“Karl”
“Karl!”
“KARL!!!”
He finally turns away from the corn. “Yess?”
“Time to go home.”
Category Archives: Iowa
00500309
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacob_D._Robida
In the afternoon of February 4, 2006, Robida’s vehicle was seen about 1,500 miles (2,400 km) away in Arkansas, where Jim Sell, a Gassville police officer, initiated a traffic stop at the Brass Door Restaurant parking lot. After talking with Sell for about half a minute, Robida opened fire with a 9mm handgun, killing the officer. He turned onto Arkansas Highway 201 headed south and continued to Arkana, Arkansas, where he fired at Arkansas State Police Sgt. Van Nowlin. Police pursued him and laid spike strips; although these flattened his front tires, they failed to stop the car. Robida fled for about 18 miles down Arkansas Highway 5, where he turned south and drove into the small town of Norfork. In the middle of town he lost control of the car due to the front tires, spun out, and hit two parked vehicles.
“See, this is the problem, Daniel. As I’ve shown, Arkana is only 3 miles west of Norfolk. So how could this Robida creep flee *down* Highway 5 for 18 miles, then turn *south* — not north even — and drive into Norfolk. Something is off in this description. And I think I know what. The (Arkana-Arkawana) circle. Arkawana is 18 miles from that turn off, not Arkana. I checked.
“The circle… is… warps?” Could be, Daniel realizes, given all the other weirdness in this small area of the great state of Arkansas. Truth.
“We need to go in that oh so central library, see what they got. I know it’s *our* library in a way, more mine than yours in the end but you get where I’m coming from.”
“I do,” admitted Daniel. He’s all on board with this. Art only goes so far without writing never mind music. Art and words together, like in a photo-novel, yes. He’s getting the hand of this.
“And just from this wikipedia page, there’s more…”
On February 7, 2006, Jack Thompson, a disbarred attorney, commented on the incident, describing… the killing of Sell as a “suicide by cop homicide” inspired by Grand Theft Auto.[11] Police later dismissed the “suicide by cop” theory when it was discovered that Robida had fatally shot himself.[12]
Thompson claimed to have spoken to a New Bedford detective,[13] who “repeatedly” said Robida’s friends had said “he played the Grand Theft Auto games”. No further details have emerged, but the following day the Bristol County District Attorney rejected the video game link after examining all the evidence collected from Robida’s apartment and car.
“Who just showed up in Iowa in this here current photo-novel? (K)arl from Grand Theft Auto, and the main version that would have been current at the time (GTA:San Andreas). We need to get back to him, see how he’s doing. We got sidetracked in Beaconsfield. Now that you’re okay and back on the correct timeline, we have to follow more his story.” TBC
00500304
“I can’t believe that worked! I CAN’T be-lieve that WORKED!! Ahh hahahahahahaha!!! Trapped in the STONE he is, back at that cursed woodwinded place. My replacement HO! Suck-aaaaaaaaaahhh!!!” Roger Pine Ridge does a little jig on the spot, then approaches the big painted rock, lights a fag located conveniently (along with a lighter) in his pants pocket, draws deep, and then blows a prolonged stream of smoke right in HER face. The cursed astronaut who set all this in motion in the first place. “WHIT-SOOOON,” he spat out, satisfied to no end with the tobacco and the revenge.
Sounds behind him. He turns.
“MARTY!!! Where you been???” He was holding a woodwind thus still Paul, still dead. TBC?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0304, Iowa
00500303 (Transfer)
“Iowa??” Daniel eyes the red car wall decor mounted above Father Fecked sitting at the counter, knows where this is heading. Iowa?? he says to himself this time.
“Mountain in the Air,” Newt metes out. Knew he was going to say that, Daniel thinks. Roger Pine Ridge. Or was it Marty?
Turns out it was both.
——
“Roger Pine Ridge is sick on Pill. That malady is spreading throughout the state, maybe something to do with the corn I don’t know.”
“Or Hy-Vee in particular,” spouts Daniel, proud of his addition.
“Okay, *corn* in Hy-Vee, let’s say.”
“Alright.” Always has to one up me, Daniel thinks here.
“But patient 01 — or I suppose patient 00 is the way they put it…”
“Yeah?”
“Roger Pine Ridge.”
“Yeah I remember him from the blog. *And* the attached photo-novels.” Always have to tack that on after mention of the precious blog, Daniel thinks, or else Newt *could* get upset. Doesn’t always happen but he doesn’t want to take the chance. Gotta get to the bottom of this tonight. As in: bottom of the state.
“Right,” says Newt. “So he can’t sit in front of the Beaconsfield Hy-Vee, um, building, the original location. Can’t wait for Marty any longer.”
