Edward knew he was a fictional character and decided to do something about it. Logical endpoint: Shelley’s mother Wheeler. Over on Omega.
“It’s about time,” she said from within, not looking up from her book. History of the continent. Fascinating.
Tag Archives: NODAL
00460101
BEGINNING OF “SUNKLANDS PHOTO-NOVEL 46”!
So eventually I was able, with repeated shoves, to physically push Tobor out of the water and onto the shore until he seemed to kind of settle himself directly on the line between land and sea, my first big indication of what was going on here although I didn’t know it at the time. It could be construed I was saving the figure from drowning, but, if so, that’s certainly not the full story. The guy was dying, that’s a fact. And he seemed to be going out on his own terms. But something happened at the shoreline, something quite unexpected. He didn’t have to *choose* the way he was heading and was so hesitant to accomplish. He could simply wait on the shore for death to come to him. *I*, through character Greg Ogden here, had created that option, that scenario. Soo… who am I?
—–
So we’ve started “Sunklands Photo-Novel 46” with this figure directly trodding the line in his odd gait between sand and tide. Time to reveal who he is.
No, not *that* Peter Bergman. Or Bergmann if you use the Austrian spelling of the surname, where he claimed to be from. Although that’s what first caught my eye about the name when a related video popped up in my algorithmically generated Youtube feed, being a big big Firesign Theatre fan since back in college days. More on that soon. No, instead it’s *this* Peter Bergmann, seen here checking into a Sligo, Ireland hotel via CCTV footage on the evening of June 12, 2009, 4 days before his death in the same area. Cause of death? Heart attack. *Not* drowning. Keep that in mind.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0046, 0101, Europe, Ireland, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya+, SG Park
00450611
An F near the highway outta here. Must stand for Fern. That’s me! And this is my game made for walking and traveling. Since a bus is more likely to be used than any other form of transport, I call it Fernbus. Or Ferncoach; haven’t finalized. Much like the game.
Another F in the same field. Maybe: Finished? As in, finished with this game. Just over there beyond that highway sign actually leading to nowhere, motoring cars falling like lemmings into the void sea just beyond.
A third F. France. *France*?? I playfully exclaim to myself in utter shock. But this was suppose to be the corner to The Netherlands from this here direction of Germany, golly gee whiz. Where’s Vaalserberg that I created this whole game to find Philip Strevor at and maybe Mikie and Frank Lynn along with him? Where’s one of the higher rises in the entire Dutch kingdom and the highest in The Netherlands itself where everything will reach a logical climax?
Oh well, I’ll just have to take a 500 KM trip north on another one of my many game buses to Aachen to recalibrate, maybe take in the Albrecht Durer exhibit celebrating the 500 year anniversary of his visit while I’m there. Wonder if he created the print “Melancholia” when staying in the low lands? No, I think (again, playfully with myself, because I actually knew the dates of everything, the trip, the print, the painting), that would have been pre-1521 and thus before the 1 year trip to Holland. Yes, that’s where he finished “St. Jerome in his Study” instead, one of his most famous paintings as “Melancholia” is to print.
—–
Windmills old and new entering the view. Getting close! Vaalserberg here we come.
00450514
“I’ve been struggling to complete this piece for a long while. Could it be you’re the assistant Jack Shepherde promised? I was beginning to think he’d forgotten. Let’s test your artistic eye. Where should my last portion of lime green paint go?”
—–
“I ordered my feets to stop moving but it probably was just an illusion caused by the higher ups, the powers that be. I was still in control by them, not of them. Not yet. And probably never will given what happened when I laid down on that green green patch of grass that so attracted me. I had to lay there, commanded to again, I suppose. I intended just to rest my eyes and body for a second…
“… which turned out to be another hour, the same period of time I spent on that Dry Rock back in, where was it — not Windytown but the town before that. A couple of towns ago. Anyway, I’ve told you the result. Was my period at hard Dry Rock negated by this square of soft, cushiony green, I have to ask?
“Then, after another hour — the place I would be, say, if I didn’t take that long nap, hmmm — I found the plane that I *didn’t* crash. I began to think I wasn’t alone in this netherworld after all. Lime green as I still was, I began to fear The Other.”
“Thank you very much for this information, Philip,” I said, seeing sweat bead on his forehead again. Time to stop for today. Maybe tomorrow we’ll continue. Day 3? I’m not sure if there is such a thing but we’ll see.
(to be continued)
00450509 (25?)
