Tag Archives: Newt/Windmill Man^*++++&

July 3, 2026 · 8:24 am

00500512 (The Sage Page)

“So there I am again. You can tell me by my bent up nature, just like an Ozian Wheeler traveling around on all 4s, and also bent to the rule of the Witch Mombi and perhaps the Nome King through her. Old Wheeler,” she summarized about the figure in the center of the collage before us, called “Crash on Mars.” Not because it depicts something crashing into Mars but because of another figure to the left of “Old Wheeler” called Crash who holds in his hand a giant fishing rod from our perspective, horses let out of a barn I suppose. She first brings him up in the next paragraph.

“(the 19th Century U.S. religious figure) David Brainard is seated in the foreground,” she continues, “who seems to be the same as (brainy) David Bowie, the Spaceman, the Man who lived on Mars. The Starman, as in Dark. Black. Look at the top. At the end of Crash’s fishing rod which passes through (the word) RUST.”

I saw the black star at the top of the work where Wheeler (*New* Wheeler) indicated, fronted by a blue-green hummingbird. I ask about it next, prefacing this by saying that it seems to me it should be a fish here instead. “What gives?” I end my query.

“Let’s turn to the next Bogota collage,” she replies and starts walking to our left, pulling up in front of it. I go stand beside her, basically shoulder to shoulder again so we can keep trying to see as one.

“More Life on Mars,” she says. “Remember when I told you to bring me Book 03 from the town library and place it on my table? Well there it is. It’s a summary of all knowledge, all books.” The collage changes.

“And there is the second part of the animation which is actually the first, showing my point. Lisa the Vegetarian is the Tungaske artist who absorbs it all — inputs it; eats it — and then provides an output for us to peruse and perhaps dig into deeper if we wish. Beyond surface reading, you see. Surface of Mars. Crash again in back, facing toward you this time — sans rod, I’ll add, with no horses around this go around. As if waiting for you to act. Can you act? How deep can you go? TBC

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June 27, 2026 · 2:06 pm

00500508

A new gallery has been opened up in my Nawt Vaya Free State along the shores of the same named inland body of water: Boos, essentially a duplicate of what once existed in Collagesity. The precise location is behind Cement Village with its own gallery of Concrete containing the entire Bogota series of collages (2016-2026), just like the Boos gallery contains the whole of the Boos series coming immediately before it (2015).

Understanding that the entrance to both galleries is in the same spot, I decided to combine the two into one for advertising purposes and call it Boos-gota, a portmanteau (like lukfast). Below, Karl turns around in this spot to look up at the signs of each.

To make room for the Boos gallery, I had to delete Starbuccaneers formerly in this location. Oh well, hadn’t used it for much at all anyhoot.

And Philip and Nada’s small house behind it now has its nice view down to the Nawt Vaya Sea blocked to their consternation. To add salt to the wound, Newt/Baker decided to also delete their nice bed to save more prims/li for skybox experiments due to Boos increased use of those in comparison with the deleted coffee shop.

“F-ing gallery,” spews Philip, thinking more of the view.

“Amen to that,” reiterates Nada, thinking more of the bed.

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June 23, 2026 · 8:15 am

00500502 (grown and no going back)

“You did *what* to your hair?”

“I dyed it. Black. Like the witches do.”

“Witches? Doo?”

“Yeah. Like, you know, Hazel, ha ha.”

“*Never* joke about that name, Shelley,” I reprimanded. First communicating with the wrong Day earlier in the day, then this. Day 02 I suppose.

“Oh, Father. You’re so… *backwaters*.”

“Backwaters?” I questioned again.

“Yeah, you know. In the sticks. Backwaters. It’s what all the hip kids are saying about old people stuff like that. Kind of a continuation of backwards — more your style of word.”

“And I suppose this has something to do with that New Island you’ve been hanging around lately. With, who is it, Eddy?”

“Edward.” My Eddy, she thinks, her old boyfriend and new husband in one.

—–

We need to go back to the top of Mt. Sandraman next, she pondered later about her boyfriend/husband after the phone call with her father ended with tense, terse goodbyes. Maybe have a picnic up there and take in the view and see where we are in our relationship… to the island. The villa we had our eye on is still unavailable to our disappointment. Many things are gone from the island we knew, she laments. But one object has remained stable down through the years now. The *exit* from Pipewold at 242 121 MacMorris. Just like Opp went through many years ago, entering as a boy but coming out a full blown man. And then what Mabel rediscovered when she visited the island later. It’s just like with the Indians. A proposed 2fer1 (241) by the damnable invading white people for land division. Wouldn’t work then and won’t work now. The entrance is gone and that’s how you get in. You can’t go in through the out door. One way.

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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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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0501, Europe, Back Rooms, Holland, 0050

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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 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 18, 2026 · 1:13 pm

00500305

“It’s one of your more successful collages, Baker B., it really is. “The Shining Pepper Project.” People should have been paying more attention to your work back then. But who’s fault is that?”

“Yeah, I know. What could I do? Copyright restrictions.”

“Well, *now* you’re doing something about it. Finally.”

“About Paul,” says Baker B. to Daniel, much much later when the transfer mistake was finally rectified. Baker B. couldn’t have known, but the part time job created so that he could focus the other half of his standard work day on his art trapped Daniel in a kind of hell. No smoke no smoke, the wood the wind! But now the truth is staring at him right in front of his face.”

“When did the switch occur?” says Daniel to Baker. “5 to 6 I heard. Kansas and Kentucky?”

“Reverse that and you’re correct.” TBC?

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