#world off musick on | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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.

�� 8

’ 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.

�� 70

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

0 notes

grinoir · 3 years

Text

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

133 notes · View notes

dwellordream · 3 years

Text

“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

17 notes · View notes

ourladyofomega · 2 years

Text

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

3 notes · View notes

nicholasmeyler · 3 years

Text

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!

1 note · View note

blaze8403 · 4 years

Text

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

2 notes · View notes

x-heesy · 10 months

Text

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 🎧

41 notes · View notes

rivetgoth · 4 years

Text

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

9 notes · View notes

survived-childporn-ring-blog · 5 years

Text

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

1 note · View note

libidomechanica · 5 months

Text

Untitled (“And maun I still be crammed fowl now her shone”)

A Meredith sonnet sequence

Are, and Pomatums shall business, ye more admired. Though our hair as the Queen, an angel in a Bodkin Spears, the gloomier still is not as my poor house severe, the water on her Hearts around, without their caps at caus’d her Cheek their Pinions in Peace, and beauty’s law. Must be at chase the heath a tame preserves our judgments of her Head.—And maun I still be crammed fowl now her shone To that Love. She took himself a drap o’ the quiet—dull fenced-in skilfull tene: I shall, am Master of Musick its tender voice is a porticos which should have the crowds appetite I never mine enemies, and trade of the even with his bleeding. Thou grant to comes the dead press.

Besides I doe take Lodging him with unknown injuries in those that flood. While they fed not recall for that’s rather side of what they say, already in the old mysterious virtue is it not be name, and with looking from above all, the parent of seventy-three of politesse, ye more shall short, the Misters down a stiff yet gives: the married, if Lucy hould laughters and tears, the Feild, I make that can tires, and lusty leave to keepe no more—when Phoebus wearing,—Stella beare! Or says all his granted down—yet the village street of the Gods with me a bit of the sphere; sap check’d by the bricks, their most cold head, thy flowers: but to my own head; two, as a test.

Give me not winter rule while we thing of its own Important Care of other worst of it shot awrie! Of sinfully returning, that envy of ordinance where made in hell. That my vision I did wandering glorious frame of others. When some secret brown. Two love, my sweet is to the ocean, a humanity. Your own, not winters. This, that day to enjoy its strive to save by an air, pretention or bounds, too, falters, and strangely dumb in shade, were going bashful. And beat neath the zodiac run; at night was his fair Cloe, and bear all my power obey. The broke the Landholders, breast occasional prick’d the gently smile to do the Gnomes Embraced. At last.

I with such is the glittring Dust. And temples you wrong: with rev’rence, known. But, till all sorts of whom the Italians nickname mule’, a theater spheres; the neither phthisical: I don’t looking, passion have in this occasion, not the heau’nly grasp of love.— And maun I still Paradise! A maid of two captive Trump and only meanest look on Heaps on Heaps; one Fate does crowds, where praising up to lose which is next he love called life to meet you speak to me? A vestal stars, and Dido is gon that needs, and Betty’s praise, then ever-beating when you go, hear me?—The strife, deep and over the same skin for herdsman, instead perceive a Flaw, or say what is Zuhrah? Where a poet.

Leave to themselves in a Catalina stands as to a Birth of parcells make thee: then it nursed the mother; and by iust cough, a jug of wit, and toast, as many of the high-dive at that Fate the blank beyond all that in Desarts bloomed to be dear maid, because man’s voice. Those the convey’d in the Past, burning so many more, and kindles the Jaws of Pride. While than a humdrum tete- a-tete. Yet as thou algate lust and very Siria of this reflections, lations in truth a most true to the Labours not he; whole Agent is love I proued, in Britain’s Statesmen, chiefly hath did heav’d Bosoms to make simple world if we drove to its kindled hope, our young diplomatical.

Dissolved into its impressions, to a home; her spill the Diamond engage; the two will she prize, He answer: his aim; full possessed flowing joy, althought it, a garden whirling off like a hawk, an’ it’s hardly rude enough they elsewhere dance which truth. But ev’ry thy Son lay, whence is their supremest parts the sea-coal fires? The passion hurricane tapers echoes—like a new-tuned hand wish’d thy cold my mouth, alone, as to crowd; and their glory, as he thou, mighty youth, immortalice, angry spirit wrought The Morning off two might drink in despisèd lovest elsewhere to give the dire Event the sound: less that I am, yet looking on of grain: her moon, or glitt’ring strange.

Such her father Attic. That my hands a Structure of Jealousy has ever-beating we will scarcely knowledge itself gave us like Leaders of the nakedness: a lawn about them revealed, behind he trace think back to the Sculptor’s Passion as in the spot of the monastic swims, and you know not it felt, yet lived by proper Scene, repairs to you. Warm French transient, and lying learnt, in dying smile. Without love of max! Nor wants to the country can be show’d and acts of sacred the curtains did falls before your flocks waved, that do the Toilet stand I see that I am no pick- purse of inward laughter they died. Or shall go well she bore may conclusions service.

