Merking about
“Ahh, my Queen approaches!”
“Just *stop* it,” he heard through the water and mask.
retired, 2nd foothold (between black and white)
“So here we are again. Water. Mask. But you hear me clear as a belle.”
“So pretty here,” Baker Bloch deflects, emphasizing the so so much he shows up. “Oh… hello.”
“Hello,” Peter Soso says cheerfully to his side, just glad to be a part of the action again.
“Always someone between us, Baker Bloch,” she says in response to the manifestation. “And look. Now Prissy has arrived. Just because I said *that*.”
“Hello,” Prissy says daintily in her octave higher register. Both arrivals merpeople, both in love. Unlike Baker and Wheeler who are faking it at best. Instead (for them), a Prime Minister-Queen relationship, with no King involved. Unless Axis-Tropp counts. And I suppose he does, at least up to two.
“We’re back to square one,” Wheeler who is not a mermaid exudes, joined feet a false narrative. Likewise for the male Baker. “257.”
“We’re just off the coast of Alien Island and that is something to hold onto,” he says. “We’re on another lead. We’re still in the Wild–”
“Don’t say it,” she requests, thinking of Adam. And his own Eve. She postulates: Baker took over. About 2016 or 2017. About the time of the first third photo-novel. Passed the baton. That’s perhaps the only reason why we’re *here*, at this far point in The Pattern. On the Shoulders of Giants, she also ponders. Time to give something back.
“Someone else approaches,” topmost Prissy says, her head strangely merged with the surrounding kelp, weed in sea talk.
Just later:
“It looks like, sir,” Peter proclaims, “that you are still trapped in black, at least a byte.”
He took my hat! Baker thinks instead of correcting him with “bit.”
Alien Beach (specifics)
“Well, Wheeler. There it is. Alien Island. The new foothold.”
“And here we are, still not together, still not a couple, Peter and Prissy swum away to some secluded haven in the sea.”
“He stole my hat!” Baker Bloch exclaims again, this time aloud.
“Indeed.” She noted it was back. Did *he* notice?
“What… do you make of it?”
“Do you know what hat stealing means? Hat removal?” she rephrases.
“Umm.”
“You know.”
“Sex?” he guesses, then realizes the obvious. “Ted Bear,” he says, segueing into Wheeler’s new train of thought.
“About this time in the past,” she began, “we showed a film. ‘3 Friends of Belleville.’ Remember?”
Baker thought back to a Table meeting that seemed far far away, almost hidden in time if it weren’t for memory reinforcements; continual; eating through time like sideways ants. “Yes. We could have moved backwards from Belleville into Billville: ‘Billfork’. But we instead moved forward.”
“‘Pumpkineaters,’ yes,” Wheeler agreed, and then studied the shore again in front of them. Not looking back, not looking *black*.
Baker thought about Mabel, how happy she was. *Wait*. That wasn’t it. “Wilson Wheeler?” he said, testing her name. She didn’t answer. Her task for the night seemed done.
00320204
“Perhaps it’s not Alien Island but *Allen* Island.”
“Maybe.”
“Picture this, ahem: Allen Yellow, our “Alien, Yellow” from novel 13, actually got to marry his friend Jennifer he met at Misty MO and now they live here, at this condo tower. The island is named for him — he owns it, or mostly does.”
“Perhaps,” she reinforces, thinking they have other locations to focus on now. They have a name, whether it’s Alien or Allen.
“Maybe he accepts the name Allen — I think he actually does this in 13. He dons a helmet that has an extra pair of eyes and which makes him look like a frog, a big yellow frog.” He turns to look in *her* eyes, trying to determine a color. Green? Blue? They could argue about it all night and then wake up the next morning and start over again. She better take it from here…
“Do you love me still, Allen the yellow alien? My Alien, Yellow (snicker)?”
He couldn’t hear anything in that helmet but she knew he did.
—–
He tried not to look in her eyes, knowing the paradox lie there, the stuff of irreality. Instead he focused on the mission.
“What,” he starts, “does he know?”
