Éric

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  • in reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard #3860
    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      Bea decided that she needed to put herself back to sleep quickly. She had to wake up to a different external reality than loud cackles, lisps and pyramid-stealing rats with a bindle and attitude to boot.

      She was glad there was some of her sleep inducing medication left. This time apparently, they looked like Chinese medicine, gooish and blue in colour, with pungent smell of dried sea cucumber mixed with dirty alloys of slit nosed bat’s snot.

      Maybe the weird scenarios were a resurgence of the ego… She would have to meditate more on what these false egos and contrived characters appearances truly meant.

      in reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard #3853
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Don’t you mean “aways to bame?” Lal pointed out, always quick to notice aerial typlos.

        in reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard #3848
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Sam was looking at the new breatharator that was just delivered. The big machine from purple, turned suddenly red and whizzed in like mad for a moment.

          “Well, I think the energy has become more focused, can’t you feel it?” he said absentmindedly, to nobody in particular.

          in reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard #3845
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            Blecky pointed at the chat log “here, I thought Tilna sounded baldish, rather than raucous, wouldn’t that be more hilarious?”
            Lal chuckled agreeably. “Tilna would surely appreciate the rudiness of this tartismug. I’d vote to change it.”
            “Slam, what do you think?”

            Al was toying with the thought of deleting that last comment. Too meta, he thought. A story within a story, another rabbit hole, while failing to address the theme. But what was the theme already?

            in reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard #3843

            “Now, shouldn’t we get back to the play now, and stop interjecting.” Al mentioned.
            Otherwise, I’ll soon start sounding like a loitering eavesdropper character.
            He pointed out to Tina “you’re right, she’s gone crazier with age…”

            in reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud #3841
            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              unexpected central body nonsense
              cloud closed losing sleep middle accent
              late show full dream water perhaps
              team already thinking gone myself

              in reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud #3839
              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                mars bending fast arrived
                telling especially high interesting
                somehow self rolling travel days
                masters cackle sight ready headpiece
                caught breath easily

                in reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard #3838

                “How did you know about the rat?” Bea leaned surreptitiously, having overheard the conversation in some way.
                “Oh, I don’t know, I guess Irina told me,… or was it Aqua Luna?”

                in reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard #3837
                ÉricÉric
                Keymaster

                  “This is not fair !” The guy put down the blue dragon head on the table next to the ladies. He was still wearing the rest of his costume, scaly tail included.

                  “Oh shut up Leo,” Linda cackled softly, making it sound like she’d called him Leormn or something. “We’re all prisoners here of our own device” she sang. “Who cares about how unfair it is. Even the rat took a break to Mumbai, instead of waiting for his next call by the Board of Authors. You should do the same. And get rid of this silly costume, you’ve had it for as long as I’ve known you. Or keep it. I don’t care.
                  Next round of cackle is on me!”

                  in reply to: Mandala of Ascensions #3829

                  Dispersee!” Medlik bellowed “ Dispersee ! You’re late again for your assigned report on the Cackleversity !”

                  “You tart” Floverley remote-elbowed her neighbour in spirit. “Pay a little attention, or he’s never going to stop lecturing us.” She rolled her eyes “There he goes…”

                  “…important it is? Seriously, that little trick that you call insanitizing could well be a weapon of mass enlightenment! You have to be careful and follow-up.”

                  Floverley was always the quiet one, but she wondered at times if she was the only one paying attention in the classroom. Medlik’s exhortations at times seemed so full of contradictions, in a not so enlightened way. She shuddered at the thought that she started to sound so frightfully contumacious.

                  Doubt is the light-killer” she admonished herself, reciting the first rhyme of her little litany against doubt that she taught to her devotees. “Master Medlik is just testing our capacities, there is no reason to doubt his intentions…”

                  in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3827
                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    The tunnels went dark and deep into the crust. Water was seeping through the cracks and made the progression difficult at times. But she had found her way out.
                    She could have died in the tunnels, unable to find her way to the surface, but for some reason, Maia trusted her instincts and her senses to guide her through them. Like the water, flowing through.

                    She didn’t know for sure how far she was from the MARS base when she emerged out, it was hard to tell the distances underground, sometimes you would go down for hundreds of meters, and when you’d look up, the stone ceiling would seem just a few meters overhead.

                    She wasn’t too sure why she had escaped like this and made herself a target. A sudden instinct, something that told her the others couldn’t be trusted, and that they wanted to clean them up.
                    Anyway, it was too late for regrets.

                    The desert wasn’t too bad at twilight, not too hot and better for her to travel unnoticed.
                    A few more days of walk in the desert, and she could find a road, maybe some motel where to spend the night. She still had a few bucks in her purse to see her through.
                    All she wanted now was to make sure her son was alright.
                    Her being alive and out was a threat to their program, and she intended to make the best of a bad situation.

