Thanks Hucka D. The chronicles, whatever they will be called, will consist of another blog within a blog, like we did last year about this same time. We are going to determine why Peter came to Our Second Lyfe and what his Big Sink project was when he came.
In short he was impressed with Tronesis… saw that he actually did it in a probable way. Better than an actual movie, because heavily coded. Ram equals Lamb[ and so on]. He understands that the Lamb album should have been mixed up that way. 2nd is 1st, 4th is 2nd, 3rd is 3rd, and 4th is 1st. TILE.
So he applies, is accepted above Ian Anderson, Robert Fripp, and whomever…
No. Those were the other candidates.
How about Barrett himself? Syd… or SID?
It was destined to be Peter because of the Cross of the Lamb. He had to exit the cross. And so he did[ at 1974].
Another idea I had is that he built the structure that I call Gallery 7/10 to create the “time standing still” point at its center. This would equate with “Lost Cane“. In other words, Richard Alpert. Timelessness.
From this point of stillness he effected the Sunklands sinking. Sink sank sunk.
He created the Big Sink.
And all other sinks.
“Did you get all that Head?”
Faint affirmation from the bald, newspaper reading man behind him.
“Do — you think it still exists?”
“No,” Cyber-Catwoman opines in front of him, Identity Disk spinning a different way. They stare at each other, Yin to Yang. Head keeps reading the news (oh boy).
Later, while working at the Residents Union Back rolling out dough with a pin, Phyllis (aka Cyber-Catwoman) ponders why she was so adamant about Gallery 7/10 not existing any longer to her partner Chip (Cyber-Catman) at Head’s — almost directly above her at this point.
Because the place of timelessness is *here*, she realizes, and freezes the pin in its tracks.
The dough must be curious what happened.
Feng Sui and Qi: gone, Chip realized when teleporting in from the roof. He just substituted 26 for 61 and he was here. Chip was needing advice on how to put up with a woman he loved. Because the cyan colored opposite sex remained a total mystery to him. Indeed, FS and Qi could have helped, but they were currently preparing lunch for the uncles. The bullet holes remain unsealed, Store Zero’s past still open and bared for all.
Someone opens the door….
(to be continued?)
When Duncan was rudely woken up he was falling. The 87 Room he had been sitting in and composing songs to mark time was suddenly no more. He fell on top of what was left of room 71 — its roof it appeared. Or maybe the floor of 72.
Certainly time to go groundside now and contemplate the next move. The 100 Story Building of Kowloon was gone. Will another replace it? Time to talk to this Fish Head hub-of-a-man to get the latest….
Oh. He’d figured something out in the meantime. The one ball in pool is *not* blue, as he had mistakenly thought before; been a while since he played the game. That’s instead the two ball. And two of the 3 remaining pool stools in what use to be Room 87, all exposed in contrast, were colored wrongly. The 3 is colored yellow instead of red and the 2 is orange instead of the yellow it should be — orange belongs to 5. Only the 8 stool is aptly hued. So the question remains: what number was under the XVideos labeled laptop?
Ahh, never mind that now, Duncan thinks while peering around at inky space dotted with milky stars. A new stage beckons in Kowloon below, perhaps a new building along with it. He jumps and falls again…
Instead, Duncan Avocado finds himself in the southeast corner of the sim of Blue on the Old Continent (Sansara), zooming in on a strange PLime flag adorned with a fused plum and lime.
Lime is the sim immediately east of here, and Plum lies immediately below Lime. Blue is the color of the pool ball he couldn’t remember the number of, but he’s not here in Blue for that reason. Instead: following leads from Kowloon. The place has magic. But Our Second Lyfe as a whole still retains the ways — YES — *before* the coming of the Blimey Limeys, as some in the Pot-D circle of more English persuasion decry the Lindens, the overlords to this world of ours. Because there was certainly a world before this world. Duncan originally found that out through Nautilus, then it spread to other continents, Maebaleia/Satori and its North-South split most prominently perhaps. You have to be quick to receive the proper messages coming from this world. And Duncan, thanks to his Pot-D training the last year, had learned nimbleness, beyond mere polished dance moves. He can dance through associative links now as well….
So Blue is still the mystery to be penetrated, he contemplates further from a nearby, green checkerboard sofa.
He remained on the Old Continent for a long, long time, never to return to Kowloon and its mysterious ways. The associative links took him elsewhere.
But we ourselves must remain in the Kowloon’s Gate Reborn themed sim a bit longer. At least until the end of the current photo-novel. Because Fish Head indeed has more information at his disposal now, thanks to the listening pipes. Goodbye Duncan! We’ll catch up with you soon enough. Happy dancing!
A door shut.
Then a few feet later: open.
He *is* the door.
We must ask the shiny white mower man behind the Lakeland sign: what next?
