Tag Archives: Peter Oesso^*

it is chicken it is eggs

Despite appearances, this wasn’t Mars outside. But then again, neither was this Baker Bloch in front of us sitting on the top of the couch, surfaces deceiving again. You can check his black brim hat if you don’t believe me. Slightly iridescent, like a dulled adobe shell. Baker Bloch’s is properly black, like midnight on a sunless moon.

What’s Fake Baker staring at? Is he waiting for someone? Yes, he’s waiting for somone. Because this is actually Tropp again, about to get together with Treelor, Axis be damned (and he is). Tropp is in charge here — always. I don’t know how that happened, honestly, but there it is.

Wendell “Biff” Carter is also Tropp. That is, they have the same core avatar. Wheeler is her own core, Baker Bloch too. Baker Blinker, Karoz Blogger, Hucka Doobie, and several others: the same. We went over all that in photo-novel 13. I know you were paying attention. So we’re dealing with a core issue. And Axis is also the same as Tropp, actually, both forming within 2 posts of each other back in photo-novel 8 (I’m sure you remember).

The actual location: New Eden, certainly a different place in these here photo-novels, a special place perhaps. Unique, but maybe not in a good way. The snake slithers forwards, holding an apple in its mouth. Peter Gabriel from Genesis can’t remove a Gentle Giant “Giant for a day” mask and remains noncommercial, unable to become the pop star he wishes and be free of the weight. So close these bands are, yet so far apart. In hypertime, I suppose, they could be the same. Like Dick and Dickens; like Johnson and Johnson. We’re not really talking reincarnation. We’re talking the same *gestalt* I guess you could put it. Outside of time again — there’s probably a heap of additional clues out there if one wishes to search.

Axis himself has played the role of Peter through Tronaxis, a nod to the audiovisual synchronicity Tronesis, a melding of Genesis (Lamb) and the original Tron movie. This was the weight. Wherever Peter went in his solo career, the Lamb was sure to follow, like a dark companion of sorts. He could either move forward into Peter O’esso and a successful solo career — *commercial* success (like a car) — or slink backwards into pre-Lamb where the red cross dominates. There’s so much more to this…

And in the exact middle we have the Lamb dying with Ram. More gestalts. Fused… somethings.

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102

“This is the scene in Picturetown right when Bart Smipson should have been skating across main street on his way, as it turned out, to the game arcade where he does the big switcheroo and comes out in NWES City, Hucka D. Perhaps he is in front of the white truck here. Dangerous!

“But wait! Looky over there to the left (beyond the chatting girls at the corner who must have seen him skate by). A *single* tiger now where we had two staring before, or at least one eye apiece of two tigers. I know because this is in a collage composed for the last photo-novel. Behold!

“And here’s the full tiger, now whole, of the current scene. I’m not even sure I should be showing this, I don’t know, *time-skip* in the blog.

Hucka?”

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ghosts

“We’re getting closer to something Hucka. I can feel it.”

“Jigsaw pieces,” she responds monotone-like. “Obvious resonance, yes. Keep going.” Her arms were still crossed.

“I’m going to look out the (endless) window again. Explosions! Larger, then smaller.”

“The car, right.” She threw up her hands in a gesture of something blowing up, but still kept the same look. Baker Bloch knew he didn’t have much time before she left again.

“I’m going to figure it out tonight.”

“Riiight.” And then, poof. Gone.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0023, 0118, Apple's Orchard, Black Ice, Canada/Picturetown, NWES Island^

PICT ON PICT…

“Tiger eyes, moved from the front of the head to the back to meet in the middle again, just like (with) Aunt Fannie. Black Diamond is revealed. It is time to tell the truth.”

“Partial truth,” I respond.

“Good enough.”

—–

“Black Ice is not Black Ice,” I spoke to the city or town council, as yet undecided. *Maybe* tonight (!).

“Well??” Head councilman and well respected resident Walter “Homer” Westinghouse was waiting for an answer.

