Tag Archives: TILE

June 20, 2023 · 1:15 am

who?

She was dressed for maritime fun, but her adventure on the seas with the 2 boats was over, landfall made. She was a company of one and Al was her boss, subordinate, in turn, to Thomasina, formerly Thomas Boyy. Or the same as Thomas Boyy — whatever. TOM, anyway, the archetype, the overarching thing. Back to Al: “We assemble here in the sim of Tigger, you and I, to end the threat of being cowed once and for all. The renegade treatises of Bart and his more learned but less psychic sister Lisa will not be tolerated here. Is that cleeearrrr!?”

“Clear sir,” she said crisply, eager to get on with the job. At least it beats cleaning up Dukie in Hypolazy, another part of the FILE. She could have remained there for a proper reboot. “Yes sir, clear sir.” Then she remembered to salute. Crisply again. She wasn’t use to a military regime regiment but surely she could get use to it (as her back began to ache a bit from standing rigid so long). Surely she could.

He looked her over good. “Did you bring any other *clothes* with you, er, private?” He lorded over her, acting like he controlled the many instead of just the one. He wasn’t Thomasina in other words. He’d have to report back to her soon. Weekly, instead of bi-weekly like Shelley in her individual one. Because more would be added soon, he knew. He didn’t ask to be head of a religion without a price.

“No sir, sorry sir.” She saluted, not knowing if it was needed again but doing the act anyway. “Maritime fun and adventure I was dressed for, nothing more… sir.” Another salute after a quick pause.

Al would turn and look at the boats she brought but couldn’t break protocol. Do we just stand here the rest of the day? Shelley-as-Jennifer thought on her part. And… she better select a name soon, or decide on a name. Probably Jennifer. All grown up from Jenny. Yes, I believe that’s what Thomasina would desire. And she’s the most important one now, the new big boss, same as the old big boss.

(to be continued)

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June 16, 2023 · 1:52 am

“And so on the 5th day…”

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June 12, 2023 · 3:13 pm

orange to orangeade

She’d finished washing her hands and had rejoined Edward and Arthur in the living room. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with her, boys,” they heard her say from the kitchen, knowing Dukie was still involved. Unseen. Sitting at the small table Shelley and Arthur or perhaps Shelley and Edward would dine at later. Or earlier. She had to choose, they knew: real or fiction? They, Al and John the Mind Reader sitting around that table for now, talked about the past, the *waste* of it all. Glad to be outta that hellish hole at least for a while. Hot as rot there. They came out to talk about TILE. In a slice of time so orange that everyone had forgotten it existed. All Orange, then.

“Well,” said resigned John to his boss across from him. “It’s right there in the introduction of the manifesto, the first paragraph as it were, although I don’t tell that to the Tilist conservatives of course. ‘Let’s make this shit happen’,” he quoted.

Al uncrossed his arms and started tapping the table nervously, pondering options. 561 paragraphs, 561 words in the *first* paragraph, the one not making up the introduction. *He* was conservative too; in a way, in a manner. He didn’t really like discussing his right leaning tendencies to liberal John, though. And he blocked it from his mind as well, knowing John could dig it out if not. All Orange did the trick. Neither here nor there. A pause between destinies.

“What do you think about the ‘perhaps sentence’?” he decided to say, staring directly into the visor glasses covering his blind eyes, trying to read any emotions he could resulting in the spoken words. Rephrased (and implied): What did liberal John think about Bart and Lisa’s addendums to the manifesto? He’d save discussion about the even more controversial, more obscure Zero Hero until later. Best to deal with the 1 through 8 currently, the visible compendium.

(to be continued)

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June 4, 2023 · 7:53 am

ML Gazebo 91

A wall. Indicating my time in Constants may be limited, despite the name. And not a really pretty wall at that. But I, of course, have tricks to get around it.

There’s Falmouth Gallery! Is it so ugly that you have to hide? Moard (original creator) would not be proud. I think it’s bea-u-ti-ful.

After taking the picture, Mr. Z gets up from the chair and continues his journey intent on finding cousin Zimmy and his maw before sunset, er, sunrise if possible. Word.

—–

Truth of the matter exposed, he soon made his way into the center of Constantynople, unknowingly walking right by the stairs that would take him to his new apartment. And, perhaps more importantly, the new meeting place for the TILE study group. Had to happen.

