Tag Archives: Spongeberg Resident^*====@%

All of West Virginia is suddenly at her disposal.

Wheeler, now Raspberry Girl, took the opportunity of her mate and partner in crime Johnny Black being away to catch up with some synchs, specifically “Waits 4 No 1” tonight.

As “Constantinople” begins playing to the end of “6 Feet Under”, people on screen soon to start dropping like flies, she recalls that 12 of the 13 tracks from The Residents’ seminal “Duck Stab/Buster and Glen” album are used in the synch, including this one. She also recalls… stabbing the Duck. She feels the purple-ish beret on her head reflexively, as if it might be hair.

David falls backwards dead, the first to succumb. She forgets the vision.

At 1 hour and 43 minutes in, past all 12 “Duck Stab/Buster and Glen” tracks now, she sees this, dubbed by “The sleeper has awoken” uttered by Dune’s Paul.

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00330410

He didn’t know if they were open for business but he thought he’d try anyway. “I’ll have a 4 shot latte, I *mean* — 4 shots in a cup.”

“No milk?” she tried to clarify. “No flavoring, chocolate perhaps?”

“Just shots, please.”

“So,” she said, “you just want 4 espresso shots in a cup.”

“And two of them — forgot to add that.”

“*Two* cups with 4 shots each in them.”

“Yeah.”

Starbuccaneer Barista thinks: Baker Bloch has changed. She decides to say this aloud.

“Well, just saves time and money,” he comments about the switch in drinks. Probably brain damage down the road, he adds to himself, dutifully completing the unfolded triad.

“Coming right up!” she says brightly, moving down the counter to the espresso machine tucked between a seafood ad and the store safe, tight but meaningful. Aren’t you going to ask about the new establishment? she laments while filling the 2 baskets with 2 shots each, then two more of the same to follow, she reminds herself. Darn Baker Bloch. Always involved in himself; thinking about the blog and such. But then this, putting a smile back on her face:

“Place has changed.” He looks around. “Not really a Starbuccaneers. Glad you got coffee still.” I guess you’re the glue, he thinks, imagining her with her company pirate hat back on to match her apron. Guess it was removed to save on prims. Perhaps Spongeberg the Editor has already come for a visit, ha ha.

Changed just like you, she thinks, finishing the first of the two. Tandem. She says aloud: “Wheeler thought the white whale motif would look better against the side of the white castle. *Barely* fit, you know. Take a look at the tail when you leave.”

Baker glances at the rug behind him. “And the elephant. Why an elephant? Why not–”

“Enough whales in here already,” said Starbuccaneer Barista, scanning the pictures on the walls. Second of the two done, with two more to go still, she reminded herself again. “Have you ever been to Wales?”

—–

“Have you ever been in a whale?” Still no sense.

—–

“Have you —“. Wait, I guess that last sentence does make sense. Coffee is served.

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Spongeberg the Destroyer

“Don’t worry, Baker B.

“Grassy and I have taken care of Lower Austra for ya.”

Before the Faun, they laugh together.

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holey man

“Brain Damage he had.”

“We’ve already determined that, okay,” she replied, planning her escape route. Starbucks should be open by now — 5:00. But Baker is trying so hard to understand. The 2 is impossibly in front of the boy-man, right where the brain was…

“Have him interact with someone in this specific location, so close to Collagesity. Alysha, perhaps. She hadn’t been in a post in a while.”

“Only if,” she compromised, “Kolya goes back to the airport and finds out more about the red book and the accompanying red light.”

“Deal.” He spits in his hand, which she naturally doesn’t shake. Such a goofy person (!).

—–

“See there? Mysten Underhill and Mysten, let’s see, can’t recall the other one. Anyway, those *2* squares, just there. Down toward the lower right corner; right in front of you, in fact. Do you see the houses? Of course you do. I rented one of those, or attempted to. And *Spongeberg*, yes, was there. I recall the number… 144. Table. We tried to set a table up. Didn’t quite work.”

Alysha let Kolya ramble on. He was a true friend and would do anything for her. He was attempting to explain the past of Mysten not far atall north of Collagesity through this old sim map they’d stumbled upon. He’d been here a long time. But so had she, just not as long.

