Category Archives: Badlands

November 26, 2024 · 11:57 pm

00450105

After the BD was over, the driver who was also the filmer decided to make the same loop over again to start another BD, this time focusing on the incredibly compact Tibetian city of Yajaing itself more than a drive into the city from another one called Kangding 2 hours, 44 minutes, and 20 seconds away through beautiful Himilayan mountains. Here are the two identical sections travelled, starting at 0:51 and 2:37:21 in the videos below respectively.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vpZ-H3nqOMM

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BSHphBOAc1U

Continuing leads from FBI Agent Dale Cooper (see below), I saw it as an opportunity to study synchronicity through direct overlap. It may have paid off, because this TILE umbrella appearing on the first loop…

… was then removed by the second one, a time I estimate to be about 30 minutes later. Another highlighting of TILE, it seemed, becoming a theme for this here present photo-novel.

Agent Cooper’s advice seems to pay off again (!).

Gentlemen, when two separate events occur simultaneously pertaining to the same object of inquiry, we must always pay strict attention.

And this time — so appropriate — in his beloved Tibet he declared intense admiration for early on in the Twin Peaks series, even taping a map of it on the back of a blackboard to lecture about for others in his adjunct law enforcement department. And however confused they seem in the moment here, I’m sure they got a lot out of it. 🙂 And Cooper’s advice I quote above comes from the same talk.

Speaking of TILE umbrellas: back to the cyberpunk desert.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0045, 0105, Badlands, C2077, MAPS, Twin Peaks, Washington

November 26, 2024 · 9:58 am

00450104 (Lincoln)

“Ahh, there’s me in the middle again. Surrounded by my 2 favorite men, Cary to the left and Madison to the right. If only it were still that way and I could choose and select who I wanted to be with in any one alternate reality, *sigh*.”

“I’m worried about you, Tin. I really am.”

“Why? Because I know who I am and what I want?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, thinking of my own insecurities. Sure I was a writer. But of what kind? What genre? The list goes on.

“Then you need to go away and think about what I’m telling you. Goodbye. Shoo now.”

—–

I first heard of Lizzy over in Rocky Boy toward the edge of the desert. Not *at* the edge. But getting there. Someone named Fern met me at Ten at Sunset during the afternoon soon to turn to night. Told me not to head back into Nightsity on my motorcycle. Told me to go east instead of west. Rocky Boy. Here I am.

I parked my motorcycle on the edge of the small, trailer dominated town, speaking of edges, intending to walk around and see what’s there. The pavement on the main road through it was heavily cracked and overgrown with weeds. Toward the middle of the place there was a garage business with an unlit E in the neon OPEN sign next to its office door, the only building I could find with a walkable interior. Seeing no indications of hostile forces, I go inside to check it out.

Devoid of people, but its lone TV was playing. Someone, some kind of influencer let’s call it, was talking about Lizzy and how’d she’d thrown her hat into the brain daze producing ring, starting with a murder most foul. Of her own doing. Listening to it, I somehow knew this Lizzy person, who, after all, I didn’t know about 5 minutes before, would never do this and that the BD was a fake, if it even depicted a murder. I don’t know how I knew, but it turned out to be correct. There was no body. There was nobody.

(to be continued?)

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November 15, 2024 · 2:47 pm

00440610

“‘I kill them,’ he said to me in the dream within the dream. ‘I kill them all.’ All the white people that accepted him, I realized, took him in and away from the shed. I felt horror. I was next!”

“Dawg, *dam*mit!” said Frank Lynn, alone as a listener now and picturing Mikie’s described awful scene in his head.

“But then he was back, just a dummy or something in a shed in the middle of nowhere, the nearby landfill smelling stronger than ever. I realized this was his proper place. I woke up.”

—–

“I think we’ve found our Slaughterhouse,” spoke observing Fern to — probably Billy still, I’m guessing. Yes, there he is.

(to be continued?)

