Search Results for 'able'

“Jeeze, I can’t help to be continuously amazed by Becky” Al said more to himself than to Tina who was reading silently in the room next to his.
“She struggles so hard at times, when all she needs is a little attention…” he continued in his breath.

“What are you moaning about again?” Tina said, who unlike Becky was paying much attention even when she didn’t look like it.
“Moonbeams! Did you see that last entry? There was as close as moon and beams as you could get in the previous entries in the Reality Play… I really wonder why we make things so hard for ourselves at times…”

— Well, because it’s fun, I suppose she’ll tell you… Come on, you know how she is, you don’t need to play your sumafreak labouring it to the bitter end…
— I suspect you’re right… And who cares about randomness anyway; it doesn’t look much fun these past few days, does it?
— Sure…
— Like I say. Look, you don’t even barely write yourself; if I didn’t know you’re here, I would probably do with the Play like the tomatoes plant; uproot it and cut it in pieces in a plastic bag for recycling.
— Oh, but you have to admit the bedroom looks so much better without all these creepers around the place… All for what, twenty one tiniest tomatoes?
— Plus the last two still ripening on the cupboard, Al retorted in a sullen manner.

After a moment of silence, Tina laid her book down, and came closer
— Yeah, you’re right, I don’t find it very funny for the moment, especially with that shift of vowellness in the Ooh dimension,…
— Hehe, you mean, that nasty habit of telling ‘peanut’ instead of ‘poonut’?
— Oh yes, but not only that,… Well, it looks like all my characters are eluding me, becoming alien… if you see what I mean…
— Yes, I see; and I must say you’re doing great with that; Becky would faint at the mere mention of something becoming alien, Al couldn’t help but laugh.
— No, but seriously…
— I know. I think what we need is some more of your inimitable talent at creating syncs. You’ve always been the connector my dear with those “magifestations” of yours.

She smiled.

— Now, speaking of random syncs, what have you got to say about that; we could create a music band
— What?
— Hang on, here’s the band’s name: 57th Ward of New Orleans and we could call our first album… Mmm… That’s it: The Cup To Overflowing … What do you think?

Mmmm… that may sound weirdo, but it seems very feisty all of a sudden !

“Franiel, dear lad, are you here?”
The voice was sweet yet authoritative.

“Yes, M’am. Is there anything I could do for you?”

Franiel had been at the service of Madame Chesterhope for a few moons, but he felt like it had been his whole life. He quite enjoyed the peaceful life at her mansion, which was interestingly only seldom visited.

He was offered food and shelter for his doing some repair work for Madame Chesterhope when she was requesting it. The rest of his time was free, and he used to go wander in the calm neighbourhoor to observe the nature which was so different from anything he had seen before. It was as though the whole countryside was by eerie mimicry perfectly suited to the strange lady with the foreign accent.

The simple work in communion with this nature had streams of words rise inside him like seeds sprouting after a warm rain. He wasn’t sure he wanted to express them however.
He had tried a few times to tell Lydia, but her merciless laughter alone would have nipped any of his attempts in the bud.

One of his greatest satisfaction was to go to the ‘motorbike’ and try to figure out its functioning. Lydia had laughed at his stubbornness to try to make the old piece of junk work —by her own words, she’d rather delete the whole thing out of reality, if it was for her to decide. Luckily enough, it wasn’t for her to decide, and nobody else really cared for his attempts.

He wasn’t seeing Madame Chesterhope so often, and sometimes she seemed gone for hexades without anyone being able to tell if she was there or not. She simply seemed to have disappeared.
He had been buggered for a while to figure out who the “Others” she had mentioned on their first encounter were, but apparently, had said chatty Lydia who believed the lady to be completely nuts, she was referring to “TEAFERS” (said in a mock-conspiratorial tone). “Teafers?” Franiel had asked puzzled. “Ahaha, you’re so thick sometimes.” had answered Lydia almost chocking herself into gales of laughter “Thieves! She’s obsessed about thieves! I suspect she’s got some precious stuff she would hate to lose. But believe me, to be as obsessed by thieves as she is, she probably hasn’t got all this stuff willingly given to her…”

Anyway, with all that being said about Madame Chesterhope, she remained to Franiel as much a mystery as she was the first day he’d met her.

— “Yes. There is something I’d love you to do, sweetheart. There are people who seem to be coming, and the mansion hasn’t received that many gentlemen for a while, as you can obviously tell. I would love you to assist Lydia in preparing the ball room, and the main hall, do some fixing where it’s needed, that kind of things.”
— “Yes, sure M…”
— “I won’t be there the next days, so be sure to make all things necessary before I come back. I count on you.”
— “Very well M’am.”

