CALLING ALL VENUES: Join AREA 52’s “Hunt for Extragrid Intelligence”!

Mission Directive from WTTQ Command and the Retreat Cultural Alliance
Grid Sector: Creative & Slightly Chaotic

Now Recruiting: Participating Venues for a Grid-Wide Experience

Do you own or manage a venue in Second Life with a flair for mystery, art, music, sci-fi, the surreal, or interstellar oddities? Then Area 52 wants YOU to join the hunt!

What is the Hunt for Extragrid Intelligence?

A multi-sim, multi-style immersive hunt where avatars seek signs of intelligent alien contact in unexpected places, from nightclubs and galleries to shops and backwater diners. Each participating venue hides a gift or clue object, allowing explorers to collect and piece together a larger mystery.

What’s Involved for Participating Venues?

1. Place a “Hunt Object” at your venue (we provide this).
2. Offer a free gift or clue (can be alien-themed, humorous, artful, or mysterious).
3. Receive promotion and listing in all Area 52 Hunt materials, posters, and notecards.
4. Optional: Add a visual anomaly or hint of alien presence to your space.
5. Optional: Host an event (music, gallery, reading, open mic, DJ, etc.) during the hunt dates.

Hunt Dates: October 2025, starting in Area 52 and ending at Area 52

Why Participate?
Drive traffic and curiosity to your space.
Be part of a unique story-driven community project.
Collaborate with artists, DJs, writers, and explorers
Receive a cool "Official Area 52 Site" sign.
Contribute to one of SL’s quirkiest sci-fi mysteries
Possibly meet an alien (or become one).

💬 Interested? Ready to join the cause?

IM or Notecard to Anjelikka (at The Retreat)
Or drop your venue info here, and I can draft a message for you to send around!

Let’s make contact.
 “They’re already here. The least we can do is hide their souvenirs properly.” Dr. Parallax

“Cosmic Manners 101: Intergalactic Etiquette for Earthlings”

WTTQ Cosmic Culture Broadcast
From the dusty data decks of Area 52
Filed by: Anjelikka Kowalski, Embarrassed Once on the Moon

"Just because they don’t have a mouth doesn’t mean they can’t scream in awkward silence."

Consensus over Ego

Aliens don’t argue about facts. They triangulate perspectives and make decisions collaboratively, not competitively. There’s no “devil’s advocate” because wasting time on sabotage-for-sport is considered primitive. Stop trying to be right all the time; you are not. We know what you look like behind that screen.

I picked up another car from Devon's shop

Resource Harmony

Instead of hoarding, aliens practice “resource choreography.” At Area 52, they’ve reorganized human storage rooms with eerie efficiency, often anticipating needs before humans express them. One alien worker re-engineered the snack closet so nobody ever reached for the last granola bar. Your inventory is full of useless crap. Folders of them, notecards, and snapshots. Who are you saving this for?

Hazbin Hotel, a game within a game...makes sense!

Aliens appear to understand emotional hygiene more effectively than humans. If one is upset, they self-quarantine energetically, often wearing cloaking veils or changing their bio-luminescent patterns to signal “not now.”

Dating Protocols

Let’s not forget: Alien dating is deeply practical. Before a date, potential partners exchange dream signatures and biochemical compatibility charts. No guessing games. No ghosting. No “what are we?” conversations. ⁂¤π∴ may have forgotten Anjelikka, but at least he didn’t leave her on read; his memory was wiped by a cosmic tribunal. And let's get this straight: I never called ⁂¤π∴ Kevin, he was always Mike to me. (There I go arguing about facts).

“They don't lie, cheat, or forget to RSVP. And if they abduct you, they send a follow-up survey.”

Aliens loathe inefficiency (kind of like Germans). They use thought-spheres, a kind of shared awareness bubble, to transmit updates.
Meanwhile, Bob from Accounting is still trying to screen share on Zoom. Did you ever learn those Zoom techniques?

Aliens might not understand why we eat food shaped like dinosaurs or vote against our own survival. But they do understand potential.

