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In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Tina leaned back on her rocking chair, and ogled with an eye of pity Al who was trimming one of the plants.
— What?
— Oh nothing, Tina sighed… are we gonna eat any fruit from those, or shall I throw them in the bin?
— Oh, there’s good hope we can soon have a cherry tomato wrapped in a leaf of coriander for our dinner sweetie.
— You and your miniature cultures… She finally rolled her eyes. During Al’s trip in the Floridisles, by a strange series of nearly miraculous coincidences, the plants had stayed intact. She hadn’t watered them for the two weeks, but apparently it had not displeased them.Al had told her the funny story of his grand-father watering his wife’s precious flowers during her absence with gallons of water, and literally drowning them in love.
She had not smiled. “Maybe I’m drowning people in my love too, they tend to get soggy these days…”
So perhaps her lack of attention had been a blessing for the tinsy artsy plantsaïs…What did they have for dinner last time? A puny ratatouille made with courgettes the size of her fingers. First time she’d wished she had bigger fingers. Nah… Al, you got to understand, people aren’t ready for nano-biotics…
In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
Indeed Jib, as usual, as usual:
Follow THE call OF THE WILDE,
THAT WHICH especially ASK YOU TO hold STILL AT home.
YOU KNOW, IT DOESN’T TAKE lots OF walking
TO let YOUR arms HAVE SOME EXERCISING:
SOME WOULD SAY “perhaps”;
BUT NO NEED TO SAY “I knew THAT!”LET’S EXPLORE A stone idea:
OF dragons starting watermelons story, flying AROUND
AND smiling, DIVING IN THE flove…In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Lady Theresa Eaglestone, know as T’Eggy to her friends, waited in the potting shed at Pilston Manor (which was how the locals pronounced Pillaughpiffleston).
“There” said Becky with a grim smile “Much easier. As if I would remember how to spell that!” Not for the first time, Becky wondered if it might be a good deal easier to write her own Reality Play and forget all this collaborative nonsense. It was hard enough to remember her own story lines, never mind trying to keep track of all the other bizarre additions as well. “Now who the devil is Hector Coon?” Thankfully this Pillaughpiffleston thread was a new one, and Becky had a fairly free rein with it: nothing was yet decided regarding the location and time frame, so if she was quick about it, and made her entry before the others, the ball was in her court.
T’Eggy (Becky continued to write) shivered in the cool breeze that was blowing into the draughty old potting shed. She turned the the carved watermelon rind over and over in her hands, puzzling over what possible significance it may have. Surely it was a clue, or at the very least a symbol of some aspect of inner reality, but what? And what did Hector know that she didn’t know?
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“What on earth is Al suggesting now, I wonder” mused Becky, who was catching up with the latest additions to the Reality Play. Frowning, she wondered how to handle it. It was often a challenge when one of the other writers interfered with her story line plans.
“Well, be honest, Becky” she said to herself “You were floundering a bit with all this boring tropical romance stuff, wafting around the Facility with nothing more interesting to do than sip cool drinks and wink at Gayesh.”
Becky put the sheaf of printed pages on the table beside her, lost in thought. The warm still evening air was beginning to be stifling, and she felt trapped, smothered in the blue velvet embrace of the night, sickened by the scent of the perfumed flowers and rotting fruit, and suddenly bored beyond endurance.
“I’m going back home” she decided. “I’ll leave a deposit of cells here, swap places with Becky Tooh, and she can come back here and take her chances with Gayesh and the clone experiment.”
Perhaps her babies and her lush of a husband back home would be more exciting.
“I can always swap back again later if it gets tedious in New Venice” she added, having a moment of trepidation at the thought of her responsibilities as a mother of triplets. She liked to keep her options open, keep an escape plan on the back burner.
With a light heart and a spring in her step, she grabbed the papers off the table and ran upstairs to pack.