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November 14, 2024 · 4:36 pm

00440609

“So I drove up to this shed in the middle of freak-n nowhere, knowing there was something inside I needed to see.

“And then when I get out of my car and went inside, I see… him.”

“Him?” said Frank Lynn.

“Monkey? Dawg?” said Philip, trying to guess.

“No, Philip. No animal in this one. It was a man. But a man made of green: a solid green man. I’m not talking about someone wearing just a green shirt and green pants or even a green body suit. Green — top of the head to the bottom of the feet. And *glowing*.”

“Freaky,” said enraptured Frank Lynn.

“O-kaay,” uttered Philip Strevor. He needed to get some meth ready for a sale tonight, he thinks in the back of his head, but it can wait a little longer. He wants to see this through. In the moment, he even tries to focus a bit, which is rare.

“He starts to describe who he is,” continues Mikie. “Said he was actually made of uranium and that he was from the planet Uranus. ‘Both?’ I asked. ‘Both,’ he said.”

“Maybe he wanted you to think he was a piece of glowing sh-t,” offered Philip.

“Maybe,” said Mikie. “Okay, so then I remembered I had a Geiger counter on me — don’t ask me how. I switch it on — in my head somehow; something — and the thing registered off the charts, way too dangerous to stand very close to. So I backed off, planned my escape. Just then he turned into something else, like he was picking up on my fear. A human. Maybe — I don’t know — to be more on my level or something. Some kind of mind meld, mind you.”

“Huh,” said Frank Lynn.

“Hmph,” said Philip, shifting his feet and starting to truly get impatient. Just a little more.

“He was, I don’t know, trying to tell me something. He wanted me to know how he got here. Or what would happen to him if the wrong people found him. He was afraid, get this, of white people. He was green; they were white. Like, er, you and me Philip. But not like Frank Lynn, who’s black instead. He said he wasn’t afraid of black — specified it. Just white. Unless white combines with black to turn gray.”

“Listen,” said a now quite confused Philip. “I’m outta here; gotta measure out some drugs for a deal. I told my dream, I listened to yours, Frank Lynn, and I’ve listened to Mikie’s here long enough too. Green man in shed. Radioactive asshole or something. Got it.”

“Don’t you want to know if the white people catch up with him, dawg?” said Frank Lynn to Philip Strevor, who was already walking away.

“Nah, I’ll leave that story with you and your outstanding blackness,” he waved off while leaving the scene.

(to be continued)

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October 27, 2024 · 4:01 pm

00440503

“Gotta light?”

“Lincoln!!” both occupants of the black car in the desert or at least the very arid landscape screamed in unison, their last coherent words.

—–

“Com’n Trevor. Time to go home.” And he dumped the lifeless body in the container, determined this would be his last Badlands gig. Ever. Retirement himself, if not in body, in soul. He had a old bunker picked out he could remake as a desert home. Even had a contractor on board for the remodeling process. Cliffside dwelling. Perfection. Half an hour tops now and done with all this. He got into the make-shift hearse and put the 4 way flashers on, Tiler Church straight ahead and then turn left and another left and then a right and then a left and right. And left, he believes. Then: done. Away from the grave and reborn. This old monkey’s about to acquire a leaf and turn into a new man. Adam. And he also has an Eve picked out. Mechanism, but it was the best he could do. They would manage. Box labelled Live Cargo should be arriving any day now down at the harbour.

—–

“What do you *mean* I can’t go home?!” shot back Fern, her business done here in The Aisles with Tin and all, with much learned and much to ponder about later.

“The Cpt.’s duties have ended,” he said plainly, not going into any details.

OD, Fern assumed. Or hospitalized or fired or a combination of 2 or all three in one. Well, something had to happen sooner or later, she rationalized.

“How long till you get another cpt.?” she asked, knowing she could pilot the vessel herself back to mainland if needed. But she had to obey protocols with this officer of the Navy, Army and Air Force in one. And perhaps the Marines as well, the oft forgotten 4th. She looked at the insignia. Hard to tell from them; designed that way due to the ’68 Force Bias Wars as they became known.

