Here’s a Sunklands blog post from June 2015, over 1/2 a year before the start of the first Collagesity photo-novel, that seems pretty relevant to new topics in the current one, 27 in a series of whatever. It concerns the name origin of Austra, initially found spelled out in large white letters in the middle of the Nautilus continent online map from early 2012 and which now comes in both Upper and Lower flavors. I plan to provide follow-up material about some playing cards along with a monkey in the same highlighted Austra (band) video but first things first. Enjoy!
I checked out the name Austra and didn’t come up with much. Top of the list was this Canadian electronic band I hadn’t heard of before, but which is apparently quite popular now. I perused their videos and selected this one at random. It’s the official video for a track named “Lose It”, which turned out to be a single from their debut album “Feel it Break”.
47 second into the 4:39 long video this image flashed before my eyes.
“Is that a Second Life waterfall?” I quickly asked myself. Turns out it was: googling “waterfall + “Second Life” instantly produced the following link and image from the Second Life Marketplace. In fact, I’m pretty sure I have this very waterfall, a freebie, in my current inventory.
*That* certainly seemed synchy since I’d already linked Austra and Second Life in a totally unrelated way. Note: the name AUSTR_A on the Nautilus continent map clearly comes from Austria, with the “i” dropped for a spell for some odd reason [see below]. Soon it would return; AUSTRIA restored. Perhaps now we can glimpse a psychic slant to this mistake. 🙂
I’m going to continue watching the video and read some analyses hopefully. Following a trail — more soon!
4 months ago Apleeza wrote in the comments for that video:
“Those Second Life pictures in it. If you listen to the lyrics it actually looks like the song is about a guy she fell for in Second Life.”
Then someone quickly pointed out that the lead singer is a lesbian. There are some more rather quick flashes of Second Life in the video, but nothing I could wrap my brain around.
One more item before I perhaps leave this topic. I’ll quote from wikipedia, and highlight the synchronizations:
“They [Austra] played a number of early shows under the name Private Life before learning that another band was already using the name; they subsequently named the band after Stelmanis’ middle name Austra, which is also the name of the goddess of light in Latvian mythology. Austra used to include twin backing singers Sari and Romy Lightman of Tasseomancy. Keyboardist Ryan Wonsiak of Ze and the Boyfriends makes up the quartet.”
The Lightman twins are also featured in the “Lose It” video. Private Life could be resonant with Second Life. I haven’t found out what the playing cards mean in conjunction with Second Life images within.
(to be continued)
Meanwhile, in a strong probable reality lying a couple of sims directly south of the 765 Village:
“How — long are you going to — keep me here?”
“Well, darling,” dishwashing DON’T SAY WANDA Leslie replied back, up to her wrists in suds and grease, “that depends on what the appraiser comes back with. I’m guessing, gee I don’t know, about 195.3 lindens to the inch. And since you’re a tall one…
“It’s not — right.”
“I know it’s not right, dearest. It’s not right that we live in such *squalor* just because Uncle Stan rode that bright idea rodeo of his right down into the *ground*.” She poked her finger with a knife she was washing and uttered a “hell” here. Ruby caught the association.
“Stan — was bad?”
“Indeed he was, darling.” She looked over at the 8 foot tall, insect green alien, probably of a species they call the greys. Said she was looking for the fortress and she said, “hell, I got a fortress you can stay in,” and knocked her on the head. She woke up in the trailer. She’d been here ever since, although she was allowed to go outside and stare at all the strange graffiti on the high privacy walls surrounding the abode. This person was a renegade, perhaps from the law itself. She kept saying her no good son-in-law of a husband would be back any day now. A-ny day.
“I’m home, maw!” *GUSH*
“*Lordy*, JUST in time. Quick go get the pipe wrench from the outhouse! Mind your pretty green feet you little alien!”
all together now
Leslie Darlene continued to struggle with the water break, Ruby stared over at the girl who was always with her now, her Little Bug as she said she wanted to be called. “Cards are next,” she called over, stacking the last one on top.
