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  • #2413

    Fwick’s bladder was boiling, and pressing him for a release. That was that little minute of inattention that cost him the equally little spider, and nearly his life.

    While he was blaming and swearing at the bitter butter, he had not noticed that the amount of butter he’d prepared wouldn’t nearly have been enough to bread the spider, since the spider had already ingested the mighty yeast —as much by an insane curiosity as by bouts of bloody hunger— and as it happens, the yeast was starting to take effect.

    As the weather was still a tad on the cold side in Peasland, there was a sane amount of logs piled up against the stove, which was roaring in delight well-fed as it was. It was giving the little spider ideas, as well as a newfound strength and breadth (and some beard too, but it didn’t really matter… yet, at least).

    So while Fwick was moaning of delight at emptying said bladder into the loo, a bloody blunder was looming more than he could see.

    The little spider started to outgrow the little matchbox, which ceded without much resistance, nor any noise.
    The middle-sized spider then started to outgrow the table, which in turn ceded in a mild crack.
    Finally, the big-sized spider now dying for a breakfast the size of a cow jumped by the window which jarred at the impact and finally, as all objects learn in good time when dealing with the spider, ceded to release the hungry bearded nine-eyed now-not-so-little deadly spider with a squeaking mwahahing voice.

    That was the voice of the spider by the way, not that of the window, which didn’t have a voice to start with, even in Peasland.

    #2652

    In reply to: Strings of Nines

    TracyTracy
    Participant

      “We walk, Ia’eh and Minkah, Desher and I,” Elizabeth read the email from Hypatia, “ towards the dark ridge of stone where the books lie hidden, awaiting the day they should be found again…..When Cleopatra ruled, the books numbered 400,000…and this, I think, is true. By the time of Theon of Alexandria, an age in which the books were no loner in the Great Library of the Palace of the Ptolemies, which was also no longer, but housed instead the “daughter” library of the Serapeum, they numbered 360,000. Those lost to the Bishop of Theophilus amounted to a tenth of these. But no matter if full half were lost, that Minkah brought out from Alexandria so many amazed me then; it amazes me still. He not only carried them here, but brought back an account of where each cave was sited, and which jars were placed in which cave.”

      Godfrey, didn’t we know a Minky once, who was a sort of a servant?”

      “We did indeed, Liz, you were the one who inserted him into the story, surely you remember?”

      “Well, the name rings a bell, Godfrey, but where did we meet him?”

      Godfrey snapped his fingers and as if by magic, an excerpt from the Reality Play appeared:

      “Just then a funny little man with a huge cheeky grin appeared and held out a tray. Smoothies! Coconut and berry smoothies, and pink cakes, croissants”

      “Croissants!” interrupted Elizabeth.

      “… and oranges, and a box of cadbury’s chocolates…”

      “Don’t remind me about Cadbury’s” groaned Elizabeth. “I simply can’t bear it that they’ve blinked into another dimension”

      Godfrey continued: “ Dory slurped and munched and gobbled and slurped some more, and underneath where the chocolate was, she saw a brochure.
      On the front cover was a picture of a cave. OOHH A CAVE! Dory loved caves! Let’s go to the cave today, Minky! she said to the funny fellow with the impish grin. Minky winked.”

      “He was going to take Dory to the caves!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Why didn’t I finish that story thread!”

      “There’s no need to wring your hands like that, Liz” said Godfrey soothingly. “You can continue it now!”

      #2396

      Meanwhile somewhere else in the Eight’s, where the cuckoo sang the new year’s song

      Harvey had been quick to wish his friends Aspidistra a merry new year full of reindeer pee by the gallon dripping from the roof. That’s how they wished the best to their friends here. And sure he wanted the best for Aspidistra.

      Now he had to find the shaman, because that shadow leaping on the wall was that much he couldn’t bear. He had to buy that new light sprayer and have it cursed by the shaman of the Space Bar of the Fool Breadth (or was it Foul Breath?) to have it move to the light, and quick, that frigging bugger of a shadow.

