Search Results for 'loo'
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Search Results
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In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
“There hath he lain for ages,” Mater read the strip of paper, “And will lie Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep..” Buggered if I know what that’s supposed to mean, she muttered, continuing to read the daily oracle clue: “Until the latter fire shall heat the deep; Then once by man and angels to be seen, In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die…..”
Mater had become increasingly irritated as the morning limped on, with no sign of Prune. Nobody had seen her since just before 3:00am when Idle got up for the loo and saw her skulking in the hallway. Didn’t occur to the silly fool to wonder at the time why the girl was fully dressed at that hour though.
The oracle sounded ominous. Mater wondered if it was anything to do with the limbo of lost characters. She quickly said 22 Hail Saint Floverly prayers, and settled down to wait. If Prune had accidentally wandered into the lost characters limbo, battening upon seaworms would be the least of their problems.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“Will someone answer that!” Liz parroted the other fat dealer. “Whose the leader of door answering these days anyway? All leaders and no fecking staff, now!”
Glancing towards the open window, where a shrill noise seemed to emanate from that had immediately set Liz’s teeth on edge, she noticed him. Could it really be him? After all these years! Was it really Roberto?
The door bell pealed again, distracting Liz, and when she looked back, the man had disappeared. Did I imagine that? she wondered.
Roberto, rubber duck in hand, walked around the outside wall to see who was making such a racket on the door bell.
“Madre mia! Los Guardianos !” he whispered, aghast. What were they doing here, of all places? Roberto crept back around the house, hoping he hadn’t been seen.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Roberto, the new Hispanic gardener hired that very morning, was cleaning the windows. One of them was open, of course and he had heard what his employer had said about leader and supporters. He had always been a solitary person, and he dared think he was supporting himself. Would that make him his own leader ? He splashed water on the window and used a yellow rubber duck to clear the glass. It squealed. He saw Liz looking at him in a strange way.
In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions
Ascended Master John was mediwalking around the absinth lake, aka the green fairy lake, or aka oqmei oekef oekk in transluscent seal language. It was a strange lake invereflecting your own feelings. Waves as big as the pyramids in Salitre roamed the surface of the lake if your inner landscape was peaceful, and it could be flatter than the best laser cut rock if your mind had turned crazy. The trick was not to become attached to the result as focusing on making bigger waves would only make you more nervous and not have the intended effect.
Master John decided to dive into the absinth lake. He needed some change.
He heard a strange Chinese music as he did so. It seemed to come from under the sufrace of the lake. He looked closer and saw the wavy forms of yellow dogons (Chinese Dog Dragons) winding their way under the waves.
Floating absinth spoons were used as surf boards by small baby monkeys. The waves seemed to lower for a moment but Master John decided not to pay too much attention and returned to his mediwalking, pushing the waves to new unseen heights before.In reply to: The Chronicles of the Flying Fish Inn
A yellow monkey jumped from the top of the fridge onto Dido’s hair. She screamed like a beaver and dropped the ice cream jar she was devouring voraciously. Mater, who just happened to enter the kitchen at that very moment, rolled her eyes. When it was not curry cookies, it was icecream. If she continued to eat like that, Dido would soon puff up like a hot-hair balloon.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“Explain yourself you wanton harlot,” Finnley muttered under her breath, and then louder: “Shift Leader Personalities? What are they?”
“Well,” Liz started to explain, but was rudely interrupted.
“For fucks sake get a movealong.”
Aghast, Liz looked at Finnley. “It’s not like you to be quite this rude!”
“I will have to teach you how to do it,” the cleaner replied, somewhat enigmatically.
In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions
Travel for the Ascended was usually as simple as intending your destination, however Floverley often found herself navigationally challenged. She usually ended up where she wanted to go, not where she was summoned.
Eventually though, after a pleasant stop over at an inter-dimensional art gallery to check out the latest works of a group of outsider artists—The Descended Impressionists— she managed to rally herself and align her conflicting energies by engaging in some stirring self talk and a quick visualisation of Master Medlik’s disappointed face.
Of course as soon as she did this, there he was, disappointed face and all.
Bugger, she thought. When will I learn? No bloody privacy around here.