“Hooray, he’s here!” cried the standing yellow porch ickle upon seeing him enter the square.

(to be continued)

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June 3, 2023 · 10:15 am

00380510

She looked at the object that allowed them to be caught in the presents. Not working any more, thus: stuck.

“Sister of mine, why don’t you come over and join me again.”

“I’m *not* your sister. Get that through your skull.”

“Of course you are. We have the same mother. 1/2 sister, granted. But siblings still to a 1/2 degree.” He patted the spot beside him, just below the non-blue ball. “Come.”

Xia sighed (Xia?). “Okay, but I’m only *1/2* enjoying it. My other hemisphere will be dwelling on the fish and its ultimate meaning. Why the floppy tail on the roof? That sort of stuff. In fact — just forget the whole thing. I have more important things to do.”

“Like what?” he asked innocently.

“I think I just told you.”

“You told me nothing. Tale to tell? That is vacant words.” Xia, he contemplated himself. Short for Xian, as in Christian? Interesting twist if so. He’ll have to ask their, after all, church abiding mother the next time he returns home. Hopefully with Xia in tow. But the whole breaking of the portal. How to *fix*??

Maybe that’s why they got so strongly into this whole TILE religion thingy — drew them to the island in the first place. “Take us where we ultimately belong,” they ask the magical portal that fateful day in May’s June far away. It was, of course, working at the time. Another property of the mother. Or maybe — the father. That might explain a lot. Dark Lord.

“Xia,” he spoke over to the pretty elf still fiddling with the object. At least she’s gotten the lights and sound to kind of work on it again. “Tell me about your name.”

(to be continued?)

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May 17, 2023 · 5:53 am

mistletoe doorway (heater presents again (6578 (Xmas mugs)))

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lynching_of_Bernice_Raspberry

Bernice Raspberry, also called Ed Lively, was a 23-year old African-American man who was murdered in Leakesville, Mississippi, on May 25, 1927.[1] Raspberry was arrested for an infraction in Leakesville, but then the sheriff was told he was wanted in nearby Bothwell for “alleged improper conduct with a white woman”. Raspberry was taken to Bothwell but then taken back to Leakesville, for safe keeping. A group of some 100 masked man took him from the jail, strung him to a tree, and shot him many times.[2]

https://bakerbloch.wordpress.com/2021/12/29/00300701/

“You!!??” they cried even louder, seeing before them now the white woman associated with raspberries who loves black. “What *is* this??!!” they demanded.

—-

Returning to the scene of the crime:

“Blue and yellow are overrated, Arthur. Red and green have redeeming qualities too, despite not being quite as perfect together.”

“Like us!” Arthur Kill emitted with this, and leaned over to take a drink.

“Which one is darker, which one is lighter?” said Shelley, also partaking of her own drink. “6 and 7. Very close indeed.”

“Soo… this is about TILE?”

“No, silly. It’s about a *kiss*.”

(to be continued)

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April 26, 2023 · 9:35 am

00380106

She caught some of the discussion from her rocking chair while perusing the paper (“Decatur Herald”), words like Oklahoma, Geronimo, Olive, Slick. She gathered an oil spill in the Panhandle which was not all wrong while being, at the same time, not at all right. Not 1/2 and 1/2. How to put it?

Blah blah blah Canada. Blah blah blah Ossemotos. They really need to turn down the blasters over there, Gloria thought about the music booming one dock over, the party getting more raucous as nighttime approached. Penny was preparing for her surprise entrance up in downtown Nightsity, applying hot pink lipstick while yawning for no good, real reason, effects of that dratted, psychic mountainair again. *Not* Ossemotos, she realized as the lyrics “Dam dam Amsterdam” blocked the next passage of discussion, followed just as loud by “Dam dam Rotterdam,” and “Dam dam Beaverdam”. Osse-motors.  As in ancient Nigerian oil port . *Motor*. She’d heard about it before through some military people she use to, ahem, date up in Dodgey City. And Zach Black was spilling his guts about it. Nigeria to Canada, Nigeria to Canada. Marines. But, most importantly, black gold. Texas tea. Texas Pete? “Texas Pete?!” she rather shouted through the boom. One of the two turned, the other being deaf.

(to be continued)

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December 19, 2022 · 9:08 am

what it all builds up from… and down from for that matter

“Looks like you’ve had some kind of adventure, Uncle of mine.”

