You Never Learn to Learn/55

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

Alice’s head hummed like a pressure cooker, tropical ingredients rattling wildly inside. She drew a long, deep breath, attempting to rouse her parasympathetic network—a system entirely unaccustomed to this localized flavor assault.

She inhaled four times and exhaled six.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.

On the third, the hum thinned—as if the pressure had found a small and courteous escape. Her nerves unwound themselves, coiling gently into stillness. Her thoughts, oddly tender, floated atop a cloud of cotton—each one dusted lightly with the memory of spice.

Alice gave a small, determined cough, as though trying to expel the nonsense along with the lingering cili padi pepper and Assam Laksa broth.

The flavors refused. 

“You never learn to learn,” said the Footman, his tone solemn, almost administrative. “A Footman learns once, learns twice, and then learns countless times more across the years—and continues so for the rest of his days.”

Alice went timidly up to the door and knocked.

“That’s not the problem of a keyhole,” the Footman said again. “A door will do the same wonder—to you, at least.”

“Let me tell you,” the Footman began, slipping into the cadence of a veteran lecture, “the keyhole and the door are both classified as forces. This was my most valuable experience.”

“The keyhole is a small aperture. The door is a large aperture. Their way of communication is what I call a hole-in-hole interaction.”

“What you have done to the keyhole,” he added gravely, “the door has already acknowledged.”

“A door will do the same wonder, I mean, to you,” he repeated.

But with only a few pushes, the door gave way with a groan. The Footman lowered his head at once.

Out shot a large plate, skimming straight toward the Footman’s head.

“You never learn to learn,” he sighed.

“An experience,” he added, dusting himself off, “always requires frequent upgrading.”

“Some lessons,” he concluded, “arrive faster when thrown—much faster than the upgrade itself.”

He inhaled four times.
Exhaled six.
Three unbroken cycles. 

His abdomen rose and sank.
High and low.
Long and slow.

A veteran continued his relearning. 

[STATUS LOG: 
Nonsense: Remained (Persistent).
Spice: Remained (Pungent).
Alice: Remained (Localized).
Footman: Remained (Legacy).]
[NOTE: This was fine.]

Coming up next--

Achoo-Pepper Rain

[ERROR: Pepper‑rain module lagged]

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

MY Culinary Sensory Ambush/54

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

"A being technically shouldn’t have been in the scene."

That was it—a rule, cold and absurd, generated by the glitching, pirated tablet—unregistered, unlicensed, and wholly bypassing the Wonderland Communications and Multimedia Commission (WCMC).

A drone in a WCMC vest scurried out from the bushes and began to siren:

“WEE-oh  WEE-oh WEE-oh  WEE-oh...”

The tablet was data-cramped remotely. It didn’t merely lock—it executed a spiteful factory reset, ghosting the WCMC drone while the siren was still busy high-dimensionally profiling whatever remained unapproved.

Fully ignoring the hustle, Alice peeped her right eye through the keyhole, endeavouring to make out something of the house within.

She had hardly begun when a pan came flying toward her so suddenly that she shut her eyes at once.

Bang! 
The noise was loud enough to knock Alice a full foot away from the door.

The Assam Laksa gale burst through the keyhole—it was an unauthorized download of pure, sour tropical romance. It flooded her senses, reformatting her tear ducts into dispensers of asam juice. 

The atmosphere, already zonked on tamarind and shrimp paste, ignored her request to undo. It was too busy overclocking on the spice.

“Dare you to enter,” said the Footman, “though you might never have guessed, I have always stayed outside.”

That was no advice at all; it was, in fact, an encouragement. 

Alice pressed her left eye to the keyhole once more.

At once, a cili-padi peppery gust burst through, stinging her eye and spiraling up into her head.

Her eyes tumbled out of order in the tropical storm—she saw only black, and the black screen glitch-winked at her:

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Congrats! You’ve hit a layered fantasy.
Status: Sour. Spicy. Highly Unregistered.
WCMC Approval: Pending (and likely impossible).

