Category Archives: Jeogeot

February 24, 2026 · 8:06 am

00490414

—–

He was far up in his castle, on a higher level than where Philip Strevor and Dr. Mouse formerly known as House hung out. But he had no reason to be here now. Mouse was gone — dead again. Philip was… in Juho he thought? Heck, he might be dead too for all he knows, the first time if so in his case and not the second like for Mouse. Philip’s off again on again girlfriend Nada New Year: not around either. His own girl Daisy had also left the scene, at least temporarily. Another argument about AI, PHEH.

“A rare, negative orisha does not apply here,” he insisted beside her on their last night together, sticking to the viewpoint of the father over the mother. “They shouldn’t have destroyed his big house and then also his small house. What were the villagers thinking of?”

“It’s wrong what they did, true,” she said back, “but, bigger picture, they’re thinking of the world beyond some petty, bogus houses, no matter how big, how small. Their actions speak words in the only way they perhaps knew. My daddy was wrong, plain wrong about the subject. He should have realized the moral dilemma involved. AI takes *energy*. It has to get it from somewhere. And that’s just the start; we haven’t even talked about world security issues, and just the blame thing taking control of, well, *everything*.” Her opinions had hardened as he studied up on the subject. AI is bad, and most likely should be banned. Until we, as a nation, as a world, come to some agreements on curbing the beast from hell and setting protective boundaries around it. Else it’s like trying to ineptly cover up 3 cracks with a 666 magazine and pretending like the even naughtier stuff doesn’t exist beneath it all. Daisy saw *right through* that, hmph. Bathroom — forgot to clean it before she came up. He thought she was over it, but he also thought she was over AI.

He rolls over, stares upward. I’m going to climb all the way to the top today, he thinks from his bed behind the castle’s eyes. Take in the air, decide whether I even want to keep this big ol’ castle in the skies moving forward. *Move*, he then thinks in a kind of eureka moment, rising up from the red. Maybe the old kook Dr. Mouse was right all along. The castle — yes — should become mobile! (TBC)

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February 23, 2026 · 6:34 pm

00490413

It was now time to see the band in action. In this early stage, Karl was on drums, not younger brother Sherwood who was still quite too little to play, although his talented hands could already snatch flies out of mid-air circling around his crib without fail (but, bigger question perhaps, *why* were they circling there, ho?). No bass guitarist in the band, then; Karl would serve that function in the future. Only him and then Chet on lead guitar and vocals, with Karl supplying backing vocals when needed. I’m debating whether to say that Chet, like his pretty much double Murdoc from Gorillaz — unplanned most of these parallels between the two fake bands are once more — gave up his role as lead singer to another, for Murdoc’s case this being the also red masked crooner known as 2-D seen in that last post of this here current photo-novel. Hmm. He doesn’t sound *bad* as I sit there at the bar, listening with restaurant manager turned band manager Biff Carter, last seen in Tonsiltown I believe. Or thereabouts. But he also certainly doesn’t sound “good” as in a traditional way of singing, even for rock stars. More commercially minded Biff was thinking along the same lines because he said over to me about a minute into “Paper” (their original single and perhaps their best still), “kind of sounds like a raven in heat, doesn’t he?” and then he laughed but also he was kind of crying a bit too. Because he knew he would have to go back to the dirty 1 dining room/10 x 10 foot cooking area/small shared sex bathroom with no sink restaurant on the edge of town if this whole band thing didn’t pan out. Yeah, he was mulling it over I could tell. No harm done in *auditioning* singers, he may have been thinking here. As long as Chet doesn’t know. Karl? Maybe he should let him in on it too? Karl surely doesn’t thinking Chet is the best of the best in terms of vocals, knows they can’t scale to the top like they desire with him as frontman.

Meanwhile, Jennifer Lane sings solo down at the Mago docks as Charles Anson looks on. He’s cooking up a plan, evil of course as is his base nature. Is this the girl? he asked himself when the singing came within earshot as he kept wandering around town, looking for… something. Had he found the one in his dreams at last, a siren’s call across a chasm separating good and bad like Tennessee from Kentucky? He had to find out.

Anson, he thinks while the high pitched, golden warbling continues. The child’s name will be Anson too. Now to get to work on that time machine. (TBC)

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February 23, 2026 · 3:37 pm

00490412

Attracted by the smell of gunpowder and old rifle grease, Charles Anson pulls up to Rodentia’s Communal Amory and Workshop on his motorcycle, intent on going inside and buying a couple more weapons if he finds them adequate for his needs. But his attention then shifts next door to the BUFC sign. He remembers seeing that logo on a bucket of chicken his assistant Tony was eating on the set of one of his Gorillaz produced videos back in the days; thought it strange at the time that he’d not heard of the brand. BFC: close enough.

And a red motorcycle again ta boot, he also recalls about the involved “Aries” shoot. He works with synchronicities and resonances in a malignant way this time (like a worm) to adjust his stream of thoughts toward this town fer sure. Noodle must be close.

