Sunklands 2022-2023 Winter 02


00360201

Afterwards:

“Look down there, Shelley. That’s where you’ll live; same as the color of your hair.” He dared to stroke it from behind. “That way, darling, you can come up here to the box and play any time. Anny time.”

“Shelley?” she questioned above.

—–

“Shelley,” she answered below.


00360202

Halt! Who goes there? *No* women allowed here.”

“So I’ve heard,” silkily replies Panthera the bringer of curses, perhaps the curer of curses as well or instead. Worshipper of the Tiki Gods is she. Legend.

So she made her pitch. “Your men are… sick.”

“Yeah, what of it sorceress?” Then Chebisoldier 02 realized what was being bargained, perhaps. A cure. Since the curse was already upon them.

—–

“How’s it going, Chet? What ya aiming at today?”

“Grass, the usual,” replied Chebisoldier 03, named this time, to Mr. Babyface, puffing on Red Dragon this morning. Out of Blue Pennant, pheh. He’ll run to the market later this afternoon. If he can get that gal darn company bamboo car started up. Good thing lover Greg’s a top notch mechanic; learned it in the army himself. Portrait painter of war scenes he was. Preferred green, but usually got bogged down in red. So many casualties in the Trojan-Durexian affair. And now: here. Jeogeot Gulf. Perpetual war, that’s what the leaders here proclaimed. We must end war by never ending war. Chinese finger trap, pardons to the Chinese. Small cylinder made up of woven bamboo — appropriate.

Babyface knew this was Interrogation Day, when the local leaders vowed to get to the bottom of the camp’s curse, why most of the men are sick if not dying of some mysterious malady none of the regular doctors ’round here seem to know the origin or meaning of.

Perhaps it was all about those masks the natives gave them as a base warming present, they said. Hang them all around! they urged cheerfully, Durxerian aligned smiles like masks themself. Good luck all around, then! they proclaimed.

And free bamboo to use too for construction and decoration, hmmm. I’m beginning to smell a rat. The whole place may have to be torched.

Not knowing any better, Mr. Babyface and his mate Greg, sometimes with a 3rd g to add to the 2 already there, walked into all this with blinders on, ready for art not action. “Paint *anywhere*,” the leaders said to Greg after his stint was over at the bloody battles up the coast, not wanting to tax him too far. “Relax and head for our Xilted base if you want.” Green! Return of green, he thought, knowing the story of those emerald hills (now with grass!) from childhood and perhaps even before beyond.

They weren’t sick yet but they were stuck. Mr. Babyface decides to get into solving the mystery himself, to save his own hide if nothing else, his and Greg’s. Another fear: Greg may turn into Gregg if he becomes too ill, frustration setting in. What if he can’t paint green and turns green himself? Much to worry about there (bloodbath returns).

(to be continued)


what it all builds up from… and down from for that matter

“Looks like you’ve had some kind of adventure, Uncle of mine.”

“I have. But it’s all pretend.”

“Right. Bringing it to me, I suppose. Why I’m here.”

“Welll…” Mr. Babyface settles back into the bargain bin couch, wishing he’d bought up a little more to avoid the oh-too-soon broken springs, ow. One in his ribs right now. “Let’s say,” he continued, light bulb over his head now, “you’re here, staying with me, because of a local rock concert, say a progressive group right down there at the base of the peninsula, at the, what’s its name?”

“Dunno, Uncle.”

“Ah, heck. Progressive Rock Museum, but that’s not the name of the venue.”

“I’m okay with Progressive Rock Venue if you are.”

“Alright,” relented Babyface. “But you’re here because of that, say, supergroup Yes, which we both love, although we have a separate list of favorite albums. Yours is…”

“‘Close to the Edge’, ‘Relayer’, and ‘Going for the One’.”

“Yes, and mine would be ‘Fragile’, ‘Yes Album’ and ‘Topographic Oceans’.”

Peter winces. “‘Topographic Oceans’,” he says with some derision. “Bloated.”

“Okay, okay, let’s not get into that argument again. We agree to disagree. We’re talking about loving the same *group* anyway. It’s like we like the same forest but not the same trees or clump of trees — something.”

“Okay, my Uncle.”

“And we need to keep in touch more. You’re not even real here. You’re just in my head.”

“Sorry, Uncle. I’m busy. Winning tennis tournaments for one. You haven’t even congratulated me on my latest. Plus the comedy — another thing we differ on…”

“… but are also the same, yes yes. Firesign Theatre.”

“‘Bozos’!” shouted Peter Ladd.

