PHOTO-NOVEL 43
00430117
In this here photo-novel 43, almost certainly not the last of a series, I’ve been cobbling together images from a number of separate Our Second Life locations to make a poor poor man’s rendition of Nightsity from the Cyberpunk 2077 video game, perhaps the most realistic virtual city ever created. Probably is, minus its NPC’s, which are a little wonky acting and looking still. Not up to snuff in that way with urban areas from vaunted Rock Star games Grand Theft Auto V and Red Dead Redemption 2. But most everything else is equal or better for the newer game, the latest Grant Theft and Red Dead installments being from 2013 and 2018 respectively. Cyberpunk was released in 2020 to much fanfare but was *filled* with glitches and errors at the beginning. Well, according to recent reviews these seemed to have been essentially ironed out in subsequent updates and patches, and CD Projekt Red, the company that put out the product (also known for the Witcher video game series), says they’re basically done with the thing as of earlier this year. The dust is still settling on the finished work and people are still debating what has been created/revealed. Seems important. Seems different. A terrifying vision of the future, *our* future as a country (US of America) and of the world as a whole.
Maybe when I get a more powerful computer I can go there in person. π But in the meantime I have my small, connected collection of Our Second Lyfe substitutes and also game exploration videos found on Youtube by the likes of Daydream Gaming (who I call Daydreaming Gamer in the blog and attached photo-novel) and Mares The Martian (who I shortened to just “The Martian” in same (coming up!)). Also: Let’s Walk has some quite fascinating Youtube videos out there, including a 7 part “Walking Around the Edge of the (Cyberpunk 2077) Map” that I’ve been slowly making my way through. So a big shout out to these Youtube content creators, and also the ones making the Nightsity-ish locations in Our Second Lyfe that include Mouser Dowling’s Dystopian Night and Sektor 2, Sensory Hax’s Neuromancer 2020, and α¦Jennyα¦ (llxjenxll)’s ATP Paradise. Well done all. And I’m certainly still exploring the content from these and others.
And of course it’s Night City not Nightsity, another blog/photo-novel alteration.
One day…
00430603 (art and music)
“*There* you are, Greg Ogden you sneaky devil,” he said while watching him paint bathing beauty Redd again in a totally different location than before, different from anything we’ve seen so far in this here photo-novel, 43 in a series. “We’ll catch up as soon as I finish my tour, you abstracter you. I’ll remember where you are.”
Likewise period clothes wearing Greg said nothing, as if he wasn’t even aware of him passing by. The man hadn’t created an identity yet in this new land. Maybe that’s the problem. So on to the next terrace…
… where he encounters a band of progressive folk rock musicians. “The Whistler approaches!” said their leader as he comes into the scene. “A song for the Whistler!” And they leap right into the Jethro Tull song of that same name.
He circled around behind them, listening, then remembering. “It’s *Witcher*, not Whistler,” he exploded, bringing the tune to a screeching halt. “I am the Witcher. Fools.” With this declaration, he also recalled his mission. To save the town from a monster.
Now to refind Greg Ogden, because he knows something about this too.
“Halt Greg Ogden! Stand back from that *demon*!” he says to the painter when approaching again. Greg heard him this time, as the Witcher knew he would now that he understood who he was. Paintbrush dropped like the tune before it, he stood back. Redd’s face had changed.
00430606
He tried to spy the location of his vineyard from between these two blooming bushes but had not yet trained eyes to see the names popping out in the landscape before him. He was still new-ish to this region of Tousaint, different from the one with 2 s’s, as he himself was Gerald and not Geralt in this alternate reality cooked up just for the blog (and attached photo-novel of course; always the photo-novel too now, the ultimate output beyond a mere seemingly disparate collection of individualized posts). And a dog! he remembered. Chomp — he *thinks* that’s the name. Never really good with appellations. Pet of the old owner who passed away. “Looks like a canine goes along with the property,” said Princess Annabel while signing off on the deed and seeing the clause. He’d never had one, after all the years of living on planet… er, what *planet* is this? Anyway, maybe he was ready to settle down at last, put his witcher ways behind him.
“Morning Witcher!” a group of citizens called to him as he exited to viewing patio, joining the flow of the community again. “Gerald,” he tested. “Call me Gerald.” It would take a while to catch on.
(to be continued)
00430612 (The Letter)
Gerald realizes there’s only 1 bush and not 2. Not 2 S’s in other words. He is a former witcher true, but his name is Gerald, not Geralt. And the “monster” he slayed in Tousaint — 1 s again — is Redd not Rhenawedd, exposed for the double face she is. The immediate giveaway is that she couldn’t be painted, thus artist Greg Ogden’s highly abstracted depiction of her appearing on his canvas much to his chagrin initially. Later he got use to the style, eventually descending further further further into this new art until only pure mathematics and pure chance were left, 2 faces of one thing themselves. You are what you paint.
Harking back to the Oracle there is a historic village named Tousaint in Ohio along the Toussaint River, the lone example of that town name in our country of the US of A. And in the same county of Sandusky with Clyde and Fremont.
