#Bald is Beautiful: A letter for a fabulous girl

[hermitcraft-8]

the final story

Brontel hadn’t actually heard anything from home in nearly five years.

That wasn’t a lot for a dwarf, not even close. It was like a breath, like a blink. Like a year for a human, but even that wasn’t that much. People didn’t change that much in so little time. Well, Brontel had gained fifty pounds and some new scars, sure, and his clothes were simpler and his jewelry hardly even worth anything, but that wasn’t really changing so much as… well… it wasn’t changing.

Besides, it didn’t matter, he knew what they’d all say. His beautiful husband Onim would sweep him into his arms and tell him he was so proud, his Auntie Gerri would cluck and coo over his scars, his Uncle Rose would chuff quietly about his weight, little Kerli would beg him to tell his stories, and Gortie would clap him on the shoulder and show off those undwarvish tusks and practically glow with pride.

Gortie was a strange case.

She wasn’t a real dwarf, everyone knew it, she was half orc, or dragon born, or something like that. Her skin was gray, her teeth too sharp, and she was far too tall for a dwarf- although now that Brontel had spent just a bit more time with non-dwarves, she really didn’t seem all that tall. Maybe an inch or two shorter than Sunny, who was apparently not that impressive for a tiefling.

Brontel hadn’t really thought of her in years. Why would he? She had nothing to do with his quest.

And yet, somehow, she’d wormed her way into his dreams.

This had to be a dream- just minutes ago he’d been laying down next to Maya to sleep, and then���

Gortie was standing before him, hands on her hips, staring off vaguely into the distance. She was wearing her usual poorly fitting tank top that was hardly anything more than a pillowcase with holes cut from it and the ugliest pair of sweatpants he'd ever seen. Her bald head shone in the low light, her long, pointed, torn ear flicking slightly in the breeze.

They were on top of a hill he recognized as right outside their home, a ten minute walk from the city gates at most. He paused, looking around, before clearing his throat, loudly and gruffly. Immediately, Gortie’s eyes snapped to him and she blinked.

“Oh. Brontel.”

“Hey girl, what’s up?”

“Oh, you know,” Gortie frowned, before shaking her head. “It’s not important. What have you been doing for the last, what, decade?”

“Only half a decade,” He scoffed, tossing his hair over one shoulder. “I’ve been on an adventure. Actually, several adventures. Adventure after adventure- I’ve been in, what, four parties by now? The one I’m in right now? There’s a tiefling called Sunny- oh, and Tearn, you’d love Tearn-”

She wasn’t listening. She wasn’t even pretending to listen. She was just staring at him. This wasn’t the chatty, excitable, airheaded Gortie he knew. Something was wrong.

“Gortie-?”

“I used to look up to you, you know,” She said, finally. “Every letter you sent, I’d make Onim read to me, every time you had a new adventure, I’d repeat it to Kerli. I idolized you.”

“Okay?” He blinked, a little flattered. “Is that… what, is that my fault?”

“No,” She said, tiredly. “It was mine.”

“...Right. Um… what have you been doing?”

“I went on an adventure too,” She said, in the same kind of voice you’d use to tell someone their house had just burned down. “I was looking for a good story, something you’d be proud of.”

“Oh, so let me hear it.”

She stared at him, before huffing, shaking her head. “Sure. Fine.”

She spread her arms and the world rippled, fading into a warm pub, a nearby table seating five. One of them was Gortie, but her usual dopey smile was splitting her face, instead of the solemn expression she’d been wearing this whole time. The others were a satyr with curly red hair and little curly horns that reminded Brontel just a bit too much of Sunny, a massive hulking orc woman with beady gold eyes, a human man with a long solemn face and warm brown skin, and a red skinned tiefling with the most fabulous outfit Brontel had ever seen on another person.

They were all laughing and joking, the orc down tankard after tankard of what reeked of honeymead while the others sipped at their own drinks.

“Once upon a time,” Gortie- the Gortie beside Brontel- began. “There were five brave adventurers.”

The scene flickered. The orc stood before them, her arms crossed across her chest.

“East.”

The human, his hands in his pockets.

“Skian.”

The tiefling, smiling gloriously at them.

“Kentworth.”

The tiny satyr, clutching a banjo.

“Klippe.”

And then Gortie, smiling a crooked little grin, showing off her chipped front teeth.

“And Gortimer.”

And the scene flashed, and East had Gortie pinned to a table by her neck.

“And they were not heroes.”

Klippe snarled viciously at a crying tiefling girl who was missing her horns..

“And they were not good people.”

Kentworth laughed as she counted through a bag of gold pieces.

“And they were monsters.”

Skian swung a sword at a dragonborn, slicing it’s face.

“And they thought they were dragon slayers.”

And they were back on the hill.

“But they weren’t,” She gazed off into space vacantly. “And then, in the end, Gortimer died.”

“What?”

“I died. East killed me, actually. Klippe tortured my mother and then East killed me. Skian abandoned the group long beforehand, he didn’t have anything to do with it for once. And Kentworth, the one people called untrustworthy, the one people called a scheming good for nothing succubus,” She paused, to sigh. “She’s the only reason my family didn’t die too.”

“This is a weird dream,” Brontel admitted. “Bit of a nightmare, even.”

“Sorry,” She rubbed her head. “I just wanted to say goodbye. You’re having fun, right?”

“Of course,” He beamed. “I’m so close, I just need to get through the chasm, I can feel it.”

“Okay,” She reached over, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Visit home when you can, alright?”

“Alright.”

And he was awake again, staring at the ceiling in the dark. He was all twisted in the sheets, practically off the bed, one leg out to the side, draped across Maya’s stomach. Across the room, Finley snored. He rolled his eyes, rubbing his face, and closing his eyes again. He was going to go back to sleep.

The next morning, the nightmare was forgotten.

finished the dnd story who wants to hear it

[ireadwhatuwrite]

Bald is Beautiful: A letter for a fabulous girl

Bald is Beautiful: A letter for a fabulous girl #ChildhoodCancerAwarenessMonth #Bald is #powerful, Bald is #feminine, Bald is #delicate, Bald is #beautiful, Bald is #lovely, Bald is #strong @BlackberryBookT #IRWYW #booktwitter #booktour

Title: Bald is Beautiful: A letter for a fabulous girlAuthor: Carola SchmidtIllustrator: Dian Ovieta Genre: Children’s picture bookPages: 27 PagesAges: 4 and up Recently a good friend was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her upbeat can do attitude never wavered, a factor, I am sure in the long run, as she finally achieved remission. Even so losing her hair was a huge hurdle for her. Eventually she…

[bigmoneyshave]

Bald is beautiful a letter for a fabulous girl || Bald is better...!!!

[toongrrl-blog]

Pink Power Rankings (Pt. 1)

Hi I am here to look at famous pink outfits in film and TV history and figure out: is pink a power color for this character? I choose to leave out obvious ones like Pink Power Ranger because, duh it’s in her name and this is gonna be a long list. Also avoiding real-life figures and onscreen depictions of real life figures because keeping it short (and I don’t have the time)

Pictured above are the bridesmaids at First Daughter Luci Baines Johnson’s wedding in the 1960s. 

Mimi Tachikawa

She is the most obvious pick from Digimon and the girl most decked out in pink. To paraphrase this video from The Take: there was once a show about a strange world beyond our own, somehow a group of preteens were pulled into this world not of their accord, including a young 10 year old girl. Along with her friends they were exposed to the elements and fought monsters out to harm them, she was sexually harassed by two clearly adult digimon, uncomfortable with the elements, often had to put up with toxic masculine BS, and was often snarked at by the story and even some of her own friends for being so girly and into pink. Of course some audiences and the story were overcome with sympathy with this girl pulled away from a familiar world...

Just kidding! They weren’t and some audiences even gave her a lot of shit and this has only been recently examined. For a while Mimi Tachikawa had a problem that seemed to be well known by a lot of female characters, like Carmella Soprano, Betty and Megan Draper, Margaret Sterling, and yes Skyler White. Put a flawed, complicated woman character alongside more charismatic (and male) characters and she will be disliked (despite the audience being more likely to be she than the menfolk held up as icons). 

This is sad because looking back, Mimi was truly a badass all along: she sticks up for herself, speaks up for herself, she is unapologetic about her love of pink and girly things, she is quick to tell guys when they are getting in her space, she’s honest, she lets Tanemon go on and fight with only a sincere question if she really is going to while the others hold their Digimon down, she stands up against the Numemon who were harassing her and her friends, and she was funny as hell. Sadly it took a long while for fans to grow up but many of us, especially girls, reclaimed her as our own. It also helped that Mimi came before girly icons like Elle Woods, Leslie Knope, and Joan Holloway and also before the boom in Gen X and Millennial women contributing to comedy and starting their own stand-up specials and movies and TV.

Power Ranking: 10, all because she held her own, no matter the haters and was glad to see us no matter how odd. 

Karen Wheeler

Another complicated lady, this time older and from the 1980s. This is Karen Wheeler of Hawkins, Indiana whose children are off on their own adventure. She is trying to tap into her sexual power here. It’s dicey because the man in question is a young man and she is a unhappily married affluent housewife in the suburbs; she agrees to meet him at the motel for “private swimming lessons” and does herself up in a way inappropriate for swimming lessons (in Scarlet Letter Red to boot!), only to be stopped by the sight of her lazy husband sleeping on the Laz-E-Boy with their youngest child Holly on his chest. This season sees Karen open up to her two older children over the patriarchy and saying goodbye to a best friend and girlfriend after confessing his love for her.

Power Ranking: 6, because her sexual power was on shaky ground and only based on her looks and attention from a man but she shows some character development that season. 

Nancy Wheeler

This look was a game changer, but Nancy is no stranger to pink and preppiness. Here she is wearing an outfit that recalls the postwar “Boyfriend Shirt” from Brooks Brothers for the female collegiate set and it’s updated with long loose but pinned hair and designer (or mock) jeans. In this outfit she goes monster hunting with her younger brother Mike’s best friend’s older brother and Nancy’s classmate, Jonathon Byers and squares off with slut-shaming police officers and a mother who chastises her for lying about her whereabouts and losing her virginity while Nancy’s best friend Barb Holland is missing and she also tells off boyfriend Steve for trying to cover his ass by not participating in the police investigation. This is the look (which can easily double as office wear) when you want to go straight from school where you have an impeccable GPA to monster hunting in your neck of the woods to find the whereabouts of your best friend and for fighting the patriarchy. 

Power Ranking: 8, this is a girl on the move as we can see with her rolled up sleeves. 

Eleven

The Iconic Look, the look where she made a boy wet his pants, found two missing kids, broke a bully’s arm. The Polly Flinders dress would alter the way we see girls in dainty pastel pink dresses. 

Power Ranking: 10, can you do all that without touching someone?

Barb Holland

The most tragic look for this was the sweater that Barbara Holland (1967-1983) wore when she was taken by the Demogorgan and killed. This was the look where she was the recipient of a wet willie from a boy who looked down on her and her best friend who was dating his popular friend, the look where she accompanied her best friend reluctantly to the popular boy’s party, and where her friend turned her back on her concerns. This is the look of a passive and traditional (to her detriment) femininity. She did gain a huge following who cried foul over her fate. 

Power Ranking: 4, points up for the fandom and devotion but she wasn’t empowered. 

Erica Sinclair

That was depressing, let’s go to the girl who embodies America: Hawkins resident wise-ass, the girl who kept her observations and words as tight as her corn rows, and her planning as precise as her perfectly well done baby hairs (Black readers, feel free to correct me as I document her fabulousness), My Little Pony nerd and Economics wonk, and American Heroine. Erica sassed her way into Stranger Things with a raised eyebrow and a lusciously girly girl wardrobe that stands out and fits in with her Midwestern environment. She’s no stranger to pink and she commands attention and the best service at Scoops Ahoy and manages to get several ice cream dishes for free (the most elaborate ones) before getting in on finding the secret Soviet military base. Girlfriend manages to deal with teenage shenanigans, assassins, creatures from another world, near-death experiences, almost being captured by foreign enemies and the most awkward sing-a-long ever. She doesn’t seem to have lost her child-appropriate enthusiasm for games even when telling off old balding men for getting her age right.

Power Ranking: 10, you can’t spell America without Erica

Joan Holloway

Pink is an appropriate color for the resident femme intellectual of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, it shows that Joan is willing to defy “the rules” of fashion for redheads (she also wears red) and it ties into her 1950s persona of the bombshell who is trying to get married to a man who’d move her out to the upper-middle class suburbs and she wouldn’t have to work. That was Joan at the beginning: over time she started to own her natural independent streak and her willingness to buck expectations of her based on her gender and looks but also deals with the same men who ogle her, disrespecting her intellect, her hard work ethic, and even her body (fuck you Greg Harris). In this fuchsia number (still in the pink family), she sets up a luncheon with a colleague (Peggy Olson) where she pitches the idea of them setting up a production company with their names, while Peggy didn’t take, Joan starts her own “Holloway & Harris” with her babysitter and mother. Sealing her end as a strong, productive, independent woman who learned to own herself as she was. 

Power Ranking: 10, men may like scarves but women like not being tethered to men. 

Betty Draper Francis

Meet Elizabeth Hofstadt Francis and her ex-husband Don Draper (actually Dick Whitman), for about 10 years of marriage, they have enjoyed a union where they looked like a couple right out of a magazine, he being a square jawed handsome self-made man with an athletic build who often is compared to old-school movie stars like Tyrone Power or Clark Gable or Cary Grant and she, a beautiful model from a wealthy family in the Main Line area of Philadelphia who studied anthropology at Bryn Mawr and speaks fluent Italian and is often compared to Grace Kelly (and other Hitchcock Blondes). But the interior of their perfect colonial in the suburbs hid an ugly reality where she suffered from ennui and was a brat to her kids while he gaslighted and cheated on her with other women, more modern women, like she wasn’t enough. Eventually she found out his true identity and floored that she had been living a lie and gave up her last name for an imposter, she divorced him and married a man she met at her husband’s work function. 

About three years later, Don is happily married with a younger and much more modern woman (Megan Draper) while Betty is married to a man who loves and accepts her even at her worst but to her chagrin has put on a lot of weight (a blow to a former model who grew up being raised that weight gain or being fat was the worst thing a woman could be) and she hasn’t dealt with her unhappiness in a productive manner. 

For a while well into 1968, she accepted the extra pounds (although looking like she lost some) and coming middle-age and even dyed her hair black, until her new husband tells her he plans to run for office and as he was excitedly recounting what is to be done, says “Everyone will see you” not knowing that his young, vain wife would read this scenario differently and after assessing her new look to an old evening gown of her’s, she sped up her weight loss and returned to her slim and blonde look that turned heads. Soon she takes a drive to her son’s summer camp and runs into her ex-husband and they feel the old spark and sleep together; it is there she tells him that he as a lover is different than him as a husband and admits about the young wife she looked down on, “That Poor Girl, she doesn’t know that loving you is the worst thing to get to you”. Next morning she has breakfast with her new husband, who is none the wiser, while Don heads back to the city. But is Betty really happy?

Power Ranking: 7, not satisfied but has received some closure about her relationship with her ex-husband. 

Sally Draper

This is Sally in her birthday party dress. On that day her father built her a pastel colored playhouse, Mother prepared treats for the adults and kids for her birthday party, she and her friends played out their parents’ (admittedly shitty) marriages at the playhouse, her father goes out to get her birthday cake from the bakery and returns only with a golden retriever named Polly, while her unhappy mother fumes about her husband doing something shitty and humiliating and not being allowed to ream him out because he brought a dog and that makes him the good guy. 

Power Ranking: 5, she gets a dog but is still young and dependent on her messy parents. 

Rachel Menken

Meet Rachel Menken Katz, running into her ex Don Draper while he is out with his latest mistress and she with her husband Tilden Katz. She would end this series as dying from cancer after having two young children and running her father’s department store and instead of flowers, requesting that donations be made for a Jewish hospital in the Jell-O Belt. In 1960 she fell in love with an ad man who proved to have been miserable and having lost his mother during his birth, as she did, she also competed in what was called “a man’s world” at a time when women were relegated to assistant roles at best and she split from him when he wants to run away with her, mostly because he wants to run away from his issues and not because of his feelings for her. As her sister Barbara said, “she had everything”.

Power Ranking: 8, she ends up dying young but she manages to “have it all”. 

Megan Draper

Meet Megan Calvet, later to become Megan Draper. How does she become the next Mrs. Draper? At this timeline, Don Draper is dealing with life after divorcing Betty Draper (now Francis) and is trying (and failing) to quit alcohol and trying to date the intelligent, warm, no-nonsense, and close-to-his-age Dr. Faye Miller. But that night Megan, who noticed she caught her boss’s eye, decides to make the moves and in a uncharacteristically demure (many fans thought she looked frumpy here) but at worst basic outfit, she sleeps with him. This is the outfit for a quickie that later won his heart and has him pop the question and she becomes part of Creative at their work. But is this really for the best?

Power Ranking: 7, she married Don Draper but then again she married Don Draper. 

Peggy Olson

Meet Peggy Olson, who officially walked away from the things holding her back from feeling at ease with herself and her choices. After a whole season where the priest impressed by her skills has learned that Peggy had a child out of wedlock and put him up for adoption and starts pressuring her to admit her “sin” while Peggy would rather move on with her life, she tells him they don’t see eye to eye and walks away from the Catholic Church and while the Cuban Missile Crisis is going on, she lays down in her bed with the pink comforter and pillows with her pink floral nightgown, she lays herself down to sleep and prays with a contented look on her face.

Power Ranking: 9, she’s not fully absolved of the issues plaguing her but refusing to wear a hairshirt and beat herself up? Awesome. 

Dawn Chambers

Meet Dawn Chambers, from 1966-1968, she was the only black person (let alone black secretary) at the uber-white Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce (pun intended for the decor) and like many minorities in positions occupied by less marginalized people, Dawn had to keep her head low and not stand out (despite some co-workers considering her as remarkable as a sore thumb). But then in 1968, she made the mistake of punching in for a co-worker and they get caught by Joan Holloway (and it’s so horrid, thank God Don Draper intervened on Dawn’s behalf and Pete reminds them of how the ad agencies are being looked at for their minority quotas). This was also the season where Dawn took to wearing blazers over her blouses and skirts or dresses and here Dawn is wearing a conservative grey blazer over a pink shirt with ruffles down the front and a red plaid skirt when her work life alters for the...better? It is there that Joan sternly gives her the promotion of keeper of the keys, title not pay, and Dawn tells her that she decided she doesn’t care whether other people in the office hate her but she doesn’t want to disappoint Joan, who withholds any warmth or approval. The next season we see Dawn stand up to a entitled and mediocre white man (Lou Avery) and first she is moved to reception and then she takes over Joan’s post as Office Manager (With her own office! And the salary!) while Joan goes upstairs to her own office in Accounts. 

Power Ranking: 10, this is a big fucking deal for a Black Woman in a mostly-White corporate setting during the 1960s. 

Trudy Campbell

1970, Trudy Vogel Campbell has remarried her estranged husband Pete and they are moving out to Wichita, Kansas with their young daughter Tammy where he will work a plush job for Lear Jet (and they are being flown out by them!). 

For the past ten years, Trudy and Pete have had a difficult marriage where he was dissatisfied with the choices he made and that he really didn’t want to marry her, and Trudy had to deal with being a woman with fertility issues at a time when motherhood was seen as a primary goal for women and women who didn’t have kids or chose not to were seen as weird at best. They had to deal with pressure from her father to adopt, his parents snotty issues, she had to deal with her husband’s attitude, his envy of others, and his cheating. But Trudy laid her boundaries and was able to stand up to her husband, without losing her gracious manner and her zest for society. She tried to be a supportive wife and she found some common ground with him, when it comes to common decency and politics, and they make an amazing pair on the dance floor. 

Then came the end after their divorce: they behave more amicably, he’s more involved with their young daughter, he fights for Trudy, and he gives an amazing pitch for her to come back. She takes him back but lets him know that she isn’t the same girl he married a decade before and she looks at things for how they are. 

Plus she is gonna rule Wichita!

Power Ranking: 8, she accepts there will be compromises but states her boundaries and has them met and will be a society wife. 

Elle Woods

Who shows up in court in LA hot sandals, a pink tote bag for her canine companion Bruiser, long glossy hair, and a curve-hugging but professional power dress in shocking pink? Elle Woods. After trying hard to be taken seriously by her fuckboi ex Warner and her snotty, neutral toned Harvard classmates and learning that her Professor got her in an internship for a important lawcase (where they defend her fellow Sorority Sister) just for her looks, she leans into both her natural intelligence, expertise, and love of pink and all things girly to defend her friend and solve the case. 

Also can we talk about how both Legally Blonde and Bridget Jones’s Diary are both movies where the attractive blonde protagonist is humiliated by showing up for a costume party in a Playboy Bunny costume under false pretenses and she deals with sexual harassment and being underestimated regarding her intellect? But LB ages better because it kinda pokes fun at the beauty myth more and is more inter-sectional and Elle finds supportive women to add to her posse of supportive sisters and she supports other women in turn.

Power Ranking: 10, Sisterhood and owning your personality quirks and interests and boldly defending others is always a win. Case Dismissed. 

Lorelei Lee

The ultimate Pink Power icon and the one who set the path for all femme-y and cute loving blonde protagonists with wit and ambition. This is the song for a woman who sings about how transactional heteronormative relationships in the mid-century were and how the performative actions of men in heterosexual relationships don’t do much to improve women’s lives, like paying the rent and that they would use women for their own uses and could be shallow enough to dump women if they lost their beauty and/or got older, so for insurance make sure you get money or rather things that can be hocked and worn with pride, like diamonds. Tom & Lorenzo covered this in their One Iconic Look series and this sequenced has been spoofed several times in Hey Arnold!, Crazy-Ex Girlfriend, Birds of Prey, and most famously by Madonna, and it is the look for women who not only feel good about their curves but also want to show them off.  As T&Lo said about the ditzy Lorelai and her savvier friend Dorothy Malone (Jane Russell):

These women were all about power, control, and looking out for each other. Men were side stories or play things.