The water was up to her wrists above her feet now. Aliens can have very different anatomies despite some surface similarities. Like two hearts.
pay Day, pay her now
“Let’s see, we’re looking for a bug green alien about 8 foot tall. I don’t think we’re going to miss her coming through unless they chopped her up, eh?”
“A little less with the wisecracks, Hal, and more with the observing. She could be all bent up in a smaller piece of luggage, we don’t know. We don’t know much about alien physiology. Do we Hal?”
“Um, guess not,” he replied, thinking, you’re not really my boss, Jill, you’re just an on-site supervisor. I don’t have to listen to you. In fact, I could report you for abusive language right here and now. Except you’re a woman and I’m a man — the chumps at the station would laugh me out of the airport if I tried to pull that one. Still…
“Hal,” she said, looking at his glazed eyes. “A little less with the daydreaming too, hmm?”
“Okay, so I’ve actually been counting cards and… I’ve seen an extra heart being played.” Silence from the poker people around Andy, use to him being jovial and fun. No one except Otis had seen him in this light. But Otis didn’t mind, since it meant the *real* game was starting now. “The alien has left the station,” he imagined saying into a nonexistent talky device strapped to his wrist.
Burt, coins already inserted, hits play on a song about two lips and how they are like one pink, smiling at Doris Lilly all the time, dining with her starter husband Jack. Like Otis, both are happy the gears have been set in motion.
From the track, Thelma Louise Day at the pool table knows what’s going on too, and that a substantial check would be coming up soon. All her hard work as a snitch at the office canteen finally paying off!
Standing directly above Hal, co-conspirator Howie Sprague dares to snap a photo of the valuable cargo leaving the bay, smuggled right out from under his eyes. Jill was spot on! Alien physiology is little understood, especially since the one in this game can change into *liquid*.
(to be continued)
“Did you hear what that alien said right at the last, before she… changed over? She said, ‘the heel is under the water, the heel *is* the water. ‘ Right with her then solid mouth she did, way up there at the 7 1/2 foot level that soon became the 0 foot level. Or became the same as the foot.” He scratched his heel on his crossed leg reflexively here. “Something.”
“Why don’t you enjoy the fireworks, sonny, and stop thinking about that day, that moment. She did what she had to do to escape us and I applaud her for it. I wish *I* had the gall to change into something totally different like that. Remember, heh, remember when Uncle Stan’s rodeo money turned into dust and blew all away, perhaps to California or even beyond? That kind of change.”
“And now it’s happened again.”
A particularly bright sparkler burst above them. “Yup.”
“Do you have any fish that is *raw*?”
“No ma’am. We can’t do that. Um: health regulations.”
“I’ll make do on my own, then. Come here little fishie. Come to ma-ma.”
She was kind of cute, if a little weird, he was thinking on his break in back of the food van, not seeing how Wendy had subsequently gotten the meat for her chips.
quietly Tuesday still
With his brother Corey, Jonny Blank waited patiently for the crucial phone call that would link him up to the infamous Black Lake Gang cabal.
Not seeing anyone around that seems suspicious, he checks the nearby airport terminal screen again, keeping one eye on little Corey to make sure he doesn’t wander off (again).
Good, he thinks. The airplane is still in the runway. Let’s keep her there.
With his powerful psychic mind, he freezes time just before the start of Wednesday.
“You don’t understand, Sidechick.”
“If I go through that doorway it won’t be the same as before. We won’t have fish — me. We won’t have chips — you. We’ll just have the two separated out again, which will amount to nothing atall in the long run, really. Meal time: *over*.”
“Don’t… go.” On the spot, he decides to make up a song for her combining the two food products in a different, musical way; food for the mind instead of the body.
Does any of this work? The map seems to know.
oh so central line
Mother Piper was happy. She’d get to see her little boy all grown up — Cory — after, what has it been, 2 weeks? 2 long, she thinks while still smiling, still grinning. But she makes the mistake of doing this directly for the camera and the scene has to be reshot.
