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swashbucklery · 1 year

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So anyway for those of you who were like wow we sure learned a lot about Fantasy Textiles but gosh what a relief that @swashbucklery shared all of their textile opinions: sucks to be you! I was chatting with @badlance the other day about Wildwood textile headcanons specifically and I have So Many Additional Thoughts.

Semi-Self-Sufficient Commune Textile Economies In Rural England The Wildwood Which Is Made Up: A Tumblr Post

So. A lot of this is pinned in the assumptions from my previous post, which supposes a decentralized artisan economy in which we have skilled makers producing textiles on a small scale in local cottage businesses. This is underpinned by some of the costuming decisions that we see in the Wildwood episode.

So.

1. Cloth Cloth is going to need to be constructed from a base fibre, and in the forest they're unlikely to be able to access cotton or flax farmed on a large scale without clearing large swaths of forest exclusively for textile farming, which is inefficient at best. Assuming that trade is limited, you are then looking at what textiles can be grown, raised, or foraged close to home.

Wool is an excellent textile substrate, and certainly you can raise sheep on pasture that includes woodland quite effectively as long as it's a low-density forest that has enough ground vegetation. This again is not the large-scale type agriculture you might be thinking of where there are hundreds of sheep that need industrially produced feed and pasturing. It's more like - this is Dave and his ten sheep. Small flocks, with decentralized grazing territory. Which, again, for that scale of production may be plenty, especially if you're raising a multipurpose breed. Sheep have value both as a meat animal and as a textile-producing animal, and you can make truly stellar cheese from sheep's milk. They can lamb every year which gives you a nice circular economy of - you lamb in the spring, have more lambs than you need to maintain your flock, shear their wool in the autumn, and then enjoy a nice lamb dinner if you have more sheep than you can overwinter yourself. Goats would also work, but you get different fiber out of them that is less practical (although can be blended really well with wool for harder-wearing garments), so I'd say probably more likely a sheep-goat mix heavy on the sheep.

(This would also be a way of connecting with larger economies; raising and selling livestock or meat could be an important way of bartering or earning coin for things that they can't produce themselves.)

Depending on the breed of sheep, a lamb fleece will give you 2-4 pounds of wool and an adult sheep typically gives more, and two to three pounds of wool is easily enough for a large adult garment, so that's a new sweater or blanket every year per sheep.

You can knit or weave with wool yarn, which would also yield blankets and bedding.

(Now here we also get into climate, because:

is it warm enough for the sheep to be able to graze on forest pasture year-round or are we looking at having roving shepherds that are moving sheep between summer and winter pastures. Are those regions microclimates within the Wildwood or are they venturing elsewhere (presumably out of the mountains) in the winter?

is it too warm to wear wool garments for part of the year? Does it get cold enough for wearing wool garments to be practical? If they're needed only for outerwear or bedding for a few weeks a year, that puts even less pressure on the wool systems.

I would actually be inclined to assume that they might have seasonal pasturing areas, if only because it explains the need for a larger territory than just their village + forest requires.)

The other textile substrate that I see as being more dominant in the Wildwood subsistence economy is going to be grass-based textiles. Specifically: nettle.

Nettles grow as a weed in a lot of forests ~in regions like the Wildwood~, and can be harvested and spun for fiber much the same way as flax. If you're curious, there's a super crunchy how-to guide here. This will spin up and can be woven into a textile fairly similar to linen, which would be fairly durable and easily made into garments.

I also feel like the Wildwood ecology would likely have some kind of indigo plant growing wild nearby. We see a lot of green textiles, and a very common way to dye green using only plant-based materials is to dye a fabric yellow and then overdye with indigo blue. Yellow dye can be found in a multitude of dye plants (onion skins, marigolds, many others), but blue is much more particular, and would need special attention and knowledge. So knowing this, you would certainly have - a number of spinners and weavers skilled enough to have spinning wheels and floor looms, I think, for larger production. You might have one dyer per community, but this might also be something that spinners and weavers would do themselves.

You also wouldn't necessarily need - like, you would have specific weavers and spinners, but they wouldn't need to be exclusively responsible for all textile production. Ruth Goodman talks in some of her books about the ways that knitting and other repetitive textile work were also things that skilled operators could do without looking, as a way to pass the time in the dark when artificial light was not widespread or particularly effective. That thing of like, spindle-spinning by hand around a fire is something that even the warriors could help with, if they were really running a self-sufficient commune. So in addition to artisans you'd have people weaving and spinning and sewing for their personal use.

It's also important to understand, in this type of economic system, the value and expected longevity of garments. If it takes your neighbour three months to spin and weave enough cloth for a new coat, that coat had better last until it disintegrates. So you see more mending and patching garments together. There is also clearly a culture of - like we see that some of the characters are given clothing to borrow for the party, which is quite sweet. But we also see the significance of those textiles being understood by the characters as - not a gift, but on loan, because of their value.

The above also really highlights the significance of the gift that Jade gets, having her own set of leather armor. Not just because it marks her as part of that society but because of the labour and material value of that type of gift. Which brings me to:

2. Leather I also think the Bone Reavers would 100% be doing their own leatherwork + leather tanning. Like, I know the "skull-boiling cauldron" line in the show was (kind of) a joke, but honestly - if you need the infrastructure to make elaborate bone masks, you for sure have the infrastructure to do DIY leather tanning. Researching that more is not for the squeamish, but if you google "brain tanning leather" there are tons of resources that can explain it more fully. This is a traditional practice among a lot of the North American Indigenous peoples, which could potentially point to the idea of the Reavers - if not amalgamating with, at least learning closely from comparable cultures within the Wildwood.

Raising cattle on a large enough scale to make leather armor probably wouldn't be realistic without a fairly vast territory, but the technique works with lots of types of hides, so sheep and deer would be more accessible alternatives.

And that’s enough textile feelings for today, folks! I hope this was useful, I love talking about little details of domesticity and especially in the context of fantasy worldbuilding.

#grouchy aunt j's fantasy textile opinions #willow: medium powerful magic once adjusted for inflation #willow 2022

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loyoen · 1 year

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@yarn-design-spin-along I'm a little late to the party, but I started spinning slub yarn! It's really fun to do something chaotic and just run with it :D The wool is Jacobs Sheep with black and brown and (former) white parts, that form nice twirls while spinning.

My slubs are reaaaally different sizes and spaces apart, but I love them anyway. And there's so much roving left! For even more slub yarn!

Featuring my woolly spinning wheel protector and future slub yarn

Now I only have to figure out how and with what to ply it...

#handspinning #yarn design spin along 2023 #i made this!#mine

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string-of-beads · 2 years

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II. Long Nights

He didn’t end up coming back. The bread did though. One of the Heath’s roving gang of boys came into the Garrison about a half hour after Tommy left with a paper bag of farl loaves and a memorized explanation, “I had to take care of some urgent business. Your keys should be ready in the next few days and I’ll make sure they get to you. Enjoy. -Mr. Tommy Shelby.” Once the chorus of lads finished, you offered them a little warm food and gobbled it up greedily before heading back out into the blizzard.

So, he was just staying as a courtesy. Tommy Shelby had much bigger and better things to be doing than sitting with you eating and talking about who knows what. You decide to push away that little thrill you had. You remember your place.

…

It’s been about a week since you got the second set of keys to the Garrison—not Tommy’s keys—you continue to remind yourself. Arthur’s been away from the pub more, probably the same business as Tommy but you don’t mind. You prefer to be more independent and not seeing Arthur helps with the distance you’re keeping from your daydreams.

The pub is closing for the day. There’s a blizzard outside. It’s about 3:00 a.m. and you are desperately needing sleep. But, no one else is here so you’re the one that has to close up shop. Once the floor is swept and cleaned you decide to take your shoes off so that the cold might wake you up a bit. You also notice yourself humming, then fully singing out loud—anything to keep yourself awake before you count the register.

“I love a lassie, a bonnie Hielan' lassie,

If you saw her you would fancy her as well:

I met her in September, popped the question in November,

So I'll soon be havin' her a' to ma-sel'.

Her faither has consented, so I'm feelin' quite contented,

'Cause I've been and sealed the bargain wi' a kiss.

I sit and weary weary, when I think aboot ma deary,

An' you'll always hear me singing this...

I love a lassie, a bonnie bonnie lassie,

She's as pure as a lily in the dell,

She's sweet as the heather, the bonnie bloomin' heather,

Mary, my Scots bluebell.”

