Collagesity 2019 Later 01 (Golden Sink)


note: Collagesity novels (14 now!)

As stated in the previous post, “Collagesity 2019 Middle,” the 14th in the series of Collagesity (Second Lyfe related) photo-books, is done (!). Direct link here for the chronologically correct version in 7 parts:

https://bakerbloch.com/virtual/collagesity-2019-middle/

Just start at part 1 and follow the NEXT (PREVIOUS, HOME) links at the bottom of each page to enjoy the whole.

This one takes place almost exclusively on Satori (also called Maebaleia), one of the largest mainland continents of Second Lyfe. There is also a small side trip into Real Lyfe (Bluefield WV).

All the remaining 13 Collagesity photo-books, dating from late 2015, can be found here:

https://bakerbloch.com/virtual/

Any questions or comments or complaints? Just write me at

edwardston@yahoo.com

Love to hear from you! I anticipate starting a 15th soon.

Thanks!

baker b., owner, Sunklands Inc.


smoking

“It’s already starting again, Hucka.”

“I know. Surprising, eh. Have you seen your father yet?”

“Not yet.”

“We’ll be — on The Moon — soon.”

“Suppose so.”


on the other hand

“I told you I wasn’t going back to Jael, Little Oakley Annie. *You* are.”

“Let – me – outta here! What – is this place?!”

“Not so tough without your 6 shooter, huh?”

“Ooo. Your face will be *soo* paste,” she squealed like a grey squirrel.

“I don’t think so,” Big Wanda replied in a confident, bass voice. So sturdy she is now upon those stout legs. And she knows her sign. Big Aries, hence the horns. Horns of Hatton horns.

Big Wanda waves the gun teasingly in sight of Little Oakley Annie. “Gimme. Gimme that! Hand it here right now! And, er, all will be forgiven. I’ll forgive you for Your Mama. I’ll forgive you for Keith B. I’ll forgive you. Yeah — forgive.”

“Then let me ask you one question,” returns Big Wanda sneakily. “And answer it honestly. We’re in the House of Truth, after all. Are you — a Leo?”

For some strange reason, Little Oakley Annie wanted to joke back that she needed to phone a friend (for the answer). Where did that come from? She doesn’t have a sense of humor.


separate

“Our time will come, Bombie.”


Lt. Tealy and “Bombie”

“Stop talking to that thing,” demanded similarly teal colored Cpt. Jiff from the ALIVE couch. Welcome back Jiff! “And get out of my sink while you’re at it.”

“Both of you just stop yammering on,” commanded Col. Tillie from the bomb shelter’s lone computer terminal. “I’m trying to think of my, I mean, *our* next move.”

But it didn’t take her long to fall asleep again while playing 3 dimensional computer chess, lost in a confusing vortex of time, space and options.

We shall return here. Btw, we’re still in Golden Sink, formerly Golden City. Or so0n-to-be Golden City. Something.


lost eden

They became the Adam and Eve of Golden Sink. Green Acers. Oliver. Blue Feather Douglas; Grey Scale Kimball. It was all in one.

Many theorems have been written trying to explain who they are. Why sometimes with dogs, why sometimes accompanied by cats…

… and then, at other times: alone? Separate even, perhaps, but maybe not as well. Probably not.

They shortly figured out that this was some kind of original home, since deleted. Perhaps a precursor to the House of Truth or running parallel to it.

An Ur Residence.

“It’s important to know where you are and where you are going and/or have been,” Tillie stated to the others after a preliminary study had been completed.


warm

“Unlike with the chickens just outside, my creator plays fair instead of fowl. Fairmount fair.”

“As opposed to Fowlerton fowl, I get it.” Even though they might be considered rivals, Grown Up Kate McCoy, another avatar auditioning for a part in our newly blossoming Collagesity novel, was truly amused by this big orange cat she currently shared the Red Devil “Hot Spot” Sofa with, not feeling the least bit competitive with him. Didn’t hurt that he hates dogs too. We can both enter the game, she muses, perhaps as a team. Another Dynamic Duo. The Fair Party. Down with Fowl, so on. Could be a nice angle.

“You know they’re from the same hometown, Jimmy and my creator,” the large feline continues. But male as hell.

“I didn’t know that,” she replies, hand cupped under chin in a rapt listening position. “Do tell more.”

—–

“Hatfield!” Baker Bloch shouts from beside the missile across the room, so fiery upon its return. “You’re up.” He points up.

“Looks like my turn on The Moon.” The orange cat prepares to rise from the red sofa.

“Break a leg up there,” Kate encouraged before he left her side. “And put in a good word for me. Fair words instead of fowl, ha.”