      In the meantime, he firmly believed that were he to keep being merry, it would repel it away further and further.
      So, his mood was twittery, and he felt like singing, and dancing, and hoola hooping with all the furniture and cutlery available in the mouldy cupboards all finely balanced on his nose and appendages, all the way down to the metro.

      #2385

      Almondus Blondor, the Keeper of the Old and notwithstanding Great portal of Nibabuz was on his way to Josephine Moodoo the Great Priestress of OzMoosis, and occasionnally witch-doctoress. It was for this last talent that Almondus had taken his day off. It was actually his first day off since the last century, but his arthretic was now becoming unbearable, and had on many times almost have him become nuts, a fate altogether far more enviable than the one of losing one’s head he would say (as he wasn’t truly a native Peaslander either).

      So, this arthrectic was painful, terribly painful, the result of considerable arrhythmical calculus mixed with jointless restlessness. A few times he had to mend his limbs back together, and feared the witch would blame his indulgence on koomaroo, a variety of sweet potatoes he craved at the expense of following the ancestral Peaslander’s peas and marmite toasts usual diet. For that, he was often call Mr Koomaroo by the little neighbours, those nasty pests.
      But as we said earlier (heed, heed, little Pooh), he was no native Peaslander either.

      So, during his day off, he had appointed his young apprentice, Bentworth Sadnick, a local and remarkably headless fellow, who wasn’t very wise for his seventy-year-young age ; as since the last decades, no one had tried to activate the Great and notwithstanding Rusty portal, he thought he could have that little day off without much trouble happening.

      Josephine would surely repair him in a snap of her delicately podgy fingers (they reminded him of delicious sweet potatoes) and everything would be forever again perfect… at least for the next ten decades.

      #2383

      SOON IT WILL BE REVEALED!” thundered Pickel.

      The others, after recovering from their shock, looked at Pickel in surprise.

      “What are you on about boy?” asked Pee.

      Pickel was as confused as the others. “I don’t know,” he stammered. “It just came from .. no where…”

      “Well keep it down will you, you will scare the bird we are taking to the Keeper of the Portal, whose name eludes me but he has a long beard and is old and arthritic, in order to get the bird to sing 4 notes, no more and no less, in order to open the portal and get to ED and save New Peasland from the plague of the Blubbits.”

      Pee was feeling a need to clarify. Not for the first time he was wondering if volunteering for this dangerous mission had been wise. He fortified himself with the thought of Mungibbs.

      “What are Mungibbs, Daddy?” asked Silly.

      Pickel was quiet. He could feel the silver object burning a hole in his pocket.

      #2381

      Almost unperturbed by the sudden distraction coming from the remarkably head-in-the-clouds Doily, despite her seemingly headlessness-lessness, and applying instead his famous adage, Better stick to one’s own nonsense than follow another’s Mewrich thundered “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll explain about the beard, so that we can all get back to our business, and you out to your quest (and off my home)”.

      “Yes! Will you finally tell us about the bird, the notes, and all that buggery to get to that Eighth dimension and vanquish the darn blubbits invasion!” Pee Stoll almost cried out.

      Carefully, Mewrich reached out for a tiny peacock in his aviary, a poor thing which was plucking its feathers after all that noise, that he may as well have chosen at random from the menagerie.
      “Take this bird, and make it sing four notes, I said FOUR! not one more, not one less! in front of the great portal of Nibabuz and you should be able to get past the old Keeper… JUST DON’T try to interrupt me, by the coils of the great Snakipooh, you rude tart!” “You have to get past the Keeper, but he’s old and a bit arthritic, so all you’ve got to do is have him walk on his beard, and get past him.”

      Dolores was about to add a little flourish, but all of them, the headless Stoll family, and Doily’s eccentric entourage where ushered out of the cave by the angered Saucerer. And every Peaslander knew you wouldn’t anger a Saucerer without having to deal with dreadful consequences. The green wig of Dolores being probably the remnant of one of these consequences.

      #2377

      “Oh, Doily dear, there thoo are!” Mewrich Peamon cried out at the sight of Dolores, almost losing his loincloth in excitement. ‘Doily’ was how he affectionately called Dolores, one of the most fervent admirer of his works, though he strongly suspected she didn’t quite understand them all.