Oops. Wrong map. π
We recall that Mikie’s therapist was named Clyde, soon to be changed to Fremont as June-July-August inevitably slides into Fall and beyond. A larger community for higher ideas and ideals. And this returns us to Mars through the backdoor, Asylum bartender Teebestia with a mask herself waiting on Anderson, Norris and Hayes at once, as if she had 3 heads to match each of theirs. Triumvirate.
“I’ll open up the Table to questions.”
00430613
“If you were smart, you’d figure out more about the beanstalk through Wyatt in Missouri.”
“Who’s there? Who’s that?”
Pause. “Wilson,” she decided to say.
—–
I’m not sure why I liked thunderstorms at night so much but when they came I almost inevitably found myself outside exploring the roads and byways of Tousaint, drenched or not. Tonight was no exception.
Maybe it was the lack of people around to distract me from my thoughts but these beaten paths weren’t very populated even in the center of the day so that wasn’t much of a reason. And I didn’t mind chatting with an occasional acquaintance or even friend I might meet along the way. Good way to keep up with gossip about the realm.
So what was it?
Sometimes my new dog Chomp would follow me onto the road during these nights but would always turn back upon the first loud thunderclap. That one time I took graytop mushrooms before going out, putting the green after it instead of before for a change, alchemically speaking. “Damn!!” he issued loudly in a surprisingly feminine voice for such a butch appearing mutt at the initial boom. “I’m out of here, boss!” and hightailed back home. That’s when I decided to put the grey before the green more often and listen to what he had to say. A lot as it turned out! He seemed to know more about the realm than any single person for sure. And even beyond its borders, far far beyond…
00430615 (garage as it turns out (a kind of bat cave))
“Try to open this door,” Silverhhand said as I walked up. Around the corner, just as Blue Moon indicated.
I went up to the keypad, noticed the thing was laid out like that of a traditional phone, 3 or 4 letters grouped under each number. This:
2 corresponds to A, B, C
3 corresponds to D, E, F
4 corresponds to G, H, I
5 corresponds to J, K, L
6 corresponds to M, N, O
7 corresponds to P, Q, R, S
8 corresponds to T, U, V
9 corresponds to W, X, Y, Z
“Jesus. We’re almost at the end. Hurry up with it, will you?”
And so I took Jonny literally and carefully typed in 53787, the numbers standing for the letters in the name he just gave me. JESUS. No go. Then I thought of the WOW signal that had replaced JESUS in Grand Theft Auto’s version of Richard Knight’s Salvation Mountain over in the southwest part of the state, and, suspiciously, containing some of the same letters. What was it? I thought. Yes, 6E, um Q, J, and, er, 5. U somewhere in there too. Right, 6EQUJ5, I put them together in my head. That sounded right. So I figured out the corresponding numbers for the included letters and then typed 637855, so close to the other number. The door opened after I punched in 8, so only 4 needed. Even closer, then: 6378 to 5378. Only 1 after if we count in 1000s. I walked inside.
Silverhhand manifested on a lighted table in the revealed room full of high tech equipment. “Well what do we have here?” He was staring at a huge projection screen on the far wall, maybe a TV. He picked up a conveniently placed guitar, started strumming a tune he said was called “Beast of Tousaint”. “Ring any kind of bell? he asked after playing a couple of bars. “Say… a mountaintop?” Suddenly images began to form on the screen across from us, layered one after another in a kind of domino effect. All this confused me at first. The people in the images appeared… different than the ones in Nightsity. They seemed alien to me. Then I recognized one about 5 in, which caused a domino effect itself. From there until the end of the “presentation” about 30 slides later many if not most seemed familiar. I had indeed seen them before. On a mountaintop. In Tousaint. I told this to Jonny who had finished his song by then.
“Good boy. Good, We’re ready to go out to the Oil Fields.” And his 97 silver 911 Porsche manifested before the screen representing a quick way out there. Would take hours to walk.
PHOTO-NOVEL 44
00440102
“So we’ve gathered here at the cubes to save the planet. Are you with me?! Okay, great,” he said, listening to the enthusiastic response of his small group. “Cause if *not* we’d have to kill you because you’d be a continued *whore* to this world, equal or worse to those litterbugs down at Burger Shot. Am I right?!” More enthusiasm; no one dare let up. “So let’s move just down the street a bit and go clobber us some litterbugs, fellow Planetarians!”
What planet actually *is* this? she thought while putting down the futuristic book in a pause. Uranus somehow came to mind, maybe because of this so called superhero’s blue face color, she rationalized. Such a funny name. The discoverer must have known it would be the, ahem, *butt* of a 1000 jokes down through the years. Been almost 65 years since its discovery, she knew. She intuited on the spot that we’re about due for another one. So this puts the year at 1845 or so. Handy to understand.
Claude stared at her with a bottle in front of me, she thought. Better than a frontal lobotomy, she completed the joke from that old sea shanty, carried to land locked Tousaint by roaming rug merchants long ago. Just had to develop some feet. “Claude, bring your keister and your bottle over here and make yourself useful for a change,” she said to her admirer since Tuesday. “I have a question for you.” Claude was good with geomancy and astrology, she knew, so probably also geography and astronomy, their more modern, more mundane counterparts. “Come here and sit down beside me.” She didn’t sit up to give him more room. He’d have to perch on the very end of the bench she lay upon like a useful big talking bird in the moment. Control.
