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In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Oh bugger this Harvey pestered against his pinhole third eye monocle which had just fallen again in his tea.
He’d developed a strange case of telepathy myopia —which he had hoped to alleviate with the monocle— that prevented him to hear the thoughts of the others when they weren’t as close enough a distance.
Doc Limure, a strange fellow, had diagnosed him when he had told about the strange symptoms and advised him to carry the pinhole monocle for awhile. But it wasn’t really practical at all to maintain before his eye; he had to keep his telekinesis in check, and as soon as he let his thoughts drift away, the thing would fall.
He started to wonder if Dr Limure had not made some practical joke on him.In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Lavender stared at Harvey in alarm. He had put the waiter down and was rambling incoherently, head jerking in small sharp movements, eyes too shiny.
His eyes. Something dark seemed to be emerging from his eyes.
Lavender threw herself at him, and grabbing his massive shoulders attempted to shake them vigourously. In actual fact he didn’t budge.
GET OUT OF HIM! she shouted instead.
What are you doing? asked Harvey after he recovered from his initial shock.
Oh sorry. You sounded weird. I thought you might have been taken over by aliens.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Col had been in the business of intergalactic sleuthing and profiling for many years now and his tall broad stature and kind, poised black face was well known all around. They used to call him “the Zebra”, not so much because he made black and white statements —he was very nuanced— but because of his unusualness and knack for blending himself in questions.
As a matter of fact, he’s made himself quite a reputation of a highly skilled professional, with no one up to par for finding clues and solving mysteries.Col Umbro’s motto was “all you have to do is to ask the right questions, in the right order.”
Of course, he wouldn’t tell which way was the “right” one and which was not. But one thing was sure enough, most people completely overlooked the last part of the sentence.And that was what he intended to teach to his next assignment. A distant focus of his essence in mid-shift. For the moment, dream projections were the easiest and safest way to catch their attention, because they were not accustomed to a shifted state enough to pay attention to more physical projections.
It was hilarious to see that most of the enthusiastic ones were waiting for unexpected events to come and rapture them in awe. Sillies… For one, “unexpected” shouldn’t be so… expected.
Besides, most of the time, (most of the now) people were simply blind to the facts not in alignment with their allowance for disbelief. A pink elephant, say… They had grown so blasé that should they even see it standing in from of them, that they would probably then dismiss its appearance as another miracle of genetics (or debasement thereof)…
So, reaching them would actually require quite a tactful and sly approach. Qualities he possessed enough.“Who’s this new person appearing disguised in a pseudonym?” His assignment was wondering.
They had forgotten rule number one. Nothing is hidden from you. Granted, a pseudonym is a mask, but the choice of the mask is revealing enough of a clue.
Then, you had to ask the questions in the right order. “Who is it?” should be the last of them all. Same with all the “how’s”. “What and why” where more important questions to consider.
Once you got the “what”, the who is so self-evident, that it would not even retain the slightest of interests…He had found a nice slot, just after an entertaining equilibristics dream show. Making a dream for his assignment would be fun. And probably even more fun as she was the most impossible subject who wouldn’t remember dreams at all! He would have to use a proxy dreamer. Someone close enough to her. He knew exactly who to choose…
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
The fact of the matter, if indeed there was a such a thing as a fact, was that Elizabeth needed to sort out her probable selves. They were constantly overlapping and it was causing a great deal of confusion. She decided to reinvent herself completely, starting with a new name.
She sat quietly chain smoking as she pondered possible names.
‘Just choose a short one this time, one that’s easy to write. It really doesn’t matter what name you choose, but in the interests of ease, just make it short.’
Ann sat quietly chainsmoking, wondering where to start.
‘Perhaps you should go back to bed’.
Ann sighed, feeling tired and disillusioned at the unexpected changes. It felt like too much effort to start afresh, as if the disruptions and changes everywhere were permeating her own private sanctuary, and stray random thoughts now had no easy path towards release, that they would be bogged down and hampered with new details, and new explanations.
‘You don’t have to write anything.’
But there was so much to say!
