7 Stones no more (!)
“Senor Green Jeans is a cousin,” states Gene “Mossman” Fade in that oh so grating voice of his after I told him about Alice Farrowheart and granddaughter Toddles’ recent encounter at the Neptune Pool in NWES. If only it were an octave higher Baker Bloch may be able to tolerate the gutty gravelliness for suitable periods of socializing. But I suppose that would mean he’d have to be *Jean* Fade instead of Gene, a girl instead of a boy. Hmm: I wonder, then, if Senor Green Jeans is a girl? But he must get out of here soon. Very much so.
“What does this mean for the town, this name change back to Collagesity?” Gene continued, wondering how it would affect the business at his small bar on Northside.
“It gives it a center,” Baker spoke, the male one that is (there’s also Baker Blinker, of course, the anima to his animus). “We have a tower now. Have you gotten down to that side of town tonight to see? Everyone is gathering. Looks like an instantaneous party, complete with a bonfire. All our friends will be there.” Time’s up. Baker can’t take any more of the voice. He gets up to leave. “See you there hopefully?” he throws back while walking away, rapider and rapider.
—–
Baker was too late for the party, although the bonfire was still smoldering. Police office Jeffry Tanner (yes, yet another cousin), making his nightly rounds, puts it completely out with a special spray made out of anti-tabasco sauce.
But, in the background, we can see the tower, so high from this angle it’s a little hard to make out the “Collagesity” sign.
And even more has happened in town. A certain, special special deity has bloomed new life. Or visa versa. Details soon!
Welcome back Collagesity!
awake! aware
“Hi Carrcassonnee. Welcome back, heh. Whattaya got to say for yourself? Hear it’s been a long, long time for ya, huh? Carrcassonnee?”
“I…….. am……… back?”
“That’s right, Carr. Can I call you Carr? Like something-I-can-drive kind of car. Except with another ‘r’ at the end.”
Carr(cassonnee) thought heavily. “I…………. suppose.”
“Great, Carr, heh.” The Man About Time spins around while holding out his arms. This was truly a joyful moment. Carr is alive! She’s come back. “Do you know what happened? How you got back?”
Carr senses something at her left foot. A buzzing, a humming. Life! “Something……. about……… plants?”
“That’s right, Carr baby. Plants. 3 plants, but 2 are dead. But that one, man. That one did the trick. Either you brought *it* back to life or it brought *you* back to life. Either one: you’re back. Man. Dad-i-o.”
Who…. is….. this….. man? Carr then thought, less lumberingly and limbering up. Is he……. dad? And…. this…. moss.. hanging.. off. Me. Carr tried to look down at the moss draping from her left arm but couldn’t. Had to keep staring at The Man About Time instead. But she could feel it. And she could see it peripherally. She could see a lot of things that way. A bit of the just resurrected Collagesity Tower almost completely at a right angle to her through the right window, for example. A structure she recognized. Collagesity, she thought. *Home*.
time town 01
Roger Pine Ridge wasn’t home because Roger Pine Ridge’s home wasn’t, The Man About Time discovered tonight after another attempt to contact the progressive rock loving alien. Looks like he won’t be coming back to Collagesity. At least in the current photo-novel. Shame, MAT thinks. Wanted to talk to him about some things.
Suppose I’ll put a small park here or sumtin.
But it’s on to the main event of the night, perhaps. More attempts to contact Carrcassonnee in a meaningful, fluid way. Fluidity is everything, MAT ponders while crossing The Peninsula into *Collagesity* Eastside.
Looking back from the end of the bridge, he realized The Peninsula needed some palm trees to complete the effect.
voila
On to Carrcassonnee…
time town 02
It was time to make the House of Truth a permanent structure in Collagesity South.
Done.
He then sits and admires Carrcassonnee’s new “growth” before entering the neighboring temple. So olive green, just like herself. The plant makes the alien and the alien makes the plant. Nifty. Three again is the lucky charm as per legend: a tree in this case. Three Tree; good name (?).