”Don’t worry, Medlik,” she said with a composed smile. “I got the call and I am on my way there right now. I will do all I can to assist.”
Somehow, she thought, sighing at the thought of her gargantuan task.
“Interpretations are tricky,” said Medlik, laughing raucously. “Somehow means, in some manner. So it’s quite definitive, though the manner in which it is done is yet to be revealed.”
In reply to: The Chronicles of the Flying Fish Inn
Coriander was crying in the middle of hearty guffaws.
“Clove, stop it!”
“I told you, nobody would suspect space pickles !”
“Look at Dido! The way she starred at that fridge for hours!”
“Ahahaha, stop it!”
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
Seeing Dido eating her curry cookies would turn Mater’s stomach, so she went up to her room.
Good riddance she thought, one less guest to worry about.
Not that she usually thought that way, but every time the guests leaved, there was a huge weight lifted from her back, and a strong desire of “never again”.
The cleaning wasn’t that much worry, it helped clear her thoughts (while Haki was doing it), but the endless worrying, that was the killer.After a painful ascension of the broken steps, she put her walking stick on the wall, and started some breathing exercises. The vinegary smell of all the pickling that the twins had fun experimenting with was searing at her lungs. The breathing exercise helped, even if all the mumbo jumbo about transcendant presence was all rubbish.
It was time for her morning oracle. Many years ago, when she was still a young and innocent flower, she would cut bits and pieces of sentences at random from old discarded magazines. Books would have been sacrilegious at the time, but now she wouldn’t care for such things and Prune would often scream when she’d find some of her books missing key plot points. Many times, Mater would tell her the plots were full of holes anyway, so why bother; Prune’d better exercise her own imagination instead of complaining. Little bossy brat. She reminded her so much of her younger self.
So she opened her wooden box full of strips of paper. Since many years, Mater had acquired a taste for more expensive and tasty morsels of philosophy and not rubbish literature, so the box smelt a bit of old parchment. Nonetheless, she wasn’t adverse to a modicum of risqué bits from tattered magazines either. Like a blend of fine teas, she somehow had found a very nice mix, and oftentimes the oracle would reveal such fine things, that she’d taken to meditate on it at least once a day. Even if she wouldn’t call it meditate, that was for those good-for-nothing willy-nilly hippies.
There it was. She turned each bit one by one, to reveal the haiku-like message of the day.
“Bugger!” the words flew without thinking through her parched lips.
looked forgotten rat due idea half
getting floverley comment somehow
prune hardly wondered eyes great
inn run days dark quentin simulationThat silly Prune, she’d completely forgotten to check on her. She was glad the handwritten names she’d added in the box would pop up so appropriately.
She would pray to Saint Floverley of the Dunes, a local icon who was synchretized from old pagan rituals and still invoked for those incapable of dancing.
With her forking arthritis, she would need her grace much.In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Liz waited until Godfey wasn’t looking, and then spit the pill into her hand. So they thought they could drug her did they, so that she’d miss the signs. Hah! She hadn’t missed the signs: four times now the word KALE (short for Keys Around Lucid Elements) had appeared to her, and it could hardly be a coincidence that word had come from the Other Side of the Lord of the Kale’s progress. Much to everyone’s surprise, the Lord was making a rapid transition, and was already noticing the HOLES (otherwise known as Highest Order of Loose Electrical Signs.)
It wouldn’t be long now before there was a direct communication from the Lord. Liz cackled, and rubbed her bony arthritic hands together. She was ready and eager to hear his report. Godfrey looked at her sharply, so she closed her eyes and pretended to dribble.
In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions
Domba didn’t know why he’d attract those strange beings of light who tried to cajole him into following their glib tongued advice.
Domba was no fool, he’d learnt young that nobody gets interested in Domba unless someone wants to play tricks on him.
His life was a prison, that much he knew. The light guys could well be the jailers themselves for all he knew. He didn’t care about that, or any of their business with power. Power of knowledge, for all the good it did, didn’t seem to have guided the human race to better ends. And compassion was for foolisher than himself.For now, he did have fun a little with the one who called herself Dispe, for her spirit seemed benign enough, a fountain of wonderment and joy in contrast with the way he’d learnt to see the world. He couldn’t really understand all about her wild rants, but if anything, he was curious about her views, and how she sustained them, like as a child, he was endlessly amazed at the resilience and resourcefulness of ants.