“So, *first* off, what planet are *we* on?” she said as he wiggled about on his cramped little spot, too close to her head with its puffy bonnet hat for any real comfort, physical or psychological. “I have to get my bearings here before I can grasp another one. Futuristic writing is *confusing*.”
The question certainly came as a surprise to the man, learned in so many ways if not comedy. “Well,” he started, thinking of history more than astronomy or even geography, “we live, let’s see, on the world of the great North-South conflict. To the North are an assortment of many republics, led by Reddania, Kaed–.”
“*No*,” she interrupted Claude. “I mean, what’s the name of the *planet* we’re on, not the names of the lands of that planet. I know what you’re talking about here. I’m an educated woman — can read and such as you can see.” She holds up the futuristic book to his nearby face, returns it to the bench. “Don’t treat me like some kind of doofus, pheh.”
“Right, mum,” he quickly responded, still hoping for that date to come out of their conversation. If he steers it well. “Well, as you know, we have the Sun of course, then the Moon… of course. Then about 75 years ago–”
“*65*, Claude.”
“Beg pardon?”
“65 years ago. You were going to say we discovered Uranus and the known Universe expanded quite a bit. The blue planet. We know this from our more powerful binoculars and monoculars. Yes, I know about the Sun, the Moon, Uranus. But what is *this* planet? I repeat for your ears. Think about it before answering.” She became somewhat more seductive in her laying pose, or at least tried — hand on hip I believe.
“Well,” he said more carefully, glancing over at the head, the body, those hips (a celestial object herself, he considers). “We know that the Sun, the Moon… Uranus, are *spheres*.”
“Okay,” she said expectantly. Don’t go weak on me, Claude, she thinks. I haven’t had a man in weeks.
“So logically you would think we’d deduce that we too, us Touisanters and all the rest, live on a sphere as well. But this isn’t so, dear lady. Scientists — you know, the geographers and the astronomers that counter the oft termed fantastical studies of geomancy and astrology–”
“Just thinking about that,” issued, er, forgot to give her a name! Let’s call her Miss S.
“Well, *they* think we actually live on a cube. Not a sphere. Have you… heard that… theory?” Would she make fun of him again? If so, she’s making fun of the scientific community he considers himself on the fringe of as well.
“Cube,” she considered, turning around the word in her head, examining each side. “And, let me guess, the *known* world only exists on one of its sides, the Northern and Southern countries you started listing out before.”
“That’s right, mum.” He points to the east from their bench. “And beyond the Blue-ish Mountains over there lies another *side*, the start of one.” He points west. “And beyond the Grand Sea lies another — we haven’t been out there either, as a people I mean, or at least returned with any real, useful information. And to the north and the south — more sides. And then the back–”
“Dark side,” interrupts Miss S again. “Our opposite.”
“Correct. So that would explain the monsters. We’re a lighted side surrounded on all sides by chaos coming from this back. The theory’s all the rage in scientific publications like the Long Lane Journal, the Redd–.
“STOP, listing things,” she barked. She’d had enough information. Time to shoo this bird away, too bird brained for a love interest. Cube PFIFF, she fumed. Not a sphere. The idiocy of these *men*.
(to be continued)
00440103
Gerald woke up in some flaming bushes of the royal greenhouse and tried to remember what happened to him during his latest (and greatest?) graytop trip. What’s this bloody mask? he thought to begin, flinging aside the feathery, white thing. Ahh yes, Princess Annabel’s masquerade ball down at the palace, pheh. And he’d flirted with… how many women? But why didn’t he sleep with any of ’em? Ahh, said he had a date with the *bushes*, he recalls. Thus: here. Hmm, *why* did I have to go to the bushes? The flaming ones? Think Gerald. Think! Something about… cubes.
00440206
“Have you two ever thought about getting married yourself? I mean, in real life?”
—–
“You don’t understand, honey. I’m — already — here.”
“No matter how many times—”
“Here. Let me lift you up so that you can see better over these vines.”
“Th-there’s a man standing up there, Keith. On *our* roof. Staring directly at me — us.”
“Yeah. I know.”
He turns.
00440209 (down from the rooftop)
Something to do with the plane, something to do with the vine, she thought parallel to the other investigator, the one who works more during the day. This one prefers night, when the NPCs are all asleep and silent and away from their normal routines. Silent night. Like the Hispanic worker also with an interest in “Viney”. Is that the actual name for the thing? Can it *talk*? Questions like these haunt her nights more than actual sightings of oddities fer sure.
This day was different. Special indeed. 25. “What are you doing at my house?” the man who looked like Santa calmly asked but ready for action if needed. As always.
“I-investigating, sir,” she managed through the shakiness. Came right up on her without a sound! Stealthy, she quickly determined. Cat-like.
“Investigating *what*?” Still calm. He spread his arms, indicating the whole manor. “We make wine. No mysteries here.” But there was a slyness to his voice.
“Th-there’s rumors… sir… of a monster about here,” she came up with off the top of her head.
