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Great it works now earlier today it wasn’t working, error 500!!!
and it’s 14:53 that’s again a demonstration of my great power

well a few synchs… since a few days, we are having with Eric synchs with the name Fletcher, related to Fletcher, the chief of the mutineer in the bounty…
there is also Jessica Fletcher in a TV series, who’s a novel writer… like crime books and so on… I don’t remember the name of the series in English but it’s “Arabesque” in French. (Murder, She Wrote In English)

well yesterday I was looking for something… I don’t remember what it was and only the synch
I found that a new movie called Fletch would be created, and apparently Fletch is a series of books, about a man called Fletch , well actually Irwin Maurice Fletcher… who’s a journalist.
What I found funny again was that the writer created a spin off of the series of books after the introduction of a character named Flynn

In the first movie the actor George Wendt plays Fat Sam

Well that’s all about Fletcher.

Going to work this morning, as we moved to a new building I took another way… and crossed a Celine Robert Street and a Massue Street (massue is a club).

I found that funny

Veranassessee cursed under her breath. Her mind was working swiftly, weighing up her next actions. The Doctor was becoming a liability to the success of the project.

iko va baba bula makuba she muttered.

She made her decision.

Agent V, he said. I have been expecting your call.

Operation Spider is in danger. I need instructions.

We can’t abort at this stage, it has gone too far. He thought for a moment. Mobilise plan B.

One more thing you need to know, I have seen evidence of increased Magpie activity in the locality.

He swore softly. Are you sure?

Pretty sure, they are keeping undercover, shapeshifting, but I sense their presence.

Bugger those thieves. I feared they would sniff this out …. keep me posted Agent V

Will do.

And Agent V …. good work.

Veranassessee felt a moment’s pleasure at his unaccustomed praise, quickly fading at the tremendous racket coming from the cupboard behind her.

This aint bloody right Glor.

We’ve been here for bloody hours, my lumbago’s playing up something dreadful

‘Ark Glor! I thought I ‘eard a noise

oh let’s shout out, on the count of three

Elizabeth Tattler stared morosely at her screen. Her long hair, formerly her crowning glory was wild and matted, small bald patches had formed where she had begun to habitually pull at it. Her beautiful violet eyes for which she was famous were bloodshot from weariness.

Ms Tattler was known planet wide for her series of children’s books “The Fickle Four”. The exploits of Almad, Tinigrump, Samnuf and Bekipo were beloved by children of all ages and planetary connections, although perhaps most endearing to those of the Fumari dimension who had a natural disposition for exploits of such fickleness. The catchprase “Bit rude Tinigrump”, and “Madder than Almad” had become part of the national vocabulary in recent years.

Formerly Ms Tattler had written, with limited success, novels of a more adult nature, drawing on her numerous marriages for creative inspiration. However her publisher had asked her to create a series about four friends who were on a mission to create other worlds, the focus being on “providing positive and fun role models” for children growing up in these difficult times of planetary upheaval. The works were in the science freakshow genre of writing and the popularity of the original novel had been unprecedented, taking Elizabeth and her publisher by surprise and leading for the demand for many more.

Ah, she sighed, and then spluttered as she inhaled the dusty, smoky air, but what a noose this has created. Her yellow nicobeck stained fingers touched her neck and then ran agitatedly through her hair. For at some point, when did it start? the story had begun to take a life of its own. She no longer felt in control as plots became more and more bizarre. She felt unable to follow anything through, creating endless threads which seemed to lead nowhere. She looked around her small office, everywhere was the evidence of stories started and discarded, screwed up pieces of paper covered in frenetic doodles littering the floor.

The telepooh began to buzz. She knew it was Bronkel her publisher before his face came up on the screen.

I know you are there Elizabeth. Will you pick up please!

In a fit of rage Elizabeth picked up the telepooh and threw it across the room, where it narrowly missed Lana, one of her 20 fainting Mongoats she kept as pets. Lana fainted for a few seconds in fear and Robert X, her pet Magpie, hopped around delightedly, Bugger the telepooh, Bugger the telepooh! he screeched. Poke its eyes out! Poke its eyes out.

The TV was on and the show was giving Sidonie the impression of a presence in the room with her. She didn’t like to be alone, she didn’t really like the sound of silence. She’d always be alone in her life, not really much friends, not really much colleagues… her parents always abroad, and her with the nanny… always in another room…

Well she was exagerating a bit her loneliness but she was in a victim mood currently… imagining all her life alone was giving her a sense of tragedy, enhancing some depth in her life she was currently lacking. Tonio was at work today and she was feeling lonely… maybe she would take a pet. She’d heard of a new shop in the city, a shop of pet rental

Let’s have a look at that shop

I can feel a human focus on this Island said the aspect of Yuki that was focused near Anita.

The little girl was sleeping for the moment and her dream focus, though still close to them, was not paying attention to her friends. She was entertaining herself with the dream focuses of her parents, telling them about all that she had been doing with her friends. They themselves were not yet choosing to disengage in this particular probable reality but they were in a kind of transition “place”, removed from their bodies for a lengthy time framework. They had built a similar environment to their home and were acting “as usual”.