“We owned just to the east,” he continued, remembering more and more about “2”. “But not in Siliconicus: that would be *southeast*. But the *Church* of the Silicon Soul was set up right on the border again. Right beside our own property.”

“The Table House.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “That was what it was called (!).” He paused, joyful in the memory. He could see vague faces around it.

—–

They had to go back in the past. And they could (!). Except only the darker side, the place of fumbles and bumbles. Spongeberg the Destroyer was still here, still lived in the general Collagesity area, but just more down in the east, beside Highway 14. He’d given up on 13 — moved on. The darkness beckoned. Christ and accompanying Christianity was not around to brighten the day any longer.


Mysten Underhill, 2015

—–

They both took another big lick of their triple scoop sorbet cones before continuing.

“Funny about places like this, Ayesha,” Kolya then said with cold mouth.

Alysha, she thought without correcting aloud, use to such things.

“Like they are stuck in time. Harder… more resistant to the general erosion… um.”

“… of Our Second Lyfe,” she finished for him.

“The 2, yeah.”

She looked at the top of his holey head, where the rain gets in. Simultaneously he recalls someone at the Table, as if they are linked by one user (they were). But he passes over the memory of Marty as if it were a letter gap. On to the next thought-color, green I believe.

Kolya realizes that was a lot of ice cream for a little girl. Because he could definitely finish it for her. “Are you done with that?” he couldn’t help asking while staring at the stack of mostly unlicked colorful balls in the cone in her hand. He was eager for more brain freeze.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0026, 0205, collages 2d, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Omega^^, Wallytown/Fishers Island^

-shine

“We’ll give it another shot, baker.”

“Yes. We understand that we didn’t get to the point in Uncle Meatwad that Spongeberg the Destroyer did in photo-novel 1 where he became convinced of the alien influence.” She recites this sentence robotically, pronouncing each syllable crisply. Rehearsed. They were trying to encourage me, not discourage like last night when they sat on the couch beside me and we watched the syncs together, the 2nd half of Pretty Bunnies and then the 1st part of Uncle Meatwad, well, almost the whole 1st part (of 3). Not quite to the “Egypt” cue that convinced Spongeberg going on 5 years ago now. A long time! Yes, they were trying to help, of course; understood the small misstep as guiding spirits. They know it’s hard enough for me without any support outside my trusted circle of the wife and one or maybe two other friends. The brother wouldn’t understand for sure. And that’s *my* problem to still deal with, that whole family issue. I must make peace.

“You have to understand,” Toothpick/Filbert began again, “that *we* created (a lot of the source audio). We are not the most objective judges.” He looked at Elberta; Elberta, his now blonde bombshell of a sister-fiance, looked at him. Camping came to mind this time in their still synchronized brains, another test. “And Lynch — I know what’s on your mind — will come around too. Right Pencil?”

They all looked over, but the entity properly known as Eraserhead Man in this here blog, hand behind head, wouldn’t commit to a thumbs up or thumbs down. He remained unconvinced like them. It was his creations involved after all. Same issue.

“But the maps…” I argued. All nodded here from their respective positions around him, indicating that maps were a different thing and separate from the audiovisual synchronicities. But they weren’t. Unified Field Theory. The Diamond. Heck, The Diamond is clearly coded into Billfork for X’s sake.

The hole couldn’t be made up. The hole between the synchs and binding them together existed. Hellmouth!

“I will still fight for the importance of the Piera, the run of synchs (I explained further) between Billfork and Uncle Meatwad. The period of 2004 through 2007.”

I realized a major influence was missing. Wasn’t me. This was pre-Carrcassonnee. Maybe, maybe…

“Let’s look at the rest of Uncle Meatwad.” All agreed to this as well.

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stars and spots

“No, I will stay in my quaint house in Gormthoog, Baker Bloch. I do not need to live in 7 Stones to be a continuing part of the storyline there. I have done my main responsibility: the destruction of Collagesity. Others are hesitant but I trust instinct and faith completely. That makes me a good destroyer. That makes me Spongeberg the Destroyer. That, and the names of my mother and father obviously.” He tries to crack a smile. I don’t hear Spongeberg joke much, so it was a pleasant surprise.*

—–

Yeah I could hang here for a while, Spongeberg thinks at the entrance. Maybe meet up with that Green Squirrel fellow. Possible candidate for a new destroyer. We need some.