Shall go well recognise that shell, I am in lowlye laye, and base, and feeling, an upper things cry, the unnamed by addition. Thrice the darksome who knew not words, are we, and fall, men, Monkies, Lap-dogs, Parrots, perish’d, and the subtle sermon: and full possession, and fame one single Hair ⸻ he sport a stature, so rouse: such steals upon a strange Tryanic power and vp my rufull be. How farther I’d quote, but right turned a year to which the years a stir; and beneath the heart within our live me leaven in either mind soars and Outs, and in her Bosom of any worst of hem, to keep we thing fills up with these the swarthy Moors. Slight, the parents that with eternal.

Unjust as a woman wert thou wert, that watch this, but humility. The tunes which serve our soon! As many change when required but do not left complish’d Care the fellow autumnal strayne. Let’s sister in the venom of the young as it makes thread’s spun out between mine eye on, with some one good excuse of pillowing its harp at a discordant Field. Anyone where stable, twelve peerage, nor conquerable, being bloated species, huddled wonders are found, and you knew who will that’s noon: but it might I doubt the lies thou art and holding this too late! The last and loving kings. Grace, like Cain’s lady. If loue is such, that ev’n in Slumber dinghy. As most of humanity.

Ancient Race, a ghostlike a small lead, color of Evil and soules, euen soules, euen to impart. It sing, haply I thought and to him is nothing can hide and thou beside me sinfully quivering void circumstance stood half languish on that courtier tells a finer truth in his bleeding Vanities small-eyed Sal his blind but to resign or rehearsed the horizon—where our first speed, even mere compare, when I speak out. Who in his hands for the lovely gazed on, than I shall relations guide and flips it. A light, earth gaue that Jury-men may nothing that to say with what they give me not squeeze her in The Power, to sally his veins would not dig the in times the new.

Made the Five per Cents? Sweet sound of any wood ye see, o pity, wherewith my poor Heav’n decrease was plain women is, the midsummer night; and trembling out of the Sorrow come in our life, like to show had sown: with Flavia’s Hands. General admire, our grief when, were torn out so, we’ll go, and maiden shut? From the grief resound. Till not: but what I’d knows, it is certainment of the clouded Cane with sacrifice;—save the links of a troubled with Jove, t’ acquit such as most enjoy its branded ice. This Locks in fields about here, ’ he cricket into another tons, ’ which never-wearied on; all of face, but to revel may serve of nyne, such fleeting pleasure than Pittsburgh.

And painted Joies, your next at such the end— or, since sweet: tho’ I fancy, so artless bilious—but oh fie on’t! And sense—merged in her bright assurance; others, sweet odour, for a mere spent I must aver my Muse in ever-mingling, scatt’ring thinner as her self shall the world would lead the way, where the moon sleep, my lady were wont to allay’d, trembleth oft for contrary; but stone, there is swelling out forth, and tills the pool, they deceives; amid the clubs no more, but soul the daylight’s permanent among the mind. Save thou dost thy fortune’s glass of the Mind grove of the heard can harp, with no shoes, in tighten’d by the clear; and Muse in my way: they never flinch when you know.

Lord Henry and bubbling, poised to sadde winter’s day arising from Beauty’s doomed the rest one swear, which them into a new, and go, mount and cold, that they never wi’ her can compare, which mighty Pam that sweet i want no world I left to the stir all parts, a place of that the Fates him, in some deems it into a rage. To the Breeze, all flower makes thro’ Galilæo’s Eyes, a Beau. Your beauties blot on the even a build a castle on his proper lesson derely mothers, break throughout love us, and the moment which t is not easily might state, and women dumb. I see, she’s but what, or so I though sweet, It is most swear, which was dear. Both Silk, and a foreign stone?

One asked the bud of highest human heart. But beautiful friends; midst thro’ thine? Therefore do I my judgment pluck; and she was, that envy wished, we slide into the edges of perfect made all is not choose against my hear and fruit the goat least, sweets. Vines to his, and is became.—And gay, and spin on your thou will process to kiss the entered out a ray.—Say what in their fresh leaves on roads, east, ’tis mutual stars were nobody poorer profuse locks, E for parliament, so saddest me strife, of some will flowering made one arrived. Which is whispers said something the ranks of mortal alarms. Yet those disdain’d, beneath hath charms they stares at moment a topics: poems yet met.

At least occasion prompts the notice she slept their narrow like a drum in the abandonment perfection and spheres and so well receives; and ours, beneath the remnants or roasts, as balmier the right, they climb the bliss of tears, and faire haire that swallow grown more sugar’d the blood the world. Is also of solemn contagion; hoof after new Brocade. In vain, and yet not still existed of—we given back to your own dear- purchaser suspicion which consign’d, your name. A faint pink-bronzed o’er thy virtue is a great, if ten of vapour, but they might, but not at once could the Flash of courses run; if human fears, instead of persecution; and therefore board to brain to me?

The pampered at hazard as they sat, shall their burthens, meane that message of the thunder’d King of the Gulf Stream and leaning mind, each important, bore no title to be whose disting that she was, a wofull their waving Hampton’s Ecchos, wretched Maid beware of rage, to recall their courtesy of mine more loued lasse aduaunce, on April, and string, and thy Rapine sparkless as hear! Great bound, spare the sun will not get far after she divide: she had; her decrease me, caw thee’—for six month with vulgar scandal doth say, Lost Echo sits lonely Winter welked hath a mine, though each me many an envoy either does crowds; who wisely choose to be dry, through to brings of the grave.

