Moor(k) 03
“Hmm, Hucka Doobie. Top of the bridge here in Kabu is where photo-novel 8 ended. It’s the lone pick of Uh Clem who has a 512 in Moork. Robin Williams (Mork) was a noted big fan of Firesign Theater, appearing on the 2001 PBS Special ‘Weirdly Cool’ celebrating the group. Uh Clem refers to a character on their 1974 album ‘We’re All Bozos on this Bus’.”
“Featured in ‘Pretty Bunnies’. Good night to you Baker Bloch.” Hucka Doobie appeared in front of me atop the Kabu bridge. “You are following the breadcrumbs, good. They will lead you to the center. They will lead you to the *egg*.”
“Robin Williams’ egg. Mork’s I mean.”
“Yes. In part.”
I point behind Hucka Doobie. “What about that big cube of cheese over there?”
—–
“The cube is 64x64x64. On the ground, it occupies exactly 1/16th of a sim. It was created by GeneralFyad between Dec 15 and Dec 22 of last year, thus over 2 months ago. There is one house, a House of Mizu structure, fully inside the cube. 7 other houses are partially within to various degrees.”
“All of this is super important. I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Nighty night.”
—–
I’ll show Hucka Doobie I’m onto something. 2 1/2 months is a long time not to visit your house. *8* houses, but maybe the one in the middle doesn’t count due to fishbowl effect.
It’s not in the center of the sim but I’m also not in the center of photo-novel 18.
This Uh Clem 512 and its lone object has something to do with something!
trees 02
“She’s trying out different religions, Hucka Doobie. Branching out from the Fries with Cheese Church. Like this tree based one in Quack.”
“Quack — good.”
“Expansion of the Jana Forest has kept me there.”
“Good. How’s Pitch? Still licking the wounds to his ego?”
“I suppose. More to be seen in Bena, apparently.”
“Have Wheeler walk outside before you leave here.”
bitter
Surprising me, the Main Church of Cheese (or just Main Church) still exists in the Pond District of Heterocera. I decided to pay a visit, disguised as a parishioner.
Afterwards I tracked down the Good Rev. Amos T. Sandman (clown) to get more of the scoop. Info about the brief but intense Pond District-VHC City war back in the day would be super nifty. *Jackpot* there, for the Reverend was a treasure trove — had a personal archive out back on the conflict. Said his grandfather piloted a Main Cheese boat over to the shores near VHC City to help with the barricade.
The next week we met in nearby Rodentia to further discuss the matter. Rodentia is fast becoming a treasured relic itself, having been around in Our Second Lyfe for over 10 years. His church was visible through this coffee shop window with a larger draw distance, adding to the ambience.
“So tell me about the Oodites,” I began. “Why did you guys hate each other so intensely? I get the whole clowning thing with you and presumably your grandpa, heh.”
“The Oodites deserved all they got. They put a black hole in the middle of that town and dominated through it. Warped the minds of the commoners (humans) there. *Sang* from that middle. He opened his red tainted clown mouth here for a bit but no sound emerged that I could hear. “That was 10 years ago,” he then continued, and *that* at the end of another 10 — the 10th. Pitch Dark that black hole was.” He paused here for me to absorb.
“I mean,” I spoke through Man About Time, “how did the Oo’d get there? The aliens you speak of.”
“Oh they were horrible to look at. Could drive a man mad easily with their tentacles for mouths and their sideways eyes. Henry (Russian Grey parishioner I met the week before) looks good in comparison, ha.”
“Heh.” And I wondered why I laughed like that again, like a goofy kid. Did I have a cold?
“Well — how did the underground (movement) start?”
And it was here that Rev. Amos T. Sandman said he had to split to prepare for a diatribe against bananas on Sundae, a rival yellow food. We’d have to get more of the story at a later date.
(to be continued?)
sisters
“Hold on Butterfingers. We’re almost there.”
another
Summerhill Nova’s other job besides running the Bemberg sim in its entirety was preaching to the congregation who congregated at Church of the Elmers in Melder in its entirety each Sundae. Unlike with the Main Church of Cheese, usually a packed crowd for this one, and no exception this day. They began by honoring a fellow parishioner who had been killed in the recent, new troubles down in, “Bena or Bennington or whatever they call the miserable village these days,” white Summerhill lectured from her white pulpit in her big white church to a host of white people dressed in black. She knew harping on the evils of their degenerative sister sim to the south was a certain crowd pleaser. Then she started talking about Ben Wolf.