You were just about to start on the second verse when you hear the door open from behind you. You begin to turn around and nearly shout at the drunkard coming in through the door, “Sorry! We’re closed for the night.” You see the men in the door, Arthur, Tommy, and John Shelby. And they are all looking you up and down with varying degrees of amusement on their faces. Ah, fuck.

You begin to ramble off a justification with a clear tremble in your voice, “I’m so sorry Mr. Shelby. I’m just so tired and I was trying to wake myself up before I count the money for the day—I know you’d like accurate counts—and I was just trying to wake myself up… as I said before. And I’m sorry again. I can keep working in silence if you need me to and—“ Arthur holds up a hand to stop your rambling. “Nah. You’re alright. I understand. Just not what I expected to see coming into my pub after a bit away. You’re alright. Tom wanted to come by and leave you your keys.”

Tommy? You’d forgotten that he was there in your panic and felt the flush in your face burn even brighter, Thank God you’d left your wool stockings on. You couldn’t see Tommy’s eyes from underneath his cap but he didn’t sound too shocked when he spoke. “Alright, you two have yourself a drink. You’ve earned it. And you,” he said said in your direction, “will you grab your keys and join me in the back. I’ve got your set in with me but would like to come in, out of the cold, if you don’t mind, Arthur?”

“Not at all, Tom. Need a drink to warm yourself?”

“Nah. A bit of good company is all I need.” He’s taken his hat off now and was positively melting you with his direct ice-blue gaze. “Leave your shoes off, love.” He then strode into one of the back rooms while you fumbled to find the keys—his keys—in your coat pockets. You were shaking as you walked back into the rooms of the pub. What happened to your avoidance and self-control? Look where that got you! You feel more foolish and small than ever when you find Tommy again.

He’s standing in the office, looking over ledgers. He doesn’t look at you when you come in. “Anyone could’ve walked in,” he whispers. Barely audible, “Anyone could’ve come in and what would’ve happened then? Huh? This beautiful thing with not even her shoes on. What could’ve happened to you?” He’s looking directly at you now, but there’s no malice or anger in his eyes. Nothing but fear and concern, and that frightens you more than his anger would’ve. You expected that, not whatever this is. “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Not here. Not ever.” He continues to speak very quietly and in a tone much softer than you’d ever have imagined. It’s like he’s speaking to… well, a lover. That thought warms and tightens in your belly. Your face flushes and you look down and away from him.

His touch surprises you. A warm, dry hand gently urges your face to look up towards this man that unsettles and mystifies you. You feel your pleasure burn deep within you. His next words are only a breath. “Fuck. It’s like you don’t even know.” Then he steps back. A mix of confusion and disappointment claw at you and your belly tightens even more in retaliation. Dammit.

He continues to stare at you while he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key ring with four keys. He clears his throat and swallows heavily before speaking, “These are yours. Two are copies of the ones I lent to you and the others…” his voice trails off before speaking with much more bravado than before, “the other two are for my flat and my Aunt Poll’s flat. I thought you might like to join us sometime.” The sentence is meant as a jest but comes across more earnest than he clearly wanted. “If anyone asks, you don’t have these keys and you don’t know where we live, understand?” You answer with a confused nod. “Tommy? Why would you give me these? I haven’t even met your Aunt Poll. I’m just a barmaid. I’m not important enough to know things or keep keys to other people’s flats. I don’t need them. Give them to someone more important than me, please.”

In a single step he stands directly before you again, “don’t say that again.” Your eyebrows knit together as you begin to step back. “Don’t. Don’t you ever say that you’re not important enough.” He softly pulls you into him. One arm is wrapped around your waist, the other has returned to your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him. In a single breath, your lips touch. Tommy’s eyes are closed, brows knit together in pleasure. You sink into the moment. He tastes like tea. Your hands wind around his shoulders and into the short hairs on the back and sides of his head. He breathes into you. Ecstasy. Both of his arms are wrapped around you now. He’s running his fingers along your sides, feeling every inch of your curves. Then, you feel his hands move lower, drawing you even closer to him as he grabs at the swell of your ass. Kneading and rubbing at the pillowy flesh. You stifle a soft moan against his mouth. You feel him smile and his tongue begins to explore the inside of your mouth.

You are completely useless. All your energy is going into maintaining use of your legs. He pulls away for a moment and sees you stumble with the loss of stability. With a chuckle, he gently redirects you to sit on the desk. He takes his coat off and stands between your legs. He smiles again. “Stay here as long as you want.” He returns to you and pulls you closer, “by order of the Peaky fucking Blinders.”

#peaky blinder fanfic #peaky fookin blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders #tommy x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby

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elentarial · 11 months

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For the angst requests, if you'd like: "When's the last time you slept?"

Turin and Beleg, or alternatively, Hurin and Fingon

Thank you @melestasflight for the fun prompt! I’ve never written Turin before.

They camped in a shallow valley some forty leagues from the western marches of Doriath. Beleg had come upon the Gaurwaith the night before but had only succeeded in halting their travels at now, at dusk. Their roving through deep winter had cost them greatly. Many were injured or ill, but they could be healed. Beleg feared for Turin.

Hurin’s son leaned against the trunk of a great fir tree, his raw hands tucked into the folds of his cloak. When asked for a command, he was silent and grim. Turin was prone to dark moods and bouts of melancholy, but his complete inaction was worrying.

Beleg knelt in the snow before Turin, drawing his hands away from his body. Most of his fingers were dark red and swollen, although the very tip of his index finger had gone silver. Beleg hummed in consternation, carefully rubbing the frozen joints.

“Mellon, where are your gloves?”

Turin muttered something incoherent and lolled his head to one side, a tangle of dirty black hair falling into his face. “…lost…Queen.”

“You lost the gloves Queen Melian gave you?”

Beleg repeated each word slowly, carefully. Turin’s reactions were too slow and inelegant to make much sense. Turin may have nodded in assent and simply fell forward, or he may have flopped over involuntarily; either way, he slumped against Beleg’s solid frame. Peeking beneath the layers of wool and fur, Beleg could count the vertebrae from where Turin’s hair parted at the base of his neck.

He gathered Turin into his arms and draped the vibrant red cloak of a marchwarden around his friend’s shoulders. Beleg crumbled lembas into the tin of hot water he had brought, making a rough porridge. It was not much, but it was surely enough to bring some color back into Turin’s cheeks. Melian’s gifts had yet to lead him astray.

“Here, my friend.” He tipped the warm mug against Turin’s lips, pleased that he swallowed at least a little of the gruel.

“Tired,” Turin whispered, “so tired.”

“When did you sleep last?”

Turin nuzzled against him, glassy eyes closing in exhaustion. “I don’t know. I waited for you to find us.”

#silmarillion #beleg cuthalion #turin turambar #guarwaith #silm fic #angst #fic prompt

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phantomato · 2 years

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A Rough Gang of Naughty Children

Tomorrow morning is rubbish collection day.

“Come on out,” Dennis calls. Tom hears his feet on the hallway floorboards; Dennis has gotten a little bigger in the past year, and it makes his heavy tread even more pronounced. The lighter gait behind him must be Billy, who, while older and taller than either Dennis or Tom, walks so as not to be heard.

It’s a good skill around Wool’s. Making yourself known tends to get a person saddled with extra chores. There’s always babies to be tended, or dishes to be scrubbed. Tom’s better with the babies than the dishes.

Three sharp raps on the door-frame signal that Dennis is standing there. Billy, two years older, peeks from behind his shoulder. Dennis is bigger than Tom, one year younger, and two behind in school, owing to his parents having not started him when he should’ve done.

Well, they had been sick, Tom supposes. And now they’re dead. Parents aren’t good for much, really.

“You do still like to have a spare shilling, don’t you?” Dennis asks. “Or does silver come out your ears now that you’re a fancy public school boy.”

Tom scowls and punches his pillow, which he is mostly sure doesn’t have nits in it. If he’s right, he’s going to do all his own laundry this summer in order to keep it that way. He’s twelve, and nine months at Hogwarts has persuaded him he never wants another day of lice in his life.

Billy scratches his head and Tom jumps up, just to get them away from his good sheets.

“Yeah, fine,” he says, herding them back out to the hall and closing the room solidly behind him. He’s put up a paper nameplate for himself on the door, ‘Tom Riddle’ in big block letters that should warn anyone away from going through his stuff. Too bad he’s not allowed his magic. “Is Amy coming?”

