Tag Archives: NODAL

Corton 02

Jeffrey Phillips stands on the edge of the larger of the two Corton islands, staring across the bridging log at the lesser one. Meeting place, he ruminates. But who with? And where is Wheeler?; she was just behind me.

—–

Alone at the center of the second he morphs into a Mouse again. The Gods look down from above.

“He soo wants to change. For Charlene the Punk. For others perhaps. He wants to be a good ruler (of Collagesity).”

“He understands his roots in Twin Peaks’ Phillip Jeffries and that’s a good jumping off spot or point,” spoke the other, maybe a female this time. Let’s call her Ayesha.

“If he puts on the red Judy shoes that would help.”

“The slippers,” agrees Ayesha. Let’s say the male’s name in this scenario is Walter. Walter Westinghouse. From Homerland.

“All he has to do is click the heels three times and he’s home,” says Walter, who should know. “He doesn’t have to go through all this pain and sorrow. He doesn’t have to pass through Gormania, West Virginia.”

“All that has been taken car of,” spoke Ayesha, thinking about the bike and then the inability of Jeffrey Phillips to fit into the rest of his band of pink punks. He had his “revenge”: Syd to SID. And then, collaterally, TILE to Tyle. Mercury X. Rising at the center of the labyrinth remains in love with his car. Phillip Jeffries as snow white Pansy looks on.

“He’ll get there,” reinforces Walter. But not tonight, both knew, watching him revert to old form. Jeffrey Phillips walks away from the center of the second, intent on finding Wheeler back in the small woods of the first. Maybe I just inadvertently skipped over a post, creating a plot hole (‘nother one).

—–

“Yes, see there, Wheeler?” he said, pointing with his cane. “A hole in the terrain, or the real plot (of ground) showing through the facade.”

“Who are you old man?” spoke a concerned Wheeler just out of camera range again. “And what have you done with Jeffrey Phillips??”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0025, 0610, Nautilus, Rim Isles, West Virginia

collage, 2d

Premiering on facebook now: “Strange Corner of West Virginia”, part of the Weird Wonderful series. This new work is set in Clay, the county seat of Clay County and made fully redundant around WWII when then name was changed from Clay Court House.

There is much to unpack here; Clay may be featured again. Projected title for future work (and picture it could be based on): “Bail set for Bail: the Great Redundancy Trial of ’53”. We’ll see!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Clay_County_Courthouse_(West_Virginia)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0025, 0606, Bogota, collages 2d, Ebbert, West Virginia

Silent (Center of Universe)

She didn’t know how she got here. She remembers being nude on an island and being rescued. The rescuer had said she’d gone “native” and that it was a good thing he stumbled upon her because she was almost sunburned to death. She said to him she thought she was on Mars, on the only pocket of water on the planet, but just big enough that she couldn’t see the edge from her position on an island within. She saw other islands as well, which to the rescuer she described as planets. He pointed out that didn’t make any sense, and that they were in an ocean, the North Sea of Nautilus to be specific, and that he had found her rocket ship surrounded by those dratted featherfloaters just in the bay over there and was looking for survivors. It was only here she remembered the ship, the trip, the interplanetary training she had worked so hard at (so hip). She must have got her head knocked upon landing/crashing. That would explain the the lump-sized bump and some other stuff — the nudity obviously, but also the shower. It never rained on her island, yet she kept exclaiming to the rescuer, the “water’s on,” followed by, “I better go turn it off.” She went off to find a shower to turn off but never did. “How long had *that* been going on?” the rescuer asked, getting more alarmed by the minute. He had found a towel to offer her from a nearby camping spot but she refused it, saying she was still in the shower and that if she put clothes on that they would just get wet and she’d have to put them in the dryer and she didn’t have a dryer on this infernal island in the pocket of water on the surface of Mars. He kept scratching his head.

The rescuer left (the scene). She wasn’t sure when, or why. Maybe she killed him, she ruminated now, with senses returned. I *was* hungry. Would I do such a thing? Perhaps he mentioned the shower one too many times.

