March 3, 2026 · 7:25 am

00490506

And so Gorillaz, working as a team, a true 4n1 or TILE, are able to defeat the giant malignant worm thingies and move on to the next phase of their musical career, 8 I believe. Or is it 5?

Anyhow, the Spirit House here cannot stand up to their combined powers and breaks apart and sinks into the earth where it came from; Hell, I suppose.

So what does this have to do with *Chet’s* band Scissorrun©, back in Rodentia on the continent of Jeogeot in the metaverse of Our Second Lyfe, or at least My Second Lyfe? Let’s move barside again at Walk By Night, focus in on the faces of the people sitting there this time listening to his band: manager Biff Carter and — let’s go with Jennifer Lane, all grown up from Jenny Lane like a forgotten, weedy road off the main beat. Like I said before, at this stage there’s only Chet on lead guitar and vocals and Karl on drums and backing vocals. No bass, which Karl will fill in later. Biff has made a decision about hiring another band member, the 3rd. New lead vocals allowing Chet to focus on his guitar. Or at least that’s how they broke it to Chet. In truth — as I also reviewed a bit before — his screechy voice leaves a bit to be desired for commercially minded Biff (raven-like he put it before). And he convinced Karl that they couldn’t scale to the top of the rock heap as they desired unless some changes occurred in that area.

“Let’s list out the Scissorrun©-Gorillaz comparisons as they stand now,” he says to Jennifer, trying to put everything in 1-2-3-4 order while checking his notes in the red book he always carries around these days. “Chet equals Murdoc, but lead guitar instead of bass. Karl equals Russel, but eventually moves to bass instead of drums. You are 2-D, a new sweet lead vocalist but with a change of sex — and also you have to age to where you are, ahem, *now*. And then, um, Noodle. Biff is suddenly stymied. Noodle maybe should be the new drummer to replace Karl? But what about little Sherwood who, like Shelley, also has some serious growing up to do before assuming that role?? Things still need to be worked out before moving into *their* next phase, 1 I believe. Only the beginning.

“Look over here,” Shelley says to Biff to end. “Look into my eyes.” Library in there, he sees. TBC

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March 1, 2026 · 4:23 pm

00490505

And now… we come… to Static. It’s always been there, always been a part of us. Question is: how will we rise above it? Do we even need to? Why not dwell in Static forever and ever, become part of the machinery.

Russel here eventually sees Hollywood and the portal opening beneath it and shakes himself out of his stupor to go tell his band mates.

What do YOU see in the Static?

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March 1, 2026 · 3:21 pm

00490504 (2-D)

So you see, I had to escape the (Cross of the) Lamb. Else: absorbed. Devoured like the purest blue flower that I’d become, all because of a cult’s desire for permanence. Both them *and* us. One and the same deep down — like a hole inside a hole with a monster who is the machinery waiting at the bottom. Waiting for his chance.”

Will he get it? Gonna be razor’s edge close if not!

Only his band mate, his primary running partner, can save him at this late point. Essence of Murdoc. Tied right now, ha. (TBC?)

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February 27, 2026 · 3:11 pm

00490503 (slave)

After seeing the changed picture through the door’s window, she eyes the files again to her left. “Tell you what, brother in arms of mine. I’ll throw in all these top secret folders in this big box to sweeten the deal. All I ask from you in return is…”

“And so that’s how I got here. Replaced a fellow named Spiff; (she) said he had more important things to do in town. Tutoring was mentioned. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a batch of hash browns, 4 pancakes, and 3 eggs 1 easy over and the other 2 scrambled to cook. And that’s just in the next 2 minutes or so…”

“Snapshots,” I said, remembering that element. “What about the snapshots?” 2 cracked eggs and 2 batter pours later: “I don’t know what you’re talking about now.”