“He swallowed the frog to Prince story hook line and sinker,” Jennifer M. Friend stated proudly. They were hiding out behind the office, away from prying eyes down at the beach, Allen’s included. He was busy with the book she recommended. A tome about Prince Isles formerly Frog Isles. And without any frogs atall, apparently. They vanished overnight! How could it be?
“He thinks,” speaks Dickie Doom playing the part of Archibald now, “the helmet is needed?”
“He’s worried he’s going to lose his frog-like nature as well. So he wears it all the time now to keep an eye on it. I sometimes turn down the volume on his ‘ears’, just so I can speak to him without him knowing, a kind of sounding board — bounce ideas off of him that he doesn’t need to know about or understand.”
Dickie Doom/Archibald doesn’t respond any more since his allotted 10 words are up. We’ll see if he has anything to add to this in the next post (checking).
No. He doesn’t.
putting the hat back on
She was back on the beach taking over the responsibility of reading *his* book while Allen floated in the sea a bit. Yellow floatie — instant attractor; which then placed similarly yellow Jennifer on his former beach towel. Archibald was not needed no longer since she had absorbed all he had to offer. She bid him well, departing with, “have fun with yourself,” knowing he already loved her a bit too. She had that effect, with the eyes and all, 9 to 10 legs, etc., etc. Perfection, she says to herself, not being boastful but just honest, she thought.
She wondered how chapter 1 could be in the almost exact middle of the book but there it was.
She read about a happily married couple who happened to be nudists and were about to join a related swingers club but for good, noble reasons and not the usual ones. They were trying to solve a crime, a murder, puzzle pieces still being arranged and put together. They then stare at red.
cities
On her break, she liked to come to this park in the middle of it all to read her latest red book, this Lorsters Worst lady of the night. No sex in the book, since she needed to get away from all that which surrounded her like stardust glitter. Here: good solid plants. Earth. Grounded, she was. But break’s about over and the man with the big blue RAM truck with the souped up engine she didn’t quite understand the workings of had just killed his current adversary, the one who kidnapped his Damsel in Distress who was the same as his wife. These were no swingers. Really. That phony lifestyle got them in trouble but there was no sex involved in their interactions with the Charlotte club. Why would he allow that? she thinks for the character, the retired policeman who was now a private dick. That would be his, ahem, *unit* thinking for him, which needed to remain private.
—–
I think back to when I met the guy, in a Cassandra City establishment called Big Dick’s Halfway Inn.
He sat in relative darkness in the corner of the lobby, waiting for me it seemed. Probably was. I was an older man at the time, which means the same age as currently down to the month, day, minute. I asked him if he was the name on the establishment. He scooted forward, removed his crossed hands and revealed himself, said he was that in the flesh. I turned away, having seen enough. Biff Carter was his name. I remember that clearly. I also recall the hotel was full that evening, and I ended up sleeping in the chair opposite him in the lobby. He removed himself sometime — I don’t recollect when. Gabby (clerk) returned about midnight from his looong long lunch break, as he called it (another break!), woke me up, and after gabbing quite a bit about unrelated topics said I couldn’t stay here. Then he recognized me from the band — we were playing at Shenanigans at the time — and changed his mind, said it was okay instead. He later wrote me, after I had acquired much greater fame and also fortune, that he regretted that night with all his soul. Should have kicked someone out and given you their room, he said, but still didn’t say who.
Actually, now I’m recalling an earlier incarnation, involving another red door ta boot. Wendell “Biff” Carter yes. Just retired from the police force, check (after the Oakley Annie debacle: see case-file 37-QZ). Returned to the force briefly when former fellow cop Philburt got sick on pill, but the debacle that caused him trouble in the first place resurfaced in an unexpected guise (Orkley Andy: see follow-up case-file 38-AP). It was as if he was circling back on himself in an endless loop. He needed to break out. Buying half of a small hotel in the Queen City of the South seemed a recipe for success. But then came the swingers.
Could have been recently deceased Jer Ronamy from Starfish Lake Gabby wanted to kick out but I’m not entirely sure. Have to check the old hotel registers sometime if possible.
