Tag Archives: Wheeler Wilson^^++\@

00490211

We’ll return to the theme of all encompassing, all absorbing toilets soon, but first we must introduce yet another location into this here photo-novel 49 blog story, and, yes, I can hear the reader groan and/or sigh here from the weariness of keeping track of them, ha. Place called Heartsdale which is no stranger to the photo-novels as a whole, having already appeared in (as I’m checking), 03, 08, 13, 19, 23, and especially 20 of the run. 20 is also where Paperville has been most prominently featured, but that might be what we could call an “accident”. Let’s say that for now. Anyhoot, Heartsdale seems pertinent because of this Missouri based motel within the 1 sim urban area named “Mad Misery” due to a sign malfunction. Actual name before the breaking: Madry Wise. Scene of not one but several tragedies according to the attached story.


from photo-novel 20

1-2-3-4-5 the rooms are numbered along a north-south line within the sim…

… just like with the Wilson City-Wyatt fused town seen in section 01 of the current photo-novel also found in Missouri. Pretty sure they’re, let’s call it, synchromystically connected. Another TILE.

But let’s start in the “beyond the game” 6th room where we can secretly peer into at least the 5th. Wilson. (TBC)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, Missouri, Heartsdale+, 0211, Paperville+, 0049, Weird-o Islands+

00490210 (all encompassing toilet (Schrodinger’s Man too?))

That’s it, she thinks. I’m going in to check on him, single room bathroom or not, this so-called water closet of the Paperback Pixels Cafe of the town of Paperville alternately called Pageville. I’ve tried at the “door” once. Curtain… whatever. Said he’d be only a minute and that he only needed to do a number 1. 15 minutes to drink a 4 shot latte and then 20 minutes to pee it back out? Didn’t make sense. One more time with the call.

“Rodentius? You all right in there? I — I’m starting to get worried. I’m… coming in. On the count of three — get ready! One….. two…..” TBC?

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0049, 0210, Paperville+, Starfield, Weird-o Islands+

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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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0049, 0209, Paperville+, Weird-o Islands+

00490207 (ambiguous)

I could live with that, she thought while watching the man continue his yoga exercises from her 2d, painterly existence. Peter Oesso we can assume, although it’s hard to tell without the tell-tale t-shirt. It was only fair. As he paints them they should be able to paint him *back* and tell him what they feel as well.

We’re in another Bellisaria continent gallery, unregistered just like for the first we saw Peter in toward the beginning of this here section 02 of this here novel 49, painting away at his own interestingly textured/colored/lighted passion. Strange how these keep popping up for me. Not trying to find them — just do.

Now let’s get to the surprising menagerie lined up outside against its back wall. Perhaps a replacement for *my* menagerie coming over from nearby Newbank. Or just a way to move on from Bellisaria into something else after review. As usual, we’ll see soon enough as one post progresses to the next. (TBC)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0049, 0207, Bellisaria, Continent 04, Continent 06

00490204 (bottoms 02 (all cracked up))

She hadn’t tried in 100s of days, maybe 100s of weeks. She was tired of pussyfooting around. “Permission to come aboard!” she shouted over in as confident of a tone as she could muster given the circumstances. No answer for a while, maybe 100s of seconds, then: “Permission DENIED.” The old, crusty sea chaplain turned captain who didn’t know when to give up himself wanted to reply immediately but was fixing a hole on the starboard side (away from her and also you, the reader or readers) and couldn’t be bothered at first. But: one hole fixed and two more appear, it seems, like apples for banana. He contemplating just ignoring the poor, foolish girl, standing over there probably in just flesh and bits of white, like she does (he imagined). The man: only red. But still he knew they were man and wife, as close as one could get without multiple marriage vows. He had to hold himself partly responsible. Given that he was the one who married them, way way back in the day. “Go AWAY. We’ve said our bits, our parts. It’s up to YOU to make it work.” Red and white red and white, he thought. Surely they can better coordinate all that, divide the hues up in a fairer, more democratic way. And *not* have to enter his unrepairable *republican* shipp, pheh. No, he would stand steadfast against change (what was he *thinking*).

“I KNOW who you are,” she tried again. “You will NOT get this shipp with its broken rigg and all to float, no way jose. Not without MY help.” (TBC)


dreams of repair

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0049, 0204, Haven, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Weird-o Islands+

00490203 (bottoms)

I was standing on the lip of a big hole, staring down, naked except for a single rose.

A woman, also naked but with a bit more protection, 2 bits more but white roses not red, was way way down at the bottom, sitting on what appeared to be a pier by a pool.

But that wasn’t the end of it. She was also peering down, into the waters of a 2nd hole. Deeper, deeper… a ship far below her even. Sunk 100s of years ago, maybe 1000s of years ago. The Sinking Ship it was called even *before* the accident.

She jumps, I jump. More passages to come (TBC).

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0049, 0203, Haven, Weird-o Islands+

00490114 (centerpoint)

“I always knew it would end in MO. Or AR.”

“Both in one,” the person across from me — somewhere — answered, a person, a woman, only wishing to be known as Wilson. I can’t even see her face…

“Photo-novels 1-50 unfolding before our eyes. 49 now. That means we’re in Wilson (City)… Wilson.”

“Indeed.” Then I saw at least an eye. Winking. Through a kind of fog that represents irreality; the veil. Coming into focus, though. Sloowly. Now an eyebrow, now a kind of nose or at least half of one… a nostril. Hair now, the bottom of. Looks like it’s flipped. The ear now. Whole face coming into focus across from me, top of a tie… a suit. Accelerating…..

Wheeler of course. Wheeler Wilson. Like I didn’t know that when we started.

