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I had no idea that Russian mushrooms would prove to be such an interesting subject…..

Vladimir Soloukhin:

While you are sorting out the mushrooms you recall each one, where you found it, how you first saw it, how it was growing beneath this bush or that tree. Once again you experience the pleasure of each discovery, particularly if they were rare and fortunate discoveries. Once again all the images of the mushroom forest drift through your mind, all the secluded wooded spots, where you are no longer, but where the dark firs still lour and the crimson-touched aspens speak their language in low breath.

Interesting development in the SM research: those who can’t afford the actual mushrooms can drink the urine of those who can and have done; SM’s have the unusual property of remaining unmetabolized by the body….or something…..

So you have requested audience… a deep voice, hoarse as a water’s torrent running and jumping on a river bed smothered with pebbles, asked from the darkness.

Midora was not afraid of the darkness. As best as she could explain it, it was the void of creation, where everything came from, and where all was stripped of intrinsic meaning. It was from this place that she could reach for the answers.

She knew this place, she felt memories swirling around, as uncatchable as a swarm of short-lived sparkles born from the reddish embers of a dying fire.
In this lifetime, she was only a eleven year old girl, but she was as old as this voice within her. There was a time where she was playing with that voice, a time where her being was not yet, and yet a time which was in her future.
She was pure consciousness in that dream time space, and yet, she was feeling more comfortable with physical symbols around herself. So she focused on one of the symbols that she knew would help her stabilize her vibration, and in doing so, all the small particles of golden light around her started to swirl and coalesced into a dream body.

She was in front of a cave, in a mountainous area. This body provided her a slowing down of the stream of information that came to her, and she could manipulate more efficiently the interaction with that huge presence she felt. The precipitous rocky environment was a symbol of that steadiness and slowing down and also, for her benefit of her beliefs in that acquiring such information might be a difficult task.
Now she had identified it, she could more easily dispel the obstacles on the path to the cave. The cave of course, was her symbol for reaching into her deep inner nature. And the darkness was only a fitting blank canvas for herself to project and translate the energy interactions.
All of that she knew, as it was knowledge embedded into herself that she could more easily access into this trance-like state, in her room in that location in space and time of 2112 in New Venice. And she knew that also for she was taught by her parents, Bart and Oscar, on how to access it.

The voice was inside the cave. And no sooner had she thought of it that she was finding the whole place morphing into a vast room built into the rock, in the middle of which a majestic golden dragon was slowly breathing.
She had translated the vast energy as that of a dragon, but she knew when she felt into it that it had possible variations, one of which being that of a she-phoenix, of various sizes, where sizes where symbolic of its age and wisdom.

— You may call me Naasir the dragon grinned at Midora. You are right, in a sense, you can consider yourself being born from me, though in your true form, you are equally august and splendid as I am. You will, in time, have access to that form, again. But for now, I can provide some answers to your questions. The only thing is… Are your questions up to the challenge? he added with the most benevolent smirk his wide toothed grin could convey.

Midora pondered for a moment, beholding the perfection of her translation of the energy. Each scale on the body of the dragon was a work of art. His half-closed eyes, with an amber shiny center, and teal border were equally mesmerizing.

— What is the significance of these books I have inherited from my parents?

— As you know, this place is the place were significance fades away, or radiates, depending on the direction in which you look, only to be replaced by fulfillment. Your… books hence, have no significance, I would say, for me at least. What do you want to know about them?

— They were passed from people to people, and as far as I understood, they started to be imprinted with these people’s stories, starting from my grand-parents Indy and Cuthbert. But there are still blank pages inside them, and no seeming order from one page to the other. I think that’s why my grand-parents grew tired of it.

— Continue…

— What I mean is… I feel attracted to them, and yet I don’t understand how they work…

— These… are not mere books as your ancestors understood them. In fact, they were crafted by a distant civilization, not denizens from this dimension in which you are presently focused, but travelers, with whom you can still interact by means of this device. When the “books” traveled into this dimension, they retained their initial properties and functioning, but their initial shapes were translated into something as close as you could understand so that you would allow them to appear into your reality. This knowing might help you unravel their true nature.

Another thing. Books are energy deposits, in your reality. There was a misunderstanding in that they were thought to be able to liber or to free your memory by imprinting it into the pages, but memories are alive and not separate from you. They live as you live and change them. So, the books are still being written, and that which you can read is the part of the book which is the most probable story in which you choose to insert yourself, so as to explore it. You can alter these probabilities, even if you might doubt it, but as you chose them, they are much a part of your design of your reality, that which you chose to explore. In short, a complete book means the end of your exploration, and prompts for a disengagement for you to continue other explorations, and on the contrary, a blank books means a boundless realm of probable explorations.

