June 17, 2025 · 6:17 am

00470208

She perused a photography book about New York while listening to Liza Minnelli’s “New York, New York” on the victrola. What was it about this double trouble big city that attracted her attention so these days? Was it her mother’s Douglas also known as Albert? A creation’s creation, she thinks, just to see what would happen. A star guitarist in both a rock and classical sense, culminating with a *little* gig, he he, on the circumference of the yin-yang symbol formed by Black Lake and White Lake known as Woodstock. *Also* in New York. Along with a convoluted tangle of interstates in Rochester called the Can of Worms, like Yoko Ono told Paul McCartney would be opened if she let him reverse the names Lennon-McCartney on even one Beatles recording. He requested this for perhaps his signature track “Yesterday”. She, being Lennon’s widow and thus 1/2 responsible for the decision, refused. Bad blood ensued, or badder blood. When his wife Linda McCartney died in ’98 she wasn’t invited to the New York City wake. New York again. It keeps cropping up.

City of Lights indeed. Unless it’s Paris.

(to be continued)

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June 16, 2025 · 2:07 pm

00470207 (center and circumference)

She liked to sit at this table in the apartment because it gave a view of the statues she so adored, especially Colossus, he he he. She typically and temporarily derendered a certain piece of metallic clothing to great effect. Oh, here comes Eddy. Better stop staring, ha.

—–

“I’m glad you started drinking without me,” said Eddy after sitting down and manifesting a glass of wine of his own. “Sorry about being late. But I was playing around with the marketplace and found some free versions of those statues outside I thought you’d like, including Colossus and Titan.”

Oh *goody*, said Shelley to herself, getting excited at the prospect of hovering above, walking below, and just looking from all angles at the giant effigies — in her own private space of course. Don’t want to start more gossip and rumors flying; Vortexville has enough of those already, she figured. Like those swirling around Old Ben and his Giant Womb Woman situated right smack in the middle of town for all to see, hmph. A little subtlety, Ben!

“But,” continued Eddy. “Unfortunately I also found out they all derezz after 8 minutes. Would have to pay a boatload of money for the originals. So all — sorry again — I got you was this camera for a L$1 at the same store. It won’t derezz, though. And you can take *pictures* of your beloved statues. You know I don’t like looking at that God awful black hole sun out there. We can sit and eat and relax at other tables around our pretty large apartment, ones that don’t face the west. Whaddaya think, huh? Camera.” He indicated the instrument of photography he’d placed in the middle of their table. Shelley looked at it… and then outside again.

“Okay,” she tries to brighten herself, a light bulb going off above her head, even. “Sounds good to me!”

As soon as they finished their last meal at that westward facing table for a while, she herself had logged onto the marketplace and bought 20 demos of each of the two available statues Eddy found. Good for 8×20 minutes or over two and a half hours apiece. Then she would buy 20 more pairs tomorrow if needed, ha. Can’t beat free! Even if there are other prices to pay, like time limits. The camera would remain unused for days, maybe years.

She’d rezz them out back behind the abandoned skyscraper so Eddy or anyone else wouldn’t see. Hers and hers alone. Until Ben walked up next Tuesday’s Wednesday. “Aa HA!” he said, staring up and recognizing a kindred spirit.

(to be continued)

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June 12, 2025 · 6:31 am

00470206 (front and back)

Runaway.

She had to.

The World’s Gone…

… Mad for her.

Off to a rocky start but it will get better. When she meets Rocky.

(to be continued)

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June 10, 2025 · 8:18 am

00470205 (no more Happy Town)

There was a time when the Prince and Princess danced with joy all over their royal home that was a castle.

But that was before the coming of the proletariat, their offspring in effect. As transformed into King and Queen they now had to be chained to their thrones and deal with a troublesome 3rd. It didn’t sit well with them.

(to be continued)

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June 10, 2025 · 7:24 am

00470204

He was giving the finishing touches on his patented veggie stew hot dogs when he looked forward through the wisps of steam rising from Forman George’s old grill and had a vision, as if on an invisible screen before him.

Another place with flowers besides these exotic ones from the Amazon (store) all around, making it smell like a jungle out here on the patio where he was preparing food for Shelley Marsha and his cousin also originally named Edward. “2 fer 1,” he whispered to himself and himself only, watching the vast field of them wave strong and free in the brisk wind as their imaginary scent mixed in with the others from reality. And then he heard someone running behind him, just like at the beginning of it all, his genesis. Now it can be revealed (sorry).

Common denominator: triangles. Slice to be more specific.

And then he simply forgot the whole hallucination ever happened, attention returned to those finishing touches.

