Tag Archives: Monster of the Sea^^^*

April 4, 2026 · 7:02 am

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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 seeming Alcoholic Sea Monster that recently swallowed Daisy’s Hole in the Wall bar because of the spanking new batch of 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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March 19, 2026 · 10:24 pm

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The layout of my Nawt Vaya Free State land on the continent of Jeogeot in the virtual world of Our Second Lyfe has changed. Frank’s Giant Castle in the Skies has now been moved down and grounded (in reality?). Cement Village, last seen in Aisle of Palms over a year back, has become the new business center, housing Daisy Flathead’s Hole in the Wall and more. Let’s go inside and see how she feels about it.

“How do you feel about the move to the old Aisle of Palms’ Cement Village?” I ask through Biker Frank.

“I don’t know,” she might answer. “How do *you* feel about the move of your Giant Castle in the Skies down to the ground. Reality?”

“Maybe,” he admits. “But, bigger picture, welll…”

“I’m not with Biker if that’s what you’re asking. Me and you: we’re still a team. Moving forward.”

Frank is overjoyed, overlapping his hand with hers on the counter just like in the beginning. *Now* the movement of the castle is a success.

“I feel safe here… safer,” she exposes her emotions on the new location. “Since I’m not right on the Nawt Vaya shoreline and (so) further away from the alcoholic sea monster. *Non*-alcoholic sea monster I guess I have to add now, since he gobbled up my first successful batch of personal (non-)brew along with the old bar!”

Both laugh. Frank had to ask this next: “Where *is* Biker, then?”

“Where was he ever? All I know is that he came from the south.”

“South, right.”

“Somewhere near the southern end of Nawt Vaya but not right on it. I went to his house, er, *once*?”

As if prompted, Frank takes another swig of the house beer while simultaneously withdrawing his hand from hers. Michelob Zero still, but not for long. New batch of personal brew in the works! He’s readying himself for another question, a one worder this time. Daisy knew she kind of screwed up with that revelation. “House?” he clips out. Swig again, hands further apart.

A call just then coming in on Frank’s phone. Ring tone: “Blue Moon of Kentucky”. “I have to take this,” he says, and goes outside for privacy. Mouse returned? he psychically senses. No, that can’t be it, he rejects the actually correct insight. He’s died twice already. Two’s the limit, right? Surely it is. Can’t be…

But that’s exactly what *she* told him that day in April’s May coming up behind him swiftly like a lion from March. Mouse has come back, kind of once more. And already on his last leg and death bed in one.

“W-where?” Another one word question, a one word answer back.

“Meet me there,” she said after giving the location. “By the big head in the middle. I’ll take you to him.”

Daisy wanted so badly to ask who he was on the phone with when he returned to his seat at the bar but dare not because of the look on his face. Sour! Tension in their relationship hasn’t quite been resolved yet. Doubts on both sides still. Let’s deflect the blame to AI again. Just to be safe, or safer.

“I have to go,” he said, laying one of Philip’s remnant teners won at cards on the counter as a tip. TBC

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March 8, 2026 · 10:15 am

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“This is where the Pee Pee starts, Biker friend of mine, perhaps a lover too.” Maybe she left the lover part out of that sentence. Hadn’t been decided. But they had travelled to Rodentia for a reason. Daisy was testing out the relationship fer sure.

“Fascinating,” he said but not with enthusiasm.

“Let’s move down this grassy diagonal side road. Keep in mind the beginning point.”

“Oh I will.”

—–

“And so this is where it ends, down at that pipe down there, about 200 yards below the source up next to Route 10. It *should* empty into the Baederwood Forest I just exposed by derendering that wall screen marking the limit of Arang. But it doesn’t. Another mystery, then, perhaps another misery as well.” But maybe she left that last part of that sentence out again. No need to bring misery into the relationship either which also often comes hand in hand with the love part.

“Hmmm… why are you showing all this to me again?”

She turns toward him on the bridge. “Because I want you to know where I come from, Biker. I want you to know *my* source. And my mouth.” She opens her mouth to him and points within. “The words coming out of my mouth. I want you to listen like I had to in the past.”