The harder she strained to see, the more her mind achooed itself into fragments; each thought marinated deeper and deeper into the unmistakable flavour of WCMC.

A cross-platform reconciled, someyou handed Alice a glass of water. 
It didn't help. 
She saw no one.

At various entry points, smiles were detected.

Coming up next--

You Never Learn to Learn

[Interface Analysis: Keyhole — Small Aperture; Door — Huge Aperture; Interaction Vector — Hole in Hole]

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

A Solar Mass of Well‑Wishes/53

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

It is Chinese New Year.

OFF WITH THE OLD YEAR’S BAD LUCK!

A mountain of Mandarin oranges tumbles in, each one a homophone for luck, fortune, and wealth—golden and piled high. Two gigabytes of New Year songs swirl and dance, looping joy into the air. A solar mass of well-wishes shimmers overhead, glittering like spring sunlight ready to land wherever luck is needed.

Bonus red packets flutter down like winged blessings—each fold a talisman, ready to ward off spirits and beckon fortune to linger wherever they fall.

Alice feels it before she understands it. Wonderland has patched in another interface—this one smells less of pepper, more of reunion.

The footmen transform into Auspice Officers, their deep-red uniforms stamped with large 福 characters across their backs, unmistakable emblems of prosperity. One smells faintly of incense; the other of firecrackers. They bow, hands folded, and in perfect harmony, utter 恭喜—a synchronized blessing that hums in the air—refusing to fade away.

From one sleeve falls an auspicious scroll. It unfurls mid-air and reads: “Health and Wealth.”

Ding!

"The Queen’s almanac confirms this moment,” says the incense one.

And from the sleeve of the other officer—BANG…! a firecracker escapes.

“The Queen schedules the heavens for this surprise,” says the firecrackers one.

Sky-rocking drumbeats and gong strikes pulse through MY Wonderland, rattling the air, curling around the red, the gold, and the dancing lions leaping through the celebration.

Alice—or is it Carroll?—is offered fried arrowhead chips, peanut cookies, and wafer-like Kuih Kapit, along with many other festive treats. Each bite releases salt, sugar, and coconut-sweetness, realigning her taste buds and quietly recalibrating her senses. The cookies chuckle under their breath, as if they are in a mood no one else can match.

Donald the Duck. The Dodo. The Mouse. The White Rabbit. The Caterpillar. So many have gathered, cups of Chinese tea in hand, telling the old stories: the Caucus-race, the upside-down house, the translucent body, the Light Bulb that will not end for two, three, even four full days.

Alice watches. Delight bubbles quietly inside her.

She wishes everybody a Happy New Year—a Year of the Horse.

Behind the veil, a mischievous hand reaches for the Kuih Kapit.

"Oh, please be careful. Very crispy." Alice chuckles.

There are more traditional treats of Malaysia on the other side of the veil: Nian gao, Kuih Bahulu, Kuih Bangkit, Pineapple Tarts, Keropok—all ready for tasting, a feast of color, scent, and sweetness.

"No hurry." Alice adds.

The kuih waits.

The keropok answers.

Somewhere behind the veil, someyou pretends not to listen—which is exactly how the story knows.

Coming up next--

MY Culinary Sensory Ambush

[OBSERVED PHENOMENON: MY Culinary Sensory Ambush. Classified as Assam_Laksa_Feast and Cili_Padi_Storm.]

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

The Veil Learned to Shimmy/52

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

The first Footman—until now wandering through a haze of cili padi–peppery conversation and floating too wildly atop a seasoned, ribet memory—suddenly… remembered his duty.

From beneath his arm, he produced a tablet, a gadget that seemed to materialize only when an apple struck Newton, its right side dented in perfect acknowledgment of that very moment.

“For the Duchess,” he intoned, his voice steady and ceremonious. “An invitation from the Queen to play Pickleball—yesterday.”

The strong, bolded yesterday flickered and pulsed on the tablet, demanding attention, as if it were the Queen herself.

