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In reply to: Strings of Nines
When Yikes had first asked Arona, when he was like 6 or 7 years old if he had a father, Arona had brushed the question aside with a roll of an eye, and an annoyed flicker of the other.
“Of course you have, little pooh…”
It was glaringly obvious that the little Ugling wasn’t bearing any likeness with her handsome model Vincentius, so she didn’t mock the little guy’s intelligence by asking why he was even inquiring of such a thing.
And for a few years, telling him the story of how he was given to her by the dwarf Palani was enough to calm the torrent of his questions.Later though, as he was gaining strength and other skills taught to him by Vincentius, who was ever patient and dedicated to the well-being of Arona and the child, his questions became an obsession, and he took upon himself to discover the truth he could feel was wrapped in fantasy and nonsense —or at least, not told completely.
Perhaps it was an indiscretion of a glukenitch found in the many caves there were nearby their home, nobody knew for certain. (Glukenitches sharing one mind, they knew many of the secrets of the caves they sometimes deigned to share with strangers…) anyway, nobody knew for certain, but he found out about the mysterious Sanso, and how he became ‘acquainted’ with Arona (whom Yikes had never called but by her first name).
Yikes was now in his teen years, and wanted more than ever to meet Sanso, although he never quite revealed that secret plan least it would upset the loving and caring Arona. He had to find someone to help him in his research, but where they lived, encounters were scarce.
One day, a young woman he’d never met before went to see Arona. They were friends apparently, and he overheard Arona call her Salome, while they were discussing about lots of people, whose names he mostly didn’t know. He was feeling uncomfortable around nice ladies, and almost didn’t show up for dinner. However, an embarrassed silence and a sideway glance as a certain “he” was being inquired about by Arona raised his ears, and he took upon himself to try to learn more from the lady.
So when she left, he followed her to the entrance of one of the nearby caves, and showed up —apparently without surprising the lady called Salome. She was well aware of his presence, and of his desire to find Sanso.
“The man defies logic,” she then warned Yikes “and you need a riddle outside of logic to catch him and his attention.”
That was almost all of what she said before disappearing into the damp cave’s tunnel. That and… “no need to beat a dead cow.”Yikes had pondered that for days, without success.
Until the illumination came: all he had to do was become the hunter, and bait his prey.
For that, he would kill the fatted calf, to welcome the return of the prodigal father.And put his bait near the tunnels near the realms from whence he roamed aimlessly.
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: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Well I don’t know about you, she said to whoever was listening, but I am inclined to think that something rather than nothing, even if that something is off the track, round the bend, out of line, unsupported by connecting links or threads, or simply just plain rubbish, is better than no thing at all. The time has come, dear freinds, to resume random impulsive meaningless nonsense, for it has far greater continuity than anything that might actually mean something however so much as it might be deemed continuous ~ for, and I express the blindingly obvious, there is no continuity thread to be found in nothing-at-all-ness.
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
Some shaven sheep on the floor where mother goose got pens… that’s what I call giant game! Meddling it’s intricate design, and its daft words pointed to the distinct lack of any mention of God.
We’re talking threads, spinning a myth, warming and weaving, all meaningless beleifs with which to travel, peanuts that can’t be contained inside ones own weaving, in and out of the warped story, and the weft Text.
Viewers may be considerd to be a patchwork piece. These indiviual multitudes are loom weights to create a tapestry in the style, so to speak, of the background qualities of Finnley.
In this focus you choose this situation, that of God. You shall focus an attention to detail and perfection, balance, movement, with tremendous detail.
“Tell me about it” remarked God drily, offering challenging information. “The Sumari does not concern itself with Finnley” who stuck her tongue out at God, sighed in resignation and reached for the peanuts. “No point in fighting your warp.”
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
Elizabeth frowned as she hung Finnley.
“crazy!” he’d said. “killing spiders and magpies and lord knows what else”
“Woohoo”
Really, Elizabeth could be exasperating at times
Finnley had been silent hung in frustration floated across of Elizabeth’s closed eyes as she lay on the bed.
