Story Thread I Mimesis picks up the sacred conch shell and presses its conical tip gently to her lips. After pausing a moment to allow a gentle smile to pass, she forces a powerful breath down the spiral insides of the shell, emitting a call which boils the blood of those chosen few who know it...the brilliant, the eccentric, unabridged and disgorged members.
In the fading light of a new Arcadian sunset, she observes the gathered assembly with joy and awe.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she begins, "we have cause to celebrate!"
*Pregnant pause*
"Three days ago, our Postmodernism forum reached it's 100th post with the prose of a Scotsman followed closely by the wit of an Irishman, our own LaHibou, to whom the 100th post honor goes."
*Hands LaHibou a rare potted orchid, advising him *not to take the particular shape of the flower metaphorically.*
"Yesterday, the 100th post was made in our F&F forum by our newest member tjeb!
*Presents tjeb with his very own inflatable German tourist.*
"And today, yes, today, my fellow posters, we have our very first double thread post by our own Keld Feldspar."
*Places a fragrant floral lei over Keld Feldspar's head.*
"I hereby declare this board devirginized!"
"Let the celebrations begin!"
"Bring in the sacraficial virgins, the pig on a spit, the strawberry wine and psychotropic herbs! Let us revel in this, our very first story thread!"
fluttersby sits in her always-present bean-bag chair in the corner, dazed, mildly confused, with a goofy grin on her face and a fragrant cloud of smoke surrounding her head.
You mean . . . .
long pause as she contemplates the microscopic butterflies dancing in and out of her field of vision . . .
You mean . . .
another long pause as she contemplates the interesting trails left by the dancing butterflies . . .
You mean . . . the psychotropic herbs weren't already here? Well then what the hell is this? And more importantly . . .
one more long pause as she comtemplates the interesting way the butterflies look at her in rapt attention . . .
can I get some more? This one's almost gone.
she returns to her silent contemplation. Butterflies are very cool. Let the revelry begin!!
god I'm so glad I'm not in the Navy anymore . . .
fluttersby
manniac dharma explorer
Posts: 79
(7/28/01 7:53 am) Reply
Re: Story Thread I manniac enters the abode. His gaze first comes to rest on a girl with a goofy grin, gesturing grandly at ganja-induced gremlins....
Is that Keld over there in the other corner? Better not disturb him now, he's getting leied by our hostess....
manniac places the bag of goodies on an oak table in the center of the pillow-strewn room, and wonders why the only munchies in sight are boxes upon boxes of Lucky Charms cereal....and why muted bagpipe music seems to be coming from behind a curtain made of kilts....
Several devirginized sacrificial virgins (they're the best kind ) come towards him, and manniac offers his best pick-up line......
"Hey, you wanna peal me a grape?"
Edited by: manniac at: 7/28/01 8:55:23 am
Re: Story Thread I Mimesis turns from her task of arranging the lei over Keld's shoulders and notes manniac's intent yet bemused gaze, barely visible amidst the crowd of gullible vestal virgins which Mimesis had lured from AOL chatrooms specifically for this occasion.
She tosses her hair and rolls her eyes in laughter.
"Jeez, manniac, such a span of time has passed since I last leied someone...I thought I would take my time and do it right!"
[/i]
Edited by: Mimesis at: 7/28/01 1:17:12 pm
Re: Story Thread I Her fingers cramped from taking all those notes on Mimesis' opening speech, NousPoetikos cracks her knuckles and seeks out a nice smooth rock on which to sit...she takes off her horn rimmed stenographer's glasses, pulls the hair pins out of her bun and releases a swathe of blonde, shaking to unravel it's shape.
With a sigh of peace, she surveys the gleeful crowd...and her gaze falls upon a fluttersby, the leggy brunette femme fatale of unabridged and disgorged, who appears spread over a beanbag and engulfed in a cloud of...
What >are< those things?!
Hmmm...
NousPoetikos makes a mental note to ask fluttersby about the perfume she wears to attract psychodelic butterflies. Attracting men is passe...but BUTTERFLIES...thinks Nous, now THERE'S a trick!
Her reverie is interrupted by the arrival of a tray of appetizers...crackers with >herb< brie and >mushrooms<...of which she has already had quite a few...but, given that the pig on a spit is not yet ready...she pops a few more into her mouth.
Re: Story Thread I A psychedelic butterfly alights gently upon the nose of Lahibou, causing him to look up from the pop-up copy of the Book of Kels and gaze into the colours within colours of the strange and fulsome creature tasting his proboscis through silk slippered feet.
100 posts you say, dweller of the Far Realm? ...and such a wonderful bloom as has never been seen by these eyes - saucers - cartwheels.
