Lip Locked Lilies

By Nichespur

This is the tale of a Timelord who just happens to stop by one day to help a newly disposed soul come to grips with the realities life after death.

It isn’t a easy task for either one of them, because the ex human being wound up in Limbo first, simply because he failed to make the ultimate choice between good and evil in real life, so the scales of justice are still waiting for him to truly tip the teeter-totter one way or another - with the Timelord's help of course.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nichespur
• Release date: Sep 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370032952

Nichespur

Greetings from the insides of yet another external expression of individual reality, Being shared.I am here to reintroduce to the eternal ideal of fourth dimensional thought. So I hope you have come here looking for something different, because you have just arrived at yet another portal to such a place. For I don’t do conventional if I can help it. I’m not into ridiculous rebellion either. So I have always strived to take a good hard look at life, and find those other ways of looking at things that might grant us a different perception of the entire experience, and perhaps even a bit more valid one, despite our present philosophical trends or antiquated beliefs.To this then I write, with a focus on the arts, using unconventional lines and characters to confront all the conformity that rules our present sense of daze. Some might call me crazy just for doing that,and they might be right, based upon their present interpretation of reality. But I herein, have made an honest attempt to finally discern the difference between both the nightmare and the dream, for myself at least.Here’s hoping you will someday find the way to do the same thing too. In the interim however I can now offer you these tales:

Book preview

May the comfort of your moments

always out last the inherent powers of

confusion, fear and/or rage.

No matter whom you might claim

they then belong to.

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Blessing

Chapter 1 – Life before Death

Chapter 2 – Death before Life

Chapter 3 – Ignorance and Rage

Chapter 4 – Con-fusion

Chapter 5 – Compound Prehension

Chapter 6 – Clarity

Chapter 7 – Technical Precision

Chapter 8 – Dimensional Distortions

Chapter 9 – Visitors

Chapter 10 – Rational Limitation

Chapter 11 – The Others

Chapter 12 – Time Travails

Chapter 13 – Cop Shops

Chapter 14 – Detection

Chapter 15 – Memories

Chapter 16 – Connections

Chapter 17 – Redirections

Chapter 18 – Mom

Chapter 19 – Reality Re-Revealed

Chapter 20 – Stars

Chapter 21 – Preparations

Chapter 22 – Descent to the Edge of Darkness

Chapter 23 – Tangibility Shared

Chapter 24 – Torn and Twisted

Chapter 25 – Guidance

Chapter 26 – Documentation

Chapter 27 – Exposure

Chapter 28 – The Expanded Classroom

Chapter 29 – Re-Ration All Lies

Chapter 30 – Trials and Denials

Chapter 31 – Scientific Proofs

Chapter 32 – Epilog

About the Author

Chapter 1

Just shy of winter, a tall white flower springs forth from bulbs organic, that have lain hidden in the ground like stones beneath the reach of frost. Barely recognized by many, it courageously projects its procreative petals upward, above last winter’s snowline to attract the bees it still needs just to sustain a sense of growth.

Naturally born, but morally bent, a human being steps out to try to pay the debt on all this other stuff he now has stored beneath the two story, twelve roomed, Cornish rooftop that he is now said to own. Though he is beginning to think it might own him, thanks to the added influence both the banks and government now had in his own affairs.

He is the son of the son of One hell of a smart son of a bitch, according to his father. A highly educated modern day financier, whose father had given him what was left of his grandfathers semi-secluded country estate, just to allow him to stake an honest claim amongst the urban sprawl that was now encroaching on his families other historic holdings.

The old house was a questionable gift at first – a hand-me-down and a possible slight of his own father’s hand against those perpetually childish expectations he always seemed to have (according to his father once again), but it made for a pretty good tax write off in the end, for them both.

Indeed it had already cost this young man most of his previous inheritance, and three years worth of his upwardly mobile lifestyle, just to make the money needed to pay the workmen he used to fix it up. They had to remove over a centuries worth of accumulated moss and dirt from its hand lain rock wall foundation, which they then covered up with plywood, before they injected the walls with self hardening heat efficient foam. They then replaced the windows and the doors before setting the sky blue plastic siding, and stark white trim, into its proper place.

