Tag Archives: Daniel Drink^*+++

June 24, 2026 · 3:20 pm

00500504 (as a man, as a woman)

“There! That’s what was on the map above where I went. Boos! Not booze as in alcohol. Something different. A creature!”

“This exact creature,” I tried to clarify. “White not black.”

“White not black,” he said. “Open mouth. Ready to attack, it seemed. Or swallow.” And swallow it did, he realized.

“How did it start?” I asked perfunctorily, as I had to. Still reading the script, you see. In the past.

“With the body. I found myself… climbing up a body. Skin to begin. Then more as I continued, inevitably ending up… at the end. Metal; a pipe, a long dark pipe about yea high to me in my state at the time.” He was raising his hand above his head as far as he could.

“Iowa?” I jested.

“Pipewold!” he said, staring at me, as if I wasn’t taking him seriously enough. I thought of Newt/Baker here. This is something (nonsensical) that Newt/Baker would say to ease the tension, add in a bit of levity. I was becoming him, I realized. Losing the body myself. This was my exploration as well as Karl’s. I had to find a new one. Or else… back to the Concrete indicated grave I came from.

“The pipe, the entrance, represents the end of the seen and the beginning of the unseen,” I continued philosophically. “Neptune,” I put it in a word. “Neptune is in there. Beyond the Mars where you began and the Uranus where you entered. Did you find Neptune beyond the Mars, Karl? Did you?”

He wasn’t sure (!).

Later on — in the present I suppose — I found out that, yes indeed, he went back to Iowa once more. Through the back door as it were, Alpha switching places with Omega. White to Black again. Amazing synchronicity!

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June 20, 2026 · 2:08 pm

00500501

“Holland?? Old timey windmill — you see?”

“I see.” Holland?? I also ask myself from my more objective observing point. How could this be?? We were expecting a more realistic northern California given the Kane mythology.

We start wandering around together in this tree dotted plateau area, my eyes one with his. The synchronization seemed to be working. Then…

—–

“Okay I think I’m getting the hang of this place. I’ll just gather up the clock on the picnic blanket here, giving me one of my three needed items to complete the, um, game.”

“What picnic blanket?” I asked.

“There. Right in front of me — us. Held down by 4 rocks. With a clock in its center — wait, make that a stopwatch I believe. Look down in the center of your row containing the items. That’s one of the ones we need.”

“I checked the symbols at the bottom of the screen. “Looks more like a sundial,” I opined.

“No, pretty sure it’s a stopwatch.”

“Or maybe a compass.”

“Stopwatch.”

“Compass.”

“*Stopwatch*. Pretty sure.”

“*Compass*. Quite sure.”

“Okay, let’s just move on from that — agree to disagree… for now. Sooo, what about the rocks? And the tree? Let’s check everything else before we start panicking about all this.”

“Okay, the rocks are there, the tree is there, behind the rocks…”

“Yeah? Good, okay. But no blanket still?”

“No blanket.”

“Shoot. I was hoping it would have rezzed in while we were talking. Let’s see, er, maybe try refreshing your screen?”

I didn’t know how to do this and told him so.

“Well, why don’t we just wait here. Give it a minute. Beautiful day after all. Would you like me to pour you some wine? How about a sandwich?”

“Ha ha. Very funny, Daniel.”

—–

As they gabbed away, it dawned on observing Newt/Baker like a new morning. He was in a different Day! They’d have to start over, from scratch as it were.

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June 18, 2026 · 6:41 am

00500414 (“Death of King Philip” (enter the Redman))

“So you know now what Roger Waters and Roger ‘Syd’ Barrett are staring at. And it’s not Shelley.”

“Nope,” he answers, as in Big Nope, Safety Zone on the other side. 0-10. Slow down, slow down! 6… 5.

“Do you want to give it a go?” I asked about an interpretation. “You know this has something to do with Kane Pixels’ ‘People Still Live Here’ web-series.”

“Why don’t we bring in another,” he responded to this, and yielded to Jack Shepherde, at least for this post. We’ll see about more.

—–

“Both of these Indians are me,” he begins when entering the scene beside me, Daniel Day off for a drink at the local pub. We hadn’t seen each other in almost 2 years and then, before that, almost 10. We are practically strangers to each other by this point. But, then again, so are Daniel Day and I. Daniel Day Drink: DDD. Just like the building where he worked. And the new person worked, this Jack Shepherde with an e. I didn’t know if this would work. “Continue,” I said.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Alderman

John Alderman, also known as Isaac and Antoquan, was a Wampanoag praying Indian who shot and killed the Native American leader Metacomet (King Philip) in 1676, during King Philip’s War, while taking part in a punitive expedition led by Captain Benjamin Church. Alderman was a subsachem in the Westport/Dartmouth area of what is now Bristol County, Massachusetts. He was called Alderman because he was considered a close associate and counselor for King Philip. When Philip summarily murdered Alderman’s brother in front of him because of his dissension, Alderman changed sides and joined Benjamin Church, an English colonist who had settled in nearby Little Compton.

