Search Results for 'hot'

Forums Search Search Results for 'hot'

Viewing 20 results - 481 through 500 (of 528 total)
  • Author
    Search Results
  • #1620

    In reply to: Synchronicity

    F LoveF Love
    Participant

      Bubbles, skull, 3d software and other miscellaneous type synchs …

      When I left for my walk yesterday, Eric said to me “happy bubbling”, as I left cafe I picked up newspaper off the rack and there was a big photo of a little girl blowing bubbles on the front page. It was a lovely photo, one which had won a photo competition, the child looked very happy. I was wondering what bubbles meant to me, did not think of the 8 thing, but that is a good point.

      Yesterday I had a hair appointment. As I left the house my atttention was caught by a picture which came up on my computer of a skull Dusky Moana (children’s story about a photographer, treasure etc) Later I saw that Eric had started writing about the crystal skull again in the story. Eric’s comment

      As I leafed through a magazine at the hairdressers I was interested in a story about an artist who does his work using 3d software, (I don’t know much about it computer 3d stuff, so was interested to see Jib had been playing with 3d software yesterday. ahahah also George and I are obsessed with flies at the moment, is this a synch? I would love to see the image you did Jib!). It caught my attention because of another image of a girl blowing bubbles. Also because the artist started off saying:

      I was born in London, England on October 26 1958, the youngest of four and much to my parent’s surprise, I was born a dog.
      which I found very funny really, in fact I found his whole Bio very amusing. (ahaha also very amusing none of our numbers in his birthdate, that makes an intriguing change )

      In the interview it talked about how he worked as a photographer in a children’s ward for a number of years, and this greatly influenced his work, endowing his subjects with surreal otherwordly qualities to help them cope with life. Quite a few of them have sort of insect type appendages.

      Ray Caesar Bubbles

      also, just on the off chance anyone interested Ray Caesar’s Bio

      The other image which caught my eye in the magazine was this one of the world’s most valuable skull, made of diamonds: The Diamond Skull (Interesting I was getting the skull imagery I thought, because I have not really been able to quite follow the whereabouts of this skull in the story, it has perplexed and bemused me a bit.)

      Sorry to mess up the order of your next comment Eric. I often whisper my comments to myself when I don’t finish writing them in one go, and I was not expecting anyone else to be up writing. But I think that is a tremendous synch, particularly in relation to Tracy’s comment about the 888th comment and a huggy is a nice one for it to be. Tracy’s comment mentioning the 888th comment (Is this a synch or did Tracy already know about the 888th mark having been hit? oh who cares, lovely synch, that was evil twin popped in for a minute)

      I had a Sam synch, well this is getting long. But anyway I was thinking about spiders as I left the supermarket (long story as to why I was thinking about spiders), Anyway Jib and I had talked about spiders in the story earlier, and as I looked up I saw the car plate coming towards me was X SAM X ….. (what does this mean? is it sam surrounded by X’s? or kisses from Sam ? hahah well I think I will go with that one ) :yahoo_kiss:

      #1615

      In reply to: Synchronicity

      F LoveF Love
      Participant

        I just read T’s comment in the story: one for sorrow, two for joy (Malvina's Dragon Rookery # 509). As I was out driving along the road a little bit earlier, I noticed the number plates of a couple of cars coming towards me, 157 and then 257. I particularly noticed the “1” and “2” in sequence, and mentally laughed wondering if Tracy was playing a game and what we were counting too. Shortly after that 557 passed me.

        :fleuron:

        These comments really are very funny, the way they are lining up. I was going to write another comment in the story just now, but decided it was too hot, must be the hottest day ever I thought, and then laughed at myself because it is not really that hot ( hottest day this summer though I bet ). Next thing I looked at the daily quote and it is the one where Tina says:

        “Icy” is an exaggeration of course, said Tina, “it just meant I had to put a jacket on again today”. :yahoo_oh_go_on:

        #624

        Instantly Elizabeth regretted her spikey, voodish behaviour and scrambled to retrieve the telepooh. Her mother was Vood by nature, a particularly dysfunctional personality type, and Elizabeth had struggled all her life to avoid similar behavioural patterns. Her friends, and certainly her ex-husbands, would say perhaps with only partial success.

