Search Results for 'nobody'

Lucius was quite franky exhausted. Building roads, always building roads….endlessly long boringly straight ones. He was fed up with it; the only thing that kept him going was his imagination. If he let his mind wander, he hardly felt his aching back. He didn’t think of Rome, Rome, nothing but Rome, like so many of his compatriots, he thought of other times and places, and imagined what they were like.

He imagined who had walked this valley before him, and who might walk it after him. He imagined a girl in a swing hung from a fig tree, twirling round and round, and wondered who she was. The image came with a feeling, a feeling of anticipation and excitement, full of enthusiasm and delight. Lucius began to feel a little disorientated, so strong and clear was the image, and wondered why a fig tree was growing right in the middle of the road he was building. He opened his mouth to shout No! We can’t build the road here, this is where the girl swings!….and shut it again quickly. It was getting harder and harder to stay focused on the present and not say anything strange out loud. He looked around furtively, but nobody had noticed.

Phew! he said, or the Roman equivalent of Phew, and buckled down to the task of building the road.

Dead sync I’ve had a drink with a friend this afternoon and he told me about the trip in Vienna last June… he was with us but did not attend the Elias session.
During this trip, he almost choked to death in a restaurant… nobody seemed very concerned about it at the moment but I felt he was really having difficulties, I just pushed the tables around (broke many plates and water stuffs :p) and “helped” him in a way.. He told me later that he’d seen him dead during the experience… he may have created a dead probable self at that time.

And he also told me that yesterday he made a lemon pie and we talked about making a lemon pie too

A Deep Purple synch with Eric’s Roger Glover, lovey dovey joyous song because Deep Purple may have been in my dream Armelle – meditations, dreams, synchs, thoughts # 2”. (Rod EVans being the name of the person who handcrafted the wand and a member of Deep Purple for a while, of course I don’t know that the Rod Evans in my dream was THE Rod Evans, actually I only knew that about DP because I googled the name, oh Paris is on the news as I write this, is that a synch? Also where is Rod Evans now? nobody knows. Maybe he is going incognito as that mystery stone carver bloke. And then of course there is the purple thing with Jib purple, not devil).

Hmmm well that is a weirdo synch, but no stranger than some of them.

oh this is a truly rubbish synch the things I say to entertain you guys.

And a rose for the maligned Rod Evans wherever he may be hiding out now.

Did Tracy notice her orange synch was comment 57?:yahoo_clown:

I think you can overdo the icons.

The thing is, Dory, George was speaking gently, but was looking pointedly into her eyes as he spoke, the thing is that nobody ever needs any help, as you are accustomed to think of it.

Do you like that line, Tina? Becky asked in a bemused way.

Tina reflected. Well I like the fact that he speaks in a gentle voice like me. Her voice trailed off. However, it’s just that it does sound rather simplistic, I mean …..

Oh thank god, the phone is ringing, I have created help so I won’t have to finish what I started to say.

The thing is, Dory, George was speaking gently, but was looking pointedly into her eyes as he spoke, the thing is that nobody ever needs any help, as you are accustomed to think of it.

When Dory finally woke up from her coleslaw induced stupour, she felt quite befuddled. What a peculiar trip it had been! I’ve taken some recreational drugs in my time, Dory thought, but I’ve never had a trip quite like that one. She wondered what on earth George had drugged the coleslaw with. Dory closed her eyes again, recalling snatches of the hallucinations.

Being chased by bandits on hairpin mountain roads with a small baby girl in the car; being held at gunpoint by Idi Amin in an Afrian court; running, running, gasping with terror, chased by old fashioned Bobbies on pushbikes, and dough faced bowler hatted debt collectors…..

Dory’s heart was pounding again as she recalled the images that rolled along like a crazy movie montage, a psycho thriller, a horror movie…..

……being held down under the bathwater as a baby with a vicious scowling face looming above her; fighting with a witch in the garden shed for tense petrifying hours; monstrous demons snaking blacky out of ouija boards, and madness and asylums; a man lying in a double bed dying from self inflicted stab wounds and she was shouting and calling and nobody hearing; running, running and gasping, shouting for help and no-one was there…..

