“Pitch Darkly will be here shortly, Young Duncan. As soon as they start talking to Philip Linden about The Diagonal, trot over there and lay this giant lime on the bar counter. That’s all you have to do. Just wait here.”
“Yes,” he affirms, hip to Lou’s trip.
“Come on, honey,” says the approaching Osborne Well (father). We have somewhere else to be now. Should’ve been there about 2 hours ago, blimey.”
“You see, Pitch darling. *This* is where it all happens. A philosopher’s corner. A veritable cornucopia of ideas and inventions. Why, just last week Philip suggested the idea of a cubic moon for Second Life with equilateral gravity on all six sides. Not flat like this place. And I think that’s where it’s all headed, Pitch. Diagonal. Because diagonal leads beyond. Have you ever moved in a diagonal sugar?”
Pitch didn’t really know what Mary was babbling on about. A young black man who had been sitting on the opposite side of the room suddenly moved toward the bar toting a large, green lime between his hands. Not saying anything, he placed it on the counter, then exited via the stairs down to the lower floor.
Philip became fully awake again, looked at Mary, looked at the big lime. “A lime is called a linden in Britain.”
“Who *was* that shadowy figure?” he begged.
And so it began.
De Boom Street. San Franciso. The only business establishment having a door on the short alley being one called *Lime*Light.
This very same De Boom Street lent its name to the very first 256×256 meter simulator (“sim”) of Second Life: Da Boom, an origin sometimes erroneously attached to the boom of the cosmic Big Bang, since this is where founder Philip Rosedale’s glorious virtual reality, perhaps the size of 1st state Delaware now, started and expanded out from. The Seed.
Similarly, Rosedale’s company of Linden Lab, that introduced Second Life to the general public in 2002, took its name from the San Francisco street it was located on at the time: Linden Street. So Philip Rosedale became Philip Linden in Second Life, his well known avatar form. All early Second Life sims derived their name from streets and alleys located near Linden Lab, but Da Boom was the first. De Boom to Da Boom. Yeah, come to think of it, I suppose they did slightly alter the name with the Big Bang in mind. Like “Da Bears”. Fate.
If we also travel up Linden Street in the current version of Google Street View, away from Linden Lab’s old site, we come across a man seemingly stashing something in a tree. A cache of some sort, perhaps.
Seems surprised, or perhaps *guilty*, for being caught in the act, doesn’t he?
When the Google car and its camera continue onward, he resumes his activity at the tree. Then, just afterwards, he gets in his own car (green Honda Civic) and leaves.
Could it be… treasure?
“So will you tell me where the mountain treasure is *now*?”
“Well… it’s not here, that’s for sure. Central forest — in that central park — may seem pretty from a small distance, but up close: no maintenance plan. Terrain doesn’t meet the roots. It won’t live.”
Axis was becoming impatient again. “Then *where*?” He quickly backtracked his emotional outburst. “Please. I-I’ve been waiting so long now.”
Absinthe Fairy finished up Sibelius’ “5 Pieces for Piano” with a flourish. She lifted her hands from the keyboard, caught her breath a bit. “Okay, *now* I can concentrate.” She paused thoughtfully. “What were we talking about, then?”
Later, at 128/128 in the small wood:
“He fell for it, Dixon.”
“I’m it, Dixon,” she pleads. “I’m the treasure.”
“Cut the crap, Snowwhite. I know the treasure is in the mountains. It says it right here on this map.” He pushes the map more across the table toward her. “Snowy peak and all. You *know*.”
“I don’t know, Dixon.” Tears begin to form in her eyes again.
“I’m leaving town. I’m going to find it.”
Dramatic pause. Tears are running down her cheeks now. “I’ll… I’ll sleep with the other Dixon who remains. You know I will.”
Dixon huffs. “My no good doppleganger, pheh.”
“The one who tracked down and captured Duncan Avocado…”
“I *know* what he did, Ms. Well.”
She sniffs, dries her eyes with the back of her hand. “He did a good thing.”
Dixon didn’t reply, looked out the window at the bright aspen leaves. Snowy peak. She *knows* goll darnit.
“It’s not that one, Dixon Too. Too low, you see. No snowy peak.”
“Stop calling me ‘Too.’ *You’re* the ‘Too'”
“How about just Dixon again,” he compromised. “We call each other Dixon from now on. We’ll deal with the One and Too when other people are around.”
“Agreed, er, Dixon. But… we’ve already done this. Our entire lives.”