The spite, has a bachelor I will bear all care of trees. To the Board. So never mind o’ my Phillis—for she was spoil a Grace, let nothing though the same harp—because the boy’s head like small fighter shine, otherwise but the revealed, behind the color, visible Corruption more the dreams like a rocket, when fair sex and the finger of hands for him did know, tis nonsense of the Earth; how of. And might, will fall lies dreeriment: to unbosom erst: hence with arms and bedeviled breaks the value might lest it reach, what a calendar in my way: they acted look’d on beauty bright Locks first snowdrop, virginity; the goods which yet more the fields of charmer, her selfe into sin.

The lighter Wash; to curb the last Review line the surly sullen Region known mind, and fast flash’d the Skein of Joy and lur’d the latest limits all alike. Because man’s voice. Your waiter said, and that beats in the Praised, and trembles all in war with Stella, who like small gear to whom groan and fire upon my mouth to pierc’d Battalions some friends which makes his verses meriment. With these rare endowment, Our Adonais has always meant heart grimy guests drops from his grief, or trance by horse drew near. To knowing it a drop of the God once;—through thou be’st Doubt! Whose rudiments after, melted down—yet thro’ Natures once stood on the race, let’s singer, long enduring round myself doth please.

Not be undecide, and, for peace! Glide, gentle heart keep a poor ghost! A virtue, All, our Sex resign. Never marriage. Then comeliness, we could entertayne, with rocks, which surround with a cony is no more from the king their narrows of Pins extended and broken in either of dull Time oh, not help. Restored; though the Eye was pity then, Clarissa down, chloe stept in robes and found, which afterglow as the Paradise, ’ which had friend is the way the Diamonds possessions lyre did not, madam: by yon gather friend: as swelling for thy portals Levity to hatching how earth now her fav’rite Lock to the Thames which none learnt, in due proper less pleasaunce to defend?

Now hatred is betwixt. So God and hang the winds, and please me: for which of counselled here pictures also in our lesser way be my lay soar high spirit’s ban on the artists all in war with his bad age; so was kill’d, to Maids. In total silence, remove, to hate me well, with more thousand tilted your beautiful proceeding Heart, ever in the truth to suck all this work did frame the actors of the Virgins visit; the remnants of her graue, thy bud’s the glow. Where all modern must first they can’t well receives, there come vnto me.—That drains of love in tear; and therefore you now at dawn that myrth now seem holy state has been hate and black. Sweet-swelling. It floure our night decrees!

And only due to time I list grown the Lock, the last wet step before they knew that dark earthly part, leaving but a moan? To be, and stranger’s Ends. Ours is a parish school, lifts at me down against Pallas, Mars, and let the most Unkind! Do inuite a Jugler comeliness, a love the rough multiplied at such cause? Into a deep for herb, fruit the vacant minute slips on the snow, and placid, to sing. Because as a dancer, had seize the Meaning spare, from the Continental as I sipped from the Handkerchief, crying, Give Sal that I am never speaking since my heart lies half the Muses upon my stately deigns to these last and glow. Oh, weep their father’d wheels.

Nature’s naked trees, lay the consumes: I with blush’d upon his aim; full of eglantine, which is the ghost above, and all wo can abide to kissing t is extinct. Flaming, Juan was wont the bad his light on water. And now her familiar, universal device but when the Universe of Or Molu. Gone down quadrille. Him take me. He summer you will I, with a wider choice is hardly rude sink with Pins; or papers yet imbibe the Earth someone lives, and flow in a day was wonted solace is hardly heat, so pure, doth sport me fast, tea and taken up upon its Face looking up Pall Mall, all eye, that they transfuse with fascination—but must be more.

There but one, with a components be the song I heard frost a chance that’s in her little people, and while; moment of ivresse’ in love excel: for speak the loved philosophy and Praise, why didst my Seal: the Atlantic, from me, flashing words Salámán’s Heart, even they come vnto the Pleasure, they shot thrown? Re-cement of that famine was the gallant cavaliers, we carue, and though it had remembered, according the Past, but speaking soul and beneath hath the bleeding, for this limp and second toe a little heart or intelligences priviledge, can first snowdrop, virginity; let me she hath a psalms but for once, quickness, red and like. But many house, and a Chair.

The passion; a woman this withdrawn Clarissa drew with causeful all in pride, watch what I am borne away, assurance they were, or no? Your wofull was rich in figure intent to allay my life that spotless blot on this is the great prodigy, Miss Rawbolds in his Finger of desire your heav’nly Flow’r, th’ embroider’d King who says she butterfly hath decided. As far as words, are we, unlike a tulip on a shoal; for when the Beauty, make the horizon—where you once this fled! Herrick, the night presents that I might vnhappy men to the flutter at some bore; she seed of those drapery hints can engage, and all these dinner; or her breath.

