Tag Archives: Baker Blinker^^+++@

April 4, 2026 · 7:02 am

00500108

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Concrete,_Washington

The town of Concrete has undergone several incarnations, the earliest being a settlement at the northwestern junction of the Baker and Skagit Rivers, known as “Minnehaha.” Amasa “Peg-Leg” Everett was one of the earliest settlers and in 1890, the townsite was platted by another settler, Magnus Miller. Shortly thereafter, a post office was established and the town name changed to “Baker.” In 1905, a settlement across the Baker River came into being due to the building of the Washington Portland Cement Company and was named “Cement City.” After the Superior Portland Cement Company plant was built in Baker in 1908, it was decided to merge the two towns. Inhabitants of the new community settled on the name “Concrete” and the town was so christened and officially incorporated on May 8, 1909.

“And so that’s how the name Cement was applied to the village. Along, ahem, with the whole cement texture thing. Cement Village founded by me, Baker B. Creating concrete reality, concrete truth on these western shores of the Nawt Vaya Sea that will last for centuries years.”

No one was buying what Baker — Bloch here instead of Blinker, the female half, the “Other Baker” — was saying about the name, not screen watching Hucka Doobie, not Wheeler Wilson, not fellow Mr. Moon t-shirt wearing Newt or any of the other (unpictured) core avatars sitting around this round table in the lower part of Frank’s castle. This was pure accident plain and simple. *Synchronicity*. The concrete part only applied to bigfoot…

… truly roaming the bordering Nawt Vaya Sea much like the similarly fantastical Alcoholic Sea Monster that recently swallowed Daisy’s Hole in the Wall bar because of the delicious, home-made brew inside. Taste over buzz: just what Daisy was aiming for. But not in this way, not in this manner. She had to start over from scratch.

Continuing…

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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 manifested 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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January 19, 2026 · 7:10 pm

00490208

“We love you, baker b.!

“And we want you to come home too!”

“Not for a while, Mother, Father.” And so we, I, continue… The last of my kind.

Besides, these aren’t really my shared little world parents. I saw the unequal love since almost the beginning, one in the air, the other not.

Rock beats Paper because it possesses Scissors, a depravity of what was suppose to be a round and round and round, fair deal situation.

And with the examination and usage of this sculpture menagerie replacing my original one coming from Newbank/Newbrooke, I think I might be done with the Bellisaria series of continents as a whole for a while, however which way you spell it. Other places to examine. Like Paperville.

—–

Peter Oesso, clothes back on and red rose dreams finally ended, sits at a table drinking espresso to match the returned t-shirt, waiting on…

She remembered.

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November 29, 2025 · 8:15 am

00480607 (Jeogeot continuation)

He was in the cemetery again or perhaps just outside, Linden-Linwood-Lime all arranged around an edge that =s the county of Genesee in the state of New York in the country of Our US of A. “A linden in England is called a lime,” he recites again while standing amongst the limbs of the small tree, his head dangling there like a low hanging yellow-ish or green-ish fruit or something. Primed for a fall if he didn’t watch out.

(It was) an old mantra dating from his days as a Greta Gaeta bartender in what I dubbed the sim of Clemscott but is really, actually, just Clewis in a name change I can’t even recall the rationale for now, more (heretical) mythology imposing on HIS (Our Second Lyfe) reality. “Who was that shadowy figure?” he also said at the time about the African-American boy who left the overgrown lime on his bar counter and then mysteriously disappeared down the stairs never to be seen again by him until the Omega times.

He also remembers a monk entering the sim of Rookwood — true name this time — looking for the place he would be buried among all the dense growth of linden trees and plants, perhaps representing the burial of Linden Lab created Our Second Lyfe itself. Right now it is in its “gracefully aging” stage.

Moreover, in the top photo of the present post we’ve returned to another cemetery in Virginia like this one. More Lime.

Parallel stones.

Careful, Philip Linden. Careful. Avoid the trap of Vertigo; don’t fall in quite yet. We need you still. All of us, the Bakers, Wheeler, all the core figures. Don’t go right now. Wait a spell. Your time has not yet come. Hang in there baby, etc. TBC

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November 10, 2025 · 8:02 am

00480504 (Old Railroad Grade (C is 4…))

“Caledonia has been mentioned in 48, *cement pond* has been mentioned. That’s 2 in a row. And then Baker obviously, since that’s me: baker b.! And through baker b., both Baker Bloch and Baker Blinker, the original male-female duality of the blog and what everything builds around. And then Maxwell to end — she’s obviously around as well (wife). So that’s 4 in a row again, just like here in your castle, Frank. Whaddaya think, huh? HUH?”

