Search Results for 'rang'
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Search Results
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In reply to: Strings of Nines
One thing led to another, as it tends to do, while Sanso sat meditating on the enigma of The Dead Cow. Random and seemingly disjointed images flashed through his mind, not unlike a random google had been back in the old days, the first being an odd word, Kogaionon . Accessing further information, Sanso discovered that it was an ancient Transylvaniun skull. The link between the dead cow and the skull was clear ~ it was a bone sync, they both had bones, there was no denying it. Encouraged, Sanso continued to meditate.
After some images of a battle at sea , presumably Trafalgar, Sanso intuitively felt, he heard the words “Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” Wise words, he thought, and appropriate too. He popped these snippets into his indigo clue bag and continued to meditate. An image of a strange creature, half fish and half lion appeared next, a Merlion, which quickly morphed into an entertaining old movie playing across the screen of his minds eye, so to speak, in which someone who reminded him of Becky arrived in Paris during a rainstorm with just the clothes on her back ~ and interesting clothes they were, too! Sanso was glued to the screen, in a manner of speaking, and watched with amusement as a whole new wardrobe was delivered to the puzzled woman, followed by her mysterious benefactor: Georges.
Well, fancy Georges turning up again like that! Sanso was delighted. Perhaps Georges could shed some light on the mystery of the Dead Cow Blocking the Cave Entrance.
Sanso returned to his meditation and found himself eavesdropping on a conversation.
— Well, and Sanso, and Georges then, are they dead or what? How come Dory can see them?
— These ones are special, they have mastered the crossing of the Worlds, and can move through them. They move differently though. Sanso comes from a lineage of an ancient tribe of Zion, and had learn from them how to activate some portals, but only through the physical world of Dory, in their own time. He is not yet aware that he can also move through time as well, or even through other Worlds — worlds that he has no conception of yet.
Georges is more consummate in that art. Their meeting is not coincidental. You will see that.
— Thank you Grandad, it’s becoming a bit less confusing.
— Just flow with the story my little one, don’t hold on too much, or you will find it too difficult, and you will stop to find fun in it.“Their meeting is not coincidental” Sanso repeated to himself, popping it into his clue bag. “Well, I don’t know about Meanings, but at least I have a new bag of clues now!”
In reply to: Strings of Nines
Sanso had been hanging around for far too long, trying to make sense of all the funny ideas that people have, and trying to get to grips with all their adventures and escapades, their convoluted ponderings, and all the friends and associates that were continually weaving themselves through the many threads. He’d all but forgotten that he was a wanderer by nature, used to travelling alone. Somehow he’d become stuck in their ways, despite not ever really fitting in completely, and he wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened. Perhaps it had been the broccoli. With a defiant devil may care spirit, he’d eaten the broccoli
from the jar marked “You Fool”, when all the others had chosen the broccoli in the jar labeled “Thank You”. Well, he’d chosen it, there was no blaming anyone else for it, after all. But the effects had all but worn off, and he was starting to get the old familiar itch to travel again, to explore.“You can go in any direction you want” he heard himself say as he mentally transported himself back to a scene in his Story. “You’ll always be at the centre of everything.”
How very strange that he’d forgotten that. That brocolli was powerful stuff.
“You interpret the signs however you want to…” the voice of Sanso In Another Scene continued, “and then you act on it. And I’ll tell you this as well, it’s about time you stopped rehashing Old Scenes and started exploring some new ones. Just go, go now! Put one foot in front of the other, and just go ~ go back into the cave.”
Sanso was on the verge of protesting that he didn’t have a plan, and then remembered how much he liked surprises.
For the briefest moment, Sanso wondered if he should leave a note for anyone, or get the laundry in before he set off, or pack a suitcase or something, but decided to start off as he meant to carry on ~ alone, impulsive and free to wander the world of his own making.
There was a large black cow blocking the entrance to the cave. The cow was dead and bloated, although it hadn’t started to smell yet. Sanso wondered whether it was a sign, and decided that it was. It would be rather pointless to create a large dead cow blocking the cave entrance if it had no significance to the story, he deduced, although he hadn’t yet worked out an appropriate meaning for the sign.
Weighing up his options, Sanso realized there were several choices he could make. He could delete the previous paragraph, and simply walk into the cave. He could wait until the cow decomposed, and then simply climb over the bones. He could wander around until he found another cave entrance, or simply teleport himself into the cave behind the cow.
However, the only option that he could think of that would include the Meaning of the Dead Cow Blocking The Cave Entrance would be to stay with the cow until the meaning had been found. If he ignored the cow, he might be Missing An Important Meaning. Notwithstanding, the meaning may turn up later, whether he forgot about it or not.