He pats her diminutive hand with his giant paw. “I will.” He saw where this was going too. A team — a ticket, even. Like Jim A. Garfield and Chester A. Arthur before them. Question is: which is which. He’d have to be top dog no doubt, then pardoned himself for the expression.


neutral

“Who are *you*?”

“The Boss,” the other figure whispered while motioning for Little Oakley Annie to pipe down. “Who’d you think?” She indicated her torso. “Hence the color.”

“Okay. I think I get it. But what’s with the tv head?”

“Oh. Sorry. Leftover from the last scene.” Grey Scale Kimball removed the prop, then continued. “I’m obviously here to break you out of this place. This *Northern* Jael.”

“Hal-le-lujah. Let’s hit the roads.” The door opened; Grey Scale was in on the code.

—–

“The South’s gonna *rise* again,” LOA expressed as they left the House of Truth together, gathering up one of the chickens outside for a victory supper later on.


Elvis was black.

“And these wings? They’re called *Dali* in the description. Dali didn’t even do the butterfly painting. We all know that now.”

“Auditions in 10 minutes,” gruffed Mossman in his deep, scary voice. A pussycat underneath it all he is, though. And calm, really patient and calm. The ability to live over 400 years gives you such. But he also knew Baker Bloch didn’t like latecomers. Then he had an idea. “Tell that story to the male Baker. It might give you some type of edge over the others, Jiggy.”

“Iggy, actually.” But Mossman knew that. He was joking with him again. He jokes with everyone.

“Would you like some more coffee or would you rather switch to cigarettes, Jiggy.”

I know who Mossman is! After all these years.

—–

But there was more afoot tonight (of course!). Awkward afootness.

—–

“Wish me luck,” requested Colored TV.

“Break a leg up there, I suppose,” returned the Black and White, knowing he was doomed, wings or no wings.


auditions

“Not too bad for seconds, Hatfield, but also: not good enough. 3.3 seconds. You needed 10.”

“Eek, my spine,” he managed in-between groans.

“Next! Announce yourself first before mounting the Wild Whale.”

“Um, TV. Colored TV.”

“Do you, Mr. TV, understand the challenge facing you? The Wild Whale giveth, the Wild Whale taketh. All Hail the Wild White Whale.”

“All Hail the Wild White Whale,” everyone within earshot repeated, and even Hatfield managed a weak, out-of-breath, “All Hail… White Whale,” before his stretcher arrived.

—–

“11.5, Colored,” proclaimed Baker Bloch. “Most excellent — 3rd best time yet. You can join the winners over in the The White Whale Lounge.”

“Thank you, sir (*eek*). Thank you (*groan*) kindly.”


Colored TV joining the “winners” after being checked out and cleared by the medical staff at hand.

“Next!”

“Hi Male Baker. Do you know my wings are called Dali.”

“Mount the whale, sir,” rushed Baker Bloch, knowing he already had a winning TV character and not desiring random chatter from this *inferior* product, then. “The Wild Whale giveth, the Wild Whale taketh. All Hail the Wild White Whale.”

“All Hail the Wild White Whale,” everyone within earshot repeated. It was over in 2.

Iggy later gave his broken tv head back to Grey Scale Kimball. “A lot of good it did for me,” making GSK nod in agreement.

“Let’s see how far it can roll into the sink.”


overview

“So tell me about this place, Baker B.,” requested Hucka D.

“I don’t know,” I replied through Baker Bloch. “The Moon. Er, over there’s the Wild (White) Whale used to audition new avatars. And then back there is the White Whale Restaurant or Lounge or something where the winners gather afterwards, the avatars who are eligible for new parts.”

“Hmm. I see. Why not just audition them the regular way, say, to test their acting skills?” It was a logical question.

“In my estimation, accing is 99% perspiration, so they need stamina above all else. The Wild Whale tests this. Garfield, I mean, Hatfield failed, for example. 3.3 seconds out of 10, even on two tries. We give everyone a second chance. But it was 3.0 seconds the first time, and only a slight improvement for the second ride.”

“Kind of makes sense, I suppose,” Hucka D. replies. “Who do we have so far, then?”

“Colored TV — he won out over Black and White.”

“Of course.”

“And Kate McCoy — she’s the real McCoy since she’s all grown up. Still listening to the patterns in her headphones, a trait carried over from childhood when she was just little Katy Kidd.”

“Is she married?” Hucka D. offered.

“Uncertain. But we have a location for her to employ her accing skills at. A house filled with dots.”

“Cool. And the others?”

