00480100 (Franks)
Now how to combine them?
00480101 (new month, new photo-novel)
“Who are you? And what are you doing here??”
——
“He said he was this guy. I’m telling you Frank. These walls are haunted!”
“Simmer down, Philip. Say he *gave* this to you?”
“Yeah; just dropped it into my inventory and then vanished. Said he lived here. He’s lived here for a long time. Behind the fireplace; in the walls. Watching. This is a colored version of him where I saw a white one. But I know they’re the same. And… sorry about saying the word colored,” he apologized while looking over at his black friend, who took the mention in stride. “Like black-and-white and colored TVs I suppose,” Philip needlessly continued the apology. “No harm meant.”
“Watching, huh. Creepy.” Frank didn’t believe Philip’s story but was just going along for the ride.
“Like I said, Pierrot’s the name. Edward Pierrot. Said he died here or something, then mentioned Alabama. But now he’s back, he said. Like the Alabama Phoenix, whatever that means.”
“But… Phoenix is in Arizona. Dawg,” he added to make it more authentically him.
“I don’t know. But I, um, might not be coming up as much, Frank, to be honest with you. He’s *watching*. How can I play pinball in peace and escape all the stress of the world if I know *that*.”
“Truly an issue. Well, tell you what, Philip. I’ll dig into it, maybe hire some kind of exorcist, you know.”
“Really?” exuded Philip, still not catching on that Frank doesn’t believe anything he’s saying. “That would be *great*, bud.” And he punched him on the shoulder to show his gratitude and then excused himself, saying he’s late for dinner with Lexi down at the sea. He still didn’t like Frank to call Nawt Vaya a lake but Frank doesn’t do that much anymore. He’s caught on too. He likes it here! No dead fish smell, etc. Much better than the Alamo where it/they came from. “Remember the Alamo,” Philip likes to say. “And then forget all about it,” he adds the punchline, the joke of it all. Alamo > Nawt Vaya. Fate, they’ve determined. Lexi too in her own special way and special place manner.
After he went home, Frank continued to stare at the painting Philip left behind. Frank can’t return it immediately or Philip will see it show up in his lost and found folder and maybe get wise to his little game. So he just moves the thing up into the ceiling so he won’t have to look at it all the time. He’d have to talk to Lexi about Philip’s new issues first chance he gets. Maybe an extension of the ones we’ve seen him saddled with in photo-novel 47 — just completed in the nick of time for its end of August deadline, yay!
https://bakerbloch.com/virtual/sunklands-2025-middle/
Another Edward Pierrot from a land far removed now (Mythopolis).
00480102
https://www.sartle.com/artwork/soir-bleu-edward-hopper
“I’ve figured out who Edward is, Lexi. I don’t think we have to worry about Philip now as much as the castle itself and what, as he says, lives behind the walls. Realism strikes back against abstraction!”
“Say what?”
He swivels his laptop with the appropriate article pulled up toward Lexi. “The perriot. That’s Hopper. Found it pretty quickly using a search for Edward + pierrot.”
“Oh. Edward *Hopper,*” she said, recognizing at least the style. “So that’s who’s haunting the castle? A dead artist?”
“Kind of. Still unclear on that. But I’ve decided we need to have a seance. You’re the official channeller of Nawt Vaya Free State, Lexi.”
“Only because of that premonition about the alcoholic sea monster!” she says with a laugh, Hole in the Wall bar raised 100 feet in the air just in the nick of time to be saved from swallowing.
“Nevertheless, I think we should try. Else… Philip will never come back up. He’ll always be with you, Lexi. Forever… and ever. Noooooo escape.”
“Okay okay, I’ll do it,” she relents and then stares at the laptop again, the white face, the painted red lips and the cigarette sadly drooping from them. Another dropper? She imagined it spilling from his mouth, catching the crotch of his sad clown pants on fire. How to put it out how to put it out? He can’t. Not without our help.
“Tonight?” requests Frank. “I know it’s short notice but… I can’t sleep in that place now. He’s staring at me too!”
“Tonight,” acquiesced Lexi, already planning what candles and incense would be required to set the proper mood. And, of course, the Weegee board.
(to be continued)
00480103 (not yet)
00480104
“Weird how it’s just spinning on its own.”