— Can you tell me why there are two of them?

— They are more than a couple. These ones are the only known ones that your ancestors happen to have found. Most of them have been destroyed over time in this dimension, as their possibilities were heavily cloaked. They are all linked together, as you will find out. You may gather some answers in finding Badul…

And with that, Midora was once again floating in an intermediate state hung between space and time, longing for her physical body. She woke up strangely energized…

— These are MY eggs! Nobody touches my eggs!
— Oh come on, you’re not gonna make these ostrich eggs hatch Cathy… Better have them made into a nice big omelet for our guests… Fleur said with a tentative smile.
— And why use MY eggs for that?! Moooom, she’s trying to steal my eggs…

— What’s with all that fuss here? a coarse, yet sensual female voice said in the background of the kitchen.
— Mom, she wants to make an omelet with the eggs that granddad gave me…
— Calm down Catherine, will you… Is that true Fleur?
— Err… Madam Wrick, I suppose it was only a stupid joke… Thing is that wasn’t such a bad idea… There will be quite a few guests tonight, and… she began to falter as the eyebrows of Dorean Wrick were taking a more severe look. Err… I’m sorry, M’am, I’ll send Raster fetch some food for a nice meat pie, will it be nice?
— Perfect. That settles the matter then… Catherine, go back to your room, and let Fleur work. I’ll send you a maid to help you be prepared for our guests arrival.
— Yes, Mum.

What a silly idea Theobald, her father have had, to give her step-daughter those eggs for her birthday… Big funny green eggs. He’d said they were ostrich eggs, but there were no ostrich in Mexico, as far as she knew. Of course, now the little girl’s only idea was to have the birds hatch and to mount them and ride in the slopes of Ireland.
This family was definitely insane, Dorean was thinking.
At least, she had thought her own branch of the family tree had been spared by the folly of her relatives and their attraction for occult and intangible things, but with that odd gift, it seemed to her more than likely that her father had followed the steps of his wricked brother… Or perhaps it was only an old man’s way of passing time. But knowing her father down-to-earth nature, that was not like him. He didn’t do things out of a whim, and there was probably more than met the eye having to do with the funny eggs…

A few days ago, shortly after New Year’s eve and stepping into year 2034, she’d had received an unexpected parcel from her cousin, Sean Doran. A couple of wrapped books, he was asking her to keep in store for him. She always had liked her cousin, though they had only met two or three times when they were children. Thing was, family matters were more a wrickage than anything else, and they had barely kept in touch over the years.
She had distractedly opened the big ornate leather-bound books only to discover they were blank. What was the purpose of all of this, she didn’t know. But unlike most people, Dorean wasn’t interested in others’ businesses. She would keep the books, whatever they meant.

And she had more pressing matters now.
Her guest were coming. Elvira and her demented husband were moving back, and were due to arrive tonight after a rather long expatriation in the lands of Russia. Having met that strange and impressive individual, the perspective of getting away in a foreign land leaving all the past behind, all of this had most probably saved Elvira from her depressive mood…
But she had been so isolated from her past that Dorean suspected that these almost thirty years abroad would have changed her profoundly.

A hotel room in New Venice, January 2034

Sean had agreed reluctantly.
As his father Lord Wrick had been aware for some time, Sean had been heavily drinking following the death of Margaret, and though he could still speak with her, he had a hard time not to take her as an illusion from his guilty mind.
So, wary of the impacts on his grand-children, Guinevere and Peregrine, Hilarion Wrick had demanded him to personally take care of their education, and have them move with him. The year before, he had acquired an old mansion in the Orkney Islands, in a healthy location far from the buzz of towns, and was in the process of having it restored. Its previous owner, Baron O’Dolly seemed to have disappeared and Lord Wrick had seized the occasion, as there was a nice big area of land around the place. Restoration would soon be over, he’d said, and he was wishing the children would move in the next spring.

Of course, Sean had known that his father’s proposal was no mere proposal. With the wealth and lawyers he had at his disposal, even if he would have to wait years, he could get what he was wanting. Even if he was to crush everything in the process. So he had agreed.

— Why do you feel sorry? You are no fit to raise children, and Becky is certainly no better than you… the ghost of Margaret was saying
— You know what it is, I feel so inadequate… What will my children remember of me?
— Don’t be stupid, they love you… And I’ll talk to them… On the contrary, loving the old bat won’t be as easy for them

This almost brought up a smile on Sean’s face.

