Category Archives: 0612

December 2, 2025 · 3:31 pm

00480612

Citrus fruit loving Philip was pleased the lemonade stand was still there on Infinity Lane but had no time today to stop. Must hurry! “Sorry, Bart!” he calls over while sprinting by. “Maybe next time!” he shouts back, already a blur in the distance to the boy colored the same as the product he sells and who still couldn’t sit while he works because of the broken chair that came with the stand. Where’s tireless former robot co-worker Billy Clockwork when you need him? he always frets around the 4 hour mark on any full shift these days. But it was off to the big city for him when he graduated local Nawt Vaya State University with a degree in economic ergonomics, a bunch of real life experience piled up by working with Bartholomew before, between and after classes. He’d learned a lot in both, enough to get him a 6 figure salary right off the bat. We probably don’t have time or space to get into his story in this here photo-novel, rapidly coming to a close (I hope!), but I believe he lives up in the middle of the Nautilus continent. Or was that Nautilus Island? Anyway, back to Philip. With all that writing I just did he’s now had enough time in space to make his way up to Sep Felton’s haircutting establishment more in the northern part of Juho city. He stops at the door, bent over because of lack of oxygen and unable to speak at first, then straightens up and manages: “Nada New Year? (pant pant) Know? (pant) anything about? (pant pant pant) her?”

“Whereabouts?” Sep completes Philip’s assumed sentence. “Here,” and she pivots the barbershop chair she stands behind 90 degrees to reveal the worst for Philip. “Pink? PINK?” But then he realizes he must back pedal the insensitive utterance. Fast! “LOVE IT!”

“*Wait,” mischievously smiling Sep says playfully. “My mistake. This is *Lexi*. Nada is over *there*.” And an at first relieved Philip stares into the darkened corner of the stylist shop she indicated only to see… but just then my computer crashes ARRRRGH. (TBC?)

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August 25, 2025 · 6:29 am

00470612 (tip of the tongue)

—–

“Thanks for letting me come up here today and play pinball. Ironic thing, heh. I use to play this game while I was high on speed! ha ha.”

“That’s great Philip.” Now Frank Lynn wished he hadn’t invited his old friend up to his castle. With Lexi not around, less control over his manic behavior. She’s a good roommate for him, he realizes. Nothing more, but still… I guess there’s Nada for all the other stuff.

“Got any?” Philip utters while still dinging away.

“Um.. what?” Frank was trying to play Spongeberg’s Invention No. 4 and was having trouble with it, mainly thanks to Philip. It all revolves around middle C — must always keep that in mind, he reminded himself while continuing the careful fingering. Maybe I should paint the key red to emphasize its importance.

“You know, *speed*.”

“Um…” Frank then realizes what Philip was asking about. “Oh… *no* dawg. I haven’t done any of that (drugs) since moving here. I don’t need it here.” Back to the invention. Middle C, middle C.

“Well, gotta go then, I suppose.” Philip then lets go of the pinball machine and backs away from it, as if waking up from a dream. “W-what? Where *am* I?

“And who are *you*?”

“Cut it out, Philip. Yeah, maybe it’s time for you to go home.” Middle C middle C middle C…

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May 19, 2025 · 2:26 pm

00460612 (Windsong Too)

“Uh, *Tessa,*” Carolin says to her on the Isle of Crow after the fairy had just manifested out of thin air in a puff of semi-sparkly dust. “Be-hind you (!).” Tessa stops playing the guitar, turns.

“I wass acttraccted by the musss-ic,” the odd looking entity started with a bit of a slurpy slur. “Bea-uu-ti-fful! Won-dder-fful. And that’ss jusst youu!” she tried to compliment the player. Too creepy? She doesn’t want to project creepy and odd. Yet she always seems to fail at this.

“Why *thank* you,” says Tessa, studying her face, her features in general. She didn’t want to seem too surprised at the sudden appearance. After all, this was End of Time. Weird occurrences and appearances happen with some frequency here, she knew from her extended stay back in the day. But she hadn’t returned since she was a kid. Not even a teenager then. It took her many years to refind this magical place. And of course she had to uncover the whereabouts of her old friend and former fellow cave resident Carolin to tell her too. “We can go back (!),” she says during that in-person meeting in Nawt Vaya I hinted about before in this here blog and attached photo-novel. “We can find the cat-people for real (!!).”

