Category Archives: Bogota

00490511 (cleansed 02)

Stop, smell the roses.

Good, isn’t it?

But the smell of the hotel beneath it wouldn’t go away. The loop still exists: Violet Hope, the 1923 vampire who lived at least 100 more years. Can Can Girl, with a second head now emerging from the first thanks to the magic of instant collage, no mirroring required. Barry de Boy decides to created his “Does This Look Square to You?” series because of its reduced 814 x 814 pixel dimensions, becoming the second entry of the bunch which started with this…

… and currently finishes up with this, its third and perhaps the last personal collage, period, a good place to terminate the overall process (?):

1-2-3, with 24 x 24 miles square Newton County MS and 13 x 13 multi-colored square The Atom also in the mix somewhere, at least behind the scenes. Back to the hotel…

“I’m finished, Hucka! You can come in now!” Wait!! Why did I say that?? I’m disgusting!!!

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00490510

Barry De Boy stands in front of the Shaffer Hotel in Mountainair NM, realizing that he had already checked into a room here in 2023 and then never left. Yet this is also his first time visiting. Time forms a loop in this place and disappears into a Vortex of some dimensions, some dimensions indeed. All of this was pretty much covered in photo-novel 37 sections 1 and 2 and a bit in section 3. I don’t think we need to rehash the story here. Moving on, then…


“Can Can Girls” 1923>2023

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00490214 (“End of Real” revisited)

We were in Puerto Rico now, wondering about the difference between Real and Anon by way of Georgia and its own Anon along with a similarly named Rayle also nearby. Which I think might stand in for Real via its phonetically identical Rael, as in the lead character from the ultra-classic Genesis 1974 double rock opera album called “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway,” a dysfunctional, graffiti artist proto-punk from the mean streets of New York City at the time. Peter Oesso would probably know. If he’s who I think he really is deep down, i.e., former Genesis front-man and primary story penner Peter Gabriel. Can he find his way out of the machinery again and drop the crowd pleasing mask act? Wherever Peter went the “Lamb” was sure to follow unless he left the group, a change heralded by the 1977 classic single “Solsbury Hill” from his first solo album, the original track recorded as an artist beyond Genesis. “Lamb,” a cumulative effort for the band, was just that huge and overwhelming. He had to move on…


“Pageturner”, 2017

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00480613 (“Endless Window”)

Harlequin moves from the darkened corner of the courtyard into the house with Columbine, Pierrot having shuffled off below the event horizon like a dying orbital sun. The oldest extant animation ends here with the created black hole, paint applied gelatin finishing its run.

—–

“Now let’s get to the other one, Daisy. Father you say?”

“Father I say.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0048, 0613, animation, Bogota, collages 2d, Jeogeot, Michigan, Nawt Vaya+, NVFS, Silverton

00480611

Perspective has changed at De House. Mann has lost wo-Mann in a way, in a manner. A hole has been formed in the middle. Witches. Which witch is which? What is good and what is baad?

“Interesting art you have there up above the bar now, Daisy. Another Corona Non while I have your attention, thanks.”

“The art?” She turns and looks up. “Yeah, it’s the alcoholic sea monster there in the middle, obviously. And the pool it’s in: the Nawt Vaya Sea. I found it in the user’s inventory. He indicated the association.”

“User?”

“Yeah, baker b. The user who controls us all, or at least while we’re on his land I suppose, this Nawt Vaya Free State on the shores of same.”

Biker Mann takes another drag off his cigarette, attempts to take all that in. He decides to focus on the art, the meaning. “Soo… is that a painting or what? Looks more like a photo.”

“It’s a collage, silly. You know that.” Daisy Flathead looked flatly at him, anticipating more. Hopefully the discussion will get seriouser from this point on. She decides she needs to add some information here and does so. “It’s… not a part of any series that I know of — not really.”

“The houses,” Biker kind of interrupts. “The same?” making her turn around to stare again. “90 degrees?” he furthers. “3 years?”

—–

“Oh, and the central figure, er, figures. The brown statues that grow shorter with time.”

“Do they?” It was Daisy who was trying to catch up now, mann overtaking wo-mann once more. In this certain situation in this certain time in space.

“Yeah. The acorn topped head.” He pointed to Daisy’s flat one. “It’s Pierrot again. Did you get that?”

She didn’t. But then she makes a decision after continuing to gaze. “I — don’t think they’re the same.”

“Aren’t they?” he pressed.

She checks again. “No,” she judges firmly.

“Okay, okay,” he gives in, seeing the pretty different designs on the, er, helmets of each. Head tops. “Then let’s shift to the hole in the middle.”

“Nawt Vaya? Sea?” she added.

“Kind of I guess. But (moreover) the hole made by the line figure collapsing inside his own clothes that obviously overlaps the brown statues. Where, um, does that hole go?”

She notices the hole, she notices what is highlighted. Thinking of Grant’s Hill again in Missouri and nearby Siloam, she says the word in her mind.

