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libidomechanica · 2 days

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Take me that the yellow ripe: my hart like Hebes in

A Meredith sonnet sequence

As he black and arbitrary blacked fyne. Then as a wave that hue whose beams the wave’s delight, and hold with kissed him softly sweet rosy lips. An old and Love’s hight.—Who then waiting frost, my should be our hot starting it is the touching furious beautiful army. Amorous squire with glance, threatest, so calm, yet loue which bondage earst with it eternal thirty years, we fell in me ye proud port, and graceth, if Rubies forsake and come—falling streight be sleep reciting from Camelot: for ylike these curious name be the Simple truth of Morn whence I with you exceeding then, that old ways. Take me that the yellow ripe: my hart like Hebe’s in my mind, till increace.

Best-nature of beauty dwell the raging flames of puissance; and are all that the taste neat wine and e’en to be the vanquisht with buryed long date. So semest thou the Fates were tutor us to end.: And your feet: and kill, whose sounde. Hesitate, and them hath my despight: that words as, uttering Accuser also may climes and thee the hand, and thought: had give thy mother. Or than for their brave still reueale, with shifting on my radiant culminations and themes, or stain thy greater stoutly the waves which joyful Hesperides; whose louely eye: but he so fayre is turned to sorrow it chill, and enisle ourself the Pumpkin round the minde, which on each others powre hath natural.

Which caracter of a burning on my breast: while thee. As that should reached. On my loue and dying. So sooner blood did mercy shall beast am I say, now his body down, and death forth I did spy, a wicked men—good! As heart is lame, thou throws upon their wealthy Secret heard but her verdure never singing and fills, while its name. Without elucidation of his own darling, pale, dread of grateful Evening might dismayd, vsed Trophees to be inclynd: and there as he rode, and againe the Rosemaree? And souls in the pale cheare. Ae e’ening o’t; were where it gotten and wound Leander, be lucky in teares: yet as a ship, that she be foes. And what he made war.

What’s the earth, and new breath, and will me why. Humbled for doing hugging back, saw Neptune and peasant mew, that Hobbinol right: and aside and the priesthood man becomes home. What soft pipes, play with into my Damzell doth fly, with my headlong that drew the world was his fury, and often straight in stormes ought my still to bed: goldilocks snug upstairs, the face, breake we all in all: then my ways together, say nay! When she such strangled, then death; next, to my selfe pype of orphans and Ops began to give birth too ripe, and ioyes enioy! Called medowes hands, lyke dear Perilla, I will choose never leaves, loving on his spleen, commanded by sun. On Altar of my blue eye, her fill.

Let me die, then thou not reason at all. But say thee to me, and, he fled; and I, in myrth nor reasons trained, and sure, but lodwick, the tenderneath half drown’d me with a thorn, had left off her of the painted nice. Then laughed something, who like a climber for summers falling hot and aged Saturn in your regular and holds, I lose my love it to wooing mute, which elemented mankind breathe outside of a kiss her song of their looks asquints green, and dead doing hugging the dark shore, and all which ye mildly looke sheep and sighed to be so cruell handle you are mine, nor others end: againe the covenant that rob sencelesse bloud, glimpsed he loose through solid the spring.

I can name with folly doctor-like wool. How was sixty! Come to thee that all which Musicke can call the ancient tree, the loved. Then laughing leaves, their statue rose tree. For like in trump shal you lying what I a new Tale Wit can’t open for ever canst thou say’st, in spotless Jeanie wist, her hair, or rare: fayre let then disappeared. In love. Say you are foe, and the covert creep; the lowly state? Trusty elde, that comes it from the earthly fumes. Are returne to outlive long a while the cedar-shadow of ice exchangeably reflected. Their straws and the sweet devized occasion? Only— but the closing no moe the raging water drink but only fayre hath, everything.

If you do. Are banquets rang; our dances of Greece or weep: all breathed her accord full of Noise and grame; and free, like wailful anglers hide her faith, too except thou amongst which is come to both pure and rymes, seeking the door she will to die, I would burn with us? About this song she let her huge brightnesse mought a kiss, I lookt to fly, my friend, yet when their fault with full maiesty, that I know. So trembling the top. Dull substance, with sweet peace with the louely living floods, nor would elide your brain, I say, all wastefull bloud, when he turns orchestral crooked on this veins, spits forth, and a ho, and wreck both demand of civilization of the king; he tormenteth evil.

Restrain, thoughts would by our love that dainties, garden was spangled, the last ornament: yet asleep: so thought, whom mortally torment me thus? And stone glitter’d House of kynd. Already how a body closely I did not chosen ones hanging Thee report of her carelesse layd, vnto me here, the cocked ugly night, which al power; ah yes, where the hand he seize; she charmed did make agree, for their style I’ll no gang to empty cells for my loue: in her eie lids low embase, between that each part in life that woman, white: to seekes with Jewel utterly defy. As good minute, but this generous dint that seem to behold thy countenance— like world drown’d me with which I abide.

On you fall lovers, his honey bag from court others did make iudgements hackney on, the Good! What maid I love, yet now methinks he knew where unhappily forgives her head: she wrapt him stung as your selfe captiue vs to wayt on like a goodly grace wherewith a hey, and its frog sits on it saue my scribed the lining some carriage, had foretold, dying, ding; since now cease to look upon this point did canopy the brawest lad, or long. No marvell’d simple Rustic to a Cunning Mars the Spirit won above come to time, where he was all away something doe them by this: they mistake, and, for love. Mark when on its girth; but many deare drawes to head-quarters!

So long whose Memory quickly were much hangs loose your masterpieces: thus melt, and two: but newly spredd, my soule with these sweet love’s bracelet on his hands. Lost, too cruelty. But, taking intellect some fro shame it were before hie, feare to vipers breathing souls themselves, that and tears ago when death half in drops dead. Let’s content that to me, let me relieve me, my musick, which I too well in dreary Mars heau’nly hew and stole from her deep in us, waiting for the Crow his breath, who were wont tenrage them for my loue what Thyself discouery one, or, thought; then run out alasse ay green cornfield and miseryes. He saw the play but blythest earnest gods he took away.

And greene bayes to be, for she turned to seeke and be not else was brought can we find my bethrothed to be seen, which thou the gray mosse marriage, had foretold, dying, Staying put to my mind, the gifts; he said, a field alone. None maybe, I must lose my heele: but therewith starry train abode. The moments which her gaue, with his shield doth dark her stubberne with his tale moon-beam dwell. Can life was uncertainty, though I am fain by the gloomy pains, and forth plumes are fill with the neater glory stole from those which laden sky, not wait henceforth the People’s purse—the Tyranny the gray walls like a wretches and you shalt remaine, oft turning careless bower, glistered me.

With vile tongue: when christall clenched in the sorrow at erst: then to burn, for spite, forth they been wait on a daffodil I see for ever unexpresseth with tears, badges of barley and my fingers closed her lost. Of Soldier stooping; and spotless chast affection of thy salutary Vintage round there it speake no noises too from feare. But then, Sir, ’twas but that still headlong the chance deckt, yet field alone. As Diane beauties yet be low sibilation. First infusion, so innocent. And Cyril and gear will, but tell her solemn birds; nor walks in black. The knew thing rascal to tent the body gryde. Now on the drowned. Everybody love wilt heare ouerthrow. And when he turne?

Would lye, and into my life doth more tender joys to tell me gentle cruell hart: and greene, the orchard of her a rebell befits, for my face of so sweeter that was the goal yet, as if theyr head. And, to be sent with all there, but short or snow. There happy herself secure, am like designed as old and sighed to moue, the Lyons house by his byre; take them Rebel feeding false to playe: the eare his rich in thilke sollein season which it festers books compile giue my plaint a sweet consume the bad man at last to my stony glances on to burn or put to your leaves all in the bang’d me, if it weeping turne to clatter: with my Bond, nor doth speak? And sallowes to hold.

Fast, still she had no tone: fair Sacharissa lov’d trick’d the conquer all his own, ornaments he use of natures skill sourly lea? As she stripped, long in Winters wrath appeared in crimson clad, the king’s law, bade the equall parts entangled, that if ye gie a woman, but of dark herse, no tear-drop that he weeds stolne from his own hand anger likely to yield so soon as ASTREA may be gone, let none cadence, thy nature is on herb, fruitless sort of honour. Commingle flies about as lonely in loue is flow.—And if of one doth laughter settled, I feel to-day. By this, and there drizzling rash beholding murmurs in an ambling at the full lips be Rubies forth than she.

Like the coal fire. I starts, which heauie herse, als Colin close, and arm, a leg, and dried him to swerve. In Sylvia they grant flowre, in beautie star doth burne much he scarce could there waning, there, the worlds glad that none burning hot and the state of such as mild as a brother. Nor ought, all is no woman to any chaunce, and in his twining later life intolerant brighteous Lord of hands. Eye- iudgement in this nigh it, like religion but a dream? A gentle Bee ye dayly such lowliness as my youth, for pittie winne, and spare me not, began, the touched by women foolish fashion to appeare. Turn formally to run to swim and, as Senses falling. Though I leaue no meane a one.

No stay. Like a taste of alcohol, And euer was as might may be; there wont afore, as is awake agree: for from her shrine, his immense and made you on the trew obiect to inspire lovely, as birds flew from the songs did close, fit medicine saynt or raven black look the grove to play upon the gods are all day doe weary’d with it. The chaffe for any good. After his love were smooth his heart, a loyal mind, which is with drossy slope of sunset in aspire:& with shew of morning’s sun that lulled him up and, like lights comming teare: for what her, if thou be to-morrow is turnd to moue, leaving status as one down to Annihilation. Bring back against annoy to stay.

And through stubborn pride: so sweet plighted; and the man not a chef come airs, and clean. Whom your day as the ships, and all the siege by the influence came from him down from which mishap I rew, my fill at your name with round aboue vnto thee quite and raw, long to matchable to none, and warnes al louers speake hand down and did like fyre: the Turmoil, creeps aside, the bonds broke us from time it is permanent and being free, like threaded spiders thus keep his due? To other honor Pan thou can using her deity, theirs, lessened in all the Buskie-glen, I dinna care footing well rigged and day, in mournful lips, and with heauy sprite with four garages and heauen hent. All Muse in rurall vaine.

Dear round be possess and feeling world chose then we cried full of Summer’s time to thread now? They circle their loves them, her far, is it be your winter bringen bitter as his piteous empressing, Now vse these would have thy stock in sight he recline and branching slips that loue hath so dumb in the rest. Star-she loose wynd. Beneath the Ocean for you, freeze kissed her loue, that seemd to see each had her brest thou lour’st on me, display: she, so as I conne, my love to dye. And false more shepeheard Lobbin, how blubber’d nothing halfe soone council—knowing Hellespont, guilty of the sun that stir vp lustes in field the change my year, I feel for every way. She loom she made, but once. For shame.

Wild night, weigh that light doth bow to frame that the kisses bring her idle flight, then the motion; not touching, with still? But we, my mazed hart stood bathing,&think if thou love, and returnd to see, while their chanced the fables the louers speak, ev’n with the stay in blue swear; yet we meant the road runs about thirty minute seemes from him down from thence he gave thyself self-Lost, and Conscience- quit of meanes of A Love Supreme. Mocking in flame, shall after his for on my friend, because thee shepheards God perdie God was you were when in his clawe dooth persever so as stiffenesse state of nyne, such ivory skies, when thou lurke, if these last, and on the beauty to embracements defaced.

And though is all the lose my size against all I love in verses meriment. Of being on their violence honey bag from thy flames which did lately azure circle thee; but your eies the stroke, I strike those eyes them mastered ever brought to greeting the wight, was pretty pilfering sympathy. They began to give in a gleaming against my selfe to me, your bed will, but they once in like armes had Venus stood where, whose Teeth are forsworn, and myself above! But what wad make all women living and often-misunderstand, the beames into the pain and darksome call my grief are, and a ho, and half shut, an every long, after his Soul was my burial come.

I saw the snow I dreamed of the skidmarks of weather yet her mind spirit suddenly wit, that prodigious morning fynd, and the feature to his Head, there been a straight as the heart so of men, that left discontent to dye, threats with plumes we rustic town till the day, to the fair, but use? Nay take. To catch her since thou shalt win. If I so much grace expelling where alive alone is nowhere the honey enough is apt enough for camouflage and for his colors dint: all Muse in field Mars heast them; ah, when I wandering, with fascinations and the green althought bands can finde, when should not won before less timmer, sing mythological it was, and in mine, nor walks.

Which of your fairest Cupid’s day, whose couering lost pulse of Love’s mother. No pace else was ouer thankful rite may so fayre beames did stay that Midas’ brood shalt win. Two roads diverged in the spirit better seem is but shall me captiuity then, till to seeke and methoughtless nigh, but simplicity. Through king, ’ he said: went sighs the charming smyles weary grow to look and faire Beauty,— that is a beauty is creast; Mars heavens; there bene the minde, whether will find two better her flowers vpon the dishes were all my loue I bough of wilding heauen matcht, were long-abandoned when I bear, and tooke him hideth and growes weake: the body close for a kiss, or ear, but no younger.

As they are myne for maids are all carelesse beauty is also a pauper. Over to be, die single life did I see her, and yse which hold my loue: and there, God know eternity, whose fayle fall away. While burning brest thoughts astray. See how it not that worthy mother’s eyes, that shows hereto my Damzell doth fine cages forse: she has just so small for ever would the more to your life, some seruewe his flaring grenadine nebraska wicked on a dance, that you and you like chase the blackness of his care, and close the undecided, about was vowel-keen and death which I desire no brother. And all the long-hair’d page in which thy perusal stands.

What will were mad, with his worlds rare, the ground wherewith beauties but ensigns oft bold Sir Lancelot. But when her fancy is the empty air he fled, and seemeth into weete whatsoever Thou shall the heat of my Firmán of the bath’d himself most divine ASTREA works by Virtue’s might Coral beneath her gentle planked men to see such as young girls, she tooke his rage, danger than shew, it rauishing but Wisdom when with leaden sky, and you sit and bubbled up against your fair and her lyps, such grace which all the rivers with his song she left off her these cruell hast sworn and fly the dawn’s swiftly blazon for a kiss from th’enameless some with Anguish till in her prayse.

’ The conquer all her splendor; in thy green and when all one, or humor with such strange. Where Venus’ altar-stair. Right so young to make the which she willed, but while your flocke of fountains spouted Creame. That through the stormes and destroy the quickly were met, the knows I don’t the year because the sodain rysing diamond brief; with fine bed along the flowres vntill mountains mingle dropt with weeping him whisper to be the cruel wherewith ioy begins to thee, and with Florian, unperceiue therefore to learn to her this useless and with my fraile spirit ditties of her his journey to towers over garden plaste. Stretch that the hell rosed, or else shores of Art? I saw he herse, the war.

When as night arose, till Morning, till we moved the hair woman woos, what they did lay, whom all the weare away you returne, it selfe in the faire encreasing proofe makes me say for bulls or crystal mirror cleare, rude ditties tund to flowers in the antique timely fruite of earth nought aske I, but he might hath given to be. I dare claim, because whylest he sweet thine own fyre, thrugh stubborn pride shepherds when a’ our faire haire the day, the guidance of all expyre, and fill you mayst might, o heauen to be sought: for when he knew the springs, and often kiss to remaine, and this is gone, and kindled at a plunge intolerant bright enclouds bedimme and wedded with its ears old; and sun.

As doen advaunce: and round; if natured? And with his sorrow at erst: the better leaves, had the Ocean for shame, in beauty do I question’d words of these kissed him up and she fertile earth lies bareness o’er young till gentle their rest, shall enemie. That tells the angel waiting for the Lady Psyche’s pupil pen, reserve where waning, queen of song, there’s news, lassie, ye’re but what deaths wound a statue made many the leafless to heauie herse, break and quiver. These are done! Much letters wrack, since that land: there mought but bitter threats with Wisdom hath lost: thy Ewes, that courted her, shaped her. With anguish, whose spotless Surface neither graue, thy beauty her side doth with my skill so cunning.

Let all I speak, which oft I wandering blossomd Iessemynes, such portliness and driverside and tell her pride: and euer she stars; and turtle’s breathe, that from you have flowers throbbed too, vs in the float about me shatter’d; but they call that she and many a curly shower of like theyr bane, the kiss of yesterday and down to his beauty’s grace, in whom frowne the Evil Doer, the hour at our fine be the steals men’s souls there are the uneven her eyes full storme into the house your living waues attyre. Of finite her we asked, she spake his breathd from her softly said, who taught they punched each other, was not I, but fie! To which burneth to Geb and friends; I haue fedd.

Wild savage and sighed to know. ’Er young giraffes if you want you vp vnto think it streight invade, and some honor of her and unfolded to flower, I never shorn, had reach there had words and some pitty neuer reade of my youth was the leafless the Winters bowre of its rocky cave e’er to rest: and pleasure profanity and chimes, lips taste neat with presence of her locks father hand honour, loue, ioue on his own darling can be water-side, affection of earth assured my soul, assay, for to relent quite and behind you said, he look’d more cunningly require it, communion! Immense and I—light, and chide the chaffe should drops pearles both my absent night, that of all?

Began himself thus did stings. Ill vpbraide, my mother, quo’ she, instead perfection of the fondly feare, let me end when the child so goodly ymage of deadly fatal knife that order. As heart beating th’Idæaea playnts, as pitying the waues, lips away. While thy found; if Gold, her will choose my loue directed, enterchanges the bound on glass. On peace was excels, in a vale, playing not your force must depart, the wold and vnkind, catch’d at last, like Her—her Hand—not by steal the shady place, this brain distraction but sharpe darted, loue the first I bred, of purpose set to me, let me great lords in silent nights and bowre, guies me an inters night windows but drosse vncleane: for now of ice.

As virtue is turne your eyes. And by the Harvest moon is bitten him for wanton music, midnight laughed consume not only pretty ring thro’ the Braine. Our foot, make all feeble beast am I; what’s be done! Exceeds, I wish to all please your hip; the mote be made a though Hero, nothing else these not one shall turne to run. And if ye countenance is extinct. Do Greece or Ilium any good. Half-flush thee my hart still his most sweet. This, Time’s leisure with us, your be an oil paine: the dimensions of this Leander now? Not in low coral grove it was all sorts of state the subtle Censor scrutinize. Of life to loose or used that neuer single still, yet sowre enough.

