tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post1406096429269686238..comments2023-10-04T17:13:47.394+03:00Comments on future of my past: Greetings from The House of SignsAnna MRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13801478271766064478noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-79797390431154556722009-01-17T02:08:00.000+02:002009-01-17T02:08:00.000+02:00Horlicks? Hmmmm. The mystery deepens, A. Lurker, f...Horlicks? Hmmmm. The mystery deepens, <B>A. Lurker</B>, for who still drinks the stuff? Bloody lovely it is as well. Can't get it over here. Just as well, I suppose, as I'd probably be o'd-ing on it quite quickly.<BR/><BR/>This friendly nonsense-banter is intended to throw you, of course, so you don't realise I'm furiously trying to uncover your secrets - and you identity.<BR/><BR/>I remain, as always, yours most faithfully<BR/><BR/>Mongrel an' Grab, AnagrammaticistAnna MRhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13801478271766064478noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-73504400192159062502009-01-16T01:31:00.000+02:002009-01-16T01:31:00.000+02:00Dear Madam,The letters stand for Member of the Sno...Dear Madam,<BR/><BR/>The letters stand for Member of the Snooping Fraternity. This may or may not give you an indication as to my gender. A little mystery gives spice and savour to one's duties, as I always say to Mrs. L when we retire. She is waiting for me now, with a mug of Horlicks in her hand and looks most fetching. <BR/><BR/>I remain, dear Ms Mr (a question also concerning your gender, perhaps?)<BR/><BR/>Yours Faithfully,<BR/><BR/>A. Lurker (MSF)<BR/><BR/>p.s. and may I draw your attention to the word verification which is <B>respe</B> - to which I happily add the letters c and t.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-79684821077731185362009-01-16T00:54:00.000+02:002009-01-16T00:54:00.000+02:00OH. Kind Mr/s Lurker (I don't wish to make assumpt...OH. Kind <B>Mr/s Lurker</B> (I don't wish to make assumptions as to Your gender, and hence, title - for although You refer to a <B>Mrs Lurker</B> (hello, Madam, howdoyoudo), this is the modern blog of a modern blogger and we know that having a missus does not necessarily a Mr make) - anyway, dear Sir/Madam, what a delight to read Your kind and supportive words and the sentiment they carry. It makes this whole blogging lark just that much more meaningful when one knows one is being lurked upon. But but. What can the enigmatic letters-after-Your-name signify - <B>MSF</B>? I must confess I have had to resort to a bit of wiki-ing and googling, yet am not much the wiser - on the contrary, a little knowledge is a baffling thing, in this instance. What on earth can You be, or represent? Médecins Sans Frontières? Mind Science Foundation? Metasploit Framework? Master of Science in Finance? Military science fiction? Or even - my personal favourite, I think - Multi-Stage Flash?<BR/><BR/>I suppose this matter is for You to know and for me to wonder about - and please believe me when I say I do. However, the assurances of Your best attentions (at all times) which You so kindly lavish upon Yours truly do feel most comforting - almost guardian-angelish. Please, in return, feel most assuredly welcome to continue lurking wherever the mood may grab You. <BR/><BR/>I remain, <BR/>Yours faithfully,<BR/><BR/>Anna MR (BLGR)Anna MRhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13801478271766064478noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-54790179265318117532009-01-16T00:16:00.000+02:002009-01-16T00:16:00.000+02:00What do you mean there are no Lurkers? I can assu...What do you mean there are no Lurkers? I can assure you that the Lurker family visit here regularly and intend to keep doing so. We are very busy people, as you might imagine, but find it well worth our while to keep an eye on proceedings here. Mrs. Lurker sends her best wishes, as do Master and Miss Lurker. <BR/>Assuring you of our best attentions at all times, <BR/>I remain,<BR/>yours sincerely,<BR/>A. Lurker (MSF)Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-68157410407744844872009-01-15T22:36:00.000+02:002009-01-15T22:36:00.000+02:00No, Psyching the Signs, it's just thee and me, for...No, <B>Psyching the Signs</B>, it's just thee and me, for I see no <B>Lurkers</B> whatsoever - artistic or otherwise. Mind you, it <EM>is</EM> within the realms of possibility that a Lurker would go under cover of invisibility, but it doesn't feel very likely. Of course, I am now missing my cue most terribly, for I should have come here <EM>as</EM> a Lurker, but it's too late for all that now. And please note it's perfectly appropriate for you to welcome into this house whoever you feel like welcoming.