Monthly Archives: June 2024

June 22, 2024 · 2:49 pm

00430306 (Ms. Blue Eyes)

“Saw a weird image out on the street. Seems like your kind of work.”

“What did it look like?”

“Grabbed a scan, take a look.”

“Yeaahh, V. You just shared a porn clip with me.”

“W-whaat?”

—–

“Silverhhand. Had to be. You form a harmonious whole in the moment. Look for more images in the same location. This… woman seems to be communicating from one plane to Jonny but also another plane to you. Another 2n1.”

“Great.”

“A difficult time is coming where you’ll have to choose a path. Then, you’ll understand.”

Exhale. “Dunno if I’m swallowing all this, Mysti.”

“Just come on back when you find more. I’ll help decipher what you’ve seen.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0043, 0306, C2077, Nightsity, Small China

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June 21, 2024 · 2:26 pm

00430305

I knew with my limited computer power combined with some limitations of the game itself, I would not be visiting C2077 and its Nightsity, etc., in person anytime soon. Yet developments still continue there thanks to the efforts of others like Daydreaming Gamer, The Martian, and, especially lately, Lettuce Walk. Through the latter, V has been stalking his potential new body around town trying to detect habits and patterns. He better hurry because those aforementioned agents are still on his trail. More on that soon.

Oh. And I found a demon in one of the longest C2077 walking videos made by Daydreaming Gamer currently online. Pretty cool. Pretty scary. Is this an entity behind the Black Wall staring out at me, however briefly? Do they even *exist* in time, though? A large whooshing sound accompanied the glance so I knew this was in all likelihood a real “paranormal” phenomenon.

A type of grandma figure led me to this moment starting with her own, much less threatening glance…

… soon passing by a TILE styled kiosk at the bottom of the stairs here. And just beyond: it.

We find out later that the umbrella holding woman’s name is Magenta. In both cases?

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June 19, 2024 · 8:38 am

00430304 (Page?)

“I tried to lighten the mood early in our friendship by showing him the Tire Nutz juxtaposition, Lichen, which he didn’t know about despite being local too. You’d be proud of me that day. Two big tractor tires on top of an auto repairs shop just down the street from my dealership, with a phallic water tower in back if you look at it straight on. Obviously done on purpose. Can you picture it in your mind’s eye, Lichen my partner? Do you even remember what those things look like, how they’re configured and such?”

“The tires are nuts, right,” says Lichen, serious in the moment while trying to figure all this out with her lesser brain power. “And the Blue Balls were nearby?”

“The Kentucky sculpture, yes, with three balls instead of 2, so: moons. Made by Tennessee. This was the fulfillment of her unfinished Mars project, poked through into another dimension. But Asylum was behind all of this still.”

“So we’re beyond… the Black Wall?”

“I’m not ready to go that far, my blonde buddy. It’s beyond me right now. And you know how I don’t like limitations of the mind.”

“Dangerous,” responds Lichen to this. “Keep ’em at bay with jokes.”

“Hmm.”

—–

One sector over, Clara Bellissaria is keeping tabs on tobacco selling Redd back at her station, noting that she is a 2n1 now and that the new left is different from the old right. The white horse leads, the black horse steers. Hasn’t gone off the rails yet. But soon she knew there would have to be a decision made, and Fern through her.

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June 18, 2024 · 2:49 pm

00430303 (transparent meanings)

Augusta ponders blame and culpability. Looking at you, city council.

In the mind’s eye, Frank drives by the now empty lot after the disaster and thinks of his own emptiness, as in the past he came from. Growing up in Davis with an aunt he didn’t respect enough in retrospect. Didn’t take her woman power ways seriously enough. And now here he is desperately seeking the feminine in himself. Too much masculine: too many powerful, horse laden yellow cars and such.

Who to turn to in a crisis? Certainly not questionable tea dispensing Albert from Murkville. Should’ve screened him better before the hire.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0043, 0303, collages 2d, Georgia, Google Street View, GTA

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June 15, 2024 · 1:17 pm

00430302

—–

“I’m actually here looking for V, Emeralda. Have you seen him around lately? Horns, you know, like me, except two of them. Like if Benny and I were one again, Horns of Hatton and all. We’re looking to synchronize the left and the right again, two parts of one. Side for you, side for me.”

