Category Archives: MAPS

April 29, 2023 · 1:11 pm

00380113

“At the cascade at the end of the stream that was his creek, Mike made peace with those he formerly warred with and screamed and hollered at. ‘Absolution.'”

“Cool, Hucka D. Thanks for showing up, by the by.”

“You can thank Barry for that.” She turns and plants a big wet one on her constant companion’s unyielding lips, surprised at the display of emotions from the usually placid, former bee-person. Insect no longer. No signs of antennae, even. Just woman.

She turned back, stared again. “Now you just have to figure out the Lyra connection. Prism.” With this, she and Barry took their leave of the place, my new-ish Nautilus property with 2 galleries now set up, Bogota and Edwardston. I had much work to do. Collagesity was *kind of* being reborn?

But I was also in Michigan. Let’s check in on Baker *Blo* there, where he spent his first night while distant relative Lottie McDottley was regenerating from a misplaced and mistimed hug, thanks to the ectoplasmic puddles that made sure all death, all disease, all foul play, was eventually cleaned up as in a refreshing fruit combo drink downed on a sticky ass summer day. Do you see how this keeps carrying over, Mike? The reverberations? Water would be best. Like from your stream. Absolution.

“Okay, alright. I’ll talk to Hill about it.”

“You do that.”

(to be continued)

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April 28, 2023 · 4:35 pm

no touch

He arrived almost 6000 years into the future, Osse having removed Motor from its name long long ago due to the end of machines, setting a trend. His great great great great (x332) grandchild Lottie McDottley with marking scarf awaited at the old timey Lake Hore Train Station, so named because of the abundance of such back in the day, along with the water. Including Lottie’s great great great (x334) grandmother, who happened to be Baker Bloch’s fiance, the late great Shelley Struthers Wilson Wheeler, er, Wheeler Wilson. Then known as Wilsonia (source: Henry and Shaeffer). Dream Train we have here; everything functional for travel having to be made of spiritual ectoplasm powered by collective brain control. And everything else functional for that matter. I did mention this was far far far in the future.

There he is, dressed for the future period in his, well, present garb. No need for change there. But, to blend in better, he omitted a letter or 2 or syllable or 2 from his name as was customary. Baker Blo he is while remaining in post-space age Michigan. Or Mich, I should say.

On the edge of reality, Baker kept spotting blurs and other weird fringe effects, making him aware that he was in a very different space as well as time. He dodged another ectoplasmic puddle to reach his far future relative and give her a big, 21st Century hug. Big mistake: she crumbled to dust in his grasp. One of the nearest puddles came over and sucked up the remains. She’ll be back tomorrow reconstituted good as new, thanks to the collective. But our newly renamed Mr. Blo now has nowhere to stay tonight. Big bees overshadowing small birds hover menacingly above the station. And the tall flowers and the short trees that grow under them now. *Everything* has changed. Including love. He looks for older Wheeler lookalike Lottie in the puddle, a face perhaps, a hand. Not yet. Tomorrow. Only the reflected Moon for now. Which has a mustache and beard, he notes. He looks up to see the truth of the place, everything arranged all wrongly. Far future, BEH.

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April 26, 2023 · 9:35 am

00380106

She caught some of the discussion from her rocking chair while perusing the paper (“Decatur Herald”), words like Oklahoma, Geronimo, Olive, Slick. She gathered an oil spill in the Panhandle which was not all wrong while being, at the same time, not at all right. Not 1/2 and 1/2. How to put it?

Blah blah blah Canada. Blah blah blah Ossemotos. They really need to turn down the blasters over there, Gloria thought about the music booming one dock over, the party getting more raucous as nighttime approached. Penny was preparing for her surprise entrance up in downtown Nightsity, applying hot pink lipstick while yawning for no good, real reason, effects of that dratted, psychic mountainair again. *Not* Ossemotos, she realized as the lyrics “Dam dam Amsterdam” blocked the next passage of discussion, followed just as loud by “Dam dam Rotterdam,” and “Dam dam Beaverdam”. Osse-motors.  As in ancient Nigerian oil port . *Motor*. She’d heard about it before through some military people she use to, ahem, date up in Dodgey City. And Zach Black was spilling his guts about it. Nigeria to Canada, Nigeria to Canada. Marines. But, most importantly, black gold. Texas tea. Texas Pete? “Texas Pete?!” she rather shouted through the boom. One of the two turned, the other being deaf.

(to be continued)

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April 25, 2023 · 10:57 am

Brazil

“You have to understand that Mike’s Creek was manufactured, and not just at the road toward the bottom (above picture). All the way to the top in fact. Study: Middle Cascade.

“The (big piece of) mica (you found on Mike Island) is just an indicator to pay attention. See here! And so (then) you find Mike and Pat together in Missouri (the two greatest coaches, men’s and women’s respectively, in college basketball history).”

“I knew that Mica Island would devolve or atrophy to Mike Island in the future so I just sped up the process,” I defended my naming action, the start of it all. “Mike Island at the bottom of that cascade (you mentioned) is obvious match to 3 Tree Island at the top, which, in turn, is the center of the overarching circular area… which we still don’t have a name for, by the way.”

“Mike’s Creek,” he offered, perhaps the Red Devil himself. Ur Father. “The 2 islands, left and right up and down, are one.”

—–

“You’ve known about me for a long time,” he furthered.

—–

“He showed up because you kept talking about and acting upon his Two Hills. He’s a protective father!”