“The killing ended King Philip’s War,” he ended.

“And started the curse,” I added. “The whole Bridgewater Triangle thing. Alderman received his head and hand for the killing, which he would keep in a bucket of rum and show interested parties for a price.”

D.D. Drink returns from his drink. “How’d it go?” I wasn’t sure. TBC

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June 15, 2026 · 7:45 am

00500412 (detour 02)

Core-Alena and backwards in time Daniel Day sat for a while without talking, then:

“You must be the tree that was killed,” he said over the top of his book that was also the script. “I can, um (still reading), tell by your glossy green color.”

But recently reborn Core-Alena hadn’t finished experimenting with new forms and remained silent. Daniel turns the page.

—–

Later in the house:

“Interesting.

“There’s that game again.”

Eavesdropping Daniel outside the window moves away from the house and rings up Newt/Baker. “We have a place.”

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June 14, 2026 · 2:09 pm

00500411

Dwight reads off the past iterations of bus TWM 2989, a Brick House creation. Here: 2016, a preserved form.

2012, working for Green Bus.

2005, National Express Bus.

And finally, 1997…

… the yellow and green form of it where we came in. Daniel got on the bus, intending to meet Dwight and fellow schoolmate and best chum Cubert Farnsworth in the future to talk some arty business. 2989 here we come!

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June 8, 2026 · 9:34 pm

00500409 (… the purse yellow)

Before entering the tiny key shop off Silverton Street in Cement Village in Nawt Vaya Free State located along the shores of Jeogeot’s largest inland body of water also named Nawt Vaya, she checked ONE LAST TIME in her yellow purse for that gall blasted car key she lost going on 2 weeks ago. STOP

—–

We waited and waited within for the arm to start moving again, either continuing the search or giving up, didn’t matter. No luck. Looks like we’re stuck again, red arrow pointed downward. Let’s switch back over to Carroll County MD, then. Maybe that will help unglue us from this newest sticking spot. Maybe Maybe Mayberry! Mount Airy, Taylorsville, so on…

… but first and more in the moment, the unincorporated community of Detour to their west, with Keysville immediately to its north and Keymar immediately to its east, indicating KEY. Time machine still there at its center like I posted about in photo-novel 34 back in September 2022. Might be the solution.

I ring up Daniel Day posing in front of the twinned pictures of Pink Floyd’s Roger Waters and Roger “Syd” Barrett in his trailer’s living room, just like Shelley did before. “We have a new assignment for you.” TBC

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June 4, 2026 · 9:10 am

00500403

“Is that *Iowa* corn over there, Chuck?” asks Tom, noticing the discoloration and almost slicing off one of his fingers in the concern. “Because that’s not allowed. Poison,” he followed. “You’ll have to use Illinois.”

“Oh,” said Chuck, recognizing his mistake. “Thanks a lot!” Forgot to throw out the last of it when they received the call from the local Hy-Vee yesterday. Almost got 1/2 the restaurant sick!

“AND we need to take that Iowan car down from above the counter too. Gives paying customer the wrong impression, bad press and all. We must distance ourselves–”

“–from the Heartland as much as possible, yes,” completes Chuck for Tom, one in the moment, their hatred of it growing by the hour, minute, day. What will it be tomorrow? Wheat? What’s Kaboom made out of? Lucky Charms? Everyone will be doomed; no getting well atall, at least for the older and more vulnerable folks, thinking down-in-the-hollow Kennedys here.

Shelley, fresh from pretend slaughtering hogs down the street, another Iowan staple, waits at the counter, overhearing it all. I could still use that corn for gas, she thinks humorously, staring at the mounted red ’57 Chevy and understanding why she’s here. “Wait!” she called, just as Tom was about to dump the corn in the bin like a baby that’s its own bathing water. “And I’ll take the car off your hands too,” she adds just later. Is that stretching a joke? You bet!

—–

Filled up, full blown ’57 Chevy down on the ground and rolling again, she comes to the actual reason for visiting Cedar Creek in the first place: Daniel’s day trailer, erm, Daniel Day’s trailer… during the day. Lunchtime, so should be home. She opens her mouth to speak.

“Hello?” Knock knock knock. “Hello??”

No one there, but finding the door unlocked she decides to wait inside. Why not? All this is role playing after all.

