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      — Who are you? said Alana. And how did you get here?

      The man who was standing before her was smiling mysteriously. She was staring at him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the hint of fear on her face. What was puzzling her most was that she didn’t know who he was working for, was he an agent of the Baron? It was quite unlikely. The French man Langlade had always been working alone since his misadventure with Harry, and the Baron wouldn’t double his agent if unnecessary.

      — My name is Andrimiñ. And as of how I got here… let’s say I know how to get through :) What matters is that I’m here to offer you my assistance…

      His smile was quite hypnotic, and she almost lost track of what was happening (very unusual of her) when a few knocks on the door and Mr Isashi’s voice reminded her of her guest.

      Are you all right, Aunt?

      The man was staring at her with his blue eyes, she had a strange feeling and she knew she had to move quickly.

      Aunt? Is there someone with you? I heard a man…

      — I can show you how to activate the skull, Atiara. And help you with this man.

      Suddenly she knew she could trust him. Something in his last words… there was much unsaid, and the name he gave her… she was having the weirdest feelings about it. As if it was perfectly fitting. She smiled to him, her tensions released. He was now looking at the door.

      — Bring our guest in, Mr Isashi.

      The face she turned to the door was full of a new strength, mixed with a strange feeling of familiarity.


      In reply to: Synchronicity


        Some interesting syncs:

        Discussing the comment on Franiel and Vincentius with Francie, some things of interest:

        F: hahaha i laughed at the egg bit :egg_wink:
        E: bit silly I reckon :)) but somehow it synch’ed with two movies we’ve been watching yesterday
        F: yes, good to have a bit of silly in our otherwise serious story :|
        E: In one, there is that :ghost: ghost girl who stalks her husband new love affair, and ends up speaking through a parrot
        And the other, there is this shaman old woman who remote-views her people went on a quest, and ends up dying in stead of a girl, so that the young one lives…

        F: oh that is like your plants in the courtyard dream too —just had a recollection of you saying one gave up its pot for the other one
        E: Oh yes, true… Perhaps it’s just like a layering, like you do for strawberries, you use parts of the roots to do new plants…
        “Layering is more complicated than taking cuttings, but has the advantage that the propagated portion can continue to receive water and nutrients from the parent plant while it is forming roots.”

        E: “In air layering (or marcotting), the target region is wounded and then surrounded in a moisture-retaining wrapper such as sphagnum moss ;))

        Peat moss is also a critical element for growing mushrooms” that’ll make Tracy happy :))
        In New Zealand, care is taken during the harvesting of sphagnum moss=))

        F: “it can also be used as a substrate for tarantulas as it is easy to burrow into:spider:

        E: “Such Sphagnum bogs can also preserve human hair and clothing, one of the most noteworthy examples being Egtved Girl , Denmark”. Egg and B.C. sync :))

        F: cool name, Egtved. Oh thats interesting about the Egtved girl: due to be public this month
        E: oh, well spotted!
        F: shall we all pop over and check it out
        E: Ahahaha sure :world:


          Another probable Becky hit send on her computer, and grinned wickedly. She had amused herself greatly writing her new storyline for the Reality Play, it had taken her mind off her cold.

          Becky wandered into the kitchen where Sean was clearing up after dinner and gave him a kiss. That rhubarb crumble was delicious darling, wherever did you learn to cook like that!

          Aha, replied Sean, It’s a secret recipe of Manon’s, she made me swear not to tell anyone. The secret, he continued, and dropped his voice to an enigmatic whisper, The secret is the groiselles.

          Sean picked up the empty crumble dish to put it in the dishwasher, revealing a handwritten note that had been underneath it.

          Sean recognized Becky’s handwriting, and smiled fondly at her. Oh, what have we here! he said, and started to read. Becky was frowning, perplexed. She hadn’t written a note to Sean in THIS probability!


          In reply to: Synchronicity


            I guess this falls under the category of syncs, though I’ve not yet found all of the implications of this yet…

            In the various extremely interesting and profound articles I found while browsing the news this morning, I found an intriguing article (FR): “She punches a snake with her bare hands!”. (they could have say “with her bare feet!” or better, “with her bare tits!”, that would have sounded more dramatic, and would have sold best… those wannabe journalists ;)) )

            Anyways, it tells the vibrant story of a woman named Ruth Butterwurth (sounds like our dear Mrs Butterbutt to me) who punched a python to rescue her kitty from its clutches (well no clutches really, fangs at best) of the monster.

            The article (which was posted the 23 rd of March, at 14:23, while it’s seems relatively old news) gave a link to a flickr photo with… guess what was on the same page, besides the Nanapython?