Well, Dory pulled herself together, No point in dwelling on it, it was just a freaky bad trip.

Coffee? George asked.

Dory’s head snapped round. Huh? Oh! Gosh, YES please! You’re still here are you? Dory rubbed her eyes and shook herself a bit. Just the mention of coffee had already started to snap her out of her unpleasant reverie.

Of course I’m still here, Dory, George said kindly. I am always here. I was with you during you trip, every step of the way, but you were not focused on me.

You WERE? Dory was momentarily non-plussed. And then, Well why did you let all that awful stuff happen then? Why didn’t you help me? You just stood there and watched?

Illi was quite pleased with the sand dragons.

HHHMMM, they don’t repulse me like dragons usually do. I think it’s because they are sand dragons, and sand is so much nicer than slimy cold scales. Well! Illi thought, I really wouldn’t know if they are slimy or cold, because, for the love of all-that-is, I would not choose to venture that close!

Illi chose to ignore her rather paradoxical musings on loving all that is, which would by definition include the beastly dragons, and turned her attention to the sand giant slouching patiently at the end of the beach.

Now giants, that’s another thing entirely. I am quite enamoured of giants, and this one looks so familiar!

Illi leaned back against the sand dragons bulky body and closed her eyes, reminiscing about her early years as Illi Fergusson, and her eccentric family.

When Illi was a young child she rarely saw her parents, the eccentric Lord Gustard Willoughby Fergusson and his charmingly batty second wife, Floribunda Chaiise-Loriket. Illi stayed at home in the anscestral country pile in Dorset, Rubbingdon Hall, with Nanny Chraddock while her parents travelled the world in search of giant bones and artifacts. Their travels took them far and wide, from the jungles of South America to the deserts of North Africa; from the mountains of Spain to the arid eternity of the Australian outback.

Illi used to play a game with Cranky (as she affectionately called nanny Chraddock) in the long months while her parents were away, called Wish House. Every room in the sprawling Elizabethan house was a different time and place, and the moment they entered the room they imagined themselves to be different people, in other times. Petunia Duster the maid loved to join in too; consequently not alot of housework got done, but with Gus and Flora always off travelling, nobody minded. Playing was, after all, so much more important than dust. In fact, a thick layer of dust made the rooms all the more mysterious and magical.

There’s nobody in this tavern!!!! Where’s the fainting goat milk???

Sanso was very hungry. He’d been living on the fungus that grew inside the dampest parts of the cave, but the recent stretches of tunnel had been much drier, sandy even. He hadn’t found a cave entrance for days and longed to step out of the cave into air and sunlight and green things, and find something fresh and juicy to eat.

Beginning to feel quite despondent, and with the hunger and thirst making his body ache terribly, he sat down, crumpled into a heap on the sandy floor. He lay back, stretching out flat and slept for what seemed like days.

He woke up mumbling the name Eggleton, which reminded him of a dish he’d encountered at one of the cave entrance worlds. He’d wandered into a beautiful strange green and rainy land, and followed the delicious aroma of something that seemed so delightfully familiar, that he couldn’t quite place, something that reminded him of mornings. Coffee! He remembered now. The smell of coffee had led him to a door with big brass numbers on it: 57. He opened the door and peered round it, wondering if he’d be welcome. It had seemed as though nobody was there, but a table was laid for one, with scrambled eggs on toast (freshly cooked as if whoever had prepared it had known eggsactly when he would arrive) and a steaming pot of black coffee.

Sanso stretched and realized his many aches and pains had been eased by the sleep on the soft sand on the cave floor, and the dry atmosphere, and slowly opened his eyes. Lying flat on his back, he was looking directly up at the tunnel ceiling. There was a door in the ceiling, strangely parrallel to the floor, an odd position for a door, he thought. His heart lurched and his stomach growled again with hunger as he noticed the large brass numbers on the door: 57.