Tag Archives: Shelley Struthers^^++

December 30, 2022 · 12:32 pm

00360306 (New)

He approached cautiously from below.

—–

He’d been saving up presents for some time, preparing for the worst. Flood! they warned. Global warming gone rogue! they cried. Thus the ark.

Or so the story goes.

After a return trip to the box, they ate Christmas dinner up top. “Shelley, you seem depressed,” he spoke. Probably just leftover effects once more, he rationalized.

“Oh. Just thinking about The Moon again. Where are we on it?”

George/Musician didn’t bother to correct this time. “Tranquility, love,” he said instead. “Remember? We landed there, all of us Americans through two specific Americans. All in the Family.”

Shelley Struthers buried her suddenly aching head in her folded arms, trying to forget everything. The nearby lemons and drink bottle were reminding her of something she didn’t want to see.

“Would you like to open a present?” offered George/Musician. Maybe that would help her mood.

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December 30, 2022 · 11:52 am

numbers

He thought about Back as he lay on his back and she turned her back to him.

“Where are we on The Moon again?” she asked dreamily while studying, lingering effects of the box.

George/Musician sighs. “We’re not *on* The Moon, Shelley. We’re in… Mortons Gap. I think. At least the Ant Castle, old style, is playing on a continual loop on our TV over there.” Ropes, George/Musician thought. Aah the good old days when marriage meant something and everyone knew their place.  He sat up.

Back ruined all that, pheh. Better get back to it while I have time. 7:04AM. Soon it will be 5.

Yeah, there it is. Too late. Next! (as Wheeler might say)

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December 28, 2022 · 11:13 am

00360216

“Welcome.”

She stepped out of the box, this “Wilson Fox”, exposed at the core. Looked back. “Cute,” she said of the stuffed fox on top. “Why am I here?” She was enjoying the slumber, but she’d been called out.

“We have to help Hucka Bee.” Plain and simple. No “Doo” in the middle any more. Thanks to Amagon.

“Okay… how?” It was here that Fox probably remembered she was Shelley.

Baker, in the guise of Wolvie here, put images in her head from the last several blog posts. He wanted perspective from a different angle. Female would do the trick, he supposed.

“Mortons Gap, eh?”

Baker/Wolvie nodded. “Although we could also start in nearby Chapel Vile. I checked. The small village in the shadow of Yellowmoon Ridge is still intact.”

“Fearzom,” Shelley/Fox added to this.

“Another option I suppose. Although the castle, Harrison Jett’s, isn’t there any longer. The actual owner came along and deleted it. I think I’ve been banned from the property as well, ha. ‘Nother one.”

“Ha.”

“But Ant’s Castle (Ant Castle) is still present, bigger and blacker. As black as his exoskeleton.”

“Does he have a phone?” logically asked Fox, since he is the purported inventor of the device. “Can’t we just ring him up again?”

“Do you have–” But Baker/Wolvie stopped. He remembered that here — Our Second Lyfe — you just press all the numbers on your phone and you’re connected with whoever you’re suppose to be in the moment. Except 4. Unless you want to dial The Moon.

“I know *you* have a phone. You called me up earlier on it. Yesterday, I think. From that 108/108/108 spot in Perch-Mistletoe. Amazing.”

Yes. In his back pocket. He pulled it out, dialed all the numbers except 1 (4). No Moon this time. “Hallo?” came the ordinary voice on the other end but which was actually Insectoid in translation, as all Ant’s calls were.

—–

“Tell you what, lemme call you back. Kind of in the middle of something.” *click*

But Baker/Wolvie had received answers in the short convo they had. Ant was not at his old location in Motocyclone. Instead he was at Fearzom, just below the granite peak that formerly housed rival Harrison Jett’s Princess Castle. He moved to the mountain after Harrison left, having a free place to stay. Plus his own former castle plot had been taken over by another, who deemed it a “place of power”. Just who this unnamed other is we’ll soon find out.

(to be continued)

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December 26, 2022 · 10:50 am

place of honor

“You are heart, I am spade, I get it.”

“Balancing point,” replied Shelley.

“Liz,” said Arthur, making her nod. “Both polarities in one.”

“Decision time,” spoke Shelley. “Heterocera or Nautilus or even somewhere else.”

“Looks like Heterocera made a move.” He looked at the painting again, the signature. Selen. Like the sim Selenia they had been investigating before stumbling upon this gallery and this exhibit (“Junction Points”) through Minnow.