            A lemur, an antelope (looking a bit like a :goat: :yahoo_oh_go_on: ) and a lynx :cat_happy: too. :spider: :y_orly: :yahoo_big_hug:

            On the python article:

            In Greek mythology Python was the earth-dragon of Delphi, always represented in the vase-paintings and by sculptors as a serpent. Pytho was the chthonic enemy of Apollo, who slew her and remade her former home his own oracle, the most famous in Classical Greece.

            Mmm, Mrs Butterbutt and draggies? :detective:


              When Franiel got to the crossroads the path turned abruptly to the left and plunged sharply down, past a crumbling and long-deserted stone cottage, to a little bridge built across a gently flowing river. Beyond the bridge there was a short ascent westwards through a thickly wooded area and then the way opened out rather suddenly. Such a pleasant and restful scene welcomed Franiel that for a moment he felt he may have entered a dream. The air was fragrant, the grass was sprinkled with daffodils and shaded by great chestnut trees. Confronting Franiel, at the south-west corner of the green, was a massive stone lych-gate. Beyond the lynch gate, and almost hidden by trees Franiel could see the roof of Chesterhope Manor.


              In the day of judgment God be merciful to Derwent a sinner ……hehehehe. Well good riddance to God’s judgement! Begone God’s judgement! We’ve cheated the parson, we’ll cheat him again, for why should the vicar have one in ten ? Oh what’s this now then walking through the gate? A stranger! hehehehehe…tis one of God’s angels methinks, perhaps come to strike old Derwent down for his heathen ways and blasphemous tongue. Well does old Derwent even know what an angel looks like? and he chuckled in delight at the very idea of it.

              You there! he shouted as Franiel drew close, Are you the angel Gabriel come as a messenger of God’s wrath? Or a wandering stranger come to pass the time of day with me?

              Well neither really, said Franiel, although of the two possibilities I favour the second. I have come to have a word with Madame Chesterhope.

              Madame Chesterhope! Does she still live here then? He lowered his voice reverently. A real angel that one, better than those biblical ones by a long shot. So you want a word in her ear. You will have to find it first of course.

              Should I try the house? asked Franiel politely.

              Try the house? Derwent rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. I tell you what! Try the magic mushrooms first, and when you’ve tried them, try the patience of Saint Derwent. He gave Franiel a kindly pat on the shoulder. Good on you for trying Lad, anyway. I’ll bid you farewell now and if you do find an ear, best keep it, a spare ear can always come in handy.


              In reply to: Synchronicity


                Last night the guests asked where Lucknow Crescent was as they had friends to visit. I had heard of it, but being really bad with directions just gave them a map.

                Today, walking home from the supermarket I started thinking about synchs. At that moment some workmen in a truck pulled up and asked me if I knew where Lucknow Crescent was.

                Thinking about this synch … a couple of things struck me … the name is interesting and also that I did not know where it was.

                (just as i wrote that i noticed a monarch butterfly out of the corner of my eye fly in front of the window, the association here for me is a quote from Abraham I like about the meaning of butterfly signs .. or synchs )

                As a sort of symbolic thing, i am going to find out were Lucknow Crescent is. As soon as I went to look it up i suddenly remembered where it was.


                In reply to: Synchronicity


                  previous comment

                  catching up…

                  After we introduced the Italian Arch-Agent Gabriel to the story, there was a story in our local paper on crime writers with two authors featured.

                  One of these was Quintin Jardine. The section started with the words:

                  “If there are such things as angels” the big detective whispered “that’s what they look like.”

                  The detective who spoke them was an Italian.

                  The other author featured, was French crime writer Fred Vargas, (who is a woman, also a renowned archeologist). I really enjoyed reading what she had to say in the article regarding her philosophy on life and writing.

                  The articles were edited by Finlay McDonald.


                  With some physical health problems which have reared their head the last little while I have also been aware of the number of “angels” in my life, in fact have sort of had a game where I call them angels to myself … the massage angel i met, the cafe angel etc etc etc. Mr X gave me the name of some people who do gardening, as the property was getting out of hand. They went well out of the way, and I was thinking how they were my gardening angels …. later they gave me their business card. Their business name is “Gardening Angels”


                  The book I picked randomly on my trip to Auckland is The Traveller I had not heard of it before but apparently it is a best seller and part one of a trilogy :yahoo_rolling_eyes:

                  There are aspects of it which sort of remind me of our story, travelers who travel between dimensions etc

                  John Twelve Hawks is the author, I think he is a recluse or something, nobody seems to know much about him.



                  I love T’s eggs falling from the sky synch .. it felt like abundance and magic :creating_magic:


                    Hang on a minute, Sam said to the Nanaconda. I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve dealt with this bucket of dung.