“‘Dwarf’!” countered Mr. Babyface to his thought-to-be estranged nephew playfully. They would hug each other in the moment if they weren’t so maladjusted. It was just the families, their upbringing. Both kind of square pegs in round holes. Just so thankful, thought Babyface here, that Peter was born with a normal head, phew! Which brings us back to conception.

“Tell me about Shamot, Peter, how you got here. I’ve been thinking about the Big Schwa lately.”

“Big E!” shouted Peter, making his Uncle Babyface smile but not as much as before. This was more serial stuff, as the young’n’s might put it.

—–

So they pried themselves away from watching the blog on TV and went upstairs to stare at it from different sides, different angles, to ponder what Mr. Babyface had surmised earlier. “Shamot on top of course,” he reminded Peter. “Closest hit in the Oracle is Shamokin PA, but with a pinch of collage magic we can create one of those 2-n-1’s… that you hate so much.”

“Stop it, Uncle. We’re not enemies.”

“I know, sorry.” But look… I’ll project it on the screen downstairs when we return.”

“What else while we’re here?”

He pivoted the Big E around until the proper side was facing his nephew, turning it into a Big Schwa. He was seeing from his Uncle’s perspective now.

“Orgas, Peter,” recited Mr. Babyface on another closest Oracle hit, this time for the sim of Orgamast, label right in front of Peter’s eyes. He reloads his pipe, Blue Pennant this time; so satisfying. “Orgasm, obviously (puff puff). And there’s also an Organ Cave population place in the same state of West Virginie. The Lordshore-Orgamast Floor is the lowest level of the Kidd Tower here (next to the Lebettu Castle). Lordshore also begins with LO.”

“What are you getting at, Uncle?”

“Let’s go back to the couch.”

—–


Shamokin > Shamon

“Shamon… from the inn… place of thorns. This is where it happened.”

“What happened?” Then Peter realized what his Uncle was talking about. “Ooooh.”

Mr. Babyface thought of a joke here but wisely decided not to mouth it.


sole mates

The bottle was flying all about the table outside but Edward was use to it.

Jem exhaled, looked around. “So this is the fabulous Hotel Adriano in Shamon.” Peter Ladd was born here, or at least conceived here, she thought, his parents like rabbits at the time. Why they’re here.

On his part, Edward, her Eddy, brought her to this place for another reason. They weren’t married, but if Edward had his way they soon would be, powers or no. He felt the ring case in his pocket press hard against his thigh. Had to be the perfect time to reveal. Not now… not with the bottle and all. It was flying faster and faster it seemed, with quirky motions like some kind of bug. Distracting. It’s even threatening his head a bit now.

“Dear,” he finally relented. And pointed.

“Oh, yes. I almost forget it’s there these days. Been a while since I’ve had my powers. Ever since…since…”

“Duck?” Edward Daigle offered.

“Yes,” said Jem, remembering the event. She even lost her ability to walk properly, or at least the others had told her that. She went past the 4th wall.

The bottle vanished before Edward’s eyes but only because she moved it somewhere else. “Good to be back on Jeogeot. I… was made here too. Just like Peter.”

“Peter?” Edward questioned, making Jem realize that Edward didn’t know about all that. Wrong probable reality. Besides, he knew she was made in “Gunpowder” (post) set in Dodgey City in photo-novel 31. She is a product of that town, restated and re-angled at the first of the current photo-novel, 36 in a series. In-between, yes, she was in Towerboro on the Jeogeot continent, and Edward was with her there. But she also made appearances in now defunct Ontario without him. Instead there: John. Definitely *not* a hairstylist or hairstyle. Edward knew that now fer sure.

Time for the present, which turned out to be presents. Edward grasped the ring case in his pocket at the same time Jem grasped the just manifested book in her lap. “I have something for–” they both said in unison, then laughed. “You go…” offered Jem, temporarily releasing the book and getting ready to accept whatever was coming across the table. “No, you,” said Edward back, trying to be more conscious of manners and act like a normal person for her.


He wish he hadn’t. He transformed his own present into a joke about 2 horses who couldn’t finish a race because they turned into rats, the ring remaining deep deep deep in his pocket after the one-eyed book was produced. Still Jem seemed pleased.

(to be continued)


Ichetucknee

“I really like it here, Eddy. The motel, the view of the Ichelus Volcano over there. Look! It seems to be erupting again.”

This made Edward, her Eddy, think of another eruption earlier. Couldn’t wait. “Hmm,” he said, also looking, also pretty impressed.

“Have you had a chance to crack the book yet, Eddy? I know we’ve been awfully busy,” and she winks here, “but I did go to a lot of trouble to get it for you.”

