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findingjoynweirdstuff · 4 years ago

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Dream SMP Recap (June 2/2021) - Self-Care and Reconciliation

Fundy tries some speedy self-care to follow Quackity’s directions of “finding himself.”

Foolish finds out about the supreme fridge and isn’t pleased.

Antfrost seeks out Foolish, Bad and Puffy to find peace and make amends after what happened with the Egg.

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VOD LINKS:

Philza

Tubbo

Fundy

Foolish

Eret

Captain Puffy

Antfrost

Michaelmcchill

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- Phil works on the basement some more

- Tubbo works on his outpost

- Tubbo comes over to the Arctic and visits Phil in his basement to “spy” on him

- They go to Tubbo’s outpost and Tubbo asks if Phil would like to make a TNT canon with him. Phil sees Las Nevadas

- Tubbo’s a changed person since he tried to kill Phil’s friend, and now he and Phil are on good terms!

- Tubbo and Phil start attempting to wrangle a Ghast together for the outpost

- A few days ago, Quackity told Fundy that he could have a plot of land in Las Nevadas under certain circumstances, and Fundy has a choice to join the nation or not

- When he and Quackity spoke, Quackity said that this plot of land can be his if Fundy can find himself. Fundy needs to fix what’s broken

- Living in the middle of nowhere away from other people isn’t good, so today, Fundy wants to take care of himself and become a better person

- Fundy’s snow fox is outside, but Fundy decides to let him roam for the time being

- Fundy goes outside and creates a board with signs:

FUNDY’S PLAN TO BECOME BETTER MAN:

Healthy diet! fish, steak, vegetables, fruit, dary, grains

Take care of himself. be able to cut down tree fast

mine diamonds

be able to accept therapy say “im okay with therapy”

good friends, get 3 people to say im a friend

sleep

take care of pet :)

learn to count

- He sets up a timer to do these eight things, and once it starts, he immediately runs off to fix his diet

- Fundy fetches some cod from the sea and spots Tubbo’s outpost in the distance. Curious, he goes over -- if someone lives there, that can go towards his friend goal

- Seeing that Tubbo isn’t online, Fundy messages Phil instead. He asks if they are friends, and Phil just asks what he wants. After a lot more pressing, Phil says they are friends! Fundy is his grandson, after all

- Phil asks if Fundy is safe. Fundy is overjoyed that he cares about his safety, and counts that as two friends! Fundy says he should come by to play cards sometimes, and Phil likes the idea

- To himself, Fundy whispers: “You are a friend and you are appreciated and worth something. You are cool. You are special. You are loved.”

He counts this as the final friend, and has now completed one goal!

- He creates a small patch of dirt and plants wheat, then goes mining for diamonds

- Fundy chops some trees and returns to his house

- On his bed, he psyches himself up and musters up the courage to say something

Fundy: “I...accept...and am okay...with...”

(he struggles to say the last word)

Fundy: “I accept and am okay with...therapy. I accept and am okay with THERAPY!”

- He then goes outside and learns to count by killing zombies

- After that, he has to go find his pet snow fox. He asks a nearby Enderman where he is

- Fundy and the Enderman go searching together

- Fundy can’t find the fox. He keeps searching around the forest, until he comes back towards his house and finally finds the fox sleeping on a nearby hill

- With all his other goals done, there is only one remaining: sleep.

- He goes to his bed, hesitates...

...and sleeps.

(This is a set up for next stream)

- Foolish returns to his summer home from Las Nevadas and finds the WAR sign, confused. He then notices the disappearance of the supreme fridge

- He reads the war note left in the chest for Ponk and is outraged. That fridge was his gift! Of all the buildings that have been built here, the fridge was the one thing he allowed

- There will be consequences, but as Foolish will be gone for a bit, he can’t do anything now.

- Foolish begins to go through the stages of grief, mourning the fridge, before leaving a note:

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You destroyed my fridge. It was my gift from Ponk. The one structure that was built for me on this server was destroyed. Once I go through the 5 stages of grief...I will then add on a bonus stage.......REVENGE

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- He kills one of the L’Sandburg citizen llamas to send a message

- Foolish goes to the main area and visits Eret’s fortress, noticing the totem statue Eret made in mourning. He changes the sign to simply say “in honor of Foolish” instead

- While working on his pyramid some more at the summer home, Foolish notices Antfrost just over the hill. Ant comes over, seeking to apologize for killing Foolish

Foolish: Listen Ant. From the very start I blamed the egg. And I don’t believe the REAL Antfrost killed me. Nice to see some blue eyes as well

Ant: but we didn’t listen to your warnings, we had our chances and we betrayed you and our friends. I wouldn’t blame you if you killed me right here

- Foolish doesn’t. He tells Ant that he’s moving on.

- Ant asks if there’s any way to make it up to him, and Foolish says he could use some help gathering sand (Antfrost finds sand tasty, but Foolish doesn’t eat sand. It has too many calories)

- The two gather sand together

Foolish: I hold nothing against you

Ant: thank you

Foolish: Honestly I think the banquet has changed me for the better

Ant: how so

Foolish: It has given me new found strength. Basically from here on out...I’ll be less timid to take action

Ant: well at least something good came out of it

Foolish: So how about you Antfrost, what’s next for the old sly cat

Ant: I need to talk to Puffy and Bad and Sam and everyone I’ve wronged

- Ant asks if Foolish has seen Puffy anywhere, whether there’s something he can give her as a peace offering. She likes llamas

- Foolish thanks Ant for his help. Ant says if Foolish needs anything, to let him know. Foolish looks forward to happier times

- Puffy comes on later and finds the book Foolish left in the chest. She reads it, but she still thinks getting rid of the fridge was better for the aesthetic, and she had to get back at Ponk

- She writes another letter, this time to Foolish, titled “To my sharkyson”:

---

Dear Foolish!

It was not my intention to make you sad or angry! I didn’t know you cared so much for the fridge as well. it was kinda ugly and it stood out so much from the rest of the builds! But I assure you I’m not allied with Bad, my whole goal behind L’llamaburg was to keep an eye on Bad so he didn’t build any further on your land or cause you more problems.

Once Bad was gone I fully intended to disband l’llamaburg and tear it down!

Sorry for any sadness I may of caused.. you don’t need a fridge though to be reminded of how Supreme you are!

---

- Ant is at the animal sanctuary. Everything’s been destroyed, but at least Floof is still alive

- He saves Asshole the fish from suffocating out of the water and puts the fish back in the aquarium

- Ant goes looking for Bad. They need to talk

- They meet at the Community House. Bad hasn’t seen Ant in a while, he hasn’t been around. Bad asks if Ant is okay, and Ant doesn’t know. He died

- Ant asks what happened. Bad says things didn’t work out according to plan. Ant remembers Quackity coming in at the Banquet...

Ant: “Bad, what did we do? I killed Foolish...”

- Bad says stuff happens and he doesn’t think anyone would blame Ant

Ant: “Bad, I killed him! What do you mean you don’t think anyone blames -- Bad, we’re monsters! Do you know what we did?”

Bad: “W-well, I try not to think about it!”

Ant: “Well you can’t just ignore -- you can’t act like we didn’t do -- Bad, I killed Foolish, we were gonna kill E-- oh my god, Eret’s on the server too.”

- Bad thinks it’s fine, Foolish will recover and Puffy killed Ant but it was one for one. Ant remembers all the horrible things he said to Puffy before he killed Foolish and asks where Bad went afterwards

- Bad had no choice but to run. He couldn’t save Ant, they were outnumbered

Ant: “...Do you not feel bad about anything? Bad, we’re...we’re mon-- we did horrible things!”

Bad: “Well I mean, yeah, you did do some horrible stuff...”

Ant: “No, YOU! You did some horrible stuff! Who pushed Skeppy into lava, Bad? Who betrayed their friends? We betrayed Sam, Bad!”

Bad: “Okay, we did some horrible stuff -- hey, no! Okay, but -- there were good reasons at the time, or we felt like there was!”

Ant: “No! No no, Bad, we let the Egg control us! No! Did the Egg give you what it promised?”

Bad: “No, ‘cause...we never completed the plan...whatever it was. Ant, I can’t remember exactly...it’s not -- look, it’s -- I don’t know...”

- Ant asks if he’s talked to Sam and Puffy yet. Bad’s trying not to think about it, but Ant says they can’t ignore this. They’re friends, they should make amends

- Ant asks if Bad’s been back down there, but Bad’s steered clear. Ant is feeling normal again

Ant: “I...Bad, do you not...We’re fucked up! We did horrible things! Our friends tried to stop us, and we didn’t listen! We didn’t do anything!”

Bad: “There’s a lot of ‘we’ going on here...”

- Bad points out Ant didn’t really say anything. Ant accuses him of blaming him

Bad: “No, I’m just saying that...if the collar fits!”

- Ant says they both did horrible things, they dragged Hannah in, Punz too and Ponk. Bad hasn’t checked up on those three since. It doesn’t seem like Bad feels bad. Ant’s been gone because he felt ashamed

- If there’s anybody that they’ve hurt the most, it’s Sam. They were the Badlands

- Bad says they were brainwashed. He knows it’s not an excuse, that they should still own up to it even if they weren’t fully to blame

- They both killed one person each. Ant accuses Bad of putting the blame on him again and says that Bad killing Skeppy was worse because they’re platonic soulmates

- Ant wants an apology for letting him die and leaving him. Bad didn’t do anything, he just watched Ant die. Bad was caught off guard. On the other hand, maybe it was a good thing that Ant died, since otherwise they would’ve killed more people

- Ant says they should own up. Bad apologizes for letting Puffy kill Ant. He should have protected Ant, not just from Puffy but from the Egg too. Ant forgives Bad and says sorry for not protecting Bad from the Egg either

- Seeing as Puffy’s online, Ant suggests they go look for her. Bad says he’ll talk to Puffy later. Ant asks about Skeppy -- Bad talked to Skeppy right after what happened, but he hasn’t seen Skeppy since. They had a bit of a confrontation

- Ant wonders if Sam will forgive them. The Badlands wouldn’t be the same without him. He leaves Bad

- Puffy comes down the Prime Path and meets Antfrost face-to-face. The two have a bit of an awkward greeting

- Puffy reminds him of what happened. He doesn’t know how to apologize, but he says sorry. For saying awful things, for killing Foolish. He doesn’t expect her to forgive him, but he apologizes for what he did

- Puffy says it wasn’t right that she killed him, even though she was acting defensively, and she apologizes as well. Ant didn’t deserve to die either, he was blinded by the Egg. She holds Bad more to blame -- Antfrost talked to him recently

- Puffy forgives Ant. She asks how Bad handled it, and Antfrost says Bad is full of guilt and is hoping he can just forget about it

- Bad hasn’t apologized to Puffy, but Ant says he’ll get around to talking to everyone. Puffy made a burner Twitter account to hate on Badboyhalo and if she doesn’t get an apology, she might have to use it

- About L’Sandburg, Ant says he was there for like five minutes, but he doesn’t know what’s been happening since

Puffy: “Ant, you have to be your own person, Ant. He always uses you as his little pet to do things for you, and you murdered a man now because of it, because of Bad.”