— Yes, you’re right, and you are right for Becky and I… Perhaps we’ll have children, but for now, I suppose we want to enjoy being together, and take a deep bracing breath.
— Then stop being so gloomy and go call her. Perhaps you even want to start looking for an apartment in New Venice for both of you, to make her a big nice surprise for your wedding. She didn’t seem so fond of the idea of staying in Dublin for extended periods of time.
— Yes! And I’ll book our honey moon too… She wants to see so many places I suppose I’ll have to book a cruise over the world. And perhaps get tickets for the first trip in the cross-oceanic tunnel… Thank you Margaret, I’m so full of projects…
— Why, thank YOU, she said with a bwink (a simultaneous blinking and winking, in ghost’s jargon).

— There you are! said the man to the dark figure who had just landed on the wrought iron railed balcony I believe your trip was good!
— Absolutely, Sir. Everything went as you said.
— Good, very good.

The Baron was a tall man with an impressive build and a broad chest due to his lifelong passion for boxing. With his grey waxed moustache on his round rubicund face, he was giving the impression of a perfectly refined gentleman, but his disarrayed hair and his blue twinkling eyes behind his monocle were contrasting sharply and suggesting either a genius or a madman.

While Carla was getting rid of the cumbersome fly-like apparatus, the Baron was taking deep puffs on his pipe, releasing pink-coloured clouds smelling of vanilla.
The interior of the manor was of grisly aspect, but for all matter and purposes, the Baron seemed completely oblivious, as he was savouring his smoking on the stained worn bottle-green velvet sofa.
In actuality, the manor looked like a total ruin, and that, combined with the habit of speaking his mind which had gained him a reputation of heinous callous grizzly in society, had slowly severed him from all exterior contact.
The Crazy Baron, as the people of the nearby village had called him, was indeed very glad of this state of fact, which allowed him a complete privacy. As he liked to say to a few trusted people, being mad was the surest way of being left alone. Providing him what money, threats and coercion wouldn’t surely have given as surely. It was not completely safe either of incursion, but these, mainly due to a few young and curious daredevils from the village, could be easily thwarted thanks to the motion-sensors that were dispersed along the property and an appropriate anonymous call to the police. Because, unknown of but a few, underneath the old structure, was a room that, despite lacking a view, was not lacking of anything high-tech…

— Do you want to know the details? asked Carla, interrupting the Baron in his thoughts.
— Not really. I suppose you gave that old crone of a Viscountess the fright of her life, but well, I suppose she deserved it… Many would agree of course, though never in private. Ahah!
— Well, now you make me think of it, I reckon she forgot herself a bit in the process…
— Ahahah! If only it could have taught her something… The manic laughter of the Baron was as chilling as it was infectious.

Suddenly regaining his poised demeanour, the Baron resumed:
— Now, tell me, was it a genuine one?

— I wonder, Joselito…
— What Paqui?
— Do you know if our room will have a view?

Paquita and Jose Maria had boarded an hour ago, and the plane had just taken off Heathrow airport where they had their connecting flight to Sydney (with a stopover at Tokyo) where they would finally take a tourist plane for the main Pacific island of the Tikfijikoo Archipelago.
There had been some fuss about a lady who was called to the gate. No wonder she got lost, Jose was thinking, with that strange numbering of gates… Any sane person would lost his or her bearings…
By a strange coincidence, the lady was seated on their row, and Jose Maria and Paquita had exchanged a surprised look when they had heard the name. At first they had thought that the “Ms Mavis Staples” the air-hostess was calling every minute was the same singer they were very fond of…

She had finally arrived, a plump sweating embarrassed woman, apologising at every steward, and looking at her sandals in a sheepish look… As soon as she had taken her seat, she’d said “excuse me” to the couple, apologising again that it was her first time in a plane and that she would likely be sleeping through the trip. A few seconds afterwards, she’d been putting on her eyes a huge yellow hand-knitted blindfold drawn from the depths of her behemothic wicker handbag with pink cats and roses decorations, and in a matter of minutes had been snoring loudly.

Exchanging another look of surprised consternation, Paquita and Jose Maria shrugged and almost burst out giggling.

— Oh look! whispered Paqui
— What? mumbled Jose who was starting to doze off
— A brochure of Tikfijikoo… Here, in her handbag…
— Oh dear… I guess we’ll be traveling together for another bunch of hours… sighed Jose

A cloud-assisted demented rewrite, just for fun…

PERPLEXED BY THAT PARTICULAR case, THE sheriff HAD HIS glassES floatING BEFORE HIS eyeS.