She remembers Carrcassonnee. Big C, as she called her, was on the island as well, but in spirit form. Mainly. An Olive head appeared once with a Big I within it, poking out a little bit, even, on one side. Disabled Astronaut AB pointed out the flaw. Carrcassonnee never returned in true form but she remained an advisor in the wind, the dust, the water, the sand. She could appear in a tree, a clump of grass, a stump. She came as a burning bush, saying that Astronaut AB had to make a choice and there was a Queen and a King to answer to over in a place called Corton, described by Big C as a similar island to this. AB logically asked if they were still Mars. Big C always affirmed that AB was on Mars, even though the rescuer had clearly denied this reality. “Yes, it was good I killed him,” she decided, a wry smile appearing on her lips.

—–

“Spread them apart,” commanded one resident to another, separating Duck from Glen. “Wider, wider!” But even as far apart as they got they were still in the same county and that was the trick. The Queen and King retired happy.


“Don’t talk to her, dearest. She’ll come around eventually.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0025, 0605, HANA LEI, Nautilus, Rim Isles, West Virginia

Birthplace of Bogota — BoB

“So is this it?” he asked. So innocent and mild-spoken, not like in the Big Dream I had. I’m reassured by his physical presence. This is not a monster before me (!). It was all imaginary; unreal. Like with that girl in the 1898 Oz movie.

“Yes, Man About Time — MAT.”

“Thank you,” he replied about me adding the way he likes to say his name. Like someone named Matt in our world — *your* world. “Welcome MAT!”, and so on. It reminded me of something else.

“Do, ahem, you remember Marcus Fox Smartville? I believe you may have met him on News Years. Not this year but maybe one back.”

“Of course.” He twirled around in place on the edge of the road. Highway 14, the compliment to Highway 13 on the other side of the peninsula we live upon.

“Explain your relationship — if you don’t mind.”

“I am he,” he said plainly, flinging his arms about again. He looks up at the colorful sign, continuing talk from before. “So this is TILE.”

“TILE indicator, yes. The gallery across the road pointed it out. One Barret Darkfold. Interesting art within as well.”

“And you’ve contacted him?”

“Yes. Because his is the closest registered gallery to Collagesity as I found out last night, and also that our names are alphabetically next to each other in a member list of the Virtual Soho group, which I just found out tonight in looking up something totally different. I told him I thought it was funny: these two found juxtapositions of ourselves in two nights.”

“It’s the bridge,” he suddenly said. “It points right to the sign.”

I looked north. “Bridge of the 7 Chickens?”

“Yes. It points directly to this… TILE substitute,” he reinforced.

The individual tile numbers are not exact but the colors match in two different ways, red for L and blue for E, just like in the letters of TILE. But this is LOVE, of course, so the O and the V don’t match the letters. But they match the remaining colors of green and yellow. This is TILE.

“Shall we go see the art?” I asked him after nothing else seemed to need adding about the sign.

As we started walking, 2 pods flew by us and pulled into a small station just ahead. We took it as yet another sign…

… then I found another pod across the bridge. I hopped in, leaving MAT behind.

MAT decided to check out the Darkfold gallery by himself. “Didn’t even say goodbye, hmph,” he muttered about my quick exit while passing through the multi-arched entrance.

—–

Ahh. Quito’s Garage. The place Karoz Blogger got married way back in novel 2. And I was just here.

—–

Soon I was back where I started. The pod had suddenly decided to turn around in its journey not far past the garage. As if it was all about that.

“How was your trip?”

“How was *yours*?”

“Colorful,” he replied over.

“Mine too!”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0025, 0603, Lower Austra, Nautilus

more Highcastle

Shauna never made it out of the static monster (aka snow monster) realm.

“Shameful waste of life,” spoke investigating Officer Bill Mustardgas over to fellow investigating Officer Michelle Roundup. “But also, wouldn’t you agree, a shameful waste of popcorn, nom nom nom.”

“Agreed! nom nom nom.”

—–

Tessa was nosing around the castle while waiting. “Grandpa?”

—–

“I hear that my step-cousin didn’t make it in from the snow today, Willa. When will it stop snowing? Will it be March?” *sigh*

“Pills!” exclaimed the Registered Nurse, a type of monster herself who had a whole bunch in her hand to cure any ail.