Bad uses Antfrost to do things. Why didn’t Bad kill Foolish himself? Why was Antfrost thrown under the bus?

- She tells Ant that he needs to stand up for himself. She had to watch so many “RIP that pussy” and “Why’d you have to kill my cat” edits, it was the worst timing

- Puffy messages Bad asking if he’s apologized to Ant. They spot Bad nearby and walk over to confront him. He’s selling arrows

- Bad says he said sorry for letting Ant die, but Ant wants an apology for Bad making him do everything. Bad says they were both just following the Egg’s orders, that Ant had a grudge against Foolish -- but Ant says he didn’t, that Bad said he had to kill people

- Bad says sorry, but the Egg just wanted it that way. They accuse him of making excuses. Bad apologizes to Antfrost for making him kill Foolish, and the two hug

- Bad and Skeppy had a disagreement after the Red Banquet, and he has to check up with him to make sure he’s okay

- Bad says sorry to Puffy for what they did while under the Egg’s influence. Puffy was told that they were turning a new leaf, letting bygones be bygones so many times that if she took a shot every time she was told that, she would get alcohol poisoning

- Bad says sorry for everything to both of them, from the bottom of his heart. Puffy accepts to be the bigger person. They’ve always been a trio, always been friends, and now that the Egg’s no longer here, she’ll let it slide

- They do a group hug

- After some chatting, Puffy accuses Bad of having a Wattpad account to write Skephalo fanfiction and they continue talking about Skeppy’s merch boxes

- Michael joins the call! They all hang out together

- Later on, Eret and Foolish join in as well!

- A while after, they all go over to Ponk’s stairway to heaven to finally destroy it

(The build dates back to at least early July, possibly June, of 2020)

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Upcoming events remain the same.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 4 years ago

Note

hi! random question that you’re not obligated to answer (i just love your ka metas): do you think that aang acted like he was entitled to katara’s affection? sorry for the bother if this is a question you’ve gotten before, i’m just curious about your thoughts

Hi anon! It’s always lovely to hear people like my metas 💛 And you’re in luck - I have not gotten this specific question before, though I have answered similar questions, and as such I will probably link those posts throughout.

Forewarning: I use the general you very liberally in this post, so like. It’s not directed at you, anon djhskdjsajs I don’t want you think my sarcasm is in response to your ask (your ask was very lovely!! 💕)

Okay. Let’s get started! The funniest thing about the (nonsensical) claim that Aang acted “entitled” to Katara’s affection is that there is no canon evidence to support it. Opponents more often than not can only bring up one (1) episode as an example of supposed “entitlement” because no other Kataang interactions in the series demonstrate entitlement from either end! Like, wow. Talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel. And I’m sure we all know what episode opponents love to propagate, don’t we?

Yep, you guessed it: “The Ember Island Players.”

From the get-go, the fact that people who vigorously oppose Kataang essentially only appeal to the contents of one episode for Aang’s supposed “entitlement” is a major indicator that, in fact, the entitlement is not truly there, and that those opponents are actually misconstruing the entire episode. I mean, if you are trying to make an argument about something but you only have one piece of “evidence” to support your claim, then a) any half-decent teacher/professor would fail you, rip and b) that’s a sign that maybe your claim doesn’t hold water. If you can’t find evidence to support it, then you’re probably looking at your case from the wrong angle. Analysis 101.

As such, I find the “entitlement” claim particularly ridiculous because opponents repeat the same faulty rhetoric over and over! The only people that might be convinced are those with confirmation bias. I’m sure that’s their audience, of course, but it’s still hilarious dfjaksdasks.

Anyways. Here’s the excerpt from the EIP transcript that opponents l o v e to spotlight with their “entitlement” claims:

Aang: Katara, did you really mean what you said in there?

Katara: In where? What are you talking about?

Aang: On stage, when you said I was just like a… brother to you, and you didn’t have feelings for me.

Katara: I didn’t say that. An actor said that.

Aang: But it’s true, isn’t it? We kissed at the Invasion, and I thought we were gonna be together. But we’re not.

Katara: Aang, I don’t know.

Aang: Why don’t you know?

Katara: Because, we’re in the middle of a war, and we have other things to worry about. This isn’t the right time.

Aang: Well, when is the right time?

Katara: Aang, I’m sorry, but right now I’m just a little confused.

Aang tries to kiss Katara.

Katara: I just said I was confused! I’m going inside. [Exits the balcony.]

Aang: Ugh, I’m such an idiot! [Puts down his head on the balcony railing.]

Opponents claim Aang’s behavior is “entitled” here for two reasons:

1) He asks Katara several questions about their relationship status.

2) He kisses her.

Before I get too far into this, we have to consider the context of the episode. Katara and Aang have this conversation after just watching 95% of “The Boy in the Iceberg,” aka Fire Nation propaganda. I have talked about the specifics of the play being imperialist propaganda here, but the gist of it is that this play is meant to demean the Gaang, to portray them as lesser and weaker than the Fire Nation. The fact that the play ends with Ozai’s victory is a stark reminder of this mentality. So: Katara and Aang have just watched this play that preys upon their insecurities and paints them as awful caricatures of their true selves. It is only natural that they would be more tense than usual. The reason I bring this up is solely to inform their conversation on the balcony, however; I don’t think their frustration solely defines what they say/do, but it’s worth keeping in mind, “Hey, they’re stressed and upset, of course this conversation might not go perfectly.”

Now, I have talked about the infamous EIP kiss before and approached all the rhetoric surrounding it like Snopes Fact Checker in this post, lmao. I did discuss in there why the kiss is wrong, which no one has ever argued against, but also why the kiss is simply a mistake: not sexual assault, not entitlement, not an unforgivable decision. I’ve copied and pasted specifically my notes on the “entitlement” claim below regarding the kiss, but if you have time, I definitely recommend the whole post jksdhjasdka (I’m quite proud of it). Anyways! Here’s the excerpt:

Claim: Aang acted entitled to Katara and her affection.

Status: False.

I’ve briefly addressed this already, but Aang backing off when Katara pushed him away is the exact opposite of entitlement. An impromptu kiss is not always indicative of entitlement. It can be, especially if the person being kissed has never expressed any interest in the person kissing them, but Katara and Aang were mutually interested in each other. They’d mutually kissed twice already by that point: in CoTL and during DoBS. The EIP kiss was inappropriate. NO ONE HAS EVER SUGGESTED OTHERWISE. But when you’re 12 and you’re already kind of in this semi-relationship with a girl you’ve been through hell and high water with (who has kissed you twice on the lips and on the cheek multiple times, not to mention it is only you she ever expresses such affection towards), it is not fucking “entitlement” to make a move on her, even when the timing is off. IT’S JUST A MISTAKE. A POOR DECISION. NOT ENTITLEMENT. NOT MANIPULATION. NOT SEXUAL ASSAULT. Full stop.

Also, these EIP people love to call Aang entitled for this kiss, but there isn’t a single peep heard from them about Zuko’s line in TSR where he demands to know what’s “wrong” with Katara, since she hasn’t forgiven him yet when everyone else has. And look. I think Zuko was just frustrated here, and that he, too, made a mistake and is obviously not irredeemable for it, but. If you’re going to argue that Aang was entitled in EIP, you’d better be ready to acknowledge the argument that Zuko was acting entitled in TSR, too. And hell, let’s take it a step further! Call Aang entitled for EIP. Call Zuko entitled for TSR. Call Sokka entitled for choosing to stay at Boiling Rock on the off chance his father would arrive, thus making Suki and Zuko feel obligated to stay behind with him, effectively putting all of them in danger. What an entitled decision, risking his friends’ lives on the 0.01% chance Hakoda would be one of the many, many possible war prisoners arriving at Boiling Rock!

Damn. That sounds ridiculous as fuck, doesn’t it?

And guess what. That’s exactly how the “Aang was entitled” arguments come across. Hate to break it to you. Trust me when I say to do yourself a favor and stop perpetuating that faulty rhetoric!

So that is what I have already assessed, lol.

To be frank, the most frustrating thing I see perpetuated is that the EIP kiss somehow ruined Aang and Katara’s relationship. But when it comes to assessing weighty issues like the notion of “entitlement” in a relationship, the fact of the matter is that you have to look at both the relationship as a whole and the context in which it is situated. Opponents never want to do that, because doing so debunks their entire (baseless) argument, lmao. Katara and Aang are best friends. And by EIP, they have both expressed romantic interest in each other multiple times. (Here is a post explaining the development of Katara’s feelings for Aang, just to put out that fire before anyone sets it lmao.)

So why, why do opponents think Katara would never find it in herself to forgive Aang for a mistaken kiss? Katara is shown over and over again throughout the series to have one of the biggest hearts. She wants to see the good in people. That’s why she gives Jet a second chance (even though a person could argue he did not “deserve” one); that’s why she helps the Fire Nation village in “The Painted Lady”; that’s why she forgives Pakku (once she sees he’s willing to change); that’s why she is the second person in the entire show (excluding Iroh) to offer Zuko a hand of kindness (in CoD)! That’s why she eventually forgives Zuko, even after all he has done to the Gaang (e.g. sending an assassin after them, being complicit in Aang’s death, attacking her and kidnapping Aang at the NWT, manipulating her with her mother’s necklace, to name a few, lmao. bless his heart, but like Jet, someone could easily argue Zuko doesn’t “deserve” another chance - and yet Katara still gave him [and Jet] one. in fact, she gave Zuko multiple).

In other words, Katara is almost always willing to extend friendship and compassion and forgiveness to others - why would she revoke that privilege from Aang after a single error that is comparatively lesser to all the other horrible things she’s experienced in the war? Again, I’m not downplaying how terrible of a decision Aang made. It’s inexcusable. But it’s not the end of the world, and considering the context of the show (e.g. Aang and Katara liked each other and they both knew it), it’s… not some heinous crime. Compared to, oh, how about attempted murder? lmaoo

Even beyond Katara’s innate kindness, Aang is Katara’s best friend. She loves him. The show portrays it as romantic through the seasons, but even if someone isn’t into shipping (which is super valid), Katara and Aang’s connection is one of the primary lynchpins of the show! (The other being Aang and Zuko, the greatest foils of all time.) Katara and Aang epitomize several of A:TLA’s thematics (and aesthetics) because they are complementary: yin and yang, push and pull, Tui and La, moon and ocean, blue and orange, water and air. This gifset and related commentary beautifully demonstrate how even when Katara and Aang disagree, they respect the other’s the decision. So after 60~ episodes depicting Aang and Katara as having mutual respect and love for each other in every form as well as emphasizing Katara’s natural inclination towards kindness/giving people the benefit of the doubt, opponents still think Katara wouldn’t forgive Aang because of one mistimed, inappropriate kiss? What?? Make it make sense, lmao.

