Tag Archives: Sab Blackath^*+

sunset

“Okay I’m here on the beach beside the TILE ball, Tom. I’ve got you on speaker so I can keep reading this interesting magazine in front of me. Perhaps clues in there, you understand.” Al didn’t really believe there were any clues in there. He just liked the articles advertised on the cover. All about Home — he wished he had a true home and not just continue to be a traveler of both time and space. He desired to settle down, like the old days, fast becoming the *good* old days.

After the reply: “About 8:01 PM it looks by the sun. Roughly speaking.”

Reply.

“No. No one on the beach except me. No surfers spotted, no one.”

Reply.

“It’s a pretty beach. Pretty long that is (*snicker*).”

Reply.

“No time for jokes, I understand. Jokes later.”

Reply.

“I’ll get settled in. I guess I’ll just bed down here for the night. Then start up the road tomorrow after I check out the beach more in the morning. Maybe I’ll get to interact with someone then.” Al didn’t doubt that his boss Thomasina was onto something sending him here. TILE was strong — he could feel it, as he does. ‘No orange, no purple, let’s make this shit happen,’ he recalls about the sacred manuscript. And here, supposedly, is the amender of such, the bringer of cow and a lot of other things. Won’t have any shorts left, Thomasina said. Al was looking for a little yellow naked fellow. But he was wrong on that.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0303, HANA LEI

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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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0206, Constantynople, Heterocera, Jeogeot, Kidd Tower, Nautilus, Rank & File, Rubi, Temple of TILE, VHC City, Xilted

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“Good you came back from the 1/2 world by getting together with Sarah,” Thomasina reviewed. We were back in her old office, the hovel in the Waste, new one in Jasper Falls being redecorated perhaps. “How is Sarah?”

“She’s dead,” Al put it bluntly.

“Good, good,” said Thomasina to this. “Good that the manufactured ones are killed off when their job is done. Metaverse would soon get migh-ty cluttered if we had doppelgangers piling up all over the place.

“We could bring her back,” points out Al. “We have the seed.”

“Indeed we do. But your focus now must remain on Shelley, our Jennifer Lane, author of 38 romance novels to date and still pilling up all over the place. What was the name of her new publisher?”

“Shady Lane,” replied Al. “Just minted.”

“Hmm, we’ll see how it goes.”

Then Al shared some pictures of it.

“This is the beginning of it. Or end,” explained Al to Thomasina, holding this photo. “Notice ‘Lane’ had been cut off of the sign (leaving only ‘Shady’).”

“In-teresting.”

“And… this one indicates that TILE is strong on this road, this lane, this forgotten byway that even the town of Boulder seems to have trouble locating for trash pickup and so on, at least according to that woman I met. And it’s about a block from downtown!”

“No need to shout,” requests Thomasina. “I know this is weird, trust me.”

“And, then this one… a rock. Thought I’d include that– about 1/2 way up the lane. Do you think it has a wielding spell inside? Like that other one we found in that other 1/2 way spot?”

“Swordstone?” offered Thomasina. She nodded while still staring, still contemplating. “Could be.”

“Sorry about the darkness of the picture. Shady in there, you know.”

“Of course.”

“And then this one just looking up the lane from about the location of the TILE symbol on the side of that house. Obviously a TILE enclave–”

“Obviously,” quickly agreed Thomasina. She paused. “Will you go back today?”

“I guess so.”

“Remember to take your walking stick. The one with the eyes.”

“Always.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0204, Boulder, The Waste+

00390201

Weird she can see the lower tip of Beatrice from here, she thinks. Where she, in fact, comes from (novel 38; on a white horse). She checks the distance on the inworld map in her, um, mind. Over 200 meters away still, and her draw distance used here is only 64 to reduce lag in an urban area. She thinks again of Constantinople, the *real* thing, and her graphically talented, er, doppelganger. Here incarnated as Myrtle Beech out on the southern tip of *this* island. Another 200 meters or so in the opposite direction.

She moves to the opposite window of the upper floor of her new (!) apartment, important furniture purchase finished. It all revolves around, well, the central affair which is not an affair atall. She smiles at the irony. She can continue with her romance novel 39 and keep the marriage to Arthur intact. She can have her cake and eat it too. She came here, in effect, in 2 boats at once. But what really was this island she now exists on with her others? Constants? Close enough.

