Category Archives: Jeogeot

00500409 (… the purse yellow)

Before entering the tiny key shop off Silverton Street in Cement Village in Nawt Vaya Free State located along the shores of Jeogeot’s largest inland body of water also named Nawt Vaya, she checked ONE LAST TIME in her yellow purse for that gall blasted car key she lost going on 2 weeks ago. STOP

—–

We waited and waited within for the arm to start moving again, either continuing the search or giving up, didn’t matter. No luck. Looks like we’re stuck again, red arrow pointed downward. Let’s switch back over to Carroll County MD, then. Maybe that will help unglue us from this newest sticking spot. Maybe Maybe Mayberry! Mount Airy, Taylorsville, so on…

… but first and more in the moment, the unincorporated community of Detour to their west, with Keysville immediately to its north and Keymar immediately to its east, indicating KEY. Time machine still there at its center like I posted about in photo-novel 34 back in September 2022. Might be the solution.

I ring up Daniel Day posing in front of the twinned pictures of Pink Floyd’s Roger Waters and Roger “Syd” Barrett in his trailer’s living room, just like Shelley did before. “We have a new assignment for you.” TBC

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00500407 (Green Goo)

—–

“So we *finally* found it, Brother Gabby,” he said, looking up at the numbers on the side of Frank’s castle. “The answer to everything!” Then fellow bike rider and pilgrim Gabby proceeded to gab on for about 50 minutes about how Brother Amos was so right in this initial observation.

Non-illuminated zero? Add that in too.

Now to the top…

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00500405 (Venus and… (front of Rome))

—–

“Come on in, gentlemen,” leads t-shirt wearing Karl. “Everyone grab them a seat. Big Smoke, you sit opposite me if you don’t mind. We’re the ones to start.”

“Oh I *do* mind.”

“Well, never mind that ghetto front now, ha ha.”

“Ho ho,” responds Big Smoke, a smile breaking on his face as well. He pats Karl on the back before sitting opposite him as instructed.

—–

“Big Smoke,” Karl begins the serious part of the Grove Street gang reunion, “I turned you into Big Black Smoke in the blog and attached photo-novels to match The Kinks song of that title. So because of the flip side of that one being called ‘Dead End Street’ on the single, the A side to match ‘Big Black Smoke’s’ B, I made you sleep at the end of a dead end street here in Our Second Lyfe and then had you killed by a man named Arthur Kill because you were a rat. I didn’t know anything about you also living at the end of a dead end street in San Andreas at the time, nor that you were also a rat, a traitor, in that game. So we start with that. I had *unconscious* knowledge of our previous lives but not direct knowledge. That’s the beginning for us, the seed.”

“Big Black Smoke (name) would have fit me better in San Andreas,” Big Smoke replies. “But Rockstar probably didn’t want to go there. And *where’s* my mofo ghetto accent, he he he? Laughs all around now. Everyone had ditched that angle to more directly speak to the reader, you out there, beyond the 4th wall, listening in. I could have slapped a ghetto accent on them but that seemed to be forcing it.

“What about *Marty*?” Lance spoke to his left, having the same blog and attached photo-novel knowledge that Karl and the rest did. 4 equidistant chairs in a well chosen place in Our Second Lyfe will do that to you. You could call it a TILE but that maybe wouldn’t be going far enough since the chairs are all white this go around. A *unity*, a 4n1. Comes in handy sometime, especially when you want to pull out on a painful subject for needed distance. Like here. San Andreas… Grove Street.

“Marty killed Arthur Kill the killer he hired to kill you,” answered Karl. “But that was later. After the lego people arrived.”

“Hmm,” Lance said, reviewing all this in his head as well.

“So in (this) game — Lance — you’re Big Black Smoke’s grieving brother. But you conveniently forget that fact when you arrive at the airport in Nautilus a couple of photo-novels later to pick him up. But perhaps this is before the killing and actually makes time-sense here. You call him Smokie in those couple of related posts but we know this is Big Black.”

Big Smoke (indicating his body): “Black goes with green like n-ahs and Grove Street, hu hu.” Snickers all around if not laughs. Everyone was a little uncomfortable with the use of the n word now. Unlike before. Different times, different situation. Maybe the chairs again.

“Sweet.” Karl turns right now. “You’re *not* my brother Sweet in this scenario but someone named Sean ‘Green’ Penn. We’ve actually never even interacted in this blog (and attached photo-novels) up till this point. *Proving* my point. Instead you’re mainly involved in the Storybrook, er, story. Photo-novel 19. You’re best friends with a girl named Pink who’s only called that by those closest to her. Others *knew* her as Marsha.”