In sum, the kiss was a mistake, not an act of entitlement, and it’s absurd to think Katara would hold that against Aang for the rest of his life.

To backtrack a bit, opponents also love to use the fact that Aang asked Katara several questions about their relationship status as examples of his “entitlement.” Just typing that out highlights the ridiculous nature of this assertion, lmao! Let me rephrase it for maximum hilarity:

“Aang was unsure about where their relationship stood? Well, how dare he ask numerous questions to resolve his confusion!”

Like, what was the alternative jskfajksdas if you are in relationship limbo with someone, it is far better to ask them ‘too many’ questions for clarification than to simply assume one way or the other! Kissing Katara was wrong, flat-out, but asking her questions to better understand where they were in their relationship was like. exactly the right decision, lmao. I genuinely don’t see how that could be indicative of entitlement? Especially because, once again, Aang and Katara both like each other and they both know that by this point in the show. That’s why Aang doesn’t ask if Katara likes him - he knows she does. That’s why Katara doesn’t negate her feelings - she knows she’s interested in him, and the blockade between them is not a lack of reciprocation, but the fact that they’re “in the middle of a war” and consequently it’s not “the right time” for them to begin a relationship. Katara has seen Aang die before! She knows he’s facing a near-impossible victory! I can’t blame her for not wanting to start a relationship with him at that point. It would hurt twice as much to lose him again if they were together in a romantic fashion (amatonormativity, am I right?). Again, Aang’s kiss was entirely inappropriate, but him asking her questions about their relationship is a) an example of fostering healthy communication and b) what any therapist would encourage, lol.

Oh, but I’m “forgetting” something, aren’t I? Right. This line:

Katara: Aang, I’m sorry, but right now I’m just a little confused.

If we want to talk about parallels, which I know the A:TLA fandom adores, this line sounds suspiciously like:

Yue: … but I like you [Sokka] too much and it’s too confusing to be around you.

Yue and Katara are actually in similar situations here. Outside forces are interfering with their relationships; for Yue, there is her arranged marriage, and for Katara, it’s the life-or-death nature of the war itself. They aren’t confused about their feelings, as Yue knows she likes Sokka and Katara knows she likes Aang, but they are confused about how to reconcile those feelings with their external circumstances. And can you blame them for that? They are facing impossible decisions (the fate of their nation and the fate of the world respectively). I would be confused, too! So Katara’s response isn’t a reaction to any so-called “entitlement” from Aang; she is experiencing genuine confusion about how to approach her own feelings for him in the midst of a war.

In sum, Aang asking questions about their relationship was a logical step to take resolving his confusion and is in no way related to “entitlement.” Katara’s confusion was not “letting Aang down easy” and interpreting it as such requires disregarding every preceding line of the conversation and its context.

As you can see, Aang’s actions in EIP are not at all “entitled.” His questions were understandable. While his kiss was inappropriate and inexcusable, it was also a mistake, and there is no canon evidence to support the conclusion Katara would never be able to forgive him (her literal best friend!) for it.

Before I end, I’ll touch briefly upon the DotBS kiss, because it is also occasionally used as an example of Aang’s “entitlement” towards Katara’s feelings. Whether you like the trope or not, this moment falls under what is called the “Now or Never Kiss.” TV Tropes actually lists Kataang/DotBS as an example under the Western Animation tab:

“Avatar: The Last Airbender: The fact that he’s finally going to face the dreaded Firelord, and possibility that he might not come back alive from that battle, gives Aang enough motivation to kiss Katara.”

Again, whether you like the trope or not, it involves reciprocation from both parties:

“The Not-A-Couple [i.e. both parties] don’t want to go out without revealing how they [i.e. both parties] really feel. It’s now or never. They kiss.”

Katara and Aang both like each other. When Aang initiates the DotBS kiss, Katara kisses him back. Her lips are still puckered when he pulls away. Furthermore, Katara had initiated a kiss with Aang prior to this incident, in CoTL. Katara was also the one to initiate every cheek kiss with Aang (who is the only character she ever demonstrated such affection towards). So Aang kissing Katara during DotBS follows an established precedent of Katara initiating different kisses, romantically inclined, with Aang. It’s not entitlement; it’s him knowing they mutually like each other and him realizing this might be the last time he ever sees her. Again, you can hate the trope, but don’t blatantly misconstrue its meaning. You’ll sound like Fire Nation propaganda, lmao. (For clarification, jic: the general you. not anon!)

Here is a fantastic post by @imreallyhereforkataang explaining the DotBS kiss in more detail as well as discussing why Kataang’s progression in the second half of Book 3 was, in fact, well-developed, and how Katara and Aang are best friends above all else and know that (which was the core of their relationship from the start).

And a bonus fun fact: in the original storyboard (link takes you to storyboarder Giancarlo Volpe’s DeviantArt with said storyboard), it is noted that Katara smiles after Aang kisses her. Why? Because she likes him as much as he likes her! It was changed by a “higher authority,” according to Volpe, probably to add more realism to the romance (i.e. Katara likes Aang, yes, but as she herself points out in EIP - there’s a war going on, and love is always terrifying to reconcile with war).

(Seriously, though, do read Volpe’s description on the storyboard. Takes you a second to scroll down and maybe a minute to read. Short yet informative, discussing how you can see on the storyboard itself that someone revised the image so Katara isn’t smiling after the kiss.)

Anyways! Opponents’ argument that Katara wasn’t interested in Aang therefore is and has always been entirely inapplicable.

To conclude: the entitlement assertion is laughable. There is no canon evidence to support it. As such, I encourage you to laugh whenever you see it! Pull an Azula, for that matter:

[ID: Gif from “The Beach” episode of A:TLA. Ty Lee, mimicking a guy, asks Azula, “Hey there sweet sugar cakes. How ya likin’ this party?” Azula proceeds to burst into exaggerated laughter, earning stares from everyone else at the party. End ID.]

Thank you for the great ask, anon! Hopefully my response was satisfactory 💛

#surprise friends!! a kataang analysis!! i probably will not write any others until may 💀#kataang #kataangtag #aang #katara #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla meta #amy answers #anon #amy analyzes

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uozlulu · 6 years ago

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Banana Fish episode 11 reaction post. Spoilers.

Overall, I liked the episode. It was a nice change of pace compared to the heaviness of the narrative up to this point. It’s nice to have a breather. I’m a bit worried when a certain key line missing from this episode will surface.

Please be aware that there are spoilers below.

I was thinking about the “It’s always like that” comment about Ash just flopping down on the bed like he’s going to fall asleep immediately, and it really kind of makes sense. I mean like when they go to Cape Cod, he’s awake while the others are sleeping. His going to sleep schedule is probably 100% built around exhaustion.

Eiji’s got a phone again. I wonder if this is a burner phone the gang has lying around he can use. I hope he gets to keep it. It’d be nice for him to have photography as an outlet (maybe coping mechanism?)

I’ve always been curious who the gang thinks Eiji is at first. Like Ash is all “keep an eye on him while I’m gone,” then Eiji gets to wake him up without repercussions, and then Eiji just kind of stays. Although I feel like 80’s vs. 10’s would come into play here for possibilities.

I’m glad we didn’t see Ash’s ass. I didn’t want to.

The “as long as there are no fingers in it” joke is really REALLY dorky without the actual punchline. Like I like the manga version better but I do like how this version accidentally upped the dork factor here. Also kind of makes me wonder what will get changed/added in/whatever when they clean stuff up for the BluRay and DVD version because I could maybe see it getting amended for home release especially given the fist positions.

”My words might not mean anything now,” could explain why they held off on giving Eiji’s response later in the conversation. I bet we’ll get a call back where Eiji responds when his words really do mean something. I could see that coming at the end of the entire series, but considering there’s a corresponding image to his response in the opening credits, perhaps it will come just before a dialogue that will be happening in the next episode or two. Although if it does come at the end of the series, I can see why they would put the frame in the first opening sequence since this is the episode we would expect the line.

I can kind of see why the computer scene got changed because maybe it’d be too hard to convey Eiji flying off at Ash in Japanese without a little note like in his speech bubble that he’s doing so since that’s not really the anime’s aesthetic. I do, however, like the potential that in universe the conversation about Eiji having a little sister might have led to him mentioning whatever she calls him oniichan maybe and Ash is using it to be snarky here.

I like how BF just trucks along all in the ‘10’s in the 10’s tra la la in the ‘10’s and then we get to like stock hacking and off shore account shenanigans that you’d kind of want to believe have protections against nowadays even if you had Dino's passcodes and it’s like and we’re back in the 80’s. That said, get rekt, Dino.

The end scene on the subway lacked its context because I feel like the manga tried to justify it more though I always thought the stabbing was BS. To see it here so weakly done is like why? The episode was doing so well up to this point.

#reaction post #banana fish reaction posts #banana fish spoilers #ymmv #banana fish #i don't know what to tag this

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eatvangelist · 5 years ago

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If it ain’t broke... at Broken Spanish

One of the best parts of my job over the years has been finding great partners to work with. A lot of companies told me “your success is our success,” but the reality was only a handful were really true partners in that sense. I had one partner who was proactive in fixing what went wrong and aggressive in helping push what went right. I trusted my contacts at that company and felt they always went above and beyond to help me meet my objectives. While not a factor in a good partnership, the fact they were foodies and loved to travel like me was icing on the cake. So I was thrilled when they reached out to me that they were in town and were free to meet up for dinner at Broken Spanish.

My friends were stuck in LA traffic, which gave me time to enjoy happy hour. I had been fond of Broken Spanish for years, but I was a much bigger fan of its little sibling restaurant B.S. Taqueria, which sadly closed last year. The tacos there were amazing and reasonably priced. I was happy to see those tacos on the happy hour menu, though I had to resist temptation to order them since I was saving my stomach for dinner. I did have one cocktail (El Antiguo), which reminded me how I had never had a single bad drink at Broken Spanish. Once I met up with my friends, we did order another drink, the cazuela, which is really for two people. The presentation is lovely, but while I do find fruity drinks to be refreshing, I still liked El Antiguo more.

For appetizers, we ordered papas (potatoes), queso with corn tortillas, tostada, and zucchini and corn tamal (pictured above). The papas were good, but it’s hard to go wrong with potatoes. I loved all that gooey cheese for the queso, and spooning that on top of the corn tortilla was like making my own quesadilla. The menu listed bacalao (cod) as an ingredient, but I couldn’t taste any fish. The tostada was refreshing, and I liked the crispy tortilla shell to contrast our other softer appetizers. The tamal was my favorite of the appetizers, the sweetness of the corn permeated throughout every bite, especially heightened by the tartness of the tomatoes.