Gorillaz singer 2-D wearing a red handkerchief mask at the end of “Aries”, warning everyone to be safe during the COVID pandemic. This is obviously suppose to represent Chet, or at least his golden throated singing side. The lead guitar side remains with Noodle. (TBC)

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February 21, 2026 · 7:49 am

00490410

“For Scissorrun©? It all started right here, in Rodentia.

“Walk By Night.”

“Cool. I remember walking by there at night, wondering how a place that small could have a band that large. I recall.”

“Many a night I sat here at the bar, staring at that upside down cross, and asking, ‘why why why?'”

“Because of the band being too big for such a small place thing,” I said.

“Upside down from what I anticipated, yeah. I wondered why Satan and his 666 powers had let me down so much. After all, there was the whole selling of the soul to him.”

So that’s in this story as well, I think. But I knew there was more.

“To cover up the cracks that were forming all over the place in Our Second Lyfe,” he went on. “To make it… perpetual.”

Oh, so there’s that too, I think

“Have you been around back? Have you seen the graffiti, the picture, round back of the place? Yeah, you’d think: *You* did that. To make your story come more in line with that of Gorillaz. But, no, it was there in the first place. Along with this upside down cross. This is the place.” TBC

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February 20, 2026 · 9:15 am

00490409 (Sparks)

Wilson’s

Devil’s Hole Vortex

Gorillaz

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February 18, 2026 · 4:33 pm

00490408 (simulation too)

“No, not *those* apples, Mrs. Extra Ordinary. Because you are.”

She blushed through the anger, turning her cheeks a deep, winesap 2 times red. She throws the apple just picked away. It clunks into the grass beyond the tree, bouncing and rolling several feet beyond its landing spot. Poison, she understood, eyeing it from perhaps 20 feet away now. Or too close for comfort. She brings the basket of the already plucked fruit over for me to look at too.

“How about these?”

“1 bad, all bad,” I say, thinking I see the first malignant worm wriggling amongst the batch despite not trying too hard. “Here, take my hand. Let’s get you out of here.”

She hesitated. “W-what about the pie? The pie I’m suppose to cook for…” She turned to the 3 story, 5 bedroom, green with white trim house with attached double garage and rental loft. She couldn’t remember the name of her husband. She looked for him amongst the many windows hoping his figure would jar her memory… no one home. She also couldn’t remember the year she bought the house, the year, period. Paradise, but false in nature?

“The pie can wait until a better place,” I say, still holding the hand out. Will this work? I think. I had to try.

—–

“How could you not remember you were married to the sheriff of Fox County? I’m the most important man around (!).”

“I know. It was just a silly dream.” Still she wondered what would have happened if she would have taken that hand, be led somewhere else.

There. The apples are washed. No worms or other abnormalities spotted. Silly dream.

“I’ll be back in 2 hours for that pie,” he said while standing, have other matters to attend to in the meantime. Important matters for an important person. She knew her place. (TBC?)

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February 18, 2026 · 8:04 am

00490407

I seemingly had sort of finished my analysis of Indigo Parallel. I brought [Dandelion] out of that world into this one via connector Indigo Ridge. Funtastic. A base on an alien world where the mother/father planet’s rings flip every so often, just enough to remind one this is all a simulation. *Reality* is a simulation — no escape. The man inside the spacesuit seems to agree. He eyes me from afar.

—–

“Did you get the idea of the perpetual Santa outfit from Gorillaz?”

“No, they got it from me,” he joked. “Besides, it’s not Santa, it’s just Christmas, period. I stayed there. Gorillaz and its Murdoc didn’t.”

“Interesting. Soo, Santa is also Satan.”

“You said it. Not me.”

“666. Cracks coverup.”

No answer. (TBC)

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February 15, 2026 · 8:29 am

00490404

“Who are you, woman? Really.”

“I told you, Arthur ‘Orient’ Morgan. I’m Wheeler. And this is my place. Wheeler Wilson. Hence: Wilson’s.”

“Convenient, I say,” said Arthur back to her, smelling a rat the size of a town.

“Well… you tell *me* who you think I am?”

Demon, sprung forth in Arthur’s mind automatically, staring at her forehead and the placement of her flip style hair upon it. He said the word aloud.

“True enough,” she admitted. “All women are evil to a certain kind of man.” She let that hang in the air. Arthur stared at her.

“I’m a killer,” he declared about the core of himself. “I kill for hire.” He let *that* linger in the atmosphere. He gazed at her through the haze of untimely death.

“I know,” unfazed Wheeler Wilson said back to him. “But you’re *my* killer.”

Arthur thought about the various ways he could take that. Do I *kill* her? he thought. Or is she saying that I belong to her, as in a beau or something? Before he could ponder further, she said this:

“I’ve known you before, I’ve determined. We were married.”

“*Married*?”

