Category Archives: Nawt Vaya+

00460415 (The River Styx?)

Rockstahr, Philip thinks while staring at the red green blue yellow lines again. Gotta find the origin. Who is this madman behind it all? Across the water?

“Whaddaya think, Frank?” he said after the story was over, still staring across the Nawt Vaya waters that had replaced the Alamo Sea waters in their now smaller, less broad virtual existences. “Little Heaven? Little Hell?”

“Might be,” he said, reminiscing in his own way about Redd. And that darn cat of a man she spoke about. She/he knew so much!

(to be continued)

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00460409 (1 Pink)

“I know this is not the ideal location,” started Newt in earnest.

Oh God, thinks Wheeler. This is leading to a baad place.

“But we kept crashing out of the nicer restaurants in Juho and I wanted to set up *something* for you, something pretty quick.”

Here we go, thinks Wheeler.

“Stand up, please.”

“O-kay.” And then Newt gets out of his own chair and kneels.

“Wheeler Malone Wilson. Will you marry me? Again?”

Again? thinks Wheeler. Riiiight.

But she did end up allowing him a kiss on the lips, which pleased him very much indeed. As consolation. The one time would have to do.

(to be continued)

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00460405

I took another day off to explore the town more. I’d taken a lot of days off lately. Perhaps I was already pretty bored with the mayor’s job, I don’t know. I found myself wandering… and wondering. Here I sit in Downtown’s subway station watching a train that never stops. Where is it going? Where’s it been? Never here apparently, or never gathered people here or dropped them off. I move on…

… to an abandoned petrol station, wandering and then wondering about the name Clyde on the window over there behind the tires. I knew the town was formerly called Blue Ball or Blue Balls so that didn’t seem to fit, despite the name Clyde being applied to a lot of towns across our fair country of America back in the day. Like one in Ohio where famed American author Sherwood Anderson grew up, along with U.S. independently affiliated senator and so-called father of the TVA George Norris and a couple of other famous people, including a Civil War Union general I can’t recall the name of.

I know, I’ll go ask Charlene. But maybe Emily would be a better target, having been here in The Burg longer. What’s her story, why did she move off the Makah Indian Reservation after being raised there? Something about Wolvie? — probably something about Wolvie. So that ropes in Charlene who’s the sister of what clearly is a shapeshifter in this here town, probably a werewolf by the sound of it. And he recognized me (!). In that service station with the black and white wolf poster over in Juho. I wonder how Newt is doing over there (her thoughts deflect). I wonder if he’s done anything with Newtonia since I’ve been… away.

That graffiti artist over yonder (she triangulates between useless subway and abandoned petrol station, a right one it appears). Maybe they will know something about Clyde. Worth a try.

She approaches, notices the cigarette in both his mouth and spraying hand at once. James Smoker he quickly becomes in her mind. Until she learns the truth.

(to be continued)

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00460317

Wheeler started to sit down beside Charlene and Emily in back but Willa Brown Halter instead waved her up front. She didn’t want the newly minted mayor to be seen with a *Downtown* Brown, hmph. Besides, she was up next. After Wolvie’s sentencing was over.

“What happened Madam Mayor?” Willa asked about her delay after she sat down beside her.

“Well, we fell in a plot hole,” Wheeler started another prepared joke. “Did I say plot hole? *Pot* hole I meant, as in one of Builder Bob’s diggings.” She glanced at him in the next bench over with his pipe still on shoulder.

“Funny,” said Willa. “But you’ve actually stumbled into your subject matter for the day. Infrastructure.” Funny indeed.

Then at the main stage:

“So,” said Judge Tronesisia (hi Tronesisia!). “You’re telling me, with your *bigfoot* costume on right now which you were caught in, that you didn’t put on this same costume and walk perpendicular through the Nawt Vaya tunnel walls while you also photographed yourself doing the same?”

“That’s right, my liege.”

“We have the photograph, I’ll remind you. *Proof*.”

No answer.

“Last chance to plead guilty,” warned Tronesisia.

Wolvie kept silent. As was his plan all along.

“What gives?” whispered Wheeler to Willa in the pause.

“Oh, this will wrap up soon enough,” Willa dismissed the whole hearing. “Just some *Downtowner* caught with his pants down again, ha.”

“Then I have no choice but to sentence you to *3 years*…” Gasps all around.

“… probationary work,” finished the judge, making another juicy dangler. Sighs all around now. Everyone seemed to like Wolvie and didn’t want any lengthy imprisonment to befall him. He was just trying to help out his kind, most thought. “You’ll tell kids about bigfoot,” Tronesisia further decreed, “maybe even participate in that film your sister Charlene The Punk Brown is making deriding the subject.” Charlene gives the judge a thumbs up from the back, just as happy as Willa was disappointed. Pants down, the latter thinks. Downtowner! How could they ignore the facts!