Sanso decided to sit and meditate on the Meaning of the Cow before proceeding. He could change his mind at any moment if he got bored.
In reply to: Strings of Nines
After her little escapade with Yimho, and then with Brennan, and then with Gormitohl, and with each escapade, a new home, new relationships and relatives, Malvina was starting to feel homesick. ‘Home’ wasn’t really any place of course, but we all know when we feel at home or not. And right now, the feeling was clear and loud that she wasn’t.
Not only that, but her selfless outpouring of love (which dear Arona always found slightly exaggerated for her tastes) had oftentimes put her in awkward situations.
People weren’t always aware that even though her love was given so strongly to all of creatures, it could be found everywhere, in every creature. Ancients called that stream viwre. The only difference with her and the others was that she wasn’t discriminating and her love was outpourring in every direction, regardless of the intentions of the receiver. And that could become a terrible power.Well, after all the traveling with her teal-coloured dragon Leörmn, and occasional visits from the young dragon breeder Irtak she felt more than ever the need to reconnect. It’s been too many years now, and the world of the (still) warring Kingdoms didn’t feel much of a better place. So there was still work to be done.
Of all people, she knew where to turn to.
It was too early to start her trip around the world to physically reunite with her sisters. A lifelong project which had strangely stalled ever since they started to mention it.
But she remembered Kalliona, a beautiful woman living south of the Marshes of Doom. She wasn’t really a woman either, but rather an E’elim of the woods, but she appeared as a beautiful woman to almost anyone.
She would help her realign with her path.“Leörmn!” She called “We’re packing!”
“To where, may I ask?”
“Olliburthon”
“Oh great… A stinking harbour now.”In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
Noticed case
Under details,
Starting itself speaking.
Wait!
Start manner:
Years thought
(Wanted, rather…. )
Focus told: Silly,
Please notice.
Somehow…
StrangeIn reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Serenely on her tiny loom she weaves her story with careful art.
And who am I, with meddling pen to send it’s loveliness apart?For I, who am a weaver, too, look on that intricate design,
And know its daft embroideries are just as beautiful as mine….”LizAnn read the poem out loud, subsituting a few words of her own, and pointed out to Godfrey the distinct lack of any mention of spiders.
“We don’t have to include any actual spiders, Godfrey,” she said firmly. “Forget the spiders! We’re talking here about weaving a story from all the loose threads, not spinning a web with which to ensnare anyone. The myths” continued LizAnn, warming to the subject, “Concerning spiders and weaving are being rewoven anew. The Text Tiles are myriad, and all equally meaningless. The purpose of Text Tiles is no longer a sticky web of beleifs with which to ensnare the unsuspecting traveller, but a patchwork of …of….”
“Lost your thread, LizAnn?” inquired Gordon, smugly.
“You rude old coot” she replied, “Have some more peanuts, and allow me to finish.”
“Finish? Well, that will be a first.”
“What I was trying to say is that the weaving of the story can’t be contained inside the confines of the linearly constructed Reality Play. One only needs to focus on ones own weaving, in and out of the warped story, and the weft wide world outside, so to speak. The same principle applies to the other weavers and the Text Tile viewers. Each comment may be considerd to be a single Text Tile, or patchwork piece. These indiviual Text Tiles may be arranged in multitudes of ways according to the manner in which they are woven into an individuals own story weaving experience.”
“That’s as may be, LizAnn, but what about loom weights? To anchor the warp? Or is it the weft…”
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
Margaret reckoned she’d made a rather amusing essence, whose vibrational tone translated as the name Pigoosus. A dirty park littered with pigeons droppings had been so full that she had barely noticed the “ubiquitously absent” Finnley…
The inspiration to take a break from that strange coollage of magpies was full of surprises, indeed still in fairy land, apparently with some invisible being that she was considering working with. Hesitant at publishing her book, Finnley swore out loud at that Mr Arak, forcing her to work with Al.
Finnley was still wondering who this Al was. Perhaps he had a damn good coontract.
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
New Venice, October 2117
Now, where were we? Midora suddenly felt that the need for an agenda was called for. Spread out in front of her were a few collages and some balls of energy from all the links and connections she had found in the stories of her ancestors and gathered so far.
Since her fathers Oscar and Bart had adopted the twins Hari and Jacq, her usually tidy room had been a mess. Fortunately, the adoption was almost complete, and in a mere week, the twins would then be able to choose another family, which they made clear they intended to do. She felt so appreciative that adoption was no longer bound by traditional laws of responsibility of the parents and ridden by culpability; instead, it was a healthier cooperation between the parents and children, and children were free to go with other families if they felt the desire for a different experience.