“Tessa,” he replied, starting to think of his cousin, 1 in a set of 3. The other…

“Yes.”

“I started reading the first chapter,” he said, which was truth, or at least he checked the title of the chapter to make sure it was the right book. ‘Marbles Fall, Marble Falls.’ He could have swore it was the other way around, but probably just a faulty memory. Close enough — it was the same, he determined.

“Newton,” she said, recalling her own reading of the cursed thing. “Physical world, mechanics. *No* dreams. Right there in the first chapter, stating it all plain and simple up front. We *live*… in Newton.”

“But we need Jasper,” he completed her thought. He tried to recall his dreams from last night, after all the frantic activity was over, like a volcano shutting down. Took some time. He remembers the lava turning cool and changing colors from orange to blue. Ichelus in reality, but in the dream it was something different. Itchy? No that wasn’t it.

“Be careful of the marble rolling off. We’ve already lost one.” I was just kidding about the cracking, she wanted to say but didn’t have the chance. Open *gently*.

We? Edward thought on his part. Why did she say that? “Right, I will.”

“Miss Ouri has it.”

“Yes. I recall.”

“We don’t want Miss Ouri to be involved again. Cactus doll.”

“Yes,” he replied. That ravenous, mutant cactus doll. Brought to life by library voodoo. No, we don’t want that (again). Stick with Nauty if you want pincushions. *Under* the library — around it but not inside.

“I would really like to see the volcano today,” Jem requested. “I mean, up close and personal,” she clarified while looking out the window again. “Not like this — from a distance.”

“I understand,” and then another memory locked into place. He was tubing in the lava that wasn’t lava any longer.

(to be continued)


ducks (again)

Jem says go again. Eddy says no again. But they do (again).

Eddy doesn’t make it this time, unless its Jem. Both, neither. Wheeeeee!

“Look out for that rock, Jem!!!” Eddy calls. “Look out for that!!!…”

(to be continued)


foursquare

“Appear.”

But, panning out, he did see something. Might have been an oversized coconut, might not have. Nobody around except himself. Bobbing in the water right in that corner, emphasizing it.

Hmm, no coconuts falling *now*. “Fousquare,” eh?

—–

*Here* they come!

—–

“The little pool with its rim of rocks must have been specifically designed to catch the falling coconuts for some reason, W.”

“You know the reason.”


matching

Jem, in her place, saw something trapped and bobbing around the water in front of her as well. Not a coconut this time — that would be too obvious, right? (or redundant) But something more unusual in design. A face!


On a rotating ovoid or egg-like thingie. Another one in the water just below, a duplicate of the first. But — here’s the thing — *right* on the Heart Line of the Heterocera Continent I was reexamining today in tandem with a re-reading of photo-novel 13, where everything was readjusted in a way. The almost 1/2 sim property’s title is Kii’Wik Sanctuary, with a description as follows: “Settled by refugees from the Amazon Jungle, Kii’Wik Sanctuary’s a place for creating, learning & relaxing.” The more immediate prompt for exploring this particular part of the Heart Line first outlined in 13 is the parcel’s logo: a red hand, not quite a red palm, as in palm reading, but close enough to do the trick, perhaps. To explain this and complete the loop: Heart Line, as well as the complementary Head Line also forming a diagonal line across the continent, are named for 2 prominent hand lines (Heart and Head) used for soothsaying in palm reading. The whole continent then becomes symbolic of a gigantic hand.

Very close to something…


above and below

—–

And then 2 more about 15 meters away inside a cave behind the waterfalls — and, again, *right on the Heart Line*. How coincidental. Both underwater in this case, but not twirling around madly like the first pair found. Very slow and calm rotation instead, matching the tranquil nature of the pool.


Looking back, Jem here is as close to the southeast corner of the sim (Ufeus) as she can physically get within the confines of the cave (3/4), with the underwater pair directly in front of her at 10/10 or so, and then the first pair at 20/20 or thereabouts. All on the Heart Line passing through the sim, indicated by matching longitude and latitude lines measured in meters from its western and southern boundaries starting at 0/0 and ending at 256/256. The symmetry begs the question: What lies at 30/30, 40/40, and 50/50 and so on? Jem explores this.

This strangely uprooted pair of palm trees at 105/105 certainly caught her attention. Palms again.

(to be continued)


spirals

He didn’t understand what he was seeing here, then he did. He didn’t like it. This was brainwashing. But to what side? he questioned. The viewer (he turned)? Or the viewed?

Then he spotted the house. And the occupants.

Ouroboros. One and the same.

Which led him to here.