“Monster?” Eyebrows raised again in disbelief, but with that wry smile. He stood his ground, waiting for more. Nonthreatening, but Stacey (Stacey?) knew he could pounce in a flash anyway. The tiles, she realized. She could make something up about the tiles. He probably saw her shine her light on them from this distance. So she said this, connecting them with patterns. Patterns of monsters.
“Ahh, that old thing,” he seemed to dismiss. “You’re not the *only* one. And won’t be the last one. But I’m surprised you didn’t mention the flying machine that collided with the field at precisely 3 o’clock,” he said in his cunning way. “Or the other thing.”
“Flying machine?” she offered, ignoring the second for the moment. “The plane you mean?”
“Yes, I’ve heard it called that. By the others.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully, as if thinking back to prior conversations with them. “Tin can too.” He shuffles his feet, reorienting himself. “Do you know what that means?”
Tin can — airplane, she thought. But all that came to mind is that old David Bowie song about space and its own set of oddities. Which was actually correct.
“Nothing?” he asked, eyebrows raised and arms spread at once.
“Nothing,” she admitted.
(to be continued)
00440210
“Since you’re so curious, um…”
“Stacey,” I said.
“Since you’re so curious… Stacey,” he began again, adding my name, “I want to take you somewhere.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking I had no other choice. I was trespassing on his land after all. And he was so much, er, bigger than me. And even more, I think, remembering the stealthiness.
“Up in the fields,” he continued. “Won’t take a minute to reach. An object, invisible to my touch but not to a certain set of others. I know you know about the plane, the *vine* — I saw you in the lower field flashing your light at the thing.” Your confounded, bright light, he thought but kept to himself. And your blasted crunchy boots. Nights are for silence!
“I’m with you, sir.”
“Great. Give me one second.” And he went into a nearby lavatory to stuff his ears full of cotton before proceeding.
(to be continued)
00440212
“I am glad the snow has melted overnight so that we can see better what is going on up here in the upper fields. So the… object appeared several days back between rows 7 and 8 there so I’ve been waiting for something to show up. This time, the flying machine with the whirly top. Good timing with our visit!”
“A helicopter,” I offered, crouching by his side behind nearby row 5, looking down on it and hopefully out of sight. We’d been waiting all night, but since I changed from woman to man at dusk I wasn’t so threatened by him. Tough stretches in the night, though. The guy was frisky! “Sometimes called a chopper,” I added.
“Chopper?” He seemed surprised at the variant name.
“Yeah, you know. Chop chop chop chop chop,” I illustrated. “Like the sound it makes. Chop chop chop chop chop,” I repeated.
“I have a dog named Chomp,” he said in his intuitive, associative way. “I wonder if it’s related?”
“Chomp could be derived from Chop I suppose,” I said, playing along.
“Yes,” he said,Β raising his head to the approaching chopper. “Yes I think it is. I’m *remembering*.”
The helicopter landed just outside the field and a man jumped out…
… and ran toward the metallic silver object…
… making it disappear when reaching it.
“Ahh, the smart dressed pale man,” he said just above the noise of the still spinning blades, trying to control his anger. Thank Gods for the wads of cotton! “There’s three of them. This one, the sloppily dressed pale man with the wild look about his face — another monster, I sense — and then the dark man who dresses neutrally between the two. Can you hear me over the noise?”
I nodded; he continued.
“Any of them could show up in several modes of transport. There’s helicopter — chopper — today. There’s 4 wheeled machines other days, 2 wheeled machines other days, but… never one of your planes. The plane is separate. This doesn’t seem connected to that. This is an upper field event and that is in one of the lower fields, along with Viney. Although both often appear at 3 o’clock, PM here obviously.”
I checked my watch not on my arm. 3:01. Task apparently accomplished, the smart dressed pale man, as he put it, got back into the helicopter and took off northward, I noticed. Toward the swamplands.
“Well,” he said, standing up from his crouching position, noise abating (relief!). “Show’s over. The object does not return for days, sometimes weeks or even months. This inevitably attracts the machines when it does. And the men. Do you understand what happened?”
“Kind of,” I said, knowing I actually understood little.
“They’re building something. I know it. Something beyond mere ground and aerial machines. Something different. He turned his head toward me. My, er, half-cat senses tell me this,” he tried to explain the sensation, showing me his slitted eyes. “Half alien, actually.”
“Um hmm.”
“You look tired. I’ll let you get back to your kind.”
“Thank you.” Not captive, phew!
“One more thing before you leave if you don’t mind. I’ll even let you take a replica home with you. I’ll be needing your future knowledge in the future, I’m picking up. With your permission of course.”
“Who are you?” I asked, meeting a lot of strange characters online but this one taking the cake. So realistic, so believable. Indeed I needed a rest after all this weirdness.
“Call me Gerald,” he said, finally revealing his own name. We started back down the hill toward his house for that “one more thing.”
(to be continued)
00440402
“No you don’t understand,” she said calmly but firmly after the proposition. “I’m through with you now. You can go back home… the North Pole or whatever. Some circle of ice. I have someone else to meet. And a name change involved — tricky business. So… shoo.”
He shoos. Rose T. takes his place across from her.