Frankly, Elizabeth didn’t know what had prompted her to start this little fable about talking animools.
It seemed so ridiculoos, and yet, she couldn’t help continuooing.

She sighed a breathe of relief thinking of all the amount of twooddle she’d written in the past and managed to boost into best-sellers. Of course, that was probably thanks to the commercial genioos of dear ol’ Bronkel. She may have been making a dear mistake in firing him just because Piggy Sooffleston (she couldn’t even write his name prooperly) had a catchy name and a nice smooking suit.

“Always the troolloop you little devil”, she chuckled to herself.
“But now, look at this… The critics will lacerate me if I can’t make it more appealing… I can’t really resort to that old soox trick again; it will all start to look a bit oosy; ahhaah, oozy poosy, she was funny…”

Let’s see what Lemone had to say for tooday:

It’s all what the plumbing part is about actually; why it feels significant to me now: it’s the connective aspect…

It was in his last inspirational work “Tools for the Cooties” and it had the wooirdest drawing together with it. Something looking like a woman’s broo, or a piece of white plastooc ploombing… She would have preferred some coonnected watermeloons instead…

Oh this one looks better; her to a Tooh!

Modesty is when you know you are perfect, but you never go further than telling that.

It wasn’t very difficult for Akita to have the door opened. Having Kay roam unnoticed in the rooms and corridors next to his cell made things very easy actually, giving him enough time to do his things.
He’d known the art of lock-picking since he was a child, and he would have been able to open that door’s latch blindfolded, hands tied behind his back, with only his big toe and dental floss… so old this one was.

So in a few minutes he was out; a few minutes later, he had found a proper military outfit in the lockers, Kay had been giving him the codes of, and as everyone was gone for the lunch break, the whole area was deserted.

The greenhouse room was open, and a blinding light was pouring into it.

“You didn’t tell me what made these watermelons special” Akita turned to the phantom dog.

“Why don’t you have a try by yourself… Take a little one over there, and throw it on the opposite wall”

Akita did as instructed, then backed off quickly blown off by the explosion .

“Watermelbombs? are you kidding?”

“Not really; it’s sad, but people have done lots of researches here to produce bio-degradable weapons easily grown. I think it wasn’t a coincidence you and the others have been brought here”

“The others? You mean… Oh sh*t, I forgot the ladies, don’t tell me they’re still here?”

“Yep, they are here. And they’re quite ready to fight for their survival too, believe it or not”

“Oh, I don’t have any trouble seeing them as fierce warriors!”

Georges and Salome’s journal

From Salome’s account of her introduction to the Turmak People (Part 3)

Cil and I have stayed on the Murtuane longer than was required for the report on the events occurring here. Though it was not required, it proved invaluable for me to gather much information on both the planet itself, but more important, on the interconnections with the other planets and the Guardians themselves.

A pivotal point in this exploratory mission was the impressive encounter with one of the few still focused Nirguals of this dimension. N’meôrl, as he introduced himself to us, out of concern for the current events came to contact Cil despite his looking askance at the Guardians on the whole.
As it appears to be, due to their acute awareness of how energy can be manipulated to create one’s own reality, some of the Guardians became to view themselves as superior in knowledge and skills as to the other conscious creatures roaming on this dimension —most of whom already having far more understanding of things deemed “magical” in my own earthly dimension of origin. However, viewing themselves as such (though by no means the standards in the Guardians societies) had them manipulate some of these others; mostly to entertain themselves or to experiment, without concern as to the others’ reactions.

Frown upon by many Guardians, this practice was tolerated notwithstanding, and had created a few pockets of what the Guardians called “slaves”. Inquiring to Cil as to how people with such thin veils between their subjective creative source and the objective realizations could become “slaves” to others, she had struggled a bit to explain to me at first. Allowing her to reach into my awareness for associations or analogies with similar energetic displays, she surprised me —surprised is even a mild word for my initial reaction— by telling me it was the same as our religions. Struggling initially to understand her point, I find myself, if not entirely agreeing with it, at least being able to explain what she meant by that. To her, people were ultimately free unless they themselves were tricked into bondage. But bondage could be of various nature, and she continued to explain, physical bondage was the less efficient of all. “Guidance”, on the opposite, with the proper construction of suggestions and beliefs, could yield very efficient results.
So, those “rogue” Guardians were nothing else but priests? The difference between this association and Cil’s distaste for them seemed too strong. Perhaps I would have to reassess my own beliefs.