“One we call just Chicken-Man now. Then, um, Dark or Black Elvis — Elvis Black I suppose. Then Kind of Messed Up Cat. The idea is that Kate McCoy will team up with this new cat now that Garfield — *Hat*field — is out of the picture.”

“Didn’t pass the whale ride test, yes.” Hucka D. paused to look around his surroundings again. “Any more characters coming up?”

“Oh,” deflected Baker Bloch — or me through Baker Bloch. “I want to show you something before I forget. I was scouting out the White Horse Village today for a reason.*

Hucka D. was thinking that she didn’t know he was scouting around White Horse Village today but didn’t say this aloud.

“Let me turn on the map first.”

“Nice,” exclaimed Hucka D, looking around. “And the pins are from the Blue Feather Sea locations from the previous novel. 14 isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“14’s a lot. Maybe it’s best to stop while you’re ahead.” A logical request.

“Well, 15’s already started. *We’re* in it. I have to see at least that one through. And, in truth, I think there’s going to be more after that. Moving Collagesity to the Nautilus continent and renaming it (7 Stones) was a key to continued evolving. That’s we’re we are *now*, of course. This skybox might not have been possible in Collagesity due to more limited prim amounts.”

“I believe they call that land impact amounts these days, Baker B.”

“I’ll still call them prims for simplicity’s sake.”

“As you wish.” Hucka D. points upwards. “I know that’s the Earth over there but what is this? Obviously the Blue Feather Sea remade as a cube, or the 6 composite sims folded up as a cube. But is it real? Looks kind of transparent to me.” She keeps peering upward, seeing stars through the predominantly blue cube. A triangle of stars, actually. She’s connecting the dots again.

“That’s what we have to find out next — or soon. Karoz’s ‘E’ found at the bottom now 10 years ago Earth time could be a key. If we could just figure out a way to land inside…”

“How about those stars,” Hucka D. then points out.

—–

* What I through Baker Bloch forgot to show Hucka D. White Horse Village: directly under the White Whale Restaurant now.


more new

“Look at that green squirrel over there, honey.”

“No time for trivialities tonight, love. I’m worried.”

“When aren’t you?” returned her husband of 3 years. The original Spaced Ghost (!).

“We’ve lost our son Oliver. We’ve lost our daughter Eva.”

“Ona,” Old Spaced Ghost corrected. “Our daughter’s name is Ona.”

“Whatever.” Grammy sighs. “They’re gone. Along with the original homestead. A place called, called…” The name escaped her.

“Something about owls,” spoke Old Spaced Ghost, also pondering the appellation. “Something about the way they hoot.” He kept racking his brain. “Hootyville!” he exclaimed in a Eureka type moment, then shook it off. “Nah, that’s not it. Darn brain.” He knocks against it lightly with the head of his cane. “If only I were younger.” With this, he looked over at his wife Grammy expectantly.

She glanced at his stare, then back. “No. We’ll not go down that path again. Stick to the road. That’s the plan. She looked ahead at the golden dirt road curving around the fenced-in cornfield they sat in front of. “This is all that’s left of the old place. The only spot we have to hang our memories on. If we move — I’m afraid we’ll lose them forever.”

A trap, thought Old Spaced Ghost, looking at the golden track as well. A jail of sorts, even. Locked into this old body. Locked into this old, basically circular dirt road. Should have been paved a long time ago, pheh. That would have set time straight. Space too. Along with… something else.

Baker Bloch approached from the east. “Father;” he nodded toward Spaced Ghost. “Step-mother;” he nodded toward the woman known most commonly as Grammy. “It’s time if you’re still up for it.” He stared steadily at Grammy.

“Don’t do it woman,” sputtered Spaced Ghost, changing his mind. “You don’t know what the whale can do for you. Drive you *nuts* with that whirling and twirling and — *jiggering*.”

“Can’t I — just come in by default?” she pleaded. “Because I’m, you know, married to your father?”

“Not the way it works, step-mother. You have to ride the wild whale (like everyone else). All Hail the Wild White Whale,” he recited automatically, but they didn’t return the exaltation. But he then pushed them and they grudgingly acquiesced.

—–

The vortex started about 3 seconds in, her secret superpower revealed.


limited

Before DJ-ing at Regaltown’s fabulous 50th Anniversary Man on the Moon shindig, Grey Scale Kimball just had to buy that yellow purse she had her eyes on at Maraschino. But it meant she could only spin Dark Side of the Moon that night and not the light one.


theatre

They kept coming in from both the Golden Sink and 7 Stones direction. Avatars. Wanting to act (or acc) in Baker B.’s newest Collagesity production (photo-novel).

