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The pond was full of black tadpoles. The creatures were wriggling restlessly, following invisible currents, connecting dark stains packed with thousands of them. Benjamin Goat immersed a small plastic bottle into one of the biggest node, it sucked the little buggers like a fat syringe.
“Such a small container won’t reduce their population too much”, he thought. Indeed, he had always wondered why there were so many of them in the early stages and why you would see so few frogs or toads. The remaining tadpoles were beginning to gather around his hand. He repressed a shiver. A new idea for a movie just sprang up from his subconscious. Something to do with man-eater tadpoles. That would certainly hit the box office for months.
He smiled. There were enough of them in the bottle.

“Yuck!” said a fat pink lady before licking her strawberry ice cream.

“It’s for my son”, said Benjamin just before realizing he was justifying again. His psychiatrist had told him there was no need for justifying, it was like apologizing, and he needn’t apologize, he was the great Benjamin Goat after all. He snorted and mimicked drinking from his bottle. This time, she was disgusted. She made the mistake to hold her ice cream too far from herself and one of those Gib’s monkey with the pink ass stole it. She was shouting now, people would pay attention to her instead of him. People always pay attention to what’s more annoying.
Paradoxically, he felt a pang of jealousy. He was not used to let go of others’ attention.

His cell phone vibrated, three long vibrations and seven short ones. The code for his secret society. It was a great idea to put it in his last movie, unfortunately it hadn’t had the desired effect. People were so gullible that they would believe everything that came out in a fiction movie.
“The Jesuit is in the place”, said a vocoded voice. That was all. It could only mean one thing. It was all going according to the plan. He smiled and handed out the bottle to a kid. He wouldn’t need that after all.

It was hot, although not as hot as usual for the month of August on the southern slopes of the Serrania de Ronda. It had rained, the black clouds and thunder a welcome respite from the searing dry heat of an Andalucian summer, plumping up the blackberries and washing the dust from the leaves of the fig trees. Blithe Gambol hadn’t seen her old friend Granny Mosca for months, although she wasn’t quite sure what had kept her from visiting for so long. Blithe loved Granny Mosca’s cottage tucked away in the saddle behind the fat hill and there had been times when she’d visited often, just to drink in the magical air and feast her eyes on the beauty of the surroundings. Dry golden weeds scratched her legs as she made her way along the dirt path, and she was mindful of the fat black snake she’d once seen basking on the stone walls as she reached into the brambles to pluck blackberries and take photographs.

Rounding a corner in the path she gasped at the incongrous and alarming sight of a bright yellow bulldozer just meters from Granny Mosca’s cottage. The bulldozer was flattening a large area of prickly pear cactuses. Unfortunately for the cactuses, it was fruiting time, and Blithe wondered if Granny Mosca had first picked the fruits and suspected that she had, those that she could reach. Nothing that could be eaten was left unpicked ~ Blithe remembered the many sacks of almonds that Granny had given her over the years, very few of which she had bothered to shell and eat.

The bulldozer was making an entranceway to the tiny derelict cottage that was situated next to Granny Mosca’s house. Granny had asked Blithe if she wanted to buy it, and she had wanted to buy it eventually, but the purchase of a derelict building hadn’t been a priority at the time. Now it looked as if she was too late, that someone else had bought it, perhaps to use as a holiday home. Horrified, Blithe called out for Granny, who was often in the goat shed or away across the hidden saddle valley cutting weeds to feed the poultry, but there was no sign of her. Two alien looking turkeys gobbled in response, and the black and white chained dog barked menacingly.

As Blithe retraced her steps along the dirt path it occured to her that whoever was planning to use the derelict cottage might be a very interesting person, someone she might be very pleased to make the acquaintance of in due course. After all, she had noticed that the holiday guests staying at the casitas on the other side of the fat hill were all sympathetic to the magical nature of the location, many of them arriving from a previous visit to a particularly interesting location in the Alpujarras ~ a convergence of ley lines. When questioned as to why they chose the fat hill casitas, they simply said they liked the countryside. Either they weren’t telling, or they were simply unaware objectively of the connection of the locations. Blithe could sense the connections though, both the locations, and that the people choosing to vacation at the fat hill were connected to it.

