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In reply to: Significant Random Quotes?
Mention of myopic and fishnets in the story, the day before I went on the laser eye surgery; on the metro, sitting right in front of us, a lady (speaking in English), with red glasses, a green and red flower patterned dress, and lime fishnets…
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
The sky was most unusual. Something definitely weird was happpening.
Yann was looking at a TV show in which a clown was trying to juggle with his clothes.
Yann switched off the tv set and chose to go the cat in her basket.
“There you are!”
“Absolutely Sir”.
“Good very Good.”
Taking deep puffs of his pipe, he looked like a botle green velvet sofa, and that, combined with the crazy Baron of the nearby village, was the surest way of being left alone.
“The curious police want to know the details?” asked the Baron
“Not really … well now you make me think of it .. I reckon a bit.”
“ahahahahaha!” the manic laughter was infectious. Strange bugs were dancing. little dark skinned performers, tickling like an army of ants.
Rather than laughing, he’d taken a moment to consider the options. Obviously he couldn’t refuse help as his business had recently been pregnant, giving birth to conjoined twins.
So to speak.
In reply to: Strings of Nines
Peackle Handlebut wasn’t really that old hag of a lady she projected the appearance of, but she preferred to test the sincerity of people through this rather crude means.
In fact, she wasn’t a lady or a human at all. She was an E’elim, as they called their race when they had use for words. Their true form wasn’t really physical, and their existence was mostly ignored — a fact that was not a small feat, for even the ancient race of the Guardians mostly didn’t know of them at the time when they were in the system of Alienor.
In fact, their consciousness was quite different from the rest of the races, and in many ways, it was one of the most ancient one, having been present for countless ages.
They’d known the times of the appearance of the third moon around Duane.
They had even witnessed the emergence of that third planet, which is now mostly forgotten, but was then called B’si before it was called Phreal by the Guardians.
And they were there at the time of the separation of the Great Panye into the twin planets now known as Duane and Murtuane.The E’elims where riders of the elements; usually only one of the six elements from which everything stemmed: airs, earths, woods, flames, waters, and forgotten (or spirit).
Learning to ride dragons was something new for Peackle, as they were powerful blends of the purest forms of these elements, and she was wanting to take the risk of revealing herself to have that experience…In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
Her thinking promised life to those trying something different and now such a thing was possible. There was an atrocious dry mixture of plants to ingest which grew in the cemeteries of the Wise Ones, mixed with an herb from her father, Captain of the Tentacles. Very respected, he had a radiating power.
Dory had enjoyed a young wanderer, no need to beat her for that. Becky was very exciting and she barely knew where to start. One that had attracted her was Aratta, before she got stuck to a cushion. She was barely able to move, Dan had to calm her down.
I’m awfully embarrassed, but I’m stuck!
Oh dear! It’s natural, after all you decided to dance with what was coming….
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
Marie put the the perfect husband down. She was looking for a rope and tied it to the door handle while she went for the knees, thankful for the power.
In exchange for some strange things, it had been agreed that Franiel’s angel met Derwent, a very ordinary mortal. Bit disappointed, she chuckled. Most of the others are lovely and colorful.
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
#87 Quintin had a woman near London ~ a strange small replicate, put here for gracious officials. Strangely linked to the story, was Dory. The other participants didn’t really expect this quaint dream…
Dory made Quintin in Madagascar for the first time. Funny, but now they seemed to connect to Arona. Malvina disappeared, and once again Arona found this quite irritating. She could barely remember the music.
Really, things are shifting. In the name of heaven use magic I Scream or something!
A Man emerged from Arona’s lap. This is great, more comfortable than the ground.
Oh cute, said Arona, a talking Man, love your cape by the way.
Arona stroked Man. It was all feeling heat and humidity… and especially her hunger. Man sighed in an eggs sort of a way. She exclaimed delightedly, hugging the Man.
[¹] Note from the editor: Man being a noble reader
~~~~
Dory was dry, with strange hard shoulders and face. Her shawl finally surfaced flapping in time to a cloud of dust.
PPFFT! I’m all on my own. Dory was momentarily speechless.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Unbeknown to the young Goldie, weeping at the Fluboat terminal in Gibbonsville….
