Author: ireneallison12

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Saragun Springs Presents Daisy’s Dell Part 2

(Please recall the hoodwink warning issued yesterday)

Five of us wound up at “Daisy’s Dell.” Aside from Daisy, Renfield and myself, we picked up a pair of hitch-hiking Black Rats named Tully and Aiedeline. They were on their honeymoon.

We arrived at a little clearing at the edge of the ever enlarging Enchanted Wood. For once Anita Know (a Ghost who, by choice, and without being asked, mind you) was not around, because she was attending a Ghost Conference. So I dug for meaningless information as annoyingly as possible.

“Isn’t this a meadow?” I asked.

“No,” Daisy huffed. “It is a dell, Daisy’s Dell.”

“You sure it’s not a glade? I have heard that there are shady characters in glades.”

Daisy hopped into the air and landed all four hooves at once. “Dell!” she snapped at me upon said landing.

“Alright, take it easy, have it your way,” I said. I got out of the cart and nearly fell on my face because it was still moving.

“Careful,” Tully and Aideline said together.

“Um, yes, thank you,” I said, glaring at smiling Renfield who finds physical humor that doesn’t involve her, funny.

“So, this a spa?”

“We think of it as an Entertainment multiplex,” Daisy said.

“We?”

“Yes,” Renfield added, “we have many investors.”

I looked around. There was the bottle of Jack the Boss had sent through the interdimensional vortex. The vortex greatly enlarges inanimate objects. Thus the “pint” (and blessed contents) was ten feet tall and had a siphon hose attached to it. It stood between a pair of plastic picnic tables and benches from something like a Barbie camping set, which had enlarged to the size of your basic picnic bench and table arrangement. It became apparent to me that every structure in Daisy’s Dell was a small toy enlarged to the size of the item represented by its, um, toyness.

“Have a drink,” Daisy said. The Rats didn’t need an invitation, they were already at the pint filling thimbles. I didn’t require extra urging, and I found a tumbler glass by the siphon that had my name (spelled “LAYLUH”) written on it in what looked like a sharpie held by hooves.

The siphon was a well made one and it had a little hand pump. Nary a drop was wasted. I filled the tumbler to two fingers. This was done out of muscle memory, not a conscious action.

I glanced around and saw a large circus tent and several green and red houses that looked like the hotels and houses in a Monopoly game. But these had working doors and I saw plenty of Saragun citizens coming and going. Everyone was smiling. I figured they were probably high on something.

“So, what is this some sort of casino?” I asked. I figured that the answer would require a bit of a buzz for me to understand. So I swallowed the contents of my glass and refilled it.

“Yes it is,” Daisy said. And we welcome all readers to drop in and visit Daisy’s Dell at Saragun Springs every daily day. Especially on Halloween, in thirteenly thirteen days. We will be sharing a Big Announcement near the giant bottle–provided Leila leaves any.”

“Ah shit,” I said, the Awful Truth now numbing my mind. “Do you mean that the last two days have been an advertisement?”

Everyone who has been in this tale the past two days nodded enthusiastically.

Sigh….

Well, here I am holding the glass, so to speak. All right, readers be sure to drop into Daisy’s Dell on the 31st for big news. Sorry about the intrusion into your lives–but it’s not like we are using them for anything if we are involved in this—right?

Saragun Springs Presents Daisy’s Dell Part One

(Warning: at the end of the second part of this post tomorrow some of you might feel hoodwinked. If so hoodwink back. It is allowed-LA)

-1-

I am always sitting in my office when I open these stories. People must have caught on by now, but they are either polite, or no one is reading, or anyone who does read me does so with lowered expectations, and my always being in the office is not the worst sin they must forgive. Still, why open it anywhere else in the realm? Why be wandering in a garden just to be approached by the usual thugs I write about? They can find me in my office where I always am when not pressed into going elsewhere. There’s booze, an ashtray and comfortable passing out places in the office; why would I need more? Therefore they would have to guess where I was when I might be wandering in said garden. That sort of thing would cost many words to straighten out and we are on a strict budget. This paragraph alone costs about a hundred and fifty words–something like five percent of the budget! No, it is best to always open in the office…

I sat back and looked at the paragraph I just wrote. “Let’s italicize that,” I muttered because I am addicted to using free stuff such as italics. They make the dumbest shit look important. I highlighted and clicked. “Perfect.”