“I see.” Indeed he did. More than he wanted to let on. You see, his memory is excellent and he recalls what happened to Roger Pine Ridge at this location in the blog. “You’re… putting me in a place similar to the castle,” he reveals what he’s gleaned. “Wooden. So wooden I can’t smoke there either. And (he turns toward the 4th wall, looks for a camera), all because of a laugh? At my expense?”
“There’s the wind too,” Newt doubles down on the laughs. “You can’t smoke because of that either. Wood and wind.”
“*Great*, THANKS.”
“Have you packed your bags?” Newt asks, understanding time doesn’t exist here, not in Cedar Creek, not in Nawt Vaya either, anywhere in Our Second Lyfe. Maybe not even in Iowa.
“No. I mean: yes; what the heck: yes. I’m packed. I’m ready to go. Am… I already there?”
“Yes.” TBC?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0303, HANA LEI, Iowa
00500302 (The Heartland)
Soon he’d forgotten he had weapons and armor in the first place and was instead doing a bit of light grocery shopping for the Kennedys down in the hollow who were both sick on Pill (highly contagious!). Backwards Iowa just did that to people, brought them back to Earth where they came from, made them care about people again because there wasn’t a lot else to care about in this corn invested place of a state. Jack the husband said he wanted Kaboom cereal which he was trying to find. Fellow sugar addict and loving wife of 57 years Marge said that she preferred Lucky Charms so when he located the aisle with the cereal he’ll pick up a box of that too. Both were blind to the fact that this high sugar intake left them vulnerable to diseases like The Pill, lowered their natural immune defenses. “5 dollars should cover it all,” Jack said while handing him the bill before he climbed back up the hill into town again but he was living in the 20th Century still so Karl knew it would take quite a bit more than that to buy the stuff they requested. Luckily more in-tune-with-the-times Marge slipped him another 5 as he was going out the door — still not quite cutting it but maybe getting close enough where he could cover the rest with the two dollars a boy gave him earlier in the day for fixing a flat tire on his bicycle. That’s when he discovered he could be kind as well as mean, a kind of first in his weighed down, ghetto constricted life.
As he was checking out, he overhead bits of a conversation from the couple behind him, something about Hy-Vee here not being the grocery store it started out as, and in turning into a large chain it had lost that small village feel which made it so special in the first place. “Not like Beaconsfield, no,” said the husband of the two, obviously having a memory of this place in his head. Beaconsfield, huh, Karl thought. He’d register the name in his brain as Carla the Clerk’s register ran up $11.92 in total for the cereal. Phew! Just made it. TBC?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0302, Iowa
00500301 (When in Rome)
—–
Might as well give this so-called Abyss a try since I’ve managed to come across a key, lucky me. Not expecting much honestly, given what the game has had to offer so far. Entering…
Hypercube, huh. *Kind of* interesting. Resonant with some of my own stuff anyway. Desert of a story no more as promised by The Others? We’ll see. Passing through…
Iowa, *dangit*! Should’ve guessed. Different type of sand. One made of corn. Aw shucks, I suppose. And I lost my armor and weapons in the transition *sigh*. Must be a security thing. Have to fight off the locals by hand. Maybe procure some more weapons in a pillaged house or something. Here we go!… TBC?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0301, Crimson Desert, GTA, GTA old, Iowa
00430612 (The Letter)
Gerald realizes there’s only 1 bush and not 2. Not 2 S’s in other words. He is a former witcher true, but his name is Gerald, not Geralt. And the “monster” he slayed in Tousaint — 1 s again — is Redd not Rhenawedd, exposed for the double face she is. The immediate giveaway is that she couldn’t be painted, thus artist Greg Ogden’s highly abstracted depiction of her appearing on his canvas much to his chagrin initially. Later he got use to the style, eventually descending further further further into this new art until only pure mathematics and pure chance were left, 2 faces of one thing themselves. You are what you paint.
Harking back to the Oracle there is a historic village named Tousaint in Ohio along the Toussaint River, the lone example of that town name in our country of the US of A. And in the same county of Sandusky with Clyde and Fremont.
Oops. Wrong map. 🙂
We recall that Mikie’s therapist was named Clyde, soon to be changed to Fremont as June-July-August inevitably slides into Fall and beyond. A larger community for higher ideas and ideals. And this returns us to Mars through the backdoor, Asylum bartender Teebestia with a mask herself waiting on Anderson, Norris and Hayes at once, as if she had 3 heads to match each of theirs. Triumvirate.
“I’ll open up the Table to questions.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0043, 0612, Google Street View, Iowa, MARS, Minnesota, Ohio, Witcher
00410211
She learned the truth about the chest that day. Octavia’s.
Borneo chest. Square. Iowa. Flying — planes (and lines (and points)).
