00450701 (a new high and low of it all 03)
“My friend Bart got tired of standing so I took over,” Billy Clockwork explained about his presence at the lemonade stand instead of the boy Newt encountered before here. “Seat’s broke, you see,” he said, indicating the fold out chair beside him. “Go ahead. Try it out if you don’t believe me.” So he did.
Next thing he knew he was in a room of unknown location, fire burning brightly in the hearth beside him. “Hi,” it said in a flamey voice, fittingly enough, low but rich with energy. “I guess you’re wondering what just happened.”
—–
Meanwhile, below, further below than you might think, Wheeler sits beside the other fire of the castle, the one just delivered by Philip The Other who was promptly rewarded with a nice, tall glass of lemonade freshly squeezed from a Juho citrus tree, along with his choice of a new girlfriend, 3 willing candidates in attendance.
I believe he might have his eye more on Nada New Year across from him than the other 2, which is a good choice considering she’s actually another avatar and not just a 3d dummy unable to respond to his many emotional needs. Yes, he has needs, and current roommate Lexi is not the one to meet the most important of them, which, of course, Wheeler understands. Being that she’s also (Lexi’s current love interest) Shelley.
(to be continued)
00450702
Don’t get me wrong. Lexi and he were still pals. Here we see them staring out from her many windowed house after breakfast one morning toward the long if not especially wide expanse of Nawt Vaya, Jeogeot’s largest inland sea and probably the only inland body of water of that virtual continent to qualify as such. And there’s some heated debate in certain Juho social circles even over that, which we’ll get to later. Or not. Not Vaya? Variant name for sure, sea or no. Along with Alamo, which is of particular relevance to Philip’s case. Here’s the actual, Real Life source:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nawt_Vaya,_Arizona
Nawt Vaya is a populated place situated on the Tohono O’odham Nation in Pima County, Arizona, United States.[2] Historically, it has also been known as Agua Lavaria, Agua la Vara, Agua la Varia, Alamo, and Not Vaya, before Nawt Vaya became the official name following a decision by the Board on Geographic Names in 1941. The name means pampas grass well in the O’odham language.
And it’s pretty near the only US population place with a primary or variant name starting with Jeo like the continent, reinforcing the relationship.
Anyway, Philip is still testing out the 3 candidates Wheeler provided for a potential girlfriend as reward for delivering Gus to her, even though he’s leaning heavily toward Nada New Year, seen in the above photo also leaning heavily on him. Lexi sitting on the floor beside them was just glad they were past the constant kissing phase of their relationship. Andie and Sally waited patiently at the table behind them like the 3d dummies they are — just in case. Philip was instead in questioning mode. He never asked Nada — or the others — as if she/they had only one purpose in his life and that alone. It was always Lexi. Another reason he probably kept hanging around, she rationalized. But she really didn’t mind. The girls were pretty and also pretty interesting to speak to. At least Nada. Being a native of the land, she helped fill in Lexi’s gaps of local knowledge. What a sweetheart! If Philip wasn’t around… but she can’t think of that now. Wheeler (and Shelley!) would be so upset!
“Who owns that lighthouse over there, Lexi?” he started, which she knew would lead to more.
“Oh, I don’t know. Just met them once. Darkstar I believe is the name.”
“Cool. Who owns that house with the palm tree just in front of us, then?”
“I don’t know, Philip. They’re just some neighbors. I’ve only seen them from a distance ho-ing in their garden,” which made Lexi wonder again if prostitution was actually legal in this region of Our Second Lyfe.
“Nice. When is Wheeler’s Starbuccaneers gonna open over there to our right, Lexi? Do you know? Huh?” He turns his head toward her. “HUH?”
“*Philip*…” But then she stifled the urge to tell him to be quiet for a while. Because that might mean the kissing resumes. And she’d rather hear his questions than all those smooching sounds. “Starbuccaneers, eh?” she considers. “I’ve heard…” Nada flashes a peace sign in her direction; thanks Nada! “… in about 2 days.” Nada then makes a widening motion with two hands this time behind his head. “Oh, did I say days? I meant weeks.” Thumbs up sign from Nada.
“Nifty. And, let’s see, those people on that grassy field yonder. Who are they? What are they doing?”