“I know many of you’n’s frowned when we accepted Ben into our congregation. You said he smelled weird, especially around the full moon. You said he howled when he went to the bathroom. You complained — silently mainly — when we found out his wife the Irish Lass (Summerhill couldn’t remember her name right off either) was also a beast underneath it all, a fox in her case. Yet he heard the calling of the Lord (Summerhill stops here, as if hearing my voice as well), and came to us for guidance, for shelter from the harsh world he saw around him, trying to tear his very limbs apart, pull his very head out of his body and parade it around for all to see and mock. Yes, this Ben, this *Wolf*, was just as much a *man* as any of you lot here.” She pointed around the congregation for emphasis, singling out various men. “And what else has he done for the church you might ask? Well, we set him to tasks — menial tasks but after all he was grateful just to be here. I think each and every one of you will agree that the 17 bathrooms spread out in our various churches across the compound look spotless now; he will be hard to replace for sure in that area.” Agreements and nods across the congregation here. “And what of tree trimmings, and the squirrel bombings, and so many more tasks we set for him that he accomplished with great joy, great glee, great triumph. No, this *man*… will be sorely missed around these here parts.”
“And now — a word from the widow, an exile from Bena or Bennington…” she stops here and covers the mike with her hand, calling over to Phyllis Phox sitting in one of the nearby lawn chairs positioned below the main congregation. “What’s the name, dear?”
“Phyllis,” came Phyllis’ answer, not understanding what Summerhill Nova meant.
“… Phyllis,” Summerhill then continued, thinking that was the correct name of Bena/Bennington now. Phyllis approached the podium to scattered applause.
(to be continued)
Lord’s burg
“It’s time to get a form, Summerhill Nova,” The Lord said in her head, the same one that spoke to fellow Oodite Ben Wolf, and perhaps still does (more later on that — involves the *second* Bena — we’ll see what happens). Oh, they don’t call themselves that name any longer. Christians they are now. No more underground planchette movements in the middle of the night. That can only spell TROUBLE. Weegee is no longer the key. *Visibly*.
Summerhill knew full well who the Lord was. She use to rent to him. But 20 linden dollars a month and her will to charity can only go so far. *If* he returns it will be for the regular price, the one everyone else pays that stays “x” amount of time. And it will depend on the destruction of Collagesity. Just like before. And she told him that in *his* head.
I asked her about the missing wall at the Point of It All, the one where my collage formerly hung in the underground, where The Musician became Sikul Himakt once again several years back now to translate the codes and symbols correctly. She said it was just a building mistake, corrected at one point. Didn’t have anything to do with me and my art. Oh, but I begged to differ. It has *everything* to do with it.
“When you erased that wall — those *rooms*,” I explained patiently in her head, “you changed reality. Something was let loose; something was lost.”
She asked again about Pitch Darkly so I told her the full story of what I knew up until now. She was rather shocked he was in Bena. And even the older, original house in Instabar, about as close as I could get to that summit that represents the “featured” peak of the present section.
“You’ll have another Red Pepper incident if you don’t watch out.”
She was right, I realized while spotting an avatar in the house just above it. I wisely decided to delete the structure…
… delete the structure
… delete the structure. Oh heck. I can’t do it.
Blue #3 door to Sister sim that caused Baker Bloch so much trouble when he went through it is wisely blocked now by art.
She kept pressing. “What of the name Bemberg for, er, my sim?”
I said it was an Oracle thing. Like Sikul Himakt. Like Vainom Kug. I resisted saying once more she didn’t die in Vain but in VHC City, but I did segue from that into telling her there was a Firesign Theater angle to all this, involving member Phil Austin in part. Maybe in a major part. I explained the choice of the name Melder for the sim her church was in. And next door: Fharsine. “Melder points to Elmer and the underground,” I said. “That’s why you are…”
“… white as glue?”
three of ’em 02
We keep following breadcrumbs. The newest one? The Beer Tent in Dalnim, a part of the Greater Chilbo area. Recognize the tent?
Yes, very tasty.
To backtrack…
Further…
But then: sidetracked.
