Lee - I looked at the sign again...delivery....I thought, this is a narrow zig zag path, what could be delivered here? "Mark, what if it means another kind of delivery?" Mark gave me a puzzled look, he had no idea what I was talking about.....he was thinking of "delivery of goods," but what if it's not 'goods' at all.....what if it's a birthing place? At this Mark started laughing, he shook his head and walked down the path towards hut 8....he obviously did not think much of my idea of what the delivery sign meant.
I thought back on all the strange beings that inhabit this island and the ones that started with the experiments deep in the caves...sure seems logical to me. Mark was already quite a ways ahead as I hurried to catch up with him...he seems to forget, nothing is what it seems to be on analogue island..........
August 10, 2011
Susan - The first time I really got a good look at Billy Ray was when I was drifting alongside the window of the train spying on all the passengers. I noticed his movements. He had looked left and right through his realistically painted wooden beady eyeballs scanning the climbers. His thick log neck was twitching like someone on the look out for trouble while his red bandanna whipped in the air. Yes, there had been nothing but trouble since he manifested one day on the mountain. His appearance was a mystery and so was that huge puppet tree of life. Maybe he escaped from the tree, promising them anything to give him his freedom. I think he was an outcast. A rebel without a cause. Is he a watcher, a player or just a puppet on a string. He seems to be shadowing Bill for the longest time to learn his traits and how to behave. Always asking irritating questions about creation, where everyone came from and about how to make it in the music industry. Billy Ray followed him like a puppy dog up and down the train aisles. He looked real important attired in his long-sleeved western-styled shirt with the metal tips, Levis, blue suede vest, bright red kerchief, his tooled boots and that big blue cowboy hat with the peace sign just behind Fish ‘n Boots in the lead. I noticed he attempted to trip the poor aquatic creature several times when no one was looking.
I observed him tipping his cowboy hat at all the ladies, but when he grinned at the Baroness, I swear the sparkles emanating from his highly glazed white teeth were blinding. I shrieked loudly as I watched him sashaying with his green Gibson strapped to his back, quickly sliding one red cowboy boot to the right or then moving the other quick step to the left. That was my next question. “Where did he get my boots? They were multiplying like the blue squirrels. Where is this boot factory and who is responsible. And, why am I not getting any residuals? I smirked.
Billy Ray didn’t notice me at first. Then our eyes met. He knew I was looking right through him to the core of his splintered heart. I disappeared back to the Atelier. When the elevator took him away the second time, I was relieved. Unfortunately, when the trap door opened from the Mountain, and caused the bottom to fall out I found myself being sucked into the draft of wind and began to tumble down violently behind the other climbers. I couldn’t let this happen, so I managed to veer left towards the sea. I splashed down gently below the water. I knew I could get back as soon as Brother Bill saw I had vanished.
To my surprise, there before me, on a shell in the middle of the coral reef was Billy Ray posed and ready to perform. He had parted the waters like Moses and the schools of fish were flicking their tales in unison awaiting his début. I could not believe my eyes. Rowboats started to swarm the area with the climbers aboard. They were peering down into the water with their huge eyes staring down at us through the snorkel masks. What a sight that was. Ria, William and Mara were under the water in their scuba gear. Each one holding on to the same long red rope led by Fish ‘n boots while his fins were fluttering with the tide and his boots stirring up the sandy bottom. The waves roared with excitement and Billy Ray started to play.
Mara - The stream that flowed through the train emptied out to serve the space under the world, keeping the turtle who carried us on it's back happy. We donned our zip in scuba gear. Soon we all looked similar to Fish 'n Boots. I do believe he enjoyed that. On catching site of Billy Ray, I looked around to see if our conductor was anywhere to be seen. At least Christopher could delay Fish N Boots apparent boot licking, but not for long. "There it is!" I pointed at the airborne composite of a train and dirigible. This vehicle was massive and looked like it could really go anywhere, especially since it deployed a mechanical claw to grapple and snag our sea worthy ship. "There's a vehicle for everyone," I mused.
Lee Goldberg "Under the Sea"
August 17, 2011
Lee - (August, 2511) - We are gathered together around this large glass table waiting for Mark to arrive to chair our meeting. It's hard not to think back to when we were all on Analogue Island together...now, in 2511, Mark has called us together to plan another trip...back to 2011..back to Analogue to finish planting the Daumal flag...the adventures we shared so long ago, that has kept us connected through many years and time jumps...many lives, one would say.