“How’s Cory still a little boy and all grown up at once?” It was a logical question from Wheeler (Wheeler!), and I didn’t come back with an immediate answer. In fact, I believe I was eating food. Or downing a milkshake. I couldn’t manifest the correct reality and so Cory remains both. I said this out loud after finishing my bite or slurp, whichever one had actually happened.
“We have reached the end,” then states Wheeler with finality. “Our Second Lyfe must merge with Our First Lyfe. You have found the doorway.” She shoots a pretend kiss at me, lips puckered and becoming one with each other. 1 pink.
“Wendy has found the doorway,” I said, trying to at least temporarily forget that mistletoe was also involved but finding it hard.
“Another doubling,” Wheeler points out.
“Wendy, though — in this case — is short for Wednesday. As in, it’s not Tuesday still, it’s the day after that. Just through the doorway that leads to the sim directly below Quietly…”
“… Tuesday, I know,” Wheeler completes for Baker (Baker?).
“How about this: Cory’s mother — just Mother…”
“She has a name,” Wheeler begins again with the critiquing, like clockwork except the second hand sweeps in 5/4th time.
“I can’t recall it,” admits Baker — we’ll keep calling him Baker. Baker B., the author of this here photo-novel, 27 dot dot dot…
“Happy days: that could be the name of this post, but starting with Saturday in this case and not Sunday like in the famous song sung by Fonzarelli and others.” Wheeler had another point. Might as well get to a detail of that map.
Stacy Wallop slaps hands with bit actress Katy O’ Leary for good luck before passing through the doorway again to reach Sidechick at the Fish and Chips van. Irish, you see; everyone did it with her. Ol’ Red Hands they starting calling her, but that was mainly because Stacy forgot which hand her knife was in that one day and accidentally stabbed her.
She passes the map, getting into character just before the sim crossing. Wednesday no longer. Clocks were ticking down.
(to be continued?)
name of thrones
She spoke down to him, hoping he would complement her shoes. “No, this is the Pearl Throne, not Pear. I’m afraid you have the wrong location.”
“I’m sorry mum.” He begins to take his leave. Seems he’d journeyed a long way for nutt’n.
“WAIT.” Sally suddenly recognized him. “You’re… the man under the mistletoe. I know you from that portrait.” He was in disguise but the pointy ears he tried to hide under his antique slouch cap gave him away. This was a man of Jupiter — another planet.
“Lose the old skin,” she commanded from her perch, with mistletoe just behind. “Lose the cap as well. Heck just put on your birthday hat and come here.”
“I swear it’s here somewhere. Eddy,” she spoke to the sea turtle floating before her. “Do you know?”
“I’m sorry mum,” and took his leave.
She looked down at her, this Winnie, but obviously Wendy again. As she was Wendy. We’re all Wendy in this Second Lyfe of ours, a Wendy City of sorts through and through. Cub Run. Centerpoint. “Release the Pooh!” she wanted to command from afar with voice so loud you could hear it clear over to Heterocera. “Allow Winnie to become Wendy!”
Someone asked once why she wasn’t herself in Our Second Lyfe and instead always in disguise, a strange question at the time but perhaps starting to make some sense. The man-woman uttering it was obviously kind of insane, though. She suspected a sea monster because of the seaweed hair, despite the pink tutu. Release the Pooh, she also mentioned. The famous toy bear rolled the wagon with the honey pot down the cobblestone street of town, pausing in front of Perch to peer in at the past. Spaced Ghost turned back into Space. The honey pot was suddenly something else; the held red umbrella was both inside and outside at once…
The pirates were coming and she didn’t know what to do. Directly over the throne now, they had stolen her mistletoe. She wasn’t jovial about it.
They’d make landfall by nightfall. The clock kept ticking, tick tick tick.
I should strike first, she suddenly realized, thinking of the Big Wheel and the 12 at the top. Everyone was scared of her, after all.
“Gotcha!” she exclaimed at 12:37.
