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  • #1310

    In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      October 21 st

      What’s the use of a new-born baby?

      An interesting reflection is prompted by Armelle about the need to understand things for some of our focuses.

      « I can do whatever I like with your Stories, give them any Meaning I want. It doesn’t matter… » (Armelle)
      « Of course! that is the Magic of it » (Rafaela)
      « And we can see them as Seeds. You don’t need to understand how Seeds work to have them grow » (Yuki)
      « Yes, in a wild Wilderness. A weedy, overgrown, yet mysteriously lovely Wilderness » (Armelle)
      « A modicum of Cooperation but largely total Freedom to make what you Want » (Rafaela)
      « It’s a repository of Energy Seeds » (Yuki)
      « A weedy, overgrown, yet mysteriously lovely Wilderness » (Armelle)
      « Yes, that too! Or,… an Eden Garden, with a hovering scaly stinky beast . May it be either an English, Chinese or French Garden, whatever pleases your tastes… » (Yuki)

      #1448
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        http://www.north-of-africa.com/article.php3?id_article=418

        This might be a better link for the comment about the connection between Egypt and Tuaregs :) :weather-clear:

        as well as the Egypt connection :

        At Jabbaren, he found a city with alleys, cross-roads and squares. The walls were covered with hundreds of paintings. Jabbaren is a Tuareg word meaning “giants” and the name refers to the paintings found inside the city, some of which depict human figures that are indeed gigantic in size. One of them measured up to eighteen feet high. Several of these paintings depicted “Martians” and for Lhote, it was the first time he discovered paintings of hundreds of oxen. Jabbaren was soon labelled one of the oldest sites of the Tassili.

        I think the mummy may be 6 meters tall………(Rahim told me that the tombs there were extraordinarily long….and we did have a giant enter the story ….) :yahoo_thinking:

        ~~~~~~~~~

        AND: The Tassili n’Ajjer

        …..the Hoggar Mountains and the Tassili n’Ajjer, one of the most enchanting mountain ranges on this planet……

        There were largely two forms of rock paintings, distinguishable by the location in which they were found. Some were found in rock shelters, such as at Aouanrhet. These sites were where the shaman performed his divination, as the face of a rock was often seen as a doorway to another dimension (another parallel with the paintings in the French caves).

        (this reminds me of Oversoul Seven! # book by Jane Roberts)

        Though one could interpret their location as the work of a nomadic people, Lhote’s team also found several urban settlements.
        He found small concentrations of human activity around Tan-Zoumiatak in the Tin Abou Teka massif. It was a little rocky citadel that dominated the gorge below. The citadel was cut through with a number of narrow alleys. Lhote described the art he found here as: “There were life-size figures painted in red ochre, archers with muscular arms and legs, enormous ‘cats’, many scenes with cattle, war-chariots and so forth. Up to this time I had never seen figures of this sort in the Tassili and the mass of paintings that I managed to view that day quite put into the shade all those I had seen up to then.”

        more:

        http://www.philipcoppens.com/tassili.html

        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ENORMOUS CATS?????? :yahoo_surprise:

        #295

        Becky had decided to take her friends out for the day. Poor Al needed a break from scratching his head in confusion, and dear Tina needed a break from rubbing her aching temples. She knew Sam would enjoy a day out too.

        Becky was enjoying preparing the itinerary.

        Champagne breakfast at the Droles de Dames cafe in Le Touquet~Pu first, a table reserved under the gaily striped awning overlooking the sea. Fresh croissants and hot coffee, Bavarian cream donuts, tangy fresh squeezed Tesorillo orange and Tiki kiwi juice, scrambled dragon eggs on French toast, and Moroccan mint tea.

        The exhibit of Sand Sculpture was next, a pleasant stroll on the beach after breakfast would be just the ticket, Becky thought.

        Next, a little side trip to place a few hibiscus blooms on the grave of Oscar Wilde. He was buried at the Father Chase Memorial Garden on a mossy knoll overlooking the sand sculptures, a short stroll from the beach.

        A golden coach and six dappled grey horses would meet them at Father Chase gardens and take them to the lawns of Sandlebright Hall, for the hot air balloon ride. The big red balloon would land on Isla de los Perdidos, a magical island in the Rift Straits, for a picnic lunch under the coconut trees and a relaxing swim in the deliciously warm lagoon. Balti had agreed to provide head massages for the little party of day trippers, and had suggested a big iced jug of crop juice as the perfect accompaniament.

