Category Archives: SG Park

00480501

And so I, through Frank Lynn, went back to Jelloab from my home base in Jeolla 2 sims west and took another gander at Tobor, still trodding between sand and sea at this location. Well, not sea like Nawt Vaya sea, an inland body of water. This was an ocean, the great Our Second Lyfe Ocean that surrounds all mainland continents and all islands and archipelagos everywhere in this metaverse, the great unifying element one could call it. Note Jelloab and Jeolla start with the same 5 letters which can spell Jello, as in Jell-O, as in the gelatinous, sugary substance which can be consumed for dessert by us humans, invented in Le Roy, NY by Pearle Bixby Wait in the late 1800s. We should probably earmark a visit to that location via Google Earth or Google Street View soon? Anyway, I think I’ve had enough of the ocean for now. Goodbye beach girl! “What’s your name?” I decide to ask over before vanishing. “Greta,” she said, which I quickly realized was an anagram of Great, continuing that thread. From the ocean, I understood. A spirit, a conduit. “Greta, you say?” “Yes,” she replied. “Native of the area?” But she didn’t answer, just kept staring at the sea ocean in a silent kind of way again. Toward Tobor. I realized my time at this shoreline was truly done.

Snapshot of an inworld map of Jeollab and Jeolla before leaving with my current location marked by a blue person icon and my homebase almost directly to the west marked with a red house icon. You can see the whole Nawt Vaya inland sea next to my home, which, like I said before somewhere, is the largest inland body of water on the Jeogeot continent and the only one I would deem worthy of a sea appellation instead of a pond or lake. My opinion (my mythology).

Let’s keep all this geography stuff in mind as we move forward here. TBC

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00460606

Tessa (after getting a busy signal for the fifth time at the station and then giving up): “Oh DARN. And I so so wanted to catch up with my old old friend Carolin from the Caves. I have news about them!”

MEANWHILE… Seventy-six radio station manager Marty had been stabbed in the head, heart and hands, leading to a severe decrease in health. Only the hustle of local paramedics Charlie and Peet saved his sorry ass.

https://www.morningagclips.com/head-heart-hands-and-health-a-short-history-of-4-h/

“Can… of worms,” he said up to them weakly as they carted him off in a gurney to the Chilbo General Hospital where he stayed a week I believe before getting strong enough to leave. But employee Carolin would be gone by then, unable to be canned by him for her troublemaking down at the station because she had, in essence, canned herself. Back to the caves with Tessa, who’d caught up with her by other means, in-person visit I’m guessing.

The stabbings? Cat-people, cat *aliens*. Who were looking to get back to their cubic, red home planet at any cost. Or so THE OTHERS would have you believe. Others led by the Horns (= Big Bosses).

(to be continued)

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00460602

She was already on her 3rd coffee and 4th Blue Moon single of the day. From her solo period of course. She doesn’t like the Cracks, her old group, nearly as much, prefix them with US, UK or any other country — doesn’t matter. But her solo period, especially after the suicide/murder attempt (another reader’s choice): primo. Pure punk while also somehow remaining pure pop, unholy yet uncannily successful marriage of the two. She takes another sip while she listens to another tasty lick from the guitar of none other than Cary E., soon to be known as Car E. and then just CARE w/ all caps, logical terminus reached on the name transmutation process. Formerly of Sunamai of course, helping out Blue Moon on this particular track called “No More Big Leagues,” a minor hit that kicks off her first solo album “Louisville Cardinals” — playing on the fact that the state of Kentucky contains no actual big league baseball team unlike neighboring Ohio with its Cincinnati Reds and Cleveland Indians and likewise neighbor Missouri with its own double team pairing of St. Louis Cardinals and Kansas City Royals. But believe me, don’t let the name fool you, she imagines saying to her brother Ted, more fond of the Cracks (a Crackhead of course): the album is definitely big leagues, and she then imagines herself laughing at his irritation to this statement of fact. “Johnny Rose Bench” is also a pretty well known love ballad from side two. And of course there’s “Elvis Esley.” Or Isley — no one really knows which except Blue Moon herself and she’s not saying.

The old timey dial telephone rings beside her. Probably station manager Marty, she reasons, calling to complain that I’m playing too much Kentucky and to cool it with the Blue Moon. She decides then and there to play the entirety of the the “Louisville Cardinals” album, just not lift the needle off the spinning vinyl record after the first track is done. And maybe play all the rest of her solo work — in order — after that. Take the phone off the hook and just *do* it. She calculates how quickly Marty could get here from Chilbo for the canning.

Can of Worms, yes, she thinks while track 1 ends and track 2 (“St. Louie Blues”) begins. Just like in New York.

(to be continued)

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00460506

“Investigating a murder, ma’am. Blue Moon Kentucky. Know anything? A-bout it?”

“My Son!” she cried upon seeing him beam in on a ray of light. “Come back to me.”

“No ma’am. Not your Son. Or your Sun for that matter if that’s what you meant. Despite the beam and ray thing going on here beneath me.” But then he thought again. Clue!

Barry De Boy wakes up, immediately googles “Elvis Esley”. Or was it Isley?

(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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00460207

Time to go see what the boys are up to.

—–

“Thanks for joining me on this little venture.”

“Sure,” he said. “Vegetable garden can wait. Besides, well…”

“Yeah. Potential company back there. You’re going to have to be careful.”

