Tag Archives: Shelley Struthers^^+++

October 30, 2021 · 8:26 am

00290605

I asked her when it would end, all these transformations.

“It will never end,” she states plainly back, finality in her voice (obviously).

—–

We were in the shack seen in back of that photo up above, Liz and me I suppose. The Loch Ness Monster could still be seen lurking in the distance. We were in a make-believe land, but not Hana Lei. A plainly stated one: Paper-Soap. I wondered what spirit Liz represented, since we are really all alive and dead at once, at least according to [delete name]. I’m starting to remember dreams a little better. It doesn’t seem that hard, and will have a chance to work on it more in 1 1/8 years. But I shouldn’t wait I can hear [delete name] say. We turn into Jennifer Lane…

“Bad juju over at the beach,” Fook Mi chef Kim Lee explained. “Bodies not washing up properly; turning black too soon; Suds and Bubbles can’t get to them in time.” Jennifer wondered how the word “black” here would affect Liz. She decides not to further this albeit interesting conversation in front of her.

The monster seems to stare back at her. Cherry branches sprout from her frizzy hair. She understands collage a lot better than us. We decide we’ll keep her around (for awhile). Caretaker for the moment Jennifer brings sushi from the bar.

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October 23, 2021 · 7:15 am

job change every 3000 miles

“Fill er up, Burt.”

“You!” I exclaimed beside my old Papa.

Marion Star Harding stared into me while still strolling toward us, taking his time. I knew I shouldn’t say his real name. I’m remembering!

“You know this Bozo?” Papa also stared over at me, but with puzzlement instead of secret knowledge.

“No.” I looked between the two. “No, I was mistaken. I thought this was the man–”

Marion stares again. She’d said enough. She stopped.

“Thought this was the man what?” Keith asked, still with furrowed brow.

“I thought… this was the man who offered to drive me to your place,” she decided to allow. “Before you picked me up.”

“Burt?” uttered Keith B. “A *pilot*.” He started to laugh. Jennifer join in with him a bit — nervously. Then Marion Star Harding: just a chuckle and a smile. Because Keith B. would only expect that from the silent type guy.

“Whadda ya say to *that*, Burt?” he said between guffaws. He turns to Jennifer. “I’ve known Burt since he was a little boy. He can’t tell right from left, heck, up from down. Right Burt?” Laughter again all around, Keith B. the most, then Jennifer, then Marion. “He… he he… he once tried to build a submarine on top of a mountain and fly it into space (giggle). You remember that old wooden sub, Burt? (grin).”

Marion Star Harding remembered the sub. And indeed, he got it to fly into space, deep into space. But only at night when no one was looking and the stars were out. Because he had a particular Star in mind. His own.

(to be continued)

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October 23, 2021 · 6:14 am

Hookton Hill

Lengthening their draw distance a bit as Keith B. recommended, they both stared out at Clarksey from this low granite summit to the north.

“It’s big, Shelley.”

“Jennifer,” she corrected.

“It’s big, Jennifer,” he began again, then backtracked a bit to “…biggish”. “Ambitious,” he started once more.

“I get the picture.”

“It’ll get more people.”

“Hmm,” she declared. “How many now?”

“Five, I think. Wait: four. Clovis fell into the gorge the other day. Decided it was too dangerous to stay what with his drinking problem. Flew away from Enceladus day before yesterday. You just missed him over there, then.”

“Nice people over there,” she replied. “This one guy, Marion Harding, a Cowboy, even offered to drive me over here from the airport.”

“Who was the pilot?”

She wanted to say Indian but she knew that wasn’t possible. Indian was her brother — 1/2 brother — from another mother. Like Rose — full siblings those two were. “Can’t remember,” she decided to utter, trying to mask the hesitation. Memory gap! ‘Nother one.

“Did anyone follow you?” Strange question from her old Papa. But there *was* someone, someone black. Check that: someone named Black. A, um, black man. Doubly black.