“*Why* would we do *that*” countered Carolin, having a quite different experience with those caves. Imprisonment! At least for a couple of days. Until Glinda got her out and sent her home. Back to New York where she was trying to get to all along. Mannikins PHEH, she can’t help but cuss inwardly, an old old grudge. Turned her against magical beings in general, truth be told. So she was certainly *wary* of this fairy. Wary of fairy wary of fairy, she chanted in her head to drill the wariness in. So back to the current dialog…

“Would you like to be a ssstarr?” the being mildly slurped and slurred. “Would you like to be a rocktt sstarrr?”

“Maybe,” Tessa lied, not trusting the creature before her either. A magical proposition. Always a bad thing, she believes.

“Would you like to have luxurriousss hairr?” she continued with it. “Would you, would you like adddoorration, like looking in a mirrorr and alwayshss seeing beauty. Puurrre beauty.” This worked before, the fairy thinks. Why not now?

“How about if she doesn’t? interjected Tessa’s mate on the bed with her. “Will you just leave us alone, then?” Blunt Carolin, more a glass half empty than full kind of gal. But a gal pal still.

“I… will leavvve,” the queer little fairy agrees.

“What’s your name? Fairy?” Carolin continued with the grilling.

“My namee?” She seemed to be actually thinking about it, like she didn’t know. “Scharlie,” she came up with. “Peet,”

“You don’t look like a Charlie or a Peet,” countered Carolin.

“Nooooo. Your contactss. Fairiess too!”

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February 7, 2025 · 7:32 am

00450612

So we come to the point in our story where we have to ask: Are any of these various lines of seemingly disparate plots and sub-plots connected to some kind of central power source? Or do they all just dead end before reaching any said source? Well, I think Our Second Lyfe or My Second Lyfe still provides the juice to all this in a strong way. It may not be where I’m heading but it’s where I’m from, the photo-novels as a whole originate. So let’s put that in the middle, like a house a toddler or child might crawl or walk out of one day to find a brave new world outside full of fresh mystery and intrigue. After that, he’s kind of finished with the house or at least he thinks he is. Out There becomes the most important, like stepping through a door and leaving an old way of life behind. Crawling to walking to running… and then back to walking and then, finally, crawling (to the grave). So what is *outside*? And what are the levels of outside? When we reach a circle around this center where real cannot be distinguished from virtual, do we stop and take in the view?

Or do we just continue down the summit to the other side? Both I think. Let’s move forward. With wire cutters.

(to be continued)

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November 16, 2024 · 2:50 pm

00440612 (‘Gotta light?’ 02)

“Fern?

“Over here.

“The switch.”

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August 10, 2024 · 9:20 am

00430612 (The Letter)

Gerald realizes there’s only 1 bush and not 2. Not 2 S’s in other words. He is a former witcher true, but his name is Gerald, not Geralt. And the “monster” he slayed in Tousaint — 1 s again — is Redd not Rhenawedd, exposed for the double face she is. The immediate giveaway is that she couldn’t be painted, thus artist Greg Ogden’s highly abstracted depiction of her appearing on his canvas much to his chagrin initially. Later he got use to the style, eventually descending further further further into this new art until only pure mathematics and pure chance were left, 2 faces of one thing themselves. You are what you paint.

Harking back to the Oracle there is a historic village named Tousaint in Ohio along the Toussaint River, the lone example of that town name in our country of the US of A. And in the same county of Sandusky with Clyde and Fremont.

Oops. Wrong map. 🙂

We recall that Mikie’s therapist was named Clyde, soon to be changed to Fremont as June-July-August inevitably slides into Fall and beyond. A larger community for higher ideas and ideals. And this returns us to Mars through the backdoor, Asylum bartender Teebestia with a mask herself waiting on Anderson, Norris and Hayes at once, as if she had 3 heads to match each of theirs. Triumvirate.