When they’d adopted Hari and Jacq, Bart and Oscar had wanted for a continuation of the experience of bringing up children, which they did not have for a long time with Midora, as she was quite independent from an early age. And in truth, Jacq and Hari were very interactive and playful, and to be perfectly honest, quite a handful; in a few weeks, the apartment would surely seem deserted and empty.So, during that time, Midora’s researches on the stories had been put to a halt, and a lots of her energy balls which were usually neatly ordered on her lightboard were now merged for some, changed of forms for others… all thanks to her half-bros. She barely knew were to start to get a better view of it now.
Let me see… there were a few threads going on there, and all we need is untangle some of them…
She’d had fun reconnecting with the “Island of Dr Transvestite” theme, but now she found out, her favorite characters Shar and Glor, were now disembodied, stranded in transition, and perhaps waiting to be reborn to a nine-titted alien in the Worseversity after failed attempts of channeling. So far, no signs of developments for them though.
As far as the Ooh-dimension was concerned, the shift of Vowellness was probably complete, and she couldn’t find anything new being published by Ms Tattler in all now probable directions she was looking into. She was of course ignoring the disrupted echoes from the Jumbled Eights thread, which were probably the brainstorming board of ideas of the writer, which she had the greatest difficulty to follow (she wondered if even the writer could).
Her own thread and the details of the history of the Wrick family was always sketchy and full of holes; she’d attempted at learning more about the elusive Becky , but she kept blinking in and out of continuity, too quickly for her to follow her anywhere in her explorations.
Oh, and the Alienor dimension was still going on, though most of its development wasn’t yet showing up. What had happened of Arona, Franiel, Irtak’s father, the gripshawk? And now that Malvina was gone too… She’d found Mrs Chesterhope after her strange amnesiac shapeshifting accident however; and that was encouraging.
So strange, all of these characters are so alive, she thought fondly, and yet none of them seem motivated enough to project themselves out with force and steadiness into her energy balls which still had a sort of blurriness and haphazardness to them.
She made the intent to project more energy in the direction of stabilizing the currents of the strands of stories, and the energy balls’ colors started to shimmer lightly. That was certainly the way to go. Which one would be the most alluring to explore and follow?
In reply to: Strings of Nines
After five years of training of the dragon twins, Irtak was to do for the first time an act that would finally make him not just a dragon rider, but a dragon breeder in his own right. He had to part ways with them.
It was harder than he’d expected. He knew that if he wanted to bring more dragons into the great stream of the Duane’s life, he couldn’t only focus on the two buoyant twins. It’d taken them that long to manage channeling the intense energy of the two, and balancing their thirst of discovery with patience and adequacy of action.
Parting now was almost heart-breaking for him, even though the dragons had been reassuring they were only longing for new adventures with new companionship.In fact, they were so longing that they would have almost gone with any stranger, or perhaps even just on their own —reluctant as they were to admit they also greatly enjoyed human’s company. However, Irtak wanted to make sure they would be taken care of by not just anybody; as powerful as dragons were, the two were almost innocent and very young for that race, and they would greatly benefit from some wise tutelage.
Now that Malvina had left the cave, he didn’t know who to turn to for advice, and was feeling a bit forlorn, though his glubolin was still working fine. He’d been thinking about it for quite some time, and realized that some travel would really do him good, so he finally began packing.
The Southern Shores of Lan’ork would make a great destination to find a proper owner for the twins, and an interesting starting point for new adventures.In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
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
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
#1198
Al was visibly deranged finding Becky scantily clad. Well, wait for him to shave, he smiled. Becky might eat some nuts, wondering why she had not thought of that in the first place. Becky had always been reluctant, or perhaps just forgetful.A clap made her moan in a silky voice, she felt energy crawl underneath her sabulmantium. It was Man, a distinctive pack of magic. What an impossible florid and baroque little marmoset playing a mouth harp.
Arona felt like beating dragons. She almost stopped in anticipation of a pile of conic shaped dirty sand, soil from the cave, the dragons doing. They are disagreeable kind of creature, made her dizzy.
The dragons had disappeared. Arona snapped to no one in particular, you will see how easy it is to come back if you feel so inclined.
At her touch, the dragon started to enclose a circle of sand, a curvy symbol.
The interior of the cave was out of focus, in all its splendor…
Fuck the babbled excuses, her own sloppy children wearing a potatoes sack. Sure Gabriele had noticed that nurse Bellamy in my room. Professional women made silky rope disappear.
