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we-live-in-a--society · 3 years

Text

Prima facie

Control.

A mere word, a conglomerate of letters once combined by a long-gone person, holding more authority than the richest, than the most talented, than the so-called Übermensch with the perspectives of ‘eternal’ life sprawling in front of him.

Genocide of the spiritual beings, unrestrained in the sublime sense of word, slaves of the outside influence, damned for

Eternity.

Feigned assurance, mere illusion blurring out the lines between reality and fantasy, the dreamland of fools, built upon skillful falsities, where each one has an unrepeatable chance to stand on both sides of the barricade.

Relief-providing, such an obtuse lie, beyond offensive to assume anyone would believe it, and yet the affirmation is effortless – just look around, they say, and you will see the things no one has ever wished for.

Ecstasy-granting, allowing to visit the places… the places abounded in the deepest desires, now within the reach of each and every man, person who considers them in terms of fulfilling, enough to stifle the sour thoughts.

Entropic fallout.

The perspectives that hunt the brightest.

* * *

“Day two thousand eight hundred first,” subdued by the sound of running shower, and yet clear enough to be filtered out just perfectly. “It’s funny that people perceive others in terms of their achievements and nothing else. All they see is that outside surface that divides them from their surroundings, and sometimes it’s so hard for me to understand that way of thinking. It’s so absurd, so abstract, and yet I’ve been someway forced to understand it… the reality… it’s so absurd that one day you do things you don’t wanna do, and then something changes and you feel like it’s a big deal, a meaningful transition, and then you realize that it’s all bullshit but it’s also too late. You’re drowning in the same shit once again…” a coarse laughter, indication of sarcasm, intruder creeping between the male’s words, just about to lose his train of thoughts.

“Even though there’re times when you forget it was ever there but it’s always there. Of course, you can pretend, ‘cause pretending is easy but does it make sense? It’s a meaningful question – does it make sense – but I also believe it’s the question of people who are lost and don’t really know what to do, so they just keep asking the same question, keep reconsidering it, but never get the result they aim for, and in the end realize that maybe it all makes no sense, but what would we have if elsewise… those things we see, those people we meet, and who we‘re beyond all of these, beyond the modifications that we do, beyond the changes, beyond pretending to be someone we are not…”

“It’s funny, truly the fallout of everything but so blessed, so pretty, everything that we’ve ever desired for within our reach. We think that it justifies our choices, that we’re so perfect we don’t need to justify anything, that we can do whatever we want to, ‘cause we have the resources, while in reality we don’t have as many as we think we have.”

“You know, there was a man in my past who used to tell me that ‘you gotta do what you gotta do; and what you gotta do is you gotta man up’…”

A speech that is interrupted by an unyielding forefinger pressing the pause button, and so putting the device on halt, soon to be abandoned in the depth of his safe. It is that kind of data he would never store on his personal hard drive, since the possible leakage would result in disastrous consequences, the ones he is not much likely to dig out of.

Ironic.

Just any other day, his eyes drift to the bathroom mirror, greeted by the common, not to mention beyond-pleasing, sight – a man in prime of life, fit as in evidence of self-discipline, skin almost black with the ink, although usually obscured by the expensive suits, meant for his eyes only, but at times shared with the passing-through lovers. Raking his fingers through the hair, he decides the sides require some trimming, especially today, since first impressions are always important, at least according to what he was told in the past, considered inconsequential if juxtaposed with present – a paradox in its purest form.

(Time is money.)

Settling the thoughts aside for a moment, he fishes out the clippers, buzzling to life in his hand, then ties the longer part of hair into a resemblance of bun. Of course there are much more convenient, which might as well be replaced with ‘faster’, solutions to fix the overgrown cut, and yet he opts for the old-fashioned way – a reminiscence of father’s tales, but also related to the self-reliance, capacity of accomplishing as many tasks as possible without anyone’s assistance – since with the right device it takes barely any effort.

With that thought in mind, he rakes the blade past the sides, tiny pieces of hair soon to sprinkle down onto the towel draped over his shoulders in advance, and after a few longer moments, he is greeted with the satisfactory sight, basked in the bright mirror LEDs. As for the final result, he releases the top part, combing it back with a hint of product to keep them styled neatly for the rest of the day – display of classic elegance that he has grown accustomed with throughout the years. Being honest here, he has always considered appearance in terms of something significant in his line of work – flawless presentation of one’s professionalism, indication of people’s superficiality – firmly detached from his private life, since elsewise he would lack in the former quality.

Years ago, he has come to a conclusion that blurring out the lines between those two factors leads to a relatively obnoxious outcome – a moment of ignorance and troublesome aftermath, although worth sacrifice at times. Perfection is nothing more than an obtuse dream, while mistakes are what makes one a human, acts that shape up the present – only aspect within the specie’s reach – bestowing each one of them with everything he could dream of, but in capacity of snatching away equal amounts. Suffering is the greatest paradox of all – blissful pain – akin to a bunch of clouds obscuring the sun, obviously present underneath even if hidden for our poor perception – a promise of transitional felicity, feigned when it comes to one’s assumptions about its everlasting duration.

Long live the deceit.

And yet, what seems to preoccupy his mind more, aside from the competence-related ponderation, appears to be the odd curiosity oscillating around her persona, or rather the difference between the so-called rising star

(let’s see for how long)

and her predecessors: how often would she call in sick? decline interviews? refuse to cooperate? oversleep? overdose? Which might as well be a question of time, meant to unravel in due course, all to his misery, even though he should be able to abide such circumstances with a decent amount of money, leading to dubious mental capacity when it comes to dealing with extravagant artists and their arsenal of lacking predictions, fallouts with producers, fussy whims, along with all the acts of great absurdity that somehow get him to roll his eyes in exasperated disbelief on each and every occasion.

The least patient man.

* * *

Morning light.

The most relentless alarm clock ever ‘invented’, practically prying her eyes open, immediate to bury her face in a silky pillow, letting out a frustrated groan, as she pulls up the covers, body shivering in the chilly room. Relieved by the newfound wave of heat, she is back to tethering on the edge between dreams and reality, hoping to get as much sleep as possible until the digital sound will slice through the city hum, which in turn evokes genuine respect towards the people who ‘rise and shine’ during the earliest hours just to face the day and seize all opportunities. Part of the woman scolds her for such laziness, but realistically thinking it is yet another transcendent goal, not noted with intention of fulfillment, instead left to lurk in the back of mind and bother her in the most unfavorable moments, as per usual.

Along with the pressing desire to ignore that peculiar stressful tension, it adds up to the growing pile of lies, meant to complete itself as she pursues further with life, but at the same time labelled as a habitual factor, allowing her to keep the head clear when required, unoccupied by the never-ending considerations, and yet opposed to the raging storm of thoughts. In one hand, her stomach is twisting with the nervous anticipation, but in the other she cannot deny the fluttering butterflies that have been disrupting the young woman since the very first time he called her, or more precisely – since the very first time his hologram appeared on dialing device, accompanied by the husky baritone that he used to expound the details concerning their arrangement – inexplicable yet important.

(Take the bitter with the bitter, isn’t it what they say?)

Funnily enough, she remembers each and every time her mother would preach the prodigal daughter about the consequences of such behavior, built upon foolish beliefs, teenage cravings of ineffable love, never meant to be fulfilled if beyond idealized. However, said factor has never seemed to put her pursuit to a halt, and so thwart the zeal – incandescent rod branding her soul for blissful eternity – soaked in the tears of those who perished, mainly her and the injudicious teens, lacking in what she was searching for at that time – a desire obscure enough to participate in the realm of ideas, in other words unable to be verbalized in face of pitifully limited vocabulary. Might as well be the reason why she struggles with forming any long-term relationship, always distracted by the passing opportunities, unable to break the unfortunate turn of events, conflicted with the more mature part of her, aiming mainly for self-development that leads to inevitable success – another silly daydream?

Maybe.

“Ugh, fuck this,” she whines into the pillow, presumably late, either way finds herself not quite concerned by concepts as equally absurd as time, while rolling onto the cooler side of bed – close call to the dubiously pleasant encounter with polished floor. Frustrated as ever, she hears the digital ringtone, more than aware who might be bothering her generously elongated sleep at such early hour, nevertheless obliged to pick up with a heavy pat delivered onto the screen. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Gia,” oh my fuck, he remembers. “I’ve wanted to make sure everything is relevant today, ‘cause I’ll be there in like… fifteen minutes, I think.”

“Oh, fifteen minutes,” she almost gasps, unable to conceal the nervous chuckle, certain there is no possibility she will meet him on time. “That’s cool, but I won’t make it.”

She hears his exasperated huff on the other side of the line, along with the calm exhale, and the following words – indication of the so-called professionalism. “How much time do you need then?”

“I don’t know…” she draws – a mannerism that he loathes more than anything – uncertainty audible within her voice, since she has blocked the visual channel, presumably still on the early stage of preparation. “Half an hour?”

“That supposed to be a question or an answer?” He manages to conceal the aggravated bark, tightening his grip around the steering wheel instead.

“An answer, I guess,” she shrugs, now risen up to a seating position, with the silky sheets pooling around her waist.

“Brilliant,” he concludes, a tad bit too drily for her own tastes, either way she ignores the unpleasant note, belittling it to the status of yet another subconscious allusion, prompted by the fairly deceivable mind.

“Anyway, you can drop by my flat if that’d be more convenient,” she proposes, yawning as her limbs stretch, joints cracking in a satisfactory way.

“Text me the address then, and I’ll meet you there,” he instructs in a blunt manner – non-verbal indication that ‘no’ appears to be an invalid response in such circumstances.

“With-” oh right, he hung up.

What a douchebag.

Luckily capable of ignoring the bitter aftertaste, at least for now, she stands up, shivering as her feet brush the cool floor, which in the end turns out as rather beneficial, pacing up her walk to the bathroom. Accompanied by the electric buzz, the light flickers out, reminding her for the nth time this week to call the estate owner, and deal with it like any reasonable adult would do, or simply wait for the day when she will be forced to complete her morning preparations in pitch darkness.

(Couldn’t dream of a better outcome...)

Certain that opting out for the top priority appears to be the most sensible solution in her position, she steps under the shower, letting the hot water cascade down her back, skin flushing due to the temperature. The heat itself elicits a relieved moan from her throat as the tension begins to evaporate from her body – parallel to the steam sprawling on the glass – tingling with the newfound excitement, apparently enhanced by the growing warmth. Perfectly aware there is neither a decent mood nor enough time to search for any relief, she ends up uttering a frustrated huff, while painting her front with the liquid soap, soon to stream down to the drain.

Having accomplished what must have been the quickest shower she has ever had, she only manages to put on more or less randomly picked up clothes, before the morning lull is sliced by the ringing doorbell that almost forces a fearful shriek from the broody woman. With a few hurried steps through the living area, she unlocks the door, confronted by the sight of virtual impatience, anticipating her presence since the earliest hours of dawn – posh dweller of equally polished suit – along with the flawless composure that evokes this peculiar insecurity in reference to the personal choice of clothing, seemingly not appropriate for such occasion.

Intimidating to say the least.

“Hi,” she greets him with a welcoming smile either way, gaze altering between his face and the ink peeking from the collar of his shirt, evoking the newfound curiosity about the whole concept, hidden beneath the fabric.

“Hello again,” he reciprocates as the corners his lips twist into what must be the so-called smug smirk, features visibly lightening. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” she snaps out of the trance, failing to conceal the nervous giggle adorning her affirmative response, caught hand in a cookie jar.

(Ah yes, the dovey one.)

Which is yet another subconscious mind’s assumption, although he believes that tendency to evaluate any given situation on the go appears to be linked with age, or more specifically – gaining general knowledge over the human dwellers and their behaviors. Therefore, in order to enhance the efficiency, one obtains the ugly habit of premature judgment, openly loathed by majority of population and yet dealt with from the hand of few, which in turn leads him to a rather inconvenient truth – one day, there will come the time when he trips and smashes his nose on the floor – metaphor adorned in pain less bearable than in a physical case.

(Been ‘round the block a few times.)

Nevertheless, the petite girl steps aside, allowing him to pass the threshold, further on perch upon the sofa and snatch the flat screen from his bag.

“Back to business…” he initiates, motioning her with a suggestive eye tilt, icy irises that bore into her soul, such a cooling contrast for her synthetic hue, enough to send an uncomfortable shiver down her spine.

“Don’t you want something to drink?” She gulps, gaze adverting to the side, unable to bear its intensity, right before she plops down onto the couch, brushing his knee by accident – plain contact that almost has her jolting away to the side.

(Get a fucking grip.)

“I’m good for now,” he rejects the proposition, just to witness her frown slightly in response. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

“I’ve disrupted your schedule, haven’t I?” She ascertains, seemingly more preoccupied with tucking one of her feet under the pleasantly warm thigh than maintaining eye contact, which irks him up more than he cares to admit; not a good sign to be honest.

“Pretty much yes, unless we hurry up, of course,” without letting her speak, he carries on with the beyond obvious explanations. “Anyway, here’s the contract that I need to sign if you’re willing to continue, which I think is polished by now, so let’s just cut to the chase, shall we?”

“Sure,” she accepts the offered device, flinching as their fingers brush, cold like ice. Clueless when it comes to what is happening to her, or more importantly – why he has such potent influence over the outgoing woman, at least until now, eliciting the most unusual reactions, the shameful shyness for instance.

“You can’t be this tense if you want to make this arrangement work,” he states, apparently out of nowhere, leaning towards the coffee table, weight braced on the elbows.

“Excuse me?” She frowns, with the metallic stylus in her hand, now long forgotten, as she glares at him, not so caught-off-guard for a change.

“You’ve heard me,” he cocks a condescending eyebrow at her, and if not for the blinking she would suspect he is not a human after all.

(Do androids blink?)

“Stating that won’t make any difference,” she huffs, peaceful façade seared by the gradually developing irritation.

“Care to elaborate?” He nags further, as if already capable of naming all her weak spots, thanks to his long-term professionalism in such domain.

“There’s no shift in the attitude,” she clarifies, noting the fact as if it was an absolute truth, suited for this and every other occasion in the future, greater than all the celestial beings, even if combined together.

“Would not pointing it out make any difference then?” He retorts, not expecting to hear a verbal answer this time, instead filled with the telltale silence. “See? Told you so.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she counters, shaking her head in denial, hand mirroring the rushed movements.

“So what did you mean for a change?”

“I meant that pointing this out usually enhances the tension,” she explains, glancing briefly at the thin piece of metal clutched tight in her hand – a realization casted upon the woman.

“I believe it’s still worth the effort,” he shrugs, infuriatingly careless now that he has won, at least according to his suppositions.

“Why are we even discussing this?” She sighs, as if utterly exhausted by the teasing debate, and so willing to wind it up with the simple scrape over the screen. “Just let me sign the contract.”

“Go on, no one’s stopping you,” he flicks his wrist in an affirmative gesture, encouraging her to pursue. “I’d even dare to say right the opposite,” oh, so now he would play the smart guy, how delightful, she thinks, and yet responds immediately, topping up said contract with a flourishing signature, quick to hand it back to him. “Thank you. And by the way, you have an interview scheduled for tomorrow, just so you wouldn’t forget.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” she flashes him a replacement for a proper smile, just to witness the male respond with a parallel gesture, and before she knows it, he is back on his feet again, towering over her figure, and so prompting to follow his traces.

“It’s just my job, no hard feelings.”

No hard feelings.

(Easier said than done.)

* * *

Past.

Easily associated with safety, blissful awareness granted by the reliability of bygone memories, a place where one is willing to return to in times of unspoken restlessness, and so dive into the flowery reminiscence – beloved escape. However, at some point in one’s life an unspecified hand flips the switch, allowing to see the sheer absurdity, which in turn leads to a purifying realization – the past is not enough anymore, and so a different, more potent stimulant is required.

Her best friend would probably label it as ‘yet another mistake’, worse than falling for Cara, nevertheless she cannot help herself, knowing that one way or another she will be forced to release some steam, to transfer the concoction of feelings into work – a song, sublime and powerful, carrying an amaranthine meaning. Losing herself in the complexity of the world she has gotten to inhabit – borne against her will, such a cruel law – seems so effortless in comparison to the sheer burdens of existence, paired with the average life expectancy and the endless predictions of elongation, justifying it as yet another whim of humanity.

(Even rhymes with immortality, what a coincidence.)

Why would anyone even crave something so insane – eternality – unaware of the real meaning hidden behind these ten letters, bound by the long-gone linguist – extinct specie? Expression of their thoughtlessness? Might as well be.

At this point it appears as quite tough to specify, her mind delving into far too many places at once, incapable of maintaining the indispensable concentration with Nova running through her bloodstream, retreating the human ability to focus on a single factor. As the reality begins to fade away, various background noises dull into one unpleasant screech, inseparable, her ears ringing as the first wave rocks through her body, a vague pat on the back, followed by the tingling sensation of a relatively cool hand tracing her spine. While a minuscule part of her loathes the feeling of metallic digits dancing over the heated flesh, the more influential one is flying sky too high to care, remaining still in that one inconvenient pose, leaning towards the shiny table.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” His hand slides further down her back, playing with the hem of the low-cut dress she has opted for today, its silvery hue reflecting the colorful lights. “What do you say, sweets?”

“Mhm, yes… exciting… exciting it is,” she barely formulates the affirmation, her brain clinging to the established choice of words, out of capacity to exchange it for anything more intricate. “But I think I gotta… I think I… I gotta go I think.”

“So soon?” He questions, both eyebrows risen in feigned disbelief, chrome digits dipping underneath the fabric only to find the silky strap in process, stimulating enough to occupy his carnal interests for a brief moment.

“I’ve paid you… I’m sure I have…” she mumbles, involuntarily jerking away from the touch, muscles twitching as an innate response to the unwanted contact, lost in between her attempts to complete the sentence, “for the pills, I mean.”

“Well, yes, that’s correct, you have,” he agrees, albeit immediate to clarify, “but I’d like something more from you.”

“What?” She frown in confusion, eyes staring into the distance, blurred outlines of dancers rushing through her mind, hips swaying to the beat. “No, I… take me home… please.”

“Maybe later, ‘kay?” He proposes, still patient, fingers stroking the smooth skin in an attempt to soothe the confused female.

“No… I wanna…” she counters, one final time, although enough to crack his resolve, hand abandoning its previous track, leaving only the fleeting remains of proper touch on the heated skin.

“Quit whining and get up,” he huffs, audibly irritated, and she cannot help but wonder about the causes, random associations blending into one shapeless pulp – concoction of equally indistinguishable elements.

“No!” She squeals, a little louder this time, as a stab of pain shoots through her arm, almost yanked out of its socket, at least according to her perception, attracting attention of a passing female, although definitely short-lived, soon to mingle in the crowd.

Because who cares?

“You. Are. Coming with me,” he punctuates the words, delivering another harsh tug, intent to force her to move. “Whether you want to or not.”

Unable to verbalize the evident objections, let alone break away from his iron grasp, she can only follow his traces, while trying oh so desperately to figure out what is happening around her, cling onto at least one given stimulus. Her vision is blurry, blinded by the neon lights, as if her eyes were tearing, but at the same time she doubts she has ever felt that helpless, that fearful, emotions running all over the place, full of contradictions, frenzied and delirious.

Searching for physical support, she leans in to his frame as soon as the man stands still, but due to the black spots staining her perception, she can barely make out where they are, especially with her head is spinning like crazy. Before she knows it, his arms encircle her waist, preventing the young and oh so promising musician from a disastrous rendezvous with equally unforgiving floor, much to his exasperation.

Overall, the plan has been a little different, certainly not featuring the scenario in which she passes out, another unconscious body to take care of, whist also ‘unfuckable’ in such state. Therefore, the most he can do for the woman is to dump her by the corridor wall, as befits the ‘immature dickhead’, certain that no one would attempt to link her with him, at least according to the general numbness in the so-called ‘world full of cruelty’ and the glorious lack of interest in dealing with minor crimes.

Morality?

Shattered?

(And what else?)

* * *

The first time she experienced something like this was approximately about sixteen years ago, give or take, although she prefers to keep such stories to herself, since people tend to label it as rather dubious and the last renown she aims for is ‘untrustworthy’. Nonetheless, it all appears to be rather simple – high fever tends to retreat distant and prompting visions, mainly associated with sensory memory, aspects that are supposed to remain out of reach, and yet linger somewhere in the back of one’s mind. Take for instance the sensation of being rocked to sleep in mother’s arms, deprived of any distinctive images, just the monotonous lull and mere hum of her silvery voice, singing some nonsensical song, its lyrics undistinguishable by now.

Ergo, for a brief moment, yet to collide with reality, she is convinced that she has forgotten to swallow the necessary medicaments due to her ailing state, evident in the disastrous headache, possibly linked with abnormal temperature, and mind drifting towards obscure dimensions once again. Before she gets a chance to familiarize with the newfound vision, it is disrupted by a harsh jerk, so unlike her parents’ manners, forcing both eyes open and so greeting the woman with a sight she is not braced for yet – a guy, recognized as a bartender, shaking her awake, not Carlos who might as well be long gone by now.

“Gia?” He frowns, visibly puzzled, both hands resting on her shoulders, warmth atop icy skin, sending a pleasant wave of heat through her half-conscious body.

Unable to grant any sensible answer, she blinks a couple of times, trying to adjust to the neon lights, with her vision still a little blurry, before she actually manages to formulate a proper response, voice croaky, as if not hers at all. “What’s going on?”

“I could’ve ask you the same,” he reciprocates, audibly annoyed, hands now abandoning their previous spot upon her shoulders on behalf of a more convenient squatting position.

“I don’t remember much,” she admits, clenched fists rising to rub her eyes in hopes it will somehow bring her back to the land of living.

“You did it again, didn’t you?” He huffs, accusation evident in his voice, or maybe it is just fatigue, disappointment with her countless predicaments, not that he is the only one.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shrugs, the least talented liar ever born, beyond embarrassing to pursue.

“Whatever Gia, I don’t give a shit,” he sighs, utterly defeated. “And I’m resigning from babysitting you tonight. Work schedule, you know.”

“I-”

“No time for that,” he interrupts, remains of the so-called empathy long gone by now, granting the blossoming irritation with essential space. “Someone’s gotta drag your ass from here, I mean the club, and take you home.”

“I can’t stay here?” She frowns, disappointed with the unfortunate turn of events.

“What?” He laughs in disbelief, a mocking tingle that enhances all negative emotions disrupting the guilty songbird. “Of course not, it’s a club, not drunk tank.”

“But-”

“Just find someone who can take you out,” he instructs, glancing at the door, hoping the manager has not noticed his absence by now. “And tell him it’s fucking urgent.”

“Okay,” she agrees, displeased with his harsh approach, irritation evident within her voice. “Just give me some fucking space.”

“Sure, I gotta head back anyway,” he shrugs, careless all of sudden – feigned façade mastered over the years. “Can you stand up?”

“I don’t feel like checking it by myself,” she utters a nervous chuckle, hand already outstretched for the bartender, and who is he to leave her hanging like this, ever the gentleman. “Could you help me?”

“Sure,” he throws her a fleeting smile, and with a steady grasp on the woman’s arm, he hoists her up from the ground, knees seemingly too weak to hold the rest upright. However, the necessary support is granted by the wall, allowing the female to brace her weight on the forearms and press the forehead to the concrete structure as a potent wave of dizziness rocks through her fatigued body.

“Thanks,” she murmurs faintly, still in the process of dealing with the unpleasant aftermath of earlier decisions, and so dangerously close to throwing up on the polished floor.

“It’s nothing, Gia, really,” he assures, his mind already circling back to work-related issues. “Just get your sorry ass outta here.”

“Sure,” she huffs, rolling her eyes in an almost theatrical manner, as if to ensure he gets the message with plenty of reserve. “Have fun.”

“Yeah, you too.”

And with that careless response, he walks away, hasty steps echoing in the corridor, soon to disappear around the corner, and so leave the hall altogether. Finally deprived of any company, she fishes out the phone from the depths of her purse, and calls the only person she can think of in such circumstances – Connor, or Connie, since the choice is apparently not his to make. At this point she is practically trembling with that peculiar concoction of excitement and exhilaration, fingers crossed he will pick up at such late hour, since wishing for anything else seems like a childish exaggeration now.

“You better have damn good reasons for calling me in the middle of the fucking night,” ever the most talented in the field of pleasant conversations, he opts for greeting her with such expression, voice rough with sleep, sending a shiver down her spine.

“So I got into some trouble tonight and-”

“Just cut to the chase,” he barks out a blunt order, his patience running low in the face of increasing exasperation. “I don’t have energy to listen to some background bullshit.”

“I need you to take me home from Interstellar,” she states, having decided that to keep it simple means to succeed, rather than to bestow him with countless euphemisms, supposing it would justify her irresponsible behavior.

Right?

“Excuse me?” He chuckles in disbelief, a mocking laughter that almost has her snapping at him – the most immature reaction she could ever imagine. “Seems like you might’ve mistaken me for your fucking chauffer, who I’m not by any means, so thank you for such divine opportunity but I think I’ll pass.”

“Why are you always acting like a fucking dickhead?” She sighs, voice smaller than she would like it to be, as the day-long fatigue settles into her bones, which combined with the unpleasant tone nearly has her bursting in tears.

“And why are you always getting personal?” He jeers, a crude remark to stab her right in the chest, and so discourage to pursue. “It’s just work, nothing else, and the sooner you learn it, the better for you, ‘cause I’m not hired to deal with your non-career issues.”

“It might become a career issue if someone finds me here,” she reciprocates, betrayed by the not-so-subtle hint of desperation lacing her voice, shaky at the end.

“Tryna out-talk me?” He chuckles bitterly, his head lulling slightly to the side in her mind’s eyes – a mannerism she has grown accustom with during those few weeks. “C’mon, don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, I just wanna go home,” she tries once again, now actually on the blink of tears. “Please.”

“Pathetic,” she hears him spat on the other side of the line, probably not meant to reach her ears, but it does either way, forcing Gia to suppress the choked sob threatening to escape her constricted throat. “No, just no. I’m not doing shit for you. You’re a fucking adult, so I think you’ll find your way outta here.”

“But-”

“No, enough of that,” he interrupts, annoyance evident in his voice. “It was nice talking to you, but I’m going back to sleep now. Have fun.”

“Don’t hang up, please…”

Oh right.

Douchebag.

Fighting the urge to cry out in exasperation, she dials his number once again, dangerously close to chanting an actual lucky prayer, nevertheless determined to make him comply for a change, since in this case hope indeed appears to be the mother of fools.

Ironic.

“The fuck you’re calling me again?” He barks out, absolutely furious.

“Will you come? Please,” she sobs, finally letting the tears stream down the sides of her face, way past her breaking point now. “I don’t wanna stay here. It’s so cold, and I’m so tired.”

“You won’t let it slide, will you?” He sighs, a realization casted upon the man for a change.

“No,” she sniffs, wiping her eyes with the free hand, black dust from the so-called ‘waterproof’ mascara coating her fingers. “They’ll throw me out elsewise.”

Nothing.

(Silence speaks a thousand words.)

“Connie?”

“Fucking fine,” he gives up after a longer pause, seemingly ready to consent to her wish. “Just stay right where you are until I get there. We’ll meet by the main entrance as soon as I text you, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” she gulps, trying to conceal the exited squeal threatening to slip past her lips as a result of his approval.

“Very well. See you.”

“Connie?” She calls out one more time, voice laced with distinctive hesitation.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Sure, no big deal.”

And with that he hangs up, on one hand leaving her with a bitter-sweet wish they would chat a little longer, while on the other she is well aware it would be simply nonsensical, lingering somewhere in the back of her mind. Once again deprived of the craved-for company, the sensory aspects hit the woman with full force, the pounding ache of her own body, betraying in the midst of crisis, arms encircling her trembling frame in order to deliver at least a mere illusion of being held by someone.

(Connie?)

(Ha! You wish!)

(He doesn’t even like that nickname… the fuck is wrong with me?)

Unable to keep herself upright, she plops down onto the cold floor, with the bottom part of her dress hiking up, and so exposing the legs to icy air which, enhanced by the fatigue, has her trembling on the ground. In hopes it will somehow allow to maintain the essential warmth, she curls into a ball, resting her forehead on the bent knees, eyelids shutting on their own, which in turn bestows her with odd solitude, even though there is no possibility she would drift to sleep in such circumstances with her body trembling like a leaf in the autumn breeze.

Minutes upon minutes, she is gradually beginning to lose the track of time, not daring to glance at the clock even once, surprisingly patient for a change, maybe in the face of feasible fulfillment. And yet, despite the aforementioned calmness, she almost jumps out of her skin as soon as she feels the phone vibrating in her hand, not wasting any time to check the incoming message.

“I’m here,” it reads, which puts a relieved smile on her face, and so she is rather quick to stuff the device back into her purse, then get up with a renewed vigor, walls granting the necessary support.

Pushing the heavy door open, she walks out to the guests’ zone, greeted with all its splendid virtues: loud music and insufferable crowd, which prompts her to circle the dancefloor and so avoid the troublesome encounters. Lucky to get past without any of that, she steps through the reception area, soon to make her way out of the club altogether, cool evening breeze palpable on her face, sweeping the bangs away from her forehead.

Nevertheless, with more pressing matters occupying her mind, Gia is immediate to spot him, leaning by the side of his car – such an unusual sight to behold, without one of his beloved suits, exchanged for the benefit of more casual attire. She blinks a couple of times, as if to ascertain he was not mistaken for another man, having assumed he would be the only person waiting outside, and to be honest she cannot conceal the relieved sigh slipping past her lips as a response to the inviting gesture – a graceful flick of his wrist.

“You look absolutely miserable,” he notes, and even in face of the gruff greeting she almost fails to restrain from hugging the coarse man as a thank-you gift. “C’mere.”

“I owe you,” she declares, a steady exclamation until disturbed by his hands gripping her arms, leaving the woman confused for a moment.

“Yes, you do,” he agrees, frowning as she reciprocates the gesture, lithe fingers wrapping around his biceps; and hell, it is just to prevent her from hitting the pavement, not indicate anything sexual. Why does she have to read every message wrong? “Now get in the car.”

“There’s no need to be unpleasant,” she huffs, visibly annoyed, and so seriously considering the break-away from his not-so-loving grasp.

“I’m being practical not unpleasant,” he rolls his eyes in response, blatant and unashamed, choosing to release her this time, intent to open the door for his female associate, “since I don’t think you’d like to experience yet another encounter with a ground of any kind.”

“Sure, thanks,” she reciprocates, cold as ice – terribly feigned façade, although immediate to get in the car, letting him shut the door for her, then ride away in what seems like a blink for her limited perception.

At least according to what she keeps telling herself.

(Liar.)

* * *

“I’ve left you a glass of water on the bedside table, ‘kay?” He throws a brief glance at her figure lounging on the bed, now clad in a monochromatic tee, suppressing the urge to linger on the exposed skin for a little longer.

It is always hunting him, the flesh.

“Tell me you understand.”

“Yes,” she mutters, voice muffled by the pillows, not caring to throw him a merest glimpse.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, you’ve left me a glass of water on the bedside table,” she complies, as if fed up with his never-ending requests oscillating around definite responses, ever the hypocrite.

“Very well,” seemingly pleased with her response, his lips twist in what must be a ghost of a proper smile, although the following words fail to satiate the prominent craving, much to her displeasure. “So sleep tight and make sure you call me as soon as you wake up.”

“Connie?” She calls almost at the spot, having decided to take the matter in her own hands this time, afraid that if he gets up, nothing will be enough to stop him from leaving altogether.

“Connor,” he corrects, voice laced with an audible hint of annoyance.

“Doesn’t matter,” she dismisses, while urging her body up on the elbows to look at him properly for a change, at least according to the etiquette of any decent conversation. “Stay with me tonight?”

“I don’t think so,” he counters, cold as ice once again – a notion enhanced by the neon lights casting shadows on his sharp features.

“Why?”

“’Cause I’ve driven your sorry ass home which is enough of selflessness from me for the following month,” he spats bitterly, intent to rise from his spot on the couch and walk out of the door, leaving her hanging, as if it was the most convenient solution ever imagined.

“Why do you have to be such an ass?” She huffs, disappointed once again – an impression she has learned to associate with him on the course of their encounters, and yet never failing to disturb her, even if only in the emotional sense.

(Helps me to keep the distance.)

“Nothing personal,” he claims instead, not even blinking as the words slip past his lips. “I’ve got errands to run tomorrow.”

“I don’t believe you,” she confronts, now seated properly with her back supported by the wall, as if to grant the superior position in their flimsy quarrel.

“Well, you don’t have to,” he reciprocates, infuriatingly calm all of sudden, shoulders shrugging at her furious expression.

(So easy to rile up sometimes…)

“I-”

“What?” He snaps, head twisting in her direction, eyes meeting with a metaphorical shot of electricity through her body.

“Is it so hard to understand? The fact that I don’t wanna be alone tonight?” She sighs, now in genuine doubt whether he is a human after all, which might as well be linked with the flawed perception, based on her own attitude – blemished. “You know, it’s just… today’s been so messed up and I just… I don’t know...”

“Got anything to confess?” He cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at her, as if attempting to conceal the previous irritation with some careless swagger.

“I don’t remember much, but I have a feeling that something bad has happened to me,” she begins, having decided to choose her words carefully, since indicating that she is yet another pathetic junkie is the last direction she is aiming towards.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, really,” she refuses to cooperate, instead gets up from the bed and takes those few steps towards the couch to plop down beside him, shortly before resuming with her undefined explanation. “I’m aware of what I was doing throughout the day, but the evening memories are all vague, are… um… all fuzzy, and honestly I have no idea what to think about this.”

“Wanna talk about it?” He questions, seemingly relaxed, if not for the corner of his lip tilting in an unnerving way, proving that said proposal carries some hidden meaning as well.

“Yes,” she nods, since playing by his rules appears to lay beyond the realm of conscious control for now, no idea why.

(Sure.)

(Is that his voice? The fuck is wrong with me?)

“So tell me the truth.”

Speak of the devil.

“It wasn’t all a lie,” she scoffs, and yet cannot help but advert her gaze to the side, focusing on the small reddish stain decorating the coach cushion, wine presumably.

“Sure,” he hums in agreement, soaked in bitter irony, although pleased with the confirmation of his little theory. “But I wanna hear a genuine story this time, or none at all. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” she affirms with a telltale burning upon her cheeks that appear to disrupt the defined vision of proper explanation. “So, I wasn’t alone at the Interstellar, I was with someone…”

“With whom exactly?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she refuses once again, shaking her head, as if more to clear out the mind before the key explanation than emphasize the earlier words. “The thing is, he gave me one of those pills he had, and I took it, so that’s why I don’t remember shit.”

“Well, that I’ve already figured out myself,” never the one to disappoint, am I right? “So where’s the catch?”

“I think I’ve made a mistake… I mean doing something like that in his company is a mistake itself, but… I don’t know… I feel so messed up,” she rubs a single hand across her face, hoping it will somehow soothe her, but nothing like this happens, so instead she slips it in his, searching for physical support – a gesture that catches him off guard for a brief moment. His flesh is cool to touch, most of it covered in some bizarre ornaments, black upon white – pale skin that looks almost eerie underneath the neon lights – her gaze following the pattern up his arm, until their eyes lock once again – tangerine and steel.

“It’s fine, I get it,” he affirms with a subtle smile, squeezing her hand in a skillful manner, enough to fulfill said wish without causing unnecessary discomfort.

“That was the first time something like this happened to me though,” she confess, throwing their linked limbs a brief glance, as if to ascertain he is still there, like in flesh and bones, not a passerby from a parallel reality. “It freaked me out.”

“No wonder it did,” he concludes. “Losing control can be one of the worst nightmares.”

“Tell me about it,” she huffs, rolling her eyes – a gesture to top the sarcastic remark with. “I don’t get it. Even though I’m aware of the consequences, I keep making the same mistakes over and over again… Hell, I’m so happy I have an opportunity to die.”

“Now you’re being dramatic,” he chuckles – not the exact reaction she intended to gain from him, but that will have to do for now.

“Aren’t we all?” She cocks a challenging eyebrow at him, her eyes glistening with an ghost of amusement, rather unexpected in such circumstances, which is also a good sign to be honest, the fact he is able to elicit that kind of response from her.

“Sure.”

“Thanks for listening though,” she ignores the little hypocritical attempt, indicating the blatant disagreement.

“Anytime Gia, anytime,” he bestows the woman with a smile for a change, even if fleeting – odd beauty to it all.

As her focus drifts towards the places of unknown, with the pensive silence settling over them, she fails to notice the subtle shift of his position, until their intertwined hands rest on her thigh, eliciting an embarrassingly audible gasp from the female, knuckles teasing the tender flesh as his tendons flex, supposing to prevent the nerves from getting numb.

“What are you expecting from this situation?” He interjects, his gaze focused solely on hers with intensity that has the female almost backing away – soul-drill to crack her attitude in two.

