Tag Archives: NODAL

00440311 (Hellboy?)

He comes around when I sit down and slap him. He looks around. “Where are we?”

“Motel. Middle of nowhere.”

“Any specific Middle?” he intuited right off the bat, being the smart-ass psychic he is. They had to talk about Jonny. They had to talk about the relic.

I soon got this out of him anyway with a couple more slaps, turning his cheeks from orange orange to apple red: “The suicide model was just a prototype. *Arasaka’s* aims were always higher.”

Arasaka — the *Tree*, I think. Should’ve known. Add another hotel/motel to the growing list of hanging fruits.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0044, 0311, Badlands, C2077

00440309 (Rose T.)

She resided in Dairy so she thought it was appropriate to start her long delayed *diary* here. To begin: renaming the place after the book. Aisle of Diary it is from now on in the writing. Or Isle — either one perhaps, depending on, let’s say, the weather. Sunny right now. Isle, then.

Dear Diary,

Today I begin my life anew. Beautiful day here in the Isle, let’s call it. Edward D. is cooking up breakfast, no dairy. I’m allergic to dairy now. Milk, cheese, all of it. My diary makes it so.

I want to first talk about Dr. Kelp and how the two timing f-er stabbed me in the back and replaced me with A. Pond. I want to talk about the lie that is Edward D., because I made him up, name just off the the top of my head back there. Let’s see, 5 sentences back now. Oh here he comes now, breakfast in hand. “Thank you dearest!” I say to him, putting down the loaded down tray beside the keyboard in front of me, planning to nibble on it for the next hour or so. Writing and dining, two of my favorite activities. 5 sentences, 5 bites (so on). I don’t do dairy. I sip on the glass of milk he also provided (“Thanks again, dearie!”).

The breakfast turns into a sandwich loaded down with at least peanut butter as the sun becomes square and black, Skippy and Jiff both chipping in (skip). Aisle it is.

I think of po man’s George Washington (Carver) not for the first time today. Nor the last.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0044, 0309, Blue Feather Sea+, Maebaleia/Satori, VOTV, X-City

00440304 (Contemplation of an execution…)

… from a nearby, safe dune.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0044, 0304, Blue Feather Sea+, Maebaleia/Satori, X-City

00440201

“My treehouse! Not… real. Sinking. Sink-ing. “No. No no no no…

“… NOOooooooooo!”

Aeriel woke up in a cold sweat on the very spot she just fell into the void in her dream, voices all around and not in a good way. This would not do. She needed to make contact with the Mother(ship) hovering far above to make all this more, well, solid. Time for her weekly bi-meeting anyway. Two birds with one stone, a bird in the bush, so on.

—–

“You will not stay long enough to make it worthwhile,” the almost torso-less but still lab coat wearing Mother said bluntly of the treehouse she had constructed, along with… her sister? And where was?… oh no. Oh NO. The dream was *real*. The *sister* who remained in the fantastical world had fallen into the void; they’d drawn straws over who would stay there before the Earth trip. She’d forgotten which is which, and that, in the end, it all goes round and round, dreams merging with reality and visa versa. Just like Oz.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0044, 0201, Oz, VOTV

00440108 (slab)

Now we just have to return the shovel to where we found it so as not to piss off the local aliens. In the second bush located in a nearby old tool shed. Flaming.

Still in the dead of night, we deliver the slab to said aliens to complete their glyph puzzle so that they can see how to leave this place, this planet. Fire, wind, water they had. But we had to provide them with the final piece representing Earth.

“This planet is a cube!” they all uttered in surprised unison just later while looking down on it, then got to work on recalibrating their navigational charts accordingly, soon to be gone from here.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0044, 0108, VOTV

00440105 (the return of Second Lyfe, Our)

“Who are you?!”

“Who are WE?” the small mountain boomed back. We’ve seen it before. It was once called a butte. Turtle.

“Yes!” shouted Fern up again, wee in perspective.”

The two eyes of the “creature” which was apparently the same as a mountain looked at each other, as if conferring. “YOU first,” they seemed to decide.

“My name is Fern!” Fern said. “I was on my way–!”

“We KNOW where you’re going,” the mountain blasted again. “We just didn’t know who YOU are.”

Silence for a moment. The two eyes looked at each other again, then back to Fern. What to say next? she pondered, then decided: “So you know about the island?!”

“YES,” it boomed without much hesitation.

“Dullard?!” she faked, testing the small mountain before her.

“BRILLIANT.” So *that* didn’t work, she thought.

“Little Ritchie?!” she then tried. “Taken over?!” It was a theory she had about the wee ones (to her own stature) of that particular island. But how would this mountain–

“YES,” it responded anyway. This big hill was old, indeed like a turtle. Before terraforming it was even shaped a bit like one. But the Lindens decided not to protect this most central of the Hills of Bill and suffered the consequences. Civil War between the split apart north and south parts of the Maebaelia continent, also known as Satori. Now it seems they are attempting to repair the damage. By terraforming it again and even providing it with a face this time to speak to, along with building a new, bridging section of formerly divided highway 8A next to it to showcase the effect. Fern is merely taking advantage of the moment, but she truly needed to get to that island, her goal tonight before this “distraction” came along.

“I’m going to go check!” she said up. “I’ll be back!”

“WE will be here.” They knew she would return. If only because of the prim atop the northern one’s eyebrow, just out of sight from her ground perspective. A special plywood cube that Fern needed to know about and understand the meaning of. And why it had a dent or hole on one side. Oh, and also to learn their names.

But for now they could sleep while waiting. “Night night BAL,” said the first eye that closed. “Night night WIN,” said the other, then shut as well.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0044, 0105, Hills of Bill, Maebaleia/Satori, Outer Islands

00440101 (the return of Strevor, Philip)

“Damn cube, OW! Why do they have to be so many damn cubes in my dreams lately, pheh.”