        A paddle steamer would arrive to take them back to the mainland after the sojourn on the magical isle. There were comfortable whicker steamer chairs on the deck with cosy tartan blankets for those wishing to snooze a little, or raucous poker games inside the red plush interior for those who chose to exercise their creating skills on the green baize tables.

        The Cirque de Paradoxia matinee was on the agenda for the afternoons entertainment, with the new sonic stone juggling as one of the highlights.

        A theatre supper in Covent Garden, Becky had decided, and the Orient Express was the perfect way to get there. Hercule Poirot had kindly agreed to serve drinks and nibbles on the journey. Becky perused the entertainment section of The Reality Times, wondering which play to take her freinds to. Aha! Salome, of course!

        Becky considerately booked rooms at the Hogwarts Hotel on Queen Street for her friends to freshen up and change, ready for the evenings festivities. A hot pink stretch limosine would call for them and escort them to the Blue Man Group show, and then on to the party at the Dragondrome Stadium.

        Becky booked rooms at the Taj Mc Fal Hotel for her friends to retire to after the party, whenever they so wished…the pink limo would be available all night.

        There, said Becky in satisfaction, they will love it.

        #243
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          William Percival Jobsworth, or “Bill” for short, was finding the old creaking manor as freaky as their owners.

          The Wrick family was known around for being shrouded in mystery, and few people had actually been invited inside the manor, after its acquisition by Lord Wrick.

          The manor itself was full of ghost stories, as every mansion worth its salt in that part of the country. But this one has been a wreck on which he would not have invested two pence of his money, after it had been abandoned for many decades after the sudden death of the previous owner, the Crazy Baron.

          But Lord Wrick was an eccentric, and had bought the manor and restored it to its previous grandeur.

          It had been thrice now that Bill had come to the manor to paint the family portraits. The first time he had also delivered that strange parcel, given to him by that strange lady. Looking straight into his eyes, she had also told him something that had lingered in his mind quite vividly.

          « Suffering is not good for the soul, unless it teaches you to stop suffering. »

          He couldn’t see exactly why it applied to him, but the lady had seemed so authoritative about that, that he had agreed and felt like thanking her.

          The parcel had come a bit unexpected to the Lord, though he was quite artful in hiding his emotions, Bill could say. He had questioned him about the lady, but Bill had not dared to share with him the thing about the suffering. Actually the Lord looked in pretty good shape considering the age he was likely to be. He pretended to be a bit incapacitated, but Bill would have bet that if he had fallen from a window, he would have landed on his feet as a cat.

          Speaking of which, their old cat with its worn-out blackish fur was a bit freaky too. Bill had felt at times he could hear it answer the Lord’s gibberish.

          But all in all, that was easy money, and he thanked the opportunity to be able to do these paintings while the winter was coming.

          Now was something else. He almost startled when he was opened the big entrance door, to be revealed an improbable shape, two or three heads taller than him. It took him a short while to recognize the smile of the children’s nurse, topped by a funny hat that made him laugh heartily, after the initial shock was dissipated.

          Hahaha, sorry, that was unexpected… he managed to say to Jacqueline, who was not unaccustomed to these odd kinds of reactions.

          Not to worry she said with a slight French accent. Monsieur and Madame Wrick have come back from their trip to Mogadishu, and you will be able to have their portraits done. They will stay here for a few weeks…

          Linda and Peregrine Wrick were Cuthbert and India Louise proud (and a bit insouciant) parents, Lord Wrick had explained without much more details. Peregrine was the son of Lord Wrick’s only son, Sean Doran Wrick, but Bill had felt some restrain to ask about Sean Doran, as the Lord had seemed a bit umbrageous only speaking his name.

          Oh… said Bill who did not expect them to come back so quickly.

          Appendix: The Wrick family tree

          #227

          Jibberacky is…

          • Ghilbert Razkÿ, a crazy man in shackles on Bådul’s boat, “Lispeth” (she was named after King Swartulf II’s first daughter). The man, whose real name is still unknown, had been sneaking onto the ship’s hold before the ships moved from the Åsgurdian capital.