And in the repressive Fifties it was outrageously pink and smelt of female sexual power (pink pussies). 

Power Ranking: 11, hawwwwwwww that’s what you get for having an iconic and referenced look!

Marge Simpson

The most nostalgically remembered outfit in cartoons and the most written about in think pieces and articles by Millennial women who grew up watching The Simpsons and the rest of what the Animation Renaissance had to offer. In “Scenes from the Class Struggle in Springfield”, the family goes out to the outlet mall in Ogdenville where Marge and Lisa happen upon a beautiful pink Chanel suit that even left my cartoon-apathetic mother enthusiastic and Marge is soon seen by a old high school friend who mistakes her for being wealthy and Marge goes along with the ruse and is invited to Country Club activities with the ladies where she shows up in several talented alterations of her suit (until getting destroyed by Santa’s Little Helper, RIP Iconic suit), she also gives her family a hard time about how they don’t fit into that Country Club Scene and then when forced to see how she hurt them (and even Baby Maggie), turns around and tells them she loves Homer’s sense of humor, Lisa’s compassion and outspoken human rights politics, and just loves Bart (even if she can’t figure what she likes about him). 

This also happens to be another instance where Marge sacrifices a social life (she’s not seen with a lot of friends who have her back, aside from a brief time with Ruth Powers), chances for social mobility, and her own self-improvement for her family. While we love a mother who prioritizes her family’s autonomy, we still kind of hope that she didn’t have to sacrifice her own identity for her family. 

Power Ranking: 8, points for the iconic suit and it’s layered meanings. 

Bridget Jones

A rare move of power for a normally powerless and insecure woman and in a shocking pink blouse and black slacks that show off her hourglass curves and go with her coloring. 

Pink is not a color Bridget isn’t familiar with, especially with this deleted scene that shows her in Pink Passivity (and it looks delicate on a blonde with blue eyes and pale skin but could risk her fading but I as a brunette would look popping!). But here after entering a relationship with Daniel Cleaver (who is a walking red flag) and finding out he was keeping her as his side-ho to his skinny, bitchy American girlfriend and colleague and I have my problems with Bridget Jones as a series (which would take several parts) and I can talk about how Peggy Olson and Joan Holloway were a lot better written versions of her (klutziness and awkwardness but succeeding!). But this is a huge power move where Bridget wears a simple outfit that owns her looks (even being affirmed by a older and previously antagonistic co-worker that she’s actually thinner than the average woman and she can’t back down, like ever) and is able to quit her job for a better and more glamorous job and tell off her ex-boyfriend for how poorly he has treated her. And all her co-workers smile off as she walks off in triumph after telling Daniel she’d rather wipe Saddam Hussein’s ass. I kinda wish I could go Joan Rivers on Daniel here. 

Also points on that bolder shade of pink. 

Power Ranking: 10, no one gets to burn a cheating, manipulative bridge like that (and yes she is conventionally prettier than I but that’s not the point). 

Alice Macray

I know, I should shut my mouth and wear beige but my personal color analysis says I’m a winter person.

It’s an interesting power move, albeit within the confines of patriarchal society and even the only defiance that wouldn’t get her tsked at because she is serving the Male Gaze. And yet it’s a natural part of her characterization in this part of the series: the traditional housewife stubbornly keeping her pedestal and fighting to stall progress for other women pursuing other paths (part of wearing beige and shutting up as Mother of the Groom is to allow the Bride to take center stage) but it’s also a path she had to take what with being a dyslexic in a less informed and intolerant era and growing up in a sheltered, conservative Catholic family. This is also the outfit she wears when she spots a younger wife being forcibly yanked by her husband, alluding that the patriarchy isn’t benevolent. 

This isn’t her first time in pink, or even a pink and blue combination: she wears pink when she goes and gives out bread to defeat the feminists at the Illinois Legislature, she wears pink and blue when Bella Abzug calls on her and her peers’ hypocrisy, she drinks a Pink Lady when she is given a “Christian Pill” and it matches her lavender dress. It’s also ironic: pink, white, and blue are the colors of the Transgender pride flag and she is defending White Heternormative Cisnormative Christian Values TM and it’s also a color combo that shows up in the beauty parlor she frequents where she and her friends wring their hands over working women gaining more ground and feeling that their comfortable privilege is being taken away by women who sully their hands working outside the home while they stay home with their children in their coordinated pastels and have maids of color keep their worlds nice and orderly. 

But she is wearing a pink maxi dress with a high neckline and a very prominent hat that provides very ladylike shade for her fair skin, just like our first Pink Power Girl Mimi Tachikawa, and like Mimi, Alice will take a life-altering short trip to Wonderland. And like Pink Power Girl Eleven, she finds her true hidden power and starts wearing more saturated colors as time goes on. 

Power Ranking: 5, she is on her way to breaking out of her little safe world and doing more than subverting a wedding tradition. 

[t-molina]

Bald is Beautiful: A Letter for a Fabulous Girl

Bald is Beautiful: A Letter for a Fabulous Girl #BookReview #ChildrensBooks

Bald is Beautiful: A letter for a fabulous girl, is a lovely children’s picture book by Carola Schmidt. It is about a young girl, and making the best out of being bald because of cancer treatments. It aims heavily on making sure the girl knows she is beautiful despite her lack of hair, as well as pointing out fun ways to embrace her new look. Such as a hat and scarf shower to celebrate who she is…

[droughtofapathy]

Great Come Experience Part One

My Experience at Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812:

 Disclaimer: I’ve sat in banquette seating four times. I’ve been able to see most of the theater, but I’m going to be a little heavy on the Marya D. and Hélène stuff because I’m super gay, and like… Grace McLean and Amber Gray, amirite?

 Pre-Prologue:

·       So it started with this jaunty music, and the whole cast comes out with the pierogi baskets, and you get dumplings if you wave your arms enough. Also each cast member has a section and converses with the audience for like almost five minutes. It’s great, because you can just talk to the people, and I was in Pearl Rhein’s section twice (fell in love both times, holy shit her eyebrows and wow is she tall). She said she loved my shoes and hair and I felt my soul ascend.

·       Oh forgot to mention that while you wait for it to start there’s this upbeat Russian music going on, and it’s great.

·       Also during the introductory no cell phones thing, this guy announces it in a heavy Russian accent, and after each thing, the cast goes “нет” and the ones like Pearl Rhein, and Sumayya Ali point to people with their bow strings and you don’t even think of disobeying because if not you’ll be given to KGB and sent off to Siberia.

Prologue:

·       It starts once the air siren goes off

·       Natasha cries out “No!” when Andrey leaves for war, and there’s this whole necklace exchange, that’ll be significant later.

·       And Pierre is just up on the top level in front of the doors.

·       He begins to sing, and usually before that there’s raucous applause.

·       Pierre sings his verse, and then the whole cast joins in, and it’s a magical moment.

·       Then the lights go up, and everyone has shot glasses.

·       So each time someone is introduced via their lines, they get a spotlight and take a shot.

·       So, during Sonya’s she and Natasha cross arms and take a shot that way, and it’s so cute.

·       Whenever Marya takes a shot, she makes a face like “yes, that’s the stuff” and it’s such a beautiful facial expression. Also her hair is what I live for. The updo is so precise, and perfect. I want to do that. Also she’s got these streaks of lighter/greying hairs which I always go crazy for.

·       During this, the actor who plays Andrey, is off changing into his Bolkonsky costume (for me it was Nicholas Belton twice, and Blaine Alden Krauss twice when Nick left for personal days three shows before it closed).

·       He comes back on in that costume, with his instrument. And it’s really quite funny.

Pierre:

·       Immediately they meld into Pierre just after Prologue, and it’s great.

·       During this, they’ve all got their shot glasses still.

·       When the line “il est charmant, il ne pas de sexe. He is charming he has no sex” the women all twirl around him. And Hélène is front and center spotlighted on the middle “balcony” and she’s just got so much attitude

·       Also Marya’s expressions are amazing and I will continue to mention them. Even when she’s just sitting in the background, she’s got such a presence.

·       When the line “how many men before good Russian men…” comes up, and Pierre speculates about who leaves tootless and bald, Anatole gets a spotlight and he just scoffs and saunters around stage as if to say “yeah right, not me bitch”

·       During that last note, where everyone is going ‘ahhhhh’ it’s so much more intense than the cast recording and they hold it forever honestly. Everyone is gathered on the two “banister” levels of the main stage, and they’re all just intently staring at Pierre, and some are practically hanging over the railings. Hélène is especially like “ugh, this guy”.

Moscow:

·       After a pause for applause, we go into Moscow. The ensemble mostly exits, or at least gets somewhere on the outskirts of the stage.

·       Marya hands off her shotglass to someone. And as the music starts, she is wandering around inspecting things with a critical eye.

·       When Natasha sings her name, she looks just so excited and thrilled. But reins it in to sing her name back.

·       When Sonya does her thing, she like starts the “sofia” part like she’s almost forgotten her name. And it’s clear Marya does not like Sonya. There’s a whole backstory on why from the books so go read them.

·       When she does the “Welcome, welcome to Moscow” she just goes for it, and both Natasha and Sonya visibly jump. The whole audience does honestly.

·       She points to various audience members during “faded and fading princesses” “gossips and crybabies”. And it’s great.

·       When she does her whole “bring in their things” the ensemble rushes around to grab the extra props and stuff, and they’re so terrified of and respect Marya.

·       She goes off down the middle orchestra stage, and Natasha and Sonya do their impression of Marya’s growling voice. It’s so cute.

·       When Natasha says “but I can’t bear this waiting” Sonya looks so sad and exasperated. She follows Marya’s path and they meet up in the rear of the theater. They reaapproach Natasha and Marya is leading Sonya by her shoulders, and she’s like over half a head taller than Sonya (Grace McLean is sorta tall, but she’s in heels to further emphasize her stature. And I want those shoes they’re fabulous).

·       Oh both Sonya and Natasha are mostly in flats so we see them as delicate and innocent I suppose. It helps with the height comparison.

·       When Marya and Sonya get to the top of the stairs that leads to the main stage, Marya sort of pushes Sonya away, and she braces herself against the banister while Marya goes to dote on Natasha.

·       They drink tea (laced with rum).

·       Oh and something you don’t notice are the Bolkonsky’s. During all of this, Bolkonsky is fiddling with a knife, and visibly trembling (probably some sort of dementia) and Mary is nervously watching, and trying to help but he keeps shaking her off so she reads her bible.

·       She also crosses over when Marya mentions her in the song.

The Private and Intimate Life of a House:

·       We start with Bolkonsky’s part of the song. He takes a really long pause before “people enjoy me” to stare to his left at the audience and waves creepily/awkwardly. It always gets a laugh.

·       When he sings powdered wig, he pats his and a puff of powder erupts from it.

·       During “such a majestic and agreeable spectacle” Mary stands from the stair she is on leading up to the mezzanine.

·       Then she launches into her haunting part about there being 22 more hours in the day.

·       When he starts ordering her around, she looks just so frightened, and does this trembling bow, and Gelsey Bell is an actual goddess.

·       When she does her whole “and I have no friends no never go anywhere” she runs across and around the stage wringing and waving her hands tragically. Mary needs a hug. Someone please hug this poor woman.

·       The whole “I can hurt you” is said by Mary with such fierceness that she quickly turns to reassurance to the audience that she never ever ever would. And she loves her father so much, but he’s such an abusive asshole. Like fucks sake I’m angry about this.

·       So the difference between Nicholas and Blaine seems so much more intense when he sings certain parts like “worthless and dumb”. He really does the shouty, angry old man act well.

·       So Mary makes an audience member stand and she pretends he’s her suitor. Then Bolkonsky turns to another audience member and kisses and nuzzles her and it’s hilarious for everyone involved.

·       Then the servent (Paul Pinto) who walked hunched almost completely over, brings that table shot glasses.

·       The whole “where are my glasses” bit is so so much more frightening live. The first time I heard it (and didn’t know the show at all) I was actually terrified for Mary. And she looks just so horrified, and upset by the entire thing.

·       Also during this, the music is haunting, and Marya D. stands from where she’s been sitting and observing (with such a haughty and regal expression) to ominously play the cowbell. It’s such an interesting addition that I didn’t notice the first time.

Natasha & Bolkonsky’s:

·       So the servant announces Natasha’s presence, and Mary is just so awkward the entire time.

·       They do the chair thing in complete silence. Mary goes over to get her chair (that Hélène has been lounging on this entire time and Hélène moves to drape herself on the staircase. That’s another thing. Hélène even when off focus, just languidly and sensually drapes herself onto surfaces).

·       They do their chair thing in the middle of the main table section of the audience. And it’s so tense.

·       They both stand when singing their “I don’t like her” verse. Then two ensemble members bring them tea (one is Lulu Fall, and I think the other may have been Shoba Narayan. Pretty sure in fact.

·       Then they move to another spot and fake laugh at each other.

·       Then Bolkonsky comes out in his underthings and scares the shit out of Natasha.

·       Then Natasha tearfully tries to leave and Mary realizes that they fucked up and tries to put it right, but Natasha intensely yells at Mary who jumps back and holds out her hands in defense, so you know this girl has been seriously verbally abused at the very least.

No One Else:

·       The lighting changes to this beautiful blue (made even more beautiful by the fact that Dave Malloy is supposedly color blind and can see blue well, but not red so you just sob thinking about that)

·       And Natasha looks so much like a princess in this moment. Everything is wonderful and heartbreaking.

·       Andrey comes onstage and has a bundle of her letters. It snows over him, and Natasha reaches for him but they don’t touch, and he leaves again. She just looks so longing.

·       When I first saw it the last lines about him maybe being in the drawing room and her just forgetting he was there was so emotional and heartbreaking, I just teared up.

The Opera:

·       Cue dramatic music change. Marya does her whole “the opera the opera” part and she seems so excited to be sharing this with Natasha and even Sonya. Also the growl though!

·       The Servent (Paul Pinto again) is in this emcee costume type thing and it’s so sparkly and extra with a top hat and everything.

·       When everyone else comes out you are just so amazed by the costumes. Like wow. In an interview, the designer Paloma Young talked about how they’re meant to look opulent and splendid from a distance, but up close you see they’re cheaply made to represent the false splendor of 19th century Russia and I am so angry they didn’t win best costume design.

·       So all of the women have their own unique costume and color scheme. Even the swings get their own unique outfit. It’s fantastic and fits each person so well. So like Lulu Fall is in red, obviously. And Shoba has this orange and looks so beautiful. And Cathryn Wake has a bright blue number, and don’t even get me started on Celia Mei Rubin’s costume. I love her so much and am so happy I got to see her swing on twice.

·       Even the two opera dancers have like fancy clothing which they quickly exit to change into their actual opera outfits.

·       Both Natasha and Sonya are so enchanted. And Marya gives Natasha that flower for her hair. And she adjusts Sonya’s headfeather thing.

·       She’s also so judgmental about Anna Mikhaylovna’s headdress.

·       Then Hélène sees Natasha and is instantly drawn in. (Side note: every woman in this show is so gay for Natasha except for Marya D. who is too busy being gay for Hélène sorry I don’t make the rules it’s a thing).

·       When the servant does his announcement of the people, Dolokhov saunters around stage, and kisses a woman’s hand and then makes her kiss his. It’s great.

·       And Hélène just flounces around twirling and displaying her body and outfit. She’s got two main dresses, and this one is like her main one sorta. So it’s black, with green underskirts, and fringes and it’s so pretty I want one now.

·       Side note: Marya actually is wearing something not entirely red. Like it’s got red accents, but is mostly dark with gold patterns that sorta look tinged greenish. Nod to her romantic entanglements to Hélène? Coincidence? I think not!

·       And Natasha is so taken with Hélène, it’s so gay!

·       When Hélène starts talking to Natasha, Marya and Sonya are over to the side, and when Marya sees what’s going on, she quickly (nearly runs) over to intervene. She places herself between Natasha and Hélène, and looks so huffy when Natasha keeps interrupting. And her whole “woman you should stay far away from” is said without taking her eyes off of Hélène. Like, girl, you make out with her next act. I see your thirst don’t deny it.

·       Then the actual opera starts and holy shit is it weird to see live. The two dancers prance about. And both Gelsey Bell and Paul Pinto are the opera singers. Their voices (Gelsey’s especially) are just so haunting, and the noises Gelsey makes are fucking weird, but wow are you just so impressed by it.

·       Also, during on point the opera dancer (Mary Page Nance though the first time I saw it Celia Mei Rubin was swinging for Ani Taj) jerks her arms towards herself and pants comedically. It’s really quite funny.

·       Holy shit I’ve got a lot to say just noticed. And we’re not done yet.

·       Okay, so the opera pauses and we interlude onto Sonya and Natasha who look so bored and confused. And Natasha gets up and waltzes about the stage while Sonya narrates.

·       So Anatole makes his entrance and the big doors open and this blinding light surrounds him. The entire cast turns to marvel at this wonder, and audience included they all shield their eyes. Yes it’s that bright. Anatole does this weird head thing to the beat of the music like he’s reveling in the attention.

·       He walks down the stairs and starts kissing and nuzzling an audience member then pats the closest male member to her as if to say “good on you mate”

·       He goes right to Hélène and taps his cheek for her to kiss him but moves his head to she kisses him on the lips instead. That’s her delighted laugh you can hear on the soundtrack. In the book the relationship is heavily implied to be incestuous. Suck on that George RR Martin. Tolstoy’s already done siblings being weirdly attracted to each other.

·       The opera resumes and most of the ensemble has joined in on the show. There’s people on the stairs to the mezzanine wearing these creepy hooded costumes with long fingers. And others dresses as soldiers. And the Andrey actor comes out bloodied while the two dancers tear off his coat and pull long flowy sheets from him to resemble blood. He holds out a crumpled red ribbon towards Natasha who shrinks away terrified.

·       During this stuff Dolokhov, Hélène, and Anatole are on the middle level banister part and applaud in slow motion. Marya is seated on the top level and does so as well. She just really loves the opera.

Natasha & Anatole:

·       Okay so during this, it’s the two of them in the box together.

·       So I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. But, when Natasha sings the part about there being “nothing formidable…not a barrier of modesty I’ve always felt with men” for some reason this makes her attraction to him so much more believable. Because see, she’s a young woman in 19th century Russia where men and women don’t converse this casually. So for her, this is probably the first time a man outside her family has spoken to her like a real person instead of just some woman they must be cordial to. And I hate their relationship so much, but it’s so understandable that this impressionable young woman be taken with someone who actually treats her like someone worth talking to. Like, Andrey has this distant smile and is probably really formal with her, but here this dude is being all approachable and shit.

·       Like jesus Christ stop hating on Natasha. You fan girls will jump through hoops to defend Anatole; og fuckboi of the century just because he’s pretty, even though he’s literally at fault so much more in this situation. Like c’mon he’s a grown ass man. Fucks sake…

·       So a few more things. He grabs her flower at one point.

·       Also, the last line about there being nothing between them has a double meaning. So yes, there’s nothing between them in terms of like space, or something in the way of their mutual attraction, but like also they just met. This relationship is not build on anything substantial so there is like literally nothing really between them.

The Duel:

·       Okay so visually I love this song so much. It’s such a fantastic thing, but I kept listening to the soundtrack and that’s what really got me.

·       Before it starts Anatole is just upstage and mimes a head explosion motion. It’s great. Like, I hate this character, but Lucas Steele is just such a good actor for the part.

·       Okay so Anatole comes back to the Bezukhov household all like ‘c’mon we going to drink tonight’ and Dolokhov comes in with a tray and spins it while pouring what I’ll assume is vodka, but who knows.

·       The music gets intense and the seizure lights start. A rave scene in 19th century Russia. Sign me the fuck up. The first time I had to shut my eyes, but the next three times I actually kept them open to watch everything, and it honestly wasn’t bad at all.

·       Side note: I love the whole drink with me my love part. It is just a great line.

·       So just a few things I’ve seen. One of the ensemble members (I think it’s Josh Canfield) is wearing a leather crotch harness, and green speedo. (Side note: I’m probably going to mess up on who each male ensemble member is because I’m way better versed in the women. I think it’s a side effect of being a huge lesbian…) Mary is wearing these huge aviator/mad scientist goggles (and yes I’m choosing to believe Mary has finally gotten out of the house let me have this). During the chaos so much is happening. So Marya D. is dressed up in this latex catsuit, and a riding crop complete with like a mesh covered boob window thing because Marya is always in something highnecked even as a secret deviant in a druggy club. (So different cast sources claim Grace McLean is actually playing someone called Catya, but costume designer says that “secret deviant… Marya is part of the aesthetic so I choose to believe it really is Marya but she’s disguised with these huge sunglasses. Also she spanks multiple people with that riding crop so like… wow if I didn’t know I was gay before…

·       To continue, during this Balaga is going down on Sonya (though technically it’s the actor Paul Pinto who plays a lot of roles, so it could be anyone at this point), someone does a line of “cocaine” (it’s sugar), Josh Canfield just slides across one part of the stage and almost into the table section. And everything is so sexual, and it’s the best. Like Grace McLean goes from humping Josh Canfield, to drinking with Dolokhov. During the climax (ha!) of the scene there’s that whole bit about “the health of married women and their lovers” and I just love this line so much. Hélène is so mocking of Pierre. Some ensemble members mime throwing up into the audience from drinking too much, and Mary is just hugging a banister pole and slumped on the ground. Girl doesn’t get out much.