Or perhaps Mr. Cooley who lives on Copley will do.
One day he came here and his beloved giant live oak tree had simply vanished in thin air. “I’ve had enough of this place,” Jer Left Horn muttered to himself. “Fran is too young and Cloe is too unavailable. Time for me to report back to mother. The caves got my brother plain and simple. He will never be found the right way in.”
Time to look the wrong way; the only one left. Somewhere else than End of Time.”
“He’s given up on End of Time, Hucka Doobie. I’m not so sure.”
She stares over at the white rabbit merrily munching on a carrot. “Me neither.”
“Could be that the next photo-novel will be all about (the) Nautilus (continent), Hucka Doobie.”
“Good. That is fine.” She pauses. “Speaking of which, we need to get over to Rooster’s Peninsula and wake up Jacob I. He’s due for a return as well.”
So they traveled about as far across the continent as you can get until they reached the Progressive Rock Museum at the neck of Rooster’s Peninsula, so named because a dude named Rooster once lived there in a giant castle called Rust Never Sleeps, enigmatically enough. Rumor has it he was part of the Lemon Conspiracy against the Blimey Linden overlords. Nautilus was riddled with ’em. But much of their work and their ways has already gone the path of the dodo. The Prog Rock Museum keeps on progging, thankfully. It’s the way we can bring Jacob I. back and get more of his story — why he came to Collagesity in the first place.
“Wake up Mr. Mower Man,” Hucka Doobie speaks down gently. “Time to come back.”
It started in earnest when I found the curtains on the slopes of Mt. Piren Bistano, the very summit where Rooster’s castle once stood. Baker immediately believed it could actually be a leftover bit of the castle, then started thinking along more symbolic lines, like these might be the curtains hiding the missing blue eye of Wheeler. Beans. Yes, Magika and Flip were gearing up for a continent wide wrestling tour. I need to go visit Karoz — I suppose he’s still in Chilbo, even with the seeming loss of Baker Blinker. In a different way, Axis and Wheeler, I mean, *Flip*, have a different arrangement. Marriage is not what it seemed to be. The Collagesity novels are coming apart from the center. What’s more core to them than the sacred marriage of Baker Blinker and Karoz Blogger?? Way back in 2 — we’re now closing in on the end of 17. If I can stop the Nautilus bias of 18 from entering.
Baker checks. The 2 people who now rent the whole of Piren Bistano do indeed seem in love. And the sim is covered by a giant heart. Baker found the curtains near the center when he teleported in, with another avatar exactly in this center as well but apparently far far above him somewhere, in their Heart Castle in the Sky. Could it be Roostre again in some form?
And viewable from just other side of this summit, probably quite near where he rented a cottage way back in 2010…
… the legendary Dancing Woman of Nautilus. Rumor has it that she knows upwards of a 1000 dances. Baker has only mythological interest here, hence the Genesis fox.
Meanwhile in Kowloon…
… Guy Benjamin finds the Red Door.
what’s behind 02
Guy has a dream where he is calling the fox through music.
“Put down that silly instrument that you can’t play properly anyway. We’re related!”
Newtonia Kashkow inserts herself back in the picture (MOO). She’s ready to give the password.
Guy Benjamin wakes up. “Shite! So close.”
what’s behind 03
Leaday, who has mysteriously replaced Goldie in the meantime, whispers through the disconnected line of pipes toward Peter/ Dr. Diper. “End of tiimmmme,” the part fish, part frog creature hissed.
“We’re running out of time,” stated Parasol across from Guy Benjamin while staring over at the Residents Union Back hourglass and its shifting sand.
But these were the “human” forms of cat beings Rebl and Guyd respectively, out of the End of Time caves and in Kowloon for a reason. Guy has human relatives: Grandmama and Grandpapa. Well, only Grandmama now, since the latter was done in by Axis the other day. With his Lost Cane in heaven, he still directs the good guys down below, however. Including grandson Guy. Parasol has other reasons for being here. She’s still looking for someone. Herbert Gold back in Rosehaven didn’t produce the needed results.
Across the alleyway, in the apartment directly behind Leaday, a phone rings. Satan Santa, taking his third bath of the day, cusses a hellish word, then exclaims to Frosty beside him, “You know who that is.” It wasn’t a question; no one calls here but her. Satan Santa stands up out of the tub and prepares to waddle toward the living room to answer it. Five rings, six rings… he knows she won’t let up.
Frosty is gleeful. He hopes this is the last time he has to see this ugly, hairy ass moving away from him. Too many times!
Phylllis/Cybercat-Woman, the cyan “it” power inside the walls now (thanks to Peter), illuminated the next place Herbert Glenn Gold should dream about.