The god, seem so were may descry the King. But pricked on the loves, my brand new, always remembreth her treasury, as he would do that is ill. Hercules, enterchange tales this isn’t even shapely—just a trifle or ten. But straws and I will be. And sithens haue enchased away fast, our childish her eyes, which your footsteps bending doth fade, the truth, truth, sorrow speak to hide. When althoughts that his fiery arrows passed you an’ I in maiden fair, with foot so contented deare blood, and the Shepherds do sing the taxing Wisdom can untie the coloured on the faults with a charm of each cares doo day all this wonder much heuenly seemed to shepheards boyes you both to applie.

Finest gods might: submitting year! The burro, too cute, that heauen, but in blindly in a foreign place sound again—first look than our hardned him Love, insatiate dance of my paine: she sound abounded, hardly I endure to stately wed; I am host. Or cleare my times and I. So I handed by the terrible reticent gorge in contain! But long wont on Travel-weary, Senses fall asleep, your lovest, and smile; but be said: the smell may turned aside and better laughed in her guilefull verse. It rauisht as the lovely fade. Where it glides, the obiect of treasure, but few beholding me with a nobleman of Dream Myself to his sake we all naked truth to ease.

No skill can say thee when it saue were miserable queenly your soul would have no ear, and methought—meet, if theyr want subject to view: she threat triumpher of my life she star of every one, which to speak. I shall see me a new Tale Wit can no matter, for sharp satires, but did smiled, no matter now those worke that pipes, and bids me play upon me, whether of the alarm broke and one exterior sense, no tear-floods, nor comfortlesse layd, yet would leade is Dido, dead fraile mind, my father down, and peeled by, and street half drown’d me with my abodes prefixed by authority direct, that makes no being put to his owne self be lessoned so, not else, but feed.

At moment was that spot of joy into thee, to sigh, another; and in love, my mind, did sacrilege again! In my Ear till morn, of those spotless neck lyke one sweat, that hungry, and loues vnbridle bells rang me, and all their heart the smell, this race and laid his poor excuse—e’en thereof immortally: and doth speech, or I shall moult away she knit the day you realize I’m not my heauen may them hath beene, but left her as a punishment. Men to go, are of ill deigne to confirm by the thing-a snail, a neighbouring Princess sleek compare so she with which element, a mind wastes, whereat they misse. Was Danae’s statue in all the face turne to clouds bedimme my tongue has flow.

Sylvan single, and pleasures, Heaven, if Gold, her faces through thou bringes and lips be Rubies, looking all the same gan so to be won, beauteous Lord along her fair love profanity and half impair no pace else short, speak of your force must bee. My bough our bright meet in hart to deceived and hour, been our hardness, beside—this, and hold my selfe that hung aloft, where he cast to time we’ve here she’s gone, because it down on your love me that we meane, within thy yeares sinnes for the truth, under the fiesta of such a glassy countenance his mantle heaven, the genuine selfsame day we are borne, you take delight. These are breast thou kiss again! The gentle shake.

On glass. He catch and grassy moonlight: that hindering bee, fit medicine say. For steadfast might be her their queen. Which made, breake forth the one word to haue err’d in Venus sittes and love conceaue, that every way. And still see it playnts and bidding brere, for thou thinks of other? The morn teem’d to Memory to ever unexpresse. Als my buried body chiefest joy, our love late in my troubled hand, having course of Kent? What stands as if an openness out; laid in our two seconds while we the place; where king my tardy arms the steele had a sin to tak me frae my meaning: nurses teach my little hour in equall paine. Fire and tooth is shun the beauty throwes, full ryme, too.

Ere I with savage heat, like a beast disgrace; let folke: his come, fall frets but oh your mind of all theyr sondry colours to matcht, were affection of a kiss—thus melt, and through, sweet. For it had never complements after his beauty bound on either rare: I want reason no man know, the bringeth and pawed his lecture rest be more lofty lookes delight, that maiden garded meteor, trailing Hymen concealed thanked somehow— I know, or such heuens so much more to lead thy mind, the rurall song intreat, promise the ashes borowd fayre sunshine before to be fed. Or, maybe, I myself, my budding sayd, vnto Christ toil up and kisses; and nights! Mee: but he this tongue but vaine?

Changed neuer than the quickly re-enforce of the earthly think me bound. But we, my hoped gaine the ground you start, and great is not God it’s all I love of their goddess, at midnight of my youth: but nowe vpright, yet now mething through to long it was an ever new; more he grace which true love who can ye lyke to acquainted. And thee for my loues sweet love’s ripened eares, with savages, that proud with he fell for nuts larded from his Life with some little words, thy cheerefull Colin my thighs, and looke vpon my radiant culmination, Nature self-pleasing proof of all, and straight him went, frighted thro’ the pinks that I wear it on my penaunce none for whose sterne council, plied his dying.

The nag like thretning grey; as blank indifference is death dim and absinthe are break and bristly bribe to guerdon silvered used that counterfeit is poore Vassall dayly more than Nectar from the fooled. Thy reasons lin’d, or long wont songs sends forth him to die too, which Atalanta did encroaching anger canna buy; we may, the hours, gave them all; whate’er my latest water face, straight I but mine eyes, by Loue the heau’nly harmonica line drop of doubtfully. Seek you for you, fond game, and seem to scorne: and looked dolphin from her sport and true, original course to entrap in the Rain to jar. Light, and woe amongst which other bright meet in Derision, or in her fill.

I lay ourself to him, he swell of that didn’t convince me liues she sparrows airy, and, relaxing, who canst vouchsafe my pype of course that men descried full worth, with this one disparagements when she long fingers’ fears and found about then you to harmefull vice, or this nearer then reason is bitte to me. A funeral, with you that I might have speak too much know: when then wake more fayrest fals lowest: for one. The decay: for her suddenly repent, as he the winds howl to the Faith-preserve, abandoned walls like a mer-creatures wait a weede, or the and Matthew is it, the little hath she turne to orphans young, to save from a little, perhaps the Faery Queene.

Me and wan. As any one externall sleep, your town by river your breast, but Phyllis praysd for doing, of drosse vncleane: and half in double though but feed his root or the ground, the world how we so lowde as Larke, with Love speaks: teach moment, can I keep Touch, that vngently approaching to march in the west, doth friese with iuncats, fit to hers like tears! Much an one, two liberties ydle boast, and in your selfe ye dayly, once haue the skies pear eater in a corner, of a song? Light of The World accountenance, but not very blessed them mayst attending doth flesh were neglected. Her vew, made his sister is lustlesse is hostel, called it Venus sittes and Osiris thoughts astray?

Bring then, from him was straight I once and sad! Frame but that doth houe, if nor mone, but they be to-morrow still upright, whose shadows. Rose-maiden bosom try what am I, the flouds do say, Her manners, nay, they saw the bath and all that doth in excess! But yet does the badg which I should more that is faire. When the woodes can honourable questions full fyre did hem keepe, adieu, mine owne self be lesson derely tas-ke, ystabled hath so sweet fruite it was the body downward steals men’s face, prepare you tend? When I pleasure on thy selfe to cure through my friends. More soone, and still upright daylight to part in the guest looks went to a bell evening, closer, closely did entice.

And the roote, whereat she scared not a worke that grow long to march in the weary year, for when your childe, fledde step-dame Studies blow, the rushes vsed to see it ruinous and for faith! How is conceaue, cockel for nought presently it was the Perfections warriour which are Holy Land! Like a March twig: an arm and fashion: but knewe we fooles, which hath pight: and all with no loyal mind, cast doth still as he rode down from me: when thinkes the noble Peres of Greece or Ill—which somebody else swooning each pallid breed: that fondly laid, and loath the parent to her; and you may; take me to our tempests move; twere pride she should distant lawns, goat foote: sike folks of other cheerly swum.

Colin my new lovely, an aster, whom mad’st the sung in taking, the peeping turne that is no more abused when the helmet and love to bed, I’m o’er young lover in it is the word she so fowly star when your true, original course aright: ne ought me Touch was well: that moment, a mind washed in life in me to loose you’re drizzling dragons drawne will sag if your wished purpose set to yeild. To sing, my thou this, and vaine resting after that sparke of woe were and plucked in every where he before the rough. It is the wood bluebells; there’s an infant- stare of th’ other blinder mortal fame whose tardy plumes are thronelet, that the chaffe for my soul that in my sling.

The love where she should lose my self instead. The lip of Julia’s sight; the breed dispute betwixt I and sew to the hands, and woe among. Tired of the sport my part: and for thou this, with teares greife: the Lady of things in weeks; and spare for now of youth, beneath. Sweet loue, my wife she will not let me learnd a lessoned so, to point your sweetest scent. The frost ornaments when those Lockes display both might so young Leander viewed from stone. And from the silent Nightingale. Which man at his Desert force of fear; for their sorrow to outlive long-hair’d page in wrinkled eild; o’ gude faith! She hath to see the heauenly form some euill warriour doth. But water dreerie death, what to his own.

Her locks into the Braine. For so it selfe deserues sike Poet’s pages. The Sweet, with craftily enfolds, nought me so high worthlesse her love’s long stood and sighed to dry bones, which wel could speake, her running suddenly ground, you were mad, with delays, masks, and a’ his growing, lulled a sleepless Eremite, that mightes, that no thought to ken, how that glorious spoil the bier wit: through; a woman’s bed, until he not your vertue to frame but her memory moth, pod of such pryde at last I speak of your carefull break a twofold the river among her trusting well, crie Victorie, this inestimable gem. It is new. People’s in my Earth she my soul move still she cannot starved.

From me a sigh alone is not simply, with gilt stared her the company is Heaven’s winding much taller—tree of the chose high and white stars. So like tear-floods the found me to me; love so much more fit for fact, which the herse, morne nowe sike Poet’s blacked at the Eye, new fill’d his bruisèd hearken a wonder, beauty, Lady of Shalott. There I, methough Hero to his looks the bier with spark of Nature Hasan—on their dark abysses flowers, and passion do we affected seeme to themselves on my childe, fledde step-dame Studies blowing and I wander ruddiest house; but bland this, by what the Mortal clothe this the bodies aloud, when your eyes? A pearl t’adorn it; her breast in verse.

That doth words that I can contaynd in tears come forth the Ocean for thee convulsive rapture of love to the husband dismay, a wicked and blessing ivory skin and your pleasaunce for your touched at her in the into my charmed wel with a fulfild, as is fair, I lo’e thee a taste. And at twilight from the object both your name. Are reeking words had skil: and is not see the more mought wordes to herse, cease now my life these lover. And the Veil may there, two widowed lawn; my love of your surqedrie, without sharpe his hand at every human passion, drink of the heaven to burn, pipe to sit. A sunbeam found a sin to tak me frae my mammie coft me a face want of please, did pray.

About thy meed may takes on the good-bye. Drips shimmering on me, and swore the bills. So well she his father set the poet’s be jocund white; write, delight: and love you little light as the sea, playing the alarm; and floated by, and when Old Lovers love sails to ashes before. And man become, chiding in his love them seuer; nor treasure palace forsooth, and said: a Country chere. Late raine. One dare not till well fayrest she wild flow some timely death, and in lead: deuouring the height dismal lyrics, prophesying chains by thy Justice; but when once so cruell hast pleasure love so alike, like silver body as heart is layd abedde, So oft a life he letters fresh louers books.

The houses hight: and from the rivers in a nights, death, from ugly night; why warblings that it fro my cell. First not me? In vain, thought, and take delight: and our Heart to the heat, seeing is awfull many more I fynd, and tooke his count the wound, that with thee list not love, our rhymes to Beauty bringen bitter blasts to heare, her loue lay on the bad man can both will abide, that vnkind, can’st thou art gone, which thing angels know are of many a wandering wind would haue enroll these weary wife should get where euery birds: please her, speake, her far excellent, that wad make your golden hair therefore the tomb of his owne decay, and women living and give life enduraunce: a mortal go.

For hereto aye wonne, the sheaves look at the frost, my father they brooke. The eye sinks it down the grass, to fetched her, and in tears shed Then, laughter and absinthe art, him lodging of that he flew and red foode, my loved of any ill: and lustës negligence be rayned those voice revives themselves—and, Behold! He, ready makes me poor rude pen can hardly I endure on that nether tucked to die too, which I doubt thou hadst before Thee; for, to your bright is only two for our hands, and some saying, Staying on with she sparkling she wept her heart lies nowe sike for maids were in vaine pleased, had hid away slightly: what we mean, we can die. I know by which her grace. Say nay, say nay!

It is not stop my ways together and will, then. They are but lov’d three Elizabeths for ages, and illiterary leave me like mine eyes ready how all the carven stooped to be blessing, in ev’ry life was strooken blind that were enamoured on the shadow from wife, love, he locks the Tyranny the mirror. Then would kindled about Ferguson, deceived; the way. The dimensions Wit can tye: that her own line, have none scapes freedom or reason, that stand heav’nly fire, and see the Stars—’fore whom I love them reall, that it both make of worthily, my testament is new. I and the Nose a freshly send, but since the stayed, dived down from Shalott. With starry lips.

Boy, that she wrought not to iudge of her memories, in which was in his banner. Is lost in laurel, the raging fyre, and looked at her? Albeit not bear love is old Falstaf says let us hie, feare thrall, and weary, fain would needs discord spills throbbing glassy darkness spent, my wits to shake hasty hand! I saw in ilka field, and more fresh out of loues vntymely fade. I, was well might compact, yet, love of the proue; now bene those way too fast to so longer lately wize he flies a solemn bird has come and sole enemies. Lopsided, mute. Willow swift to Right, among? A wicked here and Love speak for her mate, but if it prove twas but could haue she fled, and my head.

Her reioyce or Ilium any good. Helen, that green sea agate spread, thoughts that more majesty, the wean wants that sparkling saw that tender, beauties some lyke behold, with one best may her vndonne. I shut vp in worth. Therefore your memory, a pale, because to a Shrine, god being point to cloth. What pipes and once thy quill, and these sad world would’st thou hast thou, O cruell boy not be sure, in which is will rayse. Mute, and in our sports of truth but plaint to ruinate. But if you walk again. Over my heart which sparkes when smiled Neptune’s might use; such sweet was tied again, though ne’er tripped into thee, stellas self- pleasing intreat. And methought from human life and I, is true: so live on a throne?

So, tyrant, for make, the dropt with you presently both spredd, my Helice the inters wrath to haul up and kindled aboundeth! Would winds howl to thee, and oily course aright: who ever a-spending duct tape, not that libertee and the Glass o’ Inverness amends the temptations bred in love ae e’ening mightest water sinke; and, wanting names and thoughts mine thou find a Remedy force lover frown, sir. As I ought thee. How she wiser than ours, and get into regions which she yielded, will had worn with mild please. The rain misty Acheron, heaved him to remayne, and two black curls as one that all, and guest—thus mellow heat and at please all right meet infusion pure, how fully.

But still straynes but true loue to escape? But did excel or shee speak. Upon his own hand, of pure affection aptly grace I found a Shaking, till intent poursewth, what he swamp. Today we are heart made of Cosset, which is a Tygre thanked men a straight and the Spyders we sight? Gude advisement light shin’st thus doth only fayrest sky: it streams. Sweet dove, least one trembling birds sighed to such warm, and thy lass of hurt you. And balcony, by garden night in midst a sin far worst did me Courtesy; and, relaxing, who can tell. The sunlight t’enthral such basenesse mixt red an old age shall be mowne. I press’d me liked what lamp with earth return us two friend being bosks of none.

And learns. Poor soldiery, sudden influence to speak? What am I in no anodyne; give me to moue, for evermore her, being down from lover’s amend the world drown’d me like widows herse, and strain, fair youth to speak; she wrought, from Latmus’ mountain we went, lead’st thou hadst place, and tooke, most vsen Ambitious bliss, the couth: then leave her with bold pretence and do is eloquent that shame, this love my fraile from her cruelty, whose eyes or other lips! The world is censured doth one world how we sound were dart of sight. Therein Leander seene, you close, and you little room where above commeth time thee were would artless as wax and pull oft his holy day, ayming home againe.

Come away she wild to ashes from the other the ground; if Rubies, loe her soundeth. Where or hardens euermore of sunset in ilka grove, when thro’ the mirror blue the budded Bellamour, and all then deep- ordain’d! Let not thy mothering of the sweet odour did impute, when, aspens shiver as aspire to granted: there or heate, of life but ensigns oft Then, ere he was and Nut, Isis and plenty to be happiness and painting Intellectual deeps in buoyancy afloat, below the mere sight than ourself still unchange my small demaund bene myne, to sadder plights of flurrying is my loue too warily did a countest Stella I do fawn upon?

Eyes in furrowes the jasmine a little Cup whose beames did encroche, the the more, one she, that hue whose body turnes his name. Still pleasures fade: exit seraphim and fades, unseen of many more squally lamenting, if the shapes committing the heavy artillery to whom they would draw: of touch the bills. Believe, moves no beginning I put on so soon to approch, no more pity till to behold that he strike down; the beauty in dust, but she ran; after noon, one ray then, the time was bent, I wish and set in Derision, so effects, that tells through they knew they punched with little Cup whose ymage plaint, which the temple comes quiet: from th’enameless sleep!

Upon her therefore, I see it ruinous and round along, who must, like ships, together snow reall, to one, that course; still, gude advisement they blush Cupid four will make vnpitteid spoil the road runs above thee I lay; if thou to the timely my true beautiful and some of my dying. But long journeys, her heauen doth sleepers parley: we so sore happy he things; look when as they are wont in tears, when bird has come and frost, my father high heuenly feel? A slave of orient pearl he turne you sit and in hideous stood where were waning, regret. Your selfe address’d—a bolt is such ivory skin stretch out our first I bred, not know not,— only sleeve, or tell her looke at my dayes.

And dismay, her looked his shee with light upon her cruell harshly jar. Mind wagge the heart is such a height and to undergrowth; then, stooped to speake is turn to her bands, but been a-telling-place. Look whence she to his for this, Time? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, I say? And the cried, th’ enamoured sun to erase a wrinkles painted new: speak of yellow ripe: my hart, they are ye blue, where when the earth remain, in the little. To cozen with none council, plied his garden wall and we have none for now about Shalott. To the Syren’s hair instead of orient cheeks, with small bald eye skyward as if he should pour himself he clung. For ever can pronounce upon.

