Tag Archives: Tropp^*++++

Yes-i-am

A scientist that is, and the twins have fascinated me since their death and rebirth in 1874, when they were brought to my attention as Chief Medical Officer aboard the ever circling U.S.S. Ararat, also during a previous life mind you. Once I put such facts down on paper (or, these days, up on computer screens) it becomes real to me too, and as historically accurate as anything else produced from the annals of Our Second Lyfe. We’re working on it…

Above: Edith and Archina Bunker, fresh from a watery grave after their first lives as men Archie and Ed (photo by Telescope Ted).

From my orbital perspective I was able to directly study their 2 part brains — trace the duality back to a singular state, a Ylem Condition I called it, obsolete term now, and before it was used in Physics. I would even argue that the word was lifted from my studies in the late 40s during my second stint as a Chief Medical Officer, stationed over the Pacific instead of the Atlantic this time and assuming a new and different body with a different overall, attached name. Bodies, pheh. Can’t live with them (etc.). Now I am Rose but before I was Leela and, before that, Eyela. That should take us back far enough if memories serve. It’s all a long story.

The reason I can even talk about such things is that the attic of the house has just shifted over to the basement again, its proper position, since this is the third Sunday’s Monday of the year’s month’s day. Sorry to be so technical, but I’m trying to put this in perspective. I have employment of my lab and its microscope again and am not stuck with the attic’s telescope, useful in its day for long distance space experiments (see Telescope Monkey Trials of Xenon 10-C for another prime example of this) but limited when actually Earthbound, as I am now — in this house — in these icy woods on the edge of the world that is known as the Omega continent. My term again. Steal it if you must. 🙂

And, playing God to the hilt and influenced by my troubled water surroundings, I’ve managed to retro-engineer a man (!), an Adam to my Eve, except he came from *my* rib instead of visa versa, as popular Bibles around the Earth have preached. For now he’s just a Giant for a Day type of fellow but, maybe soon, Giant Forever as source material Genesis is further overridden and a return to anonymity is guaranteed after the erasure of a successful solo career (I get all this from Gabriel) — if I can merge 1st and 2nd so that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Here’s hoping!

Sorry for the broken sentences but I’m excitedly writing this in the middle of the night with weakened coffee drink due to a pre-blog kitchen spillage. Tragedy! But I can properly replenish my supplies in the morning. Starbucks, let’s see, opens in 1/2 an hour…

I call him my 1/2 brother since he has my rib, but he also contains the brain of an A.B. Normal I picked up on my travels to the Further East for more silk and other exotic fabrics that my tailors can use. They *are* really good at making clothes from scratch. Just not good bodyguards as stated before. Thus the reason for transforming or *enclosing* the house here with a hypercube, a psychic overlay. Big Red would understand, if he could move past the 9th and into a 10th and denounce the singularity as well, becoming double brained too. I have all the charts here. He could be the one. I call him my baby because he is always sans clothing, even though the tailors beg me to allow them enough cloth to fashion at least a diaper, hmph. There’s always the big litter box down in the basement, er, up in the attic for that I always counter. And he will be one with my half brother soon enough. Even now, he’s been caught wandering into my red bedroom in the heart of the night, picking up on future memories instead of the past. One day…

(to be continued?)

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completed Table

Grassy Noll had shifted one chair down to make room for Nauty, but he said that wasn’t what it sounded like. It was just short for Nautilus (continent) — he wasn’t some kind of sex toy doll, he reinforced. “Or was he?” he then joked, and repositioned the pin near his navel in a most inappropriate way, getting a laugh from Wheeler at least.

“So you can help with our pin cushion problem,” said Baker, staying serious because he had a big problem. The Nautilus map behind Nauty had been itself overrun with red pins, marking locations already featured in the blog and with more to come. He needed organization, he needed categorization. What is the true relationship of Lower and Upper Austra? How is the North, deemed non-Austran, really different? And what of the Wild West, the Mild East, the *Southwest*, where he’d just been with Man About Time? And then: Collagesity. Between Highways 13 and 14 that stood for M and N. Soo much there already.

“Yes,” answered Nauty, and then said he had a Rubber Soul. Baker thought about this for a moment and realized it meant he was beyond Help (!). If it kept progressing in this direction he’d need a Revolver to end it all.

“You mean *I* have a Rubber Soul,” he said to Nauty.

“Yes.”