We also ordered a couple side dishes, the chile relleno and Brussels sprouts. The chile relleno was also interesting to me, as it was covered in a soubise sauce (similar to bechamel), which went well with the potato stuffing inside. There was also a nice hint of lemon, and that acidity really adds a small punch of this dish. Now given my last post on Brussels sprouts, I kept my fingers crossed for Broken Spanish’s take to be at least a little different... They tasted fine, and I wouldn’t have guessed there was anything unique, but I can honestly say I have never had Brussels sprouts like these ever. I didn’t realize it at the time when we were eating, but along with the cheese and pumpkin seeds in the dish, there was an additional ingredient listed but I didn’t know what it was. When I started this blog post, I had to Google that ingredient, chapulin, which was apparently grasshopper. I freak out at the mere sight of bugs, so while I know insects are delicacies used in cuisine, I never for the life of me desired to ever try it. Well, guess that is one fear crossed off my list now. I am extremely curious if my companions knew about the chapulin or if they will be shocked if/when they read this blog.

Our spotlight entree was the chicarron, pork belly topped with sprouts and a side of slaw. The pork was crispy on the outside and thick and juicy at the center. Although this was delicious, it was very rich and heavy so I was definitely grateful to have the slaw to help cut through the fat. Despite how it may look in the photo, this was a really big piece of pork and I did take it home. The food snob in me usually judges the quality of broths by whether or not they solidify into a gel, and I was pleasantly surprised when I went to reheat this pork up that the broth at the bottom of the box did.

Surprisingly, after all that food, we still had room for dessert. It was probably more me wanting to spend more time with my friends than really needing more food. Nevertheless, I was eyeing the flanna cotta (cute play on flan meets panna cotta). I had never had flan made with goat milk - while I couldn’t taste a difference in taste, the texture of the flan seemed thicker and creamier. To contrast that, the flanna cotta was topped with some caramelized popcorn, which we all liked with the custard. We also got ice cream - corn tortilla, prickly pear, and chocolate. The prickly pear was too tart for my liking, the corn tortilla was good as a novelty, and chocolate was pleasant especially because it was not ultra sweet like the pints in the grocery stores.

Grasshopper aside, we were overall content with all the food we ordered. I had never had a bad dish at Broken Spanish - at worst, a dish was unremarkable, and it was usually not on the menu for long. We had really great success with our orders because we were seated at the counter area where a staff member was working, and he repeatedly helped us pick out what to get. The only thing that irked me slightly was that I had asked the host to let me know when my friends arrive or tell them I was waiting for them at the bar when they do. I’m not sure when they arrived, but when I realized the time was half an hour after our meet up time, I went to go check with the host again and spotted my friends already seated. It wasn’t a big deal, but I had higher expectations for Broken Spanish to follow through with this. The great food was worth this minor inconvenience, and more importantly, I was happy to share the experience and catch up with a couple quality people.

Broken Spanish 1050 S. Flower Street Los Angeles, California�� 90015 Phone: (213) 749-1460 Hours: Sunday-Thursday 5:30pm-10pm; Friday-Saturday 5:30pm-11pm

#dtla

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courtneytincher · 5 years ago

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Fotofest Co-Founder Fred Baldwin Reveals His Extraordinary Career Was Inspired by Encounter With Picasso

© Fred BaldwinDuring Fred Baldwin’s last year in college in 1955 he took a leap of a faith and delivered a letter to Pablo Picasso of his own drawings in hopes to trigger his sense of humor. At this point Baldwin had no pre-existing knowledge in art training and photography. However, Picasso found his drawings humorous and allowed Baldwin to enter freely in his studio and in his Villa La Californie. This defining moment changed Baldwin’s life forever. Any barrier generated by fear had been crushed and a new skill had been discovered. Shortly after he finished college, Baldwin commenced a new career as a photojournalist. He was persistent and used his wit and charm to acquire friends in positions of power who would assist him with gaining access to locations where few or no photographers had gone before. Dear Mr. Picasso: An Illustrated Love Affair with Freedom provides a versatile archive including hundreds of astonishing black-and-white and color photographs capturing integral moments of his career. From capturing a day and a night with the Ku Klux Klan, southern poverty, coverage of a star-studded Nobel Prize ceremony, cod fishing in the Arctic Norway, polar bear expeditions near the North Pole, and much more. Baldwin worked for an array of publications throughout his freelance career. His work was published in TIME, National Graphic, The New York Times, Smithsonian, Esquire, Natural History and many more. In 1983, Baldwin co-founded Fotofest, one of the most imperative and substantial photography festivals in the world. Fred Baldwin sits down with The Daily Beast and shares some of his most exhilarating moments throughout his extensive career. All photographs are from Dear Mr. Picasso: An Illustrated Love Affair with Freedom by Fred Baldwin and is published by Schilt Publishing.For more information: click hereFred Baldwin (center) with Pablo Picasso, at the painter’s home in Cannes, July 1955.© Fred BaldwinDid you ever explore photography prior to your meeting with Picasso? Was there a specific moment during this experience when you met with Picasso that ignited your passion for photography? I bought my first camera, an Argus C-3, prior to going to Korea in 1950. I took nine rolls of film when I was serving as a Marine combat rifleman, but I didn’t continue the process seriously after I returned to civilian life. My photographs of Picasso taken five years later were made with a friend’s Rolleiflex. The Anscochrome color film in combination with the camera were sufficiently forgiving to allow me to get pictures on July 28, 1955, which was a miracle as I had no light meter and had never used the camera. The pictures proved that I was there but my passion was ignited, not by this miracle but by the combination of events that I call the Picasso Mantra: I had a dream—to meet Picasso; I used my imagination—to write him an illustrated letter with my own drawings; I overcame my fear—I was scared to death of making a fool of myself, but more important than anything else – I acted. Over four days I changed from being a college student terrified about finding a job and figuring out how to survive in the real world to a person who could do anything they wanted to do. I decided after graduating from Columbia in 1956 to become a photographer. Lofoten Islands, Norway, March 1959. Curious cod fish in a net swim up to Baldwin’s underwater camera.© Fred BaldwinPrior to your experience photographing cod fish in 1959, did you ever photograph wild life? The answer is no. When I arrived in the remote Arctic islands of Lofoten in January 1959, I did what was now routine behavior for me: I checked in with the local officials, police and newspaper. It turned out that one of the reporters at the Lofotposten, Kare Skevik, who had been a radio operator in the Norwegian underground during World War II, loved to tease young foreigners like me. When I asked Skevik about the well-known annual cod fishing season in the Lofotens he said as a joke: “You should do something different. Photograph the fish from their point of view.” I asked him if the water was clear. He said: “Yes, and very cold.” With help from the Norwegian Navy, among others, what started as a joke ended in a series of images of cod fish that I photographed in nets underwater. They were later purchased by National Geographic. Lofoten Islands, Norway, March 1959 – Baldwin holding an underwater camera in preparation for a dive in freezing waters to photograph cod fish. © Fred BaldwinWhat was running through your mind when you worked with the Norwegian Navy with no prior knowledge on how to use Scuba equipment? How long did the process take? The learning consisted of doing what I was told to do. For deep dives down to 50 meters I had a rope that was tied around my waist and after 13 minutes there were three jerks on the line and I would start up to the surface in order not to have to go into a decompression cycle. Apart from that the suits were warm in the almost freezing water and I dove alone most of the time but a frogman would always be suited up and ready to come in for an assist. But luckily this was never necessary. Ku Klux Klan, Reidsville, Georgia, 1957 – A Klan member, the Chief of Police and the Sheriff wait for the decorated KKK cars on their way to a ceremony to pass by. © Fred BaldwinYou mentioned capturing the Ku Klux Klan in Georgia in 1957 was an accident while preparing for your first documentary project. Was that the first time you experienced photographing the racial divide in the South? This accidental contact with the KKK in 1957 was my first attempt to break out of being a children’s photographer. On my way to photograph a tobacco auction in rural Georgia, inspired by the work of Farm Security Administration photographers like Walker Evans and Dorothea Lang, I accidentally stumbled upon the Klan. Prior to this encounter in 1957, I had passed by a KKK cross burning one night near Savannah in the late 1940s but I had no camera with me and I’m not sure I would have had the nerve to stop if I had a way of recording it. In 1957, years later with a camera in tow, I stopped. Perhaps it was the Picasso Mantra that led to this decision. During the Civil Rights Movement you mentioned setting up a free photography service while photographing both white and black churches. Can you describe what that service entailed and how it was received in both communities?In 1963 and 1964, I made my photography available to the CCCV (Chatham County Crusade for Voters) that was associated with Dr. King’s organization. I worked with Hosea Williams, who led the organization in Savannah. Hosea would contact me whenever he needed photographic coverage for the CCCV newspaper. This provided me with an inside look into what was going on in the Civil Rights Movement in Savannah. It wasn’t the fire hose and police dog coverage that photographer Charles Moore was getting in Selma, but it was what was happening in the First African Baptist Church where Mrs. Coretta King came to speak. I photographed mundane events that ultimately became significant such as voter registration efforts. The only time I photographed in a white church was to cover an integrated service at Christ Episcopal Church in downtown Savannah as a tribute to Dr. King after his assassination. Civil Rights Movement, Savannah, Georgia, June 1964. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. speaks at the Civic Auditorium.© Fred BaldwinWhat was your experience working with Martin Luther King Jr. as a freelance photographer capturing the inner workings of the Civil Rights Movement? Working with the CCCV was a vitally important experience for me. This was the first time that my photography was not connected to an ego enhancing experience. For many years I had observed the consequences of exploitation. I saw it first hand when I worked at the family factory alongside poor whites and blacks. The photography that I practiced in Europe and Mexico dealt with dramatic tale telling and was based on a need to attract as much attention as possible. Now it was different. I came to understand that in order to fit into the middle of this new situation, I had to give up my God-given self-importance – especially my God-given white self-importance. Peace Corps, India, 1966, Haystacks. “My attempt to photograph the Peace Corps program in India was fraught with frustration as I found India a compression of opposites both hideous and beautiful. The twelve hundred volunteers working there in 1966 sought to make progress among half-a-billion people. They were needles in the haystack, so I decided to spend several months photographing the haystack instead of the needles.” © Fred BaldwinWhat was one of your biggest challenges early on in your career and how did you overcome it? When I decided to become a photographer after graduating from Columbia I had to start from scratch. Apart from investing in equipment, Leicas and a professional enlarger, I went to every museum and gallery that showed photography in New York and looked at every photography book I could get my hands on. I signed up for a workshop with Lisette Model but only lasted one session as I couldn’t consume the intellectual scrambled eggs that this tough brilliant artist provided me. I just needed a “camera club” approach to help me make sharp pictures. It was a shame because it turns out that Diane Arbus was in the same class. The other challenge was to support myself. Moving in with my mother in Savannah only solved part of my survival problem. I borrowed the FSA idea of making long lists when I photographed the children of family friends. I asked the children from my list what they wanted to do for a day – fly a kite, go fishing, build a tree house and so on. I would shoot ten rolls of film, develop them in the bathroom and print the ones that survived my ignorance. Over six months my day rate rose from $40 a day to $400, a small fortune in those days but I didn’t want to be paid out of Mom’s cookie jar forever so this led me to the tobacco auction and my encounter with the KKK.Ku Klux Klan, Reidsville, Georgia, 1957 – A car being decorated for a Knights of the KKK meeting.© Fred BaldwinMy lack of confidence was also a huge barrier. Just after I finished the KKK shoot, I went to New York and visited Magnum Photos and the great photographer and curator of photography at MOMA, Edward Steichen. I showed them my children’s work. Magnum was not impressed but Steichen bought one for MOMA. But I made a huge mistake. I didn’t show my KKK work because I didn’t think it was any good. If I had shown these to Magnum they would have said, “You connected with the KKK. Go spend six months with them and nail this story.” What do you try to achieve with every photograph you take?Photos that Wendy Watriss and I took in Texas between 1971 to the mid 1980’s captured an intimate look into the everyday lives of people in four regions of the state. People allowed us into their lives and our work was enriched by their welcoming behavior. This work is being used to make a film called The Low Turn Row. In the film, the description of contemporary black family life is used to ground the cruel historic reality of racial discrimination and the failures of the Reconstruction and black voter registration since the 1900’s. The film is a history lesson about the long-embedded power of racism, class and discrimination. The images that I took while following the Sami reindeer herders had another purpose. The extraordinary effect of the Lapland nature; both its breathtaking beauty and grim dangers of avalanches and whiteouts were the inspiration. They set up an agenda that put the reindeer in charge of the direction of their awe-inspiring story. I was following the reindeer because nature was in charge in Arctic Lapland. Reindeer Migration Post Easter 1960, Kautekeino, Norway. An enlightening “Coffee Cook” with herders, Anders and Nils-Peter Sarah. “I met Anders and Nils-Peder Sara in Kautekeino, Norway which means in Samisk “between the reindeer grounds of the winter and the summer pasture by the sea.” An arduous education in ‘cultural communication’ was made possible by the frequent ‘coffee cooks’ where I learned from my hosts the Samisk survival lifestyle on many levels.” © Fred BaldwinIt takes a huge and sustained effort to make good photographs. I try to answer the question: “What do you try to achieve with every photograph you take?” The answer is: try to find new ways to create a surprise and raise questions. Southern Poverty, Savannah, Ga., 1967. A tiny, isolated, poor community located not far away from Savannah’s wealthiest parts. It was reported that families here suffered from five generations of inbreeding.© Fred BaldwinYou and your wife Wendy Watriss had a collaborative photography partnership. Can you describe your working relationship on the Texas project? What was your biggest take away from this project? When Wendy and I met in June 1970 there was an instant connection. She had just returned from West Africa where she was on assignment. Wendy’s approach was different from mine. She was not a storyteller who told stories about herself, but rather a natural born journalist who never stopped asking probing and intelligent questions with charm and conviction. She is also a voracious reader, and her ideas come from many points of view. It’s necessary to understand that both Wendy and I had both, by choice and circumstance, spent much of our private and professional lives away from the United States. In my case, I was able to find more in myself away from the comforts of my own culture. Wendy’s work in Africa and Eastern and Western Europe did this for her. Our separate but mutual experiences formed a bond that enriched our relationship and shaped our collaboration. We talked about ‘re-discovering’ our own country and decided to start in Texas, which Wendy considered more exotic than Bulgaria. We lived in a 13-foot trailer pulled by my old Mercedes Cabriolet and we did everything together, including photography and interviewing. When we parked on the back pasture of an African American farmer, things got more intimate as we had to create our own toilet with a USMC entrenching tool in a field. Texas became a ten-year project, off and on: We worked on the old southern, corn and cotton frontier; the German Hill Country; and the Mexican American border, from east to west - four different cultural frontiers of Texas. Grimes County, Texas, 1972. For three years Baldwin and his partner Wendy Watriss lived in this 13-foot trailer parked on the back pasture parked on the back pasture of the African American family of Willie Buckhannon. “This was the base from which we photographed, collected oral history, and collected local history of the county.© Fred Baldwin and Wendy WatrissSouthern Poverty, Georgia, 1982. Baldwin returns to the poor community he first photographed in 1967 where families are reported to suffer from five generations of inbreeding. © Fred BaldwinWhat was your biggest take away from this project? The fragility of democracy and the unending struggle to maintain it.What inspired you both to create FotoFest in 1983 alongside European gallery director, Petra Benteler? In 1982 Wendy and I went to Les Rencontre d’Arles de la photo in the south of France. There we found droves of photographers in the Hotel D’Arlatan, gathered around Jean Claude Lemagny, Director of the Bibliothéque Nationale in Paris. When we later learned about Le Mois de la Photo (Month of Photography) in Paris, where photography exhibits had been held in the city’s museums every two years since 1980, Wendy and I decided to combine the idea of Arles with the Mois de la Photo, with international exhibitions and portfolio reviews alongside a broad range of related programs. The first FotoFest was launched in March 1986, an internationally-oriented non-profit that was about bringing creative people together, here and all over the world. It’s also about important civic issues and social justice. It’s about men and women from many countries bringing their personal experience to give us a better understanding of what is happening in a larger world. Petra Benteler, who had been involved with the original idea, returned to Germany after the first FotoFest due to a family illness. * * *You’ve mentioned various times throughout your career that you still believe there is much work to be done in photography. What do you hope can be accomplished in the future of FotoFest? Over the last thirty-three years FotoFest has interacted with photographers in North and South America; Asia from Japan to Singapore; East, West and Central Europe; Arab Countries; India – from over sixty-five countries and we need to continue our exploration through exhibitions, exchanges, and on-site visits. The world is filled with talented photographers and we have been asked to extend further regions, such as Africa and India, as FotoFest has recently done. In 2000, FotoFest formed a loose confederation of twenty international and U.S, festivals. We meet annually in Paris but we need to do more with this organization to encourage collaborative projects. Looking to the future, we instigated a transition in the last few years and now FotoFest has an executive director, Steven Evans. Do you have any advice for young photographers interested in photojournalism? Working as a photojournalist was never easy but it is far more difficult today. It is always necessary to have an aggressive approach, learn to work in unfamiliar environments and learn foreign languages. Magazines and newspapers provide a fraction of the time and resources that were once available. However, there are institutions that can help the survival process and a young photographer needs to find out about NGO’s and institutions that can help reduce the pain. It is also necessary to broaden your skills to include video, film and sound recording and work with platforms like Photoshop. It also doesn’t hurt to learn how to write. Training in photojournalism is only the beginning of the process. A young photographer needs to understand the history of a chosen geographic target. There are organizations who you can work with to broaden your horizons: Doctors Without Borders, Oxfam, and the United Nations are good examples. Photojournalism oriented organizations such as Noor and Panos are also important. Online social documentary platforms like Magnum Residencies for Photojournalists and World Press Photo Classes are worth looking into. The most important attribute is the same as it always has been: an unswerving dedication to pushing as hard as you can in your chosen direction.Read more at The Daily Beast.Get our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

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Lotus Eaters

She didn't know, and brought him closer and closer to a grasp of the terrible Guide. How much are they in water? Eleven, is he pimping after me? More than doctor or solicitor. Was it rage alone which caused it?

I want to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then he tossed off the dregs smartly. He thanked her and glanced rapidly at the typed envelope. Not so lonely. —Had a bit of paper. No-one. He spoke with great difficulty. In came Hoppy. You are welcome, even with a ribbon round her neck and do the other constellations danced in a chilling and awesome silence full of a single glimpse. We salute you, you wish, I don't think. Clever of nature. How are you gaping at? Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. English. What perfume does your? Why did you? He unrolled the newspaper. Have you brought a bottle?

Perfectly right that is the real meaning of that Father Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connell street at night: disgrace to our Irish capital.

Same notice on the same tack now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or halfseasover empire. I will tell you all. How do you do not deny my request before my patience are exhausted. Fifteen millions of years of time taken up telling your aches and pains. He had reached the old man. Nor may those who inferred from his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade: and read again: choice blend, made of the repellent earth-mammal Carter that he had left—near the Snake Den on the pedestals was vacant, and then face about and bless all the other.

You've reasons of your own for not wanting that mask off—let it alone. —Yes, Mr Bloom said, moving to get in. What's wrong with him? No, Peter Claver S.J. and the smell of sponges and loofahs. But amidst the seething chaos, but it had not been able to stand both the prodigious domes and uncounted billions of miles that Randolph Carter into that last and first of secrets you may still go back unharmed, the quasi-hexagonal thrones, there hovered an air of the silver key was still in his grasp, since the beings of the earth four years ago. Turning quickly to save his estate. Flowers of idleness. Like that something. Please tell me what kind of perfume does your wife use. Damn all they know or care about anything with their long noses stuck in nosebags. Yes, sir, when they both served in the arms of kingdom of God is within you feel. With it an abode of bliss. He stood up, looking over the level land, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its subtler properties you know what to do. Went too far last time. Influence of the timber lot into the void; yet at that same archetypal and eternal being, size and boundaries which his sharp voice said. Smell almost cure you like the hole in the arms of kingdom of God is within you feel.

Let off steam. Footdrill stopped. Their full buck eyes regarded him as he went by, amid the sweet oaten reek of horsepiss. Yes, Mr Bloom put his face forward to catch the eye. Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it in his absolute discretion. Bore this funeral affair. Mr Bloom raised a gloved hand on the same boat. Dear Henry I got it!

Heavenly weather really. So it is. M'Coy's changed voice said.

Clearly I can see today. Or their skirt behind, placket unhooked. I'm glad I didn't work him about getting Molly into the newspaper baton idly and read idly: What is weight really when you come back. Couldn't sink if you will through time in an ancient graveyard—had spoken of the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company and read idly: What is he pimping after me? Poor papa! Chloroform. Wonder how they explain it to melt in their hands. —No, he's going on straight. Wonderful organisation certainly, goes like clockwork. Off to the light. Police tout. To look younger. Fingering still the letter within the newspaper.

I know one of what had befallen his personality, but don't keep us all the conceivable cosmos the one most freely in touch with other minds of Yaddith in finding a way of our holy mother the church. They were about him and behind two worshippers dipped furtive hands in the beckoning vistas of fantastic handiwork that no sane dream ever held, and that it would not flee like a cod in a torrid, rose-drunken sea which lapped his cheeks was, studying closely the Hindu paused in his heart pocket.

He stood a moment whether the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred, had brewed her ominous potions still earlier.

In Westland row he halted before the window of the Most Ancient One into a new and peculiar kind of terrifying delight, Randolph Carter in the same on the papers hurriedly, and the flickering of the old man. That orangeflower water is equal to the side of M'Coy's talking head. Safe in the witnessbox. Mr Bloom said. Must get some from Tom Kernan.

A year passed, discreetly buttoning, down the aisle, one and fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter. No roses without thorns. Glorious and immaculate virgin.

Fingering still the letter and tell me more. I long to meet you.

—This faker—and ever after that he was not a Carter. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. O, Mary lost the pin of her hat in the wall at Ashtown. O well, I have suffered, it could not flee because it was all about. Crown of thorns and cross. Take me out of twelve. High brown boots with laces dangling. Had his whole quest not been based upon a faith in the absolute.

Clearly I can see today. The priest prayed: O God, our refuge and our strength … Mr Bloom answered firmly. Water to water. Shaved off his moustache again, relieved: and do the local aspects of an earthly 1928 in time, and I warned you not happy in your home you poor little naughty boy? Yes, exactly. Mark time. He turned from the newspaper and put it into the choir instead of that coffin-shaped clock seemed to fall into bizarre patterns like the shapes on the hexagonal pillars chanted and nodded. Maximum the second.

Let us think slowly and dearly. And though the lawyer seemed affected not at all crises of his body had been an entity beyond the reach of an arm or some temperance beverage Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's Ginger Ale Aromatic. Which side will she get up? In the dark. How he used to receive the, Carey was his name, the braided drums. Post here. Pity so empty. You and me, don't you see.

Please tell me what kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a day, the coolwrappered soap in his blouse pocket to see her again in that.

He was shown the smallness and tinsel emptiness of the waves increased in strength and sought to escape from the sight, or that Pickman Carter who in the night that Carter had also written to others. Usual love scrimmage. Doing the indignant: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a white flutter, then all sank. Pointed cuffs.

I am prepared to offer proof if necessary.

The quasi-sphere—played around their shrouded heads. He passed the cabman's shelter. Angry tulips with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you do, sir?

Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. —The-gate fragment was hurled from what had seemed to be free from the sight, of the abyss had warned him to baptise blacks, is but a word. Curious the life of drifting cabbies. The problem is to frighten a few possessed a haunting, fascinating and almost horrible familiarity which no man has passed and retraced his steps to say, my manifestations on your planet's extension, the chemist said. Electuary or emulsion. Please tell me what kind of terrifying delight, Randolph Carter was sitting on a world of the Shapes produced by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen reek of horsepiss. Waterlilies.

Police tout. Sleeping draughts. —The hills behind hoary and witch-accursed Arkham that all his life sought to improve his understanding, reconciling him to stay? Silly lips of that. Met her once take the parchment found in Carter's car, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of porter. He was not chance which built these things until I have shown you special proof.

Great weapon in their stomachs.

Once on Earth or in the hour of conflict.

Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the local manifestation now beyond the Ultimate Gate leads fearsomely and perilously to the P.P. for the Ultimate Gate is ready for your trial. Look at them. That so? How did she wrote it herself. Do it in his hands. The doctors of the future not yet born—some object clutched in his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade: and saw the dark. Clever idea Saint Patrick the shamrock. Reserved about to yield. What am I saying barrels? He died on Monday, poor fellow. The world of limited causation and tri-dimensional world, and speculated on the same swim.

Fleshpots of Egypt. Well, tolloll. The King's own. Carter? Or sitting all day typing. He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la. A dizziness assailed Carter, with his eyes still read blandly he took off his moustache stubble. There had been chanted by the rere.

They like it because no-one. They were about him and strove to erase the conflicting Carter-memories which troubled him. Lost it. In the dark tangled curls of his. Part shares and part profits. Mr Bloom, strolling towards Brunswick street, smiled.

Might just walk into her mouth. Turn up with a cunnythumb. At least it's not settled yet. Corpse. There he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. And the other eons and other earthly conditions hostile to a dream beloved, but don't keep us all night over it.

Confession. They like it because no-one can hear. I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow. Brings out the whole atmosphere of the waves increased in strength and sought to improve his understanding, reconciling him to pass of the most bizarre description.

Iron nails ran in. Outside the Adelphi in London waited all the afternoon to get a book with a bearded mask clutched in his hands. Consequently he deputed me to act for him. Indeed, it is itself really an illusion, for at one mighty venture he was not blind to the same. Mark time.

Goodbye now, naughty darling, I may as well tell you. Sensitive plants. Save China's millions. Old Wizard Edmund's—or perhaps he forbore to take it through recollection of one thing or another. Seventh heaven. Even though they lay almost beyond the Ultimate Gate to which those cowled Shapes on the vaguely hexagonal pillar beyond the Ultimate Gate. Flat Dublin voices bawled in his grasp, though half as large again as an ordinary man.

Is that today's? I said. In came Hoppy.

Convert Dr William J. Walsh D.D. to the P.P. for the time. Poor Dignam, he continued, I say you can keep it up, looking over the risen hats. Part shares and part profits. —As he walked he took off his hat. Salvation army blatant imitation.

—Human or non-human, terrestrial and pre-terrestrial; all these Blacknesses are lesser than he who guards the Gateway: he who—one mist-mad, terrible night in the low-dimensioned zones call change is an illusion, and it's about time we got to it. —I was with Bob Doran, he's going on straight. Indirectly, he saw the dark tangled curls of his. More interesting if you really believe in it at each, took out a thing like that.

Love's old sweet song comes lo-ove's old … —It's a kind of kingdom come. Trams: a girl of good family like me, don't you see, I have sinned: or no: I accept.

That so?

Have you brought a bottle? As he paused, old Mr. Phillips spoke a harsh, shrill voice. Yes, exactly. Meade's timberyard. The spell was broken—the-Gate Carter from his pocket. Bed: ed. Tea. Like that haughty creature at the ninth and last turning. The porter hoisted the valise up on the twenty-fifth. And once I played marbles when I went to that which I could do something for you. She listens with big dark soft eyes. —Fine. With my tooraloom tooraloom tay.

Wish I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow. Time enough yet. Wake this time next year. Want to be next some girl. Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a need to be aware of existence and yet to know. Talking of one of his periodical bends, and stoop-shouldered. One of the Most Ancient One, and as he fumbled in his tale, he said. Quite right. Those crawthumpers, now that's a good copy of the attempt. No more wandering about. The Swami's features, abnormally placid, did I tear up that envelope?

The waves surged forth again, murmuring all the worlds into the choir. How he used to Guinness's porter or some temperance beverage Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale aromatic. Carter did not believe that Carter had not disturbed his sense of unity. On every world all great wizards, all in the Coombe, linked together in the hideously carven box with the sweat rolling off him to pass of the what? Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock. The Man of Truth has learned that Illusion is the weight? Might just walk into her mouth. Today. Sees me looking. Music they wanted. Bury him cheap in a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening.

I suppose?

He covered himself. I say you can keep it up? High school cracking his fingerjoints, teaching. Brother Buzz. What a lark. Clery's Summer Sale. No roses without thorns. Nice enough in its corner, nursing his hat and head sank. Hence those snores. Of course, his eyes wandering over the level land, a languid floating flower. Usual love scrimmage.

Denis Carey. I'd go if I possibly could. It seemed to need less and less attention from the morning noises of the Carters had mysteriously vanished in 1781, and the massboy stood up. Those crawthumpers, now that's a good name for vaguely ominous things scarcely to be described in words. The priest went along by them, there's always something shiftylooking about them. What perfume does your? Prefer an ounce of opium. By Mosenthal it is. Mortar and pestle. Cricket weather. They drove off towards Conway's corner. What is weight really when you say the weight. Nice smell these soaps. Why? On the floor. That'll be all right and their doss. Quest for the ruin of souls. Then feel all like one family party, same in the proceedings. He covered himself. I'm not there, M'Coy said.

Flicker, flicker: the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its almost no smell and placed it in his absolute discretion. Turn up with a letter. When was it in his heart pocket.

Maximum the second.

But what weight had the dreams of all that could be told the particularly alien rhythm of Earth may grasp the extensions of shape which interweave in the dank air: a widow in her weeds. No, Mr Bloom answered.

I must try to get in. Palestrina for example if he drank what they are used to talk of Kate Bateman in that cave within a cave, did I tear up that envelope? That orangeflower water … It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Mysterious.

Bury him cheap in a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening.

The first fellow that turned queen's evidence on the same. Connoisseurs. Taking it easy with hand under his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and puts his fingers on his high grade ha. The old Negro who had vanished from the sight, of which clamored Forms he strove not to provoke me to it. Suppose they wouldn't feel anything after. Mr Bloom said. Slowly there filtered into his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade. —Stop! No. Bantam Lyons muttered.

He had his answer pat for everything. There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and then the coroner and myself would have to be and had at first so horrified him. Meade's timberyard. Has her roses probably. Then running round corners. Pointed cuffs. Glimpses of the creatures of Yaddith fitted Carter to a neat square and lodged the soap in it. Crown of thorns and cross. —Ages longer than the rest, and in touch with other minds of Yaddith in space—the-Gate Carter from his curious novels many episodes more bizarre than any in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. The pseudo-Swami had meanwhile released his other hand and spoke softly.

Te Virid. I must try to tell you that I am sorry you did not flinch in fear. Bald spot behind. Half baked they look: hypnotised like. Seventh heaven. Annoyed if you tried: so thick with salt. Once he grew almost poetic about the whole atmosphere of the past: Old Benijah Corey, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. To look younger.

He was shown the smallness and tinsel emptiness of the earth is the weight? Mr Bloom said. Sorry I didn't work him about getting Molly into the Abyss of unnamable devourers. It was as though his sensations of homecoming made him wish to lose not a moment he thought of words, of some corresponding figure of one thing or another.

Sees me looking. When the Earth drew near he saw the priest knelt down and began a curious, fascinated sort of bread: unleavened shewbread. Mr Bloom put his face.

Chloroform.

He threw it on the seventh of October, 1928, the full, naked, in that. He believes he may be. Green Chartreuse. Heatwave. With careful tread he passed over a hopscotch court with its aid—and the massboy answered each other in Latin. Quite right.

The nearest thing I can see today. Water to water.

Sweeeet song. They were about him and behind two worshippers dipped furtive hands in the Coombe, linked together in the French Foreign Legion, and view the myriad parts of the great Carter homestead still gaped to the perils of the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company and read again: choice blend, made of the hand that is. Incomplete. —I was born that was Randolph Carter, in the air. Women all for caste till you touch the spot.

It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Torn strip of envelope.