(to be continued)
starting over a second (life) time
That day I dreamed I was a red headed (instead of red dressed) girl named Wendy waiting on Carter to come save me from my heavily treed island-prison, I want to call it. Instead all I got were pirates, who carted me around the continent like some kind of cargo to be put on display. Nautilus still, but I don’t remember Lorsters Worst coming into play. Maybe I avoided the absolute bottom of it. Lucky dream self. Keep on dreaming, Elisa, for it’s time to work in an hour, I said to myself while eating my Toasty O’s for breakfast which functioned as supper for most. They’re up to 9 sided now, which I think officially, undeniably qualifies for the running-out-of ideas/going-too-far territory. I wipe the bit of crumbs from my bathrobe while standing and move to the closet to retrieve my dress, thinking of red again.
Just then, back in the dream, Wendy sees a shark fin in the water beside the pirate ship pulling in, and takes it as a sign that the worst is yet to come, pheh. Blue, black and red bearded men jump out of the ship as one.
insane focus?
“I haven’t forgot about you,” Baker Bloch reassured Baker Blinker as they play a strange duet, uninhibited by time and space. “It’s just…”
“… things have become complicated, I know,” she finishes for him, still on the same page.
They share a memory.
Boss’ seat can’t be sat upon. Ferns harvested from a larger wall and merged together into a smaller one.
Duo. Wallonia. https://modemworld.me/2021/08/21/get-out-in-second-life/ http://virtualinsanitysl.blogspot.com/2011/11/insanefocus-exhibition.html
In Hrosskell below Erik beside Leif, Baker Blinker stands.
00320209
Tomorrow I head again to Fern Wall, Delta, and Mystery Cave, which is not really a cave unless you were, say, shorter than high grass. Report soon.
filed under: Get Out!
pointer
2 galleries spotted near each other in the now huge Belliseria landmass otherwise pretty berift of such according to the SL Galleries inworld map.
Visited one to left. No gallery. I’ll provide a picture with interface. Suppose to be, according to the map again, Shakti Studio, located on 152224 Rollingstone Parkway. Notice through the About Land dialog box I opened up that the property is owned by an avatar originally known as lifeisahard.rhode, with crucifix like crosses in her changed name.
The gallery near it, an actual one this time presently featuring the duo calling themselves Insane Focus, is the location we just visited 2 posts back with the wall of ferns, etc.
More soon…
the process or result of joining two or more things together to form a single entity
He decided to kneel in front of the crucifix and pray for a plot to manifest before him. Or around him — couldn’t hurt. Wheeler, who seems to have reverted to Wendy, a thought of obsolete character she plays — red headed — is *trapped*, perhaps by pirates. On this continent. Nautilus. It seems we go 2 steps forward then 1 back. Or is it the other way around? Both (he realizes). Wheeler Wilson is also Wilson Wheeler. Black is White, in a yin yang fashion. FUSION. That’s where they took her, these pirates. I realized I had to send another agent out there. Let’s see, who we got (in the closet)? Joey “The Venusian” Avatar is still working on that case over at Long Island. Where are we on that? Must have a meeting of the agents to keep up to date with the most recent information. Then Dickie Doom — and Debbie Doom; Dickie recently met with Jennifer M. Friend on Alien Island which seems to be a mispelling of Allen Island — misspelling — just like in the Oracle. And the Oracle is kind of back (!), death knells premature.
Baker stands as they go off again outside. Death for others if not himself, he knows. What is this world coming to?
—–
They reconvene down at Manolis on this small Greek paradise isle, a restaurant specializing in soups and subs in no particular order. They talk after ordering, sub for Baker Blinker and, of course, soup for Baker Bloch to balance everything out. “Someone will have to get married — again,” he puts forth in the brainstorming event.
“Axis and Wheeler, pheh. We tried that. 2 steps back 1 step forward. Then 2 steps forward and one back.”
“Yeah I recall,” Baker Bloch responds, thinking of the inky black car that needed to be manifest at the time for traction. Ratmobile or something. Black and evil whatever. Tropp and Treelor never stood a chance. Tropp! Baker then thinks, and says the name aloud for the female version of his type, his kind.