—–

“(In holding the Devil’s head) He’s just saying he’s inherited the mantel of fatherhood.”

—–

“He was sold by ‘Billfork’. In the present Point of Power.”

“That it?”

“Yeah. Head to bed.”

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April 22, 2023 · 10:34 am

00370616

And so we end photo-novel 37 with more questions than answers, per usual. Many doors have been open; only a couple closed. Hucka Doobie has assumed a major role in the blog once more, this time hanging with artist or at least wannabe artist Barry De Boy, kind of Baker Bloch in a new, different form, perhaps a role he’s been dreaming. New Mexican locations dominated the 1st 3rd of the novel, maybe the longest extended time I’ve spent away from Our Second Lyfe in these here works. But the archipelago continent of Nautilus, still my virtual home, eventually exerted its pull, with all of section 04 being set there — concerned a party held by 2 fans of Edward Daigle, which Shelley Struthers also attended. Shelley, continuing her role from novels 35 and 36, remains our feature protagonist in 37. Also at the party Shelley met Amos T. Sandman again who has shown up in previous novels, and who is then re-encountered by same in section 03 (the events of 03, time-wise, come before 04). Section 05 brings into the picture a new Blue Mountain location I’ve been exploring this spring ultimately called Pink Peak. Mixed in with its posts comes more Nautilus stuff — I had Shelley just hop around to different locations now, exploring virtual reality as I simultaneously did Reality Reality up in the True World. Section 06 attempts to wrap all this energy up with mixed results, I feel. New Mexico makes a reappearance. Newt and Wheeler, Shelley’s father and mother, show up, continuing stories of their own. Squared Root City, where I had the first part of this section set, was suddenly and unexpectedly abandoned, leaving only an empty beige landscape. Other locations that I was working through or hoped to work through were also lost. I became discouraged. Then Newt, just randomly teleporting around my new Nautilus home, found a purple cube in a house owned by a man named Sand, resonating with Sandman’s purple cube populated realm from section 03. I had renewed hope through the discovery. I was still on a trail, a path. All was not lost. Lemon Free State still remains my home. I deposit 31 Real Life dollars into the bank of the Limey Lindens and continue…

END OF “SUNKLANDS 2023 EARLY”!

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April 16, 2023 · 12:06 pm

Tyrone

No azure door here, Hucka, but a reflection of a door across the road, garage in that case. Interesting patterning.

And almost across the road from that: an anomaly. Doesn’t clear up using any angle of view.

Then looking the opposite direction: ladder boy, we’ll call him, someone who seems to have unusually short legs for his stature, the opposite of what a basketball player might possess. Illusion, as it turns out from other directions, but perhaps still meaningful given all else. His head overlaps the ladder’s bottom rung. Dressed in Azure. Are we suppose to climb further in order to find the true door? (no answer) Or are we suppose to look sideways from what we are doing? (no answer) Maybe some combo of Heaven and Hell we’re looking for, hmm.

Then in going to a handy realty site called redfin.com, we find the actual Azure Door for the house… and in digging deeper we find the residence is owned by a Door. Actually Dorr but close enough.

A personal business of some kind this was suppose to be, but no more info than that in my searchings.

Through the same site we can check out the place via drone video, taking it in from every angle like a 3d cubist painting. The blurred house in Google Streetview across the way turns out to be quite ordinary looking. Wonder why that occurred? We can guess: substitution.

As we keep flying around, we spot the Horns coming around the corner of Woo and Crab Wood and Chuck in their Real Life silver(-blue) truck rented in Silver City. Once again they’ve been expected.

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April 14, 2023 · 6:03 pm

faceless x 2

“I was experimented on.”

“Your mother should have never gotten involved.”

“No.”


painting the Azure Door

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April 12, 2023 · 2:47 pm

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)

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April 8, 2023 · 10:38 pm

beginning of the end

When they finally arrive it looks like they were expected. Aztec Warrior. Nikki. One and the same.

She steps out of the caravan missing a right hand. And a head, but never mind about that. We’ve seen that before anyway. Blonde as rope.

“Swastika?” Jer started, pointing. Benny giggled, just enough to be heard. Aztec Warrior went inside and produced a box, containing not a left handed gun to kill them, as they might have feared, but information. Mitford Unity. An error between the legs.

“She wants to be heard out,” states the handless one. “Your *Maw*.”

(to be continued)

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April 8, 2023 · 4:10 pm

Foxy

“Yes, my love. I mean my *lord*. The Hills have been exposed, one greater, one lesser. Just as you requested. The one opened up…”

(reply (in head))

“Yes, my… lord. At once.”

—–

7:06pm, in a secret rendezvous spot in Nightsity Harbour:

“He wants to invoke Horns of Hatton again, weight challenged brother of mine. Let’s try once more.”

“But… *Maw*.”

“She’s been overruled. The King is in charge now. The Devil, red as. And also, of course–”

“– our father,” completes Jerry. He pops his off, Ben does likewise. They exchange; they restick. Ben is no longer Ben but Jer. Jerry is no longer Jerry but Benny. Now all they have to do is find Lena the one who unites. They’d heard… Silver City, New Mexico, the place of the choppers.

—–

“Keep your eyes peeled, requested driving Jer to riding Benny. Grant County is big enough to hide someone for a while but not that big — not as big as it use to be. We’ll find her.”

“We will.”

“Maybe even try Tyrone next door.”

“Azure? Could she be (hiding) in Azure?”

“Blue.”

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