“No,” she issued. “No one. Strange question from you actually.” She took drama in high school. She could still act a bit if necessary. But she’s remembering (!). A trio of men: Cowboy, Indian, Black. And behind them: still fuzzy. Maybe someone named… Frank?

(to be continued)

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October 22, 2021 · 2:45 pm

Clarksey

“I was stuck,” Keith B. tried to explain about The Room. “I was caught.”

“Yeah, by *me*.” The cube is the sphere is the sea is the whale. The flip style notepad and push style lead pencil remained unsheathed this time but Jenny knew. Jennifer now. The Mann emerged from a plastic cocoon. It was in all the books, a running motif. Keith B. was stuck in more ways than one. 29 now, beginning HERE.

“It’s just what The Mann does. When the Wo-mann is away. Look at Marion Star Harding, still dreaming of dead Heidi in his own way. When the (new) director does her shoots up at Cass City.”

Jennifer looks around, still confused about the location. This could be Cass City, this could be Pipersville… or Storybrook. But instead: Whiskey plus Clarksburg, Whisclarkseyburg, then (maybe). Whiskey *inside* Clarksburg. She was stuck!

She stopped looking around, spacing out. “What… is the name of this place..?” Should she call him Daddy, Papa, Keith B.? She decided the last.

Keith B. didn’t look around. He knew where he was. And it didn’t work. He’d been uncovered, as if from a secret space.

Former private detective Wendell “Biff” Carter, back on the beat, stopped redding the read book and looked over. That was her all right, he surmised, seeing the eyes. Mrs. Know-It-All.

(to be continued)

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October 22, 2021 · 7:35 am

3rd Hook

Whiskey… he said to meet him in a place called Whiskey. But I searched the sim of Whiskey again and again and: no sight of my father. My papa! I haven’t seen him… since that day. In The Room.

I went across the icy bridge into the next sim called Clarksburg, to the north. Not as icy once I got across. Snow had receded. Bridge across a great chasm of whitened granite. The place stank of coal or some other fossil fuel. Maybe just gas — I had eaten too much on the plane over. Landed at Hookton Enceladus several sims north west, which would be my introduction to the Snowlands. I wasn’t stuck here yet, but I was close. Just over this bridge: Whiskey into Clarksburg now.

Back in Enceladus (after the flight):

“So touching that that little girl might be meeting her father for the first time since childhood, Cowboy.”

“Stop calling me that… Indian. But: yeah.”

“Zach,” said the third one around the small table. “Call me Zach. Or Black. Whichever.” He was very excited. He thinks he’s found a studio for his beloved Lena, maybe allowing him to keep her forever as his own.

—–

Ahh. Whiskey! (stuck!)

Now to go inside (*shiver*).

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October 21, 2021 · 7:48 am

akin to Pandora’s

I was always the smartest girl in school. I was always first to raise my hand to answer questions from the teacher. But my *brother*… we didn’t know until much later his special special talent. He *couldn’t* be edited. Let me state that again: He *couldn’t*… be *edited*. No wonder he got frustrated by his 2 dimensional family, including me (me!). He was 3d all along, working on a higher plane than us. A *channeled* plane, true, but still: highly psychic, more than the rest of us. I had to step out of myself and turn into Jennifer Lane to understand better. Before, I was Jenny Lane, a kid at Forest Hill School for psychic children. Jacob I. was there a bit later — he went over to Hillside on the other hill side of town for his elementary years. Now I was grown up; all weedy. But I didn’t smoke pot to get high. Grown up — but I felt my apples were too small. I wanted to exchange them with another’s. Harrison Ford Jett seemed a perfect (imaginary) candidate. I was always a Star Wars fan growing up, not even learning about Star Trek until the 11th grade, almost done in school. My classmates called me Spock but I thought that was because of my glasses, before I got my (umbrella) contact lenses and could read with my eyes. The library remained a far away and fuzzy edifice after that, shrouded in distance producing mists by then. I proceeded forward with my new life with Tommy beyond academia. Family became priority.