                    The rainbow Nanaconda raised her eyebrows (or gave the impression of that facial expression, at any rate).

                    As Sam tipped the bucket out, hundreds of dung beetles scurried in every direction.

                    Whoa! exclaimed Sam, taking an involuntary step backwards.

                    Nanaconda sniggered in a somewhat sinister fashion and said, Ah, the Symbolic scarab beetles strike again.

                    As Sam stood transfixed by the sight of the beetles running in all directions, an extraordinary thing happened. All the beetles stopped moving, as one, and then with a seemingly united purpose, they all started moving in the same direction. Within seconds a long black army of dung beetles marched off across the field.

                    Sam picked up the empty bucket and followed them.

                    Nanaconda followed him, grinning wickedly.


                      Vessie Darl, Sha and I are just popping down to the beach for some more of them special beauty sea waters you told us about.

                      Great idea, Gloria, responded Veranassessee vaguely. She watched absent-mindedly as Gloria’s generous body, clad only in a skimpy red bikini, disappeared down the corridor. There was something about that shade of red tugging at her memory. Vermillion red …

                      Red! PLAN B! Oh my God! how could she have forgotten!

                      It was two days since she had called him, that meant he would be here soon, that did not leave her much time to prepare.


                      Everything has to be perfect. She wears a silk vermillion red camisole, the one he gave her, scarcely covered by lush black velvet and topped with bright red lipstick. She casts her eyes critically around the room. It is nearly three years since she has seen him, she doesn’t want to spoil this moment. The glasses of soft red merlot are ready, a plate of miniature liqueur chocolates on a plate by the bed.

                      She shakes out her long dark hair and looks in the mirror. Her chocolate skin glows, her eyes are bright. She will do. She touches the red silk camisole … it is still beyond her comprehension how she can have forgotten.

                      When he arrives he is beautiful. Too beautiful. she thinks. It is so easy for him, effortless. He appraises the room and laughs casually, he knows how hard she has tried. Agent V he says, a pleasure to see you again. He kisses her. She remembers everything.

                      He takes a sip of the wine. She watches him, unsure of herself. He has a black bag with him.

                      He looks at her, sees her looking at the bag, and smiles slowly, I have something to show you, Agent V, he says, and she can sense his pride, the barely suppressed excitement in his voice.

                      He opens the bag carefully, pulls out a small white box, handles it lovingly. Two years experimentation in the Russian lab, he says softly, delicate threads of spun blue bonnet spider silk and yet strong enough to hang a bridge on.

                      He looks at her. Come here. he says

                      She hesitates for just a moment thinking of Mahiliki, and then inwardly shrugs, bugger it, I never really wanted to live on Fukitupi island and have loads of babies anyway. She moves over to him. He takes the transparent silk and slowly starts to wind the delicate thread around her wrists. Try and break it, he whispers in her ear, kisses her neck.

                      Then stops.

                      My God, what the fuck is that?

                      Veranassessee sighs.


                      No I swear Sha, I am telling you, I saw him go into Vessie’s room.

                      Oh my God Glor, he might be a murderer, or a bloody rapist even!

                      I tell you though, he were right bloody gorgeous.

                      Well never mind that! The door is locked Sha. I think we’d better shout out. Make sure she’s okay.

                      Right, good idea. And then if she doesn’t answer we can bash the door in and we can both pounce on him.

                      Right, on the count of three Glor, we’‘ll shout out, one… two… THREE!”


                        These are MY eggs! Nobody touches my eggs!
                        Oh come on, you’re not gonna make these ostrich eggs hatch Cathy… Better have them made into a nice big omelet for our guests… Fleur said with a tentative smile.
                        And why use MY eggs for that?! Moooom, she’s trying to steal my eggs…

                        What’s with all that fuss here? a coarse, yet sensual female voice said in the background of the kitchen.
                        Mom, she wants to make an omelet with the eggs that granddad gave me…
                        Calm down Catherine, will you… Is that true Fleur?
                        Err… Madam Wrick, I suppose it was only a stupid joke… Thing is that wasn’t such a bad idea… There will be quite a few guests tonight, and… she began to falter as the eyebrows of Dorean Wrick were taking a more severe look. Err… I’m sorry, M’am, I’ll send Raster fetch some food for a nice meat pie, will it be nice?
                        Perfect. That settles the matter then… Catherine, go back to your room, and let Fleur work. I’ll send you a maid to help you be prepared for our guests arrival.
                        Yes, Mum.

