One on top of the other.
One behind the other.
Mutual sharing.
Category Archives: 0045
00450505
“You are like Jesus in that you can walk across the water to get to your Dry Spot, your place of safety. Go ahead. In your own time.”
Philip goes for it. Yes, he can walk across water. He is a God in this place. He can even control the weather, which will come next. But first the Dry Spot, that Dry Rock in the Dry Spot. Here he can rest, he knows. He decides an hour would be good. Hour Rock becomes a secondary name. Hour Spot.
Fern leaves him alone for a bit in his special place, knowing silence is good. Rest from guidance too.
He’s walked across the water. He’s almost there. Just over there it is.
Ahh. There. He settles in. The rock acts like a natural chair for him. He is comfortable. He is one with this world that mirrors our own in dimension if not quite realism. Not yet. People are coming, he knows. Cars, horses, animals, *windmills* already here. He just has to find the Data Hall in those dreams to learn where all of them went, all his favorite humans. Like Fink, like Susan.
—–
58, 59, *60*. Now for Wet (Rock).
Suddenly he was in the clouds, making it happen.
Poo-wer!
00450503 (crossing)
“I was back at Day 1 even though I had travelled so far. I knew this was Holland still because of the old timey windmill.
“Soon I found the blue and yellow cross in the green landscape…
“… whose correctly aligned blue and yellow eyes as indicated by the red arrow on the map I’d found just before…
“… pinpointed the location of the Data Hall where I’d learn what happened to all the people. Where are all the people? has been a question running through my head this whole time. No cu-clomp cu-clomp cu-clomp-ing of the wooden shoes and all.”
“I see.”
“But making my way toward it I was blocked by something that appeared to be a giant bee with its eerie, almost, let’s say, alien buzzing…
“… which turned into something quite different as I dared to keep approaching: a different kind of crossing — a sign of warning. The windmill in the background told me that we were still in Holland, although, um, updated; more modern; taller… and, er, sleeker. I was still walking the correct course.”
“Of course.”
“Although in maybe a different time?”
“Take your time, Philip,” I said, noticing the sweat beading up on his forehead above his beady little eyes, blue and yellow as well? Nah, let’s just go with hazel. “So what happened next?” I continued to guide.
“Well, not a lot. The dream just ended there with the thing’s alarm lights going off with all the dinging and such. I wake up. Aaand: that’s it.”
He looks up for some sign of approval by me that he had done good. Time to let up with the grilling. We needed to move beyond that warning sign and get to that Data Hall. But not today. Philip’s feeble brain needed time to recuperate.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0045, 0503, Back Rooms, Europe, Holland
00450502
“Welcome back,” said business partner Ronald nonchalantly from the porch of Philip’s trailer as he approached. “Where’ve you been?”
“The *Netherlands*.”
“Have a good time?” Philip slammed the front door behind him without answering.
earlier:
“Final-f-ingly,” he says into his magical phone at the end of part 2 of his journey, an over 8 hour walk so far. “A legit windmill, and not just one this time, Lester. Several of them. *This* is the Holland, er, Netherlands I expected. But… still no f-ing tulips which are suppose to be everywhere here. Still no cu-clomp cu-clomp cu-clomp of the wooden shoes since I’ve not seen hide nor hare of any people. Live or dead. So I’m giving the whole *experience* so far a D+ now, upgraded from F-. One out of three obvious clues fulfilled.”
“Well that’s super, Philip,” deadpans listening Lester from the control room of his modest house in El Burro Heights of Lost Sanos up in Grand Theft Auto V. “I suppose those kind of grades take you back to elementary school where you graduated, what, 60th in your class of 60 from the 6th grade?”
“*9th* grade,” corrects an angry Philip, his default state. “90th of 90 in the 9th.”
“Right right. Aany-way,” Lester lets off, “can you still see Amsterdam in the distance?” Pause. “Phil-ip?” Another pause. “Philip?? Aw shoot,” says Lester to Mikie also with him. “Dead again.”
“Can you hear me Lester, you high school wanker? I *said*, I *see* it.” Philip shakes the phone as if the action would spring it back to life. He’s frozen in his tracks until part 3 starts. Then it’s on – to – Amsterdam, he thinks, turning happy for a change. He’s heard the pot is free and flowing but he’s mainly interested in the harder drugs like smack, maybe even heroin. Although he’s not holding his breath for any return to normalcy about the situation he’s in. Good thing.