Walking the Rainbow Labyrinth on the temple’s bottom floor may be required preparation later on but not right now. The Man About Time is prepared enough.
8-5-6-7-4-1-2-3-0
On second floor: much work to be done still. The Man About Time plays a Carl Nielsen piano piece to see how it affects the tv static. He believes that Carrcassonnee will like this music and looks forward to her approval. He’s here to entertain her, among other things.
Third floor: Carrcassonnnee herself. Alive and well. Well enough. For now. Later: mobility.
“Hi Carr. What’s up with you tonight. What you been thinking about today? Let me in on it if you may.”
“Helllllooooo MAT. I……. call you.. MAT. You…….. call me….. CARR.”
“Okay, Carr. Good deal. MAT it is. Okay.” He swings his arms around, temporarily faces away, then returns. “Hey Carr, I’ve been thinking…”
“Iiiiiiiiiiiii”
“Um, yes Carr? You okay?”
“Iiiiiiiiiiiii”
“Okay. Lemme take a closer look (at your eye)….” But MAT quickly realized that Carrcassonnee wasn’t physical any more, unlike the old days. He couldn’t climb up her leg and check the eye, like before. She was still in some kind of ethereal form. Better be careful with her, he realized. Take it slow; slow it down.
“Iiiiiiiiiiiii” Carrcassonnee repeated, but MAT decided he couldn’t help her today.
“Hey Carr. I — think we better postpone that chat until tomorrow, eh? Tomorrow it is my friend.”
Carrcassonnee just stares now. Everything seems okay. But everything wasn’t okay. Something hadn’t been locked into place yet.
The 7th.
Gastonites
“Well here we are lady,” spoke Uncle Zach, currently (and miraculously!) posing as a taxi driver. “The Joint Joint. It’s haunted you know. That back room. Back in the back. There’s people back there that shouldn’t be there.”
“I don’t care,” Heidi replied innocently with naive voice.
“Two eggs, they say,” he started again, hands extended and wavering to accent the spookiness. “Floating in mid air without any wires.”
“I’m not scared of eggs.” So child-like. Very surprising (again).
“You haven’t seen *these* eggs. Different colors they are. One glowing red, the other: green. Two colors that don’t go together well — at all. And: are you going to get out or not?” His haunted story had run its course. For now.
“Goodbye Mr. Taxi Man. ”
A boy appeared in the chair beside the door. Heidi changed as well.
“Shall we enter, Georgie Porgie?”
“After you, um, Heidi Widie.”
He always had trouble keeping up.
back room
“You shouldn’t be smoking that in here Heidi. We’re just kids here, you know. What if we get *caught*?”
“Speak for yourself, George,” she replied about the kid part.
The boy looks around. “So — we’ve turned down the lights. You’ve smoked half your joint; I’ve drank half my coke. Where is she?”
“Just give her some time.” Heidi Hunt Ives takes another toke. Again: she’s not really a kid.
“12:36 now,” he says after checking his Mick Mouse watch. “Maybe we should go. I need to get back to the park.”
“Well there you go,” she offered about the time. “Give it another minute.”
—–
12:37:
“Oh my God,” she whispers over. “There she is.”
“Where? Where?”
Gaston = NYC (among other things)
The Lord balancing Sugar Houses.
We know this is “Abbey Road”.
And that something is definitely going on at the Rhino along it (portal).
We know a lot about this place by now. This Gaston. But we haven’t quite grasped the story within the story. Is there one? That’s what I’m aiming to find out.
Zach’s still waiting for Georgie Porgie and Heidi Widey to emerge from the Joint Joint. He fears the worse. He’s been there for 2 days now. But he’ll wait till The End.
What really is at the end of Abbey Road?
Where have all the Berries gone? Where’s Sugar Dumpling? Where’s… Jacob I.?
We know it is a place to hide (Hidden Vilage). Hitgal represents someone.
