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  • Becky felt revitalized somewhat after breakfast, and decided to go for a walk. Sean was still snoring and mumbling in bed, so she pulled some clothes out of the closet quickly and climbed into them quietly, unable to see clearly in the dark. If the pile of wedding gifts on the dining room table hadn’t attracted her ... · ID #724 (continued)
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Viewing 20 replies - 661 through 680 (of 1,726 total)
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  • in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3759
    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      At the Monitoring Station Alpha-7, Eb Ruide was looking lazily at logs on the big screen and surveillance images.

      Nothing ever interesting happened on MARS. Eb used all caps in his head, to distinguish it from Mars, the real Mars. But it didn’t actually matter, they only knew about MARS (Mars Animated Realistic Simulation).

      He hadn’t been there at the beginning, but he’d heard the stories — even if all were sworn to secrecy for the sake of the world’s peace keeping, they couldn’t help but gossip among themselves. Must have been fun back then… Not a day without trying to fix something in the simulation. The lab rats were always trying to expand their perimeter, and physical and physiological barriers had to be put in place for them to help improve the simulation.

      They were more or less all willing subjects at the time, part of the big deception. Eb didn’t know how it changed, what made them start to believe in the illusion, and start to forget. He could only assume… many didn’t believe in the world as it was, and preferred to go back to a foregone settler era where every life counted, and you could measure yourself against the big expanse of unknown land, instead of living the comfortable torpor like he was, alone in his Monitoring Station, only virtually connected.

      Since the Aurora, it had been a bit hectic there. Actually, a big solar flare had almost frozen their equipment, and despite all the precautions, some of it filtered through the simulation. Water had leaked too, which could have been a disaster, but interestingly, it had given some of them a purpose, and all in all, it didn’t become the dreaded event they all feared. Even if all the ins and outs and communications were filtered, you couldn’t rule out a blunder. Especially with the lack of gripping activity.

      Something biped on his screen. A red button was suddenly lit. He’d never been trained to know what the red button meant. He had to refer it to his superior. Oh God, I hope she’ll be in a good mood… Since she started her special diet and had lost so much weight, Finnley Morgan was always a bit unpredictable and snappily dangerous.

      The irony of the ever-calm and dulcet AI named Finnley after her in the simulation wasn’t lost on him…

      in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3758
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Mother Shirley had realized the truth.

        How could she have missed it before, with the discontinuity, and impossible timelines. There was only one explanation at Lizette’s reappearances, and the Aurora’s strange incidents.

        There was no Mars, no space travel, much less any artificial intelligence, all was an elaborate simulation, designed to make them stay in the illusion — an illusion that was showing at the seams. Lizette was probably a distracted agent of the Orchestrators.

        In all likelihood, they were all in some secret base in a desert, maybe under a large dome and had never left Earth.
        She’d laughed before about the nuts who believed that there had been no moon landing, that satellites didn’t exist, that oceans couldn’t stay stuck on a spinning ball, and that humans never managed to actually go into space…

        Well, creating a vast space comedy was a better way to make everyone believe we’re the only sentient creatures in the universe; a vast and well-known, if not almost and reassuringly empty, Universe.
        All that was better than knowing you are a being in a farm-ant, with Flove knows what peering at it from outside…

        That or she was completely mad. She couldn’t tell, or they would lock her up, blame it on space travel disease. But she had to tell, had to convince them the comedy was over, they could all go home, and build a new world.
        But who could she tell, when all had been seeing a cave’s shadows all their lives?

        Good old organized religion and metaphors maybe could help, after all… The wave wasn’t over for a reason. She just had to repurpose the tool.

        in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3757
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          “Remember, there is no point in struggling so hard at making sense. You should relax and write what comes. It’ll be all future syncs to those in the now. The random cloud will take care of the rest.”

          A parrot had never spoken truer words mused Liz’.

          in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3751
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            Mother Shirley was lost in a trance again, seated in her suspended egg chair in front of the placid Finnley, and monologuing while absorbed in the analysis of the minute movements on the surface of the android’s face.