So, apparently some of these Guardians had been responsible for disturbances. Cil seemed to understand that something grave was happening, but when she tried to explain to me, once again words or clusters of thoughts seemed to fail her. She found in my memory some analogy which seemed again quite besides the point, though very intriguing.
She said it was similar to what our medicine men were doing with their needles. She probably had reached into my memories of traditional acupuncture medicine. She went on to compare the planets as a single body, with bumps and hollows in energy; usually, the body knows how to harmoniously balance both of these, and a bump can reflect into a hollow and vice-versa. Sometimes, when people create illnesses, the practitioner will move these to help. But something else was happening here: the flow was artificially changed, she said.
“What was the point in that?” I asked. She pondered for a moment, then answered without judgment that it was probably for the sake of the experience.
“The Nirgual is mostly warning us that this experience may not lead to an equilibrium before long. That it may profoundly modify the energy on the planets, and not for the better. The Murtuane and its Turmak people have mostly had a stabilizing impact on the very energetic events happening on the Duane. Modifying this could quickly take things out of our hands” she said worriedly.

“Did you see how Malvina went to her date?”
“Yes I saw it beloved” and she added with a giggle “though she probably wouldn’t like us to call that a ‘date’ huhu”.
“Ahaha” Georges was enjoying himself with various associations connected to his periphery. Associations with words like ‘date’, or with time-space connections, like the ones related to the dress Malvina was wearing.

Salome huddled herself up against Georges, and not looking at him, said in a dreamy gaze “I remember perfectly that first time we heard about the Zynder”
Georges answered, surfing on his own associations “I remember how people had so much trouble pronouncing it ‘right’ — Ze-In-dear, Zee-Indeer, Zaindher…ahaha it was so funny”.

Then coming back to Salome’s last sentence that had been hanging in the soft silence unanswered. “I think I heard about it before you did, but I was vaguely aware of it. You were the one to tell me the legend.”

“Yes, on that first day on the Kandulim, where the Zentaura told me about it.”
“I would love you to tell me again…”

The Legend of the Zyndre

as told to Salome by Zharon the 44th, of the Zentaura’s tribe

There is a legend among the people of this place, that people love to remind themselves of in times of despair. It’s the legend of this mythical creature named the Zyndre.
What the Zyndre looks like, nobody knows for sure until they see one. Because once you see one, you know what it is, without a shadow of doubt. It may be tricky because some people have seen one, and they get into fights about what it looks like, for such is the nature of the Zyndre that its form is diverse and it doesn’t show itself to two people the same.
That’s why my people have named it Zyndre, which means “the creature of a thousand forms”.
Some people have searched to catch it, but their attempts have always failed. For the Zyndre doesn’t show itself to the forceful people. The Zyndre is a peaceful creature that will find for you what you most desire.
That’s why many people have used to represent it with a large nose, for it is a seeker. It may find anything you want, but you have to desire it so much that it becomes the main focus of your attention. It burns in your head, not like a madness, but like a warm reinsurance, a soft knowingness that you will indeed find it, that which you desire most.
So that once you find the Zyndre, you know you’ve reached that thing that you desire, because the Zyndre is pointing you in its very direction.

“You know Georges”, she says “that night on the beach, I dreamt of the Zyndre”
“Really? And how did you perceive it?”
“It was beautiful, not like the classical representations we see, of that big-nosed creature; it was so elegant, like a small silver-shining spotted doe, with tall feet proportionally to its body, not unlike the Qilin of the ancient Chinese; and it was proposing me to ride it to escape its enclosure.
And I was thinking in the dream, ‘it must be strange and a bit uncomfortable when it’s galloping’ —because it’s small, and my feet will touch the ground.”
“So did you ride it?”
“Yes, and you were with me, and it was carrying us with ease and grace, like it was floating and gliding above the ground…” Salome looked at Georges with a smile “So that when I woke up, I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that I was exactly where I most desired to be.”

“So we’ll be moving as soon as the others come back from their trip. Very well, that will be a great opportunity to see new environments for Yikes “ Vincentius acknowledged the news with his usual composure.

“Very well then, I hope you are not too worried about Arona, but she…”
“Not at all” Vincentius answered with a smile.
“Oh… Okay then. Perfect!”

Malvina added as if to make sure he had understood everything properly “So, I’ll be at my friend’s den for a few days. Georges and Salome will be here in case you need anything, and of course Buckie, though he might be a bit unpredictable…”

“Have a safe voyage” so Vincentius, who was not of many words when it wasn’t about saying something meaningful, ended the conversation.

To go to see her friend Yimho, Malvina wanted to look pretty —not dashing, but not looking like a country girl either. She reached for the linen embroidered dress with the zynder patterns. She loved it, it would be perfect.