“It’s Black Diamond.” Gasps from the members at the meeting. They hadn’t heard that name in a looong time.

“Bu-bu-but *Diamond*fyre* is the only Diamond named sim.”

“No,” I corrected Homer. “The actual name of Diamondfyre is *Ice*fyre. Sometime in the past, with a bunch of hoodoos like you lot, it was changed. “The decision –,” I measured out, “was – made,” I paused again, “to change. Switch. One replaces another, like if you had a set of eyes you weren’t pleased with and you switched them out with someone else’s.” I let that sink in. No one responded for what I considered an appropriate amount of time to absorb so I added, “and Ice is the same as Diamond — almost — because you can have the glass version of the former while Diamond always remain pure. Always — remain — pure,” I metered out again.

“What about the *belt*?” Murmurs from the members, agreeing with Walter “Homer” Westinghouse. They must talk about the Great Belt of Black Diamond next. How did it get imported into Marwood? And what did *Icefyre* have to do with all this?

(to be continued)

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Pasadena

The Oracle predicted its placement over there in Diamondfyre but I’m still not convinced the temple will stay long term. The City is warming up to me but it’s not on fire yet, a brightly burning beacon.

But now that I recall, this has already happened, with even a bigger pop and a smaller one. Oesso. Continual window. We must think of bringing back Sandy for this here newest photo-novel which is numbered 22 in a series of 20.


“HIT IT!”

The Invisible store has nothing in it, or else all the contents are invisible. Probably the former.

This nearby scrying mechanism is closed up.

Time to visit the bots?

—–

“Heck of a year, huh Santa.”

“Sure is.”

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New God

“Paperville. It’s certainly an interesting concept, Hucka. And I might have met Zappa here. It’s like he just strolled by when I was walking my cow around like a Monkee. Said my music was too white, and I indicated my body, which is very white indeed. Well, cream colored. Skin colored — see there how racist I am Hucka Doobie? I think of skin as white, cream, but there’s all hues. Red, yellow, green —

“Not yet,” Hucka Doobie replied about the last. “Mabel is a forerunner.”

“Of course.”

“But to the Pen Temple. It’s actually Penntemple.”

“So I see. Like Paperville is almost Paperville but not quite. And then there’s Pageville somehow, er, laid atop Paperville. Like, well, a transparent, um, page or something.”

“Fifty-six. Look into fifty-six.”


Peter walks through the tunnel leading to the temple and changes into a former form in the process.


Pens within. And some pencils.


A secret door, leading to…


Home. Director’s seat. Axis Original, Authentic.


Now to get to back to work.

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walk talk

The cat is the room. The cat is (waving) the room.


“Hiii!”

Follow me, it commands. “Follow Charlie,” it follows me, specific about a name. Charlie was at the bottom of the stairs leading to the market. “I’ve never been to the market except that once,” I talk back, trying to remember the once. I had to publish privately and review…

“Take your time,” it meows. “What’s time in a town without time?” he purred philosophically, also thinking about the rapidly spinning town clock. Sometimes it slows down as well. That one time it stopped. All turned dark. And then, another, it was a blur. White all around. Then occasionally it mimics our sidereal time, closely followed or preceded by our *real* real time. They’re not that far from total agreement these two types of time are. I think they can strike a deal down the road somewhere; agree to all the numbers.

—–

“Thank you for waiting, Charlie. Turns out I’ve never been to the market. Another (type of) false memory.”

“No problem. Time: again.” The cat yawns and then continues to stare. I understand that he is ready to ascend. *We* are ready.

—–

“What do you see?” asked Charlie in a voice full of meow while stepping aside near the top.

“Um… the marketplace?”

“*The* center,” it pursues. “You stay here (long enough), you will meet *everyone*. Including the one you will. Are you ready?”

“Um, sure.” I walk up a couple more steps and there we are. Gemusy Market according to the globe/map over at the school that I remember from yesterday. Today (something).