Because Amsterdam held new terrors.
“F-ck… me,” he says to himself while spying the melted towers after emerging on the other side of the city’s harbor. “Amsterdam? More like *Rotter*dam here,” and then he laughs at his clever pun involving Holland’s first and second largest cities. Yeah, he could have graduated high school, maybe even community college. If he gave a damn. The life of drugs drew him in and held him back. If only he was on something here to explain *this*.
(to be continued)
00450501
Maybe I can wedge my way through those yellow and blue buildings over there.
Nope. Dead end. Oh well, maybe the green and red buildings down the way.
Bingo!
Free of Stompetoren and its Tiley ways, ha.
00450416 (a new high and low of it all 02)
He’d manifested it from below but he didn’t know what laid inside yet. The 420 attached to the outside that had rezzed in in the meantime seemed to be a type of warning. Frank lies within, the dismantler and then rearranger of Carrcassonnee to turn her into this sign. It had happened before, he knew. On her 420th birthday, now 4 years in the past. Time enough to turn the tables of power. He had the eye, the top of the pyramid, all seeing of course. Like Carrcassonnee *use* to be when she possessed it instead. Frank was after the eye all along, eye on the prize as it were. But what about Gus the fire demon caretaker which also must be present within in order for the giant moving castle to appear here in the first place? Time to find out. He looks for a door.
Yes, just on the other side here. He enters.
00450415 (1000 words)
“Okay, Philip. Just stay – on – the – bridge. Mikie is coming over on the first plane he can catch to find you.”
earlier:
“F-ck, man. Sh—-t.” Philip holds his aching head while continuing to talk to himself. “I think that was the worst crash ever. Threw me clean 50 feet from the plane this time, arrrgh. But, whatever. I suppose I’ll just have to start walking like I *always* do, like I’m *commanded* to do, pheh. Weell… feets get moving.” While watching his feet start stepping forward one after another without his conscious volition, he marvels at the lack of real injuries any time this has happened, and it’s happened, what, *7* times before now? From signs he’s run across, he’s determined he’s walking in Holland — again, commanded to do so by some higher up forces working for that damn *Sphere*. He’s *inside* the Sphere. Anyway, he find himself marching toward the nearest house. There won’t be anyone home, he knows. There never is in whatever hell-world he’s trapped within. No people. Better try Lester again and see if I can still communicate with him, he thinks. My life line, my only hope. He whips out his phone from his back pocket — no real damage to it either as usual. The only thing he can carry from flight to flight, crash to crash. The Sphere must have allowed this, he figured. Or the plane — whatever.
“Lester?” he says into it after flipping the lid, power automatically on. “Lester Corncrib? You there? Stop wanking your meat and speak to me!”
“Look Frank,” he says from the real world. “He’s talking to me again!”
“He who?” says Frank, jumping off the table he’s sitting on behind Lester to get a better listen.
“*Philip*.”
“But… Philip’s dead,” Frank utters, scratching his head while approaching. “He died in that plane crash over in Grapeshot, dawg. Everyone knows that.”
Just then, Philip’s phone dies from the other side after one last, “Lester?!!” “Dammit!” screams Lester into the computer interface. “Lost the connection again. This one was shorter than most of the others.”
Turning toward Frank after a long, head shaking then head lowering sigh, technology savant Lester, friend to the gang, explained the situation as he understood it as best he could for the present gang member’s less nimble brain. “Yes, he died in that plane crash,” he says with animated hands. “But *now* he’s crashing that same plane over and over… and over. Something’s trapped him in an alternate reality. As far as I can tell, he seems to be in a simulation of our own world, maybe even a one to one match, hmph. Well: kind of. Pretty good for whatever technology they’re running to keep it going from other side.”
“Other side of *what*?” says Frank.
“*Our* reality. Philip may have died, yes. But the other side is eerily like our own apparently. And he has some kind of magic phone that allows communication between our world and his. Just called me up one day about 2 weeks ago — I’ve been keeping it from you because, well, because I thought you might think I’d gone batsh-t bonkers or taken one too many acid hits, you know.”
“I see.”
“You *did* hear Philip on the phone, right?” said Lester, wanting reinforcement for his sanity. “You heard him scream my name; like me, okay? Can I get an okay from you, huh?”
