I stared at the blue screen at the center of it all, knowing what came before, what came after. The Game.
The Creator.
“Are you he?” I again confront Zebra also at the center, forwards facing white still in front here and backwards facing black still in back yacking on his phone. I had a right to know, not be left behind.
Lips still zipped? Maybe he told me what was going on without speaking. To be continued?
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0052, 0213, C2077, Heyworth, Indigo Parallel, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya+, Newtonia, NVFS
“Huh. 1st you’re at Dandelion’s over in Vista Del Rey and then downstairs here at the Port Cafe just a minute ago (35:45) and now here (41:15). What gives?”
“Get away from me. *Right*…*now*.”
Center between his two Port Cafe manifestations (38:30), highlighting Key Woman.
Actual center of 1:16:36 video (38:18) featuring the same gal. “Get away from me you creep,” she says similarly to, um, White Dude just a little later on. White Zebra?
And we’ve seen that other guy before too directly staring at the camera, associated with a center from yet another video. Huh indeed.
We called him Madison then. Madison Perez. Is this correct? Potential future mayor of Night City?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0052, 0210, C2077, City Center, Heyworth
“Yeah, this doesn’t seem to be scrubbing off, Michelle.”
“Don’t call me that, Murderer. Call me Officer Roundup.”
“Sure. But, um…”
“Option 02, I get it. Let’s go back to the station and pick up some white paint and some brushes.” But then, staring at the back of her heavily tattooed prisoner, Policeperson Michelle Roundup had an idea.
“John,” she said, making him pause. She’d always called him by one of his many crimes before, Murderer if pretty to really upset down to Burglar if only mildly so or not atall. Never the actual name. Before this; what did she want? “John,” she repeated, trying to phrase it in the proper way. “Erm, have you seen a tattoo like this by chance? A full body one? One that wraps around the whole body front to back I mean? Another treasure map is what I’m saying.”
Oh Jeez, he thinks here. She knows about them! What will he do?? How will he answer?? “You, um, mean on another person’s body.”
“Yeah. That’ll do.”
“Then: no.” Relief! He didn’t have to bring up the curse attached to the design.
“How about in general?” Michelle Roundup intuitively followed up. “Like a drawing of such a body? Or a painting? Oh — photo,” she then realized. “Have you seen it in a photo or a series of photos?”
Drat! Now he’ll have to actually lie. Certainly he can’t admit to stealing Officer Roundup’s camera behind her back. Burglar becomes the worst nickname in that case!
“Iiii…”
In the hesitation, she sensed something else, something new. The camera! Missing for a couple of hours yesterday. She thought she just misplaced. But, upon thinking about it, it was there on her desk, then next minute: not. Then *placed* in almost the exact same place a bit later in the afternoon. He knows about the treasure, he knows about the X! The inability to scrub this one off was a sign, a portent.
—-
She acted really smart. She didn’t accuse him of the theft to his face. After all, he was already in custody for several other, more henious crimes. He can’t go anywhere.
There were a couple of possibilities in play, she thought as they walked back to pick up the paint and brushes to finish the job. First, he’s just a desperate perv wanting to look at some pictures of a naked girl. Two, he was gathering information about, I don’t know, the location of an *actual* treasure. Three: maybe he just stole the camera to take pictures himself and then saw the photos already on it. But indeed he knows about them. People just don’t turn that red for no reason. What’s black and white and red all over has a new answer beyond newspaper and embarrassed zebra. Actually I guess the latter still applies, she finished her joke.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0041, 0505, Big Woods, Hole in the Wall, Jeogeot
In a cage underneath the bed he waits his turn as reality shifts back into fantasy, virtual playstuff and all. It was always going to be this way. Once they returned to the top. “How’s your novel going?” he said over, blue rose decorated suit back on. “I’m really sinking into this one,” she admitted to her hubby who was still gone a lot of the time, acting in Europe, Asia and Africa currently, Shakespeare being a world-wide phenomenon. “Sinking as… how?” “You know, really getting into character,” she replied. He rolled over, stared upward. If he’d kept rolling he would be looking right at the answer. “So you’re Jennifer Lane, the writer who *writes* Shelley. But to me you’re still Shelley, since I’m not in your books.” “Oh, you’re in them alright,” she said, which was truth. Just not the whole. 2-4 percent, like incomplete milk for a half baked, choco chip cookie. And so, on the 5th day… “Explain,” he ventured, pressing further tonight, kind of hearing the muffled cries of help from beneath him but still kind of not. He could sense an actor in peril.