“Ow ow… ow. F-cking toe.”

“Hmm. Looks like Franklin was wrong. Nothing here, huh. Dead end. Nothing left to do but wake up.” He relieves himself on the canal wall even though he’s underwater. Then, getting down to the business at hand, starts slapping himself. Takes a while, but he enjoys it all the same.

—–

“Why is your face so red, dawg? You get slapped up by a woman or something? Speaking of which…”

—–

“Where’re we going Franklin?” he said, looking back at the coffee shop from whence they came.

“You’ll see. Just down the block.”

—–

“Are *these* your damn cubes or something? We were just here Tuesday after all. You were complaining about the art, and how simple it was and that you could knock up something like that — your words — after 12 beers and one hand tied behind your back. ‘No,’ you said. ‘Make that two. 2 beers and *12* hands,’ you tried to joke, but you were already pretty drunk at the time. Should have been drinking coffee back then too. Or eating… something.”

“I-I don’t know,” he said about Franklin’s theory about the cubes and the dreams, then looked around, actually still in a dream… something. “Hey, where’s Mike? Did we ditch Mike somewhere?”

“Dawg, where’s Mike??”

“That’s what I’m asking *you*. Dawg.”

“Mike?” Franklin calls in one of the bushes around the big red cubes. “Mii-ke?”

“Well he’s not in *there* for Christ sake. He’s not missin–” Trevor stops. He remembers… an S. An S in a bush. Flaming (SWITCH).

Part 2: Mikie, not Mike

That night he goes back to the dead end canal ditch and sees something after hitting his toe once more on that in-the-way big goddamn cube, ow ow ow! 1st monkey mosaic. “Frank Lynn was *right*!” he said before starting to slap himself red again.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0044, 0101, Back Rooms, C2077, GTA, Kabusie

00430614

It happened shortly after the rain started, probably after the first thunderclap. “What’s that, boy? Timmy’s fallen down a well and can’t get out but never mind that now and more important matters are pressing?” Frank repeated after his talking dog (in his head, for now). “Well, lead on!” he said.

The rain had stopped and it had gotten light when they came to this upside down guy with his parachute stuck in a tree down a nearby dirt road. A man from Tennessee, he claimed. No, a man *named* Tennessee, let’s change it. So the Blue Balls/Blue Moons sculptor is actually a man and not a woman as presumed. But what’s he doing in this tree, dropped down from the sky? Helicopter? Better cut him down so we can ask more questions.

Back on the ground, Frank told him that he had Chomp to thank for his rescue. But in turning around to find the dog — nothing. Frank didn’t own a dog, never had never will. And then the parachutist was gone too; Frank Lynn had apparently hallucinated the whole scenario. No more graytop mushrooms! he swore off then and there.

—–

But he eventually couldn’t resist — Mikie talked him into it I believe. This caused the second manifestation of the dog in another thunderclap during another thunderstorm, all part of it too. He was wetter and blacker this time, Frank noted through the gray-ish haze. “What’s that, boy?” he began to talk to the mutt again in his head. “Timmy remains trapped down in that well but there’s still more important matters to deal with tonight over at the damn, er, dam?”

So he followed the dog again down a different road this time to, as it turns out, the Petrochemistry Dam in a whole ‘nother game. The same guy was in trouble once more.

“Tennessee — if that’s your real name. What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s perfectly fine,” he said, teetering on the edge of death. “I just have to finish what the tree stopped before. The parachute opened by accident. I never intended to be saved.”

“Man that’s crazy. Get down from there!”

“Too late! AAAAAAAAHHHH!”

Muttering about him being a damn (dam?) fool, Frank Lynn rushed to the bottom….

… only to find someone totally different lying in the blood tainted stream there. Somehow someway, Tennessee had switched over to Kentucky in the free fall. Then everything disappeared just like before. He had Clyde on the phone in no time to schedule an emergency session, but his therapist had bad news too. He was changing jobs and moving. In the fall. No bookings before then. This is when Fremont came into his life. And Rutherford B. Hayes became the first president of our US of A to never be president. Triumvirate.

—-

“Go see Jonny Silverhhand to end this thing,” spoke Blue Moon to me when she popped up good as new over at the Kabusie roundabout marketplace after about 3 days we’ll say. “Just around the ‘corner’ — you can’t miss him.” And then she came to me and pecked a kiss on my cheek before walking away, saving the best for later.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0043, 0614, C2077, GTA, Kabusie, Rancho C

00430611 (Mr. S)

They were just experimenting with the one bike between takes, merely rubbing noses it seems, when the director called them back to the set.  “Actually,” he said when they returned to the plywood backdrop in the background above that pictured all things Soos Creek on its other side, “I think we’ll just go with *plywood* this time — let *plywood* be the actor.” The girls logically thought this idea was the result of his rock cocaine imbibed during the break but he was altogether serious. Plywood actor it is, a hire from the Robots Guild. Since he could travel at 181.56 miles per hour and the Guild was only 5 miles away, given a favorable wind and a pretty straightforward path between points A and B it only took him around 2 minutes to reach the set once the call was put in.

“Aaaaanddd ACTION!”

“Hmm, where’d they go?”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0043, 0611, Google Street View, Kangerootown+, Omega, Washington

00430605 (Atten-hut!)

The 4 horsemen are logically reduced to two and brought into closer proximity with the main body that leads or steers. Let’s call this one “Big Ear 02”. What’s he hearing through the fusion?

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Filed under collages 2d, **VIRTUAL OT, 0605, 0043, Bogota, Willow Hill