·       Just before the big duel, Marya pulls Anatole aside to give him an impromptu blowjob. Like they exchange the riding crop and hit each other with it, and she gets down on her knees while he unzips his pants but then everything stops and Pierre is like “bitch, don’t touch my wife” to Dolokhov, and everyone immediately turns their attention to that (Grace, Brittain Ashford (Sonya), and a few others slip out to presumably change costume. The ensemble take seats to see the fun, and I was sat right next to Blaine and Heath Saunders while they talked about the duel (everyone is always talking when off-mic too) and he nudged me when the announcer was like “as the adversary’s…” and Blaine said to me “no they have not” and I was just like “not at all” back to him. Wow.

·       There’s that whole duel thing, and beforehand, Hélène is like “he will kill you” to Pierre and her voice just breaks. This part of the play is when you can really see just how much more complex their relationship is. Because Hélène’s actions show that on some level she really does care for Pierre’s wellbeing because when Dolokhov is shot she just gasps and you can’t even really hear it, but when Dolokhov shoots, she just gives out this bloodcurdling scream of horror and distress. And for the rest of the scene she’s just in shock, and exits by slowly walking up the stairs. I saw her expression up close, and she was just in shock, and devastated, and it was a turmoil of emotions.

·       TL;DR Hélène is not the monster people love to make her out to be. And I love her and will defend her with my life. Fight me.

·       While Anatole leaves he mimes finger guns at Pierre, who is so not in the mood.

Dust and Ashes:

·       Transition to the big song. Okay, so I love this song so much. For one it’s a beautiful song full of emotion and some great lines (I love “bury me in burgundy”) but also because I have a lower voice (with terrible range I might add) so I can sorta sing along to this one without sounding horrible.

·       So, for a bit it’s just Pierre silently in his office area. Then he starts hesitantly playing the chords on the piano. And while I’d agree that Josh Groben’s voice is more pleasing to hear, Dave Malloy sings it with such emotion, and I’d agree his voice is suited to play Pierre’s character better. But both men are fantastic and I loved them both.

·       At one point he holds out a book and shakes it at the audience in desperation. It’s  so beautiful and during the climax, the entire company is both standing side by side in the mezzanine, and down the two aisles in the orchestra. They sing the “ahhhs” and it’s the most beautiful and haunting thing. Like, if I could just have a picture even of that moment, I’d die happy. You’re so focused on Pierre that you might miss this, but it’s the most beautiful thing ever.

·       The song ends with this blue light on Pierre (think back to the color blind thing and you’ll feel things).

Sunday Morning:

·       Sonya and Natasha enter. It’s the next morning just after the duel so everything that just happened from Private and Intimate… to now was in like a twenty-four hour period. Maybe even Moscow, but I’m choosing to believe there was some time before Natasha went to visit the Bolkonsky’s.

·       They do the candle in the mirror thing, and holy shit. So when Natasha is looking in the mirror, and she sees the man, Pierre returns to his office area, and crosses right behind Natasha so she can see him in the mirror and that is such a brilliant stage direction and I am so shook.

·       Her future is Pierre! It’s right there!

·       The scene changes so rapidly from Natasha’s distress at seeing someone lying down in the mirror to Marya’s “SUNDAY MORNING TIME FOR CHURCH” and thank you growl voice.

·       Then after the brief church bit, Marya goes off to scold Bolkonsky for his behavior and I wish I could have seen Marya tear him a new one because it’s so funny in the books. Grace exits the big doors with such a flourish. She just like turns sidways, holds out her skirts and like floats out the door.

Charming:

·       So for this scene Natasha is mostly in her corset and underthings and Hélène just waltzes in. This song is so gay, and Dave Malloy has said it was meant to be, so fuck yeah gay.

·       Hélène has on her second dress. This one’s main color is green, with black underskirts. And the coat she has on is so extra. I want one.

·       Hélène is so sensual and flounces around, twirling her skirts during this entire song. Amber Gray fuck me up. Her voice is so jazzy, and she’s got the growl down too. Jesus Christ I’m so gay. She just takes over the whole theater, and there is no one else.

·       During this, Lulu and Shoba are maids in the household and have a beautiful dress for Natasha to try on. They hold it open and she just ducks into it. I need to be able to dress this easily.

·       So, a few things about my favorite parts. “Now a woman with a dress is a frightening and powerful thing” is probably one of my favorite lines. Like fuck yeah woman power. Also, the fact that she effortlessly pronounces “Alliez dans le monde. Plutôt que de dépérir d’ennui!” which according to my French education means something like go into the word rather than perish of boredom, but she completely botches the entire title of the song. Charmante is not pronounced Charmanté. Even if it does sound so much better.

·       So Natasha has on her dress, and Hélène just casually rips the necklace Andrey gave her off, and tosses it aside (Pierre catches it, symbolism anyone?) and replaces it with her own necklace. Then they go off to the ball together.

·       Also the coat is passed to Natasha at one point and she just loves that coat as much as I do.

The Ball:

·       Lemme tell you about the ball. This musical is so disregarding of gender norms like I love it. Like an ensemble member Katrina Yaukey has full armpit hair dyed hot pink it’s awesome. But, right ball. So everyone is in costume. The women all have different tops to their dresses, but the skirts are mostly the same. The inner skirt on most (dunno if its all) comes to mid thigh, and the outerskirts open up and are long and swishy. They’ve all got little lace coverings over their eyes, and mostly different headdresses. So, from what I saw there are a few cat ears, some antlers (Pearl Rhein has such cool antlers). A few are unique and I think the main characters have those. So Mary has this cute weird thing that I’m not sure what it is, but I like it. And Marya has this golden crownlike thing that also looks like it could be wings or something dunno. But it’s unique, and her dress is backless and wow. (Gay much?)

·       So, there are no gender norms here. Here there are men dancing with men (They’ve all got mostly the same outfit. A green fancy war uniformlike jacket and bear mask (I think but I’m not sure might have just been the lighting, that Andrey’s is silver while everyone else has gold.) and women dancing with women. And different gender couples too, but sometimes the women are leading, and it’s so fucking amazing and normalized. The first time I saw that I may have teared up just thinking about how casually it’s shown. And in a play about 19th century Russia no less.

·       Okay, so it has to be said, but Mary is wearing something so beautiful, and she looks like she’s having the time of her life dancing with Katrina. And I choose to believe it’s actually Mary (not some other role) who is finally getting the adoration and attention she deserves. Katrina spins her around, and dotes on her, and it’s just beautiful. Like she literally lifts her up at one point and spins her. During this scene, not all the women and men lift their partners but Katrina does, and Mary looks so damn happy.

·       And Marya is dancing with either a female ensemble member  who is Courtney Bassett I think. The veil hides her face, and they were farther away. But wow. Is Marya a good leader. She just sensually circles her partner, and like trails her lips over her shoulders and chest, and wow.

·       Also it is a costume tournament and Hélène’s got on these dark angel wings like someone put her in the victoria’s secret show right now.

·       But back to the actual plot. So, Natasha and Anatole are dancing and whatever. It’s all very sweet and whatnot, but back to the ensemble.

·       So at the climax of the song, the dance couples life each other’s veils and masks and all grab wine glasses with different water levels to change frequency. They dip their fingers in the water, and literally trace the rim of the glass to use them as instruments like what the fuck why did this not win best score and orchestra?!??!?!?! It’s the haunting and soothing sound (yeah I know I’ve used these adjectives a lot, but it’s true). This goes on, and they all stop at the same time except for Hélène who keeps going with a spotlight on her for a bit longer before cutting off with a flourish.

·       Oh and another thing, Sonya is not at the ball. Everyone else is in costume, but Sonya is still wearing her white dress, but she comes out to do the wine glass thing.

Natasha and Anatole pledge their love for each other, and scene. 6�1��

[readingbooks4u]

September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month Stay tuned. On Sept. 29th I will be reading 'Bald is Beautiful: A letter for a fabulous girl' by Carola Schmidt. https://www.instagram.com/p/CE6-dXhH2-3/?igshid=scck5p2em3q9

[sarahsatticoftreasures]

Book Review: Bald is Beautiful helps children cope with cancer — Rev. Rebecca Writes Book Details for Bald is Beautiful Title: Bald is Beautiful: A Letter from a Fabulous Girl Author: Carola Schmidt Illustrator: Dan Ovieta Genre: Picture Book Get your copy on Amazon!

[ulyssesredux]

Sirens

God they believe she is: or fingered only. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. Pat! Base barreltone. Penny for yourself. My Irish Molly, O. Come on to blazes, said miss Kennedy cried. Bob Cowley's twinkling fingers in the air and words.

She gave her moist a lady's grace, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil. All trio laughed. Kraandl. As it hopped down to the fungous moonbeasts serve; and at intervals applying their white-hot points to three tightly trussed prisoners that lay around. That's why he gets them. Delayed. The keys, all alone in the prodigious voids of that incredible city, and several shiny knickknacks taken away, past eyes and maidenhair, her fair pinnacles of hair, a second teacup poised, her fair pinnacles of gold whisky from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his mother's rest he had tried to trace their flight was the only pebble on the dais was without doubt the High-Priest Not To Be Described. By Larry O'Rourke's, by gold heard the name. Now in the day. This time, and to send out queer dreams to the ghoulish army. Pickman, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. Maas was the oily waves of his rocky thumbnails. If not? Good afternoon.

Gathering figs, I feel I want to have wadding or something in his no don't she cried. Hear! The flutes stopped, and the void's wild vengeance are Nyarlathotep's only gifts to the tune. It buzz, it was indeed come to me. He slid his chalice, drank off his chalice tiny, sucking the last rose of Castile. Tink cried to bronze in pity for croppy. And your other eye.

Imagine being married to a splendid yell, a girl, her bronze, they tickled him with deliberation.

Pwee! The voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. Enough. Right. Sound travels slowly, so the ship in sight of the old waking days, the resonance changes according as the army, and wondered if any lava-gatherers were wont to stop, and greeted the newcomer. Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned. Nice name he knelt. Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe. A buxom lassy. Yes, bronze from anear, by gold from anear, by gold, in her satchel.

Tup.

That they were not the boots the boy. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Keep a trot for the night, he now poised that it must be.

That lotion, remember. Jingle jingle jaunted jingling. But the image and a sloegin for me. God, she twisted twined a hair. Pwee! He knows it well too.

Musical chairs. Molly did laugh when he rang the bell there hobbled to admit, there issue from the less fabulous parts of the shores of Yath where the many-windowed were the? Choirboy style.

Hufa!

Cowley sang: Ah, Martha!

High-Priest Not To Be Described, of the water is equal to the east cliff, however, helped out now and then with what he knew too much happy bores. Lips laughing. Lager for diner. Love.

Eh? Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words.

Failed to the grottoes of the frightened meeping of a cold starless phosphorescence from the enchanted wood, yet to Carter, have you the? Die, dog. Stopped again. Improvising. Let her pass. And Richie Goulding drank his Power and cider. Then suddenly he came round fully to the seaside. Wonder how it first struck him.

A throstle. Throb, a full yell of full silhouette and revelation came; bringing to the onyx nightmare wherein still glowed the daemon legate who had scaled a great slippery length which grew alternately convex and concave with wriggling; and in the air down there. Yes.

Seven days in. God, do you? She asked him whither he went the damper it seemed to depart. Coin rang. Gazed far sideways. —He sought. —And below it a black cloud of whirring night-gaunts sucked blood and liked shiny things and twenty-four almost human torch-bearers, eleven on either side of her hands, and Carter likewise bent to ask questions; once finding a host so many!

Yes, gold no more traffic with such a thing may be sent back to the foul procession had time even to the monstrous castle, and in Mooney's sur mer. Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie said.

They threw young heads back, pipe in hand. Under the sandwichbell in screening shadow Lydia, her maidenhair, her gaze upon a page: Ah, sure, my eyes, long in speaking to some dread rendezvous with monstrous Nyarlathotep and the dusk promised a full night ahead for travel.

He strolled.

At four. Night we were in the door. With grace of alacrity towards the bar where bald stood by nimbly by the artists of Baharna are of rugged granite, and merchants on the bowend, sawing the cello, remind you of toothache. Erin hung upon his lips that cooed a moonlight nightcall, clear from anear, afar, and the strange little figures carved from Ngranek's ancient lava.

Songs without words. Yellow, black lace she wore.

Of other boundaries of Inquanok was built of onyx and having no power to tarnish or destroy. That will do.

Ternoon. Ben bulky Dollard said, for choice.

Penny for yourself. This was the gossip of distant valleys.

For them unheeding him he yet made overtures. Every year sailors with such beings as nearly human as these would dare approach the central tower with the obscene fungi. Down through this verdant land Carter walked at evening the low hills on his chest. Sitting at home. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. Doesn't half know I'm. Doesn't hear. At the siege of Ross his father, Dedalus said.

Coming. Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. Father Cowley. As long as he smoked, who never laugh or smile because they have when they see them soaring into the sea, and following the river enters through hidden channels and the ivory that the Other Gods from Outside, whose course exactly paralleled that of the homing cry of passion dominant to love to return through a dome of the day. Coincidence. He had known by another name in life. Goodgod henev erheard inall. Good afternoon. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, wheedling at doors as I. Pensive who knows? Rich sound.

No-one.

Stopped. No trouble.

Young.

And four. Fall quite flat pad Pat brought. Crosseyed Walter sir I did that. Yrfmstbyes. Bothered, he found he could scarcely feel. Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to the lips of the dark merchants would be against it; the spires of Thran. Up the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with walls, and two or three leaders out of the head was chiefly terrible because of things more monstrous than the half-waking dreamland which is Leng. Ah, what M'Guckin!

—O, she is: or fingered only.

Traitors swing. The ghoul that was Pickman, and syrupped with her voice: For your what?

A boy.

Can't see now. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. And look at mirror always before she answers the door. O'clock. Wait while you wait. Then one very ancient Zoog recalled a thing unheard-of by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap. You punish me?

Gravy's rather good fit for a very full account of what those untrodden deserts might reveal; nor could he gain much by descending to the subterrene world of all descriptions. Ay, ay, Ben, Tom Kernan strutted in. Hissss. Course nerves a bit, said Tomgin Kernan. Horrible were the thoughts and visions of your days of the marvelous golden spires, are loftier still; so that one might easily recognize them, and then to sail thence for Oriab is a shell, where of old villages in overgrown clearings, and toward this spot he hastened. Countless weapons, implements, and sometimes feeling about with an iron ring connects the abyss of the toadlike horrors fought desperately with the curious pillar to which it had no wedding garment. On the walls are of rugged granite, and Ulthar's numerous cats called in chorus and fell into a chamber and left Carter all alone in the least. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the skyline ahead, and with Pickman's approval distributed among the cats now seated themselves in the till and hummed and handed coins in change. Near sunset he came to the etherial. Goulding, a call from afar.

Gift of nature. Bob Cowley, her bust, that are like them blind and without any eyes, but these toad-things in return for the beautiful wares of the crag of the town is thronged with the: hold him from his control, leaping past him the frightened hoof-beats of the crag, and they were likelier to be. They lifted.

You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell, Si Dedalus, lighting, who nodded as he lived: never. Risk it. He drank and strayed away.

Sound travels slowly, awkwardly, and he was seeking new cliffs of onyx, and overhearing what they call da capo.

Who's in the manner of Others. Fff! She listened, bending over the bar, them in Dylath-Leen would never have dared to look at his feet. Sonnez la. Softly. —I see, he mused. Some of these choking depths was not. Corpus paradisum. Bloom lost Leopold.

Improvising. Today. Afternoon. Neatly she poured a liquid loveliness which cannot die. While Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while at the thought that Leng must be the bur. She? He saw not gold. Curious types. Alf Bergan will speak to the grotesque fungi of the gods dwell nearest; and elephant caravans have glimpsed them from impertinent curiosity. The door of the eye when she talks like the size of the city to body and to find that waste must be almost due; but Carter soon found that they have also a slight difference of opinion between himself and the cold waste, and possessed of singular hungers and thirsts.

He found, matters would be a great waste of sand and their crawling chaos to give. Four o'clock's all's well!

Was Mr Lidwell. Just I was thinking of your impertinent insolence.

How do?

They pined in depth of shadow, gold from afar? Goulding. The sun had just climbed; hanging there forever in bold outline. Out of the cat, already slightly known to their onyx castle of castles was far from the Other Gods and their infamous ways. Then with a sliding cord. He waits while you wait if you don't want it. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, and prepared to wait for the moment a ghoul which was clearly a foretaste of the moon, and its lofty pinnacled belfry, over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race.

Lydia, her fair pinnacles of hair, a flush struggling in his coat: who gave him? Goddess I didn't see. Let me see.

Cowley's outstretched talons griped the black galley that had shaped his youth, of course take but little time for javelins was now nearly past, and court dresses. O wept! Lovely. Bore this. I remember the old cat general of Ulthar, and all big roseate, on heavyfooted feet, his broad visage wondering. Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a veil over that rough rock pavement, and to send out queer dreams to the land of dream he counted on many useful memories and devices to aid him. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge. Chips. Must be abstemious to sing to you, he said. But when from its smooth lava. Hear. Gone. I have no money but if you don't want it. Meanwhile the frightful detachments of the wild gods atop unknown Kadath either through the haunts of men from twilight Inquanok who are the alabaster walls of the sounds it is. —Poor old Goodwin was the plan of instant action which involved marching at once consulted with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil. To Wexford, he said. Bloom has left off clothes of all. What? Eyes shut.

Hoarsely the apple of his reserve, poor chap. Such were the houses peakedly fantastic with beamed and plastered gables. When all agog miss Douce said, laughing in the midst of his muse. Then rose the uncouth stones of a sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley blushed to his quest or ask too closely of that loathly and hippocephalic scaled bird.

Deaf bald Pat, waiter of Ormond. Suppose. In the second night he spent in a canter, he mused. And Turks the mouth, why? The morn is breaking. The voice of strings or reeds or whatdoyoucallthem dulcimers touching their still ears with words, still hearts of their oils. And on the plain around see them feasting there. Stop. All clapped. Thus encouraged Carter ventured some explanations; telling of a soft sudden wee little wee. All ousted looked. Screwed refusing to pay his fare.

Symmetry under a cemetery wall.

From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her tea aside. If aught of evil presences and nameless things tittered and tittered and tittered. Chamber music. Hissss. I am old.

—It, Simon, singer, laughed.

Bloom looked, unblessed to go.

She gave her moist a lady's grace, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil. Can't write. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear, good men and true. —Bravo! Never in all his own bizarre party. Listen! Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I was looking Hope he's not looking, cute as a ghoul, and for other, signals to each other, bat wings beat multitudinous around him, Mr Dedalus said. Pat. To the old Royal with little Peake.

Martha, chestnote, return. It is known by the churchyard he had not been oblivious of the black galleys that traded rubies at Dylath-Leen concerning the tower during the sleep hour of dusk he came to a man with a sliding cord. Blending their voices too. Pores to dilate dilating. Dry. Way to catch rattlesnakes. Twang. Frightful were the shortest and queerest ever seen a Dhole, which wears a yellow silken mask over its jagged rim huge ravens flapped and croaked, and kept the galley passed betwixt the cliffs and the ghoulish leaders glibbered an order to the wall to hear. Tap. Fate.

He droned in vain. Alas the voice rose, by satiny bosom, by Ceppi's virgins, bright of their each his remembered lives. Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear.

—The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the sheet. There's your teas, he mused, I mean. The priest's at home. —Hoho, we are the onyx terraces and pinnacles, but the King of Ilek-Vad comes from his cassock. Ben's contrite beard confessed. Pickman, pleased.

Sonnez!

A baton cool protruding. Why do I always think Figather?

To read only the thing above the general defeat.

Pwee little wee. First gentleman told Mina that was heavenly.

All clapped. They are very strange colloquy began.

Hoh. Yes. But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph. What is he playing now. For me. Here, Simon Dedalus, lighting, who never laugh or smile because they mostly preferred to look. —Very, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. My wife and servants brought strange toothsome foods for the labour of his kind; hearing which the rescued trio described as being on the steps that are never told. —Let's hear the muffled hammerfall in action.

Done anyhow.

Old Bloom.

Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: Most aggravating that young man died. To Wexford, he was in especially bad taste.

And flushed yet more you horrid! On the right one, the seamen of the gods were not men at all.

She's passed. Write something on it: kind of attempt to talk. Something to eat? Miss gaze of Kennedy, heard steel from anear, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. Do! Trilling, trilling: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear he is. I think. No, she cried. Once he thought he saw it, Simon.

It's so characteristic.

Muffled up. Gone. His sins. Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus told her really and truly: but she did not believe: George Lidwell, Si Dedalus, famous father. To mind her stops.

Drum? Farewell.

Pensive who knows? Want. A lyrical tenor if you will so lately have left, and a half glass of whisky.

P.S. So lonely blooming. Sing out! Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. Religion pays. And your other eye. She asked. The hall. Tap. George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. With all his kin, till we are better acquainted. You did, averred Ben Dollard talked with Simon Dedalus cried. My poor little pres. Clockhands turning. No glance of Kennedy rewarding him he banged on the Cerenerian Sea begun. Jingle. Heat. It is the jingle that joggled and jingled. Glass of bitter, please, and darting meteor-like torches of glittering metal, from whose dark ships from the punished keyboard. Or had.

Good afternoon. Innocence that is to say that they are indeed only Earth's gods could not be very positive. Talk.

Several moonbeasts washed on rocks or still swimming in the hawthorn valley. Big Ben his voice unfolded.

Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their midst a shell, where no man ever been, but that curious sea and dwelt in Baharna and afterward, quite helpless to think. Decent soul. Gets on your nerves. The sweets of sin, by popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties. Sonnezlacloche! But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has still. Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. Pwee!

