Category Archives: Holland

August 8, 2025 · 4:10 pm

00470511 (Big Apples)

We’re in the original Amsterdam this time, not the New one over in America also known or more commonly known as New York (, New York). Famed Red Light District: not quite what I was expecting (!). Where are the XXX signs, the scantily dressed prostitutes lining the streets, distracting all our thoughts and motions? And, most importantly and more broadly, where was that gall darn golden auto that was suppose to be here waiting for me?

I’ve searched everywhere, every street, alleyway and side path. I’m beginning to think it was STOLEN, Grand Theft Auto style. One gap replaces the other?

Abruptly switching back from day to night, I reinsert the entrance to the library into the gap in an attempt to make things right again. Was I wrong to press the button? Did that cause all *this*? And did I really even press it in the first place? These questions haunt me to this day.

Or not…. Whatever: goodbye Red, Yellow, Green, Blue. I’m certain I’ll meet one or two or three or all 4 of you in another day in another light. See ya then. Be safe. And… thank you. For being my friend in that time.

Ahh, *there* you are. It worked!

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June 5, 2025 · 7:53 pm

00470201 (explorers)

“We can’t go back to Holland again?” he questions, staring at the newest image on the screen.

“Oh Eddy, we can’t even get to the top of Mt. Sandraman without being distracted, much less another place in another world. Be here in the here and now. Be Free.”

“Let’s go!” he urged. But he stood still.

—–

“Oh look, the image is changing into something else we know. Wallytown. On (nearby) Fishers Island. Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” responded Shelley, still standing behind him in her finest cashmere bathrobe, still waiting on a decision. Where to go, where to go? Somewhere away from *here*. Or at least go to that hill that likes to call itself a mountain *within* here, pheh. She tires of being chained as an object. 6 6 6 is over. It’s now 7. Freedom.

But they stood still.

—–

Too late, Eddy. Too late. The dream Spider has arrived.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0201, Europe, Holland, New Island^, Wallytown/Fishers Island^

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February 8, 2025 · 9:11 am

00450615

He finds himself going backwards, back into Vijlin and reversing from the plane that couldn’t be there, fire still on shoulder…

… but not for too much longer, as he deposits it back on the ground in Echt. Shoulder cool, shoulder cool! Thank the Gods.

Distraction absent, he realized he’d missed something. Not silver (car)…

… not copper.

At Wessem, he hops back into the canal looking for the missing thing, heading for that Ell Bridge separating 8 and 9, he knew. Rail accident; something amiss.  Soon enough he was there, and leapt back up on the bridge with a reverse splooshing sound and out of the canal, back to the rail where he observed it from above, heading southeast to the corner of The Netherlands. A place he’d never reach now. No burn, no burn!

He quickly turns to find the gold car. Waiting.

Backwards talk from the car but he knew what was going on now, and that he had about 10 seconds before it reversed itself off the bridge, back back back to Amsterdam or thereabouts where it came from. Gold found, gold found! he cried within. And jumped in. Time suddenly started to move forward again, Mikie greeting him with the words: “Excellent choice, Philip. Now we can go home.”

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February 8, 2025 · 9:10 am

00450613

Inside the fence now, wire cutters successfully employed to fulfill the dream duty needed. Let’s find out what’s in that building.

Definitely the Data Hall, good — the right place. Now to go deeper; more inside.

Internal passageway revealed by pulling this lever? Why not? Must see this through to the end since I’ve gotten this far. Alarm clock not set to go off until 9. 8:45 now. I have a bit of time left. But what’s time in a world like this that time’s forgotten? Not much.

Ahhh! A human! Sliding out from within those banks of computers; almost woke me up 7 minutes too early with his appearance but not quite. He speaks (!):

“Jack Shepherde’s not mad at me is he?” he begins cryptically enough. “I was just looking at the computers to see where all my favorite people went to. It’s been a long time since I read computer works, though, so I can’t figure out how to get their location out of the machine. I think it’s time for me to go home. Thank you for opening the door.”