“Because she’s dead,” Sweet explained the “knew” part of Karl’s description, to the reader again if not the ones seated around the fire here. “But… she came back to life in photo-novel 40. And — me too later on, come to think of it. How?” Death by rats as well, Sweet remembered oh so painfully as Sean. Draw back, draw back!

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00500315

“There he is. Horace the drummer, just like Noodle, er, Shelley said. And, aww, he’s depressed a lot of the time. Poor guy.”

“This must be before he grew his mustache,” offered Daniel from the side, still chipping in when he can. “Or maybe he’s already shaved it off here.”

“Depression will do that to you,” I said back. “Make you change your appearance thinking that’ll help your mood. Usually doesn’t. Only a passion for the essence of life again will heal those wounds. Got it!” I suddenly realized, figurative head bulb lighting up. “Something happened to his band!”

“And he can’t release those pent up emotions, hmm.” Daniel studies the illustration again. “He’s trying to think of sunnier times. Through the meditation. But the depression is major in scale — overwhelming.”

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00500314

“Do you think I’m beautiful, Horace?”

“Duuuh, *I’m* not Horace,” she imagines the graffiti face behind her saying in a fumbling, bumbling voice.

“Sure you are. And you play drums. Just like me.”

“Deeer, *no* you don’t.”

“Sure I do. Ever heard of a little album called ‘Demon Days’? Check it out. Drums, guitar, singing, you name it. I can do it all, Horace on the wall behind me. I’m *brilliant*. Just look me up in New Mexico.” But then she knew not to say more about that angle.

“Duuur, Mexico?”

“Close, very close,” she decides to answer Horace’s misunderstanding of her words. “Anthony,” she pinpoints a fake location, on the opposite side of the state from where she was thinking before. Touching Mexico, yes, but actually in NM and TX both, a 3 ‘n 1 she could hide in 4 years if needed. She knew the dual city would confuse and confound the less nimble brained Horace if he did any follow up research, which was doubtful anyway (she continues to imagine).

“Deee–”

The me in front of 2nd Phase Noodle breaks in here to reminds her that she needs to cut her bangs to see better, no matter how cool this early look be.

—–

There?

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00500313

“Karl”

“Karl!”

“KARL!!!”

He finally turns away from the corn. “Yess?”

“Time to go home.”

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00500311 (Shakespeare never sleeps)

“(The ASUMH library entrance is) 7.00 miles from Arkana, 7.00 miles from Arkawana with the WA left behind in the attached, sad sad Robina crime spree story. Concrete (WA) again? Might be pressing it there.”

“Silver,” listening Wendell Biff Carter attempts an explanation of his own. “Silver = seven; you pointed that out before.”

“Could be,” admits Shelley, still on the bench, still beneath and hiding under and even within Noodle looming o’er her. Always.

“It’s good you didn’t come out from under the lamp,” Biff tries to summarize their talk so far.


photo-novel 32

“I was too little then. Wouldn’t have worked.”

“But later, I mean… when you were able to turn around and face the music. Miss Ouri had taken over *everything*.”


photo-novel 47

“Oh… right. But not quite everything,” she corrected for Biff, her manager, her… friend? Let’s go with manager for a while longer. “There was my saving grace,” she said. “I escaped through the island newly formed off the coast of mainland. (The) 4 (Apocalyptic) horses reduced to 2….”

—–

“What happened to your husband Arthur anyway?” Biff begins a related topic, bit of jealousy in his tone along with a bit of hope. Could it work between them? Nah — and he tried to shove that thought out of his head. “Last I heard: Oceania.”

“He’s still there. Playing the role of Godzilla or sumtin at Point Nemo which is the furthest location away from dry land in the whole wide world. He literally followed his lucrative paying roles to the end of the Earth, as far away from my loving arms as he could get, *sigh*. I guess all he has left now is either turn around and come home to me or go off to a different planet altogether. The louse.”

Ah HA, I think from beyond the wall. Explains a lot!

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00500214 (Father Fecked’s is just candy)

—–

“It really is wonderful, Baker B. Can I call you Baker? Sir?”

“Sure. *Daniel* (smile). But what do you think of (the) Bill Hicks (stuff)?”

“Nice.” Then Daniel said what was on his mind since about 1/2way through the sync called “Father Fred.” “Soo, all this castle we’re sitting in now, this Howl’s Moving Castle, is about teaching your 4 old library friends a lesson?”

“Noo,” Baker began his defense. “It’s about *communication*. Stuff we couldn’t have in real life. A *nexus*.”

“Nexus, eh?”