        Apologies Bronkel, I was engrossed in my writing. How can I help you?

        Bronkel appeared to be covered in bandages from what she could see of his upper torso, giving him the appearance of a rather odd mummy like creature. He was constantly searching for new beauty treatments to extend his youthful goodlooks, however at 167 years more and more desperate measures were being called for.

        Elizabeth! Thank God, Where in Flork’s name have you been? he shouted at her. His pudgy, prouty little face was scrunched in peevish vexation. I can’t talk for long, I am on the Island for a month and the connection is flork. Where in the name of Fock is the story you promised me?

        She could not find the words to reply to Bronkel. I wonder if I am mindblown? she mused. She had read of this horrible phenomenon, and seen the sad pictures of those thus afflicted. Poor wandering creatures, strange erratic behaviour, always travelling, always seeking. But for what? Hell on Dearth indeed. She shuddered.

        It is getting urgent you know, spluttered Bronkel. Every day I am reading of new treatment centers opening for those undergoing crisis due to the prolonged absence of the Fickle Four in their lives.

        She sighed, Pull yourself together Elizabeth, her bloodshot and tired eyes were drawn to the planetary horrorscope on the monthly calendar. Todays “Words of Comfort for the Descending” quotation was from the famous philosopher Lemone. She particularly loved Lemone’s ideas. Many considered him a nutter, a few thought he was a genius ahead of his time. For herself, she did not really know, only that his profoundly beautiful words offered a kind of solace or balm to her tortured soul at times such as this :

        Sometimes it takes a single sniggly thorny path to go through to reach Elysian avenues much more efficiently ~ Lemone

        Absolutely fantastic Bronkel, I think this is going to be the best novel yet! My God what an effort it took to say that, but for some reason Bronkel appeared to believe her and began to calm. Thank you Lemone, I could kiss you! she breathed an inward sigh of relief.

        Poke its eyes out! screeched Robert X exuberantly.

        A sniggly thorny path indeed, she thought, hanging up on Bronkel. She had fun using him and his island getaway for inspiration in her last novel. Fun, what happened to the fun? Is this what descended beings do, sit around in a dank, dusty office writing trashy novels?

        She began nervously smoothing out pieces of paper and tried to decipher the scribbled notes; …big soup party …..pointy teeth like cannibals…..tribal wedding ….

        Elizabeth put her head in her hands and groaned in abject despair. Twelve of the twenty mongoats fainted at the fearful sound.

        #623
        F LoveF Love
        Participant

          Elizabeth Tattler stared morosely at her screen. Her long hair, formerly her crowning glory was wild and matted, small bald patches had formed where she had begun to habitually pull at it. Her beautiful violet eyes for which she was famous were bloodshot from weariness.

          Ms Tattler was known planet wide for her series of children’s books “The Fickle Four”. The exploits of Almad, Tinigrump, Samnuf and Bekipo were beloved by children of all ages and planetary connections, although perhaps most endearing to those of the Fumari dimension who had a natural disposition for exploits of such fickleness. The catchprase “Bit rude Tinigrump”, and “Madder than Almad” had become part of the national vocabulary in recent years.

          Formerly Ms Tattler had written, with limited success, novels of a more adult nature, drawing on her numerous marriages for creative inspiration. However her publisher had asked her to create a series about four friends who were on a mission to create other worlds, the focus being on “providing positive and fun role models” for children growing up in these difficult times of planetary upheaval. The works were in the science freakshow genre of writing and the popularity of the original novel had been unprecedented, taking Elizabeth and her publisher by surprise and leading for the demand for many more.

