Tag Archives: NODAL

January 18, 2024 · 9:21 am

Officer Howard’s wife

—–

“So how did you become an owner of a golf course? Libra is it still? I mean, as of 10 minutes ago?”

Libra aka Bermuda aka Atlantis High Priestess aka some other titles I’m not thinking about in the moment decided to be pretty honest for a change. “It all started when I got some money in St. Dennis.”

“St. Dennis?” replied Red Dead Beardy Head to this, tired of staring at Petty who was their waiter, convinced he is asleep instead of glaring at him. He’d heard of people doing such with their eyes open, and he was correct in this deduction as we’ve seen in an earlier post which this post is a direct continuation of timewise. We’re back with him and Black Pearl, soon to set sail in their sea ship to the outer depths of space, grilling just found Libra Neptune in recently founded Aisle of Palms on the Jeogeot continent of Our Second Life. Libra certainly had a story to tell, with a lot hanging in the balance.

“Money?” Black Pearl continued Red Dead’s line of inquiry. “From whom?”

“First off, let’s drop the pretense. I’m not really Libra. My actual name is Wheeler. I am what you could call a co-owner of this town. I *play* Libra.”

Wheeler let this set in a bit, then added: “Newt is my husband. But Newt is actually Baker Bloch, kind of Baker Bloch’s replacement. We’re king and queen — of sorts again.”

“King…” said Red Dead Beardy Head, utterly confused look on his face.

“… Queen,” continued Black Pearl again for him, just as shocked.

“Yes, that’s right. King and Queen. Of Aisle of Palms. On the Jeogeot continent. Of Our Second Lyfe. But, thing is, St. Dennis is separate from all that. St. Dennis is elsewhere. St. Dennis is (part of) the Shangri-La you seek. And I know the correct way to get us there.”

(to be continued)

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January 15, 2024 · 12:31 pm

00410513

“I hear the perch is good here.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. They don’t serve fish this early. These are *landlovers*.”

“Oh.”

“So… *Libra*. Is it still Libra? I mean, since we’ve been walking? It was Libra about 10 minutes ago and I’m just wondering if the name still sticks.”

“You can call me such but, admittedly, I go by many names.”

“Yes, I’m seeing the bigger picture now.” She looked over the parrot dress, which Libra aka Atlantis High Priestess aka Bermuda aka Victor/Victoria redonned shortly after being released from jail by Officer Michelle Roundup. Some sort of pirate convention in town; they figured they would need the cell soon enough. Assign a hefty fine for the crime and move on.

“Where is our waiter?” asked impatient Red Dead Beardy Head. That man over there in the other room had been staring at him all the time. Is that our waiter on a break — taunting me? he wondered. Turns out it was.

4 handed Keat Owens, waiter/chef by day, private detective by night. He’d learned to sleep with his eyes open but he needed to wake up now and go to work again.

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January 12, 2024 · 6:31 am

Thieves Landing (perfect time machine (pair of cards))

“No. *Not* like Blackbeard. It’s Red Head Beardy… shoot, let me start again. It’s Red *Dead*–”

“Why don’t I just call you Redbeard, eh?” she suggested with an interruption, hand laying on his chest. Red hair also there, she then realized, running her fingers softly through it; red hair all over, actually. “Or how about just Red?” Again, he’d heard this before. He’d turned in his hair. At a motel, he’s picking up. To be more myself, he thought.

“Oh *okay*.” He rolled over while taking her hand, looked straight into her pretty green eyes like a door or a phone. “*Black*,” he playfully chided with a return name. “Now about that ship?”

—–

She couldn’t find the free one in the inventory she had in mind, goofy looking but oh so reliable and roomy despite the odd shape. She decided to just let him have her own (The Black Pearl). On one condition: she goes too. Wherever this mysterious “X” spot is. He said there’s buried treasure to be found in the past there. 150,000 American dollars, which translates to roughly 5,000,000 dollars present day. “We just have to go there and find it in the center of the X, buy gold with it, and then come back here to cash in and spend — I’ve got it all mapped out. We’ll have to land in Mexico and take a smaller boat to the opposite shore. Or maybe just swim if the distance is not too prohibitive across the channel. How’s your swimming skills?”

“Let’s take the boat,” she said, dismissing the swimming part, not wanting to grease herself all up before going into town, this Backwater place, he said.

The name had been changed from before to protect the innocent.

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January 2, 2024 · 10:47 am

Aisle of Palms…

… is a go!

More details very soon.

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January 1, 2024 · 8:26 am

the return of googly eyes

Happy New Years everyone! Hope yours will be starting off fantastically.

Tomorrow I plan to begin renting 10,725 square meters of land on the continent of Jeogeot, Gods willing. I think my earmarked parcel is safe until then because of this…

… an “intrusive” aisle of palms on an elongated 512 parcel in the middle of the thing. In fact, that’s a tentative name for the town I want to construct here, a rehash of Constantynople which is a rehash of Fordham’s Collagesity and so on and so on down the line.

