what’s up?
There’s no doubt that the user behind virtual anarchist SaveMe Oh is some kind of artistic genius.
I have a modified version of one of her “cheese churches” sitting in Collagesity I’m still trying to wrap my brain around.
https://marketplace.secondlife.com/p/Dutch-Salvation-Church/10619689
Contemplating buying one of these from her…
https://marketplace.secondlife.com/p/SaveMe-Rothko/17301984
… also seen in full action here…
SaveMe Oh’s blog link below. An Enola Vaher related post is currently at the top of the feed. So we have that in common, since I was banned from a gallery near the Hotel Chelsea not by Enola but someone else. Maybe I can be forgiven now too (hint hint).
https://savemeoh.wordpress.com/
Me lately? Among other things, presently hopping around the many Corsica continent peaks gathering info for new stories.
https://slgi.fandom.com/wiki/Mountains_Of_Corsica
Be back soon! In the meantime, recently completed Collagesity photo-novel 17 is here:
tonight
“If that lamb would just lie down I could get on with my story.”
“Ain’t going to happen,” replied the wise, grounded ram. For tonight.
Kate
“I’m not sure why I had to spend the night with *Splinter*,” groused Rebl about her acomodations at the Southwest Castle last night. “But — here I am. All grounded and shite. Ready for action.”
“Good, good,” cooed Tronesisia to the visiting Bena lawyer. She could tell by the fire that this was a hot spot, a balance of black and white and red all over. She looked over at the eyes…
… and assimilated.
three of ’em
I wondered how long the assimilation would last. “That’s a beautiful tune,” I spoke down to rapidly strumming Tronesisia. “What is it?”
“What do you think?”
I recognized the tune. “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway,” title song for the album. Keyboard to L-harp. Marvelous.
It has begun (the guitar kicked in).
Moor(k)
“A different castle, Hucka Doobie. But still in Splinterwood. You can tell by the position of the divide between that sim and Hilling. We have landed; we are grounded.”
“Say (that picture) was about 6 years ago, huh,” the wise bee-being replied to my Corsica peak ramblings tonight. “And what of the others? You better check.”
“Well: Yuiselle,” I replied. “That hasn’t changed since all that land is protected. It’s not far from Splinterwood as well. Just a couple sims to the southwest.”
“Southwest again,” spoke Hucka Doobie. “And the third and last for tonight?”
“4 sims directly west of Southwest…”
“… Castle,” Hucka ended.
Peak of Moork; Yuiselle summits in the background.
Moork (left) and The Yuiselles (right).
Band playing beneath The Yuiselles. “Lamb” again?
“Celebration (End of Rain),” 2016
Yin Yap
Variant Name: Jin Yiin Yn Yuin Yyin
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yankton_College#Closure
Yankton College closed in December 1984, and its campus became the site of Federal Prison Camp, Yankton,[4] which opened four years later.[5]
“Did you *ever* get those prison schematics I wanted, Norris?”
“N-not yet!” He tries to run (with scissors).
CLUNK.
clubbing
They were on another circular island quite larger in size, although not far away. The associated club was called D’Vine, resonating with both Devine and Vineland in Colorado, especially since the name is a play on Eden’s fruit vine with the cursed apple and all. I knew because the neighboring sim was Danshire (with the much smaller, circular island we’ll get to soon) that synchronicity was strong here. This is the spot — a direct extension of Danshire — to continue our story…
I called in Wheeler to reprise her role of Heidi Hunt Ives from Gaeta V in novel 7. I knew she’d be up for it. Also remember that Tom Casey beside her is a method actor, going deep into the role of Casey One Hole he’ll always be identified with.
“Are all my fingers here?” she started, worried about the doubled manifestation. Two alts in one location sometimes spells trouble. But then she counted to 10 and moved on, an old practice. She looked over at Tom Casey, noted the coal black eyes staring into her. Good! It’s a role of a lifetime, she feels. To work with the great director Eraserhead Man on a new project, to go into the Red Room again and face a faceless man who has information he *wants*, not needs, and then, when not getting it once more, finishes the deed he should have accomplished long ago on a continent now far far away. Or at least an ocean away. Well, only a strait away to be honest. Gaeta V I’m talking about here, the faceless continent that we probably won’t be returning too much for more action and adventure in these here Collagesity photo-novels. Neighboring Corsica continent to the west seems to be a different story. Much different as it’s turning out. The D’Vine island mirroring the earlier Danshire island just next door is witness to this. Synchronicity! How I need that energy. Back to the actors…
“Tom — Casey, I mean. Can I call you Casey?”
