“Sorry I’m late.”
Just in the nick of time.
“You don’t know it (*grunt*), but I’m helping you, artist of mine, from the Great Beyond (*grunt grunt grunt*). Hang in there (PANT PANT) Old Wheeler!”
Tag Archives: Shelley Struthers^^++++
00500511 (through the trees)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0511, Boos, Canada, Canada/Tungaska, Google Street View, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya+, NVFS, Pennsylvania
00500503
The dandelion indicated we were in the right place this time. Day 03.
Print of the famous “American Gothic” painting by Grant Wood inside the mysterious, buried structure that somehow still provides a walkable, perhaps livable space within…
… altered a bit from another angle to show a more hidden truth. Just like with the Indians, women often find themselves in the middle which unfortunately is in the way. Might have to get rid of them too in the end.
—–
“Stand back, Opine… Opp, or whatever. You’re just a boy. I’ll go in instead. It’s safer for me.”
And so Karl Johnson or Johnston or whatever enters New Island’s infamous Pipewold realm. From the future. TBC
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0503, New Island, Omega
00500502 (grown and no going back)
“You did *what* to your hair?”
“I dyed it. Black. Like the witches do.”
“Witches? Doo?”
“Yeah. Like, you know, Hazel, ha ha.”
“*Never* joke about that name, Shelley,” I reprimanded. First communicating with the wrong Day earlier in the day, then this. Day 02 I suppose.
“Oh, Father. You’re so… *backwaters*.”
“Backwaters?” I questioned again.
“Yeah, you know. In the sticks. Backwaters. It’s what all the hip kids are saying about old people stuff like that. Kind of a continuation of backwards — more your style of word.”
“And I suppose this has something to do with that New Island you’ve been hanging around lately. With, who is it, Eddy?”
“Edward.” My Eddy, she thinks, her old boyfriend and new husband in one.
—–
We need to go back to the top of Mt. Sandraman next, she pondered later about her boyfriend/husband after the phone call with her father ended with tense, terse goodbyes. Maybe have a picnic up there and take in the view and see where we are in our relationship… to the island. The villa we had our eye on is still unavailable to our disappointment. Many things are gone from the island we knew, she laments. But one object has remained stable down through the years now. The *exit* from Pipewold at 242 121 MacMorris. Just like Opp went through many years ago, entering as a boy but coming out a full blown man. And then what Mabel rediscovered when she visited the island later. It’s just like with the Indians. A proposed 2fer1 (241) by the damnable invading white people for land division. Wouldn’t work then and won’t work now. The entrance is gone and that’s how you get in. You can’t go in through the out door. One way.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0502, New Island, Omega
00500414 (“Death of King Philip” (enter the Redman))
“So you know now what Roger Waters and Roger ‘Syd’ Barrett are staring at. And it’s not Shelley.”
“Nope,” he answers, as in Big Nope, Safety Zone on the other side. 0-10. Slow down, slow down! 6… 5.
“Do you want to give it a go?” I asked about an interpretation. “You know this has something to do with Kane Pixels’ ‘People Still Live Here’ web-series.”
“Why don’t we bring in another,” he responded to this, and yielded to Jack Shepherde, at least for this post. We’ll see about more.
—–
“Both of these Indians are me,” he begins when entering the scene beside me, Daniel Day off for a drink at the local pub. We hadn’t seen each other in almost 2 years and then, before that, almost 10. We are practically strangers to each other by this point. But, then again, so are Daniel Day and I. Daniel Day Drink: DDD. Just like the building where he worked. And the new person worked, this Jack Shepherde with an e. I didn’t know if this would work. “Continue,” I said.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Alderman
John Alderman, also known as Isaac and Antoquan, was a Wampanoag praying Indian who shot and killed the Native American leader Metacomet (King Philip) in 1676, during King Philip’s War, while taking part in a punitive expedition led by Captain Benjamin Church. Alderman was a subsachem in the Westport/Dartmouth area of what is now Bristol County, Massachusetts. He was called Alderman because he was considered a close associate and counselor for King Philip. When Philip summarily murdered Alderman’s brother in front of him because of his dissension, Alderman changed sides and joined Benjamin Church, an English colonist who had settled in nearby Little Compton.