      However the Saucerer was pleased to know the lady, who wasn’t shy of keeping her heads on her shoulders, a custom that most Pealanders would have found outrageously bold and casual, preferring to have their heads at home, (or) just in (suit)case.

      “I was just about to tell your nephews and brother-in-law all about section three twenty one of the Art of Bird Swift Travelling Right Unto Sextion Eight (A.B.S.T.R.U.S.E), but surely you could indulge us in revealing the few caveats I was about to tell them about the beard.”

      “Didn’t you mean bird?” Doily said with a interrogative pout which almost had her lovely green wig fall onto her eyes.

      “Well, of course I meant beard, dear —and always glad to see we’re on the same page on this one!” “Though I fear we’ll soon have to turn to the next…” He added mysteriously.

      #2374

      The sound of a boiling kettle resounded screeching in the air so loudly everyone looked at Pee as if he was the culprit.

      AAAAARGH, by the beard of Wrathfa the Bloody Goat, darn rotten rusted spigots again! That frigging plumbing is not at all was it’s used to be!…” Mewrich Peamon sweared in mild despair. “This morning alone, I had to remove one of them again, it’s been months I haven’t taken a hot bath…”

      “But of course,” he added with darting eyes when the others didn’t look that surprised “you haven’t come here to hear about that.”

      #2647

      In reply to: Strings of Nines

      When Yikes had first asked Arona, when he was like 6 or 7 years old if he had a father, Arona had brushed the question aside with a roll of an eye, and an annoyed flicker of the other.

      “Of course you have, little pooh…”

      It was glaringly obvious that the little Ugling wasn’t bearing any likeness with her handsome model Vincentius, so she didn’t mock the little guy’s intelligence by asking why he was even inquiring of such a thing.
      And for a few years, telling him the story of how he was given to her by the dwarf Palani was enough to calm the torrent of his questions.

      Later though, as he was gaining strength and other skills taught to him by Vincentius, who was ever patient and dedicated to the well-being of Arona and the child, his questions became an obsession, and he took upon himself to discover the truth he could feel was wrapped in fantasy and nonsense —or at least, not told completely.

      Perhaps it was an indiscretion of a glukenitch found in the many caves there were nearby their home, nobody knew for certain. (Glukenitches sharing one mind, they knew many of the secrets of the caves they sometimes deigned to share with strangers…) anyway, nobody knew for certain, but he found out about the mysterious Sanso, and how he became ‘acquainted’ with Arona (whom Yikes had never called but by her first name).

      Yikes was now in his teen years, and wanted more than ever to meet Sanso, although he never quite revealed that secret plan least it would upset the loving and caring Arona. He had to find someone to help him in his research, but where they lived, encounters were scarce.

      One day, a young woman he’d never met before went to see Arona. They were friends apparently, and he overheard Arona call her Salome, while they were discussing about lots of people, whose names he mostly didn’t know. He was feeling uncomfortable around nice ladies, and almost didn’t show up for dinner. However, an embarrassed silence and a sideway glance as a certain “he” was being inquired about by Arona raised his ears, and he took upon himself to try to learn more from the lady.
      So when she left, he followed her to the entrance of one of the nearby caves, and showed up —apparently without surprising the lady called Salome. She was well aware of his presence, and of his desire to find Sanso.
      “The man defies logic,” she then warned Yikes “and you need a riddle outside of logic to catch him and his attention.”
      That was almost all of what she said before disappearing into the damp cave’s tunnel. That and… “no need to beat a dead cow.”

      Yikes had pondered that for days, without success.
      Until the illumination came: all he had to do was become the hunter, and bait his prey.
      For that, he would kill the fatted calf, to welcome the return of the prodigal father.

      And put his bait near the tunnels near the realms from whence he roamed aimlessly.

      #2782
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Leo sighed, dropping her hairy butler, revealing her wrinkled scratched crotch…ruffled itchy body parts.

        She drew a dangling deeply buried bosom, then stopped for a moment before unbuttoning her tight blouse and removing the corset that was constraining her breath.
        Smiling wickedly, she recoiled ~ Lordy, what a stench! There’s no point in making over… I will soon be off.