But from the tone of his voice I knew he did. You can read a lot into Arthur “Orient” Morgan I’ve found out. He wears his emotions on his now greasy sleeve. I walk away, satisfied I’d learned enough for this morning. Back in the evening for more food for both body and mind. Maybe bring Chet along too. TBC

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February 27, 2026 · 2:57 pm

00490502 (the picture changes (oh brother!))

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February 27, 2026 · 9:30 am

00490501 (Schrodinger III)

A woman without a head at the beginning of a trudge across an icy realm…

… acquires 2 by the end.

From a distance she watches herself approach, as in 2 1/2s of a one sided mirror.

Death. Comes to us all. (TBC(TBC(TBC)))

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February 26, 2026 · 7:31 am

00490416 (a way out)

Climb climb climb. Climb climb climb. Climb climb climb. Climb climb climb. Climb climb climb.

Made it!

Now where is Rodentia from here?

The other way of course. Away from the world sea. But I still can’t see it. Bit too far away even with my fully extended draw distance.

Hold on, what’s this?

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February 25, 2026 · 3:33 pm

00490415

She poured the returned Biker his requested house beer, purposefully not warning him about the change in flavor. Would he, I don’t know, even notice? she thinks here. Men, pheh, she smoldered as she handed it to him, a picture of Frank Lynn’s idiotic face forming in her mind, with more nonsense about the benefits of AI spouting from it. Typical if so, she though about the taste test with Biker. MEN. She clunks the full beer down in front of him, even sloshing a bit on the counter which she quickly wipes up, apologizing.

After raising the glass so that Daisy can wipe underneath it, he takes a sip. He winces, just like she did. She’s *pleased*. “What *is* this?” he want to cry, but stifled himself. Didn’t want to insult the woman he, ahem, *might* love. If things at home didn’t work out. Instead: “Tastes a little different today, Daisy. Did you, erm, switch brands?”

“Oh, sorry,” she feigned, putting away the cloth behind the bar. “That’s the last of the Corona — probably just the bottom of the barrel stuff. Supplier didn’t show up this week for some reason. Let’s see…” She pretends to look over other options on the tabs, knows there’s only one. “How about Michelob Zero? Got a cheap deal on it in Tonsiltown while I was down there for a writer’s retreat. On the house — both of ’em.”

He nods, and she pours his second beer, proud of her deceit. She’s gotten an honest opinion on the new, inferior taste of Corona Non, not so much from his talk as from his actions: the wincing. She recognized the gesture as more or less her own. They have become *in sync*. Unlike her and Frank lately. Hmm, she thinks, studying the rugged looks, the strong jaw line. Interesting.

Biker takes a sip of the new stuff. “Not bad — better than that Corona I just had admittedly.” Another sip. “Not quite as *good* as the, um, *top* of the barrel Corona Non. But still…” Another sip. “Not bad.” Sip. “It’s growing on me, Daisy.” Sip. “It really is.” Sip sip.

“Even lower calories for this one, which is good,” she offers. “Zero alcohol, as opposed to a *bit* in Corona. So also a benefit. A tad less flavor, true. All in all, it might balance out. And, of course, I’m still working on my own personal Non brew that’ll blow both of them completely out of the water. Like a sea monster!” She turns, takes a gander at the collage behind the bar with the dragon curving in and out of a small pool of water they both understood stands for the Nawt Vaya Sea whose shore lies just outside the bar — to the west. The fabled alcoholic monster roaming the inland sea, searching for the new perfect brew himself, some say. He could return. Like the rest of Our Second Lyfe in her big plans, maybe he’ll value taste over buzz in the end too. We’ll see. TBC

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February 24, 2026 · 8:06 am

00490414

—–

He was far up in his castle, on a higher level than where Philip Strevor and Dr. Mouse formerly known as House hung out. But he had no reason to be here now. Mouse was apparently gone for good this time — dead again. Philip was… in Juho he thought? Heck, he might be dead too for all he knows, the first time if so in his case and not the second like for Mouse. Philip’s off again on again girlfriend Nada New Year: not around either. His own girl Daisy had also left the scene, at least temporarily. Another argument about AI, PHEH.