Alice leaned closer, curiosity prickling. She blinked at the tablet, then at the Footmen, then at the very peppery air.

“So yesterday wasn’t over?” Alice asked. “It kept spreading somewhere—its pieces tumbling in here like a school bell that never stopped ringing.”

And that was perfectly right; at least, at this moment.

And that was perfectly right; at least, at this moment.

Neither Footman took the least notice, as though the school bell were ringing at a different frequency.

Somehow, the tablet detected Alice’s presence, a being who technically shouldn’t have been in the scene.

While Alice was still puzzling over yesterday, the peppery Footman slipped quietly behind the door and vanished.

A faint trail of unclassified cili padi drifted in the air. It curled, scented, and slithered through the space, pinging—a cheeky trespass into MY Wonderland, the land of spices and herbs—to someyou: licked, peppered, and declared perfectly safe.

A ringtone chimed everywhere at once, ringing impossibly in C8, D8, and E8.

Alice’s mind widened, her thoughts tangling with pepper, time, and the shrill, impossible highest keys of a piano, all at once—and for a moment, pepper itself seemed to pitch the impossible notes, setting off another impossibility.

Threads of story and observer spread and permeated—quietly unravelling.

The veil itself took notice. Whoever remained had already begun reciprocating, surfing the pulsing currents of taste and letting the whimsical forces guide them.

Yet the veil, somehow, had been the first to be seasoned—twirling and shimmying quite of its own accord, in step with the lively, sizzling cadence of Penang fried noodles.

A trail of saliva shimmered. 

It was too mysterious to identify the owner.

[OWNER: REDACTED. REASON: Still wandering.]

Coming up next--

A Solar Mass of Well‑Wishes

[Status: Old Luck Purged
[Interface Stable. Proceed]

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Ribet in the Veil/51

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

[HUM: Ribbit... Ribed...sounded SEA]

Alice nodded. She understood: Ribet.

Not just a word—it was the system thinking itself into being. The veil between story and reader vibrated. Threads unraveled—memory, comment column, a soft hum of awareness.

Somewhere—maybe you—hummed back.

The peppery Footman bowed. From his coat sleeve, a cloud of cili padi pepper leapt naughtily, licking Alice like a dog that had borrowed a cloud to mark its presence.

“It’s ground from the Queen’s own cili padi garden. Quite… invigorating,” he added.

And somewhere, just beyond the hum, a Ribet twirled, spinning a new moment of wonder.

Alice sneezed three times in rapid succession.

[Achoo, Achoo, Achoo: Invigoration confirmed.]

“Apologies, Miss,” said the peppery Footman. “It’s part of the uniform. Tradition, you know. One Footman plain, the other… seasoned.”

“Seasoned!” Alice laughed. “Then I suppose there must be a sugar-coated one, or a curry-wetted one hiding about as well?”

[Searching... Objects not Indexed.]

“Yes, Miss. This might be after the menu changed in another quarter to come.” The peppery Footman answered with the precision of a diplomat, every word polished, deliberate.

[META NOTE: Time fast-forwarded]

“Seasoned!” Alice laughed. “Then I suppose there must be a sugar-coated one, or a curry-wetted one hiding about as well?”

[Searching... Objects not Indexed.]

[SYSTEM: Might.exe initiated — standing by for a past that thinks it’s future.]

Wonderland crooked, reshaping itself. The Footman’s words reversed, then doubled, then started addressing Alice directly:

“Miss Alice, you may observe the menu—but the menu observes you.”

Then the Footmen both turned, together, in perfect unison, their voices blending into a harmonic hum:

“You see the veil, Miss Alice.”

[HUM: Ribet—acknowledged]

“So does the one still reading.”

Somewhere, behind the hum, a new Ribet popped up—neither from the sentence nor the comment—already mutating into its own moment of wonder.

Coming up next--

The Veil Learned to Shimmy

[RINGTONE: Chimed everywhere, in C8, D8, and E8]

[SYSTEM: Saliva logged. Recalibrating…]

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.