“1 day, maybe 2.” She looked at the many weapons about his body. She’d have to wait. He’d stand guard until the replacement showed up, she knew from his stance and former talk.

Finally time for that drink, she supposed. Time to visit Rose, one of ’em, maybe both of ’em before the day’s ended. She heads in their general direction from the harbour, letting her feet decide which is what and who first.

(to be continued)

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October 26, 2024 · 8:27 am

00440412 (Badlands)

“Edward’s dead,” she put it bluntly, witnessing the spectacle herself. “Out in the desert. Dancing up a storm, dancing harder than anyone else. Then: the storm hit, shall we say. Like in Arroyo.”

“But… *I’m* Edward,” I say back, remembering the conversion. “In Kabusie this time, on the other side of Nightsity. Next to the canal. Ditch Canal. Or Channel.”

“No, that was a close call, but you’re not Edward. He passed you by. Close but no call. Lucky for you now.”

I recalled seeing the crybaby being consoled by a girl, probably a girlfriend or at least a friend. Then immediately afterwards: Edward, who I’d already identified as such; that was my actual nickname for him (Crybaby). He passed through me. I *became* Edward in the heart of the moment. Or at least I was convinced at the time. In retrospect, yeah, maybe Fern’s right. Fern the Nomad (now). Maybe it was close but no call. Like baseball. Like not being out at home.

“Dead,” she said again to reinforce her point, looking at me trying to grasp and grapple with the issue. “Out in the middle of desert which is the same as its edge. I went back the next day. I *saw*.”

(to be continued)

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October 21, 2024 · 6:48 am

00440407 (change)

“Don’t forget about Lichen’s 4 Stomach Tour,” I tried to ground Fern.

“Of course not. But back to immediate business. Black Wall.” Then she forgot. Again.

“Right, right.” I shook my head internally while nodding on the outside. Fern didn’t pick up on my doubts, which was a little disconcerting itself. Lack of recognition. Brilliant in so many other ways. But not irony — comedy in another form. I knew we were entering dangerous territory.

She drew more diagrams in the notebook before her, a gray Mead 5 star spiral with 22 holes and approx. 5×7 inch design. “Pre-1906,” she said, still looking down in a pause between scribbles. “Probably around 1893 or maybe even dating back to 1886, hmm. Anyway (she shook her head), we’ll see soon enough. So the Black, the White, the Green will all be in their proper place and not all mixed up during this period. She punctuated the page before her at the appropriate spots, apparently some kind of crude map as I understood now. “Auburn was still Slaughter with its Slaughterhouse Hotel, or close enough, before the scaredypants changed the name.” She scribbles some stuff on top of what I took now as Auburn on the map, near the old conjunction of the Green and White rivers as I knew from previous discussions. “Everything was right. We can even go there, you know — this Slaughterhouse.” She circles Auburn which she’s changed to Slaughter, with a little cartoon house with teeth drawn atop of it to reinforce the link. “Thanks to the magic of Our Second Lyfe. There we’ll meet Middle. Are you grasping this yet?”

“This… has already happened?”  I guessed, thinking of the snake, the tail.

“The Wheel is the middle of the Tarot, or at least the end of it (The Wheel, not the Tarot). 10… you met Tin at another hotel which is perhaps the same hotel — motel — in Room 10. You have arrived.”

“*You* have arrived,” I said. “What happened next?”

“I… drew my gun and opened the door”

“Yes?”

“She turned.”

“Right.”

“Then… black out. Loss of power.  But I recognized her. Tin for sure.”

“Ten,” I said. “The Wheel.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s where Lincoln starts his latest Brain Daze. Not 5 days ago. We’re looking right at it in the beginning. Sunset Motel in the Badlands again. Then he goes and hops on his motorcycle and heads back into town from whence he came, or at least the Rancho Coronado suburb. Leaves it at another service station there after walking around a while, finding stuff, interacting with people.” I end my quick review of the BD, wait for Fern to chip in. But she wasn’t there any longer. Where’d she go?