Why the doubling with the Vilania safe hub? Why can’t Hank Graphite get back there instead of here?
“It wasn’t suppose to be this way.”
Why flies in Central Park of all places?
trying to be “good”
Core-Alena had had enough. “This will *not* do,” she-he exclaimed, almost up to his-her gills in snow re-terraformed from “default” by the owners of the new house over there. Yes, more avatars have moved into Purden, further distancing the sim from the pristine forest it once was. Core-Alena decides he-she simply must become Mobile again.
Before changing over, she-he tests out the other “purd” sims.
Purdue University Calumet: not bad; a small forest of relative compatriots. He-she listens in on their chatty banter. The tree next to her-him complains of crowding. Time to move on, although he-she can revisit here.
Then Purdy was kind of interesting but not enough to linger. At least today. I want to be purdy, Core-Alena thinks after teleporting in. And so she-he will have that option… in a more human way, that is.
So that’s all the “purd” sims. His-her vertical travels have ended. Time for horizontal. Time to step out of the ground and into the air again.
First things first, she-he thinks upon changing over into the gun totting form he-she had last year. Kill the people in this house for causing her-him so much trouble.
Lucky for them they weren’t home. Core-Alena then moved on and forgot about his-her initial, cold blooded plan. She-he had bigger fish to kill fry. Purden Castle.
He-she ditched her-his weaponized self again halfway up the steep mountain. “More traction this way,” he-she purred, at one with the small engine.
The lust for killing went away with the transformation. Why am I here in the first place? she-he wondered neutrally at the top, just over the line in Cloudmont now. Dragon?
Inspired by the castle, he-she changed again. To a he. Apparently “purdy” will have to wait.
more shifts
He was on the other edge of Cloudmont now, waiting for Doris with ruler in hand. Doris was late. Doris didn’t deserve much sympathy.
But he soon tired of this role (as well) and moved further away from the Purden Castle into Vail, anagram of Vila. What happened to his halo? Halo Boy — what happened to him?
He was such a Little Butt now.
Big Shift
Soon he had reached the end of his Abbey Road on the west edge of Vail.
One step further…
… and he was in a different place altogether now. Vila. Uncle Zach was (again: miraculously!) waiting for him in his Calypso Tuk Tuk Taxi.
“Where to, Butt?” He meant bud. Or did he?
pretty Improvio
“Anyway, I thought I’d just pop over and tell you that your old house is up for rent. Better get back to the brood.”
“Wait, Gambler,” Greg Ogden implored. “Before you go, tell me more about this Core-Alena, how she got to Gaston, how she passed through Purdy here on the way.”
“I already told you,” Gambler projected. “She passed through centers and then she just uprooted herself and started walking from the original ‘Purd’ — this Purd*en*.”
“As opposed to Purdy here and also the Purdue University related sim. I get that. But why couldn’t she start walking, say, *here*?”
“You know that too,” came the reply. “Purden is actually the secret centre of Our Second Lyfe itself. Triple 128 — only one.”
“The…” Greg Ogden attempted, then let Gambler take over again, seeing the stumble.
“All the axes measure the same: height, depth, length. A, B, C: the great 3-n-1. But in Core-Alena’s case it is also the center of a 256x256x256 sim cube. It’s what makes her, well, *unique* unique.” Gambler was referring to the all important tree being as a she because that’s how she knew him-her in Gaston.
“But she’s not at this centre any longer,” continues Greg Ogden, chattier thanks to the (doped) coffee. He suddenly realizes this, and holds his mug out in offering mode. “Sure you won’t have any?” He was hoping to get the whole story today, whatever means. *Whatever* I mean here. Gambler was an old girlfriend over in Gaston for Greg Ogden, having met her shortly after changing from machine to man (but still keeping a lot of machine characteristics, like an obsession with symmetry). She came here to tell him about his old, empty house, yes, but there was more to it. He could feel this. Something about Purdy. He was a purdy man, true. He knew this — all the ladies end up, in the end, telling him so. Gaston changed him forever in this way. Sister Improvio too. Earie as well. He became Greg Ogden, Improvio became Pretty Man — wait. That’s *it*. Gambler, all along, was…
He could see through her disguise now. “Boy this coffee is good,” he declares, taking another draw from the toxic concoction.