<BR/><BR/>I'm sorry to hear you are/were feeling like death itself. Has it passed yet? I'm sending you sharp strength and cold waves - in the nicest possible way, goes without saying. <BR/><BR/>Mwahs from here to there.Anna MRhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13801478271766064478noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-35005331038574659152009-01-14T22:49:00.000+02:002009-01-14T22:49:00.000+02:00Psychic Surgeon, you can remove your gloves becaus...<B>Psychic Surgeon</B>, you can remove your gloves because I have quite gone off the corpse idea - I am a creature of the moment and have to catch these things as they arise in me or it's no good. But you are right about death not being able to wither such as she and I or, presumably, you. In my case the very fact of me being here jabbering into space is living proof, for today I feel like death and am to all intents and purposes dead to the world, but look here I am anyway. <BR/><BR/>I wonder if anyone else is here too. <B>Lurkers?</B> Hello! I shouldn't really say welcome because it is not my blog, but it is, as it happens, my house. So hi. There is some spectacular artwork hidden beneath the surface (in the comments, I mean, not in my actual house, although there is some cool art there too as you will have noticed) that you should really have a look at. We're all mad here, we are, but some are artistic with it. Are you artistic too, <B>Lurker</B>? Or do you just like watching? That's ok too. Everything goes. <BR/><BR/>Asta la vista!Reading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-48790896437440792002009-01-14T20:07:00.000+02:002009-01-14T20:07:00.000+02:00Right. At the moment I'm bloody speechless (and v...Right. At the moment I'm bloody speechless (and veg couscous is in the oven needing attention). But just to say that this is too brilliant and a perfect likeness - <I>perfect</I> I tell you. It's me (esp without benefit of cigs), and of course it's <B>Him</B>. <BR/><BR/>C U L8erReading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-88005967514644748782009-01-14T18:35:00.000+02:002009-01-14T18:35:00.000+02:00Oh God. Here was I, thinking you were speaking fig...Oh God. Here was I, thinking you were speaking <EM>figuratively</EM>, <B>Surgeon Tiger</B>, when you said you and <B>Circling the Surgeons</B> were circling each other like so many handsomely-articulate space tigers. As luck would have it, though - or maybe it was divine providence; <EM>guidance</EM>, even? - sent me out on my famed balcony for a ciggie. Imagine, if you please, the pair of you, the astonishment in which I fell upon my knees at the sight of you two there, for real. It was lucky I had my camera with me, is all I'm saying - and please admire my presence of mind in being able to document this heavenly sight.<BR/><BR/>I should be making haggis and tatties, though, so I'll be off now. Shaken <EM>and</EM> stirred, I remain, as always, yours in ether friendship<BR/><BR/>x x (one each. Squabble all you like)Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-14118738235552289802009-01-14T17:45:00.000+02:002009-01-14T17:45:00.000+02:00No, my lips are sealed, Signs, and I probably need...No, my lips are sealed, <B>Signs,</B> and I probably <EM>need</EM> to see you drown in a sea of euphemistic babble, in any event. That would leave me here alone, you know, with you comfortably drowned and Anna MR salmiakking on The Other Side. Although, of course, it wouldn't, as I've a feeling that death - however it may have been accomplished - will do nothing to stop the pair of you jabbering into space.<BR/><BR/>We're being spoiled, aren't we? Anna Dali shows great invention and comes across as mildly scary and unhinged, too. A perfect combination. I've been properly gobsmacked by her creations - which helps take my mind off the uncomfortable fact that my dead grandfather may be taking the piss. Yikes, but life and death are strange and unknowable. I'm investigating, as you'd expect, but am pretty much rocked to my core.<BR/><BR/><B>Salvador MR</B> - nice. Very nice. I feel a slight pang of horror that the world may be leaving me behind and that I'm artistically out of my depth, for sure, but this doesn't stop me from cooing in delight.<BR/><BR/>Don't worry about me and Signs. We're constantly fighting, even when seeming to agree. Especially then, in fact. We are like two (heavily articulate) space-tigers, circling each other warily, waiting for the other to pounce. It's an intellectual mating ritual, nothing more. I like her stripes and she likes mine. What better way to prove this than fighting?