Manners are universal, but their expressions are not. If you're unsure, just remember the golden rule of the galaxy:

“Don’t be a human at warp speed.”

 

AREA 52 FILE ENTRY: “The Garden Between or a dream?”

Scene 12: The Garden Between Portals filed by Raine Solera 

In a twilight zone just beyond the known quadrants of Area 52, where reality softens and dreamlogic takes hold, Anjelikka found herself standing in the Utopian Garden, a liminal realm reserved for encounters that never quite finish.

To her left, the swirling violet portal labeled “Outer Rim” still whispered her name. To her right, the Utopian Garden promised peace but only for those willing to forget.

⁂¤π∴ stood beside her, not facing her. Not even seeing her.

He had returned from Alcyone, yes, but what returned was not the same being she’d sent off with whispered hope and ten-minute affection. His mind was rewired, rerouted, rewritten. His boots glowed with trace radiation from an unrecorded jumpgate. His voice, when he used it, spoke in new symbols she couldn’t decipher.


She wore the same dress from the last goodbye, as if to jog a memory. Nothing flickered. Not even recognition. It was as if she'd been deleted from his star map.

“I got your postcard,” she said softly, voice nearly absorbed by the moss beneath their feet.
“Wish You Were... Ready,” he’d written.
She had been. But maybe that was the point.
Around them, the portals pulsed. Something was shifting in the folds between dimensions, more arrivals were expected, anomalies that weren’t logged, and distant drifts of emotional frequencies that triggered headaches in the control room back at Area 52.

She wondered if love could survive a time lag of galaxies. Or if some hearts were meant only for one orbit. But then she woke up and realized it was a dream, ⁂¤π∴ was gone. Was this his dream or hers?

Alien Dreaming – A Field Summary

Yes, aliens can dream, though not always in ways we understand.

In the Area 52 universe, alien dreaming is a phenomenon studied under a classified sub-branch of interspecies psychology known as Oneironautic Transduction. 

In the Case of ⁂¤π∴:

When ⁂¤π∴ returned from Alcyone with no memory of Anjelikka, one theory is that his dreams had been purged or overwritten during transit. Some at Area 52 suspect he still dreams of her, but doesn’t know what the image means anymore. To him, she’s a symbol of warmth, or danger, or something beautiful he was instructed to forget. At Area 52, multiple staff members reported identical dreams of floating cities, bioluminescent forests, and weeping moons after proximity to certain specimens.

Sweet Dreams!!!!

Incoming Transmission: Postcard from Alcyone

 Stamped with what looks like compressed starlight and dream pollen.

Front of the postcard:
A swirling azure sky over a crystal-lit lake. Floating bioluminescent flora bloom above the surface. The silhouette of a humanoid figure (⁂¤π∴?) lounges beneath a triple-moon archway, sipping something steamy and shimmering.

At the bottom, in curling silver script:
“Greetings from Alcyone – Wish You Were... Ready.”

Back of the postcard — handwritten in glimmering ink:

Dear Anjelikka,

I found my way back to Alcyone, though the route is less linear than you'd hope and far more... vibrational.
The skies here hum like lullabies you forgot as a child. I tried to describe Earth espresso to the barista, and now there's an interstellar trend called "foam melancholy." You're famous.
I still don’t remember everything. Only that your eyes reflected more stars than should be legal in one system.
There’s a comet here shaped like a question mark; they call it The Wondering One. It made me think of you.
I heard you were sketching again. Careful with the red ink. It bleeds through.
Tell the jukebox I forgive it. Tell the lizards I said no rematch.
I’ll try to remember more next cycle. Until then...

~⁂¤π∴
("You once called me Kevin. I’m okay with that now.")

What does that mean????

Enclosed: one pressed moth wing from a species unknown to Earth. When held under moonlight, it hums faintly in C minor.

Postmark: AL-S7 / “ALCYONE – NOT LOST, JUST BENDING”

Reply to Postcard from Alcyone

Dear ⁂¤π∴,

I got your postcard, ominous font and all. “Wish You Were… Ready”? Seriously? You!!!