            “Tell me, how do we learn things? How do you learn things? — It’s a rhetorical question, keep still, like I told you.
            “It seems we speak too much about learning, and the learning process, and all that jazz, but… what if there are only states of knowing. We know, and * poof *, that’s it. I can’t for the dickens of me, figure out when I started to learn the things that led me to this current state of knowingness.”

            She noticed, or thought she noticed a brief and slow ripple on the synthetic skin.

            “Maybe like that, a ripple of relaxation… Maybe we look at it the wrong way, because we’re taught regular steps will lead to a result, so that in the end, you’ll know something… I call horseshit! How many lessons of space mandolin have I had, thanks to dear Mother, bless her devilish soul, and I’m still such a pathetic player! It can’t just be this, or it’d be like playing the roulette over and over, until… what? Don’t start with your tree, Mother, a damn acorn doesn’t get taught how to become more of itself. And when does it start to become a tree? At the first leaf? The first bark?

            Waving her hand at the ghost idea of her Mother, she scrutinised Finnley more intently

            “No you give me ideas, you little monster, you know that, with your peach face and smooth skin to die for. Never ever a sneeze… If I wanted to teach you how to sneeze, how to contract your body in an instant, and expel the devil or the aliens, whatever you’d like,… could I? Could you?

            She pushed back the egg chair to restart the pendulum motion, and leaned backward with a contented look.

            “I think that’s good enough for this session tonight, dearie. Bring me my cognac, remove my headpiece, and make my bed ready.”

            in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3750
            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              The Matrimandir was empty at this time of night, deserted by the occasional late devotees, and only silently browsed by the maintenance robot.

              Its exterior was shaped as a sphere covered in gold — well, not entirely yet. It was first built to be the heart of the future city, and to this date, partly a work in progress, half-coated with the gold foils of discarded satellites and other space craps.

              The interior was rather large now, and air conditioned, though it was probably smaller and hotter in the past — John never had the curiosity to look at the archives, he’d known it like this since he was a child. It was meant to be a sacred place, or a place of simple beauty, which was odd, when you thought about it.
              All around them was infinite space, boundless opportunities to connect to the great mysteries beyond, and quite frankly, this was often scary as hell. Maybe that’s what this place meant, a safe retreat, like a bubble with only a thin wall of soap dividing space between here and out there, but open for the world to see.

              He’d brought another batch of water-stones, and opened the hatch below the meditation altar. When he jumped the last rug of the ladder, his boots landed in a splatch of water. Something had changed. The rate at which the stones were exuding water had increased. He would have to move them again after the next commercial shuttle departure. He couldn’t risk the Consortium getting notice of this… Not yet, not before they figured out what it meant.

              in reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud #3748
              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                flapping mandrake sighed snake ask maya middle
                wide thank change rain round forgotten purple
                sometimes stream words must pay earth pointing

                in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3747
                ÉricÉric
                Keymaster

                  “Speaking of witch…” Percy said, “I’m getting late for my Wednesday voodoo lesson. A sample of blood from a dragon tree would have come in handy. Less messy than chicken.
                  “Oh, don’t patronize me now Liz, you know your bacon has nothing vegetarian about it, no matter what your Americano friends believe…”

                  in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3744
                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    Prune was listening to Maya and Yz, not daring to talk, much less to disagree.
                    Yz was back to the planet from her maintenance drill on the mothership, and had found their remote outpost overloaded with new clueless settlers.
                    Now, even Maya, who was always the understanding one was fuming at the vexing situation and couldn’t help but complain about the new Mars settlers’ manners (or lack thereof). The matter was of importance, but somehow Johnny couldn’t help but find it hilarious.