For one hundred and forty seven thousand years, Blithe had had an energy presence at the fat hill, although it was half a century of her current focus before she remembered it. She had felt protective of it, when she finally remembered it, as if she had a kind of responsibility to it. This place can look after itself quite well on its own, she reminded herself. The fat hill had watched while Franco’s Capitan looted the Roman relics, and watched as Blithe stumbled upon the remains of Roman and Iberian cities, and the fat hill had laughed when Blithe first tried to find the entrance to the interior and got stuck in thorn bushes. Later, the fat hill had smiled benignly when Granny Mosca led her to the entrance ~ without a thorn bush in sight. The cave entrance had been blocked with boulders then. Blithe had given some thought to an excavation, wondering how to achieve it without attracting the attention of the locals, but now she wondered if one day, when the time was right, she would find the entrance clear, as if by magic. Magic, after all, was by no means impossible.

{link: feast for the birds}

Taatje van Snoot was an eccentric character of indeterminate age. That she had been born Dutch was obvious, but when, nobody could tell. Nobody could remember when she hadn’t been an integral part of the Amsterdam scenery, even the most ancient citizens recalled Taatje being around. Nobody knew her well, it seemed, but everyone knew of her existence, everyone saw her from time to time. She never seemed to age, and she didn’t appear to work, for she was never seen doing anything in a routine manner. Sometimes, for example, she would be spotted drinking coffee every morning at the same place; the following week or years therafter, she’d be elsewhere, never visiting that cafe again. Taatje was a bit of a mystery, but a well loved one. She was jolly, always smiling, as she bustled about the city doing whatever she did, polite and charming, delightfully vague, and always endearingly dressed in a random selection of fancy dress outfits and carnival costumes.

“Tina!” At last Tina answered the phone. “Oh Tina, I’ve been trying to reach you all day! There’s something going on with Al and Sam” Becky blurted without so much as a How Doo Yoo Doo.

“What now?” asked Tina sleepily. “You woke me up, you know, I hope this is important.”

“They’re making funny tea, I’m sure of it” Becky replied. “Have you seen the latest entries they’ve made to the play?”

“I just told you Becky, I just woke up. I seriously doubt that anything in that play would surprise me, though. And so what if they’re drinking ‘funny tea’ anyway? Look who’s blimmen talking, Becky!”

“Precisely, my point exactly! They’re not sharing it! I want some too, don’t you?”

“Not really, Becky. I would quite like to go back to sleep though” Tina replied. “Why don’t you focus on your own entries to the play?”

“Oof, er pffoott” spluttered Becky. “Good pooint, Poubelle. Soorry I wooke yoou!”

A moment later she fell in the pool, slipping on some loose change. The part had been a free for all, and her host had alot to answer for. lots of drinks had been given to the grey goat and mavis didn’t give a shit. she meant during the days that followed to find salome, to be able to find some meaning to the story about leonora. It was a fine day for a plane ride she thought as she waited in line feeling excited until she noticed a red working lamp advertising love, but she never noticed how much easier it was during the news. The finn connection had her smiling as she thought to try creating calm and stay present and breathe as she looked around and noticed her arms were far from normal. suddenly shhe was walking away. the goat forgotten but wrick managed to save the library which was full of fresh air known only to sri who was to sort it all out although he laughed about the wood fire of the 19 planets and she was behind herself all the way

(oops, said Bea, I forgot to indicate which of the words was from the word cloud and which were mine. Oh well, never mind….)

“And now there’s that cycle of energy that goes into the other realms and comes full circle, cascading down like watermelons crashing down from a fountain back into this reality, and then it cycles back up into the other dimensions, and then back down, creating an endless loop – an endless loop of watermelons , consciousness and expansion, New Energy, creativity, letting go of the obstacles and the watermelons , truly being in life.”

Becky was reading aloud from House of The Watermelon, by Toby St.Germaine .

“The next step, as we enter this House of The Watermelon, the next step is to take a drink of watermelon juice. There’s plenty of watermelons. You don’t even need a glass up here. Just drink of the watermelons….”

“Becky, why is that book called The House of The Watermelon?” Dory asked. “I haven’t heard a single mention of watermelons all the way through it.”