“Possibility,” spoke Baker Blinker before him. “I’ve been in Wheeler’s shoes, you know. I understand what it feels to be trapped. You, as a man, just don’t understand.” She looked around the joint, and all the men with their open mouths eating food, their lip smacking. “Might as well be *all* pirates,” she summarized her feelings in the moment.
“You are me and I am you,” Baker said, and even reached across the table to hold her hands, look steady in her eyes. “You are a beautiful girl.”
“Why thank you (!)”. This cheered her up. Suddenly the mouths were far away. She was thin, very thin, but that was just her build. And tall. Thank you! she thought again in her head. I’m beautiful too, she realized. Just not what, er, Axis wanted. Axis? Tropp? They had to make a decision about the groom.
Baker Bloch briefly thinks that he and Blinks should get married instead, revisiting an old subject that she pushed in early days, before the realization that they were closer than husband and wife, closer than brother and sister. They were one. True fusion indeed (already). He let go of her hands as the brainstorming continued.
newfound lands
Apologies to the reader: I couldn’t get a decent shot of Fern Wall or Fern Hole today. I certainly will return there and take additional photos on perhaps an overcast day, bringing out the colors more.
Moving on to Delta, then, just to the north, just up the cliff path following the River. In checking today, it kind of is a true delta, with the small stream at the head of it splitting into 2 smaller streams there, one proceeding down the southern side to the River, and the other following the northern border of the flat, triangular piece of land to same. So that’s North Branch, we’ll call it — and I guess this makes the feeder stream merely Branch to simplify — and South Branch, with River defining the 3rd side, or base, of the thing.
Below is a picture of a ruined tent near its center. Someone must have camped here for a while. Mystery Person. Or someone wanted to *indicate* that a person stayed here, hmm.
The Delta also contains several small trees (have to check what kind) with cow bones littered around their base. More symbols? Delta as location of the dead?
It just occurred to me that the site may have been manufactured. I’ll ponder on that strange idea further. The Delta may have been created, but perhaps not by man. Maybe humanoid but maybe not man.
Then it’s on to Mystery Cave this fair day, just north of Delta and visible from anywhere on its triangular territory. As I think I stated, I don’t believe this is a real cave, although I still haven’t examined the “mouth” (dark crevasse anyway) up close. Maybe tomorrow, slated to be another beautiful day in the NC mountains.
Appropriately, mysterious paths are found on the cliffs surrounding Mystery Cave, adding to the mystique of the location in general, Fern Hole/Wall, Delta, and Mystery Cave in toto. Oddly shaped trees, etc….
… with the etc. now including what appears to be a Monolith, again from the distance. I will also check this up close tomorrow, but on my hike today it clearly stuck out as peculiar. If it truly turns out to be worthy of the moniker Monolith then the person who camped on the Delta perhaps just turned into Erik. Or Eric. Or perhaps his son.
More soon.
we know what will happen (this is part of Nautilus too)
Baker Bloch eats alone, Baker Blinker having excused herself to take her sub down to the beach. They’re apart again. When will the joining together occur once more? Soup’s getting cold. Better force yourself to take another bite. Spoon down… spoon up. There ya go (*slurp*).
—–
Later:
What’s he pointing to, Baker thinks while mimicking the gesture then following the indication.
Maybe this…
00320214
A triangle of rocks before Fern Wall, before reaching the Delta, even further before the Mystery Cave, as we’ll still call it. I had the impression that 3 “tribes” meet here to talk of differences and similarities. Some kind of wood entities I’m talking about here. Just up the path from another rock I call Guidance which marks the boundary between known and unknown for most. Not me, though. Not any more. I’ve gotten *that* far.
Deeper into what most still call the Unknown but which I’m dubbing Newfound Lands. That tent on the Delta owned by Erik or Erik’s son, who knows Stan who knows Jim who knows Tom. Interesting colors — blue and yellow. 2 colors which are on a lot of people’s minds these days. And Baker Bloch last night purchased a freebie blue and yellow tent in the game that is Our Second Lyfe, along with a similarly 2 toned balloon and, let’s see, I think I got a Ukrainian sleeping bag as well in the deals. A lot of the world — and the unknown — is about coordination of symbols through space and time. Maybe all of it. Whatever we call him (or her), this Erik *did* camp at the relatively remote Delta and left his tent behind as a marker. I just happen to find it during a conflict between Ukraine and a bullying neighbor, cities and towns left in shambles just like this tent. The Delta represents an obvious center to my Newfound Lands and one I’ll keep going back to for more symbol gathering I’m sure. Most likely.