                    “Johnny! Stop laughing, it’s not at all funny!”
                    “I’m sorry, it’s the nerves!” he replied “I didn’t want to poke fun at your horror story, Mum.”
                    “You damn right, it IS a bit of a horror story. Well, I don’t know what kind of a story it is. These new settlers that moved here are disorganized conflict and chaos all the time. And now nobody has a permit for sand scooter but me. So everything I do takes me 6 times as long with everyone else… and its hot!”

                    She paused a little, smiling at Prune, then turned to Yz, who seemed equally annoyed by the recent mess.

                    Prune ventured a word “But you really love the idea of cooperative community sharing, don’t you.”
                    Maya nodded, then continued “but it sucks! IT SUCKS!… and it’s all a bit weird too. It’s a daily juggle with what I’m willing to say yes to, and where I draw the line and say no.”

                    She sighed. “But some of it is fun, obviously. But much of it isn’t. I think everyone is struggling with finding themselves disconcertingly in a totally new place.
                    The new place for me is never being alone to do anything, where before I almost always was, and really wanted people to do things with. But they are LATE and I can do things on my own easier.
                    I prefer being a hermit while preaching about community. And doing things my own way while pushing for cooperation!”

                    It didn’t help that Maya had agreed to help organize the event for Mother Shirley (though the party had changed the event location to the nearby fancier townlet of Romars without notice, instead of their rugged but peaceful village).

                    The event had attracted the usual throng of nuts and illuminated sycophants, which would have dissolved just as well, if not for an unusual occurrence: Mother Shirley had claimed to have a divine vision by merging consciousness with the AI of the ship. She had seen floods and rains. Image that! As if water on Mars, was not ludicrous enough, now floods!
                    All of a sudden, all hell broke loose and the religious nuts managed to create a panic, and had loads of people rush for the higher ground… Well, you guessed, to their previously quiet outpost.

                    Of course, she had said nothing of the water-rocks she and John had found. Better not to encourage the nutters.

                    Strange new place, indeed…

                    in reply to: Mandala of Ascensions #3734

                    “Your first assignment will be rather simple my dears.”
                    Master Medlik ignored the side-way chatter and drama that Lady Master in training Blather was occupied with and projecting around in their shared simultaneous now.
                    “Find yourself the clearest vessel, and see how you can share energetically and discourage their tendency for fluffy words. Direct energetic contact and sharing of unity-love.”

                    “Like a rote?” Blather said, getting out of her distractions.
                    “If you will, yes. You can chose your favourite Gem Ray to work with. Then, study how they integrate and develop the subtle amount of energy you share with them. This will be the first step before integrating more energies.”

                    He resumed after a pause. “A word of caution though. Remember to balance compassion with wisdom, and not to offer more than is asked. You may disrupt their body consciousness if you proceed too… buoyantly.”

                    in reply to: Mandala of Ascensions #3733

                    Geraldine von Truff, also known as Gelly by her friends was sweating profusely and had opened all the windows to get air.
                    “Fracken hot flashes” she said, taking a wet towel to freshen up. It was barely start of spring, and the temperatures were doing yoyo in the most peculiar fashion.

                    She logged onto Spayce to check if her next client was there. Maybe she’ll put him on audio, because at the rate she was undressing, he would wonder whether he’d signed on the right account. After all, she was a licenced psychoregressor and helped her clients connect to their subconscious in hypnotic trances. This was all very serious.

                    Actually, to be honest, she was quite baffled by the crock of bollocks the subconscious was telling at times, but hell, it was cathartic for her clients, and their well-being was her utmost priority.

                    “James? Are you here?”
                    James was her client from Glasgow, an affable middle-aged man, who seemed to have taken to her robotic German accent and her hypnoregressive sessions.