In the beginning we didn't understand the other aspects of ourselves and the ability to jump from one time to another. We had only the vaguest concept of parallel worlds and alternate personalities. After our time on Analogue Island we all agreed and understood the interconnection of many lifetimes. There is past present future all happening in the now of our awareness.
Mark said, "we really aren't doing this for Daumal, but for us, even though our adventures continue we must have the closure of planting that flag". We all agreed, except Susan and Bill did want to have one more performance ...the singing and dancing never ended with those two. I still thought there was much to be learned from Analogue Island...It held it's secrets close..I never did find out the answers hidden in the caves where so many experiments were done.. Mara remained uneasy about the blue squirrels and the hold they had on her.
Now, the planning will begin; how we will return (Mark already knows that part) how long to stay this time and will we just plant the Daumal flag or continue where we left off...and what year shall we pick to do all this?
It's all up for discussion, of course...and of course things will change dramatically as usual...once the pot is stirred...........
August, 17, 2011
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| Mara Thompson "Pyramid Wagons" |
I considered for a moment then replied, “I doubt it, she’s got plenty of regular glyphs and in a pinch she uses Chinese characters with a pinch Gibberish.”
Refreshed, we pushed off again and quickly covered the last kilometer to the steps leading to Susan’s studio high atop Hut 12, the one we referred to as the Double Boxcar. Fish paused on the landing and said, “God doesn’t play dice with the universe.”
“Great line,” I replied, “feed it to Susan maybe she can fit it into the story.”
“I don’t think people believe in me,” Fish suddenly blurted as he pulled up short and abruptly sat on the top step. “Fish, you can be such a drama queen, of course we believe in you. You’ve always come through for your friends.”
He moaned, gurgled a bit then said, “ Believe in my existence, you don’t understand what that’s like.”
I thought to myself, great timing that one. “Later Fish, we’ll get back to your Existential therapy in a minute, first lets’ see what up with our Scribe.”
I pulled open the heavy wooden door and saw that this was indeed serious. Susan had several tables set up to work on her various manuscripts yet she was nowhere to be seen, instead the words from the various volumes were running off the pages and leaking into a rather large hole in her floor.
Suddenly Susan appeared from the stairwell to the bell tower, “There’s been some type of disaster…there were squirrels chattering, green monkeys howling, white owls squawking, flapping wildly and people screaming hysterically and they went down there.” She pointed.
“And they knocked over my jar of Meanwhile.”
Evertson "Meanwhile"
Fish N Boots looked at the roiling froth in the pit that had been Susan’s trapdoor and said, “ Look on the bright side, at least all the loose ends are finally in one place.”
August 23, 2011
Lee - Heading due east on the northwest side of the island, facing south, lies a large grove of trees..commonly known as the Trees of Confusion. For many years the people of the island would harvest the trees in September to keep confusion limited to a small area of the island. If left to to drop or worse still, take to the wind, the confusion would spread throughout the area.
Many years ago there was a state of confusion on the island but it disappeared. Everyone living there could never make a decision or even understand how to live their lives. Fortunately, neighboring towns were able to harvest the small grove of trees to keep confusion at a minimum. It was known for many years as 'Confusafest' due to the current travails of the travelers. A break to harvest the trees sounded like a necessary side adventure....a date was picked, plans were made.
Now- if they could just find the place......
Lee Goldberg "More Confusion"
August 25, 2011
William - Fish N Boots looked a bit uneasy as he surveyed the watery depths that had materialized beneath the floor of Susan’s studio, he blinked rapidly a few times then said, “A bit improbable, wouldn’t you say?”
“Which part,” I asked, that we climbed seven flights of stairs and missed the fact that it was ocean?
Susan added, “Or that there is ocean in the mountain, or that all the past story lines plunged through my roof?”
I glanced at the four rustic desks in the room, frowned at the rivulets of words forming puddles then pouring into our latest abyss, and added, “Or that Susan’s future works are off the pages and mixing with the past?”
Still peering into the watery depths he said, “No, the part about you humans thinking you’re on some sort of spiritual quest, I don’t think you’re really up to the task.”
“Cheeky fellow, aren’t you? As if you have ever gotten further than interpretive dance yourself,” I shot back.
Susan handed us both a bucket and said, “Don’t stand around gawking, help me salvage this.”
Fish and I dipped our buckets then poured the contents on blank vellum sheets that Susan held for us. She kept returning to the window and attached the sheets to a clothesline that she kept letting out letting the newly reconstituted words dry in the wind.
Fish paused after a while and peered into his bucket, “You know I’ve got bits of trains and lavender fields and a big clump of maramaramara all tangled up in here, and all the numbers are sinking to the bottom, does that matter?”