<BR/><BR/>Yes, I appear to have waded into the euphemistic sea with you, <B>Signs</B> - drowning, not waving; not waving at all.<BR/><BR/><B>Picanno</B> - quick. Do some art. Save us.<BR/><BR/>Happy Wednesday, people.<BR/><BR/>The SurgeonThe Periodic Englishmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-62049517966757565802009-01-14T16:49:00.000+02:002009-01-14T16:49:00.000+02:00This is getting most fabulously gothic and spooky,...This is getting most fabulously gothic and spooky, <B>Milady Implements</B>. You are a talented weirdo and no mistake, and therfore a most proper lodger in the House of Signs. Congratulations, for many are called but few are chosen. <BR/><BR/>But <B>The Englishman</B> and I, well we like to squabble now and then, see. See it as the clash of Great Minds. Watch how the sparks fly to heaven. <BR/><BR/>(say something <B>tpe</B> before I drown in a sea of euphemistic babble)Reading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-81409455826951275352009-01-13T23:58:00.000+02:002009-01-13T23:58:00.000+02:00Now, now, my children, thou shalst not squabble. F...Now, now, my <B>children</B>, thou shalst not squabble. For lo, I am Our Lady of the Implements, and I bring you comfort and joy from the Other Plane, where smoking, salmiakki, and everything one's heart desires is not only possible, but even encouraged. <BR/><BR/>And <B>Anna</B> can safely be used for the <B>Surgeonhorse's</B> tests, for I protect her. <BR/><BR/>Verily.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-65174140266419905202009-01-13T12:35:00.000+02:002009-01-13T12:35:00.000+02:00ok Englishman, here's the deal, I'm prepared to go...ok <B>Englishman</B>, here's the deal, I'm prepared to go along with your hypothesis or whatever it is, as long as you understand that it's only in order to spare the Icemaiden's life. I get some payback for this because Posterity will thank me for having saved a talented artist from untimely death, and the WVLs are calling me a <B>sweetio</B>. <BR/><BR/>I learned how to make my very first spag bol on the floor right beneath where Sylvia done did that terrible thing. This may be the closest I get to actual fame.Reading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-72332100221855742992009-01-13T01:07:00.000+02:002009-01-13T01:07:00.000+02:00Now that, you see, is properly stunning and impres...Now <EM>that,</EM> you see, is properly stunning and impressive, Anna MR. What a magnificently dark artistic vision you have. How did you do that? Teach me, please, I want to be able to do stuff like that. Do you need a special piece of software to do it? Really, utterly fantastic.<BR/><BR/>Glad you're back safely. Sorry that you may be about to die (blame Signs - she forced the issue).<BR/><BR/><B>Signs</B> - no. On every level, no. "Proof" to follow, no doubt, but we must surely take a moment to enjoy Anna MR and her crazily inventive and beautiful head (before the gloves and <EM>implements</EM> come out etc....)<BR/><BR/>Bye then, people.<BR/><BR/>Surgeonhorse.The Periodic Englishmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-20447774134901893472009-01-13T00:54:00.000+02:002009-01-13T00:54:00.000+02:00I have seen the image! It is beautiful and inspir...I have seen the image! It is beautiful and inspired and you are a talented so-and-so. Bloody hell.<BR/><BR/><B>ablesc</B> is an understatement.<BR/><B>subvias</B> comes a bit nearer. Subversive, yes.Reading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-74271798579237919762009-01-13T00:51:00.000+02:002009-01-13T00:51:00.000+02:00OMG Sees, you are actually communing with her. Br...OMG <B>Sees</B>, you are actually communing with her. Bril. But I don't understand why she is smoking the cigs and is prepared to give away the salmiakki - oh yes I do. She is giving it to <I>me</I> because I have run out. Thank you, Sylvia. <BR/><BR/>So now you are both talking to dead people. That's great. But what about me? I get the <A HREF="http://www.exquisitecorpse.com/definition/About.html" REL="nofollow">exquisite corpse</A>, that's clear.Reading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-4266533674349333762009-01-13T00:32:00.000+02:002009-01-13T00:32:00.000+02:00Listen, ♡♞♡, Signs, what are you two up to down he...Listen, <B>♡♞♡</B>, <B>Signs</B>, what are you two up to down here? Gloves? Salmiakki? Marlboro/ugh (Lights)? Dead people? I came here prepared for <B>Ted</B> and <B>Sylvia</B> but you two loons are wildly off-topic, it seems. Which is fine by me, for I hadn't really planned what I was going to say. Given that I was so thrown by your goings-on, I thought it best to google "salmiakki and dead people" - and spookily enough, this image (under my name) came up. Talk about coincidence, eh. <BR/><BR/>But wait. I seem to be receiving a message from beyond. Sylvia? Sylvia, is that you? Yes, yes of course I'll publish your poem in its correct form...yes yes, don't worry. Okay, yes, I've got it all down, here: <BR/><BR/><EM>The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.