Interstellar Cheesiplicity IV

There was but one eye witness (I suppose you count too, but here I’m less worried, you didn’t actually see the thing) which we are in the process of psionically silencing. Then all shall be well. You can thank us later. Flowers are nice, money is preferred, but reaved and shrieking souls are the best way to say thanks. Until next time….

Entombed

Interstellar Cheesiplicity III

Yes, cheese. This specimen was acquired by my suitemate back in IUB about a week ago. Poor victims of insufficient aristocratic knowledge of cheese that we are, we just assumed it looked and felt enough like mozzarella to be one with that fine, stretchy marriage of bacteria and bovines. Tsk, tsk.

People take for granted how profoundly and fundamentally the human sense of smell can dictate our existence. The olfactory bulb in the brain is disturbingly close to the region where emotions are comfortably seated amidst a sea of glial cells. And emotional distress can lead to various uncomfortable situations ranging from temporary confusion (usually ending in trying to swallow with your ear canal or something like that) to all out war (look at Troy, or the intergalactic struggle of the 42^nd Prima Valeoris cluster just off the Pleiades). Yes indeed sportsfans it stunk something awful. The tear wrenching power of this thing’s ‘aroma’ was beyond every threshold known to Nikita or myself. As the great Valeorian poet Yqillern the Tribblooned said in his epic Squoonlint Twilighters:

“Methinks it stinketh ~ we must kill the Primarch before we are but squelch”

We decided it best to corroborate our opinions. To our vast surprise a few volunteers we convinced to encounter the cheese, henceforth referred to as the squelch, didn’t seem to mind it all that much. It was clearly the terrifying consciousness of the evil entity we unleashed by opening the squelch packaging that was working on the feeble minds of these squelch-sniffers. Before any more fell to its whims we decided to save the world and bury it. Yes bury it. Alive.

The squelch unsheathed

Interstellar Cheesiplicity II

I sat in a park (Baluta Bay) near the sea for a while, reading, when I met a Libyan taxi driver who came to Malta to learn English (not always the best choice, but not bad either). We struck up a conversation and for his 2 months of studying his English was great. He leaves for home tomorrow, to his 4 brothers and 3 sisters. It’s strange here, many Maltese (not most, but many) have a brain-dead racism ingrained into whatever lump of tissue they use for what can be considered thought. It’s one of the things that will go through a painful change, for everyone, here in the near future. Lodged at home, stopping at some stores to look for something of the desert for someone special (Sting’s Desert Rose is playing through cool coincidence), another tale of oddness shall now be told. Say cheese….

Baluta Bay

Interstellar Cheesiplicity

Another terrestrial rotation, our wonderful fusion furnace slamming together 600 million tons of hydrogen to churn out 596 million tons of helium ~ that precious 4 million converted into the energy that rides the solar winds for the express purpose of turning English tourists into fleshy lobsters. Chilling in the corridor, reminiscing to one of Shaggy’s old albums that used to be a staple of mine back in the mid 90s (Jeez, I can actually say stuff like that now – someone remind me to sacrifice an armadillo to Chronos later [speaking of armadillos – did you know they’re the only other species aside from ours that can contract leprosy? Something to keep you up at night]).

Today I paid my usual vacation homage to my old school. Almost instantly I was roped into an ‘Art Festival’ this weekend. No offence to anyone intended, but I’ve already started praying. Anyway, my ‘role’ is not too demanding, shout at sixth graders in order to bring them to silence (ironic no? when I was in sixth grade I don’t think I really appreciated that, we’ll see if these guys do, muahhahaha).

More soberly, On the way back from school, our bus halted at a set of traffic lights. A jeep sped through the red light regulating the road perpendicular to ours, lost control, flattened a road sign and overshot the pavement landing (since it was hurtling about a meter off the ground once it hit the curb) in some fig trees. The bus driver immediately made the sign of the cross over himself and drove on. Seeing the drama didn’t really stir me at all, no one in the bus in fact excepting the driver was shaken. I don’t think was empathically unable to reach out. I did feel the panic and true fear in the jeep driver, but after a crescendo, it gave way to an eerie calm. Perhaps once the organism sees that it can no longer influence its own survival, a non-biological clarity emerges. The beat goes on.

Spooks among us II

See below for part I

[the posts are chronological from now on, so the earliest will be further down the page, enjoy!]

Yes, socks. Happily not my socks. Nikita has been singled out by some otherworldly mind and judged worthy for a spot of haunting. What you see before you is not just a simple flip inside out, but a complex rearrangement of the 3 layers that make up Nikita’s footwear. This occurred some months ago, much to the Ruski’s dislike (which he voiced in a freaked out state of being, bursting into my room holding the mangled victim of whatever phenomenon is at work). Now if it was my work, I’d first of all be rather proud of the effects and won’t hesitate to claim responsibility. After all, I have developed the art to sneaking up behind my suitemate and giving his fight or flight instincts a workout. Anyway, that is where the weirdness began. Recently there have been glimpses of a skin coloured blob whizzing around his room, eerie noises, and the disappearence of his kitchen knives to keep things interesting. I feel quite bad leaving earlier than he does – the two nights he has to spend alone in the room under such circumstances can’t be all that pleasant. Matteo has offered emotional and material support (not including plasma packs) in this time of freaked outness which one can only hope has a positive outcome.

Ultimately, we think it’s a playful being inspired by a pair of pink socks hidden on top of Nikita’s closet at the beginning of the first semester (long story, but nothing gossip worthy , so stop any conclusion jumping before unecessary karma is generated). Time will tell. If it/he/she/them doesn’t/don’t follow us to our rooms next year then we’ll keep an eye on the freshmen who get our old ones. If premature white hair begins emerging, then we’ll know…
Next episode soon!

Uncanny invertions

Spooks among us

Prayers for a stranded Blonde

Well it’s been awhile but at last the semester has come to a simmering close. The silence since my last post doesn’t indicate a lack of activity, oh no, the psychosomatic warp of IUB persists in churning out various occurrences to keep its inhabitants on edge.
Due to the moths of time nibbling at my brain and in the interests of preventing carpal tunnel syndrome, I can’t even summarize all of these, but I’ll post a few scraps the fish hooks of consciousness have been able to drag from the echoing caverns of my shell shocked memory.

Creepy things first……

Reload

A few days to go

in a few days vacation will begin, so hold on fans...