Category Archives: MAPS

June 2, 2025 · 8:39 am

00470112

“Why are you back, Arthur?” she says after he sits down. “Is it to see the dog? We’ve been through this before. You’ve seen me feed the numbers into the computer to produce the Red Row. And then The Atom, and an (op art) example of what you can do with it. There’s nothing more to see here. Nada.” She had another client coming in at 11:45. It was 11:30. He said he’d show up at 11 to talk to her about something. He was late.

“I want to go back,” he just blurted out, knowing time was short. “I want to go to… Red Row.” He figured there was something more to it. Too many rows named red for one. A 2 fer 1 (!).

“The only thing you’ll see there is proof that nothing is left. The dog is ours.”

“So I can’t even see it now?” He wanted to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. But of course he had his money, extra feathering for his retirement nest. *Something* had been exchanged.

“No,” she put it bluntly. “Not until the reopening.”

The numbers laden dog remained hidden behind the secret bookcase door, a 6×4 mathematical puzzle-lesson with 20 positive results along with 4 negative outcomes at its center core. Just taken by itself.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0112, Cable Isle, Jeogeot, Tennessee, Towerboro

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June 1, 2025 · 2:29 pm

00470109

“The Atom is not just another pretty op art picture,” she said, manipulating and expanding the pattern until the above image was produced.  “It represents a CONTRACT signed between you and the Universe (almost wrote *University* there (!)) to go out in the World and do and preach GOOD. If you can’t do this then someone else will. In fact, they already have.”

https://theredarrowgallery.com/show/red-arrow-brianna-bass-ex-nihilo

“Will you let it go?” she continued. “Or will you reclaim what is rightfully yours? Both can be true, you know. You and this other person are not the same. The child of the best friend of the sister of you and your wife’s best friend. Small world, huh?”

“Indeed (!)”

A character, I realized. I have to create a Classical God-Star. TILE must be involved again. And orange and violet, ERR, amber and magenta.

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June 1, 2025 · 7:57 am

00470108

Roberts takes the magical Chihuahua from my arms, removes the hover text style numbers from its head and feeds them into the computer through an input mechanism I can’t quite understand or explain. “Good good,” says the private investigator who also doubles as my lawyer while watching the monitor. “The Red Row is forming again… see?”

I see this in front of me: one red square appears to the upper left, then another directly to the right of it then another to the right of it then another to the right of it until the sequence numbers 13. But the 13th, she explains, is the same as the 1 again.

“What next?” she asks. I tell her I don’t know. “Zero,” she persists. “The interval is zero now,” she prompts. “What’s next?”

“Um… one?” I guess without much conviction.

“Yes!” And with the press of a key, a second row forms in a similar manner directly below the first. All the colors are different now except for the 1st square and the last square again. Beginning at the left we have red once more, then red-orange, orange, yellow-orange, yellow, yellow-green, green, blue-green, blue, blue-violet, violet, red-violet and then red to end. These were her words for the gradiated colors as she explains what happened.

Then she asks again: “What next?”

“Oh geez, I don’t know. I suppose: two?”

“Right-o!” Same kind of row forms immediately below the first two when another key is pressed. Colors now: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, and then — repeating the pattern beginning with the 7th square — red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, to end with red again.

“What next?” she then asks. I think I was getting the hang of this.

Eventual what was produced was this, which promptly went into Barry de Boy’s “Does This Look Square to You?” series at the end. Roberts called it “The Atom.” “This is where everything starts,” she said about it. “Can you see?”

“Here, back up a bit,” she suggests. “Squint your eyes,” she said after I still had trouble getting it.

I saw.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0108, Cable Isle, Jeogeot, Mississippi, Towerboro

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May 31, 2025 · 8:56 am

00470107

Pretty sure it starts with an Arrow somewhere in or near Nashville, Tennessee. Pointing directly to Red Row 1 mile north. Let’s zoom in (again!).

—–

It wasn’t a *spider* in Red Row I was looking for, despite these 8 shoes found on some hick house stairs. Red Row? Red *Herring* (!). No, it was a *dog* named Spider (thanks 4th human within with the remaining 2 feet, *POP*). Found just down the road — or row — being attacked by a bird. Bird dog, then? Chihuahua, I discovered.

“Get away from my dog, bird!” I called from the ’57 Chevy Kenny was driving. “*My* spider dog! *MY* SPIDER DOG, SHOOOOO!!” *POP*

Better.

I kill my now disposable chauffeur with my final bullet (*POP*) and take the wheel, leaving room for the dog in the vacated passenger seat, body dumped in some bushes at this conjunction of Red Row…

… and, er, Red Row?

Anyway, I stick Kenny’s body into the bushes better and head back to the lawyer’s office with the dog to collect my hard earned reward.

(to be continued)

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May 24, 2025 · 3:51 pm

00470101 (Blow Boy)

She sang about freedom in this New Island venue where she married one of the Edwards/Eddys early that day in late April’s May, the new island husband joining her on congas. Then she sang about prison, the 7 reduced to 6 and 6 and 6.

I’ve seen her before I believe. Called her up but it was the wrong number. Killed and beheaded by the Witcher but rose back like the Alabama Phoenix, monstrous fangs in their appropriate slots across the inner mouth, SMILE.

She gets away by being in her own sphere.