                        What a silly idea Theobald, her father have had, to give her step-daughter those eggs for her birthday… Big funny green eggs. He’d said they were ostrich eggs, but there were no ostrich in Mexico, as far as she knew. Of course, now the little girl’s only idea was to have the birds hatch and to mount them and ride in the slopes of Ireland.
                        This family was definitely insane, Dorean was thinking.
                        At least, she had thought her own branch of the family tree had been spared by the folly of her relatives and their attraction for occult and intangible things, but with that odd gift, it seemed to her more than likely that her father had followed the steps of his wricked brother… Or perhaps it was only an old man’s way of passing time. But knowing her father down-to-earth nature, that was not like him. He didn’t do things out of a whim, and there was probably more than met the eye having to do with the funny eggs…

                        A few days ago, shortly after New Year’s eve and stepping into year 2034, she’d had received an unexpected parcel from her cousin, Sean Doran. A couple of wrapped books, he was asking her to keep in store for him. She always had liked her cousin, though they had only met two or three times when they were children. Thing was, family matters were more a wrickage than anything else, and they had barely kept in touch over the years.
                        She had distractedly opened the big ornate leather-bound books only to discover they were blank. What was the purpose of all of this, she didn’t know. But unlike most people, Dorean wasn’t interested in others’ businesses. She would keep the books, whatever they meant.

                        And she had more pressing matters now.
                        Her guest were coming. Elvira and her demented husband were moving back, and were due to arrive tonight after a rather long expatriation in the lands of Russia. Having met that strange and impressive individual, the perspective of getting away in a foreign land leaving all the past behind, all of this had most probably saved Elvira from her depressive mood…
                        But she had been so isolated from her past that Dorean suspected that these almost thirty years abroad would have changed her profoundly.


                        In reply to: Synchronicity


                          Tracy is making the most of not being able to post and asked me to post some synchs for her:

                          Tracy: thanks for posting the comments!
                          Francie: okay, i will do that other one
                          Francie: you love it eh?
                          Francie: it appeals your head counterpart side
                          Tracy: lobe what?
                          Francie: making me post for you
                          Tracy: hahahaha yeah its like having staff


                          Francie: i took george to vet today for check up
                          Tracy: hows he doing?
                          Francie: well while we were all discussing vaccinations, he nosed open the door and went careering around the vets
                          Tracy: hahahaha
                          Francie: down to visit all the sick dogs. Like a crazy thing
                          Tracy: oh how funny. Oh I bet they all loved it
                          Francie: oh yes hilarious
                          Tracy: I kept thinking today that any distraction, was taking Bills mind off the pain
                          Francie: yeah
                          Tracy: and so was George!
                          Francie: ahahahahha
                          Tracy: ahhaah I synced with george!
                          Francie: hahahah!
                          Francie: yes
                          Tracy: would you write that in syncs under my name please
                          Francie: okay


                          Francie: what does a jewel on the forehead signify?
                          Tracy: A flock of coots is known in the US as a cover
                          Tracy: um, not sure, like an Indian thing?
                          Tracy: why?
                          Francie: some of my frogs had jewels on their foreheads, and then i watched a movie with jewels on foreheads
                          Tracy: is it a Sikh thing? Or is it the chakra
                          Francie: don’t know
                          Tracy: which chakra is that or is it the third eye… What colour jewels?
                          Francie: tarotteachings blogspot
                          Tracy: ralphmag
                          Francie: there is another 8 synch in that tarot one
                          Francie: oh wow, a magazine synch Tracy
                          Tracy: she understands, with a profound and inherent wisdom, that the universe is a magical and abundant place.
                          Tracy: thats cool huh… What?
                          Francie: the link you gave me: read the last paragraph
                          Tracy: I was thinking about the magazine yesterday… WOW F, the last paragraph!
                          Francie: yes!
                          Tracy: would you post it on syncs for me?
                          Francie: yes
                          Tracy: please
                          Tracy: I missed that bit, I just noticed the ittiel
                          Tracy: tille
                          Tracy: title



                            A small impish gnomesque figure wearing a black and white tunic adorned with a silver blazon was standing in front of Claude, formerly known as Number Four.
                            Claude was reading to fight, and extricate himself of that stinky situation, starting to feel the powerful strength the treatment had given him and feeling virtually unstoppable.
                            Considering that such a small individual, especially unarmed, wasn’t much of a threat, he stopped in his track, wondering if that was part of a subtle stratagem.