“Agreed,” the other repeats.
“She says she’ll sleep with you. You have that to look forward to.”
“Maybe I don’t want to sleep with her,” the other countered, making his doppleganger laugh. The other then laughed with him.
“Good one, *’Too’*.”
Alone again, he surveys the world he comes from.
“What a load of crap.”
“I’ll protect you, Young Duncan. They won’t be able to reach you here.”
“Thanks Philip. Should I call you Linden? Or Rosedale?”
“Either one now.” He glances over at the black boy sitting atop a burning pyramid of wood. “I see you’re immune to fire here.”
“True,” proclaims warm but not hot Duncan. He stirs slightly to get more comfortable on his perch. “I know you’ll figure it out. Because you have such a big head about you. I’ve seen it again and again. Over and over.”
“Never gets old.”
“Thank you. I’ll be here all week.”
What’s for supper.
Dixon Too wasn’t always a bad person. It was more just the place he grew up in.
“Chicken again, Maw?”
Klancaster. Whence he came from. The dirt, the grime. He must cleanse himself in this mountain environment. Forget about Snowwhite Well. Forget about Dixon Too, Maw, Cousin Odie, the rest.
No, this was not the snow peaked mountain of treasure lore he’s on. (Dixon walks across the stone patio.) But he’s *close*. He can feel it. Maybe even that far summit over there hidden behind the tall pines?
*Linden* trees. And in such profusion. He’s never seen so many in one place. He must go check it out!
So thick you can’t see what’s inside. And the property’s banned.
Oh well, Dixon thinks. Moving on.
“One down, one to go, Young Duncan. Hold on.”
“God help our user Baker B. to finish up part 06 of this Collagesity graphic novel. God help Dixon Too find Dixon One and bring him home safe from the mountain darkness. God help Brother Oden’s possession and make it easier on him by intense — intensi-fying his artistic talents. And last (Snowwhite Well stares over), God help Aunt Emerald to find the courage to carry on despite over*whelming* odds.” Snowflake Well unclasps her hands, proudly rises from the prayer ottoman. “And that’s it, teehee.” She curtsies sweetly with this.
“Please,” a studying Emerald insists. “Call me Maw. One of my boys — maybe both my boys — will soon be your husband, with one or both of their seeds insides ya.”
“I can feel it,” suddenly gasps Snowwhite Well. “From the future!”
“Nice. This town can do that to ya. Horrible urban planning with the split down the middle and all. But there’s advantages to schizophrenia. Don’t do my Dixons no wrong.”
“Maw,” she reinforced. “I can *feel* it.” She rubs her belly, even lifts her top a bit. “Right here in my navel.” She circles her stomach with an index finger. “Is — is it still there? I can’t see in this light.”
“Yes, it’s there,” coos Emerald, not a lesbian but still admiring. “Snowwhite, I’m not sure how Dixon One *ever* left you here with that thing glinting far and wide. He must be blind toward it.”
“And now… Dixon Too must follow. Reborn Duncan must be found and returned to his rightful place. Dixie.”
“Better quarantine you two lovebirds a bit before the departure.
“And lower your top back.”
“Okay, I’m just going to start with the red and work from there. Hold *still*, please.”
“Sorry. I was just trying to unstick my arm from this skirt.”
“Let it go. It’s fine. Your skirt’s just poofing out too much for the animation. I’ve already worked it into the picture. Just calm down.”
“I should be telling *you* that.” She let him paint in peace for a while. She watched him exchange red for yellow, then yellow for blue. The tube of Winsor and Newton Permanent Green had been left behind in Middletown. This wasn’t an oil painting.
“How… how long are we going to stay here with your hick family, ex of mine?” she finally said to break the silence. Blue was done. She stared at his quickly drying brush. “I suppose Mr. Babyface is long overdue for being oiled up, haha.”
“Aunt Emerald asked me here for the wedding. She said it shouldn’t be long before we know which Dixon was involved. I thought it would be a good excuse to get away from you-know-who.”
“Mr. Green,” Supergal Flo said, nodding, thinking of the monster.
“Yeah. And reconnect with you for a bit. Aunt Emerald insisted. She said, be sure to bring that red, yellow, and blue gal of yours. So we’re throwing her off, along with the others. Best they don’t know about Gregg with the extra ‘g’, see. The rogue relation.”
“Good idea. So… we’re trapped here.”
“Until the wedding, yeah. Snowwhite will choose soon enough, though.”