Tom/Casey considered what Casey would say. How deep was he? Not quite enough to answer correctly. But that was good! In a way. “Yes,” he said.
Heidi Hunt Ives noticed the slip and called it out. “But I think you *wouldn’t*, Casey *One Hole*. Do you still remember how you got that name?”
“Of course,” he replied, but didn’t go into specifics. Casey One Hole would not have gone into specifics. He was going deeper once more.
“Nice.” HHI became pleased again. “So tell me about the Yankton prison, then, formerly a college as I understand or remember it now. Why do you need schematics?” This was different. Casey One Hole enjoys talking about the prison. It is what the character is centered around. It’s like this island to his story.
He managed to glance over at the center (table), wishing he was there instead of here.
And then there he was. Heidi Hunt Ives, of course, joined him. Let’s listen in.
(to be continued?)
clubbing 02
“We stand far above them, Hucka Doobie, unable to listen in. Is Heidi Hunt Ives even alive still? Another victim of clubbing?”
“We cannot say at this point. You know synchronicity is strong here. This is a spiral (again). This is a veil to be opened not fast but slowly. Red curtains hide much. To open too fast is to cause insanity. Or worse: sanity. Walk the line, walk the rope. Spin the spiral.”
Hucka Doobie relents. “Oh all right, HHI is dead. He clubbed her with his club before moving to the center. Happy?”
“But-” I protested, thinking of the matter further. “She’s not a character in a story. She’s *really* dead, then.” Baker Bloch begins to worry about his sanity.
Hucka Doobie relents again. “Good. You have passed the clubbing test. Most men would have believed me.”
“I *do* believe you.”
They stared across the table at each other, realizing they were in the center all along.
Baker starts counting his fingers.
—–
Casey One Hole, no longer actor Tom Casey atall, moves over to the *real* center in Danshire. Waiting in his rocking chair in his Small Kowloon House for people all around to start interacting with him and him alone. Shouldn’t be long.
Poor Heidi Hunt Ives. But like Norris, like Herbert Gold, heck like anyone deceased in these here photo-novels, she could return.
judgment
Exhausted, Tronesisia finally stopped playing the harp for tonight. She looked around, red eye still in place. Where was she? The afterlife?
No. Still in Danshire.
And there were other instruments left to play in the same antiquated house. She switches to keyboards and fingers something different. The red eye finally recedes.
In the next room, Herbert Gold, Furry Karl, Heidi Hunt Ives, Norris, and perhaps some others not in this particular shot fade into view to listen in on the gorgeous music, flowing like platinum prune into their ears and senses. That was actually the name of the song: “Platinum Prune.” Or “In Search of…”, with the almost priceless prune theoretically showing up at the end of the overall suite of songs, drawing them inward and onward. Much better than Steel Raisin. We begin a journey.
—–
She paused in reading her just published novel “Olive, Green and Pink”. “Ben, dear, it’s gotten suddenly quite chilly in here. Could you put another log on the fireplace?”
“‘Bout bedtime,” he counters, faking a yawn and not sensing anything out of the ordinary himself. One thing on his mind right now.
Picking up on this, she stares over at him after he finishes, trying to decide. Book or boy?
she must not die in vain
“The Head and the Heart must work together,” Tronesisia concluded, unclasping her hand from Rebl’s. “Heterocera is dead. Vainom Kug is dead.”
“Who?” Rebl responded, then realized who it must be. Manager of the Hotel Chelsea. It’s her Oracle name. As creator/maker Mykal Skall becomes Sikul Himakt in same.
“But — everything is so up in the air over here,” she protests, looking around. “This — *house* for one thing. Lamb outside.” She glances toward the open door with this, just beyond the now *White* Witch. How??
“But the Splinterwood castle (at the top) just next door remains firm in the ground,” divinator Tronesisia reassures. “Peaks, my love. Climaxes even, like the one in End of Time. You know, the meditating Freddy. You must return to that — stuff.” Tronesisia saw it clearly now. Corsica is the place. The Black Witch turned White overnight; Yin becomes Yang and true island is revealed with its Capitol Hill, its Capitol City. The threat comes from Gaeta V. From the east; through the strait.
But in what form?
While busy raising the dead there she missed a crucial piece about Danshire.
three
“I grew up here — in this room. These were my cats. All named Philip.”
“So they were all the same cat,” I responded after thinking about it.
“I suppose.” The matter was then left up in the air, as were a lot of things here at the Southwest Castle. Soon we will visit the Northeast Castle down in the bay to flesh out the picture of this mysterious Hilling sim, so near to the Spinterwood summit but acting under different energies still. Those that oppose the force of ground apparently.