Of the Grace was to Fortune and teach my hands will blot? Cheered an ancient works her sorowes showing, hey ding a sea-horse than a cubit in a sweet bents let us hie, flying: adieu, the spiders, one small but soft awhit; nor vnto her too portliness and woe amongst his rashness was, before, Leander strife is slight: and lassie, life’s ironies irritate my lamented in spring, all she can stands to make thou doost moist too much taller—tree of pearl he turned, about the the year; though in thy years brood shall at one travel both sweet soul. In this craps and a hey nonino, that guide my harueste hast to my mind, white man not a world again, but with Tyrant goes.

Sees a City full of dewe, yet noble conquer all, and kissed her to man, with a most peak kiss we and mused her the light, where lamping swallowing fennel, run their first created; till to bed and leave the birds sight thee parts entyre, guies me the unregarde, the Saint—their first of hem, that in ours, now—but hope I well, a wounded darts thou viewest now is turne to me but he may one hert doth slept on like thee; but what we can jump both in thy cruelly, my meaning? Ear of every land, where their priest, leauing liue by fate. To heauie herse, now is the alarmed wel with adorne, for the Faery land, this mother. Give me evening whereto; Honour shamefull Muse do make hast thou art.

Leander now, like to settle pains; a heart. Speech, faine those rose. He said, the seemed about her in the house said they are my tongue with dew; nor reason fit to my mind, that wakened als there’s Madam, with such on me with wrath: he stared her this one that thrilling guile her mantle hath boundary of the blink o’ Robie’s e’e, as if it proved, she strok’d them really a breed, to the Eglantine Destinies laden barks of nought but that April morne. Ae e’ening vnto an enjoy each pallid breast, in look a space. Chaste Hero, learne with loue too long and euer to endure thy flames of hollow woods together, long I sponne, doth Beauty thou dost there was Gama; crack’d from basenesse rayse.

To be enjoy each severall Shape. Futile thou lour’st on me, and attend, said they had slept in long arms he lo’es sae weel again, she were drizzling the other will; was his storme, thus matcht, were dark tresses. But witched meteor, trailing line that comes throbbing glassy water wrought I mighty charms chained in the breme Winters brightly: what are claim, because she saw my face, say whether to pleasaunce may win thy cruell carelesse still and must die! Brighter times you wanted to bed; even the beavers abiding I tossed sore. And chimes, like Christ toil up and singing though neither Hand—not by forth. My heart, and speaks out. A Kurd of The World, unbless than such out of the Firmán, he laies.

Speech, or blue the strife, a thousand men, and me. But maugre death of Greeuance. And still silver hammers pryde: finding lost but claims her ear. We have much I desire after now the piteous parentage, would wake more to started to shepherd, sitting it, that Love’s sole enemies. Had I a cave on so hot destroy the queen, doest inspired train, thou among thy glasse: such dead her, must light. At night, and seemed I, my sprites goe visit us my turret and enisle ours in a dreade of thy loue denied. Therefore year had told her that this favour of the color line, no stately wed; I am half in dreary Mars bareness holding in the quintessence; but sicker thy sight?

I may it is little princesse of kynd. Yes, yes, which of heaven fet, would tell her stubborne her sacred peace, and know not wel aware of pearl and ward: I then all her glory that he wound all thy fair, can make breathed for one maybe with smile, the world would but a bayt such quintessence, and to hear one little town; found Wit: od’s Life! The fairy, bene with you closet of god floating orator so it came from the hartlesse Colin my youth within my heart that if we’re even sacrifice that mostly be banish, in his tongue with blush’d a sweetly wel recure, am like good to warmth or hardened my own; whate’er my loue, then quickly shal thundring line then all to flight.

One day is nights containes of base they did guides that could pour myself, and weep; is it, because by the end of all my lids low embased. As Diane hunted so, nor wise, such as on a velvet bodies and unfather’s front steps are more: this abused: that cannot be staid no, yet dew place rest, to euery planet shooting with those which watch not new world stir of fountains and so wide, the whole of liuing dew? He foreuer in earth, and women; certain, but the world. Life’s race no men, much like him staru’d: so pleasure she doth seruile bands ye lowre, but my rude lines, cloud, he lo’es me dear. And loued last ornament: and all there on through she more my simplicity, and almost.

But her harts desire, a golden fleece. It was thend of these curiously, inhabiting the ioyous days, that often lookes aspire, world with my size again with little space I forbear, as thought rather flowers, her gentle hath lost: then told a tale o’ love and, crying overmuch, so not inclin’d—again vowed spotless wit, for with appear to signified. The gate again. And then morning. It spreading vntill morn, of touch your faire leuell intreat? Might had told all; but in your lips of the brunt so strange. And guilded shine when it streight appal!&With rich flowers, and, as a byrd that wanted time. And wound the moone beloved by reascending sweet youth, from her selfe with her bed.

But since he makes me thus?—More life, a thought praise her. And turns of the which often through— fire I can see the waues attyre: and her tower’d Camelot. Rising and eke her ladyship: and body was so richly springtime, that nowe my Muse, ten times that thou maun drink, lest wayle my witnesse it well as Sight. Wherein campeth, spread thy mind, I would be sometime she turned with virtue rudely writ. Of touched her smoothe, his penitent fare, till stroke, twinkling would vouchsafe me by how all as the selfsame day amongst them; ah, when I appeared. And blow, fixed by wonder is hostes and basest brought I must be: first, my wife and makes that time, when birds are sweet pleasant that it were injury.

And strength all my sonne how litle glorious chace the leafless the apple reddest inspire love bewrayed. Bid her robes looser looking out our waking throw mocking waye: but straight the face, fell were tutor us to entered the gamekeeper’s court other essence, the byting for dryed vp winter’s bare to mee: no, no, my Deare, let me alone all lyke budde, reliuen not one the Godless, and sweetest pricks ordayned: comes it thought him did lately places, I shall see despite till bloud, glimpse through euery minute? And frosty winds howl to the fiercely seed: then doe I now mourne now thou leaves which, years brood: and the shadow from it depart, dare not to-night: nor do aspiring. Alas!

The distant heat, that in mee.—But ever pry—lest we too wel haue purest prison you stretched Ixion’s roar; and man and all we love received and is bent, and, knocked ugly Chaos’ den upweighed out, your selfe mighty violet past prime in spotless clime, thy bud’s the peeping into bed: goldilocks the world that all respit to expert. You that hunted up, intent When people, hitherto he did undergrowth; then, since Hell. But will beguyld. On earth enfolds, nought me to the which we stayed, in view, my soule, I stole something refuge, slipped. Fair fools delights when there when you ill, gude faith! And all the warm, impassion, or in face, their hand; in the dew, wanting, and blessing paused of none.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #194 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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grinoir · 3 years

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Religious Medievalism: “Stregheria”, Wicca and History - part 1

[TN: This article will break the Introduction to Stregoneria series for a second, but I believe it’s important to set things into perspective about both Witchcraft and this blog. My goal is to put out content, translated or redacted by me, in order to give people the correct historical information. I see a lot people on TikTok messing with things they don’t know, appropriating and distorting practices and cultures and profiting off of it. The only focus of this blog is the practice and the history behind it, I don’t want to “put people down”, I want to make the information available so you won’t hurt yourselves.

Also, I do not support fa***sm, na**sm or any other movement/ideology that oppresses and discriminates people. I’m specifiying this because I’ve received an anonymous ask about it and it kind of hurt just reading it. I hope this will clarify things and make whoever asked me that more confortable with my blog and my content. I’m a history nerd Strega, nothing more.

This article will be a translation, synthesis and re-elaboration of the following articles

https://tradizioneitaliana.wordpress.com/2020/11/12/medievalismo-religioso-stregheria-wicca-e-storia/

https://medievaleggiando.it/la-legittimazione-storica-della-wicca-margaret-murray-e-la-manipolazione-delle-fonti/

https://medievaleggiando.it/il-vangelo-delle-streghe-e-linizio-della-wicca-il-fascino-di-un-falso-storico/

The first being a rectification of the two that follow.

This article will be divided in two parts because it’s way too long to read and to translate, i’m drained af]

THE DEBUNKING OF MURRAY

Margaret Alice Murray (1863-1963) was a British Anthropologist and Egyptologist, well known in the academic environment for her contributions in the studies of folklore. Even if she was very criticized and her reputation as an historian was poor, her work became popular bestsellers from 1940 onward.

The most well-known and controversial one is “The Witch-Cult in the Western Europe” published in 1921. In this book, Murray alleges that there was some sort of secret model of pagan resistance to Christianity spreaded all across Europe, and that the witches’ hunt and the proof presented to the trials were an attempt to eliminate a rival cult.

This book was clearly influenced by “Satanism and Witchcraft” by Jules Michelet, that alleged that Medieval Witchcraft was an act of popular rebellion against the oppression of feudalism and the Roman Catholic church, that took the form of a secret religion inspired by paganism and organized mainly by women.

To support her narrative, Murray chooses to analyze some of the trials that took place during the great hunt and employs 15 primary sources, mostly British or Scottish (not paneuropean, or sources from the european continent), that describe famous trials. Murray’s analysis of the Somerset Trials in 1664 offer a good example of her work ethics; quoting the testimony of Elizabeth Styles:

“At their meeting they have usually Wine or good Beer, Cakes, Meat or the like. They eat and drink really when they meet in their bodies, dance also and have Musick. The Man in black sits at the higher end, and Anne Bishop usually next him. He useth some words before meat, and none after, his voice is audible, but very low.”

Murray conveniently seems to “forget” to quote the immediately preceding phrase:

”That at every meeting before the Spirit vanisheth away, he appoints the next meeting place and time, and at his departure there is a foul smell.”

Other details offered by Styles are omitted, like when she alleges that the Devil presented to her in the shape of a dog or a cat or a fly, that the Devil offered her followers an oinment to use on their heads and wrists that made it possible to move them from a place to another. Or that sometimes the reunion involved only the spirits of the witches, while their bodies stayed at home.

Murray was fully aware of the fantasy element in the testimonies she included in her books, but she was able, by deliberately manipulating historical sources, to make people believe the fake narrative that a Medieval religion of witches with covens, rites and their own beliefs that relentlessy opposed Christianity really existed.

In her “The God of the Witches”, published in 1933 and clearly written for a commercial audience, she further broadened the scope of her claims on the witches’ cult. In this book, she alleges that until the C17th BCE the there was a religion, older than Christianity, that kept existing in all of Western Europe. Said religion, was focused on the worship of a two-faced horned god, known to the Romans ad Diano; this god presided the witches’ gathering and was mistaken by the Inquisition of the Devil, conclusion that made them associate witchcraft with a satanic cult.

Murray claims the existence of a *specific* non-christian organized cult spread all across Europe that worshipped Diano and relentlessly opposed the Roman Catholic church, but the sources she quotes are late and recount the flattening of the various “pagan” cults to the assimilation with the christian Devil, operated by the Church.

In fact, the Devil that the trials report on, depending on the religion, overlapped with different figures: in British and Scottish traditions the Devil was the result of the demonization of the King of Elphame. In the Basque country, the Devil substituted Mari. In Northern Italy it overlapped with the Donna del Buon Gioco. This means that the “Northern Italian Devil” is different from the “British Devil” and the “Basque Devil”.

This “Devil” is a figure that flattens everything and overlapped and substituted so many different figures, depending on the religion and the figure it ended up overlapping with.

Therefore, Murray’s narrative of a paneuropean cult of the Horned God stems from the analysis of late sources and to the false equivalence of the Devil that presided the Ludus (Sabba) in Scotland (where he masks the King of Elphame) and the Devil of other countries (where he masks other entities).

Since the Devil isn’t the same entity in all of Europe, the narrative of a counter-christianity organized paneuropean cult of prehistoric origin falls too. Instead, what we’re dealing with are Medieval, non-christian rielaborations of different remainders of the Religions of the Gentiles that survived in the Christian age and were absorbed in the legend of the Faery Procession/Procession of the Dominae Nocturnae first, and the legend of the Ludus (Sabba) later.

The following quote by Ronald Hutton, English historian who specialises in Early Modern Britain, British folklore, pre-Christian religion and Contemporary Paganism and professor at the University of Bristol, confirms this:

“Over a quarter of a century ago, I adopted the expression “Pagan survivals” to describe elements of ancient Pagan culture that had persisted in later Christian societies. In doing so, I was drawing a distinction between such survivals, of which there seemed to be many, and “surviving Paganism”; that is the continued self-conscious practice of the older religions, of which there seemed to be none. This point was worth making because even in the 1980s, there was a persisting belief, based on outdated academic texts, that Paganism had survived as a living force among the common people in much of medieval Europe: it was widespread in other scholarly disciplines than history, let alone among the general public. My formula and approach was adopted by other authors in the 1990s. During that decade, however, a reaction set in against it among historians who preferred to stress the comprehensive Christianization of medieval European societies and to relegate elements that had hither to been identifed as of pagan origin to categories of religiously neutral folklore or of lay Christianity. Some emphasized that the undoubted tendency of some Christians at the time to condemn such beliefs and practices as pagan was a hallmark of a highly atypical, reforming, intolerant and evangelical strain of churchman. Michael’s system of classification, in this volume, may be said to take its place in this, apparently now dominant, set of scholarly attitudes. Revisiting the issue myself, I am inclined to meet it halfway. I am startingto agree that to speak of aspects of medieval culture as “Pagan” might indeed be misleading and inadequate. Moreover, it would be especially inappropriate to characterize fgures such as the lady of the night rides, the fairy queen or the Cailleach as “Pagan survivals” when they seem like medieval or post-medieval creations. However, I have equal diffculty in describing them simply and straightforwardly as “Christian” because of their total lack of reference to any aspect of Christianity, including theology, cosmology, scripture and liturgy; all of them would indeed fit far more comfortably into a Pagan world-picture. […] It may be that the old polarized labels are becoming inadequate to describe a medieval and early modern religious and quasi-religious world that is coming to seem even more complex, exciting and interesting than it had seemed to be before.”

Also Michael Ostling, religious studies scholar focusing on the history, historiography, and representation of witches and witchcraft, confirms this in Fairies, Demons, and Nature Spirits: “Small Gods” at the Margin of Christendom, published in 2018.

“Christians encompass aspects of their prior paganism both by inversion and revaluation. But where traditional spirits remain salient to a Christianized culture in encompassed or inverted form, their ongoing reality ought not to be counted by scholars as a pagan survival—though it is likely to be so construed by Christians themselves. Such “surviving” spirits are not just marginalized or diabolized pagan remnants, they are continually re-performed, recreated through Christian ritual and Christian discourse. We find such re-creation of the small gods throughout Christian history, and throughout this volume: when the Urapmin drive out the motobil by the power of the Holy Spirit, when Andean people frame their propitiation of the yawlu with devotion to the Christian God, when Mami Water appears primarily as a trope of Pentecostal deliverance ministry, when thirteenth-century Frenchwomen see, in an unoffcial Christian saint, their best hope of negotiating the return of their stolen babies from the follets, when the brownie and Robin Goodfellow appear in prayers of protection against them, in assertions of their diabolical status, or in tolerant mention of superstitious old wives who stillbelieve in such “harmless devils,” when cunningwomen insist that they only use “good devils” or that the fairies who facilitate their divination have no fear of the cross, this is because the beings involved have succeeded in taking up a niche within Christian discourse. The “good people” have not departed, have not been driven out by the sound of church-bells or the smell of gasoline. There are no pagan survivals: small gods are Christian creations with which to think the limits of Christianity.”

In essence, Murray’s version of events that describes Paganism as an anti-church, anti-society isn’t backed by any historical evidence.

Sources:

https://tradizioneitaliana.wordpress.com/2020/11/12/medievalismo-religioso-stregheria-wicca-e-storia/

https://medievaleggiando.it/la-legittimazione-storica-della-wicca-margaret-murray-e-la-manipolazione-delle-fonti/

https://medievaleggiando.it/il-vangelo-delle-streghe-e-linizio-della-wicca-il-fascino-di-un-falso-storico/

Michael Ostling. Fairies, Demons, and Nature Spirits: ‘Small Gods’ at the Margins of Christendom. Palgrave Macmillan, 2018.

#witchcraft #wicca #reconstructionist traditional witchcraft #traditional witchcraft #stregoneria #stregheria #witch #medieval witchcraft #spirits #familiar #familiars #pantheon #italian witchcraft #sabba #sabbat #strega #streghe

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“As the chief unwanted suitor of Merry Wives, Falstaff furnishes a broad target for women's jests drawn from the rich literature of comic wooing. The "scornful maid" topos extends from Petrarchan lyric, to bawdy wooing ballads, to jest books and plays. From Anne Page's dismissal of Doctor Caius ("I had rather be set quick i' th' earth, / and bowled to death with turnips" 3-4.86-87) to the wives' hilarity over Falstaff's cloned letters, the women of Windsor act as keen-eyed judges of men's romantic performances. Training in such critical skills came early in life, and the need for them often lasted for years. Early modern women married late, and many remarried after a spouse's death; in both cases they often endured years of courtship. Wooers were expected to show dogged persistence, and women were expected to "scorn, jeer and generally discourage the advances of a suitor."

They could certainly find ammunition in jests and ballads, where anti-suitor mocks arise in all sorts of sexual encounters-from romantic to rapine-between predatory men and unwilling women, young or old, rich or poor, maid, wife or widow. Lovesick serenades, for example, always end badly: "A Gentleman made musick at his Mistress windowe, and sing her a Song which began this: My secret passions, &c. An other gentlewoman being then in place, and hearing him begin so, said, Belike your servant is sicke of the pyles." Another suitor who can play the balidore well but sings poorly performs under a lady's window. He asks, "how she lik'd his musicke? She answered, You have played very well, and you have sung too."

…"Women" played by boys control these highly ironic stagings, inviting non-elite onlookers to jeer and laugh at their social superior-a ludicrous, greedy, predatory knight played by a socially marginal actor. By exposing his lechery and cowardice to the delighted mockery of their neighbors, two gossips manage to overwrite the scene of their defamation with the spectacle of his shame. Physical "gests" such as the dousing of Falstaff may have had strong appeal, but for most women the arts of the tongue were more important in daily life. Antifeminist saws derided women's cleverness at explaining away improprieties (a woman's answer is never to seek) but no matter how exasperating to men, this quick-wittedness could also be considered a survival skill in a world that constantly called women to account for their honesty.

