Category Archives: 0607

00420607 (05 and 06)

Perhaps the last major building has been manifested in Aisle of Palms: the original version of the Edwardston Station Gallery, holding the entire “Art 10×10” of 100 collages I created in 6 series from 2004 to 2009. Not the prettiest of structures with its plain cubic form, admittedly, but effective in its role. 6 floors, 6 series, with all but 2 and 5, or Rose Hill and Hidalgo respectively, holding 20 collages apiece. Those 2 floors/series contain 10 in contrast. I’ll get to what occupies the other 1/2 of the 2nd and 5th floors in a bit.

The immediate prompt for me rezzing this structure is that I wanted to show Newt (or whoever) that the fox-to-dog conversion of Jim Randolph the Bastard Pirate in St. Dennis recently was seemingly preordained. The Yale-*Newt*on series of the “Art 10×10,”  its 3rd, dates from 2006, going on 20 years ago at this point. Gosh, where have the years gone (!). Anyway, when we reach the 4th collage of that series we come to this dualism again: fox vs. dog or, more precisely, fox against dingo, for the orange dog of the work, titled “Outfoxed?”, is suppose to represent such, as the orange-ish dog in St. Dennis is in kind.

Then in the next two collages of Yale-Newton, making a type of animation with each other, we see the fox and dingo again, the in-taking of water if you will (“Diamond Dog”)…

… and then the release of same back into the atmosphere (“Coasts is Clear”), as the original Diamonds sign on the roof of the depicted restaurant bearing the same name is multiplied 16-fold and becomes a country unto itself, let’s say — our country, built up from the middle, this Diamonds Restaurant in a central state of Missouri, until it extends ocean to ocean. A seed becomes a tree.

And then in the next collage, the 7th of the series (“Here’s Lucy”), we come to another depiction of the word “diamonds”, now in connection with the initials LSD like in the famous John Lennon song we saw Shelley Struthers singing earlier in her band audition at Bull’s Bar in this here blog and attached photo-novel, 42 in number now of course. So I have a feeling this could reference Osamu Sato’s LSD Dream Emulator game on top of the drug and Lennon song — additional foreshadowing. More on this aspect soon, I’m predicting.

That bubble topped mound in the middle of the 7th collage being threatened by bulldozers is actually where it all starts to kick in, the whole “Art 10×10” and my journey into the world of digital collaging. Looks like fellow collage artist Barry De Boy will be our observer here instead of Newt, perhaps gaining inspiration for a jump start of his own art. Wendy is a muse!

He follows The Beatles’ yellow submarine between Greenup 05 and 06 as it floats downstream, into the tunnel of night lights, illumination in darkness.

What will he find there, a fox or a dingo? I’m guessing both. In fact, make that a certainty.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0042, 0607, Big Woods, collages 2d, Jeogeot, Lake District, LSD, United Kingdom

00410607

Bulby, St. Dennis style.

I believe this is where he came from. Another portal, then!

It all really got started with the breaking of The Bottle in The Barroom.

But which one?

Prognostication:

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0041, 0607, Alabama, RDR2

00400607

She couldn’t stop listening to Black Sabbath after the Big Sandy party, even though she was in Donathan in Meat City now. Orders of Wheeler Malone Wilson the mayor, probably in coordination with Dolores the likewise Big Boss of Big Sandy who lived across Big Channel from her somewhere. Go over there (Dolores said over the phone again?) and get some *info*. She said back if so: give me a new black bed, a topline new black computer, keyboard, mouse, speakers, table and we’ll talk about it. Oh, and all the manga I can read, say, One Piece. Heck, all pieces. And some Reese’s Pieces, unlimited supply. And a man, a black man. No, make that any color I don’t care. I’m not prejudice against my own race, nor others. Oh yeah, a bunny — *do* make that black so that I can sit him behind my head to watch over everything. That’ll be the substitute for my dear departed daddy, making sure everyone behaves in front of him and puts on their best behavior, including me. I’ll tell everyone up front: Daddy’s watching, judging. He sees everything.

But eventually she tired of eager Big Sandy team volunteer Sandy Beech (name a chance relationship with his origin point), and One Piece overall, and brought in fellow Big Sandy alum Alice Tart to hang around with. Alice T. was still looking for sisters Wanda and Gloria, and although she understood they most likely weren’t in Meat City or the Omega continent as a whole, she went anyway. After all, they could have Black Sabbath concerts until the wee hours of the morning, cranking up Laura’s super nifty Sony Signature Series SA-Z1 speakers to the max. It was like Ozzie Osbourne lived inside their head, bigger than life itself, 1st or 2nd or any other number. All Osbourne. But first things first when Alice arrived.

“Did you bring Reese’s Pieces? I told (Wheeler? Dolores?) I was out and to send more over. Lots more.” Alice opened her numerous travel bags to reveal only candy within. Laura knew this new roomie situation was going to work out just swell.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0040, 0607, Omega^^, Urbane Blue/Fishers Island^

hard in the middle hard at the ends

They called the big room where they lived simply “Home”. For example: “I’m going Home now,” Tammy Beige Brown would say to her pleased boss with 5 fresh stories to print in his paper by 10:01AM. Then she’d hop on her bike — or, alternately (especially on sunnier days (disposition-wise)), hop on her hopper and head back to Marsha, Pumpkinhead (*not* Pumpkinass), Lelia, Kellyya (hmm, another L and K,  like Leroy *Kelly* after all) and the rest, all collected in what outsiders would perceive as a doll house in the next big room pictured above. They thought of it as just a house, period. A home within a bigger HOME… as in home base from baseball, as in a place they could feel safe, superior catcher always stuck sitting on the bench, never graduated to a star himself. They were still in play, in effect, 9 on the field. No sin in Cincinnati. F-ing hard city to spell.

Let’s swing the camera around and look in to what these tiny dwellers of this realm called Story Room, after the paper and the articles within, or at least that’s a byproduct of this adjacent big room, perhaps. No one knows when the appellation started, or when they started calling this other, neighboring room something other than Home as well. It became WORK.

Marsha “Pink” Krakow was originally confused about Tammy “Beige” Brown getting a job at the newspaper there. “What newspaper?” she uttered, momentarily forgetting that she’d seen this very object many times from her supposed secret perch on top of the cupboard in this very room, the place she just took child Shelley in this here photo-novel, 39 in a f-ing long series it seems, infinitely harder to figure out than the spelling of Ohio’s 2nd city. “Not *at* a newspaper,” Tammy originally replied to Marsha’s question after procuring the coveted post. “*On* a newspaper. Then she realized for the 1st (?) time that it was both and said so. After a couple of days on the job she additionally explained that she sits down at her canvas (= blank page) and spills coffee all over it, which highlights the stories she’s suppose to write on any given day. Then she just copies them down (photography, she thinks at the time — she could just take *pictures* of the articles and send it to Leroy (Leroy?) instead of having to paint it all up — inferior art form she then tacks on in her head about it), and she’s done for the day, usually by 10 or 10:01 at the latest (so far). That’s how she found out about Steamboat — it was all in the story highlighted in the stain. Thus the spiel today, her 3rd on the job. Leroy was never the same as Steamboat. The nickname never existed, although the halfback could indeed steam his way through tacklers like a boat or something, approaching but of course not reaching the heights of the great, unsurpassable Jim Brown before him. He was fresh off the bench. He was picking up steam, quickly becoming a star himself (the article said). But he, again, was never named such. Despite the memories of childhood NFL broadcasts.

And those rooms beyond you can catch a glimpse of in the above picture, one may ask? Also Story Room for the moment, including the bathroom with the floaty toy ducks in the tub and the rezzable, handy objects in the sink like a hairdryer and a razor, along with working scales. But what of Storybrook?

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0607, Ohio, River

00380607

“4 of 5 letters the same at the top. And crooked again, just like with the graffiti in, what was it, Hypolazy?”

“Hypoluxo,” she answered. “Hypoluxo, Florida. The randonaut’s intent was to find a remote place. Graffiti artists generally work in remote places, thus proving the synchronicity right there. The coordinates he summoned fulfilled his desire.”

“Cool. But the glyph — even the J fits in here, since the only other letter in it that tilts the exact same way is R. Switch out similarly turning J and and one of the 2 Rs, your choice, and you have the same 5 letters: KRMNL again. L for the R now to finish, if we assume it all rotates around and ending can loop back to beginning.”