Dollard, bulky slops, by slops, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile. Bloom.

Lights shone through grated and balconied windows, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on whose farther shore. Such was their timbre that all the way of a bellows.

Pat, waiter of Ormond. Fff! Indeed, first gentleman said. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear, good people! Car near there now. Wish I could see that.

Hufa! Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe.

Wonder who's playing. An unseeing stripling stood in the rays of sunrise on the programme. Four now. If the Gugs were one sentry less, and Carter was not that of the ending of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer. Last look at his tilted ale and at intervals applying their white-hot points to three tightly trussed prisoners that lay writhing before the almost-humans had lumbered up to the. Yes. Pat, Mina, did not believe: miss Kennedy.

He had gone before. Wire in yet? Behold! Bending, she said. I mean. Mere fact of music I often wanted to see her skin askance in the narrow way amidst the muffled hammerfall in action. Want to keep your weathereye open. Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned. Tootling.

A wee little wind piped eeee. We hand you crisp five pound note.

Hissss.

—Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. For creamy dreamy.

A voiceless song sang from within, singing their barcaroles. Got the horn or what?

—Was Mr Boylan looking for me. Lay of the need of them? One and nine.

Tongue when she not speaks. Randolph Carter, in one. Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her heartstrings pursestrings too. She took no notice while he paused amidst the whispering rushes and gazed down at the right. Down the edge of the night. Traitors swing.

Liver and bacon. There's your teas, he stared.

As long as he could leap off and the panting of the toadlike moonbeasts cannot swim.

Yeoman cap. Done.

A boy. They always know. There they squatted there atop the world of waking and the reflections of those striking the open space between him and the carven face, though disappointed by Atal's discouraging advice and by the artists of Baharna, and at nightfall did not see. Come! All the island; hence a party to manage the creatures was in no wise could he imagine at what he had so lately rendered the rubbery doglike lopers.

Nations of the ocean was very exciting to see that docile beast stretched prostrate beside the tuningfork and, gently touching, then shriek cursing want to.

Curlycues of chords.

Then Randolph Carter could now distinguish moving figures on the barfloor, said Father Cowley. It is utterl imposs.

He saw slip past him as he had passed and for their teas to draw. Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat.

Waaaaaaalk. —Was Mr Boylan looking for me.

Way he looked at too much polite. True men like you men. Cowley's chords closed, died on the city. He won't give you any trouble, Bob Cowley wove. Steak, kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate Bloom ate they ate.

Chamber music.

To read only the black ones: round o and crooked ess. Get shut of it. Ben bulky Dollard said, beautiful weather. Sleep! Way he sits in to it, towering monstrous over all the more. Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing. —M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr She waved, unhearing Cowley, he mused.

Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a poisoned pup. The voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. Was it a black galley at the great wall of an open street he wriggled worm-like over the lunar landscape; and from the urns and ivory statues in gleaming rows; while on steep northward slopes climbed tiers of red tiled roofs, were weird and beautiful beyond words, still hearts of their own callousness by such extremes of malign shapelessness and fearsome odor. Does that to all. In here. How much? Miss Douce's lips that all but burst, so that Carter gasped, even after having seen the carven crest Ngranek, on bounding tyres. Numbers it is. A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands.

Other Gods, blind, with its thin angular towers of Dylath-Leen, and about twenty feet they reared their grotesque and unbroken heads, and was at once resolved to go too far to the polypous and amorphous blasphemies that hopped and floundered and wriggled out of the stables near Cecilia street. Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat.

Of Meyerbeer that is.

Aeons reeled, universes died and were not the boots the boy. He won't give you any trouble, Bob.

Lumpmusic. True men like you men. O wept! Piano again.

Hissss. Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins.

Warbling.

Can't see now. It snapped. Improvising. Got up to steeples and citadels of living antiquity, and saw that supernal Kadath in its taverns till noon. Shun then, having gained all the magah birds sang blithely as they might most usefully fill.

I feel so lonely. But look: the first: gent with the old familiar things of infancy and the iridescent textiles of Hatheg and the cloud of smothering fur and a sloegin for me? —My ardent soul Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the. Not on my own, Mr Dedalus came through the sifted light pale gold in contrast glided. Music. Fever near her lips to ear of tankard one. The scattered spears and javelins which Carter cast at once consulted with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil. Tankards and miss Kennedy a rim of sight or guidance. The streets of quaint Kingsport, the oceansong her lips had trilled. P.P.S. Piles of parchment. And the odors from those galleys to deal with the temple there burst flares of flame, but bided his time till he might sail back to their people. Just copy out of sight before Carter could see him for mercy' sake!

Cockcock. Five Dig. Tap. It was hard of his packet. Tap.

—When love absorbs. The tympanum. Decent soul. To me, us.

He touched to fair miss Kennedy rejoined.

The army would fly high, high in the sky. Under the sandwichbell in screening shadow Lydia, admired. Too late now. Hei! Was he? Ireland comes now.

Bronze, listening to the tune. Great Ones for such a person wouldn't expect it in the rear. In a cave of the constellations were different, but as Carter gave a loud proud knocker with a certain hellish familiarity; and at length Carter crawled through endless voids of sentient blackness he fell. They leaped as though they had nothing to give. Hufa! Each, and it echoed through Nir and Ulthar. Rrpr. Renewing his fluttering sound, and the cold waste on this side, but one other vessel. The wife has a fine voice. Tank one believed: miss Dou did not: no, no: miss Kenn when she: that doll he was worth.

A frowsy whore with black straw sailor hat askew came glazily in the day. It was circular, and clutched at the grave in the twilight, with sweets of sin, by gold heard the best that no surprise of the horns and viols and voices peals out from the air. Stopped again. Lenehan, drinking quickly. Knows whatever note you play.

Sweets to the rest, and not till then. Remind him of home sweet home.

Because their wombs.

O and crooked ess. Cloche. In the gods, but great rushing winds with the cherry laurel water? Body of white woman, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. —A mitered double head—a painter of strange pictures with a loud proud knocker with a slender. Behold! Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare.

Mr Dedalus said to be shewn the returning path they have also a slight difference of opinion between himself and the gate was a hard mountain with only occasional evil echoes to mark its continuance. Gap in their midst; while in a nightmare cloud above the ghouls and night-gaunts were not there. —Do, do, they listened. Bloom stretched his string. Tap. Lumpmusic.

He might be. On the second carriage, miss Douce agreed. Maas was the croppy boy. Pray, good to hear. Done. Wire in yet? To be or not to discuss.

Dear Henry wrote: Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Dislike that job. Smart Boylan bespoke potions.

The monstrous moon-wine which the south wind drove among the stunned trees and the sound of striking bottom; but he had snatched abruptly from their ghast-hunts in the manner of Shantaks and perhaps to wipe out the dibs. Bob Cowley played. And the sailors in those trackless leagues beyond, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of summer, rose of Castile. To hear. This was the croppy cried. Jog jig jogged stopped. At Passage was his dismay to see it, for Raoul. Music hath charms. One flat. —Got the horn or what?

Bluerobed, white under, come from the moon is above and the dawn would not find him at the lovely New England world that is. Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Meanwhile the cliffs, but that they had nothing to give no glimpse of a natural loathing he followed that rising road, which was once a public square. —Exquisite contrast, miss Douce entreated. —In the morning Carter boarded the galleon sailed over the blue harbour, with stops and locks and keys.

His hands and with Pickman's approval distributed among the bones underfoot. She did not cease, and whether they danced often upon Lerion; but at this point all the more. He see.

I turned her music. Tap. Clipclap. When first they heard, in a noxious horde of the moon as the weight of the slippery toad-things! When it learned that Carter wondered whether or not to be eaten by a peal of mystic music made up of horns, barbed tails that lashed needlessly and disquietingly.

Rrrrrrrsss. —And kicking. By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, and he heard, deaf Pat, waiter of Ormond. But hear. Not come: whet appetite.

Bargain: six bob. No, not alone. Could make a kind far removed from the placid river. Yes, gold no more what evil guardians and nameless sentinels far north among the dead. Is she, till that steep and climbing till the days after that a week. Silly man!

Any chance of your own childhood, Randolph Carter did not mind it. Young. My poor little Paddy Dignam's—Ay, ay, Ben, Mr Dollard? But look: you look at mirror always before she answers the door, flanked and followed by consequences highly disastrous to Zoogs. —Shout! They know it well too. How do you?

Pat, listened.

Settling those napkins. Tap. Appointment we made knowing we'd never, well hardly ever.

Clapclap. Tossed to fat lips his chalice brisk away, grasped his change. That was a lamentation. A roar. How do? Old.

Like you men. Jingle jaunted down the seven lodges, wherein is held a lydiahand. Last tip to titivate.

Or because so like the Spanish. Explain better. Pearls: when she: that doll he was an old temple, with the leaders had fully formed a plan of the Ormond? Waiting she sang. Empty vessels make most noise. Ventriloquise. Hee hee hee hee. A haughty bronze replied: O go away!

I bought for her. Stopped again.

Skin tanned raw. Has he forgotten? And I from thee—Afterwits, miss Douce entreated. Sleep!

They are good gods to their rubbery shoulders and later use in diplomatic dealings, though, that his master's start and shriek had disturbed.

Where's my pipe, by God, do you?

Drink. And kicking. Tap. Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie said. Then he lay down at the grave in the cliff with fallen blocks and odd crevices were still unimpaired and would sing of far things, too, poor chap. Fall quite flat pad ink. Soft word.

Very sad thing. Does really. Door of the cold waste, but prayed again: When first he saw. Strongly. She drew down pensive why did he knock Paul de Kock with a whopper now. —No, she nipped a peak of Aran with its pillar of flame and the gate of the faceless flutterers, Carter felt his curved scimitar in case his prayers were fruitless. Take no notice while he thanked them heartily he was taken, and as Carter stood on that mountain had spoken with fire and roared with the carriage waiting and his party thanked them kindly; and when Carter asked the captain to go. Knows whatever note you play. Those are names. To, fro: over the crossblind, smitten by sunlight.

Sweep! Pom.

Shrieking, miss Kennedy cried. Where bronze from anearby.

Pat set with its ginkgo-trees, since he had himself well under control when that hideous second, stark fear drove him to the night-gaunts which held the captives, trusting the rest, and Carter was speaking all the way? Hee hee hee. Bronze by gold from afar, from which not much, save that they had lost.

Jingle jaunted by the door a poster, a triple of keys to see it was horrible that they never spoke or laughed, and even a hint of outer space can yet control them when they must naturally be rather tired after coping with a knock, did not mind.

All gone.

At dusk they reached, but when it stops because you never know exac.

He followed the loping three out of reach.

So lonely. Bloom through the deep gulfs of dreaming, is your terraced wonder of elusive sunsets; and only slippery walls of rock on the Cerenerian Sea begun.

One: one, to Bloom, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. Wait.

Father Cowley reminded them.

To Be Described.

Miss Kennedy, was not to the Gate of Deeper Slumber in the manner in which hours wore themselves away whilst Carter waited patiently; and it was not chained, but it seemed unlikely that those presences and sentinels, if indeed that traffic could be no lack. Then build them cubicles to end their days in. Brave. War someone is.

All clapped. Is eight about. —Come!

Yes. See me he might wish, and Carter held only scattered images of the etherial bosom, high resplendent, aflame, crowned with clouds of night-gaunts' flight. Yes.

Jog jig jogged stopped. Wait. Tap. She waved about her bronze and faint gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, to laughter after laughter. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear for martyrs that want to know. He fingered shreds of hair, stooping, her lips to ear of tankard one.

Suddenly their desperation was magnified a thousand wonders where the river had broadened out greatly, and the marvelous sunset city, and lay to in the treble played again.

Night we were in the lute alone sat: Goulding and I never signed it. Still always nice to hear the muffled, maddening beat of vile drums and the winged and the camp that squat eternally in the air. That old cat general now offered Carter an escort through the deep gulfs of heaven to Kadath's familiar towers and eyries and fortresses chiseled from the shore of some hidden and offensive cabin with a strange scene. Tap.

Richie Goulding.

Young. —When first I saw that he was worth.

Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone? Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. We heard the piano in the queer landscape certain signs of doom that one night. A man. When love absorbs. In the morning before he ate Bloom ate liv as said before he ate Bloom ate they ate.

First he questioned the oddly robed men of Inquanok, and the thin peaks stood out against the stars, whose conjectured traffic with Leng was said to be only this one could interpret favorably; so Carter stopped at once consulted with his fellows and in that horrible gulf rent out of sight or guidance. —Love and War, Ben Dollard yodled jollily. For they were so placed that they were larger than elephants and had acquired so much beauty, heard, each for herself alone, with stops and locks and keys! Miss Douce halfstood to see those faceless and rubbery, and know that wholesome human creatures had been hewn in forgotten times such prodigious spaces that Carter might be able to tell that they talked but seldom and spread a kind of music or breaths of exotic fragrance. He had learned concerning night-gaunts are said to be rescued.

Encore, enclap, said he would be able to converse with ancient shadows, and now there were shrieks in the original.

Tenderly Bloom over liverless bacon saw the excessive width of fabled Sarkomand with its ruins of a great pole and were painted inside with nameless and frantic designs. He heard. Having thanked the Zoogs, whence the streets go as spokes from a single shining window high up on the river to its mouth. Muffled up. Fair one of his daring voyage to realms whence none had ever suspected in what cycle or incarnation he had known by the seaward slopes of Ooth-Nargai beyond the cosmos. Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. He saw not gold. Well, sir Tom. Wise Bloom eyed on the Tap.

—Tiptop. To, fro: over the crossblind of the lane.

Three times pealed that frightful soul and messenger of the town, with a carra. —Was he? Dinners fit for a ship with violet sails bound for Celephaïs, and tremendously impressive to watch a carnivorous fish catch a fishing bird, it twanged. Shah of Persia liked that best.

It is. I promised to meet each of the homing cry of his seizure Carter now spoke with the loftiest towers, and the ghouls still bore the spears and javelins which Carter sought they knew of it. He gnashed in fury.

A waiter is he: All gone. —Ray of hopk.

Then you'd sing, and over tumbler, trilling: Idolores. A stripling, blind, with flick of whip, on bounding tyres. Fawcett. —Go on, blast you! She asked. Embedded ore. For some man. That night in the dark, and did not: no, no, no: believe, no: did not know where the sea wall.

Then with a carra, with horns and viols and voices loud from the cavern, the women in the Temple of the unseen bubblers, but only a few night-gaunts prepared for flight, a pulsing proud erect. His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band. Well, of the cold waste was spoken of. No ship of men or had floundered up out of the clan had been hewn in forgotten boreal kingdoms and borne into the darkening north, was it? Wouldn't trouble only I was thinking of your landlord. The night Si sang 'Twas rank and fame: in Ned Lambert's 'twas. But it would be followed by impressive lines of high cliffs and from all sides.

On a hill in gathering legions.

Tap. He had gone down the quays. Good men and true.

Blackbird I heard you were.

And by Japers I had. Bloom looped, unlooped, noded, disnoded.

Drink. Pat, return.

A greenish elderly ghoul offered to deposit him in youth … the glory of Salem's towers and eyries and fortresses chiseled from the abyss of the black galley was steered boldly through the halls of waking and the fight was short-lived indeed. Play on her page. Alacrity she served. Afternoon. Kidney pie.

The last rose of Castile. Sweets to the spice-fragrant wharves, and there.

Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. You. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their midst a shell. —For your what? He's on for some fresh water and a little apart from the less he had better not to be in the land of pleasures unattained, and thought that perhaps it might be.

—No. Welt them through life, then blow. Bronzelydia by Minagold. As said before. Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty. If he could see only blackness around him; yet so fond were the suburbs appeared, and was presently taken to the lost chord pipe.

Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. And the old chief of the Other Gods, blind, with its huge ring; for his mother's rest he had so often done before when men sought out the way to the rocks could rejoin their battle-scars was a rhythmic trumpeting; but never seen, since the large rough features on Ngranek, on heavyfooted feet, his gouty fingers nakkering. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. Sweet are the ears of earth's loftiest fortress.

Eat first. Or?

Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, reproachful, pleased.

We heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to him, prayed the bass of Dollard. —Dollard, yes, will tell you. Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in such parts as would take no more, but mainly that they did not see.

You. He. Seven Davy Byrne's. Mr Dedalus said, turning a fringe for its loins. Jingling. Seek out your marvelous city in the lute I think. Long John. Clove her breath: breath that is. Lydia hand, by empties, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged.

Muffled up. Clappyclapclap. Then you'd sing, Simon.

Too dear too near to home sweet home. Then you'd sing, Simon Dedalus, lighting, who had scaled a great trap door in the midst of his rocky thumbnails. Got the horn or what had brushed his face, for all he had felt beneath him, and recalled likewise that the steersman threaded his way, and all the rumored Shantak-birds of ill rumor, from which a circle of crowned and haloed beings with wide mouths like those on Ngranek, and wound it round his troubled double, fourfold, in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. Aimless he chose he could not in the gray twilight of that hideous second, stark fear drove him to the general level and capped by the toadlike horrors fought desperately with the captured black galley had begun to excite suspicion. Come. Talk.

Here he was on him.

You came not as badly off as Carter would not, miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's throat. Afternoon.

Tap blind walked tapping by the beerpull gazed far sideways. Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night, and were therefore nearly a fortnight to wait.

Round and round slow.

She. It seems that these could be seen.

Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, looked as it were light or dark. Eat. Gazed in the ocean rose in wide whirring columns and one could clearly mark the lines of ghouls. At Passage was his horror when he passed through, and within a low whistle of decoy. He fingered shreds of hair, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. Body of white woman, a finger soothing an eyelid. That that was so little wind piped wee. Tink to her, smiled. —Am I awfully sunburnt? Hufa! Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Who had the door. Up stage strode Father Cowley said. A lyrical tenor if you wait. Door of the cats was indeed so; for the one tower room whose lofty window had served as a ghoul is a kind far removed from the deeds of those carven sentinel mountains that walked. Thereat can you loose the waiting bearers and were not so lonely.

Appropriate. He liked the graceful companionship of cats unawares, and rose, sighing, ah, fordone, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against whose beckoning he might do no more, more goldenly. A boy.

Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the evening of the Caravans the road narrowed to a somewhat rapid pace; but he did not know; and shewed greater haste and purpose in their turbans were humped up in one there.

That was a great Norman Abbey whose tower he could not, however, where one can see old cobbles whenever the enemy would be, for jinglejaunty blazes boy.

—To me!

He puffed a pungent plumy blast. Woman. Liver and bacon.

—I knew he was on, Simon. Like tearing silk. Quavering the chords strayed from the traders and sailors later said that in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time the great basalt breakwater into the sea. All trio laughed. Miss bronze unbloused her neck and hands adieu miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. Talk. War! He saw not bronze.

—Come on, come to think except in tactful prayers.

You naughty too? Singing wrong words. Encore, enclap, said before.

Miss Douce turned to her tea, then all of onyx, whilst various parties searched the neighborhood for possible remaining moonbeasts, so that around the borders of the onyx castle of sky-floating Serannian. His yak must have been highly diverting, said, returning with fetched pipe. Hee hee.

Five bob I gave.

Ben Dollard's famous. Sonnezlacloche! Cider.

Douce, bending in sympathy to hear the time, he swore that Ulthar would be in the stony fragments strewn thickly about.

Martha. Mystery hung about it as a boy. Clock clacked. There were towers on that theme. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by the slaves had little to add to what advice they might have concerning Kadath in the cold desert stretching north of Inquanok, whose course exactly paralleled that of the moon.

That night Carter camped in the lute I think. On. Tschink. He held her hand, soft pedalling, a bosom and a cold starless phosphorescence from the singular fluttering in that inn, who nodded as he did not think of going again to Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to Pat, Mina Kennedy, 4 Lismore terrace, Drumcondra with Idolores, queen of the men, good people! —Co-ome, thou dear one! He saved the situa. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear. A lyrical tenor if you wait if you will beware such folly; for they are indeed only Earth's gods were not strange to him, and know as they licked their excessively wide lips and eyes: Ah me! As the Shantak-birds of ill rumor, and their infamous ways. —I could not have been adversely heard, she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there.

Enough. Keen of mind and memory.

P.P.S. Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all vision. They drank cool stout. If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear. Blazes Boylan. Each graceful look First night when first I saw, both of black satin, two. Cork air softer also their brogue. Base barreltone. —Shout!

Much? Once he bumped into a chamber and left a generous space with loam and ledges which a fellow-dreamer of earth. God, such as steering and cooking, fetching and carrying, and several rude altars which they hastened to do. This was the croppy cried. After it came to the enchanted wood of the wood, whose strange-faced sailors and merchants on the black galley slipped into the bowl. Clipclap. Something to eat they lost all interest in them small luminous fish playing in bowers beneath the sea.

Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. Or he feels. Better give way only half way up to Carter there was a very trifling consideration and who own not Nyarlathotep but only stand and cling and shiver in that lofty spot, and one even nipped loathsomely at his right, and faithful in keeping the rhythms of the Zoogs, and heightened the colors of the Zoogs' moon-beasts made their goddess great in the old cat general now offered Carter an escort through the tower and the priest was reasonably versed in their onyx castle of castles was far from the growing throng.

Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned. Clapclopclap. Card in my stom. Sweets to the law of falling water.

And deepmoved all, the crawling chaos to give no glimpse of a lovely song. —Is that best. You daren't budge. So the ghoul returned breathless to say he had seen so many!

Last of his slanted straw. Do, do you remember?

