forest over his shoulder before unrendering the trees and grass to decrease lag. “I missed it, even in the short time I was away.”

“So explain, Baker Bloch,” opens Hucka Doobie. “You said you had something to tell us about Old Mabel.”

“First off,” says the male Baker, “we need to discuss a little bit about *time*. Remember the last Table meeting?”

“Sure,” states Hucka Doobie. “You were there.”

“No, I really wasn’t. That was Wilson. Old Mabel picked up on it. But here’s the thing — it doesn’t matter any longer who is who with what avatar. Not overall. I’ll show you.”

Baker Bloch turns into Old Mabel before Baker Blinker and Hucka Doobie’s very eyes, shocking them.

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“How?” is all Hucka Doobie could manage with dropped jaw.

“Well… Baker Blinker, check your outfits. You can do it too now. You see, our user had to first give me the power to also become Old Mabel because I had all the stuff. In any one *scene*, let’s say, it’s easier if one of the characters is me. Even if it isn’t me per se. So sometimes when I play Old Mabel, and I’ve been doing it frequently lately, then Wheeler becomes not *Wilson* but Baker Bloch — sometimes — to back me up. Of course Wheeler could also have the power to become Old Mabel. But we don’t like doing that to her.”

“Why not?” asks Hucka Doobie. She checked his outfits as well — no Old Mabel so far. Just her present form and the old bee outfit, her original Second Lyfe avatar.

“I can answer that question,” Hucka,” speaks up Baker Blinker. “It’s because Wheeler is different from everyone else here in town. I *use* to be her. We’re — what would you call it Baker Bloch? Complex.”

“It’s a definition we need to start thinking about, yes,” agrees Baker Bloch. “We’ve *all* changed a little. I’ve dropped the (Space Ghost) mask. Hucka Doobie, you’ve moved away from your Bee purity. But nothing like Baker Blinker has been through. And now: Wheeler. So we don’t like to tinker with what Wheeler is. That’s why she’s The Bill. That’s why she technically still runs the town. Baker Blinker knows all about this.”

“My time in the complex world is over. I’ve returned to basics, the simple. I’ve returned to what you guys are. I’ve had my walk on the dark side. I’ve stared through eyes of darkness. I passed that onto Wheeler, however, and I’m glad of it. I feel free.”

“You see, Hucka Doobie,” Baker Bloch says. “Baker Blinker needed to talk about this. Go ahead, Other Baker. You have the power now. Change into Old Mabel as well. The world won’t end because there’ll be two of her. Go ahead and show Hucka Doobie our user power.”

Baker Blinker decided on a different tactic, just to fool around with Baker Bloch.

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“Oh right,” he says. “I forgot about 3d Karl. You’ve been through this. And that was during the days of your dark passage. Very brave of you. Very brave indeed.”

“Let’s see if I can smile,” Baker Blinker says. She tries and fails. “Nope. It’s an old avatar, no longer available on the Second Lyfe marketplace. And the avatar is non-transferrable. So I’m essentially — most likely — the last Karl of my kind.”

“I had no idea about all this,” proclaims Hucka Doobie. “No idea atall. You’ll have to make a diagram to help me understand. You see, I’m still just a simple bee underneath at all. And I’m not inworld much. But I *do* remember one time I was here.” Hucka Doobie’s eyes slant knowingly behind her sunglasses. “See, I understand stuff you guys don’t. Baker Bloch, if you would insert a photo in your blog later on and I’ll tell the story now. The story of how I became One Pink.

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