Category Archives: Dokken Hollow+

00490615 (from the South)

Turns out Frank’s visit to Rodentia was a red herring with Blue Moon and him arriving at an empty parcel after walking from the King’s Head instead of the expected, run down house with a death bed and observing chairs. So that the *actual* Mouse, reduced to a cane, could make his point. Frank missed him coming around the corner toward Petty’s detective agency by about 30 seconds (let’s set it) while standing outside Daisy’s Hole in the Wall bar. Close, The Powers that Be think. A little too close.

“Here!” he says gruffly, as is his style, cane indicating the final destination with the right hand while perpetually refreshed Jim Beamed bottle still firmly grasped by the left.

“You sure?” said traveling companion Plastiman behind him outside the queer, small building that seems so out of place in the otherwise concrete environment. They didn’t grasp that it was a developing mini-mall with several other businesses besides this one. They hadn’t rounded the corner yet, come across Frank’s phone spot and then Daisy’s bar just beyond. Nor Ray’s Pizza across from the bar. And I should mention, they lost Pigg and Bully somewhere on their journey across several Bellisaria continents/sub-continents and down the spine of Jeogeot to here. But I don’t believe they’ve even noticed, the two were so irrelevant to our overall story in this here photo-novel 49. Swiftly coming to an end (!). So let’s get to it…

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00490614

The layout of my Nawt Vaya Free State land on the continent of Jeogeot in the virtual world of Our Second Lyfe has changed. Frank’s Giant Castle in the Skies has now been moved down and grounded (in reality?). Cement Village, last seen in Aisle of Palms over a year back, has become the new business center, housing Daisy Flathead’s Hole in the Wall and more. Let’s go inside and see how she feels about it.

“How do you feel about the move to the old Aisle of Palms’ Cement Village?” I ask through Biker Frank.

“I don’t know,” she might answer. “How do *you* feel about the move of your Giant Castle in the Skies down to the ground. Reality?”

“Maybe,” he admits. “But, bigger picture, welll…”

“I’m not with Biker if that’s what you’re asking. Me and you: we’re still a team. Moving forward.”

Frank is overjoyed, overlapping his hand with hers on the counter just like in the beginning. *Now* the movement of the castle is a success.

“I feel safe here… safer,” she exposes her emotions on the new location. “Since I’m not right on the Nawt Vaya shoreline and (so) further away from the alcoholic sea monster. *Non*-alcoholic sea monster I guess I have to add now, since he gobbled up my first successful batch of personal (non-)brew along with the old bar!”

Both laugh. Frank had to ask this next: “Where *is* Biker, then?”

“Where was he ever? All I know is that he came from the south.”

“South, right.”

“Somewhere near the southern end of Nawt Vaya but not right on it. I went to his house, er, *once*?”

As if prompted, Frank takes another swig of the house beer while simultaneously withdrawing his hand from hers. Michelob Zero still, but not for long. New batch of personal brew in the works! He’s readying himself for another question, a one worder this time. Daisy knew she kind of screwed up with that revelation. “House?” he clips out. Swig again, hands further apart.

A call just then coming in on Frank’s phone. Ring tone: “Blue Moon of Kentucky”. “I have to take this,” he says, and goes outside for privacy. Mouse returned? he psychically senses. No, that can’t be it, he rejects the actually correct insight. He’s died twice already. Two’s the limit, right? Surely it is. Can’t be…

But that’s exactly what *she* told him that day in April’s May coming up behind him swiftly like a lion from March. Mouse has come back, kind of once more. And already on his last leg and death bed in one.

“W-where?” Another one word question, a one word answer back.

“Meet me there,” she said after giving the location. “By the big head in the middle. I’ll take you to him.”

Daisy wanted so badly to ask who he was on the phone with when he returned to his seat at the bar but dare not because of the look on his face. Sour! Tension in their relationship hasn’t quite been resolved yet. Doubts on both sides still. Let’s deflect the blame to AI again. Just to be safe, or safer.

“I have to go,” he said, laying one of Philip’s remnant teners won at cards on the counter as a tip. TBC

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00490611

Well I hope Spiff’s happy tutoring whoever he’s tutoring, thinks Arthur “Orient” Morgan, standing in front of an open fridge. Because I’m *roasting* in here.

“Order *up*,” calls Wheeler from the window, ticket in hand. “And *shut* that door, why don’t you. Do you think I’m made of money??”

“I don’t know *what* you’re made of, lady.” He dabbed more sweat off his face.