Across from him, Opp or Tropp (True Opp) had also shifted one chair over to make room for another newcomer, this Al guy we’ve already mentioned several posts back, the last one set in Paper-Soap in my new rental there, the one in front of Soap Beach but in the Paper sim, the place where the dead wash up in banded groups, ready to be sudsed and bubbled for rebirthing purposes. Wash away the sins type of deal. More newcomers. Perhaps, secretly, Al with his multiple faces was one of ’em. Also: Nauty. Maybe Jinx Doll as well. Seems too coincidental they’re here.

(to be continued)

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short for Anselmo

Baker Bloch couldn’t help himself. “Hold on,” he said, delaying the meeting even further. “Lemme get another beer out of the fridge.

“Everybody good?” he calls to the assembled cast and crew while fishing out a Krings from its depths, including new gal Jinx Doll. Who invited *her*? he thought when she arrived at 15 til 8, 20 minutes before anyone else. “I’ll take one,” said Wheeler directly across from him, who wandered in at 8:35, the last to show up. Immediately before her at 8:25 came Opp, her true love. And then, before that (8:15), Grassy Noll, the most famous of all Mmmmmm’s, a species formerly inhabiting the Great Lake area of Herman Park. No longer. Now friend Wheeler originally questioned him about selling out his kind, but he denies it, despite being the only true Mmmmmm left after successfully transferring over to virtual reality using his massive wealth and status as bargaining chips to the Great God of the Great Lake in ’64, just after the JFK debacle he was also responsible for, a warm-up act some called it. Like Wheeler, although she was only echoing what she’d heard at the time. “He took a *shot* for you,” she grilled beyond cooking and into simply burning to a crisp. Crisp Lake crisp. Grassy was use to the heat, though, and took Wheeler’s best (return) shot in stride, deflecting it a little bit up and to the right like he was good at — he was *fractally* good at, in fact, able to whirl it down into a vortex hole if needed, out of sight and also out of mind to those swirling all around, still trying and failing to become a singularity like that. Bay City was renamed John Fitzgerald Kennedy City because of it but that was only Alaska. Things happen differently it’s so cold up there, far away from the heat of the grilling and burning. It was a displacement, you see. And because of it “America the Beautiful” became the national anthem instead of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” But no one remembered, no one knew, Marilyn (Lichen Roosevelt) least of all because she was so close to the subject, a tree for forest deal-i-o.

Baker slid a Krings over to Wheeler past the face of Al, the second to arrive after Jinx Doll at 8:05 and the last member of the Table to be brought up in this here post. He has 3 faces, actually. That’s the story we must go into next.

(to be continued)

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hats off

“I must ask Horace Wise how we got here when we go back. We must be dreaming — perhaps this fits into his post-R.B. Hayes theories of alternate US realities somewhere. Wake up, I say to this witchery of yours. Wake up!”

“Oh shut your gob,” Misty spat out to her thought-to-be future husband Septimius Felton, not worried at all that they were back at the painter’s place. A painter paints, a collagist collages. Paperweight is both. But here… *here*.

“Time to jump back in the lake,” she commanded.

“Again?” Wake up, he said in his head this time. Wake up! Down they go.

But he must admit it was pretty good fun for irreality.

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A Fleabug’s Life

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breakthrough

—–

White as Heaven, he stood at the open door on the back of the windmill, watching from a distance. Black, he determined. And probably red as well. He should join them, make his presence known. What does he have to hide *now*?

He quickly hides his red hand from observation, a medical condition but also blood. Our Duncan Avocado. He was also looking for something. He’d lost his cap, perhaps in the woods. He was scratching his head, wondering where it went, but then realized this exposed his weakness to the white guy up the hill. He’s also on something, as in onto something. A box. Could this be… Borneo?

As the white guy approached, he thinks back to Scratchy (sim) and another weakness exposed. The inability to keep track of the one thing in life he is responsible for: George. “White as Heaven” was there. He had some advice to dispense. “You’ve been working on the railroad. I can tell (by your hands).”

Was it a labor of love? he thought after the brief conversation was over. Bart might know. If he wasn’t dead as well.

“Go to the Red,” the white guy essentially commanded. The Old White Lady did. Your *ma*.

He somehow got stuck in the windmill on his way over. Back to square one.

Later: Duncan’s soup disappeared and he knew he was in trouble.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0030, 0102, Cass City^, Jeogeot, Maebaleia/Satori, Newtown, Sunklands^

seeing

I log out Wheeler to save memory. We can speak more freely now. “I was…” he began. “Born,” he said. “Naked.”

“Yes, we all are,” I said back, occupying the chair in front of him instead of Jennifer Lane. We would end this way, just the two of us. Man to man. “But you have a birthday hat instead of a birthday suit (now). You are acceptable.”