“And the Heart Line Jem has been inspecting,” reminded Shelley to Arthur, her former boyfriend, her current husband. In the vast majority of Our Second Life, if not Morgan. But the town of Morgan (Orient PO) was dead. Probably all for the best.

“Baker said he missed Rubi, the woods. This is kind of a way to go back.”

“Nautilus is it,” Shelley stood firm, not ready to give up her castle. She had invested a lot by now. Plus the link to Iowa. She said this to Arthur.

“No option for the rebirth of Collagesity in Fordham, I’m afraid,” Arthur continued as Devil’s advocate.

“No, Arthur. That probably won’t happen. Even though *I’m* still there.”

“You and Franklin.”

Shelley paused before replying. A package had come yesterday for her thought-to-be assimilated tall, green friend. Roberts — Christmas present. She reached for it across the tracks. It contain (as Franklin described it afterwards) the Gang of Willard that blog owner Baker had taken away from her, like a misguided surgeon. Roberts bought it back. And brought it back.

“Franklin is gone,” she said, making Arthur arch his eyebrow.

“Baker won’t be happy,” he said.

“Baker can go to f-ing *hell*.”

“Hmmm.” Arthur looked over. The Retro Backless Dress below the steaming face seemed to fit. *She* was a throwback, non-mesh to name one aspect of that. She was closer to the Lemony Past than most people would suspect if they took her in surfacely. This box has depth, this box has a top and a bottom. Okay, she said Nautilus — stay on Nautilus. Must get back to that.

—–

Yellowmoon, Corsica continent:

“Here, Arthur. This is about Nautilus and its lemony past. Just that easy.”

—–

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December 25, 2022 · 10:04 am

00360210

I occasionally stop by here, a house to the south of Chilbo on the Jeogeot continent, to check and see if my star is still there on the porch where I put it, oh, say about a year ago by this point. Owner of the house and attached property is a bigfoot researcher, like myself. 🙂 Guy named Snow. And the creator of the star is also a Snow — small world, or so they say. The first Snow is also co-owner of Roberts and Franklin Investigators in Towerboro on the same continent.

Has Robin Williams pic and quote in his profile, thus the decision to place the star here. Williams was a big fan of Firesign Theatre. And a couple of years back, in the sim of Moork, I found a small parcel owned by Uh Clem, a name derived from one on their “Bozos” album already mentioned in this photo-novel by Peter Ladd, nephew of Mr. Babyface. Tonight I found an Ahclem avatar in the same group as the person who owns the Ouroboros property seen in the last part of my last post here (and who has a Firesign Theatre quote in his profile). And, to remind, Shelley Struthers, an all important character now, extraordinarily so, is based on a Shelly I found in Our Second Lyfe who is also a big fan of Firesign Theatre (another one of their quotes in her profile; is, like myself, a member of the only Our Second Lyfe Firesign Theatre group I know of) and whose apartment she has owned for at least several years lies directly on the triple number of Hooktip, on the Head Line of the Heterocera continent. Keep in mind that we just found more oddities on the Heart Line, its matching diagonal from that particular continent. You can get a glimpse of what I’m working with, all the connections. It is, indeed, a Matrix.

But I believe I know what’s on top of the box now. And the bottom. Nautilus, my *home* continent now (not Jeogeot, not Heterocera) is at the bottom. Top is Reality: an approximately 10×10 mile square in the middle of Ringgold County in the south of Iowa. And then they begin to interpenetrate.

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December 25, 2022 · 9:16 am

spirals

He didn’t understand what he was seeing here, then he did. He didn’t like it. This was brainwashing. But to what side? he questioned. The viewer (he turned)? Or the viewed?

Then he spotted the house. And the occupants.

Ouroboros. One and the same.

Which led him to here.

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December 16, 2022 · 2:42 am

00360201

Afterwards:

“Look down there, Shelley. That’s where you’ll live; same as the color of your hair.” He dared to stroke it from behind. “That way, darling, you can come up here to the box and play any time. Anny time.”

“Shelley?” she questioned above.

—–

“Shelley,” she answered below.

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December 13, 2022 · 7:42 pm

hanging around

“I had a dream about Dub again last night. Talked to him over on that couch again.”

“Black dude?”

“Yeah. Asked him about the jungle, how I get back. He picked up a guitar with no strings.”

“Oh. New (!).”

“Yeah, and he played it, but it sounded like a recording, with the echo and all.”

“A dub. Guitar dub.”

“In a way I suppose.” She reached over, took his hand. If she could only play the strings to *his* heart.