Y and Z are 10 and 11
It was time for a longer post else we get off track. Wendy had her man, strapped to the Big Wheel, a prisoner in other words. In his own pirate ship: trapped by a woman of all things. But he suspected a man-woman because of the strength, the speed. He was wrong… kind of. “Gotcha!” she exclaimed as the tire iron came down on the knees and then the head. If she was truly a man he might be dead. As it was, he almost bled out, but was brought back by her powers of the mind. Hidalgo — but enough said of that (magic practice) which also gained her many more years than her immortal contemporaries. Only Mummy Suisan out in Swannanowhere had outlasted her. How many years now? She decided to count them out tonight (again) while — whatshisname listened in, helpless to turn off his ears by plugging them with his fingers or something. That was another point to this. She decided to use the base 12 way of counting just to prolong the agony a bit more for him. She stopped at 143Z to see if his head had started to bleed again (only a little). At 1Y876, she thought of the 765 Village and the hidden green grey alien there and how Brut or Burt or Brutus had turned all traitor on her and taken over the Fortress for himself in its two locations to bind the magic more tightly. She hit (whatshisname) on the noggin again simply because she was frustrated now. And, heck, she’d lost her count. She’d have to start over again. At 765 she spaced out and lost count a second time. “One,” she began once more, “twooooooo (*yawn*).” Finally getting sleeepy. She lets him hold her in his arms but just one trick and he’s back on the wheel. She uses the rest of her daily brain power to heal his head completely.
Out like a light now, but this was a test. She knew he could twist her head off if he desired — she had given him her superpowers as well. But if he still had the *mistletoe* somewhere upon his body — and she knew he did — then: no. That small sprig of evergreen would take them both a long long ways.
(to be continued)
She’d lost her spaceship. She thinks she may have left it back in what the locals called Mayberry, an airy mountain of a hill (or something). But she was too tired from all the walking and searching to get off these Lost Angel chairs right now. Maybe in a 1/2 an hour. But maybe: never. The many and the *done*. Truth be told, she was a variant character anyway and will probably not be missed.
Troop was a truly important character though, and it’s baked into his name: True Opp. He started out as a “mere” toy, an Mmmmmm, just like his cousin Grassy from another mother who just happens to be sisters with his own. They don’t talk about Jerry any more. And Philburt is right out of any discussion between them. But Uranus… ahh, that’s a different topic and one that’s interested both of ’em for a long time, starting way back when Tropp, then just Opp or Campbell O’Pine, had his first (Sunklands blog) post dedicated to himself.
“Well it looks like I found it, Grassy,” he says 1/2 to himself, since the only other person in the room was only 1/2 listening. “Uranus; the blue planet.”
“There’s someone out there, in the dunes,” the other person spoke. “Someone… fidgety.”
“Okay, CUT! Let’s change fidgety to nervous. Is that okay, Campbell?”
In another scene later that day:
“Alright, then the crook comes in and you drop your gun and it hits the floor and goes off, hitting your right heel. This is going to be *hilarious*.”
boy next door
I was five years old. And I was preoccupied with the prop that was in my hand, because it was a toy turtle. But I had to pretend it was a real turtle that the audience just wasn’t seeing, and it was dead, so I was supposed to be crying and very emotional, and I remember him looking at that little turtle and talking to me about how it was kind of funny to have to pretend that was dead. So I recall just a very relaxed first impression.
JOURNAL, DAY 5
I met Thatch at a Northern Sea location. He said (in essence), “Come with me and I’ll take you somewhere. Kings Stone,” he said. “Or maybe Kingston… King *Something*.” I knew he was trying to communicate effectively. I had just been to the place he perhaps indicated, but I wondered if it was really the jazz club in Kings Stone he meant. He seemed confused. I knew Kings Stone was next to Druids Post, and there was also a Kingpost to the west. Maybe Kingston was (instead) Kingpost. I would go to both locations and check. In the meantime, I noted that we, in this underwater location, were just next door to the Slaashsides community up in the air in the sim west of here. My neck was starting to hurt slightly. I knew I had to move. Here is a picture of Thatch. He claims he didn’t know what he was looking for here (in Our Second Lyfe), or whom. I told him that maybe he was looking for me, but he hesitated about becoming a friend. I of course knew to quickly back off, then.
His shirt appears to have the word KANE upon it. Or maybe, upon inspecting again, it was KANI.