                            What do you want?
                            We do not want you harm, stranger. We are aware of the experiments which have been done on you, and we are sorry for what has been done…
                            Oh, don’t be, I feel better than I’ve been in ages
                            Yes, we saw that, though we are not that sure that the treatment effects are permanent either…
                            Not permanent? What have you done to me?
                            Nothing. There is nothing to fear from us, we are peaceful. We are a wing of a group of individuals whose primary skills lay in robbing. We are mostly hired to retrieve precious possessions in great discretion and you could consider yourself lucky to have seen us in our true form.
                            Us? How many are you?
                            A few… We gave you a mixture of plants and magnetite powder to help you stabilize your situation, apparently it has succeeded.
                            Mmm, perhaps yes…
                            Another thing you probably want to know before we help you get rid of these bandages if you want. During your sleep, you muttered lots of things, one of which was a name: “Sasha”.
                            Yes. I’m afraid we believe that the individual you were calling is dead. We monitored the doctor’s assistant when she disposed of the body. It was not pretty. I thought you should know.

                            Despite his mission, Claude couldn’t help but feel sorry; Sasha’s sweet voice had been such a comfort during the last days of his transformation…

                            Robbers they say… Hope we’re not after the same thing…


                              There you are! said the man to the dark figure who had just landed on the wrought iron railed balcony I believe your trip was good!
                              Absolutely, Sir. Everything went as you said.
                              Good, very good.

                              The Baron was a tall man with an impressive build and a broad chest due to his lifelong passion for boxing. With his grey waxed moustache on his round rubicund face, he was giving the impression of a perfectly refined gentleman, but his disarrayed hair and his blue twinkling eyes behind his monocle were contrasting sharply and suggesting either a genius or a madman.

                              While Carla was getting rid of the cumbersome fly-like apparatus, the Baron was taking deep puffs on his pipe, releasing pink-coloured clouds smelling of vanilla.
                              The interior of the manor was of grisly aspect, but for all matter and purposes, the Baron seemed completely oblivious, as he was savouring his smoking on the stained worn bottle-green velvet sofa.
                              In actuality, the manor looked like a total ruin, and that, combined with the habit of speaking his mind which had gained him a reputation of heinous callous grizzly in society, had slowly severed him from all exterior contact.
                              The Crazy Baron, as the people of the nearby village had called him, was indeed very glad of this state of fact, which allowed him a complete privacy. As he liked to say to a few trusted people, being mad was the surest way of being left alone. Providing him what money, threats and coercion wouldn’t surely have given as surely. It was not completely safe either of incursion, but these, mainly due to a few young and curious daredevils from the village, could be easily thwarted thanks to the motion-sensors that were dispersed along the property and an appropriate anonymous call to the police. Because, unknown of but a few, underneath the old structure, was a room that, despite lacking a view, was not lacking of anything high-tech…

                              Do you want to know the details? asked Carla, interrupting the Baron in his thoughts.
                              Not really. I suppose you gave that old crone of a Viscountess the fright of her life, but well, I suppose she deserved it… Many would agree of course, though never in private. Ahah!
                              Well, now you make me think of it, I reckon she forgot herself a bit in the process…
                              Ahahah! If only it could have taught her something… The manic laughter of the Baron was as chilling as it was infectious.

                              Suddenly regaining his poised demeanour, the Baron resumed:
                              Now, tell me, was it a genuine one?


                              In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud


                                A cloud-assisted demented rewrite, just for fun…

                                PERPLEXED BY THAT PARTICULAR case, THE sheriff HAD HIS glassES floatING BEFORE HIS eyeS.

                                SOME mean rather weird beings… THE brotherHOOD OF magic NEEDED TO SEND Elikozoe INTO A space Craft TO CARE FOR THE boy WHO felt six motherSHIPS COMING IN HIS dreams.

                                DURING THESE moments easily FORGOTTEN, SOME others young legends WERE sent Aside TO answer AND bounce WITH alone aspects THAT wondered HOW TO keep focused.

                                THE trees WERE laughing “yeah!” THEY SAID, AS Anita FELT cold AMONG THE roseS randomLY SCATTERED.
                                SOME told HER ABOUT love, AS SHE asked WHETHER dragons REALLY seemed LIKE nothing ELSE SHE HAD SEEN BEFORE.

                                Chris turned wondering ABOUT nature THESE days WHEN everyone, Elizabeth INCLUDED, KEPT thinking WHAT THEIR hair looked LIKE FROM behind.

                                DEEP inside, SOME help began slightly TO COME TO THE lady AS SOON AS THE dark cloud HAD taken HER TO sleep. THE truth IN particular WAS LIKE A friend WITH purple COLOURS AND A skull IN HIS HAND, WHO sat WAITING FOR HER.
                                “let HOPE COME, despite whatever FATE bringS TO THE door! YOU must wait SOMETIMES, AS factS follow!”