          Ah, she sighed, and then spluttered as she inhaled the dusty, smoky air, but what a noose this has created. Her yellow nicobeck stained fingers touched her neck and then ran agitatedly through her hair. For at some point, when did it start? the story had begun to take a life of its own. She no longer felt in control as plots became more and more bizarre. She felt unable to follow anything through, creating endless threads which seemed to lead nowhere. She looked around her small office, everywhere was the evidence of stories started and discarded, screwed up pieces of paper covered in frenetic doodles littering the floor.

          The telepooh began to buzz. She knew it was Bronkel her publisher before his face came up on the screen.

          I know you are there Elizabeth. Will you pick up please!

          In a fit of rage Elizabeth picked up the telepooh and threw it across the room, where it narrowly missed Lana, one of her 20 fainting Mongoats she kept as pets. Lana fainted for a few seconds in fear and Robert X, her pet Magpie, hopped around delightedly, Bugger the telepooh, Bugger the telepooh! he screeched. Poke its eyes out! Poke its eyes out.

          #613

          When Veranassessee entered the secret facility with Gloria and Sharon, her blood congealed in her veins.
          Patient 4 had escaped the safety straitjacket and was holding the doctor at paper-clip point.
          Patient 4, was one of the first six patients they’d treated on the island, an awful miscarriage… Of the six, all had developed strong reactions to the medication especially as they had not yet found the appropriate dosage for the blue spider venom. Some had developed extra appendices, most had been hideously disfigured, and all of them had gone bonkers.
          “Four” was the last alive of them all, by an inexplicable combination of luck and genetics, and by far the most dangerous one. Apparently, apart from madness, the venom had gifted “Four” with supra-human velocity and strength. It was what had kept that mad doctor from “erasing” that mistake, so sure he could find some interesting way of making profit out of that prodigious lucky find.
          But now that was compromising everything…

          V’ass pushed the two chatty old ladies in a broom-closet behind with a wink Be right back ladies!

          Sharon and Gloria giggled in the small room, wondering about the unexpected sense of hospitality of the people of that resort. All was so funny and exciting since they’d decided to come to that place.

          :fleuron:

          — Four! Release the doc’!
          — Don’t move an inch closer or I’ll kill him!
          — You have nowhere to go Four, backups will be here any minute now…
          — One second is all I need to snap his neck!
          — No! Dr. Chris Bronklehampton was moaning
          — You, stay still, the mummified Four snapped to the panting doctor.

          Quicker than light, V’ass shot a powerful sedative into the arm of the mummy. Four winced, drawing the dart out of the arm, crushing the fluffy fletchings between the fingers. Quickly assessing chances to escape, Four sent the doctor flying at the other side of the room, in a powerful swing of the arm, and jumped through the window in a formidable sound of smashed glass, disappearing into the jungle.

          Chris! Are you alright? Nurse Bellamy was already caring for the fainted doctor.

          #612

          It’d been two hexades that the Abbot Hrih Chokyam Lin’potshee had been laying in bed in poor condition.
          At first, he had wanted to be as strong as he had always been towards hardships, but he’d finally admitted that quelching the pain wasn’t doing any good to him. So he had agreed to be taken care of by a young monk, and to lay in bed as long as was necessary.
          He knew that he was very likely not to get out of that bed but with his body covered by a white sheet, nevertheless, the thought was still something distant. The pain in his body was making him so present to himself that the only thing that was still blatant was that he was.
          More than the body, it was all his faith that was shaken. He had thought he would leave this life without mess, without pain, probably very discreetly in his sleep… But now, his head was wincing at every noise, even the nature’s sounds that once felt like music to his ears, he was eschewing them now as much as he could. His very skin was hot and couldn’t bear even the soft contact of the bedsheets.
          What was the point of all of this? He had never doubted that everything had its purpose, but now, he was doubting…
          He was even trying to find some reasonable reasons for what was happening, he who never trusted in reasonable reasons in the first place. Perhaps that was because of his seating under the chilly air and the warm sun in front of the Meditation Wall, reading for all of the poems that had been written by the monks who had dared to write. Perhaps he had “taken cold”, whatever that means…
          “Perhaps not” the voice kept saying softly in his head.