“Yes, after you were buried. I killed *you*. Shot you right clean through the heart.” A smirk appeared on her face. She was way beyond him now, she felt. Try to top *that,* she seemed to exude in her haughtiness. “But then I dug you up, brought you back to life. You presented me with a ring and I accepted the call then I accepted the proposal. Buried *then* married,” she reinforced.

“I gotta get some air,” Arthur said, shaking his head once more, as was customary around this confusing, confounding dame. “Am I, I don’t know, free to go?”

“Go where you wish, Arthur ‘Orient’ Morgan. Just don’t leave town. The boundaries of the town are the sims of Arang — here — then, Baekga the great forest, Kumiho the city center, Mago the beachside, Yongwang, and then Dokkaebi from which the closest Oracle match of Dokken Hollow comes from. You know, the Bang Bang Club, where we first met in this town. I sent you a teleport invite just like you did for me tonight. We watched Julee Cruise and then uncovered the truth of Dr. Tom, Cruise as well. 2n1… so common in this world.” She paused, not knowing how much to reveal right now. She decided to end it like this: “You are as much an actor in this world as you’d want in any world class Shakespearean play.”

“Hmm,” he said, getting up, having enough. “Can I take the drink with me?”

But then he looked down and he had none. Came with the booth, came with the place. Wilson’s drink. And now he was apart from her. TBC

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February 12, 2026 · 7:34 pm

00490402

Perhaps our talking of them will arouse the poet who will tell the hidden wonder story of the influence for which the hands were but fluttering pennants of promise.

In his youth Wing Biddlebaum had been a school teacher in a town in Pennsylvania.

No, not *that* Pennsylvania town (too small) Nor (A Streetcar Named) Desire next to it (also too small).

Let’s focus on the descriptive word “pennants” from the first of the 2 sentences quoted above, another penn word. From the blog this time; blog within blog (within blog):

So they pried themselves away from watching the blog on TV and went upstairs to stare at it from different sides, different angles, to ponder what Mr. Babyface had surmised earlier. “Shamon on top of course,” he reminded Peter. “Closest hit in the Oracle is Shamokin PA, but with a pinch of collage magic we can create one of those 2n1’s… that you hate so much.”

“Stop it, Uncle. We’re not enemies.”

“I know, sorry. But look… I’ll project it on the screen downstairs when we return.”

“What else while we’re here?”

He pivoted the Big E around until the proper side was facing his nephew, turning it into a Big Schwa. He was seeing from his Uncle’s perspective now.

“Orgas, Peter,” recited Mr. Babyface on another closest Oracle hit, this time for the sim of Orgamast, label right in front of Peter’s eyes. He reloads his pipe, Blue Pennant now. “Orgasm, obviously (puff puff). And there’s also an Organ Cave population place in the same state of West Virginie. The Lordshore-Orgamast Floor is the lowest level of the Kidd Tower here (next to the Lebettu Castle). Lordshore also begins with LO.”

“What are you getting at, Uncle?”

“Let’s go back to the couch.”

—–


Shamokin > Shamon

“Shamon… from the inn… place of thorns. This is where it happened.”

“What happened?” Then Peter realized what his Uncle was talking about. “Ooooh.”

Mr. Babyface thought of a joke here but wisely decided not to mouth it.

So I think we might have our Pennsylvania town to “beam down” into via Google Street View for further investigation. But first: Arkansaw.

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February 7, 2026 · 8:02 am

00490315 (Caledonia?)

“Who’s the cowboy in back now?” asked Chet to his on again off again girlfriend, this time toggled on.

“Oh, some guy Mom says owes her a favor. Working for free because of that. Or snapshots… something.”

“Interesting,” Chet says, envisioning the poses. Not abstract.

“Is it?” Alice Tart slumps even lower in her seat across from her still upright, toggled on lover. From this angle, she can barely see his eyes above his perpetual handkerchief, worn not for fear of disease anymore but just because of the look. The lead singer/guitarist of Scissorrun© is all about style, and of the Christmas kind in particular. He never wants the holiday to end. Else: he’ll have to think about other things. Like death. Because of his emphasis on style over substance, he’s never really learned to play the guitar properly and that’s understandably held his band back. Drummer Sherwood is pretty rock solid with his naturally hyperactive hands and all. And bassist Karl is at least good on “Paper”, their hit single and perhaps the only song of theirs that really matters in the end. Restaurant manager turned band manager Biff Carter is urging Chet to take lessons from a local musical genius named Spiff, no kin to Biff despite the similarity of names. Not a long lost brother or anything… I don’t think (?).

Chet leans toward Alice. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.” He’d heard it hurts more the second time but of course didn’t say this aloud.

“Oh I was over all that the first time around,” she said, dismissing the sympathy. “Anyway, Mom has a new man now,” and she nods toward the kitchen.”

“Really?” says Chet. “That quick?”

“Yup. That quick. Pictures did him in, I’m guessing.”

Chet nods. He understands the power. 319.

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