“Maybe a stop over in Long Pong on the way” she decoded. “Oh look at that!” she said to herself “I meant to say decided and wrote decoded instead. Pfft” she grumbled “That must be because I’m worried about decoding all the other strange additions to the Reality Play that have been spewed forth lately. Sheesh, do Al and Sam honestly think I will ever catch up now? Oh bugger it all, Long Pong, here I come!”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The smooke of her pipe was creating interesting shapes flooting away from her.
Elizabeth had the weird impression that her story was taking an uncontrollable turn.
She woold have written a torrid sex scene with Phoebe and the yoong Russian on the submarine, but it was as if Finnley’s eyes were constantly reminding her of her own nymphoomaniac behavior. She had to let it unexpressed except in her imagination.Looking at the last curls of smooke, it was as if the pook-marked face of Pavel was taking life before her eyes. Thanks to her new croop, her feelings were far far away… She let the smooked face decomposed in a gracious gray whale.
She giggled thinking of Finnley’s disapproval… maybe she’ll write that scene after all.
She took a sheet of paper and a pen, but soon realized the words were not foorming as expected. The thud prooduced by the pen rolling on the floor was amusing too.Ooh!
The thud prooduced by her body rolling on the floor was more disturbing… and the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was Finnley’s disapproving look… maybe she had written that scene after all…
A smile on her face she began to snoore soundly.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
She had been taken to her room by a handsome young Russian after the onboard doctor, who was quite handsome too, had examined her. She had the vague impression she was turning a tad nymphomaniac. She chuckled and she stopped as soon as she realized she sounded like an old goose. No she would not loose her dignity. But she needed to release her tensions.
The doctor had told her she was lucky they came at that very moment, but kept quiet after that. That she was aware of, but she couldn’t get more out of him and she was too tired to use her other tricks on him.
Better rest a moment; she was confident she’d be kept up to date soon enough by Pavel.How strongly she was despising him…
She didn’t know it was possible before their first encounter in Paris, years ago.
Mixed feelings filled up those memories…
it was also at the same time she’d met Georges, the Dandy as he liked to be called then. What a pair of thieves they were… When was it? 1852? 1853? She wasn’t sure…Her first mistake was to ask them to retrieve that stone from the antique store for her… Of course she hadn’t told them what she was looking for… she only asked them to steal everything in the shop! Still, they didn’t bring it back from the shop though she was positive the sunstone was there… they told her that was all they found; Georges seemed so sincere that she wouldn’t have thought he would double her and keep the stone… and much less use it. Soon enough… yes soon enough she realized she had been deceived.
Her second mistake was to offer them an arrangement… but that’s another story. She was not as wary as she was now.
She sighed.
Nothing interesting to steal in that room. Just raw blankets and a plain wooden chair… she wouldn’t have expected more from Pavel. Always keeping the best for himself and not quite as chivalrous as the Dandy. Pavel… How did they call him back then? She couldn’t or wouldn’t recall it… something like the Monk… the Monkey would have better suited him, she thought bitterly.
But now; she had no time to loose in dim memories.
She had to plan her escape.knock knock
It only took her a few seconds to compose herself.
— Come on in.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Today was the commemoration of the fifth anniversary of the first transmutation made on Earth.
Of course, it didn’t take into account previous attempts (or successes), because they were of the domain of science-fiction and dubious history facts. But now, not only was it rock-solid proven feasible, but also it had change people’s lives like the invention of electricity had about two century ago, in the mid 1800s.
At first, people had not grasped the profound implications of that discovery. It was another funny science experiment from researchers, and didn’t seem to have any more practical usage as did goat cloning, and creation of phosphorescent pigs. However, to mark the consciousnesses of the importance of the event, the government hadn’t skimped on the showcase. Not that it was of any importance after what evolution was bound to happen afterward, but still, huge sums of money were spent brilliantly.
The symbolic aspect of choosing what object to transmute wasn’t unnoticed. It could be virtually anything physical: garbage, contaminated soil… But it had to mean more.
Someone whose name was forgotten came with a suggestion and it slowly came up as the most natural thing —to close this area and open on the new one.