“V is in a different world,” spoke Emeralda in that strange, smokey voice of hers. Only 1/2 woman at best. 1/2 human actually.

Jer Left Horn waited for more, then had to ask himself. “Okay, *which* world?” Authoritative tone for an authoritative man. Brother Benny’s in contrast was ordinary, even goofy. Like he didn’t give a damn about his high position in the world. Except for the women — low self esteem you see — figures it’s the only way he can get any.

“His own”, she answered, then just vanished from the couch after flashing him some weird sign, he observes. First a V with one hand then a V with the other with the first still held up, then joined together. VW… V or Val’s World? he ponders later.

Great, Jer Left Horn thinks in the present. My only contact in this God forsaken place disappeared into thin air like the green genie she is. He’ll have to poke around himself, see if he can find any more clues concerning the whereabouts of his… well… father. *Supposedly*.

Meanwhile, on a different world, V looks to switch bodies again, knowing new agents were on his trail. This doofus will do, he thinks, seeing the figure superimposed with his letter as he passed him on the streets; determined it was destiny. To prepare the transfer, he’d have to stalk the fellow for a while, learn his habits, figuratively live in his skin before doing so literally. All this coming from the future — shouldn’t be hard since it was preordained. Pieces should fall into place pretty quickly, he thinks. Side for you, side for me.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0302, C2077, Nautilus, Rim Isles

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June 14, 2024 · 9:47 pm

She arrived here in a boat.

But not that one. That one is just a collection of rocks. Art on Eve Street. By Rust of all people.

—–

When he got the vehicle home, he found he had to get rid of the extra horsepower to fit it into the garage. Oh well: there’s always the pasture out back for when he needs it. “Albert, see to, er, Wilbur if you would please,” he said to his thought-to-be faithful servant, cooking up a name on the spot while handing over the reigns. “Some place with a lot of mowable grass to munch down on.”

“Right, sir.”

“And women. Don’t forget the women.”

“Sure thing, sire.” But he was talking to the horse now.

“Well — I’ll be,” Frank Lynn said to this surprising new turn, noting the long boner he had just thinking about it. What a grand scheme that dolphin wizard in the swamplands cooked up to make him the richest person in all of GTA V on top of being its most successful novelist. “Why not go all the way?” the wizard said about the original wish, knowing he had the power to amplify and extend. A chatting stallion would be worth more than the sum of all his cars, he realized while driving his VW with the now allowable headroom into his wide if not tall garage. He’d see to that challenged dimension too soon enough.

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June 14, 2024 · 8:43 am

00430217 (moomeries)

The moment Fern realized she was in the story too.

“The 3rd ball!” she exclaimed aloud in the Martian rust and dust. “I use to work there!”

Just around the corner from the big spool, in fact. She’d witnessed that same adventure too, watched it roll by outside her windows, heard the noise of the crash. Even talked to Frank at the time, encouraged him to keep on with his writing even though he didn’t have the table he wanted. They both looked down at the jagged pieces of wood lying all about, remnants of the object. The car that hit it in front of the car wash had moved on with minimal damage. But the dream: broken. It was up to Fern to help put the pieces of his life back together, have them make sense to himself and, eventually, to others through his art. This was raw, this was a plateau of raw. In short, she planted a seed, yes. She remembers.

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June 14, 2024 · 7:42 am

00430216

Fern sits down with the red book given to her by Teebestia day before yesterday’s yesterday and opens it up to the bookmark. The Martian sky was particularly rust colored today, she noted at her outdoor location, picked for privacy. Just like author Frank Lynn seeked in same before starting the work in his own backyard upon a table of not spool but it would have to do. She pulls out her knife to check the color. Yeah, she thinks, spying nothing above the handle in her hand. Definitely a rusty one. Better sheath this quick before she gets caught. Don’t want to show out a Cleveland boner, as they say. She could be president, she reminded herself. Beginning with finding the Diablo-Draco reversal in that black list of the 2 quick as a wink, unlike our friendly but dense former porn star turned nudist who was destined for a lowly one instead. The Tennessee Blue Balls sculpture in Lost Sanos is an interesting, new development, she feels — right there on page 43 and not 42 where it should be to answer all. Displaced on purpose. One after, again. Like her ship taken in here this day of mid June’s May, with unrecognized and unknown Edward Daigle only a couple of rows back, on a mission of his own. She looks down and begins to read again.

