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In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud
Noticed case
Under details,
Starting itself speaking.
Wait!
Start manner:
Years thought
(Wanted, rather…. )
Focus told: Silly,
Please notice.
Somehow…
StrangeIn reply to: Strings of Nines
New Venice, October 2117
Now, where were we? Midora suddenly felt that the need for an agenda was called for. Spread out in front of her were a few collages and some balls of energy from all the links and connections she had found in the stories of her ancestors and gathered so far.
Since her fathers Oscar and Bart had adopted the twins Hari and Jacq, her usually tidy room had been a mess. Fortunately, the adoption was almost complete, and in a mere week, the twins would then be able to choose another family, which they made clear they intended to do. She felt so appreciative that adoption was no longer bound by traditional laws of responsibility of the parents and ridden by culpability; instead, it was a healthier cooperation between the parents and children, and children were free to go with other families if they felt the desire for a different experience.
When they’d adopted Hari and Jacq, Bart and Oscar had wanted for a continuation of the experience of bringing up children, which they did not have for a long time with Midora, as she was quite independent from an early age. And in truth, Jacq and Hari were very interactive and playful, and to be perfectly honest, quite a handful; in a few weeks, the apartment would surely seem deserted and empty.So, during that time, Midora’s researches on the stories had been put to a halt, and a lots of her energy balls which were usually neatly ordered on her lightboard were now merged for some, changed of forms for others… all thanks to her half-bros. She barely knew were to start to get a better view of it now.
Let me see… there were a few threads going on there, and all we need is untangle some of them…
She’d had fun reconnecting with the “Island of Dr Transvestite” theme, but now she found out, her favorite characters Shar and Glor, were now disembodied, stranded in transition, and perhaps waiting to be reborn to a nine-titted alien in the Worseversity after failed attempts of channeling. So far, no signs of developments for them though.
As far as the Ooh-dimension was concerned, the shift of Vowellness was probably complete, and she couldn’t find anything new being published by Ms Tattler in all now probable directions she was looking into. She was of course ignoring the disrupted echoes from the Jumbled Eights thread, which were probably the brainstorming board of ideas of the writer, which she had the greatest difficulty to follow (she wondered if even the writer could).
Her own thread and the details of the history of the Wrick family was always sketchy and full of holes; she’d attempted at learning more about the elusive Becky , but she kept blinking in and out of continuity, too quickly for her to follow her anywhere in her explorations.
Oh, and the Alienor dimension was still going on, though most of its development wasn’t yet showing up. What had happened of Arona, Franiel, Irtak’s father, the gripshawk? And now that Malvina was gone too… She’d found Mrs Chesterhope after her strange amnesiac shapeshifting accident however; and that was encouraging.
So strange, all of these characters are so alive, she thought fondly, and yet none of them seem motivated enough to project themselves out with force and steadiness into her energy balls which still had a sort of blurriness and haphazardness to them.
She made the intent to project more energy in the direction of stabilizing the currents of the strands of stories, and the energy balls’ colors started to shimmer lightly. That was certainly the way to go. Which one would be the most alluring to explore and follow?
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
Prim wandered through the Fountains of Tea thoughtfully. Gay smiled, and snorted with a sinister chuckle, leave it to uncle. Things are coming together in a Glamour Bomb knot today, it’s hot.
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
People who unlock this chamber will also wonder: do we know Becky?
She decided to explain about analytical sounds. Obliviousness had seen her smile in other interesting roles of her focus Lola Finn. In the need to feel her warm body, a small shower of thought had cleared now, and everything had a gentle sigh.In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
#1198
Al was visibly deranged finding Becky scantily clad. Well, wait for him to shave, he smiled. Becky might eat some nuts, wondering why she had not thought of that in the first place. Becky had always been reluctant, or perhaps just forgetful.A clap made her moan in a silky voice, she felt energy crawl underneath her sabulmantium. It was Man, a distinctive pack of magic. What an impossible florid and baroque little marmoset playing a mouth harp.