“Do you have a tummy ache, little boy?”
“A mild one, yes sir.”
“We’re *all* sick,” the child opposite him at the Mad Hatmaker table spoke up. “It’s the magic mushrooms in our tea and coffee. We — didn’t know.”
And then *another* one (tent) just down the hill, but not owned by the same avatar. The house with the sick children lies between.
—–
The Man About Time finally returned to the empty Instabar parcel that inspired his trip. This was an easy one. He downs another satisfying swig of Flasche Oettinger Export and contemplates what to put within.
the ones
“The Fries with Cheese branch of the Main Cheese Church and the Church of the Cult of Oo’d over there have existed side by side in Collagesity for well over a year now. Clown sacrifices (Oodites) next door to a religion (Cheesies) headed by a clown. But they get along fairly well — it’s a small town and everyone knows everyone. No need for protracted bickering, with the proverbial hatchet buried quite long ago underneath a ceremonial rock straddling their shared property line.” Baker turns and then points. “I think you can see it right down there.”
Wheeler leans over and peers too. “Yes. I see it.”
“Knives are the weapon of choice now, but only within the church.”
“Okay, good.”
Baker returns his attention to the story. “Drawing back to look at the bigger picture, the hatchet remains more exposed, a lingering effect of the VHC City-Pond District War. VHC City is where the Cult of Oo’d started, an underground movement at first that has secretly returned to that location in the highest ranks, weegee boards and planchettes in hand. Summerhill Nova, owner of most of the underground in that town, is titular head of the Oodties now as well, although they disguise themselves as Christians (ELMERS) for broader appeal. And as we’ve learned, the Pond District is home to the Main Church of Cheese currently fronted by the Good Rev. Amos T. Sandman.”
“Who I have a date with tonight, lucky me.” The gown she chose for the occasion suited her well, Baker thought. She was trying to use her position of power to gain information. He continues…
“Summerhill has remained pure and white as glue to promote the above ground version of her religion. Amos T. Sandman’s appearance is like a bouquet of blossoming color. Yet dig down just a little and it is clear these two leaders have much in common beneath opposing surfaces. Each is a *hatchet* themselves.”
“Explain,” requested Wheeler while holding up a pocket mirror and applying more lipstick.
my greatest challenge
1/2 green, 1/2 granite, all bastard. Corsica.
to the east from the centre
to the west from the centre
Let’s get back to business…
pious
“Thank you for meeting with me tonight, Hucka Doobie. Corsica is my greatest challenge”
“So I’ve heard.” She swigs a beer as well. “Well — *ahhh* (wipes mouth of frothy foam) — I’m here to help you. For sure. Go team.” She wants to raise her arm here for unity but finds she can’t.
“Thanks. See if I lean back, Hucka, I’m right on the line at 162/162. The planners of the Melder sim, these *Elmers*, must have known about this new Diagonal in my estimation and taken steps to incorporate its energy into…”
“… their plans,” finished Hucka Doobie in the gap. Another beer gulp. “Well, it’s a very interesting theory and I suppose it has to be true on some level.”
“Can you feel it?” requests Baker Bloch. “I’m right on it but I’m just wondering if it works in proximity (as well).”
“Not really. But I don’t really work that way.” She emits a secret smile here, like a Mona Lisa. “You know,” — she looks down at her beer, her free hand — “*I* could have gone out with the Good Rev. Amos T. Sandman. It didn’t have to be Wheeler.”
“Yeah. I think it *did*.” Baker Bloch looked over, thinking Hucka Doobie was an attractive woman, but Wheeler… Well, Wheeler is Wheeler.
She has her ways. Hucka Doobie is fantastic as a spiritual guide to the blog. No need to bring her into all that. If necessary I’ll get Baker Blinker to talk to her. “We, you and me Hucka, are alike in that way.” He points back and forth between them.
“Hmph.”
“Anyway, The Diagonal doesn’t necessarily work that way.”
“Doesn’t it? Didn’t Sid Viscous and Martha Lamb get engaged on a Diagonal and then seal the deal there?”
“I suppose.” Baker considers. “But that was the Heart one. The Head one was probably different.”
“Yess… but what is *this* one, the new Diagonal? How does *it* function?”