There had been many people still left to convince, the die-hard fanaticism, but it had to be it. And for good measure, the involvement of other nations was asked.Sept. 4th, 2044, the ceremony opened with the display of what was left of Enola Gay that plane who had dropped the first atomic bomb, which had been almost forgotten in the West, but not completely in the East. And many nations came afterward, each carrying a symbol of what they wanted to recycle, to free themselves off.
Then all of these heterogeneous elements entered the P-Machine, a distant relative of the Z-Machine which had been adapted and enhanced to produce aneutronic fusion at its core —highest temperatures of the universe thought unreachable by human means, harnessed to change the elements at will, and producing no harmful radiations as the atomic towers of the past.
After a silent moment of unbearable expectation, melted gold started to flow out of the machine, making people wonder if that was all of it?Yes, it was merely it. Transmutation could be done, and it was not so impossible as people thought in the past. It meant free resources, recycling of garbage, abundance for all… at people’s grasp.
What people had failed to recognize at the beginning, apart from the immense possibilities that were lying before them was that the machine could only transmute matter. And even if it could virtually free them of greed (because everything from gold to rocks was basically of the same value now), people’s own values were now made prominent, there was no camouflage left: no victims, no shortages, no lack of.Even five years after, it still meant huge challenges, but there was hope.
In reply to: The Story So Far
The Main Guardians (Alienor)
To better follow some of the threads involving Alienor history, and particularly the Guardians involvement, here are some sketches of the main Guardians.
Some references:
In reply to: Synchronicity
Not so much a synch as a funny: in the weird section
Fans of Marmoth were already in the story … of course.
And another update on the “man-tree” (story ref) which is a synch (discussing one of the Guardians drawing with F, one of them, Vogel/Patel looks a bit like a man-tree)
In reply to: The Story So Far
The Wrick Saga
We become involved in the Wrick saga with the great-grand children of Lord (Hilarion) Wrick, living currently in Orkney Islands in 2057: India Louise and Cuthbert.
The family has a long intricate story, but roughly we know:- Margaret, first wife of Sean Wrick (unique son of Lord Wrick) died in a tragic accident somewhere in the past, and now Sean can talk to her most of the times.
- Sean has a penchant for strong spirits, but in an interesting twist of fate happens to meet and fall madly in love with older Becky (Vane), step-daughter of Dory, during the inauguration of the T.R.A.P. (transfocal reality attraction parc or something) in flooded New York (New Venice). They wed in a hurry (insert connection to Russia and old friends in the business of frozen reindeer meat) and plan a trip to Sri Lanka. Becky who has become pregnant from a “time-traveler” (Chris Robin) gives birth to her three first children, and seems to get cloned in a secret facility to pursue more noble ideals.
- Lord Wrick dies after getting reconciliated with his son Sean. His fortune is inherited by Cuthbert who seems reluctant to bear the charge. His sister India Louise is pregnant with a son from the traveling painter Bill Jobsworth who was painting the family portraits and was involved in some unusual experiences during his stay at the castle (mummies and stone heads)
- Later in the Wrick Saga, is born Midora, who gets the books from Cuthbert and India Louise and investigates them.
The books are thought to be energy deposits of this story, initially started in our timeline by Dory, Finn, Yann and Yurick. The story then was rediscovered by Becky, who initiated a Reality Play with her friends Tina, Sam and Al.
In reply to: The Story So Far
The Alienor Dimension, Georges and Salome
Dory (in our current timeline/space reality) meets Georges in a cave in Madagascar during her trip.
Georges doesn’t explain much, but we get the feeling that, though human, he’s a Traveler, crossing bridges through dimensional veils.
Sanso, who we happen to meet at times, is supposedly another type of Traveler too, but apparently happier to cross earth-bound space veils rather than time or other-dimensional ones.Georges is closely linked to Salome. They are involved in the Alienor Dimension, another parallel universe, which was initially used as the set of the first story bits and in which they are involved at some historical points of importance.
