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  • #2343
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      “Serenely on her tiny loom she weaves her story with careful art.
      And who am I, with meddling pen to send it’s loveliness apart?

      For I, who am a weaver, too, look on that intricate design,
      And know its daft embroideries are just as beautiful as mine….”

      LizAnn read the poem out loud, subsituting a few words of her own, and pointed out to Godfrey the distinct lack of any mention of spiders.

      “We don’t have to include any actual spiders, Godfrey,” she said firmly. “Forget the spiders! We’re talking here about weaving a story from all the loose threads, not spinning a web with which to ensnare anyone. The myths” continued LizAnn, warming to the subject, “Concerning spiders and weaving are being rewoven anew. The Text Tiles are myriad, and all equally meaningless. The purpose of Text Tiles is no longer a sticky web of beleifs with which to ensnare the unsuspecting traveller, but a patchwork of …of….”

      “Lost your thread, LizAnn?” inquired Gordon, smugly.

      “You rude old coot” she replied, “Have some more peanuts, and allow me to finish.”

      “Finish? Well, that will be a first.”

      “What I was trying to say is that the weaving of the story can’t be contained inside the confines of the linearly constructed Reality Play. One only needs to focus on ones own weaving, in and out of the warped story, and the weft wide world outside, so to speak. The same principle applies to the other weavers and the Text Tile viewers. Each comment may be considerd to be a single Text Tile, or patchwork piece. These indiviual Text Tiles may be arranged in multitudes of ways according to the manner in which they are woven into an individuals own story weaving experience.”

      “That’s as may be, LizAnn, but what about loom weights? To anchor the warp? Or is it the weft…”

      #2641

      In reply to: Strings of Nines

      EricEric
      Keymaster

        Peackle Handlebut wasn’t really that old hag of a lady she projected the appearance of, but she preferred to test the sincerity of people through this rather crude means.

        In fact, she wasn’t a lady or a human at all. She was an E’elim, as they called their race when they had use for words. Their true form wasn’t really physical, and their existence was mostly ignored — a fact that was not a small feat, for even the ancient race of the Guardians mostly didn’t know of them at the time when they were in the system of Alienor.

        In fact, their consciousness was quite different from the rest of the races, and in many ways, it was one of the most ancient one, having been present for countless ages.
        They’d known the times of the appearance of the third moon around Duane.
        They had even witnessed the emergence of that third planet, which is now mostly forgotten, but was then called B’si before it was called Phreal by the Guardians.
        And they were there at the time of the separation of the Great Panye into the twin planets now known as Duane and Murtuane.

        The E’elims where riders of the elements; usually only one of the six elements from which everything stemmed: airs, earths, woods, flames, waters, and forgotten (or spirit).
        Learning to ride dragons was something new for Peackle, as they were powerful blends of the purest forms of these elements, and she was wanting to take the risk of revealing herself to have that experience…

        #2640

        In reply to: Strings of Nines

        New Venice, October 2117

        Now, where were we? Midora suddenly felt that the need for an agenda was called for. Spread out in front of her were a few collages and some balls of energy from all the links and connections she had found in the stories of her ancestors and gathered so far.

        Since her fathers Oscar and Bart had adopted the twins Hari and Jacq, her usually tidy room had been a mess. Fortunately, the adoption was almost complete, and in a mere week, the twins would then be able to choose another family, which they made clear they intended to do. She felt so appreciative that adoption was no longer bound by traditional laws of responsibility of the parents and ridden by culpability; instead, it was a healthier cooperation between the parents and children, and children were free to go with other families if they felt the desire for a different experience.
        When they’d adopted Hari and Jacq, Bart and Oscar had wanted for a continuation of the experience of bringing up children, which they did not have for a long time with Midora, as she was quite independent from an early age. And in truth, Jacq and Hari were very interactive and playful, and to be perfectly honest, quite a handful; in a few weeks, the apartment would surely seem deserted and empty.

        So, during that time, Midora’s researches on the stories had been put to a halt, and a lots of her energy balls which were usually neatly ordered on her lightboard were now merged for some, changed of forms for others… all thanks to her half-bros. She barely knew were to start to get a better view of it now.

        Let me see… there were a few threads going on there, and all we need is untangle some of them…

        She’d had fun reconnecting with the “Island of Dr Transvestite” theme, but now she found out, her favorite characters Shar and Glor, were now disembodied, stranded in transition, and perhaps waiting to be reborn to a nine-titted alien in the Worseversity after failed attempts of channeling. So far, no signs of developments for them though.