Wolvie leaves the courthouse room pants head down. But it was all play. He dare not look at the smile on his sister’s face lest he break out a big one too.

“Okay, Wheeler,” urged Willa. “You’re up. Get over there before the townspeople and belt out your plan to fix *infrastructure*.” Bob was so excited about the topic that he shifted his pipe from left to right shoulder. No more fun with holes, he thought punnily. Funds *for*.

“Aheemm,” she begins nervously, eyeing expectant Bob with his 12 foot pipe. “This is what I have in mind.”

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00460313

She thought she’d go back to the beginning of the road, where she started her story in this here Burg of the general Nawt Vaya region of the Jeogeot continent of the Western Hemisphere of virtual Our Second Lyfe. A call, I believe. No, perhaps a calling, as in a profession. She was always bright, super bright in fact. The unusual drew her attention. Cryptozoology was eventually the chosen study. She’d be a professor, occasionally publish articles and present papers and have a rather easy life of it as more a skeptic on the subject than a believer per common public opinion. Then the call — yes, a call was also involved, as in phone. Someone dialed all the numbers except 4, which would instead connect you to The Moon. “Hallo?” she said from her faculty desk next to the faculty lounge whose thin walls enabled her to keep up with all the local faculty gossip. Dr. Brown dating Dr. Green to the chagrin of Dr. Blue? All in a day’s listening.

“It’s me. Wolvie.”

“*Wolvie*. You old dog. Hadn’t heard from you since–”

“Lester’s Bay, I know. I ran away, sorry.”

“You ran away as a *dog*. Dude, what gives?”

“I’m… not who I seem.”

“I *gathered*.”

“Anyway. Charlene. I need some help. Something in your department.”

“Tell me about it, bro of mine.” She knew it was one of those loose ends in her life that eventually had to be tied up. Her own flesh and blood brother a shapeshifter! But academia called and she put such psychic phenomena out of her mind. She had grades to worry about, peer pressure, etc. She was young in her position, with tenure a fur piece down the road.

“Bigfoot,” he just blurted the name out, which he knew would catch her attention. “Sighted in your vicinity.”

Her vicinity, let’s see. Yes I guess this would have to be Nawt Vaya State University, then, hmm. Interesting. Perhaps a strong Psychics department. Or maybe that’s Physics. Anyway, the link had been made, the one between Charlene and Wolvie her brother, not Psychics and Physics. Although maybe that fits in too.

“Give me a location,” she cited rather mechanically, more a professor’s standard tone in this dog eat dog world of general college academia, especially for a female professor who, by default, had more to prove.

He did more than that. He sent her a picture. “Bigfoot!” she cried aloud, giving Dr. Black a start from his faculty lounge chair just beyond the wall. “So it’s real.” And just down the road from her in that Nawt Vaya underwater tunnel, she observed.

She understandably took the rest of the day off to investigate. Which eventually landed her on the doorstep of Roberts and Franklin in one of those 2 locations shown before, just as Wolvie planned. Charlene would do the choosing for him, as it turned out. Should have seen it coming.

(to be continued)

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00460312

“There she is, Emily. The new mayor.”

“*Not* the same as the old mayor,” replied Emily, trying not to look behind her. It was hard. And what was all that butterfly, um, *gear* she was wearing? But it was just all part of her power. She couldn’t help asking aloud, though. She leans over, and says not far above a whisper: “Butterflies?”

“All part of the power; perks of the job,” responded Charlene. Knew it.

“Who would *want* that?” Still leaning, still just above a whisper.

“I hear ya. But…” she decides to say since they were leaning in to each other, being more secretive. “What about Wolvie?”

“What *about* Wolvie?” Emily says.

“You know, because he’s, ahem, the mayor’s son. Like I’m the mayor’s daughter. *Old* mayor. And *Shelley*.”

“Shelley’s not in this story,” shot back Emily New Moon, tired of hearing about the old. New is the thing now. And Wheeler fits right in, she thinks. She’s tired of the mother-daughter-son talk, the Unholy Triangle. Speaking of which…

—–

“I wish, Edward, that you’d be more sympathetic to my plight. I’m *married*.” Edward, her Ed, was in danger of fading away himself under her new butterfly power and he knew it. Wheeler had to disappear in order for him to even been seen atall in this setting. He had no other choice than to wait in the background, biding his time. At the backwards flowing waterfall.

(to be continued)

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00460309

It was like the old days for Wolvie (=Bert), staring at bamboo from the perfect spot 108 108 108, triply beautiful. Not Shelley any more doing her moves on the bamboo yoga mat but Wheeler, mother having reabsorbed the child in section one of this here current photo-novel, just this morning named for her. He’d seen her again last week at the convenience store he manages over near Juho. She knew that he knew and he knew that she knew. Then: winked out. Gone. Like she was never there. And perhaps she wasn’t (*knew* I was going to add that, didn’t you).