          Now, his whole succession was feeling like a moot point. After all, he was not even capable of saving himself from anything, then how could what he created make the slightest difference? These were all like an extension of his body, bound to decay and come back to Earths.

          Not so many monks had dared write upon the Wall about their highest truth. A few jokesters had begun at first, helping the others to participate.
          One in particular had had Hrih laugh for quite a while.

          A toad is a toad
          Unless kissed
          Endless Bliss

          Then a dozen of others had flourished upon the wall, until Aum Geong decided to write his own. He’d not wanted to go first, to allow the others to express without the burden of comparison, and also to have some more time to write something deep and thoughtful. But that profusion of nonsense between some occasional pearls of wisdom made him write his own.

          Unattainable is the Truth
          For in the Dust of things
          All in our View is bleak

          Doing Wrong we forswear
          For Dust to be lifted
          And Wisdom we seek

          In the deed of the Elders
          And the Faith in the Community
          Light and Trust bespeak

          All the monks had been quite impressed, but Hrih had not been entirely satisfied by it… To be honest, he even completely disagreed with it.
          Now, however, stuck in this bed, the poem was playing in his head and suggesting that the Worlds were something terrible that he had not yet understood, or be willing to avoid seeing. Perhaps Aum Geong was wiser than he was.
          Perhaps all that Hrih had put as foundational to his life had all been Dust…
          “There is no Dust, and you know that” the voice whispered softly.

          Now that he is about to die, what difference will it make anyway…
          He reach out for a bowl of water, and almost let it fall, as the weight of it surprised him. He was becoming so weak… He never had been so self-conscious in many many many years.

          After he had propped himself up to drink a few burning swallows of the lukewarm water, he noticed something folded on his bedside, that had been put under the bowl… Young Franiel had been the one attending him with Jog Lam, so it must have been the doing of one of them. He intuited that was Franiel.

          As he read the stanzas, tears were in his eyes…

          I am the driftwood
          the wave carried me
          I was buried in sand

          I am the flower
          the butterfly touched me
          I fell in love

          I am the raindrop
          the cloud released me
          I became the ocean

          The Young monk had probably not dared write it on the Wall, especially after most of the monks’ vocal appreciations of Aum Geong’s poem…
          “Perhaps not” the voice again spoke.
          Another reason for it formed into Hrih’s mind. Franiel perhaps didn’t feel ready for such responsibilities and his role and fulfillment in this community was not form rules nor to continue it.
          It was more to inspire them, and perhaps to start his own discoveries.

          Hrih wrote a note behind the paper. He wanted to leave something for Franiel, for him to keep faith in his coming adventures during these coming times of change.
          After a deep breath, he took another paper that was with him for already such a long time, wrote down some words, and signed it, the aura of his hand burning a glyph that was his signature in the paper. He then called for Jog Lam.

          — Jog Lam, my friend…
          — Elder?
          — I’m dying…
          — I know Elder
          — Let me continue. (Jog Lam nodded)
          First, will you give that paper to Young Franiel after the cremation ceremonies. (Jog Lam nodded again)
          Second, I want you to relay that I have made my decision, and that Aum Geog will succeed me (Jog Lam’s surprise was noticeable in his eye). He is, to date, the most adequate successor for this monastery.
          — I will do as you want.
          — Thank you my friend.
          — Elder…
          — Farewell, my friend, I am always with you.

          When Jog Lam stoically left the room, Hrih Chokyam laid down, his eyes on the ceiling. His body was so weak that all he could do was to project behind his closed eyelids and see the starry sky, even if he would have wanted something different for his death. He would have loved something like a nap in a sunlit meadow with a little singing brook.
          But seeing the actual World was something even more precious to him. The barren mountains of the icy season, the clear unclouded sky. His mind was so full of energy that his body lacked.

          With a deep feeling of gratitude for his body, he bid it farewell.

          #598
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            Linda and Peregrine’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…

            #596
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              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.

              #1868
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                ‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said,
                ‘To talk of many things:
                Of shoes — and ships — and sealing wax —
                Of cabbages — and kings —
                And why the sea is boiling hot —
                And whether pigs have wings.’