Baker ponders again. “Well, it’s obviously about religion.” He elaborates. “The tree church at the first of this section is on it. And then here — Summerhill’s church.”
“This is not Summerhill’s church,” Hucka Doobie speaks plainly, looking around. “But I know what you mean.” Another swig. Hucka Doobie considers that she may always be alone. Without love.
the beginning (The Larch)
“Hmph. Mona Lisa again. Wonder what that black mirror means?”
“Hmm. The Man.”
https://secondlife.fandom.com/wiki/The_Man
“*Definitely* The Man.”
Then it was different, thanks to The Man (upstairs).
It all started back in the Alpha stage of Second Life (then Linden World) when Linden Lab wanted to test a new rendering engine, how feasible a cityscape would be, and other general content testing. This city was built in Natoma before any non-employee users had logged into SL and was not named but often referred to as “Linden Town” or “Linden City”. The town/city contained many buildings (mostly unfurnished and low texture usage), a small park-like town square with a fountain, and roads all through it. The city also had a statue in its town square behind a “City Hall”. The statue turned out of course to be “The Man” built by a content developer (oldjohn Linden) hired at the time by LL (in 2002).
The city was later deleted before Beta to make way for the new Welcome Area… However one thing survived the deletion of the city to become the only proof of its existence (besides pictures), and that thing was “The Man” statue. At this point The Man was moved slightly to the corner of Natoma and placed on a small grassy hill. The Man stood and greeted new residents from its perch off in the distance as they entered.
….The Man stands today as the oldest original still-standing build within Second Life. Presently it is owned by Philip Linden (this happened sometime ago, perhaps during its moving) and has had a few objects left around it over time by residents as “offerings” to The Man, giving it a kind of realistic feeling of a mysterious symbolic statue.
hidden?
“Come here dear,” Mary Pippens requested from the open door. “I want to show you something.”
“In a minute dear,” spoke her husband of 29 years, Achilles. “I’m recharging myself on The Diagonal.” One day it will solve my nose problem, he then thinks while beholding the cursed big honker between his eyes. I’m sure of it. 15 minutes a day: that’s how long the church told him to do, no more no less. He looks down at his watch.
Two minutes and 37 second later, he began moving to the now closed door to join his wife at the bay window of their bedroom. “Look there, hubby. I stare out this window every day at one of my beloved, local hills, and this structure *definitely* hasn’t been here before. Here, I’ll open the window so you can take a better gander. Right over there on the old Elaine Ratio property. She’s rarely home any more, you know.” With her arthritis weary arm, Mary points toward the visible corner of my recently erected 32 square meter house in Instabar, the one Summerhill Nova warned could spell TROUBLE for me once again.
“We should alert the local neighborhood watch. Who’s the head of that thing now?”
“Hidi,” Achilles said. “I think — can’t remember the last name.” He sniffed and the cats ran away.
“Well, I’ll try to track down this Hidi tomorrow.”
“Good luck.”
Hidey, actually
“Hmph. Hidi’s got a privacy screen surrounding her property now. And ban lines. Can’t get in. Doesn’t reply to im’s.” Mary Peppins scratches her chin, then continues to speak to herself while looking eastward. “Guess we’ll have to put up with that eyesore over there a little longer.
Down on the beach and 100 years ago:
No one ever listened to Glaub the Uninformed. “Hey guys. Guys. Hey guys. Hey you guys. You guys. Hey… looky. Hey you guys looky. Looky over here. Looky. Guys?”
“WHAT IS IT?” his fellow Dwarvin pirateers exclaimed in unison, still not turning around.
“I think The Man is *this* way.”
“HUH???”
After finding yet another of his proclamations a dead end, it was Delvin’s responsibility to shut Glaub — they call him Glauby — up for the rest of the afternoon by sitting tight on his face and body.
—–
“Mmhphmm, mmm,”
“What’s that Glauby?” Delvin exclaimed, pretending to interpret the garble. “The Man isn’t that way after all?”
“Mm, MMHmp, mm.”
“That’s what I thought.”
But Glauby’s mates hadn’t tried hard enough, so use they were to the wolf cries. This one time his naive instincts were correct. They didn’t check upstairs.
more neighbors
“The Man had many centres he could manifest out of his inventory, but, legend says, when he found wo-Man he stopped the process and threw up his arms in glee. Thus Eve from Eden is born and Adam, The Man incarnate, called it D-vine.”