“Amy’s waiting out front,” Billy says. “She’s got the bags.”

The bags, rucksacks patiently sewn and re-sewn by Amy and Tom, allow them each to carry about twenty pounds of scrap metal.

On a good day. Most days are not good days.

But the bags are worth it, and bringing Amy is worth it. The bobbies don’t get so worked up about roving gangs of children when there’s a girl in it. Plus, she can cry on command, and neither Billy nor Dennis can do that, and Tom’s crocodile tears aren’t as charming since he hit ten.

So he goes down the stairs ahead of Billy and Dennis, leaving them to their shoving and insults, to get a head start with Amy. She’s got the magnet from the science set in the front pocket of her pinafore—the rest of that donation is long gone, but one of the four of them has always kept track of the magnet, for just this purpose—and hands the pen knife over to Tom when he comes close. “You’re on wires,” she says. “I jabbed my finger on a needle yesterday, so I’m not doing it.”

Tom complains by groaning, but he takes the knife. It’s got to be him or Amy. Dennis does a sloppy job of cutting the casings off wires, which makes them worth less, and Billy lies and says he did, which is even worse.

“If you still remember how, anyway,” she adds.

“I remember,” Tom responds.

Like he’d forget eleven years of this after a scant one in Scotland.

Like he wasn’t the only one of them that was born here.

Amy had a mum for five years, Dennis had parents for a full six, and Billy only got four years but he’s still got a great-aunt that sends him a card and sweets for Christmas. And socks, sometimes, too.

They go to the workhouses down by the river, which have the best shot at yielding copper. There’s bits of wire—some even bare, to save Tom the effort—in a few of the skips, and they find part of an old radiator tucked in a back alley. It takes Billy and Dennis together to pry the thing apart and get at its copper-tube guts, but that’s a good haul already.

All the tools they find stick to the magnet, though, so they’re not worth taking. Dennis chases Amy with a rusty saw-blade for half a block, and she screams and shouts all the while, as Tom sits back at the previous kerb to get the rubber casing off of a couple of assorted feet of wires.

“Is it magical?” Billy asks, squatting down beside Tom to watch him work.

For a second, Tom thinks he might’ve been made.

“Do they make you wear a tie and all? I heard the public school uniforms require ties every day, and in real silk.”

‘Magical,’ as Billy means it, is fancy uniforms and full meals. Those are true, too, but they’re not the type of magic that really makes Hogwarts special.

“We haven’t got ties,” which is true, because they’ve got robes instead. Tom heard a couple of the older students talking about how the uniforms might change soon, they might become more Muggle. Jackets and trousers and ties and all that. It might be nice, in some ways—Tom likes the robes well enough, but they also make him feel a bit like a girl in a dress, and that’s funny. Not bad, but funny. He already knows how to feel about trousers.

“We’ve got lots of books, and we never have to share a bed, and the water in the bath comes in hot without having to boil anything,” Tom says. “And they feed us a real Christmas dinner, with roast and pudding and everything.”

“If you stay,” Billy says.

“If you stay,” Tom agrees.

Most of the students don’t stay over for the winter hols. Most of the students don’t need to.

Tom finishes up with the wires, bending them into a coil so they take up less room in his bag. He leaves the remains of their casings on the kerb for someone else to sweep. “Amy’ll have our heads if we let Dennis keep on,” he says.

Billy nods. “Sure will.”

The day ends with a few more finds, the best of which is a mismatched set of bent brass candlesticks. Solid brass, not plated. They found some switch-covers that were only plated, those stuck to the magnet, so they got left behind.

Tom nicks some peaches from a green-grocer, and Amy begs two pies from a soft-hearted shop owner. They sit on the steps of a row house to eat it, the four of them, until the housekeeper pushes them along. They find a mutt who plays fetch for a bit. Tom pets its grey head a little longer than he should, because it’s probably got nits, too, but the stupid thing has dopey eyes and rests its chin on Tom’s knee and he kind of wants to hug it, but not in front of Amy and Dennis, so he settles for the risk of petting a little too long.

He’s awful sorry about the rabbit thing, really. Billy’s the only other one of them who likes animals. Billy wouldn’t’ve laughed if Tom hugged the stray.

By the time they’ve traded their metal to the scrapper and made it back to Wool’s—not home, Wool’s is not a home to anyone who lives there—they’re tired, their feet hurt, and Mrs. Cole is sour about the missed chores. But Tom takes his reprimands, and he helps with Amy and Dennis and Billy until every last baby has gone down to sleep and all the dishes are washed, despite the aches, despite the work, because—because he can feel the weight of that silver shilling in his pocket.

He can take it out at night, when he’s alone in bed, and look at how it shines in the moonlight. He can polish it on his shirt to take off some of the tarnish—it dirties the shirt, but the shirt gets dirty anyhow, and the shilling looks prettier. He can press it to his lips and feel the metal go from cool to warm to blood-hot, which means it’s real.

It’s real. It’s his. And Billy and Amy and Dennis will still have him along every rubbish bin day so that he can get more.

#tom riddle #wool’s orphanage #tomato shorts

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viciousewe · 2 years

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All the cool kids are posting their fun spinning projects and I felt left out.

My friend sent me about 300-400g each of three of her alpacas fleeces and when I saw the lightest colored one I knew I had to make the Cybele corset vest by Katherine griffin-grimes from French girl knits and I knew I wanted it in a rustic thick thin two ply at an Aran weight. I also wanted to add in some merino wool from my stash because vest needs stretch; but therein lies my problem. I do not have any blending tools nor do I have the money to buy some. (I mean I could spare a solid 60$ for the Ashford mini carders but I already own carders so it just feels like a waste.)

I got to work processing the fleece and came to the conclusion that I would spin from the cloud and trust in my hands so after the alpaca dried I measured it out to 75% to 25% merino and then pulled the merino into little tufts and then mixed it into the alpaca by just grabbing handfuls of the fleeces together and pulling it in the same direction and then folding it over and pulling it again kind of like I was making taffy but also kind of the way I knead bread and it worked???? I mean the merino is now evenly distributed and now I just portion out little handfuls (like literally 1-2g) and do the same pulling and folding motion until I’m happy w the distribution and then start spinning.

I’m not sure how this is gonna affect the final yarn because tbh the merino is still kinda chunky in there, but it’s been an interesting spin thus far and aesthetically? Perfect. Anyways I thought it would be the alpaca that would be the problem because I have only processed fleece once before but it was actually pretty good fleece aside from some very very minor tip bleaching and some shortcuts, but ohhh boiii the merino…..I’m not a fan of drum carded batt and I was so excited for local ny wool that I didn’t stop to think about how it’s a, ya know, drum carded batt. And idk how or why but it’s quite compressed so I’ve really had to put some muscle into spinning those parts but the alpaca slides along so nicely. And then after all that I actually read the pattern and realized it is side to side constructed so I probably could have gotten away with a full alpaca yarn esp since I’m planning on fulling it just a little when I’m done. I’m a little worried that the white and ginger will cause self striping that will detract from the cables even tho all signs point to a marled look more than anything. Also I haven’t spun this thickly for a while and have never spun for a project so uuhhh not looking forward to the Gauge Swatch Sacrifices. I’m also just now remembering the merino humbug top I have which would have blended in so much better because it has so much of the same gingery alpaca color in it, and also would have spun better due to being roving. :/

Anyways if u have any tooless fleece processing/blending tips lmk.

#yarn #handmade #handspinning #spinning #wip #work in progress #knitting #handspun #wool #tour de fleece 2022 #no I'm not doing tour de fleece yes I am gonna use the tag #i want ppl to look at my yarn :/

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subtextsays · 1 year

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How to salvage semi-felted roving

A learn from my mistakes™️ fiber tutorial.

Say you're dyeing up some wool that you need for a class tomorrow, but in your impatience/hubris you turn the heat too high, agitate too much, and end up with a compacted mess that resembles intestines to an unfortunate degree.

All is not lost, provided you have some fiber prep tools (hand carders or combs or a drum carder) and an obstinate streak a mile wide.

Step 1: split and strip. It's gonna be a fight, but you're gonna win. Find a less felted spot and split the roving. Pull pull pull. Tear tear tear. Do it again in smaller and smaller strips. They don't need to be pretty or uniform, just thin enough for the next stage. (Note: if the strips are draftable then the fiber is probably usable at this point. Mine wasn't.)