That is when I became aware that Dame Daisy Kloveleaf was on top of the desk, just sitting there, studying me.

“How long?” I muttered.

“Long enough to know that you need a vacation. And I know just the place,” Daisy said, her little Goat eyes afire with naked avarice.

I knew something was up because: A.) Even though she is a Pygmy Goat, Daisy is numero uno as the local thugs go; B.) She is constantly up to things; it is her nature, and C.) Sincere concern for my well being is not exactly what you’d call high in Saragun Springs. Who prays “Dear Lord, I hope you are feeling well today,” unless they are buttering the Queen into springing for something big?

“What now, oh hooved wonder?” I lit a cigarette, which opened enough synapses to allow information to come in. My brain is mostly closed to new ideas, but nicotine opens doors.

“Daisy’s Dell is the place you should go,” she said, standing, moving closer, crowding me in. “We have gardens, sin and our liquor license.”

“So, that’s what happened to the case of Jack the *Boss sent over,” I said. All you need to have for a “liquor license” in Saragun Springs is the hootch itself.

(*“The Boss” is the person whom I am Penname to–fortunately I’ve turned out to be more real than she will ever be; she often sends goods to us via our **interdimensional vortex.)

(**All realms have interdimensional vortexes; ours is an older model once used in Pooh’s Hundred Acre Wood.)

“Are you through ***asteriskingly asterisking?” Daisy asked.

(***Daisy is shamelessly addicted to adverbs of her own conception; we all have a jones to feed.)

Daisy stomped on the desk. “No more asterisks!”

“Gotta fill in the backstory somehow,” I said. “****Anita Know has the day off.”

(****Anita Know is—)

“Hey! That smarts you little villain.” Daisy had delivered a well aimed hoof at my elbow. Upon comparing the minimal satisfaction that asterisking gave me to the potential of further hooves to the elbow, I decided to give up.

“Yes,” Daisy continued, “Daisy’s Dell is the place.”

“Oh, all right–let’s go.”

Renfield, the second in command of the Springs, entered the office. She was carrying the key to our electric golf cart, which meant a road trip.

I gave her the ugsome eye. “I smell a conspiracy.”

“Not every plan that you don’t know about is a conspiracy,” she said. “You need rest–we wouldn’t want you to get all Josef Stalin on us.”

(To be continued tomorrow)

Saragun Verse: Andy And Why

i

Andy has never been pampered

Andy has never been indoors

Andy is a ten pounds of action

Touch him and you’ll get yours

ii

Andy is beautiful and wild

Andy has Cat class and style

Andy has been around since Ramses

His gray eyes doth damn thees

iii

Andy has the libido of a Rabbit

Andy makes more out of habit

Andy doesn’t go much for family

He’a case of wham bam thankew mambly

iv

The sands of years will fill betwixt and between

And scrub away the legends of kings and queens

But Andy will keep a rollin through the nights

He is the answer to the question “And why?”

Saragun Springs Verse: I Am Big Ed

(Note-Big Ed came to me with an idea that was a good one because I had none for this particular day. In the Springs the arrival of any sort of idea is gold. So, with apologies to Neil Diamond, here is the realm’s number one singing Woodpecker, Big Ed –LA)

Did you ever read about a Frog

Who dreamed about being king

So the story goes

But since I am naturally illiterate

Printed stories are lost on me

Dont’cha you know

I am Big Ed

I can fly

I can beat the hell out of shit

With my beak that’s why

I am Big Ed

The Northern Flicker dude

And everyone will care

Even that chair, with the attitude

Saragun Verse: For Dee Boids

Not all Birds must be real to fly

But don’t you dare try to fry the fried

Your friends will think you horizontal

By those talon scars on your tonsils

‘tis a spat as old as rhyme

one must be late to tell the time

he says why must we early chase the worm

if it were french toast maybe I’d learn

My mother was right when I was back in the nest

She said your stripes were simply a jest

nothing earns its keep whilst abed

You’ll be fodder for Cats unless you move ahead

I am too hot to be smart my gurlie tells me

But I have the beak to make history

So I when I mistake my reflection for another

Remember I, by song, might be both your lover and your brother

Henny Penny ain’t got shit on Viv the Wick

That brooder house floozy is a silly twit

Tomorrow I will be queen of the roost

After she’s served with corn and the awful truth

(The birds of Saragun Springs now bow)