—–
“We’re both purdy,” she ended. “Too similar to each other in our red and blue. We had to create Earie in the middle. Ear. Between the sun yellow legs.” She stared up at the brightest star in the sky, not looking away. The only star. The daylight one. All turned black.
Necksity
“It was like it was staring at him, right in front of his face. (Blue) Improvio and (red) Chroma: the same, or two things spinning around the same, pretty axis. And who was he? Formerly Core-Alena the walking talking centre tree, yes. But now: Sidechick Corea. Footsteps outside — uh oh. Pretty Man approacheth. But is she still a man? So close to the transition now. The door opens. He stands.
(Face) scars are still in place but that’s about it for the man bits.
“Jump on my shoulders for the last time, Sidechick. I want to know the final truth. I’m ready to switch over to Jasper.”
return of the Dawg Pound?
“… nice view of Carrcassonnee’s new, blooming tree over at the Temple of TILE. I think this could be our new spot, Other Baker.” He woofed down another delicious piece of Raggedy Ann’s pizza with this. “This — um so good — this new pizza item is the *best*, Baker Blinker.” He takes yet another bite, and talks, still with his mouth pretty full. “Ginger, yum (*chomp*). Just a hint of ginger.”
“How about that table over there, though,” suggests similarly woofing Baker Blinker, not as convinced this was their new spot at Perch. “Better view.” She was at least polite enough to stop eating when she talked.
Baker Bloch glanced over after swallowing. “Too near the door to the place. You know I don’t like sitting in front of the door. *Everyone* can look out on us.” He returns to the pizza and the devouring of it. “Besides (*cut*), Mr. Babyface is over there right now (*bite*).”
“Mr. Babyface has *been* over there. What’s he doing with all those newspapers?”
Baker Blinker’s been glancing over here, thinks Mr. Babyface, paused in his reading. She may report me to the maitre de, gasp, who may tell the owner. Maybe even Perch himself, who sees *everything* anyway.
Oh wait, he suddenly realized, playfully fooling himself. Perch is back in (Carrcassonnee’s) head — not mounted up there above the door any more. Grease stain left behind covered up by a big clock. Oh well. Guess there’s no one around to monitor my voluminous newspaper reading today. Maybe I’ll order another cup of coffee around, say, 3:30-ish.
At 25 after 3, Mr. Babyface spots the odd conjunction that would influence the rest of his life. An ad for a football camp featuring Leroy Kelly, and just below, an ad originating from Steamboat Springs, Colorado.
Steamboat Kelly, he ruminates after reading one then the other. The famous running back who replaced (best running back ever) Jim Brown but also made a (smaller) name for himself. Sat on the bench and bided his time — good for him. Patience pays off.
Trouble was, there was never a *Steamboat* Kelly. Only Leroy — sans nickname. Mr. Babyface had entered an alternate universe where up could be down and Cleveland Browns players, former and present, could be manipulated by a higher power.
Steamboat
Mr. Babyface looked down at the large palm tree The Man About Time was currently referring to. “The Hole is gone,” he had just said about the mysterious object formerly underneath it. “When Mick jumped in, the effect was gone. The great 2-n-1 was over.”
“Takes 2 to know, yeah,” Mr. Babyface says in response now, thinking he needs to phone up Greg Ogden as soon as possible. Or, on the other hand, Gregg Oden, if he’s in that form presently. He’d been romancing a living, breathing Mandela Effect for months and didn’t know it, didn’t know the term for it. The Man About Time is attempting to clear this up.
“Gaston has a lot to do with this,” then offered MAT in his mild voice while scratching the back of his neck on the couch. “Changes people, and sometimes not for the good.” He scratches more. “Sometimes… for the bad.”