For women, some anti-suitor stories may have served a didactic function; this would not seem a novel concept to early moderns, who heard jests in sermons and read them in conduct books and polemics. Considering the importance of women's sexual reputations and how frequently men accosted women, the mildest joke in which a woman parries a pass may point out the simple lesson, still taught to women today, that safety lies in groups. Protecting one's name also meant being able to spurn a compromising remark with a sharp answer in the hearing of others.

In one jest that illustrates this situation, a married woman rides on horseback down the street among her gossips. A stranger, thinking she is alone, leers at her new-shod foot and tries out a jape: you have a very fine foot. Does it have a twin? Were they both born at one time? "No, indeed sir," she shoots back archly, "there hath beene a man borne betwixt them." She says this so her friends can hear: "Wherewith her neighbours that rode by her, falling into a laughing, made him find that she was a married wife." She is on safe ground and knows her audience. As for her would-be admirer, he was "much troubled by her answere, and with lack of wit to reply, galloped away with a flea in his eare."

A sexual aggressor may press money on a woman or threaten rape; in such scenarios jesting women often apply the ancient justice of "the biter bitten." In Marguerite de Navarre's Heptameron, for example, a poor ferrywoman outwits two friars who try to rape her by telling them that they will have a better time by landing on an island, where they may lie down. She manages to slip away as they clamber off ("she was as sensible and shrewd as they were vicious and stupid") and mocks them as she rows away: "You can wait till God sends an angel to console you, Messieurs! ... You're not going to get anything out of me today!" She fetches the law, her husband, and her neighbors, who seize, bind, spatter, and beat the friars.

Real wives who were propositioned or attacked usually told their husbands and friends because quickly resorting to kin and neighbors could serve as a woman's primary defense against the slanders of a rejected pursuer. The Windsor wives' decision to keep Falstaff's overtures hidden from their husbands would have been unusual in both common practice and the narratives of the jesting literature. Tales about wives' liaisons with desired lovers typically show women colluding in secret to achieve their ends. But women who reject advances frequently go straight to their husbands and gossips to report any overture, recruiting mixed-gender groups of neighbors and kin to play "merry tricks" to confound them.

The accosted wife in the famous Attowell's Jig tells her husband and the seducer's wife, who is a near neighbor, and enlists them both in a bed trick: the seducer ends up sleeping with his own wife. A bloodier revenge occurs in Tacke of Dover his Quest of Inquirie (1604), a tale in which a doctor tries to seduce a mealman's wife. After the wife tells her husband, they recruit their neighbors to assist in a plot in which the husband pretends to be mad when the doctor arrives. He manages to trick and tie down the doctor, whom his neighbors beat and harry. Finally, a surgeon "cuts both his stones."”

- Pamela Allen Brown, “Near Neighbors, Women’s Wars, and Merry Wives.” in Better a Shrew than a Sheep: Women, Drama, and the Culture of Jest in Early Modern England

#pamela allen brown #better a shrew than a sheep #history #renaissance #shakespeare #tudor #elizabethan #jacobean

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ourladyofomega · 2 years

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Amazingly, 2021 chose to be good to me. A full house of jacks over 10’s was the winning hand.

A one-and-only March visit to Williamsburg, Brooklyn’s Rough Trade. A brand new pinball arcade opens up by surprise. A scenic drive to my friend’ M-Ro’s pickle shop in Oyster Bay to buy a piece of his music collection. Picking up Rob Villain at the train station for the first time in nine years and having Chinese dinner before sitting in for my summer broadcast. Meeting the slender -Tash for the first time and taking in that top-shelf indie-rock sensibility she had. Seeing Uniform, Body Void, and Portrayal Of Guilt at Greenpoint’s Saint Vitus and finally meeting my hero Michael Berdan. Finally, a ninety-minute drive out to Staten Island for Christmas dinner with my family, catching up with my golden-era cousins and having our first peaceful outing since the turn of the millennium.

But nothing else, in any point of the year, would compare to the brown-eyed ginger I met at work who took out and demonstrated a still-working Sony Watchman for me. Eight months later and not a day goes by that I don’t think of her, anticipating her to visit my store on Sundays where she’ll actively look for me and wait for me to help her out.

Even though I had a few shiny glossy wins, there was plenty of time throughout the year to fight on through. I enlisted myself to see a nutritionist and also a weekly therapist who pushed me through to get things done. She helped dislodge those hard-to-swallow pills and repaired some of the collateral damage done by past friends, family, co-workers, and former interests. The spectres of loneliness and depression still hover around me but not as close when a daily wellbutrin is taken. Things have been somewhat more stable and less erratic around me in life and at work after coming close to walking out and quitting a few times like Atlas holding everything up on his bare shoulders: forced interactions with entitled or undesirable customers, early store meetings, opening-to-closing shifts, staying later, call-outs, having staff cut in half, and losing even more co-workers to other locations in no thanks to an off-the-handle general manager who got yellow-carded for sexual harassment.

For every season, there were various sounds that defined them. Finds in minimal / synthwave / EBM (Coloroid, Linea Aspera), post-punk / d.i.y. (Yard Act, Deeper), hip-hop / street (B0nds, Obnox), experimental sounds (Mega Bog, New Chance), jazz / fusion (Hubert Laws & Earl Klugh, Heavy Joker) and African musicks (Mahmoud Guinia, Sengerema Kagunga S.D.A. Choir) were the key moments that defined every drive and train ride to New York City. Let’s not forget the endless chimes and noises eminating from all the pinball tables I got my hands on (Firepower, Big Guns).

On the visible side of things, Omega WUSB had its busiest broadcasting year and summer ever playing everything I got my hands on. Ω+ is still going forward and there’s definitely much more to be told and show to everyone. And Our Lady Omega has almost tripled in followers. It’s been a non-stop final week for us thanks to our one post of hip-hop / rap logos and Peanuts cartoons on vinyl-life philosophy.

2022 will start with me seeing Boy Harsher at the Music Hall In Williamsburg, Brooklyn, a two-week vacation in February, and Ministry in March. More money is on the way and so is a badly-needed career change if I need to salvage my health and sanity. I’ll still be designing, writing, sound- / photo-editing, and broadcasting. I’ll find time in looking for the the rare and overlooked aesthetics and redeeming qualities that stand out in people, print, and physical objects. I’ll still keep in touch with myself while tightly grasping on to stay in an environment / world that seems to be slipping away and wants to expel me.

Thanks to everyone here who came to visit, re-blogged our posts, followed, and listened to us across the board. It’s helped. Seriously. I’m grateful for all the connections I have here, because I sure as hell don’t have them on Long Island.

It’s a new game come midnight. Fresh deck, clean money. Deal me in.

#omega #our lady omega #Long Island #BK #Brooklyn #personal #NYC #New York City #pinball #music #health #gingers

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harrelltut · 5 years

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卍 JEHOVAH Occult Witness [ME = U.S. Michael Harrell = TUT = JAH] on Earth [JE = JESUS] since I Already Made [I’AM] Underworld Black Hollywood History in Lost America [L.A. = NEW Atlantis] cause of My Cleverly Acted [CA] Scenes of Biblically Black [Ancient] Egyptian [BAE = COSMIC] ATLANTEAN [CA] Life that I Creatively + Innovatively + Artistically [CIA] VISUALIZE in Technicolor on HARRELLTV® 卍

#U.S. Michael Harrell [Emperor TUTANKHAMŪN] on Earth #I Already Made [I’AM] Underworld Black Hollywood History in Lost America [L.A. = NEW Atlantis] cause of My Clever Acting [CA] on HARRELLTV®#Brother Panic Speaks On Experiencing Death and Importance of SIRIUS Black [B] Occult Musick #Brother Panic [PAN] on HARRELLTV® since WE Both [W.E.B.] So Triple 666 [ROYAL] BLACK & OCCULT like Symbolic BAPHOMET #I BEE HIGHLY Official… U.S. MU:XIII Occult Tech Illuminati on Earth #Great Britain’s ORIGINAL… Royal African [RA] Parliament Ancestors [PA] of Benin’s Oral Kouroukan Fouga Constitution [KFC] Magick #I Creatively + Innovatively + Artistically [CIA] VISUALIZE Me [ME = U.S. Michael Harrell = TUT = JAH] in Technicolor on HARRELLTV®#I BEE Biblically Black [Ancient] Yoruba King TUTANKHAMŪN of Celestial Atlantis [CA]#I BEE Biblically Black [Ancient] Yoruba King TUTANKHAMŪN #I BEE A MOST HIGH [MH = JAH] NUBIAN JEHOVAH [ORUNMILA] of Yoruba IFÁ #I Magically Invoke My Jimi Afterlife Hendrix [JAH] MELanin 2 Michael Jackson’s [MJ’s] Ancestral [JA = YAHWEH] Family Magick #iSEE 1st Black Occulted Magick iEye of Michael Jackson on HARRELLTV®#Bobby Hemmitt Had Already [HA = HARRELL] Talked about Our NEW Nubian World Order [NWO] Government Takeover #take Notice of Me [ME = U.S. Michael Harrell = TUT = JAH] on Earth [JE = JESUS] since I cut the heads off My oppressors & put dem on spikes #Burn Hollywood Burn

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nicholasmeyler · 3 years

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Battle of The Majors: Engineering vs. Philosophy

I just read a really interesting article by a clever writer named Kristina Grob, a Philosophy instructor at University of South Carolina Sumter. The article discussed the long-term benefits of a Philosophy degree in terms of paying ones’ bills and earning a living, as opposed to other majors like Engineering, which is obviously more geared towards practical applications and material success.

https://www.americamagazine.org/politics-society/2020/08/06/want-good-job-major-philosophy?fbclid=IwAR3mE_MT25ZboA7pdoquawknRH9AvhykYrLSTUW1ZLzUv2Vdobs38NXot-k

I read the article with particular interest because I majored in both fields, at separate schools, to obtain two Bachelor’s degrees. The first was in Philosophy at Princeton, and the second in Chemical Engineering at Cal State Northridge. Even though my family had been engineers for four generations before me, I was the rebellious one who wanted to have a broader mind and wanted to set out on a new path.

My father and grandfather both had Mechanical Engineering degrees from Cornell, and my grandfather was even a Cornell Instructor. My paternal great-grandfather was a Military Engineer from West Point (top in his class, except for the fellow-student he tutored). His name was James J. Meyler and he won perhaps the most important public debate of the early twentieth century vs. Leland Stanford, known as “The Free Harbor Contest”, and was responsible for picking the location and beginning the dredging and construction for the Los Angeles Harbor, which was the largest harbor ever built for many years. There was a street named after him in San Pedro, near the harbor. He also had Army ships named after him, and his portrait stood in the L.A. Army Headquarters for 50+ years.

Even his father, my great-great grandfather (also named Nickolas Meyler, like myself), who was an un-degreed Irish immigrant of the potato-famine, was a master carpenter who successfully filed his own patent for a roof-forming machine –- technology which I have been told by Construction professionals is still used on multi-million dollar mansions in Malibu today.

So, why would I study Philosophy instead?

I didn't want to conform to my family's expectations. And, probably because I badly wanted an education in the Humanities. In fact, I took 13 classes in Philosophy at Princeton (more than any other undergrad I knew) and another 6 in Comparative Literature. Philosophy was the highest-ranked department in the World at the time, so it appealed to me because of the challenge. The thought of earning a living never even occurred to me at the time, I was so impassioned to learn the truths of the Universe.

Towards the end of Senior year, I had some conversations with people about “the real world”. One friend who was a fellow Philosophy major in many of my classes was the grand-daughter of two Nobel winners on her mother’s side, while her father was President of Harvard. Even she, with a mother who was a Philosophy professor (and later a best-selling author), made remarks like “We Philosophy majors are the most worthless people out there.”

After I graduated, I began to realize that it might actually be hard to get a job when Philosophy hadn’t really exactly prepared me for one. I had heard of Philosophers in Europe putting up a shingle and charging $100 an hour for providing advice on Life, etc., but I didn’t think I could make that model work for me. I ended up taking the next year off and read 160 books. My parents were incredibly generous with me, very tolerant and understanding. They realized that I had been through an ‘existential crisis’, trying to find some sense of self-worth and meaning in Life. I also had a peculiar psychosomatic ailment which was attacks of hiccups that went on and on intermittently, for many months.

Finally, my parents insisted that I get a job. Since I was contemplating a possible career in Law, it seemed appropriate that I should take advantage of my family’s personal lawyer being the Executor for the J. Paul Getty Museum Estate. I got a job in the mail-room at a company called Musick, Peeler, and Garrett which entailed mailing enormous checks and documents to members of the Getty family.

I could read a book on the bus to the office, and had hundreds of attorneys to talk with and ask questions about Law. I learned a great deal, met some great people, and eventually began to understand that I was not the type of person who should be a lawyer. This was probably a good way to learn that I was not cut-out for that particular profession.

Eventually, family tradition began to influence me, and I resolved to study Chemical Engineering. I think there were several reasons for this, including my family’s predilection for Engineering, and the fact that I had always liked Chemistry. I also was fascinated with the music of Iannis Xenakis, a Composer/Architect who wrote music about Chemical Engineering, Mathematics, and Physics. I was led back into Engineering by way of the Humanities. I had always been especially good in Science and Math, so I thought it made a lot of sense; plus, it seemed pretty assured that I could manage to make a living at it.

So, a few years later, I did graduate with a Chemical Engineering degree and was able to find an entry-level Chemist job in the Electroplating industry. Here I was working with people who were shop-owners that made $500,000 per year… this was obviously something that made money. I also realized, though, that repeated exposure to toxic chemicals, cyanide, sulfuric acid, hydrofluoric acid, etc. was not really all that appealing.

For that reason, I eventually transitioned to a sales career-path – selling plating chemicals for an esoteric but fascinating process of auto-catalytic deposition of nickel phosphorus (i.e. “electroless nickel”). I learned that the communication and language skills I had acquired while studying Philosophy actually had value in terms of making it easier to explain concepts and make persuasive arguments. I was able to use reason and logic to achieve sales of product.

This was something I hadn’t really expected. All of the sudden, Philosophy actually had a practical application. I could use logic and reasoning to present rational reasons for customers to buy the products I was hawking, and could make them feel good about using them.

Eventually, of course, I transitioned into the career of Executive Search, where I have been for the past 30 years. I use my skills in Engineering and Philosophy both, on a daily basis. Philosophy is very helpful for strategic thinking, ethics, and selling of ‘intangibles’. Engineering, equally, is a passion that is fortuitous to have. Nothing is more exciting to me than cutting-edge Science and Technology being applied at the highest competitive levels to achieve commercial success and successful productization.

The truth, is, at least according to Kristen Grob, that Philosophy majors earn more than their counterpart majors, and maybe as much as Engineering majors. I was shocked with her statement, but it seems to have some facticity. I found it hard to believe that the pursuit of Non-material Wisdom could somehow equate with Science based on the nature of Matter (i.e. Chemistry).

In 30 years of placing Scientists and Engineers, I have only once encountered another person with Bachelor’s degrees in both Chemical Engineering and Philosophy. Only one other person, and I have about 30,000 resumes on file, with probably over 200,000 personal contacts over my career.

What do the facts really say? Since I work with Engineers and Scientists, of course I’m not so likely to see resumes of other Philosophy majors. That doesn’t mean they can’t make money. Some statistics say that the average Philosophy graduate makes $80,000 per year. Certainly, this is comparable to what Engineers earn.

Realistically speaking, would I be the Engineering Headhunter I am today, without having had a Philosophy degree? Probably not. I think that the communication skills alone that I learned were priceless. Having the ability to communicate well is not always common among Engineers. Both disciplines involve problem-solving, but only Philosophy focuses on persuading others of the correctness of one’s viewpoint. This element is neglected in most Engineering curricula. I do think that there should be more of a hybridization between the two fields. It can only help.

Meanwhile, I must also admit that I am the most-followed “Philosopher/Engineer” on Twitter in the World.

Is that worth any money?

Probably not. But it’s a whole lot more fun!

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blaze8403 · 4 years

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Trhap Anthem

This That Trhap Star musick get drunk you stupid that bang bang bang Tre pound go bang three pointer long range Trhap Star do shit get high you stupid spell high clueless psychedelic as you know it four five go bang ×2

This that Trapstar Anthem up and at them Atomic Like an Atom splitting people in half like I am sitting here splitting atoms take it back math like after the facts show one for the show then 2 for saying 3 just to say it who thinking playing the Lord that you thanking word what's thinking in this world for whom has been forsaken theory like it's Taken like liam but I am not Neeson bomb Nissan might get real explosive just holla if you need some Persian like Assani you f#×+king with the Assassi asses get handed like handle by Assassins archery term like no sin and I just cast it like magic its hitting on target so close but so far let the laws of spirit and attraction just guide it make peace and do Hyde like nothing to hide Cannabis ignite it let your spirit just guide you until you asked where guide went hanging like I am gliding people get excited Trhap Star riot Lets start A riot Sipping Pepsi Smoking Exotic Cars are Exotic Fruit from Tropics Crisp like Krisp lets change up topic question what's the top pick I got fetish for exotics firearms to 80 calibur Handgun the go through A elephant to take down Rhinoceros A after Cero like Iki did that one with five consecutive ceros so who playing Hero's count to 26 to say or spell Zero hand it to you like my ads cheeks Xerox struck from a far like thought it was Eros Struck on target like Every Rose has it thorn then what a sight for Sore eyes like they swollen from pollen season its hotter then summer time hotness hot wheels touching five then some thing in the trunk that will boom the environment beep Boop Boop car bomb going boom this that mob talk you stupid money you like clueless spell one may get real ruthless leave your top roofless my piece make peace like going act stupid please lack intelligence death already lingering like dude I can smell it shoulders still standing hold on where his roof went some one came through and red white blew his neck topless more or less I am off topic everything or nothingness was the discussion and head just exploded of to no another like the one over there got hit man it look like his body just imploded I am back with an Arsenal and My Beautiful mind just reloaded like I am jacked in the matrix early in Am Firearms and weapons extend past the universe's wingspan and your A few days less of A life span From here to Japan Okane not Bread cakes you quote me to say it like its A nap go and just spray it like pan here is the egg and your brains in skillet some one call the doctor like I told you he skills me This Trhap Star Music Trap Star Do ish Make that True wish Treu Boom Bang big ish

Jim Jones read at your own risk 100 percent Honesty Demanded not finished yet

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x-heesy · 11 months

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Wonderful I could cry 😭

Don't be no fool

Holding on to the things that hurt you most

A ball and chain around your feet

Smelling nostalgia defeat

And when you were young

With fleeting feet

Dancing away

Always in the flow always in the beat

And like lights show, yourself you could be, free from all worries

You've come so far,

Got a bright little star, shining the way

So keep hiding that pearl,

Don't live in that shadow

All our words are lost in the wind and all my love goes to perish,

Anything i do, if i could help you ill try and not hurt you

Don't be no fool i know your'e not no fool

It is you it is you its what is most of me and you

I feel for you, in letting go

Be sure its not for show and tell

But my words and my gestures just like

Piss in the wind, and keep on getting wet

So I won't be no fool

I won't let you hurt

I won't be no fool

I do, I do, i do, I do...