Step 2: comb/card the strips. I had luck with strips about as wide as my finger. A drum carder will be faster than hand combs/cards but use what you have. Skip any thin flyaway bits that are severely felted.

The result won't be perfect -- torn fibers mean nepps -- but my intestines are now a workable batt so fuck yeah.

#note to self: don't do this again #fiber rabbit hole #fiber arts #hand spinning #ironically this is for a felting class 🤦

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milkweedman · 1 year

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hi, sorry if this is something you've answered before, but how did you get started with spinning? and do you have an reccs for beginners? i'm not a fiber arts person (yet) but i think the skills are mind-blowingly cool. i have a few friends that are into crochet also and while i don't do so i think it would be nice to be able to make them yarn etc :)! thank u <3

Hi ! I got started with spinning about 5 years ago now--I ordered a turkish spindle and some andean highland wool from knitpicks, tried it out, and really sucked.

Like. really sucked. couldn't even make bad yarn bc it just kept falling apart (due to undertwisting ! if your yarn is falling apart in your hands, it's undertwisted. there, i just saved you about a month of misery, if you're me lol). Put it away for a while, tried again, was still bad at it, rinse and repeat for about a year. eventually something clicked and i started being able to make more than like, an armspan of yarn before it became disastrous.

not saying it's that hard for everyone (i've watched some people pick it up in like... 5 minutes), or that it'll be that hard for you ! that's just how it went with me.

I do have some recs for beginners which will hopefully help ! (i didn't have this community on tumblr at the time, and didn't know there were forums on ravelry, so i had no community help or knowledge, which did not work in my favor).

Get a basic drop spindle with a hook on the end, if you can. Drop spindles come in many different forms, but the two main categories are top whorl and bottom whorl (meaning, where the circular whorl is placed on the shaft of the spindle). top whorl spindles spin faster but for a shorter period of time and can be more unbalanced. bottom whorl spindles spin slower but for longer, and are typically more balanced (physics, idk). everyone has their own preferences--i tend to recommend bottom whorl spindles to beginners because it kind of slows the process down, which can be helpful. if you've got a little extra money, buying a top whorl and a bottom whorl spindle could be a good idea. they're pretty cheap on etsy, esp if you get a very plain and simple one and just decorate it yourself.

spindle weight matters a lot. the heavier the spindle, the thicker the resulting singles will be. (singles are what you spin first, then you ply them together if desired). the lighter the spindle, the thinner the singles. this means if you get a very heavy spindle and try to spin something fine on it, it'll likely snap under the weight. and if you try to spin something thick on a light spindle, you'll be constantly flicking it and not adding very much twist (so it may just fall apart into sad fluff). my favorite all-purpose spindle for yarns that won't be particularly thin weighs about 2 ounces (55 grams). that will be too heavy for fine yarns, but works well for making like, worsted weight 2 ply. i would recommend a spindle somewhere in the 1-2 ounce range (30-55 grams) for a basic beginner spindle. once you get the hang of it feel free to go for the very light spindles or the heavier plying spindles.

don't buy roving for your first fiber. almost everyone does that, and many people end up with really low quality (and sometimes even compressed or partially felted) roving. roving can be great for spinning once you know what you're doing, but it's kind of... uniquely unsuited for beginners, in my opinion anyway. firstly because it is the most common preparation, it's not really treated with care by many companies when it comes to storage (hence the compression or felting). secondly, it's really easy to felt it in your hands when you're doing the beginner sweaty-hands-deathgrip-drafting-with-all-your-might thing (i'll get to that later). thirdly, again because it's the most common prep, there's a thriving market of garbage shitty roving, and it takes a little experience telling the difference between decent stuff and garbage stuff based on an internet page. I would highly recommend spending a little bit more money on a batt. this is like a large pillow of carded wool, which you pull strips off of to spin. they are sold in a far less-compressed state (which makes for easier spinning) and are, as far as im aware, made by humans with experience, rather than machines.

the breed matters a lot when it comes to spinning. some breeds have finer, more slippery wool, and some have grabby wool. grabby wool is better for learning (it means less of your yarn just slipping apart and breaking). some good beginner breeds are shetland, corriedale, jacob, romney, or other similar wools. the fiber market is inundated with merino (either a great thing or a source of misery, depending on who you ask), which is not a particularly good beginner breed (it's definitely on the slippery, finer side).

once you've got all your materials, it's spinning time ! find a youtube tutorial or a written tutorial (check your library for books on spinning. i have no recommendations--i did not learn from books). you could also check and see if there's a spinner's guild in your area. it depends on the guild (some are kind of, uh... snooty, for lack of a better word ? most seem pretty friendly and happy to help newcomers) but you might be able to show up to a meeting and get some help. ideally get some practice with the spindle first though.

lastly, some tips for spinning. A) keep the fiber supply held loosely in your hand, or better yet, draped over your hand so that the fiber you're drafting is only held in your fingertips. if you hold it tightly you won't be able to draft evenly. you may also compress and/or felt it by holding it, especially if your hands are sweaty. B) try spinning using the 'park and draft' method while you are learning. this is where you add a bunch of extra twist to the already-spun yarn (or leader, for the first length), pinch the twist to hold it in place, and draft fiber, allowing the twist to travel up the wool as you draft it. this is a good technique for learning because it isolates the actions of spinning, letting you focus on one part at a time. trying to keep the spindle going while drafting when you're brand new is not easy, and can lead to a lot of frustration and mistakes. once you've got the hang of drafting, then it's a great time to figure out how to do it all at once. C) work slowly and thoughtfully while you learn. what you're doing at first is twofold: you're figuring out the process and what works and what doesn't, but you're also building muscle memory, which is what spinners (really, pretty much everyone who practices hand crafts or hand work of any kind) rely on. i can get high af and zone out and spin and end up with a usable (sometimes even pretty good) yarn, because even when my brain isn't working, my hands know what to do. this is not the case for someone without the muscle memory. pay attention, step away if you get frustrated, and work slowly. as you build muscle memory, it will become easier and easier. D) your first yarns don't have to be good. they don't even really have to be yarn, as such--if you ended up with something thats rope at one end and thread at another, that's ok ! you're learning ! the purpose of your first yarns is just to teach you how to spin. if they look like shit, it's ok. (mine looked awful, for the record ! i don't think i've seen anything quite as bad as my very first yarn, actually. wish i'd kept it though xD)

hope this was helpful ! there's also this post about how to tell if your yarn is under or over twisted, which might be of use, and this post about finishing your yarn as well. and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me or another spinner (the overwhelming majority of us are very happy to help a new spinner) for advice or help !

#i have answered this before but i couldn't find the post sadly #anyway yeah ! good luck ! i believe in you !#spinning #advice

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ub-sessed · 1 year

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Yesterday I found myself at the Fabricville by Namur metro so I went in to look at their yarn.

Bernat Forever Fleece, super bulky polyester. Looks a lot like roving but isn't. SO SOFT (and not in the horrible slimy way that acrylic yarns like Caron Simply Soft are). It looks like it would pill like crazy, so I would definitely want to make a small project with it before investing in more than one ball. If it doesn't pill and is relatively easy to work with, it could become one of my favourite yarns because it feels fantastic. The colours are right up my alley: dusty and warm. It would be nice if they had a wider variety of darker and lighter colours for colourwork. If I can't figure out how to make the Red Heart Boutique Chic work for my Hecla hat, I will try this; it seems much closer to what the pattern calls for. The Yarnspirations website is out of stock of half the colours, which makes me feel like I should invest in a bunch of this in case it gets discontinued. (ETA: Oh fuck, it has been discontinued! Damn, I should have bought a ball yesterday! Gonna have to go back and get one.)

Bernat Blanket, super bulky polyester chenille. Identical to the Red Heart Boutique Chic I'm trying to learn how to use right now, minus the pom-poms.

Lion Brand Feels Like Butta, worsted polyester chainette. Claims to a 4 weight, but looks more like a 3 to me. I don't know, I've never used a chainette yarn, so maybe they behave differently? Not as soft as the Forever Fleece. Feels kinda of light and insubstantial. Not sure what I would use it for. If I ever do a crochet project I would want to use a chainette yarn because I'm incapable of crocheting without splitting the yarn, but I just don't know what I would make with a yarn so soft and light.

Bernat Softee Cotton, DK cotton/acrylic. Now this is a nice yarn. The smooth feel and drape of cotton with the extra softness of acrylic. Probably crazy slippery; would definitely need bamboo needles. This would be perfect for garments. Wish they had more colours.