                                Nice Tina WAS caught floating ON THE STREAM, AND moving ALONG IN A green jogGING GEAR WAS Joe, BOTH full OF IDEAS THAT gave THEIR friends AN experience NEWLY created. BUT THEY needed magpieS AND tried FOR THESE creatureS INSERTION TO work.

                                FOR Arona, ALL WAS happening ON Earth LIKE SOME important dream. IT WAS LIKE dancing IN A real play, WITH THE sea NEARBY.
                                A series OF dog-EARED BOOKS WERE NEARLY outside, AND deep INSIDE, SHE KNEW THE novelS WERE close TO surface OUR dimension, WITH HER head looking BEYOND, AS perhaps Yurick WOULD AGREE.
                                HIS heart often sounds interesting, BUT OF ALL THE ones SHE liked, IT SHOULD BE herself.
                                THE Duane SHALL BE rememberED, SHE thought, IN DUE times…

                                WITH THE goat, Anna suddenly giveS THE blue busy spiders SOME NEW reality, AND Kay IS getting hot. SHE HAD forgotten THAT handS COULD BE making names, AND SHOUTING HER CreEd, THE voice OF THE girl SAID IT matterED THAT THE story became shouted IN THE sky.
                                Eric WAS ENduring Sanso WHO loved THE sandY BEACHES.

                                STAYING clear THIS NEW year DEMANDS SOME self AWARENESS, ESPECIALLY ON THE yellow CHAKRA points, TO ALLEVIATE UNNECESSARY physical pain.

                                CLAD IN teal, SHE WAS waiting FOR HIS parents’ words TO HAVE moved AND TO BE connected. Franiel HAD FELT within HIMSELF four OLD fatherS’ ADVICES, AND HAD AGREED TO TALK TO Salome’S face AND ANSWER HER call THAT HAD APPEARED quickly UPON THE wall AND HAD BEEN wandering OVER HIS bed.
                                HE careD FOR THE past, AND THAT VISION WAS telling. IN THE morning, HE SAW IT AS A gift, SHINING IN SOME DISTANT island, LIKE A moviNG presence.

                                Yann VowED TO FIND HIS WAY IN THE soup OF linkS, AND FIND THE OLD godS’ energy THAT kept THE planetS MOVING.
                                HE heard SOMETHING, A FUGACIOUS moment following HIS ADMIRING OF THE beautiful weather, UNDER THE Glistening sun. A SINGLE dragon’S hands COULD nurse POTENT writing abIlITIeS, AND soon WOULD open GREAT awareNESS OF joy AND moveMENTS AND music WHICH WOULD MAKE HIM laugh OF ALL THAT HE WAS creating WITHIN THIS focus.

                                Tracy FEELS away OF THE action. IT seems QUITE human… NOTHING IS white DURING twilight, SHE noticed, AND FELT given TO understand.
                                AS MRS Bellamy, SHE WOULD HAVE stopPED LONG ago, HAD NOT come THAT powerful mummy.
                                WITH Georges startING TO APPEAR, worry BECOMES quietNESS FOR Jib, AND crystal-CLEARNESS FOR Sam.
                                MANY years AHEAD IN A GALAXY far-AWAY, ANOTHER Dory IS named AND readS ABOUT DR Bronklehampton’s WORKS.
                                HAVING TAKING leaveS, AND BEING gone FOR ALL, OLD Hrih DELVES INTO THE skulls AND HIS eyes SEE A next hope IN A book.
                                MovementS HAPPEN FOR Claudio already… THE world woke UP IN surprise.
                                A known sense OF TIMESPACE-travel APPEARS IN THE commentS, AS seen THROUGH light.

                                Akita’S body AND mind started TO ACT LIKE A saint AND FEEL strange under THE change.
                                “TO danGER, bugger!” WAS HIS decision NO longer… HE FELT warm… Towards THE worlds treeS, askING HIMSELF IF IT WAS A game, HE SAW TWO male children PLAYING against EACH OTHER.
                                THEY managed TO show HIM THAT THE Murtuane WAS familiar.
                                THE whole air WAS speaking. IT sort OF opened ITSELF SO THAT HE knew later OF THAT SPECIAL room OF TIME AND SPACE, AND HAD THE WIND AGAIN BRUSH HIS skin similar TO WHEN HE WAS seeing home IN HIS HEAD.

                                Felicity IN THE BEDlam SAW half-formS, COUNTING three OF THEM, INCLUDING Gustav IN THE saloon, AND Becky WHO WAS THINKING SHE WAS AGAIN IN THE wrong PLACE: A monastery!
                                SHE’D RATHER HAVE yourself BE A star, AND HERSELF BE HERE TO MAKE THE FUN postS AND playing lost.