The Alienor dimension is composed (as we know now) of a central sun named Alienor, and a few planets.
One of these planets is the Duane, which is a planet similar to Earth, except having easier access to magic, and having dragons, where the characters of Malvina, Arona, Leörmn, Irtak, Badul, Tomkin etc. are supposedly living. A map of parts of that planet was drawn somewhere in the archives.
There are two major historical plots occurring; one in a time parallel to our own, with Malvina, Arona, Badul’s explorations etc. And another, occurring what we would call centuries earlier, with Lola and her dragon, and the Yellow Princess Atiara story-arc (see Araili’s notes).
Somewhere in between, many years before Arona’s timeline, there is a subplot with Franiel, the monastery succession, the chalice and other magical artifacts. As far as we know, it ties to the other epochs thanks to Madame Chesterhope and Vincentius’ story.
Madame Chesterhope is, we found out, known to Georges in his youth, when he first met Salome. Madame Chesterhope is originally from our dimension (Earth, around 1800s something?) but has learned how to travel and is thus able to move through dimensions, and has a few special powers, presumably thanks to artifacts she gathered along her trips.Another twin planet is the Murtuane, where there are giant eagles (counterparts of dragons), “mermaids”, zentauras (zebra-centaurs), green-skinned people, and purple beaches. This planet remains to be explored more in depth.
The third planet, the Phreal, is rarely spoken of, as its vibration was changed before even the first epoch, and is no longer ‘seen’. Guardians, a special race of this Alienor Dimension with great mastery of the energy manipulation powers are involved within most of the historical changes, and in this one in particular.
Malvina’s explorations are linked to those of her two “sisters”, each paired with a dragon. Initially she’s a healer, but recent developments have made her change locations a few times in space/time, and those alterations have inserted probabilities in the “past”. She has known Leonard, who is also a Traveler and who is linked to Franiel’s subplot.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Finnley looked appraisingly at her reflection in the mirroor of the staff toiloots. She turned her head, surveying herself from different angles. Sure, her hair was cut very short, but she had always thought it looked quite fetching and stylish, and so easy to care for.
She turned over the empty cleaning bucket so she could stand on it to get a better view of her body in the mirroor. Perhaps the baggy blue cleaning dungaroos she wore were not the most flattering on her slim figure, yet incredibly practical nonetheless, with 6 large pockets. She had bought several pairs on special, so she could alternate them.
That Elizabeth Tattler was clearly just one of the mindblown ones. Mad as Almad.
And getting worse by the day!
Perhaps it was just THAT time of the moonth, but for some reason Elizabeth’s insistence on referring to her as a male had really hurt Finnley today. Ever since she had attempted to help Elizabeth with the Island story by modifying the love scene , just slightly, Elizabeth had been intent on undermining Finnley’s sexooality. Not only that, she appeared to be fabricating Finnley’s involvement with the noovel she was writing. Just yesterday she had overheard Elizabeth telling her publisher, Bronkel, that Finnley was telepoothically implanting evil suggestions in her head.
Finnley shook her head again, this time in bewilderment. For Foocks sake, someone should do something about that woman, before it is too late!
Studying herself in the mirroor again she undid the top 3 buttons of the shirt she was wearing under her dungaroos and made a mental note to buy a poosh-up bra after work today. She mussed her hair up in what she hoped was a sexy look and made her way to clean the computer gooks office.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
4:21:44 PM 8-8-08 1da Geolocation Time.
sometimes the flow climbs a mountain.
pause. step. quick step. pause again. step. upstream another step. the stones solid, smooth, settled beneath my feet with the timeless passing of water. the path of gravity. the rising of a mountain. a rapid, considered, going on pace. sand between the stones. the moments of time. light on the rippling waters flickering. the air transparent, timeless, crisp, cool.
knowing i’ve passed this way before, i pass again for the first time.
it’s good to be back. returning. beginning.