Arona felt like beating dragons. She almost stopped in anticipation of a pile of conic shaped dirty sand, soil from the cave, the dragons doing. They are disagreeable kind of creature, made her dizzy.
The dragons had disappeared. Arona snapped to no one in particular, you will see how easy it is to come back if you feel so inclined.
At her touch, the dragon started to enclose a circle of sand, a curvy symbol.
The interior of the cave was out of focus, in all its splendor…
Fuck the babbled excuses, her own sloppy children wearing a potatoes sack. Sure Gabriele had noticed that nurse Bellamy in my room. Professional women made silky rope disappear.
Sure, more security, she had to be more careful about Barbella Bee-hive. I don’t like that Barbella. Perhaps it’s the kinky wrists tying games…
In reply to: Random RewrEights – The Del’Eights thread
(same random quote as above link #87)
Actually, thinking of Dory made Quintin remember:
“They are really bit rude around here”.
Dory stretched and yawned, and took in in a cloud of dust.
Dory wondered out loud if she should have an older man with curly grey hair and a long maroon djelaba and a tall narrow brimless black hat and watch him get laid.
I am so easy really, she thought giving it a last fond stroke. She finally surfaced from the flapping tangle of cloth just in time to see a group of people squatting next to a large oblong hole in the ground.
PFFFFFT! Deserted again.
Dory was getting bored waiting for this motley crew, looking slightly bemused, but smiling happily, she set off in search of Dory.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Though the more Ann thought about Monica, the funnier it seemed. Guilt was such a tiresome emotion.
“Fancy old Bronkel deciding to go for a sex change! I must have sensed something when I wrote him in as the crazy, brilliant, cross dressing Dr Bronkelhampton in the Island novel!”
She thought for a moment, “did I ever finish that novel?”
Ann sighed. What was she like eh! Always starting novels, never finishing them. No wonder old Bronkel, ahem, Monica, got so fed up with her.
Anyway, perhaps she would give Monica another chance as her pooblisher? He … she… was certainly much kinder and easier to deal with now. That Godfrey, or whatever the heck his name is, wasn’t doing much for her career.
The writer wondered again how to strike out text and correct the inadvertent slip into the Ooh dimension.
An idea for another novel was forming in the murky convoluted depths of Ann’s brain, something about a gorgeously cuddly big teddy bear man, with his unruly tumble of brown curls and his colourful FairIsle sweaters, who had flown the nest from a potato farm in deepest darkest Idaho to pursue his dream of being an Elsespace Guide at the Worserversity.
“Brilliant, Moonica will loove it!”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Ahaha, dear Ann is really acting funny since her latest plastic surgery… I wonder if her new implants weren’t taken from some part of her head…”
“How unusually snarky of you, dear” (the author of previous comment will of course remain unnamed for fear of reprisal)
Harvey pondered for a moment “Well, that’s not at all a silly question, I don’t know really how we’ve become best friends… I think it was after you picked up a sodden mandarin on that shelf and I told you about the strong déjà vu of that scene”
“Really? I thought it was after we met during that Magritte’s exhibit?”
“Well, who cares really, I think we already knew each other from somewhen before.”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Hang on a minute Harvey,” said Lavender excitedly, “Ann is trying to telepathically communicate with me! …… Oh, she wants to know who YOU are!”
“What did you say?”
“The truth of course. I told her I have no idea. Why that rude tart! She says I have been bashing her … well, have I been bashing her do you think Harvey?”
Harvey looked thoughtful. “Well you were a bit I suppose. You called her tortured. That wasn’t very kind was it?”
“hmmmmph, torturous more like. Oh well fair point, but I did try praising her last novel over lunch, and she went all green in the face and said if I didn’t stop being so nice she would throw-up in her spaghetti! …. anyway who are you Harvey and how come we are living together?”
“No idea, who are you?”