“And that’s where Greg said he was going in that letter he wrote me,” completes Mr. Babyface while turning, more eager than ever to pick up the phone.
But which way to go, he thinks, receiver in hand just later. Does he go to Gaston or does Greg come here?
“I’ll come to you,” responds Greg Ogden at his red Gaston house. “They frown on mutanty looking people around here,” he said, referring to Mr. Babyface’s baby faced head.
“Well I *never*.” But he was coming back and that was the most important thing. He was pulling him out of *there*.
skipperless skipper
He stares out at Stewart’s boat in the bay while calling.
“Hello, Stewart?” Indistinguishable answer. “Oh, cool. Stewart’s big brother. I remember you.” Answer. “Oh… sorry to hear that.” Answer. “Oh that’s too bad, oh man. When’s the…” Tangential answer, still indistinguishable. “Well, my deepmost condolences, Newton.” Final reply. “Goodbye. Let me know if I can help in any way.” He hangs up with this. “Guess I won’t be using *Newton’s* sim skipper out there tomorrow after all. Maybe never. Mr. Babyface is going to be *so* disappointed. I’ll have to find another way off this isle of isolation. Poor Stewart! Disappeared inside a watery sinkhole.
Belt
He was having a dream again of that planet. Totally red, totally rusty. He was looking for Stewart this time, but Stewart had passed on to another realm. The Land of the Living. Because, in the dream, *he* was instead dead, trying to make his way back from, shall we call this Hell? No, Greg Nash Ogden corrected himself while staring around. Too luminescent, he decided, to be that place of anguish and gnashing of teeth. But certainly red like that place. No fire, though. Better wander around while I have my wits.
He eventually stumbles upon the underground base, vast in size.
A robotic weapons factory, at least in part.
But no food. He realizes he might starve down here. To life?
He receives a name on a back wall. Mars.
Greg Ogden wakes up, his mouth dry as desert.
the state of Collagesity…
… is good. Healthy, even. Mr. Babyface is back at Perch reading his voluminous newspapers at 15 till 3, thinking along these same lines while puffing on his oh-so-smooth Red Dragon tobacco. Night this time: PM. He has that freedom now the head is back where it belongs.
Yes, Perch is back in Carrcassonnee’s nogg’n, but she isn’t quite “fixed” yet per se. The Man About Time and others are working on it. A second one-eyed monster has been purchased on the marketplace as a potential translator, perhaps even — dare I? — a — no, can’t say it. Carrcassonnee rules! But: a little buddy, yes. Frank?
“Frank?” Nothing yet. The Man About Time will try again tomorrow.
The Man About Time playing Carl Nielsen’s “Commotio” for Frank and Carrcassonnee.
What about Wheeler, then, remembering that she took over control of Collagesity late 2016 in a political coupe which seemingly has been reversed with the at least partial reinstatement of Carrcassonnee, the deity she deposed?
She’s okay with it all. But decisions must be made about the Blue Feather. Is this still Wheeler’s “palace” or is it a place owned equally by all the Blue Feather club, which also includes Baker Bloch, Baker Blinker, Hucka Doobie, Karoz Blogger, and the rest of the core avatars? Not just Wheeler: all. Is this what’s happening?
Wheeler and Baker Bloch, the 2 owners of the land the town is situated upon, don’t know yet.
“We don’t know.”
But one thing for sure now is that Collagesity has returned. The town has a true center with the tower bearing its name, a default landmark for all those who enter from the outside.
“Hmph,” voiced visiting Alice Farrowheart from over at NWES (which we’ll return to very shortly). “I wanted to go to the Red Umbrella but instead I land here.” She turns. “Oh, I understand. This is the place where you get to *all* the galleries. Not just one: all.”
“And what about this museum?”
Yes, what about that museum, visiting Alice Farrowheart from over at NWES?
That is a subject for another day.
Sunklands 