                :yahoo_whistling:

                #90
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  Franci, far too busy herself to start a new discussion, has asked me, on her behalf, to start a Quiz section. Let me put that another way, Franci and I were…oh hang on, news hot off the press, Eric has a quiz plug somewhere….

                  Test your grasp on the storys plot! Have you really remembered all the connections? Can YOU name who is whose focus? And what about the timeline, do you really know? Test yourself here, in the coming posts.

                  #544
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    “Sand! I may have got the riddle, thought Sanso, but I didn’t get the POINT of the riddle being there in the first place!”

                    Becky had been flicking through the wads of typed pages as she lay on the sofa, sipping hot lemon and honey, and sneezing. The sneezing! Jeeze, the sneezing had been going on for days. What with all the sneezing and sleeping, she felt more blinked out than blinked in lately.

                    Sand, sand sand…… Hhmmm, Becky was wondering why the sand syncs were coming in again. She blew her nose, and picked up another wad of typewritten pages, opening at random.

                    Illi was bored with the deserted island and the sand dragons. She wanted some action, some surprises, some…..well, some life!”

                    Wow, I’d forgotten all about Illi, thought Becky. She imagined the calm quiet beach, Illi’s island get-away. Well, before she’d conjured up the sand dragons it was quiet, anyway. Becky thumbed through the next pile of papers.

                    Arona pulled out a well worn map from her bag. The map had been a gift from a traveling wizard who visited the village a few years ago. Arona had given him food and shelter and he repaid her kindness with the map.”

                    Well, I’ll bet that’s a clue, thought Becky drowsily, But I can’t be bothered to work it out now.

                    The trouble is, Becky muttered to herself, When I start this random reading thing I just can’t stop, it’s like an addiction. She sighed and opened again at random:

                    “The hydroplane was flying over the “Sarcastic Sea” in the Bermuda Triangle. Anita was not afraid, her parents had told her about the triangle and the different legends of people disappearing or reappearing there….”

                    #510

                    :multimedia: Marvin Scrozzezi was considering a script that had been sent to him by his friend.
                    Betty, his assistant, had insisted that he reads it…

                    Seeing his current movie, it couldn’t be any worse in any case.
                    The title of the script cracked him up.

                    Ogregan, the Origeans

                    Marvin giggled, almost spluttering his smoking chai on the script.

                    He started to read the first paragraphs.

                    FADE IN:
                    EXT. WOODS
                    A big humphing man plunges into the woods. Twigs slap at him,
                    but the sound of gunfires keeps him going. Sheriff Marshall is
                    taking the lead, but an auburn haired man plunges into the woods
                    before him, followed by one dark-haired one. They are obviously
                    brothers. The older one is ELVIN STREWN, he is following his
                    younger brother with the lopsided hair, JAY STREWN.
                    JAY is shooting at the fugitive, ALDO MC GALLIGAN, a local
                    mobster known as the OGREGAN.
                    
                    Gunfire explodes in trees near the STREWN brothers, shot at them
                    by MC GALLIGAN, and they dive and roll into hiding under a
                    palisade.

                    Interesting stuff, wonders Marvin… That mobster looks like a fascinating character…

                    Flipping though the script he found page 57 another catching bit of reading…

                     DISSOLVE TO:
                    EXT. PROSPERITY BANK ; SHOT of a Texan bank on a quiet street.
                    INT. PROSPERITY BANK
                    There are three customers, male. Enters a MOTHER and her SON.
                    TELLER#1: What can I do for you Mrs MC GALLIGAN?
                    MRS GALLIGAN to her SON who is drawing on her dress: ALDO, will
                    you keep still for a moment, good for nothing!

                    Pfff, Marvin sighed, feeling bored.
                    Not long after, he was sound asleep, snoring loudly on the comfortable chair.

