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    In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens


      It was hot, although not as hot as usual for the month of August on the southern slopes of the Serrania de Ronda. It had rained, the black clouds and thunder a welcome respite from the searing dry heat of an Andalucian summer, plumping up the blackberries and washing the dust from the leaves of the fig trees. Blithe Gambol hadn’t seen her old friend Granny Mosca for months, although she wasn’t quite sure what had kept her from visiting for so long. Blithe loved Granny Mosca’s cottage tucked away in the saddle behind the fat hill and there had been times when she’d visited often, just to drink in the magical air and feast her eyes on the beauty of the surroundings. Dry golden weeds scratched her legs as she made her way along the dirt path, and she was mindful of the fat black snake she’d once seen basking on the stone walls as she reached into the brambles to pluck blackberries and take photographs.

      Rounding a corner in the path she gasped at the incongrous and alarming sight of a bright yellow bulldozer just meters from Granny Mosca’s cottage. The bulldozer was flattening a large area of prickly pear cactuses. Unfortunately for the cactuses, it was fruiting time, and Blithe wondered if Granny Mosca had first picked the fruits and suspected that she had, those that she could reach. Nothing that could be eaten was left unpicked ~ Blithe remembered the many sacks of almonds that Granny had given her over the years, very few of which she had bothered to shell and eat.

      The bulldozer was making an entranceway to the tiny derelict cottage that was situated next to Granny Mosca’s house. Granny had asked Blithe if she wanted to buy it, and she had wanted to buy it eventually, but the purchase of a derelict building hadn’t been a priority at the time. Now it looked as if she was too late, that someone else had bought it, perhaps to use as a holiday home. Horrified, Blithe called out for Granny, who was often in the goat shed or away across the hidden saddle valley cutting weeds to feed the poultry, but there was no sign of her. Two alien looking turkeys gobbled in response, and the black and white chained dog barked menacingly.

      As Blithe retraced her steps along the dirt path it occured to her that whoever was planning to use the derelict cottage might be a very interesting person, someone she might be very pleased to make the acquaintance of in due course. After all, she had noticed that the holiday guests staying at the casitas on the other side of the fat hill were all sympathetic to the magical nature of the location, many of them arriving from a previous visit to a particularly interesting location in the Alpujarras ~ a convergence of ley lines. When questioned as to why they chose the fat hill casitas, they simply said they liked the countryside. Either they weren’t telling, or they were simply unaware objectively of the connection of the locations. Blithe could sense the connections though, both the locations, and that the people choosing to vacation at the fat hill were connected to it.

      For one hundred and forty seven thousand years, Blithe had had an energy presence at the fat hill, although it was half a century of her current focus before she remembered it. She had felt protective of it, when she finally remembered it, as if she had a kind of responsibility to it. This place can look after itself quite well on its own, she reminded herself. The fat hill had watched while Franco’s Capitan looted the Roman relics, and watched as Blithe stumbled upon the remains of Roman and Iberian cities, and the fat hill had laughed when Blithe first tried to find the entrance to the interior and got stuck in thorn bushes. Later, the fat hill had smiled benignly when Granny Mosca led her to the entrance ~ without a thorn bush in sight. The cave entrance had been blocked with boulders then. Blithe had given some thought to an excavation, wondering how to achieve it without attracting the attention of the locals, but now she wondered if one day, when the time was right, she would find the entrance clear, as if by magic. Magic, after all, was by no means impossible.

      {link: feast for the birds}


      In reply to: Strings of Nines


        Little did they know that the Lost Eggleton was the Lost Sneggleton of a mother snake, fruit of some hazardous experiments…


        In reply to: Strings of Nines


          A suspicious thought crossed Yoland’s head… Could it be that this… ‘demon’, for lack of a better word was responsible for that unexpected incursion of a snake which came in through the bathroom window ?

