Category Archives: Jeogeot

June 18, 2025 · 7:26 am

00470211 (brick)

“You’ve got to hide me, Roberts. Behind the secret wall with the dog. My girlfriend Tessa’s trying to kill me again!”

“Again?” questions Roberts, then uses her own magical 3rd eye to discover the truth. “Ahh. *Overlap*. Again — right.”

“Right?”

“Well. If you go back there there’s a fair chance he’ll absorb you, the 20 right and the 4 left, which are all wrong.”

“20 right and 4 left, er, wrong, yeah. Got it.”

“That leaves you with 5/6ths odds of your self surviving. I’m just telling you the risks up front.”

As an answer, Arthur Kill lays his own 6 shooter on Roberts’ desk, part of the deal. He’s desperate. He’s seen the Oracle map of New York into New Jersey, south into north. He knows he doesn’t stand a chance against *her*. These are certainly better odds than the Mexican standoff he’s facing otherwise. That damn eye (!). The only way to beat it is to find another eye. Thus: Roberts here.

Roberts inspects the gun and sees that it is the correct one. She presses a button under her desk. The door opens, Spider revealed to him once more. 2130, etc…

“You are free to enter, Arthur Stanford Kill.” She keeps staring at him intensely. He faced life and death if he didn’t do this but he also faces it here, just not with the odds stacked totally against him. Can he stay positive and not descend into negativity? That’s the ultimate question. His survival still depends on it.

(to be continued)

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June 18, 2025 · 6:50 am

00470210

“No sorry we *have* to keep it this dark,” Sherry says to the new stewardess Blush, ready to take the air and leave this forbidden dot on the map that is our world. Or so it seems.

“Him?”

“Yeah. Because of the boss. You know, The Boss.” And she wasn’t talking about Springsteen. Not yet. This was (about) New York not New Jersey. For now.

“Marty,” Blush specifies a name.

“Black Hole Sun, right.” Such a can of worms this situation’s become.

—–

Meanwhile, in another part of Vortexville, Tessa practices her heart shooting skills to take down a lover. Soon the target becomes as large as a small boat to her.

“Die, die, DIE,” she says as she pops the stupid winged beings off one by one by one in the now spacious air within.

Blowing smoke from the end, Tessa then reholsters the six shooter beside the other already in her pants. She determines she’s ready for Kill. Arthur that is. As in crossing a line from New York to New Jersey. Her 3rd eye will absorb the return shot from the north. She’s trained for that as well.

(to be continued)

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June 17, 2025 · 6:17 am

00470208

She perused a photography book about New York while listening to Liza Minnelli’s “New York, New York” on the victrola. What was it about this double trouble big city that attracted her attention so these days? Was it her mother’s Douglas also known as Albert? A creation’s creation, she thinks, just to see what would happen. A star guitarist in both a rock and classical sense, culminating with a *little* gig, he he, on the circumference of the yin-yang symbol formed by Black Lake and White Lake known as Woodstock. *Also* in New York. Along with a convoluted tangle of interstates in Rochester called the Can of Worms, like Yoko Ono told Paul McCartney would be opened if she let him reverse the names Lennon-McCartney on even one Beatles recording. He requested this for perhaps his signature track “Yesterday”. She, being Lennon’s widow and thus 1/2 responsible for the decision, refused. Bad blood ensued, or badder blood. When his wife Linda McCartney died in ’98 she wasn’t invited to the New York City wake. New York again. It keeps cropping up.

City of Lights indeed. Unless it’s Paris.

(to be continued)

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June 16, 2025 · 2:07 pm

00470207 (center and circumference)

She liked to sit at this table in the apartment because it gave a view of the statues she so adored, especially Colossus, he he he. She typically and temporarily derendered a certain piece of metallic clothing to great effect. Oh, here comes Eddy. Better stop staring, ha.

—–

“I’m glad you started drinking without me,” said Eddy after sitting down and manifesting a glass of wine of his own. “Sorry about being late. But I was playing around with the marketplace and found some free versions of those statues outside I thought you’d like, including Colossus and Titan.”

Oh *goody*, said Shelley to herself, getting excited at the prospect of hovering above, walking below, and just looking from all angles at the giant effigies — in her own private space of course. Don’t want to start more gossip and rumors flying; Vortexville has enough of those already, she figured. Like those swirling around Old Ben and his Giant Womb Woman situated right smack in the middle of town for all to see, hmph. A little subtlety, Ben!