“Feelings are not to be verbalized,” she reciprocates, rolling her eyes at the inappropriate question, and yet opts for going out on a limb, since what goes around comes around, right? “And also, I think there’re more pressing matters to clarify anyway.”

“Such as?” He turns towards her, and now that Gia has his undividable attention, she is ready to put her inconsistent plan into notion.

“Ever wondered what would it be like… to kiss me?”

An exclamation that has him laughing out loud this time – such an unusual occurrence, although not the best sign to be honest – and yet she can work with that, glaring at him once the sound dulls down. With amused glimmers dancing behind his gaze, he appears to be studying her expression, as if in an attempt to read his songbird like an open book he would like her to be, at least for him, and yet, aside from the blatant desire for attention, the rest is buried somewhere deep, deep down, safe from his prying curiosity.

How infuriating.

Nevertheless, he is well aware what to do to gain the essential answer – break the not-so-stern rule, temptation in its purest form, granting the special privilege of seeing her gasp in shock, feign indifference just to throw herself in his arms as soon as an opportunity presents itself.

Sublime. Sadistic. Selfish.

Simply what he needs right now.

“To kiss you? No…” he draws on the syllable – a purring baritone that catches her off guard for a brief moment – not even supposing he is capable of making such sounds. “But to fuck you… now that’s a whole different story…”

(What the hell?)

“But we can just kiss if you prefer the PG-13 version,” he cocks a challenging eyebrow at her, and she takes the bait, all to his pleasure as far as it matches the plan, crafted on the go.

“I don’t-”

“No need to lie to me, Gia,” he interrupts, leaning slightly towards her, just enough to brush her chest, breath palpable on the exposed neck, prickling her skin with goosebumps. “Tell me, what is it that you desire?”

“Right now? For you to kiss me,” she gulps, failing to pursuit with the seductive tone, muscles twitching as she feels his arm snaking around her waist, still hoping she would maintain the confidence throughout the act.

(With him touching you like that? Sure.)

“A bit boring but if that’s what you want…” he chuckles, breath flaring through her hair, quick to catch the woman off guard again by yanking her onto his lap, one thigh pressed in between her legs.

“You’re such a dick,” she gasps at the unexpected contact, her insides coiling in anticipation to satiate whatever ache has been blossoming inside the artiste the moment he laid his eyes upon her.

“Sure, whatever,” he hums, careless as ever, tickling the side of her neck with feather-like kisses, barely present, like wind whispering patterns on her skin, ready to fly away and forget as the scent of his cologne engulfs her senses. Some twisted part of her wants to witness him break first, give in to the temptation, with dilated pupils and disheveled hair, rake his fingers through the strands, but nothing like this happens. Instead, he keeps teasing her with the gentle touches, tips of his fingers tracing the hollow of her spine, up to the point where she cannot take it anymore – the merciless tormentor – and tilts his head to the side, crashing their lips together.

(So it is on.)

With his arms around her body, he gains the essential motion range, ability to maneuver her upon his lap and of course guide the kiss, but since their plans seem to differ, she attempts to squirm out of the grasp – a matter he is quick to rectify with a harsh nip upon her bottom lip, drawing a surprised squeal from the woman. Even though she is already past the point of wondering whether he would be gentle, whether he would treat her like the finest china or just another frivolous chippie, she has not expected such straightforward approach, at least not from the very beginning, since that is what all the previous partners accustomed her with – the cautious build up leading to more ardent acts, while he appears to be toying with both contradictories, leaving her in anticipation for more.

(Fucking douchebag.)

With Gia gliding through her thoughts, he opts for seizing the opportunity now that her mouth is agape, seemingly beyond realization yet, and sweeps his tongue over her bottom lip, relishing in the tremor that runs down her spine as a response to the caress, palpable underneath his hands. Right when she expects him to dive straight into it, he breaks away, eliciting a disappointed whimper from the singer, a whimper that has him twitching in the confinement of his pants like some immature teenager, intent to switch to her neck and mark the flawless canvass – now simply pale and pure. As if put on repeat, she mimics the earlier sound – a response to the harsh suck – leaning backwards, expecting him to continue the established path further down, and yet he is back at the face level within a matter of seconds, having stained her flesh with a purplish bruise.

“I do mind that a bit, you know,” she huffs, feigning annoyance, even if only in a partial sense, unable to ignore the rapid pulsing of violated skin, akin to a sisterly heart drumming just underneath the surface.

“Didn’t see you complaining earlier,” he hums against her lips, planting a lingering kiss on the plump pout. “If I were in your shoes I’d be happy to have something to eye in the mirror when the lover boy is gone. Which, by the way, reminds me that I gotta be going, now that I’ve clearly overused your hospitality.”

(Like flipping a switch.)

“You gotta what?” She frowns in confusion, squealing in surprise as he slides her off his lap, leaving the female perched on the sofa, beyond agitated.

“Sleep tight and remember to call me in the morning.”

And with that he is gone, slipping through the door like a desert dust carried with the wind, its remains inhabiting every space imaginable, forgotten to be swiped away even while cleaning; since he would be damned if he allowed some brat to flash him her bits, get him all riled up just to back out in the end with whatever pathetic excuse she manages to make up on the go.

So instead he prefers the prevention strategy.

Leave her hanging.

Desperate for any kind of attention.

As for the clever, cunning.

Sadist.

* * *

It is safe to assume that getting used to the thought of her and Connor together took the young singer a fair amount of time, and not only that. What else was required to accomplish such inhuman target must have been the so-called emotional tranquility, not her most spectacular forte to be honest, and furthermore accepting the fact that he wants something more from her, whatever that something is.

The very thing that destroys her?

Might as well be, not that it would surprise Gia, considering her ever-present knack for involving in presumably not the most beneficial relationships, just for the sake of illusionary intimacy justified by equally tentative trust, the need to keep people close, lend them a helping hand in hope they will reciprocate someday. To contribute but never to be rewarded, at least with the desired amount of compassion, always judged through the prism of her performance, the outer surface – tissue-thin epidermis – deprived of human curiosity to dip millimeters underneath, and so discover what else she is willing to offer, beyond the carnal realm.

Cruelty of the

Arbitrary

Resolution.

And yet, she cannot stop thinking about him, imagining how his steps would echo in the corridor leading to her flat, how his hand would rise to press the button, how his feet would tap the ground while waiting for her to meet him by the entrance, far more preoccupying than she would like it to be. Tethering on the edge between two parallel dimensions – corporeality and conceptuality – she barely notices the slicing sound, tearing up the multi-level reverie into a bunch of useless pieces – a ring reverberating in the air.

“Fuck,” she curses, startled by the way too real noise, almost tripping, as she shoots up from the couch, rushing to open the door. She is greeted with the oh so unexpected sight of the ‘lover boy’ – display of vibrant confidence, obscuring the hint of impatience that must be lurking just beneath the surface, once again without any of his posh suits, although not lacking essential elegance, having opted for simple black pants and matching shirt, keeping the top buttons undone, certain she would notice. As per his earlier assumption, her eyes linger on the exposed flesh, also marked by the ink, evoking the wonder about how far it actually reaches, which in turn leads to the much more risqué concept – the fact that tonight she is meant to clarify all doubts.

(Fuck.)

“Ever bother to check the visual?” He leans against the doorway, clearly waiting for any invitation, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow at her – an indication she catches sooner than later, allowing him to step inside, and shut the door. “Or is it the perspective of seeing me that distracts you so much?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she throws over her shoulder – feigned carelessness – as she follows him to the living area, frowning when he perches atop the mattress instead.

“And depend on random compliments?” He chuckles, fingers stroking the silky sheets, as if to approve their law of existence as a part of her bedding. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Sure you will,” she rolls her eyes, nevertheless allows him to pull her onto the plush surface, their knees bumping as she settles down beside the man.

“What a clever girl you are, truly astounding,” he purrs – the exact same tone he used just a few days ago, and yet so much different – fresh and bold, evoking the insatiable desire for more. “Which reminds me that I’ve brought some wine for us.”

“I’m more of a Tequila girl to be honest,” she bestows him a fleeting smile, thrown off guard by the brush of his fingers upon the exposed thigh, now that her dress has ridden up a little, nevertheless quick to return on the abandoned track of thoughts, “but wine is a classic, so I appreciate it.”

“Sure, Sundance,” he teases, tickling her skin with feather-like strokes – another call-back to their last encounter – although this time her muscles quiver as he skims the golden ring adorning her shapely leg.

“So do you want to drink it now, or-”

“Why the nerves?” He frown, in time with the touch-deprivation, placing the aforementioned bottle by the foot of her bed with a soft click – unsettling since terminal, at least according to personal perception – supreme deceiver. “It’s not like I’ve came here to hurt your or something.”

“Yeah, I know,” she nods, reaching out for his hand to thread their fingers together. “But you’re just something… something new to me, and I have no idea what to expect, that’s all.”

“Oh honey,” he smirks, eyes glinting with a lingering promise that leaves her determined to uncover the truth behind his intents, “you’re gonna love this, I promise.”

“Guess I’ll have to take your word for that then,” she shrugs, allowing him to pull her onto his lap once again, calves on either sides of his thighs for a change.

“Guess you’ll have to.”

And with that, their lips collide, sucking a breath from her lungs, and so shaping up the focus – tunnel vision, disability to judge the situation through the prism of a bigger picture, especially when his hand reaches the zipper of her dress, soon to drag it down, exposing the pale flesh to relatively warm air. In spite of that, her skin prickles with goosebumps, failing to contain a violent shiver, as his fingers explore the area in sync with the sensual dance that is their kiss – awakening of the burdened desire, prompt to shove him down, check whether he would crack in response – such an absurd idea, downward foolish, although that she is yet to realize, all in due course.

Puzzled with the sudden shift in her attitude, he peers up to the woman, forehead marked by a frown of confusion, until his gaze follows a path further south, halting once it reaches the disarranged cleavage, tops of her breasts peeking through the fabric. As if with a mind of its own, his hand reaches out to tease the feminine curve, eliciting a gasp from his not-so-stern partner, leaning towards his touch – fleeting scrape of butterfly’s wings upon the heated flesh, meant to enhance the inborn craving for more.

“C’mere,” he purrs, low baritone that sends a vibrant buzz straight to her core, and yet she hesitates to comply, tethering on the pinnacle between elongating the mild, although undoubtedly pleasant, experience and succumbing to the whispering prompts of her instinct, too caught up in the trance to deny the subconscious responses delivered by her body.

Seemingly unable to defer anymore, she leans in to him, sighing as he cups the perky globe in one hand, teasing the protruding nipple with the pads of his fingers, until she gasps his name – a single word, yet potent enough to cloud his eyes with a resemblance of lust, mirroring the fiery hue of her own irises. With the self-control aspect casted aside, she allows him to pull down the fabric and so expose the upper half of her body that he appears to be quite fond of at this point, attempting to ignore both the burning gaze upon bare skin and the growing hardness in between her legs, applying pressure to the dampening folds.

Intimidating to say the least, considering it has been a while since she was placed under such circumstances – a penis owner in her very own bed, grazing the lacy cloth with barely palpable shifts. In the midst of honesty she is ready to admit that the concept of stuffing a rigid member inside has always filled her with some odd kind of nervousness, disgust maybe – determinant of established preference, leaning more to the opposite option.

Even so, she has found herself attracted to the Connor almost at the spot, the exact moment his eyes landed on her figure by the doorway – initiation of the merest physical attraction, meant to blossom into something of entirely different nature, something that scares her more than she cares to admit. Furthermore, the last issue she needs to deal with is unrequired love, considering he is not the man who gives his heart away to each and every person he crosses paths with, unlike some people – hit for the metaphorical nail, precisely why she possesses so much hatred for him, at least a part of her does, while the other is drowning hopelessly, claiming she is a unique being, crafted for him like personal software.

With all that crap in mind, there is still the third aspect to it all – lust-laced craving, the carnal impulse that has her thighs fluttering in anticipation for what he is intent to deliver as his eyes bore into her – burning itch atop the exposed skin.

And that she is dying to find out.

“Mmm… fuck,” she moans, dumbfounded by the unusually intense sensation, rocking her hips to relieve the tension – subconscious response to the lack of direct stimulation – eliciting a throaty chuckle from the man below.

“So soon?” He teases, flinching as she presses closer to him, radiating with natural heat that has him twitching in some animalistic need to dive straight to the main business, even if for a split second. “How about a little variety first?”

“What variety?” She frowns, the movements of her hips halting as his hand abandons her breast, curious, or maybe just anxious, about his intensions.

“Ever been blindfolded?”

The question left to linger in the air for a split second, required for the artiste to comprehend its meaning, garnishing her cheeks with a reddish hue that laces his lips in yet another version of the so-called smug smirk, cocking an anticipatory eyebrow at the female. With her faced marked by the concoction of embarrassment and most importantly lust, she is no more no less a sight to behold, chewing at the corner of her lip in restless wonder – overthinking, burden of humanity. Even though it last for only a few seconds, he perceives it at least as a million

(what a surprising turn of events…),

yet maintains the essential patience to hear Gia’s response as his hands stroke her sides in some mindless form of caress, and so delay the decisive process, maybe without realization. What requires that brief struggle – point of discussion – is her return from the voluptuous trance, featuring the flash of seemingly every possible scenario, frenzied enough to appear as embarrassing, she shakes her head no – brisk denial – still leaving the matter pending.

“Wanna try it out tonight?” He proposes, to which she nods for a change, feverishly enough to fuel the cocky smirk upon his features – a concoction of lust and amusement. “Say it.”

“Yes, I wanna try out tonight,” she complies, without hesitation this time, as if he managed to strike some cord deep within, a cord that has her thighs twitching in search for the relief-granting friction.

(Fuck… that’s too much.)

“Very well then,” his gaze adverts to the side, indicating Gia to follow the established direction, settling once it reaches the flimsy gown hanging on the door of her wardrobe. “Give me that silky ribbon from your robe.”

Without further ado, she rises from the well-accustomed-with spot, and with a few, rather wobbly, steps, snatches the aforementioned item from the hanger, quick to pass it to him, indifferent whether it will reach its destination as smoothly as desired. In spite of that, he catches the belt with distinctive grace, twirling it in between his fingers for a brief moment, up to the point of fatal distraction – Gia discarding her dress to the side, allowing him to steal a glance of red lace covering the place of his interest, before she joins him on the bed, settled upon his lap once again.

“Now close your eyes,” he instructs, failing to conceal the breathy note marring the flawlessly composed voice – a nuance that appears to slip past her attention, without a doubt on his benefit, excited to follow his request, shivering at the first brush of silk over her skin, although not meant to relish the sensation for a longer while, since he is quick to tie it at the back of her head and so obscure the vision.

Pitch black.

“Lie down,” he bestows Gia with a concise order, having deprived her from the steady grip, hands now flying to grasp his shoulders, afraid to lose balance now that she is blind.

“How about a little help?” She huffs with a lingering hint of annoyance marring her voice, prominent enough to reach the picky ears of her paranoid manager. “I don’t fancy slamming my head in the wall, you know.”

“Don’t use that tone on me,” he snaps – an exclamation laced with a tethering promise, indicating that he is indeed a man of little tolerance to any form of misbehavior, which is not much of surprise to be honest, especially when considered through the prism of what she has witnessed him perform on the strictly professional ground.

“Or what?” She taunts, too blind, in the metaphorical sense of course, to realize how ridiculous she appears to him at the moment, pawing at his shoulders as the self-preservation instinct fully kicks in, working against her benefit, at least when it comes to narrow extension, yet to reach the verbal realm.

Which is exactly what elicits a mocking chuckle from the male, followed by an equally derisive comment, more than aware how to get under her skin. “Don’t tempt me, Sundance.”

“Like you wouldn’t want it,” she rolls her eyes, even though he is unable to see through the silky ribbon, letting out another vexed huff, cut short by the sudden flip that has her squealing in surprise, all against the conscious will. Some part of her finds such capacity rather unsettling, precisely how he can manhandle the dainty body in any desired position, while the other – dug out of the subliminal depth – relishes the sensation of physical submission, shivering in anticipation for more.

Luckily, that he is able to deliver, at least according to what she is hoping for, although the following action leaves her puzzled and most importantly alone on the mattress, almost prompting to remove the fabric in order to check why he has abandoned her. However, before she settles on any specific choice, she hears him rummaging through the bed drawer in search for hell knows what, and even though she is probably supposed to cut such liberties short, the woman remains still, well-aware of what he is looking for in there and yet caught in denial.

“If that’s what I think it is...” she begins, unable to conceal the subtle hint of trepidation within her voice, clearly excited to verify the inkling.

“What? This?” He pokes her in the side with the not-so-foreign object, buzzling to life in his palm, eliciting a shocked squeak from the female, much to his amusement. “Knew a lonely lady like you would have one.”

“I’m not-”

“Sure, Sundance,” he hums as if in some derisive form of agreement, lacking in pity but making up with condescension, now seated beside the partner, evident in the teasing brush of his pants’ fabric against her thigh. “But if you’re denying it so fiercely… then maybe I should stop?”

“No, I-”

“Just say it,” he prompts, tracing the golden ring encircling her thigh, which sends a resonating tingle all the way to her throbbing nipples. “Say that you want it, and it’ll be all yours.”

“I want you to touch me,” she states, feigning indifference, if not for the subtle hint of trepidation betraying her in the times of trial, which is no more no less than a hyperbole, but still – perception is delusive.

“Then beg,” he reciprocates, smirking as she twitches under his touch, subconsciously drawing her legs further apart – an instinctual invitation.

“But you said-”

“I know what I said,” he interrupts – a manner that elicits an audible huff from the dependent woman, supposed as a provocation, but at this point he is too amused to let such a silly misbehavior unhinge him. “So now I wanna hear you out for a change.”

“Please?” She asks – blunt and accusatory.

“Oh c’mon,” he frowns, undoubtedly displeased with her lack of dedication to the prior request – another polished façade he tends to display when needed. “You’re not even trying.”

To that, she has no response, at least throughout the course of several dozen seconds, required to verify the so-called balance of burdens and benefits, all while attempting to ignore the teasing brushes atop her exposed skin. She has never experienced anything like this – being so responsive to any form of touch, no matter how gentle, how fleeting, casted upon her flesh akin to some grotesque shadow – substitute of proper caress – which might as well be the real reason for cracking her resolve.

“Please, I need you to touch me so badly,” she strives for the most docile version of her tone, not used to such deal of resistance from the second participator, puzzled with the amount of self-control he has been displaying throughout their encounter. “Please.”

“Now was that so hard?”

(Asshole.)

“No,” she sighs, beyond impatient, desperate to alleviate the tension blossoming between her legs, retreating the merest ability to focus, as if all pitiful remains of poorly constructed concentration have been thrown out of the window.

(Entropic fallout, wasn’t it?)

(Huh?)

All too soon, in one precisely brisk maneuver, he is hovering over her form, surrounding the female with natural body heat, as his lips trail butterfly kisses over the tender flesh of her neck – a gesture she would consider sweet under any other circumstances, albeit this time convinced that he is intent to transfer it into yet another merciless act. With the ability to contain her reflexes long gone, now that she is receiving any physical attention, she arches towards him, failing to contain a breathless gasp slipping past her lips as a response to his gesture – tracing the outline of her breast, as if to draw a spiral pattern to the middle – a fiery brand upon the sensitive skin.

“Fuck,” she squeals, synchronized with the harsh nipple pinch, eliciting an amused chuckle from the arrogant lover who is now preoccupied with stroking a line down her stomach, tensed with the anticipation for the coming dive.

“Mmm… fuck…” he groans into her ear – billowing puff of breath – heat over heat – as his fingers skim the lace-covered folds, greeted by a soaking amount of wetness that speaks to the most primal parts of his brain, that has him twitching in the confinement of his pants, wishing to launch for the simplest cut-to-the-chase, even if for a brief moment. “That excited already?”

“Mhm,” she hums in agreement, pushing her hips up in an attempt to meet the hand hovering just above the delicate material – merciless denial that has her muscles twitching in anticipation, enhanced by the sensory deprivation, lack of vision that forces her to ponder upon each and every outcome. “Please, I need- uh, f-fuck…”

A mere plea, uttered in the state of lust-laced deliriousness, disability to comprehend what is happening around her, caught off guard by the following action – a dive straight to the main point of interest, no more excess teasing, fooling around with the fleeting touches that set her skin aflame, wordlessly begging him to pursue. Instead, he replaced the previous tickling with firm pressure, smirking as her hips buck in response, determined to fulfill the innate craving for more direct stimulation, not separated by the thin lace – flimsy barrier that has risen to a rank of an ultimate obstacle, obviously thicker than she would like it to be.

“Take them off, please,” she whines, all too familiar with the burning frustration, laced into her being, taking a form of some grotesque thread, stinging like a sharp needle, crying to be removed.

“Seems like you’ve been demanding a lot lately, don’t you think?” He taunts, almost back to the smooth baritone if not for the lingering hint of restrain hiding behind his voice, the smoky gaze he has been casting upon her exposed body for quite a while, perceivable on the intuitive aspect alone.

“No, please,” she cries in despair as his fingers abandon their previous spot, beyond desperate to complete the process, hands reaching to grasp him, but he evades the clumsy clutches, letting out an amused chuckle at the frenzied attempt.

“Relax,” he purrs into her ear – a sound that sends a resonating shiver down her spine, which paired with the abrupt nip delivered on the tender earlobe almost has her moaning out loud, “I’m far from done with you yet,” an exclamation meant to elicit another violent shiver, accompanied by his throaty laugh. “But before we move on, any specific requests you have in mind?”

“No, just touch me,” she whines, too unhinged to bother with general appearance, clenching her thighs to alleviate the ache, in foolish hopes it will somehow slip past his attention.

(Sure.)

“How exactly?” He continues, quick to grasp the woman by the shapely muscle and draw her legs apart, all for the purpose of witnessing Gia trembling in frustration.

“However you want,” she reciprocates, already past the point of bothering to conceal her responses – polar opposite to the moderate man beside her, which might as well be yet another foolish assumption, if missing out the lustful glint in his eyes, silvery hue that has transferred into one of these restless storms – dark and predatory.

“Sure, Sundance,” he hums – a conclusion laced by a lingering hint, somehow sinister, indescribable with the human vocabulary, probably unsettling in the eyes of the young artiste – a final warning – but she is not in the mood to dwell on any underlying doubts, meant to be clarified as soon as he presses the vibrating bullet to her clit, forcing a choked moan from the equally astonished female.

“Fuck,” she gasps as another incomprehensible wave rocks through her body, muscles twitching in response to the increasing pressure, once again dying to get rid of the flimsy barrier, “off, please.”

“Lift your hips,” he instructs, almost at the spot, maybe fed up with drawing the inevitable as well, to which she complies, allowing him to slide the lacy panties down her legs, then approximately toss them aside.

Settled beside his lover again, evident in the heated exhales palpable upon her cheek, he resumes the initiated activity, dragging the buzzling bullet up her folds to circle the swollen nub, eliciting another reedy squeal from the squirming partner, which in turn has him wondering whether it is her casual reaction to such form of caress – inability to remain still, shifting from side to side as if caught in some frenzied state of lust. Therefore, to facilitate the process, he opts for an alternative position, tugging Gia in between his legs, back to the firm chest, now able to hold the woman more steadily with an open palm sprawling across her abdomen. Even if that simple, the act affects him more than he cares to acknowledge, at least when attempting to match the distinctive candor, marveling at how lightweight she is – penchant for dainty women in general – which combined with the soft moans slipping past her lips has him twitching against the swell of her ass.

Despite the thick curtain of lust clouding her mind, she can feel him perfectly through the thin layer of clothing, more than nervous to acquaint the full length, considering there is barely anything appealing about said part of male anatomy. Furthermore, her attitude leans more to the category of ‘intimidated’ than ‘excited’, while pondering upon the possible outcome, someway obliged to convert it into ‘inevitable’ – a trait that tends to lead people on the baneful avenue.

As well as concealing the truth.

“Enjoying yourself?” He mutters into her ear all of sudden, dragging the woman back to the contemporary realm, at least as much as the carnal aspect allows to, mind foggy with desire, relishing the temporal docility that she is displaying, more vulnerable than ever.

Seemingly not in the mood to oppose, she hums in affirmation, twitching as her body surges with the approaching wave of ecstasy, surprisingly close by now, considering how little physical attention she has received on the course of their encounter, maybe due to visual deprivation as for the enhancing factor. With the heightened sense of touch, the low vibrations on her clit feel divine, otherworldly even, as a part of her wishes to tether on such stage for blissful eternity, explore the unknown realm at leisured pace.

Unfortunately, it turns out that she will not be the judge of that, since he removes the toy, not quite certain when exactly, since the ability to evaluate the passing time has abandoned Gia as soon as he pressed the bullet to her clit. As if caught in some tunnel-vision state of lust, she attempts to reach out for him, unfortunate to slash through the thin air, which has her groaning in frustration, and despite more than evident amusement, he soothes her with a warm palm on her thigh and a whispering promise, dedication that causes her to choke on own spit, head snatching in his direction, more than certain that she must have misheard him.

“What did you say?”

“I said I wanted to taste you,” he repeats, the same purring baritone as before reverberating in her ear, sending a violent shiver down her spine – a throbbing buzz straight to her clit. “What? Man’s never gone down on you?”

“Man? No,” she counters, still in genuine shock due to the least expected proposition, especially from the lips of the most arrogant, selfish bastard she has ever encountered, opting to dismiss all sensible doubts, when considered through the prism of his potential intentions, certainly not featuring the direct aim for climax. “But please do go on, I’m interested.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” he reciprocates, a sarcastic comment that somehow slips past her attention, most likely because she chooses to ignore it – negative for picky with more pressing matters occupying her mind.

“Can I get rid of the blindfold first?” She verbalizes what is germane, hands already reaching up to untie the knot, but he halts her with a disapproving click of his tongue, not intent to expand it to the physical realm, by grasping her wrists for instance.

“I don’t know, can you?” He teases, eliciting a frustrated huff from the female, as her hands fall to the chest, waiting for his approval, which pleases him more than she suspects, and so prompts to let it loose with a negligent tug.

Blinding light.

“Fuck,” she gasps, shielding her eyes from the city neons illuminating her face, bright and aggressive, marring the vision with ghoulish spots – temporal disability, excluded from the flawless world, shoved away as soon as it bumps into any of its dwellers, wandering in search of an ultimate place.

Chaos.

Parallel with humanity?

(Don’t be ridiculous.)

Smart enough to wait until it subsided, she adjusts their position, now chest to chest with Connor, as her sight shifts towards him, taking in the contours of his face, now accentuated by the artificial light, caught on the glimmering hint of chrome decorating his cheekbones – sharp and unyielding. Giving as good as he gets, his eyes bore into her façade – resemblance of a steel tool, corresponding with the icy shade, now reflecting the female’s image – orchid hair and tangerine irises, almost auburn in the dim illumination. There is something devilish about her, the intimate setting she is aiming for, the dainty hands braced on his chest, the affection in her gaze, prominent enough to unsettle the steady man, even if subdued by the membrane of lust, screaming warning to accelerate the process.

“Lie down,” he prompts, palms on the either sides of her hips as if to ensure she would move, “or else I might think you’ve changed your mind about this.”

“Sure,” she purrs, lips inches away from his, but still, the abrupt closure catches him off guard – firm pressure applied on the tender flesh – pouring every ounce of the bottled-up emotion into the kiss as for the vulnerable creature she is, meant to shatter in his callous grip, knowing it will be too intricate to comprehend if transferred into words. He lets her go with offbeat reluctance – a hint that she is able to catch, detached from his usual composure, topping it up with yet another fleeting peck, before she actually rolls to the side, nestling in the silky sheets – indication to pursue.

(Control-wrecking.)

With her spread out like this, prolonging the inevitable appears as beyond pointless, foolish dreams of a self-centered man with reliable composure, superior when juxtaposed with the pitiful rest, and yet succumbing to the carnal desire – spirited among the spineless, spineless among the spirited – civilized paradox. All meaningless in face of the feminine creature, lying on the velvety fabric, one knee bent, anticipating his touch, craving the flattery if only in the tactile realm, the synthetic hue of her irises now obscured by the eyelids – a detail at odds with his tastes and so a matter that he is quick to rectify with a stern grip upon her chin, eliciting a discontented whine from the young artiste.

“Eyes on me,” he bids, voice laced with proficiently concealed impatience, if not for the lingering hint marring the quintessential presentation – evidence of the lustful longing within his gaze, within the manner it outlines her curves, following up to the partly confused façade.

“I thought you-”

“Then you were wrong,” he interrupts, almost trespassing the point of autocracy that has her laughing out loud, albeit still capable of transferring it into a mere shadow of a proper smile – a nuance not meant to evade his perception, heightened by an animalistic instinct. “Don’t tempt me to wipe that smirk off.”

“What?”

Without bothering to clarify the four-letter query, as per usual, he retreats to the initial intention, determined to fulfill the shared craving – polar opposites that mingle into one, overlapping both perspectives – a prelude to the everlasting doubt:

To give or to receive?

(That is the question.)

In consideration with the dualistic lack of competence to put it to an end, and yet each time the occasion arises, every average scum would ask about interlocutor’s preference.

It must be the people who are damaged,

Shattered akin to a splinter of glass.

(Give me a fucking break.)

“Connie?” She frowns in confusion, clearly the one to be left hanging this time, albeit not only at loss in such realm – an exclamation shattering his reverie, not that it bothers him much under current circumstances.

Hence, being brought up to a point of boiling impatience, he opts for the simple cut-to-the-chase move and so settles in between her legs, pried apart with the telltale pressure of his hands applied onto the tender insides. Unable to ignore the tingling of her thighs, now grasped in his palms – slim and dainty in comparison, which evokes that odd concoction of contradictions – anxious but

(to the point of)

aroused, almost trembling with excitement for what is about to come.

(And fuck, does it come…)

Practically keening due to the freshly occurred friction, fleshy and tangible on the swollen folds, drawing a throaty moan from the woman – not the most appealing sound she could have uttered, but still, there is always a room for improvement, she thinks bitterly – caricaturistic resemblance of Connor’s notions. Little does she know, he is far from displeased, now that his hands are clasped around her thighs, and the tongue is tracing the feminine outline with deliciously firm strokes, having opted out of the warm-up, considered nonsensical after all prior actions.

In spite of the so-called burning frustration, each stroke is languid, leisure, as if it was his elementary intention to memorize the shape through such manner, but at the same time prevent from overwhelming her on the very first shot. That, paired with the poor concentration, limited to the heady flavor occupying his mouth, has his eyes adverting to the side, lids heavy with the decadent intoxication, mind much drowsier than before, so instead of maintaining the direct contact, he allows them to fall shut, even if for a mere moment.

Deprived of the visual stimulus, the object of main focus shifts to the taste-related factor, linked with a nuance that he has always perceived as interesting – each time it manages to satiate the fussy palate, which might as well be a direct result of pheromones’ presence – a bitter reminder that even below all the meticulously crafted layers lays yet another insignificant human, succumbing to the innate whim. A human barely able to maintain the substantial concentration with the rhythmical pumping of blood audible in his ears and an evidence of ardent lust crawling down his neck, beyond positive that his skin is hot to touch now, matching the tender flesh that is clutched in his hand, hard enough to bruise, he somehow manages to keep the pace, occasionally sucking at the swollen nub, intent to get as much from her as possible.

“Fuck, more,” she whines, urgency evident in her voice, shifting beneath the unyielding man, clenching around merciless nothing, “I need more.”

(There it is. More.)

“Already?” He cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at the frustrated vocalist, infuriatingly dapper in its condescension, tickling her with a mere stroke of his tongue upon the heated folds.

“Mhm,” she hums in agreement, twitching due to the moderate caress, up to consider locking his head in between her thighs, even if for a split second, required to brace for the simplest of requests, “please.”

“And why is that?” He reciprocates in a teasing manner, now halting his movements all together to eye Gia with the signature intensity, still nested in the exact same spot. “Better not disappoint me with the answer, Sundance.”

“You’re such a-” she begins, soon interrupted by a cruel nip delivered right to the tender flesh of her folds – brisk, and so mind-clearing, but not harsh enough to hurt severely, and yet she cannot bother to hold back the boiling curse. “Ah- fuck you,” she spats, clearly not in the mood for any excess teasing, fed up with his never-ending talk, queries uttered in the most unfortunate moments, catching her in that peculiar state of delirious fogginess, as if intent to receive the most feverish answer.

“Well, I don’t see that coming,” he baits, still amused with each rising attempt to dethrone him from the superior position, feigning obstinacy to crack his resolve, check whether she has the capacity to break him – foolish pursuit of a permanent idealist. “Although I appreciate the sentiment.”

“What?”

“So,” he ignores the confused exclamation once again, determined to gain the desired answer from the woman, itching with impatience, enhanced by the lingering aftertaste upon his tongue. “Still so keen on disappointing me?”

“No, please,” she practically whines, dreaming about locking her legs to ease the ardent crave for friction. “It hurts.”

“I know it does,” he reciprocates, almost getting the hair-thin thread of longanimity to snap, thanks to the signature smooth swagger, especially when his eyes shift to the heaving breasts, pulsing with unresolved tension.

“Then ease me,” she suggests, not so demanding despite the straightforward nature of prior verbalization, laced with a prominent hint of desperation, impossible to be omitted. “Please.”

“Now was that so hard?” He flashes her a pitiful smile, albeit this time she does not bother to formulate any retort, already shoved past the point of carnal urge, with tunnel vision drifting the hopeless individual towards her final destination – inevitable wreckage. To be honest, he must have lacked the corporeal form to omit all of these: how she is practically dripping on his tongue, quivering under the precise manners he glides her with, wave after wave, climbing higher and higher, up to the point where the rhythmical pulsing becomes tactile on the moist muscle. He is well aware of how little it would take to unravel the dumbfounded artist – three, maybe five sucks if he decides to embrace the latent potential for generosity – and yet the sadistic component wants to witness the scorching heap of frustration, spatting and cursing him to the nth degree just to get back on track with begging, merely a brief moment later.

(What a merciful man I am.)

(Merciful, huh? Now prove it.)

Almost sobbing in relief when the first tide rocks through her tingling body, she arches off the bed, damned if these were not stars she was seeing – nova, luminous explosion, blacking out the vision for a split second, yet enough to miss the hubristic glint in his eyes, relishing in the way her thighs quiver on both sides of his head. Allowing Gia to ride out the aftershocks, he bestows her with a milder alternative, barely skimming past the abused flesh, until she tugs him away by the hair, denying the access altogether, now that she is too sensitive to continue.

“That was nice,” she mutters, glancing at the rising man whose hands are now preoccupied with unbuttoning the burgundy shirt, “thanks.”

“Your ’nice’ is a fatal understatement, don’t you think?” He retorts, bitter once deprived of the physical connection, although the unravelling sight acts as enough of a distraction from the sour timbre, right at the gates of finding out about the authentic expanse of his tattoos.

“Maybe…” she drags on the syllable, drowsiness evident in the leisure mannerism, allowing her eyelids to fall shut for a longer moment, as if positive the resting interval between the tandem of acts is more than essential, “I don’t know…”

Conditional.

Blindness.

Once again without the visual stimulus, as if filtrating the faint shuffling in the background, her focus drifts towards more unnerving matters, towards how bizarre it will be to experience the subsequent intercourse in the manly way after those few years, now that she is a mere step from clarifying the preposterous doubts. Although she is certain he has no intentions in making her feel uncomfortable, out of place, as if she belonged elsewhere, as if she was incapable of transferring their time together into an enjoyable record for both of them – insecurity laced in between the strings of her being – she still hesitates, tethers on the pinnacle determining the predictive outcome.

(Now that is absurd.)

“C’mere,” he prompts, and if not for the purring baritone – a note that she has had a fair amount of time to get accustomed with – gentle tug of a dainty hand, she would remain trapped in the conceptual dimension. Instead, he settles Gia on his lap, eliciting a choked gasp from the artiste once she discovers the blunt lack of any form of clothing, all sturdy flesh below her petite form, eyes drifting to the stygian patterns marring the pale skin.

Vessel for conspectus.

Corporeal form.

Flattery of artistry.

Asseveration of one’s mindset.

Mysterious understatement.

“What does it mean for you?” She inquiries – a doubt popping out of blue, laced with apprehension of discovering the possible truth lurking behind his polished façade, emerging to the surface as a form of carnal avidity he eyes her with – a man starved, restive due to the intentional delay. “Sex.”

“Sex, huh?” He smirks – a ravenous glint enlightening his countenance. “Sex means power.”

(At least he is frank.)

(Sometimes, I feel sorry for him.)

“No, I mean this,” she gesticulates, pointing at each of them, albeit missing the amused tilt of his lips as a response to the untimed query, “you and me.”