“Triangles,” she says. “Triangle and hexagons.” She laughs.

“Okay, good enough,” he says nonplussed, looking at the tattoo stamped on her forehead and wondering again if it stood for DEMO, all the letters exposed, or DEMON, with an N secretly hidden behind the flip style hair. He’d yet to have the chance to flip it back and see. Snapshots, all he has is snapshots so far. Missouri. Because, yes, he fancied her. He probably didn’t have a choice, given his name was Arthur with a middle name of Orient. He was starting to believe Wheeler’s cockamamie story about them being married in a previous life or something, parallel life she says instead sometimes. The attraction is real. Married and then buried and then… married again? Could it be? First he had to serve out this stupid sentence, work in this hot ass kitchen for 2 weeks until he made up the difference between North and South (painting). Then and only then he’d find out the truth.

“I don’t care about mainstream trends in Their Second Lyfe,” she said another time about her non-mesh status. “I am who I am, born full blown from the head of Baker Blinker. Notice the bit of pink in the skin tone — that’s her. And then I stole some other things,” she admitted. “It’s all lighting and trickery anyway, everything is. Real Life or Second. This extends to all virtual realities.” I didn’t see much pink in her skin tone, Arthur thinks, but maybe that’ll be part of the hidden that’s exposed too.

I stare into her eyes from beyond the 4th wall, wondering if there’s actually a soul in there besides my own. Baker Blinker, Baker Bloch, Hucka Doobie, Karoz Blogger — all me. But Wilson — Wilsonia. *Could* be different. Not yet, though. Not in the present. Presents *and* absence so far. Just like Xmas. TBC

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00490606

He broke away from her all knowing all seeing eyes, understanding more. Something was wrong, something was off. Sherwood *can’t* be first, since he is the youngest and hadn’t grown up enough yet to play the drums properly in the band. “Paper” *can’t* be second because Sherwood is too young to begin, and so on. Then it hit him. Things were playing out *backwards* from the red book he holds in his hands. Biff Carter — himself — came first. The manager to begin; he started everything. Then Scissorrun© — the band had several names before that, even. Yes, he’s remembering them now. And then “Paper,” their signature tune and their only “hit” to date, was 3rd. Then and only then came Sherwood, who had finally aged enough to join the group. 4-3-2-1 from the book instead of 1-2-3-4. Reading it that way everything fell into place. “Sherwood is last,” he began to reveal these thoughts back to Jennifer.

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00490515

“This is where the Pee Pee starts, Biker friend of mine, perhaps a lover too.” Maybe she left the lover part out of that sentence. Hadn’t been decided. But they had travelled to Rodentia for a reason. Daisy was testing out the relationship fer sure.

“Fascinating,” he said but not with enthusiasm.

“Let’s move down this grassy diagonal side road. Keep in mind the beginning point.”

“Oh I will.”

—–

“And so this is where it ends, down at that pipe down there, about 200 yards below the source up next to Route 10. It *should* empty into the Baederwood Forest I just exposed by derendering that wall screen marking the limit of Arang. But it doesn’t. Another mystery, then, perhaps another misery as well.” But maybe she left that last part of that sentence out again. No need to bring misery into the relationship either which also often comes hand in hand with the love part.

“Hmmm… why are you showing all this to me again?”

She turns toward him on the bridge. “Because I want you to know where I come from, Biker. I want you to know *my* source. And my mouth.” She opens her mouth to him and points within. “The words coming out of my mouth. I want you to listen like I had to in the past.”

He looks away from her after she shuts her mouth back up. He opens his just a little, pops in another cigarette, lights it, puffs. Not what I signed up for, he thinks to himself while watching the smoke fill the air in front of him, concealing the stream again. Religious mumbo jumbo in a town devoted to anarchy against the powers that be. He’s not a radical, not even political at all, really. He just… likes Daisy. Why does she have to, erm, *muddy* the waters with this… complexity, pheh. And *what* kind of name is Pee Pee??

“Why?” he says aloud, smoke dissipated, allowing him to view again. “Why Pee Pee? It’s not yellow or anything.”

“No of course not, silly. It’s named for my home. In Nigeria. The one I tried to conceal behind a fancier name. This Second Lyfe offered me a chance to reverse my youthful error, change my perspective on the world. I became a priestess here just like my mother was (up) in Real Life. I’ve told you all this before. The other day, when you were on your 3rd Non of the evening. I *know* you weren’t drunk, ha.” Should’ve remembered, she thinks.