          — “Yeah… I’d say, about time you notice!” snickered Sumhellfi (or ‘Sulfi’ for short). “You sometimes get so lost into puzzlement of which of your aspects is responsible for your creation that you don’t even wonder it might be a simple hello with no strings attached…”
          — “Saying hello with a venomous snake?… You’ve got strange customs in Dhataland…
          And as far as string goes…” Yoland smiled fondly thinking of the spoil of war in the wardrobe she kept in there for long winter nights
          “err… I mean, better a string than a sting… well, if you know what I mean…”
          — “As a matter of fart, I think I might know just exactly what you mean” Sulfi answered with a wink.


            That was it. She had enough for the time being. Ever since the management had agreed to hire him for the new show, the Freakus was not as Fabulously Great as it once was.

            Not that he was a bad guy, but he was all so closeted, he was imprinting it to the circus, and she wanted to breathe some different kind of air. Of course, never been a freak himself, Morgan the Mentalist wouldn’t ever come close as to understand what having been closeted your all life would mean. Being the Lobster girl of the show, she knew quite a bit about that.
            It had took her awhile to know that there wasn’t anything wrong with her expression, so no one would told her how to express. Not the Mentalist of all others.

            Damo, the guy who was setting up the tents had seen her leave the Freakus without a word, her little piece of luggage on her “normal” hand, while her claw-like one was tucked in a glove under her bosom. Sweet-hearted as he was, he had tried to convince her to stay, that surely there was some misunderstanding.
            “Lyla, don’t be stoopid, ain’t got nothin’ fur you out there” he’d said to her.

            She didn’t know how to tell him that all was good. She didn’t want to tell too much either, for Fama, his teen daughter wasn’t really loving the life at the circus either, and would easily have taken the bait to get out of there too. So she had moved saying that she would come back, “when it’s safe for kids” she’d added mysteriously.

            Strange at it seemed, it was like taking a breathe of air, and yet, she couldn’t help but think over and over at how she could have changed anything in what had happened. Perhaps it was just a pretext for her to do her next step.
            When Morgan first came to the show, he wasn’t in a good shape, and had begged Pat Elson to hire him. As he was kind of smart guy, he didn’t stay long in Damo’s team of workers. Pat saw his potential as a sort of empathic guy, and devised the Mentalist act with him.

            He was good at cold-reading, mostly guessing at people problems; in the beginning, some of the freakus’ people would play a part with him, to amaze the audience, but it became less and less necessary, and he would do a nice job buy himself, with lots of “it wouldn’t happen to be that your mother gave the watch to you? No… not your mother… but someone close… I can feel blah blah” and then picking on the subtle hints the guy was giving off unwittingly.

            Lately, he had started to kind of feel stuff for real. And he started to freak out. After all this time, not many people remembered Morgan as he first came to the circus, and for most he was the Outstandingly Great Mentalist. Yeah, he had been pimping up a bit his name too… Those things happen in the milieu.
            But Lyla remembered. She was a girl at this time, but your work at the circus starts very early when you’re a freak.
            She had seen how he gained a little confidence in himself, as long as it stayed within closed tents and half-lit veils. He was truly a master of illusion games, and he didn’t want people to see him differently than the way he was presenting himself. He’d first tried his little games of séances with some close trusty friends, and Lyla had been quite encouraging; he deserved to blossom his potential; no one deserved to be maintained at a place where you can’t reach your highest.

            A few days before, Lyla had had the pleasure of seeing Jenny, who’d been snake charmer many years ago, and had quit to become a singer in a bar: “tired me to travel so much, ya see” she’d said to Lyla “Now my life ain’t so complicated”.
            Then Jenny had then asked about the guys she’d known in the freakus, first of all was Morgan the Mentalist. “How’s that old fart of Morgy?” she’d asked with a giggle “still scamming around?”

            Lyla had said innocently that he’d been practicing doing it more genuinely, even to some success with local peasants in a few séances. Jenny had greeted the news with a cheer. “Wonderful, hey!”

            The next day, Lyla had had the Mentalist erupt in the caravan she shared with Zarafina and Venus, since Twi had gone to sing too. He was looking furious and once they were out of earshot (how could there be any need of making secrets with the others, Lyla had wondered, they shared everything, even the tiny bar of soap) told her with his sweetest voice how he appreciated Jenny. Of course she wasn’t a Mentalist, but she knew when someone was beating around the bush; and she needn’t be Moses to know the bush was smelling of burning.