September 4, 2011
Susan - The water was ruining my illuminated manuscripts.
My calligraphy was bleeding into each other. The lines and shapes of black and sepia ink spread wildly, expanding wider and wider as they dripped uncontrollably from the ruined vellum. The blending of letters created permanent mirrored images into my oak desk, before they flooded down onto the drenched hardwood floor. Gold dust fragments were exploding off the folios for good. Water was rising fast, engulfing my red cowboy boots, soaking my legs, bathing me rapidly before I would be completely submerged in ice-cold liquid waiting for the last moment of breath to happen before I would be one with the universe and blend with the words forever. I saw an ambigram appear from the winds with the words Fish’N boots. I fought hard to interpret this symbol!
Susan Shulman "Fish N Boots"
“ Susan….you are such a drama queen” that was Bill shaking me for I imagined was but a second. It all came back to me!
"Right", as I felt the egg-shaped bump on my throbbing head. Fish’N Boots had hit me on the head by accident with his bucket, covering me with the alphabet filled ingredients.“ I continued to hang the dripping letters on the line hoping it was not too late!
September 10, 2011
Christopher - Shaking my head still always in and out of the narrative of my mind, I cold dent explain the typos of mine mind. Looking out to Mark, I ex-claim jumper-ed, "All the windows are hallways", he just said, "but they them are only 8 of them", Eight words?, "yeah sure" but by the time I got back to two I could find one. I existed again, for now. Just two people talking, and a pile of wet letters on the floor, or fish, I couldn't tell. A blue bear with raccoon hands, started screaming, "we have to clean this up real quick"! I washed all the letters with my tiny hands, two by two, and had some salmon pat-d's for breakfast.. with ketchup. But the thinking was still there. The sun was rising through the eight windows of hut eight, and I wanted to go back to the trail, but felt trapped by this terrible mess, Susan said "what mess", and it was gone. I want to stay that big angry bear but gentleness was coming over me. All I could think is bears are to heavy to fly, Susan pulled a bow off her boot and shot me out the window. A crooked arrow in the lower clouds, landed up above, formless and void, like milk. Milk pouring into water. For awhile Exiting wasn't so important again. Soon I wouldn't even mind wearing a conductors hat. Life is the dream, it's just more obvious here, on MA.
Mark - Everyone was gone. I was alone. Like I had been in the vial. Alone for a million years and amazed by that and yes even a little disturbed by it but accepting it none the less. So a peace descended upon me. I allowed it to settle. And when I did I saw I was alone in what looked like a giant glass of fresh delicious luscious milk, stretching out in all directions. I could feel and almost taste its nutrients but it did not touch me, it merely surrounded me, pleasantly engulfed me, even cradled me. Where are my friends? I thought. I was going to meet Ria but she was not here. Bill and Susan were off to meet her but they had not brought her back. All the other voices felt within reach but distant and strange. Speaking in tongues I did not recognize and faint, very faint. But they were there which is part of why I was able to accept my fate. A monkey dual-horned uni-demon had been chasing me, a horrible, scary, hot and sharp glowing, electric blue demon. On my trail. Right behind me. But then he turned into a room where I sat writing, the nouns and verbs floating up to meet me, me typing as fast as I could to escape but always running behind that which pursued me. It was as if I could not outrun the awful threat to my existence and it passed me by on its way to catch me. My very intelligent feet ground to halt and the the adjectives, articles, exclamations and other qualifying figures of speech turned soft like Dali's clocks and I was part of a whirling flow, words made of faint green dollar bills and sacred illuminated texts with embossed lettering rushing around me like I was the boss-eye of a hurricane and the all the solid matter in the world was a flowing mosaic, an undulating quilt made of every "royal subject" I had ever encountered flapping around me in the wind. If I lifted a pinky the atom-flag lifted, if I tilted my waist, the tornado-fabric tilted. It was a euphoric feeling and I unexpectedly welcomed it. "This is what I was waiting for," I thought to myself with a chuckle. "It was so simple all along."
Mark Bloch "Vial Information"
September 22, 2011
Susan - That Ambigram would not let me go. What was the symbolism of FISH ‘N BOOTS? If I mix the letters up? Could it be SHIFT NOOBS or SIN OF BOTH or IF SNOBS HOT, nothing makes sense!” I muttered to myself. And then I saw it composing in my mind right in front of me! FONTS IS HOB! That was it! The fonts are all magic. There it was, the power of the written word.