—–

I compare the price of berries, while Charlie talks to calico cat friend Fred about the ups and downs of town, not leaving out the good for the bad. I take a bite of strawberry just to test. Eww. Rancid. Then another: delicious. I see what they mean.

—–

“Over here now, new friend,” spoke/purred/meowed Charlie that God-like cat, ready to step into the God void if necessary. If needed.

“I see you. Taking a break?”

“No. Have you seen enough of the market? Are you ready to enter… the director’s suite? Just over there.” He points his head over there. A dark and sort of ominous, luminous tunnel.

“Director?” I queried, picturing a beret wearing older man in a fold out chair labeled “director”. Not too far off, but not too close either. 1/2 and 1/2.

(to be continued)

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Paperville

Sun bathed Poetry, hovering on her more inaccessible balcony, stares over at the town clock, trying to get her bearings. 12:30, no 1:30, no 2. Is this another 5/4ths time keeper? She decides to give it up and go inside to ask lover Barry X. Vampire, since brother Peter Oesso isn’t available right now. Neither would probably lie to her, but Peter was the best bet. For now. Family is forever.

—–

“Barry, is this a sim or a planet?” she starts, trying to figure out the time flying thing. Soo frustrating this place is, arrrgh! She longs for center (sim) again.

Barry, seeing lover Poetry Dancer getting ugly, tells her to go ask Peter. “Just down the stairs outside at the small cafe,” he directs while holding his stuffed stomach full of bread and butter. No use in compounding the mood.

“Thanks,” she barks while angrily striding toward the door. *SLAM* “For nothing,” she then mutters just outside. She takes a deep breath. Calm again. Callmm. She is beautiful once more.

—–

“You can’t see the clock from that balcony,” Peter replies truthfully while continuing to read the town paper at his new table away from the former, umbrella themed one with the perpetual, unreadable music score laying upon it. “Impossible — it’s completely sideways to you there. Might as well be a clock yourself, heh.”

While reviewing the truth of his statement in her mind, Poetry suddenly remembers she has a sister. A brother and a sister. She tells this to Peter.

“Sidereal?” he exclaims, forgetting about the paper, the city as a whole. “What kind of name is *Sidereal?*”

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continuation

“There’s no middle (sim) on this map, Charlie. What are you (still) hiding from me?”

—–

Better get him (Peter Oesso) back to square 01…

—–

“There was no middle sim on that map back there (in the school), Poetry — sister of mine.”

“Maybe,” she repeated in her pleasant enough voice. Made for a family member.

“I have some questions for you.” But then, looking right at the colorful watercolor painting on the wall while listening to the noisy, meaningless cockatoo chatter on, he realized he needs to ask about umbrella with a capital “U”. Umbrella.

—–

The sister (?) turned ugly again. Better get her back up the stairs just back there to lover Barry X. Vampire for her own middleing centering.

—–

“He was asking about the middle, where I was bourne.”

“What did you tell him?” Barry was itching for more plot revealing. The appearance of Waka Wajaka several days ago had really freaked him out. He had a Freak Out. Hmmm.

“I told them there was a motel. Over in a place with a heart in its name. Room 03 of 05. Secret room as well that acts as a control, a key — spies on the others.” All men are dicks, she was thinking.

“This is more than I’ve heard you talk in a long time, Poetry Dancer,” Barry X. Vampire responded, pleased. “You’ve spoken about this room once before.”

“Maybe,” Poetry replied, staring back at the fire. She had returned to her usual, non-talkative self. Reversion. Ironic, I suppose, that she was beautiful once more. Barry X. Vampire must hurry tonight; get more info out of her if possible. He thought “info” there instead of “information” to save time (for example).

“Room 03,” he prompted. “Big Black Smoke was guarding. Charlie mentions in LOST. Kinks song.” Ahh, he thought, solving part of the mystery himself. The Kinks and Zappa will always be linked now, thanks to the Piera. (David) Watts.

“It is what it is.” No more info will be found 2-night.

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middle

—–

“You are my *sister*.”

“Maybe.”

—–

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