‘Try listening instead’.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Of course Aspidistra’s qualities, although unique, were not particularly useful when it came to gaining paid employment. She lamented this fact at some length to her best friend Dick Tator. Dick did his best to console the distraught Aspidistra, even offering to teach her to speak in a more posh accent, but to no avail. She was inconsolable.
I am going to hell in a handbasket! she cried. I am completely unemployable! Will I sink to the lowest level of society? To a world without money or moral obligation?
It seemed decidedly odd to Dick that his friend believed that she created the very heavens, yet could not create a job for herself.
What is it you would love to do above all else, dear Aspidistra? asked Dick gently. For he was a kind hearted soul, deep down.
Without hesitation Aspidistra replied, I would like to sing songs! songs of joy! songs that make people dance!
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
It wasn’t just the twins that were outraged, there were alot of outraged people that day. Becky, Sanso, Illi, Bea and Leo, Elizabeth and Zhaana ~ all of them were utterly outraged at the monstrous display of dictatorship. They were devastated because they had been labouring under what was clearly a misconception that it was a group project.
“Godfrey, I am inscensed!” declared Elizabeth. “And don’t you dare correct that spelling! I will write my own story somewhere else. If you think you’ve snatched my characters from right under my nose you’ve got another think coming, old chap.”
Elizabeth snatched up the papers on her desk and crammed them into a carpet bag.
“I’m going out for a walk. Alone.”
And off she went, clutching her bag under arm and muttering under her breath, angrily wiping the tears that dribbled down her cheeks.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Following Dory’s example, Yann had subscribe to the daily Universe’s messages. The first time she’d showed him the messages it appeared to be very fun and encouraging, but since he had subscribed, the messages he was receiving were very odd and more like what a spoiled child could tell you.
Yann had been fed up all day long by the last message in which the Universe had apparently told him that He, The Universe was all knowing and had everything but He won’t give a bit to Yann because!Wow! That was a bit rude of Him, Yann thought… better not send anything… maybe he can tell Him next time to go fuck Himself.
All day long the irritation triggered by that simple note was gathering other tensions… it was like each time he was receiving a phone call, the caller’s energy would be scattered and distracting… and most irritating. Yann was feeling like other people had so many expectations for him and he couldn’t order his ideas or find a distraction.
All of the imagery would reflect him the same thing, unexpected answers from the Universe.
“Don’t wait for something particular, because each time it will present itself in a different way.”
At the end of the day, Yann was puzzled and annoyed… and the text messages he had been receiving on his mobile phone started again.
Apparently a girl was waiting for some call or message from a guy called “Did”, and she was persuaded that Yann’s number was that guy’s number. At first, Yann wouldn’t answer any of the messages and play the role of /dev/null/ endpoint of the Universe… After each message though, his irritation was growing accordingly…
He sent a message signed by The Universe and told the girl he was not who she thought he was and that she could as well try another random number to find her “Did”. But well, engrossed as she was in her passion, she answered him by a question : Who was he and why would he use “Did”‘s phone?
Hopefully Yurick was present… Yann as a good soft would have matched the energy of the Bitch but instead he sent he a last message, wishing her good luck in her quest. No need to add to her distress or the polarization in sending her a message like : Apparently your guy didn’t want to see you again if he’d given you this number…
Well, the “truth” still hadn’t made its way to her intellect though, she had sent him another message telling him she’d knew it from the beginning, that Yann was Did’s girlfriend and that she/he was trying to keep him/Did for her/him.
That’s when had some kind of striking revelation… The Universe was called Pedro!
And when he told that to Yurick, he chuckled and told Yann that the Universe was called Michael…
“They’re all angels lately, so it’s the name of an angel…”Why not?
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Hey Leo, I had a blinding revelation last night, after Barb left.”
“Well, do tell, Bea, I’m all ears” said Leonora with an encouraging smile, pouring herself a cup of tea.
“Well the moment was far clearer than I can explain it but it went something like this” Bea continued. “Bearing in mind that the FOCUS DIRECTS so the question of ‘directing’ essence is another choice of puzzle piece of the individual puzzle game at any moment…”
“Ye-es” replied Leonora, making an effort to concentrate.
“To connect to an individual focus is but a baby step towards being able to comprehend the interconnectedness of everything that you create, and that it is all in fact you.” Bea went on, adding “Like a beginner stage as it were, to keep it manageable.”