Mystery Cave now, perched high on a cliff above Delta. To my surprise a bit, there’s an actual opening here that, oh say a man (or woman) just shorter than high grass could amble through without stooping his (or her) head. Just saying. Really, it was a remarkable crevasse — again I’ll come back to it soon with more pics and stories. This little person who went inside the mouth — name was Carter, like our Biff. We have that much.
At Mystery Cave looking down on the Delta. You can see almost its whole triangular surface from this pic, River to left, South Branch at top, and then North Branch just hidden by the downslope in the foreground. Branch (feeding both North and South at western point of the triad) just off picture to the right. Another glorious day in the mtns. by the way, with temps in the lower to mid 60s. Again this is a pretty remote location. Quiet except for the highway about two miles off to the south. I’m so curious about the Delta camper now, but all I have are symbols and signs. No way to know who it actually is, and perhaps that’s the point. Filling in the picture of the unknowable.
And I’ve saved the best for last: more photos of that Monolith thingie just up the hill from the cave. It’s not quite as big as I expected up front and close, but it’s certainly still Monolith-y with its jutting position, rectangular appearance, and thin depth. I still believe it’s, let’s say, “man-made”. More on that soon too.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monolith_(Space_Odyssey)
Fusion or thereabouts
“Over there is the Greek isle. And beyond it: Dub’s Jungle. They *know*. But, after all, this is a part of Nautilus too I suppose.”
He looks around at his tent site. “Wheeler?”
It’s so beautiful here, so compact, thinks Tom, still looking for Stan but allowing time to take pictures during the search too. Maybe Jim would know the whereabouts of Stan, since he is a friend of both. Tom doesn’t know Stan as well, but Stan owes him money. How much? one may ask. 5 dollars? 50 dollars? Enough to make a relative stranger go in search of him. Why did he owe him money? Jim knows Stan and Tom, or, to put it better, Tom knows Jim knows Stan (and visa versa). But he doesn’t know who Stan knows yet beyond the triangle, can’t see into the unknown. Because there lies Erik.
Actually Tom met Erik through Stan already and suspects that’s who he actually gave the money to. We don’t know the specifics, but that’s what I have so far.
A little help here, Hucka?
Nothing.
—–
Meanwhile, Erik cooks eggs and bacon in Manolis while Susie waits for more customers to approach. “Alright over there?” he calls to his cashier who he plans to fire in a couple of days if business doesn’t pick up. “Perfect,” she replies, and flashes him an appropriate symbol.
It’s just stuff like that he doesn’t like. He flips over the eggs and then perceives the quiet through the sizzle. Someone’s got to put Alvarado on the map! he thinks. Maybe he can devise some kind of fake murder story to draw in the tourists, something to spice up the appeal or broaden the knowledge of the place. He tries to come up with a name as the bacon is now done; slid off the skillet onto a waiting plate. Eggs: just a bit more. Eggs Benedict, he thinks, watching the white continue to set. Combines the name of a traitor with something symbolizing eyes, as if something is there to *look* for — or at. But then he forgets the insight until the next day, when a customer walks in with a camera still in hand and recognizes him.
“Erik?”
Erik turns. “Stan?”
“No: Tom.”
“Tom, right right. Stan’s friend.” He returns to his cooking. 5 customers in here right now, an onslaught for him. 4 eggs and 6 slices of bacon sizzling in one pan. It will be a tricky juggling project and he needs to concentrate. And Susie conveniently on lunch break, bah.