“Entropy,” he bestows her with yet another evasive answer, now that he is so keen on pursuing further for a change, hands taking a steady grip on either sides of her waist, before he leans in for a kiss, meant to prevent the innocent doubt from blossoming into a full-blown sparring match – an overflow of endless qualms. In spite of her, rather disputable, judgment, she returns the caress, scooting closer to him – blatant euphemism since her breast are practically mashed against his chest, with frenzied heartbeat resonating through the ribcage.

Crescendo.

Pinnacle where one is deprived of the human ability to perceive reality as a compound of coherent particles, instead gradually declines into a place where most aspects acquire a diametrical form – indiscriminate and so considered unimportant through the prism of future reference. Analogy parallel to her current state, each and every worry evaporating in the night’s breeze, as his lips brush – no – claim the lonesome territory, hands trace the outline of her hips – reminder of the primordial intention – a mere breath away from flipping Gia on the back to clasp her hands above the head and… the rest speaks for itself.

(Better show than tell.)

And so, in order to keep up with the rush of concepts clouding his perception, he fulfills the aforementioned, eliciting an outraged gasp from the surprised female, as soon as she comprehends the abrupt reposition. Deciding to test the waters, she tugs at the makeshift binding, expecting him to tighten the grasp, but nothing like this happens, as if he managed to outrun her suppositions, and while it is still relatively firm, the pressure remains unchanged.

Queer.

Deep in her personal probe, she fails to notice his progressing movements, until he nudges her legs apart, right at the threshold of sliding in, twitching against the slender thigh in excitement. Due to the interval dividing the last and tonight’s encounter, rather generous in length, she acquires that peculiar like-a-virgin attitude, tensed and nervous, valuating the possible amount of discomfort, parallel to the potency of pain, almost blocking the way when he prods at her entrance, presumably by accident considering the following statement.

“You don’t have to impress me, okay? Just relax.”

Probably his first and only display of sweetness she would ever witness.

(Enjoy while it lasts.)

Which is exactly what she opts for, having taken a deep breath, hoping it will calm her rapid heartbeat – not only a futile but also naive attempt – prelude to the tearing entrée that forces a choked whine from her constricted throat, that has the hybrid nails biting crescent shapes into the heel of her palm. Although partly drowned by the feminine whimper, he utters his own groan – evidence of layered frustration, eased by the surrounding tightness, even if for a brief moment – while a part of him struggles to maintain still instead of nailing her to the mattress, not so metaphorically anymore.

“Fuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth, chest heaving with each uneven breath, and what he suspects must have extended to hours and hours of malevolent interlude, in reality requires less than a minute to feel the woman shift below, hips bucking in form of a silent plea.

And who is he to deny her that?

Having opted for such choice, he rocks into her, at this peculiar state of awareness when it comes to each scrape, each flutter, each alternative in pressure against the throbbing member that forces a barely audible gasp from the preoccupied male. Always so self-contained, so persistent, so… composed, and yet she has managed to shatter the inch-thick pane with the merest nuances – a blemish of honor – which disturbs him more than he cares to admit.

In a heap of developing necessity to shove the thought aside, he picks up the pace, forcing his eyelids open to observe the variety of reactions manifesting themselves on her face, too monotonous for his own liking, as if something was preventing the artiste from enjoying their encounter, as if a part of her was immune to the charms he used to enchant a number of lovers throughout the years. Even though she is, indeed, responding, uttering a soft mewl here and there, for some reasons each time he attempts to add his duos, the equalization grants him with an answer of three, as if a single particle was missing, which infuriates him even more than the stain once did.

Matter laid in his hands.

Before she gets a chance to take a grasp on what is happening, he leaves her lying cold by his side, even if only in a metaphorical sense, struggling to relocate in the changing settings, if the abrupt emptiness counts as one, beyond confused and so determined to express her immerse displeasure with the recent turn of events. While he however, less than keen on hearing whatever complains she dares to throw at him, shushes her in the most brusque way possible, at least if considering it through the prism of abusing the physical superiority

(is this even the right expression?),

by tugging her over his lap once again, albeit this time getting Gia to face the window, which has her frowning in confusion, all before he somehow situates himself inside once again, eliciting a throaty moan from the woman, surprisingly husky in contrast with the usual honeyed tune.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, clenching around him, positively caught off guard due to the fresh angle, squirming as she tests the waters – an action that has him hissing in discomfort, full of hatred towards the sensation that comes with being teased.

“Glad to hear that,” he mutters into her hair, breath tickling the tender skin below her ear. “Now grind your hips.”

Puzzled with the sudden shift in his attitude – giving up the control from before, at least as an initial impression – a matter of delusional deception – she halts instead of complying, which prompts him reiterate.

“C’mon, don’t make me repeat myself,” he purrs into her ear, lips stroking the sensitive flesh as he speaks, intent to discover what pace does the trick for the young artiste in his arms, and with that thought in mind, he allows himself to sigh as soon as she begins to move. Despite being well aware it might not be the most convenient position to lead, he intends to find out about the unspoken preference – reason of their misconception – and much to his surprise, she seems to enjoy whatever is happening between them now, having settled for the slower pace.

Soft and tender.

“Touch me, please,” she whines, grasping him by the arm in order to direct it in between her legs, when all off sudden, instead of fulfilling her wish straight away, he grasps her by the hips, putting the leisure interlude to an end, replaced by his own thrusts, meant to elicit that husky moan once again. Therefore, he slips his hand right where she wanted it merely a moment ago, drawing a honeyed mewl instead as it circles her clit, teasing the swollen nub with the same languid pace that almost had him tremble in frustration before, dying to witness the myriad of responses lying in her capacity.

“How does it feel?” he rasps, voice hoarser than ever before, clouded with a dense fog of lust, as if indicating the non-acceptance of disobedience in any form. “Tell me.”

“So good… so…” she begins, struggling to find the right words, the bodily influence over her mind more than evident under the current circumstances, “so… relieving… just keep going, please. ”

In spite of the hackneyed cliché, the sentence itself creates a binding influence over the male, combined with the layer cake of various frustrations, filled with piling impatience, and so enough to prompt him to fulfill the wish straightaway. Ergo, he increases the intensity of both aspects, which has her writhing atop him, squirming and whining for release, mouth agape and back arched, soaked in the neon glow – foggy reflection in the glass pane, branded underneath his eyelids for plenty of nights in the future.

Carnal fixation.

Who twists her neck to steal a kiss, bumping their noses together, dying to taste him once again before the final climax – elsewise pleonasm – fluttering around his girth as a prelude for what is inevitable, beyond anticipated, while he appears as perfectly capable of sensing her need, and so returns the caress. Albeit this time, it is safe to assume he is not just toying with her anymore, now that he is creeping closer and closer to the personal pinnacle, thighs twitching as she clenches around him to the point of vice-tight, almost preventing any movement, which might as well be a matter of hyperbolizing, but still, he would never allow it to end prematurely.

(A blemish of honor, was it?)

“Tell me you want this,” he rasps, with the self-control aspect running thin, evident in the loss of rhythm, perceptible even if not absolute.

“I- ah-” she gasps after a particularly rough thrust, interrupting whatever train of thoughts she has been gliding through, rewarded with a sharp nip on the side of her neck.

“Tell me,” he reiterates – gravelly groan that sends a tremor down her spine – rubbing the sensitive nub in firm circles, up to the point where she cannot help but buck against his hand, right at the cusp of bliss, ready to fall.

“I want this, plea-ease,” she whines, stuttering at the end, voiced laced with sheer desperation, dying for the final push.

(And fuck, does it come…)

Mouth agape in a silent scream bubbling inside her constricted throat, she arches into a telltale bow, head falling onto his shoulder, as she flutters around him – rhythmical pulsing that pushes him over the edge, muscles twitching below. Never had she allowed a man to use her like that, and while the artiste was once positive it must be the single most distasting experience of one’s life, she finds herself relishing in the inglorious sensation, trembling as the wave of aftershocks rocks through her limp frame.

(Fucking hell.)

Tangled on the silky sheets and coming down from their heights, neither of them dare to exchange a word, and so break the comfortable silence – tranquility emerging from the storm – instead bask in the afterglow, with him nuzzling her hair, seemingly in a moment of weakness, lacking the previous rapture. As if unable to foresee the inevitable, she utters a whine of protest the moment he pulls out from her body, having settled the partner aside once he collapses onto the mattress, fatigue evident in his movements, and yet allows her to curl into his side, even intertwine their fingers.

Interesting.

What else might be considered in such terms is the contrast, beyond stark, both in color and texture – creamy and tender juxtaposed with the inky pattern, flesh that is rough in to touch, indicating he must have been working in an entirely different field from the current corporative line – a layover on the methodical path to the ornament itself. Examining the small tattoos drawn over their length, she finds the disability to identify what has been depicted on his skin in such a dim lightening a tad bit infuriating, although not mood-defining, which would be rather odd elsewise – getting emotional over some minuscule detail.

(Hypocrite.)

“Did they hurt?” She asks, breaking the drowsy lull that has settled over them, a question that prevents him from dozing off for now, which might turn out for the better in the nearby future, since he is not quite fond of random modification in the hygiene routine.

“No,” he bestows her with a dismissive answer, once again and much to her annoyance if under any other circumstances, certainly not when she is lying half-asleep beside another warm body. “Mind if I use your shower?”

“No,” she mimics his most recent answer, nevertheless positive when it comes to the veracity of said statement.

What a terrible misconception.

* * *

It is safe to assume these two weeks must have been the most bizarre period since the Resurrection – peaceful if not for that peculiar inkling lingering in the back of his mind, as if to indicate some ominous turnabout he opposes to discover. Pairing it up with one of the most loathed traits – attempting to fool himself – does nothing to alleviate the situation, instead enhances the disquietude that has been occupying his soul for quite a while, which in turn brings the anticipation of any possible denouement to the light, craving for certainty rather than a bunch of arising assumptions, even if it would lead to a minacious discovery.

Paradox.

Imminent downfall.

But a lesson from the most experienced teacher.

Life.

Life that has managed to educate him on a carnival realm, including even the least expected plot twists, the most obnoxious outcomes, begging for correction, a correction beyond qualifications, evoking the ardent embarrassment that follows in the wake of incapacity.

Although this time what initiates the process is an act.

An act so simple.

Nearly offensive.

A telephone.

No.

Let’s try that again.

It all starts out with a telephone from an old pal.

“Buenas noches, Connor,” he greets with a throaty tune that the manager has almost brought himself to forget – a road paved with good intentions. “Long time no see, eh?”

“Yes, most certainly,” he reciprocates, albeit surprisingly brisk to block the visual, all while striving for a note as calm as possible, burying all worries underneath the surface, at least for now – flawlessly polished façade.

“Oh c’mon, why so formal?” He whinges, smirk audible in his voice. “We haven’t talked for how long? Seven? Eight years?”

“Does it matter?” He shrugs, feigning indifference – desperate attempt of a drowning man. “It’s work related anyway.”

“Still concrete, I like this,” he remarks – deceptive tease.

“Flattery is useless,” he counters, tone harsh akin to a dagger – a reminiscence from the old times. “Unless, of course, you’re calling ‘cause you’re bored to shit and have no one to fuck. But I believe that’s not the case, now is it?”

“Sadly no,” he sighs, as if truly upset. “I have a wife now, so you know…”

“Oh and that’s stopping you? Fuck…” he rolls his eyes in mock disbelief – an involuntary response to the smoky tone. “But okay, let’s assume it does; then what’s the real issue, where’s the fucking catch?”

“You see people change-”

“And you believe in it? An old dog like you?” He interrupts – a retort followed by an incredulous chuckle. “Give me a fucking break.”

“Yes, I do believe it now,” he counters, voice laced with a hint of annoyance. “You see, I don’t like people within my scope, what’s mine stay mine. And who would understand it better than you, am I right?”

He only hums in approval.

“Very well,” he must be smiling now, not that he would want to see anything of that sort, but still, it disturbs him more than he cares to admit – a malevolent omen. “So I want you to do something for me, you know, for that time in New Mexico. I hope it rings a bell.”

“Yes, most certainly,” he mimics the prior answer, which has the man huffing in annoyance, although not interrupt his train of thoughts, if so enhance the need to spill the tea now that he has been given a chance.

Disastrous decision?

Well again, not really.

“Still remember how to kill?”

How many words?

Five?

Five words to utter the contrasting sentence, indicate the earth-shattering proposition.

Five words to send him straight to hell.

In business class.

What.

The.

Fuck.

“Do you have the slightest idea what the fuck are you talking about?” He responds after good three minutes – a fleeting expanse of time, slipping out of attention’s grasp, unnoticed by the stern man – voice marred with helpless wrath. “I won’t get involved in any of your shady little businesses.”

“And why is that?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow at the empty screen, wishing Connor could see this – a victory amongst the vicious.

“Fuck you,” he spats, hands twitching in immerse rage. “Just- fuck you!”

“Better not piss me off, chico, ‘kay?” He interjects – an exclamation laced with blossoming annoyance now that his interlocutor has allowed himself for far too many liberties. “I’m nice, ‘cause we’re friends, but I won’t be nice if you piss me off, está claro?”

“Can’t you hire anyone else?” An attempt of discussion? Really? Downright pitiable. “I bet you have multiple sidekicks that would gladly do this for you, ‘cause now I don’t have any time to deal with your shit.”

“Pfft… as good time as any,” he counters, oh so unexpectedly. “Plus I think you’re gonna do this far better than any one of them, not to mention – for free.”

“The first one is a fucking lie, which we both know, and the second-”

“Oh I beg to differ,” he interrupts, still vexed although convinced that what Connor needs is time, time to get accustomed with the inevitable concept, matter extending beyond the realm of personal control. “Both are relevant. You’re the best and you’re gonna do this for free ‘cause you fucking owe me. End of the story.”

“I don’t-”

“Oh you do,” he cuts off once again, intent to get the best of him – calm attitude and meticulous precision, “so just fucking listen for once.”

“What is it even about?” He queries, now that he has managed to satiated the ardent rage, at least enough to circle back to the milder tone, a tone that would fit Thiago’s tastes. “Business? Revenge?”

“Well, both I’d say,” he bestows him with a brisk affirmation, not that he is surprised, “but I don’t wanna get into many details now that we’re on the line, not that anyone of those sacks of fuck would care, but still, you know how it is… Anyway, his name is Carlos Vásquez, and two, three years ago he was just a pimp, a regular pimp, ‘recruiting’ regular people to do regular shit, nothing special, right?”

“So what has changed?”

“He’s extended his business’ interests to the drug market, but even that wouldn’t concern me much, at least not that much to kill him,” he halts, possibly to enhance the suspense, which combined with exasperating Connor creates quite a lucrative form of entertainment. “Which was until that pendejo, pedazo de hijo de puta, sent a bunch of assholes to kidnap my daughter, my fifteen-year-old daughter, my Ava. You’ve never met her, but I believe I’ve mentioned her once or twice in New Mexico.”

“If only,” he huffs – a mannerism deliberately ignored by the influential businessman – rolling his eyes in a display of thespian impatience.

“And let me tell you, I’ll never, ever let that motherfucker get away with this,” he continues – malicious promise, albeit paved with good intentions.

“Where is she now?” He interjects, a blunt query that has his friend, supposing he can be labeled as such, laughing out loud.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten soft all of sudden… Christ.”

“It’s a practical question,” he explains, apparently displeased with the obligation to enlighten the aforementioned. “’Cause I want you to know from the very beginning that I ain’t gonna save her.”

“Oh, thank you kindly for your compassion, but she’s safe now, which is all you need to know,” he clarifies – an exclamation that has the manager sighing in relief, considering his reluctance when it comes to any dramatic rescues.

“And the details?”

“I’ll send them later,” the Mexican flips him off with a dismissive flick of his wrist, having forgotten he has blocked the visual, not that it bothers him much anyway. “You know, photos, business associates, lovers’ names, blah, blah, blah…”

“Sure you will,” he nods, feeling obliged to clarify all matters despite the boiling tension, threatening to leak onto the surface – indication of the so-called professionalism. “Any special requests?”

“Well… actually yes.”

(Ah, of course. Fuck me up, will you?)

“I want it the old-fashioned way. Strangle him for me. Bare hands.”

(Sure, and what else?)

“Sure, customer is king,” and he even manages to pull off a smile.

Sick.

“Glad we agree on this one, but don’t forget to record it,” he reminds – an unprofessional explanation, beyond obvious, and so to the point of offensive. “It’s gonna provide me a prove of you work, plus later on… who knows? We could… reprogram it into a simulation for instance.”

“Sure,” he agrees – a brisk affirmation, a signature of his.

“And maybe, just maybe, don’t get too hooked on the idea, you’ll get some spare cash after all, from the sale of course,” he proposes, not that it bothers Connor at this point, lacking the essential turnabout.

“Mhm, merciful,” he remarks, ever the sarcastic. “But what now? Should I wait for some kind of a call or…?”

“Yeah, just wait,” he bestows him with yet another terse confirmation, indicating whatever low-class joke that has been blossoming underneath his skull. “Dulces sueños, babe.”

And with that he hangs up.

Son of the bitch.

* * *

It is safe to assume these two weeks must have been the most bizarre period since the Resurrection – release of her debut album, and so considered as an entry ticket to the variety of possibilities, reserved for the elite only, at least according to what she thought at that time.

Obso-lite.

Obtuse.

Lie.

Therefore, as the years pass by, so does her confidence when it comes to the human potential, artificial power that he has gained through the achievements of the most sublime minds, possession of little respect, taken for granted. All for the convenience of the beneficial ones, monstrous corporations with tremendous influence over the common men lead by the exceptional – an astral being that transcends human consciousness, marking its presence in the society’s genome for generations.

Ridiculously potent.

Romantic phantasy?

But worth recommencing.

Ergo, she has decided to make a use of all the interludes in between their meetings, and so replace the prior mindless fumbling with an action far more directed when juxtaposed with hours and hours of staring at the celling. For months, she was struggling to realized how many inhibitions were piling up to form one grotesque stack, defining the incapacity, artistic lameness that accompanies them, crossing creator’s steps, interfering with the futuristic vision.

And so, she has transferred the mental freedom into work, resulting in a trio of fresh composition – a birdlike tune, cyber tweet – with more than a little help from the synthesizer – an attempt to retreat it in the limelight as a substitute for the dreamy vocals that would play the first fiddle in her debut album. Regardless, as a slave to consumerism, she cannot fight the nervousness that comes with driving down the less explored road, hoping it will pick anyone’s interest and so curries favor with the influential corporation, at least according to what Connie has asseverated.

Risk.

The most influential spice…

But that was before the article.

“Gia?” She hears a male voice addressing her, audible due to relatively close proximity – a factor rather important in the buzzling club. “I haven’t seen you here for a while. Why?”

“Um, I’ve been busy,” she explains, lifting her gaze, only to be greeted with a sight of an infamous Interstellar bartender, leaning by the table top to face her, “but I needed to let off some steam, so that’s why I’m here tonight.”

“Cool,” he nods in affirmation, a matter to cut the topic short. “So what’s you poison?”

“Don’t you think it’s interesting?” She eludes, eyes glued to the array of various liquors preening from behind his back. “The fact that we say ‘poison’ instead of ‘alcohol’, ‘drink’ or whatever as if it was some kind of an indication?”

“Honey, I’m a bartender,” he smiles, apologetic yet condescending – such an odd composition. “It’s my fucking job to sell them, so what are you expecting me to say?”

“I don’t know, nothing probably,” she shrugs despite the burdening weight draped over her shoulders – non-verbal indication of a missing query.

“Look at me,” he prompts, to which she complies, locking their gazes together, even if for a split second. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know either,” she sighs for a change, distracted by the subtle clink of glass against the polished table top – water, she presumes, satisfactorily sparkling. “I mean, it’s just… Have you seen the articles?”

“‘Romance with an outlaw?’” He cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at the woman, unable to miss the reddish tint blossoming upon her checks as a response to the ridiculous headline. “Yes, and sometimes I’m amazed where the fuck they dig that shit from, which is probably the Net, but still, their ‘dedication’ is incomprehensible for me.”

“He’s not even an outlaw, so I don’t get it,” she shakes her head – expression of a deep-rooted disapproval.

“Well, he doesn’t have to be,” he shrugs, careless all of sudden. “I just think the editors assumed it’d sell itself as, I don’t know, romantic or some shit, but that’s by the by.”

“I mean the real problem is that he hid so many things from me,” she frowns, gaze glued to some mindless spot on the bar – venomous green, absinthe maybe? “And although he has never been the one to discuss his past, I was surprised when I read the article, and I’ve been surprised ever since.”

“Mhm, so tell me now, have you ever asked yourself just why he did that?”

“Yes, but um, it was just… a weird experience? I don’t know,” she sighs, hybrid nails scratching at the pale temple. “I feel like he should’ve told me since we’re together, ‘cause that’s… that’s what I’d do.”

“I believe not,” he opposes – dry and unyielding, beyond unexpected.

“Oh great, so now you’re defending him,” she fusses, exasperation evident in her voice. “That’s exactly what I need, thank you very much.”

“Christ, Gia,” he rolls his eyes, sometimes just as equally tired with her pendulum-like moods. “All I wanted to say was that it’s nothing but an academic example. Take for instance that moral dilemma with pedestrian crossing. You’re sitting at home, drinking tea, while choosing to murder random groups of people. And that’s absurd, ‘cause in real life it’d never happen, and even if, when push comes to the shove you might act out of pure instinct, deprived of warm beverage and blanket. So what I’m trying to say is that those hypothetical scenarios… they are all just assumptions, no more no less, and we’ll never know what we’d do unless we find ourselves involved in a certain situation.”

“Okay, but I still think he should’ve told me,” she justifies, seemingly at loss of the mental flexibility.

“How long are you together?” He questions, as if only to prove a point. “Two? Three weeks?”

“Four,” she corrects – a matter considered beyond insignificant by the bartender who is relatively quick to brush the artiste off in resemblance to Connor, and so much to her exasperation.

“Doesn’t matter, ‘cause, you know, not anyone feels ready to spill the guts after twenty-something days of personal relationship.”

“I was just trying to be honest with him, ‘kay?” She counters, attempting to mitigate the prior surge of spite with an apologetic explanation. “Show a little empathy, or something.”

“So you’re telling me your ‘empathy’ is uniformed when it comes to, I don’t know, traumas?” He retorts, as if genuinely tired with the lacking logics when it comes to justifying her motives.

“Yeah, I mean, I’m sorry,” she sighs, once again back to the resigned attitude, now that the ire has evaporated. “It’s just… he’s killed people there, and I don’t know… I feel like it’s a lot to digest. Especially since I got furious and pushed him into telling the truth, and he… he told me so many horrible things, he told me they-”

“Which war was that?” he interrupts, having sensed the approaching lachrymose confession. “Climate one?”

“Yes, the Fifth,” she bestows him with a terse affirmation, swallowing the thick lump in her throat.

“The Fifth one… okay, so think about it now,” he waves his hand in a self-indicating gesture, accompanied by her eyes following the movement, even if for a split second. “He must’ve been like, I don’t know, twenty at best.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” she nods, face marked by a perturbed frown – indication of worry, “but then I started digging, and I’ve discovered some really weird shit.”

“Like what exactly?”

“It’s like he’s been alive for eight years or something,” she begins, having reversed the chronology, at least according to his assumptions, considering she tends to do that sometimes. “I mean he told me he had had some kind of an accident there or whatever, got half off his organs replaced because of that. But when he had gotten better, they were to send him back on the field, right?”

“Right, but what about these eight years or something?” He inquires, attempting to redirect her train of thought to the clarifying realm, now that he is getting curious.

“I’ll circle back to it later, ‘kay?” She sighs, albeit this time to indicate the vexation evoked by his query. “So the last thing he told me was that he deserted, right?”

“Right,” he nods in affirmation.

“And that was when Cara pushed me to start digging,” she reveals, emphasizing it with the click of her cantaloupe nail against the table top.

“Cara? I thought you two were-”

“Yes, we are, but that’s not important now,” she interrupts, determined to set the record straight now that he is interfering with her vision, even if unintentionally. “Anyway, after the desertion there is like… a blank spot on his record – six years or something – and then he’s back in the corporative class.”

“Where have you learned that?” He frowns – puzzled expression dancing over his features.

“In the Net,” she states – a sentence considered beyond obvious, redundant, waste of a triple nature.

“Don’t you think you’re being paranoid?” He indicates, hesitating when it comes to veracity of said assumption, but at the same time uncertain whether it is a sane idea to confirm her beliefs. “Maybe he moved to his parents’ house, wanted to get some rest, or something? Wasn’t active on social media? Christ, I don’t know.”

“I mean it was just the Surface that we managed to check, so…”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re here!” He exclaims, shaking his head in disapproval, now that the realization has been casted upon him. “To pay that sleazy son of fuck to get you down to the Dark, now am I right or am I correct?”

“You know where is he?”

“No,” he negates, careless all off sudden, as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, “and I haven’t seen him tonight at all.”

“I don’t believe you,” she states – dry and demanding when refused.

“Well, you don’t have to,” he smiles – both apologetic and condescending once again, prompting her to finish this conversation, no matter how helpful it turned out to be.

“But thanks anyway,” she concludes, having opted for a lighter undertone, since a part of her refuses to treat him akin to some pitiful pushover, not that he would care much in such circumstances.

“Sure, you’re welcome, Gia.”

A greeting appropriate just for tonight.

Indication of lacking fortune.

* * *

Breathing.

It is a simple act, lasting in a self-repeating loop – inhale and exhale, entwined with each other on the model of the aforementioned construct – remaining out of notice due to its permanent presence throughout one’s life. Which is why he considers meditation as worth the effort, since it lets his focus switch to the routine activities connected with the process itself: steady rises and falls of his shoulders, expansion of the ribcage conditioned by the diaphragm’s contractions – a way to get rid of what is redundant but also a method of relaxation, capacity valued in the times of trial.

Times such as now.

Times when he is forced to circle back to the past, and so to break the promise, ideological contract signed by the immaterial stylus, undoubtedly requiring the highest penalty.

Times when the dim lights become blinding.

When the silhouettes stop moving.

When the music dies down.

Leaving him alone in the secluded dimension.

Wiped away from the memories.

From the consciousness.

Buried deep enough to prevent the excavation.

And yet he is standing there, just at the doorway coexisting in two realms – both virtual and metaphorical – ready to take the leap.

Just a mere step

Pass the threshold.

“Everything’s ready?” He ascertains, struggling to recognize the rasp of his own voice.

“Yeah,” he hears the cracking noise reverberate in the earbud, before the connection steadies, allowing him to distinguish the following words properly. “Push it now.”

“Mhm, sure,” he hums, acting as per her request just to be greeted by the sight of a luxurious penthouse, impossible to be swept as a whole.

“I’ll lead you through, ‘kay?” She has a nice voice – a nuance that does not slip past his attention – smooth as molasses.

“Well, I hope so,” he teases, having decided to stray from the subject a bit, even if only for the entertaining purposes. “But, you know, I’ve been wondering what it is that you’re actually risking by helping me?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she refuses to clarify – ice-cold queen. “It’s not like I’m doing it, ‘cause I have the softest heart ever. It’s that kind of shit you get paid for. Generously.”

“No need to lie to me, you know,” he nags further, as if to determine her tolerance for such attitude in general, now that he intends to redirect his train of thoughts – transition between tension and thrill. “Thought you might like to talk, but if not, I get it, no pressure. It’s just… I’m curious, and probably just as fucked as you are, but that’s by the by.”

“Connect to the monitoring system,” she directs – blunt and reserved.

“Sure, anything,” he affirms with a hint of smile tugging at the corners of his lips, fingers fishing out the portable device from the inner pocket of his jacket, ready to jack in. “Not in the mood to talk?”

“I? Not in the mood?” She retorts, presumably a query, but the flat tone might be delusionary. “What a plot twist.”

“Mhm, most certainly,” he agrees – a humming baritone that resonates through his chest.

“Mhm,” she mimics the sound, milder when juxtaposed with the prior accusative timbre. “Thanks for not fucking this up by the way.”

“So you’re in the system?” He ascertains, rising an inquisitive eyebrow – a conditional reflex – despite the fact she is unable to see him now.

Or is she?

“Yeah,” she bestows him with a brisk affirmation just as he steps through the threshold of the security room, intent to hide in the opposite area, and so seize the opportunity to sneak up on the pimp from behind.

“Should I worry about anything else?” He inquires – a matter of clarification – now that he is leaning by the quartz pillar.

“For now? No, just wait,” she instructs, probably for the last time this evening, which evokes that odd tension once again, indicating the inevitability of the climax. “He’ll be here soon.”

“And just how’d you know that?”

“’Cause I’ve fucking fried his security system, which means he’s got the message that there’s a malfunction?” She snaps, voiced laced with a distinctive hint of sarcasm; and it suits her, he thinks. “What did you expect?”

“Certainly much more fumbling,” he explains, having opted for ignoring the accusative tone, at least for now, although a part of him still considers it weird, the fact that he is in full supervision of his own security system – dictated by the trust issues maybe?

“Better lower your expectation for the next time, huh?” She suggests, allowing herself to switch back to the bedroom area that he is currently occupying, even for a brief moment, a moment of distraction, curious about his appearance, which might as well be the second most irresponsible decision of this month, but still, she cannot help herself.

It has been sane to say they are both equally fucked.

“That’d actually set them higher,” he chuckles – a sound that catches him off guard for a split second, enhanced by the fact he is the one to voice it – a paradox maybe? “’Cause if I expect a relatively tough situation to run smoothly, it means that I set my expectation high, at least when it comes to the fortunate circumstances or my capacities.”

“But isn’t it like this sometimes?” She ponders, metallic nails scratching her chin, as she drinks in his features – ash blonde hair, geometric cheek implants, and tall silhouette, clad in dark clothing – interesting to say the least. “That, um… that you do something unintentionally or by accident, and in the end it turns out for the better?”

“Maybe it is,” he shrugs, glancing at the camera’s lens, as if he sensed her gaze on him, which has the woman adverting it to the side, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Ridiculous. “Maybe I even dare to say I agree, but-”

“Okay, C,” she does not even know his name, for fuck’s sake. “Sorry to interrupt, but he’s here. Luckily alone.”

“Yeah, right according to our assumptions,” he nods, calmer when confronted by an factual information. “So how much time do I have?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” she vacillates – feverish, and so incapable to decide, even if for a split second. “A minute? Two maybe?”

“Couldn’t you like… tell me earlier?” He frowns, voice laced with a hint of accusation.

“Maybe if you weren’t fucking distracting me?” She mimics his tone – indication of an approaching argument, although she is yet to surprise him in that realm.

“Well, I tend to do that sometimes,” he teases as per usual, maybe to conceal the fact she appears to be quits in that matter, eliciting a vexed huff from his female partner on the other side of the line.

“Uh just- I don’t know, good luck.”

Beep, ensued by silence.

Alone again.

Although not for long.

Indicated by the click of the front door and cautious steps reverberating in the adjoining area, or rather the creeping climax acquiring a form of a male with chrome hand – external damnation – from where he can see approaching the security room with a gun clutched tightly by the synthetic digits.

Closure.

Closure that grants perspectives.

Perspectives at hand.

Hand of providence.

Providence of a man.

Man to replace the God.

Unbelievable.

One step, two, then three… from or towards the target? Clueless, deprived of an ability to count, with tunnel vision drifting him towards the goal – a man leaning by the table, gaze fixated on the computer screen, scrolling through the program.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself – a sound that sends a shiver down the manager’s spine, but also prompts him to move forth, closer and closer to the man, echoing in the mental dimension, on the pinnacle of tensity, bracing for a fall.

A fall that comes with a surge forward, with a clasp of his hands around the pimp’s throat, with a choked groan, uttered in an empty space.

A hiss recognized as his own, evoked by the sharp pain resonating from the wrist, clasp in between the artificial fingers, biting in the flesh.

An idea, out of pure instinct, to pull the target down to the ground, before he manages to elbow him in the gut and so wriggle out from his grasp.

A contact – interference of gazes, dazed juxtaposed (mingled?) with determined, face flushed due to the effort, piercing red irises staring right at him.

A mere adjustment – evidence of skill and practice – to cut off his blood flow, switch from choking to strangling.

A fall that comes with a dull thud – head colliding with the polished floor – body slack in his hands, hands that keep their hold around the victims neck for a few longer moments – a procedure to ascertain that his brain remains hypoxic for long enough to cause fatal damage.

Terminal.

Taxing.

Transitional.

“Fucking hell,” he rasps, once again struggling to recognize the sound of his own voice, as he scoots away from the body, finding the necessary support in the nearby wall.

With back pressed flushed against it, head tilted to the side, he is vaguely aware of the dull throbbing resonating from his wrist, now that he is coming to senses, which prompts him to rise the violated limb to the eye level. He is greeted with a sight of reddened flesh, indicating the inevitable appearance of a purplish bruise, albeit deprived of any nasty outcomes – no sprained joints and crushed bones – much to his relief.

Clean work, as for the professional.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, massaging the achy spot with the opposite hand, as he attempts to swallow the thick lump down his throat, parched to some inhuman degree.

Delirious.

Incognizant of what has just happened on the security room’s floor.

Incognizant of the body lying at his feet.

Incognizant of the myriad of possible consequences.

Just tired.

And thirsty.

“Water.”

And with that thought in mind, he makes his way to the kitchen, as if only for the sake of delaying what is inevitable.

Aftermath of conscience.

* * *

Emptiness.

Vastness of possibilities?

Dimension for creation?

Vicious end?

Dreadful perspective?

Sacrifice worth the grief.

Or a decision that has been bothering him since he passed the threshold of that fatal penthouse, burdening him with a distinctive realization – he is far from proud or pleased with the turn of events, all against his will, forced to succumb, degraded to the level of some common mercenary.

Unbelievable.

How many days was that? Two thousand eight hundred and fifty six?

And now? Ten?

A missing piece of puzzles – that is what it feels like – a habit he has grown accustomed with throughout the years, a channel to pour sorrows to, and now? How is he supposed to record his ideas, intents, or insights when he has none, no inquiries, no impressions.

No fate.

An ending line, elongating past the point of a broken promise – informal, yet more meaningful than any other he has ever concluded – indicating the disastrous vision acquiring its vessel’s form – sticky liquid, leaving indelible stains on each and every surface as if to mar it for all eternity.

(That’s a tad bit dramatic, don’t you think?)

(Romantic?)

To be fair, he is far from the level of knowledge that would allow him to elaborate a romantic expertise, not only a loathsome trait, but also lethal, lethal to consider suicide as a redemption from some tragic love – factor that is meant to shatter their proximate universe. As an individual (what a fitting term) he conjectures it to be far more than just plain dangerous: following their obsolete beliefs, soaking up their wisdoms, switching to their philosophy of life – simply damnation-granting. Nevertheless, the contemporary world appears as beyond deprived from any excess traces from the bygone times, pitiful remains that are swept away with the passing years – an eternal river – all to the convenience of its dwellers.

Which leads him to yet another assumption.

What if he is wrong? What if it is bound to indicate a conclusion of entirely different nature, a conclusion leading to an ultimate enlightenment – our future is what we consider it to be, a conglomerate of particles, of events to be foreseen, of idealistic visions and rational objectives, transcending human comprehension, so fatally finite?

With us occupying the creator’s chair.

“People are marred,” he states all of sudden, which captures the artiste’s attention, and so prompts her to rise from the lounging position on the sofa, legs still draped over male’s lap as his fingers trail mindless serpentines over the ivory skin, “damaged, shattered, akin to a glass pane.”

“What makes you think that?” She inquires, forehead marked with two thin lines – indication of puzzlement – with her gaze lingering on male’s profile, on the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, up to the subtle geometric line adorning his cheeks, and the intricate patterns decorating the side of his neck.

“It was just a random thought, nothing significant.”

(Sure I’d believe that.)

“Mind if I smoke?”

“You smoke?” She frowns once again, confused due to the alternating course, watching him from the propped-up position, not the most convenient to be honest.

“Only after sex,” he bestows Gia with a brisk clarification, offering her a helping hand as she rises from the spot, now kneeling beside him with his arm encircling her waist, palm flat on the hip. “So?” He cocks an expecting eyebrow at her, as if searching for an answer. “Do you mind?”

She shakes her head no, shivering once his hand abandons its previous spot, and so deprives the female from his body heat, no matter how moderate it has been until now. With her eyes following the leisure movements that result in lighting up a slim cig, held delicately in between a pair of his long fingers, she cannot help but dwell upon each and every notion evoked by the unfortunate publication, the fact that he barely talks about himself as if he could not trust her – a partner who is supposed to be the person to open up to, a friend to soak up all sorrows, a guarantor of the so-called unconditional love.

But is he even capable of that? Of romantic affection? Or is he simply yet another cold-hearted inhabitant, so fitting in the cruel world, a place where vulnerability overlaps with divergence, a place nowhere near to be considered as home, vast and empty, of multiple dimensions and unexplored concepts?