He was… fascinated with that chest! she realized. What’s inside? Pictures of Octavia. Letters of love. Notes: “don’t forget to pick up milk at Speedy Mart before our rendezvous tonight” (etc.).
—–
She went back to her old home in (Paper-)Soap to check Mouse’s new info against her mother’s.
“Greene’s Motel,” she started. “That’s where the doctor — my father — said I was conceived.”
“Well there’s a green *door* inside. Along with a green phone. Maybe that’s what he was referring to.” Her Maw, Octavia Tart III, wondered if the old man perhaps was getting senile and confusing names with each other, overlapping colors where they shouldn’t be. Always fascinated with hues the good doctor was. Maw Tart wasn’t surprised that her old lover was involved with fellow doctors named Gray(son) and Brown, for example — fits the pattern. “Blue?!” he said one time to her, rubbing off the rouge she just put on that morning thinking it would please him. “I said red!” he said. Purple at the least, he thought to himself. She believed that was the day Alice came along. The door to her standard 104 room was locked for some reason — had to do it out back. Perhaps it was occupied, she realized now. Yes, Daisy was working that day as well. Made sense suddenly. Alice was conceived in the alley because of Daisy (she imagined). She’d have to mark it in her “Little Book of Vengeance” against the fellow hooker, now going on 12 (or 32) years at the Lucky Motel. 12 (or 32) years is too long — can’t call her Lucky now. Her: 6 (or 26). She still has some luck left but it’s running out quick. Mouse was a way out but wasted. No luck with Robert either, the owner of the swamp. Or so she thought.
“What about Claude? The golden robot?”
“What *about* Claude?” Maw Tart got tense all of a sudden, felt a surge of the unknown and probably unknowable coming, like in the Dark Days. Before the Coming of Jesus into her heart.
“Well… I mean, he — I mean, *she’s* in Cass City now. And he’s fiddling with her.”
“I bet he is,” spouts Maw Tart through the fear. Pleasure robots, *pheh*.
“No. I mean, he’s tinkering with her. Like in her parts.”
“My statement still stands.”
“*No*. Like… *reprogramming*. What do you know about the numbers 1886 and 1936?”
“I know they’re *years*.”
“50 years. Between them, I mean.”
“I’m counting, let’s see, 3822,” Maw countered, showing off her math skills and being difficult at the same time. The fear was standing just behind her now, threatening to reach into her chest with its shadowy paw and pull out her savior.
“He’s interested in hues. Red to yellow to green to blue. Or something.”
“Hues, *huh*.”
“He’s doing *something* to that robot. He’s spying on his prospective replacements, Maw.”
“HUH — wish *I* had a replacement. Then I could go work at the beer factory they opened up in Barrow County; become like Laverne and Shirley like I always wanted to.”
Alice didn’t have the heart to tell her mother. Barrow County was no more. She’d been sending her postcards from the Void.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0041, 0211, Iowa, Paper Soap+, Soap
Iowa (Gully Gee!)
It was a Warm Morning when the object crashed into the future site of itself. Early May I believe. THUD!!! The noise attracted the attention of a sore backed nearby hiker, walking in a different dimension but still able to hear because of the loudness. And then the straight line was manufactured backwards for close to a football field in length over 01 02 03 04 gullies. Alvin Straight. Motocyclone. Cylinder Rodman. We continued…
Warm Morning Crash Site: turn here!
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0038, 0301, Blue Mountain, County Park, Iowa
Newt
“It’s kind of weighed heavily toward the west,” W/India (?) spoke of the illuminated pins on the big Nautilus map in de skies, indicating recent activity.
“What’s your suggestion?” But then Axis-Windmill or whoever realized it was staring him in the face. Yd Island. Island of Babylon here on this map generated by another.
But then he realized that maybe the highlighted pins weren’t as random as they seemed. Nightsity is directly above Squared Root City, for instance, and they appear basically next to each other in the text of this here photo-novel (delete discussion of number).
—–
He found himself walking out of a hospital back onto the mean streets, the surgery to remove the points from his ears a total success. Only present girlfriend, future wife Wheeler Wilson had sent him a get well card but that was enough. Reno, it will cost you Reno, they said about the fee. He watched a man die there and it could have been him. He had no choice.
He recalled the dog that was also a spider. 8 shoes on the steps of a porch. A bird indicates. He is driving in a car procured from the Mountain in the Air, red in color and 57 in number, as in years (this time). But it was not him. Not really. The ears, the ears! he understood, sensing the overlap, the fading out and then the fading in. They’ve changed *everything*.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0037, 0604, Iowa, Lower Austra, Nautilus, NIGHTSITY, Squared Root City-, Tennessee, Upper Austra, Wild West, Yd Island
Sunklands 