“But,” continued Eddy. “Unfortunately I also found out they all derezz after 8 minutes. Would have to pay a boatload of money for the originals. So all — sorry again — I got you was this camera for a L$1 at the same store. It won’t derezz, though. And you can take *pictures* of your beloved statues. You know I don’t like looking at that God awful black hole sun out there. We can sit and eat and relax at other tables around our pretty large apartment, ones that don’t face the west. Whaddaya think, huh? Camera.” He indicated the instrument of photography he’d placed in the middle of their table. Shelley looked at it… and then outside again.

“Okay,” she tries to brighten herself, a light bulb going off above her head, even. “Sounds good to me!”

As soon as they finished their last meal at that westward facing table for a while, she herself had logged onto the marketplace and bought 20 demos of each of the two available statues Eddy found. Good for 8×20 minutes or over two and a half hours apiece. Then she would buy 20 more pairs tomorrow if needed, ha. Can’t beat free! Even if there are other prices to pay, like time limits. The camera would remain unused for days, maybe years.

She’d rezz them out back behind the abandoned skyscraper so Eddy or anyone else wouldn’t see. Hers and hers alone. Until Ben walked up next Tuesday’s Wednesday. “Aa HA!” he said, staring up and recognizing a kindred spirit.

(to be continued)

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June 10, 2025 · 7:24 am

00470204

He was giving the finishing touches on his patented veggie stew hot dogs when he looked forward through the wisps of steam rising from Forman George’s old grill and had a vision, as if on an invisible screen before him.

Another place with flowers besides these exotic ones from the Amazon (store) all around, making it smell like a jungle out here on the patio where he was preparing food for Shelley Marsha and his cousin also originally named Edward. “2 fer 1,” he whispered to himself and himself only, watching the vast field of them wave strong and free in the brisk wind as their imaginary scent mixed in with the others from reality. And then he heard someone running behind him, just like at the beginning of it all, his genesis. Now it can be revealed (sorry).

Common denominator: triangles. Slice to be more specific.

And then he simply forgot the whole hallucination ever happened, attention returned to those finishing touches.

“Stew dogs’ done!” he said proudly a 1/2 minute later, and then prepared the plates.

(to be continued)

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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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June 2, 2025 · 7:48 am

00470111

“Jeez, Barry, I thought you were *dead*.”

“*I* thought I was dead. Inside the dream. Bass had a rock the size of a small schoolboy’s head. Hit me with it right in the kisser!”

“*3… hours, Barry. *Three* *hours*.” She sits back in the chair a bit. “Anyway, *why* was she trying to kill you? This Bass woman.”

“Man. Bass man. Ernest T.. Haven’t you ever seen ‘The Andy Griffith Show?'”

“Of course I have, Barry. I meant *man*.” Why did she say woman? she thinks to herself. But this is not about her. This is about *him*. She turns her attention back to the freakishly long dream which he for some God awful reason couldn’t wake up from. It was like some kind of temporary *coma*.

“I think,” he answers Wendy’s question, “he was jealous of me.” The laugh track ended there, he knew. Time for something serious; time for *death*. In the show!

“Why? Why Barry? Why was he jealous?”

A common love, he understood. Helen. Helen Pettry Crump, also known by the schoolboys and even some of the opposite shore experimenting schoolgirls as Helen Pretty Rump. And now Ernest T. was a 33 year old schoolboy himself. Always looking for a potential new bride. Watching her from the back with the others, he knew he’d found one!

“Ernest T.!” she called to him one day, whirling around from the blackboard, surprising him. “Solve the following equation.”

Suddenly there was no schoolroom, no teacher. Just a rock. He thought long and hard about what’s on it but couldn’t reduce it to nothing. This was *something*. His blood began to boil inside him again. I’m going to *take* this rock… or a smaller version thereof… Aaaaaaand.

“And that’s all I remember, Wendy. Swear to God.”

(to be continued)

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June 2, 2025 · 6:55 am

00470110 (Bass cont. (lost laugh track))

“Saaayyy. You’re sweet on her too, Sheriff. Aren’t you?”

The moment rock throwing and all around Mayberry troublemaker Ernest T. realized Andy and he like the same woman. Teacher of Opie, Andy’s son, but also, now, teacher of himself (!). One of the two of ’em would have to go, he decided then and there. And he’s hoping it wouldn’t be him of course. So that meant, let me see (he thought, narrowing the options), it had to be *Andy*.

—–

“Barry? Barry?!”

“BARRY!!!”

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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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