—–

“It must have been that book you were reading. By the hot tub. Up above the main pool.”

“I recall.”

“Was the jungle mentioned specifically within?”

She thought back. “Can’t recall (that).”

He sipped on his Russian Roulette, borrowed from her earlier. Said her stomach was a little upset from before. The tension, she excused herself. Both blamed each other, and then, afterwards, themselves.

—–

“Are you going to go back into the box now?”

She thought about it. “I’ve decided… that 777 dollars is quite reasonable for something we can, er, style together. I don’t want to be a slave prisoner. I want to be a woman. Shackles removed.”

“I see.” Arthur Kill thought about this. Liz remained the ultimate goal, how to get there, how to *make*. Singularity awaiting, even looming by this point. A black hole and white hole together. Ylem.

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December 12, 2022 · 4:25 pm

Ives got it

Just up the hill as it turned out. Former site of a little place called Collagesity.

—–

“What do you think it is?” said Franklin, apparently to the tall, hiding pampas grass in front of her but actually to fellow greenie mate Apples even more hidden within. The teleport invite placed her right in the center (good one!).

“I can’t see,” logically answered Apples, because of the grass and all. High it was, but not her. They hadn’t partaken in a week. This was all on the straight and narrow.

“Right right,” replied Franklin, still gazing upward instead of inward.

“Describe it to me.”

“I will.” And Franklin counted off the stories for Apples, 7 in number, summarizing that it looked like some kind of prison with its bleak outer facade, a tower prison. She was starting to get nervous, butterflies in her stomach if not upon it. Assumed to be assimilated Franklin had somehow escaped, thanks to this type of Central Park location, a hiding spot that, as I said, is the most-least obvious place to look for her. Little did she know. We, of course, let her go, let her be independent from Shelley once more, but at a price. Checking the downstairs works sometime after she arrived, she saw she didn’t have a Gang of Willard any longer. Roberts would not be pleased — if she could ever reunite with her again. Maybe *Roberts* has it, Franklin thought last night in her loneliness. She had the dog, she continued to rationalize. She has a history of buying unusual magical objects. Maybe this is something like, I don’t know, a *Christmas* present, red returned to what was now thought to be only purest green. Sins paid for by another.

“Any signs of life? Any signs of the light?” Apples broke Franklin’s reverie.

Still backwards guitar holding Franklin studied the faces, the windows. Nothing but plain surfaces, outer masking inner as well. “No.”

“We’ll wait it out until dark here. Then stealthily make our way back to Campground Central and Unch. He might have some ideas on this as well.”

“He’ll probably just start blathering on about how Collagesity is bound to return, and that a Linden owns the prime part of the land now and that the buyer she’s specifically selling it to for one of her kind’s dollars hasn’t reciprocated yet.” It will come back on the marketplace, the sentient tree predicted with its rustling leaves, emphasized this time by a couple of falling limbs even. Unch was confusing offworld marketplace purchases with inworld land purchases, but they didn’t bother to correct him.

“Hmm. Maybe we should be quiet for a while,” Apples said within. And so they were.

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December 12, 2022 · 9:50 am

Harrys at Fieldon

Jerry eyed me as I receded and then approached again. “Why do you walk like a duck?” he ask me straightforwardly. I thought about it.

“Because I don’t want anyone to notice.”

“Notice what?” he shot back.

I indicated myself. “Well, *this*.” I wore kids sneakers. I had kids’ hair. But I was no kid. There were butterflies fluttering about in my midsection. But I wasn’t nervous. Except for the revealing, top to bottom.

Jerry — he said his name was Jerry earlier — reached into the News of the World van through an open window, pulled out a file left conveniently on the passenger seat. “I think you’re looking for this.”

—–

Norris was backing trooper car 0407 into its usual spot. Recognizing him (another Harry!), I grasped the file from Jerry’s outstretched arm and went across the parking lot to this new guy on the scene, hoping to get more information. However, my head was turned as I approached the driver’s window by a head on the hood, directly above the word Fidelity. It hit too close to home.

He didn’t ask about the duck walk, even though I approached and receded and approached him as well (I think). “Get in,” he said, but not the one within. The butterflies fluttering about my stomach became real as I realized I was an already cuffed prisoner of the state ready for transport to… somewhere. Jerseyville? Wouldn’t that be appropriate.

“Bring the other head in too while you’re at it,” Interior Norris requested. “And make sure you don’t bend anything in that file. We’ll need both for evidence.” SLAM

I was inside.

(to be continued)

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