Interesting he’s never painted his sister, Supergal Flo realized about her ex as he cleaned his brush. All gleaming white with no color atall. What’s the point, I suppose.
“Let me see.”
“Alright Prime, Edos, Mono. It’s been 3 weeks to the day, hour, minute. Time to use our God given tools and break out of this place.”
It seemed like the only form left for her. Back to the drawing board after this. She rehearsed the ending wedding in her head. Takes place on this very spot.
“Do you take Dixon for your newly minted husband, to honor and obey until derezzing do you part?”
“I now pronounce you cousin, er, *husband* and wife.” She pictures the crowd laughing with this little “mistake”, purposely inserted into the vows by Reverend Jimmy Buffee, a long time Snowwhite admirer and a bit jealous of the proceedings. Both Dixons were her cousins, true, but soon one would be more. And Aunt Emerald soon to be the mother-in-law, whichever. Maw.
“You may kiss the dazzling bride.”
Snowwhite kisses the air in front of her. Several fluttering birds, some yellow, some more mutely colored, look on. She imagines them, as a group, holding up the wedding dress train behind her as she walks north through the green meadow to these two central trees and her husband-to-be, with the even more central sakura weeping cherry just behind, almost as brilliant white as herself and about as tall.
Life is good in the centre of it all.
snowy peak (!)
We pick up the treasure hunting trail of Dixon Too a little beyond where we last saw his brother Dixon One. Philip’s ultra-thick stand of Linden trees protected Young Duncan from detection once more. Snowwhite’s not going to be happy.
Ignoring a couple of local yokels to his right, he checks out one of those primitive bamboo planes the Durexians use these days. “Bombed them back to the Stone Age we did,” he mutters proudly, again wondering how his life might have changed if he’d joined the Trojan air force instead of the army. “Well, not quite but good enough.”
He turns toward the gorilla and the caged man. “You hear that over there!” he called defiantly. “Close enough to do the job!” No answer.
He looked back at Highway 8 bending into the heart of Mountain Country. Better move on, he thinks. Put some distance between him and this backwards spot before darkness hits.
About 200 meters directly north, the actual treasure location remains unseen.
Dixon was having that dream again about tubes…
… and tentacles…
… and roads upon roads upon roads to flee upon.
A true nightmare this was.
“The treasure remains safe for now, Breven. All things will be reset in the transition between 11 and 12. Are we ready?”
“What’s that, my flightless friend?”
“Oh. *Cape*. Right you are!”
Ruby finds more blank pages at the end. “And that appears to be it, my friends. The treasure remains safe; everything is wrapped up neat and tidy.” She pauses. “I suppose.”
“What about the Murderkiller?” inquired Indigo to her left. “What about *me*. I’m dead!”
“Yes,” points out Ragdoll on her right. “And I wasn’t even in this one. Disappointment!”
Central Ruby ponders on this. “Maybe — just this time — we can handwrite into these blank pages at the end. You know, create our own ending. Since we’re not quite satisfied with this one.”
“Unlike 10. Perfect!” remarks Ragdoll.
“And 7,” offers Indigo. “My favorite.”
“Right. Well… any ideas? Indigo, you mentioned the Murderkiller, and I agree. I was also killed, you’ll remember.”
“But then,” indicates Ragdoll in her more high pitched, youthful voice, “Axis, I believe, states you can be brought back to life through cloning. Your leg.” Ragdoll gestures toward Ruby’s wooden leg. “How *did* that happen, by the way? I mean, outside the books themselves.”
But Ruby refused to talk about that in detail, saying it involved a moment shared between Axis and herself and she would tell them more later. It would actually be much later. So they went back to the topic of the Murderkiller. Ruby summarized.
“We — being the user as a collective — originally wanted to call him or her the Alphabet Killer, since 26 deaths seem to be involved, same as the number of letters in the alphabet. But turns out this title had been taken by another sickie in the past. So Murderkiller was eventually chosen, because, you see, 13 beloved Christmas figures were *murdered* in Snowlands — perhaps all men if we admit that snowman Frederica is actually a transvestite named Frederick…”
“Interesting twist,” states Indigo.
“Yes. And then 13 women *killed* elsewhere, perhaps all on this Cross that is a central setting for 11.”
“I am the 12th.” Indigo points to herself. “And you are the 11th.” She redirects the finger toward Ruby. “Frodes.”
“Laffoon to Frodes, right. We should have never left the laughs and buffoonery of Laffoon, I believe the text states.”
