Tag Archives: Shelley Struthers^^++++

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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Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0047, 0203, New Island, Wallytown/Fishers Island

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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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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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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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