            “I greatly appreciate Jenny, but I’d love to choose when I disclose my information to her” that’s what he said. At first, she’d thought, well, why the theatrics? Cool for you guy, peace off now. Then she slowly understood that he wanted to tell her to shut her mouth. How could she know what part to shut and which to tell? She hadn’t done anything wrong did she? Why was he having the same tone than the frigging priests with their sermons telling that you’re sinful, and when you’ve got a crooked arm, it’s because you’re born evil and such guilt shit.”

            Well, she didn’t want to stay in a position where she had to figure out which of his sharing was a real sharing or was not. So she better bugger off, take some fresh air.

            She thought how she loved to hear the radio, and her lifelong dream was to work there, in a place where people would hear her before judging from her appearance… Maybe she would thank Morgy in the future for giving her the last excuse to do what she wanted.


              The corridors were unusually long and Malvina was thinking of urging Leormn back to the cave, but she pulled herself together and began to sing a well known song of her friends’ world.


              Mandrake was trying desperately to relax, but apparently Yikesy wasn’t seeing it that way. Vincentius was so patient that it wasn’t human… well he wasn’t human after all, and Mandrake was beginning to doubt the baby could be human too, his dark rocky face notwithstanding.

              After all he had done to amuse him, the baby’s responses were quite disappointing. His subtle puns, his witticisms and his elaborate jokes all overlooked… And worse, that devilish baby dared pull his tail! Mandrake couldn’t help a disgraceful meow before he ran away from the scoundrel.
              Vincentius had told him the baby was a bit young, but the cat was suspecting a particularly mischievous tendency.

              The baby stopped crying and shouting. That’s when Mandrake realized someone was coming.
              Strange song really, he had never heard that language before… maybe it was just jibberish. He sprang on his feet and sidestepped skillfully another attempt of the little one to catch his tail. It was the occasion he was waiting for.


              Focused on her 100th kilometer, Malvina hadn’t notice she was arrived. Vincentius was attending to the child’s need and she had just the time to notice the cat who had just snaked under her petticoat.

              Mandrake, be careful! I almost walked on your tail…

              — Meow! (that one was quite elegant and he was proud of it) Well, he said ironically, I was trained by the boy…

              She laughed at the idea of Mandrake tormented by Yikesy.

              — He’s Yike a cyclone, not resting until complete exhaustion.
              The trace of bitterness in his tone surprised him, though he began to relax under her smile. That was a long time since he hadn’t purred like that… he really liked her presence and energy, and it seemed to influence the kid also.

              — Are you going to make him sleep? he asked eagerly.

              — Oh no, I’ve merely soothed your energy and the baby is responding quite readily to the newborn calmness of the room.

              — That was rude, he said as if offended, but he was grateful for it. Vincentius, my dear fellow companion in this godforsaken place, he called to divert attention from him. Look at who’s here.

              The semi-god turn quickly his head and bowed it slightly before returning to his main preoccupation.

              — He’s a bit rude too. He had barely welcomed you…

              — Well he’s quite aware I’m not here for him or the baby.


              In reply to: Synchronicity


                I guess this falls under the category of syncs, though I’ve not yet found all of the implications of this yet…

                In the various extremely interesting and profound articles I found while browsing the news this morning, I found an intriguing article (FR): “She punches a snake with her bare hands!”. (they could have say “with her bare feet!” or better, “with her bare tits!”, that would have sounded more dramatic, and would have sold best… those wannabe journalists ;)) )

                Anyways, it tells the vibrant story of a woman named Ruth Butterwurth (sounds like our dear Mrs Butterbutt to me) who punched a python to rescue her kitty from its clutches (well no clutches really, fangs at best) of the monster.

                The article (which was posted the 23 rd of March, at 14:23, while it’s seems relatively old news) gave a link to a flickr photo with… guess what was on the same page, besides the Nanapython?