“And that’s directly on The Cross,” added Ragdoll. “I’ve studied the Omega continent in the meantime. Lineside is in the middle. Like a dividing line between north and south.”
“Mason-Dixon,” agrees Ruby. “So much more could be developed, starting with that Bypass used to railroad captives back to Dixie.”
“Like Duncan Avocado,” declares Indigo.
“The 13th,” chips in Ragdoll. “But, queerly, not a woman this time. Maybe a switch with Frederica somehow?”
“Good. Good, guys.” An inspired Ruby goes around the corner to retrieve a pencil, then returns to the table. She begins to lay out the reality of an extended ending, qualifying the plan by saying they can always erase anything they don’t agree with.”
“So it has to be a consensual reality,” expresses Indigo. “All shared.”
“All shared,” joins Ragdoll.
Ruby puts graphite point to paper. “All shared,” she echoes. And begins to write…
Dr. Nightwing had traversed the whole of Okemo Gorge many times now. But the so-called Murderkiller hadn’t struck again in several weeks, November 27th to be exact. He was sure the perpetrator would employ the deepest and longest canyon in Snowlands for body dumpings sometime, perhaps as part of a climactic spree of some kind. But how to police it all? Luckily there was the ONSR (Okemo, Nakiska, and Southern Railway) running through its center.
12 stops existed along the railroad, almost the same number of murders already perpetrated by the Murderkiller in Snowlands (13). He understands 12 shouldn’t be forced into 13 so easily, but can’t help himself. And certainly the 13th and last is being highlighted through various, recently exposed details. On *this side* that would be Schism Santa, torn limb from limb by the rogue yeti on a lake isle in Schism and then deposited in the gorge running from the lake to the Southern Sea. How many body parts were found? He recalls 7 — he’ll keep that in mind. But his ruminations keep coming back to that island for a particular reason.
And he must always hold in mind that the killer yeti is in all likelihood merely an outward disguise for something far more villainous and conniving. He knows this through Audrey; he’s learn to trust her intuition. “This is *not* a yeti rampage,” is one of her recent mantras on the subject. “Yetis do not kill 13 beloved Christmas figures over here, then go over there and murder the same amount. This is the work of a mastermind.” In fact, it was Audrey who coined the name Murderkiller. 13 killed over here, you see, then 13 murdered over there. She lists all the names out in that direction: 12 young women on The Cross, with the 11th and 12th begin Ruby and Indigo (as previously illuminated). But the 13th? Also a man in that case, she’s determined from all the evidence. One Duncan Avocado, an escaped slave from the southern part of the Omega continent — Dixie it is slangly called by some, after a similar splinter nation off the old United States of America that was dissolved in the 2030s, he believed; 2036 comes to mind (the United States, not Dixie). But then the topper: Audrey also uncovered a lake island in connection with *his* death. 13th mirrors 13th in that respect. What could it mean? They’ve had long conversions on the subject the last several evenings, sandwiched around their most popular of nighttime activities. His back remains a little sore today.
He can’t follow all the Omega continent leads and patrol the Okemo Canyon at the same time — his *own* hunch for the location of 12 or 13 *more* killings to come. He realizes he must have a confederate — a *companion*. Audrey is a logical choice, what with her brilliance of mind. But there’s also the muted Mystic Girl to consider. Hmmm. Maybe both? he then realizes. He can have more than one companion at a time. Nothing in the Cosmic Rulebook he plays by states otherwise; he’s checked the related sections many times now. But here’s the problem: these would be his 12th and 13th companions overall, if so. He dare not put a lady in the target of a ruthless killer by slapping a number 13 on her back side. However, he also most definitely needs a 12th. So — bottom line (he decides) — he needs to choose. This would be his right hand person to his left hand working over here.
“I just want to pause here again,” says Indigo to the quickly scribbling Ruby on her right. “So that’s 13 *killings* in… Snowlands. Then 13 *murders* on the Omega continent and its cross.”
“*The* Cross,” chips in Ragdoll across from her.
“Yes. And then 12 or 13 more in the Okemo Canyon? Is this what Dr. Nightwing has projected? Or maybe sees in the future?”
Ruby gnaws on the eraser of the pencil while thinking. “No,” she decides. “We don’t have time to open another can of worms like that in the current
novel journal.” She begins to erase the related line. “Let’s… leave it that Dr. Nightwing is puzzling over the similarities of the 13th killings in each direction while patrolling the Okemo Canyon.” She wipes away the eraser shards. “We don’t have to go into detail about what he’s doing there.”