“Get out,” Frank says to this issuance. Philip starts to leave. Frank catches him. “No no, I mean, get out of him, baker b. I want to talk to Philip directly.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Philip” turns around, returns to the couch. Baker exits the body; Frank has learned enough from him. “W-where am I, w-what *happened*?”

“Never mind all that, Philip. You’re back and that’s the most important thing.”

“I *am*?”

“Yeah, it happened again. You got all dizzy and had a lie down, let’s say.”

“I *did*?”

“Yes, you *did*.”

“Huh. I can’t remember.”

“Of course not.”

“I can’t remember *any* of that. Was I high on speed? Was I playing High Speed? And, worst of all, was I playing High Speed while high on speed?”

Frank decided to say, all of the above.

“Golly.”

“Golly Miss Molly, yeah.”

Philip looks up at the video feed, at the map. “W-what’s that? 4?”

“Yeah.” Must still be doing a little channeling, Frank rationalizes this insight. “4 in a string,” he explained, “but I think Caledonia is 4 instead of 1. It’s reversed from what I saw before here. I’M WITH STUPID — that indicates (the holder is) the wife. And (stone holding) hubby baker b. is being pointed to, ha. Veery clever. And cement turns into concrete to seal the deal. Concrete, Washington I’m talking about here, which use to be named Baker. I checked: former towns Cement City and Baker combined to form Concrete back in 1909. So there’s that.”

“But… why am *I* here?”

“I told you. You were playing pinball. In the wrong way. Again.” In truth, *Edward* turned into Philip while Mouse had a bit of a lie down after all the excitement. He was in the spare bedroom that Philip uses occasionally. No room today. Well, there’s never any room in the tiny bedroom adjacent to the stairwell. STOP

GO “What’s this, then. Adjacent?”

“Yes, Philip. The tile before the 1st. Le Roy. Lime, indicating lime Jell-O, a new, 5th flavor added to an original 4 in 1930. We have to go down. Something — is there. TBC

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November 9, 2025 · 8:55 am

00480502

“What you looking at now, Dr. Mouse? More Youtube poop?” Frank Lynn was truly curious again. What was his dead roommate up to?

“Not *technically*. It’s a video about Grand Theft Auto, you know, the place where *you’re* from, both you and Philip.”

“*Oh.*” Now Frank was *really* curious. “And, let’s see (he peers closer at the screen), there’s a giant eyeball, I see. And… a star?”

“Rockstar,” Mouse answers. “Like the company that created GTA but also your friend. They connect through the lines.”

“Red, green, blue, yellow, yeah,” Frank Lynn recites. “I remember. His creation is like my creation, me being baker b. the user.” Frank knew he had the power to channel all that. Thus the high castle in the skies, the resonance with Heaven here with a capital H. Little *h*ell is far away now for him. But Philip… different story. “What does it mean?” Frank asks. “The picture here, the Rockstar and the eyeball with the lightning bolts. Jupiter?”

“Could be could be. I have to go to the table now. I have to make notes. Please don’t unfreeze the image on the screen here while I work over there.” He points backwards with his cane from his viewing chair, toward the kitchen we saw him sitting at with Frank and Philip a couple of sections ago. I don’t believe he’s shown up in this here blog and attached photo-novel since. Time to bring him back I guess. Oh wait… what’s happening? He’s now on the floor . He’s shaking… violently! Frank… do something! Move the table and its contents to start! TBC

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November 9, 2025 · 8:06 am

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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October 25, 2025 · 12:44 pm

00480403 (where do *we* end?)

And so the real world smacks us in the face, the ear, turning it blue. I said it’s a lobe cyst and the doctor said I could have it drained or just — his recommendation — leave as is. It still itches. The man before me doing the metaphorical slapping seemed a nice enough fellow otherwise in an odd way, but maybe an odd good way? Intelligent for sure, but does he having a beating heart, a true conscience? He *couldn’t see the pond*. I’ve been studying his choice of profession this morning a bit, what I can understand of it. Works to streamline the health care billing system which drives down payments on both patient and provider sides. What a mess this country is in. Would his business suffer if we, as a whole, moved into some kind of universal health care model following all other 1st world, high income countries, simplifying the process? Probably — unless this potential change is baked into its plan. I try to put myself in his shoes, see affordable health care for all while keeping the business side solvent as an attainable goal and not a pipe dream some make it out to be. Socialism — worse: communism. Do the majority of people in his business see it this way? Or is this just a pure capitalist, profit making affair? I don’t know. Again: the mess. Nothing is pure capitalism, nothing is pure socialism. Neither can work alone. That’s why we have government bailouts at the inevitable recessions, and so on. But I’m not a businessman. I think it starts at the top and works downward. If businesses are to be treated like individuals then they, too, must find their heart, the conscience — the caring for the others and, turning to actual individuals again running the businesses, not just some immediate family situation; preserving the bloodline. Taking care of those who are like you and have chosen similar paths in life and are doing well in the current, top bloated economic situation. Trickle Down doesn’t work without checks and balances to power-grabbing. You can’t keep giving people at the pyramid peak all the breaks, the piled-up advantages.