He looks away from her after she shuts her mouth back up. He opens his just a little, pops in another cigarette, lights it, puffs. Not what I signed up for, he thinks to himself while watching the smoke fill the air in front of him, concealing the stream again. Religious mumbo jumbo in a town devoted to anarchy against the powers that be. He’s not a radical, not even political at all, really. He just… likes Daisy. Why does she have to, erm, *muddy* the waters with this… complexity, pheh. And *what* kind of name is Pee Pee??

“Why?” he says aloud, smoke dissipated, allowing him to view again. “Why Pee Pee? It’s not yellow or anything.”

“No of course not, silly. It’s named for my home. In Nigeria. The one I tried to conceal behind a fancier name. This Second Lyfe offered me a chance to reverse my youthful error, change my perspective on the world. I became a priestess here just like my mother was (up) in Real Life. I’ve told you all this before. The other day, when you were on your 3rd Non of the evening. I *know* you weren’t drunk, ha.” Should’ve remembered, she thinks.

Had she made a mistake in bringing him here? What if Frank Lynn finds out? But she had to know. Now she thinks she does. If only they could resolve that difference of opinion about AI. She’s *firm* about hers. What about him? Is he pliable to change? *She* isn’t. And of course therein lies the problem. Can she realize this in time?

—–

When she returned home, she was shocked to find her bar wasn’t there any more along the shores of Nawt Vaya. Hole in the Wall: simply vanished!! What happened, what happened? she panicked. Then she realized the culprit. The alcoholic sea monster! The Non she’d prepared just before leaving with Biker to visit Rodentia had turned out to be so good that the taste overrode his need for alcohol. Success! she understood about her personal brew. But she’d have to start over from scratch. Maybe rebuild the bar elsewhere now that she had to make a fresh start anyway. It’s all up to Frank, he thinks. She needs to find him, and quick! TBC

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February 25, 2026 · 3:33 pm

00490415

She poured the returned Biker his requested house beer, purposefully not warning him about the change in flavor. Would he, I don’t know, even notice? she thinks here. Men, pheh, she smoldered as she handed it to him, a picture of Frank Lynn’s idiotic face forming in her mind, with more nonsense about the benefits of AI spouting from it. Typical if so, she though about the taste test with Biker. MEN. She clunks the full beer down in front of him, even sloshing a bit on the counter which she quickly wipes up, apologizing.

After raising the glass so that Daisy can wipe underneath it, he takes a sip. He winces, just like she did. She’s *pleased*. “What *is* this?” he want to cry, but stifled himself. Didn’t want to insult the woman he, ahem, *might* love. If things at home didn’t work out. Instead: “Tastes a little different today, Daisy. Did you, erm, switch brands?”

“Oh, sorry,” she feigned, putting away the cloth behind the bar. “That’s the last of the Corona — probably just the bottom of the barrel stuff. Supplier didn’t show up this week for some reason. Let’s see…” She pretends to look over other options on the tabs, knows there’s only one. “How about Michelob Zero? Got a cheap deal on it in Tonsiltown while I was down there for a writer’s retreat. On the house — both of ’em.”

He nods, and she pours his second beer, proud of her deceit. She’s gotten an honest opinion on the new, inferior taste of Corona Non, not so much from his talk as from his actions: the wincing. She recognized the gesture as more or less her own. They have become *in sync*. Unlike her and Frank lately. Hmm, she thinks, studying the rugged looks, the strong jaw line. Interesting.

Biker takes a sip of the new stuff. “Not bad — better than that Corona I just had admittedly.” Another sip. “Not quite as *good* as the, um, *top* of the barrel Corona Non. But still…” Another sip. “Not bad.” Sip. “It’s growing on me, Daisy.” Sip. “It really is.” Sip sip.