        As far as the Ooh-dimension was concerned, the shift of Vowellness was probably complete, and she couldn’t find anything new being published by Ms Tattler in all now probable directions she was looking into. She was of course ignoring the disrupted echoes from the Jumbled Eights thread, which were probably the brainstorming board of ideas of the writer, which she had the greatest difficulty to follow (she wondered if even the writer could).

        Her own thread and the details of the history of the Wrick family was always sketchy and full of holes; she’d attempted at learning more about the elusive Becky , but she kept blinking in and out of continuity, too quickly for her to follow her anywhere in her explorations.

        Oh, and the Alienor dimension was still going on, though most of its development wasn’t yet showing up. What had happened of Arona, Franiel, Irtak’s father, the gripshawk? And now that Malvina was gone too… She’d found Mrs Chesterhope after her strange amnesiac shapeshifting accident however; and that was encouraging.

        So strange, all of these characters are so alive, she thought fondly, and yet none of them seem motivated enough to project themselves out with force and steadiness into her energy balls which still had a sort of blurriness and haphazardness to them.

        She made the intent to project more energy in the direction of stabilizing the currents of the strands of stories, and the energy balls’ colors started to shimmer lightly. That was certainly the way to go. Which one would be the most alluring to explore and follow?

        #2326

        “That perhaps is your task” Virginia was whispering in Ann’s ear”…to find the relation between things that seem incompatible yet have a mysterious affinity, to absorb every experience that comes your way fearlessly and saturate it completely so that your poem is a whole, not a fragment; to re-think human life into poetry and so give us tragedy again and comedy by means of characters not spun out at length in the novelist’s way…”

        “Did you catch that, Walter? ‘Not spun out in the traditional lengthy continous way’ she’s saying.”

        “…but condensed and synthesized in the poet’s way—that is what we look to you to do now.”

        “I didn’t know you channeled Virginia Woolf, Ann,” replied Walter. “Doesn’t mean she is necesarily right, though, notwithstanding.”

        “I didn’t say she was ‘absolutely right’, Walter. I’m just pointing out what’s right for me.”

        Walter popped another anchovy stuffed olive into his mouth.

        #2308

        Harvey had enjoyed tremendously the underwater experience with the air bubble blowing dolphins and orcas

        #2307

        Lavender sneezed. The underwater experience hadn’t been such a good plan.

        #2306

        Lavender was a little peeved she did not win the trip to the Worserversity for her fine limerick. She was wondering if she may drop out of Gubby’s course and enrol in one of Prof Moosy’s underwater dolphin experiences.

        #2305

        Ann sighed. She suddenly realized that she’d spent the summer time travelling, back to the Summer Before the Great Shift Trauma. She’d completely forgotten that the Worserversity was Post Shift. Oh well, she would write a historical account of The Times Before The Great Trauma Started.

        “What Great Trauma?” asked Monica, who had been reading her mind again. “There was no Great trauma in MY shift experience.”

        “Really?” Ann was momentarily puzzled. “There wasn’t in mine either.”

        “If you’re going to write about trauma, you’ll have to make it all up.” Monica replied.

        “Why would I want to do that?” Ann was still puzzled.

        “For the fun of it?” Monica suggested.

        “Oh yes, of course…for the fun of it…”

        Ann was still puzzled.

        #2301

        That unexpected call from the Dean had put the Fisherman in abyss of perplexity.

        The fishes weren’t really his prime concern. He only needed to paint a little red nose on one of the cloud fishes to stir the others out of their unerratic routine. :fish: :yahoo_clown:
        The matter wasn’t really worth his coming back to the Worseversity, but he and the Dean knew better. If the fishes had snapped into that randomless routine, it was most probably a protective reflex to anticipate some trauma.

        Trauma hadn’t really been seen in ages —in fact, not even once since the Great Shift, which had been an orgiastic experience of trauma of all kinds for people prone to indulge into this emotional drug. The coincidence had not been lost on the two old men. Of all the Worseversity’s, there were very few true artifacts remaining from before the Great Shift; barely a handful of them. Most of the known artifacts were in actuality clever re-creations from older designs, but not the “real” thing. And for good reason actually; most of the laws of physics had changed since, and made almost all of the older designs broken and unusable.

        The pool was hiding one of these few artifacts that had mysteriously gone through the Great Shift without decaying. Furthermore, this very artifact was quite old, and signed by the visionary architect Rumbold the Pale boasting in carved letters which had once been golden, now mostly erased by the passing of times: “The real game is only played whence it started”.

        That fishy omen seemed so dire that it couldn’t help but put the Fisherman out of his lifelong passion questing for the great Trouts of the Universe.