“Keeping it manageable sounds like a good idea” interjected Leo, pointedly glancing around at the disorder in the kitchen.
Unperturbed, Bea continued “You draw to yourself parts or, if you like, focus points or other focuses of All That Is —of the whole that are at that moment useful.”
“Sounds reasonable, Bea, do continue. Pass the gingerbread men, would you?”
“All of the characters in the stories I write, for example, are my focuses in a manner of speaking, as are all the characters in anything I bring into my world my focuses if I choose to SEE THEM FOR A MOMENT FROM THEIR FOCUS VIEWPOINT.”
“Ok, ok, no need to shout!”
“I’m not shouting, Leo, let me finish and stop interrupting! Adding another focus is an analogy in a way for adding another focus or point of view to mine.
Dividing the actions of adding focus viewpoints into sections is useful in order to comprehend the scope of possible actions, but only initially, and as more actions are experienced objectively, the sections and labels become limiting and confining.” Bea paused for a sip of coffee and a long draw on her cigarette. “But they do keep it manageable to some degree, it must be said” she added.“Yes, keep it manageable, by all means, couldn’t agree more”
“Everyone’s puzzle game is their own,” Bea was on a roll. “And the same puzzle piece, or other focus in this case, for one, would fit equally well into a completely different puzzle game of someone else’s because all of the surrounding puzzle pieces of each individuals puzzle game are created in each moment and are chosen for their relevance to that moment.”
“Good point, dear.”
“Likewise an individuals puzzle game is a new one in each moment and the puzzle pieces are interchangeable within the same puzzle game, depending on their relevance to the moment and the chosen surrounding puzzle pieces.”
As usual with blazing flashes of illumination, Bea found that they were hard to form into words, and when she did manage to get them into words, they look so screamingly obvious.
“Does that make sense to you, Leo?” she asked.
“Er, I think so Bea, I’m getting the gist…”
Interrupting, Bea continued to describe her revelations to her now glassy eyed friend. “And on the subject of trusting, doubting, confusion and so on”
“Oh, yes, confusion…”
“We are here shiftING, not shiftED, this is what we are choosing.
With the variety of viewpoints we have, the shifted and the unshifted and the semi-shifted, there is always something new to notice from yet another new perspective. Why not get really enthusiastic about the ride itself instead of planning how to float through it with the least fuss ~ it’s more fun on the helter skelter with its many perspectives and view points than on the mill pond for those of us who choose shiftING.”“I dunno, Bea, from my perspective floating on a millpond sounds rather pleasant.”
“Well, at least now we know that what we don’t know is there to know.”
“Yes, there’s no doubt about that!” relied Leonora, “Have you finished? That was all very interesting but don’t forget we invited everyone over for the Yule Boulder Moving party. We should get a move on with the preparations you know”
In reply to: Rafaela’s Random Ramblings
On the subject of other focuses I had a blinding revelation in the
kitchen last night. As usual with my blazing flashes of illumination,
they are hard to form into words, and when I do try to get them into
words, they look so screamingly obvious, like D’uh, you mean you
didn’t realize that yet? LOLAnyway, the moment was far clearer than the following words, but I
managed to get a few words out in chats to Eric and to Dawn which I
snipped together:(bearing in mind that the focus directs so the question
of ‘directing’ essence is another choice of puzzle peice of the
individual puzzle game at any moment)To connect to an individual focus is but a baby step towards being
able to comprehend the interconnectedness of everything that you
create and that it is all in fact you. (beginner stage as it were,
keep it manageable)You draw to yourself parts (focus points/other focuses of All that
is) of the whole that are at that moment useful.All of the characters in the story I write, for example, are my
focuses in a manner of speaking, as are all the characters in
anything I bring into my world my focuses if I choose to _see for a
moment from their focus view point_. Adding another focus is an
analogy in a way for adding another focus or point of view to mine.