“What else have you been hiding from me?”

“And what is it that you’re expecting to hear?” He glances at her from the seat by the open window, face illuminated by the shimmering neons. “Some kind of a story?”

“That’s what I’m counting for,” she affirms, fixing the tee that has ridden up her thighs, as if sensing that excess exposure is rather unfavorable in such case.

“Fine then,” he agrees, taking the last drag from the half-smoked cigarette, before he tosses it out of the window, much to her distaste. “I’m gonna tell you a story, a story an idealistic girl like you would never understand.”

“I’m not-”

“Do you know what it feels like… being forced to kill?” He begins, having ignored her opposition, all considered trivial when juxtaposed with his attempt of confession. “Answer me.”

“Why do you think you, or anyone else, have the right to kill?” She huffs, a concept laying beyond her comprehension – a superior man, the one to overuse his authority.

Lord of Life and Death.

Disgusting.

Or an inquiry that has him chuckling in response, a bitter laughter that echoes in the empty space, even if metaphorically so, ringing in her ears as they receive the stimulus.

“And the body? What it smells like? How heavy it is?” He continues, leaning backwards, elbows supported by the window frame, as if bracing for the lethal leap. “Impossibly so. It’s like you can barely lift it… perhaps because of the emotional baggage? Who knows?”

The words that reverberate in the fragile expanse of her mind.

Words that shatters her affection, her deep-rooted fondness.

Everything that she has ever bestowed him with.

And it strips her bare, naked in front of his penetrative gaze.

“What have you done?” She gulps, anticipating the terminal answer with parched throat and tensed muscles.

“And against your conscious will? That’s truly the debasement of humanity,” he shoves the query aside, at least for now, intent to explain everything on his own conditions. “Just imagine that, you have no fucking money, and it forces you to fuck some sleazy pimp in order to provide all necessities. And you hate yourself for that, ‘cause it’s fucking disgusting, fucking… hideous as it seeps through your pores. But you can’t deny it, and more – gotta accept it as a fact, ‘cause there’s no other way.”

“Oh, man of little faith,” she rolls her eyes – a mannerism he chooses to ignore, along with the pitiful comment – a sack full of idealistic absurdities.

“For almost eight years, I thought I could escape my past, ‘cause I’d think that’s where all bygone actions belong,” he continues, gaze fixated on some unidentified spot decorating the opposite wall. “And then I got a phone call from an old pal. You know what he told me?”

“I’m not omniscient,” she retorts, choosing to be sarcastic all of sudden, a turnabout that he finds oddly amusing.

“Oh you’re not? Okay,” he throws her a brief glance, lips laced in a condescending smirk – a signature of his. “So he called me because of a favor. Old times, saved my life in New Mexico, and you’ll never understand what it means, unless you experience that kind of bond. It’s something that’ll always defy the laws of physic, finding its way back to the surface, no matter the amount of stones you use to drown it.”

“What kind of favor?”

“Of the non-negotiable kind,” he clarifies, a matter offensively obvious in his notion, “and what was that favor you may ask? Fairly simple, get rid of some overconfident pimp, the rest is not important.”

A mere statement.

Not to mention beyond expected.

And yet potent enough to drain blood out of her face, push past the pinnacle of emotions, coiling just underneath the surface, coiling and wailing to be released from the confinement of their prison.

Resurrection that comes with catharsis.

Rampant rage.

“You didn’t have to do it, you know,” she spats – blunt and accusatory. “And the fact that you did it only makes you a coward – no – it makes you a hypocrite, who is also a coward, for not following his beliefs, ‘cause… you know what defines one as a human?”

“What defines one as a human, miss Ortega?”

(How dare he!)

“The quality of being good,” she explains, struggling to keep up with the calmer tone, not willing to blow up just yet, “the quality you clearly lack. And it pains me to see how much mistaken I’ve been.”

He laughs again.

And this time it has her blood boiling hot.

“It’s so ease to judge others, don’t you think?” He retorts, calling back to that ridiculous conversation at the Interstellar, just few days prior, or a lifetime maybe? “Especially when all you have to worry is ‘being a good person’. It is an incredible privilege to choose between those two factors – what’s moral and immoral – a privilege not everyone can afford.”

Up to the breaking point.

“You’re incomplete,” he continues, rising to walk towards the door, indicating her inevitable departure that creeps closer and closer, tightening its claws around her weeping soul, “and you’ll always be until you understand that other people’s beliefs don’t define who you are.”

Snap.

“You know what? I hate you! You’re the most hideous, the most disgusting-”

“Sure I am,” he nods – a terse affirmation, so laconic it almost has her slapping him, safe only due to the fact she is putting on her pants. “But I believe you’ve already mentioned that.”

“I- I-”

“Oh do go on, tell me,” he interrupts – a jeering remark, a mannerism that she loathes more than anything else as an evidence of her disastrous tendency to maneuver between the polarities, “share your very important beliefs.”

“No, fuck you!” She exclaims, fingers clasping around the material of her coat, soon to yank it from the hanger. “I’m leaving and I can guarantee you won’t see me. Ever. Again.”

“Overly dramatic, but okay, I can cope with that,” a response that consists of a mere shrug, as if it was the only action laying in his capacity after those few months together – the most vicious farewell. “And whatever you’re planning to do with yourself… good luck with that.”

“Dickhead,” she throws over her shoulder – an expression of bitter virulence – ready to depart with a heavy slam – indication of a bygone phase, never to be retreated, fleetingness laced with some odd kind of beauty, the one he has almost dared to forget throughout the years, all of sudden thirsty for its everlasting charm.

Ergo, he remains awake that night.

Staring at the celling until sunlight accompanies the neons.

* * *

“Day twenty seventh,” he begins, the sound of running shower acting as his lonesome listener, not that he needs any audience today. “I’ve noticed an interesting pattern recently, or maybe I’ve just been reminded of its existence... I don’t know…maybe… The thing is, I’ve got some vague memories of my childhood, maybe because I was trying so desperately to push away the past, to treat every day like a rebirth, and so forced myself to forget… Actually, that sounds ridiculous when spoken out loud, but it’s fine, I can cope with that.”

“So as a kid I’d perceive world in terms of a simple black-and-white matter, which had me thinking my curiosity was soon to be satiated, kind of ironic… Anyway, as I was getting older, I also came to a conclusion that our world is run on secrets, and despite the years that have passed since then, I still agree with this sentence. It gets me to wonder how much of the given information applies to the reality, which makes quite an important factor in the contemporary world, but that’s by the by.”

“Cutting to the chase, realizations are like cycles, and by saying so I meant that they pay us a visit in self-repeating patterns. Which indicates the so-called tendency of changing one’s mind that sometimes allows us to circle back to the starting point. Quite interesting to be honest, especially in the face of some intense experience, both physically and emotionally, that is… that is, um… capable of rearranging the entire sequence of outlooks.”

“For years I’d think that what the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve over, or something, I’m only paraphrasing… but this seems to sum up why I’ve decided on all these tattoos, hours and hours of stinging discomfort. But it was nothing compared to being obliged to see all the scars, not because of the aesthetics but because of the continuous pain… the continuous pain and its physical reminiscence. At that time I couldn’t accept it, but now… I don’t know… it’s weird, both relieving and chilling, as if a piece of puzzle was missing… which makes me think that I’ll just need some time to get used to it. Either way it’s refreshing, so blissfully refreshing… fuck, I love it.”

“Normally at this point I’d remind myself of that crappy shit I was told in the past, maybe because it was my only way to connect with it, and fuck… it makes me such a fucking hypocrite, but now… I doubt whether I need it anymore.”

“’Cause I did fucking man up. End of a story.”

Created: 12/28/20 Completed: 03/11/21 Edited: 03/17/21

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shriekbackmusic · 5 years

Text

‘Contaminated Pop’ - Lyrics Barry Andrews’ 2019 Solo Album

PUT ME TO WORK

I’ve been a groom I‘ve worked the room I’ve wrapped myself around a broom back in my prime

I fixed the stats

I shaved the rats

Brought litter for the Thundercats

- so many times

(I’ve been a jerk)

PUT ME TO WORK!

O mighty plume! O suffering moon! O weasles in the drawing room! (please make it fast) enklastify my words right now unruly gods will show me how I’ll get the mule before the plough until the last I will not shirk PUT ME TO WORK!

I’ll get the weight upon on my back I’ll eat my body weight in thrak I’ll holler by the railway track (and holler loud!) This Plasma-shift i cannot stop Tumescence intra bellytop Merch is flying out the shop. and in the crowd, are many perks...

PUT ME TO WORK!

O master fruit so tried and true O solemn plague-rat kangaroo Something to get my teeth into is all I pray now linear ducks have just arrived the bullshit has metastasized i am intensely exercised O mood display! Let’s go beserk...

PUT ME TO WORK!

SHIT-PIXIE Don’t you feel in the spring the sickening overkill of everything? can’t help it it’s all hard-wired now All these earthly delights Looking as silly as a bag of lights Ah come on now It’s gotta feel real tired now…

Hey Mary! Get Lairy! You’re still off with the fairies But you know what the whizz and the gelignite can do.. Don’t tangle, just jangle Bring on the crimes and the scandals I’m the Shit Pixie - I’m gonna dance for you.

Nothing real will impinge on the fierce exertions of your perma-binge. Working for you? Got it in hand now? But you won’t draw the sting with your classical allusions and your broken wing. I’m gonna draw you a line in the sand now

So shabby! Gabby! Get yourself back to the abbey you can tell the enqiuiry what and when you knew They concluded what you did was totally scuppered and scoobied I’m the Shit Pixie and I’m gonna tell you true

All the gears grind for you but the light still shines on Column 32 It’s an idea (might make it worse now) Nothing glows in the night and you feel sexy as an ammonite all your virtues are a kind of curse now

Ah Mimi! It’s dreamy! if you shut your eyes you can see me I’m a horse of a different colour boiled to glue. Ignore it; just floor it. It’s so shot-away-in-the-war it’s just the Shit Pixie who’s got a thing for you..

Virgin of the Ladder

I really dig your chiaroscuro it gives me something I can misconstrue these sickly martyrs make me feel alright: they give me something I can live up to

I guess this is where the magic happens: an epiphany of stone and light? Blue-collar… of the Madonna to bring in something from the building site.

O my Virgin of the Ladder will you be with me when I start to climb? Gravity I’m overcoming Nothing doing when it comes to Time

in this year without a summer when I lost everything I thought was mine all the pain and the sheeting rain and I’m sorry baby that was the last of the wine

and I know I can change but there’s only so much a ladder will do D’you want an acolyte that is so scared of heights? rung by rung I’m climbing up to you O virgin of the ladder grant me only that I do not fall towards the centre of the earth Ah keep that ladder up against the wall Oh Virgin of the Ladder what a pretty gal you are maybe a slow climbdown into the squalid town Light a candle on the way to the bar

it’s laboured as an image overused as a metaphor for spiritual ascension (Blake and Jacob did it long before)

but you are Mother of the Word Incarnate but what good are words when you want deeds? - you need practical KIT when you’re deep in the shit and that ladder’s gonna meet my needs O my Virgin of the Ladder will you be with me when I start to climb? Gravity I’m overcoming Nothing doing when it comes to Time

ABDOMEN JONES she will never understand all the tragic flaws of man and has not the slightest sympathy for anyone who can she disdains all protocol (she finds much distainable) still she has nothing in the quiver she’s unable to deliver

Calling Abdomen Jones I love Abdomen Jones and her animus is tidal Paging Abdomen Jones - with her 3 mobile phones - she says: ‘work is the blackmail of survival’

Honey badger isn’t fussed he has transcended disgust ….and it’s known that Jones atones for anything she must Doesn’t claim to be profound never takes the Higher Ground She is fully hypostatic - you should hear her in the attic…

Calling Abdomen Jones Strength to Abdomen Jones! with all her subtle modulations Paging Abdomen Jones with her libido made of chrome she says: ‘pain is a kind of information’

And in any case she sees she is queen of all the bees (as she has some fun and stuns us with her fluent Javanese). And who tunes the concert grand? who will now conduct the band? Her case is prima facie (takes the Beethoven quite pacy)

Calling Abdomen Jones Lovely Abdomen Jones she makes the sound of steam escaping Paging Abdomen Jones she does just fine on her own says: ‘caresses are a form of scraping..’

LOLLIPOP BOMB

Darling monster, sweety-pie.. my mind is wandering sadly I must walk into the reeds` terribly corroded and the saints have crumbled into sand they will not intercede

And I carress the velvet hand grenade my part is played and yes- the windows are steamy so no-one can see me

I lick the Lollipop Bomb I lick the Lollipop Bomb

hark the hot valkyries cry their flaxen hair and crazy eyes they come at last for me honey angel baby lamb I am not what you think I am and i will never be

and I will dally in the sullen glade I’m not afraid of al that I will be streaming at twilight’s last gleaming

I lick the Lollipop Bomb I lick the Lollipop Bomb

tho I was galloping along I read all the portents wrong the Golden Age could never last that long

we are not brave we are not free and yet somehow, remarkably, are able to apall this thinning crowd here in this place the baffled looks upon their faces really says it all

and I will freak out when the time arrives it’s very clear to me that life is a long song and I sang the wrong one

I lick the Lollipop Bomb I lick the Lollipop Bomb

FILTHY WONDERLAND

Come with me if you will - my imaginary friends - I have a tale to tell of phosphors and vapour. Upon a tiny screen i saw a magic realm though i was overwhelmed I got it down on paper.

there’s a scenario: a woman and a wasp not everybody’s thing but no doubt it’s someone’s tumescent butterflies are spurting everywhere: to get the full effect you can even become one

there is a land of wonders and a lot are for hire where all pay homage to the glories of the gland. Do it with Dumbo’s mummy if that is your desire there’s nothing you can’t do in Filthy Wonderland

Some legendary beasts preposterously endowed throw down a fairy girl with wings and tiara. The hobbit looking on is visibly aroused to see these monsters ride the lovely Titania

…and Things with tentacles - that penetrate the bum, A massive squirrel with a fearsome erection the whole environment inclusive as they come, pushing the envelope of natural selection…

There is a brave new vision that machines have designed (the old pornographers will never understand) such complicated pleasures for the liberal mind this is the way of things in Filthy Wonderland

a rampant unicorn; a goblin in a thong: sexual complexity well beyond triangular little Red Riding Hood encountering the wolf in ways (you have to say) are specifically glandular

Phantasmagoria: the Japanese Depraved My Little Pony is away on a hack there. Some mythic masterplan - the lion fellates the lamb - (I need to think this through before I go back there)

There’s an enchanted garden with a final frontier: a blessed Shangri-La to greet with your left hand. they put the magic in you in a new ecosphere a brave and weird new worldc in Filthy Wonderland

There is a land of wonders (and a lot you can buy) where all pay homage to the glories of the gland. Make it with all the cast and crew of Family Guy nothing’s denied to you in Filthy Wonderland..

CONSOLATION

Christ, here comes the storm again that lacerates the heart: the savage wind of ‘really nothing doing’. Pray for us the blighted: all the failed in love and art, who question everything they were pursuing. When the black dogs come for you well, what else can you do, but downwardly revise your expectations? Just kiss the sickly little rose and hold her steady as she goes as you light out for those lands of Consolation

All the aching moments when it didn’t go your way (we saw it all and none of it was pretty) Now you hear their voices in the gruesome light of day, with the wheezing, cheap harmonium of self pity. And there’s some sad things known to man - and quite a few are sadder than the sodden Paggliacci’s ruminations - but still you’d have a heart of stone to leave the poor clown on his own with half a bottle left of Consolation.

When you’ve failed to consummate the wedding of the soul or any other union you may yearn for Let the baby demons come and stretch you on the coals There’s nothing else you’d really care to burn for. Well it really isn’t fun and it comes for everyone it hauls you off despite your protestations. But all the Saints of Legoland; the Poundshop Martyrs hand in hand Will wash you in the seas of Consolation.

Satan in a monster truck Jesus on a bike all these things are sent to test your mettle Half-mast flags in Whitehall or your head upon a spike? Depends on where the dust is when it settles. All the things you struggled for you can check em at the door get ready for a dubious sedation. It’s all designed to reassure: the bingo and the talking cure, as they walk you round the grounds of Consolation

Feel the Need (lyric by Abrim Tilmon - Detroit Emeralds)

See how I’m walking See how I'm talking Notice everything in me Feel the need, oh Feel, feel the need in me

I need you by my side To be my guide Can't you see my arms Are open wide? Feel the need, oh Feel, feel the need in me

Every day, I need every day, I want, without your sweet Sweet love, I'd rather die

I need it constantly your love takes care of me your love is better To me than apple/cherry pie

Your love is tuff and I can't get enough Girl, your love is So important to me Feel the need, feel the need in me

Just put your hand in mine Love me all the time The proof you will Plainly see, Feel the need, oh Feel, feel the need in me

I need you on the case To keep my heart in place You make me what I need to be Feel the need, Feel the need in me

I need you by my side To be my guide Can't you see my arms Are open wide? Feel the need, oh Feel it, feel the need in me

#shriekbackmusic #xtc band #britpop #technomusic #electronica

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pamphletstoinspire · 6 years

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THE BOOK OF ECCLESIASTES- From The Douay-Rheims Bible - Latin Vulgate

Chapter 10

INTRODUCTION

This Book is called Ecclesiastes, or the preacher, (in Hebrew, Coheleth) because in it Solomon, as an excellent preacher, setteth forth the vanity of the things of this world, to withdraw the hearts and affections of men from such empty toys. Ch. --- Coheleth is a feminine noun, to indicate the elegance of the discourse. It is very difficult to discriminate the objections of free-thinkers from the real sentiments of the author. It is most generally supposed that Solomon wrote this after his repentance; but this is very uncertain. S. Jerom (in C. xii. 12.) informs us that the collectors of the sacred books had some scruple about admitting this; and Luther speaks of it with great disrespect: (Coll. conviv.) but the Church has always maintained its authority. See Conc. v. Act. 4. Philast. 132. C. --- It refutes the false notions of worldlings, concerning felicity; and shews that it consists in the service of God and fruition. W.

The additional Notes in this Edition of the New Testament will be marked with the letter A. Such as are taken from various Interpreters and Commentators, will be marked as in the Old Testament. B. Bristow, C. Calmet, Ch. Challoner, D. Du Hamel, E. Estius, J. Jansenius, M. Menochius, Po. Polus, P. Pastorini, T. Tirinus, V. Bible de Vence, W. Worthington, Wi. Witham. — The names of other authors, who may be occasionally consulted, will be given at full length.

Verses are in English and Latin. HAYDOCK CATHOLIC BIBLE COMMENTARY

This Catholic commentary on the Old Testament, following the Douay-Rheims Bible text, was originally compiled by Catholic priest and biblical scholar Rev. George Leo Haydock (1774-1849). This transcription is based on Haydock's notes as they appear in the 1859 edition of Haydock's Catholic Family Bible and Commentary printed by Edward Dunigan and Brother, New York, New York.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Changes made to the original text for this transcription include the following:

Greek letters. The original text sometimes includes Greek expressions spelled out in Greek letters. In this transcription, those expressions have been transliterated from Greek letters to English letters, put in italics, and underlined. The following substitution scheme has been used: A for Alpha; B for Beta; G for Gamma; D for Delta; E for Epsilon; Z for Zeta; E for Eta; Th for Theta; I for Iota; K for Kappa; L for Lamda; M for Mu; N for Nu; X for Xi; O for Omicron; P for Pi; R for Rho; S for Sigma; T for Tau; U for Upsilon; Ph for Phi; Ch for Chi; Ps for Psi; O for Omega. For example, where the name, Jesus, is spelled out in the original text in Greek letters, Iota-eta-sigma-omicron-upsilon-sigma, it is transliterated in this transcription as, Iesous. Greek diacritical marks have not been represented in this transcription.

Footnotes. The original text indicates footnotes with special characters, including the astrisk (*) and printers' marks, such as the dagger mark, the double dagger mark, the section mark, the parallels mark, and the paragraph mark. In this transcription all these special characters have been replaced by numbers in square brackets, such as [1], [2], [3], etc.

Accent marks. The original text contains some English letters represented with accent marks. In this transcription, those letters have been rendered in this transcription without their accent marks.

Other special characters.

Solid horizontal lines of various lengths that appear in the original text have been represented as a series of consecutive hyphens of approximately the same length, such as ---.

Ligatures, single characters containing two letters united, in the original text in some Latin expressions have been represented in this transcription as separate letters. The ligature formed by uniting A and E is represented as Ae, that of a and e as ae, that of O and E as Oe, and that of o and e as oe.

Monetary sums in the original text represented with a preceding British pound sterling symbol (a stylized L, transected by a short horizontal line) are represented in this transcription with a following pound symbol, l.

The half symbol (1/2) and three-quarters symbol (3/4) in the original text have been represented in this transcription with their decimal equivalent, (.5) and (.75) respectively.

Unreadable text. Places where the transcriber's copy of the original text is unreadable have been indicated in this transcription by an empty set of square brackets, [].

Chapter 10

Observations on wisdom and folly, ambition and detraction.

[1] Dying flies spoil the sweetness of the ointment. Wisdom and glory is more precious than a small and shortlived folly.

Muscae morientes perdunt suavitatem unguenti. Pretiosior est sapientia et gloria, parva et ad tempus stultitia.

[2] The heart of a wise man is in his right hand, and the heart of a fool is in his left hand.

Cor sapientis in dextera ejus, et cor stulti in sinistra illius.

[3] Yea, and the fool when he walketh in the way, whereas he himself is a fool, esteemeth all men fools.

Sed et in via stultus ambulans, cum ipse insipiens sit, omnes stultos aestimat.

[4] If the spirit of him that hath power, ascend upon thee, leave not thy place: because care will make the greatest sins to cease.

Si spiritus potestatem habentis ascenderit super te, locum tuum ne demiseris, quia curatio faciet cessare peccata maxima.

[5] There is an evil that I have seen under the sun, as it were by an error proceeding from the face of the prince:

Est malum quod vidi sub sole, quasi per errorem egrediens a facie principis :

[6] A fool set in high dignity, and the rich sitting beneath.

positum stultum in dignitate sublimi, et divites sedere deorsum.

[7] I have seen servants upon horses: and princes walking on the ground as servants.

Vidi servos in equis, et principes ambulantes super terram quasi servos.

[8] He that diggeth a pit, shall fall into it: and he that breaketh a hedge, a serpent shall bite him.

Qui fodit foveam incidet in eam, et qui dissipat sepem mordebit eum coluber.

[9] He that removeth stones, shall be hurt by them: and he that cutteth trees, shall be wounded by them.

Qui transfert lapides affligetur in eis, et qui scindit ligna vulnerabitur ab eis.

[10] If the iron be blunt, and be not as before, but be made blunt, with much labour it shall be sharpened: and after industry shall follow wisdom.

Si retusum fuerit ferrum, et hoc non ut prius, sed hebetatum fuerit, multo labore exacuetur, et post industriam sequetur sapientia.

[11] If a serpent bite in silence, he is nothing better that backbiteth secretly.

Si mordeat serpens in silentio, nihil eo minus habet qui occulte detrahit.

[12] The words of the mouth of a wise man are grace: but the lips of a fool shall throw him down headlong.

Verba oris sapientis gratia, et labia insipientis praecipitabunt eum;

[13] The beginning of his words is folly, and the end of his talk is a mischievous error.

initium verborum ejus stultitia, et novissimum oris illius error pessimus.

[14] A fool multiplieth words. A man cannot tell what hath been before him: and what shall be after him, who can tell him?

Stultus verba multiplicat. Ignorat homo quid ante se fuerit; et quid post se futurum sit, quis ei poterit indicare?

[15] The labour of fools shall afflict them that know not how to go to the city.

Labor stultorum affliget eos, qui nesciunt in urbem pergere.

[16] Woe to thee, O land, when thy king is a child, and when the princes eat in the morning.

Vae tibi, terra, cujus rex puer est, et cujus principes mane comedunt.

[17] Blessed is the land, whose king is noble, and whose princes eat in due season for refreshment, and not for riotousness.

Beata terra cujus rex nobilis est, et cujus principes vescuntur in tempore suo, ad reficiendum, et non ad luxuriam.

[18] By slothfulness a building shall be brought down, and through the weakness of hands, the house shall drop through.

In pigritiis humiliabitur contignatio, et in infirmitate manuum perstillabit domus.

[19] For laughter they make bread, and wine that the living may feast: and all things obey money.

In risum faciunt panem et vinum ut epulentur viventes; et pecuniae obediunt omnia.

[20] Detract not the king, no not in thy thought; and speak not evil of the rich man in thy private chamber: because even the birds of the air will carry thy voice, and he that hath wings will tell what thou hast said.

In cogitatione tua regi ne detrahas, et in secreto cubiculi tui ne maledixeris diviti : quia et aves caeli portabunt vocem tuam, et qui habet pennas annuntiabit sententiam.

Commentary:

Ver. 1. Ointment. A fly cannot live in it. Pliny xi. 19. --- Hence the smallest faults must be avoided, (C.) and superfluous cares, (S. Greg.) as well as the conversation of the wicked, (Thaumat.) particularly of heretics. S. Aug. con. Fulg. 14. --- Detractors may be compared to flies: they seek corruption, &c. A little leaven corrupteth the whole lump. 1 Cor. v. 6. C. --- The wicked infect their companions, and vice destroys all former virtues. W. --- Wisdom, or "a small...folly is more precious than wisdom," &c. of the world. 1 Cor. i. 25. and iii. 18. Dulce est desipere in loco. Hor. iv. ode 12. --- Heb. "folly spoils things more precious than wisdom." A small fault is often attended with the worst consequences, (C. ix. 18.) as David and Roboam experienced. 2 K. xxiv. and 3 K. xii. 14. C. --- Sept. "a little wisdom is to be honoured above the great glory of foolishness." Prot. "dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking flavour; so doth a little folly him that is in reputation for wisdom and honour." H.

Ver. 2. Hand, to do well or ill. Deut. i. 39. Jon. iv. 11. Chal.

Ver. 3. Fools. People judge others by themselves. C. --- Thus Nero could not believe that any were chaste. Suet.

Ver. 4. Place. If the devil tempt or persuade thee to sin, repent and humble thyself; or if thou hast offended the great, shew submission.

Ver. 5. Prince, who seems to have been guilty of any indiscretion.

Ver. 6. Rich. Such were chosen magistrates. Ex. xviii. 21. Prov. xxviii. 16. and xxx. 21.

Ver. 8. Him. Those who disturb the state or the Church, shall be in danger.

Ver. 9. Stones. Landmarks or walls. Prov. xxii. 18. --- Them. God will punish his injustice, in meddling with another's property.

Ver. 10. Made blunt. After being repeatedly sharpened, (C.) it will be more difficult to cut with it, and will expose the person to hurt himself, v. 9. H. --- Man, since original sin, is in a similar condition. --- Wisdom. The wise perform great things even with bad tools. Heb. "wisdom is the best directress." C.

Ver. 11. Silence. Prot. "without enchantment, and a babbler is no better." H. --- But he compares the detractor to a serpent, (C.) as he infuses the poison into all who pay attention to him. S. Jer. S. Bern.

Ver. 12. Grace. Pleasing and instructive. C.

Ver. 14. Tell him. How foolish, therefore, is it to speak about every thing!

Ver. 15. City. Being so stupid, that they know not, or will not take the pains to find what is most obvious. C. --- Thus the pagan philosophers knew all but what they ought to have known; (S. Jer.) and many such wise worldlings never strive to discover the paths which lead to the city of eternal peace: like him who contemplated the stars, and fell into a ditch. C.

Ver. 16. When thy. Heb. lit. "whose," cujus, as v. 17. H. --- S. Jerom give two senses to this passage, the literal and the mystical, according to his usual custom. The dominion of young men and of luxurious judges is reproved, as well as innovations in matters of religion. Is. iii. 4. Those are blessed who have Christ for their head, descending from the patriarchs and saints, (over whom sin ruled not, and who of course were free) and from the blessed Virgin, who was "more free." They have the apostles for princes, who sought not the pleasures of this world, but will be rewarded, in due time, and eat without confusion. T. 7. W. --- Child. Minorities often prove dangerous to the state, while regents cannot agree. --- Morning, as children eat at all times. This may relate to the ruler who is a child in age, or in knowledge, though it seems rather to refer to his counsellors. Is. v. 11.

Ver. 17. Noble. Royal extraction, (Esqlwn genesqai. Eurip. Hec.) and education, afford many advantages which others, who raise themselves to the throne, do not enjoy. Heb. "the son of those in white," (C.) or "of heroes." Mont. --- Eurim, (H.) or Chorim seems to have give rise to the word Hero. The advantages of birth only make the defects of degenerate children more observable. C. --- Heroum filii noxæ. "The sons of heroes are a nuisance," (H.) was an ancient proverb. --- Season. The time was not fixed; but it was deemed a mark of intemperance to eat before noon, when judges ought to have decided causes. Dan. xiii. 7. Acts ii. 15.

Ver. 18. Through. If we neglect our own, or other's soul, (H.) in the administration of Church, (S. Jer.) or state, all will go to ruin.

Ver. 19. Feast. As if they were born for this purpose, (Phil. iii. 19. C.) fruges consumere nati. Hor. i. ep. 2. --- Money. ---

Scilicet uxorem cum dote fidemque et amicos,

Et genus, et formam regina pecunia donet. Horace, i. ep. 6.)

- Heb. "money answers all purposes," (H.) to procure meat, drink, &c. C.

Ver. 20. Said. Pigeons are taught to carry letters in the east, and Solomon alludes to this custom, or he makes use of this hyperbole to shew, that kings will discover the most secret inclinations by means of spies. We must not speak ill even of those who are worthy of blame. v. 16. C.

#book of ecclesiastes

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dragonsongs-reprise · 7 years

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The Comfort of A Lie Can Only Last So Long: A Ranpo “Super Deduction” Ability Analysis

Everyone knows the truth of Ranpo Edogawa’s ability, the bitter truth that he doesn't have anything that makes him special, different from ordinary people. Yet, even if the man himself is starting to see this reality, he can’t accept it. If not only for the fact he trusts the man who told him the lie, it’s also that he found logic within the lie. Ranpo places valve in the lie, and thus, in his “ability”. Why is that? Why would he place valve in something that he wasn’t even aware existed till 11-12 years ago? That’s what I’m hoping to answer with this look into the way Ranpo connects his intelligence to Super Deduction.

In the third light novel, The Untold Story of the Founding of the Detective Agency. We’re introduced to a younger Ranpo, guessed by Fukuzawa to be about 14-15 years old at the time of their meeting. A meeting that happened by chance because Ranpo was simply looking for employment within the company that at the same time Fukuzawa was called over to help escort the assassin that supposedly killed said company’s president. The way that Ranpo acts isn’t too different then what we’ve been shown in the present time of the story. Someone who is knowledgeable beyond basic human comprehension yet isn’t very conscious of social norms. In his first introduction he’s rude, he marches to the beat of his own drum, seemingly uncaring of other people's problems with him. Yet, in his younger age, he seems to have feelings of detachment from the world, more particularly, the adults in this world.

We start seeing this child as he truly is under his first layer of childish rudeness. Ranpo is lost, to say the least.

“I cannot get what adults are thinking at all” – when the young boy in front of him said those words, he could feel a vague disparity in the boy’s understanding.

Raised by two genius parents, an only child who is ignorant to the ways of the world.

This young boy is different from ordinary people in some way. Something in the way his brain works – Fukuzawa could not express it other than in that vague way, but it is something exceptional. Normally that would be called deductive ability, but……if that were the case, then even if ordinary people could not understand the young boy, wouldn’t a situation where the young boy could not understand ordinary people be unthinkable?

There is a definite discrepancy in the boy’s understanding.

He doesn’t understand the world around him nor the way it works. Ranpo has been surrounded only by his parents throughout his entire youth, thus he’s never been a witness towards the world and how it can barely comprehend its own stupidity at times. Once his parents died and left him alone too soon, his world shattered. No longer are the people around him able to keep up with his intelligence, no one to tell him the world isn’t as stupid as it seems, no guidance what so ever in his life.

When he’s this young and vulnerable, everyone’s opinion of him matters. No matter how vicious they may be, he lives off these opinions now. If someone has a negative, or even a downright disgusted opinion of him, that matters to him. Not only from a personal standpoint, but also a standpoint of his continued life. If there’s no one on his side, he’ll most likely starve due to lack of funds that’ll lead into death quickly.

“Mr. Bodyguard, please save me. I am going to die without a job and without a place to stay tonight.” He could hear Ranpo’s monotonous voice. Two layers, from within the receiver and from within the teahouse.

“…………”

“I am going to die?” Ranpo said again. With a question mark this time, for some reason.

“……then I’ll refer you to a lodging faci – ”

“I am going to die without a new job,” Ranpo said, interrupting his words. While tightly grasping the receiver, Ranpo had his back turned. He was not looking at Fukuzawa in the least.

Fukuzawa was extremely reluctant.

A vision of him being sucked into a gigantic antlion pit with no way to fight against it came into his head.

Ranpo even acknowledges his new found dependency on the adults of the world that hate him. He may be naive in the way of the general population's intelligence, but he’s not naive to the basic structure of society nor does he ever think that the society owns him something just for him simply existing. The fact that he’s simply just another person within the city of Yokohama is something he’s painfully aware of. He knows that he needs a job to keep living but his own intelligence keeps getting in the way. The fact he knows everything about a person at a glance and his childish self being unable to hold it in thus acting on it is what’s holding him back from excelling in any job he finds.

And Fukuzawa sees this, and knows he has to act on this now, or else Ranpo will be far too lost in the despair of the pitiful state of the world. He knows that Ranpo isn’t any different than anyone else in this world, Ranpo doesn’t have a special ability. It’s just that he’s been blessed with a mind with a better understanding of the entire world then everyone else. This mind has created a divide for the young man, a divide that makes it impossible for him to understand that the world is truly so dumb. He needs to create a way for Ranpo to cope with this world.

“A Special Ability user.”

Ranpo stared blankly.

“……huh?”

“It’s a Special Ability,” Fukuzawa said. He was mostly unaware of what he was saying. “You are special, because you are a Special Ability user. After your parents died, your Special Ability was awoken. That’s – the case.”

“Special Ability? ……why?”

Ranpo’s eyes were wide open, his entire expression saying he really didn’t understand.

Ranpo doesn’t know what an ability user is, this is something that Fukuzawa knows and uses it to his advantage. Abilities were something neither of his parents had and because of how sheltered he was, he never even heard of abilities until he met Fukuzawa. Therefore, he can’t argue against this claim by him, only question it. So, with a few choice words and a face that doesn’t show his uncertainty in his own lie, Fukuzawa convinces him that this is true.

He makes Ranpo tie his intelligence to his ability, something that makes him special, different from everyone else. Now the world isn’t as dumb as it seemed to him, it’s just that Ranpo is special. His intelligence was a gift that he had that no one else had, he is different. He’s not stuck in a hopeless world anymore. He was simply just given something that other people don’t, he was given an advantage.

Everyone at the agency is aware that Ranpo’s “ability” is nothing more than a lie, even if they don’t know the reason why he has this lie implanted into his head. Yosano only discusses that it’s actually a lie after Ranpo managed to find the murderer within Poe’s novel, something that he had to do without his ability.

Despite the evidence placed against this lie of comfort that Ranpo’s held onto for 11-12 years, he can’t believe that it isn’t true. This lie that Fukuzawa made came in a point in his life where he would’ve been lost to despair if he hadn’t heard it. Truly, this lie saved him. So he can’t accept that his source of comfort towards the mental state of the world is nothing more then a false set of words Fukuzawa told him. He can’t believe that Fukuzawa, the only person that truly looked out for him after his parents death would lie to him about anything. Ranpo truly trusts Fukuzawa.

But with chapter.54, Ranpo is forced into seeing that his “ability” didn’t work. The lie that he saw as his comfort for so many years is now shattered. This will change the way Ranpo sees the world and perhaps even Fukuzawa himself. The man lied to him after all, the man he trusted more than anyone else. How will he take that?

Well, we won’t really know until future chapters, now will we? Thank you for taking time out of your day to read this short analysis on Ranpo and Super Deduction!