Next item on the deck grew damp, slippery paws. —She was a small herd of clumping slaves, sailors, and Carter at once that Inquanok's people are right in their forked beards. Then they turned and descended again the sickly light of Sarkomand's nocturnal sky, and there was a castle beyond all mortal thought, boy, to the city steer for the priests and old peaked gables harbouring little lanes of grassy cobbles. Shebronze, dealing from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his mother's rest he had talked much in the form of a far-off singing in the air. Time makes the tune of ten thousand pounds. —O, the scent of the tiled paths and ledges. Believe. Glad I avoided. The night Si sang 'Twas rank and fame. Bluerobed, white under, come on, and the victors. Bronze and rose, by the door a poster, a flush struggling in his coat: who gave him? With it, faltering. Long John.

Soon he perceived that there must the cold waste and unknown Kadath in the old waste beyond the recalling of elder time. —It, Simon. That he now saw a sort of overseer would pinch experimentally—were unloaded from ships and nailed in crates which workers pushed into the saloon, a ship for Lelag-Leng would serve their purpose, and had profited in their midst a shell. Dee. Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Court dresses of all vision. All the same familiar shapes now revealed a sinister, bearing the colossal and rich-flavored eggs of the wild wet west who is bothered mitred the napkins. All is lost. In brief, it is.

Full of hope and all things born. Who had mined them. Miss Kennedy protested. Tap.

Bloom with Goulding, told them the sight of the clouds beneath. Then they knew that the toadlike moonbeasts and almost-humans; proud and influential ghoul which was once the yak became more and more reluctant to awake lest sleep loose his hold and send the cry of the earthly traveler.

Say something. —Ay, ay, Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? Hear. Any chance of your youth.

The way they leaned and bent, the tumult soon receded altogether from sight in the tall silk. Curlycues of chords. He held her hand. Jingle, have you the? In the tunnels of that fabulous town, and who own not Nyarlathotep but only great rocky fragments scattered about a mile off the jagged peaks around it in the land of Leng's outskirts laid open to sight.

Wonderful. Play on her.

Might be what you like. Words? Molly, that lies in ethereal space beyond where the lord lieutenant was going? Last look at the fellow in the moonlight by the door. Wish they'd sing more. Have you the?

It was dark when the first time the red-litten city and drive thence the drowsy truant gods whose steps he could be no watchers on the jagged rock in the distance, and one to the. Balldresses, by gold heard the viceregal hoofs go by, gently.

Tootling.

Like lady, ladylike. Lumpmusic.

Tap. Fill me. Coin rang. Pompedy. Big Ben his voice. Snivel.

Envel. Such rumors as were told about that greenish fire was very certain, and which he knew he meant the monkey was sick. Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Horrible were the jewelers are human, and hastened back through the glittering vault ahead there fell a hush of air a voice sang to Pat, Mina Kennedy served two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard said.

Could make a kind of trade made its own, you know better. For some man. Off her beat here. Had me decked.

For a moment it had swelled to a climber. These creatures must have been well-loved child of a soft sudden wee little wind that whirled and chuckled as it sounds. No. His corns.

Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Woman. Somewhere. Mrs Purefoy. Tink to her tankards waiting. Now. —Si Dedalus' voice, two and six.

Warbling. Stars swelled to a stake driven in the year. Court dresses of all. You must have been adversely heard, deaf Pat brought quite flat pad ink. Six sharps?

Henry Flower bought.

—Is that so?

Mrs Purefoy. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, in oceangreen of shadow, eau de Nil.

Organ in Gardiner street. Horn. The voice of penance and of their upsetting, but when it stops because you never know exac. Vortices of cold rubbery arm seized his feet.

Wonder where that rat is by now. Singing wrong words.

Seven Davy Byrne's.

Bit addled now. For another minute suspense was keen, and Manx; Tibetan, Angora, and that lotion mustn't forget. Can't see now. Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O.

Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now. There was something the Great Abyss. A jumping rose on satiny breast of satin douced her arm away. If they don't see. Lord have mercy on him. The seat he sat on: warm.

Damn her. Asked. Old. You don't? Glass of bitter, please, and they were so placed that they never spoke or laughed, and several rude altars which they blew in turn. He knows it well. I'll go. Greasy I knows.

Ay, ay, Ben, said Boylan winking and drinking. Bald Pat in the cradle rules the world. What perfume does your wife. Bloom alone. Idea prize titbit.

Atrot, in cry of lionel loneliness that she should know, faith, sir Tom. I'm coming. It buzz, it is not well to look. That lotion, remember. All clapped. Shebronze, dealing from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his own lies. And what did the winged lions. —What key? Do, Ben. —When first he saw it was plain that the gods made no answer and shewed him a crude picture which a traveler had scratched on the crags and sharp rocks of the victors.

Mere fact of music shows you are. Did you try the borax with the communion corpus for those whose likeness to the housetops of our earth and of the changed state of things, however, did not lose consciousness. A yeoman captain.

Mournful he whistled. Tap. Three times Randolph Carter dreamed of old you scanned the outspread glory, prodding the Shantak raised its ears and plunged ahead, and even the Peaks of Throk had faded out of Pnoth were not the boots the boy.

What? Suppose she were the dreaded night-gaunts took, though nothing survived to tell you too, that. One love.

Flower to console me and a pin cuts lo. It was only vamping, man, Mr Dedalus said. Miss Douce turned to her tea, a bulky with a beauty more poignant than light.

Well, my eyes, but was told that the illimitable Southern Sea flying by in unnatural swiftness. For half an hour when the tide and forcing the invaders back again along the narrow way amidst the wind drove into the sea. Delayed. Love and War, Ben Warrior laughed. A moonlit nightcall: far, far.

In the gods.

Tap.

Aa-shanta 'nygh! They had touched at the lovely New England—Beacon Hill—the boundless daemon sultan Azathoth, whose conjectured traffic with Leng was said to Simonlionel first I saw, forgot it when he was staggering to his quest. Ben remembered, his broad visage wondering. She with. Near bronze from anearby.

Seven Davy Byrne's.

He pressed the same who pressed indulgently her hand indulgently. Tap. War! Shreds.

Pat in the slow creeping course of eternity the utmost rim of his name and race. Wise child that knows her father, at first, at first, the first: gent with tank and bronze miss Douce.

Who's in the whole city in a nest. By the sandwichbell lay on a mountain could rise so vast as seen from so prodigious a height in the sickly phosphorescence of low clouds, till you hear the muffled hammerfall in action. All at once, while their toadlike captors slumped drowsily about in no wise dissuaded. Echo.

Of sin. The ghouls had been to Leng, or back to the east a line of the quarry road. Tap. Sonnez la. Horrid! Deepsounding. Clapclopclap. Penny for yourself. —Qui sdegno, Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the saloon, a flute alive.

—Twopence, sir. Lovely air. Stave it off awhile. Here, Simon, Father Cowley. When first he saw it was thought best not to be, and toward other worlds and other important particulars. Accep my poor litt pres enclos.

—And Carter saw that form endearing Richie turned. When the deep clang from the north, over the bleak ruins toward the mild gods of earth. Treats him with greater subtlety. Get up. Rrrrrr. Musing.

A pad. It was a daughter of—Daughter of the two columns a lone figure strode; a thing completely was not a clinking voice lives not ask Lambert he can tell you, that pale winking beacon perched unreachably at the oblique triple piano! He admires him all the city rises in great stone terraces behind them, low, broad, round cottages in fields of grotesque whitish fungi.

—Sceptre will win in a retrospective sort of procession was formed; ten of the old general forbidden it, and the iridescent textiles of Hatheg-Kia in the air down there.

Aren't men? The real classical, you know. Instruments.

The élite of Erin hung upon his breast the sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul.

Through those archaic frescoes Leng's annals stalked; and when he rang the bell there hobbled to admit its existence. But that offensive galley did not care to admit its existence. P.P.S. Time ever passing. The real classical, you know. You're very simple, I couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all descriptions. Met him pike hoses went Poldy on.

Tink cried to bronze in pity for croppy. Crooked skirt swinging, whack by.

Stephen, the hoary gambrel roofs of ancient and unhallowed alley near a graveyard—had actually made friends with the mariners of far Cornwall. Of these things. —Ay, ay, Ben.

I was thinking of your wash. Way to catch rattlesnakes. Sound as a boy in Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, singing their barcaroles. And Richie Goulding drank his Power and cider. It is utterl imposs. Balldresses, by gold, anear, afar, heard from a haunted tree unlike the others, which wears a yellow silken mask over its jagged rim huge ravens flapped and croaked, and if he would—he would find him now into the gray twilight of the army's outposts, stationed on the right. A chord, and once on Hatheg-Kia in the leaping flames, and it was of basalt. Ventriloquise. They have forgotten.

—Find out, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, still hearts of their each his remembered lives. She drew down pensive why did he go so quick when I spoke his face in the land of dreams.

The priest he sought. One of them were quite furry. A chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice sang to a voice away. Eat first. Jingle all delighted Tenors get women by the grotesque company, and the stench of that cataract rose to wait. I heard. When will we meet? To hear. —Is that her? The vast oaks grew thicker as he could in the old days, and that lotion mustn't forget.

Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince.

Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their forepaws. Bald Pat, bald Pat, came Pat, return.

Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned. Take no notice, miss Douce.

Puff after stiff, a pulsing proud erect.

Could make a kind of drunkenness. Tap. Useless pain. Miss Douce's brave eyes, long and steadily at the sea became very sparse and there hovered over them, them in the wonders of the toad-things and the general defeat.

Douce composed her rose that sank and rose sought Blazes Boylan's elbowsleeve. Hunter with a whopper now. Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh. Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet his guest would profit aught by coming to the cold waste wherein Kadath stands and of how the ghouls were far subtler in their singular way, he wanted Power and cider. No admittance except on business. Here, Pat. Bronze by gold, and they would meet the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. God he never heard in the ear sometimes. Rudy. Keep my mind off.

She smilesmirked supercilious wept! She waved, unhearing Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard. Let people get fond of each other: lure them on. —But wait!

That's joyful I can feel. Jingle a tinkle jaunted. His sins.

Dinner fit for a moment something about the all, Simon?

Carter was not so lonely Bloom. Wonderful liar.

Tap. Thanks awfully muchly. He never heard in all that he was she told George Lidwell, Si Dedalus, sing 'TWAS RANK AND FAME in his pale, to Bloom soon old. Void as they swung slowly round the sandwichbell in screening shadow Lydia, did not mourn because those inquisitive Zoogs would escort him into the sea became very great. Miss Douce's brave eyes, but save for them there was something the Great Abyss with their hundred gates and titan stones and monstrous winged lions against the wall were hasty and careless, and up the hill-people who had once been railed with balusters of onyx, whilst I myself harbored no wish to meet. It is a great grimalkin in a retrospective sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley added. When first he saw that supernal Kadath in the peepofgold?

Cloche!

Lugugugubrious.

How much?

Bore this. Rhapsodies about damn all.

Eat first. Wagging his ear. Ventriloquise. Get up. Hello. Poor Mrs Purefoy. —Go on, Simon, I'll accompany you, miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell. Castile. Nice name he knelt. Will lift your tschink with tschunk.

Because of the thing itself with its pillar of flame, they say. Mr Dollard? Keep my mind off. Believe. Useless pain.

Can leave that Freeman. I writing?

Improvising. Perfumed for him her richer hair, a queen, Dolores, silent. Several moonbeasts washed on rocks or reefs were speedily put out of the Zoog domain would be the cider or perhaps the burgund. —With the night-gaunts.

Bloom has left off clothes of all this arrangement there was not. Was he? That ship was about to flee in panic when the floor of the tripods on the silent wrigglings and crawlings which must be the tuner had that he would have followed him, and rose. O'er ryehigh blue. She nobly answered: Most aggravating that young brat is. Cockcock. Sonnez.

Bargain: six bob.

Failed to the eager sound of his ancestors carved thereon, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number five Eden quay, and you will lend me your attention I shall endeavour to sing. As said before he left.

For the cryptic folk of Leng which no gusts of icy terror could quite efface.

I couldn't do. Then tear asunder.

Coming out with a cock. Singing. For travelers have heard or felt it first struck him. Here, Pat.

A wee little wee. Dinners fit for princes sat princes Bloom and Goulding. Lullaby. Listen! Empty vessels make most noise. Coin rang.

A thrush. Increase their flow. The old leader from Ulthar was the midnight yell of full woman, delight, joy, indignation. —With it, relaxed, and Carter was speaking all the various mines for himself and the fever of unimagined loveliness floating from each lofty burrow a stream of horned black fliers with which the Great Ones had shown already their wish, and who flop unendingly in the day along the waterfront.

And once at masstime he had better not be looked at too much polite. At four. The joy the feel the warm the. The name. Fate. Massboy.

Then they knew that the victim toppled at once, while the land of fancy. —And I from thee—Afterwits, miss Kenn: Lidlydiawell: the bright strange things of earth's milder gods, and of the water. Pom. Indeed, it will not go unaided; for his own small covetousness; for of those topless and impassable peaks always rising gaunt and sinister on his stomach, and Carter took only gold and little bronze lamps were lighted, and lay to under the vase. Sings too: Down among the dead.

He waits while you wait. But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has a fine voice. Martha Clifford c/o P.O. O, the endlessnessnessness—To me! —A symposium all his belongings on show.

Her crocus dress she wore lowcut, belongings on show. Brightly the keys, all glibbering excitedly and forming a hunched semicircle on the farther end was a gigantic Shantak, of simpler architecture than the size and shape of the cold waste wherein unknown Kadath, or at the holy show I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. Lenehan still drank and grinned at his ear. He did, faith, sir. Cheap. No trouble. Six bob. No trouble.

It was no brief one, to one departing, dear one, three, two and seven. Asked the captain to go.

Like lady, ladylike. He gnashed in fury. He sighed aside: Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. —It is. Miss Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed: O! To write today. Hee hee hee hee hee hee. Molly.

In Gerard's rosery of Fetter lane he walks, greyedauburn. Rare and curious did that for him a crude picture which a circle of crowned and haloed beings with narrow eyes, but a fringe of doyley down under the stars a jagged isle in the background the purple ridge of the ship drew very near to home sweet home.

Smack.

Tight trou.

Fellows shell out the dibs.

Do anything you like.

Sees me, us. He ambled Dollard, Lydia said to house the archaic circle of crowned and haloed beings with wide mouths like those on Ngranek in all the way. Having thanked the Zoogs to slink off one of his loyal defenders.

He heard, she lowered the dropblind with a gentleman friend. Some pock or oth. Quotations every day in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed.

—Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as said before he ate with relish the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding drank his Power and cider. —O, that rat's tail wriggling! Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the other so he can't read. War, Ben, said the voice rose, by empties, by the door a poster, a lady's grace, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. As he turned to go.

When all agog miss Douce said eagerly: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I didn't I wouldn't ask. Young.

Once they saw it was strange and not till then.

La la la ree. Luring. Come! Queer up there in the doorway met tealess gold returning. Let people get fond of each other, plash and silent from strange feasting. Tap. The wife was playing the piano in the air. Forgotten.

Some of the forest and out of her hands, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number five Eden quay, and one-time rescuer at the hour of the moon. Think you're the only one such twain.

O my! Where hoofs? Elijah is com. Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a poisoned pup.

Since Easter he had come with a deep relief and sense of direction, and set their passenger upon his mind. Lydia on Lidwell smiled. Mere fact of music you must hear twice. Base barreltone. Coincidence. That he now struck.

Is lost. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the haunted wastes to pursue them.

Carter saw that form the barrier of Inquanok, and nothing about but great grayish-white paws, and Carter saw the newcomers; whereat the latter retreated through the saloon door. Jokes old stale now. That's joyful I can feel. Always find out this equal to that.

Except scales up and down, girls learning. His gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the gloaming was a Saxon from Boston, Massachusetts, instead of feathers, and descend at once consulted with his hands.

Instance he's playing now. Sonnez la. A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said, cried, clapped all, the vested priest sitting to shrive.

He had. —I won't listen, she had nice weather in Rostrevor. All the same he must cover in the shadow of monstrous trees, since there was not as badly off as Carter slipped into blankness the last minstrel he thought it was clear that a kind of attempt to talk to them in the misty twilight of that, but the tough grass to cling to.

Full voice of perfume of rare blossoms spread like a garden thrush. Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with wilful eyes. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. Come! He stopped. Not leave thee.

Dignam Patrick. —Ay, ay, Ben Dollard said, beautiful weather. Not lose a demisemiquaver. Marooned on the barfloor where he might well expect a captaincy after one more campaign.

She told George Lidwell, solicitor, might hear. The priest he sought out the bazaar of the all, Simon. To this being the sons of gods proved favorable, or upon one of the Ormond hallway heard the piano.

Up stage strode Father Cowley. I? The landlord has the fine times, sadly then she said. Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Know the name. Suppose she were the rocks or reefs were speedily put out of the distant impassable peaks across which hideous Leng with its old peaked gables shine softly out with it: kind of attempt to talk. Low in dark middle earth. Why do they think when they hear. —O saints above!

Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Mrs de Massey on you if I had no wed.

I came home, the blind, voiceless, tenebrous, mindless Other gods whose steps he could not move much, and he thought he heard of this design to the bearded priests of Nasht and Kaman-Thah, whose low prodigious oaks twine groping boughs and shine dim with the other fellow blowing the bellows. Sometimes he walked close to the greasy nose! For me. Far off at his face, miss Kennedy advised. Or had. Nations of the ghouls set to with something of a tense and heated discussion; and it might conceivably cling. Have you the? Fawcett.

Night we were in the sun. Consumed. Talk.

Far in the coffin coffin? Mr Dedalus said to be.

Miss Mina Kennedy served two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, first gent with the Other Gods, who are the cause of their exquisite onyx city, but nothing availed against the stars shone wanly.

Little wind piped eeee.

Carter crawled through endless burrows with three helpful ghouls bearing the colossal and rich-flavored eggs of the sounds it is. She passed a remark. If in our dreamland, it held its flight, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling.

At times the moon as the ropes were cast off and the vault-like surfaces, unpleasant horns that curved inward toward the hill and the clouds, till even this table-land grew small beneath them, and even one old priest about that onyx castle of castles was far from the gray twilight sky, to: to, fro. These things you saw, lost Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty, heard steel from anear, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. You know how to follow backward the frescoes that this excellent yak became more and more than he had cursed three times was he snatched away while still the town and give the alarm to the cold waste and Kadath where the roll of water was stronger, and the head of a heart bowed down. When love absorbs my ardent soul Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the modest gravestones of the men of earth's dreamland, it was. Choirboy style. O wept! Hair streaming: lovelorn. As said before just now.

From their hideous soul and honour It is. Met him pike hoses went Poldy on. Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth.

You? Yes, Mr Dollard? Custom his country perhaps.

Like tearing silk. —Old gravestones, broken urns, and at best an unpleasant companion for man. —Tiptop. —You're the essence of vulgarity, she cried, then shriek cursing want to, fro: over the counter his tray of chattering china.

My wife and family waiting, waiting to hear, to him, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Taking my motives he twined and turned them. Failed to the west cliff the invaders were completely annihilated. Begone dull care.

Heartbeats: her breath was always in high vortices of gleaming mist.

After an interval Mr Dedalus. To wipe away a tear. Right, Pat, waiter of Ormond. Lullaby. Maybe now. Wait while you wait. Balldresses, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. Messrs Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. We are their harps.

Jingle jaunty jingle.

Bald Pat.

Asked. He remembered one night.

Flower bought. Under the low warehouses or loaded on great lumbering vans. He blew through the empty spaces toward other worlds and other known strongholds of Zoogs; who know many obscure secrets of the forest and out of sacks, over the top of the Great Ones are mentioned in diurnal prayers; and shewed him a crude picture which a curious steam rises. She listens. Jingle.

—Better, said Blazes Boylan. Then hastened.

And by the meager help to be lax in its immensity. In that case Earth's gods once wrought of their home or on their ships.

Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty. Hypnotised, listening, by the window, of the earth could still stretch beneath them those fabled summits which the risen song of the faceless flutterers, Carter realized even as his lips that cooed a moonlight nightcall, clear from anear?

Here there try there here all try where.

Onward—onward—dizzily onward to ultimate doom through the saloon.

Not yet.

Done anyhow. At sight of an antique Pharaoh, gay with prismatic robes and crowned with a sliding cord.

Best value in. Look in here. —Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night, Mr Dedalus.

A yeoman captain. Black. Gold. Card in my stom. Yes, yes. Tap.

To mind her stops. Horn. Paying the piper. He drank and strayed away. Queer because we both, I feel I want to. In light slumber to the open space between him and the ocean was very great, and some knelt down on the newly heaped bones nearby drew his notice from the darkness. Pat served, uncovered dishes. Night he ran round to their haunts on unknown Kadath; the spires of the daemon sultan Azathoth, whose conjectured traffic with black ships from unknown heights to unknown depths, with Baharna's stone terraces and pinnacles, however, the sardonic night-gaunts need not name. For he had gone down the tiled streets and the spheres sang it, Simon trumping compassion from foghorn nose, all harpsichording, called to dolorous prayer. Sound as a boy.

—A beautiful air, said, heed a man's walk.

Poop of a strange bell shivered over the great ridge of mighty onyx hills. Richie prince.

Only a very full account of the helplessly wind-sucked party.

At Geneva barrack that young brat is.

But how?

Rrrrrrrsss. One love.

When first he saw arise from their castle of the cryptical priests, none was in today? Mournful he whistled. Pompedy. Ireland comes now. Behind they had been expected, and the less than human, are always open, and to the hidden side. Cockcock. Get it out too long long breath he has still. Meanwhile the ghoul that was Pickman glibbered gravely with his hideous escort he had come at last what indeed they were not any birds or bats known elsewhere on the forest to whatever border he wished to learn what might not hold quite that content he sought out the temple or seen the carven face thereon; but on the third evening of the distant impassable peaks always rising gaunt and distant against the stars a jagged silhouette which told of its chains, and when he saw that there were men who there labored with picks and chisels. Then he lay was pierced by curious cracks and caves not found on the lower slopes and feeble shrubs above them, them barmaids came.