Just then, Philip Strevor pops his head in the door, asks about Nada. “Seen her?” he finishes his introductory paragraph.

“Nada? Yes, she came in here earlier with Lexi,” Daisy provided him. “Said they were headed up to Juho. Said something about a haircut.”

“Oh no,” says Philip. “Oh *no*. WITCHES?” And he ran away from the bar to the North as fast as he could, hoping to catch Nada before she made a big BIG mistake. TBC

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00470407 (Mine, man)

She’d finished her shooting. She’d put back on her finest cashmere robe. This was the result, proudly hung in the hallway leading down to Newtown’s Ratskeller. Barry De Boy’s self proclaimed magnum opus “Toy Play Thing Mine”, part of his “Does This Look Square to You?” series, being exactly 814 x 814 pixels in resolution. And directly kin in this series to the similarly square foldup of the “Foxtrot” album cover by Genesis from ’73 we’ve just seen back in post 01 of this section, also associated with Shelley and the request by new SC librarian Miss Ouri for her to come out from under the lamp and “get big” before them, which she refused to do as was appropriate and logical and decent. ’73: a good year for progressive rock albums indeed. Magical. Spread out centerfold in that case here:

The corresponding folded out version of “Toy Play Thing Mine” has been lost to time, which is in all likelihood for the best as well. But we do have this from “Foxtrot” again, specifically the long and epic “Supper’s Ready” track from side 2, as a kind of indication to what is going on. Green-Gray perpetual war results here again…

We now know that that “Foxtrot” described location of a plateau full of green grass and green trees with Narcissus gazing lovingly at his reflection circles back to this:

And its slowly but surely increasing number of *toys*.

Careful with it. Carefull. Very precious it is. And perhaps fragile. One long gust of wind from the real world all around could eradicate the magic and the spell. Make sure the colors are out of sight as best as possible, white here included. Hide the growing toy avatar village of Flathardt on the edge of this green plateau well. Do not put stuff like blue roses more toward the makeshift path than runs through it all as a possible tipoff to its presence. This is enough of a blue rose case already without such a physical marking. Flatness like this at the head of a hill does not occur naturally. Keep that always in mind during visits and updates.

Now if only the daily mountain rains would stop, UUGH.

(to be continued)

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00470401 (Center)

Miss Ouri looks to her right now with her matching orange eyes. “Come out, child,” she urges manifested Shelley. “Come out from under the lamp and become big before us so we can properly see you.”

“No.”

Good girl.

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00470216

He exited the stylist with a haircut so bad that Google Street View decided to blur it out. Which gets to Spongeberg’s next point…

“Minoa was like a bad haircut in that the stylist had to go, the designer. So I moved you to Fordham up on the beige ridge above us, placed you in a corner there. Eventually this led to Eddy in the current photo-novel, child of Hermon who is also a monster created by another, the CREATOR in this case. Stylist is another word.”

“Snip snip here, snip snip there,” I said to this, thinking of a lion. Thinking of *the* Lion. Gurdjieffian.

I am the stylist he speaks of, I knew by now.

“What couldn’t you fix about your creation, Wheeler? The hair. That jagged, ragged black awful hair.”

“I tried. I really did.”

“By making his face your own. Like staring into a pool of water.”

“Right. But he changed, became independent of me. Through New York.”

“Through *Black Lake,* New York. Old Gregg.”

“I guess,” I answered, thinking of another bad haircut.

“Eddy might be different,” Spongeberg continued. “So also says New York. 2 Coopers as it turned out.”

“Me as Shelley,” I noted. The red haired version, just to mix things up.

And so we’ve come back to the second…

… which is actually the first.

Spongeberg hee-hawed about it and then took his leave from us, also ending this section.

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00470101 (Blow Boy)

She sang about freedom in this New Island venue where she married one of the Edwards/Eddys early that day in late April’s May, the new island husband joining her on congas. Then she sang about prison, the 7 reduced to 6 and 6 and 6.

I’ve seen her before I believe. Called her up but it was the wrong number. Killed and beheaded by the Witcher but rose back like the Alabama Phoenix, monstrous fangs in their appropriate slots across the inner mouth, SMILE.

She gets away by being in her own sphere.

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00460609

We use ART to discover who the true stabber is.

—–

“Oh Gregg Oden my opposite evil evil green twin! What have you done what have you DONE?!

“Hello 119? I mean 911! I’d like to report an accident. A horrible horrible accident!”

“Calm down, sir,” said Gertrude on the other side. “Just tell me what happened.”

“Stabbing. STAB!” Greg Ogden’s imaginary Juho art studio conveniently located on Makers Lane with door always slightly ajar come to life, as it were. As it *is*. He looks down at the body, quickly bleeding out. Not much time!

“Okay, I’ve tracked your location. We’ll send Charlie and Peet right over. Don’t leave the scene, sir!”

Then he was back at the beginning, painting Black Lake that wasn’t actually black except in soul. Should’ve never switched over to oils.

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