The Endless Rubaiyat of Saragun Springs translated by Dame Daisy Kloverleaf

i

the orange wingly winged wee billigits

protested their unrhymed color to bits

poetry is bigotry they chanted

we demand a wordly word be made to fit

ii

this wise moving hoof had to scoffly scoff

you boys are too quick to poutly pout

invent your own rhymes and quit whining

knockingly knock it off or I’ll knock you out

iii

this threatly threat caused a new vexation

it started the realm’s united nations

movements put the smell in silly shit

billies are our squeezers of creation

iv

so it has come down to the scorngely scornge

that everyday is a morngely mornge

and I blamely blame the billi-half-wits

for dumb rhymely rhymes to use with orange

Sunday With the Drifter

(images provided by The Drifter)

Woody, Wilco, and the Deer, and Billy Bragg

“I have been looking for myself!” – Rumi

HI! – from the Drifter.

I was walking Bucephalus, or Boo, my Siberian Husky, in a beautiful Illinois field one day recently (warm early October). The field was savannah-like, with three or four-inch-tall grass and oak trees spaced around in it.

Suddenly a deer ran up to us, stopped at a safe distance away, and stared at us.

Stared at us – with mixed curiosity and suspicion.

He was (I’m guessing) around one year old, maybe two.

He was a he (I know) because he had antlers.

Two small antlers sticking up on either side of his head, making him a spikehorn buck – a small one.

And he looked at us.

And Boo strained on his leash, wanting to chase the deer.

Suddenly the spikehorn went into motion, he LEAPT into beautiful, true motion.

And he ran all the way around us in a big circle through the grass, leaping, jumping, flying, deer-dancing, bouncing, as if putting on a show, until he got to the point where he’d started – and then he stopped again; and stared at us again: with suspicion, and curiosity (and as if asking, too, had we enjoyed the show).

Then he swung around and ran away into the distant woods.

And he reminded me of Woody – Woody Guthrie.

The nature of the deer is to flee; and fly.

The song “The Unwelcome Guest” is Woody’s Americanized retelling of the Robin Hood story from 1940, put to music by the band Wilco and the singer Billy Bragg on their great Mermaid Avenue collection from 1996.

Billy Bragg, Jeff Tweedy and Wilco turned beautiful, unpublished lyrics (found in a shoe box) by Woody into a song so beautiful it will break your heart every single time you listen to it, which should be (by rights) endless times.

I first heard the Robin Hood story when I was about five or so (or that’s when I remember hearing it), in Madison Heights, Michigan, USA, from my mother; and I wanted to be Robin Hood.

(And I would pretend to be him – among many, many others – while acting out – alone – endless games on the stage of my imagination).

Later the Robin Hood story was reinforced in my soul when I saw it dramatized upon the screen and read it in books, looking at the pictures. (But I liked my own version better.)

Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor has always been needed.

And has never been more relevant than it is today.

And I thought of the young, small, bold, curious, cautious spikehorn deer – fleeing and flying and soaring: voting with his feet, free: running away into the woods of the USA.

((End Note: Boo loves the way he sees his name written everywhere during Halloween Season.))

Saragun  Verse: The Moodfrog of Moonfog Madrone

i

Moonfog Madrone has a little friend

Welly Moodfrog the sensitive amphibian

He clings to Moonfog and reads passing minds

And glows their feelings with colors new to eyes

ii

Welly is whiter than fishbelly and bone

But when inspired he shines holy tones

Good is neither green nor silver nor gold

Evil is darkness steeped in anger, rot and mould

iii

Humour strikes magic chords of reds through the blues

Kindness without want is truly see through

Yellow flashes of love reflect no lasting form

Yet glowing orange embers should keep you warm

vi

Welly is an angel without a god to serve

A keeper of an altar that needs no virgins to spurn

Welly is the best thing that has ever happened to him

A keeper of lights both blinding and dim

All Hail Boots The Impaler: Chapter Four

(Today we conclude our look at the ongoing saga)