“Even lower calories for this one, which is good,” she offers. “Zero alcohol, as opposed to a *bit* in Corona. So also a benefit. A tad less flavor, true. All in all, it might balance out. And, of course, I’m still working on my own personal Non brew that’ll blow both of them completely out of the water. Like a sea monster!” She turns, takes a gander at the collage behind the counter with the dragon curving in and out of a small pool of water they both understood stands for the Nawt Vaya Sea whose shore lies just outside the bar — to the west. The fabled alcoholic monster roaming the inland sea, searching for the new perfect brew himself, some say. He could return. Like the rest of Our Second Lyfe in her big plans, maybe he’ll value taste over buzz in the end too. We’ll see. TBC

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December 2, 2025 · 3:31 pm

00480611

Perspective has changed at De House. Mann has lost wo-Mann in a way, in a manner. A hole has been formed in the middle. Witches. Which witch is which? What is good and what is baad?

“Interesting art you have there up above the bar now, Daisy. Another Corona Non while I have your attention, thanks.”

“The art?” She turns and looks up. “Yeah, it’s the alcoholic sea monster there in the middle, obviously. And the pool it’s in: the Nawt Vaya Sea. I found it in the user’s inventory. He indicated the association.”

“User?”

“Yeah, baker b. The user who controls us all, or at least while we’re on his land I suppose, this Nawt Vaya Free State on the shores of same.”

Biker Mann takes another drag off his cigarette, attempts to take all that in. He decides to focus on the art, the meaning. “Soo… is that a painting or what? Looks more like a photo.”

“It’s a collage, silly. You know that.” Daisy Flathead looked flatly at him, anticipating more. Hopefully the discussion will get seriouser from this point on. She decides she needs to add some information here and does so. “It’s… not a part of any series that I know of — not really.”

“The houses,” Biker kind of interrupts. “The same?” making her turn around to stare again. “90 degrees?” he furthers. “3 years?”

—–

“Oh, and the central figure, er, figures. The brown statues that grow shorter with time.”

“Do they?” It was Daisy who was trying to catch up now, mann overtaking wo-mann once more. In this certain situation in this certain time in space.

“Yeah. The acorn topped head.” He pointed to Daisy’s flat one. “It’s Pierrot again. Did you get that?”

She didn’t. But then she makes a decision after continuing to gaze. “I — don’t think they’re the same.”

“Aren’t they?” he pressed.

She checks again. “No,” she judges firmly.

“Okay, okay,” he gives in, seeing the pretty different designs on the, er, helmets of each. Head tops. “Then let’s shift to the hole in the middle.”

“Nawt Vaya? Sea?” she added.

“Kind of I guess. But (moreover) the hole made by the line figure collapsing inside his own clothes that obviously overlaps the brown statues. Where, um, does that hole go?”

She notices the hole, she notices what is highlighted. Thinking of Grant’s Hill again in Missouri and nearby Siloam, she says the word in her mind.

Just then, Philip Strevor pops his head in the door, asks about Nada. “Seen her?” he finishes his introductory paragraph.

“Nada? Yes, she came in here earlier with Lexi,” Daisy provided him. “Said they were headed up to Juho. Said something about a haircut.”

“Oh no,” says Philip. “Oh *no*. WITCHES?” And he ran away from the bar to the North as fast as he could, hoping to catch Nada before she made a big BIG mistake. TBC

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November 30, 2025 · 3:09 pm

00480608

“You know, I’m kind of tired of all this, Wendy of hot dog restaurant fame. I think I’m going home. I think I’m going over to Nada’s tonight instead of staying here. I think I’m… leaving.”

But Wendy didn’t care. Wendy was merely a stand in for another. Again.

—–

—–

“How was Little Hell today, Philip?” Frank asked while they were gathered together once more around the dining table at suppertime. Or thereabouts. Frank just assumed he wouldn’t go to Heaven. The 2, upper level doors to his high castle in the skies labelled such don’t naturally swing that way for him, being an Id figure and all. Disposable by the end (of the game) as stated.

“Oh. The usual,” he answers Frank. “Think I’m going down to the coast tonight for my r&r, though. See if Nada is still hanging around Lexi’s place.”