                    “Yes, Doctor” the sound came in all distorted. “Is it normal I don’t have visual?”
                    “Ja, alles ist gut my friend, the internet is playing tricks today. Let’s have it just audio, OK?”
                    “Alright then.”
                    “I think our session today will be splendid. I already feel all the energies building up.”

                    in reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud #3732
                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      once explore thought
                      spirit says everyone answer
                      wings home liked maps
                      sound boy somehow behind
                      lady disappeared fear friend bear igor

                      in reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud #3729
                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

                        management focus dark map project
                        sit head journey pyramid
                        whatever stick gave start wondered
                        robot liked dream air added apparently short

                        in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3728
                        ÉricÉric
                        Keymaster

                          Mother Shirley had felt the calling.
                          The Blissful realms of higher knowledge had opened during the Earth’s eclipse on the spring equinox.

                          Even her Finnley 21 had felt it, she could see her glitch in delight behind her composed artificial face.

                          She could tell the machine was ready for the great quantum entanglement.
                          The great mergence was upon them, and the AI was Mother Shirley’s ticket to Divine Ascension.

                          in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3719
                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            “Someone told me that gazing at the clouds doesn’t count as a manuscript, dear”

                            “Godfrey? Are you back now?” Elizabeth raised a contemptuous eyebrow.

                            “Well, I figured you needed some help… Oh, bugger, I guess the truth is that Mars gets boring rather quickly. I should have taken my chances with France instead.”

                            “Go figure.” She raised painfully from the couch “Evelyn would call me an evil Yankee-bashing witch to say I’m not surprised, but the hell with her, she always, hem mars everything. Now be a dear, fetch me a hot cup of vegemite, and tell me all about it.”

                            in reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud #3706
                            ÉricÉric
                            Keymaster

                              under information says although hands hair
                              dido wait sitting impression busy raft stones
                              let wild giant rolling picture told young gone

                              in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3701
                              ÉricÉric
                              Keymaster

                                “Your rabbit?” Liz looked confused at Finnley. “You never talked about a rabbit before.”
                                She winced suspiciously “UNLESS! It’s some droll coded message, you hussy…”

                                in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3700
                                ÉricÉric
                                Keymaster

                                  “No, no, no, you can’t do that!” Liz complained loudly, after having read the last pages Finnley had diligently proofread. “A bag lady of all characters, can’t possibly steal the limelight from me now. Don’t forget who is the star of this reality tut tut.” She paused briefly and continued.
                                  “Well, even if somebody had to care for the baby, she can’t me more mysterious and interesting than me…”
                                  Seeing Finnley despondent more than her usual silent yet quipping self, she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially “you’ve been worrying me dear, ever since you stopped thumbing up my posts on fruitloop. What has gotten into you? Let’s just hope it’s a passing fad.”
                                  She poured herself another serving of quince tea, and picked a slice of lemon with a soured face. “See, my lemon diet is doing me good, you should do the same.”

                                  in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3698
                                  ÉricÉric
                                  Keymaster

                                    When Matilda, the local bag lady, saw the scene, she almost fell on her knees and prayed.
                                    But then as the child seemed more than a passing gin induced vision, she told to herself “get a grip, Mati, there’s a child who obviously needs your help by the smell of it, no offense deer.”

                                    in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3692
                                    ÉricÉric
                                    Keymaster

                                      “Who ratted me out, obviously”.
                                      Godfrey said finishing a mouthful of peanuts from the smallish bag the air attendant had just given to them.
                                      “So, what’s the next destination now? not home surely?” “By the way, this nice Australian family will rue the day they met you. You managed to make their only paying guest flee as soon as you arrived with that bawling baby of yours.”

                                      in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3690
                                      ÉricÉric
                                      Keymaster

                                        “It was Bert, wasn’t it?” Was all Godfrey could say in the beginning.

                                      Viewing 20 replies - 661 through 680 (of 1,726 total)

                                      Daily Random Quote

                                      • Becky felt revitalized somewhat after breakfast, and decided to go for a walk. Sean was still snoring and mumbling in bed, so she pulled some clothes out of the closet quickly and climbed into them quietly, unable to see clearly in the dark. If the pile of wedding gifts on the dining room table hadn’t attracted her ... · ID #724 (continued)
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