On the tellie, Shelley sees what Baker B. and Daniel D. are watching at the morning job Baker had kept him late at again, more magic of the place. “Peewee Big,” Shelley recognizes, probably to compare it with recently viewed “Father Fred”. Toward the end of the sync, Shelley also saw, right where Josh is hearing potentially triggering music again. Daniel should be here soon, she knows, aiming to eat a quick sandwich or something then head off to the afternoon job. I won’t be long.

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May 25, 2026 · 7:55 am

00500315

“There he is. Horace the drummer, just like Noodle, er, Shelley said. And, aww, he’s depressed a lot of the time. Poor guy.”

“This must be before he grew his mustache,” offered Daniel from the side, still chipping in when he can. “Or maybe he’s already shaved it off here.”

“Depression will do that to you,” I said back. “Make you change your appearance thinking that’ll help your mood. Usually doesn’t. Only a passion for the essence of life again will heal those wounds. Got it!” I suddenly realized, figurative head bulb lighting up. “Something happened to his band!”

“And he can’t release those pent up emotions, hmm.” Daniel studies the illustration again. “He’s trying to think of sunnier times. Through the meditation. But the depression is major in scale — overwhelming.”

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May 23, 2026 · 9:40 pm

00500309

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacob_D._Robida

In the afternoon of February 4, 2006, Robida’s vehicle was seen about 1,500 miles (2,400 km) away in Arkansas, where Jim Sell, a Gassville police officer, initiated a traffic stop at the Brass Door Restaurant parking lot. After talking with Sell for about half a minute, Robida opened fire with a 9mm handgun, killing the officer. He turned onto Arkansas Highway 201 headed south and continued to Arkana, Arkansas, where he fired at Arkansas State Police Sgt. Van Nowlin. Police pursued him and laid spike strips; although these flattened his front tires, they failed to stop the car. Robida fled for about 18 miles down Arkansas Highway 5, where he turned south and drove into the small town of Norfork. In the middle of town he lost control of the car due to the front tires, spun out, and hit two parked vehicles.

“See, this is the problem, Daniel. As I’ve shown, Arkana is only 3 miles west of Norfolk. So how could this Robida creep flee *down* Highway 5 for 18 miles, then turn *south* — not north even — and drive into Norfolk. Something is off in this description. And I think I know what. The (Arkana-Arkawana) circle. Arkawana is 18 miles from that turn off, not Arkana. I checked.

“The circle… is… warps?” Could be, Daniel realizes, given all the other weirdness in this small area of the great state of Arkansas. Truth.

“We need to go in that oh so central library, see what they got. I know it’s *our* library in a way, more mine than yours in the end but you get where I’m coming from.”

“I do,” admitted Daniel. He’s all on board with this. Art only goes so far without writing never mind music. Art and words together, like in a photo-novel, yes. He’s getting the hand of this.

“And just from this wikipedia page, there’s more…

On February 7, 2006, Jack Thompson, a disbarred attorney, commented on the incident, describing… the killing of Sell as a “suicide by cop homicide” inspired by Grand Theft Auto.[11] Police later dismissed the “suicide by cop” theory when it was discovered that Robida had fatally shot himself.[12]

Thompson claimed to have spoken to a New Bedford detective,[13] who “repeatedly” said Robida’s friends had said “he played the Grand Theft Auto games”. No further details have emerged, but the following day the Bristol County District Attorney rejected the video game link after examining all the evidence collected from Robida’s apartment and car.

“Who just showed up in Iowa in this here current photo-novel? (K)arl from Grand Theft Auto, and the main version that would have been current at the time (GTA:San Andreas). We need to get back to him, see how he’s doing. We got sidetracked in Beaconsfield. Now that you’re okay and back on the correct timeline, we have to follow more his story.” TBC

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May 23, 2026 · 7:22 pm

00500308 (pinpointed center (ASU-“Mountain Home” library))

“*Very* clever, ya’ll,” Daniel calls into the air, talking to the spirits he credits all this weirdness for instead of me. “*I* walk into the library that fateful day, ready to start a new chapter of my life. Oh I’ve been there many times before.”

“You have (!)” I said. That’s how we became friends.

“But not like this, not as one of the actual employees of the place. So I walk in, walk up the stairs and visit the admin offices to finish out my paperwork. So *excited*. Yet so scared. I’d thrown away full time employment at the, er, college to work on my art in the afternoon. This has now been reinforced to you.”

“To me reinforced this now has been,” I reiterate. “Through the blog, through the photo-novel. Through the *maps*.”

“Yes. Good. I’m getting the hand [sic?] of all this, Baker B. I really am.” And they’d yet to talk about the girl with the library eyes, the one who stood so small under a lamp in the corner when all this went down. Noodle, we could continue to call her. Although that’s not her real name. Time machine.

“Hold on, Mr. SPLAT, ha. I can even show you ascending the stairs. Continuation…”

“Look how happy I am — perfect.” But he still wasn’t talking to me directly.

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