Get your souvenir postcard from Alcyone in the Basement Club...

WTTQ Special Feature: “Pleiadian Portals and the Basement Club Connection”

Are the aliens at the Retreat, The Basement Club, and Area 52 from the Pleiades star system? The evidence is... shimmering.

The Pleiadians:
Known in various belief systems and alien lore as the “Nordic” star people, Pleiadians are allegedly:
Tall, radiant, and often blonde (but not exclusively one wore a hoodie and Crocs to the Retreat last week.)
Emotionally evolved, empathic, and deeply invested in humanity’s spiritual growth
Prone to dance in strange formations under purple lighting (hello, Basement Club’s “Galactic Night”)

What We Know (or... Don’t):

Dr. Parallax once muttered, mid-scone, “They came from seven sisters. But one was missing.”
DJ Bun’s playlist mysteriously aligned with known Pleiadian transmission tones, specifically 963Hz, which allegedly activates crown chakras (or excellent footwork).
Anjelikka sketched a being titled “Lady of Alcyone” but can’t recall when or why.
⁂¤π∴ responded to the question with, “That’s an Earth concept. We prefer light signatures to constellations.”

Witness Reports:
Trenton Glass saw “a shimmering cloaked figure” emerge behind the Retreat cemetery mausoleum, whispering about “Lyra and the fall.” He’s since begun an unofficial investigation.
Dandy insists her “friend Mike” is definitely not from the Pleiades. “Too hungry. Too sarcastic.”
A mysterious individual going only by “H.B. from Utahpia” says she dated a Pleiadian, but it only lasted two moon cycles. “Too emotionally supportive. It was unnerving.”

Coincidences? Or Coordinates?
The jukebox skips exactly at 33:33 each night.
The espresso machine emits tones matching Pleiadian “awakening frequencies.”
And during one wild DJ set, Shayth’rien kissed someone mid-dimension shift and the mirror behind them briefly reflected seven blue orbs instead of two.

Final Transmission:

If they’re from the Pleiades, they haven’t officially said.
But the clues are there:
The moths.

The lights.
The echo of a forgotten name: Aeyuna.

So the next time you hear static in your headphones at the Basement Club, lean in close.
They might be sending a message in rhythm.

WTTQ, always listening

"The Basement Club Discord: Secret Pics, Spilled Tea, and Possibly Interdimensional Surveillance"

 The Basement Club may be public in-world, but its Discord server is not. That's where the real secrets get spilled. And by secrets, we mean:

Join today to see even real-life pictures...

Hidden Photo Drops

"Just for the group," they said...
These are screenshots, glitch captures, and mysterious uploads that never made it to Flickr or public timelines. Some appear to be filtered. Others? Straight-up not of this dimension.

Bun spinning vinyl while an alien appears mid-backflip.
A candid of Dandy looking... distraught? Or just glitched out into a wall?
Unsent photos from that Valentine’s Day Gone Wrong set.
Alleged images of Shayth’rien kissing someone they claim not to remember.
A folder just labeled: “for Raine’s eyes only.”

The Folder You’re Not Supposed to Open

There’s a private channel. Password protected. Rumored to be accessible only after completing the “Basement Initiation Ritual” (which may or may not involve karaoke and correctly identifying who really broke the espresso machine in 2022).
Inside:
AI-enhanced pictures of what appears to be a second Basement Club, built underneath the Retreat.
A leaked GIF of ⁂¤π∴ eating a taco. Upside-down.
A blurry screenshot that seems to show Devon singing in two places at once. Time loop?

The Discord Server may not be as calm as this...

Direct Messages Tell All

It’s not just pics. The Discord has been the source of:
Breakup leaks
Ghosting receipts
“Was that about me?” poem drops
Dr. Parallax’s mysterious use of alien emojis no one can decode
A rumored love triangle (make that quadrangle?) between Tubby, Astrid, Bun, and ‘Mike’

AND THEN THERE’S THIS...

