—–
“Safe Zone… Safe Hub,” Ghost Gorilla Harambe’s always roommate, sometimes lover Hank “Halfwit” Graphite said to himself, with chosen nickname to disguise his amazing brilliance of mind. Like a diamond it is.
He was figuring out stuff again today. “128, 128,” he continues. “The portal must be (Hank turns and points) directly west of here.” He jumps back into his little red car and drives to the edge of Vilania.
“Shouldn’t be so obvious about it,” he grumbled while passing through.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0416, Mountain Lake, Omega, The Straight, Utah
We were in a swamp now, hiding from the English. “The hut, the hut!” he cried pointing forward, this man of blurred features. The sounds of war were close. They may have even breached the Hobomock here. Hockomock, I corrected its name, my Indian memories focusing in like the face by my side, a close associate. Oh how I yearned for peace again. Return of the old. The swamp will harbor and protect, he said. We’ll see.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0415, Back Rooms, Massachusetts
“So you know now what Roger Waters and Roger ‘Syd’ Barrett are staring at. And it’s not Shelley.”
“Nope,” he answers, as in Big Nope, Safety Zone on the other side. 0-10. Slow down, slow down! 6… 5.
“Do you want to give it a go?” I asked about an interpretation. “You know this has something to do with Kane Pixels’ ‘People Still Live Here’ web-series.”
“Why don’t we bring in another,” he responded to this, and yielded to Jack Shepherde, at least for this post. We’ll see about more.
—–
“Both of these Indians are me,” he begins when entering the scene beside me, Daniel Day off for a drink at the local pub. We hadn’t seen each other in almost 2 years and then, before that, almost 10. We are practically strangers to each other by this point. But, then again, so are Daniel Day and I. Daniel Day Drink: DDD. Just like the building where he worked. And the new person worked, this Jack Shepherde with an e. I didn’t know if this would work. “Continue,” I said.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Alderman
John Alderman, also known as Isaac and Antoquan, was a Wampanoag praying Indian who shot and killed the Native American leader Metacomet (King Philip) in 1676, during King Philip’s War, while taking part in a punitive expedition led by Captain Benjamin Church. Alderman was a subsachem in the Westport/Dartmouth area of what is now Bristol County, Massachusetts. He was called Alderman because he was considered a close associate and counselor for King Philip. When Philip summarily murdered Alderman’s brother in front of him because of his dissension, Alderman changed sides and joined Benjamin Church, an English colonist who had settled in nearby Little Compton.
“The killing ended King Philip’s War,” he ended.
“And started the curse,” I added. “The whole Bridgewater Triangle thing. Alderman received his head and hand for the killing, which he would keep in a bucket of rum and show interested parties for a price.”
D.D. Drink returns from his drink. “How’d it go?” I wasn’t sure. TBC
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0414, Arkansas, Cedar Ck, Massachusetts
“Son of Man,” he uttered disgustingly while approaching the man on the cliff. “*Sun* of Man. How could I fall for such a load of… well, *bunk*!” It was the strongest word he still dare hurl against his once beloved belief, his beloved former lord and savior and spokespersons thereof. No C word yet, no S word.
Then staring at the surrounding landscape far below he got an idea. He had to get rid of the new to return the old. Just like a certain island we’ll get back to soon. Switching to a dream more in the daylight, he positioned himself directly behind the *cult* leader while drawing his gun. Yeah, CULT. “Turn around,” he said. “*Me.*”
*POP*. Someone else had to fall for the same thing.
Dusk again, Jack merely spat a goodbye to his former guru and returned to the city, his job here done, he felt. But daydreams would linger… TBC
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0413, GTA, Massachusetts, New Island
Day
Knight
“Mr Knight?” he called, not wanting to knock on the door or wall of the thing out of respect. “Yo, Mr. Knight. Big fan here. Just want a word if I could, dawg.”
Before entering the tiny key shop off Silverton Street in Cement Village in Nawt Vaya Free State located along the shores of Jeogeot’s largest inland body of water also named Nawt Vaya, she checked ONE LAST TIME in her yellow purse for that gall blasted car key she lost going on 2 weeks ago. STOP
—–
We waited and waited within for the arm to start moving again, either continuing the search or giving up, didn’t matter. No luck. Looks like we’re stuck again, red arrow pointed downward. Let’s switch back over to Carroll County MD, then. Maybe that will help unglue us from this newest sticking spot. Maybe Maybe Mayberry! Mount Airy, Taylorsville, so on…
… but first and more in the moment, the unincorporated community of Detour to their west, with Keysville immediately to its north and Keymar immediately to its east, indicating KEY. Time machine still there at its center like I posted about in photo-novel 34 back in September 2022. Might be the solution.