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I occasionally stop by here, a house to the south of Chilbo on the Jeogeot continent, to check and see if my star is still there on the porch where I put it, oh, say about a year ago by this point. Owner of the house and attached property is a bigfoot researcher, like myself.:) Guy named Snow. And the creator of the star is also a Snow — small world, or so they say. The first Snow is also co-owner of Roberts and Franklin Investigators in Towerboro on the same continent.

Has Robin Williams pic and quote in his profile, thus the decision to place the star here. Williams was a big fan of Firesign Theatre. And a couple of years back, in the sim of Moork, I found a small parcel owned by Uh Clem, a name derived from one on their “Bozos” album already mentioned in this photo-novel by Peter Ladd, nephew of Mr. Babyface. Tonight I found an Ahclem avatar in the same group as the person who owns the Ouroboros property seen in the last part of my last post here (and who has a Firesign Theatre quote in his profile). And, to remind, Shelley Struthers, an all important character now, extraordinarily so, is based on a Shelly I found in Our Second Lyfe who is also a big fan of Firesign Theatre (another one of their quotes in her profile; is, like myself, a member of the only Our Second Lyfe Firesign Theatre group I know of) and whose apartment she has owned for at least several years lies directly on the triple number of Hooktip, on the Head Line of the Heterocera continent. Keep in mind that we just found more oddities on the Heart Line, its matching diagonal from that particular continent. You can get a glimpse of what I’m working with, all the connections. It is, indeed, a Matrix.

But I believe I know what’s on top of the box now. And the bottom. Nautilus, my *home* continent now (not Jeogeot, not Heterocera) is at the bottom. Top is Reality: an approximately 10×10 mile square in the middle of Ringgold County in the south of Iowa. And then they begin to interpenetrate.


staying on track (enjoy!)

With all the going back and forth in time it’s always good to remember the present, the gift that keeps on giving.

Merry Christmas from all the toys at “Hello I Must Be Going” Aloha! (it’s still there!)


place of honor

“You are heart, I am spade, I get it.”

“Balancing point,” replied Shelley.

“Liz,” said Arthur, making her nod. “Both polarities in one.”

“Decision time,” spoke Shelley. “Heterocera or Nautilus or even somewhere else.”

“Looks like Heterocera made a move.” He looked at the painting again, the signature. Selen. Like the sim Selenia they had been investigating before stumbling upon this gallery and this exhibit (“Junction Points”) through Minnow.

“And the Heart Line Jem has been inspecting,” reminded Shelley to Arthur, her former boyfriend, her current husband. In the vast majority of Our Second Life, if not Morgan. But the town of Morgan (Orient PO) was dead. Probably all for the best.

“Baker said he missed Rubi, the woods. This is kind of a way to go back.”

“Nautilus is it,” Shelley stood firm, not ready to give up her castle. She had invested a lot by now. Plus the link to Iowa. She said this to Arthur.

“No option for the rebirth of Collagesity in Fordham, I’m afraid,” Arthur continued as Devil’s advocate.

“No, Arthur. That probably won’t happen. Even though *I’m* still there.”

“You and Franklin.”

Shelley paused before replying. A package had come yesterday for her thought-to-be assimilated tall, green friend. Roberts — Christmas present. She reached for it across the tracks. It contain (as Franklin described it afterwards) the Gang of Willard that blog owner Baker had taken away from her, like a misguided surgeon. Roberts bought it back. And brought it back.

“Franklin is gone,” she said, making Arthur arch his eyebrow.

“Baker won’t be happy,” he said.

“Baker can go to f-ing *hell*.”

“Hmmm.” Arthur looked over. The Retro Backless Dress below the steaming face seemed to fit. *She* was a throwback, non-mesh to name one aspect of that. She was closer to the Lemony Past than most people would suspect if they took her in surfacely. This box has depth, this box has a top and a bottom. Okay, she said Nautilus — stay on Nautilus. Must get back to that.

—–

Yellowmoon, Corsica continent:

“Here, Arthur. This is about Nautilus and its lemony past. Just that easy.”

—–


more of Yellowmoon and the Ephant peninsula (while I’m here)…

The Ember Botanical Institute where Barry DeBoy met with Andy Warhole, Ant, and Harrison Jett back in photo-novel 21 to talk about art and some other stuff is still there. Strangely I find myself banned from the property. Description reads: “… dedicated to corvid murder survival training, Rothko appreciation, neuroaugmentation, and antifascist remote viewing.” Seems I’ll never find out more of the story of the place now.

And, moving to the western edge of the same ridge — in Motocyclone this time — Ant’s castle (Ant Castle) is still around, apparently, greatly enlarged and painted black now, like himself. Could be more stories awaiting us here…

Barry’s old art studio just down the hill from it remains intact as well, hmmm.