        The pale figure whined, closing the wrong transaction.

        Chris felt that there was more to grasp, and wanted to share, and he was alone. At least, It had all been a lot easier thinking a good victim act would soon make things wrong altogether. It was not about freedom and emotional blackmail, obviously, it had been the first time he had seen the girl unbearable. Who had any reason to be heard again? Somehow, Juan was a town gossip, not legally, but he had decided to take his Nicar Agua to Brazil.
        But who really cared? Looking at trunk, It was a brief. It was linked to the old man…..

        #2338

        Though the more Ann thought about Monica, the funnier it seemed. Guilt was such a tiresome emotion.

        “Fancy old Bronkel deciding to go for a sex change! I must have sensed something when I wrote him in as the crazy, brilliant, cross dressing Dr Bronkelhampton in the Island novel!”

        She thought for a moment, “did I ever finish that novel?”

        Ann sighed. What was she like eh! Always starting novels, never finishing them. No wonder old Bronkel, ahem, Monica, got so fed up with her.

        Anyway, perhaps she would give Monica another chance as her pooblisher? He … she… was certainly much kinder and easier to deal with now. That Godfrey, or whatever the heck his name is, wasn’t doing much for her career.

        The writer wondered again how to strike out text and correct the inadvertent slip into the Ooh dimension.

        An idea for another novel was forming in the murky convoluted depths of Ann’s brain, something about a gorgeously cuddly big teddy bear man, with his unruly tumble of brown curls and his colourful FairIsle sweaters, who had flown the nest from a potato farm in deepest darkest Idaho to pursue his dream of being an Elsespace Guide at the Worserversity.

        “Brilliant, Moonica will loove it!”

        #2337

        Ann felt a bit guilty for being so rude to Monica, but it had made her laugh, so it was worth it. She had made it sound as if it was a big secret why she was feeling odd, but the fact of the matter was she wasn’t really feeling odd anymore, and was bored with talking about it.

        As well, she was remembering what Walter had said to her (or was it Harvey? The gorgously cuddley big teddy bear man, with his unruly tumble of brown curls and his colourful FairIsle sweaters, who had flown the nest from a potato farm in deepest darkest Idaho to pursue his dream of being an Elsespace Guide at the Worserversity.)

        #2502

        In reply to: Strings of Nines

        He was silently waiting, standing on a branch of a big bingahloo tree on the edge of the village of Duur Mistar. He was one of the Scouts of Dhja and his duty was to travel through the realm of Amstar (pronounced [Am i shtar’]) and report back to the Queen any event usual or unusual. The Scouts were gifted with a special talent and they were trained since childhood to develop it and use it for the good of Dhja. They could read energy and notice the slightest change in any manifestation before it became physically manifest. Because of that, they were revered and feared by many.

        In the realm of Amstar, the People of Dhja was feline and the different tribes were presenting as many differences as the races of our own felines. From the tribe of the Solar Bear was Dhurga, his fur was medium-length and cinnamon, similar to that of Abyssinian cats. He was slender and his movements graceful, one would barely notice his presence at that moment, as Scouts were able to manipulate their energy and adjust it according to their purpose, and he was here to observe and not to interfere.

        He had felt a call for a few weeks. It was barely noticeable first and there were many possibilities to translate this. It could have been because of the small amount of energy, or it could have been because it was quite far from were he was at that moment. The later was more accurate and he had to travel many days before he could pinpoint a more precise direction and point in space and time.

        Along with the ability to read energy was a constant conscious connection with any other Scout. They had no secret among their kin and neither was it necessary nor would it have been possible easily. He had checked with the other Scouts if they had felt the call also, but apparently very few of them were feeling it and fewer were interpreting it as a call. He’d been the first one to arrive at Duur Mistar, apparently the originating place of the call and he’d been waiting for the others since. They were not far away and there hadn’t been any change in the quality or in the intensity of the vibration, but there were signs that it could soon occur.

        #1284

        Bronkel was stern as ever, yet you could feel in his eyes that he was troubled.