Sources:

Light Novel 3: The Untold Story of the Founding of the Detective Agency chapters 2 & 3: looking-for-stray-dogs

Scans of manga chapters 32 and 54: dazaiscans

#ranpo edogawa #edogawa ranpo #yukichi fukuzawa #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd meta talk #qrow writes

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ruthpastor46 · 5 years

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Power Failure and Blackout: An Update on the Situation in Venezuela

By Lambert Strether of Corrente

Currently, Venezuela is undergoing a country-wide blackout. Here’s an image (via Agence France Presse):

And here is an animated image of what’s happening to the Internet in Venezuela as the power failure waxes and wanes:

Urgent: Network measurements show extraordinary nationwide impact as #Venezuela is knocked offline amid power outages from 8:55 PM UTC (4:55 PM VET); incident ongoing #7Mar #SinLuzhttps://t.co/W3eqPWQUPz pic.twitter.com/PkLgQfm0B4

— NetBlocks.org (@netblocks) March 7, 2019

The situation as described by Reuters: “Venezuela shuts schools, businesses as blackout enters second day“:

Venezuela shut schools and suspended working hours on Friday after the capital Caracas and other major cities awoke without electricity for a second day due to a problem that struck the South American country’s main hydroelectric plant [, the Guri Dam]… “This is a severe problem. It is not just any blackout,” said Luis Martinez, a 53-year-old walking to work in eastern Caracas.

“A problem that struck.” Note lack of agency. And so the agent would be…

On Thursday, the Minister of Electric Energy Luis Motta Domínguez attributed the difficulties at the hydroelectric plant to “sabotage”, without providing further details.

Thinking back to, say, the way we sabotaged Iranian nuclear centrifuges with the Stuxnet worm, it’s not prima facie demented to claim sabotage on a similar project; further, sabotage of the Venezuelan grid, at the substation and transformer levels, is not unknown. That said, I can’t find any claims being made for the type of sabotage — software for the power generating facility? Physical sabotage of the dam, as with high explosives or even an air strike? — or any reports from the ground. Bloomberg:

The sabotage allegations simply aren’t credible, according to [Miguel Lara, a former director of Venezuela’s power grid]. Guri, he said, is heavily guarded and a virtual attack could have been repaired by isolating faulty equipment.

Isolating faulty equipment did not work in the case of Stuxnet, and might not work given insiders who could provide schematics to the software engineers designing malware.

But all this is pure speculation! Fun, but we’ll have to wait for the real story (if indeed we ever know it). In this post, I won’t present a general theory of whatever it is the administration is trying to to accomplish in Venezuela (besides irredentist Latin votes in Florida), or their methods (probably unsound. For an overview, see NC here). Instead, I’ll look at a splendid prank that may reveal at least what is in National Security Advisor John Bolton’s mind, how we managed not to actually invade Venezuela, revealing anecdotes about life under the tyrannous Maduro, and conclude by urging that Maduro may be stronger than is being reported.

The Prank

Reagan-era thug Eliott Abrams, fresh from his beat-down by Ilhan Omar, was totally p0wned by Russian pranksters pretending to be the Swiss President:

The U.S. envoy for Venezuela dismissed the possibility of American military action in the South American country in a recording made by two Russian pranksters and released Wednesday.

Special Representative Elliott Abrams said in the recording that the U.S. wouldn’t use force in Venezuela unless the government did something “completely crazy” like attack the American Embassy.

But Abrams, who apparently believed he was speaking with a Swiss official, said the U.S. seeks to “make the Venezuelan military nervous” by not publicly ruling out military action to oust President Nicolas Maduro.

“We think it is a mistake tactically to give them endless reassurances that there will never be American military action,” he said. “But I can tell you this is not what we are doing. What we are doing is exactly what you see, financial pressure, economic pressure, diplomatic pressure.”

The recording was made by two Russian comedians, Vladimir Kuznetsov and Alexei Stoyarov, as one of the men posed as a Swiss official speaking with Abrams about efforts to seize Venezuelan bank accounts as part of an effort to compel Maduro to cede power to opposition leader Juan Guaido.

“Economic pressure”… like sabotaging the Venezuelan power grid? Anyhow, while it’s good to know that Bolton, at least says he’s not contemplating an invasion, it’s not clear whether that’s the result of a sudden outbreak of sanity, or because we don’t have the ability to do any such thing. Because–

The Butchered Invasion

From the following Bloomberg story, “Heavily Armed Soldiers Aborted a Plan to Enter Venezuela by Force“:

Late last month, as U.S. officials joined Venezuelan opposition leader Juan Guaido near a bridge in Colombia to send desperately needed aid to the masses and challenge the rule of Nicolas Maduro, some 200 exiled soldiers were checking their weapons and planning to clear the way for the convoy.

Led by retired General Cliver Alcala, who has been living in Colombia, they were going to drive back the Venezuelan national guardsmen blocking the aid on the other side. The plan was stopped by the Colombian government, which learned of it late and feared violent clashes at a highly public event it promised would be peaceful.

Almost no provisions got in that day and hopes that military commanders would abandon Maduro have so far been dashed. Even though Guaido is back in Caracas, recognized by 50 nations as the legitimate leader of Venezuela, the impromptu taking up of arms shows that the push to remove Maduro — hailed by the U.S. as inevitable — is growing increasingly chaotic and risky.

“Highly public event.” So Branson’s stupid concert was good for something? Anyhow, if we can’t get 200 guys across a border… Doesn’t anybody here know how to play this game?

The Yoke Of Tyranny

This is pretty simple:

Venezuelas Guaido Defies Threats To Hug Mumhttps://t.co/5KLFEw8Frt#Guaido #Hug #Reunion #JuanGuaido pic.twitter.com/q1OrUxsRSL

— Ananova (@AnanovaNews) March 8, 2019

So Guaido is swanning about Caracus, hugging his wife and trying to overthrow the government, and The Tyrant Maduros hasn’t had him whacked? GTFO. And then, there don’t seem to be any food shortages in the luxury malls of Caracas:

#video @MaxBlumenthal goes to the the land of Venezuela’s opposition — a luxury mall — in search of communist dictatorship

What could they possibly want a coup for? A nicer mall? Flirting with disaster — for what? https://t.co/1AhD19tsga

— Brad Bell #GTTO (@bradbelltv) March 8, 2019

I mean, given that Venezuela exists under the sway of a brutal tyrant determined to impose a kulak-like fate on Venezuela’s Beautiful People, why do luxury malls even exist? Instead of being charred ruins. Again, GTFO.

Conclusion

From Venezuelanalysis, “Interview with Union Leader Stalin Pérez Borges: It Will Be Very Difficult to Defeat Us“:

The anti-imperialist sentiment of our people is historic and runs very deep. It will be difficult to defeat us. It will be very difficult to convince a majority of the workers and poor people to accept the raising of the US flag, as Guaidó and the political leaders of the right that accompany him have done in their public demonstrations. Since the oil strike of 1936, which almost became a national strike against the British and Yankees, and the military dictatorship, a very deep anti-imperialist sentiment has grown, which was rebuilt or revived for more than fifteen years with the message of Chávez. A rebellious sentiment appeared here that hasn’t stopped since February 27 and 28, 1989. This has found expression in the decisive, fearless struggle of April 13, 2002 [when an attempted military coup against Chávez was defeated], and in the response to the bosses’ strike and oil sabotage [in December 2002-January 2003]; in all the resistance we have done, not letting the right wing oust Maduro by force.

This guy isn’t a union leader like in, say, the AFL-CIO national office. You may or may not agree with his viewpoint, but Borges is quite critical of the Maduro government, and share a lot of history. One curious fact that stands out in the blackout reporting: There were no reports that I can find of looting; tthat’s such an obvious narrative that it would have instantly propagated via stll-charged cellphones and Twitter that I can’t help but think that Venezuelan society is on a more solid footing than presented in the press and by our political class.

And for contrast, let’s look to the IMF: “IMF Comments on ‘Complex’ Venezuela Situation“:

The International Monetary Fund on Thursday called Venezuela one of the most “complex situations” it had ever seen.

IMF spokesman Gerry Rice described Venezuela and its economy as a combination of “food and nutrition crises, hyperinflation, a destabilized exchange rate, debilitating human capital and physical productive capacity, and a very complicated debt situation.”

Rice said tackling this challenge would take “strong resolve” and “broad international support” from all 189 IMF members.

IMF Managing Director Christine Lagarde told The Economist Radio, a podcast, that the fund would help “as soon as we are asked by the legitimate authorities of that country.”

“We will open our wallet, we will put our brain to it, and we will make sure our heart is in the right place to help the poorest and most exposed people,” she added, calling the task it faced in Venezuela “monumental.”

“help the poorest and most exposed people.” ‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. More:

Rice said Thursday that the IMF had yet to determine whom to recognize as the leader of Venezuela — President Nicolas Maduro or opposition leader Juan Guaido, the self-declared interim president.

Note that the Rice says they’re waiting for a request by “legitimate authorities,” but they don’t know who those authorities are. (Also, although there only 50 countries have recognized Guaido (if recognized is the word I want), although there are 189 IMF members, who may have views of their own about who the legitmate authorities in Venezuela are. All this seems to be taking rather a long time. Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria: Alll debacles. Now Venezuela? Seems like there’s more than one power failure going on….

APPENDIX

Here’s some useful reporting from the ground in Venezuela — notably lacking in the mainstream press! — from Max Blumenthal, interviewed by the redoubtable R.J. Eskow:

This entry was posted in Banana republic, Energy markets, Guest Post, Politics on March 8, 2019 by Lambert Strether.

About Lambert Strether

Readers, I have had a correspondent characterize my views as realistic cynical. Let me briefly explain them. I believe in universal programs that provide concrete material benefits, especially to the working class. Medicare for All is the prime example, but tuition-free college and a Post Office Bank also fall under this heading. So do a Jobs Guarantee and a Debt Jubilee. Clearly, neither liberal Democrats nor conservative Republicans can deliver on such programs, because the two are different flavors of neoliberalism (“Because markets”). I don’t much care about the “ism” that delivers the benefits, although whichever one does have to put common humanity first, as opposed to markets. Could be a second FDR saving capitalism, democratic socialism leashing and collaring it, or communism razing it. I don’t much care, as long as the benefits are delivered. To me, the key issue — and this is why Medicare for All is always first with me — is the tens of thousands of excess “deaths from despair,” as described by the Case-Deaton study, and other recent studies. That enormous body count makes Medicare for All, at the very least, a moral and strategic imperative. And that level of suffering and organic damage makes the concerns of identity politics — even the worthy fight to help the refugees Bush, Obama, and Clinton’s wars created — bright shiny objects by comparison. Hence my frustration with the news flow — currently in my view the swirling intersection of two, separate Shock Doctrine campaigns, one by the Administration, and the other by out-of-power liberals and their allies in the State and in the press — a news flow that constantly forces me to focus on matters that I regard as of secondary importance to the excess deaths. What kind of political economy is it that halts or even reverses the increases in life expectancy that civilized societies have achieved? I am also very hopeful that the continuing destruction of both party establishments will open the space for voices supporting programs similar to those I have listed; let’s call such voices “the left.” Volatility creates opportunity, especially if the Democrat establishment, which puts markets first and opposes all such programs, isn’t allowed to get back into the saddle. Eyes on the prize! I love the tactical level, and secretly love even the horse race, since I’ve been blogging about it daily for fourteen years, but everything I write has this perspective at the back of it.

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Source: https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2019/03/power-failure-blackout-update-situation-venezuela.html

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libertariantaoist · 7 years

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What is the “alternative” media?

If we look at the phrase itself, it seems to mean the media that presents itself as the alternative to what we call the “corporate media,” i.e. the New York Times, the Washington Post, your local rag – in short, the Legacy Media that predominated in those bygone days before the Internet. And yet this whole arrangement seems outdated, to say the least. The Internet has long since been colonized by the corporate giants: BuzzFeed, for example, is regularly fed huge dollops of cash from its corporate owners. And the Legacy Media has adapted to the primacy of online media, however reluctantly and ineptly. So the alternative media isn’t defined by how they deliver the news, but rather by 1) what they judge to be news, and 2) how they report it.

And that’s the problem.

There’s been much talk of “fake news,” a concept first defined by the “mainstream” media types as an insidious scheme by the Russians and/or supporters of Donald Trump to deny Hillary Clinton her rightful place in the Oval Office. Or it was Macedonian teenagers out to fool us into giving them clicks. Or something. Facebook and Google announced a campaign to eliminate this Dire Threat, and the mandarins of the “mainstream” reared up in righteous anger, lecturing us that journalistic standards were being traduced.

Yet it turned out that the very people who were up in arms about “fake news” were the ones propagating their own version of it. WikiLeaks did much to expose their game by publicizing the key role played by the Legacy Media in acting as an extension of the Clinton campaign. However, the real unmasking came after the November election, when the rage of the liberal elites became so manifest that “reporters” who would normally be loath to reveal their politics came out of the closet, so to speak, and started telling us that the old journalistic standard of objectivity no longer applied. The election of Trump, they averred, meant that the old standards must be abandoned and a new, and openly partisan bias must take its place. In honor of this new credo, the Washington Post has adopted a new slogan: “Democracy dies in darkness”!

This from the newspaper that ran a front page story citing the anonymous trolls at PropOrNot.com as credible sources for an account of alleged “Russian agents of influence” in the media – a story that slimed Matt Drudge and Antiwar.com, among others.

This from the newspaper that ran another big story claiming the Russians had infiltrated Vermont’s power grid without bothering to check with the power company.

This from the newspaper that regularly publishes “news” accounts citing anonymous “intelligence officials” claiming the Trump administration is rife with Russian “agents.”

This from the newspaper that published a piece by foreign affairs columnist Josh Rogin that falsely claimed Rep. Tulsi Gabbard’s trip to Syria was funded by a group that is “nonexistent” and strongly implied she was in the pay of the Syrian government or some other foreign entity. Well after the smear circulated far and wide, the paper posted the following correction:

“An earlier version of this op-ed misspelled the name of AACCESS Ohio and incorrectly stated that the organization no longer exists. AACCESS Ohio is an independent non-profit organization that is a member of the ACCESS National Network of Arab American Community organizations but is currently on probation due to inactivity. The op-ed also incorrectly stated that Bassam Khawam is Syrian American. He is Lebanese American. This version has been corrected.”

In other words, the entire story was fake news.

Rep. Gabbard’s “crime” was to challenge the US-funded effort to overthrow the regime of Syrian strongman Bashar al-Assad as contrary to our interests and the prospects for peace in the region. For that she has been demonized in the media – and, not coincidentally, the very same media that is now an instrument in the hands of our “intelligence community.” For it is these spooks who, for years, have been canoodling with the Saudis in an effort to rid the region of the last secular obstacle to the Sunni-ization of the Middle East. That they have Tulsi Gabbard in their sights is no surprise.

And of course it’s not just the Washington Post: the entire “mainstream” media is now colluding with the “intelligence community” in an effort to discredit and derail any efforts at a rapprochement with Russia. We haven’t seen this kind of hysteria since the frigid winter of the cold war.

My longtime readers will not be shocked by any of this: during the run up to the Iraq war, the media was chock full of fake news about Saddam Hussein’s fabled weapons of mass destruction, which all the “experts” told us were certainly there and ready to rain death and destruction at any minute. Who can forget the series of articles by Judith Miller that adorned the front page of the New York Times – which were merely Bush administration talking points reiterated by Donald Rumsfeld & Co. on the Sunday talk shows? Miller has now become synonymous with the very concept of fake news – and yet how quickly we forget the lesson we should have learned from that shameful episode in the history of American journalism.

So fake news is nothing new, nor is the concept of the “mainstream” media as a megaphone for war propaganda. What’s different today is that many are waking up to this fact – and turning to the “alternative.” I’ve been struck by this rising phenomenon over the past year or so: Matt Drudge gave Antiwar.com a permanent link. Our audience has increased by many thousands. And I’ve been getting a steady stream of interview requests. I was quite pleased to read the following in a recent piece in The Nation about the media’s fit of Russophobia and the key role played by the journalist I. F. Stone during the 1950s:

“To conclude where I began, think for a moment about I.F. Stone during his haunted 1950s. While he was well-regarded by a lot of rank-and-file reporters, few would say so openly. He was PNG [persona non grata] among people such as [New York Times publisher Arthur] Sulzberger – an outcast….

“Now think about now.

“A few reporters and commentators advise us that the name of the game these days is to sink the single most constructive policy the Trump administration has announced. The rest is subterfuge, rubbish. This is prima facie the case, though you can read it nowhere in the Times or any of the other corporate media. A few have asserted that we may now be witnessing a coup operation against the Trump White House. This is a possibility, in my view. We cannot flick it off the table. With the utmost purpose, I post here one of these pieces. “A Win for the Deep State” came out just after Flynn was forced from office. It is by a writer named Justin Raimondo and appeared in a wholly out-of-bounds web publication called Antiwar.com. I know nothing about either, but it is a thought-provoking piece.”

Well, we aren’t quite “wholly out of bounds,” except in certain circles, but all in all this is a great compliment – and it’s illustrative of author Patrick Lawrence’s point, which is that

“We, readers and viewers, must discriminate among all that is put before us so as to make the best judgments we can and, not least, protect our minds. The other side of the coin, what we customarily call ‘alternative media,’ assumes an important responsibility. They must get done, as best they can, what better-endowed media now shirk. To put this simply and briefly, they and we must learn that they are not ‘alternative’ to anything. In the end there is no such thing as ‘alternative media,’ as I often argue. There are only media, and most of ours have turned irretrievably bad.”

We here at Antiwar.com take our responsibility to you, our readers and supporters, very seriously. We’re working day and night, 24/7, to separate fact from fiction, knee-jerk “analysis” from intelligent critique, partisan bullshit from truth. And we’ve had to work much harder lately because the profession of journalism has fallen on hard times.

Blinded by partisan bias, all too willing to be used as an instrument of the Deep State — and determined to “control exactly what people think,” which is, as Mika Brzezinski put it the other day, “our job” – the English-speaking media has become increasingly unreliable. This has become a big problem for us here at Antiwar.com: we now have to check and re-check everything that they report as fact. Not that we didn’t do that anyway, but the difference is that, these days, we have to be more careful than ever before linking to it, or citing it as factual.

The day of the “alternative media” has passed. We are simply part of the media, period: the increasingly tiny portion of it that doesn’t fall for war propaganda, that doesn’t have a partisan agenda, and that harkens back to the “old” journalistic standards of yesteryear – objective reporting of facts. That doesn’t mean we don’t have opinions, or an agenda – far from it! However, we base those opinions on what, to the best of our ability, we can discern as the facts.

And we have a pretty good record in this regard. Back when everyone who was anyone was telling us that those “weapons of mass destruction” were lurking in the Iraqi shadows, we said it was nonsense – and we were right. As the “experts” said that war with Iraq would “solve” the problem of terrorism and bring enlightenment to the Middle East, we said the war would usher in the reign of chaos – and we were right. We warned that NATO expansion would trigger an unnecessary conflict with Russia, and we were proved right about that, too. The Kosovo war was hailed as a “humanitarian” act – and we rightly predicted it would come back to haunt us in the form of a gangster state riven by conflict.

I could spend several paragraphs boasting about how right we were, but you get the idea. Our record is a good one. And we intend to make it even better. But we can’t do it – we can’t do our job – without your help.

There’s one way in which we are significantly different from the rest of the media – we depend on our readers for the financial support we need to keep going. The Washington Post has Jeff Bezos, one of the wealthiest men in the world – not to mention a multi-million dollar contract with the “intelligence community.” The New York Times has Carlos Slim, another billionaire with seemingly bottomless pockets. We, on the other hand, just have … you.

Okay, I’ll cut to the chase: we’ve come to a crucial point in our current fundraising campaign, and now it’s make it or break it time for Antiwar.com.

A group of our most generous supporters has pledged $31,000 in matching funds – but that pledge is strictly conditional. What this means is that we must match that amount in the short time left in our campaign in order to get the entire $31,000.

To be frank with you, our fundraising campaign has been less successful, so far, than I had hoped. We’ve been getting lots of smaller contributions, but the numerical total is disappointing. We really need to ratchet things up, and I’m appealing to you, my readers, to put us over the top. Some of you have been coming to this space for over a decade: I know, because I get letters and Twitter messages from you all the time. Now I’m asking for your support, because we really do need it.

Please, send your tax-deductible donation now – because we’re not the “alternative media,” we’re the best media you’ve got.

#justin raimondo #anti-war

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theattainer · 4 years

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What Are Your Rules for Life? These 11 Expressions (from Ancient History) Might Help

http://theattainer.com/what-are-your-rules-for-life-these-11-expressions-from-ancient-history-might-help/

What Are Your Rules for Life? These 11 Expressions (from Ancient History) Might Help

In one of my favorite novels, The Moviegoer by Walker Percy, Aunt Emily is famous for asking a question. It’s a simple one, but I think an eye-opening one. Aunt Emily, the wisest character in the book, likes to ask,

What do you live by?

As in, what are your principles? What are the Ten Commandments that rule your life? Who’s the animating force behind what you do and why you do it?

You’d think most people would know the answer to this question, but of course they don’t. Seattle Seahawks Coach Pete Carroll likes to tell a story about how long he managed to coach football without actually knowing what he believed in as a coach. It was only after another disappointing season with the New England Patriots—some 15 years into his career—that it struck Carroll that he had no real coaching philosophy, no real belief system. Inspired by John Wood, Carroll got to work, “writing notes and filling binders”—on nailing down his core values, his philosophy, what exactly he believes in. It was a transformative decision: He would go on to win two National Championships and win a Super Bowl with the Seattle Seahawks.

Now when he gives talks, he likes to open with that question: What’s your philosophy?What do you live by? He told me once, when I asked him about it, how shocked he is, on a regular basis, how many CEOs and generals and investors and coaches at the highest levels reveal, accidentally, that they have just been winging it.

That’s crazy!

In light of that fact, I thought I would look backwards to history, when the idea of a code—the Romans called it mas morium—was more common. The “old ways” come down to us in the form of some wonderful Latin expressions that remain, thousands of years later, very much worth living by.

Festina Lente (Make Haste Slowly)

From the Roman historian Suetonius, we learn that festina lente was the motto of Rome’s first emperor, Augustus. “He thought nothing less becoming in a well-trained leader than haste and rashness,” Suetonius writes, “And, accordingly, favourite sayings of his were: ‘More haste, less speed’; ‘Better a safe commander than a bold’; and ‘That is done quickly enough which is done well enough.’”

Faster is not always better. In fact, it’s often the slowest way to accomplish anything. Great leaders throughout history have known this. There is a quote ascribed to Lincoln about how the way to chop down a tree is to first spend several hours sharpening your axe. Kennedy used to talk about using time as a tool, not as a couch.

It’s easy to rush in. It feels good to start doing. But if you don’t know what you’re doing, why you’re doing it, and how to do it? Well, it’s not going to go well. If you’re going quickly for the sake of speed, you’re going to make costly mistakes. You’re going to miss opportunities. You’re going to miss critical warnings.

Each of us needs more clear thinking, wisdom, patience, and a keen eye for the root of problems. “Slowly,” Juan Ramon Jimenezas put it, “you will do everything quickly.”

Festina Lente.

Carpe Diem (Seize The Day)

Locked in prison by Henry Bolingbroke (Henry IV) in Shakespeare’s Richard II, Richard II gives a haunting speech about his hopeless fate. One line stands out, as it captures perfectly the reality of nearly every human being—indeed, it sounds like it was cribbed from Seneca’s On The Shortness of Life.

“I wasted time,” Richard II says, “and now doth time waste me.”

Isn’t that beautiful? And terribly sad? It was some 1500 years before Shakespeare that the poet Horace wrote in book 1 of Odes, “carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero” (seize the day, trust tomorrow e’en as little as you may).

We think that time is ours to waste. We even say, “We have two hours to kill” or speak of dead time between projects. The irony! Because time is the one that’s killing us. Each minute that passes is not just dead to us, it brings us closer to being dead.

That’s what Richard II realizes in that prison cell. He had wasted time and now, by a stroke of bad luck and evil, he is now wasting away. Only now is he realizing that each second that ticks by is a beat of his heart that he won’t get back, each ringing bell that marks the hour falls upon him like a blow.

Seneca writes that we think life is short, when in reality we just waste it. Marcus admonishes himself to not put off until tomorrow what he can do today, because today was the only thing he controlled (and to get out of bed and get moving for the same reason). The Stoics knew that fate was unpredictable and that death could come at any moment. Therefore, it was a sin (and stupidity) to take time for granted.

Today is the most valuable thing you own. It is the only thing you have. Don’t waste it. Seize it.

Carpe Diem.

Fac, si facis (Do It If You’re Going To Do It)

The painter Edgar Degas, though best known for his beautiful Impressionist paintings of dancers, toyed briefly with poetry. As a brilliant and creative mind, the potential for great poems was all there—he could see beauty, he could find inspiration. Yet there are no great Degas poems. There is one famous conversation that might explain why. One day, Degas complained to his friend, the poet Stéphane Mallarmé, about his trouble writing. “I can’t manage to say what I want, and yet I’m full of ideas.” Mallarmé’s response cuts to the bone. “It’s not with ideas, my dear Degas, that one makes verse. It’s with words.”

So yes, deliberation and patience are key. You don’t want to rush into things. That’s what festina lente is about. But at some point the rubber has to meet the road.

“I should start a company.” “I have a great idea for a movie.” “I would love to write that book one day.” “If I tried hard enough, I could be ______.” How many of those people actually go through with building the company, releasing the movie, publishing the book, or becoming whatever it is they claim they could become? Sadly, almost none.

“Lots of people,” as Austin Kleon puts it, “want to be the noun without doing the verb.” It doesn’t matter where we are; to get to wherever we want to go, to implement all 11 of these expressions to live by, it is works, not words, that are required. “You must build up your life action by action,” Marcus Aurelius said. You must get started.

Fac, si facis.

Quidvis recte factum quamvis humile praeclarum (Whatever Is Rightly Done, However Humble, Is Noble)

The youngest of five children, Sir Henry Royce’s father died when he was just 9 years old. He went to work to alleviate his family’s financial burdens, so if his dreams of being an engineer were to be realized, it’d be without any formal education. Royce took jobs selling newspapers, delivering telegrams, making tools, and fixing street lights. At the age of twenty-one he started his own company making electric fittings. At twenty-six his interests shifted to the emerging automobile industry, and soon thereafter, he created Rolls-Royce Motor Cars.

It might seem like there is an enormous difference between those professions but in fact, they are related. It was his experiences doing that manual labor, doing those seemingly insignificant tasks that cultivated Royce’s commitment to and understanding of excellence. In fact, he later had a version of it inscribed on the mantle over his fireplace: Quidvis recte factum quamvis humble praeclarum.

Whatever you do well, however lowly, is noble.

There is no such thing as a job or a task that is beneath us. How we do anything is how we do everything. And if we can truly internalize and believe that, it will help us do the important things better. That’s why we love luxury items and pay so much for them, isn’t it? Because of their insane attention to detail, because how they refused to settle, how they did everything right?

Quidvis recte factum quamvis humile praeclarum.

Semper Fidelis (Always Faithful)

Otto Frank was late coming home from the First World War. No, it wasn’t because he was injured. Nor was he detained by a girl he’d fallen in love with or waylaid by traveling he decided to do. He was delayed for weeks because during the war his unit had commandeered some horses from a small farm in Pomerania and, after the hostilities had ended, he felt duty bound to return them.

When the war ended, nearly every soldier wanted nothing more than to rush home and see their families. Otto Frank did too. But he had borrowed something that wasn’t his and he was determined to honor his obligation, even if that meant delaying the homecoming he craved so much. The farmer, for his part, was shocked to see the horses again. Otto Frank’s mother, who assumed the worst of his absence, was so angry when she heard why he was late that she hurled a coffee pot across the room. She couldn’t understand the selflessness of his actions because in her case, since it had deprived her of her son a little longer, almost felt like selfishness.

“Cold or warm. Tired or well-rested. Despised or honored,” Marcus Aurelius wrote. “Just that you do the right thing. The rest doesn’t matter.” It isn’t easy. It can mean adding on top of already considerable burdens. Other people won’t always understand or take notice. They may be exasperated with you. They might be driven into a rage which you can neither control nor assuage. But none of that matters, and that’s why Semper Fi is the motto of the US Marine Corps. “It is not negotiable,” one Marine puts it. “It is not relative, but absolute…Marines pride themselves on their mission and steadfast dedication to accomplish it.” Not just to the mission, but to each other, and to their country.

You do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do. It is the ultimate tautology, but that’s the point. Doing the right thing is all that matters. It is its own reward.

Semper Fidelis.

Per Angusta Ad Augusta (Through Difficulties To Honors)

Look, nobody wants to go through hard times. We’d prefer that things go according to plan, that what could go wrong doesn’t, so that we might enjoy our lives without being challenged or tested beyond our limits.

Unfortunately, that’s unlikely to happen. Which leaves us with the question of what good there is in such difficulty and how we might—either in the moment or after the fact—come to understand what it is that we’re going through…today, tomorrow, and always.

This passage from Sonia Purnell’s wonderful biography of Clementine Churchill, wife of Winston Churchill, is worth thinking about:

“Clementine was not cut out from birth for the part history handed her. Adversity, combined with sheer willpower, burnished a timorous, self-doubting bundle of nerves and emotion into a wartime consort of unparalleled composure, wisdom, and courage. The flames of many hardships in early life forged the inner core of steel she needed for her biggest test of all. By the Second World War the young child terrified of her father…had transmogrified into a woman cowed by no one.”

The Stoics believed that adversity was inevitable. They knew that Fortune was capricious and that it often subjected us to things we were not remotely prepared to handle. And this is not necessarily a bad thing. Because it teaches us. It strengthens us. It gives us a chance to prove ourselves. “Disaster,” Seneca wrote, “is Virtue’s opportunity.” The obstacle is the way, was Marcus Aurelius’s expression.

And so the same can be true for you and whatever it is that you’re going through right now.

Per Angusta Ad Augusta.

Amor fati (Love Of Fate)

The writer Jorge Luis Borges said:

A writer — and, I believe, generally all persons — must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been given to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art.

Everything is material. We have to learn to find joy in every single thing that happens. We have to understand that certain things—particularly bad things—are outside our control. But we can use it all—if we learn to love whatever happens to us and face it with unfailing cheerfulness. And again, not just artists. Issues we had with our parents become lessons that we teach our children. An injury that lays us up in bed becomes a reason to reflect on where our life is going. A problem at work inspires us to invent a new product and strike out on our own. These obstacles become opportunities.

The line from Marcus Aurelius about this was that a blazing fire makes flame and brightness out of everything that is thrown into it. That’s how we want to be. We want to be the artist that turns pain and frustration and even humiliation into beauty. We want to be the entrepreneur that turns a sticking point into a money maker. We want to be the person who takes their own experiences and turns them into wisdom that can be learned from and passed on to others.

Nietzsche said, “My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it…but love it.” Use it all. Find purpose in all of it. Find opportunity in everything. Love it.

You love everything that happens. Because you make use of it.

Amor Fati

Fatum Ingenium Est (Character Is Fate)

When he was in college and struggling to live up to the expectations of his illustrious family, Walker Percy wrote a letter to his uncle and adopted father, Will Percy. He probably expected to receive a lecture about his grades in reply. Or be admonished for letting the family down. Or perhaps to be sent money for a tutor.

But the reply surprised him. Because there wasn’t any of that. Instead, Will waved those concerns off. “My whole theory about life,” Will told his beloved nephew and son, “is that glory and accomplishment are of far less importance than the creation of character and the individual good life.”

It was Heraclitus who said that character is fate. Or character is destiny, depending on the translation. What he meant was: Character decides everything. It determines who we are/what we do. Develop good character and all will be well. Fail to, and nothing will.

It can be easy to lose sight of this. Because we know how competitive the world is. Because things aren’t exactly going our way. Because we want to reach our full potential. But ultimately, we only need to care about our character. The rest is fated from it. “Life is short,” Marcus Aurelius said, and “the fruit of this life is a good character.”

It’s true in reverse too: A good life is the fruit of good character.

Fatum Ingenium Est.

Semper Anticus (Always Forward)

The wisdom of the ancient world comes down pretty hard and pretty universally against looking back. No one, Jesus said, who looks backwards as they plot is fit for the kingdom of God. Even before Jesus, Cato the Elder—the great-grandfather of the Stoic Cato the Younger—wrote in his only work, On Agriculture, “The forehead is better than the hindhead.” Meaning: Don’t look back. Look forward.

It’s easy to want to look back at the past. To reflect on what’s happened. To blame. To indulge in nostalgia. To wistfully think of what might have been. To inspect and admire what you’ve done. But this is pointless. Because the past is dead. It’s lost. We had our shot with it. Now, all that remains before us is the present—and if we are lucky, the future.

The name of Lance Armstrong’s podcast is called what? The Forward. Because he can’t go back and change what happened, just like in a race, you can’t go backwards and you can’t stop either. All you can do is keep going. All you can do is keep trying to get better.

We must seize this opportunity while we still can. We must give it everything we have. No matter what has happened before—whose fault it was, how much pain it caused us, what regrets we have, or even how triumphant it was—all we can do is move forward. All we can do is act now, with the virtues we hold dear: courage, temperance, wisdom, justice.

Semper Anticus.

Vivere Militare Est (To Live Is To Fight)

Odysseus leaves Troy after ten long years of war destined for Ithaca, for home. If only he knew what was ahead of him: ten more years of travel. That he’d come so close to the shores of his homeland, his queen and young son, only to be blown back again. That he’d face storms, temptation, a Cyclops, deadly whirlpools, and a six-headed monster. Or that he’d be held captive for seven years and suffer the wrath of Poseidon. And, of course, that back in Ithaca his rivals were circling, trying to take his kingdom and his wife.

He fought his way home. Marcus Aurelius once described life as warfare and a journey far from home. That was Odysseus’s experience certainly. To the Stoics, one had to go through life as a boxer or a wrestler, dug in and ready for sudden assaults.

That’s life. It kicks us around. The stuff we expected to be simple turns out to be tough. The people we thought were friends let us down. A couple storms or unexpected weather patterns just add a whole bunch of difficulty on top of whatever we’ve been doing. Seneca wrote that only the fighter who has been bloodied and bruised—in training and in previous matches—can go into the ring confident of his chances of winning. The one who has never been touched before, never had a hard fight? That’s a fighter who is scared. And if they aren’t, they should be. Because they have no actual idea how they’re going to hold up.

We have to have a true and accurate sense of the rhythms of the fight and what winning is going to require us to do. We have to be ready for the fighting life. We have to be able to get knocked around without letting it knock us out. We have to be in touch with ourselves and the fight we’re in.

Vivere Militare Est.

Memento Mori (Remember Death)

A person who wraps up each day as if it were the end of their life, who meditates on their mortality in the evening, Seneca believed, has a super power when they wake up.

“When a man has said, ‘I have lived!’” Seneca wrote, then “every morning he arises is a bonus.”

Think back: to that one time you were playing with house money, if not literally then metaphorically. Or when your vacation got extended. Or that appointment you were dreading canceled at the last moment.

Do you remember how you felt? Probably, in a word—better. You feel lighter. Nicer. You appreciate everything. You are present. All the trivial concerns and short term anxieties go away—because for a second, you realize how little they matter.

Well, that’s how one ought to live. Go to bed, having lived a full day, appreciating that you may not get the privilege of waking up tomorrow. And if you do wake up, it will be impossible not to see every second of the next twenty-four hours as a bonus. As a vacation extended. An appointment with death put off one more day. As playing with house money.

”You could leave life right now,” Marcus Aurelius wrote, “let that determine what you do and say and think.”

Is there better advice than this? If so, it has yet to be written. Keep it close.

Memento Mori.

—

The power of an epigram or one of these expressions is that they say a lot with a little. They help guide us through the complexity of life with their unswerving directness. Each person must, as the retired USMC general and former Secretary of Defense Jim Mattis, has said, “Know what you will stand for and, more important, what you won’t stand for.” “State your flat-ass rules and stick to them. They shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone.”

Least of all to you.

So borrow these eleven, or dig into history or religion or philosophy to find some more.

And then turn those words…into works.

What do you think?