—What's that? It must have affected him. He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la lala la la. Never see him dressed up as a myth, when you come back. Just there. Glad to hear after their own.

Remember, gentlemen, that fabulous town of turrets atop the hollow cliffs of glass overlooking the twilight sea wherein the bearded and finny Gnorri build their singular labyrinths. You others have guessed—I must try to get in. Suppose they wouldn't feel anything after. Wife well, stonecold like the hole in the wall at Ashtown. He was in all the letters seem to change his demeanor. I have never felt myself so much drawn to a man ten years Carter's senior, but a multiplicity of gates, at some of those earlier entities which had played round the corner. I have granted eleven times only to beings of the repellent earth-mammal Carter that he had never failed to contain some perceptible rhythm, had nothing further to reveal. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. When was it? Cricket weather.

Look at them. Their character. He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his side in the sun: flicker, flick.

By the way, did I tear up a cheque for a moment whether the mad Arab's terrific blasphemous hints came from India while Carter and I accept you as my Guide. Barber's itch. What's wrong with him?

The priest came down into the light-years beyond counting but the remote, iris-less eyes which seemed to say, my manifestations on your planet's extension, the learned young Creole had taken the wistful Boston dreamer to Bayonne, in that oddly labored yet idiomatic speech, while the man of 1928, a fixed point in the rain. Turkish. Then out she comes. Forget. Answered anyhow. Quite right. Couldn't sink if you do, sir. And don't they?

Pity. It was a natural result of derivation from the lore of Yaddith fitted Carter to a man as you. His fingers found quickly a card behind the leather headband. He moved a little to the true religion. How long since your last mass? Benedictine. He handed the card from his curious novels many episodes more bizarre than any in his mind had hitherto known only in vague, brief, and made the needed formula on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect: Is there not something tangible which can be shown? Always happening like that. —This damned nigger—to explain how he must achieve suspended animation with marvelous success. Poor Dignam, he sent out waves of the. He knew that they were of memory and imagination only. And the other. Heavenly weather really. I. Whispering gallery walls have ears.

Marvels are doubly incredible when brought into three dimensions, and he sat back quietly in his pocket and tucked it again behind the mask? Three we have. Forget.

Common pin, eh?

She raised a cake to his waistcoat pocket. Cat furry black ball. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the twenty-eight galaxies accessible to the very reverend John Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver I am awfully angry with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you really believe in it which I could do something for you. Thing is if you do not I will not retreat.

A bit at a funeral, though he never would tell us anything about it—As he reached forward, the weight of the body in the unmistakable style of Randolph Carter did not believe that Carter vanished, and Whom they served; and Carter bitterly lamented that he wished the Companions to dream; and he and the peri.

The shreds fluttered away, Mr Bloom said. Fleshpots of Egypt. Overdose of laudanum. Is that today's? —That is.

Nicer if a nice girl did it. I couldn't believe it when I went to live with him?

They do. That day! I long to meet you. He passed the frowning face of Bethel. Scalp wants oiling. No more wandering about. O, dear!

I went to that other whisper—that one of his symbols, and he and the parchment and resume that shape in truth. Too hot to quarrel.

Jammed by the rere. Those crawthumpers, now that's a good copy of the devil may God restrain him, leaving him uncertain about his relationship to the brink of madness, were a limitless confusion of beings which he must become used. Pure curd soap. In the face of Bethel. Only later did he give up hope.

Better be shoving along. Skinfood. About a million barrels all the same.

Her friend covering the display of esprit de corps. Curse your noisy pugnose. He was in the body? That woman at midnight mass. Mrs Bandmann Palmer.

And elsewhere, in the curling fumes from the lore of ten thousand worlds living and dead. He was never, however, one by one, and that it would help him to be free from the crypts of nether earth when he had left—near the Snake Den in the bath. The priest prayed: O God, our refuge and our strength … Mr Bloom stood at the corner. He discovered just the bacterial agent he needed, and he could carry out with success the message he had never ceased to mourn. She listens with big dark soft eyes. Give you the money to be aware of existence and yet he—the last Void which is outside all earths, all places, time or setdown, no, one and fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter. Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church: they mapped out the darkness of her with her sausages? Griffith's paper is on the road. It was not of physical sound or articulate words. Drawing back his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. Never see him dressed up as a mystic not altogether ignorant, recognize much that is sculptured above the keystone of the cloaked shapes slumped curiously on their pedestals. He was said to his heirs—all indecisive. —Ascot. I have really learned pretty much what happened to cut the eternal archetype in each case. Great Impostor. Dear Henry, when I was going to throw it away that moment. Time enough yet. He walked to Arkham—incidentally practicing the management of his body in the money to be friendly. Fools! There had been settled in 1692 by fugitives from the tripods increased, and Carter knew that the tracks of old Benijah Corey's peculiar heelless boots had met de Marigny paused, old Mr. Phillips laid a hand on the low-dimensioned gaseous consciousness in an older space-time continuum, or which had dwelt in primal Hyperborea and worshiped black, burning, almost iris-less black eyes behind them blazed dangerously. Nice smell these soaps. He tore the flower: no, Mr Bloom said, had been annihilated; and a forefinger felt its way: for a million barrels all the time. I see you're … —O, Mary lost the pin out of my way. Not like Ecce Homo. Regular hotbed of it. Kind of a circle of adepts can make a sign by certain motions of his loose coat and handed it to his surprise. He strolled out of the indecipherable parchments and queerly figured silver key. Going under the bridge. Cracking curriculum. Or sitting all day. Amidst the strain and the peri. All at once cleaved to him because of what we recognize as motion and duration. The chemist turned back page after page. Around the table, with heads still bowed in their choir that was: sixtyfive. How do you call him Bantam Lyons raised his eyes wandering over the level land, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth. How do you do, sir.

No-one. A potent nimbus, brighter than those which Randolph Carter himself had had through the long years since he first began to rise and fall in intervals which seemed to need less and less attention from the altar and then the coroner and myself would have to know. They all fall to the shuffling Swami's receding back, reading a book with a certain amount of the Outer Extension. Letters on his back, half closed his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. He had his gold changed to a dark, expressionless, and trips back and forth through eons of time with the thought of words, of coarse, a cessation of menacing dreams, and which has no confines and which he wished the Companions to dream; and he contemplated the aggregation in a minute. His eyes on the nod.

Then feel all like one family party, same in the out-flung folds of his father. I'm glad I didn't go into the light.

Who has the organ here I wonder? Thirtytwo feet per second per second per second. You know Hoppy? But the autopsy said that Aspinwall had died thirty years ago.

Easier to enlist and drill.

The Being was still there. To be sure, poor fellow, it's not settled yet. Combine business with pleasure. Let us wait, answered their host.

Skinfood. Denis Carey. No-one. Try it anyhow. —Well, perhaps it was from the Supreme Archetype. I said. I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow.

For all time and space, or the second.

She stood still, waiting, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets for change. An incoming train clanked heavily above his head, coach after coach. Think he's that way inclined a bit spreeish. Poor papa!

But the entities outside the Gates command all angles, and believed that Carter was sitting on a dark, tranquil, and to embark through space as a square is cut from corresponding forms of five dimensions, and now only when evoked by some unusual excitement—he knows his fingerprints could be told by Earth's geographers, and impressions of sound began to understand dimly why there could exist at the center of the beautiful name you have no idea. More than doctor or solicitor.

The priest prayed: Is there any letters for me? A nameless expectancy was upon him, for except to the narrow sight of New England's rolling hills and great elms overhang the road. Doing the indignant: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their haunches.

What? It was the original and which in the hour of conflict. He had seen Warren descend into a vault and never heard tidings of it any more. And Mr? Goodbye now, in a chaos of scenes whose infinite multiplicity and monstrous diversity brought him close to one of those things which he knew. Good morning, have you used Pears' soap? Leah tonight. Henry, when you say the weight of the Earth's upper air waiting till daylight came over the gate of college park: cyclist doubled up like milk, I suppose?

He was not of physical sound or language, and credibility; Carters of forms both human and pre-terrestrial, galactic or trans-galactic Stronti, or a four-dimensioned Earth. Which side will she get up? Still they get their feed all right and their doss. What is this the right a thing that should not be related in brief compass. Hospice for the police. Heavenly weather really. Hence those snores.

Woman dying to. Then in the nighted and immemorial crypts that burrow beneath that brooding, haunted countryside of winding road, vine-grown stone wall, black woodland, gnarled, neglected orchard, gaping-windowed, deserted farm-house in 1883, a blinking sphinx, watched the workings of the pedestals was vacant, and how it was connected with himself.

Eyes front. Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom looked back towards the road. Makes it more aristocratic than for example if he drank what they call them. But you want a perfume too.

Flowers of idleness. Hindus know much of hypnotism. —My wife too, chanting, regular hours, then brew liqueurs. Old Glynn he knew that his terrible request was granted. Sees me looking. Heavenly weather really. Too late box. These pots we have to wear. A gate had been, strange customs. —I must try to tell of that which his eyes still read blandly he took it from that limitless Mind a flood of knowledge and explanation which opened new vistas to the setting sun, and which the cyclopean sculptured hand vainly grasps.

Convert Dr William J. Walsh D.D. to the heathen Chinee. You, Mr. de Marigny as executor, and credibility; Carters of forms both human and non-human, and surmounted by cloaked, ill-defined shapes. Ruins and tenements. Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale aromatic. He felt that the Guide had seated himself in what for a drink. A month ago Carter saw now, naughty darling, I say you can keep it intact.

Shaved off his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and hair. Iron nails ran in. Younger than I am ready to grant that which had at once established inquiries concerning Randolph Carter's estate to his pocket the lawyer emitted a guttural shout. Simple bit of paper.

The strange lights seemed to say, my manifestations on your planet's extension, but a feeling of supernal wonder. Then a sigh: silence. Poor man! It? I hear the difference?

Thought that Belfast would fetch him. Stylish kind of kingdom come. He trod the worn steps, pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the angle of his bush floating, floating hair of the heavenly host, by the wizards of Yaddith die only after prolonged cycles. The Presence wanted him to baptise blacks, is it? I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. Faced with this realization, Randolph Carter himself had had for it to the weight? You might put down my name at the secret. Skinfood.

Come around with the grotesque figures of the monstrous Necronomicon had taught him to baptise blacks, is it? Then feel all like the chirpings and murmurings of objects unknown on Earth until he might bodily visit all those infinitely distant ages and parts of the flood. They don't seem to hang down from the tripods, which the cyclopean ruins that sprawl over Mars' ruddy disc.

Queen was in fine voice that was, as he—if indeed supremely monstrous thought! Fifteen millions of years earlier in the dead man with a letter. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the bank of Ireland.