Larch (later: The Man himself) halted his creation story spun atop his spinning cube to look down at Superduper Guy and Batty Man’s “backfire-mobile” (his word for it) pull up next door.
“Pow POP!” it went when stopping, and Larch imagined small cartoon clouds with these words emitted from a smoking muffler. Nightshift worker Mrs. Dumbledwarf to the south became even more awake when the two super heroes slammed their car doors, then spotted Larch on his rooftop workshop and threw up their arms in greeting, calling “What up, *Man*!?” in unison before heading into their mansion, not waiting for a response. Because it never came.
Larch hated those two.
penultimate?
When I stared over at White Elvis, I realized I had his hair and got rid of it. The older doo, not the younger one (pictured) here. But still — a reminder.
I am now more The Man(n) than ever.
I turned to red, white and blue Cpt. Americus downing yet another piece of yellow chicken from his magical, chicken piece producing bucket and ask him where it went all wrong.
He mentioned something about Wheeler f-ing things up. I didn’t know who Wheeler was. He said she was the ideal woman, the Venus Da Milo. I said, “*de* Milo.” He said, “whatever,” and chose a breast to eat next with his free hand.
I thought back to the story of lusty Jack the Mallard on Fruity Islands for some reason. Probably because I was looking for the same there. I must go back sometime. Eden…
As he kept vociferously munching and crunching, I considered I was dealing with a Southerner here. Hence the chicken. Hence the White Elvis; black nowhere to be found in this recording studio. No Lena Horned, for instance. No “Ballad of Stormy Daniels.” I then realized this could be the studio of Your Mama. This was *the* room. I decided to ask.
“Who’re you recording today, Cpt.?” I didn’t say the full name on purpose. I was testing how far I could go without falling back.
Cpt. Americus glanced into the studio, as if someone was there. “Oh, the usual. Local gal.”
“White, I assume,” The Man(n) wanted to say, but instead said, “good that you’re developing the local talent.” And then more information spouted from the Cpt.’s masticating mouth full of chicken. Disgusting. But – must – keep — digging. Further tonight.
“Yup,” he spoke. Then the girl returned from her break, beautiful in a black gown.
—–
I decided to go back tonight. The place (with the beach chairs) Da Womann and I sat and chatted and some other stuff was gone. Maybe it was all a dream? But the statues were still there. Adam and his Eve.
penultimate? 02 (Manns Choice)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Photo_comics
“Geez I miss the old country. But I must get back to Instabar for the neighborhood watch meeting. Might be the last of its kind!”
“What about *us*?”
“You’ll just have to wait.”
last
I sat about as far away from the attention mongering super duper heroes as I could. Swooping in here and taking over the basically dormant University of the District of Columbia property and renaming it DC Universe, hrmph. The audacity! Newly crowned neighborhood watch queen Mary Peppins, red umbrella-less for a change, is making some good points though.
“We must be vigilant for interlopers into our special, special sim,” she goes on, “now that they’ve discovered The Diagonal runs through it. Mr. Mann?” She points up to me. “Would you like to say a word on that? Since, eheh, you know, The Diagonal runs right through the center of your building. You, aherm, predicted its coming after all.”
I started to say, “well it runs through the middle of *your* property too; why don’t *you* talk about it?” But I acquiesced. “It’s all about The Man,” I said simply. “The Man (upstairs) is in the center of the sim that is on The Diagonal. My *nickname* comes from The Man. (My name’s) actually Larch. The Larch.” So — The Man; The Larch.” Made sense to me.
“Ahem, thank you Mr. Mann, er, Mr. Larch.”
“Whatever, honey,” urged husband Achilles T. from the side, nose still as big as ever. “Get to the part about the tiny orange house with the swing.”
“Yes, uhem.” Mary was obviously nervous about talking in public, being a simple housewife and all and without any experience in that area. But the neighborhood needed her, and former president Elaine Ratio was nowhere to be found. “Well…”
Just then, littlest vampire Buster Damm screeched up in an old pink convertible, surfing on its hood. “I believe you’re referring to *our* house!” he called through the hole behind The Mann.
He promptly went over the the DC Universe jail and freed Lego Monster Ken who killed everyone inside, RAWR!
Sunklands 