<BR/>Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in<BR/>I am smoking cigarettes, lying by myself quietly<BR/>As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these gloves.<BR/>I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.<BR/>I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses<BR/>And my salmiakki to the sign reader and my body to surgeonhorse.</EM><BR/><BR/>Hmmm. I'd say it was an improvement on the original, Sylvia, and well worth coming back from the grave to tell us.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-81872569757601379002009-01-12T23:22:00.000+02:002009-01-12T23:22:00.000+02:00- though if we are talking about the Undead - vamp...- though if we are talking about the Undead - vampires and suchlike - then that's a different thing entirely, for they of course do smoke and drink. Please reassure me that you are not consorting with any such. I know all about them from watching Buffy.Reading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-1097305966046897142009-01-12T23:09:00.000+02:002009-01-12T23:09:00.000+02:00Anna? Anna! Where are you? Don't go near the En...Anna? <B>Anna!</B> Where are you? Don't go near the Englishman until he has taken the gloves off, ok?<BR/><BR/><B>Englishman</B>, even <I>if</I> you were really getting messages from your grandfather in the hereafter, who is to say that what he tells you is true? For he may be as fond of a merry jape and prank as anyone alive and be chortling away to his mates,<BR/><I>cigs and booze in this place, that's a laugh but lets play along with it anyway, there's nothing on today but angelic choral practice</I>. etc. <BR/><BR/>I can tell you this for sure: there are no brand names in heaven (how could there be as capitalism is an invention of the devil?) so Jeesus can't be smoking Marlboro<B>ugh</B> Light. But I sure as hell wish I were.Reading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-89091904087245950962009-01-12T21:59:00.000+02:002009-01-12T21:59:00.000+02:00Anna MR is a committed chain-smoker and salmiakki ...Anna MR is a committed chain-smoker and salmiakki indulger, <B>Signs.</B> If you can hold your nerve, doctor, then we may just have us a guinea pig. I'll get my gloves.<BR/><BR/>Anyway, what if the dead person didn't feel like smoking on the night of the experiment? They may have given up since passing over to The Other Side. Or what if they just didn't feel like supplying proof or being part of a needless experiment? What then?<BR/><BR/>Wait a minute - I'll just consult my head and all those images of dead family members and friends that hang about there: nope, you're barking up the wrong tree, Signs. These guys assure me that I believe them to be capable of smoking after death. Sorry. Your faith is no stronger than mine, Signsy, so there is no reason to give it more credence, alas.<BR/><BR/>What else have you got?<BR/><BR/>Wait - I'm getting another message. My grandfather wants to know how you know that cigarettes don't exist where he is? He only started smoking <EM>after</EM> he died, Signs. You need to raise the quality of your research, I'm afraid. It is a terrible failure of the imagination to believe that only a physical being - a body - can indulge life's greatest pleasures. Are you seriously saying that Jeesus doesn't enjoy the occasional Marlboro Light? I'm shocked.<BR/><BR/>Still, I'll get my gloves if you feel like doing The Anna Experiment for fun. It's just us down here, Signs, nobody will notice she's gone. Excited.The Periodic Englishmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-57885212563834564272009-01-12T21:06:00.000+02:002009-01-12T21:06:00.000+02:00Not so fast, Englishman. I could actually prove i...Not so fast, <B>Englishman</B>. I <I>could</I> actually prove it to you, but first we would need a dead person who was in life a committed chain-smoker and salmiakki-indulger. Then we would need to sit the corpse in front of a packet of cigs and a load of black sweets, leave it for a night and see what happened. I am betting you my entire collection of marbles that you would come back in the morning and not find a single smoked butt or missing sweet. That's because the corpse would be dead, just like the ex parrott in the Monty Python sketch. Not saying that the spirit of said corpse wouldn't be frolicking in the hereafter, but there wouldn't be any cigs or salmiakki there because such things can only be found in the mundane, fallen world, and don't try to argue with me on this one because I have read my bible and consulted the Akashik records (of which we have already spoken).