A child is born, a child is given. Julius, although I wanted a Julia. Sex happens. Then the second: a mini-me of sorts. I projected into her. When I got my new eyes (in effect) I realized we were the same deep down, where it counts (166). We made a pact: she *became* me and I became her. Then we hid this fact to others in a carefully placed box. Where was this box? (Borneo) We had both forgotten where we hid it. (Borneo) And the umbrella design has a story of its own as well.

*Ding dong.*

Oh dear, that will be the neighbors, the Wells. Rosie or Rose, my sister from another mother, as we say, then Indian — love of my life until I met Tommy over at a tailgate party. Tommy Tailgate he was after that. I became pregnant that night.


turning into Jennifer Lane

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October 19, 2021 · 4:56 am

the Vegetarian

Star trees, he called them, because they had little stars in them, all white of course, add in a little pink.

This was handy, but what about the box that was suppose to be here?

She wore the Pepper blouse-shirt and the Pepper blouse-shirt wore she. The apples inside were hers. She always lamented they were too small. They were exteriorized before she met Lichen. Stalin she was after that. Fern Stalin. And then they found Wendy who turned into Red. They’d analyzed her. They knew what she was. Mirror. And: the cake is a lie.

—–

“Lisa, it’s time to come inside. Mom has finished baking her stack of potatoes. And afterwards: turkey — for the rest of us. Come on and be a good girl and go clean up.” He leans his head down. “I’m sorry for what I said before. You can skip the turkey, we’re all okay with it.” He saunters back around the house.

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October 18, 2021 · 10:30 am

base (cont.)

“We can do it too. Go ahead and sit down, honey. Let’s talk.”

“I hear the Toasty O’s are very good here in the morning.”

“Talk,” she requested, not wanting to dilly dally around. “Spill.”

“Cube. We found the cube. In Hook Tender.”

Her mouth became an O. “My… *home*?”

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October 18, 2021 · 9:54 am

base

It’s time to bring a new character into the picture: Jennifer Lane, twin cousin to our Shelley Lane, right down to the all seeing umbrella eyes. She remembers the bombing, the underground, the… flight.

“Another one, sweetie?” Lichen Roosevelt asked from behind the counter, presently cleaning a glass, perhaps the one she would pour a new drink in for Jenny.

Grasshopper? she thought. No: too obvious.

“Just another stack of potatoes.”

“Coming up!”

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October 8, 2021 · 6:08 am

stormy

It was a coastal afternoon sort of day. He tried his luck with a passing fairy who spoke two octaves above him. “Crabwoo?”

“What was that?” she buzzed, and was gone.

“Darn.” He shakes his head. “Fairies,” he utters. “Everyone says they know everything but I haven’t seen nothing yet from the lot of ’em.” He imagines spitting on the ground, this *dreamscape*. He wakes up.

—–

Shelley made it no secret that she wanted another baby. She tried provocative pose after provocative pose for enticement, even buying this giant cat-girl scratching post to aid. “Dear,” she called over to Tommy, reading another magazine at the top. Herself again, of course. “Yes, what is it?” He mixed a dab of indifference into the tone. Hatti’s influence again (of course). She’s a genius at recipes, he thinks often, especially deadly ones. But just plain harmless tasty ones too. Half and… “Dear,” she prompts again, seeing she’s losing him to the dreams. Snores would soon follow if she wasn’t quick. She assumes a different pose to change the scene. She puffs her stomach out to appear like it’s got another baby in it already. This time he takes the bait. But that was his plan all along. Julia here we come!

—–

Out in the yard, the mannequin shuts her ears and eyes, having enough of babies. Where was her own? She didn’t care; she put it out of her mind. Eyela erupts from the ground behind her, another spat-upon fairy.

The front doors remain locked.

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