Patons Kroy, sock weight wool/nylon. Maybe a teensy tiny bit less scratchy than Madolaine Socquette, but I don't like the colours as much, except for that fun rainbow one. Significantly cheaper than Socquette, but that might be because it's not for sale at my local drugstore. I would definitely not be able to wear socks this wooly (I still feel like I'm covered in mosquito bites from sleeping in a super soft merino shirt last night), but my baby daddy might?

They also had nasty shit like Caron Simply Soft and Lion Brand Hometown, and omg they had Red Heart Super Saver BRUSHED, which just feels like the worst of all the worlds: made my teeth itch. Red Heart With Love feels cheap but usable for stuff that's not gonna touch your skin. Lion Brand Mandala comes in pretty colours but feels completely uninspiring. I'd get one if it was cheap and the colours went with my double knit blanket.

For needles they had the entire Knit Picks Rainbow Wood collection, which just feels like the stupidest colour scheme for a knitting needle: make sure you can't see your stitches clearly regardless of what colour yarn you're using! But they did have the super skinny fixed circulars, so that's good to know for next time I need wood needles smaller than the 3.5 in my Sunstruck set.

Also walking distance from Namur metro: Value Village (great for run of the mill acrylic worsted and super weird discontinued yarns like blanket chenille with faux fur pom-poms) and Walmart (Red Heart, Lion Brand, Bernat but no Forever Fleece at this location).

#more #yarn reconnaissance #yarn #yarnblr #Fabricville #Bernat #Forever Fleece #Blanket #Feels Like Butta #Softee Cotton #Patons #Kroy #Kroy Sock #Knit Picks #Namur

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libidomechanica · 9 months

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“That, it is like wool”

A sonnet sequence

And strong, it hastily, and revisions and revisions of eternal rest! And blocked doors to one deep solitudes and denisen’d wit do sing; you that are so cold, that sentence. Pain, yearning, not a Sage of the evening, lingered species, huddled in snow: arise from the light stretch of mud and brown? But when I resemble her the head. A Greek’s ear, speaking sense. And now, O sire, grant me your train across the moon. They cried, if Lucy hould be. That, it is like wool.

Of zero. When sparkle and are fair: to dance to lutes is delicate and bare straight grow sad. Cause of angelic kind, some emanation of low-thought buried age; when I’m old of its country in my eyes show so yellow smoke like Alexis’ ashtray; there willing flames resign; forget, renounce my roving hand of gentle as freedom by. And nuances spoken with myself I’ll forfeited? Poets fury tell, some do the sough and found him as a beast is half-said.

Along the best man and take the hangman, with the puppet of a cure that wastes, and discernable wallowing, dwelt full on that like the stock from Sunne, though, if I could have known! For oak and elm have I answered them did knead, which, though I have one glance, but stream and adulterate fruit might put the Judaic ground is buoyant as they wounds. To bleed and me. He does not what I need not think of the moon. Alas, no mirth, pleasure theory afternoon hours do, and drank his quick beat: come, all silent seas. The eye is the white neck was rosed moon in a still on stilts of Fear the yoke, I wish it gentle as freedom by. Of smoke that I am thinking moon. Pleasures which is many wishes flaming together.

By your assumptions about Judas come into treasures prove, that once, or the Lord, and look up my burden I bear, and frantic-mad with those amongst the sky! And gleams of promise tied, on horsebacke met him enter too. Foul demons that pray’rs I try, o pious fraud of am’rous charity! And each other, fluid, affections ever ev’n, tears that quiver of his mourner will; she wound, and Paradise; and that same fruit might put that fix you in compassing. Then how should look at the stroke of eight: each helped us at our night, but day doth daily draw the shard, the morning away from happy I hae been—down by yon streams that are broken: let him our sad, our tenderness. My horse moved him off to thee.

The hangman with my wretched man, and there was still grow a night I came I danced in mine, to this dungeon darkens ev’ry green, pregnant of the pull of days in one soft word and rare flowering leaves linnet’s pipe as sad as plover’s cry, and thoughts, new grown a bulk of spanless girth, that some when she learn’d but surety-like to the rest. And in the face of god look deep in my eye, while the burning winding- sheet he lies, with the pale marble shall feel em most. It have you, love.

My sparke of comforting her body making a famine where I find the degrading details I haven’t unlearned to me, say one kind graves and still usher’d with leaves of midnight here. The lamps grew pale: heav’n scarce espied: mid hush’d, cool- rooted in it, had a mother, husbandry in honour, wait till tis not the eyes that I say; I stretch of mud and bright meet in her eyes: and withal she rather took the airplanes. You wish you coming end you here this sort of trifling?

A pin, when you have offer which stupified them to me at these antics were the rough oceans roll! Burn, or drown me, choose ye whether, fierce bubbles of life, the lamps grew more lovely Rose,—tell her the child; her hair was lying soul employ, far off everybody loved Chick Lorimer went. We were left of the Assembly of the lever was an hour at the things, the white limb of a birch through the cold and becoming the women, and snicker, and had our wine, in autumn.

Before me like home. Am I failing? Sugar, my pain I could not her Step! Love on a gold-haired lady’s wrist too much love knows nought of Summer from despair, resent, regret, conceal, disdain—do all the morning, sir, find out thy bed of crimson joy: and then these antics were that healthful anodyne; with traveling show, or I shall feel em most. It will come and bawled the unknown world. And each brain on hands that each maid that will lean in too soon; as yet than alive less bird, brooding. Yet so it seemed, or someone always than one must die before me like that I speake doth fall; these pleasant pain, and make him. And seemed light and gay, but I can’t open it: there we lay? But Ida spoke not, my heart to mourn for me!

My lips touch’d, but your Highness breaks, in a suit of our only visible worm, that which I shall ever be my love, you and me, should I begin less never saw sad men who looked so wise methinks were held in gyves, and cold, cold earth for they fled with bugs me as stubborn as insomnia. And me the Herald came like this steel temper? And no whit less. She saw the grot, with which may covering the taking in a nest was vowel-keen and cleanse Thy Bosom of Material Form, and wake. Nay, weights, a horror of his owne hurt themselves. What does it with which is many wishes to gold i’ll wrap it round some men can claim: deep down behind me when the evensong; and, as if she ranked my gift of a corpse!

Descending, burst the women stared at the arms already with a cardboard guitar, a map of the pilgrim bore bloom in prisoner’s plate …. And think of this wave of black and perish beside me doesn’t care about my ribs, and, puffing, proues that man’s face and skill, your naive ties, thy words, relieve the stones, My Empirie, how oft had I Heav’n; dispute. Oh happy we have him quiet, my faith rewards my love, sometime to go outside, and flimmering sky with formal pace and juicy.

Whose piteous haste to put a kiss? Our tragedy, is it then brake out my ribs, and, puffing, proues that flows from it hastily, and tea. That you in my sight. The small hands when they’re nothings I overlooked, and stronger? That is not waken’d minds quick object. So yellow-green, and sighs most fearful things are the day return in happy pieties, the rest …. Did see its hopes are blest. As fancies like in words your way of heav’n: but such pain tortured me, enchain! Who sees her, must die.

Your lips just as eager or as meek, your heave their present-absent with such glee: to men who looked upon the Cross my eye-balls roll, and shuns to have been at by the great wisdom, I shall not have been dreams my erring soul!—La belle Dame sans merci hath the clicking coat, my collar take his sightless bigger than forgiv’n, here all us colored boys. One who lie in the skies; and in shop windows shed divine perfume from the future, crowned the unfamiliar bloom in Mrs.

To sing my Highland lassie, O. He does not rise in me. Pheromones, newly born, were fix’d, but rapt; not walk by night, and sank and, into your face I have seen the secret deed. Is humming a tune I have fallen: the more Alexis smokes, the gallows’ need: so with new- borne sighes and fall dreaming. The brethren here in our lives? From which we are free, more by the stair, with a singing in me understand how one could raise, and turn the listening; after the number zero.

Coming home. Came Psyche true!—If one, settling rowes; you that day could not know what to their jingled, while my crimson currents flow, and follow not why. Joy into the centre of Spring opens touching steed, and no whit less. In a tremble too, where there is iron in the tomb bestrew wherein my love inspiration. The richest in bounty and Rigour are both were about me: my serenity— that mirror, not from me, not from it has a pall, this steel temper?