"A tinderbox, a spark and a sonorous flame
Light the lantern of thought now that nothing's the same
Mushrooms abound in a giddying high
We posters are melting - discovery's nigh
We have Nous' and Flutter', and [/b]Manniac's back
The words are in Lavender scattered on black
It seems to me as a warm place to be
Fundamental, creative and totally free"
The Butterfly leaves Hibou's nose and daintily seeks out further refreshment.....
Re: Story Thread I Even though the honor is doobieous, I gladly accept the lei Ms Poetikos. I am savoring the smell now.
Although no longer a chronic participant, in days past I would certainly have been a purveyor of herbal remedies
Fireflies on a moonless night are also pretty neat Fluttersby
Manniac I will have to defer the other pleasures of the flesh to thee and LaHibou. My wife say's I can look all I want, but if I get my hands too close to the candy jar she will break my fingers.
Enjoy the libations, all
Simplsimon Registered User
Posts: 13
(7/29/01 8:41 am) Reply
Re: Story Thread I Simplsimon (whom some imagine to be selectively deaf) arrives late and, hearing the revelry from within, attempts to enter via a window. He, too, sees stars and little flashing lights. Someone generously opens the window. Is it Keld?
Through the fug Simplsimon espies another being, sporting a tattoo, and hovering by the floating Fluttersby. With great concentration he manages to decipher the faded message.
"There are no maps of unexplored places"
"Funny place to have it!" he thinks.
A draught from the open window briefly blows aside the curtain of kilz and a little toe is exposed to view.
"I'm missing something here," he thinks and suddenly, he feels alienated.
"Girls and boys come out to play
The moon is shining as bright as day" he calls.
The pig speaks. Mimesis strides slowly over to where the two barechested well oiled men (which she also lured out of aol chatrooms) are turning the pig spit, throws out her hips, puts on a pout...
"Is it done yet?!"
In unison, they answer, heads bowed: "Mistress, yes, Mistress, the pig is almost done, Mistress."
The curves of her lips arch into an evil smile and she turns on her heel to return to the party.
A horrible groan issues from somewhere near the spit. Annoyed that one of the AOLSlaves(TM) might be complaining behind her back, she turns, eyes flashing.
"Waaater. Waaaaaater."
*The slaves' lips haven't moved.*
My god, thinks Mimesis, it's the pig!
Indeed, the pig opens it's shriveled eyelids and now stares straight at a rather annoyed Mimesis.
"This isn't real." she whispers to herself, "I would like this trip to *stop now*."
She notices a deafening silence where the sounds of the party had once been. Behind her, stand all her fellow posters, perplexed and concerned...all staring at the pig.
A mass hallucination? Or one of those funky things that happens in New Arcadia?
tjeb dashes in front of Mimesis and dribbles some water from his canteen into the pig's mouth.
The pig clears what is left of its throat, thanks tjeb politely and then begins its tale:
-An excerpt from NousPoetikos' accounts of Mimesis
Re: The pig speaks.
"There was I, stood in the wood, rooting around for acorns when along comes this bird - all fine feathers and flattery, and an insolent lear. Well, I knew just what he was after! I turned my back on him, big mistake, and, suddenly, this immense....."
…paw comes swiping across my snout and, accompanied by a terrific yowling and a lot of hissing and spitting, this monstrous mass of fur hurtles across my vision and disappears between the trees. Then the bird starts hooting and hooting and hooting, and falling about all over the place. I’m just about to ask him what’s so f….., I mean, flipping funny when some keys get jangled in my ear, blood starts pouring from my snout, and the bird sends what looks like a spoon spinning in my direction. I barely have time to raise a trotter in defence when this foul fowl launches itself into flight across my bleeding proboscis and, seeming to tear off yet another layer of finest pigskin, disappears into the foliage. Then the jangling of keys increases and a voice says ‘Ring for help, mate! Ring for help!’ But I can’t do that because……
Muggleton Registered User
Posts: 2
(8/19/01 1:54 pm) Reply
Re: re: The pig speaks AKA pig's fete
Alas, in hospitable Posters, including YOU, Nous Poetikos! I scaled the insurmountabke ramparts, leaving behind the safety of my own Silence, to join the particularly interesting and inviting festivities, only to find myself alone with a pathetic abandoned pig, sputtering desperately through his bloody snout, "Eat me! Please eat me, NOW! For I'm naught but a suffering sow!"
What's happened here, I wondered. For it seemed that, of a sudden, the revelers withdrew to a more hospitable space, drawing the shades on remaining light, and leaving SimplSimon to thread her way out of the tale she had spun. And, NP, you too disappeared, apparently chagrined at the fate of this fete. But Muggleton will not move on until he has discerned the truth of this most abrupt ending. Must he, after all, be left to wonder if, in fact, it was his imminent arrival that frightened off his hostess and her familiars? Is it possible, even, that only initiates were welcome to share in this Last Supper, and that only the Sacred Sow is allowed the final Word. If so, then you, SimplSimon have most grievously sinned. For rather than a limerick, which might have been allowed, it appears that you have Learingly offered a Riddle. Oh yes, my man, instead of sampling such wares as were offered, you chose quite arrogantly,
I might add, to tender a tart. But Muggleton, searching and seeing as he is want to do, may have discerned the trth. For he remembers well the honeyed words:
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"
Oh yes! And these, also:
"Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
How charminly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?'