This had left him, Arthur B. Smuggly the third, with an apparently brand new, energy efficient and quite environmentally conscious palace to be shown off to all his friends, should he ever decide to really make some. It looked quite modern and respectable to any passerby at least. As did he, as he slammed the now slightly misaligned front door shut, before slapping back the swirling tails of his brand new top class trench coat, so he could reach down to pluck his briefcase off the porch, and simultaneously take a sip off the steaming cup of coffee he was still quite deftly balancing beneath his nose.

He wanted – to start his car first of course, but it was all froze over. The car, the house and even the center of his heart, as he looked about at a winter wonderland caused by last night’s untimely ice storm.

Red sky in the morning didn’t give him any warning as he watched the sun slowly rise beside his house, turning the whole world into a freakish pink and white nightmare, bedecked in sparkling diamonds. Even the barbed wire fence across the road looked like taut white strands of somehow bleeding icicle encrusted band saw blades barring any free access to the fertile fields beyond them.

His father still owned those fields of course, because as they both now well knew, he could derive some extra income by making hay to harvest other people’s wealth from them. But good old sonny boy here, had only been given the house with all its hidden costs, along with the few leafless trees surrounding a rather small plot of semi precious earth. And those trees now stood out like monstrously frozen multi fingered hands, beckon him to stop and take another look at all the wonders of life around him. But he couldn’t stop. It was almost May already, and he had bills to pay just to make the fortune other people always said he should.

God damn it, enough already. Arthur mumbled to himself with steaming breath punctuating his every word. It had been a hard year for him so far. Cold hard and entirely miscalculated based upon his previous New Year Eve party plans. Life was always difficult for an aspiring rich man, what with all the worries caused by those who wanted more and more of his own wealth, and the simple fact he would never have enough to suit his taste. But he knew he still had time to work on that, if he just kept his mind focused on the end goal. So he braced himself against the cold, and gingerly began to make his way across an icy stone footpath to his now well paved driveway.

His once picture perfect carbon black metallic series 6 BMW was crusted over with a crystalline rug of frost, and there was a large icicle dropping down from its hood to the top of his right front tire. This was probably caused by heat left in the engine block, after his late arrival home last night from a very expensive date with questionable returns.

Hell of a way to start a day he mumbles as he tiptoes around the car. He knows he will have to gently remove the icicle before he drives off, just to make certain he doesn’t scratch the paint. And the windows will have to be scraped, so he can safely see to drive. But he decides to start the engine first, simply because the comfort of its plush leather seats will help warm his heart if nothing else. So he beeps his electronic key from inside his trench coat’s pocket, and then cracks open the driver’s door and climbs in.

The seats are cold but the house looks great from here. Warm and welcoming and now quite cleanly lined in pretty blue plastic with bright white trim, despite the frost in front of him. The simulated briar on his dash board looks pretty good too, as he slips his key into the ignition, and starts the car.

This shiny black brick of over priced plastic, glass and metal that now forms one of the biggest debits to his own accounts, billows like a hidden dragon has been sleeping beneath its carefully polished body. He turns the defrost on, but there isn’t time to wait for that to work. Fore he has miles to travel before he makes his way back into the center of the city where he now creates more wealth.

Using other people’s wealth. he snickers just before he takes another sip of coffee. Still simmering like his warm brew, he then sets the cup into its factory designed cup holder, and reaches underneath the passenger seat to pull his ice scrapper out.

It has some sort of crud on it, and curly blond hairs that probably came from yet another one of his girlfriend’s lofty heads. Probably that long hair babe he’d picked up at the disco the other night. She looked so thrillingly warm and sexy at the time, what with her pert little pin-nippled breast so enticingly pressed up tight by the shimmering Scarlet Starlet type tube skirt she had on. So open and relatively free to him, he remembered while savoring the shear pleasure he had felt while watching her trying to keep that short red hemline under control, over her wiggling boyish hips.

That memory still made him smile, and then frown because he hadn’t really noticed the bumble gum smacking between her teeth, until after they had parked the car. But this crud didn’t look like gum. So he flicked it off onto the driveway with just one of his carefully manicured finger nails, before stepping out to clean his windshield.