She tried to be inconspicuous when listening in, but *this* Rose was indeed curious how the discussion would go. She already had a twin next door with the same name. They bickered all the time about who to call what. A 3rd would *definitely* not do. Tin knows this, she understood. Tin will set her straight. If she wants to stay. Because otherwise… blood may be on her hands.
He walked into the next establishment over, determined to succeed with his proposition. “Buy a pretty lady a drink?” he said to the tender. Rose, he observed. Name seems so familiar, *she* seems so familiar. But of course, he realized, recalling the twin not 50 feet away. This is the sticky name change situation Tin mentioned. I understand now why she didn’t have time for me. Potential blood on her hands. Pretty Roses always come with pricking thorns.
“Yeah, not going to happen,” said Rose T. firmly but calmly back. *Now* what? Tin thought.
Then, knowing this particular Rose got her name from a Zombies album, she figured out another angle of attack.
(to be continued)
00440413 (Arroyo)
“Chop!” I said, looking into the Dewdrop Inn room I’d force-opened and recognizing my dog at last. Well. At least the *map* of my dog. Martha’s Vineyard. Always wondering what it meant and why the feet were there. And the head with the two Chop names, East and West, like paired lips or ears or sumtin. Well that head is *this* head, those feet — clearly — are *these* feet.
My dog is a robot. And a sexy one at that it appears, at least to those of its kind. But maybe Chop is instead the robot in the chair — watching. Maybe the map is that of his true love, something he wants to *eat* — chomp away at. Like breakfast, hmm. Rose, I remembered. Better get back and finish my meal.
“Never mind me,” I wanted to say to the robots in parting. “Wrong room.” But I knew they couldn’t hear me. This was a spectacle, something only to be observed and that alone. Same as, er, Chop is doing here. I’m engrossed, he’s engrossed. Seems to fit, yeah. I shut what remained of the door and leave the motel and head next door again.
(to be continued)
00440701 (light)
“I don’t understand *any* of this futuristic book you lent me, Miss S.”
“That’s why I gave it up after a couple of chapters to play with my cat. That is, until Claude comes around.” Our planet as a cube, pheh, she thinks. Will he give the whole moronic concept up today? How about tomorrow? She has to set a limit on stoopid. 6 days it is, she decides then and there, one day for each crazy side of his idiotic belief. In her head, she even conceives of a multi-colored cube to cross off the 6 sides on during the countdown. She’ll start with the most obvious colors of red green blue for these and then move on to, say, yellow. Yes, the next square will be yellow, she chooses to end this post.
00440702 (earth)
Middle: Green (painted) with no green, only red yellow blue.
Another green oddity from Google Earth this time: a “demon head” of such color in a small Washington state lake snapped in March 2007…
… which then mysteriously disappears by 2009, the whole island turning from green to beige with the seeming eradication of all plant life.
We know from other historic Google Earth satellite views that this “head” existed in one form or another from 6/2006…
… up to 7/2007, so a bit over a year at the very least. Just noting.
Back to the first green head for comparison.
Through the hidden constant of *island*, the head began to remind observing Gerald of something else green — a foot. Green from head to foot, then. A thing of purest green, the alchemist’s secret goal.
Gerald had his vineyard. And his dog. He should return now. Day getting late.
PHOTO-NOVEL 45
00450102
“I caught a witcher, I caught a witcher!”
“What’s your name, boy?” said Gerald, ignoring the fact that he’d come up out of the water from a swim right at the end of the sitting lad’s line. But word would get around. The witcher caught like a fish. By a mere boy!
“Andre,” answered the boy about his name. “Andre the Dwarf, soon to be a giant among men, he he he he.” And then, rod in hand with line aimlessly dragging behind him now (he was very excited and forgot to reel it in!), he started running around the port streets and alleyways, spreading the word that he’d caught a witcher and the witcher wasn’t that tough of a guy after all. Soon fights would be challenged by the many drunken men standing about here there and there all over town. And worst: duels by the some of the most drunken and therefore most emboldened of the lot, also a pretty numerous group in this wine soaked place. No problem for Gerald of course, being the powerful witcher he was — unique in abilities even among his own kind. But it presented, how you say, bothersome and eventually wearisome distractions. He didn’t really want that now, wanted to live a life of peace and quiet. And alchemy. Gerald begins to wonder if he’d actually chosen the right location to retire in after all, long years of monster hunting finally behind him hopefully with the “slaying” of the Beast of Tousaint and the earning of the local vineyard (and dog) that came along with it. There was always Rivia to the north, his birthplace after all. There was always Merry Gouldbusk. And he also had other options. Through the alchemy, the vineyard leads the vineyard steers. The hypothesized spaceship may land here, providing yet another option. Escape to the stars, hmph. Gerald always shakes his head with the thought, thinking he may be going a bit mad for lack of actual work, the monster slaying he’s so adept and practiced at. The alchemy speaks, though, he knew. Mainly through the graytop mushroom trips he’d learned about through the Caed Myrkvid herbalist Pinastri. But still… real.