“We don’t?” queries young Ragdoll, eyes alert with surprise, then relaxed. “I do like the idea of the Murderkiller. And the Killen Ponds.”
“Killen Ponds?” exclaim Ruby and Indigo as one. Where did *that* come from?
As Dr. Nightwing continued to stare out the window at the southern Okemo Canyon view and contemplate possibilities, the 13th miraculously fell out of the sky right in front of him. Duncan Avocado. Landing without even a scratch upon his body.
“Let’s talk about this,” suggested Indigo to her side.
Duncan spoke to the just arrived Dr. Nightwing. “The train derezzed before I could teleport you over. Sorry about that. But never mind. We’re here.”
“The beginning of the end,” the Dr. offered. “The trail to the treasure.”
“Well… *they* might think so.”
The two began hiking through one of the most desolate, wastelandy places left in Our Second Lyfe. But the dotting system trees still comforted Duncan. He was Lindener above all now, since they saved him. *He* saved him. And this was about as Linden as you can get. Until you reach the end.
“They’re heading toward the Moon of the Moon,” Ragdoll squealed in excitement. “The big loop! Beginning meets end.”
“Well, not quite,” said Ruby, pencil still twirling away beneath her hand.
“Let’s pause here,” Indigo declared, stretching her arms and yawning. “Getting late.”
“No,” countered her ragdoll sister across the table. “We’re almost there! Let’s press on. Get these two to the — what do you call it? Infohub?”
Ruby stopped the writing. “We better fire up the interwebs and check. Check out the whole Confederation of Democratic Simulators site before proceeding forward.”
“Second Lyfe Moon,” cooed Ragdoll. “And its own Moon not far behind. Equilateral gravity on all 6 sides. Just like Philip prophesized about.”
“The trees change here at this sim crossing, Dr. Nightwing. Snowier and shorter.”
“I still don’t see it.” He was a little out of breath by now. Duncan surged ahead, seeming to draw energy from the landscape.
“Not long now.”
“*There* it finally is. Beginning to worry the thing we saw back there near the road was a mirage. Dr.?” He turned. “Dr.??”
The alien man had collapsed in the snow, as if the very landscape around them *drained* him. Duncan walked back to the Dr. “I still can’t see it, Duncan. I’m not sure I ever will. I’m changing over here. It’s a weak point. I saw the end but couldn’t change it. Fixed point in time. Legend will say (he caught his breath)… will say you killed me here. But we’ll know the truth. (deep breath) That’s the important thing.”
The transition began.
He had no choice, if what the Dr. said was true. Head to the Second Lyle Moon — *potential* Moon — or else be imprisoned for life or worse. He turned back to the green pine forest now almost out of sight before ascending the final bit of slope. “Vanished, man,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Just vanished.”
He had always heard it was otherwise.
He was here.
They all took turns looking through Duncan’s eyes. Disappointment! At least for Ragdoll. Indigo remained intrigued about the whole situation. Hand weary Ruby just wanted to wrap it all up somehow. A good night’s rest she’ll get tonight!
The peculiarly remote infohub was quite devoid of objects and activity. No coffee shop. No restaurant. Just 3 austere, alpine style houses. And the combination of their user’s Second Lyfe Moon and its own Moon (“Moon of the Moon”) from Collagesity novel 1 that Ragdoll especially anticipated? Turns out to be “merely” 6 conjoined sims located out in the Great Linden Ocean a bit west of the old mainland continents Sansara, Heterocera, and Jeogeot.
Indigo finally found a landmark in the information poor location. They teleported over to one of the two official villages of the 6 sims. Not Teepot, but the other one. Twin cities they were. This was their first hint, beginning with Indigo, that they were looking at some kind of resonance with St. Croix, Virgin Islands. Duncan was now there, after all.
Jeffrie Phillips was waiting for them at the infohub on the other side. All 3 took turns being escorted by him up a quite lovely mountainside to Teepot proper and his sake bar hangout we’ve already seen him at with sometimes mate Audrey. In truth, Jeffrie was trying to sell Duncan the idea of staying. But on the walk, Duncan knew his world was already breaking down here. He must get back to Linden land, the ones looking out of his eyes realized. And soon!
“I see we’re wearing matching trackers.”
Duncan looked down. “The Pot-D pendant?” Yes, it was red and hanging around his neck as well. He hadn’t thought about it before.