—–

I had to walk by the object basically every time I went downtown so of course I was going to start thinking about how to make it my own, what I’d do with it if it were mine. First off, it was round, not square or rectangular like most tables. I could plan my Great American Novel as a circle, like a zodiac or something. I had rough ideas. All started with Redd of course, but then worked its way around to blue (Page). Then there was the ultraviolet gap to end — how to complete the thing. The last shock.

If I could just figure out how to get it to the house, I thought at the time. Too big to get into my car. Dense head that I was, I didn’t even think about borrowing Stinch’s uncle’s cousin’s pickup truck who lives out in Grapeshot in some kind of trashy trailer park or something with a bunch of white red necks. I figured I had to roll it, but maybe that was all part of the art. Because I ended up fitting that adventure into the book as well.

(to be continued)

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June 13, 2024 · 8:15 pm

00430215

The generally accepted rule is pink for the boys, and blue for the girls. The reason is that pink, being a more decided and stronger color, is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.
–Ladies Home Journal, 1918

“One question, brother of mine. Why does it have to be blue?”

“Because pink doesn’t work,” answered left horned Jer to right horned Benny. Opposite in so many other ways too. “I tried it with Evelyn. You know what happened to Evelyn.”

“Sure I do. She turned into a boy.”

“Did you know,” said Jer, “that in the early part of the last century the colors were reversed and that pink belonged to boys and blue to girls?”

“Sure. We know that *now*.”

“After Evelyn, yeah.”

“After Evelyn,” echoes Jer’s weight challenged brother. But he doesn’t seem to mind. He can have all the girls he wants anyway, thanks to the power.

“If we want to get back to 1919, this is the way to do it. 1 after the 909.”

“Word.”

1 year earlier:

“W–what happened to the Hills, Jer?”

“We’ve *failed*.”

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June 13, 2024 · 7:24 pm

00430214

“Yo’ don’t understand. I want dat spool table. Dat shitz my f-in’ ticket out o’ here.”

“Fool. Why the f- yo’ talkin’ all gansta n’ all today? Yo’ sound like Stinch!”

“Hey, Stinch be lowballin’ us. Lowballin’ us shizzle like da bottom feedin’ pyramid dwellers we r’.”

“Can yo’ speak a lil’ plainer, Frank. I mean, yo’re use ta me talkin’ ghetto. Yo’ have a built in translator bcuz’ o’ yo’ goddamn mutha. My f-in’ muthaz from Leeds n’ datz in f-in’ England or somethang.”

“*All* *right*. *Is* *this* *bet*-*ter*? *Can* *you* *under*-*stand* *me* *now*?” He even affects a bit of an English accent to further the switch for his hood-pal Laramie with his present Leeds mother and absent Watts father, hood in both the neighbor and child meaning back there.

“Yeah biatch, datz betta muthaf-a. Naw say what the f- yo’ gotta say.”

“You don’t understand. I want that spool table. That object is my bloody ticket out of here!”

“There yo’ go!” returned Laramie to Frank, matching excitement with excitement and glad his talk turned from murky to clear. Now they can go get that table, roll it through the streets back over to here if needed. About 100 yards, Laramie estimated in his mind. Trick is crossing 5 lane Innocence Blvd. with it. But if they can drive a car 120 mph through heavy city traffic, he figures they can pull off this. It will be fun for a change. What if the police even catch them? What are they gonna do? *Laugh*?

2 days later:

“Whoa nelly, dat mo f- a done got away from us, Frank!” CRAAAAASH!

Oh well. Better it than them, I suppose. But Frank’ll have to find another yard table in which to write his Great American Novel on. The book of Redd with all those pages about likewise hood-pal Page will have to wait a little longer to start in other words.

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