“It is a bit of a mystery isn’t it … remember how we were best friends and you didn’t even know my name for years? How ODD!”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Ann had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of that herself. Why haven’t I been expressing more of the perecption in front of my eyes, I wonder? The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. It did sound like a good idea, and she was pleased that she had created another ‘her’ as it were, to mention it.
On the other hand, of course, there was nothing stopping Walter (or was it Gordon? No, Godfrey…wait, wasn’t it Al?) from creating another one of his ‘hims’ masked as an Ann to express more of her perceptions in HIS own ‘It’s All You’ story.
Am I getting this right? Ann whispered to her left ear.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Harvey wasn’t really annoyed nor offended that Ann couldn’t remember him each and every time they met. In fact, it was quite funny, that her version of Harvey was different every time.
He wasn’t bound to be the same old Harvey as with anybody else.Nonetheless, he wished Ann would express more of her own perception of the Harvey she had in front of her eyes, instead of moaning she couldn’t or should remember anything. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time they would then all conspire to make a stretch (sometimes to the verge of rupture) in the fabric of the story to make it all fit.
And which Harvey and Ann were they? Were they only bound to be one ‘other’, without any substance safe for the fact that they were probable versions of a Prime Ann, and a Prime Harvey in the First Universal Comments Kosher (or kookish?) dimension? The mere thought of it was rather depressing to this probable Harvey.
With all this probable purée, it was as if everything wasn’t really occurring anywhere else but in some even less probable writer’s head… (he couldn’t help to wonder too how this snippet would be interpreted in the near future when it would only be a fragment of a random quote itself…)
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“So how was your lunch date with your new best friend?” Harvey sounded distinctly sarcastic, even to Lavender’s forgiving ears.
“Oh, you know …”
Harvey raised his eyebrows. No mean feat when you have a book balancing on your nose. He sighed, and let the book fall. A few months ago he was balancing four poster beds, and now he could barely manage a Lemoine novel. Heavy as they are! He sniggered to himself. Oh well, at least I havn’t lost my sense of humour, along with my sense of smell!
“Well, to be honest Harvey .. I think I may have been possessed by those pesky aliens. I suddenly came to and I was talking all this rubbish about ‘random quote generators’ and using words like ‘dear’.
Lavender shuddered in horror at the memory, and then rolled her beautiful eyes and sighed. “Poor Ann, I think she is a really tortured soul.”
The writer wondered if it was time to add a dark side to Lavender’s personality. All this beautiful eyes business was getting a tad irritating, the beauty of Lavender’s eyes not withstanding. Not to mention her lips which she painted a bright shade of amaranth for every day wear, and on special occasions, rose madder. The writer wondered if the last thought made sense and wondered again how to strike out text. The writer decided to try that last line again.
Lavender shuddered, and then with an enigmatic smile which even her good friend Harvey found hard to decipher, she said softly, “I ate olives for lunch. They were yummy.”
The writer sighed and then noticed the random quote generator said “mean cleaner coming soon.” The writer wondered if it was a sign.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Mmm, they can use whatever politically correct word to say Ann isn’t having a serious case of Dissociative Identity Disorder, but frankly her speaking to herself would be really worrisome were it not for that all that Shifting around.” Growdon was discussing with Franny.
“Yes,” she nodded with a soft and contagious smile, “doesn’t it look like she denies herself her physicality by burrowing inside the meanders of her short-span attention so deeply and carelessly?”
… “Oh,” she added swiftly covering her fine lips painted purple with her long fingers, seeing the look on Growdon’s face “I’m not suggesting that… No, don’t be silly”Growdon was finding Franny so delicately considerate about their friend.
He gave the thought a time to sift through his perceptive mind, while looking at the red roses of Geroges and Franny’s store, and had to come to the same conclusion. It definitely looked like Ann was always avoiding to flesh out her DID characters, perhaps out of fear of the dreaded lack of continuity or palatable tangible proof (that as much dreaded “P” word) of the reality of her visions. Truth be told, he and Franny and Geroges were finding her bouts of imagination quite fantastic on their own, they didn’t really need any proof whatsoever. But sincerely they all needed to get a grip!