Banned from my Nautilus homeland by an overprotective mother fearful of stalkers, suitcase in hand I walk just outside its boundaries and set my eyes and aim on the fabled wall city of Perch-Mistletoe just yonder up on that beige ridge, with half banned itself (Perch?) but the other 1/2 free to roam (Mistletoe?) and even live within as I currently understood the situation. But I ended up going further — to Yd Island in the sw of the continent and revisiting another sacred place that seems untouched and uneroded by the sands of time. That of the Ratzenburger Rabbit, one of my own. I get ahead of myself. I have to talk about Lexi front and center.
She drives up on her rough sounding, rough looking motorcycle basically at the beginning of my journey and soon we’ve joined forces in her quest to find what she simply called The One. “Wanna explore some haunted houses?” she propositions not far into the conversation. Why not? I thought. I have nothing to kill but time.
We started with the one with the barrel. Just on the opposite side of P-M from us. “Just ignore that giant candy sentry over there,” she said as we positioned ourselves a safe distance away from it. “He can’t see you unless you’re standing right under him. Learned that the hard way.” On my part, I was more worried about the suddenly darkness and the need for a flashlight to explore. This didn’t seem like a good omen but too late to back out. I consoled myself by saying that I’d be in the free part of Perch-Mistletoe by dawn’s early light, sleeping under a pagoda or something. Just over there beyond the wall.
And, yep, there was a barrel inside. Lexi seemed relieved that it “mostly contained–,” in her own words, seeming to break off at the end. Mostly contained *what?* I automatically thought upon hearing it. Finish your sentences please.
And then a little later the same thing came up. Pattern.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0045, 0509, Nautilus, Perch-Mistletoe
00450508
I decided to skirt this arid seeming patch of land a rather large group of buildings nevertheless exists within, not trusting if the ground was toxic or not by the looks of it. While doing so, I fantasized about an imbalance of dry vs. wet, and that this place was a barren wasteland because another neighborhood, perhaps even far far away, became too wet and exotic at the same “time” (quote unquote, because time does not really exist). I found my thoughts becoming weirder as I trodded across this flat flat terrain. How would it end? Perhaps badly, very much so. Yet I had to keep going, nay, I was *commanded* to march forward by powers still unknown. But I had hatched some plans for remedying that. I had to become a *power* myself. God-like.
20 minutes later I stared down at the canal I was walking along and realized how alone I was in this world. Only Me Myself and I around — the Holy Triad — and only 1 of those counted for anything. Yes I needed to consolidate my power. Become all supreme, all knowing.
50 minutes later brought me to Fred (sheep). Fred had a *lot* to say to me; said he’d been lonely too standing in this field of corn without any company for the longest time. He opined strongly about The Netherlands’ economy, saying it was a world heavyweight in comparison to the actual size of the land. 131st in size (among world counties), 2nd in agricultural exports, he proclaimed proudly around the midpoint of our lengthy discourse, which, when checking later, I found to be absolutely correct according to 2020 estimates. I guess Fred would know, living in this country and grazing amongst its agricultural products like this corn all his live long life. We exchanged email addresses and promised to try to keep in touch before I moved on, bound and determined to reach the se corner of Holland by part 10 or at least part 11 of my journey.
A little over an hour later I entered this grassy field dotted with poppies (*not* tulips) and spotted Fred again, even though he had to have been miles away before. “Told you I’d stay in touch!” he yelled at me when I approached. I decided that I needed to call Lester, let Fred talk to *him* to see what he had to say. But all Lester heard was baa-ing of course. I needed that sanity check.
(to be continued)
00450503 (crossing)
“I was back at Day 1 even though I had travelled so far. I knew this was Holland still because of the old timey windmill.
“Soon I found the blue and yellow cross in the green landscape…
“… whose correctly aligned blue and yellow eyes as indicated by the red arrow on the map I’d found just before…
“… pinpointed the location of the Data Hall where I’d learn what happened to all the people. Where are all the people? has been a question running through my head this whole time. No cu-clomp cu-clomp cu-clomp-ing of the wooden shoes and all.”
“I see.”
“But making my way toward it I was blocked by something that appeared to be a giant bee with its eerie, almost, let’s say, alien buzzing…
“… which turned into something quite different as I dared to keep approaching: a different kind of crossing — a sign of warning. The windmill in the background told me that we were still in Holland, although, um, updated; more modern; taller… and, er, sleeker. I was still walking the correct course.”
“Of course.”
“Although in maybe a different time?”