“I have. But it’s all pretend.”

“Right. Bringing it to me, I suppose. Why I’m here.”

“Welll…” Mr. Babyface settles back into the bargain bin couch, wishing he’d bought up a little more to avoid the oh-too-soon broken springs, ow. One in his left cheek right now, as in buttocks. “Let’s say,” he continued, light bulb over his head now, “you’re here, staying with me, because of a local rock concert, say a progressive group right down there at the base of the peninsula, at the, what’s its name?”

“Dunno, Uncle.”

“Ah, heck. Progressive Rock Museum, but that’s not the name of the venue.”

“I’m okay with Progressive Rock Venue if you are.”

“Alright,” relented Babyface. “But you’re here because of that, say, supergroup Yes, which we both love, although we have a separate list of favorite albums. Yours is…”

“‘Close to the Edge’, ‘Relayer’, and ‘Going for the One’.”

“Yes, and mine would be ‘Fragile’, ‘Yes Album’ and ‘Topographic Oceans’.”

Peter winces. “‘Topographic Oceans’,” he says with some derision. “Bloated.”

“Okay, okay, let’s not get into that argument again. We agree to disagree. We’re talking about loving the same *group* anyway. It’s like we like the same forest but not the same trees or clump of trees — something.”

“Okay, my Uncle.”

“And we need to keep in touch more. You’re not even real here. You’re just in my head.”

“Sorry, Uncle. I’m busy. Winning tennis tournaments for one. You haven’t even congratulated me on my latest. Plus the comedy — another thing we differ on…”

“… but are also the same, yes yes. Firesign Theatre.”

“‘Bozos’!” shouted Peter Ladd.

“‘Dwarf’!” countered Mr. Babyface to his thought-to-be estranged nephew playfully. They would hug each other in the moment if they weren’t so maladjusted. It was just the families, their upbringing. Both kind of square pegs in round holes. Just so thankful, thought Babyface here, that Peter was born with a normal head, phew! Which brings us back to conception.

“Tell me about Shamon, Peter, how you got here. I’ve been thinking about the Big Schwa lately.”

“Big E!” shouted Peter, making his Uncle Babyface smile but not as much as before. This was more serial stuff, as the young’n’s might put it.

—–

So they pried themselves away from watching the blog on TV and went upstairs to stare at it from different sides, different angles, to ponder what Mr. Babyface had surmised earlier. “Shamon on top of course,” he reminded Peter. “Closest hit in the Oracle is Shamokin PA, but with a pinch of collage magic we can create one of those 2-n-1’s… that you hate so much.”

“Stop it, Uncle. We’re not enemies.”

“I know, sorry.” But look… I’ll project it on the screen downstairs when we return.”

“What else while we’re here?”

He pivoted the Big E around until the proper side was facing his nephew, turning it into a Big Schwa. He was seeing from his Uncle’s perspective now.

“Orgas, Peter,” recited Mr. Babyface on another closest Oracle hit, this time for the sim of Orgamast, label right in front of Peter’s eyes. He reloads his pipe, Blue Pennant this time.  “Orgasm, obviously (puff puff). And there’s also an Organ Cave population place in the same state of West Virginie. The Lordshore-Orgamast Floor is the lowest level of the Kidd Tower here (next to the Lebettu Castle). Lordshore also begins with LO.”

“What are you getting at, Uncle?”

“Let’s go back to the couch.”

—–


Shamokin > Shamon

“Shamon… from the inn… place of thorns. This is where it happened.”

“What happened?” Then Peter realized what his Uncle was talking about. “Ooooh.”

Mr. Babyface thought of a joke here but wisely decided not to mouth it.

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December 13, 2022 · 6:00 pm

HARDR

“He’s quite a big bigger than her,” observed Baker Bloch or Wheeler Wilson, laying under another one of those umbrellas on the far side of the pool. “Your turn now,” one of them said.

“I didn’t know Mmmmmm’s came in different sizes like that,” said Wheeler (making the 1st speaker Baker).

“They seem happy,” spoke Baker. “For now.”

“Com’on. We don’t know how this species really interacts with each other.”

“I know they have an average lifespan of about 26 years.”

“26 1/2,” amended Wheeler.

“And the little one, perhaps even less.”