        #2286
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Ann had unexpectedly found herself in the hot seat, so to speak, after using the bidet immediately after chopping up chillis in the kitchen. Pondered the symbology of the mishap, she couldn’t help but think of the word ‘rekindling’ and wondered if this might be of some use for Prof Moose’s assigment. Clearly, had she used a little more dish washing detergent on her long slender fingers, she wouldn’t have experienced the ‘rekindling’ at all.

          #2281
          EricEric
          Keymaster

            G3 (short for GGG, which was shorter for Good God Gordy) asked as if to himself “Anyone met the Fisherman yet?”

            :fleuron:

            Gremwick put down the Psychic Politics book he’d taken for his assignment, his five words written on a lemon coloured sticker:

            Oof… here we go, “state — briefly — fisherman — library — pigeons”… There’s a bit of challenge here. he sighed, mostly uninspired.
            “Perhaps I should have stayed with the easy words like ‘more, is, less, think, true’”.

            :fleuron:

            “Do you mean the Fisherman’s coming? How long has it been already?” Ann started to count briefly on her chubby fingers.
            “Well, I guess if you’d be more assiduous in Pr. Rose’s class in bird divination, you’d found out that the pigeons’ flight was unmistakably precise on that matter.”
            “I tried, believe me, I tried to pay more attention,…” Ann said, “but frankly, I prefer direct experience of the broom cupboard to the draughty corridors of the library…”
            “Oh, I should say I’m a bit disappointed at you; I’ve always believed the state of dustiness would have been an incentive to you rather than a deterrent.”

            “Don’t underestimate the incentive of detergent” Monica said almost mischievously under her breath.

            #2278
            F LoveF Love
            Participant

              Arona had no idea what dimension she was in. Or indeed, whether she was where she was at all. Oddly enough, and it was not often now that Arona found anything odd, she was finding the experience rather freeing.

              “Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Hoooooooooooooooooo” she shouted, and holding her arms wide open, began to whirl joyously around, till dizziness overcame her and she landed in a heap on the ground. She expected to land in a heap on the ground in a soft meadow with pretty spring flowers, but to her consternation realised that she had landed on what felt like polished concrete. She was even more concerned when she realised that she had a large audience watching her with interest, although at that stage all she really took in was a sea of feet around her. On further inspection she appeared to be in what looked like an enormous building full of shops, and, shoppers.

              “Are you okay?” A kindly gentleman asked her in a concerned voice. At least that is what Arona thought he said. Although the words were familiar, the accent was strange, and not one she had heard before.

              “I am fine, thank you,” replied Arona, trying her best to appear composed and rise gracefully from her sprawled position all at the same time. She must have looked convincing because, after a few more curious looks in her direction, the crowd began to disperse.

              Good Grief, where am I now? she wondered. Determined not to be alarmed and to go with the flow, however rapid that flow may be, the intrepid Arona set off to explore her new surroundings.

              “Wait!”

              Arona looked around. It was the strangely spoken gentleman who had first offered assistance. He was brandishing a book towards her.

              “Take this book. It is no good for me.”

              Arona hesitated. The last time she had heard those words she had ended up with a funny little baby to look after. The man was insistent though, so, thanking him politely Arona accepted the gift.

              “Hmmmm, How to Write Fiction, how very peculiar!” Flipping it open randomly she read:

              [Random Words Epigraph] Step One: Randomly choose 5 entries from your dictionary. Just flip through the pages, close your eyes, and put your finger down on the page. Copy down the word that is closest to your finger. If your finger lands on a word that you don’t know, you can choose the word just above or just below it. For the purposes of this assignment, count paired words as a single entry (for instance, “melting pot” is listed as a single entry). Step Two: Shape your list of dictionary entries into a poem or story, using all of the entries.

              “bugger that,” snorted Arona.

              #2277
              F LoveF Love
              Participant

                Indeed, Frantic was more than delighted to help out any of her students. It was her desire, her passion even, that they should succeed in her classes. She chastened herself mentally for making the assumption that all her students would be able to find some reference point in their past to assist them with her assignment. However, as she explained to Pedro, it was not essential for a writer to experience everything they wrote about. What was necessary was a willingness to research. Knowing the boy liked to read, she offered him an extensive reading list of appropriate material, plus a few Mills and Boons she just happened to have in her handbag, and sent him on his way.

                She was more surprised than anyone when the janitor came to her the next morning and confessed what had happened in the service room. Apparently he had … well lets not go there, she thought, what is done is done and no harm will come of it if they both keep quiet. The little bouquet of flowers he gave her as an apology gift (GIFTSEE THE GIFT TP) did much to allay her concern. And at least the boy will have something to write about now.

                As she put the flowers in water she pondered her next assignment. She could see she would have to give this much careful thought in order to avoid future embarrassing service room encounters.

                #2271
                F LoveF Love
                Participant

                  Now Class. Your homework is to write about your first sexual experience, in any way you wish. Have a good week, and see you next Wednesay.