knowing my destination. the cave far above beneath the ancient pine. the boulder near the rough and gnarled trunk, slick and smooth. so hard the sense is of softness gliding with my fingers over the iridescent surface. soft to sit upon, to watch the valley far below extending forever into the distance. soft to recline upon, arcing my back. the warmth of the day in the stone, lingering far into the night to heat my bones. …knowing my destination, i take the next step into all that is new.
sitting near the water. deep transparent pools of green/blue. the setting red sun. a shelter beneath driftwood high on the bank. a myrtle tree draping a blanket of scent over me, opening my soul. with each breath. i watch the light fading into the words echoing through my skull… life is hard… the song…
Life is hard
Anyway you cut it
Life is sweet,
Like a berry from a tree
Life is temptation, baby,
Every single day
Life is hardLife is funny,
I dont mean ha-ha
It‘s not always sunny,
When it needs to be
Life is frightening,
Nothing lasts forever
Life is hardMy time
Is next to nothing
My time
Falls on you, yeah
Everything
Is in motion
Life is hardLife is precious,
No matter how you see it
Life is crazy,
Like yellow fishes in the street
Life is lonely
When you‘re not with me
Life is hardGentlemen
Is that you story?
Hanging religion
From a tree, yeah
My time
Is next to nothing
Life is hardMy time
Is next to nothing
My time
Falls on you, yeah
Everything
Is in motion
Life is hardMy time
Falls on you, yeah
Life is hard
Life is hard– J. Mellencamp – while on the planet earth.
ok. life is also beautiful. – 1da
it’s a cruel crazy beautiful world – J. Clegg – also while on the planet earth.
stars flickering in the fading twilight. the silence of a light breeze as pine boughs begin to whisper. the ache of tall trees swaying in the night with a moan like countless masts on the tall ships of a planet. blink. and i sleep.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Elizabeth was beginning to realize that there WAS no ‘end of the road’, no grand finale, no finish line. Whenever her characters appeared to be nearing the proposed grand point of the story, she found herself following another thread in the impossibly huge tapestry. Maybe she didn’t want it to end, or perhaps it was that there was no ‘point’, no end point to aim for, that it was all just a process, a continual weaving of marvelously coloured threads. Some threads were gaily coloured silks, some were rough and coarse, some were woolly and comforting, and others were plain and functional. There were threads of the most unusual and unexpected fibres, other worldly threads tying the myriad dimensions and chapters together somehow. It really was the most fabulously intricate and absorbing construction.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The truth was the book was nowhere near finished. In fact the island story she was working on currently was becoming more and more complex. Elizabeth put it down to her own wonderfully complex nature, this insatiable need to add more and more characters, all converging on the island for the dramatic finale.
Finale! She snoorted derisively. Having no idea where it was all going ,if the truth be told, then there was not much likelihood of a finale for quite some time.
A tentative knock on the door. It was that bloody Finnley! Since the sex scene fiasco Elizabeth had banned her entry to her office. Quite a rookus there had been. Still, she had to grudgingly admit, the girl had writing talent! Perhaps she could make use of her. Elizabeth quite fancied herself in the role of a leader, and the idea of Finnley in a sort of subservient underling capacity was tremendoosly appealing to her.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
This I Ching business wasn’t very convenient to figure out, Al was thinking.
For Becky’s draw, he had more than a handful:entry 3 (id:1610) #835 entry 2 (id:234) #171 entry 1 (id:1275) #638 All he had to do was relax, and know that the magic would appear by ways of his interpretation of these numbers.
He wanted to get 6 numbers out of these 3 comments. So, for each of the comments, he would make 2 numbers.So, for the original comment IDs:
- 1275: 1 (odd) and 2 (even) gives (odd) ; then 7 and 5 gives (even)
- 234: 2 and 3 gives (odd) ; 3 and 4 (odd)
- 1610: 1 and 6 gives (odd) ; 1 and 0 gives (odd)
odd-even-odd-odd-odd-odd (what a bunch of odds, he thought, though barely surprised remembering the numbers came from Becky)
that’s 1-0-1-1-1-1 or |¦||||From now on, he would spare everyone the maths, and play some interlude music while working out the magic.