(Ann had to laugh at the typo. She had just hard a joke about ‘catching swine flu’ being a code word for shagging a fat bird)
……there was another probable self of hers already at the Worserversity. Harvey Tater would recognise this other version of Goldie when he met her, and although he would be confused as to where she came from, or who she really was, or where he’d seen her before, he would sense a feeling of familiarity. By the same token, the Worserversity self of Goldie (who had been stolen by itinerant French potato pickers shortly after her birth, and renamed Pomme de L’Air) sensed the same feeling of recognition, but had no knowledge of her, er, roots, so to speak, or any of her other potatable selves.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Though the more Ann thought about Monica, the funnier it seemed. Guilt was such a tiresome emotion.
“Fancy old Bronkel deciding to go for a sex change! I must have sensed something when I wrote him in as the crazy, brilliant, cross dressing Dr Bronkelhampton in the Island novel!”
She thought for a moment, “did I ever finish that novel?”
Ann sighed. What was she like eh! Always starting novels, never finishing them. No wonder old Bronkel, ahem, Monica, got so fed up with her.
Anyway, perhaps she would give Monica another chance as her pooblisher? He … she… was certainly much kinder and easier to deal with now. That Godfrey, or whatever the heck his name is, wasn’t doing much for her career.
The writer wondered again how to strike out text and correct the inadvertent slip into the Ooh dimension.
An idea for another novel was forming in the murky convoluted depths of Ann’s brain, something about a gorgeously cuddly big teddy bear man, with his unruly tumble of brown curls and his colourful FairIsle sweaters, who had flown the nest from a potato farm in deepest darkest Idaho to pursue his dream of being an Elsespace Guide at the Worserversity.
“Brilliant, Moonica will loove it!”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Ahaha, dear Ann is really acting funny since her latest plastic surgery… I wonder if her new implants weren’t taken from some part of her head…”
“How unusually snarky of you, dear” (the author of previous comment will of course remain unnamed for fear of reprisal)
Harvey pondered for a moment “Well, that’s not at all a silly question, I don’t know really how we’ve become best friends… I think it was after you picked up a sodden mandarin on that shelf and I told you about the strong déjà vu of that scene”
“Really? I thought it was after we met during that Magritte’s exhibit?”
“Well, who cares really, I think we already knew each other from somewhen before.”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Harvey wasn’t really annoyed nor offended that Ann couldn’t remember him each and every time they met. In fact, it was quite funny, that her version of Harvey was different every time.
He wasn’t bound to be the same old Harvey as with anybody else.Nonetheless, he wished Ann would express more of her own perception of the Harvey she had in front of her eyes, instead of moaning she couldn’t or should remember anything. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time they would then all conspire to make a stretch (sometimes to the verge of rupture) in the fabric of the story to make it all fit.
And which Harvey and Ann were they? Were they only bound to be one ‘other’, without any substance safe for the fact that they were probable versions of a Prime Ann, and a Prime Harvey in the First Universal Comments Kosher (or kookish?) dimension? The mere thought of it was rather depressing to this probable Harvey.
With all this probable purée, it was as if everything wasn’t really occurring anywhere else but in some even less probable writer’s head… (he couldn’t help to wonder too how this snippet would be interpreted in the near future when it would only be a fragment of a random quote itself…)
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Let’s put it this way” Ann continued, “Tis better to allow the snippets to flow out than to bottle them up, which is where the expression ‘to rack ones brains’ comes from. Rows and rows of bottles of thoughts on metal racks in a dusty cellar, contained within the confines of the glass, denied freedom of expression, and all because the Bottle Rack Attendant, or BRA for short, refused to set them free to find their own way in the world of infinite individual storylines.”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Sincerely Bodry,” Walter was saying to Bodry, Becky’s brother, a high-ranking member of the Sisterhood, “I think the issue is not really about Continuity, it’s more about Expansion.”
Bodry frowned as if perplexed beyond mesure by the words of the wise man.
“Don’t be ludicrous” he said “that would be tantamount to saying Lavender the cleaning lady would look divine even if sporting a mohawk, were it pink notwithstanding.”