“I’ll open up the Table to questions.”

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May 6, 2024 · 2:05 am

00420612

It took a supreme effort for him to break away from the Big E or, alternately Big Schwa always sitting in the middle of his Aisle of Palms’ Kidd Tower dining table, ready for further examination and scrutiny. But he did it; returned to his hometown and his Bach/Reger/Kajiura played on a silver cello purchased in the Isle of Love. He played to his loving doll Mob (pronounced: Mobe), who listened with rapt attention as usual.

Good ol’ Mob. He misses her when he’s away… plus the cats big and small of course. And he just f-ing needed to get away from the band for a while. No Lag was pushing them in a classical direction, Shelley was pushing them in a rock direction, Don just wanted everyone to call hogs like him, like the kid he is. Be like me! he indicated all the time with his actions and speech. But bar manager Martha Lamb wanted him there as a kind of front man and bar owner Bull Dragon (or Dragon Bull; *not* Ball Dragon or Dragon Ball, though) went along with it, seeing the appreciative crowds. Maybe they’re getting *too* big, too popular, thought Okama not once but a considerable number of times in the last week as they did nightly gigs to growing audiences. Poor opening act Marsha “Pink” Krakow who wanted to be a Ball herself wasn’t hacking it, though. He felt sorry for her, was *envious* of her even. Furniture comedy, he speculated at the time, watching her perform only for the ogling Thompson Twins if anyone at all. Like Satie had his furniture music. “Pay no attention to us musicians,” the eclectic Frenchman spoke to audiences of his day, over 100 years ago, so far ahead of his time. He said to just enjoy the pieces of the art gallery they were playing at, and so on. And so it is with Marsha but in a kind of reverse way. “Just enjoy the musicians on the stage over there; pay no attention to me,” she seems to broadcast lately. A conceptual art comedy piece in the style of Kaufman or maybe Hicks. But certainly not like iconic 50s star Lucille Ball as she originally desired, one of the greatest of all female performers period. This was undesired art but maybe she’s seeing the irony of it. He’ll have another word with her about the whole, er, *concept* when he gets back. But he needs to stay here for at least a week to calm his nerves. He needs to stay away from the Kidd (Tower) and he needs to stay away from the kid (Don).

Knocks downstairs. Wendy has arrived at her destination. Confrontation time; brace yourself Okama!

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January 29, 2024 · 10:43 pm

Gunn City

Of course I had to steal Bombay Beach’s Aisle of Palms street sign and make it my own welcoming sign to the city. I’m talking about Aisle of Palms again of course, My Second Lyfe style. And then it was logical to position Trevor Philips’ look-alike Philip Strevor in the Perch Restaurant table above it. Let’s check in on what he’s up to.

Well, currently he’s starting to play that game he loves called Gunn Mobile Trailer Park, with a style so similar to what his doppelganger up in Bombay Beach’s own double of Sandy Shores experiences each and every virtual day. I wonder if he understands the bond?

Soon he comes to a critical point, building upon hours and hours of non-stop action and violence. 223 trailer park residents and visitors killed in a murder spree no one will soon forget in the overarching Mobile, Alabama metro area and indeed the whole state, at least according to future newspapers he has access to at this level like “The Bermingham Journal” and “The Phoenix City Citizen-Gazette.”

He’s killed everyone off, with no further need of his avatar’s trusted .45 caliber combat pistol. Can he deposit it into that glitch he’s learned about through a Youtube tutorial and progress beyond the park, venturing into the Mobile-Tensaw River Delta region and its vast swamplands? He knows he’ll encounter Indians there: the famed Bottle Creek tribe most noted for their large platform mounds NE of Mobile and with many rewards to reap along the way according to that video. But he cannot find them if he still possesses the gun. The makers of the game wanted the player to learn a moral lesson beyond just learning how to aim and kill in the most effective manner.