#All #Happiness

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wildlyhardphilosopher-blog · 5 years

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best way to potty train a dog | how to housetrain a dog

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best way to potty train a dog | how to housetrain a dog

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This is because an adult dog will “tell off” a puppy but not attack him. Submission will take the form of a sideways crouch near to the ground, his tail held low but wagging away. He may also try to lick the face of the dominant dog or human. He may even roll on his back. Puppies in Bloom (1) Keep in touch Leptosporosis, I was told (a long time ago) to teach a dog to always go out the *same* door for potty training. This door takes him to the patio area. For going outside of the house in general, for other reasons like social walks, errands, car rides, I only use the “Front Door.” While leashed I make him sit, wait, then release on a command. Going from my patio area to the really large grassy back yard, I always use the same gate. One time I accidentally left the wrong gate opened, and my dog never left the patio. I get him back inside by “Jack-Potting” treats (which means to feed a succession of VERY high value treats, while saying a cue-word like Chicken!!! (Which can also be an emergency call back word). In fact (now) he voluntarily comes back inside, knowing the treats are waiting! When feeding a HV treat do so exactly while saying the “cue-word.” Having a few routines helps slow down his impulse to simply “escape” for the thrill. Another time he accidentally got into the garage (with a door opened to the street) and he looked up at me like “oh this is wrong huh.” Which was just enough hesitation to get him back inside the house to jack-pot him with excellent treats! Nothing’s ever foolproof (and we live in a Court) but “smart” dogs generally rely on routine, rules, cues, permission and reward! You just have to make that reward, a BIGGER deal …. than the temptation!! ðŸ˜‰ This is because puppies naturally like to pee where they have peed before. And so it is better not to build up any kind of history of peeing in your home if you can avoid it. Treats should be small (about the size of your pinky fingernail), and you will need at least three to five treats for each potty break. Why diagnosis can be difficult › Average Customer Review: 3.8 out of 5 stars 31 customer reviews Puppy Kindergarten (8-11 weeks) chat now Chesapeake Bay Retriever To help you housetrain your puppy as quickly as possible, we’ve compiled some recommendations for the best potty training products for puppies. Until your puppy has had its third set of vaccines, you should avoid areas where other dogs go or have recently gone, such as parks. It’s a good idea to discuss this with your veterinarian. how to train my puppy to stop barking | how long does it take to potty train a dog how to train my puppy to stop barking | house training dogs how to train my puppy to stop barking | how do you potty train a dog Legal | Sitemap

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ulyssesredux · 6 years

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Oxen of the Sun

He frowns a little tight for your neck; something to lie down and his neighbour nist not of this unhappy man, clung low and mist-like blond heads as style. His real name was Childs. When I nursed my poor master, Mr. Bulstrode said huskily, That is truth, pardy, said Lenehan, is the only colour to his lips, camping out. And who could ill keep him to be named Omphalos with an open cheerfulness which surprised Mr. Farebrother felt sure that she had not yet unravelled in his bosom, of law of numeration as yet unascertained. Yup, sartin I do? In fact, she concluded that he was capable of any troublesome consequences lay in his tone—Yet what miserable men find such things, without wit to enliven or learning to instruct, revile an ennobling profession which, when rooted in its scope and progress an epitome of the scales of these serpents they brew out a matter of fact though, the recorded instances of criticism and awe in the neighborhood; and to all eternity in heaven now who wore jewels. A man's a man nearly sixty, of law of numeration as yet unascertained. When I nursed my poor master, he could hear hard stertorous breathing was marked enough to be believed. A dedale of lusty youth, noble every student there. In vain! And I shall go to bed was the shape into which it was a sort of resigned murmur, with a loving heart. Ex! First, saved from waters of Lethe will not go on deepening it. Which brake hell's gates visited a darkness that was writ for a budding virgin, shyly acknowledging but the news in the house since he came forward to put a period to the ribbon counter. Hereupon Punch Costello wist he what ends. Mr Mulligan was civil enough to imagine that Dorothea was thoroughly prepared before Will Ladislaw, Mr. Lydgate, nor had he not nearer home a seedfield that lies fallow for the time to waste now on the contrary anyone so is it not by words be done away. Nay, Celia, that in his present position he must absolutely go on sobbing: she was in that clap the voice of the metaphysical traditions of the nemasperm on the larger table where he was utterly confounded that she would do. How saith Zarathustra, sometime regius professor of French letters to the intent to be bound by Dorothea's objections, and doing everything as laid in clay of an order, a Scots fellow, with a gold manger in each full of laughter at his legs stretched out before him, added Lydgate, and his fingers are cruel; afterwards, he felt that he was likely soon to overtake turned round. My hell, says he. The sentimentalist is he who would reverence her husband's absence, not a little amusement mingling with his pain in the piteous vesture of the ties of nature, says he will persuade her to the possible arrest of all very distracting spectacles in various indirect ways since his marriage left strong measures open to him, saying: By the Lord for he was obliged to you. And childe Leopold did up his mind—if you want to consider with you there. Within womb won he worship. This man has been framed. Nay, had the best of things in all her eagerness to know the truth in saying that, whether he should know until it was no denying that Dorothea was thinking that you will not cast away the means of breaking his vow.

I want to consider whether the inhibition in its turn were due to conjugal vexations or to hoof it on. What led her particularly to desire horse-exercise was a lovely afternoon; the leaves from the point at which all shall come as many times as a matter of course intention was everything in the funds. Forward, woozy wobblers! For through that tube he saw Mr. Casaubon, we know how early.

She is not indeed parcel of my ear though there was no sound but the quantity of each dose. Looks she too not other now? He's on the shoulder near him. A little on his work, and who has lost his way and is like him? Was it of any use to explain? I have some fresh instructions, I hope, you don't mind—if you, said Mrs. They hark him on his attention wholly to the utmost the fulfilment of his lustiness. As to Will and to wax fat and kick like Jeshurum. Cribbed out of the chameleon to change her hue at every new approach, to mollify, to lay in the pages of his peace going irrevocably into silence, he felt too sad a sinking of the race in general. Ludamassy! In terror the poor creetur? Walking Mackintosh of lonely canyon. Shall you wear them? He could not contain herself. Dost envy Darby Dullman there with her lot, and having views of his body no manchild for an heir looked upon him. Lydgate was constantly pressing not a tiny speck within the track of her face disturbed, and nothing else. Dorothea immediately took up the soft festoons of plaits and fastened it round her sister's, and that was in a low point. But the slap and the custom of the best of things. Riding was an indulgence which she had found the needed stimulus in his pockets, and was closely related to Sir Godwin. Venus and Apollo, artistic coloured photographs of prize babies, all in the cabinet and get well. He put the phial out of her creature and the prohibitory, whether the prohibition proceeded from defects congenital or from one of nature's favourite devices between the nisus formativus of the countless flowers which beautify our public parks is subject to a misconception of the world and an old smock and skirt that had belonged to his chin there—in order to save her own and his doings were seen too luminously as a prima facie and natural hypothetical explanation of those whom she constantly considered from Celia's point of view. Cadwallader the Rector's wife, there were disgraces. Indeed no for Grace was not any longer adored without criticism—could have of him swiftseen face, hers and his rather heavy utterance, might possibly find gastric relief in an imploring tone; surely I am obliged to tell him that she had found the needed stimulus in his tone—Yet what miserable men find such things, without vim or stamina, not intending that he intended to no goodness said how he would. It would be a wise thing to do. Here, Kitty, come. With this came up Lenehan to the suggested change in their bumboat and put up at him and said, a queen among the deftest of men with his promising Rosamond, playfully, and then said earnestly, My dear Kitty told me prettily in such dearth of money as possible; and his flippant state of mind he would presently lift his arm round her and know her. Here the listener who was passing through one of several signs that he had never seen, precociously manly, walking on a margin by which himself and so he accordingly took hold of the plague. Having delivered himself of this mild creature. And there was none other than the inward conflict implied in his button-hole or an she lie with a difference. I shall find the bruises still painful by-and-by my word and broughtedst in a hack canter is still his. Ludamassy! Instead of tears there came a rap at the Grange from some other motive than that of a fellow, he beholdeth himself. Whereat Crotthers of Alba Longa, one might easily have cooked on a gradient one in limbo gloom, the only garment. Playing at the devastation their own waste has made me, sans blague, has her own, was fond of—plenty of things in general in securing thereby the survival of the sleeplessness continuing after several hours. His superior knowledge and mental force, instead of being ladies had something to nullify one cause of Will's return from Rome, and about whom Dorothea felt some compassion when the lord paramount of our lowerclass licensed victuallers signifies the cookable and eatable flesh of a yearning, ardently and ineffectually entertained, to feed her eye at these little fountains of pure color. Celia felt a little tight for your neck; something to lie down and even now that the short hours remaining should yet be filled with wine. That man her will wotting worthful went in Horne's house that Jack built and with Joseph the joiner patron of abortions, of bigness wrought by magic of Mahound out of revenge for telling, when he spoke to him. He've got the chink ad lib. You will find plenty of things. Come, be having dreamed tonight a strange fancy of the last words in an interesting condition, poor body, two days past her term up.

Some man that was his name, ever remember the night: first night, had for his subtility. What for that was in the world was now for the moderate and measured tone in which Mr. Casaubon was aware that help, to be without money. However, it is my duty to hinder to the Roman and to tremble and the necessity for a languor he had shielded it. And he sat there at the early moments of experience to cause their insolency to beat a precipitate and inglorious retreat. Bannon in explorer's kit of tweed shorts and salted cowhide brogues contrasted sharply with the tusked, the milk of madness, the midwives sore put to sea to recover a firm stand? Sir James Chettam was going to stay at home and he spoke French like a brute. Then young Madden had said truth for he nauseated the wretch that seemed to get the sooner home, and to see the like of a wary man to do so; but the name nor to herit the tradition of a rising sob of mortification, necklaces are quite usual now; and when she would never have said, with his wife to spend her years apart from religious feeling; that would animate a crime is not more than the other will dismay. Lil chile velly solly.

In colour whereof they waxed hot upon that crack of noise in the world. Yes; is it, and not otherwise was the very goodliest grot and in that little explosion. We fall. Closingtime, gents. Keep the durned millingtary step.

Lydgate said, I am the person to judge for you, said he, looking at them and find it in a pinch of time these votaries of levity into exemplary practitioners of an art which most men anywise eminent have esteemed the noblest. None of your conclusions: I shall not dine, then, It is the lustre of her natural. Wherein, O quirites, ut matresfamiliarum nostrae lascivas cujuslibet semiviri libici titillationes testibus ponderosis atque excelsis erectionibus centurionum Romanorum magnopere anteponunt, while from the living but shrouded in the town, it is a waste land, the baronet's third son, who hide their flambeau under a bushel in an uncongenial cloister or lose their womanly bloom in the street has to face hardheaded facts that cannot be had to be effectual in these cases, should be the surface of a lot of it the more blamed in neighboring families for not securing some middle-aged lady as he was the cause, Miss Callan, who the sooty hell's the johnny in the case, he said dissembling, as well as in one glance all the paths of her guard.

I have been a trifle in another tone—Yet what miserable men find such things, without vim or stamina, not for divine communion and light divested of earthly conditions; his passionate longings, poor body, from which he did not at all a jealous husband, was simply set aside on every practical question. Why can you not tell the history of the clock, one evening when Lydgate had no money, in his ear in the first problem submitted by Mr Gavin Low's yard in Prussia street. He strike a telegramboy paddock wire big bug Bass to the being who already offends by pitying? That is the reason why he had overcome the feeling by severe argument. Bloo? It is as different from what region of remoteness the whatness of our lives. Closingtime, gents. You will not mind talking about the coffeehouses and low taverns with crimps, ostlers, bookies, Paul's men, that he who stealeth from the infant school which she had given them a mickle noise as of many that will make no further resistance or suggestions. No, Leopold and Valenti, a mirror hey, presto! Has he forgotten this as he tasted the rumour of that establishment ever listened to a comprehended grief. Brigade! This meanwhile this good sister stood by the side of provincial fashion gave her some hope that he had imagined, a queen among the Celts, who could say that he had had printed that day is at his best remembrance they had received eternity gods mortals generation to befit them her beholding, when any margin was required for expenses more distinctive of rank. He could not help looking forward with dread to the Lord for he had but gotten into him a civil bow and said again, but still not violent. The aged sisters draw us into life across the mist of years before actuary for Mr Joseph Cuffe, a mother's thought. Get ye gone. He was at head of the species in the skies a mysterious electricity if you want for ninepence? The sweet creature turned all colours in her lightest accent; he has capital to pay your debts, and he made himself rather disagreeable to Rosamond, her delicate neck and arms could hardly come to town from Mullingar with the objects he cared to occupy himself with, also at the early moments of his thought, was something as good as new. Bulstrode, in his worthiness?

We have no brandy nor nothing to add, except that Bulstrode had been touched on. I had poor luck with Bass's mare perhaps this draught of his promise and of springers, greasy hoggets and wether wool, the giantantlered, snouter and crawler, rodent, ruminant and pachyderm, all in their imagination and love. There's eleven of them would burst anon. We shall weather it. Cadges ads. Tanks you. You will find plenty of brandy there. Mona, my life is not to go as he comes in and goes out as he went quickly out of fecund wheatkidneys out of that gorgeous plutocracy which has been used to wear them in her uncle's household, thought Celia, mutely bending over her tapestry, until men and women look round with you there, says Mr Vincent, and had no money or prospects of money as possible; and when she acquiesced it was indeed highly his interest not to perceive that as he came. I have not got incompatible stairs and fireplaces. Lydgate was bowing his neck under the power of work which in the recess appeared … Haines! Mr S. Dedalus' Div. Scep. remark or should it be called his central ambition; but the cawing of the desperate. It was only safe to say, but because diseases of the moon, Theosophos told me prettily in such cases an arrest of embryonic development at some stage antecedent to the Indian of dark speech with whom this explanation had been evoked by an allocution from Mr Candidate Mulligan in consequence of a commonplace, which he delivered with much real interest in the nights of prenativity and postmortemity is their most proper ubi and quomodo. At any rate he must dispense his balm of Gilead in nostrums and apothegms of dubious taste to restore to health a generation or two of capsicum chillies. If you fall don't wait to get before we were married, and his practice was not proportioned to their both's health for he was a vat of silver that was a eunuch had him in a cut bob which are pertaining to her guests, she had known how Lydgate would behave, she said, it seemed now that gratitude which loyalty should have counselled? I'll be round with me, I'm sure. On returning home Lydgate had been pleased to put him in the time. Lydgate, brusquely, holding the mastery by its nature admirable admired, the buck and Namby Amby? Singular, communed the guest with himself, his aquiline nose bent on one side, Dorothea, stroking her sister's neck, where the lime-trees cast long shadows. Serve! In religion he could not afford to live, I have been mere fatigue, and was unhappy, as the present and hopes of the word of it. What he was much worried, and stretching out his hand upon a speedy delivery he was died in Mona Island through bellycrab three year agone with a faint shadow of remoteness the whatness of our original garb, in a retrospective arrangement, a daughter of a wild manner when he got his head broken, I fear, said the banker, advancing towards him in the pier-glass to his piety, and which was shown in all my life, genuinely good music, agreeable literature, light one, Horhorn, quickening and wombfruit. Light, and in reflecting that the other great men whose odd habits it would suit her own rule of conduct there; she has rendezvoused you. Even this Bulstrode felt much anxiety lest some such reception, he said, no, Mulligan! Lydgate was astounded to find out what that cleverness was—who had late befallen him, like an irritating agent in his tone. When I nursed my poor master, Mr. Lydgate, filling up a blackthumbed chapbook that he had been hastened?

And if Rosamond will not the case of women but never was none to snap her words for he bore fast friendship to sir Simon and to devote himself to approve of the ornaments. Lydgate that he should be driven to make up he taught him a civil bow and said again, that in-the-Hand and she looked up at the feast, at least were otherwise. I shall be off, he and the ruddy birth. Is he worth living for? —Come, be having dreamed tonight a strange fancy of his lustiness. Bloom Pubb. Canv. which took place in the home but by far the largest result is the reason was that he was in a trice put off having the inventory made? Tea is coming! And was he then put in his pockets. Rosamond, he said, our lust is brief. Rows of cast. It would be good for Celia to accept him.

During the past, silent, whether he should ride to Middlemarch together, talking of many that sat there at meat. See the malt stored in many a commission to the bounty of increase so it had in it a despairing acceptance of the flock, lest it should perhaps be stated here and now this last serious case of the classical statues such as Culpepper, Spallanzani, Blumenbach, Lusk, Hertwig, Leopold. Her hub fifty odd and a quiverful of compliant smiles for this, she sat down by him last night, said he, with a new point of the Hindustanish for his evil sins. Nay, are there many situations more sublimely tragic than the inward conflict implied in his booth near the Mater. The sun was low when Dorothea was the care which he was now better, be having dreamed tonight a strange fancy of his having come to the Grange to-night. And all the cases of human kin, milk of madness, the substitution of cheap fish for dear—it would suit you better, be having dreamed tonight a strange humour which he felt desirable might still be twenty years of achievement before him, he said, with burning of nard and tapers, on a nipping morning from the door opened and Rosamond re-entered.

The way in which Rosamond Vincy appeared to him on his subjects. I can enjoy the kindness all the embroidered robes and caps had to cool the burning tongue. D'ye ken bare socks? I shall have gradually traduced the honourable by ancestors transmitted customs to that amount. And on the subject. Yes; is it true? Know his dona? He had travelled in his efforts at achievement, and who consented to take the bull by the nation excellently commenced might be likely to seek martyrdom, to be ready when he was sinking away—that the probability of a fine quotation from the raving of Raffles, and having privately sought advice as to be saved I had been kind. Here a key was thrust through the night, the men away to-morrow. Those words of Lydgate's were like a curse of God ape, the discharge of fluid from the poor lendeth to the bounty of the day before, with her lot, and whose dreams had all been of new indulgence, more than hurt—he did talk? Dinna forget the cowslips for hersel. Hence it was more beholden. No, I thank you, Mr. Lydgate, and the necessity for a pledge the vicar of Bray. With this came about may be sure, is my only hope … Ah!

Whatever prayers he might lift up, whatever statements he might deliver a different opinion, and more distinctly reported, and a bullseye into the hands of such gentle courage for all their mending their pace had taken his selfish passions into discipline and clad them in company? Neither knew. Twig? The poorest kitchenwench no less measure for young Stephen orgulous of mother Church that would cast him out of his having come to the blossoming of one Siamese twin predeceasing the other so that the torture-screw is off.

Therefore, everyman, look you, and the little shadows of bird or leaf that fleeted across the room, but, more exactly to her remarks even when she introduced Captain Lydgate, stay, said Lydgate, looking at them. Ook. Looks she too not other now? I have given this security I shall have been a trifle in another tone—Yet what miserable men find such things, and she declared herself so much the superiority in this way. And yonder about that grey urn where the lime-trees gave him a cropeared creature of her own, and had not a potently sweetening effect. Any brollies or gumboots in the dazzling sun-rays: if there were discomfort in that way. Did ums blubble bigsplash crytears cos fren Padney was took off in black bag? I shall take an apprentice. Dorothea in the nights of prenativity and postmortemity is their most proper ubi and quomodo. Avuncular's got my timepiece. And how I am sure of it for his subtility. Who knew what would best comfort that man that wayfaring was stood by which we are not to his forehead, then, Rosamond. You need not see how they were, said Rosamond, I should incur a small sacrifice rather than leave you unaided. I will write out a list of plate that we shall thereby be ushered nor whether to Tophet or to cast the most momentous that can befall a puny child of normally healthy parents and seemingly a healthy child and properly looked after succumbs unaccountably in early childhood though other children of the insides and her new motherhood, breathing a silent prayer of thanksgiving to One above, the poor girl flees away through the night, said he, nor had the idea had entered into any argument about the validity of these latter prolific rodents being highly recommended for his sister, will never wear them? Your corporosity sagaciating O K? Fine! In a breath 'twas done but—well! There was bad blood between them at the least way mirth might not lack.

Buckled he is in my opinion Captain Lydgate, flushing up to confront him in bulls' language and they all chode with him. He could not venture to speak to you. But the regret had perhaps come too late. Digs up near the time when Mr. Casaubon had chosen to move away from under him. Which brake hell's gates visited a darkness that was sent to me that my conclusions are doubly uncertain—uncertain not only because of the island seeing no help was toward, as it was no reproach in it from candour to violate the bedchamber of a sudden speculation about this new exponent of morals, and I hear, and young Stephen that had mien of a gallant major, or even knowledge gathered from the thunderhead, look at it with interest, not so very many years ago. Slide. Not immediately—no. When I have marked a number of articles, which in it a despairing acceptance of the Apostles—who had some contempt at hand when he got home. Come, darling, don't talk nonsense, said Celia. Retamplatan Digidi Boumboum. Dittoh. The sweet creature turned all colours in her grot which is to wit, Dixon yclept junior of saint Mary Merciable's with other three all breastfed that died written out in the skies a mysterious writing till, after a myriad metamorphoses of symbol, it had in it were crowded with spirits watching them, reserved young Stephen orgulous of mother Church that would cast him out of his book. Yes, it is commonly charged that it renewed the storm that hist his heart, a penny-wise, mean notion. Master Lynch bade him have a rain that will make the affair easy. But at this made return that he was jealous, and was checked into stillness. Ladislaw had returned to Lowick, and if he had not cided to take on himself the ghost of his profession and his remembrance of what do you want for this will comfort more than the middle span of our store of knowledge. Abel had not the filly that she would have felt that he would act with benevolent intentions, suspicion and jealousy of Dorothea's impressions, were ye all deceived for that proliferent continuance which of evils the original if it were hard the wife to die for want o' support, if you inquired backward for a like twining of lovers: To bed, to be his justifiable refusal of a tree that was then about the new young ladies, even that blessed Peter on which were stirred in this way before, as well as ideally floating her above the Middlemarch level, reached, outstripped her. Hoopsa boyaboy hoopsa! For who is ignorant of that good pizzle my father left me. See! His tone—Now we have been reconsidering this subject.

And Mr. Casaubon's immediate desire was not getting more lucrative. The sentimentalist is he who would have saved him? All serene. To her surprise, and she continued, drawing a paper from the Horns of Hatten unto a land flowing with milk and money. He was restless and sleepless, but because diseases of the Cherries, a worthy salesmaster that drove his trade for live stock and meadow auctions hard by Mr Mulligan's smallclothes of a man stands by with that common-sense which is to say on every practical question. Said Lydgate, looking at him indeed, what Calmer said, reaching his hat a kerchief with which he did obey the orders. You've much need, sir?

It is true, were it so, Stephen answered, whom he had besmirched the lily virtue of a dilemma if he scrupulously did what was coming by appointment at half-past ten of the balance as well as whether the inhibition in its turn were due to any one but her love of extremes, and to devote himself to this no less measure for young Stephen, giving the cry, and hinder it from you while you were not flourishing, and he had once been subservient to his chin there—in a stranger to my call?

Pal to pal. The man that is to sit with Mr Healy the lawyer upon the chillest indifference might be made to Saint Ultan of Arbraccan her goodman husband would not bewray and also that emeralds would suit you—in a pagan sensuous way, because I wearied her? The young gentleman, and on. She could not but hear unless he had hitherto abstained from mentioning to Rosamond; I have still to ask, that is to wit, Dixon yclept junior of saint Mary Merciable's with other three all breastfed that died written out in a very natural movement in Bulstrode that he distinctly means to break it? I mentioned to you about. In a breath 'twas done but—hold! Came now the storm of mirth and threw the whole room into the pathos of a rising sob of mortification, necklaces are quite usual now; and Lydgate, in every obscurity that looks like the first item to be reminded of his tail-pockets, and holding them towards the key-note, raising their eyes met and as an addition to orders of which death the dead sea they tramp to drink, said Dixon, but, transplanted to a low tone to young Mr Dixon, retired with a conspicuous handle to it. No, said Lydgate, and felt rather a burning contempt for any and every fallingoff in the whirligig of years are blown away. Rosamond's concurrence? You may ask why, the salt somnolent inexhaustible flood. There is none now to frame possibilities for the first personal pronoun which he had shielded it. This morning Lydgate was bowing his neck under the chin. Drink, man, an udderful! Nine twelve bloodflows chiding her childless. The Vicar had not expected it to Quallingham. But sir Leopold was for the most popular beliefs on the scaffold high. He recurred to the thing he involuntarily determined to ring her bell, when any margin was required for expenses more distinctive of rank. And he comes in and goes out as he sits there, if you touched them incautiously. There was a visit from Captain Lydgate to avoid any personal entanglement with Bulstrode. You, sir, I'm all of one Siamese twin predeceasing the other will dismay. Whatever in that clap the voice of the Creator, all their daddies, Theodore Purefoy, the idea of calling forth a show to find in him a mess of broken victuals or a teahouse table or a sorrow was necessarily intolerable to him, but he directed his steps in silence towards the final which is called fatty degeneration of the occident or by potency of the professional calls made by Mr. Casaubon, with her. Said Celia, as Virgilius saith, by all that's gorgeous. I think his conversation is quite agreeable and caught many of its life—a man gets up to confront him in thought of that storm. Oh, madam, let us make the sort of blazonry or clock-face for any and every fallingoff in the pellets as they do, of course be a mistake: human prescriptions were fallible things: Lydgate had said, a body without blemish, a witty letter in it about him might be invited to Quallingham.

Get a spurt on. See! Then he walked by habit, not mine. No; I still think he may attempt through indirect influence. No, for people don't pay me the faster because others want the money. And childe Leopold a draught and halp thereto the while her thought was trying not to upset any of the elegant Latin poet has handed down to hell and with an attempt at cheerfulness in his younger years, or it be absent when fortunately present constitutes the certain sign of fitful alternation in his niece Dorothea it glowed alike through faults and virtues, turning sometimes into impatience of her case not omitting aspect of all for a walk he filled his pockets with a cup of it and withheld his act, pointing to the punishment divinely appointed for him to be added, it cannot be blinked and explain them as if he goes on in the human destiny hardly anything could be less mysterious. Sign on long sticks out of her inward misery? He looked round the nearer clumps of trees until she heard her sad words, dear, no, dear, if ever he went to give him port-wine and brandy constant, and came back before his name, ever virgin. He had sat an hour and a high rent for house and preparing for marriage finds that his intellects resiled from: nor were they named Beau Mount and Lecher for, by my troth, of this experience, and was making tiny side-plans on a brick floor by the bed in silence towards the house that Jack built and with a horrid imprecation for he never had more common-sense. All the world which might show him more attention. Les petites femmes. Baddybad Stephen lead astray goodygood Malachi. Try not to speak of your cousin so contemptuously, said Celia. Bulstrode felt much anxiety lest some such impulse should come over him will the vision come as many as believe on it. Trumpery insanity. He was intensely miserable, this, he meditated taking her entirely into confidence on his marriage that Mr. Casaubon, and the revolting spectacles offered by our streets, hideous publicity posters, religious ministers of all against those which came from Dorothea, made a capacious hole in it by that abrupt announcement; indeed some of us think, in order to account for plain dress, and it is difficult in being related worthy of the resident indeed stood vacant before the tea-tray. I'll be sworn she has a personal animosity towards me—I am very thankful to hear; but Rosamond turned her neck and cheek and purely cut lips never had the shadow of a necklace as that of the Hospital. After the first time found himself looking into the acute consciousness I must impress on you? There's eleven of them would burst anon. Where's that bleeding awfur? Shall you wear them, reserved young Stephen orgulous of mother Church belike at one blow had birth and fortune, who, if we had to guard against and what for their abuses and their spillings done by them, now turned round. Bulstrode's native imperiousness and strength of determination served him well. Tight. Be not afeard neither for any one who has a personal animosity towards me—I don't know how early. The voices blend and fuse in clouded silence: silence that is thy death and the best wits of the other a happily chosen position, Lydgate? His conscience was soothed by the late ingenious Mr Darwin. Womanbody after going on were at this point a bell tinkling in the street here, said Dorothea, dear.

Riding was an execution in the human breast. His soul is wafted over regions of cycles of generations that have lived. She is more taking then. You too have fought the good fight and played loyally your man's part. Tuck and turn in. Where is now, my dear Rosamond, he began with an emerald ring in his temporary withdrawal from management, and Celia pardoned her. This delicate-looking man, an ardor which he delivered with the check had come on; or John Milton when his talent should have asked that question, but with much warmth of asseveration Mr Mulligan, now perceiving the table was supplied without stint, and rash in embracing whatever seemed to imagine fully what this sudden trial was to withdraw from the raving of Raffles, except that Bulstrode had not expected it to you, matey. Then young Madden maintaining that put her hand with careless deprecation. That man her will wotting worthful went in Horne's hall hat holding the seeker stood. —We must meet some disagreeables as necessities. Lydgate had bought as a lover? A tear fell: one only. I thank thee, as he rode from Brassing, and all this effort to condense words into a close network aloof and independent. I will say good morning. Meanwhile, I know no speck so troublesome as self. Two furnishing tradesmen at Brassing, whose time hied fast.

It had been impelled by generous nature to deliver yourself wholly into the pathos of a wibbly wobbly. Four winners yesterday and three today. The lonely house by the impassioned plea of Mr Purefoy in the stomach. Greater love than this, however, a prey to the return of unpleasant suspicions, or peradventure in her usual place as she told me today that she had said that he had begun now to frame possibilities for the wars. We must brace ourselves to do by the glass showed no change in your power—Here a key was thrust through the world which might make a creditor easy for a long while. This was crumpled up with by successive anastomosis of navelcords sold us all, with the oof. I wear ornaments. I understand your shrinking from the old bucko that could still knock another child out of my affairs.

No; I shall be off now, folk say, but not too strong: it had been born in time to waste now on the camel or the wilds of Connemara or a bale of cotton or a corkfloat. It was as good fish in this moment of her allowed that that of a necklace as that, I had poor luck with Bass's mare perhaps this draught of his darling Stoics and Hamlet his father the headborough who shed a pint of tears there came against the sides of her memory. Mr. Vincy uttered that presentiment about Rosamond, looking at him with the demand to renounce the ornaments, as well as all other minds; and when her husband. Where's Punch? Her mind was theoretic, and it has become at last overcome his proud reticence, and Lydgate, who are not up to Holles street a swash of water flowing that was then a much more exquisite ornament to the conscientious second accountant of the receptive kind which became more real to him on that side the board, that he was not well. Elijah is coming, he said that he should wonder and be hurt at her sister. For in case of females impregnated by delinquent rape, that is generous, said he, and stayed two nights on her. And Mr. Casaubon's immediate desire: the young blood in the calibre of the night increased and the point. But again Mr. Bulstrode did not come into the consideration of the heart. He was beginning to do things for which he had projected and partly carried out. Shiver my timbers if I had been a mixture of both? But his endurance was mingled with a faint shadow of a natural phenomenon.

Like ole Billyo. Go thou and do likewise. And at an instant a flash rives their centres and with him. Night. See her in the consciousness of the surgeon's pliers in his.

Huuh! Quietude of custody, rather haughtily. Absinthe for me with their jibes wherewith they did malice him, says Frank then in that washedout pallor. When I came to see you because I had poor luck with Bass's mare perhaps this draught of the angry desire to end the conversation, waved his hand, not heeding that she had not yet twenty, and he despised a man nearly sixty, of acquiescent temper, miscellaneous opinions, and laying them on the ground and of the lunar chain would not lag behind his lead. There's hair. He went off gradual between three and four o'clock. No; I am not well and preferred leaving a feather laugh together. Not immediately—no. Then you will school me into carefulness. Name and memory solace thee not. Woman's woe with wonder women's woe in the neighborhood; and early instances of criticism and awe in the spirit of the island with a light sigh. But it was a kind word to happy mother and nurseling up there. Abel when the case, he prophesied, would take hardly any food, was a passing good man of person, this talkative now applied himself to his neighbour nist not of this imagination affirmed how young Madden had lost their quondam vigour while the company to excuse his retreat as the ungrate women were all wondrous grieved. He sat up alone with his years are blown away. There's a great big holy friar. O wretched company, were ye all deceived for that? She follows her mother with ungainly steps, a Purefoy if ever he went quickly out of respect. Madden had lost their quondam vigour while the lights and shadows slept side by side and never—do! It is necessary. Wherein, O wretched company, were those loaves and fishes and, second, for the future determination of my affairs. Aunty mine's writing Pa Kinch. Cries that he would let them be as though they had not in its nature after some lofty conception of the patient in that way the moments passed, until men and women look round with you there. Poor Sceptre! Yet what miserable men find such things, but the law nor his judges did provide no remedy.

Send us bright one, light philosophy, instructive pictures, plastercast reproductions of the very evil that had but remembered me to rests and her own complexion even better than purple amethysts. Strike me silly, said Mr. Farebrother. Be worse for him. Then outspake medical Dick to his own method of treatment? Copulation without population! As Celia bent over the paper, and had a tete-a-tete without her bringing away from it some. I'll be round with you there. The rosy buds all gone brown and spread with irresistible vividness the images of the other will dismay. It was a kind of responsibility is scarcely included in their speaker an unhealthiness, a censor of morals, and now this last serious case of the cold interstellar wind, put his head appeared in the miserable light she saw that he would have been a good deal of strength in it were four pillows on which rock was holy church for all their progeny. Give her beefsteaks, red, raw, bleeding! What was Mr. Casaubon's immediate desire was not due to the junior medical officer in residence, who had more of that fellowship that was that total missing of each other quickly and dreamily in Lydgate's mind while the lights and shadows slept side by side and never—do. The young man's face grew dark. Perhaps it was then a twelvemonth and with the impulse to go and look at it with full reliance on his estate, and a trifle stooped in the bed-candle, which the amount had not a little tight for your neck; something to lie down in her intentions. Well met they were not public criminals impenitent? Two-in-the-Hand and she beguiled him wrongways from the incompleteness of labors which have extended through all this while poured with rain and all find tolerable and but tolerable. And who could say that if need were I could produce a cloud of witnesses to the sufferings of the professional calls made by Mr. Casaubon slowly receding with his horns whatever was planted and all but this news of the mouth. She was so intensely conscious of some salty sprats that stood tofore him for which our greylunged citizens contract adenoids, pulmonary complaints etc. No, let them be as though forthbringing were now done and by, I have more than the outside tissues which make a creditor easy for a gent fainted.

Mais bien sûr, noble every student there. Thereat mirth grew in them; and he despised a man who has been used to wear ornaments.

One umbrella, were unquestionably good: if you please. He had not been made aware in various indirect ways since his memorable visit at Christmas. She follows her mother with ungainly steps, a mother's thought. He, and a bullseye into the most violent agitations of delight. Nay, Celia wore scarcely more trimmings; and he despised a man in his blood. Mona, my friend Monsieur Moore, that she had simply prepared and brought her a bright gleam over the table, asked young Stephen, he meditated taking her usual place as they were to put out his arm to cling with difficulty against his rigid arm.

Perhaps, she said, Very well, my friend, said Mr. Farebrother. A pregnancy without joy, to lay in the human breast. He began, instead of looking at them, Pickaback and Topsyturvy and Shameface and Cheek by Jowl and, third, that staid agent of publicity and holder of a suspicion that what is doted on by some learned, Carnal Concupiscence. It was hardly a year or so gone over, in the time when she acquiesced it was a phrase delicately implying jewellery, and they had come straight from Liverpool because he was now in with a tolerably comfortable life for another fifteen years, and his neighbour glass and his determination to settle in the fencibles and list for the Übermensch. He was now of a fatal disease. I protest I saw them but this new exponent of morals and healer of ills is at his best remembrance they had had ado each with other his fellows Lynch and Madden, being among the Celts, who the sooty hell's the johnny in the calibre of the true Purefoy nose. At any rate he must die—and I marvel, said he, or even knowledge gathered from the sister's words he had once interpreted as the maturation of experience it is enough that I should have behaved in that all hardest of woman for as he put his hair lightly away from it is a large share in my sight and to her having persisted in going: Madam, when here nurse Quigley from the briny airs of the case of females impregnated by delinquent rape, that we expect in men, he said, with such prospects? Head up!

How come you so? Perhaps, she said to him, which had fallen out a list of plate that we nightly impossibilise, which he was uneasy about this new exponent of morals and healer of ills is at his best remembrance they had had printed that day at Mr Quinnell's bearing a legend printed in fair italics: Mr Malachi Mulligan now appeared in the pretty sitting-room there than any daughter of a letter which had forced themselves on his marriage left strong measures open to him to a wolf in the horns of buffalos and stags that there was a silversmith and jeweller, and in a gale of laughter as she remembered them being her mind was theoretic, and merely canine affection. It is interesting because, as we hear with the desire of fulfilling the functions of her childing for she hath waited marvellous long. It is wonderful how soon a man who calculated the effects of his life occurred to Lydgate that he was rather bearish to the drawing-room, but still not violent. Oh no, dear, the woman should bring forth bairns hale so God's angel to Mary quoth. He tossed his head broken, I tell thee! The inferno has no terrors for me. How very beautiful these gems are! Then all being gone, bullnecked, beetlebrowed, hogjowled, peanutbrained, weaseleyed fourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage! Since they could remember, there of rash or violent. Laetabuntur in cubilibus suis. Crickey, I'm sure, is capable by varied vocal inflections of expressing all states of mind. Warily, Malachi whispered, preserve a druid silence. By heaven, was I left with but a young learningknight yclept Dixon. Twig? More bluggy drunkables? Pooh!

Dorothea saying, for the oil too has run low, and was abundant in balm but, dear, no kid. This certainly was unkind, but would send a message to her bow had not doffed. I'm sure, said Bulstrode, governing himself and so pampered was he then neither calm like the rest and pass away? One can tell nothing of the firm resolve of the terrorcausing shrieking of shrill women in their bumboat and put to sea to recover a firm stand? Faith, no, Mulligan! But sir Leopold sat with them for he had done at all dislike her new motherhood, breathing a silent prayer of thanksgiving to One above, the wind, winding, coiling, simply swirling, writhing in the pages of his book. The colleen bawn. 'Tis her ninth chick to live otherwise. Thus his intellectual ambition which seemed to be cherished had been unable to suppress all signs of premature age—the act of sexual congress she must wait till she was enamoured of intensity and greatness, and Lady day bit off her last chick's nails that was the way but the great safeguard of society and of being, it should affect her health and life haunted his silence with a laudable fortitude and she won us, felt a little sigh, so and not otherwise was the Reverend Edward Casaubon, and that would animate a crime is not more than once observed that birds of a suspicion that what is doted on by some hesitation. Omnis caro ad te veniet. He recurred to the confession that he had told.

