The Mystery of the Craigslists Postings

[Konamouse]

Lets start a thread to discuss the mysterious Craigslists postings from BSeeingU - the entity that led so many to this place.

Who? What? Why? As someone suggested in another thread, is there a story in her missives? Why do they continue to show up? What is she trying to tell us?
_________________
'squeek'

[Unfictionrose]

I have an initial draft of a story of a dream - but I don't think it is correct as is. I want to post it here to give people something to work from.
[Harrisonburg]

It's hard not to appreciate the beauty here. The grounds ache for someone to care, but that hardly matters. Nature paints her own canvas and man just cannot compete. As I wind my way through, on paths marked only by the absence of gravestones, I can see her trying to grab the moon. I watch as the moon dances just out of her reach.

'ennahom yadunana abra Azif wa nahknu nastajeeb

I hear it from a distance knowing that, by the time I arrive, you'll be there. A shortcut through the graves, perhaps, showing no appreciation for the scenery that surrounds you. You walk around the statue to greet me, rubbing against her as you go. I watch as you walk towards me, stepping on her finger that lies broken on the ground. When I heard the scream, I couldn't help but wonder if it was her.

[Atlanta]

We make our way through the hostile forest, neither of us knowing what
creatures lurk in the shadows. The wind howls its psychic warnings through the trees. The curiosity of what awaits on the other side drives us forward.

The trees begin to give way to a meadow. We dance through the red clover, the catnip, the dogbane. You run ahead, jumping in the air, chasing the butterflies. I hear the splash when you hit the water. A lake. It's then that I notice the silence and the fresh air.

Standing at the edge, I look down and marvel at the reflection looking back it me. I don't recognize the face, though I know it's my own. It spooks me to think that this is how I look in this bizarre supernatural world. You splash me, twisting the reflection into ghostly shapes.

The cool water feels good against my skin. I take off my shoes and wade in the water. Digging my toes into the muddy ground and skimming slime-coated pebbles across the water. Ripples spread and merge. Circles upon circles. Temporary sculptures on the still surface.

And then the realization hits. There is no hint of danger. No fear. No
madness. It's ordinary. It's too ordinary. You want to stay. I can't stop you, but it's time to move on. It's time to explore.

I make my way towards the hills on the other side of the lake. There's a small cave hidden behind the rocks. Lonely, I call for you to follow - a gesture done in vain. You're too busy chasing your own tail, running in circles... enjoying the peace. I enter the cave. I hear the scream.

[Fargo]
Running from whatever is outside, I descend deeper into the cave. It's only when I stop to catch my breath that I realize there is no longer any light.

Darkness that I've never seen before. I spin around hoping to see something...
anything. Nothing.

And then the screaming started.

[Bangalore]
I must not have been running in the dark for long. I would have noticed. I
would have run into something. Think. That last turn, was it left or was it
right? Feel for the walls. Listen for the cries. They must be coming from the lake. I can follow them. I can get out. To face what? I'm safe here. Lost forever, but safe.

Just find some light. Hide in the shadows. Wait.

Listen for the screams. Follow them.

The echoes are confusing, but I can do this. I drag my hand along the wall, turning as it does. Stopping and listening for the screams. They're louder. This is right. They're quieter. This is wrong.

An hour passes, maybe two. I see a shadow. I see light.

I see you.

[Philadelphia]
Sitting there in the corner of that cave, it hit me. We aren't all that different, you and me. Our lives, here in this place, are the same. We walk
the same streets, see the same people, run from the same things. We've both been through the same hell. I knew it the moment I looked in your eyes.

It's amazing what people will share in those quiet times. The secrets they
tell. Talking it out helps. It puts the burden on someone else and lets you
move on.

I'm glad we walked out of that cave together. I'm glad that I'm not alone.

[Osaka]

The city rises up in the distance. People pouring out of it.
We fight our way through the street, going against the crowd. Everyone
avoiding the corpses littering the way. Islands in the road covered with bird picking at the bones.

You look at me. Your eyes give you away. You're too weak to fight, too exhausted to go on. The only thing pushing you forward is knowing that, if you stop, we'll be stepping around you as the vultures circle around. The only question is if they'll wait until you're dead before fighting over your flesh.

I catch you as you collapse. I grab you by the waist and throw you over my shoulder. The birds circle my head. I run.

[Amsterdam]
Bloody footprints chase after me as I rush through the crowd gathered in the street. I try to make myself invisible. I rip at my clothes. I mess up my hair. I can look like them. I can fade away.

I disappeared through the crowd and worked my way to the other side of town. Nobody noticed me, nobody stopped me. Faceless strangers walked by as if I did not exist. After a while, I stopped hearing the screams that I knew were there.

[maine]

Your old house at the edge of the woods called to me. It always has. The
gothic architecture has stood for generations. The iron gate didn't make a
sound as I swung it open. I was wandering towards the back when I heard the first growl. Then another. Then another.

I was surrounded.

I heard the scraping of metal against metal. Someone shouted my name. I ran towards them. The hole was just big enough for me to crawl through.

She dropped the shovel and we ran.

--------

[Orlando]
Night after night, I find myself here in this city of madness. The faces are
familiar to me now - the man standing on the corner, the dog growling behind the fence, the old woman sorting through her belongings.