“Yeah, and we’re not even touching it yet (!). Energy is strong here for sure. Soooo… you ready? Just grab it and it will stop; it will magnetize to you, then. You start, and then I’ll take hold of it too.” Black first, Lexi knew from past experience with this kind of setup. Like a proper game of Iowa cheskers out in some random cornfield.
—–
“Are you there, spirit?”
The planchette rather quickly moves to YES.
“Thank you. Can you tell us your name?”
The planchette pretty quickly spelled out EDWARD and then PIERROT. So far so good. Everything Philip described is turning out correct.
“Are you the same as Edward Hopper?”
NO, came the even quicker response.
“Can you tell me if you go by another name?”
The planchette stayed still about 5 seconds. Then: JOHNSTON.
“Johnston?” Lexi uttered. “Who do we know that goes by Johnston?”
“Lexi!” Frank exclaimed. “Your hair!”
(to be continued)
00480105
In the sim of Juho that New York transplant Carolin stands at the center of above, the blight was getting whiter which meant worse. Central persimmon tree that formerly existed on this very spot: gone. Soon all the citrus trees, including the more lemony ones, would also be affected, she knew, and another reason for staying here in the first place might be lost. Nawt Vaya — the water of Jeogeot’s largest and also probably only inland sea has power but not unlimited. Soon things will begin to disperse again, although Our Second Lyfe will retain its primary importance in the blog and attached photo-novels. At least while the *latter* is also still around. Do I see an end? 47 and counting now. Not really.
Carolin turns. Better find Sep over at the stylist to get that butterfly hair in place again.
—–
“Yeah, that’s pretty red, Lexi, I mean, Shelley, AHEM, I mean — *Wheeler*. But we’ll get you set up again.”
——
“*There*.”
Back to my old self, she thinks. Now to try it out on Frank Lynn sitting over there getting his own kind of haircut. She looks over, making sure he makes eye contact with her. There! No sign of recognition. Ex-cel-lent.
Now to change out of these silly child’s clothes too.
She focuses on her reflection again. Eat your heart out, Frank!
00480106 (pets pet)
I’d like to think this is my family. Father mother son.
And over there where the mother is staring? Baederwood. I have that much.
Now to find Dr. Tom who has information about the 2 Hills. Maybe a gardener too?
Let’s start here.
00480107 (front, and back too)
“I got my first full blown color tattoos right here in [Dokken Hollow]. Eddy, my Edward, was also my tattoo artist of choice. In that way and more. Butterflies,” she elaborated. “Red green blue, like the primary colors.”
“Of light,” I tried to pinpoint. “Not the Earthy pigment kind.”
“That’s correct. Combined to make purest white. That’s the navel. But there was also yellow; the gold chain that came later was predicted. This represents, you could put it, my connection with the Mother Sphere — Earth as you say. I am from this Earth and to the Earth I will return. The body is temporary.”
“Of course,” is all I could think to say here.
“Eddy — my Edward again — said the butterflies are the fish released at the core center. They work my way up one leg to here. He said the fish should not continue, poopooing the idea I came in there with. He said fish should be paired or countered with birds — can’t remember which one he said now. But I do remember the ‘aha!’ and the sticking up of the index finger in the air to also indicate he had a brilliant idea. Come to think of it, the yellow was already there too. He said he needed to release the Earth. You are from the Mother, he said. But you are not *of* the Mother. You are your own self, (in) your own sphere. Butterflies should do the trick, he said. Birds would be too busy, he went on. Butterflies are simple — pure flight indicated. Less Earth. Yes, he said, let’s look at some patterns and I can have the whole thing done in an hour, 2 hours tops. And so that’s how I met Eddy.”
“You mentioned several tattoos. Several full blown color tattoos.”
“Two, yeah, I flipped over after that and he did the back as well. A tree, but with the same colors, mix in a dash of orange this time, a dab of purple. I basically had to take my tank top off. And that’s how it all got started. I have no excuses. I’m just telling you the way it went down. At last.”
“Amen to that,” I say.
[delete 3 exchanges]
“Afterwards, he said he was closing at 5 because the band would be starting soon and he can’t take the noise. He pointed backwards, to the wall; toward the Bang Bang (Bar). I lose some business that way, I also remember him saying. Drunks coming in here from the bar, wanting to mark up their body in some way, in some fashion, often to keep up with the Tom, Dick, and Harrys of the world. Or compensation. OR — Tomasina, um, let’s see, Diedra I guess, and then Harriets to end all that (laugh).”