“Actually, I daresay she would. But let us not sway off the subject. You see, by no manner is it an issue whether things are continuous or not —and I know it’s almost blasphemous to say that— but the crux of the matter lays in the measure with which things are expanded and linked together.”
“Mmm, I’m afraid an expansion of the Sisterhood of Continuous Universal Meditation on the world would not be such a bad thing, even if we would have probably to merge with the Sisterhood of Human Infinite Technology.”Walter was in fact speaking of things far more metaphysical, and was hinting at the fact that the writer wasn’t taking good care enough of resolving some of the blatant or lingering contradiction by taking the time to properly express and connect to the world the writer was writing (some would say, but not the writer, babbling and raving) about.
All of these of course were once again lost to the poor soul he was talking to.In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Privately, Lavender was thrilled to find she knew Ann! She couldn’t remember when she had met her of course, however that was nothing unusual these days. Everybody seemed to know each other! It was really quite a thrill. Maybe she would go and have coffee with her new friends Becky and Tina, after she had been to the hairdressers of course.
hmmm, it can’t be a thrill, thought Lavender, The “writer” has already used “thrilled”.
The writer wondered, huffily, how to strike out text. The writer wanted to write “It was really quite a blast”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Sha and Glo were looking at the Aerial Pond of Cloud Fishes in their blobby glowing spectral form.
“A shame we’re dead… That school of fish is sure somethin’”
“You’re thinking what I’m thinking Shar?”
“Well, of course; we’re dead and psychic, bloody hell Glor!”Glor was glad that she was dead sometimes, and this was such a time. She’d found Sharon’s usual rude rebuking was far easier to handle in that state.
“Well, I would love to dive in that pool too, like in that documentary…”
“Exactamundo! Have the school of fishes eat dead skin and give it back its young fresh and peachy glow.”“I think we better find some quick way to get back in Shar…”
“Not to bloody worry Glor, it already looks like our subliminal sex enticements have worked very well; would be a shame no one would get preggers with all that fornication going around!”
“I’m starting to wonder what it would be like if that’s the nine-titted alien going first though… I’m told their pregnancy is quicker than human’s…”In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“BLING!”
Yurick and Yann jolted up from the couch at the sound of the crashing pot.
“What on Earth are they on about… again!”
Their two new cats Eeckup and Eelas were practising their new hops and jumps, reaching for the topmost shelf of the cupboard, where the pot full of earth, and topped with the remains of a dying dry plant was put —they’d thought, out of reach of the little beasts.
“You know what?” Yurick said after having vacuumed the remains of dirt on the carpet “it may sound a bit strange (perhaps completely nuts even), but I had the impression Eeckup was making something with the plants just before I surprised it…”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Meanwhile, Pr. Gub was preparing her new course in Artistic Making of Interdimensional Bleedthroughs (AMIB for short), which her alien origin made her extremely entitled to teach. The course was more commonly known as “Crop Circle Making” inside the Worseversity, and was quite a hit every year (and one could believe not only because of the mistaken association of ‘Crops’ with Special Crops
), so that only the most motivated and creative students could enlist.Aaeiulie Gub’s new design was done. Among copious sacred and profane geometric, she had chosen for it the overall shape of her favourite animal on this planet, a glaring glamorous owl. Now that the design was almost done (there was always a little leeway for improvisation every time, especially when the farmers wouldn’t like it), they would gather in one of the serene spots of the Worseversity’s park to manifest it in other dimensions…
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Godfrey stood looking up the pigeons sitting on the statue of the Academy’s founding father, Walter Melon, pondering the symbology.
“What do you reckon the symbology of that is, Aaeiulie?” he asked his colleague, this years alien-Xchange visiting professor, Aaeilulie Gub, from the Worserversity in the Slooperniff Dimension.
“No idea, God, I’ll use this as my next class assignment, see what the students come up with. Anything else, or just the statue and the pigeons? Keep it simple, profound? Or convoluted but with lots of options?”
“Oh keep it simple, if I know those students, they will manage to convolute even the simplest ideas.”
“If they didn’t, we’d be out of a job” said the alien.
“We don’t call them ‘jobs’ anymore, we call them S.M.I.L.E.S, or Something Marginally Interesting, Lucrative & Enlightening.”