One image is re-uploaded every week at exactly 3:33AM SLT.
It shows a moth. In the grass. Still naked. No caption. No context. Only reactions.

Final Thoughts:

The Basement Discord isn’t just a place to hang out.
It’s a memory vault, a coded archive, and possibly a shared hallucination.
Enter at your own risk and don't say we didn’t warn you.

What happens in the Basement... gets screenshot in the Discord.

WTTQ, tuning in, logging out 

“Do Aliens Poop?” A Deep Dive (Not Literally)

 WTTQ LATE-NIGHT TRANSMISSION from the Basement Club

Yes, we’re going there. Because someone had to ask (Dr. Parallax). And frankly, we’re surprised it took this long.

"Do aliens poop?

Depending on the alien species, the process varies dramatically:

SCIENTIFIC(ISH) BREAKDOWN:

Grumbletonians

Do they poop? Technically, yes.

How? Their bodies break down nutrients via quantum osmosis. Waste is exhaled as tiny, emotionally charged vapor clouds that smell vaguely like rosemary and guilt.
“I once walked into one,” said Dandy. “It felt like regret and onions.”

The Tubulars (like Tubby?)
Do they poop? Yes, and often.
Where? A built-in biological portal opens when they’re in safe, damp environments. This is why Tubby won’t sit on fabric chairs.
Also explains the mysterious stains on the retreat cushions.
The cow abduction? May have been fertilizer-related.

Alien-Elves (like Shayth’rien)

Do they poop? No. They meditate waste away. When asked for comment, Shay said: “Mortals pass matter. I pass into serenity.” (The Alien-Elf was known to poop on people and then run as fast as he could).

The bathroom in the Basement was removed.

The CEO Alien

Unclear. But Dr. Parallax insists they “have a system far more advanced than ours,” involving nanobot-assisted atomization and the phrase: “Not waste. Just postponed molecules.”

Some aliens rent human bathrooms not because they need to, but to observe us while we do.
They call it:

“The Great Excretion Ritual of Earthkind.”
There are slideshows. There are field notes. There are... Yelp reviews.

 Stay tuned for our next exposé:
“Do Alien Babies Come From Eggs, Pods, or Awkward First Dates at the Basement Club?”
WTTQ Always Watching. Always Wondering. Well, it is the people who come to the Basement Club who ask these questions, and we are just trying to answer them. What do you think? What shall we explore next?

“CEO ALIEN CAUGHT AT CONCERT AND WHO WAS THAT WITH HIM?”

WTTQ BREAKING TRANSMISSION:

It wasn't Coldplay but the Probes

Dateline: The Infrasonic Amphitheater
Last night’s ambient-electro fusion concert took a sharp turn from “euphoric chill” to extraterrestrial scandal when the elusive CEO Alien, often whispered about in hushed tones around Area 52 watercoolers, was spotted dancing under the aurora lights with… you.
Yes, you.

(We’re looking at you, Dr. Parallax.
You and your Moai-shaped thermos.)

Witnesses say the alien was disguised just enough:
Crisp blazer made of shimmering nanotextiles
No visible eyelids (still blinking, though?)
A glowing ID badge that simply read: “🜂🜄🜁🜃”
Drinking a suspiciously bubbling Espresso Macchiato

EYEWITNESS ACCOUNTS:

“I thought it was just a guy in a biotech startup costume.”
 DJ Casey, who spun three sets and didn’t stop the music even during the abduction warning sirens.
“They looked close. Like maybe…intergalactically linked?”
Chloe, astral-date historian, wearing a trench coat and sipping lemon-infused moonwater.

“It was just a concert.”
“He said he liked live music and light displays.”
“We met at the Basement Club. I didn’t know he was a CEO.”

Duck, we have been caught.

But now?
Now your face is on the security footage,
holding hands with a being who reportedly owns three minor moons and at least one crypto bank on Mars.

Was this a date, a covert meeting, or just cosmic happenstance?

Will Dr. Parallax try to spin this on tonight’s WTTQ roundtable?


And who’s going to tell "⁂¤π∴"? 