Had she made a mistake in bringing him here? What if Frank Lynn finds out? But she had to know. Now she thinks she does. If only they could resolve that difference of opinion about AI. She’s *firm* about hers. What about him? Is he pliable to change? *She* isn’t. And of course therein lies the problem. Can she realize this in time?

—–

When she returned home, she was shocked to find her bar wasn’t there any more along the shores of Nawt Vaya. Hole in the Wall: simply vanished!! What happened, what happened? she panicked. Then she realized the culprit. The alcoholic sea monster! The Non she’d prepared just before leaving with Biker to visit Rodentia had turned out to be so good that the taste overrode his need for alcohol. Success! she understood about her personal brew. But she’d have to start over from scratch. Maybe rebuild the bar elsewhere now that she had to make a fresh start anyway. It’s all up to Frank, he thinks. She needs to find him, and quick! TBC

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00490508 (decision for 00490402)

Let’s see. I’ve used blue, light blue and blue-violet for Jeogeot locations so far — Nawt Vaya, Rodentia, and then NWES Cy. out on the western coast. Violet is next for its Korean Channel? How about blue-gray?

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00490507

Gorillaz, working as a team, a true 4n1 or TILE, are able to defeat the giant malignant worm thingies and move on to the next phase of their musical career, 8 I believe. Or is it 5?

Anyhow, the Spirit House here cannot stand up to their combined red yellow green blue powers and breaks apart and sinks into the earth where it came from; Hell, I suppose.

So what does this have to do with *Chet’s* band Scissorrun©, back in Rodentia on the continent of Jeogeot in the metaverse of Our Second Lyfe, or at least My Second Lyfe? Let’s move barside again at Walk By Night, focus in on the faces of the people sitting there this time listening to the band: manager Biff Carter and — let’s go with Jennifer Lane, all grown up from Jenny Lane like a forgotten, weedy road off the main beat. Like I said before, at this stage there’s only Chet on lead guitar and vocals and Karl on drums and backing vocals. No bass, which Karl will fill in later. Biff has made a decision about hiring another band member, the 3rd. New lead vocals allowing Chet to focus on his guitar. Or at least that’s how they broke it to Chet. In truth — as I also reviewed a bit before — his screechy voice leaves something to be desired for commercially minded Biff (raven-like he put it before). And he convinced Karl that they couldn’t scale to the top of the rock heap as they desired unless some changes occurred in that area.

“Let’s list out the Scissorrun©-Gorillaz comparisons as they stand now,” he says to Jennifer, trying to put everything in 1-2-3-4 order while checking his notes in the red book he always carries around these days. “Chet equals Murdoc, but lead guitar instead of bass. Karl equals Russel, but eventually moves to bass instead of drums. You are 2-D, a new sweet lead vocalist but with a change of sex — and also you have to age to where you are, ahem, *now*. And then, um, Noodle.” Biff is suddenly stymied. Noodle maybe should be the new drummer to replace Karl? But what about little Sherwood who, like Shelley, also has some serious growing up to do before assuming that role?? Things still need to be worked out before moving into *their* next phase, 1 I believe. Only the beginning.

“Look over here,” Shelley says to Biff to end. “Look into my eyes.” Library in there, he sees. All the news of the world. TBC

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00490503 (slave)

After seeing the changed picture through the door’s window, she eyes the files again to her left. “Tell you what, brother in arms of mine. I’ll throw in all these top secret folders in this big box to sweeten the deal. All I ask from you in return is…”

“And so that’s how I got here. Replaced a fellow named Spiff; (she) said he had more important things to do in town. Tutoring was mentioned. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a batch of hash browns, 4 pancakes, and 3 eggs 1 easy over and the other 2 scrambled to cook. And that’s just in the next 2 minutes or so…”

“Snapshots,” I said, remembering that element. “What about the snapshots?” 2 cracked eggs and 2 batter pours later: “I don’t know what you’re talking about now.”

But from the tone of his voice I knew he did. You can read a lot into Arthur “Orient” Morgan I’ve found out. He wears his emotions on his now greasy sleeve. I walk away, satisfied I’d learned enough for this morning. Back in the evening for more food for both body and mind. Maybe bring Chet along too. TBC

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00490502 (the picture changes (oh brother!))

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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, Jenny 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 after 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 throated warbling continues. The child’s name will be Anson too. Now to get to work on that time machine. (TBC)

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