Category Archives: Iowa

January 10, 2022 · 11:42 am

Taylor

We are almost certain upon passing that this orange clad guy is welcoming us, the viewer, to Iowa. And the 2 little, alert dogs to his right (our left), one black and one brown? Welcomers as well?

But in the next photo we become confused, as the waver is reflected in the window of a passing red car. Is the driver of the car instead being acknowledged, his or her return wave masked by the reflection of the person waving back? There could be stories layered within stories here. The 2 little dogs remain, alert as ever. It’s as though they aren’t even real.

Happy Ruby?:)

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January 9, 2022 · 10:27 am

00310112 (left leaning)

“Good to see you again, Ruby.”

“Good to see you, Baker B.”

“I — didn’t expect to see you here. But, then again, I don’t expect to see anyone anywhere anytime.”

“Surprises, I know. All around.”

“Yes.”

“What do you wish to know tonight? To close.”

“Thank you. How about Nautilus to start. It seems super important still.”

YES… MAYBE… NO.

“Interesting, and how about Iowa?”

YES, YES, YES.

“How about that, Ruby. Iowa.”

“Yes.”

“And the transition from Nautilus to Iowa?”

YES.

“How will this take place?”

The planchette moves to the center of the board. Stops. Circles a bit. Stops. Circles a little. Stops.

“Center, then?”

Circles a bit. Stops.

“Is this Fife?”

“I’m picking up something about automatic writing,” interjects Ruby at this point. “Someone is drawing something.”

“Okay. I maybe see where this is going.”

“A *spirit*, yes. Summoned by a *witch*.”

“That’s you!” Baker Bloch exclaimed, then saw it manifest beside them.

“Inter-resting,” spoke Ruby to end.

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December 19, 2021 · 8:43 am

34th Street

“I’m just saying you haven’t been the same, since… since…”

“Cincinnati. Just say it.”

“Bench.”

“I know,” he interrupted again, knowing the story all too well.

“It was a lot of lumber!”

“He deserved it.” Silence for a bit, then: “I guess we’re going to talk about Rose next. The *ul-timate* Red.”

She shook her head. “No. No, I’m just saying…”

“It was the frigg’n Metz!” he exclaimed, finally raising his voice on the subject, as he almost always does. “How would I know, a MIRACLE would occur?”

“It,” she tried to calm him down, “was… a long time ago.”

“Not in my nogg’n.” He knocked on his head. It made a hollow sound. Lumber again. Bench would get his revenge. “The whole *team*, was jinxed. Just look at their names. Rose, pheh. Bench, *huff*. Perez… well that one was kind of normal. But *Morgan*.”

“Now dearest, why don’t we wrap up some more presents,” she distracted again. “Then afterwards, afterwards…” She dangled her leg seductively. No need to think about 69 any longer. *That* 69.  It was often the only way to get him to shut up about it once he started. Now the other leg joined the first: two danglers. Would he take the bait?

—–

“Tom… SEEVER!” he said to end. Always the same.

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December 12, 2021 · 12:31 pm

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“You must love me exactly as I love you!”

And so we’ve returned to Black Lake in a very unexpected way through Misty and her partially submerged beau, soon to be husband (??); circled back around. We have similar choices that we did before here, then. Return to Paper Soap from Paperweight using the resonant keyword Paper? A painter paints, a complainer complains. I’m no painter and I’m no complainer. I can go with the flow, even if it doesn’t involve oiling it up and applying to canvas. Joey Avatar knows how comfortable canvas feels now (!). I don’t need to break a couple of nails to understand, but I do need to hammer a couple. In our fence. I’m looking out our Real Life window now. So many people outside, though. If only they would go away for at least that one special day of the year. Hmm.

And I still have a foothold in Paper-Soap, with transfigured Moes’ pink welcome mat seen here back in the sewer tunnels behind sitting old Keith B. I always seem to have to brighten up the place considerably with “Phototools – Lo Gun Light” sky to snap a proper enough picture. But the dark, conjoined sims seems very important still — moving down the road. Photo-novel 31 should start just after Christmas or around the New Year. Omicron’s moving in from the north west east south too. Soon we’ll be surrounded on all sides, blocked in. I need to keep my options open. I’ve had a good run at my job. I’m saying goodbye to the school as a whole, wrapping things up. I know where my mentors are, the painterly ones, the ones that draw as well, were able to bridge the gap between the two disciplines, like Paul Clay. I was relaying to a student I was working with the other day about not liking clay, as in pottery. Foundation classes were cool, but when I moved on to the specialty courses, like pottery, like *weaving* — not a weaver — I lost interest. I dropped out. I returned 6 years later under the good graces of the college, completed my art degree. But, as stated, I’m not a painter, even thought that was my declared emphasis. Never was. I’m not a Warren. I’m not a Dennis.

But what do I have instead? A canvas true, if a map can be considered as such. It’s the world as a whole but it’s very focused in on our US of A. And within that US of A: Iowa. Ringgold County, even — just one county. And at the center of that county: a hypercube; there can be no doubt. You look inside the translucent layers, like paper, and see the bottom writing on the walls. Everywhere.

We continue…

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November 20, 2021 · 9:03 am

00300215

Brend woke up, having fallen asleep while reading the book about dreams. The Princess of the Diagonal’s portrait loomed above him. He looked around. Nowhere in sight. Probably out exploring leads while the day people are safely tucked in bed, some having drawn the covers over their head. It was getting cold in the Nautilus highlands. Soon the frost would move down into the coast here. Time to go buy a jacket, he contemplates, maybe a tweed one. He probably has the place to himself for a while, perhaps the rest of the night. Good time to get some work done himself.