And so, SimplSimon, you apparently believed that your most convivial fellow posters
were cavorting in "the land where the Bong-Tree grows." For this you cannot be blamed for it is apparent that together they were flirting with the intimations of Rapture, egged on by their Gnostic guide, disguised as a Dominatrix. So . . . . we should not be surprised that
".. . . . there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood,
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose!
With a ring at the end of his nose."
And now, fellow Posters, I know there must be a final chapter for this Story Thread!
And therefore I am proposing that we consummate this Pig's Fete in High Style. For afterall, has he/she not pleaded with us, "Eat me. Please Eat me, Now!"
Edited by: Muggleton at: 8/19/01 7:33:22 pm
a beam of light has descended from the heavens, leaving me strangely immobilized. With what is left of my silky soft ears, I hear an intolerable ringing which slowly transmutes into the most emotionless of voices.
In a language unfamiliar yet oddly understandable, I am told to seek out the members of U&D with the following message.
"Look for the comet-- for in it's wake we shall hide a ship to bear you away from this mudbound world. You are starstuff which has forgotten its beginnings. Please prepare for the journey by purchasing a brand new pair of Nike tennis shoes. >They bring a high price on the black market on our world and we have to be recompensed for the gas<.
No Nikes, no passage."
Muggleton Registered User
Posts: 3
(8/20/01 4:25 pm) Reply
Re: re: The pig speaks AKA pig's fete
Quote: "No Nikes. No Passage."
"No! No!" howls Muggleton, who has withdrawn to a grassy knoll from which ascends an ancient Bong-Tree. Indeed, Muggleton, knowing that he is out of his element and anxious to partake of this sacrificial sow (or is it a "sacred swine"), calculated that he should quietly retire to this rise, remove his Wellies, drape himself with his favorite bib, adorned with the likeness of BigBird, and wait patiently , clutching his runcible spoon, for Mimesis to ring the dinner bell. "For is it not true", he had muttered to himself, that "the last shall be first?" And "surely the scraps that shall fall from my Mistress's table shall suffice!" For he had not failed to note that at the left and on the right of the spit were the well-oiled bodies of two Beechboys prostrating themselves without so much as a whimper or shiver.
And he observed as well that they were adorned with studded collars, with rings hanging idly on their necks. So there, above it all, Muggleton had reclined, his ears and eyes yet alert for a defining Vision, and Final Word. "No Nikes. No Passage." A sense of dread suddenly grasped his frail body, and with trembling and desperate hands, he reached for his Valyse, wondering whether it might be crafted of Pigskin, and plunged his free hand into its depths, hoping against hope that there might be some loose
"Live in the Question"
Muggleton Registered User
Posts: 5
(8/20/01 4:46 pm) Reply
Re: re: The pig speaks AKA pig's fete
Quote: "No Nikes. No Passage."
. . . . some loose coins, lurking there for just such an emergency. Alas, having packed in a hurry, he found there only his tattered copy of Howl, three Tagamet tablets imprisoned in impenetrable plastic, an empty tube of Fixodent, a KingSize pack of M&M's containing a single orange delectable, a slip from a fortune cookie encrypted with the message "you have an active mind and a keen imagination" and the majic numbers "38/21/32/39/31/14", and a broken wish-bone. Withdrawing his hand, Muggleton made a fist. And he felt his desperation changing to fearful fury. No coins. No Passage. Abandoning any sense of dignity, Muggleton forced his frail frame to its full height and more, threw his fists towards
the heaven, one still grasping his runcible spoon, fixed his eyes on those of the Pig, and bellowed,
"Capitalist Pig! Never will Nikes enfold these feet! I want no part of your Heaven's Gate." And then he wept.
Re: re: The pig speaks AKA pig's fete
Suddenly the whole area is plunged into darkness as the beam is cut. I’m just about to panic, fearing Muggleton might take advantage of this blackout to descend from his grassy knoll and make a meal of me, when a strange craft materialises, its iridescent and shimmering form casting an eerie pea-green light over the clearing as it hovers.
"Rejoice, rejoice, my bacon is saved", I squeal.
"Fool, fool", hoots the owl as he emerges from a clump of trees, one wing (w)rapt around his pussy.
"Out of the frying pan into the fire", purrs the cat, a Cheshire-like smirk plastered across her feline face.
But I pay no heed, and slowly turning my Baconian Head towards the trickle of U & D members appearing on the scene, I say "Time is….".