Maybe she was a queen ant, and he was just that stupid worker she was having fun with.
The wild nature overgrown in the miles of no-man’s land around his place had so much to teach. Persistance, endurance, and a boundless love of life itself. It was as though nature’s own rhythm was overlaid and hidden by the man-made time and routines. Whereas, if you were to look under, the slow stubborn and everlasting pace of nature’s growth was vibrating underneath, encouraging whoever willing to listen to slow down to its tune, and taste its encompassing love of life.
He often wondered how long before men would come and try to pour concrete over the land, and raise scrapers of metal and blown-sand. His only solace was to think that in his madness, man couldn’t completely obliterate nature, that it would always be waiting patiently.He wondered how those light beings failed to see how even them weren’t as apart from it as they thought they were. Or maybe they knew deep up.
He’d noticed a bird coming many times too. That bird had an agenda, and too clean feathers to not be either a spy, or some heavenly messenger.
In reply to: The Hosts of Mars
Readjusting to Earth had not been as easy as John had thought.
At the beginning, everything seemed overwhelmingly bright and noisy. The huge blue sky was a wonder to behold, but his eyes couldn’t look at it for long time periods.Within a few days, the shock was wearing out, and the gradual realization started to settle, that there was no going back to that place where they were. That moment in space and time was so eerily starting to dissolve in his memory, feeling more and more like a distant fairytale, some story of the past, nothing more than an illusion.
Yet, it was that place where all his experiences were had. Where he had forged his character, had played, laughed, dreamt, feared, loved.
It all was almost meaningless. People were looking already at making movies and more distorted illusions of it for pure entertainment.So, readjusting himself wasn’t going to be easy, if at all possible.
They’d released them in the end, not without giving them new identities. Seemed to be a fad these days, not only for protection of international security secrets, but also as a way to escape your irrevocable internet trail. Everything that was documented since your birth, since before you could even give your consent, and realize what was done. More and more were those who wanted a fresh start. What better solution to recycle a bunch of Mars stranded migrants into the fray of life itself.
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
This morning was quiet, but his mind was not.
There were always the nagging thoughts that something ought to be done, the restless fear of forgetting something of importance.
But this morning was quiet.
A bit too quiet in fact.
No raucous cackling to stir the soft velvety dust from the wooden floorboard.Quentin was wondering whether the story makers had lost all interest in moving his story forward. Yet, he was more than willing to move it notwithstanding, his efforts seemed of little consequence however. Some piece was missing, some ever-present grace of illumination shrouded in scripting procrastination.
His discussion with Aunt Idle had been brief. She’d told him with great intensity that she had a weird dream. That she looked into a mirror and saw herself. Or something like that,… she was not a very coherent woman, the ging wasn’t helping.
Maybe his task was done. Time to leave the Pickled Pea Inn.
His friend Eicnarf seemed eager to see him. Or maybe that had been a typo and she really meant to sew him, or saw him,… she could be gory like that…No matter, a trip out of the brine cloud of this sand coated place would do him good.
In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions
Floverley gazed contentedly at the sparkling mass of squeaky clean auras.
“Thanks to kanban, I got my work done in record time!” she said, a tad smugly.
She hoped that by adding to the feedback loop the flow would be improved.
In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions
The fine-angel balanced sheet and innergy bud-jets forecasts were his least favorite part of the now. Master Medlik had learned a long now ago that when they reappeared in his presence, it only meant a resurgence of certain beliefs. Master Finn Min Hoot would say mawkishly that it had to do with his tendency to believe in and cling to control.
Notwithdangling, those blessed sheets had to be handed over to Tittartoness, the Lady of Tetratron who was in charge of the Heavenly Fine Angels.It didn’t help that everyone seemed to be procrastinating to hand over their forecasts. Desiree seemed more interested recently in plastercasts for Old Deities, and unwittingly triggering Earth disasters, while stripping old satanic temples of their idols. At least, Master John had done a few tries, and could blame it on the extreme cosmic weather of late, and his busy jiggong schedule. As for the elusive Floverley, the peak season of energy hosting up above surely meant a lot of aura cleaning.