And with that he glides past me in his slidey way with no steps required and down the passageway I came in through and out the front door as I followed him as best I could. I then went back to the room with the computers but the door was closed again, and immediately when I pulled down the lever like I did before, the alarm went off, RIIIIIING. I awoke in something of a sweat, knowing I didn’t have the information I needed. 9:01. Better get dressed for breakfast. Linda coming over at 9:30. Should take a shower too but it’ll be close. And at any rate, hair will be wet when she arrives because of no time to dry. Wet’s not good. Shower can wait. Slap on some deodorant, brush my teeth, drag a comb across my head and I’m good.

(to be continued)

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February 7, 2025 · 7:32 am

00450612

So we come to the point in our story where we have to ask: Are any of these various lines of seemingly disparate plots and sub-plots connected to some kind of central power source? Or do they all just dead end before reaching any said source? Well, I think Our Second Lyfe or My Second Lyfe still provides the juice to all this in a strong way. It may not be where I’m heading but it’s where I’m from, the photo-novels as a whole originate. So let’s put that in the middle, like a house a toddler or child might crawl or walk out of one day to find a brave new world outside full of fresh mystery and intrigue. After that, he’s kind of finished with the house or at least he thinks he is. Out There becomes the most important, like stepping through a door and leaving an old way of life behind. Crawling to walking to running… and then back to walking and then, finally, crawling (to the grave). So what is *outside*? And what are the levels of outside? When we reach a circle around this center where real cannot be distinguished from virtual, do we stop and take in the view?

Or do we just continue down the summit to the other side? Both I think. Let’s move forward. With wire cutters.

(to be continued)

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February 6, 2025 · 3:43 pm

00450611

An F near the highway outta here. Must stand for Fern. That’s me! And this is my game made for walking and traveling. Since a bus is more likely to be used than any other form of transport, I call it Fernbus. Or Ferncoach; haven’t finalized. Much like the game.

Another F in the same field. Maybe: Finished? As in, finished with this game. Just over there beyond that highway sign actually leading to nowhere, motoring cars falling like lemmings into the void sea just beyond.

A third F. France. *France*?? I playfully exclaim to myself in utter shock. But this was suppose to be the corner to The Netherlands from this here direction of Germany, golly gee whiz. Where’s Vaalserberg that I created this whole game to find Philip Strevor at and maybe Mikie and Frank Lynn along with him? Where’s one of the higher rises in the entire Dutch kingdom and the highest in The Netherlands itself where everything will reach a logical climax?

Oh well, I’ll just have to take a 500 KM trip north on another one of my many game buses to Aachen to recalibrate, maybe take in the Albrecht Durer exhibit celebrating the 500 year anniversary of his visit while I’m there. Wonder if he created the print “Melancholia” when staying in the low lands? No, I think (again, playfully with myself, because I actually knew the dates of everything, the trip, the print, the painting), that would have been pre-1521 and thus before the 1 year trip to Holland. Yes, that’s where he finished “St. Jerome in his Study” instead, one of his most famous paintings as “Melancholia” is to print.

—–

Windmills old and new entering the view. Getting close! Vaalserberg here we come.

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February 5, 2025 · 9:13 am

00450609

If I could get up on that high hill the alien bee just disappeared into, I might gain a better perspective on the whole game situation I’m stuck in. Maybe the bee thing is an indicator — ‘nother one.

It starts raining as I approach the summit, pheh. Now my feet are wet, my clothes are getting soaked. Not fun.

But I ultimately make it and peer over the top. The Data Hall: so far away!

Ahh, better. And now my feet aren’t wet, the clothes are dry. Less resolution has its place. But I clearly see the chain link fence now and know I’ll have to return another night in another dream, wire cutters in hand. Till then!

(to be continued)

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February 3, 2025 · 9:16 am

00450607 (to Vaalserberg!)