        — “What? That’s roobish, isn’t it?”
        — “No! Elizabeth! Not at all! It’s your best book in years! Poople will want more!”
        — “Well, we’ll see… For now, I think my moose needs some rest”

        Her detox had done her great. Her beautifool violet eyes weren’t as bloodshot as before, and she could even see some of her hair grow back in places. Elizabeth in some surge of energy had collected all the bits written here and there, loose paper flying at times with some missing (perhaps used during her poohnuts hazes to light fires in the office).
        Some of these paper she wasn’t even sure were hers, or writing attempts by Finnley, but she didn’t care; they were all so funny and interesting.

        For instance, she wasn’t too soore that she’d have Veranassasss —whatever her bloody name was— go off with the pilot of the plane, but that sounded nice for her. So she’d used that part too.

        Of course, the Spanish couple, Paqui and Jose had reemerged at the boulder moving party after a long trip in the underground space-traveling tunnels. Leo and Bea were not so glad they’d reappeared so early, but had found it was time to move on, and continue their quest for more bizarre and entertaining artifacts. And they wanted to go to Morocco anyway, in this gorgeous blue city…
        Young Becky decided she wanted to go abroad to travel the world. “And study too” had said Dan who wasn’t as shifty as Dory, a thing for which she thanked heavens profusely every day.

        Sharon, Gloria and Mavis after some more bizarre adventures among the Masai tribes finally found their way back home, while Akita continued his explorations of this strange shifting world of the 21st century.

        Even the bizarre animals stories in the ZOO she’d kept. They’d even found Arky the Aardvark. He had been accidentally buried under Oligan the Oliphant’s pile of poop. The poor Oliphant had suffered from an excess of mangoes in his diet, and Arky was so eager to collect poop for his garden of flowers that he hadn’t noticed the harbingers of it.
        Pawanie the lady Panda and Barry the White Bear had since then decided to take care of the little Aardvark, and provide it with their own poop to fertilize the flower garden. Theirs was a garden to behold, with the most beautiful flowers to be seen in miles. Attracting creatures from all over the place.

        There were a few points Elizabeth had left deliberately unanswered; the mad doctor, who was probably still alive somewhere, and most important of all… if, after all this children bearing with Sean, Becky ended up with Sam or not.
        One thing was sure though, they were all moving to the City. The sooner the better.

        #1278

        Salome was recalling her first steps on the Murtuane as she was fondly turning a small pale greenish stone into her palm. The stone was smooth, with a milky shine and had a diffuse warmth.

        It was carrying many of her memories of this time. She’d taken it from the shores of the Kandulim that first night, taking the rough stone as something to cling on, and firmly grasp, to bring herself back to her own senses, and drown her fearfulness and disorientation in the strong presence of feeling alive.

        She’d kept it for a while, and then had started to learn how to use stones to encode certain information. Of all the shiny crystals that she could have used, she’d preferred to keep the rough unpolished stone because of its genuineness.
        Encoding it wasn’t as easy as for more regular crystalline structures found in more precious stones, yet it was almost as if she’d wanted this one to bear the mark of her mastery at this art.

        She wasn’t very educated, and had not seen much of the Earth, but she had known at once that this place where they had docked the dinghy after that epic escape from the Sultan’s palace wasn’t like anything she could have found on Earth. Somehow, even her own body had begun to reflect that alien-ority to her.

        The stone was showing her scenes she had conveniently let slip away from her current focus. As she was seeing them, appreciation was overflowing her heart. It had taken her a while to get accustomed to this place and eerily enough, despite that lack of familiarity, she’d had a knowing that she was meant to be there.

        Her thirst of discovery was as immense at that time —not that it was less at the moment, but the contrast between her ignorance and the things she knew she could access had been stark and bitterly felt.

        She couldn’t help but smile at the scene of her past self learning to read and write. When Madame Chesterhope had taken her under her wing in her schemes to approach the Sultan with a worthy price, she had begun to learn from her a modicum of English language, but she would never have dreamt of learning how to read.

        And there, how ironic that the first place she would learn that, of all the many languages she would learn over the course of their explorations with Georges, was a place from another dimension, with a language she only started to feel she could utter the sonorities of.