                A lemur, an antelope (looking a bit like a :goat: :yahoo_oh_go_on: ) and a lynx :cat_happy: too. :spider: :y_orly: :yahoo_big_hug:

                On the python article:

                In Greek mythology Python was the earth-dragon of Delphi, always represented in the vase-paintings and by sculptors as a serpent. Pytho was the chthonic enemy of Apollo, who slew her and remade her former home his own oracle, the most famous in Classical Greece.

                Mmm, Mrs Butterbutt and draggies? :detective:


                  The red dung beetles were little by little slowing their pace and their form wasn’t so absolute now. Some were becoming butterflies and as they began to take off graciously, Sam was feeling the release of a long hold burden. Some others were settling down into the form of mushrooms of different colors. He could feel their different qualities and their specific roles in his previous experimentation. As beetles they all looked the same, but as he was allowing the reconfiguration of the energy they were expressing very different qualities and meanings.

                  He heard a joyous whistle and he suddenly remembered the Nanaconda.

                  You followed me all this way?


                  You seem different to me now, as if you were the snake in the Little Prince’s story. Though you are not the same either.

                  Your perssSseption isSss quite accurate, I musSst sSssay.

                  Are you here to help me go back home?


                    Googled rainbow snake and found Ezili Danto and her daughter Anais

                    Ezili Danto loves dolls. People often give her dolls as gifts ….. She is the most perfect mother one could wish to have….. Anais often serves as Ezili Danto’s translator and interpreter.

                    Haitian Vodou:

                    Danbala, the patriarchal serpent divinity, is an ancient water spirit associated with rain, wisdom, and fertility. He is usually entwined with his wife Ayida Wedo, the rainbow. Danbala is often represented as St. Patrick (who mastered the serpents of Ireland), and sometimes as the patriarchal Moses holding the Ten Commandments. In many temples, a permanent basin of water is maintained for this lwa. Many representations include Danbala’s main sacrificial food— an egg .


                      That Abe sure is ugly as a burnt boot and crazier than a run over coon, aint he, said Isadora, one of the saloon girls who Twilight didn’t cotton on to much. The other girls laughed.

                      Twilight was real fond of old Abe, and truth was she was feeling right tetchy and pernikity and itching for a fight, and she weren’t much in the mood for dancing that night.

                      And your brain cavity wouldn’t make a drinkin cup for a canary Isadora. So why don’t you just shut that big old stupid mouth of yours before everyone cottons on to the fact that you are studying to be a half-wit.

                      Why you are nothing but a no-good little strumpet, screeched Isadora, lunging at Twilight and trying to grab her blond wig. Twilight stepped nimbly out of the way.

                      And you aint nothing but a stupid little buckle bunny, taunted Twilight. You got nothing better to do then follow those rodeo fellows around?

                      Snakes Alive! exclaimed Madame Butterbutt. Will you both hold yer tongues and stop yer bitching. And will you get a hurry on Twilight. Yer ain’t even dressed yet.

                      Isadora started crying. That Twilight started it, she snivelled.

                      Sooner i get rid of this damn one horse town the better, muttered Twilight under her breath. She touched the jewelled dagger lodged between her breasts. Those damn liquor breath cowboys better not mess with me tonight.

                      Old Abe, propping up the bar, chuckled


                        When Cuthbert came back to bed after having had his cup of cocoa, India Louise was awake too.

                        — I saw him too, she said to her brother.
                        — I don’t want to see him again, these books are scarey.
                        — It’s intriguing, I want to know more, India Louise said, egging on him.
                        — When I close my eyes, I got all these roots and webs crawling, it’s mad… I can’t…
                        — He has found a friend to help him cross the Dark Forest to the traveling portal.
                        — A friend?
                        — Yes, a friend. She’s special.
                        — Tell me more…
                        — She’s a white unicorn, only him can see her.
                        — Wow…
                        — She’s named Mirÿnda. She’s glowing white, and he hears her speak in his mind, she shows him the way through the forest…


                        — Mirÿnda?! A fool in saffron robe gallivanting in the forest with a unicorn now? That’s all you could find?