                    #1962

                    In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      :bounce: BOUNCE!! :bounce:
                      Play! :games: :sumari: :multimedia: :photo: :search: :magnify:

                      #1588

                      In reply to: Synchronicity

                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        Coconutandnotenoughtodo sync! Yesterday we were looing at Rachel and Steve’s Fiji photos, of him finding coconuts and saying there wasn’t enough to do…… :weather-clear: :footsteps: :footsteps: :footsteps: :weather-clear:

                        #498

                        some writing by Twilight

                        Jo fixed me up a swing. It hung from the old elm tree out the front. That’s my favourite place. I just sit there rocking and thinking, and thinking and rocking. Sometimes I would weave stories or sometimes I would dream about when I am real famous. I know I will miss Jo and Elroy, but then I cheer myself up thinking how, when I am rich, I will visit them and give them money and presents and how fine that will be.

                        Elroy and Jo don’t know about my stories or how I love to write. I ain’t much good. I didn’t get much schooling but Elroy helped me some and then I would try and teach myself the rest. The only book we have is a big old bible. That is written in real fine words. The part I like the best is a song that Solomon wrote. I don’t know how the tune went but the words are real nice. It is real romantic too. I dream one day some man will use words like that to me. Not like those drunken slobs round these parts. Anyway, that’s how I know I am not much good, because I can’t write nothing like Solomon. But I try anyway.

                        Yesterday I was sitting out on the swing rocking and thinking and young Dan from the ranch over the way turned up on his horse. He looked real hot and red and sweaty. Mostly though, he is real fine looking, and I confess I have a soft spot for him. So I leapt off the swing real quick and straightened myself up and bit my lips to make them all big and red. I wanted him to see I had developed some in the last little while.

                        Where’s your brothers, Twi? he said to me.

                        I felt he didn’t seem to be giving me the appreciation I hoped for, so I did a little flick of my head and gave him the look I had been practising. I had seen the other girls do this look to the men at the saloon, and it seemed to work a treat. I gestured at the same time, real slow and casual, and I said “Out the back, Dan.” in a honey voice.

                        He started to ride off, like he was in a hurry. But then he stopped. My heart did a little flutter. He said to me, “You know Twi, the boys at the ranch were talking about you. And it wasn’t the sort of talk should be said about a lady”.

                        When Dan said that, I felt he had kicked me in the guts. I wanted to gasp. But I am plenty used to putting up with things and not showing my true feelings, so I just looked at him real cold. Then I spat. I have been practising my spitting and I can do it real good now. Nearly as good as Jo.

                        “I am just telling you Twi he said. I thought he would say more, but he seemed to reflect for a moment, then shook his head and off he went in a hurry to find the boys.

                        Elroy and Jo looked real bothered when I saw them later. I knew when to hold my tongue so I did not give them no smart talk, and I cooked up a real fine bean dish for their supper. It was real quiet over the table that night. Truth was, I still felt mighty bad over what Dan had said.

                        I confess I felt some cares and sadness on me that evening when I went to bed, and found I could not sleep. I got out my diary and thought I would do some writing.
                        I tried to write what my name, Twilight, means to me. My real name is Tina Willemine Ivy El Disperso. I always been called Twi. Then Hank at the saloon, he says one night, “I am calling you Twilight and that sort of caught on. It made me feel special, having my own stage name.

                        I started writing. Lavender blue sky bleeding into the dark. I thought that sounded quite a good start to my writing, so feeling a bit encouraged I went on some more: Twilight is a magic time. It is the time I see things that aint there, but maybe they could be. My eyes play tricks on me in the half light and I feel like I could be anyone. I feel like I could be someone who I isn’t. Twilight is the time of promises. The promise and mystery of the night to come. It is inbetween time when you know the ordinary stuff could be magic.

                        I stopped. I weren’t never going to be able to write like Solomon. I knew that and I felt real bad. At least I could dance though, and that was going to make me famous. But that thought could not cheer me up this night and I confess I cried myself to sleep like a baby.

                        #475

                        It had been real hard since Momma and Poppa weren’t around no more. Twilight was four when they got shot dead, and she could hardly remember their faces now. Sometimes she had memories come to mind, this real pretty woman, brushing her hair at night. One hundred strokes, she would say, make your hair real pretty. It made her feel sad because she wished it were true.