“A rare, negative orisha does not apply here,” he insisted beside her on their last night together, sticking to the viewpoint of the father over the mother. “They shouldn’t have destroyed his big house and then also his small house. What were the villagers thinking of?”

“It’s wrong what they did, true,” she said back, “but, bigger picture, they’re thinking of the world beyond some petty, bogus houses, no matter how big, how small. Their actions speak words in the only way they perhaps knew. My daddy was wrong, plain wrong about the subject. He should have realized the moral dilemma involved. AI takes *energy*. It has to get it from somewhere. And that’s just the start; we haven’t even talked about world security issues, and just the blame thing taking control of, well, *everything*.” Her opinions had hardened as she studied up on the subject. AI is bad, and most likely should be banned. Until we, as a nation, as a world, come to some agreements on curbing the beast from hell and setting protective boundaries around it. Else it’s like trying to ineptly cover up 3 cracks with a 666 magazine and pretending like the even naughtier stuff doesn’t exist beneath it all. Daisy saw *right through* that, hmph. Bathroom — forgot to clean it before she came up. He thought she was over it, but he also thought she was over AI.

He rolls over from the spread out magazines, stares upward. I’m going to climb all the way to the top today, he thinks from his bed behind the castle’s eyes. Take in the air, decide whether I even want to keep this big ol’ castle in the skies moving forward. *Move*, he then thinks in a kind of eureka moment, rising up from the red. Maybe the old kook Dr. Mouse was right all along. The castle — yes — should become mobile! (TBC)

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February 23, 2026 · 6:34 pm

00490413

It was now time to see the band in action. In this early stage, Karl was on drums, not younger brother Sherwood who was still quite too little to play, although his talented hands could already snatch flies out of mid-air circling around his crib without fail (but, bigger question perhaps, *why* were they circling there, ho?). No bass guitarist in the band, then; Karl would serve that function in the future. Only him and then Chet on lead guitar and vocals, with Karl supplying backing vocals when needed. I’m debating whether to say that Chet, like his pretty much double Murdoc from Gorillaz — unplanned most of these parallels between the two fake bands are once more — gave up his role as lead singer to another, for Murdoc’s case this being the also red masked crooner known as 2-D seen in that last post of this here current photo-novel. Hmm. He doesn’t sound *bad* as I sit there at the bar, listening with restaurant manager turned band manager Biff Carter, last seen in Tonsiltown I believe. Or thereabouts. But he also certainly doesn’t sound “good” as in a traditional way of singing, even for rock stars. More commercially minded Biff was thinking along the same lines because he said over to me about a minute into “Paper” (their original single and perhaps their best still), “kind of sounds like a raven in heat, doesn’t he?” and then he laughed but also he was kind of crying a bit too. Because he knew he would have to go back to the dirty 1 dining room/10 x 10 foot cooking area/small shared sex bathroom with no sink restaurant on the edge of town if this whole band thing didn’t pan out. Yeah, he was mulling it over I could tell. No harm done in *auditioning* singers, he may have been thinking here. As long as Chet doesn’t know. Karl? Maybe he should let him in on it too? Karl surely doesn’t thinking Chet is the best of the best in terms of vocals, knows they can’t scale to the top like they desire with him as frontman.

Meanwhile, Jenny Lane sings solo down at the Mago docks as Charles Anson looks on. He’s cooking up a plan, evil of course as is his base nature. Is this the girl? he asked himself after the singing came within earshot as he kept wandering around town, looking for… something. Had he found the one in his dreams at last, a siren’s call across a chasm separating good and bad like Tennessee from Kentucky? He had to find out.

Anson, he thinks while the high pitched, golden warbling continues. The child’s name will be Anson too. Now to get to work on that time machine. (TBC)

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