Yimho was a guy living nearby she had known briefly from her days of Sorcery training, who had a rejuvenating cave situated just under a hot spring, so that water was running almost everywhere inside the cave. On the walls, the floor, little pools everywhere. Yimho had this uncanny interest in golfindels and was telling all sorts of stuff to entertain people with; stuff that he got from tuning himself to the consciousness of the creatures.
Malvina was thinking she would have a nice time there, though the echoes of clicking sounds throughout Yimho’s dwelling were a bit disturbing…

Inside the cave Malvina was considering to move again.

She couldn’t help but giggle softly at the thought of Arona fulminating at how restless that dragon of hers was. To tell the truth, she was one of high restlessness too. And her dragon, and his offspring were most of the time merely resonating to her high energy. Otherwise, they would be too happy to be left alone to dream in a corner of a cave glowing of glukenitch lights.

Now, she had to wait for Leormn’s return from his little vacation to be able to move swiftly. Granted she could do it alone, but it would be so tedious, with all those eggs hidden in various places. Perhaps she could do with a little vacationing herself. She was thinking, Georges and Salome would be certainly glad to take care of the cave in her absence, and of her guests.

She would go see them; she loved the little Ugling who was growing so fast he would now run in many places and ask funny questions. Vincentius (with the grumpy cat perched on his large shoulders out of reach from the bullying little one) was teaching him lots of things on the vegetation (mostly fungus and lichens inside) and on geology that the boy was eager to learn, with an unmistakable affinity for rocks though. He would be quick to learn how to summon the rock’s consciousness for many purposes.

She almost got lost in the tunnels again. “Someone should get those indications straight, dammit!” she swore as she entered a dead-end. A few turns right, and another left, and she was in front of the painted wall with the ‘PEACE OFF’ painted door. So that’s where they went… the door was visibly shut now…
A nearby snort suddenly caught her attention.

“Buckberry? What are you doing here little precious; hasn’t Arona taken you with her? Well, silly me, obviously not.” She added, seeing the floor covered with crushed buckberries juice. “Awww, you don’t even have the appetite for your cherished buckberries…”

Malvina knew of course that it wasn’t the closed door that kept Buckberry here, as he most probably could go wherever Arona was, if she summoned him properly, but it was rather the fact she had left without notice. Malvina laughed heartily “Aahaha, don’t be soft Buckie, she’s probably been tricked by your daddie and your little buggers of brothers, but she’ll come back…”

“I told you, you shouldn’t have told them”
“Shut up! You’re not even real, none of this is real…”
“Well, I don’t know for you, but I feel real enough to be able to annoy you”

Akita wasn’t sure if those hallucinations were due to the shock of the freezing temperatures of the Antarctica base, or to the medications they’d given them since the military troops had landed on the shores of that island to place it under strict quarantine. All of that was a bit fuzzy afterwards.

He barely remembered how he’d been brought here. Someone had probably noticed the high energy vortexes occurring on the island, or perhaps someone in high places had been tipped about all the weird stuff that had occurred there. He couldn’t tell for sure.
However, something strange had occurred. He had started to be able to see Kay, his spirit dog, reappear soon after.
And that’s when everything started to go in a hellish downward spiral.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have tried to convince the medics in the first place. Now he wasn’t so sure the dog wasn’t all but a figment of his imagination, which was all fine for him, but he had to know.

“Has this… err… dog that you see speaking to you, has it ever told you anything you couldn’t have known yourself?” the medic had been asking him.
That’s what had the doubts start to creep. Perhaps he was just another traumatized war veteran, like a few others, creating funny speaking critters in his mind to cope with the amount of trauma he went through. That would be quite possible.

“Oh, come on Akita, you know I’m real, and everything we’ve gone through was real. Those friggin’ drugs they’ve given to you ain’t helpin’ you know”.

Kay was right about that. He was slurring his words, and could barely stand on his own. They had to escape from here; real, unreal, it didn’t really matter; but he was sure of one thing; it wasn’t feeling good. Not feeling good in the least.

“Kay?”
“What?”
“I suppose you got a plan, you sly dog?”

Balbina had had a quite difficult week. Feeling cold, having trouble to find sleep, not even speaking of being unable to do the kind of out-of-body travel she had managed to do last time.
She was almost starting to doubt she could redo it again.

