Category Archives: Jeogeot

May 30, 2025 · 8:49 am

00470106 (red = dead)

My old haunt NWES City: devolving and most likely soon ceasing to be.

For example, the interesting trailer park across the road from Moe’s old bar: gone. Moe’s former building with the red square now in front: empty. Probably has been for a while, rent due who knows when.

The 4 (red yellow green blue) into 5 butterflies (add: orange) weren’t fulfilled, pheh. Could they have ever been? I think in a probable reality this is so. Everything Collagesity went into everything NWES City, smaller to larger, and made a new whole. Subways were completed. The, ahem, downtown elements of the burg were better balanced by the cleaner uptown ones. A clearer core center was established.


Hehehe.

But I haven’t given up on it quite yet. Or at the very least Wheeler hasn’t.

(to be continued?)

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May 26, 2025 · 2:18 pm

00470104

“Ooh, the city lights of Juho over there are *soo* pretty (!). Good to be home.”

Eddy pivots in his seat at the closed Asian Fusion Restaurant to take a gander. “Those blank white trees over there: not so much. Blight,” he spits out. “Our Second Lyfe trying to be more than it can or should. Leave the old but still quite functional game alone, you *Limeys* (!).”

“Oh Eddy,” says now red haired Shelley, back from her sabbatical to who knows where. Ready to surprise the parents. Who forgot she even existed. “Soooooo negative.”

“I’m *not* negative. Just a realist. Like you returning here. Your mother put you in *prison* the last time because of her jealousy. She says you’re a child but she knows better.”

Shelley wasn’t so sure. Besides, in her eyes she still had her freedom while trapped away inside Rockaway Beach Penitentiary. It’s all about perspective. She even wrote a song about the paradox (see: post 01).

“Listen, it’s 4 in the morning,” she decided to say. “We’ve been up all night. We’re tired, we’re wore out from the journey.”

“From who knows where,” Eddy, her Edward tacked on.

“Oh you know where, you new husband you — Silly.”

And suddenly he did. New Island of course. Escaped from mainland prison via that route, that direction. The chasers couldn’t get to her that way. The bridge between the two became broke and wouldn’t open back up.

Refuge. But with a witch in control now of everything, ugh. She’d still have to pay a price.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0104, Jeogeot, Juho, Nawt Vaya+, New Island, Omega, Urbane Blue/Fishers Island

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May 25, 2025 · 4:31 pm

00470102 (new lighting)

“Aren’t you going to finish your triangles dearest?”

“In a minute,” answered Sarah Tucker to on again off again lover Al, watching the newest storm roll in from the many windowed establishment, orange in color and violet violent in nature. She wondered if the posing giants outside would have to save their ass. Again.

Nawt Vaya’s Vortexville. A weird place to live. We’ll come back soon for more out of this world fun.

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May 19, 2025 · 2:27 pm

00460616 (bookends)

—–

There was only 1 thing to do to stop the stabbings and knivings and whatnot and save everybody involved, Greg Ogden knew. Go back to the beginning of this here photo-novel, NOT rescue the Tobor robot that represents Peter Bergmann with the two n’s from the waters and let him drown in peace in the ocean, his body and thus the mysterious story of his last days in Sligo, Ireland never to be found. “Center Core Never More,” he chanted on the shoreline as the pushing began. Deeper, deeper… over the hands… heart… head…

END OF “SUNKLANDS 2025 EARLY”!

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May 18, 2025 · 5:51 am

00460609

We use ART to discover who the true stabber is.

—–

“Oh Gregg Oden my opposite evil evil green twin! What have you done what have you DONE?!

“Hello 119? I mean 911! I’d like to report an accident. A horrible horrible accident!”

“Calm down, sir,” said Gertrude on the other side. “Just tell me what happened.”

“Stabbing. STAB!” Greg Ogden’s imaginary Juho art studio conveniently located on Makers Lane with door always slightly ajar come to life, as it were. As it *is*. He looks down at the body, quickly bleeding out. Not much time!

“Okay, I’ve tracked your location. We’ll send Charlie and Peet right over. Don’t leave the scene, sir!”

Then he was back at the beginning, painting Black Lake that wasn’t actually black except in soul. Should’ve never switched over to oils.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0046, 0609, Bogota, Chilbo, collages 2d, Crisp Sea, Ebbert, Jeogeot, Juho, Lower Austra, Nautilus, Nawt Vaya+, Wild West

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May 15, 2025 · 7:19 am

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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May 11, 2025 · 1:37 pm

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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May 11, 2025 · 7:42 am

00460601

“Morro Bay??” Dreaming Frank Lynn was expecting a sign for Paleto Bay but got a surprise, Real Life location intruding in on Virtual here. He suddenly has another important piece of the puzzle. Now to find the Rock.

“There!” he said, seeing it coming into view in the distance after passing a large beach dune. Well… sort of, he thought. Not quite Morro Rock but pretty obviously the duplicate down here. And out there in the bay beyond it: the 4 islands with the, um, bodies. 2 apiece, he knew. A central mystery. 4 islands, 8 bodies. Infinity.

Carolin manifests back at the center.


888 Infinity Lane

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May 8, 2025 · 9:53 pm

00460511

Wheeler made sure she rented the last room in the town’s hotel so that Benny Right Horn would be forced back into the caves, lucky her. Jackson Bloch — I *mean*, Bob the Builder from The Burg — shortly joined her. They were here at the End of Time researching infrastructure and solutions to. Bob hadn’t been here since the last time he visited, which is logical. Similar to Jer Left Horn’s last presence in this land, that would be around 5 years back now. Why did he visit then? Well, same reason. He was looking for answers. He had been born here as it turned out.

“Bob?” Wheeler called across the room, using his new name instead of the old still. As they agreed upon. “You all right over there? Have room for that, ahem, pipe on the couch with you?” Wheeler understood Bob was sleeping with the pipe but that was okay. His wife had died 3 years ago and so he’d turned a little weird in the meantime. Fetish with infrastructure. Deadly weapon doubled as a new wife and visa versa.

“Okay,” said Bob, adjusting the pipe relative to his body. They must stretch out together in exactly the right way. To make this happen, Bob had to prop it up on both couch ends and slide underneath it. Wheeler didn’t want to see!

“Listen, Bob. I think it’s time for me to go exploring in those caves, poke around End of Time as a whole while everyone is asleep. So I’ll see you around.”

(to be continued, but only on Wheeler’s side of things)

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May 5, 2025 · 10:06 pm

00460508 (The Burg)

Downtown.

Uptown.

Midtown. Center Core. Between two highways, raised and ground level. Busy both. Much noise to drown out things like gun shots, knife wounds, screams in the night. Perfect place to crawl in and die.

Wheeler watches while James practices his graffiti once more, his final testimony. She still doesn’t know his name. Maybe never will now. Will again, as in his.

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