Just like 8 years ago, the wife and I have returned from a vacation in Charleston SC and also nearby Folly Beach, the latter becoming more and more the center of focus during our almost yearly sojourns to the world famous metropolis around Christmastime.

It all seems to fit together seamlessly *because of* and not despite the invasive palms.

And then there’s also the London Tower Bridge nearby, which, in this virtual version, just lost 1/2 of itself. Wonder why? Maybe I’ll be able to find out from my new neighbors.

I must keep my eyes peeled for more synchronicities, ha.

And I plan to recreate the dead parrot statue as well in some fashion. Blackbeard’s? (Bluebeard’s?) To be seen.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackbeard#Blockade_of_Charles_Town

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December 24, 2023 · 10:48 am

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By Christmas morning he had collected 3 cans in total. The second that soon followed the first through the portal, some kind of product called Mount and Dwu (?), turned out to be pretty nondescript in his estimation outside the queer name — just a “can” if you will. The 3rd, arriving only a handful of minutes ago after a wait of hours, was more interesting; it was now front and center before his eyes. A soda filled aluminum cylinder labelled 12939 — no ambiguity here that the number was the most important element — with a descriptive line underneath: “on reflection, a better cola”. He’s stared and stared but can find no rhyme nor reason to it. If only he’d played an early, open world game from the 1980s called Mercenary he might have the opening he needs by popping the figurative tab off the top.

Newt’s literal creator Dr. Mouse showed up later in the morning with a present of Old Spice Showering Gel. He’d played the open world game Mercenary in the 80s and a bit in the 90s even. While in Spain in the 2010s he’d also seen a commercial playing on the reversing trick.

“*But*,” he said to his “son” Newt after revealing it, “the number translated through this can is not actually 12939.”

“It isn’t?” Newt said, staring at the central one with renewed interest. The overall meaning was starting to dawn on him as well.

“No. It’s 1939. The same year as…”

“… the year coming up,” Newt finished for him, suddenly wondering what he was going to do with his tree after New Year’s.

Mouse pointed his cane at the can. “This is (your predecessor) Pepi. My guess is that he’s indicating, from the Great Beyond let’s say, he wants to come back… in the best way he *can* currently, I’m assuming. Pepi ‘Can’ Kolya.” Here he points to the 3rd again, then the 2nd then the 1st. The order of the words in the person-in-question’s full name.

Newt reflexively stares out the window toward the crossroads he’d envisioned Pepi standing in the middle of just the other day. And then Mouse was about in the same spot last Tuesday’s Wednesday when he was flagging down that streetcar named Desire which goes all over town, uptown downtown sidetown (etc.). Could he have known even then?

Or was it merely another of one of those what you call coincidences? Couldn’t be, he thought on the spot. Couldn’t be.

On cue, they both hear the streetcar rumbling into downtown from midtown. “Gotta run and catch a ride, Newt. You know how scared I am of midtown, Chinaville and all. Merry Christmas and thanks for the slippers!” And with that Mouse was gone, moving quickly out of the apartment building Newt lived in beside Shenanigans and onto the street once more.

“Wait, wait, I want a ride!” he called.

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December 23, 2023 · 5:28 pm

Christmas Eve

He was playing Schubert’s 14th piano sonata he’d bought the score for about a week back when it flew in from his set up portal, the 1st of 3 as it turns out. It clanked and rolled on the floor almost to the opposite wall, freezing his hands mid chord progression with the sound. He knew instantly what it was of course. He’d been here before.

It was minimally damaged in the transition thankfully. He brought it over to his work table, moving his trusty steampunk computer aside for the moment; automatically started to take notes on the thing. “Quasi-vintage Coko Cola can circa 1990s, lid unpopped with pop still inside,” he wrote,  unable to resist a ready pun. “12 fluid ounces; bar code 490690.”

Understanding the fractal nature of his universe, Newt brought the computer front and center again, googling the number. Through it he learned the product was manufactured in New York with a can manufacturer called Crown. Approx. date of creation: 1983.

https://www.cokecollection.com/index.php?lang=en&pageid=50&canID=11453

Those are the mundane facts. In digging deeper with the number, he soon found another New York connection here:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Interstate_90_in_New_York

Within New York, I-90 has a complete set of auxiliary Interstates, which means that there are Interstates numbered I-190 through I-990 in the state, with no gaps in between.

Splitting 490690 in two and averaging the 2 resulting numbers gives us 590, which is exactly between 190 and 990 or exactly in the symbolic center of New York somewhere moving west to east, he determined.

Right about… here.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Can_of_Worms_(interchange)

Can front and center once more, he figures the fizz inside has settled down enough to safely pop the top. But dare he?

Another can comes flying through the portal. Saved by the bell, er, *clank*.