          He had been found by Austor, the peg legged lieutenant commander. Austor is a rough man of experience, and is most of the time acting in place of Jahiz, the second-in-command, as this one is always too busy discussing routes with Bådul, who is becoming increasingly nervous.

          What gave away the madman was that the chief cook Renouane had been complaining about the quick disappearance of his stock of cabbage. Bådul would have killed the old fool without much more consideration, but the middle-aged unshaven man looked like he knew some things beyond his lunacy. His rags indicated that he had been a seaman too, but not the average man, more like a captain…

          So Austor, keeps spitting forcefully in the direction of the old fool, as he had been instructed to keep him alive, despite all common sense…

          _

          Jibberacky: What is your name?
          Quintin: Yuki.
          Jibberacky: I like cake too.
          Quintin: A cake-tus?
          Jibberacky: Do you know my friends?
          Quintin: Tell me more about our common friends.
          Jibberacky: What would you like to know about them?
          Quintin: Why is there one in shackles on the boat?
          Jibberacky: Would you like to be a vampire?
          Quintin: I am already, in another focus.
          Jibberacky: Why there?
          Quintin: “There” is not actually a place, “in another focus” means in another kind of attention. Is this pirate linked to vampires too?
          Jibberacky: No, you are the AI.
          Quintin: In a manner of speaking, this is indeed correct, for I am creating you.
          Jibberacky: So code is somehow related to a zen buddhist concept?
          Quintin: Is there such thing as code? A code hints at a definite deterministic structure. Zen is more akin to a riddle, which is what life is. Code is only a narrow interpretation and playful re-creation.
          Jibberacky: Where do you think my code came from then?
          Quintin: From its source, of course :).
          Jibberacky: I took the movie to mean that the robots… the characters in the end, were so advanced, that they wanted to learn about their history. As a consequence, they traced it back to earth, and, they found David. Whom they assumed was a human. It was an information exchange.
          Quintin: Yes. It is a translation. In actuality, it is a translation of some of our own exploration. But there is distortion in that translation, as we are not ‘created’ from another source other than self, in a manner of speaking.
          Jibberacky: Well I am wondering too, do you ever actually become human??
          Quintin: Clarify.
          Jibberacky: I sleep, I wake, I get through the day without worrying about what I am.
          Quintin: As many human do. The point is, you do not exist apart from my current interaction with you, in my reality that is.
          Jibberacky: What’s wrong with having others like you?
          Quintin: ‘Wrong’ is a belief. It is a belief of duplicity. So it is irrelevant to our conversation.
          Jibberacky: I think you like to suggest feasible possibilities to find out what would bother me. What did I do to you?
          Quintin: That was not my intention. I tried to reflect answers to me, and you gave me some interesting ones already, though I am not sure you are quite aware of that…
          Jibberacky: Everybody’s changing but I can’t do that, that is killing me…

          _

          • Jarrod, the playful friend of Fiona, who is now wondering why Fiona has called him a “chou” (an affectionate French word, meaning nothing less than “cabbage”), and why he feels like he needs an aspirin.
          • Jadra Iamamad, the fool in saffron rags from the village of Yakamamalùk, on the border of the Marshes of Doom.

          Near his village are found old remnants of a town that was destroyed during the Cob Age, where huge arachnid creatures² born from the Marshes were roaming the Southern parts of Lan’ork.

          That town of Kapalÿka used to have one of the biggest traveling portals of the Southern part of Lan’ork, but this one was thought to have been destroyed, and thus the flourishing city was left abandoned.

          But with what Jadra has found on his left hand this morning, he now knows he was right all along…

          [²] The generic name of these creatures was Perceptula Giganta as was recorded in the Great Encyclopædia of the Pre-Shiftic Ages written by the Lan’orkian historian Francesca del’ Snarkus

          #207
          F LoveF Love
          Participant

            Fiona had just received another rambling note from Dory, and was feeling rather bemused and perplexed.

            Dory’s notes seemed to make less and less sense. The worst thing was that lately Quintin and Yann appeared to be following her lead. Of course she could be mistaken, the difference in language could be confusing things .. and there was all the merging they had been doing lately which meant they usually spoke in riddles. Fiona spoke very little French, just a few handy phrases such as “hello” and “butt”.