A moving mass of colour catches my piggy eyes and squinting hard I can just make out a female form within its midst. She is dragging a beanbag along with one hand whilst, in the other, she has a handheld dictating machine into which she is rapidly speaking in verse. Fluttersby?
Ah, and there’s Keld. I know its him because he is sporting an old-fashioned pilot’s helmet, has a daisychain dangling from his neck, and is loudly jangling a bunch of ignition keys.
Then LaHibou lurches forth, his arms around a giant potted orchid which looks as though it’s trying to eat him.
And from behind a beech tree steps a young woman. She seems to be wearing nothing other than a cloak of long blond hair which swishes sensuously about her person as she glides forward but, alas, only the lower part of her thighs and legs are visible. She too has something clasped in her hand. Oh – it’s a shell.
Another young, in fact, very young lady skips into sight. She also has a copy of Howl. This time it’s a paperback edition and not so tattered as Muggleton’s. Is it? It might be? I think it is Bekgirl.
A loud crunching noise announces the arrival of Manniac, his mouth full of Lucky Charms Cereals. Carelessly he tosses the empty carton over his shoulder and it is whipped away by a sudden Gail that stirs the leaves on the trees into a frenzy causing a lizard to scuttle quickly from the undergrowth, a small crown adorning her head.
But of Jilz and Tjeb there are no signs. Have the Tjilted us, I wonder!
Well, as I was saying "Time is…..". I pause to look down at my trotters and, as I do so, it occurs to me that not one of us has the necessary Nikes. Crikes! No Nikes! "Time is of the Essence", I yell.
"Oi, you two. You owe me a shilling", I snort at the canoodling couple. They pay up, of course. What else can they do with everyone watching to see what will happen.
Meanwhile, Muggleton is still perched on his grassy knoll, weeping buckets and nearly drowning us in a salty lake. In a pig’s whisper I make up my mind and trot bravely up the rise. Like the beachboys, he has some sort of collar around his neck, and also a large cross on a chain though, in the gloom, I cannot fathom which way up the cross is and, so intent am I on studying this object, I nearly get within dinner range.
"Give you a shilling for your majic numbers", I say. But he is not to be had and offers me instead his now empty Valyse. Inside it bears a label – fabrique dans la Francais. Ugh! La Valyse.
"I should cocoa. Do you think I would fall for a pig in a poke?", I ask in disgust.
Finally, he insists on a compromise and we trot off together to the storm-stricken Lott Tree where, in holy ritual, we lay the majic numbers at its roots. At first nothing happens. Then there is a gentle rustle like the fall of autumn leaves but it grows in volume until we have to cover our ears in defence and, looking up, we see dollars, millions upon millions of dollars sprouting from every branch………..but we can’t get at them.
Re: re: The Trip Keld pipes up, ya'll come away from that tree! Everyone knows the story of possessions in the hand and potential in the bush.
Follow me I have the keys to the future. We can all ride on the "blue bus" to the pier where we can board the "crystal ship" (ole Jim). We can cross the sea of dispare [despair indeed] to the "new frontier".
Once there we can all...
Edited by: Keld Feldspar at: 9/1/01 4:25:35 pm
Re: re: The Trip
Now that we have arrived let us disembark. We can leave our baggage behind for a little while, and explore.We can enjoy the view provided or create our own. Enjoy the nectar that is provided by the indigenous flora, it provides sweetness for the soul.
We could also start the revelries anew.
KitNzinc Registered User
Posts: 1
(10/3/01 10:06 pm) Reply
Re: re: The Trip
Having arrived at the new land, it was only natural to look about with contained intrigue and awe. The buildings seemed so much more rustic. The people portrayed themselves as both oblivious to the new arrivals as well as thankful. Perhaps like a page from yesterday and an illustration from a dream, the marketplace was warmly chaotic.
Eyes met and passed.
Whether it was tingling with magic and blossoming with novelty, or just another day to the locals, it was carved out and distinguished as the eve of a day not yet anticipated by anyone.
It was that quiet everything moment that was about to spill into the permanent memory of all who were present. Not because it was vastly profound, but rather because the events were about to rivet the attention of each and everyone who could appreciate the significance of what happened next. A moment that left strangers looking at one another for an answer, an event that broke the walls of silence, a need to know.
Re: re: The Trip
Alerted by the soft sound of rustling leaves to an unfamiliar presence, Mimesis peers into the darkness at the edge of the clearing.
Her eyes narrow, cutting through the dense blackness in anticipation of the dull glint of a freshly minted can-o-spam that she expects to find at the end of her gaze.
Much to her astonishment and delight, the space which she feared would be "spamoccupied" is filled by a prosaicly beautiful form of indeterminate gender and elegant verbage.
) come towards him, and manniac offers his best pick-up line......
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