                    Then she realized the humming sound in the back of her thoughts wasn’t random noise. There was a drone hovering, getting back apparently from some scouting. It wasn’t a military drone by the sound of it, more like a hobbyist’s toy. That meant there was someone out there, not far. Someone curious and potentially useful…

                    in reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard #3816
                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      “The proud cackle of the ego-laying laying hen…” that bizarre thought managed to distract her from the tantalizing drama that had jsut materialzed in a jmbleud mess of her haed. Seh wonrdered fi seh hatn’d teleproted to anthero dimesnion.

                      To her dismay, the raucous clucking cry started again.

                      in reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard #3814
                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

                        A raucous explosion of laughter cackled in the neighbourhood, waking up Bea from her afternoon siesta.
                        SHUT UP!” she bawled covering her ears with a cushion, and looked desperately at something she could throw at the window. Alas, save for a manikin’s leg that looked like she owned a pegleg, and a piece of half-eaten banana, there was nothing she could find.

                        She resigned herself to waking up, and pried open her little wrinkled eyes in the late afternoon purple light.

                        Every time she woke up, she had to reacquaint herself with her reality. Not that she was such a junkie on computer duster, as that rat had rudely implied, it wasn’t only that.
                        A few months before, she had an epiphany. Many years of meditation, guided, in groups, alone, with zen masters and copious reading had amounted to nothing but the occasional nice fluffy feeling. It was when she had decided to drop it all of sheer frustration, and burn all the stupid self-help books that something had chanced upon herself.
                        She’d lost her ego. Poof, disappeared, like that.

                        Before that, she was completely adverse to endings, and to any form of deleting.
                        But now, she understood the words she’d read many years ago that had infuriated her profoundly at the time : “Everything must be scrutinised and the unnecessary ruthlessly destroyed. Believe me, there cannot be too much destruction. For, in reality, nothing is of value.”

                        She was. And every waking up was a wake up to her eternal self.
                        So obviously, the external appearances left a bit to be desired, now that desire was not. Continuity was never there in the first place.

                        But to live, she had to find again what new reality she had just awoken to, as she did every morning, and after every siesta.
                        Truth is, she kind of liked it, the non-continuity of it. Before, she would have gloated to whoever that name of an old friend of hers, that she was right about it, the unnecessary of that continuity babble. Now there was no need of it.

                        A loud cackle outside stirred her back to reality.

                        in reply to: Cakletown and the Lone Chancers of Custard #3813
                        ÉricÉric
                        Keymaster

                          Bea took another frightfully long sniff of her computer duster. Her rat looked at her horrified. It rolled its eyes and moaned “Bea, you’re such a dustard…”

                          in reply to: Mandala of Ascensions #3811

                          Master Medlik, looked distractedly at the messages left on his aura during his last simulation. One in particular that looked uncalled for jumped at his attention for some reason. Everything was a message of the Universe in the eternal now, wasn’t it.

                          The Top 10 Cloud Myths
                          Don’t let myths like these slow you down:

                          • Cloud is always about money
                          • You have to be cloud to be good
                          • Cloud should be used for everything
                          • “The CEO said so” is a cloud strategy
                          • We need one cloud strategy or vendor

                          Lead your enterprise to a smarter cloud strategy.

                          He could see some vague fractal pattern surrounding, a reflection of the vastness and wisdom of the Universe in shards and fragments of mirror-like substance.
                          If only one thing, that was all the Cloud was supposed to be about, the purpose of its being created… Or so he was told.

                          Maybe his views about the Cloud needed revising…

                          in reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud #3810
                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            losing hair hell news great master
                            dream finly seen moment brought
                            flynn stones night ghost christmas show
                            reality sitting white apparently

                            in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3809
                            ÉricÉric
                            Keymaster

                              ~ ~ ~ ~ She forgot the trout! ~ ~ ~
                              ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ A read herring, was as good as red. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
                              ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ But for a clue-fish, who would diss a trout ? ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
                              :fish: :fish: :fish: :fish: :fish:

                              :fleuron:

                              Liz’! Liz’!”

                              ELIZABETH !” (sometimes caps were better to catch her attention)
                              “I’ve come back from Mars to take you home.”

                              She couldn’t make out whether the medications were wearing off or kicking in, or was that really Godfrey, back for her?

                              Liz’, I’ve got to tell you the most astonishing things.”
                              Godfrey… I think you should wait a bit…” she slurred words died out in a pool of drool
                              Liz’, wait till I explain you all about the blue benders. Aliens, new frontiers! >-) There’s hope yet for a new best stellar! I’m taking you out of this dreadful nursing home!”

                              in reply to: The Chronicles of the Flying Fish Inn #3808

                              The house was strangely peaceful.

                              The hot days were over for now, and the air wasn’t as suffocating.