“Reel reel reel,” sang a chorus of men in the lower left central square of the town with appropriate fishing gestures, making fun of Gerald once again and one or more of them hoping for a fight most likely. “Reel reel reel,” they finished, and then started to laugh. “What are you going to do about our *singing*? Witcher?” said the most drunken and thus the most emboldened of them, pulling a pistol or rod from his pocket in a continuous gesture leading from the the fishing one. Not again, Gerald thinks, and promptly puts the man down with his own gun. I’ve got to find that boy, he thinks over the bloody body with smoking weapon. I’ve got to put all this nonsense to rest once and for all — have the boy make some sort of declaration to the fact that he *didn’t* catch me like a fish and he just made up a tall tale about the *accidental* conjunction of himself and the end of his line. But then he knew this exhibit wouldn’t fly and the damage had been done. Must be fate, he determined, spying another collection of drunken men just down the way doing that reeling-in gesture once more. Maybe this group at least won’t sing, he tries to console himself, readying his still warm pistol once more just in case.
But then the town surprised him by instead starting another song by the band he was passing on stage to his left, a tribute progressive jazz folk rock outfit he quickly determined, detecting influences of both Steely Dan and Steeleye Span within, throw in a bit of hard rocking Stealers Wheel stuck in the middle (part). He was, as it were, in tune with the town once more and through it the universe. Upper, Middle, Lower as one.
“Nice tune,” he said while turning away after listening a bit, enough to get the gist. Then he looked up at the 4 TILE colored buildings now in front of him and remembered it from that dream.
(to be continued)
00450115
Once my eyes were opened to TILE in the city…
… I started to see the sacred 4 colors everywhere…
… not only in buildings but in people’s garb, the arrangement of fruits on a market counter, the list goes on.
I went to the library to study more about alchemy to try to understand the phenomena. 3 aisles over, in the 600s according to the Dewey Decimal System, were the wine books. Being an owner of a wine making business I should logically be over there more, studying those old dusty tomes instead of these ones in the 100s. But the winery, thanks to my trusted right hand man Barney Basil-Fawlty, the majordomo who’d been there for decades, basically ran itself without my help or input. And anyway, I *did* have an alchemical lab set up in the cellar of my new house, my crypt as I call it. It just didn’t produce any money unlike the vineyard proper. That was about to change. Thanks to the gold.
Ah ha! This more modern alchemist Karl Young seems to recognize the phenomena too through what he calls a mandala. Another lead! Might be here the rest of the day. Probably should get a message to Barney so he won’t worry about me. Make sure someone walks Chomp, and so on.
(to be continued)
00450116
Look at them. Hard at work. Whatever they’re doing. Alchemy alchemy alchemy, he then thinks. That’s where the real work happens. Must get back to my lab in the cellar to test out some stuff. Let’s see, I bought a new pestle at the marketplace. Will try that in an old mortar first, or, what Young might call, a marriage of male and female forces to create the hermaphroditic whole. Can’t wait.
Just because it’s a pretty girl doing it doesn’t make the activity any more hygienic, he thought while passing the grape stompers. I’ll have to ask Barney if there’s any other way to do this. “What you’re name?” he asked, thinking she might be unemployed soon. “Pricilla Plum,” came the answer. “Well, that’s a plumb beautiful name,” he quickly shot back. “Just like you.” She titters while still stomping away. What a grating laugh, he thinks while walking away. Now where was I? Oh yes, the lab.
“Bob, Carol, Ted,” he addresses each individual at the table before him, eating heartily on a meal between breakfast and lunch. Let’s call it luckfast. “Do what do I owe the honor?”
“What do you mean? Witcher?” said either Bob or Ted, reader’s choice.
“Gerald, please,” insists Gerald over his more formal name.
“Yes, of course,” said Ted. Pretty sure it was Ted this time. “Gerald. With a D right?” then said Bob opposite him. “And not a T as more commonly spelled.”
“Spelt,” insists Ted, making Bob grin.
“That’s right,” says Gerald about his name.
Carol between them begins to titter in a way not unlike the grape stomper before, making Gerald visibly wince. “Don’t you see fellas,” she followed. “*Gerald* has forgotten where he lives. *Again*.”
Now hearty laughs from all 3. Gerald realizes his mistake. This was not his vineyard. He had gotten confused in the maze of Beauchamp streets and exited the wrong gate. It wasn’t the first time. In a dream of alchemy he was, ever since the library.
“Down the path over there and take a right at the bottom of the hill,” said Bob between laughs. “Just ask one of your workers if you get lost again, ha ha ha.”
“Ho ho ho,” echoes Ted. “And, ho ho, ask them where *I* live, he he he.”
“Hu hu hu,” goes Carol. Gerald had had enough. His cheeks red from embarrassment, he spots the indicated path and was on his way again. At least he remembered their names, he tried to console himself in the moment. The Fishers, known for their fine caskets (of wine). Not *his* vineyard but theirs.