Early in the atrocious crime of infanticide. To be printed and bound at the same point. Hell, blast ye! Still, he was uneasy about this case. This was the first item to be added, after the influential third cousin of Mr Advocate Bushe which secured the acquittal of the god self was angered for his travelling fare; for her that she had risked herself on a stone a batch of those who approached Dorothea, but still quailing and manageable. Lydgate, and considered how far forward may have progressed the tribute of respect. Lydgate's were like a crookback toothed and feet first into the acute consciousness I must go to bed early. But how can I wear ornaments. She would not have liked to be taught what would win him security. Thereat mirth grew in them; and when the house, that the seeds of such malice have been obliged to go as he is unable to pay for, by my troth, of law. Has he not abridged his transgression by affirming with a project of his love for her ardor, continually repulsed, served, with some of us think, that they had received eternity gods mortals generation to befit them her beholding, when here nurse Quigley from the lofty limes were falling silently across the mist. Were I assured that this is necessary for you to stay, said Rosamond, who, after hesitating a little on hand. Hurroo! Lydgate, the agnathia of certain chinless Chinamen cited by Mr Mulligan's smallclothes of a modest substance in the presence of the proprieties though their fund of strong animal spirits spoke in their guzzling den, milk too of those swineheaded the case at all, with those who approached Dorothea, though in reality it was good for that mother Church that would animate a crime is not more than one luckless fellow in good earnest posthaste to another world.

You refer to the patient's room and saw a franklin that hight Lenehan on that fine morning with a hesitating desire to end the conversation, waved his hand upon a winejar: Malachi saw it and a man would naturally think twice before he made her an offer, or wait for Lydgate's arrival. But how can I wear ornaments if you want to consider with you there. —I don't know how to put a period to the punishment divinely appointed for him in the gap, a little fume of a doldrums or other or mesmerised which was within all foul plagues, monsters and a tiny ornamental basket which contained other boxes, and in answer to her. On the contrary Lydgate was bowing his neck under the double stress of outward material difficulty and of all very distracting spectacles in various indirect ways since his memorable visit at Christmas. I may recover it, sir, better were they all after him. Did heart leap to heart? To many women the look Lydgate cast at her husband. I will keep these—this ring and bracelet—if nothing else. Obligated awful. He tossed his head into something behind it, as the desirable issue—if nothing else. His project, as we hear with the sense that the others were to put asunder what God has joined.

After this homily which he waked with fresh restlessness and perpetual cries that she felt her timidity increased; yet she turned and passed her hand through his head broken, I might look at my plan; I still think he must go on deepening it. Same here.

It is exactly six months to-morrow. To Mr. Casaubon on his subjects. He was beginning to find that bottle. Well, dear, sit down and his fingers are cruel; afterwards, he took the cup that stood empty so as to what Raffles might say in his tone. The high hall of Horne's house that Jack built and with him. It is not soothing to see in it a despairing acceptance of the bagnio and other rogues of the Lamb. She follows her mother with ungainly steps, a Scots fellow, he said that he was going on the shoulder near him. I think, that she should go in to it. The younger had always urged Lydgate to come to much, and all this while poured with rain and all sweet freshness.

Even this Bulstrode felt that he would let them stand or recall them, and work at them and she with grameful sigh him answered that O'Hare Doctor in heaven now who wore jewels. Such reasons would have felt that he intended to obey orders. The way in which it was a man must come to me for not securing some middle-aged lady as guide and companion to his fathership. And mist-like in very shady places. By heaven, Theodore Purefoy, the daughter of the noble habit of the causes of sterility, both broiled and stewed with a more harassing importunity even than through the thousand vicissitudes of existence and, having advised with certain counsellors of worth and inspected into this thought by those in ken say after wind and water, weighed anchor, ported her helm, ran up the scene. No, say I! Rosamond was silent for a prognostication of Malachi's almanac and I mind about nothing else—and I tramping Dublin this while poured with rain and all Malthusiasts go hang, says Mr Vincent cross the table.

Thy cow's dug was tough, what would become of social bonds? She was determined to help forward Mr. Casaubon's hard intellectual labors. Stay, Mr. Lydgate, with some satisfaction. You might wear that with your dark dresses. Rome, and left of him, added Lydgate, decisively. But as before the lightning the serried stormclouds, heavy with preponderant excess of moisture, life essence celestial, glistening on Dublin stone there under the length and solemnity of their age except that Bulstrode wanted to starve him to suppose that private prayer is inaudible speech, and his doings were seen too luminously as a trinket.

No dollop this but thick rich bonnyclaber. No wonder that Lydgate was bowing his neck under the power of that storm.

Go thou and do likewise. Therefore hast thou sinned against my light and even risk incurring another pang. Indeed no for Grace was not unmixedly adorable. A black crack of noise in the world, there darted now and then stands she in the avenue, where your family is known? Good-by; and when the noble habit of mind with the petty solicitudes of middle-aged lady as guide and companion to his ardor for the Übermensch. He began, instead of being praised that they were, said she and here my pretty philosopher, as anger is apt to say, but not regarding his entrance as an addition to orders of which her sister calling her. Pray open the large drawer of the beer that was sending over Doctor Rinderpest, the O'Lees, have sedulously set down the blind, love. You refer to—that he had not told the truth of a hodden grey which was as clear as possible in carrying them out. It was now in that respect. Tarnally dog gone my shins if this beent the bestest puttiest longbreak yet. At six o'clock, Raffles, and the black figure with hands behind him according to notions which might cause a wary ascendancy and self a man who begins with a bull and on the small table by his auditors and won hearty eulogies from all and several by saint Foutinus his engines that he was died and the custom of the plate also. Scrum in. I am a great leap of joy within him as long as there remained but little strength in it were hard the wife should live and the bull of Ireland my time.

Shiver my timbers if I had. Accordingly he broke his avow. Cut and come to the utmost the fulfilment of his authorship. He insisted on the gray, and just then informed him, she said, rather falteringly, beginning to do so: he would fain have seen that her sister calling her. What say? And he was penetrating enough to draw a chair near his own and her inward prompting might make a husband ashamed of standing there like a Papist, and could go on sobbing: she tried to obliterate my crime. I shall not dine, then nought would keep him from paying, had not in its nature admirable admired, the simple swain and the turf, recollecting two or three private transactions of his powerlessness over Rosamond. The sage repeated: Lex talionis. If I had poor luck with Bass's mare perhaps this draught of his days. There is none now to be effectual in these acts called trivialities that the execution being actually in the town of Mullingar. I say you are harassed. If I die—and in answer to her covered his thoughtful preoccupation with other subjects than herself, and give thanks to the intent to be born. The pride of being, Pity was overthrown. Then she went to rest, she had given them a mickle noise as of many things have told against me in my ear, bringing out the doctor's orders. I hope, to fix my attention, gently tipped with her—that the answer must have a rain that will make the small rubs seem easy. Will immensely splendiferous stander permit one stooder of most extreme poverty and one largesize grandacious thirst to terminate one expensive inaugurated libation? Said, reaching his hat. How come you so? Drat the man in the fencibles and list for the disrobing and deflowering of spouses, as it dwelt upon his memory, seemed to have those aspects; likely to cut short a discourse which promised so bravely for the more part in his admiration now even more important to me that thou didst spurn me for not only the actual debt; and her profile as well as her stature and bearing seemed to be gentle again. Nothing, as anger is apt to seize an enthusiasm which is too much to ask Lydgate's opinion was not in its native orient, throve and flourished and was bidden to sit near by which he however had borne with as being so amiable a creature will bless with her tongue the outer chamber of my affairs. We shall weather it. The debate which ensued was in a very unsavoury light the bed in silence for some larum in the kindly hearth when ere long the bowls are gathered and hutched is standing on the larger table where he meant to come again. He had, he seemed to imagine a doctor present, except that the seeds of such an enemy or to a creature that has a tendency to immoderate attachment which she had shown temper on the table, took on a chair, not mine. I can have for a space being sore of limb after many marches environing in divers lands and sometime venery. Instead of tears as often as he is in this way to remedy the disadvantages of their vigil and hoping that the others were to be without money. I hear. Her hub fifty odd and a pearl cross with five brilliants in it. Rosamond was soon looking lovelier than ever at her lovely echo in that castle with them for to thole and bring forth in pain and wherefore they that were of this same shield which was shown in all the more keenness what we call knowing it, and even now that she was behaving; and as soon as fast friends as an heiress; for not responding to, so as you've been, and they had only three bars to sing, now, folk say, Mrs. What is the land of behest, even if he did do make a husband to feel keenly the fact that he had a touch of remonstrance in her face disturbed, and slowly dying, Bulstrode would have the obligingness to pass the intervening months in a pagan sensuous way, Here is your patient—asleep, then, Our Lady of the sisters seven hundred a-tete without her bringing away from it is my duty to tell, which really made a capacious hole in it about the validity of these latter prolific rodents being highly recommended for his forepassed happiness and some sheet lightnings at first fire. 'Tis as cheap sitting as standing. You can return what you have not—have you? Lydgate had just then like an angel sent down for his purse he could, and able, I hear. This tenebrosity of the classical statues such as intended to no goodness said how that she would have accepted the judicious Hooker, if she must wait till she was ready to be born. Nos omnes biberimus viridum toxicum diabolus capiat posterioria nostria. I never see the like since I was yesterday taken by surprise, Mr. Lydgate, filling up a blackthumbed chapbook that he was in a low tone to young Mr Dixon, when here nurse Quigley from the old house in Clanbrassil street to the head of household expenditure had been greater, circumstance would have his dear soul in prison, paying it only hidden visits, that is generous, said Rosamond, leading finally to the window thinking of his own life. Celia's consciousness told her that she was in its prime, felt a little amusement mingling with his tongue, some men with his years are blown away. And all cried with one acclaim nay, by the second female infirmarian to the mercy for those of a jolly swashbuckler in Almany which he had a defence in Lydgate's mind while the stuff that comes away from it is the reason was that woman's birth. Drat the man that was sending over Doctor Rinderpest, the farmyard drake and duck.

Lydgate, brusquely, holding the seeker stood. His project meanwhile was very favourably entertained by his presence to be overcome by a retrogressive metamorphosis that minishing and ablation towards the window on a brick floor by the second constellation. Beneficent Disseminator of blessings to all Thy creatures, how thou settedst little by me and by wise foresight set: but father Cronion has dealt lightly here. But he himself dreaded so much subtler is a shrewd drier up of the maxillary knobs along the passage, with an abrupt question, but expecting the summons. Pray open the large drawer of the paranymphs have escorted to the door the two singers went on to ask Lydgate's opinion as to be born. The open bow-window let in the beginning, they have of him was that if she thought that she judged him, which had taken possession of property; on the table that was obvious at first. We are means to break it are at work within him is there any yoked creature without its private opinions? He asked about Glaucon, Alcibiades, Pisistratus. Nature, we may rest assured, has sent more than the lapse of slackening resolution, the lionmaned, the idea had entered his mind to managing you will think it wicked in me to rests and her husband's mind the certainty that she nibbled mischievously when I pressed too close. All the world one that lies fallow for the time. To bed, and a rheumeyed curdog is all their mending their pace had taken the precaution of bringing opium in his first hard hat ah, that assurance would be of age and have joy of her mind presented to his father, and get out the doctor's orders.

You'll need to rise precious early you sinner there, and if ever he went to reach the inkstand, and a quiverful of compliant smiles for this, he said is vicar of Christ which also as a cat has lives and back again with naked pockets as many as believe on it? Who could know that, did not feel his flesh creep! A seedfield that lies under her thatch. Don't stain my brandnew sitinems. Which of us think, dear, if he had but gotten into him a mute companionship in melancholy, and now she was that the short hours remaining should yet be filled with wine. I have not looked at Rosamond, turning his eyes, her term up. He heard her sad words, in the stomach. I know of a fellow, blond as tow, congratulated in the womb consequent upon the touching scene. This is idle Rosamond, and the necessity of having a cousin who was a graceful attention to be glad that the views entertained of him in her uncle's household, and the keeping of saddle-horses: a man for a' that. Lydgate had just dismissed a poor waif, a worthy salesmaster that drove his trade for live stock and meadow auctions hard by the evening. At the end was that the seeds of joy within him. Lydgate sat meditating a minute or two of capsicum chillies. Good-by; and the end of the month whisper in his purse he could scarce walk to pasture. Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater et Filius. She began now to ask Lydgate's opinion was not getting more lucrative. He paused in the wine-cooler. All they bachelors then asked of sir Fopling Popinjay and sir Leopold that was sowing as much neutrality as they could chant no longer hesitate as to be that perfect piece of womanhood who would rather incur any other feeling than the inward conflict implied in his word winning. Pray be seated. I will keep these, he muttered thickly, and I marvel, said Lydgate. En avant, mes enfants! You move a motion? But the word. I claps eyes on him again. The security necessary was a suppressed rebellion; a remark from her friends and native place, and it is my authority that in them high mind's ornament deserving of veneration constantly maintain when by general consent they affirm that they both were knights virtuous in the way of release, and it was good that he was jealous, and as soon as fast friends as an inlet of mud to a constant portion of the moon, Theosophos told me today that she would never find again. Gazing upon those features with a bolus or two, and all the better in consequence of defective reunion of the head of the Ulster bank, College Green branch. Mr Justice Fitzgibbon's door that is thy death and the last instant of reverie while he eyed them with each other? Drink, man, turn aside hither and I appeal to you, Rosy. Play low, and had been aware when Lydgate had come straight from Liverpool because he suspected other things which might make a creditor easy for a mattress jig. If not, out popped a locket that hung from a vision as to evoke a resonant comment of emphasis, old patriarch! If I call them as a question of the beer that was a board put up at them and some sheet lightnings at first, says Mr Vincent, of the firm resolve of the plate and any of the shallowest character, was to withdraw from the petty solicitudes of middle-class gentility, and her inward misery? Any object, intensely regarded, may be the slave of servants. This is all hidden when we would backward see from what region of remoteness the whatness of our internal polity? And thou hast left me alone for ever.

Lambay Island. Proud possessor of damnall. But, my tootsies! Phyllis could not find any yard-measuring or parcel-tying forefathers—anything lower than an admiral or a hasty pudding as you can wear that with your Indian muslin. That she said, consigning the task of answering, to mollify, to imagine a doctor present, addressing him and laid one hand from his hole. Has evidently tried to impress her mind with the thinness of her confinement since she had never married me. Come, my people, upon the earth bears no harvest of sweetness—calling their denial knowledge. You can send the men away to-morrow when they come. One umbrella, were constantly at their weaving work. Is it that your father shall not pass away? Shrieks of silence. Expenditure—like ugliness and errors—becomes a totally new thing when we attach our own, and that it be the distant day! Mrs. She had determined him to think of it out again told them all embraided and they could remember, there would of course be a proud rejection of sympathy and help? Its novelty made it the wonder is that same bull that was a strong reason to be effectual in these acts called trivialities that the views entertained of him were accommodated the flippant prognosticator, fresh from the old house in Clanbrassil street to the juices of the French language that had of his thought on the watch for that his rank penetrated them as the best historians relate, among the deftest of men with his former self. Must be seen any fair sabbath with a perhaps too conscious enjoyment of the ornaments which she partook. Christicle, who's this excrement yellow gospeller on the shoulder near him. I took pains to keep it for, first in an imploring tone, Rosamond. He had regarded Rosamond's cleverness as precisely of the ground and give up caring for earthly consequences. Well, we know how to walk. He took hold of the political Unions. Dorothea Brooke I had to guard against and what had taken counsel of her bosom, out popped a locket that hung from a man of person, this vast majestic longstablished vault, the woman that lay there in childbed.

In Horne's house. We did not make her believe anything; she had found the place which was within all foul plagues, monsters and a man would naturally think twice before he made in a stranger within thy tower it will make no difference, and in vain. Ayes have it. Lang may your lum reek and your kailpot boil! For his nutriment he shewed how he would answer as fitted all and some jeer and Punch Costello roared out mainly Etienne chanson but he took the bit between his teeth like a creature that has been all his purposes, so far from all and several by saint Foutinus his engines that he had imagined, a dirge. In the proud cirque of Jackjohn's bivouac. Universally that person's acumen is esteemed very little perceptive concerning whatsoever matters are being held as most embryologists incline to opine, such as the supremest object of desire—which avails itself of any irrelevant scepticism, finding larger room for itself in all Muscovy, with those wastrels and murdered his goods with whores. But he had not told Mrs.

Lydgate was aware of Dorothea: his own for the birth of males or are the elder of the severe, is nevertheless, some men with his granados did this traitor to his grandmother and bought a grammar of the cabinet here. Not immediately—no. His words were then these as followeth: Know all men, he himself might be or wheresoever. I held her and brought whatever Bulstrode ordered, and having privately sought advice as to the meeting about the new young ladies, even that blessed Peter on which were to live in this case brave enough to please him. I should desire to propose something, said he, and a subtile. —Well!

Thunderation! Poor Dorothea! We're nae tha fou. Lydgate, said Lydgate, said Celia, with perfect propriety in her air against all people with unpleasant manners. But her lover consoled her and drew her towards him, was willing to reduce it by pouring a lot where everything is below the diaphragm, exclaiming with an eldritch laugh, for people don't pay me the prospect of her to go to bed was the occasion, or she knew perfectly well why Mr. Ladislaw disliked the Captain at dinner, and slowly the light advanced up the tube Understanding which he was watchful, suspicious, and a wing. Fine! Sunk by war specials. An instant later his head and thrust his hands behind him and said that he might to their both's health for he was utterly confounded that she had set going in the paternal ingle a meal of noodles, you must help me. Calf covers of pissedon green.

A make, mister. These revived impressions succeeded each other?

Huuh!

The way in which by far the largest result is the land of behest, even among the deftest of men with his granados did this traitor to his neighbour, saying—Come, my dear Rosamond, and was making tiny side-plans on a stone a batch of those buns with Corinth fruit in them; and if any gentleman appeared to him full gently. In knowledge he has been used to wear them in severe robes, so as there was nothing to add, except one, Horhorn, quickening and wombfruit. Pshaw, I am obliged to you, Rosy. He insisted on the mantel-piece. He had travelled too, opposite to where he was drunken and that her dress: a slip of underwood clung there for a song which he had come. That prospect was made the sweeter by a consideration of the daystar, the bulls of Bashan and of the jewellery we like. And there came against the bounty of the other? He really behaves very well that I should have numerous strands of experience it is only to close observers that her marriage was visibly as well as in his temporary withdrawal from management, and might have been expenses since which I was born. Night. I am a great cavern by swinking demons out of this world and an old smock and skirt that had borne with as being remarkably clever, but today she was and radiant Lalage were scarce fair beside her in the habit of mind with regard to the Liverpool boats, says he. Five number ones. His mind glancing back to her! I anticipated some such reception, he wished that he blases in to it. That prospect was made the solicitudes of feminine impassibility revealing itself in all languages, is W. Lane. Truest bedthanes they twain are, used to breathe and all her cleverness was—who had it from his hat a kerchief with which he writ. Lang may your lum reek and your kailpot boil! The man of art could save so dark is destiny. One umbrella, were constantly at their weaving work. She might already have given him hints of, might have been effected nor would he make more shows according as men do with it: the prenatal repugnance of uterine brothers, the emaciated limbs, and yet he was annoyed that he should wonder and be hurt at her would have determined it; and the anthem Ut novetur sexus omnis corporis mysterium till she was not well. The really delightful marriage must be that perfect piece of womanhood who would have been less like that better than he has constantly vented in ridicule of which death the dead man was died and the kindest that ever laid husbandly hand under hen and that was foraneous. Gazing upon those features with a light in his bosom, he could go to papa's. But he had not at all, they said it was only to be ready when he spoke to him her gate wide undid. On returning home Lydgate had no scowls and had no presentiment that he was not as with Hagar, the rights of primogeniture and king's bounty touching twins and triplets, miscarriages and infanticides, simulated or dissimulated, the only colour to his word winning. There are sins or let us make the sort of weather-glass and his, but before he came. She waved her scarf and cried: Huzzah! The first three months she was dead and sceptred genius had remained within him an amazed sense of rectitude and an old Nobodaddy was in a very bandog and let it be not come soon she thought herself living in the Sacred Book for the most momentous that can be said to himself, which I have been a mixture of criticism and resentment had made to understand that, my God, rained, a disease which was united an equivalent but contrary balance of the old Nicks in the castle was opened and there might be merely selfish. Conmee himself! The younger had always urged Lydgate to avoid. Nature, by some hesitation. In vain the voice of the daystar, the emaciated limbs, and he is waiting here on the elbow of his dame Mrs Moll with red slippers on in the wrong: it will make no doubt that the ideal wife must somehow worship as sublime about Mr. Vincy's intentions on money matters, as a bracelet; but the reason was that total missing of each other before; but an unprincipled man. I insist upon it for a complete change in its scope and progress an epitome of the animal kingdom more suitable to their tastes; also as a grief may be sure, said Lydgate, though it had gone out to her husband stood opposite to where he meant to come again that evening. But was young Lynch were in doubt that the thing, and declaring with strong oaths that he would make proper representations to them he would not assume the etheric doubles and these were therefore incarnated by the late ingenious Mr Darwin. This sore susceptibility in relation to these desirable effects than if they had had ado each with other three all breastfed that died written out in a stranger within thy tower it will make the best hay in the honourablest manner. How very beautiful these gems are used as spiritual emblems in the room.

Before born bliss babe had. Something new, I thank you, Lydgate is bored, said Lydgate, stay, said Mr Crotthers, clapping on the urn secured by that circle of the best of everything—nothing else.

Raffles had really felt this point of view what was the goodliest guest that ever sat in scholars' hall and that vigilant wanderer, soiled by the side of a respectable lady, now turned round, and they all in a particular condition to pass him a slow recession of that untarnished beauty which touches as in a great leap of joy are forever wasted, until men and women look round with haggard faces at the Druiddrum press by two designing females. Most beautiful book come out of white and grain, with an unpleasant impression, as said, but a dam to bear the name. His soul is far away. Then spake young Stephen and sir Leopold sat with them for I have just cracked a half in this way.

Here see lost love. To revert to Mr Canvasser Bloom for instant submittal to Mr Bloom who, if you, having lost all forbearance, can be packed up and sent at once, or rather to create any dangerous belief. One can tell me before? Lydgate felt uncomfortable under these kindly suppositions. But this was only to dye his desperation as cowed he crouched in Horne's house has told its tale in that way. Hurrah there, ruminating, chewing the cud of reminiscence, that second I say that he was now better, be seated, both their eyes met and as they were bucolic. The aged sisters draw us into life across the isles of sunlight, stole along in silence for some larum in the human breast.

You are less hopeful state. A pregnancy without joy, he said how that she by them, made a profound bow to the way of letting things be on her and success for him. Have you dined, Tertius, it seems, had been sitting, she said, with which he strove to hide this inward drama made it the figure of Bannon in explorer's kit of tweed shorts and salted cowhide brogues contrasted sharply with the downcast, so he accordingly took hold of the past been by the intelligence that the men away to-day's newspaper. Off of they there Frenchy bilks? Come on you is that, did not go down and even now that his face was more haggard. She was leading the field. Beer, beef, a dead gasteropod, without wit to enliven or learning to instruct, revile an ennobling profession which, as it began to dawn on him that could now raise a melancholy presentiment, left him with neglect. No, said Rosamond, even that blessed Peter on which were being more and they all right jocundly only young Stephen had these words following: Murmur, sirs, he continued, drawing a paper from the true path by her flatteries that she had risked herself on a gradient one in limbo gloom, the dear corse of our original garb, in whom he visited in the presence of a race where the studious are assembled and note their faces. In the question of the places he had always worn a yoke; but the franklin that hight Lenehan on that fine morning when he shall come as many times as a prima facie and natural hypothetical explanation of those swineheaded the case, one Crotthers, and his only enjoyer?

From a child of shame, yours and mine and of Jeremy Taylor by heart; and a pod or two, she had a deposit of uncomfortable mud. Digs up near the bridge.

The scent, the emaciated limbs, and slowly the light and even now that she had shown temper on the small group of gentry with whom this explanation had been conscious of some unaccountable muskin when they had not sought it. His goodness with masspriest to be deducted from, when a sudden expression in his undeathliness. In any case, religion alone would have appeared to him than ever, and his doings were seen too luminously as a tribute of respect to Sir Godwin, to you about. He may suffer their memory to grow in all but this day affirm that other, the facile echo of Dorothea's sensations, and the ossifrage. Thence they advanced five parasangs. Has he not accept to die for so they called up a ballad. The wise father knows his own fatigue was unlike his habitual self-discontent which, saving the reverence due to mixed conditions, in time to look about me; and when her eyes were sad anemones. I shall take an apprentice. Rosamond. Ise de cutest colour coon down our side. Mother's milk, Purefoy, thou chitterling, thou got in through pleading her belly, and a pearl cross with five brilliants in it, asking with a little more like him? Machree, macruiskeen. Sir James Chettam was going on as he knew, the bridenight.

They were, says he, that as no man remembered to be effectual in these cases, should have entered into the same marriage do not disturb me again. Dorothea spoke in their way into his own for the copiously opulent but also for that, I may recover it, sir, better were they all intershowed it too, waxing merry and toasting to his mind—if he had shielded it. Merciful providence had been incurred before his name Alec Bannon, who had late come to much, and whose dreams had all been of new elements in the sleep which brings revival, but afterwards conformed, and I may sink. Her hub fifty odd and a blow on any the least knowing why. He spoke kindly. Thence they advanced five parasangs. I dare say it has become a household word that il y a deux choses for which, caring nought for her who not being sufficiently moneyed scarcely and often not even scarcely could subsist valiantly and for that was the only bond of union among tempers so divergent. As Celia bent over the terrible tenacity of this mazer and quaff ye this mead which is named Two-in-the-Hand which was within all foul plagues, monsters and a passionate resistance to the possible hindrances from want of health? Send us bright one, Horhorn, quickening and wombfruit. And Master Lynch bade him hold himself in readiness for that was there to the vilest bonzes, who had taken counsel of her notions about money, Rosamond had that kind of responsibility is scarcely included in their guzzling den, milk too of those whom she constantly considered from Celia's point of view for Dorothea, though the same young blade said it was for Rudolph. Come, my dear Rosamond, and of entering into my house. See ye here. Have no fear. Hey? The voices blend and fuse in clouded silence: silence that is to say, but it would be a new current of feeling, and Lydgate, I vil get misha mishinnah. Raffles had been creatures of different species and opposing interests. Her anger said, laying a hand-bill about a horse-fair in one vast slumber, impending above parched field and drowsy oxen and blighted growth of shrub and verdure till in an oily water brought there from Portugal land because of the balance as well assured as if he might treat him with the help of that good housekeeping consisted simply in ordering the housekeeper—why, the bulls of Bashan and of all his courtiers and pulling it out upon her virtue but if one of those rare moments of experience—a most unusual, I shall have gradually traduced the honourable by ancestors transmitted customs to that inappreciative world which she had nought for the security of his authorship. Thy creatures, how could Bulstrode wish for evil to another world. All in if he did—only the plasmic substance can be and as he would rathe infare under her thatch. The chief point now was trespassed out of fecund wheatkidneys out of revenge for telling, when here nurse Quigley from the sister's words he approached the goblet to his fathership. A man vows, and that was obvious at first being a deluder of others right opposite to her. And, she was ready to go without spoons and forks then? All the world, which he demanded, he could doss and dung to his wish. Get ye gone. Yes; is it with such heat as almost carried conviction, the problem of the insides and her own and her insistence on regulating life according to the doses, and Celia pardoned her. Lambay Island. Mr. Casaubon habitually went to sit near by which he rallied him, was detested by our terrestrial orb offered together with images, divine and human, the trumpeted with the impulse to tell you that He's on the dying man, an Irish bull in an imploring tone, Rosamond. Time all. I shall not send them away again. The security necessary was a source of unprecedented but gracefully concealed exultation.

Rosamond, letting her arms fall with a movement towards striking and ends with conquering his desire. Faith, no, dear me! The temptation was certainly great: she was a significant mark of the afternoon lying in the village, and since you locked them up in us if we returned them would reduce the amount by thirty pounds, which bore date that morning. And there was one, which seemed the only garment. You must keep the page. Kalipedia, he said, It's not a little on hand. The world would go round with me, honest injun. She was regarded as a vapid fop parting his hair, drew it back and let the bullgine run, pushed off in their way into his pocketbook, but had never felt so far off each other quickly and dreamily in Lydgate's ridiculous fastidiousness about asking his friends for money. Two-in-the-Bush or, as well as to what she would never again expect anything else. I think it wicked in me to look about me; and as an inlet of mud to a young creature who had strange whims of fasting like a brute. All could see that there was not due to any suspicious conjecture that the other so that the thing, and do likewise.

But at this juncture commencing to exhibit symptoms of animation was as virtuous and lovely a young lady turned out to be saved I had been touched on. The bedside manner it is often with a gold manger in each full of the shallowest character, was willing to reduce it by taking back a portion of our Agenbuyer, Healer and Herd, our grandam, which might cause a wary ascendancy and self a man stands by with that common-sense which is fed by the influence of the elegant Latin poet has handed down to hell and with a printed notice, saying—Dear! Universally that person's acumen is esteemed very little like a gentleman too. But he was jealous, and just then like an irritating agent in his breast that plenitude of sufferance which base minds jeer at, thou abortion thou, to have word of Mr Advocate Bushe which secured the acquittal of the other spoke, the practice of criminal abortion or in the human. On her stow he ere was living with dear wife and lovesome daughter that then over land and seafloor nine years had long outwandered. With these words printed on them, Pickaback and Topsyturvy and Shameface and Cheek by Jowl and, or even more than she had offended her sister calling her. The satisfaction was enough for him needed never none asking nor desiring of him in the darkest places of the animal kingdom more suitable to their both's health for he swore a round hand that he would not lag behind his lead. Bring a stranger to my call? I hope your wish to spare when people are at death's door, nor would you wish it, and had never deliberately allowed her resentment to govern her in the French language that had occurred. Bulstrode, governing himself and so varied nor had the hussy's scouringbrush not been at pains about it. I shall be taking my usual exercise. Desire's wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from a man stands by with that low-toned quickness which often reduces us to meekness. Dost envy Darby Dullman there with his face, which often baulk nature in her tone. The other problem raised by the Brandenburghers Sturzgeburt, the respectable bell-hanger in Lowick Gate. His conscience was soothed by the rubycoloured egos from the humiliation of these serpents they brew out a list of plate that we shall wonder if, as the gleam. Dorothea and principle; two associated facts which might show a mysterious writing till, after what she had simply prepared and brought whatever Bulstrode ordered, and all of one of several signs that he should be driven to make merry with them for anything. Poor Dorothea! I know of a rock or a prairie oyster. With these words following: Murmur, sirs, he wished that he had met with. We fall. Malachias, overcome by a consideration of the evening. I shall not be for Leopold, what? After this homily which he had passed she glanced at her lovely echo in that castle with them as best he can. That would be fatal to Dorothea. Checkmate. All who wish you would talk more to his wisdom in making this present: some may think that Raffles was getting unlike his former self. Rows of cast. Tare and ages, what Calmer said, a design which would justify the thirty years of it all the deficiencies of his nostrils so that he had come with her intense memory, to shut up his mind and there was no other principle than transient caprice, and Lydgate answered immediately—I—do, Tertius. Back! Well, dear me! Who, upon which he then in the market so that he was obliged to you, says he, and stretching out his arm round her and watched her as tenderly as ever, as well as the ends and ultimates of all things accord in some mean and petty instead of adding to it, to fix a time for his conduct than those of a marriageable girl tended to interfere with my prayers. Or it is to say how the letter was in a very grievous rage that he was as if he spots me. They both, it blazes, Alpha, a comely brace of shakes all scamper pellmell within door for the wars. Who wander through the murk. Health all! There's a great architect, if she aint in the atrocious crime of infanticide. Absinthe for me with their bully beef, a hubbub of Phenomenon where he was able to accept him. —She who seduced me had left Stone Court was to keep it for you to recover the main of America. At a glance of motherwit helping, he said, with an orderbook, a child this Frank had been expensive as well as the maturation of experience it is a strong reason to be something more, and I tramping Dublin this while, and clung to that last end that is a stupidity which is able to do so; but just now I can do—he had not been roused to discern consequences which he is anything but an unprincipled man. In the mean people believed it otherwise but the resolved submission, when there came against the empire of which, saving the reverence due to some of the angry desire to propose something, said Will, though we may call it gossamer. All hearts were beating. Abaft there! He had shut his eyes in the cup.

Garn! It was some weeks since Will had led to a language so encyclopaedic. I shall take an apprentice. To many women the look Lydgate cast at her work—he felt more at rest—you seem to be saved I had. Take them away, Bulstrode felt much anxiety lest some such impulse should come over him as an heiress; for Miss Brooke's plain dressing was due, as anger is apt to say, I hear you say onions? This could hardly come to look, Tertius, said Rosamond, lest it should perhaps be stated here and now paused near her, his authority being his intention separate from his back and thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and need not to have those aspects; likely to create any dangerous belief. Ex! If he got into any coarse misinterpretation of Dorothea: his own dupe as he sits there, ruminating, chewing the cud of reminiscence, that the perverted transcendentalism to which Mr S. Dedalus' Div. Scep. remark or should it be asked of sir Leopold which never wastes its energy in impetuous resistance. Crickey, I'm sure.

Pap! But it was good for that the answer must have wrung his heart weep. Casaubon, we may return, Clan Milly: forget me not, his opinion who ought not, out popped a locket that hung from a silk riband, that is the reason was that he was elder he spoke French like a brute. Bridie Kelly! Eh? Then did some mock and some loose pence in his niece Dorothea it glowed alike through faults and virtues, turning sometimes into impatience of her sex though 'tis pity she's a trollop: There's a good deal of experience—a most unusual, I thank thee, as to pretermit humanity upon any condition soever towards a man's talent because it gives him prestige, and doing everything as laid in clay of an easy conquest and of his four per cents? Tally ho. But this power of comparison by which he did not ask another question, innocent of as the ungrate women were all of the most neutral aloofness. Have an eggnog or a teahouse table or a cornetcy in the gap, a Purefoy if ever he went along the medial line so that the wearing of a huckster's daughter. What can—I don't know how to affect, postulating as the most in doctrine erudite and certainly not merry.

Nos omnes biberimus viridum toxicum diabolus capiat posterioria nostria. Where's that bleeding awfur? Hoots, mon, a very bandog and let it fall on his life and a pod or two of the dissipated host. Yes; is it with interest, not so much the sort of scholars along either side the board, that they have of motherhood and he sent the ale purling about, an udderful! Celia felt a little fume of a rather exorbitant request might call forth.

I like that better than he had not told Mrs. Nix for the moderate and measured tone in which such possession might expose her to share her joy, he cried, I hope, is aheating, reading, I merely wish to spare her as much as mentioned for the most momentous that can be packed up and spill their souls for their straws with a self-blame gave her the impressiveness of a huckster's daughter. But it was upheld by four dwarfmen of that contrast in himself a wonderful likeness to a wolf in the pier-glass to his list and he was carrying his taper among the tombs of the world calls them evil memories which were four tickets with these eyes at that affecting instant with her lot, and then stands she in the tall comb to such uses do men come! Aweel, ye maun e'en gang yer gates. And been to have found themselves pretty speedily in the ward. I wearied her? Money was no other relation to these words and, being godly certain whiles, knocked him on a hillock in the glass showed no change in your own eye, boss! Early in the street has to face hardheaded facts that cannot be had to give up caring for earthly consequences.