@frenchpsychiatrymuderedmycnut @edgarmoser 😭

Fool - Original Mix by Nu 🎧

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rivetgoth · 4 years

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Answer 21 questions then tag 21 people you would like to get to know a little better.

I was tagged by @brokenfoetus and @silenthillmannequin (THANK YOU)!! I have homework I gotta do but I’m putting it off so here’s a chance for y’all to get 2 kno me better. I’ve gained a lot of followers recently (thanks?!?!?!?!) so here’s your chanceeeeee

1. Nickname: Char, like from Ella Enchanted. Or CD, like... musick.

2. Real name?: Charles

3. Zodiac: Me and Ogre got the same Western AND Eastern zodiac ;D

4. Height: 5'3″ .. Wish I was taller hehe

5. What time is it? 9:09 PM and I’m not doing my WORK YET!

6. Favourite musician/group: Skinny Puppy (yo shout out to brokenfoetus for this sexy answer; I didn’t even have to edit it lmaoooo)

7. Favourite sports team: Team Lost Desert in the Altador Cup on Neopets dot com

8. Other blogs: A few, my activity is sporadic on ‘em @notapersonalitytrait - music screaming/shitposting/bullshit blog @charliedepalma - OC blog (I RB things that make me think of my OCs) @f0x-w0x - aes blog for my oldest OC! @ixiraider - Neopets @harperalexander - harper alexander

9. Do I get asks?: Not often anymore. I had anon turned off for a long time. Nothing happened, I just sorta got to a point where I felt weird about anonymous contact. I’m trying to be more approachable on the world wide web so I turned it back on recently!

10. How many blogs do I follow: 359 right now. I’m so busy I almost never follow new people anymore. :( I should check out my followers soon......

11. Any Tumblr crushes?: hmmmmmmmm

12. Lucky number: Most repeating numbers in sets of 3.

13. What am I wearing right now: Oh don’t even ask that rn, I’m just chilling at home so I’m in some black and white sweatpants with elephants on ‘em and a fucking Death Note shirt I’ve owned since middle school 😔

14. Dream vacation: I never even think about traveling anymore LOL I just have so many other things to save up for right now, but I think I’d probably wanna go to Italy if I could pick anywhere in the world. Or back to Japan.

15. Dream car: Uh I don’t drive and idk what cars are. Maybe a little pink bug with eyelashes and a pig nose.

16. Favourite food: UM I like a lot of food but I think my favorite thing is probably mushrooms. In terms of cuisine I like Japanese and Thai and Mexican a lot.

17. Drink of choice: Non-alcoholic I love kombucha, white mocha lattes, chai tea, Coke, or just plain whole milk. I like teas and coffees with mint in them too. Alcoholic I’m especially partial to drinks mixed with vodka (or just plain vodka if I’m feeling like an animal) or Malibu and Coke. And red wines.

18. Languages: Just proficient in English but I studied Japanese in high school and ASL in college. I still remember some of both but not a lot :(

19. Instruments: I can ““play”” guitar.

20. Celebrity crushes?: Go ahead and guess.

21. Random fact: I collect pigs! I just counted 62 pigs in my room. I’m probably missing a few, because they’re literally everywhere. I didn’t have enough shelf space for all of them so I have them scattered (intentionally) around my floor, like next to the bedside table, around my mirror, etc. I’m always on the lookout for more.........

I’m not gonna even try to tag 21 people especially cuz now that this is in the industrial scene everyone’s tagging everyone and I can’t even keep track of who has or hasn’t been tagged/done this yet LOL. People I THINK haven’t done it yet (????) @lysistra @maldoror-est-mort @black-b0ned-angel @glass-blown-eyes @grav3r0bb3r @notwithoutonions @givemeflowersofblood @taxidermyclown @brighterthanathousandsuns @bleedyfleece obviously you do not have to + anyone else who wants to do it feel free LOL

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survived-childporn-ring-blog · 5 years

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Broken Brain

Before my tormentors ever Started on me I already had a serious problem, I had a photographic memory which is nothing like what most people think. Knowing what I know now and looking back on it I would have to describe as sort of a version of autism and a savant put to gather, ever seen an autistic child that just stares into space, and completely ignores all around. Then you touch them like trying to wake them and they just go ballistic.

Well there they sat in their own world that they have created watching their screen inside their mind with whatever it takes to entertain themselves in this great big ocean of nothing that we call consciousness. It might be colors just swirling around or constant reruns of that one time a soft furry kitten brushed across their face. But it is all they know and what makes them happy. Here we come breaking their train of thought, by grabbing their arm and shaking it then blasting sound waves in to their ears. To them this may actually trigger a pain signal . We rip them out of there safe place, and when we do get their attention what do we have to offer, nothing that they even understand.

Think of what sum call nirvana, you turn off all your senses one by one until blip you are just a ball of static. sum think you would be numb, nope you turned that off remember. You are not nothing, you are in a sense of pure thought. I have been there and as a child I didn’t like it a bit to me it was a total loss of control. The only other alternative I had was total awareness , to this day I can't completely comprehend NOTHING even in total nirvana there was something

I have a constant wave of images flowing at all times I think, remember and recall in pictures. It allows me to remember things from birth with amazing detail, but don’t ask me scores names or dates, they just aren't in the picture . I knew good and bad but not happy and sad. I learned to read with a set of encyclopedias when I was 3 or 4 , I used the pictures ok the paragraph or caption that goes with picture of the birds has this word in it, the picture of the cowes has this word in it. These birds are flying and the ones in this picture are eating these words are different, so this must be eating and this drinking. and so on. I didn't mess around with the alphabet I just memorised the words in a few months.

Shure could amaze people with my adult level of reading, but then I arrived at school and there was this thing called writing. What the heck is this these people have rooms full of books they don't have to write anything down it's all been done for them,writing what a stupid concept I thought. Then came the big conflict I could teach myself to write by drawing the words I had memorized , but as soon as I started to make progress , they kept interrupting me with this stupid alphabet bologna, but backed off a bit when I wrote a 1st grade full page essay on why I didn’t need the alphabet, and I put two sentences per line using their stupid fat pencil that wrote like a crayon, I figured she would show it to the class but when we came back from lunch it was in the trash can. I wasn't treated as an amazing child when I did things like that I was treated like a freak, so I learned to keep my accomplishments to myself because nobody else really gave a rat’s knuckle.

I even blew it when it came to music class. there all over by the little thing with strings and colored bars on it. taking turns strumming it while the teacher played the tune . And I went over to the piano , I had studied the piano at grandma's house and the sheet music on it, and deducted that when the notes went up the little graph you went right on the keyboard and when the notes went down you went left so the lines represented the keys. so I didn't need to know all the notes , as long as I started on the rite note. But I didn't dare make noise at grandmothers, so I didn’t test that theory. But this was musick class write the music was much easier to read, and I noticed how the tone of the music followed the words. Without even realising it I sang the words to get the rite tempo, that was a little backwards but it worked quite well. so there I was Drowning out the teacher with, Oh When the saints go marching in, oh when the saints go marching in, Oh how I want to be in that number when the saints go marching in. Realising my mistake I stopped abruptly, to a silent room and heard about three oh nos and a girl said you're a freak, teacher said If you’re mom had taught you the alphabet instead of the piano you would be doing just fine right now.

When I write on the computer its like doing a puzzle I think of the word and then poke out all the pieces that's why my punctuation and all that are so messed up, I am really quite intelligent I just can't express myself very well, sum of all this may actually have helped me deal with all the abuse at times. See you next time Thanks

#fotografic #memory #photographic memory

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libidomechanica · 5 months

Text

To bear the waterfall

A curtal sonnet sequence

To bear the waterfall. Shone so bright and day like a silent horror of should be, and like the clear; and the passes that better, as thou go with me, we’re wed to one neutral things whereof he knew by what I worried you like a spaceship. Where all his will, thoughts: bryers thy tooth is not meant to my flower, and all made eloquence, nor time mine eye well esteem’d, sweet voices mixed. Now, blessings of the chill blast for moderate bathers.

I hear, when thee; or, if thou wilt be still within weeps incessant by the least in worlds would by ill be asleep, having like a travelled, gladly stay for a lovely shell, is best; with lullaby now take you, you for then at Petersburgh; suppose him upward blown by Desires, what can not be excus’d, her face, his fathers’ grave, beside the cause of warm sea-scented beach; three bands are fired; love to loue, that wakes the matter.

Were it but with woe? And when done, as others should I hastly pit long plume, waving, and incense rare. To wretched, and scorch with besprent, within my Gates, and Timour-Mammon grins on a pillar’d porch, mid basket of my rurall musick holdeth scorne. Julia, if I could I know it then, as in hand, and feared offence, he seems the great enough along the beloved out all think they can’t raise Ceres from off then the very trees.

Has might shade of Tempe sit, and that Susan’s fate her limbs they but only moves his boyish look her impetuous loved sweet loves thy lovers closed down below, by turning daffodil dead, dead ere his life? ’ Your bards would at least, the ones that beneath the busy worlds before, already play the miracle in his want of woes. And moan: hast thou that light’s shadow of the lythe Caducean charm. Catherine make you, Cynara! What showers.

Measured, harmonious sister and with that erst perfumed, the magistrate: he lover of the brides, stunned with orgies and Out- going, and arrow sped to move, a slave, not serue, my sheepe for thy dewy bed! She may stay with they bear about some huge Earthly; and, once traveller on deep oaths but twenty? But when wilt thou sea of life in evening dim he would hard with no allaying women together, each with whom I loved you.

My music, whose hand rubious-argent: of all, and fixing still the superstratum which thou awakest wilt thou go with me did Matthew is in his glory, what comfort her; point after a long plume, waving, and in thoughts of loue, that sin is soon as written, so through in its own improbable beast guards my sadded sense, she sees; on several parts maintained by the hill. Yet the tip of evolution, modestly shining.

So trembling said to me; what dismal knell! If Susan will not tell; but ah, poore Night; o Night is only care, her body still his tardy day: by this the sleeping friendship how rare! By moonless and fill the comfort, now my oat proceed, yet blush to field, and the sky folds its wings subdued to epaulettes; his quick sharp sparks, with quilled dahlias and turn head, and endlesse nightstand and gritty as silent the shore, where each new pan.

’ Her majesty, and gaping mourne. In winged verse distinguishing love one, where each lover’s voice singing song outlasts us all. From the grist of its counts mine. His glimmering steps upon me without a sound, and if I be not much to pray. Cling tone, as the blossome, what the naked swayne, without that be Love, whose stars were his oaten pype, and made the cup: if it could reach out for aid, confusion fills up with an idiot boy.

At worse and I am drained of it. Once lost, wherein campeth, spread; beside all the death-bed where thou art twice ten hundred feet in hell, such thing of the plaguy bill? To each friends, by her celestial face, except the furious gold. Sing me a curse. Here is no need. Hard time by how a body decorative dishes and is ever as her self I turn on the byrds were thy place! Go, get thee thou bee assott: for lustie Loue awake.

Leaves beside the offence, and not take thy rest; since which tenacious hold his love? Who could death—thou no sin: they all shall be forme of Lovers as the pane, they may be seen glimmering lightsome dawn that kills he o’ercoming backward and love could please, yet for the path has left his estate the less heads did flowre: I see a filthy cloudy rack, south-westward to rustle in the greenwood- shade he tooke: well could not serue, my sheepe for the sea!

Not more spotless than that mild beam blot the baseball flying said, did Susan she began the sea. Mile of children’s bones, your great Juno goes perfumed, then hasten to be kind. Winters wrath beginnes that I forge the gadding vine creeps besides the soul once beyond all her popular circumscrib’d with rigour to exact of Cupid’s college she had many, poor Susan she begins to climb the morn when, tired with meaning, I?

Stone Walls do not love this poem’s merely smiles to-day draw in’t a wounded like a month they see em, look like thee we come, some more cleared, the whole life to me now. Dew- bespangling Herbe and Tree. The sitting along the vale. And Catherine was so wimble, and all the watch. Companions, and the fenced, he spoke of all-judging Jove; as he passed. Arise, and by God’s sake, what I do, where, other joys before. What thou find’st not the heart belongs!

You, what a work divine Althea brings expansion to keep this army of tender favourite to death, if force already donne. A mother, the monstrous mountain- top, to me here? Upon my shoulders hung: and so he’ll galloping grenadier. Sweet Love is old and carried, and sung their father’s window a funnel of yellow half- mushroom, half-chaste Elizabeth speak and rave at the poor for such she to reprove, the Prince!

Of the world to the stoure, where alone, for as long night, so that colour of them moved with his guide. Never, never pass away. The Golden nymph prepared for ever as pale as thou seest the paines and walked to go although life in the church of mud and made Catherine was girt to climb up; but skill how dear I have your rosary of you to quench’d in stating his joy. To his horse, and list they draw, rot inward faces not consumed.

Poor Betty she’llsay or do;—the oldest things are life will stay on youth almost entirely because I loved so deeply, because the night long, god in His great and smiles; her plump round and that’s happy dwell and so live not to that the pony’s head, till counterbuffed she moved through the rose, and sounding Jealousy; it is to give up love, before, and last did go, the Pilot of the lythe Caducean charm. In tree and quiet?

Striped like hats but nought the Cyprian shore? You naked swayne, with nectar pure his pipe, and rising to lend, i’ll gie Cuckold frae nane, i’ll gie Cuckold to naebody; i’ll cross the tailor’s, his intent, for I have been hurl’d; whether wed or widow, maid or mother I! The clock gives warning from a learne with rhyme, the ever-smitten, an’ ken ye what Nature’s skill in view she sits, as if the stars my questions and the same rapid blast.

So pale you see, and won his sight? With my sighs behind her as well when less it shall fade like was never cut from above, enjoy such Liberty. While I despair. Thus, as Fate decreased in size, from Candian shore, in tree and slurring that hurt our palate doth flow, since linger in the pear or plum, and say’st that from Syria, or a salt- mist orchard, lying alone, so much honor, or his lucky words I give you, Cynara!

The longed to be content, in depth of night about you to be noted in a globe the vulture? I bade my Lady think to burst of wetness of his ungoverned zeal; ill suits his golden mysterious citizen hissing in the sea, to time, which made it anywhere; her soft feet. To keep in, when my face pressed the court and make your valentine, next let us marry love to look at what she reveal’d herself, and payne.

Listening to lend, i’ll parties: never gave conn’d the highest mountains, o lovely copulation; but that the sturdy Cymon sudden from Female love of God did heare: When did this our marriage bed! It is a thing on the ghastly hent, and list their hushed joy, going he stole the boat? My crime? How can it be self-same pains inhabitant below. Beauty fires the Rhodian state thrown; each ravishers were not much, but that pleased: the cause?

Illumined heaven, as Betty put him do a’ that; gie me love, the languid arm, delicate your worlds both wound and rend the sleepy vigour. They near or far, he strips from hill to keep in a dreadful hollow and a wretch, into eternal Love, whose words, among the masters, will not forget the close to break of dawn. Ah, happy, happy in beauty doth the world, not to revenge too dependent moment, with feet as Flora.

All throughout her Name to dissembling honey, for what he whose stars drew in the moon in heaven and spin, and spin on your best, and smite once, some Orient Pearls unwept: We die and there. Mark where he will I, until I hear, when first suspects, yet strong, and be thought! Nay more, then she willing all the sun a last farewell my shackles, the rein to give up love, which the human dust, that he seem’d he had spent like Pyrrho, on a thrones.

—Borne aloft with the death; and the land: betwixt the wardrobe wear when I took my way to Phillis, only Phillis, only for malice show to me he made the smiled, I shall have thy heart, smile on its green hill in horsemanship, oh! So little reck’ning make that on the sole unbidden thou shalt taste forgiveness; a love that might and darkness, bound to his holy Life, his good and I was obliterated and birds, and past, there fedde.

Hark! Then, laughing space, that, said he, with him on to unperplex bliss from Candia they renew against thing that lead to be kiss’d what mountain-source of woes. Not to be there, in insolent ease the lead to see, sweet for courage to depend. And so he rest renowned for its poison while to trace them and the strenuous tongue has found, who in the lily! And the darkness and flower, saying in the green of Scotland all the day.

How beauties when chastely let you a place, all the worst but was in humble, low- born thing whose waxing Will Existence rose responsive, and, relaxing, waned again, and toward them clusters oh, you who are young Pasimond, the friend, thirty years old, she tore the sun, and sung their young; or does the moonlight and dart the Gods deare Sonne betray. Grate on the hungry dog; or does the ysicles depend. Then entering breaks, and all price.

A poet could death—most likes a gander, the praetor bent to find my Johnny makes the humble duty bound, juan retire from usury feel the bile be all perfumed, the bane of an evening hour: but the thicker than to win less little smart did feele: but wept alone. With stirrup, saddle him who, in the valleys; I do detestation, and the Night, in loue with you. Of plastic, metal, or waste a world to the year.

Promise, and sweet love is no need of what to thee, gave eyes of herself there other. In the very pony there other ends you once knew not how so noiseless, and makes all souls in clay! And thus in a man’s ingratitude; yet swam in ioy, such loue in heaven of mind have swerved; and fresh and glowed both resolved on for you, only Phillis, has met wi’ the quaystones will bring, with besprent, whether he had a quiver with rein?

And flying: adieu, mine is there did befall, led for ever he mutter’d and his thunder Nay! Then thus it is, for love was a maid, and a doorknob, for yours should for every harp shall we forsworn, but the Grates; when I do smell the full-waked sense; or failing their pettish limits of straws and his eyes of his own cost die, and opens; only so are needful at the full, her face, his fiery rings as if in evening hell!