So she gave him permission to come back into her life, to live in this place with them as well. Her lovely Edward, fresh from a dog park over in Pickle 02. Someone else was under the bed now. He stared at the answer. “Jem, is that you Jem?” He rolled over, all the way. “Oh it’s *you*.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0203, Constantynople, Jeogeot, Kidd Tower, Middleton, Nautilus, Rank & File, Xilted
Mr. Babyface is now downstairs in Kidd, having yielded the top 2 floors representing his old penthouse apt. to the new couple in town, the *owners* as it were (Arthur and Shelley). He’s also agreed to share the dining table of his upper floor with them, since their own upper floor is basically taken up with a bed. That’s fair, that’s fair, he ponders, puffing on Red Dragon this morning. Out of Blue Pennant, his favorite. Have to run up to West Virginie for a restock soon. But how to get there? Last time he had to go through Hana Lei, holding his nose all the time. Fairy poop, yeck! The worst kind, and they leave it all over the place, not believing in civilization and modern conveniences such as flush toilets and pressure showers. Thus the body odor added in to the rest of the smells, the poop, the pee. He *hates* going there. And yet… I suppose the band Lamb is still in all that mess somewhere. High as the sky; not figuring a way out yet. They have likely been totally assimilated, he reckons. Poor Paul, poor Peter and Mary. He may never see them again. His poor poor nephew (*sigh*). *Anyway*…
He continues to puff as he stares at the Big E on the now shared table, a ritual of sorts. He doesn’t know quite what to make of it still except that it’s perfect in its own way, and a worthy additional the TILE family of absolute glyphs. He stares at the green green sim of Xilted, thinking back to his own experiences there, 0202 as well and exactly 3 novels back. More perfection.
He met a soldier specifically named Chet, a veteran of the Trojan-Durexian War. He can’t recall the names of the other soldiers that were there at the outpost with him and then lover Greg (or Gregg) but he remembers Chet. “Grass, the usual,” Chet always use to say to him whenever he asks the ever pointing, gun toting soldier what he’s aiming at today from his lookout post. And Mr. Babyface would always pause in his activities of the day and stare out with him a bit here — into the green green hills of Xilted (now with grass!). Maybe they could be considered even… friends? What else did they talk about? The cow loving, fellow Trojan warrior now living in the Northern Hills of the original Bellissaria continent? Certainly a possibility, I’m guessing, although they could have become chums after this assignment was over given the whole perpetual war thing, but certainly before his own untimely, well, death. Chet died at the hands of a machete wielding enemy with more blood lust in his spirit. Kill or be killed, he learned too late. But perhaps he was right in doing so; rewards in heaven and so on. Mr. Babyface didn’t know about Chet’s death, I’m supposing. He’d only learn that later in this here photo-novel, 39 in a series of a lot. Maybe from Groover.
And how appropriate his table is now 3 floors down from the top of Kidd and thus displaying the Xilted sim on its side wall as well. At the top — his former upper floor again — Shelley has (XY*Z*) Zebrasil, very close to a volcano that had just gone off. Can he recover enough to go at it again the next day? You betcha! Yet another perfection and directly related. Little e to Big E, you see. TILE talk.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0202, Constantynople, Jeogeot, Kidd Tower, Middleton, Nautilus, Rank & File, West Virginia, Xilted
“When did you get the new tattoo?” he asked over to me from his own blanket, lotion finished for now.
“Oh I don’t know,” I nonchalantly replied. “About 15 minutes ago I guess.” I was applying blog time here, because I’d only recently decided to expose the thing. TILE Manifesto. I knew where this was heading… kind of.
I felt Ted’s eyes look across me toward the elephant ride on the mainland beach. Corsica is a looong continent, I heard him say in his head, thanks to Fern’s temporary spell. He also said he’d give it a 10. She was pleased. No need to redo the legs any more. But to the information I *really* need.
“Ted,” I said. “Ted Bear.”
“Yes?” He rolled back and stared into the blue and white umbrella but he was still smiling. Always the smile now. He was dreaming happy things. Like more lotion.
“I know you’ve told me about Jenny and how she freed up Baker Bloch so he could go to that pyramid in de skies. Jenny is… prudish.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t like what I’m doing on this islet. She wanted Baker away from that.”
But to the thoughts. What is he really thinking? She scans but no luck. He was back on her. Pondering the back. The orange and violet would have to wait, zebra’s eyes X-ed out for now. Probably all for the best, she thinks, and starts to apply again. Next post!
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0402, Lands End, Lower Austra, Nautilus, Wild West
Her lawn looks like a meadow
And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
And the Queen Anne’s lace!
“The car wanted to live. The car wanted to *stay*.”
“Great, W. Can I call you W. still?”
“I am the two within the one, the complex within the simple. Look for me. Balance.”
“O-kay.”
“Continue, then.”
“*You* continue.”
—–
“We are in the car. We are the rib, the singular, heading to the complex, the duality. Eve. Adam from. 2 in 1. 2 brained.”
“And what does that mean?”
“We have to stick to the simple.”
“But we are heading to the double. Double heads.”
“No (!).”
“Yes.” Simpler. Smaller. No exclamation point; no capital letters. Just acceptance. 2n1.
“What about left leaning?” I grasped, trying not to Fall.
—–
Flipping to the Orient, I knew this was about me, then. The red green blue yellow “tiles” in the back were me. The colorless, X-ed out head openings (“hello!”) of the Zebra are me, ready to reveal themselves in the move away from occident. Me. Sozzy Bozo has a mask over his eyes — similar. It should be over his mouth. Point made.