“Nixxy-Smonnix”

Of all the wonderful Gorth creations the Traveller might be the best. Technically biological life created through artificial means, Travellers are the Gorth’s emissary to other worlds. Spaceborn and essentially immortal, Travellers best resemble a two dimensional silver veil about two meters square, but they too often contract into tiny orbs as do the probes. Travellers cannot directly “speak” to anyone save for probes, whom they also must speak through when time comes to make Contact. Infinitely wise and capable of opening several consciousnesses at once, Travellers are likely to become the most advanced lifeform in the galaxy, if they aren’t already. (Travellers are considered female because “it” is an impolite pronoun and “he” is being used.)

But even the brightest can be hoodwinked.

It was fitting that Mimi and the Traveller were both thirty light years (give-take) from Earth yet in different directions. It symbolically underscored both their personal views, which left Earth, figuratively and literally in the middle. Still, as it goes with people, both were a little more wrong than they would admit, but none of that was writ in stone.

The Traveller knew something was “off” about the probe who sent her both an unannounced message and a tractor beam that attached her to one human mind the instant the communication arrived. The Mighty Probe only needed a millisecond to attach the beam. If Traveller knew it was coming she could have avoided it. But once locked, Traveller knew that she was going to go to Earth no matter how she felt about it.

Travellers have varying personalities and names of their own choosing. Her name was Callie; not really but it will have to do. Callie had tremendous humour and was not quick to lose her patience. Therefore she was bemused and amused by the transmission: WE HAVE DISCOVERED A WORLD AND REQUIRE YOUR PRESENCE. NOW, PIG FARMER! This was signed, YOUR MASTER, THE MIGHTY PROBE.

Three contacts back, the residents of the world, which lay five centuries in her past had a word for a condition that rarely yet sometimes developed in their own AI’s, a treatable dementia they named “nixxy-smonnix.” Callie had never encountered “space happiness” in a probe before, but in the universe anything could happen.

But that notion went back burner after she had traced the probe’s recent history (all things Gorth are at a Traveller’s disposal, a constant history, whose arrival is a lot like a sacred mystery). There was nothing in the probe’s past to suggest trouble (oh, he occasionally expressed the typical resentment for Travellers, but they all did that). Interestingly, however, this probe had briefly gone offline recently, about sixty light years away. It was as though it had exited the universe one place and returned at another much farther away than it should have been. Moreover, Callie saw that the region it had vanished in was mainly inhabited by the Krell. You needn’t the brain power of a billion minds to see the two plus two of the situation. The equation was made even simpler after Traveller examined the data that the probe thoughtfully included in his transmission. It told a tale of a burgeoning, lively, artistic world that was still too shabby around the edges for Contact. And yes, they had split the atom first, which was not as much a concern to Callie as it was to most other Travellers.

But none of this was as important as the introduction of the consciousness of one Holliday James More in her mind. Callie “experienced” Holly moment by moment, starting with the night of Bokay,  but being multi-conscious, she could also have her own thoughts. She saw what he saw, felt his various pains and even allowed herself to dabble in his drunkenness, which, in one form or another, existed everywhere. Callie knew his past as incorrectly as he recalled it, but, unlike Holly, she had the ability to access the memory banks in his brain for accurate pictures. But individuals are not built by accuracy. She regretted that she could not communicate with him. She understood that he had a vague awareness of her and had accepted it.

The measurement of time means little to the everlasting, but it is understood because it means everything to short-lived creatures like Holly More. It would take thirty-two of his years for her to reach him, and, of course, The Mighty Probe, whom she was dying to speak too (but the little bastard had disconnected his link to her after he’d sprung the booby trap). Considering the strong element of self destruction in his personality, she figured there stood a good chance that this young man would be dead well before her arrival. But the beam, Callie knew, was of the sort that consulted “time bubbles”–those subatomic conscious cells left over from the Big Bang. Not even she knew how they worked, but many items regarding the future, mainly the existence of certain living beings, could be gleaned from such. Another sacred mystery. Apparently, or at least as Callie assumed, this Holly person would still be around when she got there.

In the meantime, all she could do was enjoy the ride.

End Chapter Four: End Part One.