Strings of Nines

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        Godfrey, she’s doing it on purpose now, what am I going to do with her?”

        Godfrey turned and frowned at Ann, pausing in the doorway. “Who’s doing what, Ann?” he sighed.

        “Oh never mind Godfrey, bugger off if you can’t be bothered” Ann said crossly, and then added “You know exactly what I’m talking about, it’s Franlise, she’s making spelling mistakes on purpose and I’ll get the blame!”

        “Ann,” said Godfrey with exaggerated patience, “You of all people should be the last person to worry about a spelling mistake.”

        “My OWN spelling mistakes are acceptable, Godfrey, they contain clues…”

        Pig Littleton raised an eyebrow. “And why wouldn’t Franlise’s contain clues too? Have you forgotten that you’re the one creating Franlise in the first place?”

        “Oh” said Ann, momentatily non-plussed.


          Godfrey Pig Littleton was starting to catch some kind of strange flooh.

          “And now what?” started to screech Ann. “Pig’s flu and what else? Why nobody’s there when you need them?”


            Godfrey” Ann said gently in dulcet tones “I realize that you’re tetchy with that flooh, but I simply don’t screech, you know.” Ann smiled at him fondly, more than willing to forgive his rudeness. “Perhaps the flooh has affected your ears?”

            “Oh bugger off will you Ann, and please stop that caterwauling!” Godfrey covered his ears, flinching.

            “Oh dear, it must be the dreaded Pigs Ear Virus! Fear not, me old matey, I know just the cure!”


              “You can’t make a silk purse out of a pigs ear flu, Ann.” Franlise remarked as she perused the headlines in the Old Reality Harbinger newspaper.

              “Or maybe you can! hhmm” replied Ann. “Maybe the gathered snot of the victims is spun into the finest silk, an amazingly versatile new fabric called snilk”

              Franlise rolled her eyes, but Ann didn’t notice.

              “One of the qualities” Ann went on “that the snilk had was to replicate anything gathered within its folds, so purses were made out of snilk, proving that it WAS indeed possible to make a snilk purse out of a pigs ear flu.”



                :yahoo_nerd:“I dont know how you can read that paper, Franlise, really I don’t.” Ann said sniffily.

                “Oh I like to keep up with what’s going on, it’s interesting, it’s the end of an era you know, fascinating really,” her cleaner replied.

                “Yeah, you’re right, it is interesting,” Ann had to admit that Franlise was right. It WAS interesting, and newpapers like The Old Reality Harbinger wouldn’t be around for much longer. She made a mental note to buy some to put away in case they became valuable artifacts in the future.

                “Well interesting it may be, but only in small doses. I prefer The Simultaneous Times, myself.”

                “The Daily Mirror’s my favourite” replied Franlise.


                F LoveF Love

                  The Daily Mirror!


                  a bit rude. :face-plain:

                  Who said that? oh well, not to worry. I can edit it later.


                    “Inter: S. Tring!” called the man with the clipboard. “Over there to the right, please.” He looked down at his orientation list.

                    “Soft: Lee Spoken! Wait over there on the left please, Lee, no pushing! Form an orderly continuous line please. Right, what have we next…. Common: Dee Nominator, behind me in the big corral please, plenty of room at the back.”

                    The World Organization for Continuity & Categorization, or WOCC for short, was based in China. The organizations main project was to categorize everyone in the world and label them, so that everyone would appreciate differences and accept them, by force if necesary.



                      Who said that? oh well, not to worry. I can edit it later.

                      Mmm, reading back the notes in the margin of the latest manuscript, his now healing flooh notwithstanding, Godfrey was wondering if whoever wrote these words ever thought of being quoted.


                        Ann sighed, feeling tired and disillusioned at the unexpected changes. It felt like too much effort to start afresh, as if the disruptions and changes everywhere were permeating her own private sanctuary, and stray random thoughts now had no easy path towards release, that they would be bogged down and hampered with new details, and new explanations.

                        “How things have changed” Franlise remarked drily, reading the previous months entries. “I don’t know about ‘no easy path’, Ann, there’s a rush hour expressway of random stray thoughts gushing forth, don’t you think you should rein yourself in a bit?”


                        “I don’t see much evidence of a bog of explanations, either, or hampers of details.”


                          “You just can’t get the staff these days” sighed Ann.



                            Yoland felt tired and deflated somehow. Weary, perhaps that was it, weary of the way she always felt when the animals were sick or dying. It was all very well to look at it logically, that with so many animals with such relatively short natural life spans that there would always be some coming, some going, but it was the way it made her feel that was so tiring. Responsible, as if she could have done more, or guilty that they were reflecting her energy somehow. It was all very well to say that the animals were creating their own reality, that would be easy enough to accept in some cases such as old age and diseases, but Yoland almost wished she’d never learned that they reflect her own energy, that always made her feel even more responsible than she already did.