A game appears before us, winnable for either X or O. The question becomes: who started? Who’s…

… on first? TBC

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0049, 0114, Arkansas, Missouri, Wendy-Ontario-

00490103

Per more cues in KY, she’d merrily adorned herself with ribbons and bows up and down, from the top of her new festive haired head to the bottom of her new festive shoed toe — toes. Bought for the season would be their reason, on the surface. Then she came back to the Rodentia Assembly Hall intending to give assumed ever-listening Rodentius the giant white rat with a bit of brown to keep him honest another show of information, holiday style. She even brought her Rudolph bulb along for good luck; it now lit the single room hall as much as the sci-fi floor lamp that also tagged along with her.

“What Christmas means to me,” she started after taking the podium, trying not to glance into his corner too much. Nervous for some reason! It was only a big rodent, though. Nothing more. “AHEM… Christmas, to me, to myself, to… I…” Stumped, she looks down here, saw the color highlighted in so many ways on her arms, torso, legs, feet. “… means *red*; yes, red. And Santa,” she followed, thinking of another red dominated being. “But not *Satan*, not 666.”

“Good one, ha!” Rodentius enthusiastically encourages from his thought-to-be ever-corner in the hall, named for what he would call his better, female half which represents the whole virtual town surrounding them on all sides and then some. “Keep it coming!”

—–

But suddenly, just like that, there was no one in the assembly hall except Wheeler, who just stood there alone, awkwardly dressed for the occasion. Should have been a more somber attire, black instead of red, the other half of the equation as it turned out. Black for the empty chair revealed by the vanished big, non-anthropomorphized rodent, just an oversized but otherwise very ordinary animal with no human form to him atall, or so she thought. Black for absence itself. Loss of a friend.

Rodentius is *always* here, she panics. Why now, why just before Christmas of all times of the year? Why did he have to go… so SOON?!


She turns back to the chairs of the assembly hall after staring quite a while at the corner bereft of soul, of consciousness, trying to reorient herself after this shocking discovery. Then she imagines the red chairs being filled with not humans but aliens to balance things out, a show of planets to repopulate a darkened universe. Like here:

Planets you don’t even know the names of
Planets, you don’t even know their names

Yes, this helps, she thinks. Mars, the first red planet as it were, was just a beginning. Black and red together makes more sense on this special special day. Absence. And presents. TBC

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0049, 0103, Dokken Hollow+, Jeogeot, Kentucky, Starfield

00480612

Citrus fruit loving Philip was pleased the lemonade stand was still there on Infinity Lane but had no time today to stop. Must hurry! “Sorry, Bart!” he calls over while sprinting by. “Maybe next time!” he shouts back, already a blur in the distance to the boy colored the same as the product he sells and who still couldn’t sit while he works because of the broken chair that came with the stand. Where’s tireless former robot co-worker Billy Clockwork when you need him? he always frets around the 4 hour mark on any full shift these days. But it was off to the big city for him when he graduated local Nawt Vaya State University with a degree in economic ergonomics, a bunch of real life experience piled up by working with Bartholomew before, between and after classes. He’d learned a lot in both, enough to get him a 6 figure salary right off the bat. We probably don’t have time or space to get into his story in this here photo-novel, rapidly coming to a close (I hope!), but I believe he lives up in the middle of the Nautilus continent. Or was that Nautilus Island? Anyway, back to Philip. With all that writing I just did he’s now had enough time in space to make his way up to Sep Felton’s haircutting establishment more in the northern part of Juho city. He stops at the door, bent over because of lack of oxygen and unable to speak at first, then straightens up and manages: “Nada New Year? (pant pant) Know? (pant) anything about? (pant pant pant) her?”

“Whereabouts?” Sep completes Philip’s assumed sentence. “Here,” and she pivots the barbershop chair she stands behind 90 degrees to reveal the worst for Philip. “Pink? PINK?” But then he realizes he must back pedal the insensitive utterance. Fast! “LOVE IT!”

“*Wait,” mischievously smiling Sep says playfully. “My mistake. This is *Lexi*. Nada is over *there*.” And an at first relieved Philip stares into the darkened corner of the stylist shop she indicated only to see… but just then my computer crashes ARRRRGH. (TBC?)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0048, 0612, Jeogeot, Juho, Nawt Vaya+

00480607 (Jeogeot continuation)

He was in the cemetery again or perhaps just outside, Linden-Linwood-Lime all arranged around an edge that =s the county of Genesee in the state of New York in the country of Our US of A. “A linden in England is called a lime,” he recites again while standing amongst the limbs of the small tree, his head dangling there like a low hanging yellow-ish or green-ish fruit or something. Primed for a fall if he didn’t watch out.

(It was) an old mantra dating from his days as a Greta Gaeta bartender in what I dubbed the sim of Clemscott but is really, actually, just Clewis in a name change I can’t even recall the rationale for now, more (heretical) mythology imposing on HIS (Our Second Lyfe) reality. “Who was that shadowy figure?” he also said at the time about the African-American boy who left the overgrown lime on his bar counter and then mysteriously disappeared down the stairs never to be seen again by him until the Omega times.

He also remembers a monk entering the sim of Rookwood — true name this time — looking for the place he would be buried among all the dense growth of linden trees and plants, perhaps representing the burial of Linden Lab created Our Second Lyfe itself. Right now it is in its “gracefully aging” stage.

Moreover, in the top photo of the present post we’ve returned to another cemetery in Virginia like this one. More Lime.

Parallel stones.

Careful, Philip Linden. Careful. Avoid the trap of Vertigo; don’t fall in quite yet. We need you still. All of us, the Bakers, Wheeler, all the core figures. Don’t go right now. Wait a spell. Your time has not yet come. Hang in there baby, etc. TBC

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0048, 0607, Clemscott-, Corsica, Gaeta V, Linden Memorial Park, New York, Virginia