“That sinister Finnley had plans to do away with Sir Hector, in the library, before dinner.”

“Perhaps I should amend that entry”, Becky mused.

“What’s that you said, Sugar Plum?” asked Gayesh, nuzzling her ear.

“Oh bugger off, Gayesh, can’t you see I’m busy?” Becky snapped, moving her chair away from the amourous doctor. “I have to attend to this before it all gets changed. Now shut up and back off.”

The unflappable Gayesh smiled, and poured the powdery contents of a vial into her drink, and waited.

“What on earth is Al suggesting now, I wonder” mused Becky, who was catching up with the latest additions to the Reality Play. Frowning, she wondered how to handle it. It was often a challenge when one of the other writers interfered with her story line plans.

“Well, be honest, Becky” she said to herself “You were floundering a bit with all this boring tropical romance stuff, wafting around the Facility with nothing more interesting to do than sip cool drinks and wink at Gayesh.”

Becky put the sheaf of printed pages on the table beside her, lost in thought. The warm still evening air was beginning to be stifling, and she felt trapped, smothered in the blue velvet embrace of the night, sickened by the scent of the perfumed flowers and rotting fruit, and suddenly bored beyond endurance.

“I’m going back home” she decided. “I’ll leave a deposit of cells here, swap places with Becky Tooh, and she can come back here and take her chances with Gayesh and the clone experiment.”

Perhaps her babies and her lush of a husband back home would be more exciting.

“I can always swap back again later if it gets tedious in New Venice” she added, having a moment of trepidation at the thought of her responsibilities as a mother of triplets. She liked to keep her options open, keep an escape plan on the back burner.

With a light heart and a spring in her step, she grabbed the papers off the table and ran upstairs to pack.

“Maybe a stop over in Long Pong on the way” she decoded. “Oh look at that!” she said to herself “I meant to say decided and wrote decoded instead. Pfft” she grumbled “That must be because I’m worried about decoding all the other strange additions to the Reality Play that have been spewed forth lately. Sheesh, do Al and Sam honestly think I will ever catch up now? Oh bugger it all, Long Pong, here I come!”

7:33:59 AM 8-19-08 ∞1da Geolocation Time.

days of sleeping slip by. the light on the peaks soft, golden in the cool dawn. a shiver. the water would be cold but thirst is a motivating factor. movement would mean warmth. birds flitting from branch to branch…

stones to perch on. river jade at my finger tips. the babble of a quickly flowing stream. scooping with one hand to drink from a clear pool, the musky scent of cedar and low water.

across the wide stream, a river. actually. no. the amount of water between a stream and a river. a young buck, head bent low also drinking. antlers. how are years marked again? two prongs on each side. is that two years after reaching mating age? or four. no matter. eyes latch across rapidly flowing water. we watch each other. both still, both quiet. both recognizing in each other another survival being of dreams.

dream memory extending into long ago. no. longer than that. the rules to colonizing a planet. simple universal rules. one band of survival beings with a limited number of nuclear families from any survival being group that wishes to expand into livable planets. set down in one place – with nothing. no food. no implements. not even clothes. if they survive they colonize. if not. well. the universe is full of tried and failed experimentation. The pulse of all that is drawn into a black hole. drawn in and back out through tunnels of light that are trapped within the black hole…

the fact that more than one form of survival being can attempt to colonize one planet at any given time is both an advantage and a disadvantage. they become resource for each other as well as competition – resource and competition, as is all that is within and upon the planet.

still that cave, that First Cave. on the tip of the continent in the southern hemisphere… blue ocean view… a beginning that is long ago. how long ago? 160,000 planet years? 200,000 thousand planet years? late arrivals as we are, this is where our colonization is now. Digging to find those memories and what is left of that initial arrival…

walking up this valley on the other side of a continent, an ocean away from First Cave… funny how time advances forward and backward in both directions – in all directions – and remains the same. This now is the same now as that now and remains the same in both directions as it passes around each of us.

the sun trickling across the tips of trees lower and lower into the valley. another half an hour and it will be in my face.

might as well eat breakfast while I walk. thimble berries, currents, oh! yarrow. i could make tea. – if I made fire. If I had fire… or i could make yarrow tea because i have sun. . .