“Take your time, Philip,” I said, noticing the sweat beading up on his forehead above his beady little eyes, blue and yellow as well? Nah, let’s just go with hazel. “So what happened next?” I continued to guide.
“Well, not a lot. The dream just ended there with the thing’s alarm lights going off with all the dinging and such. I wake up. Aaand: that’s it.”
He looks up for some sign of approval by me that he had done good. Time to let up with the grilling. We needed to move beyond that warning sign and get to that Data Hall. But not today. Philip’s feeble brain needed time to recuperate.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL OT, 0045, 0503, Back Rooms, Europe, Holland
00450414 (a new high and low of it all)
Welp, there she goes again, thinks Newt, sipping on a recently procured nice cool lemonade drink courtesy of a boy named Bart. Back into the tunnel. Guess I better get back to the home base myself, start working on that skybox and maybe the rezzing of that larger version of Howl’s Moving Castle I have in my inventory. Must not forget the Yellow Guy. Or the Red Man or the Green Dude or the Blue Boy for that matter. “Frank’s Moving Mountain” which is kind of the same as “Howl’s Moving Castle” is a way to keep moving forward on that subject.
—–
On Wheeler’s (Shelley’s) part, when she’d finished with her jog, she went to visit the bar that inspired her own over at Conejo Island, which she hadn’t returned to in a while.
Things seemed different. Curious. She copies all copyable objects and brings them back home again to roost.
—–
“Yes!” she says to the bar underwater.
“Yes!” he exclaims to the castle in the sky.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0045, 0414, Bull's Bar, Frank's Moving Castle, Jeogeot, Juho, Nawt Vaya+, NVFS
00450413 (We are here (!))
Jeogeot’s only true inland sea. I’m not sure why I haven’t focused on it before, hmmm. It’s time has come I guess I’ll say presently to that thought.
Still in their matching Mr. Moon t-shirts, joint owners Newt and Wheeler ponder the meaning of milk and bread at the new location of Crooked. The TILE Manifesto is about to be studied in earnest, I feel.
A remaining question to be answered: will Wheeler’s Bulls Bar return at the place pictured above? It seems to be destiny in a way. The objects making up the bar are shared by Baker Bloch (Newt) and Wheeler, which makes it harder to store and transfer to a new location. The outside remains unfinished: just giant white and red cubes stuck together. Probably should just ditch it; go with interior alone. Especially since it’s such a scenic setting here.
part 2: parents
“Hey Newt?”
“Yes Wilson, er, Wheeler?”
“We need…”
“… to talk about Shelley, I know.” Pause. “Let’s let her finish her run first. There she is. Go Shelley!”
“Thanks!” she acknowledges through the transparent tunnel walls while continuing to motor along.
00450412
“Susan was a goner, Fink. You essentially killed her with your attack at the beach. But you were only defending Jack, who would have gotten killed himself if you hadn’t intervened. If *Fern* hadn’t intervened. You first saw him — remember? — across Susan’s sprawled out body, his green matching your flesh, his square matching your round.”
“I remember,” said Fink. “I– didn’t mean to kill her.”
“*Told* you to control that freak-ish green arm better,” reprimanded Jack, then felt bad about it. “I mean, I guess you were defending me and all still.”
“I *was*.”
“*Anyway*,” said Princess Pinky Gumm, “I knew her essence could be put to better use than keeping her alive for another day or three at best until she succumbed to those obviously fatal injuries. So I used that energy, that essence to heal myself. Remember? I was possessed by The Lich. *I* wasn’t going to get any better.” Better her than me, Princess Pinky Gumm thought but didn’t say aloud. Was she 100% sure Susan wouldn’t recover? Actually: no. She had been selfish. Susan was a renegade cyborg killer, programming triggered by an electrical shock from a giant Acid River eel. But maybe, just maybe, she would have recovered. But that left the killer part intact still, she tried to rationalize. Yes, better her than me (for death), she reinforced to herself.
“How?” says Fink.
“I’m both a physicist and psychic trained at world esteemed Cal State, Fink. The answer would be too complicated for your meager brain to comprehend. Given you just made an F minus on what I would consider the easiest test on Earth.” Princess… Pink(y)… Gum(m), she reviews the glaringly obvious three-parter, and looks over at his blank, human face. So typical. At least fellow human Susan had killer written all over hers. After the eel. Kill or be killed, she thought once more. Yes, her complicated arrangement of physical-psychical interactions used for the transfer were justified.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0045, 0412, Jeogeot, Juho, Nawt Vaya+, Oooo
Sunklands 