Tag Archives: Greg Ogden/Gregg Oden^*+++++$

00480115 (another one of those Hana Leis)

“Yes, how are you doing Father?” One of them, she thinks privately, because there remains great doubt that this Dr. Mouse, originally Dr. *of* Mouse, could actually be the biological one. *Psychological*: yes. But Axis and the confirmed DNA tests — 2 of ’em — still looms large in the background. Greg Ogden without his copper toned hair, she also knows now. So strange.

Mouse answers. “Come *home*?” she utters about his request as she watches Chet take another dive under the waves. “But I like it *so much* here. No drama, no tension. Just surf and sun and fun.” Immediate reaction, but Alice also knew he was paying for all this. He could cut off the funds. She had to comply with his wishes. “2 more weeks?” she tried to bargain. Mouse answers. “2 *days*?”

“Your mother needs you,” Mouse explained as best he could now. She wasn’t dying or anything like that; she was just in trouble, he said. Trouble but not sick or dying or anything like that. What could it be? she ponders after the click that ended the call. 2 days. She’d have to say goodbye to the dogs. And rock’n surfer boy Chet out there. He couldn’t come along, she knew — started band practice in Caledonia day after tomorrow with the Andersons, bassist Karl and then little Sherwood on drums. Good with the hands Sherwood was on this rock music. And Karl at least looked good on Paper (their “hit” single). Run with Scissors they were called. And I believe we have former runner-of-a-diner Biff Carter as band manager to end that 4 part string. We’ll see if they actually show up again in this here blog and attached photo-novels or are a kind of hard to get, one-off joke like so many others of its type.

(to be continued)

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00470610

Trying to keep my head above the water.

7 6 posts to go! Will I make it by the end of August?? We’ll return here (MISTY-MO), but probably not in the current photo-novel. Must end with an N, soo… back to Nawt Vaya!

—–

“We’ve halfway lost Greg Ogden; and Philip Strevor, Lexi [insert last name], and Nada New Year are also fading out around the table here. We have to do something, Newt! Nawt Vaya is in peril!

“And finish whatever needs to be done by 7 so we won’t miss any of our TV viewing time!” *click*

—-

Soon Newt manifests high in Frank’s Moving Castle again, far above Wheeler and her vanishing troupe of avatars down in the entrance room. He inserts the magical glass of freshly squeezed lemonade from an unblighted Juho citrus tree he brought along with him into the face of the fire and backs away.

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00470608

“Atomic energy,” Newt theorizes about the main way Gaston’s Newton revamped his now deceased older brother Stewart’s sim skipping ship. “Put it at the end of Barry De Boy’s ‘Does This Look Square to You?’ series. Claimed to be named for Isaac Newton but Jasper County’s right below and so instead it should be John.”

“John Newton, twin sergeant to William Jasper during the Battle of Ft. Moutrie in the Civil War,” Newt’s ever-partner Wheeler says more to the reader than anyone, since Newt knows all that. “And Newton County MS being the only county in the state that’s totally square. One Mississippi, two Mississippi — woops. Forgot the zero (!)”

“You finished?” Newt asks from the sacred ottoman under the sacred 4 colors add 4 more. Staring at giant versions of bread and milk on a big tin of perhaps choco chip cookies. Wheeler from the now not as sacred couch was staring at it too.

“Yeah. You go now.”

“I go now,” accepted Newt. “Wellll… we have a problem, a conundrum. We have Marion, Hucka, Philip, Nada, Lexi and probably Greg coming to Nawt Vaya here through that sim skipping ship.”

“Yeah? What’s the problem? They’re *here*. All of them. Except Marion and Hucka it seems.”

“But–”

“No butts. Continue.”

(to be continued)

“OH, I remember what we were going to talk about. This *couch*. And the bread and milk. And the whole location for Crooked.”

“Yeah,” says Newt. “Is this room, this building, actually here in Nawt Vaya, or is it over in Gaston? Could be both of course. But, what I’m asking is…”

“… which one’s more real?”

(to be continued)

“More real there.” Newt pauses. “Did I just skip over the end of the post?

—–

The couch is more comfortable and has more animations.

The bread and milk are normal sized.

The room has more character.

More real there, yeah. We continue….

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00470607

“You don’t understand, Philip,” spoke Marion Star Harding, perhaps his only friend in the world if you don’t count new-ish girlfriend Nada — *maybe* on that one, along with the whole girlfriend aspect actually. Maybe they’re just quote unquote friends too. “We have a chance to escape,” his friend here says, his partner in crime perhaps not presently but certainly in the past. “Turns out Newton knows a lot more than his brother Stewart about sim jumping and maintaining a ship to do such. I miss Stewart mind you but maybe it was all for the best that water—” Marion stopped here, realized he was being very insensitive in the moment. The death by unexpected and unpredictable sea funnel came only 2 weeks ago, suck suck GONE. “Anyway — Philip — what you say? I’ll bring Hucka Doobie obviously — we’re totally solid now in our relationship and I’m sure that she’d go where I go. And Nada — maybe the same? There’s room on the ship for her anyway.”

