Tag Archives: Arthur Orient^*++

February 15, 2026 · 8:29 am

00490404

“Who are you, woman? Really.”

“I told you, Arthur ‘Orient’ Morgan. I’m Wheeler. And this is my place. Wheeler Wilson. Hence: Wilson’s.”

“Convenient, I say,” said Arthur back to her, smelling a rat the size of a town.

“Well… you tell *me* who you think I am?”

Demon, sprung forth in Arthur’s mind automatically, staring at her forehead and the placement of her flip style hair upon it. He said the word aloud.

“True enough,” she admitted. “All women are evil to a certain kind of man.” She let that hang in the air. Arthur stared at her.

“I’m a killer,” he declared about the core of himself. “I kill for hire.” He let *that* linger in the atmosphere. He gazed at her through the haze of untimely death.

“I know,” unfazed Wheeler Wilson said back to him. “But you’re *my* killer.”

Arthur thought about the various ways he could take that. Do I *kill* her? he thought. Or is she saying that I belong to her, as in a beau or something? Before he could ponder further, she said this:

“I’ve known you before, I’ve determined. We were married.”

“*Married*?”

“Yes, after you were buried. I killed *you*. Shot you right clean through the heart.” A smirk appeared on her face. She was way beyond him now, she felt. Try to top *that,* she seemed to present in her haughtiness. “But then I dug you up, brought you back to life. You presented me with a ring and I accepted the call then I accepted the proposal. Buried *then* married,” she reinforced.

“I gotta get some air,” Arthur said, shaking his head once more, as was customary around this confusing, confounding dame. “Am I, I don’t know, free to go?”

“Go where you wish, Arthur ‘Orient’ Morgan. Just don’t leave town. The boundaries of the town are the sims of Arang — here — then, Baekga the great forest, Kumiho the city center, Mago the beachside, Yongwang, and then Dokkaebi from which the closest Oracle match of Dokken Hollow comes from. You know, the Bang Bang Club, where we first met in this town. I sent you a teleport invite just like you did for me tonight. We watched Julee Cruise and then uncovered the truth of Dr. Tom, Cruise as well. 2n1… so common in this world.” She paused, not knowing how much to reveal right now. She decided to end it like this: “You are as much an actor in this world as you’d want in any world class Shakespearean play.”

“Hmm,” he said, getting up, having enough. “Can I take the drink with me?”

But then he looked down and he had none. Came with the booth, came with the place. Wilson’s drink. And now he was apart from her. TBC

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February 7, 2026 · 8:02 am

00490315 (Caledonia?)

“Who’s the cowboy in back now?” asked Chet to his on again off again girlfriend, this time toggled on.

“Oh, some guy Mom says owes her a favor. Working for free because of that. Or snapshots… something.”

“Interesting,” Chet says, envisioning the poses. Not abstract.

“Is it?” Alice Tart slumps even lower in her seat across from her still upright, toggled on lover. From this angle, she can barely see his eyes above his perpetual handkerchief, worn not for fear of disease or anything like that but just because of the look. The lead singer/guitarist of Scissorrun© is all about style, and of the Christmas kind in particular. He never wants the holiday to end. Else: he’ll have to think about other things. Like death. Because of his emphasis on style over substance, he’s never really learned to play the guitar properly and that’s understandably held his band back. Drummer Sherwood is pretty rock solid with his naturally hyperactive hands and all. And bassist Karl is at least good on “Paper”, their hit single and perhaps the only song of theirs that really matters in the end. Restaurant manager turned band manager Biff Carter is urging Chet to take lessons from a local musical genius named Spiff, no kin to Biff despite the similarity of names. Not a long lost brother or anything… I don’t think (?).

Chet leans toward Alice. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.” He’d heard it hurts more the second time but of course didn’t say this aloud.

“Oh I was over all that the first time around,” she said, dismissing the sympathy. “Anyway, Mom has a new man now,” and she nods toward the kitchen.”

“Really?” says Chet. “That quick?”

“Yup. That quick. Pictures did him in, I’m guessing.”

Chet nods. He understands the power. 319.

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February 6, 2026 · 9:11 am

00490310 (the truth)

“It’s suppose to be a representation of the Red Room from Twin Peaks but, as you can see, it’s not quite finished yet. Gotta get that zig zag black and white texture for the floor… and so on.”