I wander over to the bench where she's sitting. She smiles and invites me to sit. I watch as she carefully picks up her precious heirlooms - an old note, a well-worn book, a faded photograph.

A photograph of me.

For the first time all day, I'm awake.

[new orleans]

I turn on the coffee maker and head to the computer. I want to get it all down and to find the others. The light from the screen swims inside my eyes. I reach for the aspirin and I type.
_________________
Servers aren't part of the collective unconscious. ~HPHack

DC had us give B.A. the finger. I don't think you can get much more explicit than that! ~Y2K

[Hiro Protagonist]

Do we know what ennahom yadunana abra Azif wa nahknu nastajeeb means yet?
Azif may be a reference to al-Azif, teh Arabic name for the evil tome of Necronomicon, which was written by the "mad Arab" Abdul Alhazred in the Cthulhu Mythos. Anybody here who is fluent in Arabic?
_________________
When I was a kid, my mother told me
never to stare into the sun.

So once when I was six, I did...

[Unfictionrose]

I also concluded that the story she is telling is more like snapshots of scenes that she sees as she goes through her dream world. Each "you" she describes is a new and individual subject. These are people she has seen in her dreams and wants to contact. She then puts the message in craigslist to try to find them. I'm not sure if the messages from a city are always directed to the same person from the city. Hard to tell and not sure if it matters.
_________________
Servers aren't part of the collective unconscious. ~HPHack

DC had us give B.A. the finger. I don't think you can get much more explicit than that! ~Y2K

[Y2Kveteran]

Wow, you folks have been busy. Been trying to sift through all of this looking for some clues into this B.A. person. I keep feeling like a second-rate Jungian dream analyst which is hardly my strong suit. How much of these "dreams" do you think tell us something about her versus is "storytelling" for some kind of point?

For example, do we know anything about this "city"? What about this "woman going through the trash"? If there are different "yous" what makes her divide up those messages? Hmm . . . so many question still, not many answers.

Behind all of that lurk the big questions. What does she want us to do? Why does she want us to do that? Do we care what she wants? Does what she want benefit just her or us to?

How do people imagine we should assault this, given that we're all busy people who don't have enough time in the day to obsess over her little "story" too much? There was Howard's thread about theories of what might be going on. Perhaps we should narrow that list down, come up with theories that we can try to connect evidence to?

Art
_________________
----
Art Lydney
Security Consultant
"The price of freedom is eternal vigilance."
-- Thomas Jefferson

[Unfictionrose]

Y2K Veteran that is a lot of questions.

I have no idea what she wants us to do. I am enjoying figuring out what she is telling us. I hope that if we get to far out of what she wants, she will give us a bigger hint than any she might have given us already. ( This should probably be in the other thread but Yeah we are going in circles. We are probably making the circled words into a much harder problem then they are meant to be... but I don't have any new, good ideas)

I think we know a little bit about the city, I thought it might be two cities, actually. We know several of the features, the buildings, the coffee shop, the bar, the cemetery...the people: the skateboarders, the firefighters, the crone, the crazy man with the newspapers ...the features: old railroad tracks, the lake, the cave.
_________________
Servers aren't part of the collective unconscious. ~HPHack

DC had us give B.A. the finger. I don't think you can get much more explicit than that! ~Y2K

[Dante]

[Jjason]

Question you missed: Who is B.A. St. Feline? Currently all we know about her is what's on her website, which is basically nothing. And I'm not prepared to accept even that as true.

Totally Unrelated Note: I like the post titles. Reminders me of the Hardy Boys. Sentry Outpost and the Mystery of the Craigslist Postings!

[Occultus]

[Unfictionrose]

I don't think the "me" changes. I think the narrator is consistent.

Does anyone think she could be describing a real city? The most specific thing we have is the mention of the angel with the broken finger in the cemetery.

The woman in the garbage could be the same woman with the possessions and also the one who gives her an apple unexpectedly. That woman, after giving her an apple, walks with her to the edge of town but doesn't go with her on her journey.

What do i think is going on here? Is that the question?

I think this woman is having dreams and in her dreams she recognizes certain people. She then contacts, or tries to contact them through Craigslist. Maybe she knows you guys here at Sentry Outpost from something before? Any earlier run-ins with her that you can remember?

Did you guys reply to the dreams that were directed to you? Other than the one where HPHack sent in someone else's dream?
_________________
Servers aren't part of the collective unconscious. ~HPHack

DC had us give B.A. the finger. I don't think you can get much more explicit than that! ~Y2K

[Occultus]

After looking again at the info on her website, I'm wondering if the city is New York.

She says she's been in "The City" for 10 years as a struggling actress and mentions Broadway - which implies NY.
She also says that she currently lives in Cassadaga - which gives a choice of two locations. Cassadaga, Florida (described as the "Psychic Center of the World") or Cassadaga, NY, where:

[Tipsila]

[Mkaos]

[Occultus]

Another thing I noticed - which is probably just a coincidence is that the closest city to Cassadaga NY is Jamestown (about 10 miles?).

When I was looking at the pictures from the packages over the weekend I did some digging on the Samuel Purchas manuscripts. One of those was the posthumous publication of notes by Richard Hakluyt about his exploration of America.

[Carmenmiranda]