at peace within because i know i am returning to the High Portal Cave on the mountain, near the timberline. the central entrance, near the ancient pine. The safe harbor of the High Portal Cave, the entrance to a multitude of passageways, interconnecting chambers and stunning connecting points that open beyond this time and beyond this continent – before and after this continent. probably, through the right passage way opening beyond this planet. I don’t know that, it makes sense that it does. I believe I will find out in my memory or in my future. i remember some of these things and places. not all of them. i remember entering, finding the stone trough of water with the wooden drinking bowl on the damp ledge. i remember passageways that lead to incredible places and times. why return now? without knowing i know. this is the way it is because this is the way it will become.

warm sun on my chest. warm from walking. birds, quiet as i approach, resume their constant foraging as i pass. along the shore the constant sound of the river stream like the white noise of the universe, beautiful and ever present so that if i am not mindful i no longer hear it.

a walking stick. ok, a broken branch caught between boulders. still green enough to be strong, almost as thick as my forearm with little taper and altho it is not straight, it is a head taller than i am – perfect. a walking stick. a walking staff. i work it loose from the rocks. strange markings… the hand of an intelligent being – a gift then.

do images become visible on these pages or only the thoughts and sights from within my mind, i wonder. i try to remember not to believe all that i think… if i wonder… then do i attempt to find out? yes, often enough, yes. and why is short hair exciting, new, a sign of adventuring? changes. oh. perhaps. or perhaps it’s a way of changing breath. I smile. I walk on.

The afternoon was hot, a bit moist and sticky too. Yurick and Yann were enjoying the freshness of Dory’s patio.
Cold lemon drink in cocktail glasses, the radio playing some sun related song.
Dan was out playing golf with friends and would be here for dinner.
Dory, dozing on her rocking chair had told Yurick and Yann that they could use their computers, they had 2 of them, so Yurick could take Dory’s and Yann could take Dan’s. Yurick was busy checking his mails and answering all those who had submitted some article for the next issue of their e-zine, and Yann wanted some distraction. He was just looking at some pictures on Gurgle, some movies on Yootune. Some of them were cracking him up, and he had difficulties keeping his face serious.
At the same time he was browsing through Dan’s pictures folders. Some of them were really amazing. Pictures of Dory on the field, with her pith helmet and her brushes, her shovels or even her pick. She was very funny looking when she was finding something seemingly out of nowhere, having dug all day long with no result and then finally some treasure! Often, Yann thought, it was only some fragment of a vase or some broken tool, but she always had this awe-inspired gaze

— What is the name of this singer again?, asked Yurick.
— You ask me?

The grin on Yurick’s face was all that Yann was waiting for. Yann had no memory of names of singers or actors. Their face, once he had seen it were recorded in his mind, but their name was like a summer breeze, refreshing, but soon forgotten. He knew that Yurick was more asking that to himself.

— Dunno me luv. You can ask the mummy in the living room if you want…
— Hahaha, graowl

Hehehe. Funny that, thought Yann. Coming back to the computer screen, his eyes fall on a strange folder name.
Patate? What’s that!?
Double-click.
Just a few files. Videos mainly. The names weren’t very evocative…
Yann picked one and waited for the movie to begin.
It was kind of black and white movie… the grain was gross and old fashioned. There was no audio.
Yann had an old memory of a similar movie seen on the comodor computer of his cousin’s parents… his cousin had told him about some weird movie he had found in a floppy disk of his father…
So, there was a man, maybe in his 60’s, he was wearing a gray bathing suit and was a bit hairy. Drinking some kind of grey cocktail.
A girl came in… with an amazing leopard baby-doll!!! from what Yann could see, she was blond and fleshy. Oh! and she had some friends. All of them with a leo-part on them

— Ahem! Yurick? Wanna see what I found?
— Hmmm
— I’m sure you’ll find some interest hahaha! Oh my Flove! She’s really doing it!?

Seeing his friend hilarious picked the curiosity of Yurick and he eventually came to see. The look on his face when he saw what was happening was too much for Yann who burst into laughter. That was enough to wake Dory who almost fell off her rocked chair.