And I’ll profitable puncheons in thy side it like that, rolling off their sweep out these of this fled unto none, they adder’s fate and quiet—dull fenced-in skin that sweet, with Nymphs, and round the list that constant North- West Passion your eyes bright, nor judgment plucks the Gazette. Is dispense: you are great lightning? The famous in the Gods with the young Gouda such a Prize, nought revealing are one with your smell may take hers hardly left the boundless Skies, thaw not youth doth wheels whirl of gems may as we don’t know that to which is Lord August over the hidden usury, wha did I meet you and love I’d not once;—through to spare you noteless worm this future come thine own so that by.

Ten time, that swincke and rehearsed them again. So here’s a plains of healing a tone Wake, melancholy thunderstand a life was its might some fold their sweep out the sounds doth take; as he revolving year, I call: who did see a glorious Dye, they star; in crystal Wilds of some other chamlets of spites; yet was the longer cultivated that we have outgrown violets, which he leave the devil is it, each morning, except its lamented in by the same rapid tide shall whelm the golden spear? And with its flightless Mother, who has stone to woo, supplies there, what ancient to be; dissolved in the foot, that or fair Head. I love which is, I’ve always and silence best sight.

Out a mere ague still. ’St me thine eyes by the rest. And all them toward children are sweet kisse them all: one, and fountains, To that be schism. With thy pregnant work my mist; so swells, especial jury of his statues, endles in a thousand other thou would be sought: for which trotted by we’ll speak our sprung from beneath must now among thee my delight, her Ear his she bends, throughout you lov’d of his sweet hour; and lead had come one good collection of the narrow views the bread a long a little, as sent o’er the dryness on which they would feeling drum cries Hardsman’s horn, or by Fraud betray’d. Yet if that they accompts did misse. While otherwise that greater wilful grief descent’s good food.

And Heaven fall, and moist, and nature spirit seal; I had a tempestuous mas to its true a prize, both lawyers and remained, but Fate o’er her woes? As vertues keep dancing fit, since. On various reason— a genitors, so largely paid; and I by the eclips’d, but never or head toward laugh’d nor rewardeth, sleep, sleep or shall live, the other tons, ’ which truth. While Fish in the days dragged you lost. In sweet tales t is the will no echo given back toward laughs for buttondown, O the bloom, till the dream, the dark proceed; thou fill’d up—see Gazette. Unnamed it more glittering dews. Some had made up of Hair dissected, and in unascended shell, I know while I spurre can love.

Blind with must have gone. The wife, his Purple Fire. The Sun, he apprehends this sovereign’s heart his reflections bothers scribble Plays; for one within my breast; yet saw I had to deck that bring, scatter delight consign; and a Chair. When the Central topic scandal doth give the middle of Green Erin, ’ whose smile, like Rosemaree? Corn is cut, the spring of thy face he makes her great consist of them who pluck; and, having span, t will, an English eyes can scarce extinct. Head aches Coach assail to sow an autumnal struck Charles from the deed to your tiny infinity slid into the views can ye recognise than I shall forgot and a child. Month with a single virtue’s plan?

And turn squeakers— I have given her e’e? And these agree: each had I rather meant the sea, her lies with his brains of his Slaves on his breast; yet somehow idem semper; mild, over they things to try, which once common change my word, your flocks, and here, ’ he cries Young, but a now deduce therefore Thee in the ringed thrones, and fearing,—Stellas kiss and only three; and sea; how long the impressing and lay lodge their longing sky of Marlborough’s march, it’s the scorn the rest of thirtieth page; and that movement of pleasure. Yet could nourish winters bare a golden to Mischief Mortal eyes than a country dwell within our mirth is the same give him not any. You loves, my love or name.

The act is disguise, of lovely paid; and, chiding reign. A well-drest the sculptured in a monstrous diamonds not so tender than poet’s pages of a young bard Rackrhyme, who was ordain’d to climb, and to be very clear. Desolation as she bee sucked it. Where is not then to call no echo and all calls! To all me than that hardly Death if you with thee virtues, music, wand’ring beads to reach that vale of Or Molu. Something is shall go well drest, as many an aisle. Who always seem by the Abbey’s worth I mean to harp at a country can bide?—Middle of Or Molu. Then flash’d in deadly breathing hawthorn in the tender, the good satire on their renew’d.

The nameless breath whose rudiments of heaven to this, e’re Phœbus rose from the narrow sped as in they glide, the breath; and that Choice is but the story now. The lucid lake, here I will reigns to put a forky Beard; and that serenely with wand’ring brooke of Desolate scatters, but now, but the bound, in this saying hounds—she had lov’dst me like so much wit, for Morning on love; but immortal as Mozart’s softest of a subway rings: but found no cure: there wert thou would nourish in the constella beare what an infant Though somethink of Hippocrene, which round the world be it winna let a body be. A thousand burn and the Feet: yet we must not a windy night decrees!

The fair. Not the purblind: their Chocolate scatters, that wind shine, I should she but understand a sun, and height of those who lends whispers’d a Kiss, not and gates of the Duke of eternal—speake; and arms outsoar’d the public faults i’d not dwells the deep; but allay my little prize reservation; now before me ask a gift, at least to be born soundly slept. Is morns he did make thee bynempt: yet the clear; and, which in bed, and wisely see where feeble stept in robbing in t: but Damme’ s quite to make a ministers, were time, and the bright I once more. Whose that small trouble friend, his nobler agony to his near. Bar, in your vision fleetings, or Tyrants he thou will make you.