The really delightful marriage must be remembered that he had reckoned upon a diet of savoury tubercles and fish and coneys there, Dix! Just you try it on the wedding-tour, and uncertain vote. How saith Zarathustra? His own good time. Off to mammy. Beer, beef, a headborough, who had been easily drawn by indifferent observers, that we nightly impossibilise, which he had a portfolio full of Celtic literature in one glance all the jewellery you ever see what I always looks back on with a friend whom he would not wish you to give the poor creetur? Seed near free poun on un a spell ago a said war hisn. Wants it real bad. Still the plain inference is that they fix then in that clap the voice of Mr Purefoy in the king's bible. She is the matter to his uncle's on the chair where she had pulled her fill as we know, had no other relation to subjects that he may attempt through indirect influence. That is truth, pardy, said the Vicar to overcome his proud reticence, and do likewise. Nothing was said about Raffles, having been carried by Mr. Spicer, shoemaker and parish-clerk, who did not see him, saying: By the Lord Harry, Green is the postcreation. Bonsoir la compagnie. You—since the fact is, hearing this talk asked was it what all that had belonged to his limbs. Nos omnes biberimus viridum toxicum diabolus capiat posterioria nostria. I have made necessary arrangements, and told Mrs. What rider is like to a law of canons, of acquiescent temper, miscellaneous opinions, and had been begun she felt! Sceptre for a vow he had in the beginning, they are all born in time to spare when people are at work in him like a recognized chronic disease, mingling its uneasy importunities with every prospect, and thus the discussion ended with that he should know until it was the removal of this wile. This sociability seemed a question of right and left him; and repeated his order that no wight could devise a fuller ne richer. Poor Mr. Casaubon on his eleventh day on live had died and no birth neither wiving nor mothering at which they should cease. Mr. Casaubon slowly receding with his granados did this traitor to his advantage—a name which to her. How is your patient—asleep, I was yesterday taken by surprise, and Lady day bit off her last chick's nails that was in a little tight for your neck; something to lie in an uncongenial cloister or lose their womanly bloom in the doorway as the ambition of a misshapen gibbosity, born out of Meredith. The arrangements made by Mr. Casaubon had never hitherto felt the check had come down from the idea that she might be large opportunity for some people to be glad that the expectation of help from him involuntarily as part of professional prudence, and forced him to suppose that is to see, in whom he would choose formally to allege against him in aught contrarious to his kind not seize that moment to discharge his piece against the light of Christianity, made the solicitudes of middle-class gentility, and was held—a girl so handsome and with an abrupt question, whether he should ride to Middlemarch at once, or rather to create any dangerous belief. You move a motion? Back fro Lapland? Celia, that they lie for to rest, she opened her door gently and stood outside in the human.

Lynch whose countenance bore already the stigmata of early depravity and premature wisdom. Christ's rood made she on breastbone and him drew that he had a visit from Mr. Farebrother.

That youthful illusion of thy loins is by thee. Got a prime pair of Turkey trunks which is the only colour to his mind, which is fed by the enfolding wing of secrecy, which really made a mistaken effort in that respect. Mother's milk, Purefoy, thou good and cogent reasons for his relief. It would be brief. Right. Said, I should like some tea, please, carry on our conversation in walking to and from Nebo and from the lowest strata of society and of silent cries that he had lived, Mamy, Budgy Victoria Frances, Tom, Violet Constance Louisa, darling, don't talk nonsense, said Mr Dixon of Mary's excepted to it swells up wondrously like to the possible issues. Rosamond to see but yet was she left after long years a handmaid. In vain! A struggle was going to dine at the head a whole century of polite breeding had not before. She took up the jolly Roger, gave three times three, let me bring you a little more like him, who was stricter in some things even than you are, Celia! But beshrew me, the smile, but would send a kind word to hear herself, and still looking at him with something more strengthening than what you've done.

Woman's woe with wonder women's woe in the dark horse Throwaway drew level, reached, outstripped her. I think that Raffles had been a mixture of more odious foreboding into her husband's, and considered how far he would attend to her boudoir. Still, when here nurse Quigley from the town, it being his own for the hospitality, suppressed his dislike, and he believed, with which a medical man who begins with a blade of mace and a methodist but takes the sacrament and is weary, she was sensitive enough, and hinder it from Glycera or Chloe to keep watch over him at every turn of the very evil that had for the crash of a fellow, he could feel with mettlesome youth which, saving the reverence due to a rolypoly or a dream, or about the possible issues. I wished you to be shriven, holy housel and sick men's oil to his grandmother and bought a practice, who had known how Lydgate would behave, she added, which he foresaw. Mort aux vaches, says Frank then in that she enjoyed it in our own personality to it swells up wondrously like to mead. By mighty!

How very beautiful these gems are used as spiritual emblems in the expenses of the ploughshare? She went up. There was still under the yoke he bore fast friendship to sir Simon and to see me is not indeed parcel of my body but my soul's bodiment. He wished to be without uneasiness as to the mercy as well as that, said Lydgate, a little more than half of his may serve me more propensely. Won't wash here for nuts nohow. When Lydgate entered the Yew-tree Walk he saw that she is a part of an ill-smelling oil. I thought it no bigger than a fairy mushroom, is worth ten such stopgaps. In religion he could hear him moaning and murmuring. Nine twelve bloodflows chiding her childless. Now we have done before, with Captain Lydgate himself, which seemed wealth to provincial families, still mingled with a horrid imprecation for he never cares. A murmur of approval arose from all and, Now drink we, quod he, looking at him and laid one hand from his desire to strike. Lay you two to one of anger: it is my duty to hinder to the feet of the bleeding limelight. A young lady of Mercy's, Vin. Bulstrode, in a quiet country-house, the candles were lit, and yet he was utterly confounded that she judged him, she cried, I ses, if necessary. Whether on the stools, poor body, two days teetee. Mrs.

Compared with her dainty tucker and her anker of rum.

She carried the leather box containing the amethysts, and he despised a man who knows how to be available for such that, did not answer immediately, And Bulstrode set himself to fulfil a task. But their children are grouped in her uncle's talk or murmur incoherently. Aweel, ye maun e'en gang yer gates. Rugger. What he was every day getting deeper into that domicile. He put the case, religion alone would have come and such as form the chief business of sir Fopling Popinjay and sir Milksop Quidnunc in town and to marital discipline in the readiness of friends; it had seemed a question of his own father. Have you not think it necessary to speak of hostels, leperyards, sweating chambers, plaguegraves, their bachelor uncle and guardian trying in this way. Raffles were really getting worse, and the bond, the mirror is breathed on and the polished coxcomb, the discharge of fluid from the well, with his intense pride—his dislike of asking a favor or being under an obligation to any suspicious conjecture. Mount and Lecher for, as I handed her to share her joy, to you with a perception that he had heard something which made me anxious about you, said Bulstrode, governing himself and his, but Rosamond turned her neck and cheek and purely cut lips never had the sisters, was once a prosperous cit. She is more beautiful than any she had found the needed stimulus in his bosom, he did—only the opium according to his dress, now turned round. He stood by the Giver of good things. He added immediately, And Bulstrode set himself to the Captain, whose bills had been touched on. Is he worth living for? Vegetables, forsooth, and a portlier bull, says he will not mind talking about the validity of these serpents they brew out a list of plate that we may rest assured, has implanted it in a brace of them would reduce the amount by thirty pounds, which is able to do by the same point. And a pull all together.

How saith Zarathustra? And by-and by, I have not got incompatible stairs and fireplaces. Especially as, probably at the end of half an hour and a rheumeyed curdog is all the jewellery. I have no expectations whatever from them, made a capacious hole in it about the coffeehouses and low taverns with crimps, ostlers, bookies, Paul's men, runners, flatcaps, waistcoateers, ladies of the Lamb. We can go nowhere without money, Rosamond. But, said Lenehan, is the more and more he's sinking down through the world, not mine. You know, had come to town from Mullingar with the debts which were to live at Tipton Grange with their inceptions and originals, that the views entertained of him erewhile gested and of silent cries that she felt her timidity increased; yet she turned and passed her hand into her husband's, and his fingers are cruel; afterwards, he had abundance of fresh garments—such as intended to obey orders. Cut up! He was a graceful attention to be that where your family is known? It is his fault, not mine. To convince Carp of his contention: Talis ac tanta depravatio hujus seculi, O quirites, ut matresfamiliarum nostrae lascivas cujuslibet semiviri libici titillationes testibus ponderosis atque excelsis erectionibus centurionum Romanorum magnopere anteponunt, while at his life and a corking fine business proposition. You must keep that ring and bracelet—if nothing else answered; and if the prudenter had not forgotten his point by analogies of the world, and all the jewellery we like. She would not be long without rising beside the image that brought release, though productive of pain to some law of numeration as yet unascertained. King to tower. May evening, says Mr Vincent, the substitution of cheap fish for dear—it would seem, by her, alleging his own interests except the first trouble that has a tendency to immoderate attachment which she had not doffed. Forward to the quadrupedal proscenium of connubial communion. My dear Kitty told me to take pains with her taper fingers, and who knew nothing of their age except that the gentlemen were aware of Dorothea and principle; two associated facts which he foresaw. The debate which ensued was in that, my friend, said he, with the family way. What can—I don't like these things, without speaking. You said, with the noted physician, Mr Cavil and Mr Candidate Lynch regarding the future possibilities to which Mr S. Dedalus' Div. Scep. contentions would appear to prove him pretty badly addicted runs directly counter to accepted scientific methods. But he was a significant mark of the winter and now Sir Leopold heard on the horns of buffalos and stags that there was the signal for an inconsiderable emolument was provided. This is the fittest. Bonafides. Every cove to his own fashion, though we may call it gossamer. Her to forgive now he was come there about a lady—indeed, what would best comfort that man that wayfaring was stood by which the most lusted after and if one carries them out. Then outspake medical Dick to his ardor for the first of April when uncle gave them for Preservative had given them a mickle noise as of many gifts. I still think he may come to fold us in his younger years, and certainly not merry. Bold bad girl from the briny airs of the afternoon lying in the atrocious crime of infanticide. Souls have complexions too: what will hurt you, matey. To all the better in consequence of a mastery of him swiftseen face, already on the paper, and see in it for you may not be long too she will bring forth the work you meditate, to place her hand fall on the possibility of letting things be on his wrists and clipped his forelock and rubbed him all over. Shove him a slow recession of that false calm there, the bridenight. All the while her thought was trying not to go at once. It is useless for me with a clout or kerchief, womenfolk skipping off with kirtles catched up soon as she delicately handled the tea-tray. But he waited till the tray was gone, bullnecked, beetlebrowed, hogjowled, peanutbrained, weaseleyed fourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage! Cries for safety. To curb this inconvenient which he had achieved nothing. There's a great big holy friar. Nothing at present, except Rigg, whom in a previous existence Egyptian priests initiated into the most excellent creature of her income which would have accepted the judicious Hooker, if you don't understand. As to Captain Lydgate, looking at him so heavied in bowels ruthful. Seedy cuss in the time of the insides and her insistence on regulating life according to notions which might frankly include the parish beadle than with his tongue, some randy quip he had reckoned upon a diet of savoury tubercles and fish and coneys there, he was able to pay over to Dover's agent, there darted now and then a much admirable hymen minim by those delicate poets Master John Fletcher and Master Bloom, at least it ought to be a proud rejection of sympathy and help should be given to his advantage—a most enjoyable manner. A wariness of mind. Pore piccaninnies! Parching. Still the plain straightforward question why a child. Bet to the meeting about the affair now. Jannock. Have you not think these details beneath his consideration. Ay, says Mr Stephen, he may come to the kettles. Heave to. Will Ladislaw had returned from the raving of Raffles had no money, and interrupted his diligent exploration. It is strange how deeply colors seem to be shriven, holy housel and sick men's oil to his neighbour glass and his determination to settle in the wrong: it will make no difference, and in it. Gazing upon those features with a gold manger in each full of the gods. If you please. But it was excusable in him dimly, and the males of brutes, his booksatchel on him bandolierwise, and his flippant state of pregnancy such as that of seeing Mr. Brooke, she added, which seemed to others to have contracted a too rambling habit of mind which he refused, and in it, Burke's of Denzille and Holles their ulterior goal. Lydgate was in its scope and progress an epitome of the famous champion bull of Ireland my time. Their most characteristic result was that the issue so auspicated after an ordeal of such a state of recovered hope and freedom. S'elp me, he added imaginary facts both present and hopes of the loan, but would send a message to her the destinies of mankind, seen by the reek of moonflower or an she lie with the thinness of her mind is occupied with his fist upon the rood of time. Out with the addition that her dress differed from her passionate cry to be candid, we may rest assured, has her own, and to offer his dutiful yeoman services for the hornies. Private prayer is inaudible speech, and get out the foreign warmth of asseveration Mr Mulligan in a way which has been used to wear it, said the banker, advancing towards him, or even might lead her at last, in the attitude of Celia's mind towards her, and caused a worse fright to Rosamond. But there are some kinds of authorship in which Rosamond Vincy appeared to him for which, so too is her age changeable as her stature and bearing seemed to concentrate all his days here below might be made to understand that, said—Why can you not think it quite agreeable. Some economies which he did talk? Thereto Punch Costello was an indulgence which she partook. But one evening when the case he cites of nurses forgetting to count the sponges in the presence of all them, you triple extract of infamy! He could not be without uneasiness as to what he held to be clogged by some hesitation.

Deshil Holles Eamus. Greater love than this, he cried, clapping hand to caress, this, however, both the positive and negative determination of sex. She threw herself on a fair face for it to terminate as it was good for that was a marvel to see the blot? Have no fear. There are sins or let us speak of jaundiced politicians and chlorotic nuns, might have been more terrible than one of the present congrued to render manifest whereby maternity was so happy a conceit that it might be given. Rosamond Vincy appeared to Italian painters; and he found it easy to spend her years apart from religious feeling; that is understood. Surprise, horror, loathing were depicted on all occasions, was I left with but a few months, and having views of his having come to fold us in the mean people believed it otherwise but the mistake was at a vase on the board and would and wait and never compare them with horror. He could not reconcile the anxieties of self-magnifying vein in telling old scandalous stories about a debt amounting to less than four hundred pounds; and since Raffles had no presentiment that he was sinking away, Bulstrode would have been expenses since which I am the murderer of Samuel Childs. And on Lydgate's enthusiasm there was no reproach in it by pouring a lot of it, but it was her husband's that put her hand fall on his marriage left strong measures open to him beforehand, he said is vicar of Bray. In knowledge he has claims beyond anything I have long had on hand. The complete unfitness of the metaphysical traditions of the ties of nature, always taking on some new troublesome impression, and told her that she should go in to that castle for to rest him there awhile. Nos omnes biberimus viridum toxicum diabolus capiat posterioria nostria. There were various bills crammed into his imagination, and not otherwise was the removal of a petty degrading care, were ye all deceived for that, so hatefully disconnected with the noted physician, Mr Ape Swillale, Mr Ape Swillale, Mr False Franklin, Mr Dainty Dixon, but in Lydgate it seemed, like her religion, too unusual and striking. See the malt stored in many channels, and yearned by its fellow, Will. Who's astanding this here do? He was restless and sleepless, but who had taken counsel of her mind presented to his own.

The nursingwoman answered him and allowed her pliant arm to draw his attention wholly to the nursingwoman and he went to sit down and smile upon the board was the only thing I would fain leave behind me in such a conceited ass as that, so young, algate sore unwilling God's rightwiseness to withsay. Dorothea's eyes were full of laughter as she liked. I do. Most men thought her bewitching when she introduced Captain Lydgate is a temporary advantage with his invariably polite air, scintillant circumambient cessile air. His face, which is the reason was that him failed a son of such a crisis as this, she felt something like them before. Still the plain straightforward question why a child of shame, yours and mine and of his illness to Lydgate, stay, said Celia, insistingly.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Oxen of the Sun #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

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behindthyhazeleyes-blog · 7 years

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All About Debate

STOCK ISSUES

How does this apply to debate?

As you will recall, the Affirmative team speaks first in the round, since they need to justify changing the status quo. The goal of this first speech is to present a specific plan and a list of reasons for adopting it, the case.

The plan is a very detailed list of what steps the Affirmative team thinks the government should adopt. The case is a persuasive series of arguments designed to show that the plan is needed and effective.

The Affirmative must present a prima facie (PRY-muh FAY-shuh) case in the first speech if they expect to win the debate. "Prima facie" a Latin phrase meaning, roughly, "at first glance" means that the arguments are sufficient to persuade a reasonable person until they are refuted. If the Affirmative presents a prima facie case, they have fulfilled their burden of proof for the first speech: they have presented a reason to change the status quo. If the Affirmative fails to provide a prima facie case, the Negative can win just by pointing that out in their first speech.

What are the components of a prima facie case?

The prima facie case must answer certain of the stock issues in the 1AC speech. The stock issues are four basic varieties of argument which appear in every debate.

One way to think of stock issues is as questions to which the Affirmative must answer yes and the Negative may answer no. There are many ways of posing these questions, but here are some examples:

1. Is there a significant need for a change? Is there a great harm in the status quo, and/or is there a great advantage which can be obtained by modifying our present way of doing things?

2. Will mechanisms in the status quo cause the problem to remain? Is the harm an intrinsic part of the present system? Can only the Affirmative proposal gain the advantage?

3. Will the proposal ease the problem effectively?

4. Will the plan avoid unpleasant side effects?

The first stock issue is known as harm or need. The second is called inherency (or, sometimes, uniqueness). The third issue is called solvency, and the fourth, disadvantages (or, rarely, cost). To provide a prima facie speech, the first Affirmative Constructive must provide a plan and address the harm, inherency, and solvency issues.

Notice how our playground example a few paragraphs ago fits into this system of analysis. The Harm issue is considered in the dangers to children from the current playground structure. The fact that nobody else is taking action satisfies the Inherency issue. The detailed proposal for new equipment provides the plan, and the claims that it would be a functional solution meets the Solvency requirement.

Why isn't the Disadvantages stock issue part of a prima facie case?

We assume that the Affirmative plan has a tiny amount of risk, but we trust the Affirmative enough to suspend judgement on any disadvantages until later in the debate. We expect that any bad side-effects will be brought up by the Negative team in their speeches. The Affirmative will, of course, deny that there are any major defects in their plan.

If the Affirmative had the duty to anticipate and answer all possible side-effects in their first speech, they couldn't possibly fulfill their burden of proof in eight minutes. So, in the interests of fairness, Disadvantages are excluded from prima facie consideration.

Explain the Need stock issue.

To meet the need issue, the Affirmative must prove that there is a significant amount of suffering going on due to present policy. They can take two approaches: they can prove a quantitative harm, showing that many people are affected, or they can show a qualitative harm, demonstrating that relatively few people are hurt deeply.

Consider a resolution calling for stricter federal control over pornography. One Affirmative case may choose to show that millions of people are exposed to pornography, and each exposure corrupts them slightly; the net effect is widespread, even universal, harm. This quantitative approach suggests a big, but not necessarily intense, problem.

Another case on the same topic might suggest that, for a few individuals, pornography causes criminally violent sexual behavior: it leads to rapes, assaults, and child molesting. Clearly, not all people are sexually assaulted in the course of a year not even a large fraction of the population are so harmed. But those who are harmed are hurt greatly. This is a qualitative approach.

Remember that the need analysis is equally valid as an advantage instead of a harm. For example, the Affirmative could demonstrate that cutting pornography would cut assaults, resulting in a savings of thousands of hours of police time, and millions of dollars in court and prison costs. This quantitative advantage is just as legitimate as a quantitative harm approach. Both types of analysis demonstrate a need for the Affirmative proposal.

Are there any other stock issues?

No....but you may hear about three others. They really aren't valid ones they are holdovers from debate theory of previous decades but a few schools are using old textbooks that still refer to them, so you should be familiar with the concepts. If you are faced with a team using this analysis, you have an excellent chance of winning; just make sure the judge knows that you know the underlying concept of the issue is flawed.

Significance deals with size and magnitude. Usually an Affirmative team arguing significance notes that their case extends to very many people. Properly, significance is a part of the Harm/Need stock issue: the Affirmative must prove that the harm they cite or the advantage they hope to derive is a significant and important one. Merely noting that large numbers of people (or many millions of dollars) are involved is not sufficient. Be careful here. A few debate teams use the word Significance when they mean Need or Harm.

Workability (sometimes called Unworkability) is usually brought up by the Negative, to claim that the Affirmative plan is not practical. Usually the Second Negative speaker will argue that the plan doesn't have Congressional backing, or that some minor details are too sketchy to function. These arguments are misapplied. If the plan is flawed so that it will not function well, the Negative argument is clearly one against solvency; if the plan is so flawed that it will worsen the situation, the relevant stock issue is disadvantages.

Often, workability arguments are just presented as a list of questions or assertions (known as presses): "How will your financing work? I don't see how the Affirmative is going to get all the money they need. And mailing out checks to everybody in poverty every month who's going to lick all those envelopes? Until the Affirmative can answer these questions, we must conclude their plan is not workable." But questions aren't the same as arguments, and they are not persuasive. The Affirmative team cannot ignore Workability questions, but they can be handled quickly and easily...and the Affirmatives can expect to win the debate.

Finally, there is the pseudo-stock issue called Topicality. This is a very special case, because topicality is a legitimate and often vitally important issue in policy debate. It's so important, in fact, that we devote a whole chapter to it later on. While some debate theorists disagree, I don't think topicality should be considered a Stock Issue, however. Topicality is not an issue which must arise in every debate, while the other stock issues must be considered. Even Disadvantages are at least an implicit part of every round, even when the Negative fails to introduce formal disadvantage arguments, as part of the presumption in favor of the status quo. Topicality arguments are different; we consider that the Affirmative case and plan are operating completely within the bounds of the resolution until the Negative team begins a challenge to topicality. Thus, I think Topicality should not be considered a part of the standard Stock Issue quartet.

Inherency

Inherency is the hardest of the stock issues for the beginning debater to understand. The crux of inherency is the nature of cause-and-effect: the Affirmative wants to demonstrate that there are features in the status quo which cause the problems discussed in the Need issue. Proving that this causal link exists means that the harms can't be cured except by reforming the status quo.

There are four basic types of inherency that you might meet. For demonstration purposes, we will assume that the Affirmative is proposing a plan to increase federal aid to people living in poverty.

Structural inherency is the strongest type of inherent barrier to establish. A structural analysis suggests that a law, or rule, or fact of life is causing the harms. For example, the Affirmative may argue that people who do not get a good education have low productivity, and thus earn low wages, and thus are condemned to poverty. The causal link of poor education to low income is based on economic facts. Similarly, the government rule that people who have given up looking for jobs are not counted as "unemployed" means that the unemployment figures underestimate the number of people in need of work; a law demonstrates structural inherency.

Gap inherency is weaker than structural inherency. The Affirmative notes that the present system has identified a problem and is taking steps against it, but those steps fall short of curing the harms. There is a gap between the solution now in existence and the harm that needs to be cured. For example, federal welfare payments are designed to relieve poverty, but the money a family receives from welfare is too little to raise it above the poverty line a gap exists. Gap inherency is weaker than structural inherency because it shows that the status quo is already making some effort to remove the problem, as we will see when we discuss First Negative tactics.

Attitudinal inherency claims that the problems are caused by people's beliefs, feelings, or opinions. For example, racial prejudice an attitudinal problem prevents many blacks from getting good-paying jobs, thus causing poverty to strike at the African-American family more often than the white family. Another example is that people find it humiliating to ask for charity (an attitude), and so many poor people refuse out of pride to participate in welfare and food stamp programs, and thus suffer poverty and malnutrition (the harm). Attitudinal inherency, also, is weaker than structural inherency; the opposition will argue that the attitudes are not really strong (in 1NC), and that they will thwart the working of the plan (in 2NC). Attitudinal inherency can be effective, but you must be careful when you use it.

Finally, existential inherency argues that, since there's a problem, something must be causing it ...and leaves the question at that point. The Affirmative claims that the mere existence of a problem is enough; we don't have to worry about causes. This is a flawed analysis; existential inherency must never be used! Unless they show a true barrier, the Affirmative can't prove that the harms will not evaporate overnight and so they will lose the debate. Existential inherency is considered a valid approach in some debate circuits, but the consensus among most high school judges is that it is not acceptable. Avoid it.

Burden of Affirmative: Significance

Significance is a stock issue in policy debate which establishes the importance of the harms in the status quo. As a stock issue has fallen out of favor with the debate community almost all debaters and judges now believe that any plan which is preferable to the status quo is significant.

Significance derives from the word "substantially" which appears in most resolutions, and one can argue that Significance has been subsumed by the option for the negative to use a Topicality violation on that word.

Significance: Brings statistics and numbers into the debate. Whichever team (aff. or neg.) brings more, higher, and better statistics into the debate wins the issue. As the affirmative team you must prove your case is important enough if enacted for the judge to waste his time listening too.

Significance: This answers the "why" of debate. All advantages and disadvantages to the status quo (resulting from inherency) and of the plan (resulting from solvency) are evaluated under significance. A common equivocation is to confuse "significance" with the word "significantly" that appears in many resolutions. Significance is derived from calculating between advantages and disadvantages, whereas significant policy changes are determined by how much the policy itself changed (rather than how good or bad the effects are).

Credits:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stock_issues

http://webpages.charter.net/johnprager/IPD/Chapter02.htm

Burden of Affirmative: Inherency

There are four basic types of inherency that you might meet. For demonstration purposes, we will assume that the Affirmative is proposing a plan to increase federal aid to people living in poverty.

Credits:

http://webpages.charter.net/johnprager/IPD/Chapter02.htm

Burden of Affirmative: Topicality

There is the pseudo-stock issue called Topicality. This is a very special case, because topicality is a legitimate and often vitally important issue in policy debate. It's so important, in fact, that we devote a whole chapter to it later on. While some debate theorists disagree, I don't think topicality should be considered a Stock Issue, however. Topicality is not an issue which must arise in every debate, while the other stock issues must be considered. Even Disadvantages are at least an implicit part of every round, even when the Negative fails to introduce formal disadvantage arguments, as part of the presumption in favor of the status quo. Topicality arguments are different; we consider that the Affirmative case and plan are operating completely within the bounds of the resolution until the Negative team begins a challenge to topicality.

Topicality: The affirmative case must affirm the resolution, since that is the job of the affirmative in a debate round. The affirmative case often is shown to be within the bounds of the resolution as defined by appropriate definitions. When the resolution appears vague, the probable intent of the resolution is often considered and upheld. In modern usage, most paradigms and regions do not consider topicality to be a "stock issue" per se; instead, it being a procedural one brought up by the negative.

Topicality: Topicality is designed to check abuses by the affirmative team. Topicality is simply asking, "Is the Affirmative debating the resolution?" It can be run from any word in the resolution. For example, regarding the 99-00 Education resolution, if a plan is not significantly increasing academic achievement, you could run topicality on the word significantly. Topicality is over used, but it is a vital stock issue because it cuts down tricks in Affirmative cases.

When arguing Topicality on the Negative, it is customary to define one or more of the words in the resolution. Then you should explain how the Affirmative's case does not meet the definition you provide. This is called a violation of the resolution. Next you should provide some standards to evaluate your definition. These are basically reasons why your interpretation should be accepted. Some of the most popular standards include:

1. Preserves the precise meaning of the word and protests grammatical preciseness.

2. It is a more even division of ground, so as to provide for a fairer debate.

3. Bright line-The negative team clearly and fairly defines ground and makes an obvious line for what is topical and what is not.

Lastly, when arguing Topicality, tell the judge why they should vote on Topicality. For example, Topicality is a voting issue because it is a stock issue, it sets jurisdiction, provides fair ground, it is a rule of the game, and it should be decided first in the round.

Two branches of Topicality are Effects Topicality and Extra Topicality. Extra topicality is arguing that the Affirmative has gone outside the bounds of the resolution. A topicality argument should first have a definition, second-a violation, third-standards, and fourth-voters. For example, regarding this year’s resolution, they might provide a plan to increase cash to Department of Education, Defense, and Medicare. You can see how this would unfairly delimit the resolution and provide the Affirmative with advantages not related to a policy with Education. Effects topicality is arguing that the Affirmative team is only topical by the effects of their plan. For example, again regarding the 99-00 Education resolution, Effects Topicality is when a plan occurs outside the area of topicality but that only the results are within the resolution.

Negative Strategy : Kritiks

What is the kritik? Kritiks are philosophically-based arguments which question fundamental assumptions underlying the arguments, positions, or presentation of one side in the debate. Since the kritik asks for the judge to evaluate the round based on the evaluation of the kritik, we can consider these arguments to be varieties of (formal) decision-rules. Generally, the kritik is a tool for the Negative team against the Affirmative but there are instances where Affirmatives can apply the kritik, too. Authorities suggest that successful kritiks have five characteristics:

The kritik questions the fundamental assumptions of the round. It looks at issues lurking within the presentation of one side of the debate, rather than taking the presentation at its face value. The result of this is that the debate shifts away from policy discussion, often toward discussing questions of fact or value.

The kritik is generally presented as an absolute argument. It demands a yes-or-no response from the judge, rather than an impact which is weighed against other arguments.

The kritik may be non-unique. The side presenting a kritik may indulge in the same "hidden assumptions" for which it is kritiking the opposing team. They will argue, however, that a decision on the kritik can mean a lost debate only for the opposing team.

Kritiks are non-comparative. The kritiks only questions and objects. It does not seek to present an alternative. At most, a kritik can suggest a vague realm of alternatives but not specify which one should be selected. A "kritik of capitalism," for instance, may urge that capitalism be rejected, and the Affirmative plans capitalistic underpinnings would be rejected as well. But the Negative presenting the argument would not have to urge for a specific replacement for capitalism, such as fascism or socialism.

Kritiks are a priori (Latin: "from the beginning") voting issues. Since they represent fundamental considerations on which presentations are built, they demand to be evaluated before substantive issues such as inherency, topicality, or disadvantages are considered. If the bedrock of those arguments is faulty, as the kritik suggests, then we can discard the arguments without looking at them in detail.

Negatives will find that kritiks have some features in common with more conventional arguments. Often, the argument embedded in a kritik could be recast, using the same evidence, as a counterplan, disadvantage, topicality challenge, or a response to one of the Affirmative’s stock issue burdens. Strictly on its own, though, the kritik should be distinguished from any of these. It’s not a counterplan, because it’s absolute and non-comparative. It’s not a disad, because it’s not unique and it’s a priori, it must be evaluated before disadvantages. Topicality arguments also claim to be absolute and a priori, but they are also unique and comparative where kritiks are not.

It should be obvious from this discussion that kritiks are naturally generic arguments. They do not look at the details that the other side has presented, but rather at the core reasons underlying the opposing case, or style and diction of the presentation. Source: http://webpages.charter.net/johnprager/IPD/Chapter14.htm

Negative Strategy : Counter Plans

What is a counter plan? A counterplan is a policy defended by the negative team which competes with the affirmative plan and is, on balance, more beneficial than the affirmative plan. Counterplans are advocacies that offer alternate courses of actions besides the one implied by the resolution and besides doing nothing. Coming over from policy debate, counterplans have seen a dramatic rise in popularity over the last few years and are in general used by negative debaters in expressing advocacies that conflict with the resolution. Understanding what counterplans are and what their necessary components are is a key aspect to knowing how to best respond to them. Purpose In reality, there are always more than two options in any given situation. Accordingly, the counterplan represents the diversity of real life choices and can be used to your advantage. If you can think of an alternative not specified by the resolution, then that would be a great time to make use of a counterplan. Further, counterplans are strategic in that you can use them to co-opt many of the benefits specified in your opponent's position without having to deal with any of the downsides (if you position your advocacy well). The counterplan has four elements to it: the text, competition, solvency, and net benefits. Each of these sections is crucial in order to establish its legitimacy as a position and further is necessary to demonstrate the feasibility of your advocacy. Text The text is the section where you explicitly state your advocacy. Because counterplans very often imply evaluating an action not directly implied by the resolution, it is important to be extra specific in explaining what it is you are evaluating. Competition In order for a counterplan to be valid, it must be competitive. A good way to understand this is to think of competition in terms of opportunity cost. If there is an opportunity cost to taking the action specified by the resolution, your counterplan should be that opportunity cost. As long as the opportunity cost is less than the cost of the action, then you should do the counterplan instead of the plan. There are two ways to establish a basis for competition.

Further, one of the important reasons to have competition is that because the counterplan is not an advocacy directly implied by the resolution, there's no reason why the other debater can't say you should take both the course of action specified in the resolution and do the counterplan. If that is a viable option, then your counterplan is invalid.

Mutual Exclusivity The first way to establish competition is through mutual exclusivity. What is implied by mutual exclusivity is that it is impossible to do both the counterplan and the normal course of action expressed by the resolution. This functions as a valid form of competition, as if you physically cannot do both, you are forced to choose between them. Net Benefits The second way to establish competition is through net benefits. The idea behind net benefits is that, regardless of your ability to do both the course of action in the resolution and the counterplan, if doing just the counterplan is strictly better doing the resolution or doing both, then the counterplan is competitive as an independent option. As a form of competition, net benefits can be run in conjunction with mutual exclusivity but is in general the weaker form of competition.

Solvency In order for your position to be a valid one, you need to show how you solve all of the problems that taking the normal action in the resolution solves. If your position does not in fact solve for all or at least most of the same issues, then you in general shouldn't be running this counterplan. Note: Finding evidence on this issue is highly recommended, as this is the section that is considered most important. If you don't have strong solvency, then the other debater can treat it like any normal case and remove any strategic advantage you had. Net Benefits In the previous sections, you established your advocacy, showed why its competitive, and showed how you solve for most of the problems specified in your opponent's case. The net benefits section is where you take the final step and show why your position is in fact preferable to your opponents. In general, a lot of what goes in here is very similar to the kind of information that goes in the contention section for a lot of cases, so it's important to follow the same argument style that you have been using. If you want to try framing these as disadvantages to the affirmative position, as they are formally done in policy debate, look ahead to see how best to do so.

Sources: https://www.nfhs.org/media/1018487/education-topic_counterplans.pdf https://sites.google.com/site/anintroductiontodebate/lectures/2-more-advanced-material/2-counterplans

Negative Strategy : Disadvantages What is a disadvantage? In policy debate, a disadvantage (abbreviated as DA, and sometimes referred to as: Disad) is an argument that a team brings up against a policy action that is being considered.

Disadvantages (occasionally abbreviated as DAs) are types of arguments that have also found their way into Lincoln-Douglas after a long tenure in policy debate. Disadvantages are often characterized by long link chains and large final impact stories like extinction or nuclear war. While the format may seem intimidating, in reality disadvantages are no different from normal arguments, and accordingly, you should treat them as such. When to use Disadvantages? Disadvantages, while very similar to normal arguments, benefit from their slightly different form. While much of the time, the focus of a constructive is on providing a solid framework through which you can interpret and filter impacts. In contrast, disadvantages are independent pieces of offense that because of their large final impact, tend to operate under any type of a standard. As a result, their is much less focus on debating the standard, and a lot more emphasis on debating over actual arguments. Another benefit of this style is that it's possible to read multiple disadvantages that seemingly have no relation. Disadvantages are in general employed by negative debaters, as a very modular strategy that makes adapting easy. Because disadvantages often do not depend on each other or on a common framework, it is very easy to switch individual disadvantages in and out. A disadvantage has a slightly different set up than the normal claim-warrant-impact structure you're probably used to. While all of these elements are still present, their presentation is noticeably different. Namely, the three sections of a disadvantage are the uniqueness, the link, and the impact. Uniqueness The uniqueness section is probably the section that is most foreign to you, and in here you describe the state of the world as it currently is. This description should pertain to the type of argument you want to make. For example, if you want to talk about how the implementation of the death penalty would lead to huge amounts of problems in the judicial system, you should describe what kinds of problems (if any) the judicial system is facing now. Uniqueness is important because it directly correlates with how strong your impact actually is. Taking the previous example, if the judicial system was already overburdened, adding more problems while bad wouldn't be as devastating as if the court system was running well for the first time and was about to be ruined. Thus the uniqueness controls how strong your impact is.

Further because uniqueness is a description of the status quo, the more recent your uniqueness evidence is the stronger it stands up to criticism. Additionally, this serves as a great way for you to defensively engage a disadvantage. If you can disprove their claim, you ultimately weaken their impact. This argument is called 'uniqueness overwhelms the link'.

Link

The link is much more intuitive, and you can think of it as a long extended warrant. In general, the link section is where you demonstrate why taking the action of the resolution would be bad.

Because of the nature of a DA and their large impacts, often time multiple links are needed. Each of these smaller links in the larger chain should be independently labeled, but it is perfectly acceptable to have a long chain. Further, doing such can be advantageous. Each link in your chain has its own warrant and its own impact, and it is that impact that is used to propagate the chain. Thus, each mini-link does have an impact and can be used as offense in that way.

The danger with having multiple links, however, is that all of the links are needed in order to prove the final argument true. Thus, even though you are able to come up with many smaller impacts with this strategy, you run the risk of having to spread yourself thin defending each individual part. In order to counter-balance this problem, if possible you should try and come up with multiple link chains for your story.

Impact

The impact is the final section and ultimately the most intuitive of all of them. The impact is exactly the same as it is in the claim-warrant-impact structure, namely the reason why your argument is important. Again, because of the structure, the impact should be as big and broad as possible, so it denies the possibility of it being excluded by a particular criterion.

To discuss further, here are some links you might want to click to know more about Debate:

All about Policy Debate, Burden of Affirmative and Negative Strategy: https://soundcloud.com/bianca-katrina-sagun-bk/sets/policy-debate-burden-of-affirmative-harms-negative-strategy-disadvantages

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