She slept on her guitar so-as no one else would dare steal it. This weekend was the big ta-do. Concert with her sisters at Loon Lake, also known as Kow Pond. It was to be the center of everything. And so it is.
to remember it by (Treasure Hill continuation)
“I keep looking out that window and thinking there’s someone sitting up on that giant live oak limb, staring at us. But it’s just that dark angel in the middle of the pond over there.”
“One hour ’til sunrise,” urges Eight-seven beside her, formerly Eighty-eight.
“Match tonight — better try to get some sleep.” Eighty-six now.
Surely Wheeler will be alright on her own this *one* time, thinks rocking Baker Blinker back in Collagesity at her Gloomy Gus house. The 88’s will be with her.
But someone indeed has followed Wheeler to the wrestling arena in what use to be Morgan-Julia. And is manipulating time and space around her.
“One more piece then I’m done,” mutters Cpt. Americus, trying to polish off his bucket of chicken so he can think properly about another evil plot to hatch.
The stream rages on…
On the way to Kow Pond to practice with her band mates for the upcoming big ta-do there, Slash Girl got a little lost thanks to bad information from a Heart Queen spy. She ended up near *Cow* Pond, very far away from the sought after, phonetically identical pond indeed. But SG was not known as the brightest member of Redeye. That goes to Angus Girl — we’ll meet her soon in this here blog.
“*Cow* Pond,” explained Jersey the Cow at the summit, a 31 prim member of the vertu species, as was her mate Guernsey just down the slope. “At the end of Cow Road down below, which starts here at Cow Hill. So: not *Kow* Pond, pheh.” The exasperated cow turned around and blew out air, but not from her mouth.
“Well I’ll be,” exclaimed Slash Girl, picking up her hat from the bridge and placing it back on her head.
She never made it to the concert. What she called Cow County, shared between the sims of Argent here and then Bisque to the immediate east, became too fascinating in and of itself. Like Duncan before her, she remained trapped in the Color Sims for a good while.
Although she never could figure out how to pick up these sticks with the marshmallows on them for roasting, she made this Cow Hill camping spot her base of exploration.
The white leopard Herm-Sark beside her was an interloper on this hill. But he had more information than the others that, one day, not too far in the future but also not too near, he would share with Slash Girl, Duncan and the rest on this very mount. From that day forward, Cow Hill would become very sacred indeed and, through it, Cow County as a whole.
giving her the Floydian slip
Red eye, Guy Benjamin contemplates. Like the band. This must be where they live!
He must find his way down to get an autograph. But he never does.
About an hour later, Redeye manager Kuckoo Kuail urgently knocks/slaps on the door of Slash Girl’s small house, lead guitarist for the group. Unless it’s Angus Girl or Buckethead Girl.
Alarmed at no answer after banging again and calling her name, she enters.
Gone. Just like the others. Three lost souls. What is she going to do?? The big ta-do at Kow Pond/ Loon Lake is — tonight!!
return of the 88’s
“No, I think you’ve had quite enough spaghetti tonight,” answers Kuckoo to her daughter Louisa’s request. “Now let’s see if we can get that nasty bowl off your head.” But, having a revelation, she instead pivots toward googling Sparky at her laptop. “Anything yet?” she asks, lining up her thoughts while Louisa slurps a stray spaghetti noodle into her mouth. “Not really,” he barks back, and then relays what he thought was sidestepping trivia but turns out to be the heart of the matter. “Did you know, Kuckoo, that there’s a Cow Pond over on the old continent. Spelled with a ‘c’ instead of a ‘k’.” Kuckoo doesn’t get angry, but she inwardly thinks that Sparky should keep on track with his search for the missing girls. The big ta-do is — tonight! No time for sidestepping trivia. Even though, as I said, it’s the meat of the problem, the gist of the matter, white and grey. “Sorry,” Sparky apologizes when Kuckoo doesn’t respond. “I just–” “No problem,” she answers, thinking on the contrary, it *is* a problem. Perhaps they’ll have another sale on word processing dogs down at the marketplace soon. She’s saved enough money. She’s about ready to buy. One more slip–
“Bowl,” she then utters, remembering her insight. “Fish bowl,” she elaborates. “Google, Sparky, ‘fish bowl’ and ‘lost’ together.”
Sparky does as commanded (good dog!). “Yes, there’s a hit!” Sparky is excited because he thinks this can save his job as animal word processor for the Kuail family. Because he knows he’s in trouble too. Dogs are intuitive like that. “But — looks like there’s only two lost souls in that song instead of three. One off, then.” Sparky’s job is suddenly jeopardized again.
In other parts of Kuckoo’s small house overlooking Tao Bay, daughter Thelma is lining up Benjamin Franklins to stick on her doll heads…
… while visiting Earnheart and Gordon fiddle around with drawers and cover themselves with grease stains. Who left those children here??