SOME mean rather weird beings… THE brotherHOOD OF magic NEEDED TO SEND Elikozoe INTO A space Craft TO CARE FOR THE boy WHO felt six motherSHIPS COMING IN HIS dreams.

DURING THESE moments easily FORGOTTEN, SOME others young legends WERE sent Aside TO answer AND bounce WITH alone aspects THAT wondered HOW TO keep focused.

THE trees WERE laughing “yeah!” THEY SAID, AS Anita FELT cold AMONG THE roseS randomLY SCATTERED.
SOME told HER ABOUT love, AS SHE asked WHETHER dragons REALLY seemed LIKE nothing ELSE SHE HAD SEEN BEFORE.

Chris turned wondering ABOUT nature THESE days WHEN everyone, Elizabeth INCLUDED, KEPT thinking WHAT THEIR hair looked LIKE FROM behind.

DEEP inside, SOME help began slightly TO COME TO THE lady AS SOON AS THE dark cloud HAD taken HER TO sleep. THE truth IN particular WAS LIKE A friend WITH purple COLOURS AND A skull IN HIS HAND, WHO sat WAITING FOR HER.
“let HOPE COME, despite whatever FATE bringS TO THE door! YOU must wait SOMETIMES, AS factS follow!”

Nice Tina WAS caught floating ON THE STREAM, AND moving ALONG IN A green jogGING GEAR WAS Joe, BOTH full OF IDEAS THAT gave THEIR friends AN experience NEWLY created. BUT THEY needed magpieS AND tried FOR THESE creatureS INSERTION TO work.

FOR Arona, ALL WAS happening ON Earth LIKE SOME important dream. IT WAS LIKE dancing IN A real play, WITH THE sea NEARBY.
A series OF dog-EARED BOOKS WERE NEARLY outside, AND deep INSIDE, SHE KNEW THE novelS WERE close TO surface OUR dimension, WITH HER head looking BEYOND, AS perhaps Yurick WOULD AGREE.
HIS heart often sounds interesting, BUT OF ALL THE ones SHE liked, IT SHOULD BE herself.
THE Duane SHALL BE rememberED, SHE thought, IN DUE times…

WITH THE goat, Anna suddenly giveS THE blue busy spiders SOME NEW reality, AND Kay IS getting hot. SHE HAD forgotten THAT handS COULD BE making names, AND SHOUTING HER CreEd, THE voice OF THE girl SAID IT matterED THAT THE story became shouted IN THE sky.
Eric WAS ENduring Sanso WHO loved THE sandY BEACHES.

STAYING clear THIS NEW year DEMANDS SOME self AWARENESS, ESPECIALLY ON THE yellow CHAKRA points, TO ALLEVIATE UNNECESSARY physical pain.

CLAD IN teal, SHE WAS waiting FOR HIS parents’ words TO HAVE moved AND TO BE connected. Franiel HAD FELT within HIMSELF four OLD fatherS’ ADVICES, AND HAD AGREED TO TALK TO Salome’S face AND ANSWER HER call THAT HAD APPEARED quickly UPON THE wall AND HAD BEEN wandering OVER HIS bed.
HE careD FOR THE past, AND THAT VISION WAS telling. IN THE morning, HE SAW IT AS A gift, SHINING IN SOME DISTANT island, LIKE A moviNG presence.

Yann VowED TO FIND HIS WAY IN THE soup OF linkS, AND FIND THE OLD godS’ energy THAT kept THE planetS MOVING.
HE heard SOMETHING, A FUGACIOUS moment following HIS ADMIRING OF THE beautiful weather, UNDER THE Glistening sun. A SINGLE dragon’S hands COULD nurse POTENT writing abIlITIeS, AND soon WOULD open GREAT awareNESS OF joy AND moveMENTS AND music WHICH WOULD MAKE HIM laugh OF ALL THAT HE WAS creating WITHIN THIS focus.

Tracy FEELS away OF THE action. IT seems QUITE human… NOTHING IS white DURING twilight, SHE noticed, AND FELT given TO understand.
AS MRS Bellamy, SHE WOULD HAVE stopPED LONG ago, HAD NOT come THAT powerful mummy.
WITH Georges startING TO APPEAR, worry BECOMES quietNESS FOR Jib, AND crystal-CLEARNESS FOR Sam.
MANY years AHEAD IN A GALAXY far-AWAY, ANOTHER Dory IS named AND readS ABOUT DR Bronklehampton’s WORKS.
HAVING TAKING leaveS, AND BEING gone FOR ALL, OLD Hrih DELVES INTO THE skulls AND HIS eyes SEE A next hope IN A book.
MovementS HAPPEN FOR Claudio already… THE world woke UP IN surprise.
A known sense OF TIME–SPACE-travel APPEARS IN THE commentS, AS seen THROUGH light.