“Good idea.” Mouse was absent from the castle too, having gone back to the Amazon’s cement pond to confer with Pansy about more YouTube Poop possibilities. He knows now that the rest of New England is key for the movement of the main castle down through the states (of consciousness?). Now maybe Frank can enjoy a little peace and quiet about the place. Maybe time to call up Daisy, ask her how her day’s been at the bar. And remind her of that *third* date. Because tonight, he felt, was the night, Miss Mistletoe 2025 and her waiting lips being more a distant thought than ever. He knew about her real life Nigerian origins with the mother priestess and all, and her continuation of that ancestral calling in virtual Rodentia. He knew that the father had something directly to do with the out-of-this-world Non she wanted to develop, and why she came to Jeogeot’s only inland sea of Nawt Vaya in the first place. She’d heard about the alcoholic sea monster, what issues for the Hole in the Wall it caused. An opening had been revealed. Non-alcohol would be all they could serve, which slotted in perfectly for her plans of Our Second Lyfe dominance in that department. All has been revealed about the family that needs to be. Time for a different kind of revealing, of a more intimate type. Frank was ready. Now the question on his mind is: was Daisy ready for this kind of commitment?

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October 29, 2025 · 8:06 pm

00480409

Philip hadn’t been playing pinball long when he remembered to tell Frank the big news. “Lexi said, get this, the bar’s opening back up next to her house this morning,” he said after finishing the first game, normally a low point of the day since he gets to the higher scores later. “The Hole in the Wall is back in business, baby,” he summarized, and then is about to insert the next quarter into the machine when piano and Spongeberg inventions weary Frank stops him. “Halt!” I believe he said, then: “Go!” And so they went.

—–

“Be with you in just a moment, gents,” she said after glancing at them over her shoulder. “We’re not actually open back up until 2, but that’s fine. Gotta take a break and clean sometime. Working alone right now, until I can get my mechanical man over there fixed up so he can pitch in. That’s a joke, btw.” But then Daisy Flathead thought: Is it?

“We’re fine, ma’am,” said Frank. “Just glad to see the bar up and running again. Place was pretty much wrecked when Lexi had to quickly raise it 100 feet in the air because of the alcoholic sea monster and all. I know she was trying to be careful but… that mouth, so big, so close! But…, erm…”

Daisy guessed what Frank was going to ask; she’s good about that with people. “How can I serve booze when that monster is still out there roaming the Nawt Vaya waters, biding his or her time? I can’t. Never mind all those taps. I only got one. Corona Non… until I can brew my own Non. Mind you, Corona Non’s pretty good. But I’m conjuring up something special. *Special* special. Our Second Lyfe residents won’t know what hit them because it won’t. They’ll — collectively — wait and wait for the kicker, thinking how tasty the drink is. Then they’ll go home perfectly sober but also, strangely, perfectly satisfied. The wives of the normally drunk-ish, boor-ish husbands will thank me and shower me with money so that I can advertise the brew even more, ha. The husbands of the wives might complain a bit about the lack of buzz but will keep thinking of the taste and come back anyway. Taste, my friends. It’s all about the hops. And I have a secret weapon. Flathead.” She points to her own flat hair topped noggin with this. “All in here. And… there. I’m done dusting. So, Non beers all around? That’ll be 5 dollars each.” (TBC)

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October 29, 2025 · 7:19 am

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I stumbled out of the Athens restaurant, trying to get away from the doubling and the confusion as fast as possible. The tape wouldn’t work, the tape wouldn’t *work*! And I didn’t know where I was; it was all a maze of streets and jumble of people, people everywhere going in all directions at once. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I felt I was going to scream. I did. I wake up.

—–

He’d heard about a bar up the coast under new management and decided to check it out. “Pirates,” he muttered while pulling in and seeing the treasure map graffiti on the outer wall. But some of them are okay, he remembered. Like Randolph, which started him wondering where in the heck *is* Randolph the Bastard Pirate? He hadn’t seen him in years, it seemed. Anyway, he thought, better head in. Gotta get past that outside pirate first, he he. I’ll bump him real good to make sure he knows who’s the boss. “‘Scuse me fellow.”

Hmm, just passed right through the guy. One of those lifeless flatties, he thought.

And then, inside the bar, more flat, a haircut this time, apparently ongoing judging by the proximate hand with buzzing razor.