“Really nice, Wheeler,” I say, wondering again why she hadn’t shown me this before. “And the painting — I assume it is a duplicate of the one over in Salty’s, in the old storage area behind the cooking section.”

“Or the same,” Wheeler answers. “Maybe this painting is in the past and the one over at Salty’s is more in the future. Or visa versa. Depends on if Arthur is still tied up over there. And I think he might, making this the, um, future?” She looks over at me. “But you’re not Arthur. And we haven’t made a deal yet. Better get over there, then.”

“Okay,” I said to end things here. Because I was never really here without her. I wanted to talk about the old core of avatars and her role in it. Baker Bloch — me, in essence — came before Wheeler. Baker Blinker came before her. Baker Blinker is more me than her. And then Hucka Doobie came along to make an original three. Hucka Doobie is of course the spiritual guide for the blog and attached photo-novels as a whole, although she hasn’t been in the recent ones as much. That might change. Then there’s Karoz, kind of my blue-green alien brother, if I am the same as Baker Bloch which I mostly am (Whitehead in Da Woods). Then and only then came Wheeler, and, at first, she wasn’t who she is today. All that changed with the photo-novels, 2 if not 1. She came… in 2. All the rest were there long before even 1. She was the last who became the first. Arkansaw.

But we never got around to that discussion.

I watched her disappear up the stairs and then I did too.

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February 3, 2026 · 8:04 am

00490305

She looked over at the files that go with the painting before leaving the door, debating in her head whether to throw that into the deal as well — as a sweetener. If only she had a copy… or a copier. “Wheeler… is that a last name? Or first? Or some kind of nickname, I don’t know.” In his chair, Arthur struggles against the tight ropes to no avail. She’d tied him down good. Old girl scout, let’s say.

“Wheeler is a way of life,” she answered cryptically. “Wheeler is something that goes and goes only to circle back in on itself again. Wheeler is love; Wheeler is… truth. Wheeler is. In short: I don’t know either,” and she emits a soft chuckle with this.

Arthur is shaking his head now. “First you appear to be someone I know, then you knock me out — don’t know how you got the drop on me so quickly.” And here, Arthur laments being overpowered by a woman again. A man would have been bad enough. He puts great pride in his strength and agility. Maybe she’s some kind of athlete, Arthur ponders, struggling once again in the increased frustration. Or a *witch*. He’d heard about such creatures roaming the streets of St. Dennis at night. And also over in the swamplands. “Then, you drag me in here,” he continues after finding the ropes as tight as ever. Arthur then looks around, sees the car tires, sees other objects he doesn’t understand. “Where are we anyway? This almost looks like it’s not St. Dennis any more.” How long was I *out*? he thinks.

“It isn’t,” says Wheeler. “We’re in a place called Rodentia formerly complemented by a giant white — and brown — rat named Rodentius, a male for the female. Yet Rodentius has left the scene. Giant bathroom in the sky is all I’ve got so far.”

“Nonsense, lady, er, Wheeler,” Arthur quickly decides. But he’s shaking his head still, trying to absorb. “And what about that *painting* you mentioned, the one I could trade for. Answer me!” His frustration had spilled over into rage. He’d reached a limit of whatever patience he had left.

Wheeler kept silent. “You’ve had enough for today, Arthur. I’ll come back tonight and we can talk more about the 2n1. I’ll let you cool down for a while.” TBC

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February 2, 2026 · 3:17 pm

00490304 (Queen)

*CLUNK*

—–

She paced behind me, asking me question after question that turned into 1 question I couldn’t answer. “What did you do with the picture?”

“What picture?” I ask.

“THE picture. Of *me*… o-or, at least from the thighs down.”

“Well… who *are* you?” I ask back.

“You know who I am.”

I pause, gathering the energy to say what’s next on my mind. “I *thought* you were someone I met back in Valentine. But apparently you’re not.” Must be the illness making me hallucinate, I think here.

“Am I not?”

No, I wanted to say. You’re most likely just a common hooker. Not a noble person like Mrs. Downes. She could have made it big in this world with her heart, her determination. Instead he made her into, well, *this*. I deserve what I got. Death row for Arthur “Orient” Morgan, a man with a Far East history that would do him in.