“The Queen is happy and sleeping in her royal bed,” recites Tronaxis (new name!) at his virtual reality game command center. “No stopping us now, right Cpt.?”
But then Tron revamped Axis remembers that he bagged and gagged Cpt. Americus earlier in the evening and left him hanging to dry. And the turtle (Norton Wise) had been turned into soup. And Fish Head’s head would turn since he’d been bought off. I will be the champion! he inwardly crows.
Purple mutt Ralph, a non word-processor, keeps guard and growls with every slight movement. The Cpt. within has learned to stay still and not eat the remaining white and grey matter in his magically replenishing bucket. Because he has a plan. The first, true, has been stolen and appropriated by (Tron)Axis but the second, the new one, is even better. He will *help* the Heart Queen in an about-face. Kick his traitorous ways down the road a bit, biding his time. If only he can get out of the current situation. Come on, white and grey matter, he urges, knocking his head with the drumstick still in his hand and inciting another growl from Ralph.
“Everything all right over there Ralph?” Tronaxis didn’t need a smart dog, only a loyal one. That’s all he demands from any of his subjects. Obedience; loyalty. The Heart Queen and he are too similar in that way. Eventually, ultimately, one or the other had to go. He hopes it’s her.
If only he had an ally — a human one this time and not an obedient mutt like Ralph. Tronesisia? No, she’s not an obedient robot/gynoid any longer, having broke her programming. Peter? But Tronaxis still didn’t really know who that was. Besides being a clone of Peter Gabriel of “Lamb”, etc., fame. Oh wait — there’s Randolph.
Just down the alley.
She was indeed underwater but not in the right place. Damn confusing town! she cussed to herself. “Excuse me sir,” she requested to the fish butcher who was working down here. A larger fish swam between Parasol and him, eclipsing the man for a moment. Then she continued.
“I’m looking for Kuckoo’s place.”
“Loco?” the man tried back between chops. He was very fast, and was almost ready for a second gutting as they spoke.
“No — *Kuck*- koo. Kuckoo Kuail.” Her red and blue eyes burned brightly into the man. She wanted him to understand but saw he probably didn’t. She rechecked the psychological photograph taken earlier and tried again, using a different landmark. “How about the, um, Palace Hotel.” The first name of the hotel was cut off in the photograph. Hopefully this will provide enough information.
The butcher slung another fish in front of him and dropped the just gutted one in a metal bucket at his foot. “That one is for supper later,” he said, pausing for a smile, red chopper still for a moment. “No tell, no tell!”
“Okay, I won’t tell. But the hotel…”
“Ah, yes. So, I, ah, know that place you are talking about. You are looking for someone in particular? But not, ahem, *Loco*.”
“No. Loco doesn’t exist. I was looking for Kuckoo…”
“Oh… KUCK-koo,” the man suddenly beamed, resuming his cutting. “Now I know. She has two kids, yes?”
“I don’t know about that. I’m just looking for her house.” She was actually looking for the whiteyes Axis found earlier but of course didn’t mention this. It was on top of a barrel only a couple yards from Kuckoo’s front door, which she knew from the photo.
“I will take you there,” the butcher said, setting down the tool of his trade. “You will walk with me…”
“That’s not –” but then Parasol stopped her protest, knowing she would never find the place without his help. Another fish swam between them. “Thank you.”
“Okay, don’t tell me Bird Brain,” he requested to his apparent friend at the main drag. “Okay, *there’s* the main door, the Yang and the Yin. I, er, have just erupted from the Flea Market which is my home. My *work* home — ahem, I do not *live* underwater, see, heh heh. I am not a fish myself, har.”
“Yeah, tell it to the bartender,” and Bird Brain walked away with this for a moment, avoiding the old man’s ramblings per usual. “Tell it to the bartender,” was local slang meaning, “go talk to someone else about your problems that gives a sh-t.” Or something along those lines.
“So we’re lost.” Parasol was thinking she could do better than this by herself. Perhaps the old man is senile. How would someone with even a slight case of dementia cope in this maze of a town. They couldn’t!
The fish butcher licks his index finger, then holds it in the air, as if testing the wind. The same finger then points toward where they just came from. “*That* way,” he exclaimed confidently, and began to walk. Parasol obviously didn’t follow. And, actually, he didn’t expect her to. The butcher knew the flea market and his included underwater work spot well enough. That was his world. On a regular basis, he would come out and ask Bird Brain (limited to his own world around this particular leaning pole) directions to this or that place. It was a routine they shared. And always the closer: “Go tell it to the bartender.”
The butcher indeed lived in the flea market. He existed underwater. And, by this point, was probably a fish himself. But he likes to forget this every once in a while and come up for air (but not for long).
Parasol was on her own again.