Dividing the actions of adding focus viewpoints into sections is
useful in order to comprehend the scope of possible actions, but only
initially, and as more actions are experienced objectively, the
sections and labels become limiting and confining. (but they do keep
it manageable to some degree)Everyones puzzle game is their own, and the same puzzle piece (or
other focus) for one, would fit equally well into a completely
different puzzle game of someone elses because all of the surrounding
puzzle peices of each individuals puzzle game are created in each
moment and are chosen for their relevance to that moment. Likewise an
individuals puzzle game is a new one in each moment and the puzzle
peices are interchangable within the same puzzle game, depending on
their relevance to the moment and the chosen surrounding puzzle
peices.And on the subject of trusting, doubting, confusion etc:
We are here shiftING, not shiftED, this is what we are choosing.
With the variety of viewpoints we have, the shifted and the unshifted
and the semi shifted, there is always something new to notice from
yet another new perspective. Why not get really enthusisatic about
the ride itself instead of planning how to float through it with the
least fuss ~ it’s more fun on the helter skelter with it’s many
perspectives and view points than on the mill pond for those of us
who choose shiftING.At least now we know that what we dont know is there to know.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Well, what a coincidence!” exclaimed Bea, as her freind Baked Bean Barb described the book she had just started reading. It was all about ancient inscriptions in Antartica, which was what Bea had been reading about online just before Barb arrived.
“Some of it’s fact” Barb was saying “But the rest of it’s made up; interesting though!”
“Oh, I can’t wait til they find remains of the civilization under the ice there!” Bea said, to which Barb replied “There’s no civilization there. Nope. There’s nothing ever been found, nothing at all scientifically proven about that. The book’s fiction.”
“Well, they haven’t found it yet, Barb ~ if the scientists had proof, it would be found already. Until things are found they don’t exist?”
“There’s nothing there, there’s no proof!” Barb said firmly, shaking her head.
“What about all the new things we keep finding out about, before we knew about them, they didn’t exist, is that what you mean?” Bea persisted, trying to get her point accross. Then she wondered why she was trying to get her point accross in the first place. She knew what her point was.
Well, at least I think I do, she said to herself.
“Fancy a cuppa, Barb? Leo bought some nice nettle teabags, how’s that sound?”
“Ooh yes please! Got anymore of those gingerbread men?”
Sometimes the actual point wasn’t at all the same thing as the point you thought you were making. Bea gave herself points for noticing this, although she wasn’t at all sure what the point of the whole thing was, objectively anyway. Distraction tactics always worked, but once summoned, the distractions were indiscriminate and chaotic. On the way to the kitchen to put the kettle on, Bea glanced out of the window and noticed a shaft of light illuminating the rocks and casting deep shadows into the crevices, the resulting effect looking for all the world like mysterious ancient inscriptions. She reached out for her camera, which was always conveniently handy, as she strode out of the door, single minded in pursuit of the capture of a moment of light as if drawn by a magnet, or reeled in like a fish.
Barb eventually found her, some 57 minutes later, pruning the oleander down by the stream.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Don’t bother me with that now, Godfrey! Can’t you see I’m swamped with ideas? I’ve got so many things to write I simply don’t know where to start. Which is why I’m starting right here and now, with the issue of the writer being overloaded with potential story lines.”
Elizabeth ran her hands through her hair distractedly, and impatiently pushed the miniature giraffe off her lap.
“Relax, Liz”. Singularly unruffled, Godfrey picked up the giraffe and stroked his neck. “Tranquilo, Lizzie, tranquilo!”
“What? Oh, well done Godfrey, that’s taken care of one thing off my list then! One of my theme words had to be a foreign word.” Elizabeth started to relax. “And what finer word is there than tranquilo, eh, what a marvellous word.”
“Indeed” replied Godfey “But is that the correct usage of the creative writing theme words? I mean, really, you could just write ‘Liz had a list of theme words and they were a foreign word, dual~duel, marmalade sunrise, appreciate and adore, summer rain, beyond the horizon’ and leave it at that, couldn’t you?”
“Godfrey, you are clever!” Elizabeth congratulated herself. “But what about all the other ideas?”
“Well, why not start by making a list? Jot down a few clues. Or just start writing, and see what happens. I’ll put the kettle on while you make a start, fancy a cuppa?”
“Oooh yes please! Finnley bought some new teabags this week, quite spicy they are as well.”
