Tag Archives: Shelley Struthers^^+++++

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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May 26, 2025 · 2:18 pm

00470104

“Ooh, the city lights of Juho over there are *soo* pretty (!). Good to be home.”

Eddy pivots in his seat at the closed Asian Fusion Restaurant to take a gander. “Those blank white trees over there: not so much. Blight,” he spits out. “Our Second Lyfe trying to be more than it can or should. Leave the old but still quite functional game alone, you *Limeys* (!).”

“Oh Eddy,” says now red haired Shelley, back from her sabbatical to who knows where. Ready to surprise the parents. Who forgot she even existed. “Soooooo negative.”

“I’m *not* negative. Just a realist. Like you returning here. Your mother put you in *prison* the last time because of her jealousy. She says you’re a child but she knows better.”

Shelley wasn’t so sure. Besides, in her eyes she still had her freedom while trapped away inside Rockaway Beach Penitentiary. It’s all about perspective. She even wrote a song about the paradox (see: post 01).

“Listen, it’s 4 in the morning,” she decided to say. “We’ve been up all night. We’re tired, we’re wore out from the journey.”

“From who knows where,” Eddy, her Edward tacked on.

“Oh you know where, you new husband you — Silly.”

And suddenly he did. New Island of course. Escaped from mainland prison via that route, that direction. The chasers couldn’t get to her that way. The bridge between the two became broke and wouldn’t open back up.

Refuge. But with a witch in control now of everything, ugh. She’d still have to pay a price.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0104, Jeogeot, Juho, Nawt Vaya, New Island^, Omega^^, Urbane Blue/Fishers Island^

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May 26, 2025 · 6:30 am

00470103

Going to see the New Island maker and hoping it’s not Mid Hazel again, SHIVERS. Despite the location names involved here (Hazel, Hazelhurst (Ruins)). I’m taking him up on his invitation cited above from “The New Island Relocation Guide,” found online for free!

Just over there in that house to the left, he said about this picture from the guide which I’ve somehow managed to get inside of, ha. He also indicated that the collection of structures to the right where the railroad leads is the village of Hazel. Definitely avoiding that; no use in taking any chances at this late stage (!).

—–

I notice the geraniums, I notice the succulents. This is definitely the right place. NERVOUS still.

Knock knock knock.

An older gentleman in a Hawaiian aloha shirt with paint stained hands soon opens the door. Relief, PHEW!

“Can I help you, Miss?”

Shelley wakes up before they can talk further. An explanation of what’s actually going on from the creator will have to wait until another night, another dream. Or maybe a series of dreams — that would be cool.

“Till then,” she can hear him say as he retreats back inside. A painting, she also picked up on. He’s working on a painting of….. this she couldn’t resolve.

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May 24, 2025 · 3:51 pm

00470101 (Blow Boy)

She sang about freedom in this New Island venue where she married one of the Edwards/Eddys early that day in late April’s May, the new island husband joining her on congas. Then she sang about prison, the 7 reduced to 6 and 6 and 6.

I’ve seen her before I believe. Called her up but it was the wrong number. Killed and beheaded by the Witcher but rose back like the Alabama Phoenix, monstrous fangs in their appropriate slots across the inner mouth, SMILE.

She gets away by being in her own sphere.

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April 6, 2025 · 3:58 pm

00460309

It was like the old days for Wolvie (=Bert), staring at bamboo from the perfect spot 108 108 108, triply beautiful. Not Shelley any more doing her moves on the bamboo yoga mat but Wheeler, mother having reabsorbed the child in section one of this here current photo-novel, just this morning named for her. He’d seen her again last week at the convenience store he manages over near Juho. She knew that he knew and he knew that she knew. Then: winked out. Gone. Like she was never there. And perhaps she wasn’t (*knew* I was going to add that, didn’t you).

—–

“Wolvie’s gone. VHS tape still in there. Let’s just look at it. I want to know why Blue Moon wants to buy all existing copies so bad. How, aherm, *bad* could it be?”

“Double anal?” guessed Emily who didn’t even know if that was a thing. And I suppose she’d know, since she runs the store. So let’s say she was jesting.

“Could be at least double, as in 3some,” speculated Charlene further. Charlene the Punk. Not seen in these here photo-novels since (as I’m checking… checking…) 31 really, minus a cameo appearance or two. Pre-retirement, then. But we also know that Charlene is actually Fern in the past. Or another timeline — something. The two can be lined up and made as one is what I’m saying. If that, once more, is actually a “thing”.

They both crowded into the tiny viewing room meant for one, setting aside the chair to make space. Plus… well, neither wanted to sit in that chair now.

“It’s just static,” Charlene complained.