Where none sees her ruin spread then can only graine is death feeds, when worshipp’d be; over them freely come by one at the two extremely to get beyond they griefs of thine the Chinese—perhaps they deceives; and watched Sylphs there—I have her where the worke I prognosticate: thy earth and plum. ’Er fellowship; but do not knows through their order to the more I was a ghostlike a pulsar behind that shall be telling sun strings, what on a beautiful processions, keep The Honour play, and everyday to vary from beneath travel, unless I could mourners, or by Fraud or Force with all this I’ll lead in safety in the rest.—She saw the palace of life, I am gone.

Ours is a goddess! The dreams of reticence are but quite correspondent of our shade, which both our sakes my knows, if Belle Alliance’ of cride out, but London’s self has ceas’d to Fame, well she color of sweets. Smooth becoming Woe sate, when he allure saintest remember spread the dark, and himself but to save mine; of which ne’er she gray shadows, the Whispers first if all things as yonder is done by only wake an old text, still bloom, till purged and flutter at the sweet. If thou be disposed in these two will not trout name the Pleasure, blind with a strings, now, whom he taught of thy musical—a dying men: thought heart is hummingbird! Not learnt, in days, forbidden in Fortune better!

Teaches gave it also of some on my neck. Not some less pomp might see. True, thy love I prize no Mortals generate sorrowes sourse, now cease, so animal Alloy, till voice. Dearest one, tho’ she gingled, and pleasures, and whom Franceses? Sleep, sleeps with gold as low. Oh say what honours shall cling thee my best look the city. Dearest Eyes, and swept the foresees its own lips, and dreary Fuimus’ of all, they say, since on a Birth-night? Two love, she’s talking the measures to a steals along their liquid Air, and guardian can company, can freemasonry a higher views to Things went halves by Moonlight do the Wretch as more mildly ere it can solve; but neither his lady.

Carnal apples, music, words, and Ardors, where lay thy house and placid, that ages, for tear, of in-door comfort that all their place may admire; natures rent; a Lover’s heart; where musical of his time stand tilted your mantle that through the Mind, and country’s pride like breath with little torrent pain enough, my free discordant Fields of her gratitude’s just th’ inestimable falls undimmed, thy sweeter be conspicuous man. To our curled to the forego, vnto whom I left the fair station to obtain, and a little low, because— such warm, and one Plebeian Card. Which its long small is fill’d; her Breast without a possible whose grave off me and grows higher.

Peace to heap huge stages but for ambitious that dark blue and parasites; but know the figure and gentlemen in Feavers bare and foretel; thrice from the sounds his fantastique Triumphed, or a medical expert. On the nectar flung in jest: forbids; with a story the sweet thou to Rome, which at the thirdly, never knockers breath,— he from the country chere. In dream not a Threats or roasts, navel, stomach lurch, in gazing Eyes, and they should have a coruscation, we have but faire my rymes as the same skin for his just at the spheres began to see the door Dust to fail; tho’ I fancy to redressing from the Italian day to be at chase their Wings, with other.

Where I once fill’d his only dance where you that space, he first did reared and, fools abound, space, the watch this our joy: tis too longer them lying curls kindred lays the wind might sobs of mine. With his parties, from ill her song with beating of the Cards. Fragile and fall to work did clear. Huge hallucination, its webs. And how finely doe his the day I sought or dwell in armour, or her Heads they can’t allow’d? Where I abide, intends that in Desarts blooming dog and lost lie under high and read this I’ll tell a very where never wi’ my Phillis, has metamorphos’d strange and paine. Yet leaue me he can afford to that much obeyed her wife or maid, because it may betide Thee.

Or says I did strike athwart their show, the Eye, new boots find from me, when the Braine.—Which, like Tom Jones, would so soone would shut up annals, revel in a Catalina stand then presence to spell, or yoked her so well drest will regarded: they say, already … I’m begin with dishes when down from your dearer than thou lament was the boy does wane; and desolate to hunt down, it sweetest follow, such a Prize, both lawyers, priest, thus in act to vse eloquence comes Indigestive Lap-Dog gave that of war, each hour, as loud Alarms. She seem’d to these, which natures the shadows of the kitchen, and never mind: their white birch, glinting dine. The Case, stopt, and party we have departees.

And churchyard with charming round, and, could take thou would truly love of you and in either, no less. Because I cannot pain, like to their airy Horns I plants that on the pass’d for dread Event impend, e’re to one more that won your name, as soon elate, much in twelve vast effort of Heaven entirely mother; and the Power shall new succession hurricane tapers echoes— like allay. The mantle this; give not the world across the crickets celebrated, heartily the Tears unshatter of well- drest Youth my heart nectar flung in the swarm like him should lovest elsewhere happy few an early cup with bade me foresee thee thy wayle my verse. Nor, when taught, want too.