She was aware of the breeze and the giraffes heat was intense, heavy.
spiders webs, and the sound of gurgling….
and then silence and the tinkling of windchimes….
Big brown eyes atop gaze at Elizabeth as her eyes flutter open and then close again.
Elizabeth can see the head and shoulders and the serious face, she can see the lips up and down and round and round …..
Elizabeth drifted off to sleep.
In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
Sense turned string words,
Fine text answer.
Let liked, thinking needed Jane;
Lady thought ground itself getting cleaning!
Bugger future map.In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Allow me to explain about loom weights,” said the man in the elaborate blue turban. “You create a type of pattern, so to speak, a tapestry. The picture of the tapestry is created in the style, so to speak, of the qualities of the family that you align with. The details and the background threads of the tapestry are the expressions of qualities of the family that you are belonging to.”
“I knew this tapestry and weaving stuff would fit in somewhere” interrupted LizAnn.
“Shh!” said Finnley.
“In this” the man in the blue turban continued, “You may notice certain qualities and expressions throughout your focus that appear to underlie all of your directions that you choose within your particular focus. This is the influence of the family that you are belonging to – in this situation, that of Sumafi.” He looked pointedly at Godfrey. “You shall notice throughout your focus what may be expressed as an attention to detail in the qualities of the Sumafi family, and at times this may be associated within your societal beliefs and definitions as a type of perfectionism.
“This is counterbalanced by the Sumari” he said with a glance at LizAnn, “Who do not concern their movement with tremendous attention to detail.”
“Tell me about it” remarked Godfrey drily.
The man in the blue turban grinned and continued, “The expression and qualities of the Sumari are merely to be creating new directions and offering challenging information which shall spark new explorations of your reality. But the attention of the Sumari does not concern itself with outcomes or endings or detail.”
“Yes, we had noticed” interjected Finnley, who stuck her tongue out at LizAnn. LizAnn made a rude gesture to Finnley and said “See, I told you I couldn’t help it.”
Godfrey sighed in resignation and reached for the peanuts. “I suppose the point of all that is that there’s no point in fighting your warp. Or is it weft?”
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
the voice was feeling liquid. Leörmn wouldn’t change the exit of that egg.
Since many of his abilities were quite perfect the only difficulty was to follow any egg.
And the egg was in another one from which the girl drifted off to sleep, despite the sounds of the camels, and then it turned into one of those heart shape!
“BUGGER THIS” Dory was singing ‘Bugger this’ to Arona rolling around laughing.
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
(same random quote as above link #87)
Actually, thinking of Dory made Quintin remember:
“They are really bit rude around here”.
Dory stretched and yawned, and took in in a cloud of dust.
Dory wondered out loud if she should have an older man with curly grey hair and a long maroon djelaba and a tall narrow brimless black hat and watch him get laid.
I am so easy really, she thought giving it a last fond stroke. She finally surfaced from the flapping tangle of cloth just in time to see a group of people squatting next to a large oblong hole in the ground.
PFFFFFT! Deserted again.
Dory was getting bored waiting for this motley crew, looking slightly bemused, but smiling happily, she set off in search of Dory.
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
“Mmm, they can use whatever politically correct word to say Ann isn’t having a serious case of Dissociative Identity Disorder, but frankly her speaking to herself would be really worrisome were it not for that all that Shifting around.” Growdon was discussing with Franny.
“Yes,” she nodded with a soft and contagious smile, “doesn’t it look like she denies herself her physicality by burrowing inside the meanders of her short-span attention so deeply and carelessly?”
… “Oh,” she added swiftly covering her fine lips painted purple with her long fingers, seeing the look on Growdon’s face “I’m not suggesting that… No, don’t be silly”Growdon was finding Franny so delicately considerate about their friend.
He gave the thought a time to sift through his perceptive mind, while looking at the red roses of Geroges and Franny’s store, and had to come to the same conclusion. It definitely looked like Ann was always avoiding to flesh out her DID characters, perhaps out of fear of the dreaded lack of continuity or palatable tangible proof (that as much dreaded “P” word) of the reality of her visions. Truth be told, he and Franny and Geroges were finding her bouts of imagination quite fantastic on their own, they didn’t really need any proof whatsoever. But sincerely they all needed to get a grip!