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December 19, 2023 · 8:57 am

Black Ice

Just not rezzing in. Instead: a white spirit. Probable reality not realized. Dr. White.

“Not showing up tonight, not rabbit, not rab-bat,” spoke High Atlantis Priestess to Mouse over in the corner of the room, still not transfigured to a younger form of himself despite his best efforts. “We’ll just have to do without him.”

And I have a name for her. Bermuda. A triangle of utter non-coloredness, no TILE hues involved. Let’s make this shit *not* happen, I suppose.

“Fine,” he finally said in response. “I’ll begin.” And he followed with mundane statements aplenty, making her yawn and, I believe, fall asleep. She dreamed about past glories.

(to be continued)

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December 14, 2023 · 9:38 am

00410310

It was still before the Great War II that never was, leaving only the Great War in history books without a needed numeral to accompany it. Axis was not yet in control, and, even if he were, it would not result in war. Only a child (Alice Tart). 1939 would be the year by that time. But right now it was ’36.

They knew her as Clare by now, the Boss’ Girl Friday instead of Biff’s down at Southside. This was Northside or thereabouts, close enough to count. She heard the Desire streetcar pass by below and thought of conductor/driver Dennis Martennis, what he said the other week to her as the rain poured down outside, making it undesirable to walk to work like she usually does. He asked: Are you the One?

“*There*, Madam Mayor,” she said, her physical work probably complete for the day. “Ancient computer’s fixed. All we had to do was change the ribbon.” This made her think of her ribbon dress that she elected not to wear to work today. Instead she chose something simpler, something plain and black and more conservative. Maybe she’ll try the ribbon dress out next week on the public but for now: inconspicuous will do. Until they find out about the coins.

The mayor was right beside her, just having finished rechecking office files for the missing 3-n-1 folder, another thing the Boss had in common with private dick Biff across town. No luck.

“Clare,” she said, turning. “That grey haired man who came to see me last week… Dextre or something.”

“Keith B., right,” Clare corrected, knowing where the confusion came from. He *does* look like a serial killer, albeit with a code. ‘Nother one.

“Were you here when he left? Weren’t you on some kind of break at the time?”

“Let’s see,” she thought out loud. “I let him in, you guys talked for a while. It was about 12 and he was still in there with you. Yes, I took my lunch break at the time. I didn’t see him leave.”

“And I didn’t follow him out. Got sleepy all of a sudden — can’t even remember the next hour or so. We had coffee,” she said, thinking back. “And donuts… he brought donuts.”

“*I* brought donuts,” corrected Clare again. “Per your suggestion. Said you had a lot of figuring out to do and needed caffeine *and* sugar, a double boost of the grey matter… as you put it.”

“Okay, *you* brought the donuts in.” She stopped, trying to picture the scene. The information was stupendous, almost knocked her off her feet without the needed drugs. Moby Prick is alive and well out there somewhere off the coast of Flores. And pyramids are out there as well! Atlantis; Abyss. She had seen into the depths of her soul and it wasn’t pretty. Dr. Mouse and his Serapis Club may have a point after all.

(to be continued)

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December 11, 2023 · 12:11 pm

00410306

With part of the money she made off her successful debut album “Atlantis Rising”, she decided to take an extended trip to the Azores themselves, starting with Corvo, the smallest and least populated of the 9 island group and known for a huge stone statue of a pointing man on a horse perched atop one of its high ridges, supposedly dismantled and moved to Lisbon by the Portuguese government around the start of the 16th Century and then lost. Or so the legends go.

She tried to get into fishing while there… and failed. She’d settle for fishing out mysteries. She asked around about the equestrian statue, but tales were numerous and often varied wildly from each other. Some say the Portuguese themselves erected the horseman shortly after they discovered the island in the 1400s. They say the supposed inscription on the base of the statue, “Jesus, go ahead”, proves this, although it was originally claimed to be illegible. Some credit the Carthaginians who may have been in the area during the first millennium AD. Some dare to go even further back, before men as we know them began sailing the seas of the world. Pre-men known as Atlanteans. This is what she wanted to mine.

Another popular Corvo legend has it that a stash of coins was found in the cornerstone of a washed out house during the 1700s that predate the Portuguese, including many that were gold. No one on the island seemed to be an expert on this, but several directed her to a pawn shop on the neighboring island of Flores — in the City of Cass that we know pretty well now through these blog novels. But more appears to be there to explore and contemplate. One local even hinted to Supergal Ruby that the pawn shop owner *herself* had two of these gold coins stashed away on the premesis, but he seemed pretty mad to her, furiously producing thread on his oddly placed spinning wheel at Crow Beach in order, he said, to add to a giant ball of yarn she then found located about 100 meters further down the same Corvo beach. Guy who had the curious name of Gold himself, she noted, always paying attention to name synchronicities. We will return to him.


spinner…


… and ball

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