Tag Archives: Tronaxis^*++

January 26, 2026 · 5:15 pm

00490214 (“End of Real” revisited)

We were in Puerto Rico now, wondering about the difference between Real and Anon by way of Georgia and its own Anon along with a similarly named Rayle also nearby. Which I think might stand in for Real via its phonetically identical Rael, as in the lead character from the ultra-classic Genesis 1975 double rock opera album called “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway,” a dysfunctional, graffiti artist proto-punk from the mean streets of New York City at the time. Peter Oesso would probably know. If he’s who I think he really is deep down, i.e., former Genesis front-man Peter Gabriel. Can he find his way out of the machinery again and drop the crowd pleasing mask act? Wherever Peter went the “Lamb” was sure to follow unless he left the group, a change heralded by the 1977 classic single “Solsbury Hill” from his first solo album, the original track recorded as a solo artist beyond Genesis. “Lamb,” a cumulative effect for the band, was just that huge and overwhelming. He had to move on…

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January 20, 2026 · 12:01 am

00490209 (“curse purse”)

Peter walks through the tunnel leading to the temple named Penn and changes into his 5 year older brother who is the same age as him in the process. Another queer dream!

Numerous pens scattered on the floor within, along with a couple of pencils inserted here and there to reinforce the theme. Just what Peter Tron needs so that his good egg good friend Bardie can properly express his feelings and not have to inadequately speak about them. Penn produces pen! Marvelous. Goal found.

He’s about to pick up a couple of ’em to bring back when he spots a phantom version of the painting he’s been working on so long and hard recently above a step ladder to his left colored the same as the cyan energy lines in his futuristic bodysuit and also “frisbee”. He knows this is leading him further and that his journey into the temple is not done with the writing utensils.

… down a side passage…

… brushing past narrowing walls…

… into Center.

He changes once more into an even older brother who’s the same age and gets back to work running the place he remembers he’s the black king of, this Paperville and attached Weird-o Islands. True endpoint for him.

Tron Axis checks his watch not on his arm. 10 years have passed, period. Close enough to make it stick. He inks up the antique blue jay feather pen in front of him to continue even further down this rabbit hole of a place.

Bathroom, he thinks while putting quill to parchment. Bathroom is next. Water closet.

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January 14, 2026 · 11:48 pm

00490202

I intended to paint abstract today but this muff fascinated me and I had to return to it. The textures, the color, the lighting. I was starting to get the swing of things. Abstraction tomorrow, then. I promise (to myself).

“Yo, brother of mine,” he called from the window, sneaking up on me as he often does when I’m painting, when I’m absorbed in the creative work. His friend Bardie came along this time. I like Bardie. Good with words, he is; helps me with my artist’s statements and artwork descriptions. Good egg.

“Yes, hello brother of *mine*. Welcome. I see you’ve helped yourself to the espresso machine through the window.” Does this all the time. Sometimes I wonder if he secretly has elastic arms. Queer thought to match a queer brother (but not in that way).

“Right right. Couldn’t wait.”

“How about you, Bardie?” As good as Bardie is with writing words, he’s bad with saying them. Really bad. He kept silent at first, as was his style. “Good,” he finally managed after about 10 seconds.

“You’re good as in you’re okay without coffee, orr, good as in you’d like a cup of coffee? Choose oh wise one.” But he just nodded, keeping the situation ambiguous. I decided to give him one just in case. He can let it sit there if he doesn’t want it.

“Tell you what, Bardie, this one’s on the house.” And I laid the cup I just poured down in front of his expressionless face. Ahh… paper, I think while staring at it. Next time I’ll put a piece of paper in front of him with a pen to derive needed answers. I wonder why I hadn’t thought of that approach before.

This led me to Paperville and dwelling on the old days (TBC).

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September 10, 2023 · 10:33 am

00400102

It felt good to be here in the Sandfly region, it felt right. “Howdy neighbor!”

Bugs can get awfully big here though.

“Is that thing *ever* going to move off the road, *hmph*.”

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September 10, 2021 · 6:04 am

Rael-ing

He had followed John down to the Ravine (bar) but he was no saint. Lamb equals Ram; he sees himself in his own face, the user power.

I was a beautiful little girl before becoming such a handsome man, he thinks, still changing, still metamorphasizing.

“I’ll have what John’s having, please.”

Brother Jack the bartender turns. “Yeah, what’ll it be, *John*??”

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May 11, 2021 · 9:06 am

recognizer

He found himself playing this game in an arcade. They’d sent Hidi back home, saying the place, this Eveningwood, was too dangerous for a gal like her, all tempting and such. It was a job for a man, they said. A black man. “Me?” he asked, knowing the answer. The look in Buster’s eyes told him. “Me,” he answered himself. Thus: here.

He’d never heard of The Smipsons but he was told to play the game with the little yellow fellow named Bart. He needs to be fast on his skateboard to outrun all those giant tigers, Duncan thought, seeing the kid soar through the air like a bird or a plane.

If only he’d learned Roman numerals before entering that zoo.

“Yelloo!” Homer Smipson said in greeting. Duncan had his clue.

Peter Oesso upstairs, in contrast, had nothing.

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January 7, 2021 · 7:30 am

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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June 28, 2020 · 7:03 am

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 back to work.

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May 21, 2020 · 8:15 am

elephants once more

“I can’t emphasize this enough, Wheeler. We are *here*. Elephant continent. Until the end.”

“I’ll give it a year and a half,” spoke up the part owner of newly relocated Collagesity, just like before. “And you, Peter Oesso — like an opossum.  Are you: *Baker* yet? You don’t appear to be Axis any longer. Not at the core.”

“Hucka Doobie is going to be *soo* mad.”

—–

He stands up, alone in the office that could have been his given different circumstances. Santman was going to be born right over there, Peter Oesso, formerly TronAxis (etc.) lamented. And now he shall. I have escaped the machine. I will let another be absorbed, an alternate self.

I have made a decision which way the current flows.

The Storybrook garage will stay for now. Marsha “Pink” Krakow and new bestie Beige/Brown will return soon. I will tell them a joke about 2 elephants with conjoined trunks. Marsha will remember who I am, and also the aunt. Ant. She can leave, then.

—–

“I couldn’t stay away from you forever, dear, you knew that.”

“I did,” he spoke over to his unfaithful but still forgiven wife. “Dogg would miss you too much!”

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May 14, 2020 · 8:15 am

NWES City

“Yes I remember now. It was called the Red Rose and I was Peter (Peet) at the time. Before the explosion that destroyed Club 88, you see, and accompanying Little Jimmy, the lesser boom. This would have been, oh, ’88 I think?”

“’98,” corrected Venus Flytrap, by his side all this time, an Ant to his Uncle. “But what about *my* place, the bar (across the street). Noodle?”

“It appears so,” Axis aka TronAxis replied. “And the battymobile was still intact,” he added, zooming into the garage of the building now. “Mr. Fix It was fixing it up.”

“Perfect,” responded Venus. “It all makes sense now. Red Rose; Marty; The Lamb/Ram fusion (Rupert). We must then inquire about Legos.”

“Later,” requested Axis. They had enough for the moment.


Marty and Harry’s son.

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