So, he was on his own, and had to just take a leap of faith. He jotted down a string of random numbers, and sent it without even looking. Ahah! he explaimed jubilantly, how’s that for going with the flow!
In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
The old woman looked him up and down before pushing past him, curtly telling him to knock because they were all asleep. Quentin quaked inwardly. He’d arrived at his new location, a dilapidated old hotel, although not without a certain other worldly charm, at an ungodly hour of the morning. Hovering on the porch, he was unsure whether to risk waking his new hosts. He didn’t want to make a bad first impression. He felt even more dejected and confused when he realized he had no idea what kind of first impression he wanted to make.
His first encounter saddened him, and he hoped they all weren’t as unwelcoming as she had been. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling like such a stranger, or so nervous and shy. What made it even worse was that Quentin was quite well aware that his lack of confidence would be bound to make everything worse.
“You’re not another one of those story refugees, are you? Did I frighten you?” the girl asked, as Quentin jumped at her sudden appearance from behind the spider plant.
“My name’s Prune, are you Quentin Quincy? Aunt Idle’s expecting you, but she’s not up yet. Are you going to be in the new room ten story?”In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
His shift was almost over. Ed wondered why the funny guy had looked so insistently as his hands. That was not the part people usually stared at… He shrugged — people are always stressed when they get their new identity, probably a bit overwhelmed by the realization of how direly they liked their comfortable boundaries and restrictions.
Some people weren’t just ready for such a change. Actually, it had taken himself quite a few years as well, that it within relativilastic timing, all considering.He looked outside the window, it was night already, but at least the rain had stopped.
Usually, he would wait a little more until the brunt of the office people had disappeared from the overcrowded stairs, escalators or “moving staircases” as they liked to call it.But today he was feeling like leaving early. Liz’ would be waiting for him.
Putting on his raincoat, with his murse in one hand, he twirled his mustache with a grin and the other one.In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
“What is the name of your father ?”
“My father ?”
“Yes, your new father”, said the man. “We offer the possibility for you to choose your parents. That’s a rare thing in life, you know. I think that’s why the new world has so much appeal. People are just tired of the lack of control in their life.”
“And can you change if you get bored by your new parents ?”
“You can do it twice, after which the choice is definitive.”
“That’s an illusion of control, then.”
“Well… People just quickly get into their new role and they forget that they had the choice. Most of them don’t even use their first possibility.”
“Do I have to choose among parents that already exist in the new world?”
The man looked annoyed. He put his big hands on the table. Sam looked at them fascinated.
“You can choose whatever parents you want. If they don’t exist in the new world, you can then choose if they are deceased or just in vacation outside of the new world. In which case whenever someone matching your parents description apply for the new world, we can arrange for a poignant family reunion.”
“I just have a last question”, said Sam.
“Ok, make it a quick one. Other people are desirous to start a new life in the new world, you know.”
“Yes, I know. But still, I wonder if the persons who apply for an identity that matches my new parents. I can see in your file that you never ask their date of birth. They couldnt be younger than me, could they ?”
The man scratched his head with his left hand. Sam wondered what it was like to have such huge hands.
“Theoretically, that could happen. But you know, we offer you a new life in the new world, not a perfect life in a perfect world.”In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
A man with big hairy hands welcomed him in the new world’s consuelambassy office. “Welcome”, said the man with a deep voice. Sam couldn’t get his eyes off the man’s hands. He looked at the guy. Without those hands he would just be like a regular guy.
“I’m a bit early”, said the man, “so we might as well begin now. Is that ok for you ?”
“What ? Oh! yes, of course…” those hands are so huge, he thought.
“Perfect. Just sit on this chair and I’ll guide you through the procedure.”
“Ok.” Sam sat on the chair he had been shown and gave the man the papers he had brought for the procedure.
“Great, I can see you’ve brought everything pertaining to your old self.” He barely looked at the documents and threw them in the shredder. A red light flickered before turning to a bluish green.
“You won’t need those.”
“Obviously”, said Sam. As he had already been puzzled that morning, he decided it was superstifluous to continue in this direction. He had come here to get a new identity after all. His old self had been torn apart. There was certainly no one to feel disrespected.In reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard
