March 14, 2025 · 3:16 pm

00460112

“Oh, and I also saw Hashima Island.”

“Where? Where??”

“No, silly. Not out *there*. In Japan. What’s out *there*?”

“Nothing I suppose,” Girtle replied to Wamshed, just back from an expensive, extensive trip to the Orient, with 3 continents taken in. But Hashima stood out for her. Ghost island. Bestie Girtle kept staring and staring above the pier just beyond the Night City Marina where they were eating breakfast and catching up with each other, thinking something would appear in the sun glared sky. Why would she think that? she wonders, and then returns her attention to her food and drink and conversation, thinking nothing more of the matter that day in April’s May.

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March 14, 2025 · 2:23 pm

00460111

What are both Trump and Biden, the two latest presidents of these here present day United States, doing in downtown Night City ads almost a half century into the future? Probably an ad mod to the Cyberpunk 2077 game, I’m guessing, with the BD maker Lincoln having yet another US president’s name you’ll notice, hmm.

Just beyond the Biden ad pictured above we have equal amounts of red and blue pills all mixed up together in a storefront window. Democrats (Biden/blue) and Republicans (Trump/red)? Our US of A country split up to the detriment of both, I further speculate. Leading us to this here dystopian future, a game. So far.

Lincoln might know. He was shiny and new like a freshly coined penny in this BD, his first in the city. We will most likely return to him. No cents not to.

(to be continued)

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March 11, 2025 · 2:11 pm

00460110

—–

“There there, what’s the problem? Why are you crying?”

“I-I’ve lost my car key! (sob!) I don’t know how I’ll ever get back to my apartment without walking through a dangerous stretch (sniff) of town. My AAA membership has just run out,” she explained further. “Aa-and the taxi strike.”

“Calm down,” I say. “Tell me what happened.”

She pointed over the rail. “Down there. In the water (sob sob!). I was just reaching into my pocket for my phone… I shouldn’t have had my key out. I don’t know what I was doing! (sniff sniff sniff)”

“Okay, just relax. I’ll go get it.”

—–

—–

“Oh thank you SOO much! You’re a life saver… literally. I could have been murdered going home through those streets. And worse!

“Here. Let me give you something.”

“Just the bright smile on your face is reward enough, thanks,” I say to this.

“I insist. 500 eddies okay?”

—–

You’re a middle person, I think while walking up and checking the time on a fresh video (BD). Like the Gimp before. Like the Wellsprings monks more recently. “Hi,” I say to her. “Remember me?”

She turned to face me squarely. “Get away from me you creep,” she exuded with some venom, then returned to her phone. NPC, I think. Memories don’t continue from video to video, perhaps from within the same video.

“Down at the end of the pier. Remember?” I tried again, making her start tapping rapidly on her phone.

“Calling the police. NOW.”

“Okay, okay.” And I walked away. Back toward the pier, peering over it to see if I can catch another glimpse of that rock island. Something very important about it. Ghost.

(to be continued)

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March 10, 2025 · 7:44 am

00460109 (Sunamai T-shirt Boy (STB))

“I see you’re looking for something out in the bay.

“Well, so am I.”

“Pray tell what? A rock? That’s long gone. To get that kind of rock you’ll have to go to classic rock on the Morro Rock station. Run by Carolin. You know Carolin.”

“No.”

“Oh sure you do. Last photo-novel.”

“H-how–”

“Do I know? Because I’m *you*.”

—–

“Let me demonstrate (follow me).

“Middle again… that’s me — you — again. Just a head at first as the other me passes out of the scene.

“Then full on, another smoker. Smoking good looks wouldn’t you agree?

“And then, coming up behind me again, I pass the monks…

“… and come straight up beside yet another me. ‘You!’ I say. Exclamation point.

“I thank you for finishing my art in the park. I — we — can move on.”

(to be continued)

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March 7, 2025 · 3:54 pm

00460108 (319)

That’ll be 4 bucks please,” said ramen shop attendant Jacwylin, extending her hand with the bill for the bills. She was also the manager of this small cyperpunk type shop, if it wasn’t Tammy (pause). No, I checked. Tammy isn’t projected to be in this here photo-novel, 46 in a series. So this remains Jacwylin. “You know,” she begins again, name settled on and free to dwell in the past now, “Blue Moon Kentucky sat on that very seat, ordered that very meal. Blue like you too.” She scrutinized the face more closely. “Nah,” she begged off. “You’re not her.”

“Of course I’m not her,” said the blue clad woman back. Still working for the Horns, the big bosses, although the boss boss Edward was the only one still around. Who was now also her boyfriend. Luckily for her, he doesn’t have a cleanliness obsession. He doesn’t mind a little dirty. “But,” she reconsidered, “that’s an interesting story, worth a follow up statement.” There. I just did it. Would she get the joke?

“Ha ha,” she started after a significant enough pause. “Hu hu hu, good one.” She got it. “But, *anyway*, Blue Moon… do you like her music? Do you prefer the Cracks or do you prefer her solo work? Some do.” She withheld the “like me,” part. Wanted to get the other’s opinion first.

“I’ve heard of ‘Keep on Shining.'”

“Yes yes. Good one.” Maybe a solo lover. Like herself. She’ll keep patient.

“And, let’s see, the one about suicide is certainly interesting. Can’t recall the name of that.”