“Put those away and bring the girl to me,” she commanded, wanting to stay lucid if melancholy for the moment. “The Grand Niece”.

—–

“Stop looking over there, child. Stop touching things.”

“Oh, okay,” Tessa agreed while lowering her hand, trying to stay compliant. She knew this woman — creature — before her had valuable information about her beloved Grandpa. Was it possible that he was still alive? She had to find out.

“Look at me, girl. Look me in the eyes.” Tessa did as she asked again. “Do you know who I am? Do you know why you’re here?”

Tessa said she’d heard that she was a member of the family and that she could come to the castle to live if she wished. She was told she could also take step-cousin Shauna’s room soon, and that Shauna was going away for a while and that she might not be coming back.

“That is correct, child,” then spoke the creature before her, who had decided to take the name Daisy Mae March as a sign of hope that the Realm of Snow will end soon. “The Grandpa is upstairs,” Daisy stated, knowing what was foremost in Tessa’s mind.

Joy! Reunion with the most beloved! But then the complete downer was revealed: Grandpa was still dead and only living in Grandma’s head while she herself remained alive. Grandma? Tessa then thought, puzzled. April Mae Flowers?

“Who are you?” she demanded, eyes boring into her now.

“So much pain, Tessa. Yes, you are most definitely one of us.” Joy in return.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0025, 0515, Pickleland

00250502

“Will you two just *stop* with the arguing,” requested Inky Woman from the Falls, hair getting wetter and wetter. The water should be becoming blacker any time now.

Any time now.

What were the two frog-ish goldfish, Goldie and Grayscale, arguing about or perhaps just discussing in a loud way? Bodies of water, I’m guessing. When does a pond become a lake?; how many acres does it have to be for the name transaction to kick in? 100, Goldie is guessing. “100 *feet* or 100 acres?” responds Grayscale, trying to differentiate 1d from 2d, like any good mathematician. Goldie is a linguist, though, and his experiences with numbers is not good. Instead: letters are his numbers, as Grayscale would understand. If he grasped letters at all. “1 through 10: 100,” he exclaimed to the other in a voice that definitely argued for argument now. “Well, A-Z right back at you!” Yells. Definitely getting louder and louder. “75! 3/4ths!” “A-B-C-D; R!” “125!!” “R. RADAR!!”

“STOOOPPP!!!”

Goldie turned to his left and Grayscale to his right. Inky Woman had played her card, avoiding a crash. Jenny Lind enters Pickleland from above. All are embarrassed they even argued at all as the Great Woman stepped out of the ship and onto the green of the lake (or pond) peninsula. Graceful. Like a butterfly. She told her entourage to wait within while she settled the matter.

She takes 1 step. She takes 10 and is upon them. “Lake,” she responds to Goldie. She turns (changes). “Pond,” she says to the other. Then, hair still not wet, she moves away.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0025, 0502, Pickleland

pink punk

“Did you know I have a hole in my back, Jeffrey? Do you even notice these things?”

“Let’s not argue tonight, Charlene.”

Pause. “Anyway, I guess coming here gave me an excuse to wear that hot pink dress I haven’t worn since, oh well, I suppose since I walked under that marquee in Picturetown and then glanced down the alley at skateboarding Bart Smipson. The bastard.”

“Now now, Charlene. He’s just a kid, a ragamuffin of the streets.” Smaller pause. “Plus, he’s probably dead. We’ll find out soon. Because of the next place we have to visit. Fern’s already been there. Which means you will be there. Eventually.”

“Pheh.” Charlene the Punk reached behind her shoulder and felt the hole in her back, suddenly becoming self conscious of it. She then drew her attention forward again. “And who’s this suppose to be? Me in the past I suppose — presume.”

“That’s the idea. Felicia Mae Appletree, but not the Smipsons teacher, the one who would have taught Bart most likely.”

“Pheh.”

“Instead, the child, the daughter. Maebaleia tattoo already on her back — she’s too young for that.”