Godfrey sniggered as he disappeared into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder “Have you got any of those gingerbread men left?”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
— We’re running out of coffee!
— Bloody ran out of cigarettes for days now!
— There’s a more serious thing here… We’re running out of steam!
— Are we landing yet?!
— Where’s my suntan lotion!?
— Brace yourself, it’s gonna be a crash landing!
— eeEEEK!In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Jobson Batt and Ernie Young were taking a vacation in between so called natural disasters, as the financial disaster claimed the populations attention. They knew that the result of the energy being pushed from pillar to post as everyone fretted and worried about the monetary system would manifest in some natural disasters, and they knew they would have their work cut out as highly skilled members of the DDT team (otherwise known as Disaster Damage Team) in due course. Meanwhile, they had the foresight to take a well earned break while the attention of the population was otherwise engaged.
Unable to settle on just one destination, they opted for a World Cruise.
Evangeline Spiggot slammed the telephone down. Another call from someone wanting that other DDT company, Dead Dick Tracy Productions. Business was slow at Disaster Damage Team, with Jobson and Ernie on holiday, but Evangeline was left holding the fort, just in case a major disaster came in, in which case she would inform Jobson and Ernie on their cruise ship. It was boring sitting there alone in the office though, and Evangeline decided that the next wrong number she answered, she would pretend to be Dead Dick Tracy, just for a laugh.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Siobhan was settling into her new job at the Freakus, fitting like a duck to water into her position as Head Cage Rattler. It wasn’t an easy job to do which was why the rewards were so high; it certainly wasn’t everyones cup of tea, and good Cage Rattlers were hard to find. Oh, there were plenty of Cage Rattlers, true, but not good ones. A good Cage Rattler had to have a certain “je ne say kwah”, an impermeability, much like the oily feathers of a duck, enabling the Cage Rattler to glide easily through troubled waters without sinking ~ without even getting wet, if they were very skilled.
The success of the Freakus show depended on new ideas and inspirations. The audience, as well as the participants of course, wanted something new, something challenging, something inspiring, something ‘out of the box’ for each show, not the same old boring routines. There was nothing entertaining about the same old tricks rehashed over and over again, even if they were well known and easy to perform. True, there were many of the general public who preferred the familiar acts, but they generally weren’t fans of the innovative and forward thinking Freakus show. Freakus was new, exciting, thought provoking and entrancingly different, hence the importance of the Cage Rattlers.
When the performers and cast members of Freakus got too complacent or too boring, it was Siobhan’s job to disturb them, to rattle their cages, yes, to upset them. Clearly it was undeniably important that Siobhan not take their retaliations personally; after all, she was just doing her job. She was shaking things up purposefully for the overall benefit of the show, it was a simple as that. It wasn’t her job to direct or lead those in the rattled cages, simply to disturb them from their boring old routines. Freakus, after all, wasn’t about the old and boring, it was about the new and exciting, and it was up to the individual performers to come up with a new act.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
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.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Finally, sailing on the Orgasmic Sea had not been as difficult as Akita would have thought .
Occasionally, while they were sleeping on the deck under the starry sky, he could hear a few “Ahs” and “Ohs” (something even some “Oooh” as far as he recalled) coming from the three ladies, but perhaps that was only the effects of their feeling again their skin against the sheets, since all their hair had almost now gone.
He was wondering if that was a special disposition of the Brits and people coming from the cold areas, that kind of bestial growing of hair, and shedding in spring… Could well be, as his Asian ancestors never had been accustomed to growing much hair themselves, he couldn’t tell for sure.
Perhaps they were dreaming too… As soon as they had found out about this strange piece of tile, their imagination seemed to have taken to new heights. They were speaking of Spreal, an ancient civilization buried for 570,000 years under the ices, near the Onyx river and had almost manifested the strong desire to come back to investigate.
Hopefully Kay had given him the perfect excuse to not comply with the sometimes erratic demands of the three Graces: the iceberg was slowly melting in the giant structure of plastic containing the freshwater from the berg, and the heat exchange was also giving the propellant for the trip. They probably wouldn’t be able to get away so easily if they backed-off now.