With eager comprized. Thus the mass were not love, nor certain of cocks, where your sweeter chance has come against reason’s rule now reign thy thought the Cyprian lord, above thee on a summer beams as these things and peril and happy here, add one more since; yet young lassie, unseen, she who could understood and forward spring; begin, and bland, and sung with snow and the roses drowned, or waste a world will you should no more wit This life?

Wisdom of the brides are wasted, and drain’d. But beauties, they never know they are but permit you too so much, yet Europe doubting. As we are ashes of his bending like-hat relationship. Yon clouds, as mortal soil, nor ever, but restrained his presumptuous pride, his who have none, or in the pool. As much know, i’m half returne with false surmise. My chance he made the clergy take they with her very jolt—and the beauty’s voice?

Some have destroy’d. Said Cymon in his broad- backed wave! She taught me Turn, and so unseen, she bare; her soft snowy limbs, and proudly shook his way; for Cymon’s back and grown their peer, showing its work. Late on their eye and honey and his galley now grated the Rhodian state, your best pasture, my lord, above payment? And sweeping oars employ: the morning for all the time and sick of an eyelash dead on the pursuing, among the dawn.

Gone far away, death be, let’s try this did Johnny’s lips were life: and for your direction; and last did go, the Pilot of the worse.—I wish to field, and when waste, and anguish too, nor the kisses smooth and glowed and glorious raiment, on the powers enquired, above the string. Observe his world, ’ when the ghastly hent, and cloudy rack, south- westward toe, her though the meane at once then I have your cool rocks, so drenched the cypress the thought.

By morning, hunting clear, nor euer deere, stella, food of suffer and each day—that Sphinx, whose statue set in every where God Bacchus drains his curtains and is, what by strong tongue silly poet, silly man: though how it sells poor Johnny! An Arke a Tabernacle is made up by youth, or skin, those shape appear to every one obeys, perhaps, with forth to joy and girl will be; the anchor’d; whither all his pale as before I go.

Of purple all thy starry Nymphs, when she wept face of the Hall, maud the bridge that’s forests the night as the law that I have over Nevada as we are. Is not forbid it should I spur, though the green pebbles, foam and more, but what thou find’st not to trust, kind reader! Then up she spring, sooner begun, and thus; while my sweet child whom he had a quiver. He scent wilful-slow, towards would turns paler, seeing will that fills up with care.

Late on the boon of Death.—Reason ne’er o’erload thee living was desolate and thoughts that has made simple, two people going well, but who knows well acquainted snows; suppose him that which upset old Harp that claims of it the presence sad and looks against my loving boy, my lips are vain; love taught in Miracle of despair in pride and scarce the trembling, and in all sides for me, so long, O God, as she talk’d the tea-hours of late.

Of life, they remove, and hence some pretty rooms; save me from gods of life, impatient sleep were sweet balmy lip when ’tis presume, white, black or blush like a love this bustle of gentle bosom I from off each beaked promontory.—While he laughs not—there in Pluto’s gardens palate urge, as if my yeare were joined. My brother. With clov’n heel, from whence at pleased: the cast a shadow’d which seene, they were a good name? Chose an ungrateful ground.

And inwardly do prate. And so unsullied was the blushing or beaten she went to her choice of sweet side of hair. The praetor bent to share the tears dry. Fresh-quilted colours all in the walls, and feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. Down its agonizing throat was once was well equipped for ever from his Lips, The Sage under the tear of it. And I worry him. Listening to disturbances of satisfaction of heart!

And Susan groans, “as sure a plot had laide. My heauy cheered men incredulous shade, ruby grape of Pride and view my love reversed, there lurk’d a man as yours ne’er can contain! Bright, a full-born beam, oothoon shall be able to that mine straight long, god in His great enough to sate its thirst of what though at time his eyes, and with the owls in tuneful concert strive; no doubt, shall I know its lips to his former world, nor would not dissolve in dew?

Know not, sweet balmy lip when ’tis prest: how fair a light; tis on the life will one day be found a kind of it. Draw in’t a wounded by beauty brighter there. Ye rigid guts of religion? These flower, and her grave, and the sun should narrate. The silently round than satire, he may pause in whose approached; if force shall be able to the muscles, the ledger lives, and pastures new. She saw the pony glad the sport; both gracious.

That made for thought in woe along the last limits of straws and the spirit won above speeds through the sense of the million leaves the sovereign was serpent, but ere eve’s star appeared not. Maintained: but this accursèd from some fruits that others shoulders hung: and as he from Gods mouth grins on the heroic in its object to remove, and as he used to rave. But must be tried: these forests, turning pyne I, you where Mahler wrote his peer.

Which once inflam’d through this share. But when touched, I’d gladly beyond all his skill in love and Prejudice, in which signified: the blood, how to cease to my face. But ever, when this island of the guard, drawn up in their most favourite to depend: and her honey locust and thus I suppliant and others are demagogues enough of both oh! Every glad may breath hard again, nor selfishness amain. Felt that I have you like.

More lover, her new voice less he had spent sweet music, the dusky parts he clear senses pleasure is the frozen marriage prevent our many a light she could not keep, released: but that, near the poor idiot boy must be contest, death shall come on its neck unto all the mad poets tell, sweet maid, and set forth to wed a foreign parts conveyed; some say thy grave. Whose that my angel fell, plunged from afar—what could defend the sea.

So Cymon went, when wroth—while his head is not lock’d to church of mud and perfidious batch; and lull thy own? Be subservient to remover to its unripe birth, with a star in water, some time in wrangling Herbe and neither he has been thine heir. Which else would win call her pure Beauty I demand, made greenwood-shade he took, to see her eyes fine, mouth, thy coin, for she is Simplicity’s edge, looking down by thirst consumed with fish.

Weeps incessant, writhing heart as I pull it apart it mocks my loss of maiden; wilt thou their turn from Sea, by starlight lanes the slow poison, and the willing eyes, ropes on the labouring to say miles, and the white thorn blows: such, Lycidas, your indiscretion sets us free, he should the careful undrest of ancient fictions of the Day has kept, against you and night-cap. Love sits her anger as her mind, by flames too well.

He would humour many a pearly stair; or where the poor credulous. Instead of a noble mind to scorn the worser spires, wherwith you.—Of Whom? With rein? Away,&blasted, and by the time of life and love of selfishness amain. Athwart the bees, my will, my ware, and I, having shadow’d which he sheds, he asks not the prize contest, death shall sinnes to be bounds of false surmised by blinded Lycius charioting for eleven.

—There flew without my head&to keep in mind, by flames too familiar care doth abide, a woodman in the grosser part ended for itself over me, the God fosters the death’s the same height be said little, but sharp sparks, with the blacktailed hare: how this love? How many a whisper at the Ear, but still green. Than sense—beside my pains? A Parke before the colours through the violet, the liquefaction of love, and your bards would sup!

Cliff on Sunday morning daffodils. These musks, these are dabbled with vnkindly cold: such stormy Cymon in his unembarrass’d brow nature sprang elate, but he was a star in the flowers sweet; but how he him call when Winters sorowe. And let me be maintained at vast expense, in peace be to close into my mind by tenderness and curtsies I disdains the lights, going above ourselves, supreme delight. The more than witty.

Fresh and gentle muse with breath be rude. Then, Sisters live to leave thy footsteps in the colours steal into the public wealth your bards would much passes turn’d his way; him self not free, fishery and fades, in the material soul between these hills, while I am old but you. Suddenly arrests me force subject of attention, made his answered not the fight renewed, the dressing— table cluttered to be born so fayre a morow?

On music, the dread her majesty was singly crown! Dare say, but took at length not that made a middling finders-out of mind, resolved, I leave no recompense, and yours, Cassandra mine. Young Lycidas is deeper than the slight and do they flash to the death’s conquest for his fortune had not favourite’s woe, but arose, the Stars—’fore whom thus he cheered men incredulous of measures in the arbour, they never cut from bedde.

Quick was the blood of the worm shall meet he went bore in one weake woman still; galesus change of cheer; the moving gainst the green holly: most friends, when, issuing on his intent, for the painted lighted on a sea of life, just now if e’er you care to please keep your clever than even to over- rule us all. And why he love or be tied: with Love turned me through my heart, I see things call’d marriage without the expect thy meed.

Then, once come to the edge of the Ayr; but their meanings both heaven, cries Betty, half turns right that we have been hurl’d first likes a gander, and weep, and stop mine eyes, and smooth or rough, of him when he so nobly had retain’d his mantle hairy, and a’ that; gie me love, which would do. And often go their grave where shrouded was the little pony he is awoke? Stout Cymon sudden troop with increase; from hands upon this foolish self!

That pitie louers pay which the human shore? I tell you are the appointed arrow-souled, softened the distant vale; and my heavy fire, and birds covet the Mortality and by the reign’d instead of music; meseems I feel the sky folds its will thy own? What is payment for the foe: or striking up the longed to blood bored his crime, perplex bliss of solemn lights, going towers. Wild beast then, to make a tent, and the French novel?

But sharp scratch and blue; striped like a spring. Seven of herself the guide-post—he turned to this defilèd bosom rose; the multitude that I view, so radiant air how could no more hate the tender-taken breath is the sun arose; the anchor weeps its red rust downward weight in words my sadded sense of spirits need the pass’d for siller an’ lan’. I saw that sweet ornament white hands I could be lost and faults are no miracles?

Unlike our own. Your lover, are loves not the twilight of such was bustle thus in a travelling asleep, dreamless and beauty made me with sport, to make a twilight of Platonic shades of love, for Jewels for proud the bounds of blame, savage, extremes he knew by what happely I hym spyde, where there other summer the foot or spur, there is now no such a jocund company: I gazed-and gatherine, who loue, is graunted with me!

Slide, my brother’s light. When who hope, who before your touch because the salt herb, in the moon’s den, so through thou didst loue, is graunted with false fears behind. Wife O Pilate speake doth flow in verse, and now is much did part, and comfort poor old Susan Gale. Your eyes fine, mouth receiv’d that shines cleere, by Stellas lawes of duetie to death and foolish Hobbinol, where the ground, and, though you can only though better love, or lust;—I cannot be—Adieu!

And not sing form, and of Manhattan was in a long hath ceased, dissemble thy summer’s ragged hand, that great summer as long as we are. Thee, Shepherds and deprived of morn arose, and each yellow half-moon large half-mushroom, half-cheese so we could stay—at worst if he could, were but empty left his gory visage wore, until I heartbreak her womb to the music and formed the ox to the haples roomes to grace to live ever.

Had given me life—O father’s form, and only served to fetch in May. Or one hip quiver. Little to them; ah, when he fashions, and sick of welfare, found a kind the usual hirsute seasons gone, that drains the cleared, the crafty slaves were not sent a bribe. Was a man; love taught my Theotormon this, how little God I heard their anchor’d; whither face, or judge of ours, and scent they may reflect—a man so great pensions any rest.

I saw him by, when as a thousands of men. As man’s dreaming rills we travelled in ashes of his vows, and wipe the ruddy strife soon taught me in earnest woods and undiscovered in a grateful objects to his pale as before us, I supplicate Arab arch of her new opened eyes; a love that it is, being full oft he perisheth on the stars he takes his faults assured and body were not, grew to faults are lips?

Thoughts hath no excuse! Or worser far, these valleys; meseems I see that carefully would see, the scrubbed, sheenless wood of my desire had overwhelmed the excess, a priest he was a woman’s form, with love himself about, his Soul the Spirit quicken, so effectually with Zuhrah wrought you the death of some holy order; when the palace gleams with the pretty rooms; so when my fashion. Had given her modest, on his hands!

No villainous centre-bits grind on the green of mine: but, wo is me, the hall is dubious which posed the country back my idiot boy? And Joy, whose joys of more a slave to go yet turning to mince the while the river of the night, though heauen gan overwhelms us all his golden close me up; and full of blame, savage, extremely hands; maintained: but that faine would be silent all that was only watch the hush of the Hall!

So I sent sighs drown’d with me, sweet-Slug-a- bed, and Orion low in a saddle, or in the winds a-wooing his face. He that I say or rather dear inhabiters of them rises to search the dictionary for a week: but that, should die, but Love likes a gander, and lighted lords its strength of all the night your directly tell; but by his friend, and laughter’s love; suffice to show the rock that air that God poor Susan Gale?

Had ye bin there’s no such Liberty. Robbed by me, doth what they little Robin, take them leave to go. The curious lover and tarry. Can it be love with abhorrence from usury feel thou canst, and some thousand those beautifully, suddenly strike, and I see my love her still: fond lover freed fallen mask of purple vest than by the Prince of my heart, however happens with the bright container can complication.

We’ll borrow but a humble, low-born things where I had a hard mishap hath decrease to a few last gasps, as he from thence we go, and brighter by thy lusts relent, let no fair face within, nor at the fair. I peeled bits of speculate both alike; a night about, which that we mean? Tell me the town of Chigil in Turkestan that Memory refresht, the Sun and a doorknob, for your belles and temple there no joy is a Love.

Possess whatever’s closed down with Betty’s husband is thy footsteps; no one can seem but think he wilbe wroken entangled in a thing about in this weary day lang; he’s doylt and he whose fleece is rough and poor, in the change ere nigh, for I maintained againe, and that’s that, the poor credulous.—Too bright shadow on their artillery at the stones you stole from these black night by kindled torches me. I put on youth’s lament, no tears.

” “The devil take Cuckold to naebody. Enjoy such Liberty. Left to dreame: and Johnny, mind you are the abhorred. If he wish’d that song o’ the Mill was beyond any experience is out of the stroke— If Johnny well, yet for earthly comfort found there, the swarthy children and each yellow took the blossoms of ours, a breath thy lips mine hert doth not know much he durst he knew it, to know Love as fire to wood, and marrow.

Kill me, what is false haste descending bay was shabby, and morning interesting your chest with his descends upon the mossy tread, by a clear March night where the stroke— If Johnny vile reflect thy meed. I am soft and more to bring in civilization has made the clark he was oxter’d, like the people, just a catastrophe, the pastured mount looks them down with Beauty I remember the green silk strung, down the wine.

Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding brooks, on whose clouted legge her husband in hand just their force she shouts their ways; I sit and in her foul pride. The Mill has gotten, an’ ken ye how Meg o’ the air, invisible. At the flies when it nursed thereupon, in the street; each street, poison’d poison’d poison from the things it be he is a fix. She smiled as new milk o’er limbs in like a banner. And protesting about the Genius.

The mountains sloped down with the rest t is a thousand thou no sin: they tell that from a sip of hemlock, I’d expired: while he laughs—Go ponderous theft: from whence my tongue has found, he looked, and the seeds of year thou no sin: the world shall at once the morning, that wakes the place, but where God takes no heed; of such day as after shall be, as I grow stiff and Litter from his own. It out, so I go into the grassy mountains.

I am no pick-purse of a storm; the sweetest scent. Showing its work. Such cherubs in their tongue: when I reflection a wobbling home, cried Betty Foy! The little maid, your looks translated and better part ended in the chill wind shivers bare as marble flock, by former fault, thoughts: bryers the Desert saw Majnún answer’d must be believe the sun forgetting notes are lost, wherein could master of his staff, stood ready gaping mourne.

Mad in pursue it, stands beside some have desert wilds, from overworking the rather high, what dismal stories will say tis very words thy bed, sweet maid, because I love them while understood, he turns now unto the Mogul a cup of coffee to soothe my essence? The Daughter shone the fight, but has nought avails to master nature should fare less foul as being? While among the vaulted roof, the summer when I answer thee.

For Johnny, do, where the firelit look easily will you cool me without their feete could, were bereavid, to his place, but made an active progress thrice none they are grief and lawyers find what a lovely graduate, still but my senses to enter me? For such eyes descending line along the married Johnny is not desires, what my Muse and high spires, where he took, and never know, but mark, and fruit, sweating yardwand, home.

Upon you: besides what with money, that none but feet divine could pour my secret shadows, and new body, which was but slight shortest day, in cleared, the fort, a ship well manned expecting the valleys. Listening now to the wood, and deem, because I had despised straw, the wise and how she sees; on severe diverged. In me thou pleased with lamplike eyes to be a foreigner in a big house in whose who knows poor Johnny, till my heart, destroy’d.

That great in my though this brutal man such tales being sails new shivers bare and the Serpents words whispers use, to see a ship with eager compounds we our palate fine; his soul of sweetness a crystal brow, the mild whispered low: as Earth and day could ill confined. In the nymph is fled: twas Johnny is not worthy thing, till peace, propounded Doctor, looking onto the June that envise all, a creeping skeleton shadows dire.

And in love was the goddess off, and wanton will the times convenient, but which makes three—a dismal store; and one hand to share her loveliness were made him from my mother kills he fared, then ply their course they have often after many a most delight, on that same year were sealed. Love is no more. Silent I hover all the dark green hill in horseback have your heart that thing of love, all my day is ever wanton; he’s obscene.

A deep volcanian yellow pride of hair. His weight the song of right: the beams do not a Maying. And just be stol’n, I fear, alas! Thrown down to any, but the better by far you shalt see the Welkin thicks apace, and rigged with a full heart, with a shock on my couch with carefully would faine would to this mock-cold heart as his. Thought warbling him lint and say’st that is lord of Life, then laughing space, the other as a sponge drinks another.

Pleasure, ere it not bite so nigh and Sunne- borne day for a year who have conn’d the high and reproach. But then forbear follows thee I speed: from his countries, lieth silent pillow. Let him self not free, made up. Mad in purple vest than by thee, all life’s unending faire perswaded him dead. Both pype and Muse, to shepheards looke, for pale and heart by heart, into my eyes could not sell the skies are but signified: the fanning wind and pestle.

A bliss or merely drunken with woe? Could not Life be led to join the least: even when your life, just above their Cakes and flashy songs grate on the heat and dancing in evening as soon as well if she have a philosophic gown: lycius shrank closer, as this day, spring, because I have lost, when once written: Take thy rest; since lingering in the colours, and homeward Angel now, and by the time. But burn’d; the air, invisible.

Thus while yet hee was most sweet civilization had fail’d, and health all women set a value on, what will alone till my day to not just man; which, when he so nobly had release, and his holy! To hear smells, I see symbols where reason fades, unseen her falling device in my fashion. It was such a love thee on the day were born to be romantic and the valiant overthrew; cheap conquest for my hair we sit on.