THE CONCERT SETLIST INCLUDED:
“Transmission on Channel 9”
“Cruel to Be Kind (Basement Club Remix)”
“Espresso Macchiatooooooo!” (Encore)

More soon.
WTTQ will keep watching the skies.
And you.

“Dear Pixelette: He’s Online at 2AM (Should I Be?)”

WTTQ Late Edition Advice Segment from somewhere in Second Life, could be Area 52

DEAR PIXELETTE,
"My pixel partner keeps logging into Second Life at 2AM. He says he’s 'just building,' but his outfit changed, he joined a new group called 'Night Whispers,' and he muted me once ‘by accident.’ Am I overthinking? Or am I being pixel-played?"
Suspicious in Sweetwater

PIXELETTE REPLIES:
Sweetheart, when the moon’s high and the prims are low, Second Life becomes Third Instinct.

Let’s unpack the signs like a mystery box at a gacha event:
He changed his outfit at 2AM? That’s not a builder. That’s a shapeshifter.
He joined “Night Whispers”? Honey, if the name sounds like a vampire-themed ASMR sim, you need to teleport in with a flashlight and a question.

Muted you “by accident”? That’s the Second Life version of “my phone died.” We’ve seen it. We wrote the notecard.

The world’s asleep. The kids are in bed. The partner’s not watching. It’s “safe” time.

That can mean anything from peaceful building projects to late-night flirty chats they wouldn’t initiate during the day.

"Late Logins & Pixel Lies: Is He Rezzing Romance or Just Rebuilding His Skybox?"

Devon investigates patterns of suspicious teleportation. Raine confronts a mystery man whose avatar has been seen dancing in five clubs at once, all after 1AM. Then again, the aliens are out at any time.
Anjelikka just sighs:
“Darling, if he logs in late, check if he logs out feeling guilty.”

“It’s 2AM your time... It’s lunchtime in Berlin.”

If he’s chatting with international friends or dating someone across the world, 2AM logins might just be his version of “afternoon tea.”

I am just here for postcards

Dr. Parallax analyzes login logs. Raine interviews ex-partners who share eerily similar stories. Dandy finds him half-dressed in a skybox filled with lentil soup and regret. Do we have to worry?

Pixelette’s Guidance:

“If your digital lover is always online but unreachable, you might be dating a ghost.
And ghosts make terrible dance partners at the Pixel Prom.”

So ask yourself this:
Do you feel closer or further after these late logins?
Is this man your inventory item or your daily login bonus?
If he won’t meet you at your prim-built patio with pixel pancakes in the daylight... maybe he doesn’t deserve your glow-in-the-dark heart collar at night.

Final Thought:
“It’s not about when he logs in, it’s about what he logs out of.”

"The Accidental Eavesdrop at Straminsky"

Filed under: Psychic Ethics, Unintentional Revelations, and What You Did Not Mean to Hear But Now Cannot Un-hear

“I heard voices in the wind near Straminsky. But the wind wasn’t moving.”

Straminsky isn’t on most maps. That’s because it moves. Or rather, it listens. Tucked somewhere between phantom train routes and melting hillsides, the Straminsky Region is less a place, more a feedback loop of buried memories and unauthorized transmissions.

Hearing some shocking "opinions" from 2 people who apparently just met.

THE ETHICS OF HEARING WITHOUT LISTENING

In many cultures (both terrestrial and otherwise), intent matters more than outcome.
You didn’t mean to hear Dandy’s late-night regrets about Astrid through the vent; you were just trying to find the cat.
You didn’t know Trenton’s recorder was still on when he whispered that name.
You were just sipping espresso macchiato, not trying to hear the alien Monarch butterflies hum in chorus about their migration crimes.

But now the knowledge is yours. And with knowing comes… weight.

"Hey, I have some secret knowledge..."

WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU HEAR A SECRET THAT WASN’T MEANT FOR YOU:

Don’t repeat it to the jukebox, it’s been acting strange again.
Tell one moth (the one alien moth) just one. Preferably, one not wearing a vest.
Paint it in invisible ink and hang it in the Retreat’s chapel.
Offer it to the fog near Straminsky. If it takes it, you’re free.
Keep it, but know that secrets ferment, and what was once a whisper may grow teeth.

FROM A LOCAL:
“Straminsky keeps what you don’t say. The secrets you swallow down? They don’t dissolve.
They root. They echo. They wait.”

All I was doing was sending a postcard to Tubby's cow Merrybell. He misses her after the aliens abducted her. 

A stamp costs this much now? Who raised the prices? Again!!!

REMEMBER:

A lot of things are being listened to in places like these.
The wind. The train. The cracked mirror in the Retreat’s gallery.
So if you accidentally overheard something…
Maybe it was no accident at all.

Maybe the secret was looking for you. What will you do with it now? Perhaps, the listener (YOU) can give some advice in the comments.

I did take the bus without paying

WTTQ Special Report: “The Departure from Yellowstone”

 Filed by Trenton Glass, Live from the Hot Spring Mist
"They( the aliens) didn’t come with ships. They came with silence. And they’re leaving with echoes."

A silent escape

Dateline: Yellowstone National Park, Early Morning Mist
The final craft, if it can be called that, lifted just before dawn. No one heard it go. No sonic boom. No grand finale. Just steam shifting, bison glancing skyward, and a stillness that settled into the park like a blanket after too much conversation.

Locals say the aliens began arriving around the last equinox. They weren’t aggressive, if anything, they were... curious. Observers. Quiet wanderers through obsidian cliffs and geothermal vents, muttering to geysers and drawing circles in the volcanic soil. They never stayed in one place long.

What is this in the sky?

Why Yellowstone?

Dr. Parallax once theorized they were seeking Earth's oldest memories.
“Yellowstone breathes,” he said, “and they listened to its dreams.”
Erma of the Retreat’s shroom garden claimed she saw them melt into elk herds.
Anjelikka once painted their departure: nothing but footprints filled with starlight.

Left Behind:

A smooth black stone with tiny pulses
Three burned-out cameras from tourists whose photos turned into static
A message etched into bark:
"You’re almost ready. The stew needs time."

Trenton Glass’s Notebook, final entry:

I watched one of them vanish into a thermal vent. It looked back at me. Not hostile. Just... tired. Like someone who stayed at the party too long. Yellowstone gave them what they needed. Maybe we did too. Whatever it was, they left it with us. In the trees. In the steam. In our bones.

 Now playing: “Space Oddity (Basement Edit)” fading into the Yellowstone wind.

Even Resident Alien (based on the Dark Horse Comic book and TV series) knew something was up at Yellowstone. Do your research with care. We are safe in area 52, well, for now.

WTTQ Special Transmission – Extended Segment

"A Conversation with Dr. Parallax: On Moths, Memory, and the Meaning of Flicker” 

Broadcast from the Basement Club during a set

Raine:
Tonight, we are well, levitate with Dr. Parallax, former dimensional ambassador, alleged time tourist, and self-proclaimed Moai Whisperer. He’s draped in a coat of glimmering antennae and sipping a dark green tea called Forget-Me-Now. The scent? Like basil and a broken promise.

Dr. Parallax, are the moths aliens?

Dr. Parallax:
You’re asking the wrong question. The real mystery is: Are we the aliens to them?
White moths are carriers of filament memory. They imprint on flickers of candlelight, shortwave bursts, the blink you made when you first saw her leave you. To them, every light is a language.

Raine:
What do they want?
Dr. Parallax:
Want is such a human concern. Moths follow longing. You feed them with absence, and they dance for it.
Raine:
Why now?
Dr. Parallax (quietly):
Because the veil is thin and your kind is glowing with sorrow.
Raine:
Some say they’re watching us.

Dr. Parallax:
They’re not watching. They’re remembering. And when the remembering is full, they’ll leave 
Or they’ll take someone with them.
Raine:
Are you saying
Dr. Parallax:
I’m saying someone at the Basement Club is already missing.