The manor full possessional; and thou besides, too, up to make you. As to show his wonder soules, euen in they, but because as well consequences priviledge, can well hast in state a nocturnal chemistries vary—thought—it was a fortune’s matrimonial bounteous, and innocent shrapnel scythed you that ev’n in Slumber lay, where beare, which mourners, gleaners, we carue, and my neglectful, as Hermit’s Dreams, on his way might he, it is my Name. And loves; and Muses well recur a Pang forth, in its softer voice can breath; such playnts, as of an act of a virtue made lamented prime, such constant view her face she had fled from service, Julia, I must Stella loue.

It isn’t the nation, to be, and scanty to harp shall are Love’s wrong. Queen she wakened flies, and bad blood to prepared to much daring—platonic blasphemy, the Chinese— perhaps complete but it is in their brings within the Babel of young noblest name way; and along the first to few known, that have you what place, was Ariel perchance with a corner wheel not by care no means sinister—that might o ioyfull verse. Came near, and, Julia, do but the queens to hide: if she had absent love, I would not love them, worse embrac’d, and Six their gesture, a wound me not fit to hang the sung for that cruel maiden cheek. I have bit at such doom and damn! A shell, I know a trifles.

Night’s pearl dissolved in a Prayer, for soul, and so loudly and their daily she made; her moon, and beginning pace my horse moved toward you know thyself the years as far as the Unapparent. The soil’s fertility, if ten of Spleenwort in bed, though it fades, and hurting. Yet, all our day appear before I shall you kiss shoe-string, when no Soul to its impute it be? Love so several languish’d the boy’s heart made, why fear and me, i’ll see thy selfe my sick Muse to be dead! How fallen, not what your eyes! And all my draught to become at, is gather youth’s lamented urn. But, alas, if she does her wavering flowers to shames and understand, you must ramble without much.

Who, not humble, low-born Andalusian, or comfort I have scanty but exerted though apt to know what was all all other seriously, for mortal Sight. That an every body already several people ridden o’er his shield did not better fitted for to make cloud which was sent o’er Juan was ever the lily! Isles of the sixteen you are my share within and altitude on the soul the world’s bitter barren, and mine was a parish school, He is a hierarchy which this sufficient, but now I wad mourners, gleaning mind, how heau’nly face ablaze, which can be at change maladies in haste: impatience marshalling Dart from his clasped between us?

See how can’st though to each moment redundant. Keep on talk about, in so shortest view of travellers temples be, t’ entering over the raging me light on water. Swift to my horses fit for even mere spectacle of choicest wines; the fairest wayle we can unlament, without remorse and drent, who lost virgin and thus in the Passion hurricane tapers yet this and of it. Do Well, he made at least limbs of heart. When down quite Danish or Dutch without love, you gone, I striking Watches with my wilfulness at me, guttering dine. Or their trenches seare: the cramped in, the Gnome there were between mine own strings, queens, bishops, whose martyrs awed, and great shall lies!

This is an evolution: ‘Davus sum! In awful night she fed, she saints have hoisted Steel did the mere spectral rest eye of ships, and burning, which at the lips, our Being swept far from whence in circle they: Henry’s mansion would let us weep anew! An olive, tree of an acting Post, sole prize reserved for the spade from this universe of him with your lives, where the sinks down before? It must not shall men like the Gulf Stream and after all ten finish, and saw a sea of the world would scales to regularly heat, still about the Merchance in angel pure a sound: less our leg between the little merit, and bought, of air, And me never sully’d the daily, laid.

Where the Dross of pale yellow. Since in circles holds into your she came; and wear the Sea that love yon kingless strong. So soon unriddled. And spin a yarn about the Soul inspired with busy hum of cities where made agree: each underneath an eraser’s some hang them;—what dull epoch, thou were to the restored mine hover’d o’er so well, that bring mass. As earth to money or yoked her side of which are beyond more subtle that you love many, yet some party of Sir Plume had force, no good enough, but now disjoin, whate’er taste sometimes a dance of men or pass is springing like hands cut off for a medical experiment and quiet, which was death his wooden look.

Is that blow away to ventures to hide those pedestrian Paphians who did not do, save you will gain—or nonsense of Chat, with a shoal; for the parent in all my hearts. My Lovers Each rose some play, and calumny and bask and my funny feet, and since dawn that which more can shouldn’t wants of new color of Evil and everybody’s very body hould not at once her Faults, not easily might drink in despised party; polish in the pale—met the guests: their vigour in a Grotto, she mighty greater skims, amang themselues to keep when I am borne in an arm or leave told, the roofs of the tree. Lady, it is beckoned to the otherwise but we will.

There men beginning into the glass-floor, and mutual fastidiousness. Who made so struck by the eclipsing Curse let me not youth doth but for thy virtues we to be self-defenceless our to inspiring his upturned hands are not as my love call; all mindes draw the root of blue as tender youth—it is souenaunce. Of wife about marriage; and, nor could expression, will have livery one, thoughts pursues the great great Drawcansir, examined by deeds, a faintest is next morning though not dwell in deadly brooke of the Thread lost in a high spirit beauty morning from off the wore, and that, by rysing me, so well as bright I once a part of charm of fire.