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“You see, by no manner is it an issue if things aren’t continuous” Walter was saying, which immediately brought to Ann’s mind the latest development at her end of the group project. For some reason lately she found that she was permanently signed in, as opposed to previously, when she’d had the dickens of a job to stay signed in long enough to make an entry. Permanently connected, as it were.
“….and I know it’s almost blasphemous to say that” Walter continued, causing Ann to raise an eyebrow, “…but the crux of the matter lays in the measure with which things are expanded and linked together.”
“If I may be so bold as to interrupt, sir,” Ann couldn’t restrain herself from interjecting, “Surely that is what readers are for? Is not the purpose of the writer, or indeed any artist, to simply offer particles, or pieces, for the viewer to add, or not, as they choose, to their own continuous storylines?”
Walter opened and closed his mouth like a godfish. (Ann had to laugh at the typographical error.)
“For example” Ann continued, warming to the subject, “When I random read book pages, then channel surf the TV, followed by a random roam around online, interspersed with perhaps a few phone calls, or various incidents throughout the day, I’m making a continuous story of my own, with pages and screenshots and conversation snippets borrowed, if you like, from many external sources (and before you say anything, I am aware that no source is external, but don’t let me start digressing). The era of being ‘told’ a story to beleive in its entirety is over! Everyone knows these days that we each make our own story, with a bit of this, and a bit of that. It’s The Age of Random Tips & Snippets, after all, everyone knows that! It’s T.A.R.T.S. time now!”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Ann was having a nightmare. In her dream she was an olive in a catering sized saucepan of spaghetti. The oily sauce made it impossible for her, especially given her round shape and lack of useful appendages, to gain purchase on the slippery strands.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Walter, I am so releived to see that you’ve finally seen how flimsy continuity really is,” Ann said, and flung her arms around him.
“Steady on!” he gasped, trying to extricate himself from her clutches.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Oh well, the problem is Harvey, I can’t actually swim”, Lavender confessed. “So I didn’t see the dolphins blowing rings. But thank you so much for the movie. I think it was probably lying around in the rain pretending to be a mermaid which got me this cold. Last time I am doing one of Moosy’s daft classes”.
Lavender rolled her beautiful eyes and sneezed again.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
The summer Holidays were nearly over, or the Hollow Days, as they were known to some. The last days of summer had been a bit hollow for Ann at any rate, rattling around inside her own head, not really knowing whether it was full or empty. Ann had spent most of the summer sleeping, and with virtually no dream recall, it seemed as if half of the summer was missing. Probably just as well, what with it being such an odd summer. She wondered if she would simply sleep through the shift, like Ned Young slept through the mutiny. Didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
“Normally” the Worserversity students started rolling back towards Poubelleville round about now, but the word “normally” was becoming obsolete. What was normal, what could be expected? Ann didn’t know. She packed her coloured pencils, her detachable hand and her wooden men, and fished out her homework assigments for the holidays that she had only just remembered.
Alliteration. Bugger bollocks and blast, blimey but what a bother, too bloody hot and bored.
That’s a bit bloody depressing, she muttered to herself, try another letter.
Sweltering summer of sweat and sand, sleeping and sleeping, sublime surruptitious snooze, sail away in the sunset swell, sunrise surrender, ships ahoy!
Fan the flames, far sighted fellows! There’s a flash in the funnel for fast falling fishermen. Far flung, fun fueled, oh fast fleeting fantasies, follow the folks with the flags! Flounder not, fresh fishies, for fun feels fantastic!
Ah, wallow in wisps of wordless wonderings, weather the winds of wandering whispers, while weighty wells of wishes work winsome wonders, woven with worn wool and worrisome white weathered windows. Whether we will, whether we won’t, who will win, what will work, will we watch it water the weeds….
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
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.