—–

“Wolvie’s gone. VHS tape still in there. Let’s just look at it. I want to know why Blue Moon wants to buy all existing copies so bad. How, aherm, *bad* could it be?”

“Double anal?” guessed Emily who didn’t even know if that was a thing. And I suppose she’d know, since she runs the store. So let’s say she was jesting.

“Could be at least double, as in 3some,” speculated Charlene further. Charlene the Punk. Not seen in these here photo-novels since (as I’m checking… checking…) 31 really, minus a cameo appearance or two. Pre-retirement, then. But we also know that Charlene is actually Fern in the past. Or another timeline — something. The two can be lined up and made as one is what I’m saying. If that, once more, is actually a “thing”.

They both crowded into the tiny viewing room meant for one, setting aside the chair to make space. Plus… well, neither wanted to sit in that chair now.

“It’s just static,” Charlene complained.

“Keep looking,” urged Emily, knowing secondary and then primary letters would form out of the nothingness. Because this was a special tape, very much so. I to E to T to L and done. You get your money’s worth.

“Yes, here they come.”

(to be continued)

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00460305

“He was just standing there when I looked down from the bird. You know, after the plane.”

“Then what?” Philip was into Frank’s story. For a change.

“Just for a second he was there. Looked like, I don’t know, *Superman*. All jacked up like a superhero, you see.”

“Like Impotent Rage?”

“Yeah,” Frank said. “Like Impotent Rage.”

“*Love* Impotent Rage. That’s where I hid my drugs!”

Took Frank a second to get it, then he remembered the figurine in Philip’s trailer with the hollowed out core and pop top head. *Old* trailer. “Oh yeah. Anyway, thought you’d want to know, since, you know, you saw the plane shadows that couldn’t be there too.”

“I *did*,” said Philip without a doubt. “I did indeed. Grapeshot.”

“Grape*seed*,” said Frank.

“Noooo. Grape*shot*. *Franklin*.” Philip liked to call Frank Lynn by his old name when he failed to properly translate anything to this new format they now live in, GTA V imprisoned characters no more. They were free. Thanks to the power of the Alamo. “Remember the Alamo,” Philip would also say to jolt Frank back to the current (virtual) reality. “Remember it and then forget it because we’re in a different place now,” he might follow up, “one that doesn’t stink like *rotting fish*, PHEH.”

Alamo inland sea of GTA V fully transferred over to Nawt Vaya inland sea of Our Second Lyfe. Like Philip before him, Frank was totally on board with it. After all, they always had the dreams and reminiscings to return if needed. Like now.

“Anyway,” Frank continued in that vein, “he was standing at the start of that jutting out place, you know, the, oh what do you call it? Not peninsula.”

“Pier?” Philip offered, trying to help the story along.

“No dawg, nothing wood or anything. A *jetty* — yeah, that’s it. A narrow piece of land jutting into the water in a straight line.

“Or crooked line,” Philip said, thinking of something called the Spiral Jetty. He can’t recall where.

“Okay, so, you know, the Superman person was gone — only appeared a split second like I said…”

“Yeah?” Philip said, egging him on again.

“But when I was walking down that, er, jetty, in a straight line, I also knew he was *pointing* toward something. Something on the other side of the lake as it turned out.”

“Sea,” corrected Philip once more. “Alamo Sea.”

“Yeah, Alamo Sea, then. So I stood near the end of the point, looked across the lake — sea, sorry. There was a boat parked near the tip, but that wasn’t it. Then I heard it. Little Hell, Philip. Place called Little Hell.”

Philip had heard of the location but had also heard it called Heaven and said so. Out of their dreams and back into the present, both looked across the moonlit Nawt Vaya waters and wondered what *that* meant. Little Hell and Heaven both.

(to be continued)

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00460304

“Isn’t this a beautiful view of the harbour, Newt? Just lovely.”

“Well,” opined her opposite eating ice cream partner at the stand. “They could have done a better job with the line there dividing the 2 sides of the texture. Makes it obviously unreal. And the blurring–”

“Blurring only makes it more romantic,” quickly countered Wheeler. “This skyline could be any city in the world you want it to be, any virtual burg for that matter. It could be Sydney to me, Melbourne to you. Our choice. Just pick the most romantic city you know and you’re sitting across from it, eating strawberry or vanilla ice cream, also your choice. You like vanilla, I don’t.”

“We better start talking about Nawt Vaya,” said Newt, tired of meaningless chatter. “Why we came here. To this *rendezvous*,” he couldn’t help tack on again. Next time, he promised himself. Gowns and formal attire.