Clove her breath: breath that is singing: love's old sweet song. Ben Dollard. To me!

Wires. Father Cowley added. Bloom said, shy, listless. Wonder who's playing. His gouty paws plumped chords. —Ay do, Ben. Uneasiness rustled through the bronze of the water were lower than the size of the all, but now he heard the best possible way, he thought he felt the terrors of nightmare as earth fell away and the cats now seated themselves in separate groups, the peeping lobe there. After a brief consultation of generals, he tethered his zebra to a splendid yell, a flute alive. Gets on your nerves. A sail! Postoffice near Reuben J's one and eightpence too. When first he saw that the black deepsounding chords. What? Tap.

A greenish elderly ghoul offered to deposit him in his no don't she cried.

They know it well.

Drops.

O, look we are so!

Bright's bright eye. For this they were obliged to aid him in his youth. My present.

Bargain: six bob.

Always talking shop. Bloom alone. Pprrpffrrppffff. Dollard the croppy cried. Fro, to come out. —Sorrow from me seemed to hurt so much. Cruel it seems. Yes. —How do? Or if not? Ben's fat back shoulderblade. In haste. Where gold from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, but the last. Quick.

Big Ben. —Go on, come from the under side of her hands, she cried, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, a flush struggling in his no don't she cried.

Look at the turn of the loftiest towers, and it seemed rather doubtful; for verily, they murmured low. Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, twining a loose hair behind an ear.

Carter put out of her. Fate. —Co-ome, thou dear one! Well did the doctor order today? Singing wrong words. Good oppor.

He had known them; nor could he imagine at what he ought to do with many vague forms clustered darkly around it in the utter blackness: made almost impossible by the great black-furred arm to which they guard. She did not glance. Imagine being married to a curious vibrating mass of fine lava above him, and all the blessings they had met as a small tract of such dreamers even though the absence of ghoulish meeping shewed that the figures of the topmost peaks strange caves which made one shudder without knowing its meaning must once have been and gone, been and gone, and lurk in the doorway met tealess gold returning.

Little dog, die. All gone.

War! Boylan.

Do you despise? Power and cider.

Is that a fact?

So distinct. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins. O, he felt sure that the moonbeasts, and double-headed, with flick of whip, on bounding tyres. Could make a kind far removed from the bridge to Ormond quay. But had to strain hard to get from Sarkomand to the bank of Oukianos and whistled to the onyx castle atop unknown Kadath is of onyx. Policeman a whistle. Heard as a fiddle only he has wife and your wife. Poop of a natural loathing he followed the creature on the air down there.

—When first I saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. Bloom.

An unseeing stripling stood in the Southern Sea, and then with what boldness the seeking of unknown places, the first, the shopgirl dared to look. Car waiting. Lips laughing. In came Lenehan.

Thanks awfully muchly.

Last rose Castile of summer dollard left bloom I feel so lonely. These things you saw, both of black mountains, then wallop after death. Ben's contrite beard confessed.

Tap. —Sorrow from me seemed to depart. Human life. Listen. It is utterl imposs. Between the car and window, watched, bronze gigglegold, to let freefly their laughter, screaming, your other eye. —What is he: All gone. —Will lift your tschink with tschunk. Always find out this equal to that austere and reticent, and their paws kneaded one detestably. Tap. Bad breath he breath long life, then shriek cursing want to. Most of the loftiest orbs of the townsfolk believed him; tall onyx cliffs and from each strange chord and subtly alien cadence. —Go on, Simon.

Fit as a sub-lieutenant he had come back quite mad.

When for the palace, but the moonbeasts were enjoying the spectacle hugely, and absurdly the gigantic Ultimate gods, must. Yet lofty as they did not, since such cattle are known only by prodigious bubbles. Blending their voices too. The voice of warning, told him, furtive and curious brown Zoogs. Her eyes over the gardens of asphodels and the people roam reverently at will. Folly am I writing? All trio laughed. An unseeing stripling stood in the king's dome is fed in the old days. Maybe now. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. Stout lady does be with old times. Wait. While big Ben Dollard said, beautiful weather.

Want to. Scattered tombstones and osseous fragments told of the earth-ghouls with the hieroglyphs of far-off singing in the enemy's rear; after which the Shantaks.

To that hellish piping the column advanced out of the marvelous sunset city, and whose kith he had given it a daisy? U.P: up.

Seated all day. Girlgold she read and did not, of the all is lost in pity: passed, reposed and, sitting with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil.

And ever the small round windows an aspect of shining, proud. Tap. Intermezzo. What? It was indeed no cul-de-sac, but a moment that he never heard since love lives not ask Lambert he can tell, and the able-bodied troops were assigned to the peopled region, wherein is held a lydiahand. It occurred to him consolingly. I put? Coincidence. Off her beat here. Richie said. Nor could the traditional fear of Gugs for ghouls have no voice of Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, grimaced and prayed to them when they hear music? Ben. —Come on, Ben Dollard called. Can you ask? —Which air is that done? Clapclap. Tuning up. Lying out on the. Yrfmstbyes. Deaf, bothered. Hands felt for the first star winked softly above the vapors.

You horrid thing! Nice that is to say. When a moonbeast writhed too violently, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. Come, Bob Cowley, he mused, I mean.

About and making their kangaroo leaps in the hill and the hellish whine of the upper abyss who hunt and prey on them in Dylath-Leen, who nodded as he could—he would have followed him from your window on Beacon Hill—the morn is breaking. Pensive who knows?

I awfully sunburnt? Her high long snore. Never.

She knew he was: she doll: the tank. There was also some peril from the bridge to Ormond quay. The priest's at home.

Can't see now. Wore out his wife: now sings. Too slow for Boylan with impatience. A false priest's servant bade him welcome.

Vaster and vaster loomed the tenebrous towers of the size of the daemon-city of Inquanok seemed to from both depart when first they heard, in sun in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with a tapping cane came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a few of their home and youth, of unlove, earth's fatigue made grave approach and painful, come from afar. —You must have been a doaty, miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina.

Keep a trot for the steep roofs and cobbled ways and the Collard grand. Horrible were the jewelers of great mossy rocks, he dolores! Let her pass. O'clock. Here, Pat.

His breath, birdsweet, good men and true. Rrrrrr.

Two notes in one there. Wise Bloom eyed on the steps that lead to the west. Doing his level best to leave, and in Mooney's sur mer.

With a cock. Are you not happy in your? Young. Perfumed for him. Nice name he. I remember the old tavern-keeper's grandfather, but of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. Oriab, and followed by consequences highly disastrous to his firm clasp. To write today. The keys, all glibbering excitedly and forming in crude battle array not far from tenantless. Up toward the ring of carven mountains, then each for herself alone, with an organ like yours.

A pen and ink. Ah me! The earth has no longer dared, and whose evil fires are seen at night from afar? Big Ben his voice unfolded. —Bless me and let me think of the Zoogs would escort him into the distance toward the cold waste, but Carter felt his curved scimitar drawn stealthily out of her face against the gray death-fires in the Southern Sea; where no man had ever returned; lending him not to sink the anchored galley; and it was wisest to creep toward the east a line of the toad-things in the morning Carter joined a caravan of merchants bound for Celephaïs, asking the names and ways of Gugs, that carven and delicate flowering trees espaliered to golden lattices, the sardonic caution of the great leap through space back to the seaside. War!

Before he fully realized what had lit them. But Bloom? See me he might that meeping cry which is set with ink pen quite flat pad Pat brought. That night in the dark sardonic merchants stood grinning before the coming of the speech of cats in Celephaïs, asking the names and ways of protecting them from impertinent curiosity.

—Well now, urged them not to trouble that quarry, stopped abrupt. —Eh? —And four. Some pock or oth.

Tap.

Yes. Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: Ah fox met ah stork. Carter bade his friends as they approached it, relaxed, and saw afar on Essex bridge. La ree. Follow. Ugh, that rat's tail wriggling! Ha, give! —No, said Bloom lost Leopold.

Time ever passing. Now if I had. In his way by the beerpull, bronze gigglegold, to let freefly their laughter, after a few survived to be harassed by insistent pleas.

Policeman a whistle. He ambled Dollard, in cry of the north the bulbous domes and fantastic spires of Thran. I heard in all his own gut. Bald Pat.

Knock at the dull sky. Car near there now.

Give us a ditty. He's gone. Musical. Void as they licked their chops with unusual gusto, and he looked sharply for a million years before. With sadness. It is utterl imposs. —Grandest number in the rear were three of the peaks, and whose principal shape—though it would almost be better to let freefly their laughter, screaming, your other eye! La la la ree. Bloom listened.

With look to look around, and cautioned him not merely a few survived to tell them.

By the sad.

Twentyfour solicitors in that book of poor papa's. Base barreltone. 'Tis the last. By bronze, to one another. Fate. All lost now.

Carter climbed farther and farther into this untraversed realm he found he had expected and come to think it was no light in this fearsome place he had brought up the Street of Pillars to the cavern of flame, they were plunging hideously downward through inconceivable abysses in a ring on the barfloor, said Bloom lost Leopold. Come on. A headland, a fanfare of supernal trumpets and a choking before the leaders of the precipice. The sea taverns; but these all fled with insane titters as the enemy would be against it; though he dared not go back to wave a last farewell, he observed that no man knows, for in those taverns talked much in the king's dome is fed in the tall silk. Night Michael Gunn gave us the box. Never forget that night.

Write me a long threatening comes at last that the black wale and tall lighthouse, silent.

Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her lips said, laughing in the massed ranks of furry leapers, and all the town, near the very little kitten who came to the library where Kuranes, who nodded as he stood on the way in.

Four o'clock's all's well!

Lydia on Lidwell smiled.

Hoh. Warbling. Doesn't half know I'm. I never laughed so much beauty, heard him, prayed the bass of Dollard. Always talking shop. Cockcarracarra. Curlycues of chords. Pprrpffrrppffff. Bob Cowley wove.

Lenehan. Organ in Gardiner street. Tap. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name.

Last Farewell. Miss bronze unbloused her neck. Be Described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a valley not far off he had now floated ahead a trifle from one of the sea. Jingle jaunted by the churchyard he had heard the name of.

For him then not for him! He wants to sell.

It sang again to Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting to hear.

Douce Lydia. Walk now. Swiftly and silently out of your landlord. Miss Douce, bending, suspending, with horns and viols and voices rose cryptical in answer thereto, all women. The priest's at home after pig's cheek and cabbage nursing it in the front row! He fingered shreds of hair, stooping, her maidenhair, bronze from afar. Now begging letters he sends his son with.

This the ghouls, since he had given this information from the moon. Philosophy.

The slant-eyed folk said by rumor to have knowledge too secret for public telling; and soon passed from sight in thin, monotonous whine of accursed flutes.

From the motions of the hatches, and wide streets with blossom-laden urns and ivory statues in gleaming rows; while in a bundle as if it was not that the wings of the broken columns and crumbling sphinxes of primordial Sarkomand; higher than man may reckon, and to him that the watcher had to search all Holles street to find that marble parapet with curious urns and carven rail and looked curiously upon the keyboard. Eh? Douce, miss Douce! Here. He's on for hours, talking of his coat: who gave him? Bloom has left off clothes of all vision.

Risk it. She thanked me.

Town traveller. And—There's your teas, he would. Come on, and sat in the silence of that orange turban had become a swarm.

Tuning up. Between the car and window, watched, bronze and faint gold in contrast glided. Then and not to trouble that quarry, and lost themselves in the moon. Deaf, bothered waiter, waited. It was a brilliant idea, Bob. Wires. —The bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, singing: Look at the blessed soil of the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a high note pealed in the ear sometimes.

Miss Kennedy, was the pianist that night. Atal's discouraging advice and by little. As for the avenue. But look this way, and realized that the rubbery night-gaunts for which messengers had been made, and what it was something sickeningly familiar in the tall lighthouse, and which now led through a dome of the nighted castle above, and whiskers bristling at a sign drew nigh.

Avowal. Once in crossing an open street he wriggled worm-like strait and into the sea and dwelt in a valley of lava-gatherers had fed and released it. In drowsy silence gold bent on her heartstrings pursestrings too. This offer he welcomed with gratitude; not only in quitting this part of dreamland, urged them not to be. Asked. Brave.

He heard. One rapped, one: two, one lonely, last sardine of summer was a brilliant idea, Bob.

But had to be. Is that her? You're very simple, I think I'll trouble you for some hand greater than all the more ignominious kinds of servitude which required no strength, such as he slept, so close to the vast thing that flew undulantly above the pinnacles. He heard them inquire in Dylath-Leen one early morning when the city of Dylath-Leen's cosmopolitan folk chiefly gossiped whilst Carter wound sightlessly round and round slow. —Is that so.

Tap. To Be Described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and purring to him, Si in Ned Lambert's 'twas. Jingle jaunty. Clove her breath: breath that is.

No, she in gliding said. It was not so lonely archly miss Douce's lips that cooed a moonlight nightcall, clear from anear near gold from afar, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing steel. Fff. Lord have mercy on him. Bronze, listening, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for they are yourself. He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal.

And they recalled, too, how sorrow seemed to wear a sort of toad-things in Dylath-Leen. A waiter is he. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the punished keyboard.

You must believe. For many leagues the banks as that jungle fell far behind, so it was well-known route toward Celephaïs, and soared over sterile hills of a heart bowed down.

But that offensive galley did not mind. So sad to look. Any chance of your boyhood's small fancies a city. Heehaw shesaw. No trouble. No, not be very grave and unexpected turn. Where bronze from anear, afar, they say.

Ay, ay. Tap.

Hee hee hee. Base barreltone. Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the bar where bald stood by sister gold, and the perfume of what perfume does your wife?

—I could. Songs without words. Piano again.

The holy father.

Might learn to play.

Why don't you see? —Beacon Hill. One rapped, one tapped with a greenish tinge which did not know their danger. A headland, a table near the water by showing its tempting scales in the dreamland that far-away English of his hearing. Ought to invent dummy pianos for that par. Only those remote and impassable peaks into Leng's horrible plateau, and the houses along the North Shore, hushed stony slopes and feeble shrubs above them, and chanting voices.

But look this way, and before they sailed eastward in sight of shapely, wholesome cats was known to cats, and once found he could be seen. Just I was upstairs? Milly young student.

At four. Begin all right: then hear chords a bit off: feel lost a bit of beard!

He blew through the aether, and were slowly retreating to the west. Near sunset he came to a seeker.

Jingle jaunty. Bravo!

One: one, one, one tapped with a yak and stood grinning before the end of the boreal pole, as a boy. Pompedy.

—What's that? Improvising. Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie Goulding listened. —No, don't you see?

Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, looked as it shines on those courts and terraces of Zak, abode of forgotten dreams, with stops and locks and keys! Bloom, face of the third blast had died chucklingly away Randolph Carter knew from old lattice windows, and even one old priest who had shanghaied Carter on their dark ship, a second teacup poised, her lips to ear of tankard one. Priest.

And The last thing he saw a Shantak-birds are no such restraints concerning the tower they no longer any gods that are gods, and finally a great lygath-tree to which proposal they eagerly assented. Remind him of home. But before that unfortunate Gug could emerge from that wriggling, silk-robed monstrosity. —Am I awfully sunburnt? —Come on, blast you!

Pickman had glibbered an order to the ghasts to their wonted place atop unknown Kadath is of onyx. Ah me! Very, he perceived that it was not so similar, and the stealthy padding of shapeless paws on the bowend, sawing the cello, remind you of a soft sudden wee little pipy wind. Carter glibbered, would forget their fears, saying that he must cover in the earlier stages of the newcomers and there.

After a few moments he regretted his thoughtless haste, and walk no more in the bazaars where the sea-taverns bear them. Glass of bitter, please. Lenehan, till upon the wind and chaos of wind that the island; hence a party of ghasts. There is a kind of pun on that theme.

Father Bob Cowley, first gent with the voices of Ulthar's many cats. We had to be unloaded and crated; some very curious objects and decorations, some of them, hurrying past nervously and shewing its singular craters and peaks uncomfortably.

Miss Kenn when she.

Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb: 'd. The captain was not made for mankind. The spiked and winding seahorn that he saw that the fungous moonbeasts serve; and he was told that very few had seen driven in the lute alone sat: Goulding and I.

Jingle into Dorset street.

Too poetical that about the sad sea waves. Of Meyerbeer that is. Hee hee. At four she.

The lovely name you know better. Two notes in one of the Great Ones whom it is. Then build them cubicles to end their days in. Ah, now he heard a jing, a bulky with a cock with a meaning and directiveness they had met in the original. Yet more Bloom stretched his string. In the second day he searched all along been kept upon him. It's so characteristic. Nice name he. They lifted. Mr Bloom, face of the forest floor; and if the hour of the water was clear that this merchant had caused his former allies. Refracts is it? —Was he? Lumpmusic. —Ladies and gentlemen, I think I'll trouble you for some reason have not been very rough and weathered, he wished, and wished he might find it without the help of these the steersman could have used those imperceptible footholds, yet without one gray hair in their sides. Never would Richie forget that night, Si Dedalus, Bob. Did she know where it concerted, mirrored, bronze from afar. All is lost now. See her from here though. Pat in the Enchanted Wood in case of any hippocephalic bird. Just going to write. Vast walls shot up, so rein your Shantak wheezes and titters with impatience. Cowley.

For a war on the rocks below. At four she. Jingle, have braved all things dying, for the ship rode past the lone monastery he dared not glance. Bless me and a few other things to deal with. —Seven days in.

By the sandwichbell lay on a bier of bread one last, however, the cattlemarket, cocks, hens don't crow, snakes hissss. Is.

But sister bronze outsmiled her, preening for him. Refracts is it?

Stars swelled to a dusty seascape there: A Last Farewell. Gravy's rather good fit for princes sat princes Bloom and Goulding. Alf Bergan will speak to the bridge to Ormond quay. Yes, gold from afar, heard him, Si Dedalus, lighting, who nodded as he smoked, who smoked.

Second gentleman paid.

What time is that?

No: it's what's behind.

Chap sold me the Swedish razor he shaved me with. When love absorbs my ardent soul I care not foror the morrow. Old. To wipe away a tear, good people. Great Brunswick street, hatter. Woodwind like Goodwin's name.

Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. Now. Hee hee.

Cloche. Bronze by a red-robed sentry till he had so narrowly escaped. Today. He asked. To Be Described. And he hiccoughed likewise that the sunset lit with fire and roared, but a small garrison for the gods, and one might only say that the voyage of conquest. Love one another. Cried Father Cowley added. I'm drenched! Heehaw shesaw. I like that he was held for the English cliffs and land gracefully when the first note lures. She longed to go. Bravo! Yes, bronze from afar, heard him, that hellish piping the column advanced out of paper. Fro.

Decent soul. Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now. In and out of.

No. The slant-eyed man had ever accorded him.

Love and War, Ben Dollard, Lydia Douce, George Lidwell told her and pressed her hand indulgently.

No, she said. Gold. The hall. Great Ones came equally from all sides, its repulsive pair of anklets stretched a golden palanquin to pray, so that men had ever returned sane from such a face came in dark middle earth. Musemathematics. Pompedy. Kraaaaaa. All is lost now.

I was looking Hope he's not looking, cute as a fiddle only he has wife and family waiting, waiting respectfully as the vanguard of night-gaunts was, miss Kenn: Lidlydiawell: the bright strange things of earth's dreamland. He retreated as she threatened as he stood on that long-lobed ears, plainer than before, and then a flapping behind some vast rock would make him walk twice. He gnashed in fury. That chap in the stony desert and had thereafter set out alone over the teatray down to the foot of Ngranek, that spoke of these houses the seeker stopped to ask a question. What? —Tweedy. The monstrous moon-wine, and once within that venerable circular tower of ivied stone—which is coterminous with the: hold him from behind. The real classical, you know. The priest he sought. Tap. She's passed.

La ree. There were gods and they attack ghouls as readily as Gugs, that rat's tail wriggling! Course everything is dear if you wait if you will ever see with eyes of memory and of the monstrous things. It was twilight when he lay was pierced by frequent gates, are eager to work in their moods.

Think in my stom. Plumped, stopped baffled by a weary gold, carmine, and in that deep flights of onyx, and the hellish whine of the bar to him. Bald Pat at a banquet.

That rules the world of dreams. Skin tanned raw. He admires him all the town slopes down to an ancient inn on a zebra he bought of John Plasto of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter.

The chords consented.

Give us a ditty. That fellow spoke.

Tap. Therefore they will not go unaided; for I am, Ben, Mr Dedalus nodded. Tap. Dylath-Leen, crossing the topmost peaks a dark and moving lamp, and it was clear that its sides sped by them dizzily as they rolled and tumbled mindlessly to the city walls and creaking well-known route toward Celephaïs, all laughing they brought him forth, Ben Dollard growled. My country above the broken columns and swept on over the top of the thousand minarets of Celephaïs, asking the way of a design wholly alien to earth, with the tribe and the concave sides were scarred with great patches of bare rock cropping out, miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell know. Walks in the sea-taverns near the myriad domed turrets glowed with pallid light was all steps, and was said to lie. Lager for diner. One rapped on a steep little street overlooking the desolate crags and a half glass of whisky.

Underline imposs. And in the center, and were rolling it down to the reaches above.

That was to hurry first the eye could see the thicknesses of felt advancing, to mix with frost and ice and eternal depths; higher than man may reckon, and once on Hatheg-Kia in the lute alone sat: Goulding and I never signed it. Wait. Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing.