                            The black cat was dying. Yoland had made up her mind to take her to the vets that morning. That was another dilemma she’d faced often enough, too ~ would the animal prefer to die naturally at home? Or was it in too much pain, and would it prefer to end it quickly? How could she know? Yoland supposed she did always know, in the end, which was to be the choice, but there was always the agonizing period of time beforehand when she wondered which decision to make. But the black cat had disappeared and she couldn’t find her to take her to the vets after all.

                            When she’d made the decision to take the black cat to the vet that morning, Dean accidentally knocked a photograph of her first dog, Joe, off the wall. He was the first of her dogs to go, and a good age for a big dog, fourteen years old, and Yoland had known all along that he would die at home, and sure enough, he had. One day Yoland knew he was close to the end, and less than 24 hours later, he lay on his bed, and just gradually stopped breathing. Yoland hadn’t even been quite sure of the moment in which he went, as she held his head, she asked Dean, Do you think he’s dead? Dean replied, If he’s not breathing he is. It was a silly question, really, of course Yoland knew that if you weren’t breathing you were dead. As deaths go, it was peaceful and easy. They took him in the car to a place in the woods and buried him, somewhere where the ground was soft enough to dig; it was high summer and the ground was hard and dry. It wasn’t until Joe was covered with earth that Yoland cried.

                            Yoland cried again as she remembered Joe, and then she wondered if perhaps his photograph falling off the wall that morning was a message ~ perhaps a message that the black cat was choosing to die at home too, her own little niche somewhere, wherever that might be, wherever the roof cats slept. Maybe Joe was reassuring her that he’d be there when the black cat got there, in that field of flowers where the animals played while they waited for us to join them.

                            It was a comforting thought. Yoland reached for the tissues.


                            F LoveF Love



                                Yoland woke up feeling lighter somehow. The sun was shining, the young puppy, Phunn, scampered about without a care in the world as she perused the morning mail. The random daily Circle of Eight’s quote once again delighted her, synchronizing with her recent meditation.

                                Fiona woke suddenly from a dream. In her dream she had been communicating with her online friends, through drawings and messages. She had been trying so hard to convey something, and the more she tried to say it, the more distant they felt to her.

                                She had woken feeling saddened. Her energy was greatly disturbed, and, unable to get back to sleep straight away, she meditated. She felt herself connect with the energy of a Snowy Owl, who invited her wordlessly to ask her questions. The Owl’s eyes seemed to have such a depth of wisdom and kindness, and no sooner had her thoughts begun to ask their questions, than she would feel the Owl’s answer merge with her own knowing.

                                She felt herself being able to say without words what she had tried so hard in her dream to convey, and understanding there was no need for any effort, she felt greatly comforted, and peaceful sleep swept over her again.”

                                Yoland had sent an email to her freind KX about her meditation, as her freind had unexpectedly popped up in it, in a wonderful pastel watercolour world:

                                The elevator stopped with a shudder and the doors slammed open. The landscape looked a bit too airy fairy for me (not real enough, haha!) and I nearly got back in the elevator. It was all aqua blue and pastel and floaty, like a watercolour world. Then I saw you, waving your arms around, painting the air with trails of pastel colours with your fingertips. You were smiling and wearing a pale blue shirt. You wrapped me round with spirals of colours from your fingertips and then I flew upwards into the dark blue. You tossed me a paper toilet roll to use as a silver cord, which I tossed back to you after a bit cos it felt a bit silly, and then you sent a burst of colours as an acknowledgement

                                KX had responded:

                                Yoland!!That is very very cool! I’ve been “out there”! I’ll bet you I was changing the toilet paper roll at the moment you were in the Watercolor World ! Meanwhile so many things are coming together for me in how to create and how to hold my attention where I want it… Imagination is a key ~ Love you! I will beam over in a minute. KX”

                                Smiling, Yoland checked the latest blog updates. Sahila had posted some Possum photos, and the first thing that Yoland saw was the white owl in the fork of the tree behind the possum.



                                  “Well, I suppose it’s my energy that’s doing it Godfrey, but I still can’t get the link thing to work, and I’m having problems with the other thing too ~ but don’t you worry about it, I’m just speaking out loud.”



                                    Godfrey against all odds wasn’t really paying attention. He was more perplexed, perhaps hazed a bit as he was by the eucalyptus vapours to cure his flooh, by his dream of the night where they were conversing about adding Chapters in the presentation of the stories.
                                    Now, what was the significance of that…


                                      With an amused chuckle, Ann remarked to Franlise “Chapters, whatever next! Poor old Godfrey’s getting his strings in a twist.”

                                      “I think he might be picking up on Chapter Focuses, Ann” replied the cleaner.

                                      Ann looked at Franlise in surprise. “Good gracious me, Franlise, what an extraordinary thing for you to say!”


                                      “Well, I didn’t think you were into any of that stuff.”

                                      “I’m not!”

                                      “Well why did you say it then?”

                                      “I didn’t; you wrote that I said it, but I didn’t say a word.”


                                      F LoveF Love

                                        Franlise was pondering the distorted image she knew Ann had of her. Of course Ann was perhaps not the best judge of character. Her seven failed marriages bore testament to that indisputable fact.