Hopefully their shedding had finished to convince them. Any vague desire left to go to the frozen place was long gone with the comfortable hairy insulation.Akita had thought for a moment of going back to his homeland, in Arkansas. But now that probably most of his family was dead, or thinking him dead, there wouldn’t be much point in doing that. Instead, he’d decided to trust living in the present. Not worrying about that elusive past from another life, and only focus on what route was open to him now.
Sharon, Gloria and Mavis were apparently not in a hurry to come back home either, and now that Kay was more and more easily accessible for him, he didn’t feel alone at all. So all was well.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Alizabath Tittler took another draw on her fag of nicoback.
Passing her hand through her wild and matted hair, she noticed there were mare and mare bald patches hare and thare instead of her former lusciaas mane… and her ayes a tad blaadshat, but she trusted she was beautifaal.Taking another slaarp off her glass of dark red clarat wine —her faarth? she had lost count…— she sighed remembering the gaad old days. Not that she missed her dazen of previaas hubbas, nah.
She was comfartable tonight. Orok the building manager, one had to concede it to him, had decided to heat the building earlier this year, due to the falling temperatures, and it was all very warm and cosy inside. Traath was, she barely wanted to get out of the building at all, having Fannley order Chaanese faad for her, under the pretaxt to fanish her next novel. But end was never nearly in sight.
Her pablisher, Brackel, was still asking her about her next manuscraapt, and Fannley, the claaning-lady of the office (she only figured out recently that she actually was a ‘she’) was thrawing suspiciaas laaks on her every time they met.
All in all, life laaked almost the same. Not the same without a Lemane quote though.
She opened his last baak at random, laaking for a paarl of wisdam.I think that’s one of the reason why I don’t really appreciate Xmas, because of that sickening tradobligation of buying crappy stuff, but as long as you’re on facegoat, I can send good karma to you.
“Waw!” What an ideaa, this yeaar, she will send gaad karma to her ex-husbaands.
“Anathar wan!” She couldn’t get her hands aff such profaand baak.
Roger-Y, her pet talking white gaase started to screech frantically “Anathar WAN! Anathar WAN!” making her little fainting mongrats collapse to the flaar.
“pftlabaltloup”: that’s the Samari word for what I wanted to say: it may sound a little dismissive, but it’s pronounced fruit-lab-at-loop. Indeed; ‘fruit’ because the emails like snoot fruits, ‘lab’ for the extraction of the quintessence, and ‘loop’ to keep in loop… And we are complete.
“Waw” She was always struggling to kaap in the laap with all her characters; naw, that was something to consider, as she was Samari belonging herself, not at all Vaaldish like her mather. Gad forbads.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Not willing to play another tug of war with Elizabeth, whose mind was obviously not as soond as one might expect of an authoor of her statoore, Godfrey didn’t even mention to her that she misquoted him repeatedly by making him barf mindlessly unbearable amoonts of poonuts while in trooth, it was cashoo nuts he was craving for.
That being said, he couldn’t let her last remark go without notice, and pointed her to a newspooper article she’d been cutting recently off an interview with one of her former editors, Darool Barash.
“See, Elizabeth dear,” he said after taking a sip of a hot fragrant lootus tea “ Why would you want to impose your desired change everywhere ‘roond you. Thawing the ice caps? And what else? Did you think of the pengooins? All the beautiful harmoony you fail to consider… Why forcibly change the ootside when you can choose from an infinite of already created pootentials. Well, at least, that’s what Barash says…”
He paused, her looks betraying that she was completely lost.
“Frankly, Liz, you’re starting to worry me. All this loony talk… It’s so oother-dimensional. You say it’s too complex, but the way you moove all those extroovagant letters is baffling. And this non-existent “Al” you’re talking aboot… Let me finish please… I know you feel remoorse for leaving old Arak just because he wouldn’t let you have the tiny giraffes —not even mentioning that ghost-writer of yours, Finnley? That’s the name, isn’t it?… I sure want to believe your shift in vowellness excoose, but that’s not enoogh…”
“Will you just stop talking roobbish Godfrey…”
“Now, serioosly, your delirioos inspiration break-oot has got to be channeled, if we want to make your proper come-back ”
“But everything’s fine, I’m just very kewl.”
