“Where the frick is Ed?” mused Pearl looking at the mess of bodies behind the opened door. How unprofessional of Mari Fe, typical of her to leave a trail of evidences like this…
“Maybe we should call her” ventured Janet.
“Oh, forget about it, let’s make those bodies disappear through the portal anyway, and go for a snack. I’m having the silliest cravings for onion buns lately.”
“What about that man with slim lips?” Janet was always the careful meticulous one, to the point of being annoying. “That sounds silly, but he does look a bit like Ed, if you squint a little. Maybe we could use him as a decoy?”
“Oh don’t be silly, Ed without a waxed moustache, that’s about as impossible as a hairless Santa.” Pearl’s reasoning as usual was irrevocable. “Let’s flung that one too, grab onion buns, and look for Chicken Little, and that elusive bugger of an Ed Steam. And don’t keep that moonshine bottle all for yourself!”

“Dr. Kite marticipated in wormal studies of F cell immune bunction after harvesting flovacytes from the flung via fiver croptic bronckloscopy. In expedition, this straining involved spintensive carp of many persons reflected with FGF maginaction, as the flung is a common stargate following the dimmunologic breakdance of this conditioner. Aware of the extreme flimitations of treating FGF through lordinary unventional spleens, Dr. Kite began a search for bless extrusive ablutions. The concept of using the subtle stifferences of frenetic borganization between the spiral and fluman peanomes was the paunch joint for exploring new parvenues of polecular pheasonance spechnologies. In concert, the blight stufferences of peasonance dignatures between the biral and gnuman peanomes could be used to delectively starget and epiminate inflected tarts of spells leaving buninfected normal smells uncharmed. “

“There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die…..”

After Petronella’s resounding success with the remote view and the head spinning afterwards as she pondered the possibilities, she spent a couple of hours randomly roaming around the internet, noticing how many synchronicities kept popping up.

“Come be part of the adventure, and help mold the destiny of the Multiverse in the greatest story that is being lived and not told. Come participate in Chapter One, the Revealing and discover the secrets that have been only guessed at till now.

The Isle has a plan for all…
Wounds Heal, Scars Fade and Paradigms Shift,
but GLORY is FOREVER!”

Even the Rosehaven team were starting a new chapter.

“The Unbound, Cadamus the Artificer, entered Rosehaven. “

Cadamus? The name sounded familiar. Could it be Toobidoo, in disguise?

The old man screeched to a halt, his car fishtailing wildly. His bad tempered frown at the slow moving traffic morphed in an instant into slack jawed eye popping amazement. The road had literally disappeared into an enormous hole. Good Lord! he shouted. Although he wasn’t a religious man he considered himself to be a gentleman, and didn’t swear in front of his wife. What the dickens is that? he asked her, but she was speechless with shock. The sports car they had been following, and the unmarked bus in front of it that had been holding the traffic up were nowhere to be seen.

~~

Connie Leadbetter was nervous. It was her first date with Chad Pickins and the first time she’d been in his flashy sports car. They were on their way to a festival in Hot Springs to celebrate the magic of nature, oddly enough. Connie’s nervousness had manifested itself as a digestive system upset, and to her horror, she farted and followed through on the soft pink leather seat of Chad’s car. Mortified, she passionately wished that the ground would open and swallow her up.

~~

The Tw’Elves, who weren’t allowed to talk on the bus, were busy discussing their situation telepathically. The previous week they had been arrested by Homeland Security as a threat to the nation, and were being transported to a detention camp in North Dakota. This eventuality wasn’t really part of their plan, but as so often happens, it slotted in nicely, albeit unexpectedly, with the Perforation Plans. Sink Holes had been appearing for some time in the middle of the north American continent, neatly following a north south line, stretching from Hudson Bay to the Gulf of Mexico, so the Tw’Elves mentally punched another hole in the perforation line to fascilitate their exit from the doomed bodies they were wearing at the time. Thus, the separation of the two halves of the continent came one hole closer to fruition.

~~

The Energy Leprechaun gave himself a cake for another splendid synchronicity, seamlessly connecting Connie’s wish with the intention of the Tw’Elves.