(some lalala music)
and for the mutation (835,171,638): 1-0-0-0-1-1 or |¦¦¦||
And the result: ‘Fellowship of Men’ mutating to ‘Increase’
Bah… this is more fun to add more nonsense than try to figure out what it was all about. Al was finding it the moral of the story for today.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Well, what a coincidence! exclaimed Becky. Becky was choosing her I Ching story comments, not altogether sure (not in the least sure, really) how it worked, but enjoying the opportunity to do a few random impulse searches. She had been reading the blog archives of Stilly from the early part of the century, all about cactus, beetles, and the investigation into the cochineal trade, when she suddenly remembered the Reality Play deadline. Anticipating buckling down to some serious writing, Becky was delighted to find the I Ching game, and made her first random choice.
Well, what a coincidence! Becky repeated. It’s all about beetles!
Becky made a note of the number: 638.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Okay,” Al started.
“At the essence of I Ching, is the notion that everything is mutable, and changes. Everything changes, except the law that says that everything changes.
“In many ways, the I Ching is like a book where the pages numbering change every time you start to read it. Not unlike our story composition.”“I get that,” answered Tina, interested by what would come out.
“So,” Al continued, always disagreeably pondering, Tina would say. “usually, when people are drawing to read from the I Ching, they have six numbers that give an hexagram. And these numbers are carrying into them their potential change, which usually gives another hexagram to read.”
“In our stories, the entries have a fixed identity, which is given by the system; this is our starting point. For your comments, this is ’4-191-328’.
“But as everything evolves, our entries are given an order in the book; this order is changeable, and that’s what I will use for the second hexagram; in your case it’s ’2-151-223’.”
“If you say so…” Tina sighed, a bit lost.
“Oh, I’m inventing the rules as we speak,” Al said trying to reassure her somewhat.
“I don’t know if that makes me feel better” she said.“Okay. Now, I need to create the hexagrams; hexagrams are defined by six straight or broken lines; zero or one, binary system. Here, Chinese usually use the convention that odd is straight, and even is broken… Ahaha, doesn’t seem to make sense, but odd is male, unbalanced into action, and is associated with single, straight things. Broken is paired, complete in reflection, unbalanced in passivity.”
“And I wonder when we actually start to hear something that makes sense?” whispered Tina, a bit crossly.
“Okay, the thing I see, is that I have trouble making one hexagram with seven numbers, ahaha”, Al laughed a bit embarrassed.
“Oh, then no point in wiggling like that” said Tina very sweetly, “Scrap any bit that bothers you”.
“Okay, anyway we can go deeper into them afterwards if needed; I’ll scrap the first number rather than the last, because you see, 2 and 4 are both even, and thus there is no mutation here.”
Original Mutation 8 ╌ 3 — 2 ╌ 2 ╌ 3 — 2 ╌ 1 — 1 — 9 — 5 — 1 — 1 — 4 ╌ 2 ╌ “So here we are, if we scrap the bottom one, we get…”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Much to Arona’s surprise…
Although I don’t know why I am continually surprised, she thought, surely I am getting used to this weirdo story by now.
Well anyway, Arona found herself standing outside of Malvina’s cave. She was still so caught up in the last warm remnants of her delightful reverie in the field of flowers it took her a few moments to realise that the entrance to the cave had disappeared and was now a solid wall of stone.
Hmmmm, yes, said Leormn, appearing in the nick of time to answer her unspoken question, Yes, Malvina has been shifting things around again.
I can’t get in though! complained the ever astute Arona.
No, agreed Leormn reflectively, you can’t. Well there is another entrance, but this has only been disclosed to an elite few. He smiled smugly.
In reply to: Synchronicity
Fake contessa spotted in the trashy Brit news
(story ref.)