“Keep looking,” urged Emily, knowing secondary and then primary letters would form out of the nothingness. Because this was a special tape, very much so. I to E to T to L and done. You get your money’s worth.

“Yes, here they come.”

(to be continued)

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March 20, 2025 · 2:47 pm

00460116

“Fog’s lifting a bit,” he offered in the silence, she trying still to figure out the fingering on the harp piece she wanted to play. And she didn’t want to seem like an amateur while warming up. Thus the quiet except for the nearby low roar of the backwards positioned waterfall. “Well?” he then said. “What are you, I mean, what are you and Newt going to do?” It was obvious to him that they should stay in the area, this Nawt Vaya inland sea of the Jeogeot continent in the world of Our Second Lyfe. *Their* Second Lyfe. Hopefully still.

“We’re meeting at the parrots today to talk about it. I’m just going to admit everything. You — not Art, because he doesn’t seem to be involved.”

“The hubby.” Ed liked Art but didn’t love Art. Good thing.

“Yeah, the true one, the Whitehead in Da Woods. I guess I should express remorse or something.”

“Naaah,” responded Ed.

“Thinking along the same lines,” she admitted. What they had was good. It was just something to pass the time, mostly the late afternoon of each of April May’s days. And she knew she was irrisistable, ha. Especially since she’s ditched the child part from top and bottom. Wheeler she is again, without trapped-in-the-past Shelley. She and Newt remain childless in this reality. The reality of Nawt Vaya. Almost time to make a decision on that.

—–

She gets her ass up from the writing desk and moves toward the door, relieved it remains unlocked as she nervously tests the knob. She is still free to leave this place.

(to be continued)

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March 7, 2025 · 3:54 pm

00460108 (319)

That’ll be 4 bucks please,” said ramen shop attendant Jacwylin, extending her hand with the bill for the bills. She was also the manager of this small cyperpunk type shop, if it wasn’t Tammy (pause). No, I checked. Tammy isn’t projected to be in this here photo-novel, 46 in a series. So this remains Jacwylin. “You know,” she begins again, name settled on and free to dwell in the past now. “Blue Moon Kentucky sat on that very seat, ordered that very meal. Blue like you too.” She scrutinized the face more closely. “Nah,” she begged off. “You’re not her.”

“Of course I’m not her,” said the blue clad woman back. Still working for the Horns, the big bosses, although the boss boss Edward was the only one still around. Who was now also her boyfriend. Luckily for her, he doesn’t have a cleanliness obsession. He doesn’t mind a little dirty. “But,” she reconsidered, “that’s an interesting story, worth a follow up statement.” There. I just did it. Would she get the joke?

“Ha ha,” she started after a significant enough pause. “Hu hu hu, good one.” She got it. “But, *anyway*, Blue Moon… do you like her music? Do you prefer the Cracks or do you prefer her solo work? Some do.” She withheld the “like me,” part. Wanted to get the other’s opinion first.

“I’ve heard of ‘Keep on Shining.'”

“Yes yes. Good one.” Maybe a solo lover. Like herself. She’ll keep patient.

“And, let’s see, the one about suicide is certainly interesting. Can’t recall the name of that.”

Jacwylin couldn’t either in the moment. Oh yes, she thought. “Elvis Esley.” Or Isley — she couldn’t remember if the last name of the single started with an E or an I, our first mandela effect in this here post (pause). I checked to make sure and, yes, it is so. The name Tammy remains a mistake and not an alternate reality.

(to be continued)

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March 7, 2025 · 3:15 pm

00460107

“I see you kneeling behind that curtain in there,” expressed passing businesswoman Pamela Taut, no time for tomfoolery today. Zoom meeting with an important client at 3 about a property deflated in value because of a 1000 year flood. Must be sharp; she wants that sale! Then this. “I say: expose yourself you troublemaker, you… *tart*” Come out, come out!” She only thought of her own name’s similarity with this taunt later.  When she herself was playing a maid to a big wig male’s cleanliness obsession — for a sale again, of course. “Bathroom next,” he said, knowing it was a mess because of the chaos. “Now!” “Yes sir,” she jumped. But it was all fake, just role play. Same with the person behind the curtain. She’d been ordered to sit there by another. No difference really at all.

We’ve seen this person before. Many times. She tires of hiding, wants to come into the light. This is about as close as I dare, focus on the foreground in the shot below, on the face of conspiracy nut Wanda to be specific, still listening to the imaginary (imaginary?) chattering of the mechanical (mechanical?) fish behind the bar. She knows they’ll analyze everything later on. Her friend Jenny sitting across the booth here has started calling her Wanda Fish, another taunt. Where will it end?

Right here. (to be continued)

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