                  My FIRST! God there have been so many. Who was first? Not to worry, it was fiction, she would make it up as she went along. Ann was visibly thrilled at the idea of her assignment. Already a limerick was forming somewhere in the depths under that long red wig ….

                  #2636

                  In reply to: Strings of Nines

                  On their way to the volcanic lands, Yann and Yurick had to smile when they saw a magpie drop with a bell-shaped curved on top of the cars. They knew it was a sign of their friend Finn, as the car in front of them was having FCK concealed in its license plate number. “Fellowship of of Continuity in Knowledge”… to sexy it up.
                  Of course, they didn’t even mention the dime a dozen 57’s who weren’t as subtle and spy-like in nature, and far more all over-the-place (as it should).

                  At that same moment, Yurick had the vision of a disturbing short-motion movie suddenly burgeon in his imagination with a daredevil magpie as a involuntary heroine.
                  In a sort of bizarre paralleling of Jonathan seagull, the magpie would plunge at high speed onto the cars of the freeway so as to discover the untold exhilaration and awe that the strange vehicles were certainly feeling speeding that way. In the end, she would only to discover bored-to-death commuters inside, probably in what would be her last glimpse of this world…

                  Somehow Yurick wondered if the exhilaration of the dog sticking its tongue out of the car was much of a big deal.
                  Sure it certainly seemed so from afar, perched high in the branch from above the madding cars, but inside… the experience was another complete different thing.

                  #2586

                  In reply to: Strings of Nines

                  EricEric
                  Keymaster

                    “Now would you believe you were actually worried for her?” she told Georges, raising from the sand of the Kandulim where they were doing some people remote-gazing.
                    “Well, for a moment I was, and you know that Salome. Even if we have not followed the same path, ours have crossed a few times, and I’m grateful for what she taught me in the beginning.”
                    “I know, although I never really got that part of her… well other than from your experiences I mean.”
                    “She even starts to remember her parrot, that was quite unexpected.”
                    “ Do you believe she’ll be able to travel out of that other dimension easily?”
                    “I don’t know… After that bravado escape from the Baron’s submarine, and the rough sea, I supposed she would need more time to recover and bring herself together, but she seems to have taken care of that in an interesting manner.”
                    “Look! Ahahaha”
                    “What?”
                    “Did you notice she stole the poor guy’s cufflinks! She’s so mean ahahah, she never got past those magpie’s instincts”

                    #2570

                    In reply to: Strings of Nines

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

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

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

                    #2225

                    Annabel Ingram was chatting the tourists through her guided tours, but most of the time, her mind was wandering elsewhere.
                    As a matter of fact, she often thought she should have been named “Wandering Elsewhere” instead. These were her two favourite words in the whole Manilvan language. Scholars had made fancy claims like basement portal or something of that ilk was the loveliest words combination, but she’s never been one to follow the trends and fleeting modes anyway.

                    All in all, it was probably time she got herself a new job; touring the tourists in the middle of “ohs” and “ahs” to the Doorway of the Goddess Amarylis Moo Rue? Not for her any longer.
                    To be bluntly honest she was beginning to find herself a little of a fraud, as she tried to maintain a decent level of excitement at the ridiculous amazement of the tourists when they recounted their litanies of visions of Goddess Amarylis surrounded with cohorts of naked ladies and bare butt cupids holding wreaths of flowers. Amarylis was the Goddess of Flove. A glorious goddess representing the duality of the aspects of love and death. Quite a hype for people coming from the cities, eager to get a quick shot of esoteric experiences.

                    But she’d seen Amarylis more than once, and it was not all that pretty behind the scenes. She was not as mean as herself, but she wasn’t the last to poke fun at people for whisking unwarranted followers to the altars. Anyway, that and her perfumes, honestly you had to wonder. Lavender and decaying morue (cod), what a blend… :yahoo_rolling_eyes:

                    #1271
                    AvatarJib
                    Participant

                      Many people were gathered at the Soft Pool in the Garden of The Orientations.
                      Some of them were sitting here still and smiling, their eyes closed and open to the different energies surrounding them. Some of them were standing others walking around and a few ones were running following seemingly random patterns. Their movements were the perfect match of the energy connections between each participant, physical and non physical.

                      It was like a shining crystal, some rays of light/attention creating an instant connection and an instant energy exchange which need not be continuously maintained, many different connections were being created and were lasting as long as necessary, sometimes a few seconds, sometimes a few minutes, and others mere moments.

                      His interactions fulfilled, Sam gathered his attention toward his new goal and he left the crowd at its game, the energy of the experience still present inside his energy field.

                      #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:

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