Lexi could actually field this field question on her own, which took her back to shortstop days with the local Horners Corners High Jills, no error between her legs at the time. “That’s Greg. As in Greg Ogden. And that’s his models he’s painting for his new and improved Juho studio.” She knew all this from Wheeler. It was kind of the talk of town in certain social circles (or not). Former model Peter Melanchton had graduated Summa cum laude from Nawt Vaya State and moved away. He needed new blood to fill his shoes. That image was actually in the ad he made, which he hoped would seem artistically trendy to a model wannabe.
And, as the ad stated, he was aiming for girls this time — an upgrade. Just like Philip, he had several candidates lined up. Although he was heavily leaning toward the non-red of the group who had just walked into the picture below, as he hoped she would be doing soon on him. Parallel lives.
However, the woman turned out to only be Peter Melanchton’s sister, there to retrieve a leather jacket he left behind. Redd it is.
(to be continued)
00450703 (the monster within)
Greg was also into painting trees that came from seeds, including that persimmon in the dead center of Juho we mentioned before. Here: a willow pretty nearby it at the end of the short lane known as Makers Way, Greg’s artistic and otherwise home in the still-being-developed burg. He feels he can speak to this particular tree even, hear its words, understand the language of the long, willowy limbs often swaying and sometimes rustling in the winds. “Greg Ogden,” they seemed to whisper call to him more than once. “More green, more green!” And sometimes he would change with this and sometimes he didn’t. Depends on if he’s heavy into the oils or remains more on the surface with quicker drying acrylics and watercolors. Here he dabbles in acrylic; we appear to be safe for now. š
Soon he tires of outdoor stuff and returns to his newly revamped studio now chocked full of pictures of the female anatomy instead of male, the studio apartment where he lives and bathes and such just above, a one to one match in space and clutter one floor up. He always leaves the front door slightly ajar just in case he forgets his keys. Could return in one of those artistic dazes, he figures, especially if he shifts over to oil. He remembers his uncle locking himself out of his music shop for weeks because of a similar jazz trance induced by something as simple as a passing car radio. Sensitive shopkeepers responsible for the opening and closing of doors must be cognizant of their own weaknesses and adjust accordingly.
How about STAB for a name? he thinks while walking through the shop’s red facade. Short and sweet and evoking lots of the same color. Also short as in the lane he lives on. Eye-catching. And as a bonus he won’t have to repaint. STAB it is. Goes along with the blood theme of his new help wanted ad too; he’ll simply build upon it to create the perfect logo, he thinks in the moment. Good luck Peter Melanchton! Thanks for your service, but I don’t need you any longer, I don’t even need your sister any longer.
I have Redd.
00450704
Oops, he thinks while checking the photo-novel 45 clock behind Redd, its time quickly running out. See ya, my new muse. Gotta go meet Tobor down at the beach to end this thing, but not before leaving my door slightly ajar of course. This could be a deep one.
As it turns out, Greg’s Makers Way is not the only Maker in the area. There’s what appears to be this fashion magazine located in a small, out of the way radio station in nearby Seogwipo about 200 meters away, which DJ Carolin “Wind” Willows is just entering to begin her long long workday isolated from the rest of the world. Tough since she’s a sociopath, I mean, a social person. She rethinks her career choice every time she walks through that door. She also leaves it ajar? Could be.
Ahh, a little Blue Moon Kentucky from her independent label Sun Records will help first thing in the morning, she thinks. Little track called “Elvis Esley” penned by Scottyd Bill that helped put her back on the musical map after the breakup of the Cracks. Here goes!
Listening to the lyrics, Carolin can’t help but wonder again how such a depressing song ever made it to the top of the pop charts. Suicide! And more.
00450705
When I found him on the western coast of Jeogeot not far from my new Nawt Vaya home, he was just a head sticking up above the waves, and I immediately thought: The Netherlands, as in the red white and blue colors of its flag that had already figured into the text of the current photo-novel. I theorized: here is a link between photo-novels 45 which I’m wrapping up, and 46 still away a bit but coming closer, looming like successor photo-novels do. I can just have this methodically marching-in-place, tri-colored figure name Tobor (according to the object’s description; obviously the word robot in reverse) sort of figuratively walk between the two in some fashion; act as a bridging character. That was the idea in *my* head, vague but one I knew had the potential to work, being experienced in such vague glimmerings of ideas and how they can, often quite quickly — sometimes extraordinarily so, ha — manifest into being. Witness here:
END OF “SUNKLANDS PHOTO-NOVEL 45”!
Sunklands 