<BR/><BR/>My case is watertight, I think you will agree. Thank you.<BR/><BR/>(<B>Anna</B>, the Vegemince, like I told you, is still in the freezer and Mr. Signs will not touch the stuff so we have a domestic crisis looming unless you return at some point, just saying).Reading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-8445478282613487452009-01-10T19:44:00.000+02:002009-01-10T19:44:00.000+02:00But would you be able to prove that I couldn't smo...But would you be able to prove that I <EM>couldn't</EM> smoke a cig and chew on a salmiakki once dead? No. I think you'll find that I rest <EM>my</EM> case, Signs, and that yours is just beginning the process of falling apart.<BR/><BR/>I'm adopting the tactics of the religious here, Signsy, and, as most rational people know, it is mental to engage on such a level. Feel free to take a shot, however, although I should point out that you're destined to fail quite spectacularly.<BR/><BR/><B>Anna MR</B> - hei. I was just pointing out to Signs there that she's destined to fail quite spectacularly. It will be interesting to see, however, how she goes about the business of challenging the obstinately blind faith of another person.<BR/><BR/>And what are you talking about? You mean that your oven - or the oven in House of Signs, I suppose, as we're all still technically round her way (as she correctly pointed out) - doesn't have a light on the inside? That's one rattily prehistoric oven, Finny, and I'm hardly surprised you're not using your laptop in there. That would be crazy. <BR/><BR/>Happy New Year. (A positive reinforcement, nothing to be worried about.)<BR/><BR/>Bye then, I suppose.<BR/><BR/>♞♡♞The Periodic Englishmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09539963852299891988noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-47658146538546013832009-01-10T15:30:00.000+02:002009-01-10T15:30:00.000+02:00No, and sorry TPE but you can't survive death - fo...No, and sorry <B>TPE</B> but you <I>can't</I> survive death - for would you be able to smoke a cig and chew on a salmiakki, however clearly you were living in someone's memory? I rest my case.Reading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-63336964508507353162009-01-10T15:04:00.000+02:002009-01-10T15:04:00.000+02:00It wasn't my fault. Well anyway, that's the story...It wasn't my fault. Well anyway, that's the story I'm sticking to, and you have no proof. Heh.Reading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-50126929923627191282009-01-10T14:59:00.000+02:002009-01-10T14:59:00.000+02:00"The moon was full, as she thinks of it, but then ..."<I>The moon was full, as she thinks of it, but then a jagged fragment of memory overrides and pictures a thin, sharp sickle just waiting to draw blood. The moon was full, she decides, on that cold, clear night, pregnant with some monstrous notion and bored out of her skull. <BR/><BR/>The wolves knew it. A faint but unmistakeable howling came from London Zoo. A new breed had been brought in from Russia, someone had said. They looked out of the bars of their cages and found nothing they recognised but the wide black sky and the moon. It was the night of the tenth of February 1963 and the wolves were homesick.</I>"Reading the Signshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06338983880105866139noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25897493.post-86778159298193037672009-01-10T13:31:00.000+02:002009-01-10T13:31:00.000+02:00I would keep her talking, Englishman (hello), but ...I <EM>would</EM> keep her talking, <B>Englishman</B> (hello), but it's frightfully difficult typing with your head in the oven. You can't see your fingers at all - if you bring the keyboard with you into the oven, it's very dark, and if you keep it on the floor under the oven door, your arms are at a funny angle. But you should most definitely call the police, yes. <BR/><BR/><B>Signs</B>? This is all very interesting. I remember you speaking about being in the vicinity on the night of the murder, I mean death. Do keep talking, please - and we might need to see that story, too.<BR/><BR/>Hello and good morning and all good things to both of you (this means you, Englishman and Signs - not Ted and Sylvia, as such. They can have any sort of old day that comes to them).<BR/><BR/>x xAnna MRhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13801478271766064478noreply@blogger.com