I ring up Daniel Day posing in front of the twinned pictures of Pink Floyd’s Roger Waters and Roger “Syd” Barrett in his trailer’s living room, just like Shelley did before. “We have a new assignment for you.” TBC
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0409, Cement Village, Jeogeot, Key Shop, Maryland, Mayberry, Nawt Vaya+, NVFS
Fresh from their murder of Arthur Kill over in Urquhart Heights, Winfield 5 and husband-wife Winnie visit Marty at his Splinterwood Palace to tell him the good news. Red Rose Speedway we’re not at any longer, he was reminded as the lego people waddled into the room. Now was the time to find The Mann down in New Orleans so he can turn properly black. Real reet, yeah yeah.
Marty. Marty Marty Marty. Will you ever listen to what he’s actually saying to you? You’ll never successfully dye black. There’s only one person who can do that here and perhaps get away with it. We’ll see. TBC
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0404, Ashenlave, Corsica, Maryland, Splinterwood, Urqhart
“Is that *Iowa* corn over there, Chuck?” asks Tom, noticing the discoloration and almost slicing off one of his fingers in the concern. “Because that’s not allowed. Poison,” he followed. “You’ll have to use Illinois.”
“Oh,” said Chuck, recognizing his mistake. “Thanks a lot!” Forgot to throw out the last of it when they received the call from the local Hy-Vee yesterday. Almost got 1/2 the restaurant sick!
“AND we need to take that Iowan car down from above the counter too. Gives paying customer the wrong impression, bad press and all. We must distance ourselves–”
“–from the Heartland as much as possible, yes,” completes Chuck for Tom, one in the moment, their hatred of it growing by the hour, minute, day. What will it be tomorrow? Wheat? What’s Kaboom made out of? Lucky Charms? Everyone will be doomed; no getting well atall, at least for the older and more vulnerable folks, thinking down-in-the-hollow Kennedys here.
Shelley, fresh from pretend slaughtering hogs down the street, another Iowan staple, waits at the counter, overhearing it all. I could still use that corn for gas, she thinks humorously, staring at the mounted red ’57 Chevy and understanding why she’s here. “Wait!” she called, just as Tom was about to dump the corn in the bin like a baby that’s its own bathing water. “And I’ll take the car off your hands too,” she adds just later. Is that stretching a joke? You bet!
—–
Filled up, full blown ’57 Chevy down on the ground and rolling again, she comes to the actual reason for visiting Cedar Creek in the first place: Daniel’s day trailer, erm, Daniel Day’s trailer… during the day. Lunchtime, so should be home. She opens her mouth to speak.
“Hello?” Knock knock knock. “Hello??”
No one there, but finding the door unlocked she decides to wait inside. Why not? All this is role playing after all.
On the tellie, Shelley sees what Baker B. and Daniel D. are watching at the morning job Baker had kept him late at again, more magic of the place. “Peewee Big,” Shelley recognizes, probably to compare it with recently viewed “Father Fred”. Toward the end of the sync, Shelley also saw, right where Josh is hearing potentially triggering music again. Daniel should be here soon, she knows, aiming to eat a quick sandwich or something then head off to the afternoon job. I won’t be long.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0403, Carrcass+02, Cedar Ck, Iowa, Maryland
The silver swirling all about him coalesces into a tight, glinty circle around his wrist. The water changes, becoming lighter, airier. He can breath again! Maybe, somehow, he won’t drown in these murky Desert Reservoir #3 waters beneath the Book Cliffs he was thrown off of with severely slit throat and seemingly 0% chance of survival just minutes before — not just yet anyway. Walking again, yes, but still at the bottom. In response to this, the band starts pulling him up through the water toward the land of the living, upwards upwards. 4% 16% 64%… suddenly 100% chance he’ll make it, a pendulum swing of unfathomable proportions.
Then he’s back at the top as if nothing had happened, daydreaming, wondering what to eat for breakfast. Lunch? Maybe both in one. Whaddaya call that? Lukfast, that’s it. Just as improbable.
Soon an old beggar he gives money to in a nearby village hands him an old wooden key as a reward. And this is where we came in…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0316, Crimson Desert, Utah
Sunklands 