                        Her brother Jo, he was only ten when they got killed. He was the one found them. They’d been shot. Jo, he took it real hard. Sometimes he’d get this far away and sad look and Twilight knew he was remembering. She wanted to hug him, but he’d be all shut off.

                        Anyways it was real hard to keep the ranch going after that. Her brother Elroy, he was the oldest. He was fifteen when Momma and Poppa died. So he took on being the man of the house. Sometimes he would try and boss Jo and her round, and Twilight would give him a real hard time. She was just jesting though, she knew he was just doing his best to keep the El Disperso Ranch running and she was real proud of him.

                        It was real hard though. Winter had been hard. They all were fearing they might have to sell the blue bull just to keep the wolves from the door next winter. Elroy, he was right pig headed though about that bull. Jo would say to Elroy “we have to sell that bull, Elroy and Elroy would get mad and say “no ways we selling that bull Jo”. One day they nearly came to blows over that bull.

                        It was the only time Twilight seen Elroy get real mad with Jo. They were real close those two. They were all close really. They had to keep together when Momma and Poppa died. Uncle Bart turned up at the news of their folks dying, wanted to take the ranch, but Elroy , well he got Poppa’s rifle and chased Uncle Bart away. Elroy said he would have shot Uncle Bart had he tried any harder to take the ranch. Twilight would look in his eyes when he told the story and she knew he weren’t jesting. A few others tried to interfere also. Somehow they all stayed together and kept the ranch.

                        Elroy won that blue bull. It was real rare and very fine and people would pay plenty for a bull like that bull. Elroy said he won it anyhow. He turned up with it one day, and he was real quiet. Twilight saw him whispering to Jo, and Jo looked real concerned. She thought it best not to ask too many questions and so she kept what she seen to herself. But she couldn’t help but be wondering.

                        Twilight wanted to help take the load off her brothers so she got herself a job dancing in the saloon in town. She liked to call it performing though. Sounded more high class. She watched the other dancers till she taught herself to do it. She would hide in the saloon and watch them. That was one good thing about not having a Momma and a Poppa. She could pretty well do what she wanted. She liked dancing and she knew she were real good at it and pretty soon she was the dancer everyone wanted to see. She’d rather have a Momma and Poppa though, truth be told.

                        One of the other girls, Anna, she was real pretty too, got jealous and tried to get Twilight kicked out, said she was too young to be dancing . Anyhow Anna had a soft spot for Jo and so he soon sweet talked her round. Jo and Elroy were real good looking boys, and plenty of girls liked them so Twilight was pretty lucky to have them look out for her. ( Elroy said she should wear a blond wig for her dancing, like a disguise, and Twilight thought this was real funny. But she wore it anyway.) Anna got pregnant, and she said Jo was the daddy, but everyone in town knew she slept with plenty of fellows, and Jo weren’t having a bar of it. Anna got real fat with the baby and had to stop dancing and now she lived with some old fellow who was always drunk and would eye up Twilight when she was dancing. Sometimes Twilight would tease Jo about the baby and call him “daddio” and he would get real mad with her. But could be his, that’s the truth. Poor little baby but she were glad Jo weren’t stuck with that Anna.

                        Twilight knew the men looked at her. She knew what they were thinking and she didn’t mind. She weren’t no fool though. She had plans. She was going to be somebody, not laid up with some damn sprog like that Anna. Some of the money she earned she’d give to Elroy, some of it she put in a tin can she kept hidden.

                        Last night some fellow from out of town came in. A sheriff. She heard the girls whispering and giggling about him. Sheriff Ted Marshall was his name. He was real fine looking and all the girls were in a flutter hoping he would look at them. Twilight wondered what he was doing in town. She hoped it were nothing to do with that bull of Elroys.