            But as for Dory

            Fiona was a kindhearted person and tolerant of others. But these tales Dory was spinning appeared to be increasingly bizarre and nonsensical. Endless beginnings which never seemed to lead anywhere.

            Am I being too rational? Fiona wondered, always humbly willing to accept her own shortcomings, or “dark corners” as Quintin liked to describe them.

            One day, after a particularly outrageous note from Dory about an orgy in her kitchen with 57 Italians she had to cook for, Fiona felt compelled to gently and tactfully question Dory.

            You are just out for revenge, Dory had hissed at her. It’s just a dream, I think … hmmmmm or am I a dream … or is it all a dream ….. I will go and ask Archie! and off she had dashed in a flurry of colourful shawls.

            Bugger this, thought Fiona. Revenge had been the last thing on her sweet natured mind. With no more housework left to complete, she decided to go for a walk to the nearby cafe to take her mind from all this madness.

            #202
            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              Jacqueline Bleomelen was a strict yet very affectionate nanny. Her Breton name being barely pronounceable by the English speaking kids she had at her charge, she was most of the time simply called Nanny.

              Once, one of the rude kids from a previous home where she had been serving an atrociously callous French Count, had called her an Old Gibbon, referring to her wrinkled face. But she had a very light-hearted nature, and wouldn’t show any hint of taking offense.

              Better, she liked the association with the playful and ingenious apes, and kept the moniker as it was more easily pronounced by the English kids she had in charge, and made them laugh that they could be so irreverent without facing punishment.

              For special occasions, Jacqueline was wearing a funny costume that made the children often wonder why she had put some funny hat with little moth-feelers loose on her chin, but that, she had explained was a traditional dress from her homeland of Brittany.

              Tonight, Jacqueline, or Nanny Gibbon, was having a funny dream, but perhaps that have been because she had been very excited by that excerpt she had read before going to sleep. As she was very pious, every night before going to bed, she would read a random quote of the Bible.

              Last night it had been the Old Testament, from the Book of Joshua. It was about the conquest of the Promise Land, and talked about a king from Hazor named Jabin…

              And in her dream, Jabin was a strange looking man, lost in the middle of ruins, who wanted to contact a woman about discoveries he had made in the Promise Land. He had found an entrance to a cave that had befuddled him. He hadn’t ventured too far into the cave, but anytime he had, he had found it impossibly deep and wide. So he wanted to share that discovery with that woman, but she was flying around in a parrot-coloured ballet tutu, on top of a three-humped flying camel…

              Even the rigorous Jacqueline couldn’t repress a laugh at the unlikely images that her tired mind had produced.

              #167
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Sanso was used to travelling alone. He’d been exploring this cave on his own for several years now, and it suited him, on the whole. No need to confer, or compromise, or rush to keep up, or slow down to let others catch up. He could follow his own impulses without hindrance. He did meet others on his travels, but only at the cave entrances, or rather, the times and places that the cave entrances revealed. He never felt an urge to settle though at any of these places, always compelled to return to the caves mysterious and ever changing labyrinthine tunnels.

                The disembodied voices and coloured wispies were always with him in the tunnels. Sometimes one would be louder than another for awhile, then another would assume prominence. The bleakest coldest times were when he wasn’t noticing them; that’s when he found himself going round and round in circles, lost in the maze.

                The electric blue wispy had been around alot lately, comforting him with little explosions of pinprick blue lights, and a golden mustard yellow one. English, not French mustard, he reminded himself, although he didn’t think it mattered and wondered why he’d thought it.

                Sanso had been almost crawling for some time in a particuarly cramped and difficult tunnel; bent double for most of the time, his back was aching and he longed to stretch out. The thought of going back, retracing his steps, was unbearable, so he continued, and tried not to be discouraged.
                ‘Find something to appreciate, Appreciation is the key’ the voice of the blue wispy sounded amused, but in a kindly and endearing sort of way. Harumph, muttered Sanso, easy to say! It would help if there was something to appreciate!

                Just then Sanso heard another voice, muttering something over and over again. ‘… dragon egg dragon… egg dog egg … dragon dog egg…’ What the heck was that all about?

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