(Red Row too, if Arthur (Morgan) equals Arthur (Kill), as I, the author (Arthur?), believe it might. We’ll see… but let’s not end there.)

“I want that picture you stole from the gallery,” she continued, emphasizing her purpose in all this. “The one from the wrong side of St. Dennis, the *Southern* part.”

“The underbelly, yeah,” I admitted.

“Right, you give me that and you can go. You can seek out the real Mrs. Downes if you wish. You can pay for sex with her, you can just pay her without the sex, I don’t care. I just need… that *picture*.”

Dutch saw this coming, I think. He said it would be worth a lot one day and to hide it in a safe place, which I did. Turns out he’s right. Knowing my own well-being didn’t matter at this point, I thought of as much money as I would need to make Mrs. Downes comfortable in her older age, put her back on the right track and potentially allow her to thrive. “10,000 dollars,” I say aloud after determining the amount I’d been formulating in my head for a while, maybe since May. “10,000 or you won’t be able to find it. Kill me if you wish. I’m a dead man walking anyway.”

She ended her pacing, went to a nearby door, peered in. “How about… a trade? Thighs up instead of thighs down. And a man instead of a woman. Aand, clothed to the hilt, military style. An opposite painting. North for South. But just as valuable, probably even moreso. You can make up the difference later on.”

“Well I need to have a look at what you’re talking about first, lady,” I say while turning toward her as best I could given my roped circumstance.

“Yeah, ogle while you can old lady,” she speaks more to herself than me it appears, still staring through the window of the door. “The King will be taken from you soon if I have my desire.” She pivots toward me with this. “Wheeler,” she says. “You call me Wheeler.” TBC

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January 7, 2026 · 2:58 pm

00490109 (Where’s the red?)

answer: in Red Dead Redemption 02 (*not* Starfield (crustaceans, PHEH))

BGR — backwards from the question mark on the mtn. that ends this trail of clues currently. Let’s see what happens next!

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November 7, 2025 · 1:29 pm

00480415

“Snowlands, huh?” Frank Lynn repeats the location where Clucky says she’s moving to… 5 sections of a photo-novel into the future.

In the present (and just after the move):

“The temple and attached pool don’t seem to be much of an eyesore from here,” Frank Lynn talks only to himself now while staring out from the View at the view. “Must be something about Clocky instead. Maybe *he’s* still somewhere in the area and can be properly talked to.”

“Clocky?” Daisy Flathead answers him when he then walks down the hill to the revamped, reopened Hole in the Wall bar parallel to and in synch with the newly placed temple/pool complex and asks about the robot’s current location. “Kicked out by the ties.” Like tiles but different, Frank Lynn understands. Along the same lines.

“So he’s not going to be your bartender or anything?”

“Dunno, still. He *did* say he has experience, I’ll give him that.”


experience

“Tell me more about the tiles, I mean, ties,” Frank Lynn requests, taking another sip of Corona Non, his 3rd of the day. Can’t get enough of it! So tasty. Daisy picked the right Non for the house drink fer sure, he thinks.

“Ever heard of the band Tally Hall?”

“No,” he answers flatly. “Enlighten me.”

“Ever heard of the song ‘Banana Man’?”

“No again.”

“Their most famous. Probably. Unless it’s ‘Ruler of Everything’.”

“Sounds like you’re a fan, Daisy.” And here Frank Lynn starts thinking about her hair and its flatness. And it’s frizziness. Is she at least part African-American? Got him thinking along other lines too.

“Kind of,” she answers about the fan part. “But they wear ties — red, yellow, blue, green and also a gray to unite them all through drums. You have to have drums to complete a proper rock band. 4 isn’t enough in this case.”

“Hey, doesn’t Barry De Boy up on the hillside wear red ties?”

“Not when he is awake,” Daisy answers, and then Frank thinks she winks at him. Her hands move closer to his on the counter.