“The killing ended King Philip’s War,” he ended.
“And started the curse,” I added. “The whole Bridgewater Triangle thing. Alderman received his head and hand for the killing, which he would keep in a bucket of rum and show interested parties for a price.”
D.D. Drink returns from his drink. “How’d it go?” I wasn’t sure. TBC
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0414, Arkansas, Cedar Ck, Massachusetts
00500403
“Is that *Iowa* corn over there, Chuck?” asks Tom, noticing the discoloration and almost slicing off one of his fingers in the concern. “Because that’s not allowed. Poison,” he followed. “You’ll have to use Illinois.”
“Oh,” said Chuck, recognizing his mistake. “Thanks a lot!” Forgot to throw out the last of it when they received the call from the local Hy-Vee yesterday. Almost got 1/2 the restaurant sick!
“AND we need to take that Iowan car down from above the counter too. Gives paying customer the wrong impression, bad press and all. We must distance ourselves–”
“–from the Heartland as much as possible, yes,” completes Chuck for Tom, one in the moment, their hatred of it growing by the hour, minute, day. What will it be tomorrow? Wheat? What’s Kaboom made out of? Lucky Charms? Everyone will be doomed; no getting well atall, at least for the older and more vulnerable folks, thinking down-in-the-hollow Kennedys here.
Shelley, fresh from pretend slaughtering hogs down the street, another Iowan staple, waits at the counter, overhearing it all. I could still use that corn for gas, she thinks humorously, staring at the mounted red ’57 Chevy and understanding why she’s here. “Wait!” she called, just as Tom was about to dump the corn in the bin like a baby that’s its own bathing water. “And I’ll take the car off your hands too,” she adds just later. Is that stretching a joke? You bet!
—–
Filled up, full blown ’57 Chevy down on the ground and rolling again, she comes to the actual reason for visiting Cedar Creek in the first place: Daniel’s day trailer, erm, Daniel Day’s trailer… during the day. Lunchtime, so should be home. She opens her mouth to speak.
“Hello?” Knock knock knock. “Hello??”
No one there, but finding the door unlocked she decides to wait inside. Why not? All this is role playing after all.
On the tellie, Shelley sees what Baker B. and Daniel D. are watching at the morning job Baker had kept him late at again, more magic of the place. “Peewee Big,” Shelley recognizes, probably to compare it with recently viewed “Father Fred”. Toward the end of the sync, Shelley also saw, right where Josh is hearing potentially triggering music again. Daniel should be here soon, she knows, aiming to eat a quick sandwich or something then head off to the afternoon job. I won’t be long.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0403, Carrcass+02, Cedar Ck, Iowa, Maryland
00500315
“There he is. Horace the drummer, just like Noodle, er, Shelley said. And, aww, he’s depressed a lot of the time. Poor guy.”
“This must be before he grew his mustache,” offered Daniel from the side, still chipping in when he can. “Or maybe he’s already shaved it off here.”
“Depression will do that to you,” I said back. “Make you change your appearance thinking that’ll help your mood. Usually doesn’t. Only a passion for the essence of life again will heal those wounds. Got it!” I suddenly realized, figurative head bulb lighting up. “Something happened to his band!”
“And he can’t release those pent up emotions, hmm.” Daniel studies the illustration again. “He’s trying to think of sunnier times. Through the meditation. But the depression is major in scale — overwhelming.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0315, Critterville, Frank's Moving Castle, Jeogeot, Nawt Vaya+, NVFS
00500314
“Do you think I’m beautiful, Horace?”
“Duuuh, *I’m* not Horace,” she imagines the graffiti face behind her saying in a fumbling, bumbling voice.
“Sure you are. And you play drums. Just like me.”
“Deeer, *no* you don’t.”
“Sure I do. Ever heard of a little album called ‘Demon Days’? Check it out. Drums, guitar, singing, you name it. I can do it all, Horace on the wall behind me. I’m *brilliant*. Just look me up in New Mexico.” But then she knew not to say more about that angle.
“Duuur, Mexico?”