                        Tina was taken aback…

                        — Well, I could have used a grizzly bear too, now I think of it… Al answered flippantly.
                        — Tsk tsk, replied Tina a bit annoyed. And why not a humpback whale, or an arctic lemming, or even… why, a leopard gecko for that matter?… And who’s that Mÿrinda anyway?


                        — I don’t know any Amanda, Fiona said to Quintin that night. Don’t really know many of Michaela & Elias’ students. She’s Yann friend, right?

                        Quintin had answered distractedly, as he was engrossed by his last painting…

                        Later that night, he couldn’t find sleep, as the dragon he was painting was still expanding his web of roots and branches in his mind’s eye. He opened his computer to see that Malika was online.

                        She told him something that night, something Quintin found abysmally profound and perplexing about his dragon…

                        Dragons can shape shift, into anything they want to. There are several doorways/portals that they use for travel into this dimension. Malika said
                        — Yes, said Quintin, this drawing has something to do with these portals initially, but I struggle a bit to represent them…
                        Yes, so you can just depict it to be flowing, liquid-like energy in the center, when the portal is active.
                        There are some that are being shone to me on the bottom of the ocean floor.
                        What is being shown to me, is a dragon with a tail much like a mermaid, and hands with webs, big yellow eyes…

                        Wow he had thought, she can really see.


                        Jadra, guided by Mirÿnda, had been moving quite easily through the Dark Forest. Of course, he wouldn’t have dared touch the holy creature, and so he was walking hesitantly behind, taking care of where his bare feet were touching the ground.

                        The Dark Forest was bordering the Marshes of Doom, and at times the limits between the two were almost indiscernible. It was said that every foul, err… fool… damn,…

                        — Will you stop being so buffoonish! raved Tina again.
                        — Perhaps I should let someone else continue then? said Albert.
                        — Well, that’s entertaining, replied Becky mechanically.
                        — OK. I’ll jump in, said Samuel, with a wide grin.

                        It was said that every full moon, the Mighty Shrimp would come from the shores of the Southern Seas and haunt the Marshes in search for souls to be turned into krill, so that he could be the WALRUS (Wrathful Almighty Lord Ruler of Undersea Souls).

                        Well, at least, that’s what Jadra had heard in his youth, when you tend to believe everything… So he was weary of the hiki-hiki sounds in the night that might have been the dreaded call of the Mighty Shrimp.


                        Quintin was having a strange dream. He was a huge whale, along with another one he knew was Yann, swimming powerfully in the vast ocean, passing by strange creatures that could have been mermaids or improbable fishes, when his gaze was attracted by a stream of glittering particles of light.

                        The lights were enticing, he would have said even “mouth-watering”, had he not had the baleens full of water already…


                        Salome was moving through layers of consciousness, something humans focused in physical dimensions would have found difficult to grasp, as it was nothing that could be easily conceptualized. She was, as best as she could put, like a huge cloud of lightness coalescing into a form, when she decided to project her aspect.

                        Taking form into a dimension required no effort in actuality, the consensus reality created by all the essences focused into the reality making quite a strong pull. She only needed to move her attention to what she wanted to manifest. Altering her reality slowly around her, to move closer to the desired effect.

                        She was not only traveling through time and space, but also through multitudinous layers of dimensions unnoticed to many humans —in fact, she was not really moving, but that was a convenient way of telling things for humans…

                        She said “humans”, because she was fond of this particular dimension, where she’d had lots of experiences.

                        When moving through the dimensions, it had her projected focus of attention constantly and naturally adapt its form to the psychological environment.

                        Here, she had just moved through a honey-drops dimension, where focuses were drops of golden honey-like substance, and as she moved through it, her own aspect had changed to that of a sand-glass shaped drop of honey.

                        This was great fun for her to see the ease with which she could focus into this infinite variety of adventures, but for now, her pull was to some more complex physical dimensions.

                        She started to move again, de-focusing, past the lazy honey drops.

                        The honey drops were now shape-shifting to a whole immense field of snake-like strings of light, and they all started to converge to a direction. She knew the feeling. She followed the strong pull.

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