My whole way of life has been upended — NOT. I’m in excellent health for my age. I can walk up and down and sideways on hills with no problems now, unlike this past winter with the hip issue. I can go go go and I’m taking advantage of it. But… has it finally caught up with me, this boundary stretching lifestyle of mine? I have problems with them. That’s why this blog has been labeled purely educational and out of the profit loop. We have pensions and other retirement incomes, especially when we’re both past 66 and ss fully kicks in, which will happen soon. We’ll be okay. I’m thinking more of others. I pity the younger folk of not only this country but of the world. I’m bouncing around, I know.

Boundaries — I want a world where ALL generated societal information is free and open to use. Creativity ultimately lies in the psyche of the collective and not the individual working within it utilizing smaller goals. We are all standing on the shoulders of giants. We build up from the past, coral-like, to make our future to be continued. We are never alone and never have been. We are all ONE.

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October 9, 2025 · 7:01 am

00480307

He wanted that dress but his mama wouldn’t let him have it. This is Jemison after all, where a man is a man and a woman is a woman and neither the two shall mix. At least in the same person.

So later he went off and invented his *own* Jemison. A whole planet’s worth of it. Worth it? (500 million) Maybe.

But doesn’t its capital and largest metropolis look like my Collagesity from a distance? Kindof queer.


Collagesity Rubi, c. 2014

Now where’s that man-woman who started it all inside?

(TBC)

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August 13, 2025 · 8:17 pm

00470601 (The Hmm)

“I live in a very white house starting with a white roof you can clearly see from the air — why I made it that way.

“Um, white ceiling fans…

“… white power outlets.

“White paint all around. Every room, every piece of furniture, every piece of art even. I like white. And, hopefully, my family likes it *too*. They haven’t complained *so* far (laugh).”

“Soo, ahem, back to The Hmm.”

“Oh yeah (laugh). The Hmm. Well, we logically suspected the new gas compressor station across the rails — really white buildings over there and I respect that but, you know (laugh), I had to get to the bottom of this thing (!). So I went over there one day, complained that we were hearing that dad blasted hmm in my house over 400 yards away, and it seemed, well, it seemed to be affecting our health (!). And, you know, could they DO something about it? I was sure they were the culprit, the source of it all. And you know what they said, they blamed everything else. Electrical lines, the railroad, water pumps in a nearby pond, Interstate 84. Could be any of these… and more. But not *gas lines*. And they laughed right in my face! (laugh). And me a retired mechanical engineer. Heck, I probably knew how their operations worked better than 80% of them over there. Not as much difference between machines and chemicals as you’d think.”

“Understandable that you were irritated,” I tried to empathize. “Is that when you decided to move away? To someplace new?”

“Well, the wife and I thought, maybe we should try out a new town to get away from the sound. ‘New town’ we kept saying to each other when discussing it — over and over. And then it hit us: Newtown. The town right next door to us. We could start new; fresh. It seemed *fate*. I told her, honey, our house is just off the Newtown topo map, which I knew from my hmm research in the local area. But shortly I realized the gas compressor station was actually just *on* the Newtown map, which seemed to be a bad sign. No, the hoped for sanctuary turned out to be *much* much further away, not one but *several* oceans away. It all started that very next day, when I found the drawing of the woman running on the beach at a Newtown flea market while we were checking out the place. Giselle, ha, was actually a bit jealous of my obsession with the drawing, with *her*. It was the whiteness, you see.”

“We’re talking about New *Island* here, right?” I suppressed a joke about him skipping right over New York.

“Yeah. Our brief dream of living in Newtown only pointed to this actual new place where we could truly escape the problems with The Hmm. By being immersed in it!”

“You found the source.”

“Indeed we did (!!).”

“Not gas lines?”

“(Laugh) No, but that’s part of it too. It all came from that novel. By the girl.”

(to be continued)

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