“Of course,” I say again. “Female to male.” I wondered if the mention of Tom was accidental but that’s just how my mind works these days.
(to be continued)
00480108
The band was already playing when we walked to the bar counter, started asking loud questions over the noise. “Anyone here by the name of Tom?!” I began. “Maybe a doctor or something?!”
The bartender looked confused at first, as if attempting to process the request. His eyes rolled upwards a bit, then he said, “Tom, you say?!”
“Yeah!” I shouted back. “Maybe a doctor?!” I reinforced the second part.
“There was!… here, let’s go outside and I can talk better! Joe, hold down the bar for just a minute!” What appeared to be the barback — bartender’s assistant — didn’t look too happy, but then moved to a customer who had just approached the counter and took an order. He seemed to know what he was doing.
Outside we got a lot of information from Harry, who also told us that Tom was a Dick. Tom Cruise, as it turns out. Like Julee but different.
(to be continued)
00480109 (Edward Perriot again?)
“When… did you get a big tattoo of a tree, Alice?”
Alice? she thinks. Who’s Alice? “Oh, it’s just something I got on a whim the other day. I’m (she keeps walking briskly) surprised you haven’t noticed yet.”
“I’m not the most noticing type,” he admits. “But… this big?” He’s going to have to stare at this sometimes. Like during those moments. How easily would it be to get it removed, he can’t help but think. Will she *honor* his wishes if he demands it? Is she *obedient*? But for now he keeps walking with her, even brisker. So he’ll be up front and won’t have to stare at the thing. Those colors. So bright! So — indicating. But of what?
00480110 (Juice)
We stuck around to hear Julee Cruise since, you know, when would we get the opportunity again? Since she was dead and all. Oft-times hubby Newt and I had polished off a couple of beers by then. I checked the watch now on my arm. 2:41 AM. Time to head home, though, I suppose. While we could make our way.
She sang one last time about the Tennessee dog and bird and we were away.
00480111 (Rodentia!)
I don’t think there’s any mixing of words here. This place represents anti-establishment and anti-authority to the hilt! Witness this statue of a beheaded king straddling the corners of 4 sims, a centerpoint of focus. We must begin here to understand all else in the pretty huge metropolis which not only includes most of these 4 sims but spreads over a lot of 2 more as well. Much much larger than The Burg featured in section 03 from photo-novel 45; much larger than Nawt Vaya’s Juho, or Sunklands bordering Newtown, or even west coast NWES City probably, which I’ve considered the largest city of the Jeogeot continent until this point. We the Baker Family have our work cut out exploring this place and resolving its internal story. Might take a large part of a whole photo-novel this time instead of just a section. Maybe a whole one? Several? One way to find out — leap in again!
How did they know I was a stranger? thinks Wheeler.
(to be continued)
00480112 (little Cindy Lou?… nah, I got nothing)
Who is this centerpoint character emerging from a blank black background with golden gloved fist extended? I don’t know but I’m going to try to find out as best I can building upon what limited knowledge of modern pop culture I have. Did I mention I’m getting rather old? Anywho, I know just later she stands before a wall of static and speaks her mind about control, YouTube Poop (YTP) remix style.
She is about authoritarianism and against what she called mindless audio/video manipulation — the “poop” of the genre most popular back in the 2000s and 2010s. But all poop comes from what we consume and that is the corporate controlled media landscape all around us in this example. I don’t think she would fare well in our new metropolis, ha.
(to be continued?)
00480113
“I guess it was inevitable you show up.” He pauses as he looks over at his oft-times wife, now a ratcatcher complete with backpack cage with a couple of rats in it already. But not of the right kind.
“Yeah, I was attracted by the literal version but disappointed. No one home.”
Earlier: *Knock knock knock.* “Hello?! Anybody here?!”
“Soo now… an actual hole,” said Newt. Both stared over at it, Ratcatcher (aka Wheeler) with her useless rat catching devices for the job and Newt with his useless fishing rod apparently, just slung under his shoulder for looks by the look of it.