“I have a tattoo of a *hole* on my back,” Charlene complained. “I don’t want to hear about some itty bitty upper back tattoo.”

“Central back.” He had walked behind the bar and checked. That’s how he knew where they needed to head next. Fern must have planted the idea in the young Charlene’s head. If this is Charlene, and it appears it is so.

“Does she *talk*?” Charlene the Punk says exasperatedly, about ready to leave if some kind of music doesn’t start soon. And no Residents this time or she’s outta here real real quick. She’s already told Jeffrey that, who assured her that’s it’s only Pink Floyd music offered here. She checks to see where his hands and fingers are, though, and notices that some remain hidden either in darkness or in clothes. She will not be entertained by the mastications of Homer; she was never one of those kids.

Boxes of donuts were rolled out on the stage. Charlene the Punk was outta here quicker than a pig with wings.

—-

“Have a seat, er, Felicia,” offered Jeffrey after the exit. 10 years younger, underaged even for him. Probably all for the best.

“Tell me about the tattoo; I dig it,” Jeffrey requests after the entertainment starts. Turns out she was one of those kids after all. She’d just forgotten what she had dug.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0025, 0413, Nautilus, Yd Island

mended?

He was going even further back now, almost to the beginning, the origin of Our Second Lyfe itself. What was the point of it all?

It was logical that Roger Pine Ridge would show up at this point juncture in our still evolving storyline, taking even more rusty twists and turns to and fro across the Nautilus continent and beyond. We’re on Yd Island currently, the Ratzenburger Rabbit just beyond that castle over there. Jeffrey Phillips felt warm again; he knew he was close. Roger helped.

“I was last on Mistery Island, helping Blue Bear Y out with that broken orb. Do you recall?”

Jeffrey Phillips vaguely recalled.

“Rainbow Sphere, some called it. Go back and find the Rainbow Sphere.” Good advice from Roger tonight. Thanks!

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0025, 0412, Nautilus, Yd Island

Valeria, Castle

“A cypress forest without eucalyptus is nothing.” Jeffrey Phillips was trying to get a rise out of Randolph the Bastard Pirate and mate Wendy sitting down the table, but useless so far. “Orange is not a fruit,” he said, peering in their direction again for a reaction. Blank. Time to move on from this Valeria stone cottage on the north end of the island. Castle up next.

—–

“Cypresses. So many cypresses,” he grumbled, walking up the rise.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0025, 0302, Nautilus, Rim Isles, Sansara

tied up

“So I just took the whole kitten caboodle island, bridge and all, and drug it over through the water to the *Easties* side, saying down in my booming voice, ‘You had your turn, you Westerners, Richie Griffith and all. Now it’s their turn.’ I also declared that the island would switch sides of Bartybrat Bay each 700 years but my guess is that they’ll want to do it much sooner. So one of us should plan to return in about, say, 20 to 30 years for the chore. Are you on board with that, Jeffrey Phillips?”

Jeffrey stared at the picture of Brilliant Island’s central bay between the two sides of its twinned village, trying to figure out which direction was which and if the snapshot represents a before or after situation. “Sure, sure,” he finally uttered, knowing he didn’t have anything on the schedule past next Tuesday’s Wednesday. “I’ll even go first. Now that I know they’re on our side.”

“Okay, your turn. Tell me what happened to *you*.”

“Oh, nothing much. Really — nothing. They found me reading that book and they tied me down on the other side of the hill and left me there and finally I managed to get free and I came back home to here and wrote what happened down in my blog.”

“Hmm,” says Fern Stalin, thinking, oh, he really *did* mean “nothing much”. Certainly not as exciting and meaningful as her story of the island. She gets up to leave.

“Where’re you off to now, opposite of mine?”

“The rocket ship. Did you forget?”

Jeffrey Phillips had forgot. Sammy the Messenger Featherfloater should have returned by now to let all the others of his kind know. Fearless intrepid leader Spore had a plan. There was not one Fern but two, like Original and Extra Crispy. Now to sort them all out in separate buckets… or something.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0025, 0217, Lower Austra, Maebaleia/Satori, Nautilus, Outer Islands, Rim Isles