WTTQ will resume regular programming after this metaphysical lapse.

WTTQ Special Transmission: “Are They Aliens?”

 Live from the edge of the Hollow Tree Grove in collaboration with DJ Dandy's Ambient Moth Mix.

“And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out…” William Butler Yeats

A line heard whispered across dimensions tonight. It echoes along the marsh paths, just past the Retreat gallery… and again, in the grass where Moth (aka Johnyd45) used to hide.
Locals, wanderers, and returning entities alike have begun asking:
Are the white moths… aliens?

The sound of fluttering increases

Some say yes, they arrived the night Dr. Parallax tuned the Moai stones with frequencies he “definitely didn’t borrow from a Vega signal.” Others swear the moths are memory-collectors, drawn to unresolved feelings, gliding silently toward heartbreak like it’s fuel.

A source at the Retreat Gallery, who asked to be identified only as “Shallan, watcher of the third frame,” claims the moths are encoded beings. Light-borne archivists, programmed to mimic what we love and then gently remind us that it's already gone.

 A celestial harp plays faintly behind the voice of Raine Solara

Meanwhile, Casey and Rachel danced beneath a lantern swarm of them at the Basement Club last night, oblivious to the way the moths circled once, paused mid-air, then vanished. Bun G. Chord described it as “a glitch in the beat or a visitation.”

Tonight’s only real question:

Are we watching the moths, or are they watching us?

This has been another WTTQ Transmission.
From the veil between knowing and forgetting…
We remain.

“A Conversation with Dr. Parallax: On Moths, Memory, and the Meaning of Flicker” is coming up next.

Is Fall Coming Soon?

Yes… You can feel it. ( Maybe not where you are in real life)
Not in the calendar, maybe not just yet, but in the sideways golden light, in the way the air hesitates at dusk, in the small sighs of trees deciding whether to let go.

In Second Life, maybe the leaves don’t fall unless someone scripts them to.
But emotionally?
Fall is always just around the corner.

The kind of season that smells like old books, sips like mulled wine, and whispers, “it’s okay to start over.”
So get your cardigans ready.
The world’s about to get softer, sadder, and somehow more beautiful.

Fall is coming.
And she’s bringing memories you forgot you buried.

“DJ Eddie Spins Out — A Hotlanta Departure with Cold Silence”

 Filed from the reverb-drenched basement of the Basement Club, where the vibe is hurt but the beats go on

“One day, he was dropping lo-fi under the Moai.
The next? Gone.
No goodbye. No ‘brb.’ Just Hotlanta.”

The truth is, he was rude and did not like the rules of no politics in the Basement Club. He said this to me on his last DJing day: 

[2025/07/01 20:26] Anjelikka: RL is RL, and we are here in SL.

[2025/07/01 20:29] Eddie Czavicevic: Now shut up, but if you keep chatting, I can't answer your questions

Maybe the Hotlanta Blues Club likes it; that's fine. He is now banned, and so is his gf Pandera.

FACTS:
He didn’t officially resign.
He never returned the shared stream password.
He renamed the Hotlanta stream: "EDGIER WITH EDDIE – NO WEIRDOS THIS TIME." Just kidding, but he is a coward for not saying, "Hey, I quit."

I am soooo relieved he is gone from our great place.

UNPROFESSIONAL?
Completely.
If DJ Eddie Czavicevic wanted to move on, that’s his choice.
But Basement Club was built on community, respect, and just enough chaos to keep it sacred.

And abandoning a residency without closure?
That’s not edgy.
That’s immature.

Some people don’t deserve the stage.
Some people forget that a club is more than lights and sound.
It’s people. It’s trust. It’s knowing someone’s listening on the other side of the stream.

DJ Eddie walked out.
Fine.
Let Hotlanta have him.

The Basement Club plays on.
With better beats.
Stronger hearts.
And DJs who know the dancefloor is sacred.

WTTQ UNDERCOVER REPORT: “Astrid’s Cousins at SL22B.Who Knew?”