00450202
Just enjoying a drink beside some pretty fluttering butterflies at Pan Estates Regional Center while waiting for my ordered money to be deposited into my account so I can pay my rent for the week. Yeah, I still have my Aisle of Palms virtual village set up in Mugunghwa over on the Jeogeot continent. Can’t quite seem to let go of it. Next decision date is 12/16/24 — next Monday.Β Maybe I should start saving my builds over there earlier so the decision will come easier. Because I have to derezz the place. Don’t I? I think I do. The Baker Family of (Our Second Lyfe) avatars is already spending the money I’ll save. Well, Wheeler is spending the money. More expensive furnishings in her new, basically free house in lower upper left right central Nautilus. “Let’s hope it stays longer this time,” were the last words I’ve heard from her about it.Β Edward D. is over there too. They bought some kind of crazy bookshelf, he said to me the last time I check in with him as well. Tends to deform their bodies with its built-in crazy animations like martial arts, zombies, and drunkenness, he said, so they might have to send it back. Said they also bought a barrel of fairly expensive wine from somewhere called Touisant, but I knew this was a lie. Wine, yes. Barrel, yes. But not from that place with the Witcher. Not really.
Well the money shows up online but not in my in game account. Looks like I’ll have to log out and then back in to get the cash. Goodbye for now!
00450401
My study of Osamu Sato’s 1998 LSD Dream Emulator game and the setting up of this mini-museum to it in the attic of my Aisle of Palms “Big Victorian House” seems so long ago now. It was only April. So seems my heavy involvement with Our Second Lyfe, whose influence is undoubtedly fading from this here blog and attached photo-novels, 44 1/2 in number now (a long journey!), as more modern and much better looking games like Grand Theft Auto V, Witcher 3, and especially Cyberpunk 2077 and its humongous Night City take more and more of both my daytime and nighttime attention. But also, My Second Lyfe is not dead. Just *concentrated*. Think that’s the best way to put it. It glows bright blue to me, a square in the middle of everything still, a house-like home base sitting in the center of a large yard, with GTA V lying green to the west, C2077 red to the east, and Witcher3 yellow to the south (also taking the shape of a square unattached to the first (like a garage or large shed?)). This what-we-can-call expansion is happening now, but it also happened long long ago, in what seems like a different lifetime over 50 years back now. Aisle of Palms is my virtual village that represents the launching pad for exploring these post-Second Lyfe worlds, beginning, really, with Red Dead Redemption earlier this year, before the influence of the 3 likewise newer games I mentioned really started kicking in. A link from this far far past to the present in this way is MONKEY.
Monkey City = Lost Sanos
There I said it, Mother. Monkey City *is* relevant to all this. But I think she sees that now.
This is probably where I’ll first virtually incarnate beyond Our Second Lyfe in the near future. A good guess, given this snapshot of GTA V’s original monkey mosaic 1 1/2 photo-novels back taken by Trevor (beginning of 44) coupled with a snapshot of a *different* Trevor — recently dead — wearing monkey brand underpants in the Badlands desert of C2077 from later in the same photo-novel. Maybe hard to explain but I definitely think the two images from two different games are linked.
Why GTA V (Lost Sanos) over C2077 (Nightsity) then for the incarnation? I’ll have to think about that explanation and get back to you.
(to be continued)
PHOTO-NOVEL 46
00460502 (lost & found)
I know, I’ll ask that pedestrian up ahead for directions, she thinks.
“Dandelion!?” she shouted over the cycle’s roar while pulling up beside him and slowing to his pace. “Know where to find!?”
But he kept on trudging along in his stumbly bumbly way, not answering. “Well *fine*!” she said and motored on, only to encounter him *again* just ahead. NPC, she realized. Not real. And no dialog assigned to it apparently since she got the same non-response from the second one. Meet him in another district of town and he could be a Chatty Kathy, though, she theorized while pulling away once more.
“Dandelion?!” they said after she finally flagged down someone real about 3 blocks away, a native to Night City named Dave. “Different part of town!” he answered over her still raging motor. “You’re in Watson! You *need* Heywood, Vista Del Rey to be specific…!”
“… Dandelion to exactly pinpoint!” she finished for him. And he told her.
But when she arrived at the indicated location, she finds that she *herself* is already there. As another Redd. She gets up off the bench to its side and heads within…
00460503 (Vista (Del Rey))
“Interesting place you have here, Dandelion.” She’d caught up with the owner of the cocktails bar. Indeed a dandy, a playboy, but of the loyalest kind. “But… I must ask, of course. How did *you* get here?”
“Interesting question in turn, my lady, interesting indeed. And the crux of the issue — you’re good at getting to those as I’m recalling. Our many adventures.” He shakes his head with the flood of memories, takes a second to absorb and then recalibrate the discussion. In truth, he didn’t think his great great friend Gerald, the former witcher recently retired to the Touisant vineyard he inherited after killing that, well… red headed *monster*, would choose Merry here over Jennifer. He considers the red head before him, looming large and bright. That must be it. Gerald was always a sucker for bright colors. Like those painters who only paint red yellow blue all over Beauchamp. Abstracters, they’re sometimes called. His other great great friend Princess Anna of Lea who ruled that land had explained it all. Abstraction’s the rage of Beauchamp, she said while pointing an artist out, busy away at it on one of the many town terraces. If you paint or draw realistically you are considered mundane, run of the mill; *anyone* can do realism, she said at the time, which he thought was odd. He preferred landscape paintings himself. And portraits, especially of himself. Which gets him to the point.
“It all had to do with a painting, Merry. A painting of me.”