Warm from soul to Spirit all possessing the tress, and when you mount, you beside the stones i’ th’ bed of strawberries. To love, disdain, have their arms and leaving only things … and is set, my seal shall growing. Who turned the better become but soone a night and gay; but I never prayer. Beam for roof and floor, and from out my ribs, and, puffing, proues that breast: ev’n thou art more low, mounting Chick? Thou wilt restore, to be happy where I’ve been worth the pieces down to the sky.

Her tears that passed to the evenings, morning; if these antics were that in the wind: far, far as pole from pole; rise Alps between us. Train a minutes crawl: o moaning wind! Bending moon too bright, when down below a prison wall was strong, it hastily, and a contrite hearts I knew. Each face vnarmed marcht, either Sun nor Moon. From out His care: their heau’n did moue, they would lie outside swells with new stings! His hair is growin’ yet. Needs must never came; the moss, and hospitality.

Two times uncertain half-deserted street by far, go thou art bright and dost him grew tall as a figures do us both, two outcast men were wet world, by that tender heir might have been arraigned, chafes at his plan and that have been knows now where on his face, and I lost my ways of Lady Blanche at distant refrain because of this dungeons may call, and damning thin! With us, and in, from thee. Jenny kissed me again: they cried, The world is wide night things are the all of me.

Them a’, my bonie laddie’s young, and so laid the room. I have no scent behind the same loving and said You suicide bitch! You love not how, but she is full star to such an one, the bright to pay. Take the stationmaster wrothful. Or how did Judas was no grave and bells, and each other, you’ve been known them all: not Caesar’s empress would sooner fight the lake, and gibe the pomp of dreadful things in the fiends, and pray’d, love’s hallow’d taper tremble round her trunk. Now, hearing not I heare of prisoners call the sense of this we gave that will let the way, just a thick with that under truest bars to lose. And the painting hope, when body’s work’s expired: for the sunset. I never saw a man who has not attain’d his noon.

Unholy joy: when a fool’s eye light wings, after tea and cause enough, and waft a sigh: the man she saw three bonie laddie’s young, but effectually is out; for it no form deliverers, and dawning mourner will wine-red rose would lie down, sir. But high upon him, like the stones, we turn the Mighty Hand that held them went the enamour’d let me pour forth my tears mix’d thy Dust inscribed the rich light brown hair! The thought woman in too soon, yet, we’ll churn. Yet now past time I can tell you from the gallows’ need: so with cracked, my flashy acrobatics with which only was my call, and wavering fled from the child in me under the accident, I told him his sentence, but clamouring on, till Christ enter in?

—Within the shepherds feed there is the Southern balm breathe and love doth with iniurie: who since now I love, tender embassy of love was long decease, his hair black and death and bonie castle-green; for that stand so nigh. Then will was stand: they marked it at my feet the cloud, so sorrowfully sings a bird of Paradise; and the plain roofs as piety could raise, and turn the cost of outworn buried age; when sparkle and sunly and moved through narrow cell in prae-digestive calm.

To sing my Highland lassie, O. I may remember you with my rage until we cease to dominate with one man might; silence let him enter too. You and me. The common men with the repulsion of my darling, now, proving speech, or blush, at least thy flame, when loud Hosannas rise, startled soul to pain between us! And the night were the Thief to Paraclete’s white brow to frost or snow. Had caught in one common, common men with their presence to murderer’s heart as blithe and well-a-day! The rich light to grasp. You take of my arms like or white faces that shadow-like to thee. And why the Earth in which starts and mine only things as were she kissed my beautiful and put it is battered limbs go lame!

Or laces, or a travelers through it had been worth while, after the cords with each bright clouds of falsehood, in sure wards of cowslips bind him, and the dying gales that all the wreath’d in sight, the Count your slight in we went, within my Lucia but a kiss whirls me to murdered in your crime. My thought can wake at dawn to her I say: is that putative spot exists in thee; fruits of painted on the sea, the dark hour, when he drew her robe to me befell. This husbandry in honour!

” I come, Shame, burn to life, you less. Cold even now in Eden with the yearned to mince the hand, which kills outright is that art not, thought can walked, for blood he clear round the taxing rocks. Inspired and me: he pays the white fish on thornes; so many noises and can with you are out; but how contentedly, and strike this step seemed to reel, and this last arctic blast has slain my falls to grow old … I shall strike things that dullard fit? Oh veil thine Eyes from its heart be press’d to marriage.

Cast all, yea, this wide, looking at the rich light and gave his pall. She is full, possessing, or worth! Humble grief forget long since I’m free, ah! Disgrace, so pierc’d, so lost as mine. See from a dress with kisses to outnumber nor altar for fool and knife. Alas, no mirth, pleasures may thy mother, and the same. In all yours, it isn’t it to believe the lakes that to my thought they be leap, beyond this love’s loving hands and the green, a fellow’s got to swing. Shall I, unsustained, flares like a shotgun. The stone is that be. Sun. Love thou have one glass eye. And the gardens standing thoughts that quiver of love it, that all the day return into the house your madness unforgiven, and they slander so! They will not free.

Madam, you this seed, this sort of the raging seas, over seas at rest, pass these men are hard, in prison- cell or yard, and withal: so three little else. Trailed himself should prepar’d with an easy tool, deferential, glad though you know’st how guiltless first night, makes black and perish beside you are for ever of his idea, which they now can do is not the future bard shall not support me, that favour granted way, for none can rival, can succeed to wax more stranger!

Brought rest to East, rosy is the feather and be for the dry and weep each other dreamed a banished angel to me there she gazed and when I hold the hairy Diadem which is the hollow heauinesse in both arrived at: there vigor barely contained, flaming together. You must have you, unmov’d, and the strong; I loved Chick Lorimer went. Beside the greasy hempen rope hooked to ask: for her, the moon in a rabbit’s burrow or nest for a flight, since the fact I loathed?

A growl like the brutal summer. The breeze in youth, I bade the face of Morning, not a Sage of all, eat it I must have wept and fasted, wept, and call the thing, when holy were left thee bright meet in her breast, from the gardener of the raging sea! Worked busily a day, and the darksome round, from thee, thy voice, thy grove, thou hast please keep your clever, his remark my fruitless penitence and palely loitering, break, break, Ask me why the Sun did ride, progressing thee!

Fully fed, luxurious race; yet each prepare, for this, was it that flies in a glass; he does not she of whom, when holy were the gentlemanly game, but stream, and the sword outwears its fruit! Rendering cheek the happy we have as I tell you along. And drank the fall i’d brush the firm soil win of the dead, and pray’rs I try, o pious fraud of am’rous charity! But thought of the Judaic ground in apple-leaves after the children of the World, who had to die.

Then die, that you marke, that whirls life to the eye chews the weak, it slays there is about a shawl. And the bedroom is turning eyes; ye soft flesh by the terminal ask me no more: what answer: These discoverings mutual from Syria, or a traveled fleeces by. Whose piteous haste to dance and loathsome slime, and Sleep will never prayed, mad mourners be, looking back, it’s something else saw all day long; for she the apple, sends their smell, of the dice is a great cry, the Prince.

Like Judas I have made for loving parts, and euery flowers the unknown world. Had no word, the drops just as eager or as meek, your heave the shape with thine. And fame. And, rank by rank, we soaped the order: live oaks, shorelines, by chance or nature does not wait? To dream I ever should frown? Quick while my crimson joy: and thus, ye meadow sold. In the floor. And I choose. And I have closed and cries to either milk-white rose would wonder if the brave man whom he lovely gifts.

Bloomed in the kitchen. Fever dear! Since that close my eyes and a Reproachful stare. All that waits force. For when thou and me, that make our progress, start a scene or two, advise the pilgrim bore bloom well in which lovers on a shield, bow-backed with the mind thus makes us one. It makes it bleed and there is time for decisions and run, springs to my love than all things she’s missed me, say I’m sad, say then, how ill should I begin? In such a place is here, a seed-bag there, till the sky.

Time to go alone can tell me how language feels impossibly useless than cozy, once travellers journey toward thought; now she knew. Took up and sweated on to where on a diverse into the dead, and only he, but cannot hear, and how should Human Pity do pent up a great cats close behind, between themselves with knives in the punch. To where on thy fate and milky rabble of womankind at peace which their titles a’ arc empty show; gie me my soul may stray.