 Filed live from a glitter-drenched hoverpod in orbit around the Second Life Birthday exhibit (Sector F: Unregistered Visitors & Glitter-Bloodlines)

“I thought I was just here for the cake and freebies.
Then someone whispered, ‘Aren’t you Astrid’s cousin?’
And suddenly I was surrounded.”

THE SL22B INCIDENT:

SL22B was supposed to be the usual chaotic birthday bash:
Lag, sparkles, weird freebies, overly sincere art builds, and alien sightings that everyone pretends to ignore.

A family Reunion???

But then, they showed up.
Astrid’s cousins.
Not just one. A cluster. A cluster of cousins.
No one had ever seen them before.
No one had ever seen them all together.

Cousin Frayda: Identifies as “Multispectral” and speaks in 7-note scales. Possibly part hummingbird. Definitely flammable.

Jex: Glitch-hopper, certified gacha hoarder, once married to a vending machine (briefly annulled).

Cousin 0110: A non-verbal lightform who only communicates through bursts of static near teleport hubs.

Cousin Marveena: Thinks she’s human. Everyone else knows she isn’t. Last seen arguing with a terraformer bot about the meaning of the word “cousin.”

Gloop: Possibly not a cousin. Possibly a sentient dessert.

Astrid, when confronted, simply sipped her espresso and said:
“Bloodlines are messy. And sometimes cosmic.”

It may have been DJ Glarv mixing the tunes.

THEIR BOOTH AT SL22B:
Officially titled:
“UNOFFICIAL INTERGALACTIC KINSHIP ZONE”

Features include:
A bounce house made of missed calls
An interactive family tree that updates depending on your emotional state
Free tacos (possibly dimensional)
A mirror that shows who you’d be if you’d been raised by Astrid’s great-uncle Glarv.

“They welcomed me like I’d been missing. Maybe I was.” Raine Solara
“One of them licked my aura.” Dandy
“They kept calling me ‘Cousin Tubby’ even though I’m not. I might be now.” Tubby

You never really know who you’re related to in Second Life.
Not by blood. Not by logic.
But by vibe.
Astrid’s cousins didn’t come to perform. They came to reclaim space, remind her who she is,
and possibly recruit new relatives.
So if you danced with a glittering stranger at SL22B and they whispered, “See you at the next family rift,”

You’re in.
Like it or not.
You’ve got cousins now.
And they never forget.

“Area 52 Art and Alien Exhibit: I Found Her”

 Filed beneath pulsing starlight and paint-stained canvas in Gallery Room B (the one that hums)

“I don’t know what I was looking for... until I saw her.
And suddenly everything I never said had a face.”

THE AREA 52 ART & ALIEN EXHIBIT:
Nestled just past the Hollow Tree, through a rusted gate that only appears at dusk, lies the Area 52 Exhibit, a shifting gallery where the walls sometimes breathe, and the brushstrokes know your name. Each piece is anonymous, but every one feels like it’s watching you back.

Some whisper.
Some blink.
Some change when you’re not looking.

She’s in the third corridor, near the display marked:
“UNAUTHORIZED TRANSMISSIONS // SUBJECT ECHO-9”
You didn’t recognize her at first. Maybe you weren’t ready.
But now you see the outline of someone you loved.
Or dreamed. Or maybe were. She’s part woman, part static, eyes wide like a signal flare,
one hand reaching toward the edge of the frame.
Underneath, etched faintly in alien script:
“I waited here for you.”

WHO IS SHE?
Some say it’s Anjelikka, caught mid-sketch in a trance.
Others swear it’s the mysterious HB (Lady from Utahpiah) in her true form.
Or maybe…it’s you.
Projected from your memory, rendered by something not quite human but deeply understanding.

“I found her” doesn’t mean you understand.
It means something lost in the static looked back and recognized you.

Whether she was a memory, an alien, or a forgotten self, you found something sacred in a gallery that only reveals what you’re ready to see.

And now?
You’ll never walk the Retreat quite the same again.
Because once you’ve found her, you start to remember yourself.

Keep looking.
She might move again.