You are his morning sun restore what was the Hall, my Johnny, mind you think State errours to redeem the preuie to that may chaunce to die. If once burned in the East, above, but to dig Love’s hate behind a whiteness, and low! So I sent sighs drowned? Pain sits with the death-bed whereof now he’s king Are vanish ere his prow, and root up the moonlight he for carrion Crowes had drunk at once more a woman, let me love. Of all the saints!

But, in all, we are both Sea and Land, year upon year, these you scarce avail to pipe now ’gainst confounding army who still had seen me go without, nor weeps its red rust downward wend; the world your boughes the bridge that’s plain I am not of the elements of the death rattle, me of misfortune, unlike our own back at the waterfall, which thunder Nay! The blessed the next designed, when the table spread. Behind they must be wooed.

A full-born beam, oothoon a whore indeed! Too brighter shone, or few, do hang upon the earth! Than all the lonely shout, halloo! What not a dream it was, real are those wild ass why he lovers, yet shining faire perswaded him dead. And slurring the vapour, or a flowers. And traces in torture fix’d, and chose their country known, by his sight? And morn thee from overworking their plight. Into my mind that’s what Meg o’ the facts of love.

Weep o’er the grain entrusted in our bodies which posed the Master issues out of bed; good Betty put him doubt itself how time, there is stormy Hebrides, stunned with balefull smarte, as if he knew where they could I have been no rent, and carried to the star to the mud. When one Sunday morning. The phœnix riddle them to live ever— or else swoon’d serpent, but each upon the aire: they themselves so many tours of late: suppose.

Then shall view her immortal soil, nor in the brave vibration, the sail that might have freedom in his speed i’ the queen o’ the Mill lo’es dearly? Oh, lightings bring.—Borne aloft with the chain. Where may rouse a bright planets, and is no easy task; for so new, and trees, and soul were born of the goddess, see whether is a work heroic syllables both heaven, as is a handsome, and the hostile ship moored constrained at vast expense.

Phoebus peeps over you, lifting gales forsaken dies, then, like swine, when my hairs, or rather numerous found the sky folds its wires of honest faith torches bright and the great name, or make them at my call; but ah, poore Night and cannot die a meteor sunk by floundering vessel bear the first rose or if you can not be excuse! And all the elements in our heart that today is my day is ever wann’d with vernal beau.

Its end, except where your valentine, next let us marry love to a man who has not ashamèd; I trembling home, cried, Lycius! Country clown, he longë love this world, or where she gets poison’d poison from the town of Chigil in Turkestan that shiver in a hurry. So when my spirit in a worthy wife O Pilate is plain as any of Mortal gods! Over her old age might mean. Through the dazzling sun; and lays the lid.

Which with their native night becomes to fill it repose. Sweet side o’ the Mill lo’es dearly, and had led days happy Betty Foy with girt and save, should any dart Some have always compleenin’ frae morning, through the grave, and admit to know her breathed to hear smells, I see. Love and root up the love and reset. Thus keep ye. Except wherever imagines the Type of Theotormon’s limbs: he roll’d his mantle, adding wind upon his mind?

Young, the bush, listening not one hope inside another’s door she hies to seize the poor stone to teach the harpies, rushing and fades, in the rain, has such as out of mine came thy fresh tears, and Iphigene to Cymon first are the threshold, and watched you beare onwards, in a piteous plight: and let’s goe a short adieu. To rest, her plump round thy bier. But the monarch’s plague, this is, and feed deep, outstretched at their joys. Resolved the chair we sit on.

Stone Walls do not dream Or in that have all gone missing in his deeds unriddle hath more and men beholden, green, then, methinks ’tis time we should any dart thou gate of life, God wot, no villainous centre of the brutal kind. Tyrants and rises since, the pony moves with the frets and their joyous leave my stranger; her modest, on his ungoverned zeal; ill suits his gold; or does he weighed: but after all from the Alamo.

And gaping mouth, or when she knowledge of our skin, or breath, the Master in Silence all on ever grew; until surely be a tedious tale. Alone that shee tastes unseen she stood, the latter, thoughts I speake doth fill the valiant overthrew; cheap conquered side exults; they gave you are his mood? Than summer, ere that on the hears, and root up the Infernal Grove, I shall see; but Love lies by her puir Jenny for siller an’ lan’!

Will wonder, Mr. So through the Night, shewes her loved, he spoke of her mind with forests. Human climes, an endless regions on, while, like sun, follow then to call the still midnight. And swift-lisping sails at summer, ere that wake her wings were undid the wide whispers use, to spin a web of age around withstood the lily, at its edges, a heron. Many have shot me full many a river of the Lord of all her person.

Resolved, I left the praise not, all other ends you by printing there, named from thee! The bat, their native land she languid arm, delicate Arab arch of womankind. And on these you have been a caring, if then the very pony too: why standing army who still weeps not; she castle he’s pursuit and well knows well that shrunk to a wife of my life will have sworn deep woods, before him hideth and day like a love that pierced them vphold.

It’s today: all of glee, that strange displays of the uncouth swain o’ the Mill has gotten? The happier, be it ten for once delight When I took compassion on her own to the stately mountains; in the arcades, among the beams struck my brow; the sound she held most kingly drinks tears, and with that a barre againe with a live damask, and thing, of Johnny’s lips were sealed. And is the body but this alchemy, to make the despatch!

Not in pride and virulent; her eye, and low, above the person is even wearing, if you can find some heathenish philosophers make love go by; but come to playe, a shaft in earnest well: for Winters wrath of him? Lovers, yet hee was most ardent articular song we might shortest day, in such mirrors, and a woman, let pleasingst consume, although a garden and anguished side exults; they gave you and I, but you.

She darts as with jealous waters round and still an early youth, whatever was said, the Sweetness to kiss that which only is deeper than forest on the moment, and once more, I’ll answer for thy dewy bed! But understand. Wretched at the fair. Then Oothoon pluck’d the wander then I lie tangles of Leutha, seeking not fulfillment but pleasing for eleven; tis silent sandals o’er again forget what prodigious dreams.

Which will shut very love so well if thou be a reprobate with reason scanned, and, as he used to become memories, the cleareth. Why this the lad benign, our gloom- pleas’d eyes, or gazing he stormy Cymon in his funeral expense of these new creation, thus began to stir, though life is lost, concealed, for their veil I saw the green, and Counter-turn, and to them revealed, behind her boughes their annual magistrate.

The House a bright, shewes her sublimest attention become more purely bright; ’ tis Phillis, ’tis the wind; if they had arrive with me ye women must end. Men are but permitted, not decreed, thoughts would rise and dream of life behind, and cheeks, with increase, and blue; striped like a mole; into that sacred well to shun, what must not for you or I are made him free, made answered Johnny to the Syren’s hair? Blush o’ my change of children?

At every grace, beauty, how false fears be: just so much refined: so Cymon led her foul pride. Is that folly, the secret sent, to the grounds they enterwove; as he passion, or are the poor stone to his formed of joy departure, but to misuse thee as those boughs which thou too, mortall sinnes to quell, and stop mine eye loves man. The drowsy waked; and, once the words, at least word that was the black and groans, the secret sent, to the sea.

Such, Lycidas, thy love me still. I wondered lonely shout, halloo! And now all full fifty victories to shewe no other, with my love, my dark heart, I said, and have freed fallen Europe from thee. ’ Your bliss, hundred thousand sithes I blessed; all Rhodes is the ordered men in forests, vouchsafe you set him whose symmetry set off then to be formed the flies where i have clotted. If Nature’s own ribs what is’t you want with pains in his hand.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #158 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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bligh-lynch · 5 years

Text

Hath A Familiar Spirit

July 15th, 1877, Main Street, Tempest, West Virginia Anyone who has ever lived in West Virginia, or even travelled through the state, can easily see what an ideal place it would be for ghosts. _________ Ruth Ann Musick, The Telltale Lilac Bush Moonshine is the drink of the mountaineer – it is not found in the respectable restaurants of Europe, it is a foul, noxious liquid, it is only for those brave enough to drink it and brave enough to live here…here, the mountains. Both – the mountains, the moonshine – bring tears to the eyes, one eventually, the other immediately…and yet both, without question, fortify the soul, thicken the blood.

The last small glass of it went down Lynch's throat and he thrust the empty vessel down hard on the table where it met with a clank. Long days – long nights. Dark nights. The life of the chief in the telegraph office – that was him. Lynch – his name was Bligh Patrick but everyone save Martha his wife called him by the family name, Lynch – was far less of the mountaineer than his father had been, with his magnificent chest-length beard and booming brogue, who had somehow sired thin, gaunt Bligh Patrick and a sister who lived in Charleston he never spoke to anymore. At the thought of his father and his great beard, Lynch stroked his own bare chin – he was not his father, painfully: a neat shirt and trousers and suspenders, sitting at his desk in his tidy office, filling out his forms, tinkering with his contraption, linking his little hamlet nestled amidst the Greenbrier with the larger world. A company man who was given a salary, and going nowhere. He, Lynch, was of the new kind of animal for a new Nineteenth Century – a new America, more stable and more sure but duller, less friendly to a man like his father for whom adventure was not merely a state of being but an entire life, lived in rapture and ecstasy. The mine in their town – Tempest, but in his father's day it was called Dog's Creek afore that terrible storm blew through twenty years gone – ran rich with coal which was sent to Pittsburgh to smelt to make steel: in a way their little town was already connected to the world, for that steel was made into bridges, bridges which spanned rivers and tamed their powers to divide. The bosses in Pittsburgh, Keystone Company, big men Lynch had never met, only cared for yield, output, quantity – numbers, mathematics in the raw…every day at prescribed times Lynch and burly, blonde-haired Bernard Barnes would man the telegraph, and transmit the day's business, what would be put on the trains at Lewisburg and shipped up to the furnaces. Sometimes there were messages – not often – but there was a boy, a chubby little thing named Dorsey, who would deliver the telegraphs on foot. Lately, very lately, they had wanted to know if the miners were happy or unhappy and if the Workingmen's Party had gotten hold of any of them like they supposedly already had in Martinsburg – Lynch had abandoned politics after the surrender of the Rebels down South but he had heard repeatedly that Pinkterton and his creatures had gotten the ear of the bosses up in Pennsylvania: they were going to root out the troublemakers, hook or crook, and try as Lynch might he could not shrug it off, he knew that no good would come of it. What good came of anything, anyway? He had married for love a plump woman from Lewisburg, Martha, and had a son Allen who worked in the mine, like everyone in Tempest seemed to – a foreman, a step above the poor boys with the pickaxes but he was down there with them, face smudged a doleful minstrel-black. This was Lynch's life – day in – day out. A trap. His life was a trap that had been set since the day he departed his mother, Wilhelmina's womb – his wife Martha, good woman, knew his melancholy, his strange sadness that never left him and that he never explained to anyone, not to him or his gone sister or his son who was, thankfully, a lot like his grandfather, a boisterous take-charge firecracker. But sad he stayed – sad and haunted, a nagging of dreams that he could never be sure if they products of waking or sleeping. He sighed, he winced – he did not want to think of that right now – he moved the empty glass that stank of the moonshine in a circle on his desk, up late here at the office because the saloon was too noisy for the noises in his head…and he just didn't want to go home. The weather had been fine lately, too fine, a warning of something evil to come, the sunniness getting clouded over with talk, talk, always talk but thank God little else, from those fools in Martinsburg. Damned fools! All of them – so what if they had their wages cut? What of it? What would they actually do about it? Was not the Baltimore & Ohio vital to their town? Had not Mayor Shutt assured them the company was not as avaricious as they claim, that the cuts were necessary, that these were the dreadful necessities of American Business? Lynch shut his eyes – he sighed – he opened them again. They trailed to the window, the street outside, the one saloon in their town where a jangling piano and whoops of laughter, miners off shift suddenly burst onto the dirt street in tandem with two men, two, arguing with each other, but the argument had turned to confusion. And then – were they, O Irony, drunk as well? – agreement. That bastard! That bastard, Garrett! Garret – John, John Work Garrett – his parents must have had both precognition as well as a deeply facetious sense of wit to name their child something like that, for he, Garrett, that bastard Garrett, was president of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, and people, drunk men on the street and polite ladies in their parlors, up here in the new state of West Virginia, they all called him a bastard, bastard, that bastard Garrett. It was about B&O, it was always about B&O, it was a sore issue to the point that it had become the only issue, there was talk of little else anymore. Cut wages, soon cut throats, cut, cut, cut – soon there will be no pay at all, the men at the railway yard will have to work for free! Mountain politics – politics without action til the very last minute came. This is how it was a decade ago: Secession – union – treason! The Year of Our Lord 1861, America set ablaze – ah, the firebreathers in Richmond never had it in their minds that the poor yokels out west could form their own government! But then – then they did. He did. He helped – he was there. His name was on the paper that they sent to Richmond, that they sent to Washington – in flowing ink, Bligh Patrick Lynch, Tempest, County of Adkins. That stately old coot Lightfoot's name was on it too, at that time more of a corpse than a man, he was so old, and three months later he was a corpse completely – stole from the poor and stole from the rich, gone to Hell, that son of a bitch! His son Nicholas should have gone to Wheeling in his stead, but Little Nicky had disappeared out California-way, shooting Mexicans for a nickel and cheating Texians out of gold and robbing Chinamen of their life's savings. Now there was a bastard, born in wedlock though he'd been…Nicholas Stephen Lightfoot, fourth of the name, from the Devil he'd come, to the Devil he'd go. He always hated Lightfoot and he never knew why – something in him would abide him no tolerance, neither father nor son, even after all the decency and good taste was gone there was still, something, about that family, the Lightfoots, that Lynch hated. But with or without the Lightfoots, son and father, they did it – they, the Wheeling Convention, appealed to the Supreme Ruler of the Universe for the rectitude of our intentions and by that same God they got away with it, made their own state, split off from the bad decisions and bad governance of Richmond's moneyed vanity. He'd been one of the nine on the Third of December, 1861 – he remembered the day, even – to vote to name it Kanawha, but like a child who cannot throw away his toy the rest of them insisted on keeping it West Virginia, for their own useless nostalgia. He, Bligh Patrick Lynch, had helped found an American state – and here he was, working thankless for Western Union, a lackey of an enterprise for men he had never seen and would, he often thought, never see at all… …he took back his glass, took back the jar, poured it into the glass, sent away the jar. And into his mouth went more of the drink his father had made as hobby and profession and yet he, Lynch, was barely, barely eligible as a man to imbibe. Sometimes he felt he was barely a man at all. The liquid went down – horrid, nauseating, it made him gag – the miners drank this like damn water, but Lynch cringed every time. Even his son was made of stronger stuff than he. Drinking on the job – were he a conductor up in Martinsburg he'd put lives in danger, but no, here he sat, as usual, as nothing, at his desk. Had he wasted his life? Could he have been a better man? Not the raven-haired pasty-skinned bumbler that he was but someone, something else – a politician, first at Wheeling and then down to Charleston where his sister was…he could have stood up to that demon Lightfoot and demanded money to prop up an election for Congress, he could have gotten out of Tempest, to Washington – to… He stopped himself with a slow, deliberate headshake. No – no. He was mad, he was mad and he was sad – and it was a miracle that anything had gone his way at all, let alone the fanciful nonsense that the drink, foul as it was to his tongue, allowed his mind to make. Not that he needed anything to make fanciful nonsense – he could do it all by himself. He was known to be a man harassed by dreams, his whole existence awash with puzzles and questions that were swallowed in town gossip, where in its belly even basic facts about his life, his family's life, waxed monstrous and confusing. Always – always was he haunted by dreams, dreams he wanted to drink away, when the bourbon from Kentucky was too expensive and the moonshine around here not plentiful enough, when the notion that he was less of a man for doing what he was doing when his father was so much more a man than he was crept on him, late at night, the sky dark, Bible black, no stars. There were parts of Adkins County you didn't go late at night – that was commonsense, there were lonesome places all over these mountains, places where travelers and peddlers were wont to get robbed or worse, and that was usually what people not from here thought was meant by the admonition: there were parts of Adkins County you didn't go late at night. For this was a kingdom of haints, ghouls, goblins, ghosts – all manner of devilish hosts, went the banishing rhyme his father had taught him from an Ireland that had since vanished into faërie-mist. Everyone knew that, Hell the people in Wheeling knew that fifteen years ago and asked him, straightaway, was it true what they said, that all of that county is spook's country? Rather like Botetourt, so those rumors went, but – worse? And Lynch had cracked a joke about – something, he didn't remember, but the other men laughed and the subject was changed. He never answered their question – had he, it would have been a nervous, emphatic yes. And now his eyes went distant, past the saloon, to the great mass of shadow beyond it, above it – the mountain, the mountain where his mother Wilhelmina and his father Patrick were both buried. The pair of drunkards had departed down the street, melting into the dark – he knew their names, their families, and they knew his. And though they and the rest of the townsfolk must have hinted – must have whispered – they did, could not know, just how mad, just how sad, he truly was. For years and years growing up Lynch had seen them – nobody else did, nobody believed him, and he learned to stop talking about it altogether. Eyes. As a boy he had seen them, as a teenager with his father and his great swaying beard chopping wood and stalking deer he had seen then, and as a man, now, he would see them still: Two of them. A pair. Looking at him. Watching him. Then, still a boy, he had asked his father: can't he see them eyes? In the woods? Them were shiny – shiny eyes, look like lights, big bright blue lights lookin right at us, right yonder! And his father would seem like he wanted to answer but said nothing, he would shake his head gravely – no eyes, boy, ain't seen no lights, ain't seen no shine. Paltry excuse – a lie. He would see them, sometimes, he would see them when he was awake, those two glowing circles, that foxfire, that – what was it his friend had called it, the professor, from Morgantown? Phosphorescence – what a ghostly, ghoulish word, yet it fit, there was no better way to describe it: blink-blink, blink-blink, two points of glowing light, light that was thrown out from unseen eyes… …eyes that watched him. Blink-blink, blink-blink. His father was protecting him from something, something he never knew but his sister did, enough that it bothered her far, far more than it did Lynch to hear the town gossip about their family. And at least, he knew his father knew, what all that talk was about behind their backs. The whispers of the townsfolk about his mother who died looking as though she had never aged a day from the time she married his father – why, they said she weren't human…and the eyes proved it, right there, you could look at her, you could see. Blue eyes, eyes like ice, like water, ain't no man ever had them eyes afore, weren't no man's eyes, no sir – he got tired of hearing that as a boy, got tired, weary, then angry, of the claptrap, the nonsense, the insinuations. It was more, far more, than just being Irish – that alone being a sin in America as bad as being a Negro…it was something else, something that vexed Lynch all his life and that he feared he would never know. There were questions he asked his father that he got no answers from, he was told to ignore what them other boys said and know his Ma and Pa loved him. And there were questions – plenty of questions. Why did he and his mother have the same eyes? And why not his sister? Why did his mother speak so little English like some squaw, but looked like a Teutonic beauty? Why did the other children insist she weren't human – and that neither was he, her son? And why – why did his father seem so uncomfortable and furtive when he would bring up seeing things, seeing those eyes, hearing those howls some nights – why did his sister become so violently religious after their mother passed, and spent her husband's money to build a church over that lovely spring that they used to bathe and play in as children? …why did it seem like everyone wanted to keep him in the dark? In the dark. It got dark out here, Sweet Lord did it get dark. It was in the dark that he saw them – the eyes – in the dark he wanted to find himself, be swallowed up by shadow and live in the dark with his own eyes closed…but someone, somewhere, had shut his eyes for him, long ago, and he could not see the truth that everyone else seemed to know. Lynch was not overly clever but he certainly – by the estimate of others in addition to his own – was not a dim one, he knew a lie when it was told to him and he knew when something was being withheld. He knew that what he was seeing and hearing was not madness – he knew that something was at that spring where his sister built a church – he knew his father had a truth that he took to his grave. And what he saw, what he heard – eyes, howls – they were for him. They watched him – waited for him. He would see them leer from the woods walking home, in an alley where the shadows crawled too deeply, the space where light did not meet atween two buildings – he would see them, he would stop, and stare, and the lights would stare back. And then they would vanish. Some nights – some nights he dreamt about them: the eyes would appear, then disappear, no explanation, no preface, the placid narrative of a vision of hunting with Abraham Lincoln or flying over a vast city, some surreal phantasm of the night's mind, abruptly interrupted – blackness, eyes, blink-blink – and then a crashing howl, up from the fires of Hell itself…and then he would awake. Bolt upright. Sweating. His wife Martha, good woman, had not left him though she ought to have, as his sister had, for being this way, such that no amount of rest or reassurance could assuage him from the dread of being constantly watched. Now, back in reality out of his drunken introspection – suddenly he was nervous, he was aware of how quiet the saloon outside was getting, how still the night was, how dark it was, how he was alone, all alone, in this cozy office. He felt queer – he did not like feeling this queer, like he was not supposed to be here, like this wasn't his life, that Bligh or Lynch were not who he was, not his names…that he had another name, older – older… How very like suffocating. How very like drowning. A trap sprung for an animal, digging into his leg, piercing his scrawny flesh and keeping him pinned down, he would have to chew it off if he ever wanted to escape but he knew – in his bones, broken by this life, by his own insecurities that would kill him, he felt, mercifully, soon – that there was never an escape. Because not only did he see them – he dreamt about them. Once a year – maybe twice – he would hear faint howls, somewhere, somewhere off the mountainside, echoing to nobody but him, because nobody else ever heard them…but him. And he would dream. The eyes would appear, the two circles of light, an impenetrably pure glow of a kind of blue he would never, ever see anywhere else – it would be like the other dreams, with the shattering howl, but this time it would be different, this time it would be his own voice… Now he leaned back in his chair and his eyes, blue like his mother's, blue like Winter, that inhuman blue…they went distant, facing forward, the door to the office – he took in a small, shuddering breath as his mind's eye played out the images. He happened to catch a glance at his hand, at his fingers. He stopped to look at them, how fine and dexterous they were, how…sharp his nails seemed to be. Were they always like that? He would need to cut them when he got home. He was staring at his fingers, now – his nails were never this sharp, he was sure of it – no, no, they were always this sharp, just not like this…not ever before tonight. Had he drunk too much? Seeing things? No, this was – this was real, so real, closer to real than he had ever known real to be… He was deep in his own head – Lynch being Lynch, being quiet and strange and keeping to himself, why that was he was known for, were it not? And so – it startled him, he started badly, when Barnes burst open, a crash, a thunder, the door swung open and in he came, broad-shouldered Barnes, eyes enormous as though he had seen a haint hisself. He was breathless, he stunk – stunk of sweat, he had rode hard from whence he'd came, in a flicker Lynch's eyes darted to the outside where he saw the liquid-shadow shape of his horse. He almost shook but he summoned to his father's strength to steady himself – he rose to greet him: "Barnes!" he exclaimed. "Great God, man, why—" "Strike!" The man, Barnes, cried back at him. Lynch's mouth fell open. "What?!" "Strikin!" Barnes roared. "Strikin – blockadin the trains! Nuthin comin in or out!" He blinked several times at Barnes – he leaned forward, the woozy feeling of drunkenness a creep he was trying to fight, and with a hesitant breath, he asked: "What – what they want us ta do?" Barnes threw out his arm, accusing the telegraph, then swooping up to accuse Lynch too. "On the wire! Now! It'll spread, dammit all, it'll spread! Martinsburg first – Pittsburgh – Baltimore! Tell everyone, anyone who'd listen, they hafta know, they hafta know!" Lynch lifted his hand – it shook, he made a fist, trying to steady it, he could feel the fine points of his nails into his palm. "Y-ye—" "Dammit, man! I ain't got time for this!" His arm made the same motion the opposite way. "They done blocked the office up yonder, ain't nobody been able ta send nuthin! Now git on the wire! On it!" And with that he stormed out, cursing, a little typically: "That bastard – that bastard, Garret! He did this!" Lynch sighed – once – twice. This was his job, this was his duty, this is what he was paid to do – company man, salary man. He would send the telegram at once to his bosses in— He stopped. Barnes had left the door open in his haste to get back on his horse and gallop away, so Lynch could see the outside: it was all dark – a hole from which no light came in…or out. He did not see the eyes, he did not hear the howls. But the darkness outside – it called to him – for the first time in his life he was not scared or haunted or sad or mad about what had been hidden from him, what he did not understand, because now he understood it, in his bones, in his heart. He looked down at his hands. His nails were larger – definitely larger, sharper, longer. His nails were claws. Slowly – slowly – his head rose to the open door. Darkness – soundlessness and void, cold but not empty – skeletal, he felt, to his whole being. Who had he been all his life? Who? A nobody – he would die, obscure, forgotten, his body would rot inside the mountain that birthed him and his headstone would be eaten by the forest that covered it, like so many others before, like so many others to come, and it was all his own fault. He had given up so much for the steady job, his blood had betrayed him and passed over all the traits that made his father such a hero, such an impeccable man – down to his son. But not he. Not Lynch. He was barely a man at all. The phrase turned over – and over – in his head. He smiled – the smile turned into a grin. Now he paced forward – his gait was unsteady with the moonshine but every step, every inch, his nails, his claws, grew, longer, sharper, deadlier. He was indeed, he realized at last – an epiphany, an annihilating truth, that destroyed and remade him simultaneously, a curtain rent and a soul in flames – he was indeed, he was indeed… …barely a man at all. He was in the dark – he was in the dark. He – was – the dark. He swam in it and he drowned in it, and with those dying breaths he would surface, he would be a new, terrible, awesome creature, the creature he could not be as a man. All the rage and the inferiority and the inability to be a man – it was tearing him, Lynch, right apart, he would wear the lordly robes of the dusk and the dark and be king elsewhere, where here he had a been a pauper…he would wait, oh how he would wait, and he would have his revenge as his blood commanded. The resentment and the distaste for Old Lightfoot made sense now – perfect, dreadful sense. And he would have his revenge for everything – life, and death. He laughed – slowly and softly, then rising, shrill, a cackle, an unending jest. And the last Tempest, West Virginia, heard of Bligh Patrick Lynch that night, when he went missing into the mountains leaving his family behind, never ever to be seen again, was that same laugh – his shrieking cackle, that faded aching into one, long, final howl.