The pavement is very slick, and he begins to predict what the road ahead is going to be like too. He’ll have to go slow, which is not something he ever likes to do. But out of respect for his car at least, he gently tiptoes around the door, closes it and then tenderly pulls the windshield wipers up, before he starts to scrape the glass.

One side done, he stops to check his watch. He is already five minutes off his intended schedule. So he speeds up, using the car hood as a brace as he makes his way over to the unseen side. And there’s that damn icicle once again. It looks almost thick enough to puncture a rubber tire, but he has steel belted radials so he isn’t really worried about that, as he reaches down to give it a little nudge.

It doesn’t move.

So he gently taps it on the side with his ice scraper just below the point it begins to hang off the hood into the empty space above the wheel.

It doesn’t move.

So he steps back to give it a better whack, and his left foot slips out from beneath him, sending him flying feet up away from the now displaced ground beneath him. His once finely fashioned dark haired head cracks open like a melon as it hits the pavement, and the resulting explosion of pain is so intense that it goes beyond his capacity to understand it. So the natural organic systems within his body quite benevolently pump his blood stream full of dopamine, until the last thing he sees in this lifetime is this strange white flower that’s just sitting there in front of sky blue plastic siding on the bottom of his house.

He recognizes this blossom to be one of his grandfather’s old Day Lilies, which has somehow managed to survive all the toxins and turmoil stemming from the recent construction work. And it just stands there, quite uncaring, as if it was now refusing to acknowledge or lament that he was the rightful lord and owner of everything they can now behold together–for one last lingering moment, before he begins to truly travel on. Awe gained – for once at least.

Chapter 2

Time – requires consciousness to be considered even after death. Fore it is not some external point in space which can somehow then become added to or simply just erased by something else, that is not really there to begin with. Indeed it is infinitely expansive, in a very finite way, once you begin to stop yourself just long enough to reconsider the object of its source. Like the pause between all those periods that give us such cause for thought, it is an internal point of punctuation within us that reaches out of nowhere precisely as its perceiver begins to conceive that nothingness can not in fact exist around it. For that is what the word nothingness means: Nonexistence or its not there folks! So there still must be something out there for us to want. And thus the darkness becomes perceivable as something else begins to remember that at one time They really were, and thus their It has just become someone again. Like it…or not.

So what happened to my life? becomes the next question to swirl around the void.

It went out. said the nothingness then surrounding.

No I said my life, not my light.

Same thing.

Whadda you mean same thing? our old sense of Arthur huffed, while simultaneously discovering that he still had some sort of nebulous mass to be pushed about, though he had no tangible sense of anything else beyond him, other than this voice. And even that seemed to be coming from someplace inside this present sense of time and space that he had just begun to fully reoccupy himself.

Time/light/life is the exact same thing is what I mean. Until of course one becomes a bit too preoccupied with that thing called form, and thus centers itself within one.

The soul that was once called Arthur B. Smuggly the third then began to sense something like a breeze brushing against his own waffling wisps of apparent consciousness, as this other voice then added. It’s a matter of reflection, can’t you see that?

No. No I can’t. he almost huffed again, but then simply wondered, Why is that?

Because you don’t.

Oh yeah. he somehow speculated within a funny sort of divide that seemed to ripple like raindrops of pleasantly reciprocating energy across his present sense of form. And he suddenly rediscovered that he still had something to roll about and face what could have been just another barrier to his present sense of existence.

So okay then… he swirled about trying to get a better sense of where his head and toes now weren’t. That swirl seemed to add a bit more firmness to that form. He then added with a bit more confidence So where’s the light? I mean aren’t I supposed to be seeing the light at the end of all this darkness, if indeed I’m dead?

Some do, while other most likely never will, due to the nature of their own will of course. It’s all a matter of perception once again, but in this case it’s other soul’s perceptions that matters more then yours do. Fore those that are welcomed into the light all have someone else waiting and wanting them on the other side; some loved one, family member, or other entity who can find cause to call upon you, or see some promise in you based upon the nature of your soul. While others will be endlessly pulled down by their own sense of darkness, and consumed by the very memories they have now created around themselves. Especially if they have any others out here waiting for them, who are actually still seething with fear filled memories of them, or hate.