—–
I had to incarnate again soon, before the dawn’s early light at least. Else the night would be “wasted.” I decide a variety of photos would do the trick. Presenting: Snapshots from the East.
This was a kind of creepy one. Glimpse into the Abyss, brr. So cold.
Then lightening up as the red green blue yellow return. Goal carts! (red starts)
Traveling further back, 2 toys mark the entrance to a passage, perhaps of life itself. Ur-state. One toy, the blue one, did not “evolve” past the second. Both remained simple. We are onto something. Not dodging an issue no more.
We are now even before the start of the race out back. Orange appears across from the green, from the blue. Out of place. King Bill. He is whole. He is *orange*. Here is where we should have started. And so I placed myself there, before the beginning. Let’s try again.
Wind.
More wind. Cold.
—–
Jen reviewed how she got to this God forsaken place on the very western edge of Nautilus, almost disconnected from the continent. If only it weren’t for Vavra, who led her here. She use to blame it on someone named Jim, but then realized that was only a masculine projection of herself, a double created as a dark, oppositely sexed companion. He probably still exists somewhere. On the Mainland. Here, though? Nautilus but not Nautilus. Mainland but not Mainland. Different, an In-between World, ‘nother one. If only Vavra didn’t have that barely Linden water sailable boat, that Annoying ZZ Mat I think she called it, whatever that means. What-ever (Vavra-speak; I think she may also go by Marilyn).
She looked around even though she didn’t want to. Although certainly not the mountains of the Omega continent, it still was cold this time of year this far up the coast. Too close to Corsica to be temperate. None of the sim’s neighbors liked this place — didn’t consider it to be their “downtown” in any way. They too were isolated from the rest.
She needed to get out of this dress and into some real winter clothes but that would mean removing and rearranging the underneath pillows and she couldn’t make the effort, brrr. She hadn’t eaten in what felt like almost 3 hours.
Oh there were enough people here at any one time, it seemed. She’s counting 7 on her inworld screen besides herself. But where was Bert? Jim? No: Bert. Former police officer turned gigolo. Or pimp — she can’t recall; just as bad anyway, although she assumes the money is better with the latter since several of his ilk work for him instead of visa versa. She was the bookkeeper of the place. Kept tabs on the ledgers, made sure they balanced out each month. Numbers were her bag but figures were too. She oft times had to beat them off with a big black stick she kept handy for the matter. She thought of changing her name from Jen to Gen but didn’t want to lose full contact with Jim back on the Mainland, however imaginary he actually was. She could dream still, then. Her apartment? She wished it was the attic of the town’s Brownstone so she’d have a better view of the goings on of the place, but it was instead the 2nd. Vavra had the third, and always seemed to be bathed in dust-ridden light when she went up there to check on her or to socialize with her or to gather her up for one of those nights on the town. Like tonight. Big girls night out, but not too big. Vavra was on a weight plan. And herself? She started putting small pillows under her antiquated clothing to disguise her talent with figures as well as numbers. Some thought she had been knocked up, therefore, by Bud the grocery store manager Bert she was known to hang around with, but that was just because of the maths. They use to count the town residents one by one by one, as the green lights lit up on the map come din din time, as they called it. It was like a bell went off, a ding dong, and they came. Poor Mama had it right. The tiles were falling off the wall, red green yellow blue. If the camouflaged zebras start to show their true colors, then… trou-ble.
She wore strange makeup like an android: stars, rings like big red spots marked by a pin. She started out as a demo but she was more than that now. She was a real life girl. She decided at a certain point that she would pretend to create Jim instead of visa versa, and turn Bert into a gigolo with a corresponding loss of power. Because this was a woman’s world from now on. Adam, I’m Madam, nice to greet you. 2 + 2 can equal 5 if she wanted it to. Aloha can mean goodbye as well as hello. Inflammable can mean flammable, and so on. She was a mixed up boy-girl because her one head had turned into two with the schism. Mainland over there, [delete name] over here. The Wild West moniker had it right. Dodge, she decided, this is Dodge. Because she’s trying to, she *had* to. Jim had to remain real.
(to be continued?)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0115, Mountain Lake, Nautilus, Omega, Wild West
“I’m afraid something has gone wrong with my left, Foxtrot. Maybe it’s a sign we shouldn’t have returned.” Orange Foxtrot said nothing in reply even though he had a lot of opinions on the matter, small purple bud Octi too. Best to act like colorless zebras and X their mouths shut presently.
Oh if we’d only stuck with red green yellow blue, she lamented later, arm back to normal. For now.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0031, 0114, Mountain Lake, Omega
Always look for the spaces between things. There lies art.
I am not a painter in this life. I am a collagist. Moving on…
“What does the future hold for me Esmerelda?”
“A cave? A *landscape*?”
Very faint from across the table again: “Enter the cave.”
He paid Ms. Wells handsomely and was on his way again.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0028, 0501, Bogota, collages 2d, Crisp Sea, Ebbert, Falmouth, Lower Austra, Nautilus, Paper Soap+, Soap, Wild West, Yaya Land+