With a perfectly straight face the alien replied “What rubbish.”.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
G3 (short for GGG, which was shorter for Good God Gordy) asked as if to himself “Anyone met the Fisherman yet?”
Gremwick put down the Psychic Politics book he’d taken for his assignment, his five words written on a lemon coloured sticker:
Oof… here we go, “state — briefly — fisherman — library — pigeons”… There’s a bit of challenge here. he sighed, mostly uninspired.
“Perhaps I should have stayed with the easy words like ‘more, is, less, think, true’”. “Do you mean the Fisherman’s coming? How long has it been already?” Ann started to count briefly on her chubby fingers.
“Well, I guess if you’d be more assiduous in Pr. Rose’s class in bird divination, you’d found out that the pigeons’ flight was unmistakably precise on that matter.”
“I tried, believe me, I tried to pay more attention,…” Ann said, “but frankly, I prefer direct experience of the broom cupboard to the draughty corridors of the library…”
“Oh, I should say I’m a bit disappointed at you; I’ve always believed the state of dustiness would have been an incentive to you rather than a deterrent.”“Don’t underestimate the incentive of detergent” Monica said almost mischievously under her breath.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Ann glanced vaguely over the bookcase, wondering where her dictionary was. Did people still use dictionaries in book form? I suppose any book will do for the purpose, she decided, and reached for the nearest book, a book about Rembrandt. She opened it randomly five times, using a ball point pen as a pointer, and selected five words for Prof Underbaker’s assignment.
…now…excite…
What a coincidence, I might be able to kill two birds with one stone here, Ann thought, with a slight shudder at the bird killing metaphor (if it was indeed a metaphor, Ann tended to skip the Labelling Words classes)…
…someone…
Ah, but who? Who shall I excite?
…pointed…
Pointed in the right direction? Addressed someone pointedly? Not to put too fine a point on it…
….time
Ann was interested to note that her selection of words started with the word NOW and ended with TIME, and popped it into her clue box in an effort to stay on course and finish the assigment.
There was no time like the present. Indeed T’Eggy was well aware that All is Now, she’d heard about that theory in Wicks, the online magazine that she’d found so enlightening. She’d been reading a copy of Wicks (a reproduction, the originals were now collectors items and very valuable ~ in an artifact rather than a monetary value kind of way, monetary value having been devalued in the early part of the century) in the teleport waiting room when she met the handsome foreignor in the dusty blue robes. Of course, it was not unusual to meet foreignors in the teleport waiting room, not unusual at all, but the tall, dark, and handsome stranger had excited her. Perhaps it was the flash of long lean tanned thigh that she glimpsed as his robes caught on the door knob. Of course, even the ‘waiting room’ was a retro touch, because there was no need to ‘wait’ for teleport travel. It seemed ironic in a way that folks in the old days had perceived ‘waiting’ as an onerous thing, an somewhat unpleasant period of clock watching and crossword puzzle books. These days ‘waiting rooms’ were popular places to meet people and choose probability pools. The latest trend was Turtle Nights, and Frog Nights, where men and women gathered in waiting rooms to choose partners, to find that special someone, loosely based on the old Hen and Stag nights.
“Do teleport stations have door knobs, Ann?” Pedro interjected.
“Oh!” Ann was momentarily non plussed.
“Non plussed? Is that a word?” asked Pedro.
“Pedro, stop interrupting! The assigment isn’t to design a teleport station!”
The teleport station had been designed in retro style, a facsimile of the Atocha train station in Madrid. Lack of need for physical details had not resulted in a lack of appreciation for physical detail simply for it’s artistic merit, not to mention historical educational value, and the TRANS (Teleport Relative to Any Now Space) Station was an award winning example of old fashioned detail. Why, it even had doorknobs, even though doors had been dispensed with several decades ago.
“I thought the assigment wasn’t to design a teleport station?” asked Pedro.
“Does it bloody matter?” retorted Ann, with a hint of exasperation. “The overall point is to write rubbish, and that’s what I’m doing!”
“I’m glad you pointed that out, Ann” remarked Pedro helpfully.
“Oh my god, look at the time!” Ann exclaimed. “It’s time for class!”
“Bugger that!” snorted Pedro. “I’d rather hear about what happened with T’Eggy and that tall dark stranger!”