Just as an experiment, he places the gun in the glitch but knows, all along, he can’t go through with it. Instead, weapon safely back in hand, he’ll have his avatar lie low for a couple of days while the trailer park repopulates itself with outside NPCs. Soon he’ll have enough to start the murder spree all over again. And, in his head, it will continue like this, week after week, month after month. He reckons it will never get old — at least until they release version 06 of the game with its updated graphics and even more intense killing scenes. He can’t wait. Projected date of release: Fall 2025. But will his beloved character Cloe Prince return? he wonders. And if not, will he form such an intense bond with a new lead “protagonist”? Will Cloe become — gasp — obsolete in the eyes of others? Will he stick with her even so? He knows he can’t, though, because the character doesn’t make the man. Instead: the instrument of death he or she wields. And it could be a he the next time around. He’ll get use to it. You see the irony here?

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November 8, 2023 · 2:55 pm

00400612 (holiday rotting away)

A homeless person in Millers Pond looks across the sim line and takes pictures of neighboring Millbank before it’s too late and all the Halloween oddity over there goes away for another 10 or 11 months or so. Specifically, he’s recording a supposed secret meeting between Dr. Mouse and Dr. Brown not far from the mortuary and mental asylum where we first saw them in this here photo-novel: 40, fast drawing to a close itself. Which will last longer might be a question to be asking, Millbank or this?

Two went in, one came out. Murder. Most foul.

—–

“Pretend you’re a woman of that type, Dr. Brown,” Dr. Mouse said within, “with alll these temptations just sitting there all around you. Would you stay on the grounds?”

“No red blooded man *or* woman could resist,” spoke Dr. Brown, knowing human psychology and physiology all too well. Convex and concave — attraction. Irresistible, especially in that overall climate. And he didn’t forget concave to concave; applies here too. The institution Dr. Mouse set up will not hold the girl, a true Venus.

“Serenity Lane, yes,” spoke Dr. Mouse about the fairer sex aspect of the situation, having studied the combined files thoroughly by now. “Drugged her, then drugged her over to the prison, the mother mayor’s magical cuffs in place. Serenity loved Marsha just as much as she loved ex-wife Shelley before; would keep her around at any cost. Shelley… Johnston — Johnston, right?”

“Yeah. Think so,” answered Brown.

“And the other?” Dr. Mouse tested.

“Brown,” answered Brown.

—–

Mouse couldn’t take a chance on the name synchronicity. He’d have to find another second hand to go along with his first in the aberrant bomb clock of time that is their story. Tick tick tick goes the sim of Millbank. Tick tick tick goes the text of photo-novel 40. Oh what the heck, let’s just start with this house to destroy the evidence.

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September 1, 2023 · 10:43 pm

00390612

She was waiting on someone to tell her who she was, what her real name was, when she decided on her own. The hair makes the girl, she thinks. Thus I am Marsha Pink Krakow, standing proud against the evil of the world and living another day to tell others about and, together, finding out ways to deal with such *shadows*. Not monsters… as much as part of ourselves, ready to spring forth and surprise us if we ignore the signs too long. What were my signs? What were Tammy’s/Frankie’s? Push to stardom for me. Drumming. I wanted to be bigger than Starr and Moon, bigger than *Bonham* even (Led Zeppelin drummer who died, like The Who’s Moon — and Pink herself in that variant reality she just exited — way way too early).

“Shelley,” she speaks aloud to emphasize the affirmation, “you and your Doodle-Bug Hair Blonde had its run and, not failed, but didn’t quite cross over the finish line. I am that finish line. I represent death conquered, shadow conquered. And Tammy/Frankie too, wherever she is inside, conscience or not. She is there. And you are too, Shelley, because you provided me the body I now inhabit. I will always be grateful. But I am Marsha… Pink… Krakow.”

She feels two drumsticks manifest in her right back pocket. She will be more humble this time around, more conscious of other’s dreams and desires and not just blot them out with her own bright wannabe future. She will take this golden opportunity to be the best she can possibly be — not a drummer this time around, although that talent may increase too just by proxy, but simply a person, a human being. That’s what it’s all about, Marsha thinks here, not waiting on anyone any longer, knowing who she is. She can make this world what she wishes it to be. She can manifest: joy.

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