—–

He contemplates the square before him while drinking molten silver, as they call the spiked coffee drink round these parts. He thinks of a joke here: “Do you know where the Nome King lives?” “I don’t know. Al-as-ka round.” A variation involves Anchorage, and, rarer, Douglas Fairbanks. Back to the map.

—–

“It probably all starts in Alaska don’t you think?” offers W. from the side. “Northernmost — the cold moves south; down. Parameters established — upper limit. John Fitzgerald Kennedy City,” she then utters, looking me straight in the eye.

—–

We start, of course, with the Diagonal, he thinks while studying. A lot of people enter that way; exit through Borneo. Like Marion Star Harding and his plane that turned endless instead of finite. He wore his inflammable suit which means it didn’t catch on fire which means he didn’t die. The Princess of the Diagonal is a bonafide expert on planes. She created this airport. She created Airton Hill itself, aligned it with Mount Ayr up in the through the (common) air.

—–

“You are going far,” W. encouraged. “You will get there tonight.”

—–

He drew back. He took another sip of the spiked beverage. He’d lost Iowa. He recalls the old days, when a seed was planted just east of Des Moines. JFK took a bullet for it. What would *he* sacrifice?

(to be continued)

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November 19, 2021 · 9:09 am

silver and gold

It had advanced beyond black and white. This was an all read situation, book in her eyes. Jennifer Lane I suppose. She wore a raspberry beret but this wasn’t her first time. She was indeed an experienced woman of the night but not quite that way. It’s complicated, more than you can perhaps imagine. Call it, just like these here photo-novels, 30 in a series of nothing: an experiment in complexity. Coral-like it keeps growing. We’re back on Nautilus, link to the outside world broken, perhaps beyond repair. The Oracle, the connection, has been damaged in at least 2 ways, rendering it practically useless for time-space transport. Borneo remains a past-future barrier. A box. But what are the contents?

We have come so far, all the way to the edge. We peer inside, waiting to see the bottom writing, like looking through stacks of translucent paper. Reality.

(to be continued)

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June 29, 2021 · 7:28 am

squeegeed

“Using the tip from Sally, we followed the car all the way to the entrance of the park but could go no further. *Fifes* Grove Park, like in Barney Fife.”

“Like in Barney *Rubles*,” emphasized Man About Time, fascinated with the new information. He hardly ever emphasized anything in his speech, so mild manner and calm and cool and collected he is. But this seemed different. They had found a way… inside.”

“I thought you might want to know, being second in command of this here chilly town in the mountains.”

“So beige,” said MAT almost religiously. But he understood. “In case something happens to me,” is the unspoken sentiment.

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March 8, 2021 · 7:40 am

00250301

The fog was thick in Collagesity tonight, so much so that the script I had prepared for certain actors there could not be read. We’ll have to look elsewhere for plot…

Maybe it will come from the outer islands of Nautilus, basically half encircling the roughly square archipelago of a continent from Castle Valeria to its nw all the way down to little Dizadare Isle more in the se, just nw of the tip of Yd Island, which in Lemon World speak, is the *origin* of All Second Lyfe itself and the source of the letter change from i to y to protect the youth and innocent and such. The Ratzenburger Rabbit is still around.

Jeffrey Phillips goes there tonight for spiritual renewal and warmth. Because it gets f-ing cold in mountainous Collagesity during foggy season. He can see a new plot line now. Jasper County, but the other (Newton) one. The one not yet used.

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October 14, 2016 · 7:57 am

Le Martian

plymouth

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Mars,_Iowa

Le Mars was platted in 1869, but no lots were sold until the Chicago and North Western Transportation Company arrived in 1879. According to town legend, CNW investor John I. Blair and a group of women arrived at the town, which was then called St. Paul Junction. Blair asked the women to name the town, and they submitted an acronym based upon their first names’ initials: Lucy Underhill, Elizabeth Parson, Mary Weare, Anna Blair, Rebecca Smith and Sarah Reynolds.[5]

Mars Beach in Hermania.

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I know where Karoz is newly arrived from now.

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snapshot8282_001
Boos 10: “The Martian”.

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merrie-melodies-laser-beam-marvin-the-martian

Speaking of Collagesity collages displayed in other locations…

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January 20, 2016 · 7:08 am

In truth…

… it might have been some version of this man named Dave, who has chosen to be called Bogota during his stint in Collagesity, haunting the Rubi Woods all this time, not Sid or Syd per se.

http://www.nme.com/news/pink-floyd/23574

Bowie has long declared himself a massive fan of Barrett-era Floyd. He showed just how much by singing their debut single ‘Arnold Layne’ at guitarist David Gilmour’s solo show at the London Royal Albert Hall last month. It was Bowie’s first live appearance in two years following a serious illness.

He said on hearing today’s news: “I can’t tell you how sad I feel. Syd was a major inspiration for me.

“The few times I saw him perform in London at UFO and the Marquee clubs during the 60s will forever be etched in my mind. He was so charismatic and such a startlingly original songwriter. Also, along with Anthony Newley, he was the first guy I’d heard to sing pop or rock with a British accent.

“His impact on my thinking was enormous. A major regret is that I never got to know him. A diamond indeed.”

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Also in GNIRPS, he seems to defer to Barrett in a quite tangible way and that’s what got me thinking in this direction. Carrcassonnee suggested that I stop considering such “evidence” accidental and just go with it.

pioneerlouis

pioneeriowa

There can be no doubt, actually.

davidkent
The one and only US David. It’s unique too!

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