        It was no mistake Leonard had brought them here first. Now she was thinking back, reminiscing this period of time, she recognized how much she loved the languages of the Turmakis. For her, it was as close as “home” a foreign culture could be called.

        #1261

        “Hey Leo, I had a blinding revelation last night, after Barb left.”

        “Well, do tell, Bea, I’m all ears” said Leonora with an encouraging smile, pouring herself a cup of tea.

        “Well the moment was far clearer than I can explain it but it went something like this” Bea continued. “Bearing in mind that the FOCUS DIRECTS so the question of ‘directing’ essence is another choice of puzzle piece of the individual puzzle game at any moment…”

        “Ye-es” replied Leonora, making an effort to concentrate.

        “To connect to an individual focus is but a baby step towards being able to comprehend the interconnectedness of everything that you create, and that it is all in fact you.” Bea went on, adding “Like a beginner stage as it were, to keep it manageable.”

        “Keeping it manageable sounds like a good idea” interjected Leo, pointedly glancing around at the disorder in the kitchen.

        Unperturbed, Bea continued “You draw to yourself parts or, if you like, focus points or other focuses of All That Is —of the whole that are at that moment useful.”

        “Sounds reasonable, Bea, do continue. Pass the gingerbread men, would you?”

        “All of the characters in the stories I write, for example, are my focuses in a manner of speaking, as are all the characters in anything I bring into my world my focuses if I choose to SEE THEM FOR A MOMENT FROM THEIR FOCUS VIEWPOINT.”

        “Ok, ok, no need to shout!”

        “I’m not shouting, Leo, let me finish and stop interrupting! Adding another focus is an analogy in a way for adding another focus or point of view to mine.
        Dividing the actions of adding focus viewpoints into sections is useful in order to comprehend the scope of possible actions, but only initially, and as more actions are experienced objectively, the sections and labels become limiting and confining.” Bea paused for a sip of coffee and a long draw on her cigarette. “But they do keep it manageable to some degree, it must be said” she added.

        “Yes, keep it manageable, by all means, couldn’t agree more”

        “Everyone’s puzzle game is their own,” Bea was on a roll. “And the same puzzle piece, or other focus in this case, for one, would fit equally well into a completely different puzzle game of someone else’s because all of the surrounding puzzle pieces of each individuals puzzle game are created in each moment and are chosen for their relevance to that moment.”

        “Good point, dear.”

        “Likewise an individuals puzzle game is a new one in each moment and the puzzle pieces are interchangeable within the same puzzle game, depending on their relevance to the moment and the chosen surrounding puzzle pieces.”

        As usual with blazing flashes of illumination, Bea found that they were hard to form into words, and when she did manage to get them into words, they look so screamingly obvious.

        “Does that make sense to you, Leo?” she asked.

        “Er, I think so Bea, I’m getting the gist…”

        Interrupting, Bea continued to describe her revelations to her now glassy eyed friend. “And on the subject of trusting, doubting, confusion and so on”

        “Oh, yes, confusion…”

        “We are here shiftING, not shiftED, this is what we are choosing.
        With the variety of viewpoints we have, the shifted and the unshifted and the semi-shifted, there is always something new to notice from yet another new perspective. Why not get really enthusiastic about the ride itself instead of planning how to float through it with the least fuss ~ it’s more fun on the helter skelter with its many perspectives and view points than on the mill pond for those of us who choose shiftING.”

        “I dunno, Bea, from my perspective floating on a millpond sounds rather pleasant.”

        “Well, at least now we know that what we don’t know is there to know.”

        “Yes, there’s no doubt about that!” relied Leonora, “Have you finished? That was all very interesting but don’t forget we invited everyone over for the Yule Boulder Moving party. We should get a move on with the preparations you know”

        :yahoo_coffee:

        #1927
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          On the subject of other focuses I had a blinding revelation in the
          kitchen last night. As usual with my blazing flashes of illumination,
          they are hard to form into words, and when I do try to get them into
          words, they look so screamingly obvious, like D’uh, you mean you
          didn’t realize that yet? LOL

          Anyway, the moment was far clearer than the following words, but I
          managed to get a few words out in chats to Eric and to Dawn which I
          snipped together:

          (bearing in mind that the focus directs so the question
          of ‘directing’ essence is another choice of puzzle peice of the
          individual puzzle game at any moment)

          To connect to an individual focus is but a baby step towards being
          able to comprehend the interconnectedness of everything that you
          create and that it is all in fact you. (beginner stage as it were,
          keep it manageable)

          You draw to yourself parts (focus points/other focuses of All that
          is) of the whole that are at that moment useful.