“Corona Ultra then, lady,” he ordered after picking his seat and getting the name of the house brand. He needed more alcohol to deal with the strangeness here, but then was greeted with: “We only got Non. No actual booze here, not after the attack by the alcoholic sea monster. Don’t want a return,” she said flatly, as was her overall style and the overall style of the bar as a whole, starting with the flat treasure map, the flat pirate flattie leaning against the front door outside.

“Oh. Okay. A Non, then, I guess. Do I still have to–?”

“Yes,” she said, anticipating the end of his question about paying for the thing he doesn’t desire. She’d heard it before. Several strangers coming here and asking the same. Like Peet Pelican over in Juho. Like Sachie B. from Vortexville, Raymond from Redwoods, Stillman from Stiletto Heels Hills. Drinkers like to drink what they call the real stuff, the real thing. But she’s aiming to change all that with a Non brew that will knock them off their heels, especially Stillman with his stiletto shoes I suppose.

While he was waiting for his drink he didn’t really want to pay anything for, the man simply known as Biker further inspects the place. “What’s with the robot?” he queried.

“Oh, came with the place,” she said while pouring. “I guess that it dropped down from the hillside above sometime during the renovation and just got lodged inside. So I set it upright, let it walk in place again. He’s harmless. I think. Anyway, I haven’t decided if I want to keep him or not. There’s another one, another robot — smaller — still up on the hill about to tumble over the side too. Maybe he’ll join him soon. Dunno, in summary. I call him Clocky but he doesn’t speak, he doesn’t have any soul that I can tell. Maybe he just needs reactivation.”

“I see.” (TBC)

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September 1, 2025 · 9:31 pm

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https://www.sartle.com/artwork/soir-bleu-edward-hopper

“I’ve figured out who Edward is, Lexi. I don’t think we have to worry about Philip now as much as the castle itself and what, as he says, lives behind the walls. Realism strikes back against abstraction!”

“Say what?”

He swivels his laptop with the appropriate article pulled up toward Lexi. “The perriot. That’s Hopper. Found it pretty quickly using a search for Edward + pierrot.”

“Oh. Edward *Hopper,*” she said, recognizing at least the style. “So that’s who’s haunting the castle? A dead artist?”

“Kind of. Still unclear on that. But I’ve decided we need to have a seance. You’re the official channeller of Nawt Vaya Free State, Lexi.”

“Only because of that premonition about the alcoholic sea monster!” she says with a laugh, Hole in the Wall bar raised 100 feet in the air just in the nick of time to be saved from swallowing.

“Nevertheless, I think we should try. Else… Philip will never come back up. He’ll always be with you, Lexi. Forever… and ever. Noooooo escape.”

“Okay okay, I’ll do it,” she relents and then stares at the laptop again, the white face, the painted red lips and the cigarette sadly drooping from them. Another dropper? She imagined it spilling from his mouth, catching the crotch of his sad clown pants on fire. How to put it out how to put it out? He can’t. Not without our help.

“Tonight?” requests Frank. “I know it’s short notice but… I can’t sleep in that place now. He’s staring at me too!”

“Tonight,” acquiesced Lexi, already planning what candles and incense would be required to set the proper mood. And, of course, the Weegee board.

(to be continued)

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March 10, 2022 · 9:11 am

symbol man

Lower Austra over there for sure, thinks Dickie Doom, looking west through a telescope from his position on Stoogle, at a cafe and boat repair establishment. Nice landscaping too.

—–

“So who’s your friend?” asked Debbie Doom to — we better determine a relationship — let’s say brother and sister instead of husband and wife. So: brother Dickie.

“Picked him up on the marketplace,” answered higher Dickie to lower sister Debbie on the tail of the sea monster. “Freebie,” he further explained. “Brand new as well; seemed to fit (the looming mystery).”

“Um hm,” she said. “Er, where’s his clothes?”

“Dunno,” answered Dickie, daring to look over at the lowest-of-all spectacle. Frog head, frog feet and hands, human body. He tried reloading (the outfit) but same result.

“And the rain.”

“Yes,” answers Dickie. “Somehow, one way or another, the Frog must turn into Prince.”

“P,” she said. “Power. He’s trying to tell us something.”

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