“She has a new *girlfriend*,” he spat out from the couch. “Iiii don’t think she’ll want to be going *anywhere*, not with *Lexi* around.”

“Now now, Philip,” said Marion turning toward him from the window and breaking off his loving gaze at Newton’s revamped beauty floating out there in the bay. “I’m sure they’re just friend friends.” Maybe like you and Nada, he thought, but kept to himself. “Anyway, she — Lexi — can go too. There’s room for 7 total people, Newton indicated to me just yesterday, an upgrade from 5 for the old version. Let’s see, that’s Newton the skipper, me, you, Hucka, Nada, and, yeah, there’s definitely room for Lexi. And even one more. Maybe that Greg artist fellow we chat with occasionally around town. He seems to be as eager to leave this cursed place as we are.”

“*You* are,” said Philip, not so sure about these big, new plans of Marion’s. He’d like to have the relationship more resolved with Nada before he commits to such a thing. Plus he has his pot field in back of Doug’s Money Laundering Mat. And his pots of opium plants atop the Nimble Thimble dance club. He can’t take all *that* with him.

“We’ll get you some more pot fields, some more opium plants,” Marion said to this when he raised his concerns. “We’ll make sure we go to — or settle down in — a place where all that is still legal.”

“*Here*,” Philip declares, putting his foot down in the place he’s suddenly decided to stay.

“Talk to Nada,” urges Marion. “*Then* make a decision.” I’ll talk to Greg myself, he also decides on his own. No use to bring Philip’s negativity along for that one.

(to be continued)

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00470606

I wonder what Nada is doing back so early? thought observing Greg Odgen from his studio apartment, an extension of his STAB gallery introduced toward the end of (photo-)novel 45. And who is her friend? he continues his pondering. Has she, um, switched over to women? Maybe she’s tired of dicks, or at least that one dick that calls himself Philip Strevor, ha. Oh, she sees me. She’s waving. Good ol’ Nada. She deserves better, yes.

“Right through here, Lexi,” she says after returning her arm to her side. “I think you’ll be quite pleased with it.”

When she walks up the stairs and through the purple glass beads that match the color of the couch she’s interested in, she finds herself in a different world, just like fellow Gaston visitor Osborne Well before her back in section 04. Now to get to the bottom of this. About 10 posts or so to go! Should still be on target to finish the thing around the end of August.

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00460616 (bookends)

—–

There was only 1 thing to do to stop the stabbings and knivings and whatnot and save everybody involved, Greg Ogden knew. Go back to the beginning of this here photo-novel, NOT rescue the Tobor robot that represents Peter Bergmann with the two n’s from the waters and let him drown in peace in the ocean, his body and thus the mysterious story of his last days in Sligo, Ireland never to be found. “Center Core Never More,” he chanted on the shoreline as the pushing began. Deeper, deeper… over the hands… heart… head…

END OF “SUNKLANDS 2025 EARLY”!

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00460609

We use ART to discover who the true stabber is.

—–

“Oh Gregg Oden my opposite evil evil green twin! What have you done what have you DONE?!

“Hello 119? I mean 911! I’d like to report an accident. A horrible horrible accident!”

“Calm down, sir,” said Gertrude on the other side. “Just tell me what happened.”

“Stabbing. STAB!” Greg Ogden’s imaginary Juho art studio conveniently located on Makers Lane with door always slightly ajar come to life, as it were. As it *is*. He looks down at the body, quickly bleeding out. Not much time!

“Okay, I’ve tracked your location. We’ll send Charlie and Peet right over. Don’t leave the scene, sir!”

Then he was back at the beginning, painting Black Lake that wasn’t actually black except in soul. Should’ve never switched over to oils.

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00460606

Tessa (after getting a busy signal for the fifth time at the station and then giving up): “Oh DARN. And I so so wanted to catch up with my old old friend Carolin from the Caves. I have news about them!”

MEANWHILE… Seventy-six radio station manager Marty had been stabbed in the head, heart and hands, leading to a severe decrease in health. Only the hustle of local paramedics Charlie and Peet saved his sorry ass.

https://www.morningagclips.com/head-heart-hands-and-health-a-short-history-of-4-h/

“Can… of worms,” he said up to them weakly as they carted him off in a gurney to the Chilbo General Hospital where he stayed a week I believe before getting strong enough to leave. But employee Carolin would be gone by then, unable to be canned by him for her troublemaking down at the station because she had, in essence, canned herself. Back to the caves with Tessa, who’d caught up with her by other means, in-person visit I’m guessing.

The stabbings? Cat-people, cat *aliens*. Who were looking to get back to their cubic, red home planet at any cost. Or so THE OTHERS would have you believe. Others led by the Horns (= Big Bosses).

(to be continued)

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00460304

“Isn’t this a beautiful view of the harbour, Newt? Just lovely.”