Wheeler could go back to the EB Institute if not me; same for Bracket. Heck, same for Hucka Doobie the Bee, Baker Blinker, etc. — any of the core avatars except myself, Baker Bloch.

And then there’s that interesting seaside Japanese town centered in Mortons Gully below the Motocyclone peak where we’ve already seen several blog characters (Golden Jim, Marty, The Mann, maybe others) milling about in.

Closest Oracle match for that here:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mortons_Gap,_Kentucky


108/108/108

“Just staring at a bamboo wall in Perch-Mistletoe. How about you?”

Reply.

“Amazon, eh?”

Reply.

“Oh. *Amagon*.”

Reply.

“Seaweed, huh?”

Reply.

“Well, sounds pretty. Bracket with you?”

—–

It was the last person he suspected while being the first person he suspected, Big Loop completed. Hucka Doobie.

“Triangle of lights,” he said, looking on. Fully a man now, transfer complete.


Krazy and Kooky fer sure

The 2 “PLACE”s in the following July 2019 images don’t have anything do with each other except they’re both located in Mortons Gap, KY, lie on opposite sides of the same block in an e-w direction, and use apparently the same type of font and letter placement (notice the similarly askew “L” in each case). The first, with the red “C”, is a restaurant, perhaps now defunct (M & J’s Place). The second is a church (Place of Grace, with the “o” missing in “of”, you’ll notice — another “different” letter), also seemingly defunct now. Chance I come across this match just casually checking out the downtown area through Google Maps Street View? Maybe. We’ll go with maybe.

But I suspect not.

Moving out into the country a bit and continuing the playfulness, we have this tall farmer out in a field, perhaps surveying his land.

Let’s zoom in closer.

OMG. Where are his arms?? And that head!!


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“Welcome.”

She stepped out of the box, this “Wilson Fox”, exposed at the core. Looked back. “Cute,” she said of the stuffed fox on top. “Why am I here?” She was enjoying the slumber, but she’d been called out.

“We have to help Hucka Bee.” Plain and simple. No “Doo” in the middle any more. Thanks to Amagon.

“Okay… how?” It was here that Fox probably remembered she was Shelley.

Baker, in the guise of Wolvie here, put images in her head from the last several blog posts. He wanted perspective from a different angle. Female would do the trick, he supposed.

“Mortons Gap, eh?”

Baker/Wolvie nodded. “Although we could also start in nearby Chapel Vile. I checked. The small village in the shadow of Yellowmoon Ridge is still intact.”

“Fearzom,” Shelley/Fox added to this.

“Another option I suppose. Although the castle, Harrison Jett’s, isn’t there any longer. The actual owner came along and deleted it. I think I’ve been banned from the property as well, ha. ‘Nother one.”

“Ha.”

“But Ant’s Castle (Ant Castle) is still present, bigger and blacker. As black as his exoskeleton.”

“Does he have a phone?” logically asked Fox, since he is the purported inventor of the device. “Can’t we just ring him up again?”

“Do you have–” But Baker/Wolvie stopped. He remembered that here — Our Second Lyfe — you just press all the numbers on your phone and you’re connected with whoever you’re suppose to be in the moment. Except 4. Unless you want to dial The Moon.

“I know *you* have a phone. You called me up earlier on it. Yesterday, I think. From that 108/108/108 spot in Perch-Mistletoe. Amazing.”

Yes. In his back pocket. He pulled it out, dialed all the numbers except 1 (4). No Moon this time. “Hallo?” came the ordinary voice on the other end but which was actually Insectoid in translation, as all Ant’s calls were.

—–

“Tell you what, lemme call you back. Kind of in the middle of something.” *click*

But Baker/Wolvie had received answers in the short convo they had. Ant was not at his old location in Motocyclone. Instead he was at Fearzom, just below the granite peak that formerly housed rival Harrison Jett’s Princess Castle. He moved to the mountain after Harrison left, having a free place to stay. Plus his own former castle plot had been taken over by another, who deemed it a “place of power”. Just who this unnamed other is we’ll soon find out.

(to be continued)


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Ant suddenly stood up. “Eureka!”

“I’m right here,” protested bath mate Eureka. “No need to shout.”

“No, um. I’ve had a revelation.”

“Oh?” (suds suds suds)

“Well?”

“Dang. Forgot… distracted.” He watched her raise the other leg now.

“Well sit back down and I’ll suds you up this time. Come here.”

“Alright. Maybe it will (suds suds suds) come back to me.” He suddenly stood up again, backwards from the first. “Back!” he exclaimed.


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