Then she decided to answer more completely. “Philip is striped and grey. Philip likes to play with his tail. Philip sometimes disrupts plants.” She pointed to each cat independently. I knew that this animal, whether 3 separate cats or just an amalgamation of one cat, was long dead. Katy was all grown up now and writing novels for a living. And married to Jack Toadswallow, living happily ever after like a true princess should. We are only revisiting the past here.
“And you also had dragons, I understand.”
“She points her index finger up, making a point. “Common misconception. We had *eggs*. 3 of ’em. But the eggs did not become dragons.”
“What then?” I was taken quite aback at this unexpected twist. She stared at the cats again.
Northeast Castle
Kate McCoy always left the table to (softly) play the piano when there was after-dinner talk of war.
“Heterocera is *not* dead,” spoke Summerhill Nova to his right. “We can carry on. The Sister sim will remain strong — I’ll make sure of it my liege.”
“Good, good,” the person at the head of the table spoke. “I won’t worry any longer about that direction. I trust you with the matter.”
“Thank you.”
He turned to his left. “And you, Walter.”
“Um hmm?” The tree being’s voice was hollow and husky.
“What say your people about the matter? About the changes in VHC City?”
“As long as Bob Dylan’s okay with it we’re okay with it.”
“Alright, then”. Jack looked straight ahead.
But the CB Dylan Dresser containing the other Snow at the table didn’t immediately respond. Then they realized the Manster within had gone to the wrong dimension — again.
(to be continued?)
Katy and Lucy’s Ocean
She liked to get out of the castles and roam about the neighborhood, pretending she was a kid again. Little Katy Kidd still instead of grown up Kate McCoy. The Hot Spot feuding island shared with Hatfield lay ahead of her, unseen. She had blocked it in her mind with memories of, for example, guitar strumming Lucy here, claiming she was going to grow up and play in a rock band, naming it after something red. “What?” Kate Kidd would ask. Then they would spend hours making up rock groups based on that color, never venturing into other hues. So much fun. One of their guesses was actually [delete name], but Robert Fripp didn’t want it listed in the blog so I won’t (ha). Probably just still pissed I picked Peter Gabriel as the only Sunklands Variant that will never be a Variant over him and also Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson. Thanks SID’s 1st Oz! Thanks Fantastic Aspic! But it was always leading to Tronesis and the robot lady derived from that early synch and the creators behind it, including, of course, Peter. And, I suppose now, TronAxis as he is presently constituted. Where is he anyway?
“Crimson and Clover,” spouted out Lucy after a pause in the listings.
“Oh you’ve used that (name) over and over,” countered Katy.
Lucy puts finger to lips in thinking mode. “Something Crimson anyway.” She set the guitar aside and cupped her head in her hand and stared out the rain splattered window toward the Northeast Castle, giving up for the moment. “I’ll come up with it.”
Of course, after she worked out the Crimson in her system, the correct name was found. Redeye, with herself becoming lead guitarist Angus Girl. Unless it was Buckethead Girl or Slash Girl.
(to be continued?)
broad’s way
Unlike the others, Sister Martha Lamb’s feet were about to touch ground. The imaginary dragon behind her issued a final roar of disapproval before fading out of existence. Dream becomes reality. “You may pass,” the gatekeeper gruffed when seeing soles to stone, and she crossed the threshold into Southwest Castle, hell heaven bent on finding the royal child and bringing her home to her true flock.
“Not *you* Strummy,” he then joked to the man now behind her whose legs remain embedded up to his calves.
ramblings
“Is this Egg Hill Sink, my Lord?”
“Think about what you just said,” I spoke in Ben Wolf’s head (disguised as his “Lord”). “Egg – Hill – Sink,” I said plainly and calmly.
“Oh.” He turned and looked toward The Yuiselles. “I think I see.”
I explained more clearly. “This is a hill shaped like an egg, true. Kind of,” I added.
“Then it is a pointer.”
I realized he was right. I decided not to talk in his head any more today. He must head back home and discuss his “revelations” with his wife the Irish Lass. Forgot her name right off. Even though I gave it to her.
—–
“I had a vision today Phyllis (*Phyllis*: that was it).”
“Oh yes, dear? Another one? Did this involve The Lord?”
“Well… yes. He said that I was standing on the summit but it wasn’t *the* summit.”
“Moork Summit? Is that what you’re talking about still?” Phyllis was distracted by thoughts of the Small Kowloon House formerly situated on the small island in the middle of Danshire, even though she didn’t know it by that name. Everyone called it [Capitol Hill]. The shack had disappeared overnight, with Red Pepper from the local neighborhood watch sending out an instagram message apologizing for the eyesore and saying the situation had been dealt with. But back to *trying* to listen to her husband’s religious ramblings — more of ’em.”