Akita’S body AND mind started TO ACT LIKE A saint AND FEEL strange under THE change.
“TO danGER, bugger!” WAS HIS decision NO longer… HE FELT warm… Towards THE worlds treeS, askING HIMSELF IF IT WAS A game, HE SAW TWO male children PLAYING against EACH OTHER.
THEY managed TO show HIM THAT THE Murtuane WAS familiar.
THE whole air WAS speaking. IT sort OF opened ITSELF SO THAT HE knew later OF THAT SPECIAL room OF TIME AND SPACE, AND HAD THE WIND AGAIN BRUSH HIS skin similar TO WHEN HE WAS seeing home IN HIS HEAD.

Felicity IN THE BEDlam SAW half-formS, COUNTING three OF THEM, INCLUDING Gustav IN THE saloon, AND Becky WHO WAS THINKING SHE WAS AGAIN IN THE wrong PLACE: A monastery!
SHE’D RATHER HAVE yourself BE A star, AND HERSELF BE HERE TO MAKE THE FUN postS AND playing lost.

Eight powers smiled: true saying!
THE sisters focuses IN THEIR caveS HAD SOME fine land TO PLAY WITH.
Apparently sound WAS key once, BUT THE VOICES IN THE night speak UNCEASINGLY, AND TO write SOME great stories, SPEAK strongLY. THEY seem TO BE feeling yesterday SOME perfect movements…

THE marmoset HAD FOUND A family, AND funny wordS TO process. IT laughed short GIGGLES…
AS FOR myself, SAID THE cat TO Floyd, I’D create A party-LIKE life, WHERE I DO AS I please, AND LET paper WORK AND feelINGS AND desireS AND tryING AND tellING TO monkey.
THAT shapeD SOME fun, AND syncHRONICITIES AGAIN happened SHORTLY.

IN THE FLOWING water, “aum” SOUNDS RIPPLED IN A huge dear dance beginning TO REFLECT himself IN images. HE sighed AS HIS attention GOT INVOLVED IN THE trip AND HE remembered…
ON THE beach, obviously AWARE OF THE synchRONICITIES, THE creatures wanted TO CLAP THUNDEROUS applauseS.
LIVING THE dead GUYS’ ideaS…

Before leaving the castle, the fake Viscountess needed to check something on the skull…
Was it a genuine one? She had almost trusted the so-called experts of the auction room, while she knew perfectly well that they only could see what they knew. And they didn’t know as much as her.

To her knowledge, there was only a handful of genuine old crystal skulls. But counterfeits were legions and a plague for such a skillful cat burglar as she was. Well, cat-burglar,… perhaps not as acrobatically as she used to… As a matter of fact, her life-long search for these skulls had suffered the competition of a little embonpoint… — the good thing being that those few sticky superfluous pounds had been perfect to impersonate the Viscountess.
In the past, she had come across a few of these fake skulls and most of them bore very similar indications leaving her to think stakes were high that they were coming from the same con-artist.

She methodically drew a little dagger from a scabbard at her belt. Going to one of the window, she drew one of the curtains a few inches to reveal the pale sun of Shropshire which was already fading.
Then, she turned the jeweled hilt in such a special manner that a soft clicking sound was heard, and a beam of light started to converge from the sun rays into the dagger. She directed the ray coming from the tip of the dagger’s blade into the bottom of the skull, and hold her breath in expectation.

Soon the skull started to glow a bluish light, and light poured out of the skull onto the walls in dancing symbols, while a soft buzzing sound was being heard around, started to drown her in a slightly dissociated state.
She cut the dagger’s beam very quickly, her heart pounding at the validation. It was a genuine skull. One of the six.

She had to hurry, she needed to proceed on her investigations to find the missing ones.

The trunk was there. She took another key that she had around her neck, leaving the first one on the cupboard’s lock for the Viscountess to be freed as soon as she would be out.
With the key, she proceeded to open the high-tech lock of the armored trunk which opened with a blow of air.

Her jumpsuit was here, along with the two turbo-reactor powered condor-wings that she strapped on her jumpsuit in very professional movements.

A few moments later, with her big dark sunglasses that gave her the appearance of an obese fly, Carla was flying high over the countryside of England, enjoying the soft gliding on the slightly damp air.