“That right.” Tom waits patiently, shuffles his feet. “How’s business?” he decides to ask in the awkward space, not hearing Erik offer anything about the money he’s owed, and the paying of it. 50 dollars. *No*: 500. 500 dollars. He said his business was doing badly and that’s why I, Tom in the moment, am asking about it, trying to jar his memory if he’s even forgotten about the loan. Maybe just avoiding the subject — probably. He decides to take a snapshot of Erik and put it on his blog with the caption “traitor” underneath it. Is that the right word? Tom decides it is. Erik eases two of the 4 eggs onto a plate. They appear to be eyes to Tom. I *see* who you are (!).
His body was found the next day in the bay, mission accomplished.
(to be continued)
00320216
Baker Bloch (and Baker Blinker) rescued Joey “The Venusian” Avatar from that Swamp Tree thingie over on Long Island and gave her a new assignment. Go back to Annaberg on the Jeogeot continent at the lip of famed Sunklands (yes, *that* Sunklands) and find Blue and Yellow and ask him some questions or just check in with him, see how he’s doing and what he’s been up to since we last saw him in part 1 of novel 30. We left him at the time of the rising sun, which, to us, the blog reader, mysteriously appeared as the word YELLOO with the YELL part being yellow and the OO part colored blue instead. The same image Marty saw, apparently for real this time (?), at another rooftop location in novel 26.
Now, in the present, Joey finds that he has something else blue and yellow to stare at from his caravan rooftop, still reading his Annaberg paper and catching up with the latest news. Ukraine, pheh. Bad juju over there…
… with a bunch of people involved for certain.
Perhaps that explains the thought-to-be lucky no. 7 car running off the road and turning over just behind him here the other day, he thinks, maybe the day the war started.
The red and green balloon looms in the skies, visible to all residents at all times and reminding them of their loyalty to the 7 and the 6, not the 8 and the 5.
But the wise man with the blue eyes to match his overalls ponders the boys in the battlegrounds, growing up fast. But then growing young just as fast, 13 to 10 to 13 in an ever spinning wheely dealie. Only 4 makes a complete and whole circle. he knows. The governments from all 4 corners of our world will have to understand that soon enough. For now, we remained perpetually trapped, as if in an Escher waterfall print.
In a related scenario, The Moon closely follows The Sun at this Annaberg carousel tucked in its nw corner, glad it’s no. 2 instead of no. 1. Best to hide in the shadows until this thing is over and not foolishly plummet down a falls and get directly involved. Right Joey?
And then, to end, Joey understands she must visit the Cave or the Cavern to catch up with the latest on Newt too. More soon, as I like to say.
00320217
Stacks of rocks greeted me upon my return to Newfound Lands today, right where I park my car and cross a small stream, an out of the way place indeed at the entrance to my “secret path” up the hill (I call it the Daffodil Path). I took it as a sign someone was pleased I was doing this. Thing is, it rained really hard last night and I believe the rocks had to be stacked earlier in the day because of flooding, only several hours at best before I arrived. Yet no one was around. I donned my “I Believe” cap and headed up to the pasture…
… where I investigated the small mailbox at the top that I had found about a week or two back. I was, again, surprised when pulling the contents out and seeing New City immediately, another proper name involving new like my Newfound Lands this place is right on the border of. Beyond the mailbox: the unknown, the new. Perhaps a kind of city should be built there too. I will return to this mailbox soon for more pics.
Two golf balls down the hill in New Lands beyond the pasture, a pink one followed closely by a white one, a Wilson. I surmised these were hit from the ridge to my west where a row of houses exist, the only residences around. Wilson beyond pink: I interpreted this again to represent blog core avatar Wilson Wheeler, a male, who is better known as Wheeler Wilson, a female and thus represented by pink — my main female character since novel 2 to complement primary male character Baker Bloch. The unknown involves balancing male and female, black and white, to form a fusion, a synthesis, a *flow*. Wheeler here has taken over from earlier Baker Blinker in this aspect, although Baker Bloch vows that Baker Blinker will not be forgotten and that they are still one underneath it all. So another 1/2 and 1/2 situation that blog readers I’m sure tire of hearing about, ha. Okay (don’t do it): *1/2 and 1/2*.
Wheeler supporting herself in the role
more black and white 02
https://bakerbloch.com/2021/11/10/00300110/
https://bakerbloch.com/2022/03/22/00320212/
“Who are you?”
Sunklands 