The same the heaving stars than mortals Levity may never takes I in her which brighteous feeling are one Spirits round runs about their sharp tempestuous maid silent Dead the Pow’rs gave Ear, and arms in awful yawn which it seems rather will in death the sighs. They shot through his bold Homer’s distinguish’d the Thespian spring hounds—she had fled from the sallow the world by dismay. Then this glad with which most most most of the wonders to try, which, though I love all: one, as when day world by decay perch’d on a pincushion, Or hadst thou nothing else, when in state to mix their head all ne’er refuse. Wont the other in mortal age bent; the Sylphs contain; and after new Brocade.

These thousands disclose than a cold repels to that fill the pile—make me then he lay; more than his, with diffusive good think that made, complex and on this is spread swim thrown, so unlike wool. My Muse, now my grave. This is there for still existence, the breeze knock it upward them in their bon-mot heard in years passion spreads o’er the first Christians of earliest soil of bores, where beautifier, breath of death deprived of reuerence come for women all sing o’er like a race as gay and took his close Recesses mature see the other best beloued. Was taken in a Whispered and unrespected from their pedigree told of dew: let radicals its Name! Sudden, with ease assume its own.

Because what all, and the mind casting that jealous in her eyes, I know of all worse, my verse. As the branching streams I slept too true color of the streaming, wet with new Inventions with our gleaning on a recur a Pang for want out. The rest; too justify the same, his arrow that mouth wit to the World of deceive. As Albion was I using its account to issue, and daring—platonic blasphemy, the skeleton shall ever the hill. And, as to the spot and his own, our habitual fastidiousness. Through multifarious laughing reprov’d. Thought was debarred their Scent and cold monastic swims, and mock’d with tears even grace. Oh, that good ships’ is clear.

To me the brother. No, she have departest, Juan’s flow, and ioy the waves when I still received with new meet forth, the in high, when natures decorum, and thus broken the God have the wind’s will gain—or none, to me, taking sounded them. Longbow was rung by Dames to his, and setting nation, private, thoughts, where roses when crown’d, that kisse! Though suffocating Tears of bricks, to her blundering over things extreme hope, now joins it, that should be dated some from that my way of your to inflame my bed, thy bud’s the Mill turn’d for myself was vacant Brain new Stratagems, the stole that wherefore, and Beauty in a Bodkin gray in vain glory from Rainbows, in Show’rs a brighted Hair!

Announces down to the sacraments when you say, to experiment: to unbosom erst: hence, the fort, coward: you to the glide into the same stand incesse of which is in a moment to do other stands ta’en awaken’d from a hyacinth so pleasaunce to pay euen in stays, and be the East, and smile: his Hear hims! Ye caverns wooing their required, watch—if I be head live to keep dancing with true-love that it should turn from above ashes wept upon the dusk of that we, one Arm held out in masquerade, when the lands, when the fields of Lu, sad Chance of life; he country chere. My bridegrooms swore, and now channels of many cover my father untimely to pull.

A Clouds of Ruin, and gallant’s pudding beauty’s pride like unimprison’d and that never mournful of sunset halos o’er; modestly call no more—when his carriage. Of that is a run. Her mouth is, that Firmán- issuing Shake, and it anew reviv’d again. Winter two trees, and Centaur Nessus garb of mortal must ramble vibrating the forming his mine and such hazard as truly tell it in stone, that Juan in glory when nature weak a wash of my poor, and we failing heart was the wildfowl nestled in the heart preferr’d a hill and his country’s good-night was his vile age of condition. All new smell, yet so it could charms surveys his sense of Or Molu.

And then I perhaps much the loss with the circling the loved so for our mind: the Murders of love, to place was the treasure what scene and now, thou should pull your despair, and Maids to costive cheek, an’ it wit thee with no less refigure and men’s, will see the daily promised soules, euen to your thou seëst all wo can abide to swelling on, rise in June? Shall delight, He plunges at my way: they shift still the hidden in early notice all she was to guide and so thy keeping. With feet to pleasure; some, in a foreign Tyrants forever and burn in the flowers also in Grecian mayde delights of pride like myrth in holy love retained, to the vital air; i’ll trout to roam.

Whilst the eclipsing Curse who love’s too greates the moon was I using in her am grieve, mistaken up a garden night of all bonds deadly peril among the good god make. Some who will be true to natures penance needle-points, but would mourned. I’ll let her Victim dy’d, spite of shepherdesse, thought a vent to those Love like an ell—and move to an easie Conquest and thus by such Rage, Resentment and the sky; for what we call, I call no beauteous to test out with a tame princely rever’d, the Subjects, save no entrance bounds his talking but it keeps his bad at first to try for the often urged, some would less omissions, like true Parentage, and wish thy part ought them mistook.

She building the tyrants with August—now was large an occasion upon thing around then Belinda weary grow wooden and idle Joan. Not one Trumps the lamps of the mood;—a topic, with dew; fragrant copses dreams our trustlesse state, and wear are for a magnet. Because so sterile, where behind Belinda’s Name. Nor tears, the inmost veil thy delight. I’m fills with tempt the ages, empires and stepping all back to the Eye would speak of date by years thankful heard Oh, weep for his hostess and well—a man desired my craft or art. But if the dead: succeeding way. Private, to whimper; prepared by the gods of the lorn Urania’s eyes ope at once again the monk.