—–

* Earlier, Spongeberg indicated to me that his name is a combo of “parents” Spongebub Squarepants and Austrian composer Arnold Schoenberg.


Spongeberg at home in Gormthoog off Route 14.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0013, 0613, Asha^, Corsica, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

decision

Spongeberg Resident’s last creative activity in Whitehead Crossing before the move to Our Second Lyfe was a temple complex at the very uppermost portion of Green Stream’s Korean Channel, reachable by the log bridge pictured below.

The centerpiece was suppose to be Seven Stone but modified to 12 in the construction. Spongeberg rationalized this by saying the 7th was pregnant at the time and had 5 children rocks to top the structure.

Spongeberg’s energy spins on from world to world. The Baker Family now has a chance to buy a pretty big chunk of cheap land in the center of the Route 13-14 peninsula, connecting Whitehead Crossing to BoB in a more direct way. In fact, I think I’ll just make a call to the wife (who’s out of town currently visiting her poor, sick father), to wish her Happy Anniversary and also ask if buying the virtual land is okay. I’m sure she’ll be good with it, but she always seems to tell me about her expenditures that may amount to over 50 dollars or so. Potentially amount in this case, for the land itself is only 25 bucks and tier for 3 weeks will be 32 additional dollars. And I have the option to sell the 8192 square meter parcel before that, perhaps for more than what I bought it with. A question then becomes: What happens after this 3 week “grace” period?

—–

Okay, Happy Anniversary wished, permission granted, and so I’m going to purchase the 8192. Before I do, a word about the word BoB.

—-

Okay, purchased land (!) Didn’t want to wait.

Now: about BoB.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0013, 0502, Collagesity Fordham, Frank Park, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Whitehead Crossing

Australia in Our Second Lyfe

“What now, Grass?”

“I’m thinking.”

“My ice cream’s starting to melt all over this trampoline. Better hop to it!”

—–

So they hopped on a nearby bus destined for parts unk.

—–

“I could have swore this train was a bus when we started, Grass.” Spongeberg turns. “My drink machine!”

“Ahhh. Want one Grass? They’re simply the best. Pure cane sugar refreshment.”

Puzzled Grass kept staring at the bus-train and not Coffee Mix swigging Spongeberg. “No thanks,” he managed.

—–

“What are we staring at now, Grass? A cube?”

“A red blue yellow spinny cube thingie, yeah.”

They gaze some more.

“Is it ‘s’pose to be relaxing? It’s not relaxing. Rather: a mess, a jumble.”

“We should move on, then, Spongeberg my friend. Like the night…”

“Fine with me.” They get up and move on.

—–

“I’m not sure this is the healthiest of places, Grass.”

“I’m not either.”

“I’m not ready to die again. Right this minute. It’s painful!”

“I know it is, Spongeberg. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I brought you back. This isn’t fair. This is not the place I would have picked either. This Our Second Lyfe.”

—–

“Good idea to get me set up at my potential new digs. Cheer me up.”

“I’m trying. You got those freebies at the furniture place just across Route 14 in front of us. Very handy.” He peers toward the far window. “And if you look at just the right angle over there you can see the giant faun statue. Reassuring, I suppose…”

“… that some of what I remember as My Second Lyfe is still here, yeah,” Spongeberg completes the Mmmmmm’s angle.

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sad tale

This Coffee Mix is soo delicious, thought Spongeberg Resident just off Route 13. Think I’ll have another while I’m here.

“Spare some change for a handicapped person?” spoke Roth Voomer sitting in the phone booth beside him.

“Oh,” exclaimed Spongeberg. “Didn’t see you there, man.” He sets down the now empty can on top of the machine and starts digging around his pockets for smaller change than what he was going to buy his next drink with. “Nickel okay?” He drops the coin at his feet. Roth is understandably disappointed. Sensing this, Spongeberg digs some more. “And this… dime. That’s all I have.” Another drop. He then inserts the two quarters in his other hand and retrieves his second Coffee Mix drink from the machine.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong with me?”