                        #474

                        Aldous Mc Gaughran (nicknamed Ogrean by his employees), was taking deep puffs on his voluminous cigar.
                        A bit podgy in his white tight suit, the face dripping in sweat, he was eying with barely dissimulated lust the young dancer on the scene of the saloon while sipping his cognac and playing poker with his oily fingers.

                        The blond bewitching dancer was drawing attention from miles around, and was known by her stage name: Twilight. :yahoo_billy:
                        She wasn’t really a blonde, but she had been convinced by her two brothers :yahoo_hiro: :yahoo_april: to use a wig not so much to make her more desirable as she was already, but more to be able to keep a certain amount of anonymity.
                        Seeing Ogrean’s glances, she was more than glad to have listened to her brothers.

                        :yahoo_flag: Ogrean was calling the shots here in that small town, and somehow it would be difficult to refuse anything he would ask… He was supervising, as far as she knew, many traffics. Officially, he was a cattle breeder, but there was obviously more.
                        On his last business trip on the coast of British Honduras, officially for dealings of mahogany imports, he’d come back with a self-satisfied look that meant that he had got more than a pile of precious wood… :yahoo_skull:

                        The saloon door opened in a creaking sound. A tall lean figure came barging in. :yahoo_star:
                        Answering the barmaid’s question, he got himself a glass of the local alcohol. A bitter cactus beer that no one living here would have thought of ordering. Obviously a wandering stranger.
                        His scrawny horse seemed to have run tiring long miles.

                        #1313

                        In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

                        ÉricÉric
                        Keymaster

                          November 9 th

                          For Yurick, or perhaps shall we say, The Artist Formerly Known As Quintin this sequence of sequence of 911 has the signification of a reminder to be paying attention to self, and being present to himself.
                          The last few days have been, in appearance, quite devoid of exciting new installments of the story, yet, we nudge him not to judge this lack of activity on his part as categorically as he has been used to do. It was a time of self-retreat, a time we have shared with many other essences, as all is connected.
                          A very fine point which has been brought forth by Elias a few days ago (in Yurick’s perception of time) has been that you want to appreciate the process. His illustration was that of a beautiful flower bud that you hold, and that you don’t want to tear open, but rather let itself reveal its splendor, and also, its surprises.

                          It has prompted Yurick to remember something, which had lots of meaning to him.
                          Some years ago, when he was in Kyoto’s forests, he picked up an acorn, as he liked to have seeds or tree corns in his pockets. Back from his trip, in his home, there was this big pot of earth were an old plant had died from the summer heat, and he planted the acorn in it.
                          And he waited. Till he had to move, some months later, having renounced to have the acorn grow at all, as the soil’s surface was remaining desperately flat. Perhaps it had rotten altogether. Before leaving the apartment, Yurick started to rummage with his bare hands into the soil, to look for the remains of the acorn he believed had rotten, only to find it perfectly healthy. And even more, it had grown lots of long roots.
                          So he took it back home, where it was planted and still continues to grow at a rapid rate.

                          Looking at the now big sapling reminds Yurick how that process of growing roots was important for the plant, as they were essential for the oak to be able to survive the winters colds and the summers heats.

                          Such is the importance of these moments were inspiration seem to be scarce, or away. It is ever present, growing its roots very carefully inside the soil of your being, and expanding your connexions, redefining some, bringing new nourishments to yourself… The effects are not always immediately visible, but things never cease to move.

                          Be prepared to be amazed by the colors of the flowers and leaves your seed produces, for as Yurick’s oak was an unusual kind of oak (a chestnut oak ), the very seeds that are in your pockets or waiting in the soils of your dream gardens may reveal their own surprises…

                          #1390
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            Amazigh tea on the menu today, guys! :yahoo_coffee:
                            Eric, can we have a time travel party yurt icon? :world: :calendar: :photo: :search:

                            #1858
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              :notepad: :expand:a:paperclip:ll over:rec:news:ycle: :cluebox:the plac: :photo:calenda:games:r:e, th:sumari:at’s :penthingy:where!:vide:help:otape: :search:

                            Viewing 20 results - 481 through 500 (of 528 total)