“You see! Like I said!”
“What?”
“You did it again!”
“ Yeeps? I did it again? ”
“Just now! You said ‘very kewl’, instead of ‘too cool’! That’s unnoorvingly vexatioos!”“KEWL! KEWL! KEWL!”
screeched Robert X the pet magpie from the other room.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
“Is there a probable Becky still at the Serendib Facility ~ in-the-rural-mountainous-central-region-of Sri-Lanka-in-the-2030’s ~ Godfrey?” Elizabeth hurriedly included some background information in her question to appease her publisher, the erudite and enigmatic Godfrey Pig-Littleton.
Elizabeth was amused to note that erudite was almost an opposite to rude, but as Elizabeth could vouch for, neither was mutually exclusive, as Godfrey was clearly equally at ease exhibiting both ends of the rude spectrum. But I digress, she said to herself, turning her attention to Godfrey.
“Elizabeth,” he said with a frown, “At your request I have had installed all manner of information retrieval systems, both objective and subjective, and yet you will insist on asking me questions instead of accessing the information yourself.” Godfrey shivered, attempting to wrap his velvet smoking jacket closer round his spare frame. The rich claret colour suited him perfectly, but it was clearly inadequate against the bitter cold. “Put another log on the fire, Liz, it’s colder than a witches tit in here today!”
“Don’t be rude, Godfrey” replied Elizabeth with a sniff. “I’m too cold to move, you do it. I’ve been absolutely frozen ever since Al sent us all to the South Pole. As a matter of fact, there’s been a cold snap all over the globe, which is why” she continued “I am trying to get us all out of there and back to Sri Lanka! We don’t want to start another Ice Age, Godfrey, this has to stop.”
“Ah, those were the days” smiled Pig Littleton. “I remember it well. It all started when Aunt Jeanne du Bappe was writing her book and wanted more ice for her G&T. Somehow it all escalated out of control, and before you could say Boo to a Goose, the whole place was covered in glaciers. A few million years later, when she’d slept off the effects of the gin, it was just beginning to thaw…”
“Dear old Jeanne, where is she now? I haven’t heard from her for…er, aeons.”
“Oh, she’s in fine fettle, got a job in The City you know. They say she’s quite something in The City these days, got quite a name for herself in Design & Communications.”
“Has she now! She’s done well for herself then, last I heard she was tiling kitchens in New Venice.”
Pig Littleton snorted. “Aunt Jeanne du Bappe, tiling in New Venice? Don’t be ridiculous, Liz, you’re getting your timelines in a twist. I expect that was one of her protegée’s, Aunt Jeanne’s been in The City for —well…”
Godfrey was uncharacteristically stumped.
Elizabeth wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to tease her old friend. “For how long?”
“For a very long Now”
“Well, I must say, that’s a fine thing isn’t it, to start an ice age and then bugger off to The City while everyone else freezes their tits off” said Elizabeth, blowing on her hands to warm them.
“You do realize, Liz dear, that every time you mention the word Cold, or Frozen, or Ice Age, you are increasing the potential of the Ice Age in the Probability Pool?”
“Godfrey, the Probability Pool has frozen over. We’ll be skating right over the top of it instead of dipping into it, if we don’t start a thaw soon!”
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
When the four friends Angela Goose, Jobby the Pygmy Hippo, Weirdy the Weasel and Freaky the Ferret came to the dwelling of Barry the White Bear, they were all greeted by Pawanie the Lady Panda, his lovely partner.
“Oh,” she told them, “Barry is already gone fishing, but if that’s Arky the Aardvark you are looking for, I can tell you that I saw sweet Arkie Pooh not too long ago. He’s never far away when you need him.”
“By the way,” Pawanie the Lady Panda said to Angela “There’s a litter of the cutest baby crocodiles that has been placed for adoption, and I immediately thought of you.”
“What?!” Angela quacked almost frantically.
“Oh” said Freaky the Ferret “I saw that recently somewhere, they said baby crocos could talk to each other even when still inside the eggs! Could you believe that?”
“Well, of course,” Weirdy the Weasel answered teasingly, “ everybody knows that .”