Sure, more security, she had to be more careful about Barbella Bee-hive. I don’t like that Barbella. Perhaps it’s the kinky wrists tying games…
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
Al woke up deranged. He was in the middle of the bushes, unable to move and scantily clad.
Good thing too that the joggers in the park noticed!
Embarrassing, he reckoned.
Moments later, after some voice messages on his telephone from Becky, he was still incapacitated.
Just as Becky was retorting to Al to please become completely transparent, Becky giggled, suddenly seeing the Wet Tarty Nun.
“My God, what the fuck is that?”
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
“I blame the Elsespace Arrangement” Monica said in response to Ann’s long winded diatribe. “Nothing’s been quite the same since it got so popular.”
“You’ve got a point there, Mon” Ann agreed. “We didn’t used to have all these mix ups before, did we?”
“Well speak for yourself, dear, I don’t get mixed up,” Monica said a trifle pompously.
Not ‘arf you don’t, Ann said to herself, smiling sweetly at her freind.
“I heard that” Monica replied.
“Soory, Monica.” Oh my god, look at that typo. “Sorry Monica” Ann corrected herself. “The thing is, I’ve been feeling so odd lately. Disconnected, somehow. But the others seem to think they’ve been offending me, but it’s not that.”
“Well, what is it then?” asked Monica kindly.
“I’m not going to tell you. Ah ha ha ha ha.”
In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
Months coincidence party ladies story far continuous
somewhere mention blue matter beginning
previous particular interesting sleep weeks easier
whatever strange lovelyIn reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Ann slapped her forehead when she realized her mistake, notwithstanding that there were no ‘mistakes’ as such.
The story is for the writer that writes it, not the reader.
What the repercussions of that were for the future of publishing, Ann wasn’t quite sure.
“Oh, I can answer that for you, dear” Lavender responded. “On my recent trip to the future I went to the Pick Your Own Pages book store. There’s a wonderful Pick ‘N’ Mix section, and a Lucky Dip. You can pick various quantities, such as chapters, pages, paragraphs or sentences, and you arrange them yourself.”
“What a wonderful idea!” Ann replied.
“Oh, the idea was an old one, very old!” Lavvie explained. “People were doing it all along, though they didn’t realize it. The idea of being spoon fed an entire story went out with the Ark. It was the advent of random quote generators that started the ball rolling.”
Ann beatled off to check the random quote for the day….
“Arona! Sanso! Oh, how wonderful to see you guys again! Come and meet Lavender and Walter, we’re discussing continuity….”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Gremwick was glad the Fisherman had come to repair the Cloud Fishes of the Inner Aerial Pool of the Worseversity.
It’s been a few days that he’d noticed an unusual lack of randomness in the swimming patterns of the little Cloud Fishes.
As they were usually used for the divination courses, no sooner was the issue identified than the students had to temporarily recourse to the use of pigeons for their assignments —which sadly left a stinking trail of devastation on the usually pristine marble floors that greatly infuriated Charity, the cleaning lady, otherwise known for her great patience and candor, who’d kept cursing like a sailor against the winged demonic creatures the last past weeks.The incident in itself was not of immense consequence in the grand scheme of things, but it felt worrisome for the Dean that these swimming creatures known for their quite reliable and, yes, totally unfloundering randomness had suddenly decided to adopt a monotonous pattern.
In that disposition, they were merely echoing the requester’s requests in a manner of a mirror instead of evoking strange and obscure meanings from the depths of the universe.It had amused the students very much, as it was making their assignments apparently far easier —there was no thing left in need of deciphering, unless the students’ requests were themselves incoherent, which could on occasion happen especially after the Special Crop Circle Lessons. As no incident was without meaning, the Dean had pondered this one, but without any satisfactory answer as of yet.
At least, it had been the occasion to meet the Fisherman, and to ponder on the plainness of a world without unpredictability.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Monica was asking Pedro about Pr. Moss last assignment. Everybody had been very impressed by his story teller talent and she wanted to know more about it. He was quite secretive though, and maybe it was because he was not a native English speaker, but nonetheless she wanted to know about some details.
Before he could say anything, she felt an excruciating pain in her belly and the announcing signs of intestine problems…
— Are you ok, asked Pedro? What was that strange noise?
— Nothing! she eluded quickly. I need to go to the bathroom, excuse me.Another spasm almost made her fall on the ground.
Damn Pr. Flipswitch! she thought, I shouldn’t have accepted to try the herbs he gave me after his herbal course.
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…”