I looked at the dress code rules (at the jazz club). I would not fit, perhaps. I would have to return, in a different costume. My energy was running low. My wrists above my feet were beginning to ache a little. My arm, where they punctured me with a willy tip day before yesterday’s tomorrow, was sore. My feet were sore. My RIGHT HEEL hurt a bit, always a bad sign. Sign of trouble. I would check out the second “Kingston” location of the night.
It was a small place, giving better indication that Thatch was a true messenger.
On to the second.
I had also been here before. I noted that there were cypresses, in its two expressions, dotting the doubled islands of the sim, its only land. I channel some of my energy from my right foot to my left foot to remain grounded. I had about 15 minutes before the pain would come back. I also decided to dip my feet in the (cool) water by dangling them over the edge of the pier.
I watched a helicopter land in the strait between the islands. It didn’t stay long enough to make friends with the pilot. Thatch might be the only avatar I talk with this night.
I noted from afar that the pilot then disappeared but his helicopter remained. This would be right on the line between Scar and Funnel. I noted that if you slash someones sides a scar would remain. A scar is also usually a line. The pilot appears to have “talked” to me after all. Slaashsides is the true destination.
I returned to Thatch and stole a bit of energy from his feet, since he now seemed inactive — AFK as the locals say. I calculated he wouldn’t mind. He was kind of my friend after all. Friends help friends. After draining the energy of his feet and also the wrists above them I figured I had 20 more minutes to work with than before, making a total of about 30 now. I had time to visit Slaashsides itself. Just next door.
(to be continued)
ears for hears
As soon as I found a correct location to teleport in and sat down at the first table I saw, I realized I had not only visited here but I *lived* here. I recall Burro Alley. I recall the policeman, perhaps named Brown or maybe just living in a brownstone apartment. He was *after* me. He was asking two hookers about my location in an alley across from the alley (*The* Alley), but the one who cooperated didn’t actually know anything. The other did, but she was from the country. *My* country.
I was part of the Black Lake Bunch, also known as the Black Lake Gang or Purple Bunch. There was one in it who didn’t like me, didn’t approve of me. She said: why don’t you appear as you really are in this Second Lyfe of ours. She also mentioned the plug. I said the plug covers an avatar defect. I said it monitors the surroundings, giving me indication of friend or foe. Right now it was hurting like a mother fo. Red. Indication of foe. I moved away from her, unfriended her, even though we were never friends. Blocked I think is the word, yes. But the other remained kind of a friend, like Thatch. She was helping protect me. Red turns to green. The Alley is just across the way. There we find PROBABILITIES, exactly what I was looking for. An ESCAPE.
“Helloo Wanda,” spoke the woman nearest me after she turned. She had a mocha cappuchino in her hand, made by Stenson the nice black lady that I also recall. The woman with the cappuchino was named… funny I couldn’t recall, although I’d seen her face a lot. Gertrude. I think. Jacksonia Andrews approached from the west, bringing me a pink drink that I realized I ordered all the time. It was a given. “Thank you Jacksonia,” I said as she handed it to me, cool as glacier. “Just what I needed for my aching feet.” “Haven’t you got a transplant yet?” she asked. “You’ve been talking about a transplant for forever, Wanda. Also: hadn’t seen you around in a while. We figured… we figured you were back at The Factory.”
“Feet,” I said back, trying to remember what she spoke of. I remembered her name at least. Now to the details. *This* was a factory as well, I remembered. But faces, not feet. Alice over there, sitting with new hands on old knees. I then knew, I then recalled. Not just face: feet, hands, any body part could be remodeled and redone and revitalized. I was here because of my feet. I stayed in a brownstone apartment, but not next to the officer who was looking for me. I was on a waiting list. Jenny said they could fix me up.
I poured the cool, glacial water on my feet. I had just added 5 more minutes to my stay, with a total at 7 minutes now. I had time for a couple more angles of investigation. I knew quite a bit more already. I decided to talk to Alice. She worked at the airport as some kind of receptionist. A lot of people around here worked at the various airports dotting the continent. Planes kept this landmass alive, vital. It was at the crossroads of everything.