Yeah right. Arthur scoffed while he tried to shake off that hideous form of thought. But you still haven’t answered my question yet, so where does that leave me?

You’re in Limbo dude, simply because you never really ever did anything important with your life, other than try to make money in the rather limited amount of time you then spent trying to make a name for just yourself, while basically ignoring the one you had.

Oh yeah! he now twirled around in anger and tried find the source of this all surrounding voice. So who the hell are you then…Mr. Obvious Answer Man?

I am me. Who in Heaven or Hell else would you expect me to now be?

Well I’d like to say the Devil himself, but you don’t seem powerful enough for that, so I’ll assume your just some sort of two bit demon in this God forsaken dream. he tried to laugh, and simultaneously just lay back and relax what was starting to feel like a very expansive form. But he was suddenly crushed by the words, I am Eons De Hedgeyepath! Timelord EXTRA ordinary, wanderer of the void in all dimensions, ignitor of the truths that haven’t seen the light of day yet! And in that sense I am also one of the many keepers of the flame. But you might be right about that dream part.

Arthur sensed he was now somehow externally condensed, although it didn’t seem to be causing him any pain, because he had no nerve endings to complain about. He also sensed that he had just ticked this other thing off, and it was indeed quite powerful enough to simply snuff him out, if it really wanted to. And that hurt in some way he couldn’t comprehend just yet. So he started to try to apologize for once, just in case, Oops…sorry. Didn’t mean to offend. So does that mean you are God?

Phiffft Mr. Eons sputtered, Hell no! I’m just a wanderer amidst that great dream. Yet I’ve learned enough throughout all my travels in it to know, I don’t EVEN want to be held responsible for creating this whole damned thing. I simply still have the want…for some reason…to add something to it from time to time.

So why can’t I see you? Arthur then wondered to this wanderer, and he laughed, Oh boy here we go again…because you don’t. And must say I am really beginning to appreciate the brilliance of your capacity for observation.

Suddenly Arthur was feeling quite offended now, and spun about to somehow slap this jerk up side the head neither one of them seemed to have. So all he really had to hit him with was, Sounds to me like you’re nothing but a smart ass!

Iye that’s it me boy. Mr. Eons laughed, only from another almost obliquely angled other side of Arthur’s newfound sense of identity. This sense of sides could then be called his right side, if indeed he had been standing up. So he rose up just face this spirit head on, as Mr. Eons added with a growl Get yer hackles up! So you can really begin to sense the confines of your own edges. It’s better then being just another numb butt of everybody else’s jokes.

Arthur started to see flashes of this ghostly white ex-pirate captain, or maybe the Earl of Flourishes himself, based upon the ostrich feather that seem to be lofting itself above the brim of his far too broad hat. He also came to sense that this man, or spirit, was trying to teach him something he really needed to know about, right now. So he stopped himself for a moment and asked again, Okay then, why can’t I see anything else but you, including me?

Well beyond restating the obvious once again said what now looked to be one of the Three Musketeers standing alone before him. This being even had a slim rapier hanging from a dimly lit lavender and ghostly pink sash stretching all the way from his right shoulder to his left hip. And a cod piece, which he then pulled up as he added, That’s also because you’re dead, and can’t even begin to imagine having an actual set of eyeballs yet, let alone a full form. So remember who you were young man. Open your mind to it and Re-member as if you are still an active verb.

Even as Mr. Eons was saying those very words, Arthur began to see the outlines of his own hand, and used it to feel for his once remembered nose. But he couldn’t find one, which was kind of disconcerting, especially when he then discovered that they were both now floating above his body as it lay quite dismally alone upon his brand new ice covered driveway. Its eyes were still quite blankly starring at a flower just above its now quite obviously sprung open head.

And he cried out Oh my God as he knelt down to try to touch his fridged old face. But his hands passed right through it, as Mr. Eons set his hands up on his sword handle and pressed its point into to something that might