“Oh,” Frank says, and looks down. The 2 sets of hands get closer closer… overlap (!). (TBC)

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June 24, 2024 · 4:56 pm

00430309

“It all started with Redd, Doc. We were just sitting in my car at the time, an old Oldsmobile I believe. Some piece of junk or another Stinch talked me into buying from his uncle’s cousin up in Grapeshot. Anyway, Redd was there, telling me what she could do, the prices — kind of like you, Doc, ha. Screwing me over.”

“Yes,” said nonplussed Clyde from a nearby chair. “Go on.”

“Bj was the standard for the car, she said. Quick yet effective. The back seat and the others will be more, she indicated. I glanced in the back, realized I hadn’t cleaned off the seats from all those Burger Shot wrappers and stray fries and such. Damn Stinch and his junk food habits. You see, I’d just bought the car off his uncle’s cousin day before yesterday’s yesterday.”

“Wednesday,” Clyde clarified more for the reader than anyone.

“Yeah, suppose. Drove all the way up there with him and still had to pay 50 dollars more than what Stinch said he was asking for the old thing.”

“You mentioned Gold earlier. Color of the car?”

“Color of the *man*,” Frank Lynn corrected to his June-July-August therapist, soon to be replaced by Fremont in the Fall. “And the car. Everything gold about him, even the teeth.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Clyde. “You bought a gold car from a gold skinned man with gold for teeth.”

“Yeah. Midas kind of fellow for sure.”

“Sounds like a robot to me.”

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May 24, 2024 · 8:06 am

00430106

“A word for each letter of the alphabet,” Wayne Bruce continued about his company, the famed Asylum Inc. started in the 70s on the west coast in a town that time had forgotten. He didn’t, and he’d drag others into his alternate reality as well. With the lists. He separated the top paper from the rest of the short stack and put it on the other side of the opened manila folder. “Second list now,” he said, staring at the new page front and center. “Black for the 1st’s white. Asylum revealed for what it truly is. Shadow government to the world everyone assumed ran from A to Z in an orderly fashion. This was only facade.”

“Here’s where he gets to the part about the Green and the Gray,” Fern directed to likewise watching Lichen, returned from her trip down the river to hunt for opposite shore sea shells. She’d come back home to Mama.

“… the Green… and the Gray.”

“Told ya,” said Fern with some satisfaction. She paused the film she’d found in an obscured archive in a hidden data farm — took a lot of digging to find this gem of a dangling carrot. She assumed Lichen had questions. *Should* have a lot but she’ll see about the total. Will help her determine how far Lichen has come along with her soil studies and overall brain development. She’s *funny*, Fern reminded herself. Funny as all get out at times. But she needs to develop the other side. Fern also reminded herself that she needs to work on the opposite side and find her own funny bone with which to work from. She told what she felt were two legitimate jokes yesterday that Lichen seemed to smile at or at least acknowledge the humor in. Advancement.

“How…?”

“How does Blue fit in?” Fern guessed about Lichen’s question. “With the Black, the Green, the Gray? Dark spectrum colors all I’m sure you noticed.”

“So… Red,” said Lichen, thinking back to the first list. “And…”

“Yellow, yes. And Golden and White. Light spectrum. Dark and light, Lichen. Dark and light.” She looked over at the light that had gone out of Lichen’s eyes. “Daark…” she said slower, trying to reignite. “And liight.”

Bulb went off.

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May 2, 2024 · 11:50 am

00420608 (kenbaiki (ticket to ride))

She’d seen enough of Castle Town for now. She was buying a sky ferry ticket back to Kangerootown from whence she came. She’d heard through the grapevine that keyboardist/DJ Okama Majo had returned to his cat house there, taking his own break from Aisle of Palms and the Dream Emulator band he’s part of with classically trained guitarist No Lag V, hog calling kid Don without a last name, and animated singer Shelley Johnston Struthers who has 3 to make up for it and who specializes in Lennon songs like “Strawberry Fields” and “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” and the like. But despite that, Okama named the band, not her. All because of his artistic hero Osamu Sato, so close to his own. Too close. Shelley’s found that out too. “You’re *him*,” she said recently during an acid drop sponsored by LSD, tripping the light fantastic and drawing truth from every corner of the universe, only to forget the vast vast majority of it later, of course. Gray Man works in all dimensions when you’re on that stuff; perpetual darkness. Must – stay – away, she thought to herself afterwards. No more sheets.


on her way!

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