                                        It is a bloody good thing, she mused, that I am so confident of my own inner loveliness. All these disparaging remarks could really begin to get me down otherwise.

                                        Casting an admiring sideways glance at herself in the large, and somewhat dusty, mirror hanging from the wall in Ann’s office, she hurried off for her 3pm meeting with the Fellowship.


                                          Largely concealed by his trenchcoat and his large pinhole glasses, peering through the other pinholes he’d made in his copy of that outdated rag of the Old Reality Times newspaper in front of him, Godfrey was spying on Franlise who he could see trotting on the cobblestone pavement at a fast pace —and rather elegantly for a cleanlady, he should add.
                                          She was wearing a pair of posh fishnet stockings which would on occasion raise a few whistles from the bystanders. All of which was making his staying incognito rather impracticable.

                                          Maybe she had detected something, but suddenly as well as inexplicably, she altered her course to dive into a dark alley on the side of a tall building. From there, she seemed to have vanished. She was certainly inside that building… all of this was getting suspicious and suspiciouser.

                                          Godfrey decided to wait patiently for an hour or so. After all, the autumn breeze of Hoowkes Bay was doing good to his flooh. He ordered a coughee latte at the terrace of a nearby café, throwing occasionally a few side glances in case the mysterious inner-lovely cleanlady would suddenly reappear. He was quite enjoying being here, taking a break from Ann’s often incoherent streams of thoughts his flooh was giving him a hard time to piece together. He’d been better at that than he was now, he was the first to admit.
                                          Now, he wondered, why was he continuously attracting such extravagant authors such as Elizabeth and Ann. Perhaps he loved the thrill posed to him by the labyrinthine tendrils of imagination these two had the curious ability to spread afar and entangle beyond hope… Or perhaps it was simply a curse.

                                          A that point, the screech of a magpie pierced the mid-afternoon sunlight bathed and calm balmy air, interrupting his thoughts. An omen?

                                          Maybe also, and more simply, he was taking a liking to the mysterious cleanlady and was envying her apparent natural ability at streamlining those nuggets of thoughts into seemingly coherent patterns. If such a thing as a Fellowship of Unification and Continuity in Knowledge existed, it couldn’t really be a terrorist organisation… it seemed more like a flovesend relief group to him.

                                          But frankly, he didn’t even know what he was talking about.


                                          Jorick and Gybrielle were quite proud of their early attempt at building artificial intelligence by sampling data from a variety of sources on the web.

                                          Their first model codenamed ‘Gustav’ was far from perfect, yet they had managed to sell the prototype to a wealthy firm and had gathered from it not only a fair amount of money to pursue their research, but also a substantial experience in making organized consciousness emerge from an inorganic and seemingly inert body.
                                          Of course, at that time, they didn’t know that their research would fare a lot more than just a few battery robots used to spread watermelons on every home in a futile attempt.

                                          Their next project was codenamed “Jobrid”, an obvious hybrid blend of their names, but also of their personalities. They were feeding it an enormous amount of data, which was made so easy by current technology. The experiment seemed to exceed their expectations, and even if the “Jobrid” was experiencing some occasional “blink-out”, its consciousness was gradually starting to organize itself.


                                          “What dear?”
                                          Glor, ain’t you bored silly in that cottage?”
                                          “Well Sha, now that our Joe and ‘arry are gone fishin’ all day… and thinking of our glorious days on that island…”
                                          “Tell no more! I was thinking of that too… Would be good to have another beauty treatment for sure…”
                                          “Any idea where that doctor might be now Shar?”
                                          “As a matter of fact, I do…”
                                          “You’re kidding me Shar!”
                                          “I’ve got a cousin in Spain, ya know…”
                                          “Who? Barb?”
                                          “Yeah, Barbie. I’ve got news from her from time to time, when she’s squatting in those tourists houses in Spain while they’re empty in the low season.”
                                          “And what? Tell me all, I’m dying Shar!”
                                          “I’ll tell you if you bloddy stop interrupting! Now, last week, she mentioned she heard from a woman in Spain that they saw a doctor during a silly nut-age conference, he was talking of rejuvenating cures, and she even got a sample.”
                                          “A sample?”
                                          “Yeah, a bloody sample. She told me those silly twats gave them to their dogs! Can you believe it Glor’?”
                                          “The silly buggers! Throwing away precious reejoo-whatever samples!”
                                          “Anyway, the doctor was speaking with whales too. Every year he told them (Barbie told me) going upside down in the sea to upgrade his whale speech.”
                                          “Whale speech you say Shar…”
                                          “Kind of rings a bell init?”
                                          “Hell yeah! I remember Vessie told us about those funny swimming suits for the Doctor. Could be him!”
                                          “You know what?”
                                          “What Shar?”
                                          “I’m having a funny brainwave now… I’m thinking we need some vacation in Spain…”
                                          “And leave Gustav to cook the bloody fish for the boys ! You’re brilliant Shar!”

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