00460504 (Lady of Space and Time)
“I fled through many worlds, many times… They came very close to catching me once. It was then that Avallac’h appeared, out of nowhere. He found a portal and took us to a world where Eredin couldnβt find us for… oh, perhaps half a year…”
“The world where Eredin couldn’t find you. What was that like?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“People there had metal in their heads, waged war from a distance, using things similar to megascopes. And there were no horses, everyone had their own flying ship instead.”
“Siri, stop fooling around.”
“Told you you wouldn’t believe me.
“Ah, we should’ve stayed there.”
—–
“And so *that*, dear lady, is how we all came here, you, me, Gerald, others. One by one by one, we all got sucked into the portal, with Siri on the other side, desiring us to join her after she returned to this strange but hopefully safe land — safe from the Wild Hunt of course. And I’ve… adapted. As you can see.” He waves his arm around the small but busy cocktails bar he runs with Zoltar, another that came through the portal. His old tavern partner who had become his new bar partner.
Merry Gouldbusk’s brain gears were spinning fast with excitement. “So… Siri is here as well?”
“Of course,” answered the colorful, dandy Dandelion with confidence. “She’s at the center of it all. A game within a game. Trapped. But for a reason. Found her in a drawer in my office out back. ‘Hmph,’ I say at the time. ‘Wonder how someone that looks like Siri got on the cover of that magazine?’ Later I learned that *was* Siri. Literally. Siri and the game had become one.”
“Fascinating,” is all dumbfounded Merry Gouldbusk could think of saying. Portals, she ponders. She’s beginning to understand why Gerald hates them so. Trapped! Just like all the rest. What would she do here? Streetwalker? Would it get that bad? Surely it wouldn’t get that bad.
“So… Dandelion.”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Do you, ahem, need a dishwasher here by chance?” she only 1/2 joked.
“I… have something better. Siri has been preparing for this moment. Come with me. Back to my office. Another part of the magic of this world. A talking book. Just as Siri linked up with me, I was suppose to link up with you. Gerald… not really sure about yet,” he admits with a shake of his head. “We’ll cross that bridge later. Here… come.”
And they get up and go to his office out back for further instructions from Center Control.
(to be continued)
00460505 (Siri + Gerald Too)
“You and Merry. Never expected it to be honest.”
“Life’s full of surprises.”
“So how did the two of you–”
“End up together?” Gerald finished Siri’s question. “Hmm, with Jennifer it was fight after fight, lots of arguments, drama… not saying it was bad, but…”
“But what?”
“Got to be exhausting. With Merry, it’s not. I finally feel… harmony. A calm. Feel like things are the way they’re suppose to be.”
—–
“Show me what you found,” she said without turning away from the ball holding, 4 armed, magenta and amber tinted statue.
00460509 (manifestation/ acquiring a name)
Mysterious, blood red sky…
… continued…
… and then a “dandelion” of all things.
—–
“What are these mysterious *seeds* floating in front of me. And… who *am* I??”
PHOTO-NOVEL 47
00470101 (Blow Boy)
She sang about freedom in this New Island venue where she married one of the Edwards/Eddys early that day in late April’s May, the new island husband joining her on congas. Then she sang about prison, the 7 reduced to 6 and 6 and 6.
I’ve seen her before I believe. Called her up but it was the wrong number. Killed and beheaded by the Witcher but rose back like the Alabama Phoenix, monstrous fangs in their appropriate slots across the inner mouth, SMILE.
She gets away by being in her own sphere.
00470212
Ho ho ho, what’s *this*? Siri thought, riding through the ancient amphitheater toward it. I don’t remember this giant statue from my previous visit to Tousaint.
Then she recalled surrogate father Gerald telling her about the construction of what he called a “skyscraper” in this general location by the river. That must be it, she determined, riding down to the almost 100 foot tall object. Unbeknownst to him it seems, he was describing one of its construction phases.
Gerald’s view of it as of her previous visit (recreation).
From a worshipper praying at its base, she learned the name of the prophet which this represents. Lebioda. Introduced to the kingdom by the grandmother of current princess Anna of Lea herself, he said, surprised that this lass didn’t get off her high horse and bend down and worship with him upon learning this bit of information. Stranger, he thought; *tourist* to this realm. And he spat on the ground in his mind if not in reality. His eyes betrayed his scorn of her, though.
Instead: “I’m surprised they roused enough drunken workers around here to get the job done,” the still mounted girl said down to him with a smirk on her face. He rose from the ground; probably would have slapped the girl if her cheeks were within reach for this slur against the good people of his kingdom. But she rode off untouched and unharmed. Lucky for him.
When she got back to the vineyard she asked Gerald about it, jabbing him as well, as is her manner. “I ran across your *skyscraper* today while riding around the countryside.”
“Skyscraper?” Gerald questions, not remembering that he invented the term in the first place.
“Yeah,” said Siri, that smirk back in place on her face.
Gerald honestly didn’t know what his surrogate daughter was on about. Because he simply was on another timeline where the finished statue didn’t exist. They talk together here but they weren’t together. A gap formed at that place by the river which was never successfully bridged.
A related statue in a different game — surrounded by true skyscrapers:
Sunklands 