—–

“Are you Lincoln?” she said at the start, knowing it was truth.

“Yes? How’d–”

“You’re heading the wrong way. You need to go further into the desert.”

(to be continued)

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October 13, 2024 · 2:07 pm

00440311 (Hellboy?)

He comes around when I sit down and slap him. He looks around. “Where are we?”

“Motel. Middle of nowhere.”

“Any specific Middle?” he intuited right off the bat, being the smart-ass psychic he is. They had to talk about Jonny. They had to talk about the relic.

I soon got this out of him anyway with a couple more slaps, turning his cheeks from orange orange to apple red: “The suicide model was just a prototype. *Arasaka’s* aims were always higher.”

Arasaka — the *Tree*, I think. Should’ve known. Add another hotel/motel to the growing list of hanging fruits.

(to be continued)

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August 10, 2024 · 10:53 pm

00430616 (Silverhhand)

Just over here, V. Behind these Tiler shacks.

—–

“So this is how it is?”

“What did you expect? A tombstone? Flag and flowers?”

“I don’t know. Something. Anything.”

“You blew up Arastraville Tower. You killed a lot of people, Jonny. And where did it get you in the end? The corps and their suits for men are still in control.”

“I know I know.” He pauses. “I was a musician too besides being a terrorist,” he tried.

“One overrides the other?” I asked as a question. Because I was curious how Jonny was going to balance the two. History would view the music as largely about terrorism, not visa versa. Music should ultimately be uplifting, not constantly tearing down our lives, deconstructing them. Something like Blue Moon and her UK Cracks have merit just by that virtue alone. I told Jonny this.

“Are you saying I should have listened more to those bubblegum bitches?”

“Maybe. Cary listened. He liked them. Until… well, you know.”

Both thought of the death of Blue Moon and possibly Redd the Menace too.

“Maybe it should have been me at the bottom of that damn dam instead of Kentucky. Maybe history would have viewed me more in a positive light.”

“That’s static in that direction, Jonny. You’re not Blue Moon, you’re not bubblegum pop. You’re hard edged rock ‘n roll, always have been, always will. You can’t change who you are inside, the core.”

“Can’t you?” Exhale; another pause. “You know I thought about being an artist, V. A painter instead of an axer. Pretty good too. Won some awards as a child prodigy.”

I checked my watch, thought about the growing length of this section. “Yeah, really don’t have time to explore alternate realities right now, Jonny. The musician/terrorist polarity is complicated enough. Any last words? Over your grave, I mean.”

“Just carve the initials and let’s get out of here.”

“Done, and…

“Done.”

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July 27, 2024 · 7:27 am

00430514

Fern realized something else while staring at this suspiciously plywood colored picture more in the center of the room but didn’t say it aloud.

She waited for this until she and Lichen met up for their typical evening walk within the innards of Castle Town not seen in a photo since section 01 of this here novel.

“She loves her,” Fern said to her companion at their standard starting point in the Yalta Bar and Grill, sharing a beer before they begin. “Romantic that she is I guess it couldn’t be helped. She holds the key to my heart is the message. Right up there on the wall separating her from Shelley. Again. It was as if…”

“… she were peeking inside,” guessed Lichen.

“Good, right. Now all we have to do is finish connecting the 152 dots in the puzzle. Up to 76 I believe.” Seventy-six, Fern discerns once more. Kentucky! Alpha, Wait, Stop-gap, Hidalgo, Static, Snow, *Wendy*.

“Well. I guess that goes along with being a Pisces, water sign and all,” continued Lichen about Lexi. “Her home town — drowned when she was young.”

“Submerged yes.” And Fern then understood where they had to go next. Snorkeling in Flathead Lake, divided between the counties of Flathead and Lake of all things. And Polson the largest city along the shoreline. Another indicator. This was to be made into an Art Event.

(to be continued)

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