“Okay.” She finished the last 1 1/2 scoops of strawberry in one huge gulp just to try to speed things up and maybe add a little comedy to the matter, then continued to talk with mouth open and muffled voice. “Ow, fthatt *hurfts*.”

“What do you expect, Wheeler?” he said, watching her now deal with brain freeze. He decides to start while she heals. “Let’s take account of the residents of our fair land there in the center of Nawt Vaya. First off, there’s me and you obviously, then Lexi and Philip over in her house on the south edge of the property, then Fink is around too, then Jack is not far away as well — Jack Dogg, I’m obviously talking about here and not any of the other Jacks we’re attached to now. And then Barry De Boy and Wendy are up in that cottage perched above my own home of Newtonia. Do you like that name, Wheeler? Newtonia? Are you able to properly speak yet?”

“Mmmmm. MmmMMMMMMmm.”

“Obviously not. I’ll continue, then. Then there’s Veyot up on the hill, Pearl just up the coast a bit. Then in Juho we have Greg Ogden who’s also an artist — runs STAB now — and then I believe Nada New Year is there too, and also Carolin. And, let’s see, Peter Melanchton–”

“Gone,” Wheeler managed, ice cream headache finally subsiding.

“Right. And then the girl who’s suppose to take his place as summa cum laude graduate of Nawt Vaya State University and her, er, boyfriend I guess we’ll call him. And then Edward is still around.”

“Backwards positioned waterfall,” Wheeler identified his location. “You’re okay with that? Aren’t you?”

“Ahh, *sure*.” He was 1/2 and 1/2 on the issue but he really didn’t have any choice. Unless he did. He’s trying. Date first, then other things. Has to start with a proper date, which apparently this wasn’t. He tries to focus on the census again and away from the Wheeler+Edward continuing issue. “And then Princess Pinky Gumm.”

“She doesn’t count.”

“Oh…. right.” Newt remembers that Wheeler is playing that role, actually. “And… I can’t think of anyone else. Can you?”

“OH. I saw… I saw *Frank*! I totally forgot to tell you.”

“Frank?”

“Yeah. *Frank*. In Juho. At the barber shop when I was getting my hair cut the other day. I was getting the Butterfly No. 25 while he just sat there getting nothing, no styling no treatment, no anything. *Frank*,” she emphasized.

“Frank *who*?” Newt had to question. There were a couple, including a bunny man who hadn’t figured into the plot of these here photo-novels since the middle of the last. But it turned out to be Frank Lynn of GTAV fame.

“And Sep Felton was there too,” said Wheeler. “You know Sep. Butterflies again. Over on Corsica. She’s a stylist in both places. I didn’t even ask her how that worked, dufus that I am. I was *so* focused on getting it all chopped off, letting my scalp breathe again as Winter turns into Spring. I want the Butterfly, I said excitedly almost when I came in the shop. I didn’t realize the synchronicity.”

“You should always be paying attention to synchronicity. Why we’re here,” summarized Newt.

“I know, I know.”

“So… let’s start exploring and we can talk more.”

“My line!”

Someone in desperate need of a haircut himself, or herself, came walking into the picture. It, we’ll call them to remain gender neutral.

(to be continued)

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00460303

He listened in while she continued to play her games. It wasn’t a date, she insisted. Casual dress you’ll notice. But Newt was kind of treating it as such. Arrived 30 minutes late. Payback obviously for him being so late the other night to their TV watching down in the bottom of her new dwelling place. Big!

“I don’t know what happened. It just… slipped out of my hands! The whole cone and its triple dip of strawberry ice cream I’ll remind you.”

“No problem, miss. I’ll dip you 3 more.” Sarah “L.A.” Nunchuck had passed the Wheeler test. She’s on the green list as opposed to the red. Newt knew they’d probably be coming here again for future dates or whatever you call this. Rendezvous, she said. “Let’s rendezvous and talk about developments at Nawt Vaya, where we’re going, where we’re heading. But somewhere away from home base. Who knows who’s listening here.”

“Who would be listening?” Newt questioned Wheeler’s logic.

“You know, the neighbors.”

“Veyot? Pearl?” Newt didn’t think the neighbors would be listening in. They had better things to do. Like running art galleries elsewhere in Our Second Lyfe. Yet Wheeler persisted and Newt finally relented. Besides, she found this burg about a 1/2 mile from the lake inland sea quite fascinating — Burg; that was the actual name. “It has an uptown, midtown, and downtown, Newt,” she said about it over the phone while setting up the, ahem, *rendezvous*. “Uptown is classy, midtown is, well, midtown, and downtown is seedy. Then there’s the park to end, west to east. We’ll explore after we have ice cream.”

And so here they are.

(to be continued)

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