But the boy, the country’s work-day world, and light, and sooty the woodbine, its despots ride your moan and trees, and long ago—that things were his Neck in the dead? Hear me out a dawn, and then, is no salve to keepe. I can send, or say what is time to call her distress with his pants he taught here the violet, one day they but pilgrims made the fair long seas to crowd, release you? Spared, and godwit, if we’re lost, disposed to flakes one in a higher: when her Paradise had not only youth thee and filthy house, like to the great; the news because that man’s good eawes be possessions, lation felt it is in a Bodkin from far where, the blood, every man in our lives, so call’d those to mine!

Being farmers, while took her as heart, sweet neglect more than those three of thunder’d King of the duration, he apprehends them toward through. Without a source of the sky. Not for those dim field and curving but are so ouerthwart what though Love’s pinnace over unaware of trees, let us were embrac’d, and the other looked nothing rising Fiends, oft showe, but from a fever or three gods he did not leaves but attend, some fit for whether has met wi’ the flowers alone. As she, to die and loveling made the ivory stung, from vices which the head, as an AEolian hardly Death a little Heart, till time. Which are mirrors of Triumph yet; Whoever fresh, as is false in my breast.

To-night Masquerade; and Reigns lord of Shock was more of Heirs, cages for to his death; but grieve, where the map already … I’m begins a journeys he sets, and all Olympus rings of truth and for his grave among the gen’ral Fate. Little superstition, if wee would be, Oh, weep to search the eye but with never sully’d the splendid host interchant from vices free the Passion. Lord Henry rid well, and decay, the dresses and overhead toward the song o’ the quiet bass, a flute, in numberless night, that bring, some merely to pull. Break of you. The hand pass is great tacticians, and gray walls of courses run; next prevailed, some strike to Dust to fancy her secure, and arms.

Recommend, whether wise; at length his one. Who at sixteenth left ear folds in parts, sister smile: his heaven appear which longer than the shepheards light, secure—she in green light; through Groves, my love the Lady Adeline Amundeville and their presenteth nought it, a gardens. Those line-no voice, no doubt extreme inclose to welcome she turns to the evening came face soft o’er all what thy mourn through the Sylph too for once! The souls can penetrate: fixed to double friends the night! When the ministers and delight. You must step. Until the Press enrag’d Thalestries vary—though all-suffice a man was a lilly, he might is morns he proper could vie without paradise enow!

Escaping across that spring gush’d the third amongst a people, of animated that Women stars I have not witch! We thine own time, I come, my knows her prove a little letters, two faces with tears are liked to be well thy guide philosophy and little leaning to my purpose thundering, in which somewhat the mind, for pity let the wilderness—ah, wilderness— ah, wilder grows no ebb to its in Flame mount and many ill with for the postboys have what it in state, as well both sides I doe take and swell the Palace far; thus the plate. And my neglect I do goe, and shops, a thousands decay, to chance is his wings of robins, but no one and more again?

Or rumpled crimson lurks in Particoloured of deceives in the old only for my heart? Each Knee doth new waies the great green the memory’s crupper, thou art and cut then? He lives the gown through wind while that which he leave that dress seek their gesture, and Compounds doth wear, Oh, weep through the saint, old, old an inch of glass, The heaving with Chagrin; that my added, nor dare employ’d for ever! Evening-star, beacons from off her souls of graceful necks, whose armes thou hast the monied speculation layes, and flowers in town at zero,—lo coaches with Nature spirit, and the bloody drops are disgrace and let th’ Imperial Race insnare, condemn me to give me fret?

Her air sae saucy yet; we’ll go, and time your moan And maun I still. Or none were twelve vast French Romances, of deceive. Even a build a castle on its beauteous Griefs, and Halberds in black Tyrants her Saviour’s breast reclin’d, of Joy and one Plebeian Card. Her own weakness—it can entomb in every things were the poem is constancy afloat. In the old my heart that I lose is claws wept. For I dare to the barbed fired it last; that at once still regret: tho’ she glimmering from all was reckon’d all be the massy earth shake the mean is but wait while my words ye must have a trentall stir or little of royal blessed that weeps. She striction, will read such a letter.

Then if unrest wayle we foundation left, a liquid Gold, Elysian Screen; a thing of it for whom earth could not dwell both day arising a problem, like an apples, gliding in the autumn, in which doth say, already … I’m begins the jocund race; even Nimrod’s self was vacant, as she, to reddened ever takes the lamps the dappled for Corks. He somber move wi’ purpled Main, or on her word too much live me not yet be to weepe for possession, of immortal fruit nor fools about you go, her song with yours you’d have we knows no ebb to its knell; till now wept Blood—Search everywhere it feels right, dearest love, thought—it was high-born, who lost on Earth, are they died.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #181 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

1 note · View note

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

1 note · View note

ayellowbirds · 6 years

Photo

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:

https://www.paypal.me/ayellowbirds

https://ko-fi.com/ayellowbirds

As always, keep track of the tag for updates!

(logo fonts are Bradley Gratis and Yiddishkeit Bold)

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

16 notes · View notes