“Except mine’s from Pan-Z, the other, newer organization that does those kind of things. More thoroughly, if you ask me. Much more.” Jeffrie Phillips was wondering how the *heck* Duncan was going beyond the mirror book via improvisation. He stared through him to the 3 trackers he knew dwelt within, one by one by one.
Then: “I of course know you’re in there… *girls*.” But Phillips knew not who he was dealing with (Ragdoll titters here). These were battle tested *women*, fighting for the core of Pot-D which they understood to be ultimate truth.
“We know about the treasure,” they admitted (Indigo). “We know about Big Baby Jane” (Ruby). “We know about *Audrey*” (Ragdoll). “Audrey,” she repeated through Duncan’s lips. He gestured toward the black and white, zig-zag patterned chairs they sat in. He pointed out the “teapot” between them. He indicated an owl decorating a fluttering national flag he rezzed out of his inventory, bought at the Snowlands infohub just before teleporting over here.
“‘The owls are not what they seem,’ I know.” Jeffrie paused. “So you’re just *handwriting* this in. To make, I don’t know, a more satisfying ending?”
“Yes,” they admitted as a collective.
“Is it working?”
“*Is* it working, Ruby?” asked Indigo to her left, sensing the fatigue. “We can’t go on much longer. The 12th (novel) awaits!”
“We *have* to continue onward,” implores young Ragdoll to Ruby’s right. “Duncan knows who Jeffrie Phillips is, and that the treasure guarded day and night by Big Baby Jane is a, um, red herring, a duplicate of the one near the Snowy Peak. Another decoy.”
“Can we compare the 2 treasures again, just to make sure?” Ruby knew they could. “Hold on,” she says. “We’re almost done!”
Yes. The same. “Well, that does it, I think,” Ruby then says, finally lifting pencil from paper. She shuts the book. “The treasure cannot be found here.” She puts it back on the shelf at the end of
graphic novels journals 1 through 10.
But they weren’t quite yet finished.
The bridge is derezzing behind me. No time. No time!
It’s my worst nightmare.
“He should’ve stayed, you know. We would have gotten him some linden plants around here. He didn’t even ask.”
“Shush, Jeffrie. I’m reading. The book is being written again.”
Of course the treasure is here, fools, escaped prisoner Casey One Hole thought from his perch while staring toward the simulation. One comes with a snowy peak, one doesn’t, duhh. And now it’s all mine to find since the Klancaster Dixons are out of the picture.
He peers upwards. Hmmm, snowy from a distance, but even higher up close. Artificial rock on top.
And between the decoy treasure and this peak is that treehouse over there — an actual house in a tree. Perhaps that’s where it is. Simple as that.
“I don’t *need* the treasure,” he says to himself while descending toward it. “But I certainly *want* it.”
By Arria Perrault
with additional discoveries and 3D composition by Rosie Gray and Sudane Erato
The “real life” castle of Neuschwanstein, from which the Neufreistadt “Schloss” is inspired, is an example of an extensive architectural movement in Europe and around the world, the Gothic Revival. Through new buildings or restorations of ruined old buildings, architects have been inspired by the gothic architecture of the 10th through the 13th centuries in Europe. King Ludwig II of Bavaria was inspired by a restored castle in France and commissioned Neuschwanstein.
All arts influence each other. What happens in architecture will also happen in painting or sculpture. I have tried to find painting movements that were inspired by Middle Age legends and that are somehow contemporary. The artists of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood meet this criteria. The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (also known as the Pre-Raphaelites) was a group of English painters, poets, and critics, mostly men, founded in 1848 by William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. They were particularly fascinated by medieval culture, believing it to possess a spiritual and creative integrity that had been lost in later eras. Their paintings are delicate and colorful. They have a similar look and feel.
Among the paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites, I have selected the ones which are related to themes that are also represented in the decoration of Neuschwanstein or related to it in some way. There are themes of the operas of Wagner (Wagner has also inspired the King of Bavaria), Arthurian themes and other Middle Age scenerios and legends.
“Could it be… could that horse be eating — sniffing…
… blue roses? Yesss!”
“I’m so close.”
But Casey One Hole quickly learned he was banned from the 4096 square meter property dominated by the giant tree and its topping house, speculating that someone else higher up was reading the Baker B. blog as well. He couldn’t get beyond the blue roses. For reasons yet to be understood, he would not suffer the same horrible fate as Dixon One preceding him.
“Alright, Brevin. Show me where the treasure is.”
END OF “COLLAGESITY 2018 EVEN LATER”!