                              Dido was gone for a visit to New South Wales, talking the girls with her.
                              As Mater said, breathing a bit of ocean in her pipes instead of her infernal smoking would do her quite a bit of good. Actually, to her surprise, she’d refrained herself from saying what she originally meant. Her brains needed washing too, but that would have been mean.
                              Mater, old cow, you’re getting soft with age”Prune could hear her mutter. The young girl was clever at reading her silences and mutterings. For all the good it would do her.
                              So, yeah, a bit of coastal loitering, instead of vagabonding with all the in and out guests that summer had brought. Dido would endlessly run head-first in so many troubles by following people’s every whim. But hopefully she would be a bit more responsible having to care for her nieces.

                              It must have been those books she read, or the Internet gobbledygook. Mater had found a second-hand worn-out book Dido had forgotten to flush on her way out of the loo. Or the reverse.
                              Anyway, she’d given it a peek. Out of concern of course.
                              No wonder Dido was so taken with silly concerns. It was a book by a French Tibetan Buddhist monk, advocating compassion for this, compassion for that. Good for nothing, all the same those preachers. Now, she could understand why Dido was all ranting about how meditation change your brain. Well, no surprise! Makes it all mushy and unable to think critically, more like it.

                              Just before she left for her little vacation, she’d almost had a nervous breakdown about what she called the extermination. Happened the noise on the roof were stray cats. Well, I knew she fed them from time to time. Probably Finly too. Now, neither Finly nor myself would have called the exterminator to kill some poor cats, good gracious. The guinea pigs are out of their reach anyway. But I guess one of the neighbours wasn’t the compassionate type. Now, what about having compassion for those bastard cat killers? Silly monks who know nothing.

                              Anyway,… darn phone! Somebody to answer that phone?

                              When she arrived at the ringing phone, she realised it was again one of those stupid marketers to sell whatever useless crap. She put the handset delicately on the ledge, letting the guy talk to the air, and resumed her calm walk around the quiet house.

                              So, where was I, she thought. The thought has nearly slipped away.

                              It was something about fish oil maybe. Oh there… walking meditation, mushy brains, cat killers… There, she lost it again…

                              in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3807
                              ÉricÉric
                              Keymaster

                                His mother had told him not to trust what he would see. Somehow she’d spoken as if she knew more than she wanted to tell.

                                After the mayhem with the quakes, and the meteor impact, he thought that was it. There was something more to the reality of these events.

                                But then, nothing could have prepared them for what happened next. “Bloody aliens?”

                                Suspiciously, everyone seemed completely hypnotized and blissfully eager to follow them wherever they led. He had tried to wake Yz up, she was usually the no-nonsense one, but she’d looked at him with vacant eyes barely recognizing him with a faint “Johnny?”.

                                He started to get really suspicious when one of the robots started looking at his behaviour, not packing like the others. It even tried to force him to drink water —dehydration was common in these airtight environments, it said. It was then it dawned on him, that there must have put something in the water. But for what? A Mars take-over?

                                How he was somehow immune? Well, for a while he’d collected the water dripping from the stones, and had analysed it, found it very pure. A few days ago, before the whole string of disasters, he’d tried to drink it, see how it tasted, and it seemed safe. Must have been why. By now, most of the stones he’d collected had dried up, and his water supply was limited.

                                While pretending to slowly pack his things, he was looking at everyone queueing in short lines, all very ecstatic to go to the implausible blue boot-ship surrounded by watchful Finnleys. The exodus had a very eerie feeling about it.

                                He could see most of the persons he knew, even the new ones, Prune cuddling a box with her hamster family, Hans, even that daft Lizette and the mines guy. The religious nuts were so stoned they were all following an obviously overdressed robot with a headpiece they probably took for their religious leader.

                                But wait… His mother? He hadn’t see her. Where had she gone?

                                in reply to: Mandala of Ascensions #3806

                                “Simulation complete”
                                Master Medlik reappeared on the City above Ascension Island.

                                He’d been careful to take the second right at the light tunnel entrance. You can never trust those bureaucrats to process your Id right, and they would just love to put you on another loop of incarnation, just for the spite of it. But he remembered the door from his first awakening. They’d changed its place a few times, patched it and all, but it would always reappear at a convenient place with the proper state of mind.

                                Anyway, the simulation didn’t go very pleasantly. Of course, the model was a crude representation of Earth as it was, but it was supposed to be the base model for Earth 5D, and so far, they couldn’t get it right. Super-powers, teleportation, faster-than-light travel and technological progress didn’t bring any wisdom.
                                Before that, he’d tried progress along the lines of open borders and property self-regulation. That no man carries more than he can take, to avoid the big conglomerates conundrums. Well, that fared hardly better than collectivism, and didn’t bring any compassion.

                                Those parameters were difficult to tinker with. Progress was a delicate flower, and like a bread sourdough, needed careful attention in the cultivation process.

                                He wouldn’t listen to the little voice. But it was growing louder.

                              Viewing 20 replies - 601 through 620 (of 1,711 total)