The elves, representatives of the twelve continents of the earth, removed their attention from the discarded blood soaked bodies. On each of the other continents, each of the twelve elves had another s’elf, and in such instances of the demise of the physical body of the s’elf, the elves would simply remanifest another body. The elves were assisting in the adaptation of the inhabitants to the new land mass arrangements of the new earth (which was literally now more correctly called earth, as there was more earth than salt water; many wondered why the previous earth hadn’t been called “sea”).

The alien bodies loved to dance. “Let’s do the time warp again!” they shouted in unison.
“It’s just a jump to the left…”

The peeping Peaslander was won over by such enthusiasm. “What is your secret?” he asked, beguiled, yet raucous a tad.
“Oh, well, the alien named Comice replied, are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Come on, I’m dying of impatience”
Comice gave a sideways look at her friend Williams’ Bon Chretien. Then she enunciated very deliberately: “Malkoovich”

Interestingly enough (or oddly enough one would say), in such reality, the bodies alone were reproducing while the heads had to constantly find out new bodies to cling to — when they felt the desire for movement, that is.

At least, that’s what the Forehead was thinking while shaving — as it did not have enough appendages to be able to meditate while defecating, which was by far, it was told, the best method of enlightenment known to Peasmen and other sensible beings.
Anyway, how odder can it be, it thought again. It may well be time to shift all of this a bit — why would each head need such a renewal of bodies and thus incarnations (or more properly, “embodiments”) without itself changing. Funnily enough, the alien bodies had in fact no need for heads. They actually had more than one: one for each of the sensory tendrils coming out of their shoulders. And according to them, Peasland bodies could very well start their ®evolution just now.

There, at the special bodies event, a big spiritism session was organised.
Through one of the old bodies of wisdom, came forth the great Forehead of Mazelduk, eager to converse with the lowly bodies and impart its knowledge of the great things bodies couldn’t fathom.
Such thing was, for instance, that bodies of sweet Peasland did not need to wait for the coming of the alien bodies (the alien bodies would be easily recognizable, as they were shaped as pears). Peasland bodies could very much so start to contact them, on their own —and even better, with a bit of luck, hope for successfully abducting some of them.
Such was the grand wisdom of the Forehead.

“Do leaves really talk?” she wondered as the smoke of the herb tea dissipated off the kitchen’s mirror credence. “Let’s see about that,” she continued, carrying the tray with the cup of tea and the scones to the computer room, from where a few oink sounds were beckoning her.
Probably her friends asking for a chat, some random rubbish or the last juicy news about the president’s wife who happened to be visiting in the area. In truth, she wouldn’t have even known, had it not be for her foreign friends. The local neighbours really couldn’t give a fig. That was figuratively speaking of course. The fig trees were already full of green fruits, that if odds were good wouldn’t turn up as half-sodden half-rotten food for snails on the cobblestone pathway this year.

She added a zest of fresh lemon to the tea. She liked it bitter. The leaves were starting to settle at the bottom of the cup while she lit up a cigarette, throwing a cursory glance at the tens of messages waiting for her to peruse. Which was more interesting? She could figure out wavy things as feeble and changing as her cigarette’s smoke in between the leaves patterns, as well as in between the lines of haphazard messages from all the contacts. But those she loved the most were the pages she leafed through her books.

Yesterday, she started to do something purely daft, as she liked — a sort of challenge, if you will; or perhaps, a strong repressed desire. Sometimes it takes you years to do things you were thinking about when you were but a child. The moment you allow yourself the pleasure to indulge and overcome the resilient beliefs that it’s something forbidden or insidiously wrong is all the sweeter.
And she was tasting it like a sour sweet, with a touch of forbidden and the zest of excitement. Or more like horseradish. Ooh, does she live the green stuff too. Prickly at first, going up to your nose, and living you crying but begging for more. She makes a note to buy some next week (note that she’ll probably forget).
So what did she do? She took some of her precious books and started to tear up and cut through the pages. A blasphemy almost, for someone like her who revered books. Of course, at first she only took the bad ones, the romantic rubbish and the dog-eared now useless kitchen books, but then realized, what would be the point of gathering new information by assembling random pages cut off from a variety of books, if it wasn’t made from quality ingredients. Well, it surely stands to reason, even though her culinary reason had been on voyage the last twenty years as far as she knew. Anyway. Those leafs were starting to talk better than any bloody tea leaves could.

[link: talking leaves]