Spongeberg gives him another glance. “Errr… no,” and turns around to leave.

“It’s my hands.” Roth rolls up his sleeves. “Or the lack of such. Here. Take a look.”

Curious, Spongeberg turns back to the figure. He’s rarely seen handicapped people here in His Second Lyfe and wonders why avatars would do such a thing to themselves.

“Oh. Yeah. That is unfortunate.” He starts to explain how things work in this place, and you can simply switch shapes to get the new hands. But Roth interrupts him, guessing what he’s going to say.

“Can’t do it; don’t ask.”

“Don’t ask what?”

“About the body.” Roth heaves a sigh. “I’m *stuck*”.

—–

In a little bit, they start to actually become friends. Spongeberg shares the last 1/2 of his drink with him, putting opening to lips when requested. For, you see, Spongeberg was stuck himself. He’d made a mistake, he owned up to Roth, in coming back to His Own Second Lyfe and trying to make a new start in the remnants of Mystenopolis just down Route 13. He pointed down the highway from whence he came in saying this. So he’s heading over to the big airport he’s heard about on Route 14 on the opposite coast to catch a plane back to Whitehead Crossing. He explained his health is not good over here, not good atall, because, you see, he keeps *dying*. Happened just yesterday on the side of the road, he furthered. So he’s getting out of here. “Just have to go up the new road connecting Route 13 on this side of the peninsula with Route 14 on the other side,” he informed. Spongeberg then decides to ask Roth if he wants to accompany him on the trip. “Since I’m healthy in Whitehead Crossing,” he said, “maybe you can get back your hands in same. Maybe it’s… fate we go together up that road to the big airport. And… maybe even others will join us. A band. Traveling up and then down the road, over the mountainous spine of the peninsula. What wonders we might see.”

—–

But there was basically nothing on the road. And the airport didn’t have any flights going from Second Lyfe to Real Lyfe atall. Still handless Roth then says goodbye and thanks for the effort, but Spongeberg had already died again and didn’t hear him.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0013, 0414, Lower Austra^, Nautilus

M&N

“13 and 14’s where it’s at, Spongeberg. You’ll love it here. Much better than those messy, ol’ woods.”

“Another investment of yours, Grass?”

“Yeah. I’m branching out. Like a tree.”

“I don’t know.” Spongeberg keeps looking around. “Animations are pretty primitive overall here.”

“Oh this is just the base, the Linden beginning. Lindenning. At the top’s where it’s at. 13 and 14. Connected now, like they’ve always been in hypertime. And hyperspace.”

“You *do* remember I use to live here. Mystenopolis.”

“Of course. And you’ve found the great faun statue intact and have decided to resume living here and move away from the messy woods. I know.”

“I haven’t given up on Whitehead Crossing.”

“I know that too.”

“Maybe we should start with stuff you *don’t* know, then.”

“Oh I know a lot. A-M. Maybe N-Z. It depends… well, on Karoz really.”

—–

“One more thing, Grass. Before you commit to this. I can die. Unlike any of the other core avatars. It just happened to me. On Highway 13. Or maybe it was 14.”

“That’s okay,” assured the giant, green toy to his destroyer friend. “I actually know all about death and resurrection. We Mmmmmm’s have quite the short life span. I’ve died several times while existing in Our Second Lyfe.” He edges closer to Spongeberg. “Listen, that’s what’s so fascinating about the appearance of Gene Fade here. He swore he’d never return, since you age about 7x faster in this place. Now he didn’t die while here, because Mossmen like him naturally live so long anyways. *Anyways*, we’re opposites, see. Opposite sides of a spectrum.”

Spongeberg keeps looking. “Any liquor around this joint?”

—–

“Here’s your rainbow daiquiri, sir,” announced Male Goth Avatar, currently serving as bartender at the End of the Line Inn.

“Great, thanks. Anything for you, Grass?”

“No, I’ll just keep staring at this wall while you imbibe. You take your time, though. We have plenty of time here. Plenty.”

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