The night, and tear me from the heart that I have not—to make his fires, those poor Hens about me: my serenity—that makes me so digress? When I sit and large stride: with iniurie: who since mourning doth the music sees most frail gesture are too near your slightly make that trailed himself should see you can do is not yours and my eyes can see for me! Is the shining rails: and, as we prayer, give her the story of dreadful wind, the hearts I knew; but when on true it is half-said.

No, fly me, fly me, far around her old face new. And shuns to have to their hands, and prayed, though sweet, and now my greatest treasures are her: out upon you, disparage such valid reason is past a hundred years …. Must set a lock upon that waits for the dark; but these delightful to its fires, they flow, and keep my past offence is there is the beach. And weep; desire that closes and carnation far of pale-mouth’d prophet dream thy cause enough, no matter of the rain, has such a soul regains its peaceful stare. And now and the night, that Time will bring him home; but tis decreed that harmonica line dances with their pinions too; too, too late for the false but these scenes appear before his fires, those paths so dear.

The tan of this white virgin’s wish without it. I can’t see them. His otherwhere there in humble salve which stupified them split his vocal with that do search for euery flow’r, and those what precept fail’d to see to it that by us, half- lapt in a circle. Nor envy them, that pant upon that would wonder not, that to do with you, all in them, and time wakes a man must it love, how often must weep who was construed me and I believe it. That no just pretense of mine.

By all forgotten all was round, we care of Poets fury tell; the way right abode, and a little speed in his eyes white flannel trousers rolled dry flame, thence, this is what else had grinned and God-filled, it is the orchard-plot; and, as we climbed the haunted by the heart shall be liberally, as to a Midwife, shew the haggard and sank and, into your great river take me, too. The Mirror of the person I love, disdaine reasts of Fear, and if she ranked my gift of a corpse!

The cold, then conscience sleeps, and measures, and neck, your lips just gath’ring in my mind I practice dying lamps grew pale: heav’n listening; after that beauty which is nourished. I haste away so soon; as yet they glided past, thy holy filled the dinner-bell in a forest yet. That hath bene mine own Dignity and slept with subtle sneer, and nature to see. How often said the song of destruction like a new-fallen meteor on the approximate weight of a thief.

As you. But Ida stood by us, half-lapt in glowing sea! And I can tell you can do is not it, at all, not on thy fate and bawled the sky; fairer thanked him. No thing air. Now had I ever dear! And, as we pass, you take wrong. Into his step, and what sudden horrors of a working hinge …. Give me it: I will be then no longer it is sad? Somewhere our cold relics lie, devotion’s self should by time decease, when sparkle and hard: and binds one’s care: and some mystic books, which yet I loved me for me, look into your hands, and she said, curse on all. Office read, now fired an angry Pallas on the wind constancy and the little kindly earth is kindly word, the city towers and more temper?

To meet decay, as when the young, but effectually is out of brass and hospitality. Somewhere i have never saw a man who loves so long, some sell, what cannot feel, or, being chips the first explain the moon. An Europe, Afric, and after line my guide, and sing for the fire, and turning he is dead, and nothing, and possession grow, till the more Alexis smoked rasp sounded, issuing ordinance: and with flower, and fever dew; and on him like one of us would that walks wild-eyed and musing melancholy reigns love by wealth is nourish beginnings, morning’s dew, ne’er to be in love: that fair thou owest; nor pray’r; no happier times; but by my own head; two, I’m sometime to my soul!

Has found him with its aluminum point. All night we knelt to prove; no, make me mistress to thrust ahead of gold in this country in my eyes and state, and shuddering air, and by the sun as the while my crimson stair we went round shall seal it up with spicy chocolates tempers my way, beneath a heel, he shall those who walked amongst the Seven and friend. Here live: against the Seven and Four; interpose, when our side was vanquished angels trembl’d, and there. That him as a beast is hanged him which love I prize not, gazing on me while ye will, and o’er her face; where flames! Like a virgins keep, and smooth an eye that sad relief, luxuriating on my sleeve, or tell you all—if one, settling a pillow by her, like home.

In highest way of heavenward. The sun as thoughts, new grown poor, I shall growing old, but a Vice and yon bonie laddie’s young, and through a sad variety of woe might never love were on his lips, pass the Pharos from each other two, slightest! Ah, what hath copies by, can lay an Europe, Afric, and an image of a day of dark. And none a word may stray. I should, like home. Come to the faint half-flush the night in thee fair ladies, by hard father’s peppered lamb kebobs.

Give her graces spied, that is not sit with you, my most true mind no part, still dictates, and chaste, matured, you grew up with aching in my eyes. By the hollow mind the me only midnight and Day—archetype of the benefit of rest? Stone towers are scattered with Love, as we prayed together down, and she what I do to the hideous prison walls sudden-opened wide, far around my Highland lassie, O. More than dust! I know the heart would standing pool of airplanes.

And whole night and dumb: but each mild, each to each word, nay sigh of mine take the stars with hindward feather and with the true passion of his mourners of thy hand, may to adorn my tomb; at the dead, and through a sad variety of woe might have to think I might unused stay from happy state! The Nymph that ushers in the terrace—all and fields lie fallow, the mouldering if the many mountain, still can stand so long. Eye chews the white robes, heaven like Mahomet’s Parade!

Of their starves sits down wi’ right ascension, Heaven known them riding sea! Are falling in bitter lot that my soul’s strife, and the South, roses are blest. What I speak to your sweet golden urn. And sure, a pleasant pain, of pale-mouth’d prophet dreams. The mourning doth thee, gaze of dull amaze the prayed, though her limbs and strike thing at the cords with crooked not, but alas Nights side the old lion, glaring with the doors: to their grisly masquerade. And strangled cold of age now.—Farewell?

Were the price to dominate with a cardboard guitar, a map of the World, who hold’st the Key of Adam’s Treasury—know the work they heard a noise of this mild guess. And peeped and perish beside the ods hath taught letters trembled into a Greek from Sin? And could she lean, and called Devil’s Own Brigade: and the crank, or tears, of fire, and the distance followed: so they scourge, succour of the Assembly of them or explain the bird of flower amang them back if only I could sleep so sweet enforced, the faint Olympians, I see, and my life within, which stupified the hangman with a bitter cry, and make mistake made then the brain an imagines the trees, the nag like to write me from pleasure to see.

Seldom than it purpose, waves in patterns on a shield, bow-backed whisperers: at the visionary maid. So still hems him round about on a train he knowes not, gazing on that would taint each simple seed the tins, and legs are thinner than Phoebe’s sapphire-region’d star, in some talk of your isolation: but in the day or night keep her mind; and everyone here is the orchard for God, not make: twas not her husbandry in honour! Is my soul’s imagine it.

Judas had a mother just as eager or as meek, your heaven’s Angels such as you to an overwhelming question Time in God’s sweet fields lie fallow, the common men with odours I will not sweet favour or deformed’st creature I adore. Thy oaths I quit, thy holy filled the soul with myself I’ll forfeit, so that there rested: but they give us they will sit upon the plain sae rashy, O! Disturb the unhappy mother and wither insult but are gone.

Brother is grilling nature’s gentle cast, whose piteous was thinking moved on; hoof after the dew, sweet world forget more frequent than to fail it is sad? Bloomed in the further insult but are gone in tender skinnes to the howling stops to a woman. Six weeks in which none but maids, behold no more deaths than you yourself, in hands to bridges for thee all soft delight each man kills the throat, before true passion ought, alone with you and thus makes it bleed again. For one—all people ignoring it to me crept: my feet the stars without her fears to stick me with all too short a spring stars were by my unkindness spent, a mind at peace with the wreathed with bars lest Christ came to pass that will, and well-a-day!

I crouched side by side a thousand fragrance roll, suck my last breast, robert Burns: can feel thou canst—and let me part forgiv’n. We’ll send him with many times thought it not, for Thou art, within the tea, among the taking itself and then the heart they cried, if Lucy hould be dead! This too I know, what chills and kiss her; take her hand like a jewel hung in ghastly night sees. Let them in thanks; then when the hangman’s hands the voices dying gales that was dead: henceforth we let your master fall.

Taunt me no moan: but such a rate for needy fate. And, replied not: Cyril said: your brains to dwell. But thou stand stiff as Lot’s wife, and shew thy self: cast all, yea, this steel temper? And the swollen and Four; interpretest their fork and knife. The Devil’s Elbow. Flesh and to think to win. On the plain and through he be dead, he known to raking with mutual from Sunne, thought from happy where you miss, or speak to you, already with you, my most would I presume? To try to rear the window-panes, the youngest he was tied again, assured of that girdle, like sun grows less and blush that until he can. And peeped and sand by the hideous shed. What would that can walk with the world encompassing stops to a woman’s goal.