“Well,” opined her opposite eating ice cream partner at the stand. “They could have done a better job with the line there dividing the 2 sides of the texture. Makes it obviously unreal. And the blurring–”

“Blurring only makes it more romantic,” quickly countered Wheeler. “This skyline could be any city in the world you want it to be, any virtual burg for that matter. It could be Sydney to me, Melbourne to you. Our choice. Just pick the most romantic city you know and you’re sitting across from it, eating strawberry or vanilla ice cream, also your choice. You like vanilla, I don’t.”

“We better start talking about Nawt Vaya,” said Newt, tired of meaningless chatter. “Why we came here. To this *rendezvous*,” he couldn’t help tack on again. Next time, he promised himself. Gowns and formal attire.

“Okay.” She finished the last 1 1/2 scoops of strawberry in one huge gulp just to try to speed things up and maybe add a little comedy to the matter, then continued to talk with mouth open and muffled voice. “Ow, fthatt *hurfts*.”

“What do you expect, Wheeler?” he said, watching her now deal with brain freeze. He decides to start while she heals. “Let’s take account of the residents of our fair land there in the center of Nawt Vaya. First off, there’s me and you obviously, then Lexi and Philip over in her house on the south edge of the property, then Fink is around too, then Jack is not far away as well — Jack Dogg, I’m obviously talking about here and not any of the other Jacks we’re attached to now. And then Barry De Boy and Wendy are up in that cottage perched above my own home of Newtonia. Do you like that name, Wheeler? Newtonia? Are you able to properly speak yet?”

“Mmmmm. MmmMMMMMMmm.”

“Obviously not. I’ll continue, then. Then there’s Veyot up on the hill, Pearl just up the coast a bit. Then in Juho we have Greg Ogden who’s also an artist — runs STAB now — and then I believe Nada New Year is there too, and also Carolin. And, let’s see, Peter Melanchton–”

“Gone,” Wheeler managed, ice cream headache finally subsiding.

“Right. And then the girl who’s suppose to take his place as summa cum laude graduate of Nawt Vaya State University and her, er, boyfriend I guess we’ll call him. And then Edward is still around.”

“Backwards positioned waterfall,” Wheeler identified his location. “You’re okay with that? Aren’t you?”

“Ahh, *sure*.” He was 1/2 and 1/2 on the issue but he really didn’t have any choice. Unless he did. He’s trying. Date first, then other things. Has to start with a proper date, which apparently this wasn’t. He tries to focus on the census again and away from the Wheeler+Edward continuing issue. “And then Princess Pinky Gumm.”

“She doesn’t count.”

“Oh…. right.” Newt remembers that Wheeler is playing that role, actually. “And… I can’t think of anyone else. Can you?”

“OH. I saw… I saw *Frank*! I totally forgot to tell you.”

“Frank?”

“Yeah. *Frank*. In Juho. At the barber shop when I was getting my hair cut the other day. I was getting the Butterfly No. 25 while he just sat there getting nothing, no styling no treatment, no anything. *Frank*,” she emphasized.

“Frank *who*?” Newt had to question. There were a couple, including a bunny man who hadn’t figured into the plot of these here photo-novels since the middle of the last. But it turned out to be Frank Lynn of GTAV fame.

“And Sep Felton was there too,” said Wheeler. “You know Sep. Butterflies again. Over on Corsica. She’s a stylist in both places. I didn’t even ask her how that worked, dufus that I am. I was *so* focused on getting it all chopped off, letting my scalp breathe again as Winter turns into Spring. I want the Butterfly, I said excitedly almost when I came in the shop. I didn’t realize the synchronicity.”

“You should always be paying attention to synchronicity. Why we’re here,” summarized Newt.

“I know, I know.”

“So… let’s start exploring and we can talk more.”

“My line!”

Someone in desperate need of a haircut himself, or herself, came walking into the picture. It, we’ll call them to remain gender neutral.

(to be continued)

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00460101

BEGINNING OF “SUNKLANDS PHOTO-NOVEL 46”!

So eventually I was able, with repeated shoves, to physically push Tobor out of the water and onto the shore until he seemed to kind of settle himself directly on the line between land and sea, my first big indication of what was going on here although I didn’t know it at the time. It could be construed I was saving the figure from drowning, but, if so, that’s certainly not the full story. The guy was dying, that’s a fact. And he seemed to be going out on his own terms. But something happened at the shoreline, something quite unexpected. He didn’t have to *choose* the way he was heading and was so hesitant to accomplish. He could simply wait on the shore for death to come to him. *I*, through character Greg Ogden here, had created that option, that scenario. Soo… who am I?

—–

So we’ve started “Sunklands Photo-Novel 46” with this figure directly trodding the line in his odd gait between sand and tide. Time to reveal who he is.

No, not *that* Peter Bergman. Or Bergmann if you use the Austrian spelling of the surname, where he claimed to be from. Although that’s what first caught my eye about the name when a related video popped up in my algorithmically generated Youtube feed, being a big big Firesign Theatre fan since back in college days. More on that soon. No, instead it’s *this* Peter Bergmann, seen here checking into a Sligo, Ireland hotel via CCTV footage on the evening of June 12, 2009, 4 days before his death in the same area. Cause of death? Heart attack. *Not* drowning. Keep that in mind.

(to be continued)

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