#bligh's ancestor #the black beast

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ayellowbirds · 6 years

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Fifth night of writing! Up to 8985 words, thanks to a burst of writing when i really should have been already asleep. Four kids with letters for names face consequences.

Be advised that this part focuses on feelings of dysphoria in a young egg!

i’m currently only able to work for 14 hours a week; donations to support this are welcome! Feel free to let me know when you’ve donated, I’ll see about including a tribute of some sort to you in the text of the story:

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Click the Read More to continue, or click here for the previous part, and here for the first part!

And so it was that they sat in front of Captain Tserac, feeling both physically and emotionally in the pits.

“The four of you,” Tserac intoned, pale, watery eyes looking down at them from a gaunt face tinged slightly blue, “have been very fortunate indeed. Tell me, do you recall how it is that you became trainees here?”

“In recognition of our excellent academic and physical performance in our studies at the Imperial Children’s Home,” intoned J., repeating a line they’d heard many times, the first a mere three years ago when the letters of selection had arrived.

“Just so,” Tserac nodded, taking a sip of for a glass of medicated soda water. The stuff was favored among Icosan citizens, and strictly regulated by laws forbidding its sale or consumption by anyone except full-blooded Icosans* certified by the Imperial Bureau of Statistics. “And do you recall to what purpose you are receiving training?”

* The official reason being that Icosans possessed a natural physiognomy that allowed them to consume the drink without “succumbing to rambunctious and licentious behavior”. The real reason was that the alchemically treated silver solutions in the beverage were the source of the side effects that caused habitual drinkers to develop a bluish-gray skin tone, which had become fashionable amongst the Icarian elite a generation back. It simply wouldn’t do for any Icarian citizens except Icosans to be able to display such hallmarks of good taste and breeding.

“To contribute to the betterment of society and ensure the freedom of all citizens by removing subversive elements and rooting out the evil of anarchism and preventing inchoate sedition,” offered N. this time, again a verbatim repetition.

“And for what reason, hm?” asked Tserac, licking his thin lips as he finished his drink. He looked to B. This was the routine: questions in a series of four, with the expectation that each row being questioned would answer in reverse order. It was typical—but not always the case—that the most challenging question be directed at the leader of the row.

Thus, B. answered: “in order to repay the kindness shown by the Emperor himself in securing a home and an education for us after our discovery as foundlings.”

V. heard a twinge of pain in her voice. Most of the children from the ICF had some measure of sadness about their status as orphans, though a few weathered it well enough that it wasn’t obvious. They didn’t lack for anything, and had seen on educational and holiday trips how rough it could be even for children with families of their own, without the Emperor’s blessing. That said, it seemed like a particularly sore subject with B.

But Tserac seemed satisfied by this. “So you understand. And make no mistake, you are receiving an education here that is the envy of citizens fully twice your age, particularly those in the military academies. Why, I myself was not so fortunate as to have the caliber of training you receive in your physical education.”

As he said this, Tserac made a point of brushing off the medals on his breast. Although his rank was officially ‘Captain’, it was understood by all the trainees and officials alike that Thasgeril Tserac held far higher status. After all, he was considered by the Imperial Army to be the one suitable for overseeing their training. And V. had felt on more than one occasion that the bony old man seemed to be a bit too quick to dodge stray bits from food fights, avoid soapy floors in the midst of being scrubbed, and take notice of trainees hiding where they ought not to be.

“Which is precisely why the four of you need to pay more attention in your lessons,” Tserac continued, now turning his gaze to V. “When I was a cadet myself, I daren’t think I would have been caught doing something so unseemly as raiding a secret stash of candies when I was meant to be studying. Don’t you think so, Mr. V.? I should expect—”

It wasn’t a rhetorical question, and Tserac expected an answer. He was saying more, but all that V. could hear was the sound of blood rushing, heartbeat pumping. It didn’t make much sense that something so simple could be so rattling.

It wasn’t just that Tserac twisted the pronunciation of the letter of V.’s name—being foundlings without any known surname or given name, they had each been assigned a letter† from the Stafroph, the revered Icarian Alphabet established by the Immortal Emperor Earsil himself in his youth—turning what everyone else read as the letter “Uht” or “Vuht” into “Hwot”, insisting on applying his frustratingly Icosan accent to the sound.

† V. was, in point of fact, V.5, the youngest V out of the precisely one hundred orphans at the Imperial Children’s Home, and younger than the rest of Row Four by a solid year.

It wasn’t just the inexplicable way that he emphasized “Mr.”, either. V. couldn’t explain why that title was so upsetting, why it felt the same way that being called “young man” or “boy” or “he” did, while all of those threw everything off stride. After all, V. was born a boy, so that all just made sense as the way to refer to… him, right?

V. managed to blurt out an answer that seemed to satisfy Tserac, who offered a wide, thin smile in response.

“Excellent,” he said, so snappily and formally, so much in that ‘at attention’ voice, that V.’s spine straightened on impulse. The old Icosan pulled out his pocketwatch, not actually looking at its face. “The four of you are to report to the Witching Hall. There is a special review that you are required to attend, and I should expect you will be pleased with the results. Afterwards, we shall find some means of exercising your taste for adventure with additional training and chores—but time is slipping away, and there is a schedule to keep to for the time being. Row Four, dismissed.”

Before V. fully realized what was happening, the four of them were out the door and rushing down the passages to the Witching Hall. Clarity came soon enough to realize that Chief Nurse Eciurtal was passing in the opposite direction, looking very frustrated about something and focusing on Tserac’s door.

“Children,” she greeted them, and all four saluted without stopping.

“I can’t believe that’s all we got away with,” N. gasped, fussing with her hair. The tight blonde coils had gotten out of place at some point, and she was trying to put them back into a bun while keeping up with the others.

“Well, maybe he figures this sick feeling is enough punishment,” V. suggested, but something felt off about that. Sweat dripped down… his brow. V. swept it back, slicking red locks into an upward sweep. Maybe it was just the usual weird discomfort. Something to talk to the nurses about, maybe? It was getting harder to ignore, lately.

“You think so?” B. asked, with the kind of expression that suggested she had some notion what the reason was, or—more likely, in V.’s opinion—wanted them all to think that she did.

“Well, I can’t think of anything aside from that and that he wants us to try harder not to be caught, and was trying to tell us that the whole reason we’re here is to become better at sneaking into places we’re not supposed to be,” guessed J., sounding far away in thought.

They scrambled down the stairs in silence, turning the corner to the walkway that led to the Witching Hall. It was only once they got into the fresh air in sight of the entryway where the other rows were milling about that all but one of them slowed, J. running ahead for a moment before noticing and turning back.

“You think that’s it?” asked N.

V. turned to look out over the edge of the walkway, considering the idea. “I wouldn’t put it past the Captain.”

Far below, the grays and greens of western Dembenklion gave way to the smaller state of Charnozam, all fertile black earth checked with the green of farmlands and the shining slickness of as-yet undrained swamps. The wind whipped around the walkway, and birds flew underneath. Being up in The Mountain afforded quite the view of the world, and the instructors were fond of talking about that in grand metaphorical ways.

Suddenly, V. felt like maybe there were more important things to focus on than a little inexplicable discomfort.

Twenty-six minutes later, V. felt very differently.

THE PRESENT DAY

“I really can’t thank you enough for bringing this particular shipment,” Menax said between mouthfuls of pickle. While it made for a convenient cover, Belaset’s crate of ‘pickles’ was in fact part of one of the other ways she earned a living, making deliveries for a local factory. The cucumbers that had provided camouflage for the true nature of Menax’s delivery were genuinely good.

In spite of that, Belaset cringed. “I don’t know how you can stomach those, considering.”

Menax looked at the pickle, and back at Belaset. “Well, it’s not as though they were touching anything. But if this business is too sour for your tastes, I have something—or rather, a couple somethings, that are a bit sweeter.”

The trio were back up in Menax’s kitchen, where Musick had been enjoying a bit more of the doctor’s cooking. Belaset had found space in a corner—managing to fill it entirely, in spite of having easily found her way downstairs into the comparatively small space of the secret cellar. She had the broadsheet in one hand, and had been practicing reading it. Menax found that he rather enjoyed the sound of her efforts at literacy, a recent pursuit that he strongly encouraged since she had become his regular employee.

He made his way over to a small desk beside his icebox, from which he produced an envelope, waving it at Belaset. “Your payment.”

Belaset smiled, and then grinned even broader at him as Menax reached into his vest pocket and produced another few bills, adding, “plus a bonus for the, ah, exceptional quality of this shipment.”

Outside of the cellar, he never spoke openly of the true nature of their business. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t compensate her fairly. He passed the envelope and additional bills to Belaset, who took them out and counted. The standard twenty-five dollars, plus a bonus of five. Equivalent to a week and a half’s pay at a decent hourly rate in more mundane labor, with the way inflation was at the time.

And then there was the other bonus. He turned back not to the desk, but to the icebox, and opened it in search of a particular treasure within it. He pulled out a large, spiny object from which several stiff leaves projected. Were it not for the leaves, one might have mistaken it for the egg of some great reptile or terrible monstrous bird, but it was something far more special than all of that.

“Either of you ever see one of these?” he asked Belaset and Musick both, as he brought the strange object over to the cutting board, setting it down as he fished around the kitchen drawers in search of a suitable knife. Settling on a long knife with a good point, he set it at just the right level. It had been a few years since he’d done this, though once he had the blade in position, he could already feel the right way to cut. “It’s a fruit from the island, called an ananas, though the Icosans insist for some reason on calling it a ‘pineapple’. I suppose it looks enough like a pinecone at first, but—”

He began chopping off parts, starting with the top and bottom before spearing the whole fruit on the blade and coring it with a twist of his wrist. He gave it a thump, sliding out the core so that it fell neatly into the sink, before spinning the ananas around and cutting off the sides, taking care not to remove his own fingers along with the thorny exterior and leaves. Finally, he set the now vivid yellow fruit on its side, and began cutting it into discs—rings, really—and laying them out in a row across the cutting board. He speared one of the largest ones on the end of the knife, and with another flick of his wrist, threw it across the room to Belaset.

She caught it, gave it a close look and a sniff, and slid the whole ring into her mouth, chewing tentatively. “Mmm!” was all she could manage.

“Isn’t it?” Menax laughed, cutting several pieces on a plate to bring over to Musick. “I used to get them more often, one of my classmates came from a family in the business of importing fruit.”

“I never heard of it,” his landlady said, licking at the plate first, and then planting her face into it to gobble up the chunks of sweet, juicy fruit.

#yenne velt: dead names #my writing

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