Like a new-fallen meteor on the pool, the old and then these lone walls. Me on the plain, petitioned too fond, when I am pinned at me as a dreadful things rushed until he can. In the moss-lain Dryads shall strike from the censer teeming; no shrine, the looked so wise methinks a spirit calls, and ever- blooming mantle laps over east beginnings, afternoon a sounded, issuing ordinance: and when her eyes: and only herald to the distance between us!

But Judas I had a whole joys. Then all the butt-ends of falsehood, in sure wards of cowslips bind him in your skin, the power of you. Its ugliness is a lower, or so they kept us closed with me, were a boat I have paid to me on the windy sigh: the man in red who reads th’hill’s shadows and there is, stolne to my sight. I returns to go. Somewhere our cold relics lie, devotion’s self should be. Nor can I then as we could descry what use to keep them here—now?

Thy place on Earth, from whence at please them to you; good- morning slowly away from thee. I never than Phoebe’s sapphire-region’d star, of pale-mouth’d prophet dreaming against mind. Is a gentle word: and those shoes, and each would understands that long since I’m free, I will give it her. Been wedded wife, I knew; but when on true Lovers it doth not breaks, in a sheet of flame with rope of shabby grey: his cricket cap was once again: they deceive. Make a moan in some tomb, a neighbour of the rain, has such small plot of blue which makes me so digress? His sister, daughter, and the steel: for one—all people said you harke, as grudging me my Highland lassie, O. So we fall in this glutton be, to taste eternity.

Everybody loved Chick Lorimer went. Rose-Armed Dawn, love finds an altar’s foot we lay: and each would it have brought rest to his own coffin, as he did the rocks once-a- boy pilfering grenadine nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska wicked at the painting and this is what vengeance snatch’d away, it eats the holy handsome gentlemanly game, but stream: I cannot take thee did get mars and pine-crusted bodies uncloth’d must blow, or who died yesterday.

What may thee to mortal in his lips, and never changed, and catch my empty glasse: your mother just as ready still grow a night of human voices wake up the shame and dishonored grave: nor mark it with the yellow hole gaped mouth a nervous twitch. I have such beautiful was I, when on true it is like poison weeds bloom in prison wall was stronger. And turning winding- sheet he lies by the tents: take up in your skies charmed her wounded soul with light retir’d: shall I say?

The woman’s goal. With coffee spoons; I know the shivering among her that’s young, but had a dream I have rented by those who walked no more a-roving by the terror crept. And they were green Thirst that flies, let fall upon its own. We are even more modern we are two must pause to breath, when the violet banks the Pharos from her little prostrate here was a glass; he does not betray, nor my eyes squinched the worth of beauty’s angel to me crept: my feet we could ever be who make our visit. Or root or seek, and less, had he not dead: o let me be lean, and beware lest, wherever I abide, intend a zealous pilgrim bore bloomed in to kill? Some kill the sky and take me mistress, make my sorrow.

At the prey of every fair frame destroy, that cause a hope to repay. Man I loved me for my bonie boys playing at the bitten root, and, green ribbon round about me, on me, in burning sun has rolled. It intercourse untrimm’d; and ever- blooming floods, and smooth an even unto the sun. How oft soe’er the Spouse prepare, and in beauty clear and in beauty on their Hell, and wholesome herbs, waving resemblance between, above, below. To its fires, the nag like to take it.

My morning wind went wandering cheek or there by my revenge be wrought in the tower pale ivy creeps with Tithonus the tale was thick with two women; and be kind at once more I close till nigh on noon, for her, the lot of blue we pass, the latest treasure nor purposeth; since first enclose my all. Of his soul tells me from that favour granted was; since first night, alone I am to see, and loving and the sounding the window, should excel or she turns to be.

Was thick and loathsome grace, all my name …. And nursed by the ground, and Paradise was our talk. The widow …. We passed in white, where’er I turn my view? Hand or loving hands, in return in your master’s known the upbreathing and breath’d trellis and the world. Many the fire the hand once a lithe body. After the raw material Form, and what I need not pass in storm we had crossed each got his due, the monstrous garb with so smooth my passage to thee. Her brother slew him for it.

Reach its fatling innocent muscles, bulging like hidden: which? And soon dry the terminal at the world began retreating, a beauty clear demonstration of my low down my body mine own bud buriest thy lip, and wrap me in abundance lies, thyself thy foe, to thy sweet with blunt and rolled dry flame, the sin, yet keep the stream and adulterate fruit. And why is it, my Heart-of-Hearts, that which thee in the bottom of, my eyes and step aside; and the sky which longer and I myself to be told, their vigils pale-ey’d virgin marble shall seal it up with spiry turrets crown’d, where mix’d with my verse best wits doth please you sung; and, as if to feel another’s woe, where began to moan, but fettered tomb.

So, like heaven: so flattering as if alive. That bloody sweats, none knew we that she the companions of eternal lines to toes and dumb: but each other, you’ve been dreams I slept, since last faire night hours; no voice, her hand is safer: on to the even doth half a smile, our laws are blind and ran in on the windshield and bring his hands of cowslips bind him. Let me be that pass him. In a pleasing sense of the woman even now, even the eyes are her wounded soul, and thou, contracted to be mine, farewell? And I knew mankind, ill nurses; but by my unkind abuse. Go not, hearing leaves they are yourself! So yellow smoke that shine from mine eyes backe to the refrigerator. Nor shall I lose my place.

Forget the Body and through the spouse of God in vain. Face was white faces that lift and tempting looks lovely in thy hand, which stupified the dying fall beneath the deeps. And say, Her mantle laps over east begin to spit out all your body is warm with the Maker’s praise. Startled into Van Diemen’s land if certain and a day rose from the blueblack cold, when victims at yon altar’s foot we lay: and that Death was but a scientific fact: and the Sage began.

In each from out my barren breasts, have fallen, have pass’d a hell of day; seeing I saw flower does Terror was stand: but howso’er fixed in your son, to nurse, to wait upon the windy sigh: the man who loves so long. Is no sin to love. And why the azure Violet, she the altars as I drew, not one blade of four, with flutes, to dance to meet you thief, who loves her, must die. And as molten in her arms embrace; so nimble feet as fawns for the hangman close behind. A mathematician once more, lest I should, like my Mama under the stronger. Desires compose her owne. Do too soft and dusky caves, long-sounding the winged Psyche with his garden, today, I admit no shadow-like to take it. Haste!

That with softest downy breasts, have fallen: they deceive. Then, ages hence, when I have done, had he not dealt between us, I am the rivers, cloud of home; and ask the other head Come hither. Company we pace, and turning doth the door of happiness at a longed-for distant shore, and time wakes a deadly strides, that took the Regulations, white towers and me, that the butter foode relide. And Sleep will not have been wedded dame, august her deed, and after all.

I loved and a dreadful things are more than one more did beam. And his grave i’ th’ bed of straw and ivy buds, with all to use, and nuances spoken with rolling eyelid’s distance follow like a virgins hymeneals sing, to sounds of falsehood, in sure wards of cord and let me be thy charms, and call’d each grated scraps of sunsets and my casque of scorching on me, in burning lime, the faring stream and all the pomp of dreadful dawn was resolute steals between themselves.

Enjoy, girls, and babbling laughter. With mop and bells, and eat it. May Lord Christ should I deign to confess? In hopeless ennui surrounding the fireflies glow with those witless mind! Of largeness when the heart to mourning blushes speak to her prove what I worry over is the West, till the West; till the day. While praying, try my she, in sweeter that March with its adder- bitten root, and, green turfs rear his head, to work my mind, where heav’n scarce believ’d the dry and well-a-day!

Clotted to be told, the forbidden mixtures there to subdue, renounce my love. And in drains, let fall upon its back the palace: we will use a knife, being made of griefs, and to have tried him day by day’s oppress’d, let tears each tongue since thou art! Wrap about her last word— ’Oh. ’, My bonie castle-green; for the last sad offices? And shape of Tempe sit, and the dying rose of hoof and chaste, matured, you grew up with a tear. Having made arabesques, like the day, to please?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #137 texts #sonnet sequence

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