“Close, very close,” she decides to answer Horace’s misunderstanding of her words. “Anthony,” she pinpoints a fake location, on the opposite side of the state from where she was thinking before. Touching Mexico, yes, but actually in NM and TX both, a 3 ‘n 1 she could hide in 4 years if needed. She knew the dual city would confuse and confound the less nimble brained Horace if he did any follow up research, which was doubtful anyway (she continues to imagine).
“Deee–”
The me in front of 2nd Phase Noodle breaks in here to remind her that she needs to cut her bangs to see better, no matter how cool this early look be.
—–
There?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0314, Critterville, Jeogeot, Maryland, New Mexico, Rodentia 02, Texas
00500312
https://gilligan.fandom.com/wiki/The_Honeybees
“Don’t worry, this particular 3 piece girl band will never make it out of Oceania to acquire mainland fame and fortune, despite their obvious talent. The *Mosquitoes* will make sure of that. Stamp them NONEXISTANT. *Not* a rival.”
“Thanks Biff!!” he can hear them collectively exclaim in his head, Shelley even giving him an appreciative kiss on his cheek. No, make that *lips*. Now to test it out in reality.
—–
Groovy tune this “You Need Us” is, thinks smoking and radio listening Wanda from her mainland bed in a different TV series altogether. But I wonder why The Mosquitoes went with an instrumental? I can imagine the 3 part singing now… TBC?
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0312, California, Oceania
00500311 (Shakespeare never sleeps)
“(The ASUMH library entrance is) 7.00 miles from Arkana, 7.00 miles from Arkawana with the WA left behind in the attached, sad sad Robina crime spree story. Concrete (WA) again? Might be pressing it there.”
“Silver,” listening Wendell Biff Carter attempts an explanation of his own. “Silver = seven; you pointed that out before.”
“Could be,” admits Shelley, still on the bench, still beneath and hiding under and even within Noodle looming o’er her. Always.
“It’s good you didn’t come out from under the lamp,” Biff tries to summarize their talk so far.
photo-novel 32
“I was too little then. Wouldn’t have worked.”
“But later, I mean… when you were able to turn around and face the music. Miss Ouri had taken over *everything*.”
photo-novel 47
“Oh… right. But not quite everything,” she corrected for Biff, her manager, her… friend? Let’s go with manager for a while longer. “There was my saving grace,” she said. “I escaped through the island newly formed off the coast of mainland. (The) 4 (Apocalyptic) horses reduced to 2….”
—–
“What happened to your husband Arthur anyway?” Biff begins a related topic, bit of jealousy in his tone along with a bit of hope. Could it work between them? Nah — and he tried to shove that thought out of his head. “Last I heard: Oceania.”
“He’s still there. Playing the role of Godzilla or sumtin at Point Nemo which is the furthest location away from dry land in the whole wide world. He literally followed his lucrative paying roles to the end of the Earth, as far away from my loving arms as he could get, *sigh*. I guess all he has left now is either turn around and come home to me or go off to a different planet altogether. The louse.”
Ah HA, I think from beyond the wall. Explains a lot!
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0311, Arkansas, Jeogeot, Rodentia 02
00500308 (pinpointed center (ASU-“Mountain Home” library))
“*Very* clever, ya’ll,” Daniel calls into the air, talking to the spirits he credits all this weirdness for instead of me. “*I* walk into the library that fateful day, ready to start a new chapter of my life. Oh I’ve been there many times before.”
“You have (!)” I said. That’s how we became friends.
“But not like this, not as one of the actual employees of the place. So I walk in, walk up the stairs and visit the admin offices to finish out my paperwork. So *excited*. Yet so scared. I’d thrown away full time employment at the, er, college to work on my art in the afternoon. This has now been reinforced to you.”
“To me reinforced this now has been,” I reiterate. “Through the blog, through the photo-novel. Through the *maps*.”
“Yes. Good. I’m getting the hand [sic?] of all this, Baker B. I really am.” And they’d yet to talk about the girl with the library eyes, the one who stood so small under a lamp in the corner when all this went down. Noodle, we could continue to call her. Although that’s not her real name. Time machine.
“Hold on, Mr. SPLAT, ha. I can even show you ascending the stairs. Continuation…”
“Look how happy I am — perfect.” But he still wasn’t talking to me directly.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0050, 0308, Arkansas, Back Rooms
Sunklands 