— What is that? Where did you find that… thing? Dory looked offended, but soon she was blushing.
Oh! no… don’t look at that. It was a youthful mistake…

Crisp fluttered to the floor as Becky drifted off to sleep. She was having an odd dream, in which she was hugging Sam. I’m so glad you don’t drink Sam, she said, emotionally, in the dream.

Well, I do have an occasional pint down at the Duck and Firken, you know, he replied.

You know what I mean, Sam. All those years with Sean, hoping it would all work out…her dream voice trailed off sadly….

Hey Becky, it wasn’t a waste! Look at all the lovely children you had!

Becky felt her dream self smile ruefully. Well, it hasn’t exactly been a picnic either, you know….

She woke up sweating and confused. Good grief, all WHAT children! What a dreadful nightmare!

She was wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead when Sean popped his head round the door.

I’m popping out for a beer, Becky, won’t be long.

Holy Moly, Becky whispered under her breath.

sitting here having a drink by myself …

NUF – I know we said this one already but I quite like it
NUFF – Not Unother Freakin Focus
EPIC – misspelling of Eric or alternatively ENERGY PLAYING IN COLLABORATION – well a hard word to live up to though.
SPOD – means nothing, just like the sound of it … oh no hang on it does mean something
LOONAR – I am channeling Finnley now

might go home and cook dinner (spuds) instead …

I am here to offer you my services in exchange for board and lodging Madame Chesterhope, said Franiel, deciding to tactfully ignore for now her rather odd remark regarding his reality.

Oh please, call me Phoebe. Phoebe smiled kindly at Franiel. Have you come a long way? Well really, I forget my manners. Sit down and I will prepare you a drink and some food. Then you can tell me your story and what has bought you here.

And so it was that just a short while later Franiel found himself ensconsed on the settee sipping hot mulled wine from a huge mug. What strange twists and turns life may take, he mused.

And whether it was the wine that loosened his tongue, or the kindly look in Phoebe’s eyes and the attentive way in which she nodded her old head so wisely, but he found himself telling her the most surprising things, as though she were an old friend he had known and trusted all his life.

Thus it was that it had soon been agreed that Franiel’s proposal would be a mutually beneficial arrangement.

It is as though you are an angel, laughed Phoebe, sent by God to help me, for it was weighing heavily upon me that there is much that needs doing. Dear Lydia who you met on the path, well what would I do without her, but she is not getting any younger, and Derwent …. her voice trailed off.

Well you are the second person to call me an angel, for I met Derwent earlier who also mistook me for an angel, but I am afraid I must disappoint you both, for I am a very ordinary mortal.

Oh I am not the slightest bit disappointed, smiled Phoebe. Here, she said, delving into the top drawer of a huge oak dresser, take these keys. I keep most of the rooms locked, for the place is so big and there is no need for all those rooms. Feel free to have a look around as you will. You will find your room prepared for you on the second floor, third room on the right.

Franiel was surprised and it must have showed on his face.

It is the room I keep ready for visitors. She chuckled. Most of the visitors I have here have no need of a place to sleep mind-you.

These are the others you spoke of earlier? asked Franiel,curious. At that moment though Phoebe’s attention was distracted. She looked towards the window, which was wide open though there was a chill in the late afternoon air.

Ah! there you are my lovely one! she cried, her face lighting up in delight as a large and colorful parrot flew in the window and landed on her shoulder.

The bird squawked and cast a steely gaze on Franiel.

Of course I will introduce you, said Phoebe calmly, Franiel, meet Vincentius.

I think we all deserve a drink, what do you say? There’s an alternate wedding party going on in the tavern reality, and the drinks (and mushrooms) are on me

Oh, Thank Flove for that! exclaimed Becky delightedly, when she looked in the bathroom mirror on the morning of her wedding. The Siberian Blue Mud treatment worked!

WOW! said Becky as she peered at her reflection. It’s made me look fantastic!

Indeed, her skin was glowing like a summer peach. She smiled happily and sighed a deep sigh of contentment. She was glad she’d chosen Tina to be the Head Witness for the Russian style wedding ceremony. She knew she could trust her to carry out the ritual joke and poem telling with aplomb. Al and Sam would make great witnesses too. She couldn’t wait to hear their jokes and poems at the wedding party.

Becky giggled, And Sean will love all the drinking.