          All of the characters in the story I write, for example, are my
          focuses in a manner of speaking, as are all the characters in
          anything I bring into my world my focuses if I choose to _see for a
          moment from their focus view point_. Adding another focus is an
          analogy in a way for adding another focus or point of view to mine.
          Dividing the actions of adding focus viewpoints into sections is
          useful in order to comprehend the scope of possible actions, but only
          initially, and as more actions are experienced objectively, the
          sections and labels become limiting and confining. (but they do keep
          it manageable to some degree)

          Everyones puzzle game is their own, and the same puzzle piece (or
          other focus) for one, would fit equally well into a completely
          different puzzle game of someone elses because all of the surrounding
          puzzle peices of each individuals puzzle game are created in each
          moment and are chosen for their relevance to that moment. Likewise an
          individuals puzzle game is a new one in each moment and the puzzle
          peices are interchangable within the same puzzle game, depending on
          their relevance to the moment and the chosen surrounding puzzle
          peices.

          And on the subject of trusting, doubting, confusion etc:

          We are here shiftING, not shiftED, this is what we are choosing.
          With the variety of viewpoints we have, the shifted and the unshifted
          and the semi shifted, there is always something new to notice from
          yet another new perspective. Why not get really enthusisatic about
          the ride itself instead of planning how to float through it with the
          least fuss ~ it’s more fun on the helter skelter with it’s many
          perspectives and view points than on the mill pond for those of us
          who choose shiftING.

          At least now we know that what we dont know is there to know.

          #1235
          EricEric
          Keymaster

            Not willing to play another tug of war with Elizabeth, whose mind was obviously not as soond as one might expect of an authoor of her statoore, Godfrey didn’t even mention to her that she misquoted him repeatedly by making him barf mindlessly unbearable amoonts of poonuts while in trooth, it was cashoo nuts he was craving for.

            That being said, he couldn’t let her last remark go without notice, and pointed her to a newspooper article she’d been cutting recently off an interview with one of her former editors, Darool Barash.

            “See, Elizabeth dear,” he said after taking a sip of a hot fragrant lootus tea “ Why would you want to impose your desired change everywhere ‘roond you. Thawing the ice caps? And what else? Did you think of the pengooins? All the beautiful harmoony you fail to consider… Why forcibly change the ootside when you can choose from an infinite of already created pootentials. Well, at least, that’s what Barash says…”

            He paused, her looks betraying that she was completely lost.

            “Frankly, Liz, you’re starting to worry me. All this loony talk… It’s so oother-dimensional. You say it’s too complex, but the way you moove all those extroovagant letters is baffling. And this non-existent “Al” you’re talking aboot… Let me finish please… I know you feel remoorse for leaving old Arak just because he wouldn’t let you have the tiny giraffes —not even mentioning that ghost-writer of yours, Finnley? That’s the name, isn’t it?… I sure want to believe your shift in vowellness excoose, but that’s not enoogh…”

            “Will you just stop talking roobbish Godfrey…”
            “Now, serioosly, your delirioos inspiration break-oot has got to be channeled, if we want to make your proper come-back
            “But everything’s fine, I’m just very kewl.”
            “You see! Like I said!”
            “What?”
            “You did it again!”
            Yeeps? I did it again?
            “Just now! You said ‘very kewl’, instead of ‘too cool’! That’s unnoorvingly vexatioos!”

            “KEWL! KEWL! KEWL!” :magpie: screeched Robert X the pet magpie from the other room.

            #1228
            EricEric
            Keymaster

              When the four friends Angela Goose, Jobby the Pygmy Hippo, Weirdy the Weasel and Freaky the Ferret came to the dwelling of Barry the White Bear, they were all greeted by Pawanie the Lady Panda, his lovely partner.