Of course, the relocation at her son’s cottage was a source of much change in her habits, and although he wasn’t at home most of time, she wasn’t really feeling like she was ‘at home’. Strangest thing really, as for the time she was at the hospice she wasn’t feeling as much an alien as in this cottage. At least, at the hospice, she was in a sort of neutral environment, some place where she wasn’t undesirable (would it be asking for too much to actually be desirable at her age?). Here, the environment wasn’t neutral at all; everywhere everything reminded her of her son: his books, the posters, even the dust on the coffee table was almost looking as though it was his own.

So she had to adjust. Contort her energy to fit —to crumple herself!— into this place, as it would be likely she would spend quite some time here. She wasn’t asking for much really, as she wasn’t able to move from the bed he’d had installed in the spare room. Ghastly room, with a creepy wallpaper from a has-been era of the past days, year 2000 or close she’d guess, gaudy as it was… oriented to the south, with hardly bearable heat during the day. She would have loved to see the coast on the north, but instead, the only window was showing her the shade of the trees, and that ominous alligator-green mountain just behind.

If she couldn’t project in her dreams as she managed to do before, she would soon either die of boredom or of heat. She wasn’t too sure which one would be the most painless and efficient.

She pushed the button to have her bed roll a little closer to the window; once straightened up a bit, she was able to see the passageway to the mountain. She couldn’t explain why she didn’t like this mountain; it was quite beautiful; perhaps she feared to be lost and abandoned. All the more since she could feel so much presence in this environment. Unseen presence, and trickster ones too.

She was tired, and yawned so much her tense jaw’s muscles ached.

On the emerald path to the forest, a moving teal wisp of light caught her attention. Funny plays of light at this hour of the day. But the wisp was persistent, and it started to move towards her.

“Good day Balbina!”

The crazy rabbit was back again. And… she was sleeping? In or out?

“In or out, smell my foot, it’s your choice, and matters not
but be quick, and come forth, for Anita and her folks this wicked way come!”

“The tune is set, the tunnel is close
Of playfulness you’ll need a hefty dose”

After he sent his reply to Yann, Yurick took a deep breathe in appreciation of all that had been done the last past days.

However tedious, all in all, it had allowed him to stay away from other people’s trauma, and stay focused on his own issues. Now, the feeling of the energy at hand was starting to become lighter. Like a thin ray of light poking through a thick layer of rainy clouds, announcing that the silver lining was more than just a consolation. It was announcing the sun to come.

He took the book of stories that had been unburied (like his pleasure to write) from the bottom of the sofa’s cushions when they’d received hosts last week-end, and looked with amusement at the opening note about the “random quotes”.

A strong sense of an inkling started to dawn at him.
Thanks to the random quotes —or more appropriately said, to convenient synchronicities— “stuff” was never lost or buried in the insides of that ever-growing story, which was eating with gluttony at the edges of its expansion. Things were popping up here and there, reminding of old loose threads, or pertinent inclusions or links to be made.

But there was more. He, for a long time, had thought that imagination was expanding things to make physical reality look smaller in proportion than it was. Like when they’d looked at Dory’s pictures, and everything looked so big on them. Even the mere thought of nine dogs was huge. But when they’d met her, and Dan, and the dogs, it was all so much smaller. Even seeing Dory manage her dogs made having nine dogs seem manageable.
But the reverse was true: physical reality had its way of dwarfing imagination. Not so much making it smaller, but compacting it, making it fit in an unbelievably condensed and small space.

Take that book. Thousands of words, billions of probabilities, endless threads and hundreds of characters, all packaged in a small stack of inked paper. The trick was that when you look at it that way, when you got that small stack of paper in your hands, it all seems so manageable; one starts to get accustomed to it, then fails to see the newness in it each time it’s opened to tell a story.

Imagination is the true gauge of the vastness of the universe. It’s so easy to forget…

“Mr Ryell?”
“Yes?”
“It’s such an honor to meet you, your carvings are absolutely gorgeous! I’ve bought one for my mother, she loves your creations so much!”

Sam H. Ryell, known as Sam to his friends, was waiting in his studio for Tina and Al to come pick him up for the Hallowe’en celebration. His exposition of vitrified watermelon and pumpkin carvings had attracted lots of folks from all corners of New Venice, quite unexpectedly.
He wasn’t too sure he deserved all the compliments, but if the lady’s mother loved his carvings, why muddy one’s pleasure.

Truth was, since he’d came back from the Floridisles, he’d felt completely uninspired to carve any longer. All the carvings that were on display were at least three months old. And the more recent of these were not actually of his doing,… not quite entirely.
He wanted to do something else, try other materials. No matter what they all said; he was fed up with vegetables.

“Perhaps I’ll try nuts next, what do you reckon, Foxam?”

The little nine-tailed fox yelped at him approvingly.