                                Eight powers smiled: true saying!
                                THE sisters focuses IN THEIR caveS HAD SOME fine land TO PLAY WITH.
                                Apparently sound WAS key once, BUT THE VOICES IN THE night speak UNCEASINGLY, AND TO write SOME great stories, SPEAK strongLY. THEY seem TO BE feeling yesterday SOME perfect movements…

                                THE marmoset HAD FOUND A family, AND funny wordS TO process. IT laughed short GIGGLES
                                AS FOR myself, SAID THE cat TO Floyd, I’D create A party-LIKE life, WHERE I DO AS I please, AND LET paper WORK AND feelINGS AND desireS AND tryING AND tellING TO monkey.
                                THAT shapeD SOME fun, AND syncHRONICITIES AGAIN happened SHORTLY.

                                IN THE FLOWING water, “aum” SOUNDS RIPPLED IN A huge dear dance beginning TO REFLECT himself IN images. HE sighed AS HIS attention GOT INVOLVED IN THE trip AND HE remembered…
                                ON THE beach, obviously AWARE OF THE synchRONICITIES, THE creatures wanted TO CLAP THUNDEROUS applauseS.
                                LIVING THE dead GUYS’ ideaS…


                                  Before leaving the castle, the fake Viscountess needed to check something on the skull…
                                  Was it a genuine one? She had almost trusted the so-called experts of the auction room, while she knew perfectly well that they only could see what they knew. And they didn’t know as much as her.

                                  To her knowledge, there was only a handful of genuine old crystal skulls. But counterfeits were legions and a plague for such a skillful cat burglar as she was. Well, cat-burglar,… perhaps not as acrobatically as she used to… As a matter of fact, her life-long search for these skulls had suffered the competition of a little embonpoint… — the good thing being that those few sticky superfluous pounds had been perfect to impersonate the Viscountess.
                                  In the past, she had come across a few of these fake skulls and most of them bore very similar indications leaving her to think stakes were high that they were coming from the same con-artist.

                                  She methodically drew a little dagger from a scabbard at her belt. Going to one of the window, she drew one of the curtains a few inches to reveal the pale sun of Shropshire which was already fading.
                                  Then, she turned the jeweled hilt in such a special manner that a soft clicking sound was heard, and a beam of light started to converge from the sun rays into the dagger. She directed the ray coming from the tip of the dagger’s blade into the bottom of the skull, and hold her breath in expectation.

                                  Soon the skull started to glow a bluish light, and light poured out of the skull onto the walls in dancing symbols, while a soft buzzing sound was being heard around, started to drown her in a slightly dissociated state.
                                  She cut the dagger’s beam very quickly, her heart pounding at the validation. It was a genuine skull. One of the six.

                                  She had to hurry, she needed to proceed on her investigations to find the missing ones.

                                  The trunk was there. She took another key that she had around her neck, leaving the first one on the cupboard’s lock for the Viscountess to be freed as soon as she would be out.
                                  With the key, she proceeded to open the high-tech lock of the armored trunk which opened with a blow of air.

                                  Her jumpsuit was here, along with the two turbo-reactor powered condor-wings that she strapped on her jumpsuit in very professional movements.

                                  A few moments later, with her big dark sunglasses that gave her the appearance of an obese fly, Carla was flying high over the countryside of England, enjoying the soft gliding on the slightly damp air.


                                    The Story Vincentius told to Arona

                                    I was seven when my father died. He leapt into a swollen river to help a neighbor who was drowning. He saved the neighbor but could not save himself. Everyone called him a hero but my mother called him a stupid fool. She was filled with sadness for her loss, and anger that he would leave her in such a way. I remember she got a pair of big scissors from the sewing box and cut off her long hair. For weeks after that I would see her move her hand to brush her long hair away and suddenly realise it was no longer there and I would see her go still. Then her body would slump and she would stand there looking lost and not knowing what to do. One day her heart just stopped beating. They said she died of grief but I think it was that life had become an empty hole that just got deeper and darker. I don’t think that is the same as grief, but maybe it is. My three older sisters and I cried and cried when my father died, but I never once saw her cry.

                                    When my mother died we had to cry in secret, because my Grandmother Naja moved in to take care of us. She didn’t believe in crying. There were many things she didn’t believe in. Grandmother Naja ate like a bird, looked like a piece of old leather and moved like a skittery rabbit.

                                    Vincentius she would say to me, peering at me shortsightedly, you need to get bigger. Your parents are dead and you are now the man of the house. Every day she would poke me in the ribs and say Vincentius, you need to get bigger”. Every time she poked me I remembered all over again that I was not good enough and that my parents were dead.