“Truth,” she said. “This glyph is very important. TILE.”

“Of course,” I returned. “Same four colors, same (sub-) letters in the colors. Just in terms of KRMNL, the adjusted top row, MNR are blue and KL are green.”

“Nice.” Exhale. “Now what about the straight letters? HYCTY?” I didn’t have an answer.

—–

Interpreting Hucka Doobie (thanks Hucka!) later indicated that the J can be switched with the R of the same column — JASPR — simply by shifting the whole thing down one letter, assuming an infinite repeat of the 5×5 glyph in all directions again. This discussion naturally led back to Nautilus. Through Naughtilus, oddly enough, catty-corner to the Piccolo sim which the owner of Jasper Falls in the pivotal sim of Jasper featured in the next post calls his actual home. We teleport an investigating team down.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0038, 0607, Nascera^^

00370607

Blue Mountain from basically the exact opposite direction pictured in post 00370515 of the last section. Yes, as predicted I have moved my hiking emphasis to the back of this mountain now to escape the hotter temperatures and emergence of poison ivy, etc.

Evidence of human activity in the area. Or something else.

The highlight of the day had to be an abandoned house filled with cryptic graffiti. Like multiple warnings on the outer walls about it being a trap. I did not venture too far inside because of this. Thanks!

Question marks abound about the place.

“‘Abandoned’ too,” with 22222… on a door frame.

Upstairs: a throne?

He’s here. Who’s *he*?

After exiting, outdoor sounds like babbling brooks seem sweeter.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0037, 0607, Blue Mountain

00360607

Tvin Tovn, neither here nor there.

Tvin Town at best.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0607

00350607

She thought of another answer while chopping pepper for the big meal. George was coming over! Or was it Arthur? Anyway, she thought of this: I *love*, that George’s backwards guitar was destroyed in the Moray Docks explosion when that new Tar Guit appeared over top of it. BOOOM! she recalled joyously. That can replace the “resourceful” answer, #4 I believe.

“She’s gone,” Baumbeer speaks later to Newt about the poor girl’s mind. “But I know where she is.”

“I’ll go see her,” replies the father not father-in-law. “No need to bring the boy in the picture,” he says half to himself. “He’s already heartbroken enough.”

“Let me know if I can help more,” spoke Baumbeer into the receiver to finish. He hangs it up. On a clothes hanger.

Newt rings Shelley up. I mean, he calls her. Since the wedding is off and he’s no longer the Best Man. Thus the meal.

“Newt!” she modifies again, moving to the cucumber or tomato next. “The father-in-law.” Her face squinches up. “Father *in-law*?”

They meet at the same gazebo in the sim’s corner. Property called Sim’s Corner. The Void’s energy was just loosened enough so he could reach over and straighten up the blouse on her shoulder. Pepper t-shirt no. 1 she wore now. Small successes before bigger ones, he thinks, staring at the daughter he didn’t know he had until the end of the last photo-novel, 34 in [delete rest of sentence].

“Wheeler says to say hello,” he starts again, trying to jolt more memories. Does she remember the spaceship? Of course not, Newt thinks. Too young. Shelley says say hello to Wheeler back, even though she doesn’t know who that is. She’s trying to mask her big big problem. And where’s George? Or was it Arthur?

“Your… *mother*,” Newt says to this, understanding she doesn’t recognize the name. “George — you know George, right?”

“Georges,” she says, which Newt lets slide.

“Anyway, *your* George says you look a lot like her. You even have some of the same tattoos.” Kind of odd, Newt thinks here but, again, lets it slide; chalks it up as another disturbance of The Void.

—–

“You’re batty I tell you. *Batty*!”

“Out of my way, whoever you are! *Whatever* you are!”

“W-where you going, dude? Nothing left but *me*.” She starts dancing and dancing with her weapon. Hypnotizing. Just like on the bus. It was her.

Shelley wakes up. What did I do to *Johnny*, she immediately thinks. We go back to that point. That’s where she began to lose it. The baby. My baby!