“So this is what it looks like inside one of these Sphere’s, huh,” Lester says with awe in his voice, amazed he could get a plane in this far. “Well boys,” he continues after admiring the glinty surroundings a bit more, “I guess we better get down to the business that brought us here.”

“No no no, Walter,” he says, watching one of his two hired goons move toward the fake loot. “Remember what we talked about, fog for brains. Just ignore those shiny, weighty, but, in the end, worthless bricks of AU. That’s just fool’s gold. Might as well be ordinary rocks compared to what we’re *really* after.”

“And — du-huh — what’s that again, boss?” asked even more ignorant Jason from behind, dressed up like a bug exterminator with Walter for a reason. A multi-armed reason. All had extra arms for one thing, as in fire. But that was all part of the ruse, the subterfuge, the diversion.

“Just leave that to me,” Lester answered cryptically (again), finding the right way forward. “Through here, yes. This must be the passageway to the climax we seek,” he said almost religiously. “Prepare yourself for fire.”

Lester punches the correct #s into the keypad that opens the sliding door. Arms drawn, they head inside — further inside.

In a parallel dimension, Philip The Other walks with them, Gus still perched on his shoulder and suddenly burning brighter than ever, ow ow ow! (pop pop pop!) But shouldn’t be long now. Just that final rise over there.

(to be continued)

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February 2, 2025 · 8:50 am

00450606

“Such brazen display, such shocking nudity.”

“I know, Momma. But some claim the human body is the highest form of art.”

“Pffft,” said Momma Cassie to this. “The human form is made to be hidden in layers of clothing, bulges and curves smoothed over… or else camouflaged in ruffles and bagginess, hmph. I turn my back on it all.” She readjusts her position on the bench to reinforce the stance.

“Right, Momma.” Andie knew discussing the subject always led to a cul-de-sac. This kind of stuff was bad and that was the end of it.

“See? This person now entering the picture has the right idea I suppose. Just grow your hair all out and let that be the end of it instead. No shape atall remains. This might be the only nudity I would condone. Better than clothes in a way, hmmm. Who is under that hair? A hag of lowest aesthetic design? A beauty — could be a man, see — of incomparable heights of loveliness? Nobody knows. Sir, sir?!” she calls over as they start to pass by, curious to find out more. “Or ma’am?!” The sir or ma’am saunters over, takes off the hat along with the attached hair, making Cassie faint. Andie looks on pleased. Prince Julian of Droop!

(to be continued?)

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February 1, 2025 · 2:20 pm

00450605

“Ummm,” goes Philip.

“Errr,” goes Lexi. Rattled Philip moves on. Lexi decides to stay. She had a purpose now.

—–

Philip’s bike then gets destroyed in an unfortunate rail accident (see background below) so he decided to pause before getting another one and instead sell some fish from a street vendor kiosk for while. Just for fun. First customer: himself, who wandered over from the Red District, eager for a talk.

“You’re not green any more,” he began. “Last time we spoke… you were green.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, *me*.” He held up a freshly battered halibut he’d been bashing with a hammer. “Fish?”

“Fishy indeed,” The Other replied. “I want to see *you* eat it. I want to see if it will instead fall out of your mouth. Because of, I don’t know, lack of internal organs?”

Philip places a quick call to Lexi. “Hi. A little help over here? I’ll send you the coordinates.”

“I-I’m busy too right now, Philip. I found something. Golden. Auto.” She also stares over at herself.

“Well hurry up (!).”

Herself rolls down the window, starts hurling similarly based accusations as Philip’s double. “I heard, *me*, that you can’t even play the trumpet. No breath.” She held out a golden instrument from the car she’d been forging with a hammer. “Music?”

She also was a bit different in appearance from her other self, no tattoos in this case. Wi-erd. What could all this mean? both think separately and then together as they rendezvous at the Fuu Kee Chinese Restaurant, doubles tagging right along. As they do.

(to be continued)

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