                                    One day she sent Taffy, the second oldest sister out to the garden to get a cabbage. But there were no cabbages left the garden. Well! said Grandmother Naja, I can’t cook cabbage broth without any cabbage. So she gave Taffy a coin and sent my sisters into the Village to buy a cabbage from the market.

                                    I begged to go too.

                                    You are too small and you are too slow! said my sisters

                                    Eventually though they gave in to my pleading.

                                    I have often wondered if I knew the events that day would bring, if I would have begged so hard to go, mused Vincentius

                                    to be continued …


                                    In reply to: Synchronicity


                                      Oh this is a sync! When I was at Rosie’s (catching this flu, I might add) she had magnetic letters on her fridge and I was making words with them. She gave me a box of magnetic words so I can make poems on my fridge


                                        — So he wants us to paddle down a river of pea-soup, is that it, sweetie?
                                        Al was asking Tina, while playing with his teeth and gums…

                                        — Oh, I don’t have any clue really, sighed Tina who began to feel annoyed by Al’s constant fiddling with his mouth.
                                        — Well, not to worry then, except I’ve got focuses dead from poisoned pea-soup as far as I remember, so I am not overly enthusiastic about the whole pea-soup adventure… Better make it some more fluid…
                                        — And will you tell me what you’re doing now with that mouth of yours Albert? Last time that was the hair, then the nails… it seems you can’t get enough of these explorations of your body consciousness, can you? Tsss… Tumold aligned people…
                                        — Oh, this is fascinating, can’t you see, how fluid this all area is, despite the appearances.
                                        — If you say so…
                                        — Look!
                                        — Oh now, you’re being gross! Tina was positively appalled by Al’s behaviour
                                        — Oh, it’s funny, look… I can make my gums as malleable as marshmallow, and have my teeth float on that gum-soup…
                                        — Entirely fascinating… And I can also grow some new ones, what would you say of pointy teeth like cannibals?
                                        — Oh, come on, Tina was now no longer impressed… Have fun as you want, I’m going for a walk to help Becky buy her wedding dress… She wants something that looks “tribal” she said…

                                        Tina went outside shrugging at the toothy grin Al gave her.


                                          Linda and Pergrine’s portrait had taken a little longer than expected to realize. Quite abruptly after India’s encounter with the old wrinkled mummy, Bill Jobsworth had fallen ill. An abrupt cold he said he’d caught, that had left him stuck in his bed for a few weeks.
                                          He’d thought that after the stone heads and the mummy, that was good he didn’t believe in maledictions, because he would have been dead by now. India Louise had been taking care of him, to the surprise of the old Lord who, however, barely expressed more than a raised eyebrow at her incongruous request.

                                          That little retardation was in fact the perfect pretext for the young couple of globe-trotters to settle down in the castle, and prepare a little photographic exposition on their last trip in Eastern Africa. Though in 2057, photographic cameras were by far outdated, Linda was very fond of these old contraptions that she could use to render some of their trips with a certain kind of focus.
                                          She’d a custom set of specially adapted cameras that she’d enhanced with devices to free her of the burdens of storage mostly. However, they could function most like the ancient ones. Capturing light through a single lens, in a very focused time and space framework.

                                          She was very proud of the pictures she had taken of the Dragon’s Blood Trees in Socotra Island and the natural lighting of the scene gave a surreal feeling to it as though an actual iridescent dragon had been hovering on clouds above them.
                                          When she saw them, India Louise had been gaping, telling they looked exactly like what delirious Bill had depicted of his visions
                                          Linda was moved beyond words at how amazingly complex and delicately beautiful this reality was…


                                            Poêléed foie gras, goat tagine, roquette fig salad, sherry trifle, serrano ham, lobster in ginger…..

                                            Manon was going over her holiday menu and lists, wondering how on earth she would manage to cater for all tastes. What a houseful it was going to be.

                                            …..scallion soy sauce, steak and kidney pie, wild mushroom soup, ostrich fillets with dauphine potatoes, rhubarb crumble….

                                            …..Cuthbert! OY! Manon grabbed the boy as he rushed past grabbing a hot mince pie on his way to the stables.

                                            Here, take this with you, she said, thrusting a basket towards him, crushing the pastry he was clutching, and spilling hot mince all over his hand.

                                            AAArrgghh! MaNON! Cuthbert licked his burnt palm and glared at the cook.

                                            Manon gave him a swift slap round the back of the head and said, That’s your own bloody fault for nicking it in the first place. Go and pick the mushrooms for the soup, and some rhubarb for the crumble, and bring me some greens, too.

                                            Cuthbert groaned, But MaNON……..

                                            Bugger off and do it! Ask that Bill to help you, he just went outside, hurry and you’ll catch him.

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