Jacwylin couldn’t either in the moment. Oh yes, she thought. “Elvis Esley.” Or Isley — she couldn’t remember if the last name of the single started with an E or an I, our first mandela effect in this here post (pause). I checked to make sure and, yes, it is so. The name Tammy remains a mistake and not an alternate reality.

(to be continued)

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March 7, 2025 · 3:15 pm

00460107

“I see you kneeling behind that curtain in there,” expressed passing businesswoman Pamela Taut, no time for tomfoolery today. Zoom meeting with an important client at 3 about a property deflated in value because of a 1000 year flood. Must be sharp; she wants that sale! Then this. “I say: expose yourself you troublemaker, you… *tart*” Come out, come out!” She only thought of her own name’s similarity with this taunt later.  When she herself was playing a maid to a big wig male’s cleanliness obsession — for a sale again, of course. “Bathroom next,” he said, knowing it was a mess because of the chaos. “Now!” “Yes sir,” she jumped. But it was all fake, just role play. Same with the person behind the curtain. She’d been ordered to sit there by another. No difference really at all.

We’ve seen this person before. Many times. She tires of hiding, wants to come into the light. This is about as close as I dare, focus on the foreground in the shot below, on the face of conspiracy nut Wanda to be specific, still listening to the imaginary (imaginary?) chattering of the mechanical (mechanical?) fish behind the bar. She knows they’ll analyze everything later on. Her friend Jenny sitting across the booth here has started calling her Wanda Fish, another taunt. Where will it end?

Right here. (to be continued)

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March 2, 2025 · 2:45 pm

00460106 (Tin at ten)

“Shelley?” Wheeler started to answer Lexi’s question. “I don’t know. Wandered off into the prison surrounding us; lost in the maze that’s suppose to be a labyrinth, one way in and out. Time to make a switch; free myself from *that* kind of cage. Do you realize, Lexi, that she hasn’t changed her hair style since she was a kid? And those shoes. Kids as well. Keds!”

“I don’t care,” says Lexi back, stopped from dancing for a second. She’ll resume soon enough. “I love her still.”

“You can’t have her, Lexi. She’s… not in your league. She’s in the American, you’re in the National. If the Cincinnati Reds could play the New York Mets in the World Series then you might have a shot. But no sin in Cincinnati, if you catch my, um, lob. Out at home before the game even starts. Back in the pocket with the Bakers badge and all. You’re Mary Anne,” Wheeler summarized before her, still still. “Panama’s Ginger. But Shelley’s different — *I’m* different. And I set the rules. I’m tired of being the mother to a child that never grows up from top and bottom. You notice the change in *my* hair — I’m ready to dive back into the fire from the frying pan just above. Back to the dance. But first…

“… I have to let the butterflies free to do their work. Starting with the midriff, mind you. All Orange.”

Without further words, Lexi begins again.

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March 1, 2025 · 2:47 pm

00460105 (Broadwater)

Edward knew he was a fictional character and decided to do something about it. Logical endpoint: Shelley’s mother Wheeler. Over on Omega.

“It’s about time,” she said from within, not looking up from her book. History of the continent. Fascinating.

https://bakerbloch.com/2022/10/22/00350301/

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February 23, 2025 · 3:02 pm

00460104

“Moving to the water’s edge, I got my first good glimpse at Morro Rock out in the bay in, well, I can’t remember when. I’d heard it had been covered over with fill dirt in the meantime, yet here it was in all its shining glory illuminated in the morning sun. There’s the radio station of that name of course, but I thought that was a pun on the famous landmark and no more. Boy was I wrong.

“Later at the very center of my Wellsprings walk that day I also caught my first glimpse of 3 monks worshipping at a wall of bamboo and then went down to them.

“I climbed up those piled cement slabs in front of it and then sat down to get a better look.

“And that’s when I called you. Remember? ‘We have a match,’ I said. Over 2 years back I guess by now. ‘108 108 108,’ I recited, checking my coordinates in space and time. ‘108 108 108,’ the 3 monks now behind me repeated, each taking a turn. I pivot as they fade and wink out, one by one by one. 108 108 108. The same is happening now.”

—–

I later got a better view of that rock out in the bay 2 videos up in Lettuce Walk’s feed and 4 up from its beginning with the lighting strike (more soon). So it was real. I was truly on a path again. To find CENTER.

(to be continued)

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February 18, 2025 · 10:32 pm

00460103 (core issue)

The building where our Peter Bergmann, with two n’s, stayed the last nights of his life was called, generically enough, the Sligo City Hotel, soon changed to The Address but with the same one. Interesting that a sign pointing in its direction on the other side the street from the bus stop — where it just so happened Bergmann wrote his mystery word or sentence or whatever he subsequently ripped up — is positioned directly above that hand-with-pen in this June 2018 Streetview screenshot.

Switching back to the 2024 Streetview photos of that mural, the most recent as I write this, we see the pen pointing directly to a bicycle in the parking lot before it from this perspective, specifically its seat. Personal sync here: the wife and I were just playing around with adjusting a bike seat at a local gym the day I found this pen in a Sligo mural pointing to same. I instantly recognized the connection. I’d started going to the gym, and taking up stationary biking in particular, to attempt to heal a fairly long lingering back issue, longer than usual in my history of such ailments. Set your rear down here to get healed, the mural seemed to indicate in a queer triangle of associations. And as I write this, the back seems to be healing up. I can move on — by staying stationary? Also time to get on the move again, as in moving outdoors from the gym.

But not before strengthening the CENTER.

(to be continued)

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