Arthur will be home soon from job hunting. Better get back to the interwebs and do some more research before he arrives (she decides). Hogs the whole living room with his applications and such. Great views, but — drawback — small apt. Barely room for the bed upstairs. And what about a kitchen? She’s *not* sharing an oven and a fridge with that big headed dude downstairs (!).

Strange, she think while staring from the couch now (*not* new). The entire Smipsons family shows up at the bottom of the store’s page but no sign of Al or Sarah’s avatar, hmm. Oh, she realizes. No adult content here; she’s not signed in to the Marketplace. And Al and Sarah are certainly adults now after what happened at the Homeless Union last night, away from Cowboy’s still drunk presence. Who cares if he chokes on his own vomit, Sarah thinks while packing her duffle bag for an overnight stay, looking down on him writhing about on the stained bed, murmuring something about Wanda and Gloria giving him 2 rides between snores and incoherent utterances. I bet they did, she thinks with vile, harking back to that afternoon and the beach and the lateness of his appearance and his *appearance* when he arrives. Drunk off his tits. “I bet they did,” she hisses aloud before stomping out, thinking this is at *least* a 2 night absence now. Maybe forever; probably so.

Back to the family…

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0201, Ashton Village, Bellisaria, Constantynople, Kidd Tower, Nautilus, Rank & File

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The actual seance in Ruby’s Bellissaria home in Ashton Village, or “reading” as the invitation called it, was kind of anticlimactic to what just happened outside. Psychic Olive Olystick knew instantly upon seeing green clad Al and blue clad Sarah sit down opposite each other at the prepared table that they were destined for each other, *made* for each other in effect (manufactured). Groover filled in the needed 6th spot for absent, sick Cowboy, taking the “yellow” seat opposite Olive’s red. “We have our 6,” she said in the introduction, amended up from 4 to include mutual friends Gloria and Wanda from down on the beach. But Olive knew they didn’t really count. There was still only red, green, yellow and blue around the table. A true TILE, yes, modified for the moment. She had manufactured Groover as much as Al had manufactured Sarah, and visa versa as well. Round and round and round.

Al, of course, asked about Bart and the renegade treatises, both his and Lisa’s, although the boy’s higher channeling effort took top priority in his mind. The reason for him being here in the 1st place. Olive looked deep into her mind, produced an image of a cow that was also a human. “Someone lives on this continent who has your answers. Not the 2nd continent (of Bellissaria), not the 3rd, nor 4th, nor 5th. Here. Not far away to the north — Northern Hills, I’m seeing. Groover knows a person involved.” All eyes at the table turned to the Trojan-Durexian war vet, who just sat there was his mouth agape per usual, like he was as surprised about this information as anyone else. He wasn’t. “Grooover,” urged still-in-trance Olive, seeing that gleam in his eyes.  “You *know* something. Spill.”

“This must be about Chet,” he replied in his goofy, high voice, knowing he couldn’t hide anything from Olive.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0117, Ashton Village, Bellisaria, Northern Hills

Ashton

As fate would have it, they met at the front door of the place. “After you,” Sarah spoke to green clad Al opposite her. “No, after *you*,” he returned, like the gentleman he is, unlike a certain other person in her life we won’t speak about just yet for fear of him show… oh darn. There he is. Straight from the beach and drunk off his tits.


“Ah, *there* you are, *hiccup* love of my liffe, appfle of *burrp* myyyy…” He falls down. Sarah doesn’t move toward him to help. Al picks up on the worst. She turns toward the sober man here again. “Let’s go inside together,” and she holds his hand while they walk within. She feels warm, Al thinks. She feels… good.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0116, Ashton Village, Bellisaria

Happy 4th!

A letter was slid under the door while he was watching TV with the dogs. *Squirrel!*, they all thought as one passed by on the highlighted limb, all tails at alert for a moment. Al might take it for a sign but a squirrel was entering the picture every 10 seconds or so. Too frequent to be useful for synchronicity studies. He moves toward the door, picks up the envelope on the floor. Addressed to Resident. Well, *he’s* a resident of the Homeless Union. At least currently: day to day, night to night he’s taking it. Not meeting anyone here since Groover passed through a couple of days back, another “traveler”, he picks up and opens the thing. “Madame Ruby: Psychic ” he reads aloud, perhaps to the dogs but most likely only to himself. “Hmm,” he says while spotting the meat of the missive beneath the card with the 3rd eye underneath the lettering.