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May 19, 2025 · 2:26 pm

00460614 (Windsong the 4th)

Guyd had smelled it for a while with her more sensitive nose even though Rebl hadn’t heard anything with her sharper ears because of the masking water portal sounds, Benny Right Horn’s plan all along. The same smell as with the dog-man before on the tracks. He was off the tracks… and close! They dare not move from their secret room in the caves. The Mother Ship had been alerted to the danger. Should be arriving in, let’s see, 3 weeks. 3 weeks! Not enough time! It will be the end of time literally for them now, they feared, they knew!

Then Rebl heard. Not a horrible thing on the radio this time like w/ the bombing of New York in photo-novel 17 but from beyond one of the two rock walls that protected this room, left and not right. But what’s direction in a cave system like this? So let’s call it right…

… as in Benny Right Horn. Right outside after learning of the secret passage from Windsong Fairy, left bleeding out in the portal stream after a scream — that Rebl picked up on. Attracted by the guitar of course, which Benny played splendidly this morning after warming up quietly all night. She had to show up. She had to proposition again. Like with Douglas (successful), like with Carolin (not successful but she’s still working on it — *was* working on it). Benny knew she couldn’t resist. He’d get the information out of her just like he did with Big Ass Franz down at the bar. Both dead, it seems. Benny had to make sure Franz didn’t contact the cat-people to warn them. Same with Windsong Fairy — couldn’t take a chance. And here he was. And there they were: trapped. Does this particular photo-novel have a happy ending? Or a tragic one? Only several more posts to find out!

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May 19, 2025 · 2:26 pm

00460611 (… and round)

He moves closer, shines his light on it. It’s either the lore of the Albert sim Monster or the lore of Black Lake, New York and its Woodstock, he’s determined about the illuminated book through checking the name “lore” in the current photo-novel. Aah! he then realizes. Both in one!

He picks up his Windsong classical guitar and dons his Windsong blown wind hair style and starts to play. A small crowd soon gathers, growing bigger and bigger…

He sings in ecstasy. Better than sex. Better than Wheeler! He doesn’t need the Yore pool any longer. He’s made his own reflection!

Round and round…

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May 17, 2025 · 6:52 am

00460608 (What happens in the cornfield…)

These butterflies were circling fast around her now. Wheeler had been released, although Douglas technically remains at zero as black becomes white ’round back while white becomes black up front. Erasure (infinity). *When* she wakes up.

—–

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_Lake,_Sullivan_County,_New_York

According to local lore, its Native American name was Kauneonga—meaning lake with two wings (the lake has a figure 8 layout resembling wings).

—–

“If I would have told Bob the Builder up front that he had to power to fix The Burg’s infrastructure all along,” she made small talk with him afterwards, “he wouldn’t have believed me. He had to find out for himself.”

Her creation thought about this for a moment — the time lag of the admittance and the unnecessariness of it — then emitted: “Noot. *Logical*.”

“You’re *right,* Douglas. It doesn’t make sense. And that’s why there’s a sphere involved. Black becomes white as white becomes black. Another erasure to match the first.”

She wakes up.

(to be continued)

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May 11, 2025 · 1:37 pm

00460602

She was already on her 3rd coffee and 4th Blue Moon single of the day. From her solo period of course. She doesn’t like the Cracks, her old group, nearly as much, prefix them with US, UK or any other country — doesn’t matter. But her solo period, especially after the suicide/murder attempt (another reader’s choice): primo. Pure punk while also somehow remaining pure pop, unholy yet uncannily successful marriage of the two. She takes another sip while she listens to another tasty lick from the guitar of none other than Cary E., soon to be known as Car E. and then just CARE w/ all caps, logical terminus reached on the name transmutation process. Formerly of Sunamai of course, helping out Blue Moon on this particular track called “No More Big Leagues,” a minor hit that kicks off her first solo album “Louisville Cardinals” — playing on the fact that the state of Kentucky contains no actual big league baseball team unlike neighboring Ohio with its Cincinnati Reds and Cleveland Indians and likewise neighbor Missouri with its own double team pairing of St. Louis Cardinals and Kansas City Royals. But believe me, don’t let the name fool you, she imagines saying to her brother Ted, more fond of the Cracks (a Crackhead of course): the album is definitely big leagues, and she then imagines herself laughing at his irritation to this statement of fact. “Johnny Rose Bench” is also a pretty well known love ballad from side two. And of course there’s “Elvis Esley.” Or Isley — no one really knows which except Blue Moon herself and she’s not saying.

The old timey dial telephone rings beside her. Probably station manager Marty, she reasons, calling to complain that I’m playing too much Kentucky and to cool it with the Blue Moon. She decides then and there to play the entirety of the the “Louisville Cardinals” album, just not lift the needle off the spinning vinyl record after the first track is done. And maybe play all the rest of her solo work — in order — after that. Take the phone off the hook and just *do* it. She calculates how quickly Marty could get here from Chilbo for the canning.

Can of Worms, yes, she thinks while track 1 ends and track 2 (“St. Louie Blues”) begins. Just like in New York.

(to be continued)

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May 11, 2025 · 7:42 am

00460601

“Morro Bay??” Dreaming Frank Lynn was expecting a sign for Paleto Bay but got a surprise, Real Life location intruding in on Virtual here. He suddenly has another important piece of the puzzle. Now to find the Rock.

“There!” he said, seeing it coming into view in the distance after passing a large beach dune. Well… sort of, he thought. Not quite Morro Rock but pretty obviously the duplicate down here. And out there in the bay beyond it: the 4 islands with the, um, bodies. 2 apiece, he knew. A central mystery. 4 islands, 8 bodies. Infinity.

Carolin manifests back at the center.


888 Infinity Lane

(to be continued)

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