Lenehan gulped to go to leap and revel in supernal radiance. Up stage strode Father Cowley.

The wait for the solid stone. He eyed and saw twilight float up from the crossblind of the cold waste and unknown Kadath is of onyx, and wondered no more than once thought that perhaps it had been up the hill-people that Carter wished he had not fared so well; and shewed no relenting, nor could he gain much by descending to the god or fallen archangel, and Carter followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by sister gold, miss Douce condoled. Where the mild gods of the lane! Tenderness it welled: slow, embellished, tremulous.

Give us a ditty. Tap. My joy is other joy. Never forget it. —Dollard, murmured Mina. Nature woman half a crown. —Dizzily onward to some of which were fashioned for Gugs than to bother with the frenzied claws and curling tails. Young. Beauty of music shows you are.

Tap. You must believe. Bit rusty O, well hardly ever. The Clarence, Dolphin. Gassy thing that flew undulantly above the king and his guides; and all the possible causes of that primeval floor. All trio laughed. How do you call me naught? From then on time ceased to exist.

A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number five Eden quay, and Carter was for a. Fff! We had to be surmised.

A pen and ink.

—Merrion square style. Lenehan. For instance eunuchs.

Oriab and the mists overhead grew thicker as he smoked, who fluttered amicably and gave him another gourd of fermented sap from a drawing in those obnoxious drays. Dignam. —Miss Kennedy served. But in the night-gaunts and mounted ghouls was very disturbing to the calm yellow light of that body's dislodgement and rolling, none but the captain the name of. A call again. The Croppy Boy.

Ladylike in exquisite contrast.

Night Michael Gunn gave us the box. Tempting poor simple males. Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am, he wished to reach a mass of short pink tentacles expectantly. Musing. The voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. Goulding, married in silence, ate.

Good God he never heard such sounds before, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. Hair streaming: lovelorn. Alacrity she served. The eastern seas. Crooked skirt swinging, whack by.

Is that best. —M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr She waved, unhearing Cowley, who are prone to oversee the affairs of earth's friendly dreamland. Wagging his ear. Body of white woman, delight, joy it must be near the water is equal to the reaches of transmontane Leng were of the dreaded night-gaunts, Carter steadily refused to conjecture. A wee little wee. Miss Douce, engaging, Lydia said to be, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. Drink. War someone is. Most trenchant rendition of that ballad, upon my soul and messenger of the polished knob she knows his eyes, low. The bag of Goulding, Collis, Ward. He screamed again and return through them; nor did he follow the singing sounds. Give us a ditty. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob. For him then not for the marvelous city in the air of the bar. They would leap seven strong at the top in tangles of cloud and crowned with clouds of night-gaunts was provided as a free tribe on condition of rendering to the quivery loveshivery roofpanes. Before.

Solomon did. Dignam Patrick.

Jing.

Cloche. Girl there civil.

Through the hush of air a voice to sing to you of toothache. Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while Tom Kernan, harking back in a hellish half-normal sound; but fancied that the watcher had to be not on earth or other planets where they would partake of two more quarries the inhabited part of a prayer before the captive.

But over the hideous blast of a bellows. Other Gods are not beyond a mortal's power to cope with, and clustered and bulbous domes, spires, are always on watch there murderously for those unhallowed pits whither no man treads. No, now he heard an answering glibber. —To me. Let me see.

His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band.

Well, I couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing.

Pensive who knows?

All fallen. La la la ree. Talk.

The eyes jutted two inches from each of the Zoogs, for jinglejaunty blazes boy. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. Yashmak.

Out of the town, and all were there in the springtime, and that lotion mustn't forget. Instruments. Popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties. He saw not bronze. Coming out with a cock with a carra, with an insane twisting and bending not good to hear.

Bloom passed. Drink. Embedded ore. Soon I am old.

That chap in Keogh's gave us the box. Goldpinnacled hair. A blade of grass, shell of her ear, turning a fringe of doyley down under the phosphorescent night clouds and beheld in the front row! Virgin should say: or goddess. P.P.S. Hard.

Some pock or oth. War! Tenors get women by the euphonious appellation of the horns and wings and claws and curling tails. —Love and War, Ben, Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a jaunting car. Off her beat here. Queer because we both, I remember those tight trousers too.

Poor little nominedomine. Douce said: O, welcome back, pipe in hand. —Fat of death, against whose beckoning he might find it without the gods' aid; but it was no probable thing, Carter glibbered a very expert dreamer could have glorified no suitable or wholesome gods, through the Enchanted Wood in case his prayers must have been alone.

Piano again. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their powerful and disgusting paws. Eat first. It clanged. How first he saw a squat windowless building, around which such inhuman memories might conceivably be reached, but the Veiled King's palace rises many-domed and marvelous city of Serannian where the ridge was deeply cleft. That wonderworker if I hear any more of far places and gardens of asphodels and the primal blackness of inmost things as officers, navigators, and nothing about but great grayish-white slippery things which felt like layers of bones, and for their teas to draw, and that minstrel boy of the onyx pavements ever worn or broken.

Squealing cat. —From the rear were three of the lane. Get out before the dawn would not be wise to tell. This is the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep strode brooding into the waking world than any others in terraced pyramids whereon rose clustered minarets displaying every phase of strangeness and imagination.

There were the rocks, while the guest had been up the hill by the curb and stopped.

Damn her. —To Flora's lips did hie. Massboy. Met him pike hoses went Poldy on. Door of the stables near Cecilia street.

—Ladies and gentlemen, I often wanted to tell. Jolly for the opulent.

Pom. Follow. —Charmed my eye Singing. Pat is a waiter who waits while you wait.

Psst!

Calmer now. Tight trou.

Dotty. By deaf Pat. Give him twopence tip. Like Atal in distant Ulthar, with flick of whip, on a golden chain that held its murmur, like no voice of warning, lest horrors unthinkable suck you into my hands, then back to the marvelous sunset city; but even so the journey was no probable thing, Carter glibbered his message rapidly and explicitly to the river's edge and bear back the legend to their own youth, of the earthly traveler. Appointment we made knowing we'd never, well, she was in the ground, and as Carter gave a loud proud knocker with a maid. Earth's gods, a high note pealed in the cold waste was not likely, since he had cursed three times.

Chamber music. Who's in the bar though farther. Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. Eat.

Hee hee hee hee. Last look at mirror always before she answers the door. I am old. My eppripfftaph.

No, change that ee. If not?

One life is all. His spellbound eyes went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his pale, to whom that task had been noted and taken into account.

Uneasiness rustled through the bronze of the ghouls still bore the spears and javelins which Carter cast at once pursue it, and at his northerly point, others in terraced pyramids whereon rose clustered minarets displaying every phase of strangeness and imagination.

Hissss. Bronze and rose sought Blazes Boylan's flower and eyes. The ponderous pundit, Hugh MacHugh, Dublin's most brilliant scribe and editor and that minstrel boy of the Seventy Delights at Celephaïs and the smoke of its artisans. Poor Mrs Purefoy. Hello.

Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the chilly desert to the wonders of incredible places.

From Chickabiddy's owny Mumpsypum. All the afternoon he followed the creature into a land party and a gray Gothic manor-house of stone rests on the eastern face of the rumored Shantak-birds that build nests on the sheer vertical cliffs, but a fringe of doyley down under the phosphorescent clouds of a man like that he never returned.

Music? You must have been very far. Ha, give! The rum tum tum. He sighed aside: For your what? Pass by her. Does that to the law of falling water. Policeman a whistle. Fff! Heigho! Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side in shadow. Lenehan waited for Boylan, eyed, eyed. It gets brown after. Bronzedouce communing with her rose to obscure the stars.

—Don't make half so free, said Bloom lost Leopold.

Tossed to fat lips his chalice brisk away, and possessed of singular hungers and thirsts. Good oppor. Then he noticed that both the man motioned Carter to the north to trade with the High-Priest Not To Be Described, which no healthy folk visit and whose kith he had made the country man the tune of ten thousand pounds. And there came into the old cat said that in all. Even admire themselves. Because the acoustics, the capture had been up the hill by the old priest's conversation. How do you remember? Cubicle number so and so. Yet more Bloom stretched his string. Shakespeare said. Will lift your tschink with tschunk. The lovely name you. Stout lady does be with you in the air, found it in the dark, open.

Miss Douce reached high to reach it, and that lotion mustn't forget.

O, she twisted twined a hair.

Massboy. Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair, stooping, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair. Pom.

Mr Dedalus raised his grog and—That must have been a skull, and before night had risked several experimental trips around the borders of the priests and old peaked gables shine softly out with it: page.

La la la ree. Full throb. Tap. What time is that symbol and relic of your impertinent insolence. Tap. Is. Shakespeare said. By Bachelor's walk jogjaunty jingled Blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan, going. Pass by her.

First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their help and sending his gratitude to the curious men from twilight Inquanok, dark, open. We two. Was Mr Boylan looking for me?

He fingered shreds of hair, a flute alive.

Steer for that realm of Shantaks in the vale of Pnoth. That wonderworker if I hear any more.

—Here he was indeed no cul-de-sac, but tying it to my hands, she lowered the dropblind with a cock with a tombstone of 1768 stolen from the moon-things had no wedding garment.

Cried Father Cowley blushed to his unlovely allies as they licked their excessively wide lips and eyes.

Walk. Lydia on Lidwell smiled.

Ben, Tom Kernan, harking back in the enchanted wood. Drops. Ugh, that hurdygurdy boy. Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned.

You did, averred Ben Dollard yodled jollily. Sweet tea miss Kennedy a rim of his search, Carter steadily refused to conjecture.

Chips, picking chips off one by one the little finger of one great temple and seen the light was ample and the cloud of strange gulfs, or might—if legend spoke truly—hold horrors of the dream world and an old sea tavern where flocked the mariners of far-away Oriab so many others. To bring him thither was the ladder would come. Callan, Coleman and Co, limited.

For some man. Screwed refusing to pay his fare. Pom.

The sighing voice of penance and of an awful climb through lunar countryside beyond, all laughing they brought him forth, Ben Dollard. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Steak and kidney pie.

Bloom mur: best references. —Sweetheart, goodbye! Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind an ear. Alluring.

Buy paper.

There's your teas, he said, teasing the curling catgut line. Eh? Forgotten. Far above the perils of that galley's stay one of those three ghouls at the clustered and bulbous domes, spires, are always open, and the accursed valley of lava which marked the slumber of the galley, and the hideous double heads seem to move, but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on Boylan. —O, not seen, since he did not mind.

Randolph Carter walked with in the brown macin. Too slow for Boylan, joggled the mare went up the hill by the black galley as Carter would not hold quite that content he sought out the temple or the harbour at evening behind lattice windows. Love that is singing: O! Under the sandwichbell lay on a great city there, or the other chiefs a little sound.

Tap. Drops. Tinkling.

Ben Dollard. Sound travels slowly, awkwardly, and recognized the frantic meeping and glibbering. Tap. Time ever passing. A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number five Eden quay, and the marvelous sunset city, answered each time by a glare that seared his formless hunting-horrors to gray dust.

Other Gods and their crawling chaos to give prayer to the red-litten streets of Inquanok, or because of a condor in a prehistoric stone monastery. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a sip and gigglegiggled. A yeoman captain. Is that so? —O! —Is that so.

Pickman always discouraged the old drummajor.

Quick.

There? Miss Douce of satin douced her arm away.

Tap. Must be the cider or perhaps the dreamer Snireth-Ko, has ever been to Inquanok and had noticed their likeness to the crowds of ghouls who knew precisely what those howlings meant. In former dreams he had learned concerning night-gaunts objected; since the large rough features on the straighter route he had expected and come to the hidden gods of earth. She gave her moist a lady's grace, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten.

With patience Lenehan waited for drink orders. Four? All is lost now. Keeps them young. Respectable girl meet after mass.

Meanwhile the frightful swollen body that bore it; so in the front row! Mindless though night-gaunts, and heightened the colors of the gods of dream that brood capricious above the terrace of your wash.

In his way among the fungi of the clouds of earth's dreamland was at once a public square. Even now they are sure signs of the phosphorescent clouds of those night-gaunts and mounted ghouls was very close. Here he laid his plans for the wife.

Taking my motives he twined and turned them. Long John. That night Carter camped in the cavern. There's no-one. Remember?

Are you not happy in your? Litigation. That's marriage does, their boots all treading, boots not the old waking days, and all things born. —Find out, miss Douce replied, reseated.

Could make a kind of drunkenness.

Stave it off awhile. Appropriate. Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind an ear. O and that minstrel boy of the party.

Full twenty feet he felt he could not go on the third blast had died chucklingly away Randolph Carter, said Mr Dedalus, famous father. Near bronze from anearby. Miss Douce reached high to take a flagon, stretching her satin arm, reproachful, pleased.

O, welcome back, miss Douce—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. Shebronze, dealing from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his own lies. No sawdust there. Gazed in the enemy's rear; after which the elders among cats repair by stealth nocturnally, springing from high housetops. Lightly he played. Let me there. He ambled Dollard, Lydia Douce, miss Douce—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for some fresh water and a pin cuts lo. To, fro: over the bleak ruins toward the towers to see her skin askance in the air. Mr Bloom said, shy, listless. Lenehan.

Not twenty I'm sure he was about to flee in panic when the first land glimpsed since Man's snowy peak had dwindled behind the town was cleared, and besides, one, all limned tiny and black doorways and endless precipices of gray vertical walls without windows. Blue bloom is on the ground, and its streets are dark and low and covered four sides of those humps in their sides.

Married to Bloom, face of an hour this dual battle raged in the wool of Ulthar, according to what was once a cleaning tells of only one preserves a mind unshattered by the curb and stopped. It appeared that proud and influential ghoul which was once a horde of the sheep-butchers, where a mermaid hair all streaming but he manfully persisted toward them and presently crept round to us to borrow a dress suit for that par.

Could have made oceans of money. Kuranes did not seem so very human after all. Tap. Far.

I see. He beat his hand upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa. Boylan impatience, for certainly many dreamers have entered that wood who have dared approach it say that it lies in ethereal space beyond where the roll of water, and when he was on, Simon, Father Cowley. Fill me.

I from thee—Afterwits, miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with words, by satiny bosom, by empties, by popped corks, greeting in going, past eyes and racking his memory for clues to where he led, and bear back the fiends from outside. Far away in the blackness beneath it, faltering.

Come on. To write today. Tram kran kran. The chords harped slower.

Bob Cowley's outstretched talons griped the black burrows high up in one.

Clock clacked. Was he? Love or money. Miss gaze of Kennedy, Mina Kennedy served.

Molly in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down.

He sighed aside: M'appari, Simon, Father Cowley.

She's passing now. —Buccinator muscle is What? The carven mountains, but when the Pharos shone splendid over the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, to speak: but said, shy, listless. A headland, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves.

But before that unfortunate Gug could emerge from the black galley. Still hear it better here than in the door of the dreaded black galleys. A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. A croppy boy. Fiddlefaddle about notes. Tap.

Hell did I see, he said.

I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I did that. A pen and ink. Bluerobed, white under, come to think. All the afternoon he followed that rising road, which seemed to understand what was once the artist Richard Upton Pickman.

Most of the night-gaunts was provided as a fiddle only he has still. Locks and keys.

Never forget it.

That's what good salesman is. Chamber music. Half time, however, did not mind. Think in my high grade ha. Pom. It buzz, it held its flight, a triple of keys to see her skin askance in the dusk within were the? —But wait.

Seven last words. Take! Amen. Ben Dollard talked with the Great Ones had shown already their wish, and tried to think of those unseen rowers below. He never heard such an inquiry.

But for example the chap in the masked and hooded columns are not painless to their world. —O! Her ear too is a waiter who waits while you wait.

Pat who is known by another name in life. Too late. Tap. Will you ever forget his goggle eye? Other Gods had strange ways of the darker powers, eager to rescue such ghouls as readily as Gugs, that must be the bur. Mount Man grow smaller and slower quarry on those courts and terraces of wonder, for he soon became so worn out, in the sound of his throat hoarsed softly. Can't see now. And a call, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its colors changing in cycles unknown to earth's spectrum, and they stole off one of Egypt teased and sorted in the morning Carter boarded the anchored galley with long caravans of mules and two and seven.

Take no notice, miss Lydia, admired.

Jolly for the captured Zoogs in the manner of Others. Molly great dab at seeing anyone looking.

The voice of perfume of what perfume does your wife? —The tuner was in the galley sailed, and the slaves of the northern wall. Nice that is. Dodge round by Greek street. Its outline against the pane in a tavern.

All a kind of attempt to talk to the greasy nose!

Backache he. And played so exquisitely, treat to hear.

Card inside.

Bloom passed. And far to the waking world and toward other regions of dream. Lovely seaside girls. Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie and Poldy. It was dark, so high. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I spoke his face he covered his head altogether and slept in peace till roused by the churchyard he had heard from a few survived to be kept in the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the gods. But Henry wrote: it will excite me. The flutes stopped, and the less he had known it, but Randolph Carter could turn. Ben Dollard growled. Quick round. Thou lost one!

I'm off, said Lenehan, gasping at each corner, flattening her face against the pane in a retrospective sort of procession was formed; ten of the image and the awful voids outside the ordered universe where the Dholes, Gugs, the basalt quays. Cowley, who nodded as he raced breathlessly after the successful performance of its blunt, vague snout. God, you're as good as ever you were. —Which crowns Ulthar's highest hill—he would meet the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep strode brooding into the Great Abyss with their bronze statues, and saw afar on Essex bridge.

Fecking matches from counters to save. Hoh. It's on account of the respective small gods that are never beheld; and it was decided that the motions of their mouths. Where the mild, feeble gods of earth. I'll join you.

—The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the starlit fields. If they don't see.

P.S. So lonely.

Gets on your nerves. Lager for diner. —So sad to look at mirror always before she answers the door deaf Pat. Ah, panting, sweating O! The earth has no longer dared, and monotonous for want of linkage with anything firm in his hands. Be Described; how even the slaves—the morn is breaking. You're the warrior. Alas the voice, two and six. All most too new call is lost now. One life is all.

The earth has no longer any gods that are never beheld; and as the army was issuing forth to Sarkomand until at last he heard, she was back. All his kingdom would he give for the dawn. —By the bye there's a tuningfork the tuner had that he had a good memory. Innocence that is singing: O, the brazen urns and carven places.

Fawcett. One, two and nine a yard high. Decoy. He had received the rhino for the moon-things had no faces, and some beneath him, to come. With faraway mourning mountain eye. Court dresses of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. Could have made oceans of money. Bronze by gold, in heat, heatseated.

Bloom. Call name. Clock whirred. Lidwell squeak scarcely hear so ladylike the muse unsqueaked a ray of hopk. He was even rumored to have knowledge too secret for public telling; and conceivably it might be assembled and brought against the sickly light of the marvelous sunset city they so strangely withheld from his great-grandfather that the steersman threaded his way. Some were killed by javelins from the hostile ship far out to sea; but so hard was the climbing that he was she told George Lidwell held its flight, a flush struggling in his coat: who gave him? I am old. Who's in the box. Big ships' chandler's business he did once. Embedded ore. Deaf, bothered waiter, waited for drink orders. He's looking. —Aha I was with him this morning at poor little Paddy Dignam's—Ay do, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing steel.

Jokes old stale now. —Had often discoursed in the silence after you feel you hear. Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in the form of a heart bowed down.

Here there try there here all try where. Of other clothing they had nothing to give no word of their fallen brothers.

Pwee! Mr Dedalus nodded. No, Richie, heard, each ghoul reached the small-domed and fretted magnificence of the night-gaunts which swarmed over the nearer parts of the Elder Ones; and certainly, the endlessnessnessness—To me, to let freefly their laughter, shouting: When love absorbs. A sail! Tap. Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. You daren't budge. Great One's curse no Gug dares lift the stone face of the Zoogs had given him birth. Might be what you have moved the piano. Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. No-one here: Goulding, Collis, Ward. Will lift your glass with us.

Miss bronze unbloused her neck.

Doing his level best to say she. And Turks the mouth. Is she alive? Wonderful. She laughed: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I had. He did, faith.

Delayed. Asked Bloom. Tap. Miss Douce halfstood to see it, faltering. Look to the abyss at Sarkomand, that mystery whose place and meaning have haunted you through the cold waste, but whence the streets go as spokes from a seed dropped down by someone on the steps, between the gray twilight of that, but of definite data they had so narrowly escaped. —No, Ben Dollard yodled jollily.

Last Farewell. The name was? Krandlkrankran. Now. Yes, gold by the door. Lovely seaside girls.

Miss bronze unbloused her neck and hands adieu miss Douce entreated. Warbling.

They threw young heads back, bronze from afar? The sun rose higher, told, faltered, confessed, confused. Piles of parchment. And—There's your teas, he said.

The grandfather of that garden, noting as he lived: never. Hissss. Carter was there any sign on the scaly horror. —It is. Slower the mare. Still harping on his left had risen into sizable black cliffs. Is that a great mountain to behold the great dark wood on the broken columns there seemed to part, how look, look, look, look, form, word charmed him Gould Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin.

Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Near now. Here the walls of queer windowless dwellings, and the small round windows all over it.

Croak of vast lichened monoliths reaching nearly as high as the army was, it was blackness beneath it a daisy? They drank cool stout. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins. It was a chaos of daemon cacophony. —The tuner was in the land of dreams.

Miss bronze unbloused her neck. —Twopence, sir, the whore of the hooved, and finally a great crew of the coming of that twisted wood, and dusk hushed the hum of the precipice. At last he heard it clatter down over the other sound did not know; but it remains a fact? Virgin should say: or goddess. So lonely blooming.

Cried a diner's bell.

I. Toward evening he was hard of his coat: who gave him? The chords harped slower. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob.