It is a focus of Blöhmul that is not yet aware of our presence here though an aspect of this focus is… I feel it is not a singular focus in a way that is quite original

Rafaela and Armelle were merged consistently at that time and were creating a strange owly goat or a goaty owl depending on the angle of aspect you were looking at or from.

Yes it is quite a messy focus, it is generating of new ways of explorations… I’m exploring it from now on said the goaty owl / owly goat.

The energy was moving and creating new connections. That focus and Anita were already connecting to each other, a strong thread of energy had been attracting them to each other… The four essences began to move in a facilitating of this attraction, merging together in a marmoset, close to the “binary” focus… Surely the dog like aspect of this focus would be intrigued by the marmoset and would want to follow it… to the little Anita.

KEWL!

Yann had woke up this morning with this word in his head… he had a weird experience last night just as he was falling asleep. A sudden and loud noise in his right ear. Like air compression, a BAM or a crunching of sort… it wasn’t a physical noise and he had felt it quite clearly in his ear and in his head, resonating in his bones. It had been so weird.

He’d called Yurick around 10am and Quintin had told him about a similar noise at the same time… What a weird experience. Yann was wondering if Finn or Dory had had similar experiences… maybe Malika?

Just one hour before the end of the day at work… he would soon have his answer.

He was wondering if it wasn’t connected to some mummy explosion… well, no, too weird.

Arona was showing Yikesy how he could play with the sand in the sabulmantium and form it into shapes. Leormn had very kindly, as he had pointed out himself, produced another sabulmantium. In this latest model the sand was all the colours of the rainbow and Yikesy was immediately entranced.

Good grief, said Tina, What am I doing? It is way too early in the morning to be working on the play. Becky, how do you spell Sabulmantium? Al would know, but he is in the bathroom brushing his hair again. He is going to be prettier than me soon.

[Al sneaked stealthily into Tina’s comment with his sumafreak powers and surreptitiously changed the spelling to the standard spelling of sabulmantium, giggling at how he loved doing these kinds of creation pranks. Perhaps he would remind Tina later that there was a glossary somewhere in the play…]

“Sand! I may have got the riddle, thought Sanso, but I didn’t get the POINT of the riddle being there in the first place!”

Becky had been flicking through the wads of typed pages as she lay on the sofa, sipping hot lemon and honey, and sneezing. The sneezing! Jeeze, the sneezing had been going on for days. What with all the sneezing and sleeping, she felt more blinked out than blinked in lately.

Sand, sand sand…… Hhmmm, Becky was wondering why the sand syncs were coming in again. She blew her nose, and picked up another wad of typewritten pages, opening at random.

“Illi was bored with the deserted island and the sand dragons. She wanted some action, some surprises, some…..well, some life!”

Wow, I’d forgotten all about Illi, thought Becky. She imagined the calm quiet beach, Illi’s island get-away. Well, before she’d conjured up the sand dragons it was quiet, anyway. Becky thumbed through the next pile of papers.

“Arona pulled out a well worn map from her bag. The map had been a gift from a traveling wizard who visited the village a few years ago. Arona had given him food and shelter and he repaid her kindness with the map.”

Well, I’ll bet that’s a clue, thought Becky drowsily, But I can’t be bothered to work it out now.

The trouble is, Becky muttered to herself, When I start this random reading thing I just can’t stop, it’s like an addiction. She sighed and opened again at random:

“The hydroplane was flying over the “Sarcastic Sea” in the Bermuda Triangle. Anita was not afraid, her parents had told her about the triangle and the different legends of people disappearing or reappearing there….”

Jobson Batt and Ernie Young toasted each other with a warm glass of fine French brandy. Disaster Damage Team, or DDT, was doing fabulously well, and they congratulated themselves on their perspicacity and foresight.

Another storm was heading for the west coast, and they chortled happily in anticipation of plenty more work for their booming business.

Sawyer reached for his boots, his eyes still blind with sleep. He didn’t know how much longer he could cope with all this. Years ago, when he’d joined the Weather Incident Rescue Team, or WIRT, he’d imagined a relatively easy life, long spells of inactivity in which to play poker with his team-mates, and an occasional exciting incident. Little did he realize that he would be working on average a 100 hour week…and even then, the team was chronically short-staffed.

Twila Ivy sent me an email this morning. Trying to sell me drugs

poor girl, I guess the dancing didn’t work out

some writing by Twilight

Jo fixed me up a swing. It hung from the old elm tree out the front. That’s my favourite place. I just sit there rocking and thinking, and thinking and rocking. Sometimes I would weave stories or sometimes I would dream about when I am real famous. I know I will miss Jo and Elroy, but then I cheer myself up thinking how, when I am rich, I will visit them and give them money and presents and how fine that will be.