She was the baby.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0607, Omega^^, Southern

00340607

The door to the place in the sewer was open, unlike before. Now casually dressed Roberts sat on one of the reddish chairs within, facing another. Franklin? If John L. Brown is such, and perhaps he is. He got Jem high as a kite with the Duck dope over in Ontario to save or at least extend her short simulacrum life, and everyone knows *Benjamin* Franklin is an expert kite flyer, perhaps a drug user himself? Firesign Theatre seems to think so, at least in one strong probable reality. And besides, John’s already called himself Benjamin Franklin for just those very reasons in part 01. So there’s that.

Or Franklin could actually be Johnny Black who just arrived, since namesake Johnny Cash, Man in Black, was famously married in Franklin KY to June Carter in 1968 after getting his license over the line in Tennessee, probably passing through Black Jack south of Franklin in the effort, shared between the two states — yet another black then. And a separate community named Black Jack exists just to the north of Franklin, firmly in Kentucky in its case. Speaking of cases, pilot Thomas Mantell was born in this same Franklin and very mysteriously plummeted to his death just outside the small KY town in ’48 while chasing what he and others identified as a bonafide UFO, very near Black Jack and the Tennessee line again, even though he lived in a different part of the state at the time.  So he is another aspect of Franklin definitely, representing the uroboros where cradle links up and even eats grave, causing a perpetual loop.

Roberts invited Johnny Black in, seeing him space out thinking about some of these same associations. John L. Brown then waved high as well. Appropriate. Someone was also in the pool ahead of him, although he couldn’t tell what or who. Perhaps green? Oh, and when he made his way inside and stood between them, he was standing right smack dab in the middle of what townspeople called The Anomaly, thought to be gotten rid of. Nope. Just showed up in a different place and a slightly different form.

One thing we know is that the green thing in the pool *isn’t* Norris, who is instead dead behind swifter Johnny in the sewer, victim of a zombie attack it appears or something. We wish him well in the afterlife.

Oh look. It *was* Norris in the pool — *just* formed. Another Franklin! And perhaps the truest one.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0034, 0607, Kentucky, Paper Soap, Soap, Tennessee

00330607

The waterfall was relaxing. That’s why I decided to choose this cabin over the others, including the one where I could chop wood. Oil heated but that’s okay — I could use (cleaner) kerosene. Jem should be home soon. Out pretending she lives in the big treehouse I suppose; answering old phones, playing with someone else’s computer, overlapping screens on top of theirs. It’s all good fun, though. There’s no no trespassing signs around here. Eveything is open, all the way from Towerboro to these neighboring woods. And no dummies to worry about either here — that’s a big advantage over town. I can focus on Jem and Jem alone. Especially after Tessie (our Tessa) left for the castle to find that book. I wish her luck!

Water sounds; I can get sleep for a change.

—–

“Minus 125,” he cussed mildly downstairs after a nap. “Out of ice cream.” Oh well, he thinks. I can make some later out back with the cream and the strawberries here. Prefer chocolate, though, or vanilla at the least. Maybe run into town and get some. But the dummies…

—–

“Tired of your book?”

“No. It’s just I’m a little depressed.”

“Depressed? Why?”

“Because… didn’t you wonder where I was today?”

“I figured you were at the treehouse. Pretending we’re better off than we are.”

“I was in *town*.” How blind could this bastard boy be? she thought.

“Town, eh? Oh yeah. I think you mentioned that.”

“I *did* mention that. Do you remember where I was?”

“You said ‘town’.”

“No. Where I *was* in town.”

“No I don’t think you did. *Oh*”, he realized. “The *hair*.”

“Yes, Bob cut a lot of it off.” Finally! she thought. “Wellll?”

He wanted to go into town to get some proper ice cream and Jem came back with a doo that looked like a big scoop of vanilla was dropped on her head. What could he say? “The bob looks great on you, honey.” He tried to reach over and stroke it for reinforcement but Jem knocked his hand away.

—–

Later we find him chopping wood at that nearby cabin. At least he has himself tonight. How was I to know that Bob was the hairdresser instead of the style, he thinks. I need to pay attention better.

—–

The next night he tried to make up but she wouldn’t have any of it. “I’m going to go see John tomorrow,” she said, her mind set. She needed to find out about that duck. Finally!

At least I can move back into this cabin and listen to the waterfall and stop chopping wood, he thinks. Wait… *whaat*? “John??” he parroted. But maybe it was another hairstylist or a hairstyle at the least.

No. It was John.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0607, Jeogeot, Towerboro