“Again… you don’t know that. You’re thinking of dogs or cats or something. Could be the bigger one, the male, who has the shorter life. Plus males tend to die earlier than females (in general).” She looks over at Baker Bloch, those dead eyes, and remembers he doesn’t have to worry about all that. Already deceased. Her? Could be immortal as well. We’ll have to make sure she’s archived if so.

“Notice the TILE floaties all around?”

“No I didn’t. But that’s more your thing. I have my own kind of TILE.” She wonders again about his missing piece, the thing that can turn from an I into an E given the right circumstances. Ones she controls: E; perfection. There’s a whole ‘nother side to the religion/philosophy/game that Wheeler could explain to us in great detail. If she were allowed.

“It’s something we could talk about in great detail (told ya). Me with my own more analytic take, and you with your more physical slant.”

“Hmmm.” She was drifting off now in the noonday sun, just downed Russian Roulette doing its work.

“Notice the Christmas trees,” Baker added about the props in the central platform. “Green and red (line). Being emphasized above the blue and yellow.”

“You’re talking about Roberts now, and what she might give Franklin as a present,” Wheeler replied without opening her eyes. She was seeing in the dark. “Franklin hopes, anyway.”

“Why… did we have to take that away from her?”

“I didn’t. *You* did.”

“Oh.”

“‘Oh,’ right. Think about that analytic boy. Why would I care enough about her Gang of Willard to remove it, like a surgeon. No, that’s intellect, that’s airiness. That’s…”

“Male.”

“Yes.”

“Me Tarzan, you Jane,” Baker spoke while pointing between them. Wheeler couldn’t help but chuckle a bit with this. If only.

—–

“I like this pool *much* better than the guitar one. Bigger!”

“Oh, Grassy,” said Sassy, his new girlfriend, perhaps his new wife. They may be on a honeymoon. Certainly not the first date at least. The other one fit me better, the smaller one, she thinks internally, not wanting to disappoint. She’d save up the grudges, spew them out later like an erupting volcano. A smaller one, but packing quite an internal heating unit. What attracted Grassy to her in the first place. Sassy indeed.

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October 22, 2022 · 3:18 am

00350301

Someone emasculated that poor statue over there, she thinks, then continues to read.

Omega continent — might as well, ahem, bone up on the history since it seems she’ll be staying here a bit. Let’s see, Trojan-Durexian War… could have swung either way, interesting. Southern Bypass a key turning point, yes. She recalls that General Duncan led the charge for the Durexians, a black man. Arthur Kill Lemont Sanford told her this — is one of his heroes, right. Died unjustly for a cause and all, like Joan of Arc, one of her heroes.

And here she sits in a park where one of the important battles took place, or so say the locals who make a decent profit off of selling war souvenirs, like ink dyed bamboo shoots for the kids, and bamboo bayonets and bullets for the older generations. According to their pamphlet they even have one of those old Durexian bamboo planes famous for their bombings, as in failings. 1/2 couldn’t get off the ground, but that’s what you have when you base your air force on *magic*, nay voodoo (she corrected). Take away 2 or 3 control witches and everything heads south, as in out of the sky and into your back yard. But, true, their voodoo power was waxing at the end of the war, and the Trojans were good to get out with their heads up when they could. 1942. Or was it 1492? She couldn’t quite make out the figure on the page before her, as if it was moving about like a spider. Strange effect; strange thought.

There really wasn’t much here. That rock over there with the waterfall is where they tortured and sacrificed the slaves who worked for the Trojans, just to teach them a lesson. Slave Rock, then.

The whole sim was named after another aunt, fascinatingly enough, Beatrice in this case, beloved aunt of a famous local, weightlifting sheriff back in the days. Although there have been other theories tossed around about the appellation’s origin that’s what most go with currently. Mostly Beatrice, then.

And then through Newt, I find the remains of one of those old Durexian wrestling rings where they fought their slaves, and then where the barely victorious but victorious still Trojans, usually without clothes (see: statue), fought the Durexians as their own slaves. I believe that might be the Sheriff’s Castle just behind, where Beatrice lovingly made him soup for breakfast and cereal for supper, etc., devoted Tilists as they were. And that’s what we have to bone up on next: the influence of TILE in the general area. Or General’s area, actually, as in Duncan.

Getting dark. Better head home soon.

Is that a key over there?

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