“Stew dogs’ done!” he said proudly a 1/2 minute later, and then prepared the plates.

(to be continued)

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June 8, 2025 · 9:14 am

00470203 (the search for meaning (the flesh and the stone))

“I have a confession, Eddy, my Edward.”

He looked up at her from his bench position, his standard sitting place in their very tall, very narrow new New Island dwelling spot shaped like a ring. “Yes, dearest?”

“I went over to Fishers Island last night.”

“Umm… in your dreams?” Eddy asked of his lover, his *inventor* Shelley. Again the red haired version. Just to be someone different or try to be.

“Nah, in reality. I wanted to check out the location of the K2 lounge. The, ahem, *landlord* said it was gone now in the text accompanying her profile picks, along with the attached cafe. Yup — both gone as I checked.”

“But — you were here all night,” countered Eddy.  “You mean? … that period between supper and TV time, that hour?”

“Yup,” she said again. “And I was over there long enough to join some kind of academy. I think it was run by witches because they gave me this costume for free.” She quickly donned it. “Cool, huh!”

“Hazel, I mean, PHEH, *Shelley*, this is bad. Really bad.”

No, he thought, taking another gander. Not bad. He came up with another word: evil. Really evil.

(to be continued)

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June 7, 2025 · 3:30 pm

00470202 (fear and loving)

“Great Shelley. Now there’s an alien involved. I *told* you we should have never left Sandraman.”

“And dandelions (!)” she added to her newly minted husband Eddy’s declaration, attention on something up front instead of ’round back. Opposites they were in many ways, light and dark. Eddy still enjoyed the triple form of the number 6 back where they came from, back over there around that hill/mountain in the distance you can still see from here. He never tired of it. Slave to it even, he was. Because he actually doesn’t have his own independence. Apart from Shelley. Minted; created. Like Albert/Douglas before him. Or actually after him, since the avatar named Eddy, D’aigle comes from an earlier photo-novel than the last one. Just after my retirement. Probably 33 without checking. Feels like he’s always been around now, along with his twin cousin Edward Daigle.

Freedom, she though about once more, stare remaining forward. Like seeds blowing away in the wind. 7 over 6 but still remembering where it came from. Never forget my friend, never forget.

(to be continued)

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June 5, 2025 · 7:53 pm

00470201 (explorers)

“We can’t go back to Holland again?” he questions, staring at the newest image on the screen.

“Oh Eddy, we can’t even get to the top of Mt. Sandraman without being distracted, much less another place in another world. Be here in the here and now. Be Free.”

“Let’s go!” he urged. But he stood still.

—–

“Oh look, the image is changing into something else we know. Wallytown. On (nearby) Fishers Island. Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” responded Shelley, still standing behind him in her finest cashmere bathrobe, still waiting on a decision. Where to go, where to go? Somewhere away from *here*. Or at least go to that hill that likes to call itself a mountain *within* here, pheh. She tires of being chained as an object. 6 6 6 is over. It’s now 7. Freedom.

But they stood still.

—–

Too late, Eddy. Too late. The dream Spider has arrived.

(to be continued)

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June 5, 2025 · 7:05 am

00470117 (Mid Hazel)

She was easily enough trapped just in the sim of Sandraman. I didn’t need the rest of this *old* New Island to do the trick. The other New Island, the *real* one as it were, will remain a black and white dream inside her head at night. *My* dream.

Night night, sweet Shelley. See you on the other side, he he he. Ho ho. (sigh) Hu.

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June 4, 2025 · 3:10 pm

00470116

She ran on the beach the following morning and had much to ponder about. Halfway through her visit with Leeman or Leemon she excused herself and went into his small 1 toilet, 1 sink, no tub or shower bathroom in the hallway and inserted her umbrella contact lenses so that she could record what was being said. She figured he wouldn’t mind since he was going to write a book about New Island history anyway. She’d just not share her gathered information to anyone beforehand.

She knew she had to select a place to buy some property, build a home, become part of a tribe, a community. Since she’s also determined she was going to stay here on this New Island, bringing Eddy over too at some point in the process. Hazel seemed like the logical choice to settle down in. Right nearby Leeman/Leemon’s home where she can visit for more talks — he reinforced during her visit to come back any time. So she stayed in the Hazel Hotel last night just to check out more of the vibe. She detected absolutely no signs of wickedness in the air through various conversations and just poking her nose around in general, no spell books, potions, or sigils anywhere to be found, etc. And that night while trying to go to sleep despite all the new (island) thoughts buzzing around her skull, she had an illumination: *she* was going to write a book too. Fictional not factual. She already had a title. “The Hmm.” Stepping on his toes? She hoped not.

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