“*You’re* going to have to be careful.”

“Soo… (sigh) This is where it happens, the magic, the view of paradise that boy mentioned.”

“Suppose so, Wheeler.”

“I mean, we saw them head in this direction. No lights. Like now.” Here Wheeler once again wonders if Newt and she would ever be a proper couple. Probably not, she concludes once more, a broken record, a record missing some letters in the middle to make it real. Simply because he’s Baker Bloch and that’s not allowed. Not *here*.

“Right, right. Stayed there — here — about an hour. I suppose that’s enough for paradise.”

“Yes,” said Wheeler nonchalantly to this. “And over there too, that building over there.” Wheeler remotely opens the window to the shack, points. “A treehouse as I’m checking; ‘nother place they go now.”

Treehouse, she ponders. Like the boys live in, with a shared robot computer on the way from their home world of Oooo as well. Should be arriving by next Tuesday’s Thursday.

“Yes, I remember when we were young and full of energy like that,” says Newt. Now just old and tired? he thinks to himself. He’s 50 going on 67. And Wheeler… he supposes she’s at least in her late 40s. Doesn’t look a day over 25 (he looks over). Well, 30 (pause) 35. Body aging gracefully, though. And so is his, he realizes. This works down here and that works up there. Both can happen.

Plus there’s The Abyss to consider, the writhing. Not Hell, but a kind of prison anyway (like Shelley is in?). Newt’s seen glimpses when he drinks his two daily 4 shot lattes too close to each other. 319. Must think about that more. Nawt Vaya — 319, hmm.

“Wheeler?” He looks over, sees the eyes. “I’ve decided to give it a shot.”

“What shot?” she shoots back.

“You know. *That*.”

“*Here*?”

He thinks of The Abyss. So many writhing in The Abyss. Trapped. A date to begin, yes. Start over fresh. Hot dog joint out in the sticks won’t swing it. Something upscale, classy. Wheeler can wear one of those discount gowns she’s been collecting recently, hmph.

“Are you asking me *out*? Hubby?”

(to be continued)

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00460205 (Butterfly Kid)

Now back to Jack at that other treehouse across the water — just beyond the rocket over there. And Fink of course. Bimbo? We’ll see.

(to be continued)

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00460114

“Maker Space, Jack. And the Princess said Bimbo should be coming along soon. She’s working on it, she said.”

“I-I don’t like it as much as the old treehouse, Fink. Not as much room. A-and I don’t have all my stuff.”

“Princess said she’s working on that too.”

“Like: Who’s that old f-ck suppose to be up on the mantel place.”

“Jack!” reprimanded Jack’s human bro and bestie Fink about the cussing, but then started wondering too as he also stared at the aged, bearded man in the photograph…

…. who, in turn, stared at two books from his framed existence, each containing a 1000 pictures of the world around them, this Our Second Lyfe that has suddenly become Their Second Lyfe as well. Orders of Pinky Gumm.

“I mean… I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, pheh,” then said resigned Jack, knowing the Princess had a plan. She always did.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0046, 0114, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya, Oooo, SG Park

00460101

BEGINNING OF “SUNKLANDS PHOTO-NOVEL 46”!

So eventually I was able, with repeated shoves, to physically push Tobor out of the water and onto the shore until he seemed to kind of settle himself directly on the line between land and sea, my first big indication of what was going on here although I didn’t know it at the time. It could be construed I was saving the figure from drowning, but, if so, that’s certainly not the full story. The guy was dying, that’s a fact. And he seemed to be going out on his own terms. But something happened at the shoreline, something quite unexpected. He didn’t have to *choose* the way he was heading and was so hesitant to accomplish. He could simply wait on the shore for death to come to him. *I*, through character Greg Ogden here, had created that option, that scenario. Soo… who am I?

—–

So we’ve started “Sunklands Photo-Novel 46” with this figure directly trodding the line in his odd gait between sand and tide. Time to reveal who he is.

No, not *that* Peter Bergman. Or Bergmann if you use the Austrian spelling of the surname, where he claimed to be from. Although that’s what first caught my eye about the name when a related video popped up in my algorithmically generated Youtube feed, being a big big Firesign Theatre fan since back in college days. More on that soon. No, instead it’s *this* Peter Bergmann, seen here checking into a Sligo, Ireland hotel via CCTV footage on the evening of June 12, 2009, 4 days before his death in the same area. Cause of death? Heart attack. *Not* drowning. Keep that in mind.

(to be continued)

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00450705

When I found him on the western coast of Jeogeot not far from my new Nawt Vaya home, he was just a head sticking up above the waves, and I immediately thought: The Netherlands, as in the red white and blue colors of its flag that had already figured into the text of the current photo-novel. I theorized: here is a link between photo-novels 45 which I’m wrapping up, and 46 still away a bit but coming closer, looming like successor photo-novels do. I can just have this methodically marching-in-place, tri-colored figure name Tobor (according to the object’s description; obviously the word robot in reverse) sort of figuratively walk between the two in some fashion; act as a bridging character. That was the idea in *my* head, vague but one I knew had the potential to work being experienced in such vague glimmerings of ideas and how they can, often quite quickly — sometimes extraordinarily so, ha — manifest into being. Witness here:

END OF “SUNKLANDS PHOTO-NOVEL 45”!

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