“Nexus,” Baker reinforced. Had to watch his temper. What was so hard to understand about all this? he thought. Frank’s Moving Castle equals Howl’s Moving Castle equals “Frank’s Moving Mtn.” when combined with Zappa’s “Billy the Mountain” rock opera. Simple as pie.

“Soo…” Daniel rubs his forehead. It had been a long day. First working in the morning, then this at noon, then back to work at the studio in the afternoon. Baker was lonely, he gathered, had no one else to watch this stuff with, except the wife and their mutual best friend Kammie, he said. Thus me — here. And the whole Zappa thing. And now: Bill Hicks. The endpoint. It was brilliant, he knew. But he couldn’t say this directly to the man pacing back and forth in front of him. Had to put on a *front*. “I think I like ‘Peewee Big’ better. You *did* ask me to be candid with you,” he said, gauging the expression forming on Baker’s always sensitive face. But all that registered was acceptance.

“Of course. ‘Peewee Big’ is the peak of it all — in a way. But each one is very different, each has its own merits, its own place in the spectrum that is the process.” Baker had to curb his tongue here. He could speak for days about this. He couldn’t place himself in Daniel’s shoes, understand that he too was trying to develop his own creativity. He was 20 years younger than Baker, though. Hadn’t had time to refine the process like his friend, his co-worker had. He was being overshadowed. And the crack about his writing the other week (!). Still pisses him off when he thinks about it. Yeah, *I’m* a creator too, just like you Baker,” he’s said to himself numerous times since then. And I can do several things as well. Writing… art. Just like *you*.

“Great. We agree.” Daniel looks around the castle’s living room. Father Fecked was here too, just like in the sync. Amazing.

“Well, I guess I better get back to Cedar Creek. Got a sculpture to finish this afternoon.” But, typical, Baker didn’t ask about any details on *that*. Hmph. Ego. Can’t see beyond his own nose, Daniel thought here. I’ll be glad to blow this place. And he can’t smoke here either, another disadvantage. Too much wood in the structure to take a chance, Baker explained to him when he asked. Must… have… cigarette, PHEH.

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00500207 (bunny)

Someone sent me this screen capture from a Youtube video and was wondering if this is Shelley and her new rock band Mosquitoes on tour in upper Jeogeot. Thanks for the submission. I can verify this isn’t Shelley waving from a train, although the pink is interesting. And of course the repeated mention of concrete in the song accompanying the video gave me pause, given my recent set up of Concrete (gallery) over at Nawt Vaya several miles south of here.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ucqfu0dK2po

So I went over to the Zany Zen railway where the video was set to check it out and soon found this not far off from its starting point. Marvelous! Tor if not tour, then, for pink clad Shelley. 🙂

Here’s their web site:

https://zanyzenrailway.com/

Congrats on your 11th year in Our Second Lyfe, you zany railroaders!

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00500204

Daisy spotted the problem right off. No Lag simply didn’t show up well against bar owner Bull’s chosen backdrop. And she knew he wouldn’t change it. Stubborn as a… well, you know. Daisy dared to voice the issue to No Lag; after all, who else was there to run the place. Bull was always “away”. Wheeler was she and she was Wheeler. So she felt she had no choice but to act.

“No Lag,” she said to her, approaching the stage from her usual behind-the-bar position. No customers right now. Rehearsals for No Lag’s band still. “You’ve got classical nailed, I admit.”

“‘Classical Gas!'” issued No Lag to Daisy about the last tune she played, which even contained the word in its name. Her hearing was worn out because of all the gigs down through the years; she can’t tell what level she speaks to people any more. So she usually just defaults to shouting.

“Good, nice.” Great, actually, thought Daisy. But she had to bring things down, *act* like she was kind of pleased but not super pleased about the music, the strumming. “You… the backdrop,” she got to the core of the situation.

And with this, No Lag just faded into it, her story no longer vital for the present photo-novel. Or at least the present section 02 of 06 or possibly even 07 (although a 7th hasn’t happened in a while, perhaps 3 or 4 back by now). Spotlight on lead singer Shelley instead. She simply took over… everything.

And new mesh feet ta boot! She decided to kick classically constrained No Lag to the side and take the band in a solid rock direction, changing the name from Silver Mosquitoes to just Mosquitoes. They became a steady buzz after that in the music industry. Not sure if keyboardist/DJ Okama Majo was kept but it’s a good possibility since he’s only partially obscured in the above photo. *Photo*-novel we’re in after all. 1/2 the story in theory, with one feeding off the other to make, hopefully, a new whole. It seems to be working (!). Getting back into it…

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