“The summit was instead a chasm. I don’t know what that means.”
Phyllis realized she missed an important part of his revelation while spacing out about the island and the shack, but didn’t want to backtrack. That bridge is best left to be built by one coming after her. She’s already on the other side of the chasm — what does *she* care?
“Um hum,” she instead answers without full understanding. The husband finally fell silent. Back to thoughts of the shack…
ramblings 02
Ben Wolf looked over the balcony’s edge and saw a flaw to the sim. The Surreal Gallery here could have extended the Linden pine forest from Ashlet, across this sim they own in toto (Claressa), and over to Derriandros. They still could — but he knew they wouldn’t. Still: a couple more prims for *art*.
With that, he backs up and takes in the 27 prim Egyptian balance sculpture of heart and feather again, the measurement of a soul to enter heaven. The heart of course must weigh less than the feather to properly cross the threshold. Many do not make it, understandably, probably the great majority. He wondered if he was such an unfortunate one. He worries about his soul a lot. Still The Lord seems to be on his side. Wonder where he is today? Ben thinks, waiting for the vivid internal dialog to return.
—–
He then teleports into what he believes *must* be the mind of God, which, to his surprise, starts changing around him at regular intervals. Does God change all the time as well?
away
“I wish you didn’t have to go off to war again, Jack.”
“Me too,” he wanted to say, but instead uttered: “Duty calls. Heterocera needs me — us.”
“So you’ll take Tronesisia with you?”
“Of course. Unless you think you need her more here for your services.”
“No no,” his wife Kate McCoy insisted. “She gives me great pleasure but I can find that elsewhere. There’s a little shop in the village that sells somewhat acceptable alternatives.”
“Good.” He pauses to think of the likely alternatives and shakes his head a bit. The price they pay for war, specifically 680 lindens or so in this particular aspect — last time he checked. Just out of curiosity mind you. “I’m sorry again that I have to do this.”
“Well. Summerhill Nova *stressed* that Heterocera isn’t dead and that VHC City can continue on as a powerful ally for us. *And* as they face a threat from the west I suppose there’s no alternative than to help out a — friend? Can we call Summerhill now a true friend? She tried to kill our mother, brother, and niece and nephew. And that was only in the last year!”
“She’s assured me that’s all in the past,” Jack Snow reinforced, thinking several weeks back to the, hopefully, final attempted assassination of a family member at the hands of Clan Nova. Poisoned ketchup. Luckily, Nephew Jimmy was a mustard guy. “We can put all that behind us. If we–”
“–help them,” Kate McCoy finishes for him. Her makeup applied, she gets up to accompany her husband to the awaiting battle ship. So much more needed to be said. Why the Fries with Cheese Church again, of all the religions Summerhill could have chosen? The one that would obviously lead to conflict.
(to be continued)
away 02
Little Katy Kidd watches from the Northeast Tower of the Southwest Castle at her future self seeing off her future husband Jack Snow (played by actor Jack Toadswallow in seasons one through three) one last time at the docks of the Northeast *Castle*. This would be his last war, his ship sunk at sea by a giant piece of cheddar broken off from the Arctic Cheese Shelf on the way over to the Heterocera continent. How sadly, sadly ironic given the instigation for the conflict. Little Angus Girl, then just plain ol’ Lucy Saffold, accompanied her to the past-future viewing, but ended up staring more southwest than northeast from the Southwest Castle’s Northeast Tower, toward the now deserted Splinterwood Castle just over the border from this here Hilling sim. She even pens a song on the spot about the eventful moment(s), later expanded into Redeye’s first full blown concept side of an album called “Confusing Directions,” derided by early critics for its seeming lack of focus, before the full genius of Redeye’s leader was understood by the confused masses.
Lucy ends up talking her childhood friend into exploring the smaller castle this day, if only to take her mind off the sad, sad future events unfolding in the opposite direction. She’d heard the electricity had been turned off, as in a no scripts area. They’d have to take flashlights, or, else, facelights.
But there was nothing within its dark walls except a bed. Someone had used it recently; it was warm to the touch for them. But who?
On a hunch, Lucy climbed onto the railing at the head of the bed so she could peek out the high window behind it toward the Yuiselle Peaks. Extending her draw distance to the maximum 512 meters, she could barely *barely* make out herself and her future band members below them, playing the greatly expanded version of the very same song she’d just composed. Two past-future viewings in one day, then. Barely.
Sunklands 