“Indian,” he then said. “Wells.”

“Yes, that’s your name. To some. I personally usually call you Tropp. You and me, we are different.”

“Yes.” Pause. “Studied… I am studied.” He looks down at his hands, noticing the flaws. Not on his face in this case but his hands. “Axis is here.”

“Yes, you are Axis, who is now Axis-Windmill. Should probably shorten that to something else. Any ideas?” I was tired of having to do all the thinking in this here blog and attached photo-novels, now almost 29 in number. So near the end… just around the corner…

“We’ll… see.” He takes a sip of tea. He adjusts the birthday cap on his head so it isn’t as askew to his face. Takes a minute, since he has to make it askew in the first place (see above). He realizes the scars on his hands were caused by heat. Scalding. He looks down at the smoke of the tea drifting up to his face. *And* his face. “I…. love…”

“Yes?”

He changes. We were back to square one.

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new plane

She looked over. “You are one again.”

“And so are you,” he quickly replied in his higher register voice, exactly one octave higher to be precise. “Jennifer Lane through and through, switched out from twin cousin Shelley Lane, aka Shelley Struthers (in Part 04). Marvelous.”

“And who,” Jennifer asks, “is this?” She looked to his left, but to an onlooker the chair would still be empty. We’ll thus withhold a picture until the end.

“Biff Carter,” answers Triangle between both Square and Circle, absorbing them. “You’ve met before, remember?”

“Maybe,” she shot back, getting defensive. Why was she getting defensive?

“I thought it would be best to end with the 3 cores getting together again. We should do this every once in a while. Catch up with each other. It’s taxing to the computer, but… the new one: not so much. Good you got a new computer during the pandemic.” He takes a sip of tea, ready for the other one (core) in the room to speak. Better prepare him. First we have to minimize a window, then log in the third… shouldn’t be long. Oops, he’s naked. Better get him some clothes, ha. And some tea.

“You!” Jennifer exclaimed about the manifestation. No collage needed for this one. 3 cores. Nifty. But it wasn’t Biff Carter.

“Pocket cup,” Triangle declared, moving his tea cup up into his shirt pocket to lighten the mood. We weren’t quite done yet.

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treatise

She wasn’t f-ing around any more. She owned the Dixie Belle gambling boat and all the characters that had passed through this here photo-novel, 29 in a series… Just: 29 in a series. She had complete control, *not* Alysha. Alysha was left back on Maebaleia — I’m not sure why but there you go. Now we have blonde Lichen Roosevelt. And, with her, dark haired Fern Stalin. And then the 3rd, but not red headed Alysha (or Wendy). Fern originally thought it would be similarly red Indian Wells, 1/2 brother to Rose Wells and the one she was studying for the Crabwoo Revitalization Project or Blue Feather Reinvestment Initiative or whatever the f- they’re calling it these days. Buster brought in Duncan to protect, then changed his mind and assigned White Mage to the case, but has, again, changed his mind because of Dixie (Belle). Duncan indeed does have karma involved. He pulls out a fish taco to eat on a break from acting. It almost reaches his mouth before he remembers the boy. George! I left him back in VHC City to fend for his own! He must be, jeez, 17 now? Maybe 18. I believe his birthday is Tuesday (of last week’s month). Oh (relief!). He now remembers he left the boy with his Aunt Clare, his *sister*. They didn’t have the same mother but it was close enough. Last time he spoke to him George was having more dreams about Yelloo. That’s where we should head next (Fern directs — former director Percy Pierce assigned to another “film”). The border between granite and snow. The ultimate division between Tennessee interior and Kentucky exterior. Like Static…

—–

“I see,” she muttered after turning page 15 and starting to read 16. “Cowabunga *is* a misdirection, interesting.” 5 seconds later she turns another page.

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00290615

He flickered in but then was quickly replaced by another, a *guardian*. Pot-D representative Duncan Avocado, assigned to the case by Buster Damm a while ago in the photo-novel but then pulled in favor of White Mage. Now he’s back. And beautiful. “Duncan,” she said, not that surprised. “Should have known you were lurking behind the curtains somewhere, ready to have a seat. Whatcha been upto? It’s been, oh *forever*. Since…”

“Dixie, yeah I know,” Duncan Avocado said in her direction, knowing over what part of the table this was going. “I said I was sorry.”

“How’s your neck?”

“Mmmm.” Duncan hesitated, understanding this was the key. Jasper turned wrong. like a Newton Jasper Ninja Turtle upended to make a soup bowl.

“‘Cowabunga,'” she then said. “I want that treatise.”

“W-wha…?”

“You know what.”

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