              “Oh,” she told them, “Barry is already gone fishing, but if that’s Arky the Aardvark you are looking for, I can tell you that I saw sweet Arkie Pooh not too long ago. He’s never far away when you need him.”

              “By the way,” Pawanie the Lady Panda said to Angela “There’s a litter of the cutest baby crocodiles that has been placed for adoption, and I immediately thought of you.”

              “What?!” Angela quacked almost frantically.

              “Oh” said Freaky the Ferret “I saw that recently somewhere, they said baby crocos could talk to each other even when still inside the eggs! Could you believe that?”

              “Well, of course,” Weirdy the Weasel answered teasingly, “ everybody knows that .”

              #1215

              “Well, Sanso” said Zhaana a trifle breathlessly, her flushed with wonder. “ The Elsepace Arrangement was certainly an eye opener, if eye opener is the right word. So what next?”

              Sanso laughed uproariously. “What next? What next, AHAAAHAA HA HA! What next indeed!”

              “What’s so funny?” asked the little girl, her face starting to crumple.

              “Oh don’t do the old crumple face, Zhaana, I’m laughing at myself as much as anything” Sanso replied, giving her a quick hug. He couldn’t bear the sight of crumple faced children.

              “Well, I still don’t understand why you’re laughing” she replied with a pout.

              “It’s actually a very good question, and one I sometimes find I ask myself. Well, I used to ask myself “what next” all the time, as if it was somehow important to know where I was going next, to have a destination or a plan.”

              “But if you don’t have a destination, how do you know where to go next?” Zhaana was confused.

              Sanso smiled. “It doesn’t matter where you go next, little one, because you’re always at the centre of everything. You can go in any direction you want and you’ll always be at the centre of everything.”

              “Well if that’s the case, why not just stay right where I am, then?”

              “Do you want to do that? Stay right where you are?”

              “No! I …er….no! of course not!”

              “Why not?” Sanso asked with a gentle smile.

              “Well, if I stay right here, and don’t go in any direction, everything will always be the same” she replied, frowning.

              “And what would be wrong with that?”

              Zhaana had to think about this. “Well, it wouldn’t be wrong I guess, but it would be boring. There wouldn’t be any surprises…..”

              “Ah so you like surprises, then!” Sanso was grinning.

              “Yes, I love surprises!”

              “Well then why do you want to plan where you’re going next?”

              Zhaana opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish. Sanso was confusing her, and she didn’t know what to say.

              “OK then, Sanso, you are always wandering around, how do you decide where to go next?” asked Zhaana, rather cleverly responding to the difficult question with a question of her own.

              “I get an impulse, or I see a sign, and I follow it.”

              “What do you mean, a sign?” Zhaana understood about impulses: after all, she had followed her impulse to leave horrid old Uncle Grishenka and follow Sanso into the cave. She wasn’t sure about signs, though.

              “I’m not sure I can describe a sign, really. They just appear, and so I notice them.”

              “Well, after you notice them, then what?”

              “Well” said Sanso “Then you interpret the sign however you want to, and then you act on it.”

              “You can interpret the sign however you want?” asked Zhaana with a hint of disbelief in her voice.

              “Yup” replied Sanso. “That’s about the size of it, Sweetpea.”

              ~~~

              “Oh Godfrey, I’ve been trying to get the theme word into this entry and I’m just not getting any closer.” Elizabeth sighed, and pushed her keyboard away. Quickly she pulled the keyboard back so that she could write what Godfrey replied.

              “Have some more peanuts, Liz” he replied with a laugh.

              Elizabeth pushed the keyboard away again and passed Godfrey the peanuts .

              A few moments later Elizabeth pulled the keyboard back and wrote:

              ~~~

              Sanso, a word just popped into my head, do you think it might be a sign?” Zhaana asked excitedly. “It just popped in from nowhere!”

              “Sure it’ll be a clue, and what was the word?” he replied, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a chuckle. He had heard the word too, and knew exactly where it was coming from, but he wasn’t going to spoil the moment for his little friend.

              “Moonbeams!” she announced proudly. “I heard the word moonbeams !”

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