—–
She waved goodbye to him but he was already gone. Too laggy for him to stay logged on too while she entered. But not the fault of the sim. Probably my modem or something. Router. Anyway… inside.
—–
Eventually she found CENTER.
And directly above — still at center, mind you — a pawn shop named Escape with a browser named not Rat but Mouse. Doctor too.
That might be it, she thinks while panning up and peering into it.
“How much for this red dress here?” Mouse asks Wanda the shop attendant, pointing toward the object with his cane to indicate desire per usual.
In synchronicity, she then spots a blood stained hand poking out from a split bag of trash.
(to be continued)
00480114
Ironically, the only bags she had to offer Mouse for totting his newly bought red dress home were trash too. She unceremoniously dumps the purchased dress inside, draws the likewise red strings, and hands the filled black plastic container over to him from across the counter. Although he struggles with carrying both the bag and the cane at once while walking out, she doesn’t offer to help, doesn’t even hold the front door open for him.
He trudgingly makes his way toward the now vacant Rat Hole establishment from the shop, wondering if his not wife but girlfriend — maybe — will enjoy the gift. Birthday, he ponders. 666 or thereabouts. Hard to forget. Demon inside her too to help him remember. Might as well be stamped onto her forehead.
Wheeler again of course.
Where is the old fool? she thinks after glancing again at her watch still on her arm.
Must rest now, he determined, catching his breath. Hope she f-ing likes it!
00480115 (another one of those Hana Leis)
“Yes, how are you doing Father?” One of them, she thinks privately, because there remains great doubt that this Dr. Mouse, originally Dr. *of* Mouse, could actually be the biological one. *Psychological*: yes. But Axis and the confirmed DNA tests — 2 of ’em — still looms large in the background. Greg Ogden without his copper toned hair, she also knows now. So strange.
Mouse answers. “Come *home*?” she utters about his request as she watches Chet take another dive under the waves. “But I like it *so much* here. No drama, no tension. Just surf and sun and fun.” Immediate reaction, but Alice also knew he was paying for all this. He could cut off the funds. She had to comply with his wishes. “2 more weeks?” she tried to bargain. Mouse answers. “2 *days*?”
“Your mother needs you,” Mouse explained as best he could now. She wasn’t dying or anything like that; she was just in trouble, he said. Trouble but not sick or dying or anything like that. What could it be? she ponders after the click that ended the call. 2 days. She’d have to say goodbye to the dogs. And rock’n surfer boy Chet out there. He couldn’t come along, she knew — started band practice in Caledonia day after tomorrow with the Andersons, bassist Karl and then little Sherwood on drums. Good with the hands Sherwood was on this rock music. And Karl at least looked good on Paper (their “hit” single). Run with Scissors they were called. And I believe we have former runner-of-a-diner Biff Carter as band manager to end that 4 part string. We’ll see if they actually show up again in this here blog and attached photo-novels or are a kind of hard to get, one-off joke like so many others of its type.
(to be continued)
00480116 (fallen)
He stared at the can, thinking about all the repercussions of what happened in UT recently. Some say he invented the object, but that was Can the character — different. And besides, [Pepi “Can” Kolya] had turned into Newt now, hadn’t he? (he thinks) Better. Able to smile and perhaps even laugh. A new centerpiece figure for the blog and attached photo-novels as a whole on the male side of things. Female? Well, still obviously dominated or ruled by Wheeler. Which reminds him… (STAND)
He’ll return to this Arang 32/225/94 seat for more thinking and pondering later. But for now he’s got to get to another 32/225 spot in a catty-corner sim to wait on daughter Alice, fresh from a land removed from such worries. Her lucky streak has just ended, though, he thinks. Wheeler was not *in* trouble but just trouble period. A little white lie sold to Alice so that she’ll come home and help him deal with her. She doesn’t like his red dress he got from the pawn shop, she doesn’t like the cans of bargain soda he brings home from the grocery store, she doesn’t like this that or the other thing. Difficult (!). Alice was always better than him with handling her moods. And now she’s coming back. Yes, little white lie justified. She’ll get over it soon enough.
“I guess I’ll just stand right in the middle of the road here so she can’t miss me,” he mutters when teleporting in to the second 32/225 of the day. “Just don’t hit me!”
Sunklands 