Susan Shulman "The Fonts are all Magic"
The lines of the letters were expanding in all directions stretching beyond the atelier. The cords of letters spreading out like colored peacock feathers expanding into infinite angles into space. They were breathing and duplicating faster than the speed of light. The letters were communicating in a language foreign to my vision and brain. They were alive. Activated. Serifs and san serifs were jumping the paths, crossing over, intertwining to form sentences and new thoughts. Pigments of colours were racing across the horizon. Blurred lights were sparkling sporadically and cosmic booms were bouncing in the background. It was the opera of creation. There were stars twinkling everywhere. We were lost inside the Milky Way. I turned my back to look at Fish ‘N Boots and Bill. Everything had vanished. We were standing, suspended in time and space. A pastel pallet of pinks and blues swirled in the distance dancing with waves of gold morphed into a silvery haze of wispy translucent clouds in a state of flux. In the distance I saw Mark swimming. There was Christopher waving his cap. I knew instinctively it was they, even though they were obscured. I waved my arms sluggishly in what appeared to be slow motion. Time was trudging behind us where they were, while the rest of my peripheral vision was speeding up. A dancing chaos of text, words, symbols, exclamations, questions, number, footnotes, were encompassing my vision. My eyes could not comprehend the activity. Fish ‘N Boots was jumping up and down with his four legs crossing over back and forth, sidestepping like a performance from RIVERDANCE. Sparks started exploding from his red boots. They fired into the atmosphere already a thick fog of colours. The smell of smoke became increasingly stronger. The bottoms of his red boots were on fire. “What craziness is this?” I shouted into space. The letters were becoming words and the words were becoming sentences. Gothic fonts gathered and I saw it.
“Analogue Narratives:
In 1944 René Daumal's Mount Analogue ended in mid sentence. In 2010 a small group of artists resume his quest in mid stride. These are the ongoing accounts and documents of their journey”
I rotated my head eyeing the relaxing vision of Mark and Christopher floating in the sea of knowledge as the sound of the distant train whistle came to my ears.
Bill quickly hosed down Fish ‘N Boots causing smoke to billow into the heavens. I stood there dumbfounded, watching as letters began to form our names on all the outreached bands magnifying beyond our dimension: Susan, Ria, William, Mara, Lee, Mark, Christopher, Angela, Jane, Cathy, Kathleen, Bibiana. Fish ‘N Boots looked at Bill slyly and said. “ So, are you still wondering who is actually creating the story here?
Mark - How to tell Susan to squeeze back through that time slit, grab the machine and return lickety split? That was the one thing I had left out of the story when I had a chance to tell her. I had rambled on about many other details to her, Bill and Ria but I failed to mention the end of the beginning of the end, when she goes back in time, grabs the machine and makes it back in time to catch the blimp which is just then passing overhead allowing us to make our exit. How to convey it now that we were separated again? The written word, the written word. If I could pass her a note somehow it would compose itself with the necessary information... If serifs and san serifs were only jumping paths, crossing over, intertwining to form sentences and new thoughts on some kind of Ouija board-cum-note-cum-telegra
Mara - OMG - "the end is near" -
Susan - I hear some kind of buzzing...chattering......
William Evertson "Susan Hears Horns"
September 23, 2011
Mara - CHAF----
September 24, 2011
Mara - The curtains in the doorway parted, letting in a flash of bright back light along with a number of figures closely wrapped with woolens against the growing fall chill. Fish 'n Boots pulled on his slippers and settled on a damp pile of rope, "In anticipation of finding the blimp coordinates each of us need to pull out their part of the map and any new clues. We have as long as we need to piece the meta meaning.. as long as it's done before the ship leaves the mountain. IF the ship leaves, and you're not on it... it will be a long long time before another opportunity. Please place your items on the table, and watch out for the time fissures."
"I brought the Dumal flag." Slowly removing it from her rucksack, Mara places the flag, as yet unfurled, on the table.
William - “Look at all that chaff!” Fish N Boots exclaimed. Yes, the chaff was mixed into everything that Susan had ever written. Now that the notes, the paper the letters, words, dates and the serifs were dried and finally shoveled into a pile we were able to get a sense of what we were up against.
“Big pile. Very big pile.” I said as I lifted my head to glimpse the top of the pyramid shaped accumulation, then adding, “Susan has sown more confusion on the mountain than anyone and her harvest is spectacular.”
“Not fair,” Susan retorted, somewhat miffed, “this made perfect sense this spring. You and Boots should quit complaining and start winnowing.”
And so we began the slow process of placing shovels full of the story onto blankets and tossed them in the light breeze, the light chaff fluttering away, leaving us unusually large and plump words.
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