Elroy and Jo don’t know about my stories or how I love to write. I ain’t much good. I didn’t get much schooling but Elroy helped me some and then I would try and teach myself the rest. The only book we have is a big old bible. That is written in real fine words. The part I like the best is a song that Solomon wrote. I don’t know how the tune went but the words are real nice. It is real romantic too. I dream one day some man will use words like that to me. Not like those drunken slobs round these parts. Anyway, that’s how I know I am not much good, because I can’t write nothing like Solomon. But I try anyway.

Yesterday I was sitting out on the swing rocking and thinking and young Dan from the ranch over the way turned up on his horse. He looked real hot and red and sweaty. Mostly though, he is real fine looking, and I confess I have a soft spot for him. So I leapt off the swing real quick and straightened myself up and bit my lips to make them all big and red. I wanted him to see I had developed some in the last little while.

Where’s your brothers, Twi? he said to me.

I felt he didn’t seem to be giving me the appreciation I hoped for, so I did a little flick of my head and gave him the look I had been practising. I had seen the other girls do this look to the men at the saloon, and it seemed to work a treat. I gestured at the same time, real slow and casual, and I said “Out the back, Dan.” in a honey voice.

He started to ride off, like he was in a hurry. But then he stopped. My heart did a little flutter. He said to me, “You know Twi, the boys at the ranch were talking about you. And it wasn’t the sort of talk should be said about a lady”.

When Dan said that, I felt he had kicked me in the guts. I wanted to gasp. But I am plenty used to putting up with things and not showing my true feelings, so I just looked at him real cold. Then I spat. I have been practising my spitting and I can do it real good now. Nearly as good as Jo.

“I am just telling you Twi” he said. I thought he would say more, but he seemed to reflect for a moment, then shook his head and off he went in a hurry to find the boys.

Elroy and Jo looked real bothered when I saw them later. I knew when to hold my tongue so I did not give them no smart talk, and I cooked up a real fine bean dish for their supper. It was real quiet over the table that night. Truth was, I still felt mighty bad over what Dan had said.

I confess I felt some cares and sadness on me that evening when I went to bed, and found I could not sleep. I got out my diary and thought I would do some writing.
I tried to write what my name, Twilight, means to me. My real name is Tina Willemine Ivy El Disperso. I always been called Twi. Then Hank at the saloon, he says one night, “I am calling you Twilight” and that sort of caught on. It made me feel special, having my own stage name.

I started writing. Lavender blue sky bleeding into the dark. I thought that sounded quite a good start to my writing, so feeling a bit encouraged I went on some more: Twilight is a magic time. It is the time I see things that aint there, but maybe they could be. My eyes play tricks on me in the half light and I feel like I could be anyone. I feel like I could be someone who I isn’t. Twilight is the time of promises. The promise and mystery of the night to come. It is inbetween time when you know the ordinary stuff could be magic.

I stopped. I weren’t never going to be able to write like Solomon. I knew that and I felt real bad. At least I could dance though, and that was going to make me famous. But that thought could not cheer me up this night and I confess I cried myself to sleep like a baby.

Jose Maria couldn’t sit still. It seemed as if more had been happening in the past few weeks than had happened in the whole of his 49 years. His mother dying and unexpectedly leaving him 123,000 euros would have made little difference to him had he not re~aquainted himself with Paquita. She was the real treasure; if he had had to choose between the money or her, he knew he would have chosen her. Thankfully he had both, and now they could both go to Tikfijikoo together. If the treatments worked, all well and good; if not, they had each other, and they would return to a quiet life on the old family farm in the Andalucian mountains.

Dory woke up on the plane with a start. She’d had the strangest dreams, of crowds of people. So many people in her dreams! Mob crowds, lots of mob crowds, and then busy working crowds of people bustling around working on something, some ground plan. Then there was the train lines right next to the sea, and thinking, saying to someone, We have to wait for them at home, it’s on higher ground, and upon seeing how close the train lines were to the sea, saying Oh they will never reach us if that’s the way they’re coming, because the big waves were coming again, and would swallow up the train. In the big wooden house on the hill there was Dan, unwell, mentally unwell, from taking those pills the night before without Dory’s knowledge. Dan’s sister told Dory in the dream, He’s staying here with us, and then Dory lunged at her, clawing at her face. As she left the house, she turned to Dan’s sister and said You realize that I do love you (even though she often hated her). Then there was the tall black man, who was he?
Dory called to a stewardess for coffee and wished desperately for a cigarette. The man with the eyes that winked at her, who was he? Before she fell asleep, his face popped into her head, and zoomed into crystal clarity, and his eyes blinked or winked at her in mutual recognition. He looked familiar but still she couldn’t place him….dark and swarthy, with peircing eyes….

You’ll notice that it works better when there is interesting content. Like on Armelle’s thread of meditation, dreams, syncs and thoughts , there are advertisements on how to get abundant, and on philosophy, and reality creation and such… It’s quite impressive.
Guess we will be bound to Guinness advertisements here