“Sure, dawg. I *think* I heard the voice of that rat scag hellmouth of a person. Or what appeared to be Philip.”
“Oh it’s Philip,” says Lester, turning back to the computer, hoping for a reconnection. Being the ADHD cursed person that he is, he ponders that Philip just dropped the phone on the ground in frustration and left it behind, not remembering where he lost it. And that wouldn’t be good, plans for worldly success foiled. “But there appears to be no people, according to Philip’s reporting,” he continues after another sigh. “And although there’s cars, let’s say you try to flag one down for a ride. They don’t stop. Often they turn around right when they come up on you and start heading in the opposite direction, like they’re teasing you. We know he’s in a replica of The Netherlands; he’s indicated that by the signs. So funny. He said, get this: ‘*How* can I be in Holland’; — first I had to explain The Netherlands was Holland since he’s a dufus in geography, along with a lot of other subjects…”
“Tell me about it,” chips in Frank, trying to figure out how to tell Lester that someone is doing a number on him.
“Anyway, he says, ‘How can I be in Holland when I haven’t seen one frigg’n god damn sh-tty *windmill*. And, er, what about tulips? Aren’t there suppose to be a billion tulips around here? And wooden shoes — not a hide nor hare of them either. Not a cu-clomp cu-clomp cu-clomp to be heard’.”
“That’s pretty good, Lester,” Frank said about his imitation of Philip. “But…” He just blurts it out. “You know someone is f-cking with you, pulling your strings. Someone you’ve pissed off probably. A massive joke.”
“Maybe,” admits Lester. “Maybe. But if I, we, could just pinpoint his exact location someone could go over there and see if they could reach through the veil and make contact, maybe even bring him back to *our* side.” Lester thinks of glory here again, making his mark on the world. And at a specific point in said world. He’d be famous. The first one to penetrate the veil to the other side. Was this a wise thing to do? he thought again. *Sure* it is. Fame, fortune, women, the great triumvirate. Just like he dreamed.
“Well, I’d like to help but I have that gig over in Richland. I’ll catch you later you crazy mo-fo-er.”
“Byyyyye,” says Lester, waving him off, obviously disappointed that Frank doesn’t believe the communication is real but still having Mikie to convince. Good ol’ Mikie.
(see top)
00450414 (a new high and low of it all)
Welp, there she goes again, thinks Newt, sipping on a recently procured nice cool lemonade drink courtesy of a boy named Bart. Back into the tunnel. Guess I better get back to the home base myself, start working on that skybox and maybe the rezzing of that larger version of Howl’s Moving Castle I have in my inventory. Must not forget the Yellow Guy. Or the Red Man or the Green Dude or the Blue Boy for that matter. “Frank’s Moving Mountain” which is kind of the same as “Howl’s Moving Castle” is a way to keep moving forward on that subject.
—–
On Wheeler’s (Shelley’s) part, when she’d finished with her jog, she went to visit the bar that inspired her own over at Conejo Island, which she hadn’t returned to in a while.
Things seemed different. Curious. She copies all copyable objects and brings them back home again to roost.
—–
“Yes!” she says to the bar underwater.
“Yes!” he exclaims to the castle in the sky.
00450413 (We are here (!))
Jeogeot’s only true inland sea. I’m not sure why I haven’t focused on it before, hmmm. It’s time has come I guess I’ll say presently to that thought.
Still in their matching Mr. Moon t-shirts, joint owners Newt and Wheeler ponder the meaning of milk and bread at the new location of Crooked. The TILE Manifesto is about to be studied in earnest, I feel.
A remaining question to be answered: will Wheeler’s Bulls Bar return at the place pictured above? It seems to be destiny in a way. The objects making up the bar are shared by Baker Bloch (Newt) and Wheeler, which makes it harder to store and transfer to a new location. The outside remains unfinished: just giant white and red cubes stuck together. Probably should just ditch it; go with interior alone. Especially since it’s such a scenic setting here.
part 2: parents
“Hey Newt?”
“Yes Wilson, er, Wheeler?”
“We need…”
“… to talk about Shelley, I know.” Pause. “Let’s let her finish her run first. There she is. Go Shelley!”
“Thanks!” she acknowledges through the transparent tunnel walls while continuing to motor along.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0045, 0413, Bright Moon Cottage, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya, NVFS, SG Park
Sunklands 