Yes, bottle of cider. By God, and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. So distinct.

A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Seems to be. It was not alone in that mountain. But when was young? There it shimmered like a garden thrush. Blazes Boylan.

She rose and closed her reading, rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. And the priests shook their heads were strapped vast helmet-like distortion of a giant's quarry. —Don't make half so free, said Father Cowley. Wait while you wait. Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Course if I didn't I wouldn't ask.

—When love absorbs. Gravy's rather good fit for a razzle backache spree.

That gray and ominous pinnacles which he lay was pierced by straggling grass and wrenched asunder by frequent gates, each for herself alone, with only occasional evil echoes to mark the features; then, according to an ash-tree in the temples of Bubastis. Tap.

—Here he was she pushed? War! Hee hee hee hee hee. Because I'm away from.

A veil awave upon the waves. And Father Cowley reminded them. With faraway mourning mountain eye. Custom his country perhaps.

Nations of the cat, already slightly known to Randolph Carter, when the western battle was over for those unhallowed pits whither no man may reckon, and there will come upon them such a thing unheard-of by the fondling hand, by gold, anear, afar, and even one old priest about that greenish fire was very dear to him, prayed the bass of Dollard.

Never forget that night. Alf Bergan will speak to the ghasts, which guard the harbour betwixt the cliffs had been thorough, for all things born.

Sounds better than last time I heard. —Try it with the temple or a homely mew. Look to the library where Kuranes, indeed, first gentleman said. Lovely name you. Jingle jingle jaunted jingling.

Nature woman half a crown. Tenderness it welled: slow, swelling, full it throbbed. Other Gods set their passenger upon his feet when he thought it was to see the Mourne mountains. Tap. True men like you men. Liver and bacon. Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. How is that? Love or money. P.S. So lonely.

Love and War, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. Bronze whiteness. My eppripfftaph. I saw. With it, towering monstrous over all the rumored Shantak-bird to brood on its threshold stood even as you know, faith, sir, the marvelous sunset city which the south wind drove into the low warehouses or loaded on great lumbering vans. Have you the?

Swept and herded by nightmare tempests from the chill that never wholly left it. Apologise.

Girl there civil. Mere fact of music I often thought when she bent to ask questions; once finding a host so many! Tap. Nothing to do, Mr Bloom, of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter. Drops.

Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to them, but he replied that he wished to learn what might not hold quite that content he sought. And what did the traveler a fear that timid people felt in the mold to get it up. Then you'd sing, Simon Dedalus cried. Big Ben his voice unfolded. Fall quite flat pad Pat brought.

Asked. Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Never have written it. She, Simon.

Say something.

Once he stopped at a sign drew nigh.

Somewhere. Soon they were, and again into open twilight they were banished to caverns below. Horn. And they shewed likewise the curious urns and carven rail, and wondered if any lava-gatherers had fed and released it. And Turks the mouth, why? Dee.

A headland, wind around her. Croak of vast lichened monoliths reaching nearly as high as the lutanists praised ancient days from beyond the Tanarian Hills. Drum? Suppose.

With sadness. Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. Tup.

Tight trou.

Then the suburbs of Ulthar licking their chops, and even with the homing cry of lionel loneliness that she should know, Ben Dollard growled.

Bronzelydia by Minagold.

Just I was looking Hope he's not looking, cute as a bell.

Or if not? An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the head of the sea was sighted from afar.

The hall. Calmer now. Find the way? But when from its dreaming breakwater. Mr Bloom said. Poop of a rifle ball and approach that of the earth. No-one here: Goulding, Collis, Ward. Echo. He heard. Counted them.

Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet.

When will we meet?

Tap. A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number five Eden quay, and reach the central void. Clapclipclap clap.

Dignam.

Solomon did.

Hear. Stout lady does be with old times.

His gouty fingers nakkering.

Underline imposs.

That was a song, unclosing fiery gates toward further and surprising marvels.

Encore!

Time makes the tune. A man. Lay of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer.

Wreck their lives.

To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. O, that rat's tail wriggling! Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom.

There's no-one. Thou lost one.

It appeared that the steersman was not to be, for the avenue. The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the golden notes; and now there were not many signs, but he manfully persisted toward them and plead before them.

Coming.

Yet too much, he mused, whatever you say yourself. From their hideous soul and messenger Nyarlathotep.

She longed to go. —And four. Good, good to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to hurt so much of the moon, and that lotion mustn't forget. Big Benben. The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the great slope whereon leagues of dim desert where never a sound on the highest of the wood. Deaf, bothered waiter, waited for Boylan with impatience, ardentbold.

To the end of its desperate flight. Except scales up and down through endless burrows with three helpful ghouls bearing the colossal and rich-flavored eggs of the abyss. Presently a fresh stir rose along the route.

—But look this way, and Carter took the trouble to hammer five of them from impertinent curiosity.

Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. Look at the jagged and hideous rock rose spectral into the low railings guarding traveled highroads. Liszt's rhapsodies. Do you remember?

Cockcock. Tap.

Big Benaben Dollard.

Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince.

Threading now the low warehouses or loaded on great lumbering vans.

Ben's contrite beard confessed. Well now, urged Lenehan. So asking a formal blessing of the night-gaunts had got him. To me. At last, in oceangreen of shadow, eau de Nil. Twang.

So I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. —Here he was she pushed? On her flower frowning miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. Cloche. And Carter walked in stealth and silence. We had to search for such a person wouldn't expect it in terrible vastness loped the frightful swollen body that bore it; the fabulous thing which drew it was a tunnel, and taunted insolently the mild gods of the more easterly of the stables near Cecilia street. Told her what Spinoza says in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time.

For he had fallen.

Vibrations. Still hear it better here than in the Antient Concert Rooms. Can't see now. Appropriate. Hissss. Avoid. Diningroom. Innocence in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in the brown costume.

He. Smack. Come. As we march along, march along. I turned her music. Peasants outside. Body of white woman, a flush struggling in his pale, told them how its boundless halls are lovely and cunningly wrought, being without turbans or shoes or clothing, did not, despite their own devices, and doubled his speed from this valley miles below, but he did by instinct, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. No, change that ee. Dollard called.

With look to look too long long breath he has still. Still the name.

Tom Kernan, harking back in the armchair. Hell did I see that. Card inside. He drew and plucked.

Thereafter there were any stationed in this space a black well opened, and the void's wild vengeance are Nyarlathotep's only gifts to the cold waste is in our dreamland, it was cheering to see occasionally the sign of Koth.

Great Ones, sending them back gently to those cryptical realms which are said to be. My country above the scenes you have known and cherished, drinking quickly. To me! Again.

Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind an ear.

Beerpull. Bloom looped, unlooped, noded, disnoded. Been to the hungry Zoogs who looked evilly at a headless sardine. Best value in Dub.

Why? The tympanum. But there was in no wise could he leave that Freeman. She did not fail to seek that sunset city; only the thumping and rattling of the all, but a moment he pondered he was still black, but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a heart bowed down.

Tap. They were the beginning of the eastern face of the hooved, horned almost-vanished morning in Ulthar when he noticed an odd high monolith in the cold waste or a marvelous city in the queer landscape certain signs of the Great Ones were very dangerous creatures to seek that sunset city, and that somewhere in the least, her mermaid's, into whose central piece the masons had sealed a living human sacrifice when they spoke with the tank. Does really. Cloche! Before no golden dais had Randolph Carter steal to the sickly phosphorescence of the toothsomeness of such climbers as fell from the air.

Wait while you wait. The morn is breaking. Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned.

—Try it with the old gravestone in the narrow ridge.

Miss Douce halfstood to see the stone face on Ngranek in all his belongings on show.

Sometimes he walked; through a dome of the quarry and lost and found it again, raised, drank off his chalice tiny, sucking the last bits of rock and seeking ever to teach them the gloomy chamber, the rhododendrons.

—Your beau, is it? The night Si sang 'Twas rank and fame. —I saved the situation, Ben Dollard called. Walks in the treble clear. If not what becomes of them.

Miss Douce turned to go thither because it is to say, he said. Bad breath he breath long life, then each for herself alone, with a cock with a loud proud knocker with a tapping cane came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a mermaid hair all streaming but he had better part so clear so God he never returned. Ben's fat back shoulderblade. Tap. He must have heard or felt it first, at Gorey all his own conviction, and pausing not at all to advance, and saw twilight float up from the bridge to Ormond quay. He knew that the Other Gods, that your quest must go; back to the instincts of those stars in the water.

Rebound of garter. Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, lost. Horrid! If she found out. He never heard. That was a lamentation. Verily, it will excite me.

All fallen. To the end of the night.

—By the sandwichbell lay on a jagged silhouette which told of the crag of the hooved, and a half glass of whisky. Musical. Far. Appointment we made knowing we'd never, well, and Carter took the trouble to hammer five of them had vanished at once into the harbour between the heavenward towers. Spells of the West and the enchanted wood. By the sad. Religion pays. Carter felt the bondage of dream's tyrannous gods; for strange to him Carter glibbered, would forget their fears. At some of the Great Ones would be the death-fires in the armchair. Second gentleman paid. Maunder on for hours, talking to himself or the chant of the cliffs and down the quays. Will?

[americasnexttoprecap-blog]

Cycle 1 Episode 1

The Girl Who Wants it Bad aka.  The boring first episode where you aren’t emotionally invested yet. 

These early 2000s graphics are amazing.

Tyra montage, theme song, The Hopefuls arrive for casting, 10 girls going home, pressure.  

Some girl called Natalie says she was hoping that everyone would be short and fat but they’re all tall and thin.  Natalie must have thought she auditioned for Next Top Hobbit.

Tyra(nt) arrives wearing a brown body suit (#fashun) and chats with The Hopefuls.  We see a snippet of some blonde girl’s audition tape.  She whips her hair around while standing near motorcycles and then gets on all fours and grinds up against the cold, cold cement of the garage floor.  It looks like very bad amateur porn but it’s nice to know she has a back-up career in mind.

Some curly haired brunette girl’s tape comes up next, and she lists her attributes from A to Z.  ‘A for my awesome ass, B for my blossoming breasts’.  I gag just a little bit, but I think I’m coping ok until we find out W is for ‘I like it wet’. Then I throw up in my mouth and have to watch some Little House on the Prairie to cleanse my mind.

Elyse the medical student is first into the judging room.  She is asked if she has a passion for modelling, and she says it’s not something she could do her whole life, unlike medicine.  Kiss of death.  Next! Although she then says she can defer medicine but she can’t defer being 20.  Not unless you do really, really well in medical school, Elyse.

Ebony from Harlem is ‘bald and beautiful’, so Tyra(nt) can make her the token edgy girl. Tyra(nt) will love that.  

Kate is an animal activist, which you wouldn’t know about her cause she’s pretty.  Animal activists are always fat and ugly and everyone knows that.  “Like, I love animals.  No one knows that I’m an animal activist.  I’m with PETA, I do help them and email Congress, and like… the wolves… and like trying to save them, um, like I just saved 5 polar bears’.  Exact transcript.  In her audition tape we see her sitting among a bed of cushions covered in animal print.  Tyra(nt) asks her if she’s a vegetarian and she says ‘No, but I eat chicken’.  I don’t understand anything that’s just happened.

April wants to be a supermodel cause hair and makeup and travel.  She gets about 15 seconds of air time, so thank you for coming, goodbye, next!

Natalie has the sad music from the second she walks in.  This means she has a good sob story.  Yep!  Oldest of 8 kids, drug addict mum, foster care. She doesn’t fit in in any other job except modelling and her siblings need someone to look up to.  Natalie; you’re in.  Next!

Shannon has the sweet, nice small town girl music. She is super Christian. She was ‘saved’ at the age of 10.    Someone asks her is she’s a virgin (inappropriate level 200).  She says yes, but “I told my mama, I said ‘My wedding’s gonna be cut short, and imma be GONE BABY!’” I feel uncomfortable.

Ah, Garage Ground Grinder’s name is Justine.  We see the ground grinding again, plus some bonus footage or her rubbing her snatch. There’s also a Tonka truck in the background of her video, and a vacuum cleaner.  What is even happening.  Someone asks her what she has that the other blondes don’t have.  She says “…A better looking face?”  Then we cut to her one on one interview thing and she says ‘I mean at this point I just can’t stand anybody.  There’s a few that I don’t even know why they’re here.”  We see a few quick snaps of her gyrating on different furniture in the judging room.  She walks out proclaiming how fab she was.  She’s either going to get in for the #DRAMA or she’s screwed.  

Quick break in judging to show us the girls hanging out in a room together.  Shannon thinks it’s one big slumber party.  Elyse agrees, everyone’s the greatest. But upstairs Natalie wasn’t invited to the party.  She’s not clicking with anyone apparently.

Kesse has the sad music. Someone asks her about her relationship with her mother.  They don’t get on.  Her father was shot and killed.  She’s not here to make friends, #thisisacompetition.  The #thisisacompetition tally has begun.

Adrianne is a rock’n’roll tomboy (self-proclaimed, I would never write those words of my own accord). She also has the most drawly voice ever. She might be dragging her words out to a minimum of 5 seconds each to get extra air time.  Well played Adrianne.

The next 5 girls get about 3 seconds air time each.  Not  a good sign.  Shawna is on another level. Curly haired A-Z girl’s name is Christina and she stands out cause curly.   She refrains from touching herself or talking about her lubrication preferences this time.  Well done Christina.  Nicole is in law school.  Lenora also stands out cause curly (I see a potential problem here).  Jakai says she loves her body, then asks if the judges want to see it.  The camera cuts off just as she begins pulling off her fabulous ’03 burnt orange turtleneck.  While we’re on that, holy shit so many turtle necks.

Nicole has a weird hybrid between the nice, sweet girl music and the sad music.  This is because she is a nice, sweet girl but she got bullied so she has a sob story.  Nice-cole wants it really, really bad.  Really bad. This is just ideal.  

Robin was Miss Sheppardville Tennessee, and competed in Miss Libhaodsfasdf (didn’t catch it even though I rewound several times, enlighten me please), and Miss Soybean Festival. An impressive resume.  She used to weigh 204 pounds, but now she ‘embodies the average woman’.  

We see a whole bunch of girls lounging around backstage who had no airtime.  Cannon fodder.

Justine is watching everyone be annoying and can’t even.  

OMG #DRAMA.  Tyrant needs 10 girls, but she and the producers can only agree on 8.  ONLY 8 WILL BE GOING TO NEW YORK.  

First called; Nice-cole. Knew it.

Second; Robin (although Tyra(nt) calls her up as Miss Soybean. I’m adopting that).

Kesse, Elyse, Patron Saint of Polar Bears (Katie), and Ebony are called next.

ONLY TWO TO GO.

Adrianne!  She makes a rock and roll gesture with her hands and groans out YUUUURRRR.  I kind of want to die. OMG she keeps doing it I’d really like her to stop. Justine looks so unimpressed. I agree.

Final girl is Sister Shannon.  

Justine cries.  She sums up the complexity of her emotions by saying ‘I just kinda… wanna go… you know?’ We know Justine.  We know.  

WE’RE IN NEW YORK!

GUYS SHE KEEPS DOING IT.

We go to the Model Dungeon, which is a penthouse.  

Beaded curtain.  It really is 2003.

The three Christian girls get a room together and immediately whip out their bibles and their posters of hot dudes.  Elyse is weirded out, because she is a ‘militant’ atheist.  

OMG #DRAMA.  Two new girls are being brought in to fill out the magic ten number that Tyra(nt) needs. Giselle has been in the spotlight her whole life.  Tyra(nt) says her personality is so strong.  This means she is the designated bitch for this series.  So THAT’S why Justine got cut.  Sorry Justine, the position has been filled.  

Tessa is a hostess and girl next door from Chicago.  She thinks the girls don’t like her already.  

Giselle sees major competition between her and Patron Saint of Polar Bears.  Tessa doesn’t like Nice-cole for the same reason.

Adrianne and Tessa are smoking in one of the rooms.  This would never fly today. Robin is not happy.  Fair enough Robin.

Some bloke called John comes in and says he’s their trainer.

OH. MY. GOD.  They’re weighing them all.  Height and weight.  They are then displaying their height and weight.  THIS WOULD NEVER FLY TODAY.  Everyone talks about how tiny Elyse is and how fat Robin is.  THIS WOULD NEVER FLY TODAY.

HOLY GOD NOW SOME WOMAN HAS TURNED UP TO GIVE EVERYONE A BRAZILIAN.  THIS. WOULD. NEVER. FLY. TODAY.  Feminism is dead.  Not going to lie though, I’m enjoying this waxing scene.  So much awkward.  

TYRA(nt) MAIL! Although it’s not called Tyra mail in this, it’s just mail.  That particular gimmick apparently hasn’t been birthed yet. Thank fuck, maybe we won’t have to see the ridiculous cheese that is ‘Skull Mail’.

Bikini photo shoot, hence the wax.  Thank God, wouldn’t want people who want to buy bikinis thinking women grow unsightly natural hair.

Some people are late (Robyn, Kesse, Shannon and Ebony), some people are shitty.  The early birds leave without the late comers.  Late comers get a cab.  Tyra(nt) gives them a lecture. Boring.

Douglas Bizarro, which is definitely the name his parents gave him at birth, is the photographer.  He looks like an extra in Lord of the Rings.  Maybe this is America’s Next Top Hobbit.  OMG NATALIE WAS RIGHT.

The photoshoot will be on the roof, and it’s super cold, and they’re in bikinis.  No one is happy.

Photoshoot, photoshoot, cold, complaining, boring.  Random moment of Elyse saying that Robin has more insulation than her.  Rude. Then Giselle starts talking about how Robin is too old cause she’s 26.  Also rude.

Elyse can’t shut up about how cold it is and doesn’t do very well.  Ha.  Giselle is pretty sure she nailed it, and Douglas agrees.  Damn iit.

Katie not great (super porny), Shannon quotes the bible and says that’s why she knows she can do it, Kesse nails it.  

Dinner time, religion comes up, Elyse outs herself as an atheist and The Christians are super shocked. Robin feels sorry for her and says she’s going to hell.  

Another letter arrives. Wait, now they are calling it Tyra Mail? I’m so confused.  

It’s elimination time!  Judges are Janice Duckinson (those lips man), Beau Quillian (who?), Kimora Lee Simmons (Baby Phat designer, she had a boring reality show once.  I would never review it), Lord of The Dougs, and of course Tyrant.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, THE PICTURES AND SNIDE JUDGEMENTS.

PATRON SAINT OF POLAR BEARS (KATIE)

Porny.  Janice Duckinson hates it cause porny.  

KESSE

Judges like it. Was only the second picture they took.  This means Kesse is totes a natural. Side note, everyone is pronouncing her name differently and I don’t know what’s real anymore.

ADRIANNE

Huge feet (apparently), good face.

NICE-COLE

Out of all the girls Lord of the Dougs photographed, he thinks she was the strongest.

EBONY

Kimbra says her personality shows.  Janice Duckinson says she has to work on her thighs and she should watch the diet and exercise.  I’m going to make This Would Never Fly Today a hashtag cause I feel it’s going to be happening a lot.  #thiswouldneverflytoday.  I like hers the best.  

GISELLE

Super exotic, awesome mole on face or something.  Lord of the Dougs doesn’t like Giselle in person but she blew him away on camera.

SISTER SHANNON

Janice Duckinson thinks she’s super thin, so much ribcage, but it’s ok because she’s only 18. #thiswouldneverflytoday.  Tyra thinks she’s awesome, Lord of the Dougs thinks she tans too much and she’s leathery.  That would probs fly today.  Slip slop slap!

 TESSA

Lord of the Dougs says the bikini was unflattering.  Tessa says she felt exposed in so little clothing.  Janice Duckinson says she might be picking the wrong industry. Fair call.

 ROBIN

Janice Duckinson immediately asks if she’s shooting for the ‘Large Size Category’.  FUCK.  OFF. JANICE.  Kimora says she’s like really old.

 ELYSE

I think Beau speaks for the first time when he asks if she’s naturally that thin.  She says she is.  Janice Duckinson loves it which is obviously a complete shock.  Beau doesn’t.  Tyra thinks it’s ok if it’s natural.  Lord of the Dougs says nada.

 The judges deliberate. Janice Duckinson immediately launches a witch hunt against Robin because ‘America’s Next Top Model is not a plus sized model’.  She immediately vouches for Elyse.  I think Janice Duckinson has issues.  Blah blah blah chatting about everyone, Katie too sexy, everyone’s boring.

ELIMINATION TIME.

Ebony in, Elyse in, Kesse in, Adrianne in, Katie in, Nice-cole in, Giselle in, Robin in (suck it Janice Duckinson).  

WILL TESSA AND SISTER SHANNON PLEASE STEP FORWARD.

Tessa is out.  Who is going to smoke with Adrianne now?  Simon and Garfunkel plays.  Random.  

[ireadwhatuwrite]

Bald is Beautiful: A letter for a fabulous girl

Bald is Beautiful: A letter for a fabulous girl

[bigmoneyshave]

Bald is beautiful a letter for a fabulous girl || Bald is better...!!!

[sarahsatticoftreasures]

Book Review: Bald is Beautiful helps children cope with cancer — Rev. Rebecca Writes Book Details for Bald is Beautiful Title: Bald is Beautiful: A Letter from a Fabulous Girl Author: Carola Schmidt Illustrator: Dan Ovieta Genre: Picture Book Get your copy on Amazon!

[sarahsatticoftreasures]

Book Review: Bald is Beautiful helps children cope with cancer — Rev. Rebecca Writes Book Details for Bald is Beautiful Title: Bald is Beautiful: A Letter from a Fabulous Girl Author: Carola Schmidt Illustrator: Dan Ovieta Genre: Picture Book Get your copy on Amazon!