Then I remembered *The* Crossroads, like this place had *The* Alley. 61 and 49, green and gray. Back there at the Airton airport on the mountain that is also a hill there was a gray grey laying next to me. My duplicate was being formed, but they couldn’t figure out how to move gray into green by gaining 12. They weren’t working in base 12 and remained in base 10. I had been saved so far by their more primitive mathematics. But still: time was running out.
The doctor got out of his car. He had been there all along, observing and listening, taking notes, just like me.
“I heard something about numbers. Should we be working with different numbers? Would that solve the problem?”
I hate when people get in my head like that.
(to be continued)
still life with lemons
“You see, once I get the location and then the proper people it all flows pretty freely. I usually can’t go back and edit, and if I do I usually revert it to the original language. Just clean up stuff is usually all that’s permitted, some tense correction and such — sometimes.”
“Fascinating stuff,” replied Dr. Mouse in his always slightly sarcastic tone to Collagesity town leader Jeffrey Phillips — *still* leader, despite the recent death, thanks to Wendy and the wedding vows, which have been renewed several times since. It is good that he is attached to her. “But we’re not here to talk about how you create blog posts in this here Sunklands. Instead we need to talk about the *girl*.”
Jeffrey Phillips tried to figure out which girl. He didn’t want to embarrass himself (again!). “Yes, she *is* a problem,” he decided to say.
“Problem?!” spat back Mouse. “Salvation more like it (!).” Dr. Mouse waits a beat, allowing Phillips to deliver his next line. He looks over at the top of his cane resting against the table edge. He decides to slightly suck at the roughage sticking to his teeth. Hydroponic vegetables — not his dish. Give him some red meat and a side of something else with meat in it any day. Jeffrey Phillips has obviously forgotten his lines. He glowers a bit at him, even. Shoot, he’ll have to improvise. I doubt Ronald would want to reshoot this late in the day. “Yes, like I said: *salvation*. We’re obviously talking about Ruby Alien here.” Dr. Mouse keeps staring and the actor (Jim Hayseed) through him. Go ahead and bring up *Alysha*, he simmered internally.
“I…” he sputters, “think we’re actually then talking about…”
“Alysha, right,” answers Dr. Mouse for Jeffrey Phillips. Finally back on script.
“Carrot… radishes,” Ruby Alien recites for Alysha down below, perhaps at roughly the same time as the Dr. Mouse-Jeffrey Phillips interaction one floor up but perhaps not. Maybe later in the day. Wait… Dr. Mouse was thinking back there that the shooting day was almost done. So let’s go with the “roughly the same time” framework. The light (Still Life) seems similar, etc.
“Yes, in Space you can play around with combinations, not worry about Earthly standards. And over there, a tomato pepper.” She points to the far array of plants in this particular greenhouse enclosure of the Mars or Mars-like base.
Ruby Alien glances nervously out the window into the surrounding dunes. The nearby big red mushrooms have dissolved into irresolved triangles. “The… fidgety one. He will — return?”
“Yes, don’t worry about him, Ruby my friend. My *alien* friend.”
“*Fellow* — alien,” Ruby corrected in her measured manner. She was slow but certainly not dumb. She knew she was safe — for now — in this airy place in the sky above the Angels airport. She was not lost now except to the ones she was suppose to be. Alysha had reassured her several times that the nervous policeperson outside was merely a prop, and a buffoonish one at that, ready to shoot his foot off for a certain number of guffaws. “He comes with the territory,” she said. “This airy hill or mount.”
“Cut!” Ronald shouts from the side. “Done for the day!”
“See? Right at the beginning of Frank Albert Rd. in Fife: a (robed) Freman. This is suppose to be Frank *Herbert* Rd., and perhaps in the future it will be. If the descendants of Albert agree to it. And why shouldn’t they? With some kind of compensation. We’ve been in Tacoma before? I know we have,” she answers herself. “Proctor St., I believe. Another road, a foreshadowing. Don’t you think?”
There were no blue eyes, but the resonance was still unmistakable. Speaking of which…