publishing to the jury: captain's log: star date 67.420e^∆π opening statement: dear diary: this is my first entry, + i have to admit i don't know the proper decorum. maybe i should introduce myself, but i don't exactly know what's worth mentioning... i'm dead, obviously. i still go by trycks treats. it's still just as accurate to call me filigree hallowen, esq., but i've played around with a few alternate titles. the flamingo is particularly fun. but there hasn't really been a reason not to just use my hatchname, so that's been the default. i mean, i'm not exactly a practicing legislacerator anymore, there's no reason for formalities… i don't know. anyways, i've been dead for a long time. so has everyone from my timeline, as far as i can tell, not that i. testimony: moving on. this is a traveler's log of the dreambubbles. there's no sense of time, so i'll just devote an entry to each bubble i explore, starting here. testimony: insofar as it needs a name to be written about, the bubble i'm writing this entry from is the margaritaville bubble. i have been here for a very long time. very recently i've been to some other bubbles, but i keep coming back here. to peoplewatch, if nothing else point of order: i haven't gotten back in the lazy river. testimony: which, uh, leads me to the next bit where i describe this place. aside from my general review, which i might as well say here instead of leave for the end: it's the next best thing to comfortable malaise. sidebar: fucking hell it sounds pretentious when i'm writing in the notes app instead of just posting directly on chittr. i guess i've never minded being pretentious but its a little embarrassing. whatever testimony: anyways, this place is a take on the idea of a beach. not as abstract of a representation as it could be, or surreal or jazy or dreamlike or what-have-you, but certainly more artificial than someone's direct memory of a beachside, or a thous+ people's memory of a beachside testimony: as far as i can tell, it *is* stitched together from a lot of different memories, rather than recreating any single one. it makes the place more metaphorically real, gives it physical heft + sensation, alongside enabling it to take up a plausibly-infinite amount of dreamspace, but it becomes unspecific in another way. not undefined... i don't know. i just unlive here, not study it testimony: to quit waxing rhapsodical for a second + describe the damn place, it's actually a riverbank. it stretches on for what might be forever, endless + mostly empty dunes of s+ that wide this way + that around a 4-5 strut pods deep, maybe 7 strut pods wide if that. there's an endless parade of trolls in buoyancyrings, lounging in various states of relaxation + disassociation as the river washes amiably ever forward. the immediate bank of the river is concrete, as are the sides + bottom of the river itself. there's river rocks + pebbles dotted along, in piles that appear entirely natural (albeit strange for being on concrete rather than, i don't know, dirt) but are placed in that arrangement at exactly consistent intervals much further than the gaze bulbs can see in either direction. sidebar: i spent a lot of time in one of those buouyancyrings, time being as-ever a relative term. it was a nice enough place to give up, but i can't earnestly recommend it. testimony: beyond the riverbanks, though, at least less blatantly trollmade, is the beach. one side is s+ dunes + one side is shore. it does not extend in either direction farther than you can easily see from your position on the river, flowing waves + piles of s+ cut off into perfect nothingness past a fixed horizon line, neatly severed from pretense. testimony: the beach has variety: cheaply-made lawnring flamingos, frondtrees swaying gentle in the completely still absence of any breeze to speak of, mildly different variations on the formula that is less defined than the endless lazy river's. i can see a little bar st+ here of some alien design, from which i have enjoyed mostly margaritas of various flavors. testimony: this stretch of beach has s+ that is pleasantly coarse, gray + cold, + has been delicately threaded with kelp. the water isn't the murky turmulent gray that would match the s+ in its natural biome: it's the exact same piercing, clear, slowly-lapping blue that is, removed of the context of the closest thing to infinity i can imagine, admittedly quite pleasant. there's sections of green that imply varying depth in tropical waters, although there is nothing at all beneath the surface of the water. sidebar: it's strange. the fog that comes from a beach like this would obviously ruin the pseudotropical atmosphere that i am here precisely because i crave, but its absence is jarring + wrong. testimony: sitting at the edge of the shore, strut pods hanging off the edge, is unsettling. the nausea it induces is novel enough i have tried not to overindulge testimony: i don't like the side with dunes nearly as much, but you have to admit it has the better view of the shore + its other inhabitants. the lawn chairs are alright, but i think i prefer sitting on a towel in the shade of a frond tree. testimony: now that i'm stationary, rather than drifting, i can hear the songs being played around me in full rather than simply catching sections of them. it will not surprise you to learn that it is primarily the works of the legendary jimmie bufett, but i've heard other tunes plucked out inexpertly on nearby ukeleles. that part i do recommend closing statement: this place helped me through something, + i will miss it. i hope i don't come back.
CROSS EXAMINATION! what the fuck have you been DOING
confer with opposing counsel: don't ask me that. please. not right now, at least. off the record: someday, i might have an answer that doesn't embarrass us
Treats, this is GREAT! Oh, I am SO HAPPY FOR YOU! *jumps for joy* *jumps for joy* *jumps for joy*
theres no fucking way youre still listening(to jimmie bufett) when youre dead; // hahahah some things never change();