“Do you think my foot is on fire, Sanchez?” spoke one of the candidates to the other. “Feels like it’s on fire.”

“NEXT!”


pick

Kevin Orchardsity A., C., and E. Only one can survive and move forward.

Also: Only one can Read.

“Gunn… Mobile… *Trailer Park*. Hey guys? Come take a look at this.” He looks around the shelter to see no one else. “Kevin C.? Kevin E.?

Well where’d they go?”


recovered

Iggy Stooge stares into the central sim of Blue Junkyards from the edge of his parents’ property. Is this really where he wants to settle down now that he’s been rejected by Baker B. for the current novel? This backwater place? He had dreams of city life in Regaltown, in Horns of Hatton even, the capital crown jewel of Maebaleia’s South. Not the Deep South: that was instead Cassandra City, but of similar size. He could have been police chief, fire chief, even mayor if Baker B. so chose.

But this bayou? He’s not a flatlander at heart and he knows it. There was one other option: return to Pipersville, where time is more fluid. Not as much as Golden Sink (hence the reasons for the auditions there), but still — the bomb and all. Another sinkhole (like Golden Sink).

He rezzes in his repaired tv head once more to ponder the possibilities…

… and then eventually heads back home. Or his parents’ home actually.

If only they weren’t so infatuated with those darn butterflies.

—–

“What color breakfast do you want tomorrow, dear?”

“Blue, green, whatever,” Iggy Stooge replied unenthusiastically, thinking of Pipersville instead.


in the cave

“I was just there watching the red and green grasses wave back and forth with the fairy, thinking: love is the answer, but what is this question we all must ask.”

“Kind of going beyond John Lennon in that way.” Kevin C. (or was it E.?) expressed puzzlement. “Like in the ‘Mind Games’ song, the flip side of the better known ‘Meat City’, admittedly, but still fairly well known. Here, let me hum a few bars.” He proceeds to do so, then mouths the appropriate lyrics. “‘Love – is – the answer. And you know that – for sure.’ See, he never sings about the question.”

“So — are you going to let me stay? Knowing what you know?”

“That you’re not gay, yes. Alright. But we’ll have to put you in the Northeast Quadrant, behind the art gallery. The old Coutts residence. Old codger is more like it. Straight as a porcupine quill he was. I should know.”

But when Kevin A. (A. — that was it) arrived at his new home in the Northeast Quadrant of Regaltown, someone was already there. Not old but young. Spaced Ghost, with all his powers returned. Ability to turn invisible. Er, ability to do this and that and the other stuff. Not pointing out imaginary green squirrels with his cane any longer. Kevin A. would have a male roommate after all. And wife Grammy was no longer around, since this was the past. Her vortex powers made sure of that.

Young Spaced Ghost takes one look at Kevin A., then says, “No gays in this quadrant. Who sent you? Arnold? Tell Arnold he can go to hell. Or back to Sweetgrass, where he came from. Americans.” Young Spaced Ghost spat on the ground with this.


knowledge

“The white whale escaped, of course. The famous Moby Prick of the Deep South. But the blue whale didn’t fare as well. Caught in the Blue Feather Sea. Some say she *became* the sea, one equals the other. Do you understand, older Keith B.?”

“Absolutely not, Kate McCoy.”

“Good to admit, thank you. The cube is the sphere is the sea is the whale.”

“Maybe we just better unfreeze or unthaw The Man and go. Let him explain it all. After all: he was there.”

“Indeed. Let’s go get him.” They enter the “aquarium”. Dog joined them there.

—–

“The cube is the sphere is the sea is the whale,” Kate McCoy pronounces clearly in the direction of The Man. He begins to stir inside his plastic cocoon.


bastard

“I wish they wouldn’t emphasize that rocket so much here. Makes me cold inside, brrr.”

“Well,” jested older Keith B. a bit. “It was a big deal in the days. Put Golden City on the map.”

“Put it *on* the map by taking it *off*, brrr. Nothing left but a big hole.” She glances sideways at The Man, who was scanning pictures on the wall at the back of the stage, focusing on one in particular. “Speaking of which… he needs to get back over here and finish his story.”

“True,” agreed Keith B. “He can’t just leave us hanging in mid air about that whale.”

“Hey!” Kate McCoy called over to The Man. “We gotta keep moving down the road, to the fork. Else…”

“I know,” The Man replied in his cool, bass voice while still studying, still looking. “All of this will be in vain. But I believe — this man — is wearing — lipstick.” He touches Jimmy’s gray lips with his finger, as if he could swipe them and then check for color.


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