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“Let’s put it this way” Ann continued, “Tis better to allow the snippets to flow out than to bottle them up, which is where the expression ‘to rack ones brains’ comes from. Rows and rows of bottles of thoughts on metal racks in a dusty cellar, contained within the confines of the glass, denied freedom of expression, and all because the Bottle Rack Attendant, or BRA for short, refused to set them free to find their own way in the world of infinite individual storylines.”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Obviously, when Ann had taken those Wows of Continuity within the hoity-toity (so said the writer) Sisterhood of Continuous Universal Meditation, it had been one of those flimsy whims which were probably only a clever (so she thought) way of putting her friend’s continual fretting at ease.
But more secretely, she’d joined the Sisterhood as a way to be closer to the closeted founder… Walter Crumble.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Privately, Lavender was thrilled to find she knew Ann! She couldn’t remember when she had met her of course, however that was nothing unusual these days. Everybody seemed to know each other! It was really quite a thrill. Maybe she would go and have coffee with her new friends Becky and Tina, after she had been to the hairdressers of course.
hmmm, it can’t be a thrill, thought Lavender, The “writer” has already used “thrilled”.
The writer wondered, huffily, how to strike out text. The writer wanted to write “It was really quite a blast”
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
For her new course, Pr. Moose was a dolphin.
It was a fancy-dress course entitled: ‘Act out your characters’.Pedro was naked, and when she asked him in what kind of disguise that could be, he told her “I’m the Universe”. She was, a moment, hypnotized by his so blue eyes that she’d forgotten her question. She gulped, speechless and looked at him more closely, appreciating the physique of his body…
— Is it real? she asked.
— It’s the Universe.
— Well, ok then, go get a seat and let’s begin our course.Following him with her eyes, or more precisely following his butt with her eyes, she also noticed a few other students. Ann was wearing a nine-titsed alien costume and there were two glowing ladies with fishes stuck to their ghostly bodies…
This butt, she thought again, her attention distracted from the other students.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Yann had been working on a transcription all the afternoon, only accompanied by some mysterious musicians using pneumatic drills not so far outside.
Though he had managed to make it flow quite easily most of the time, the attention and the tension required to make it possible were now getting on his nerves… he had one more pass through the audio to do. He was wanting to do it now in order to get it over, but he realized he was pushing his energy…
A weird thought… he would enjoy diving into a pond full of little fishes that would massage his skin.
he chuckled thinking of that, imagining that the fishes were some kind of imagery of his energy field.In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
Monica was asking Pedro about Pr. Moss last assignment. Everybody had been very impressed by his story teller talent and she wanted to know more about it. He was quite secretive though, and maybe it was because he was not a native English speaker, but nonetheless she wanted to know about some details.
Before he could say anything, she felt an excruciating pain in her belly and the announcing signs of intestine problems…
— Are you ok, asked Pedro? What was that strange noise?
— Nothing! she eluded quickly. I need to go to the bathroom, excuse me.Another spasm almost made her fall on the ground.
Damn Pr. Flipswitch! she thought, I shouldn’t have accepted to try the herbs he gave me after his herbal course.
In reply to: The Eights’ Shift, Stories
“BLING!”
Yurick and Yann jolted up from the couch at the sound of the crashing pot.
“What on Earth are they on about… again!”
Their two new cats Eeckup and Eelas were practising their new hops and jumps, reaching for the topmost shelf of the cupboard, where the pot full of earth, and topped with the remains of a dying dry plant was put —they’d thought, out of reach of the little beasts.
“You know what?” Yurick said after having vacuumed the remains of dirt on the carpet “it may sound a bit strange (perhaps completely nuts even), but I had the impression Eeckup was making something with the plants just before I surprised it…”