—–

Just down the block, Sarah reads her own slid-under-the-door invitation aloud and then her beau/husband reacts. “Tarnation, woman. A *reading*?! What the blue william is a *reading*!?”

—–

He was talking to Gloria and Wanda a little later who came up from the beach for a visit when the door opened and she walked right in, instantly making herself at home on the remaining seat in the room. “Is Groover here yet?” she uttered. Then: “I usually sleep on the car couch. Where’s the car couch? Did they move it upstairs? Is Groover upstairs? Taking a leak? He’s always taking a leak. Must come with being so blue and all. Vet of the Trojan-Durexian War he is. Never takes off his helmet.” She stops with this, perhaps to catch her breath. Al stares over, thinking: so this is the infamous Olive Olystick Groover mentioned, seeing the scowl, feeling the powerful psychic presence all the way over from his own seat. Gloria and Wanda stopped chatting, as if frozen in place. Olive was only talking to Al. They had a mutual friend.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0114, Ashton Village, Bellisaria

Permaglow

She went back the next day to meet him. She knew to sit far apart and she also wore a mask for extra protection. Many said he didn’t exist but she knew better. She felt the chills of reality pass through her almost daily.

“I can’t… stop glowing,” he said to her across the patio holding the 3 Meter Monument. “I *can’t*… stop *glowing*.”

But what to do for him? Marg was dead. Homer had lost his head. Lisa, yes. She must contact the sister, the author of the other, lesser treatise on the controversial “perhaps sentence”. Not the channeler/psychic Bart was but still the only hope, she knew. And, chance has it, they had a mutual friend, even though she still didn’t know that fact.

Back home:

“Tarnation, woman! TV dinners again?! Where you been all day girl!?” She, of course, couldn’t tell him, except that she’d been walking per usual. Cowboys never see the other side. “I’m going to stake you down with a rope,” he warned. “Just like a big, fat cow I am.” He was close to her face now, rage in his eyes, nose, mouth, everything. Her window of opportunity to help the boy was closing. She’d need allies, at least one. And he was very close as fortune would have it. Now to somehow bring them together, hmm.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0112, Ashton Village, Bellisaria, Pennsylvania, Pickle 02

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She had walked much further today than normal, all the way to Permaglow on Pickle 02 to see the famous 3 eyed fish.

And then she spotted the forgotten nuclear fuel rods at the bottom of it all, obvious source of this aberration. Springfeld came to mind, the home of the boy. Stuff of legends. Also: skateboarder from Tull, but last she heard he was surfing.

After counting them, one two three, same as the eyes, same as the rods, she felt a chill pass through her and looked around. She’d felt this before. Something had happened. Parallel world.

Later, when she returned home and was hanging out the wash, she just missed him passing by on the street on his way back to the Homeless Union, mission in the western mountains scuttled, at least for now. Both had information the other needed. And much much more.

But first there was the little matter of Cowboy. “Are my chaps dry yet!?” he called from the house. “I need my chaps! Woman.”

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0110, Ashton Village, Bellisaria, Pickle 02, Springfeld

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At the first mountain pond, low but discernible as such, he spotted one of those famous angle fish he’d heard about. But angle only mirrors angle as it turns out, as in the corner of the sim of Carumba just beyond where it meets up with Tickle Ridge, Beaver Lagoon, and Westvale. With his lower draw to reduce lag, Al could only see flatter ground from here on up. What was there to skirt? It all seemed like a trap. He rang up Tom again.

“Get out, abort,” came the suggestion, nay, order from his superior being. “We’ll start again in this direction soon. Regroup at the Bellissaria Homeless Union. There are other people there, I’m sensing now, that you need to interact with. Try to find the turtle for real this time. Maybe even Bart,” even though Tom knew this would be more illusive and the equivalent of finding the goose that laid the golden egg. Could he, can he? There was a reason the ridge dwindled to nothing past Cowabunga. Tom didn’t remember that. Space and perhaps time were being altered.

Never mind that Al was wrong and that the ridge continued a little west of where he was looking, low but discernible again if you remove the hiding trees from his angle. Fate dictated he return to the coast. And he forgot to take care of procuring that stick, which he took as an omen too.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0109, Bellisaria, Western Hills