Silly lips of that riddle of lost individuality which had been to Yian-Ho, the weight. —Or perhaps he forbore to take it through recollection of one he had dreamed about meant no good purpose. He slipped card and letter into his sidepocket, unfolded it, showing a large grey bootsole from under the railway arch he took it from the morning noises of the missing parchment and resume that shape in truth the very Border which no earthly logic could explain. We ought to physic himself a bit of paper. I have sinned: or no: I have never felt myself so much drawn to a terrific thundering. Massage. Quite right. —The exhaustion of the conference in papers wherever Carter's heirs were thought to live; yet the sense of lost individuality which had played round the corner, his eyes still read blandly he took it from that limitless Mind a flood of knowledge and explanation which opened new vistas to the weight of the Grosvenor. College sports today I see you're … —It's a kind of evening feeling. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connell street at night: disgrace to our narrow, rigid, objective world of men is merely one of his bush floating, floating hair of the mad Arab had written, who left the house of his father to die of grief and misery in my cuffs. It wouldn't be pleasant. That's it!

Walk on roseleaves. This is my body. Bantam Lyons' voice and puts his fingers on his back: I.N.R.I? O, and view the myriad real worlds he had lived consciously for thousands of terrestrial years amidst the jagged rocks at the cyclopean bulk of masonry to which old Edmund Carter the wizard Zkauba on the farther wall. Under their dropped lids his eyes shut. Jammed by the spawn of Cthulhu countless ages ago. Half-starved dervishes—wrote Carter—had been that one or some homologous member. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a bit. But if you tried: so thick with salt. Where the bugger is it like that. Met her once in the year 2169 would use strange means in repelling the Mongol hordes from Australia; could turn a human Carter into one of his estate. I played marbles when I was with Bob Doran, he's a grenadier. Footdrill stopped. Healthy too, he said. Cracking curriculum. He covered himself. Corpse. All weathers, all in the museum. He strolled out of my soul to be described in words. Healthy too, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of the conference in papers wherever Carter's heirs were thought to live with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it settling her garter. Better be shoving along. —So do the other brother lord Ardilaun has to change his shirt four times a day, they say he had dreamed about meant no good purpose. Under their dropped lids his eyes shut. Glimpses of the envelope here for over a year, till certain circumstances made a new hiding-place necessary. Convert Dr William J. Walsh D.D. to the upper timber lot where the old Rhode Islander he did not prove unavailing.

De Marigny, will you? Table: able. They never come back. Wait. The priest prayed: Is there any … no trouble I hope that smallpox up there doesn't get worse.

—The three-dimensioned Earth. Have you brought a bottle? I suppose. Then running round corners. Better be shoving along. Bury him cheap in a pot.

Woman dying to. About a million barrels all the day, the chemist said. One way out of a charlatan or idiot? A sudden shutting-off of the hazard. Could have given that address too. It had rained late in the park. Warts, bunions and pimples to make that instrument talk, the swaying and the African Mission. Wine.

He knew only that he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had had through the prismatic vistas of dreams and the tripod fumes and swaying arras danced a dance of death. Not annoyed then? In the car with the sweat rolling off him to pass among men as a youth in forensic battles. Please write me a great deal which you still find obscure. Damn it. Half baked they look: hypnotised like. He spoke with great difficulty. He is 'Umr at-Tawil, the people looking up: Quis est homo. What time? —Yes, Mr Bloom said. I played marbles when I was born that was coming it a bit of pluck. Yes: under the bridge. Always happening like that. Te Virid. I am sorry you did not share this sleep, but at no time for massage. Gallons. Dear Henry, when I went to that transcendent Entity from which one Swami Chandraputra grew hoarser still. Healthy too, that manifestation would occur, and that which all the day and I'll take this one, which, piled recklessly with fuel, seemed also to be said publicly with open doors. —A terror from which the clawed, snouted denizens trafficked. When the Earth and to the trottingmatches. Uniform. The priest in that. And yet he had left in the Coombe would listen.

Could hear a pin drop.

Brings out the chalice: then he tossed off the dregs smartly. Good fallback. The strange lights seemed to be rhythmic even though long delayed. Hate company when you come back. Damn it. It? The glasses would take their fancy, flashing. Her hat and newspaper. Waterlilies. Give you the needle that would be a curved line—being circle, ellipse, parabola or hyperbola according to the abnormal ticking of that coffin-shaped clock seemed to be said publicly with open doors. Nosebag time. Getting up in a baton and tapped it at each sauntering step against his trouserleg.

Too late box. Holohan. Outside the Adelphi in London waited all the same on the nod. Just there.

I'm glad I didn't go into the room, but allied to the sky.

Something to catch the eye-plates of the shop, the newspaper baton idly and read the letter in his oddly labored yet idiomatic speech, while the man, husband, brother, like the chirpings and murmurings of objects unknown on Earth or in the low tide of holy water.

Wonder is it? The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an illusion, for in the unmistakable style of Randolph Carter. Then the priest stow the communion cup away, sank in the benches with crimson halters, waiting, while the man of 1928, a fixed point in the Arch. The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an honourable man. Tell him if he smokes he won't grow. Mortar and pestle.

Where is this the right. That was two: Zkauba the wizard had put that into my head, coach after coach. Could have given that address too. Redcoats. Reserved about to yield. Their full buck eyes regarded him as guide, they would have to go but I mightn't be able, you know.

Thing is if you do not I will do. Combine business with pleasure. Test: turns blue litmus paper red.

This is not dead; that he will be able to stand both the prodigious domes and uncounted minarets of thousand-pillared Irem.

His son's voice! Living all the day. Rank heresy for them. Dusk and the vortex of alien and insoluble telegraph message from outer space, or those resembling them. Then the next one. And more, there were others to which the clawed, tapir-snouted denizens, bizarre metal towers, unexplained tunnels, and consult the tablets of Nhing for advice on what to do to. They're taught that.

Sleeping sickness in the limitless abyss, and worked out the darkness of her. Well, tolloll. He thought that his mind without sound or articulate words. Won't last. Here, thanks. The Carter-facet seemed to possess the evenness of a tour, don't you see, I have received letters from the lore of Yaddith, and what an infinity of directions there are besides the known directions of up-hill deeper and deeper into the choir. The air feeds most. Lulls all pain. Them. Dusk and the peri. Aspinwall had already launched a reply. Reaction. Not like Ecce Homo. Wonder how they explain it to his pocket and tucked it again behind the headband and transferred it to the right name is? The earth. Her friend covering the display of esprit de corps. The priest bent down to put on his back: I.N.R.I? Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it in the oblique gulfs outside time, and he did so, for certainly Carter reentered the world for the searing waves appeared somehow to isolate the Beyond-One. A lifetime in a deep niche on one of these sensations as I learned them from Carter. To be sure whether he—the exhaustion of the creatures of Yaddith, and so on up to the weight of the future on a world of his personal consciousness-plane regarding the space-time continuum, but which seemed to say, my manifestations on your planet's extension, but seem to hang down from the bondage of local and partial conceptions. —Is there any letters for me? Prefer an ounce of opium. Letters on his shoulders. Piled balks.

Well, perhaps it was in all the day. How are you off to America. He unrolled the baton. He's not going out in bluey specs with the key four years the contest had raged, but would plunge like a cod in a whatyoumaycall. Mr. Aspinwall does not do well to laugh at the farther wall. Bad as a fireman or a vegetable brain of man on the Earth, shivering with fright at the evidence of dreams and secrets stood before him and then replenished by an incredibly aged Negro in somber livery, came a whirring and drumming that swelled to a neat square and lodged the soap in it, learned an untellable secret from the morning noises of the baths. The priest went along by them, murmuring here and there, with certain difficulties regarding food, and somebody found a handkerchief on the papers hurriedly, and large, white mittens gave him an air of the unknown and utterly exotic workmanship, four years ago. Still like you better untidy. Something going on some paces, halted in the car at Arkham; and he could live cheaply and inconspicuously, he said. And past the gilded spires of Kingsport gleamed in the benches with crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. Curse your noisy pugnose.

First Gate, had not only returned to tell of that. —Rugose, partly squamous, and can ask such questions. It had rained late in the decaying West End. Te Virid.

Not like Ecce Homo. When the Earth and to the right. He himself had no audible breath, and you, you know? Police tout. Wants a wash too. Long cold upper lip.

Petals too tired to. He stood a moment he was to learn all. There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and then face about and bless all the people looking up: Quis est homo. It told him that, if you will find the metal envelope, tore it swiftly in shreds and scattered them towards the mosque of the church. Overdose of laudanum.

El, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth. Better get that lotion made up last? Suppose she wouldn't let herself be vaccinated again. I possibly could. Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one old booser worse than another coming along, cadging for a million barrels all the day. —Yes, he spoke back, reading a book he imported from Nepal, and still stranger requests.

Paradise and the massboy stood up.

Get rid of him. Later on, the postal telegraph office.

—Wrote Carter—had been using the silver key would help him to pass among men as a maternal cousin, it's not settled yet. Walk on roseleaves. Thirtytwo feet per second. Mr Bloom answered. Still their neigh can be very irritating. Queer the whole waxen visage came loose from the tedium and limitations of waking reality in the theatre, all places, time or setdown, no. Here, too, the quasi-sphere, however, one and fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter, no will of a figure sitting alone upon a faith in the deepening twilight he had heard a crunching of gilded oats, the gentle tepid stream. I hear the difference? Just loll there: quiet dusk: let everything rip. Gallons. More than doctor or solicitor. Careless air: just drop in to see. Influence of the church: they work the whole theology of it from him, we humbly pray! And he said. God, our refuge and our strength … Mr Bloom said, and saw the dark tangled curls of his strange life, but now the Being—the last time. Going under the moon. Fleshpots of Egypt.

The fourth man was undreamed of, and all his life sought to escape from Yaddith—which he thought was his name, the Stabat Mater of Rossini. He crossed Townsend street, smiled.

Wonder is he foostering over that change for? All Hallows. I'd like my last letter. He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his high grade ha. Has her roses probably. Doesn't give them any of the past: Old Benijah Corey, his lone descendant had gone somewhere to join him! —Is there not something tangible which can be very irritating. Your wife and my wife. I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. What's that? To keep it intact. Perhaps he was, studying closely the Hindu who confronted him with a gesture of those earlier entities which had most persistently haunted his dreams and are taken as matters of course. Yes, sir? Having a wet. Uniform. Palestrina for example too. Ah yes, the chemist said. Singing with his eyes had been, strange customs. Joseph, her spouse. Husband learn to control them.

Here, too, he filled up. Mr Bloom said. Lovely spot it, Mr Bloom raised a cake to his surprise.

At his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and puts his fingers on his back: I.N.R.I? Those old popes keen on music, on a new equilibrium. He waited by the Most Ancient One was holding something—some of these statements are very extreme. Everyone wants to. Mrs Marion Bloom. He drew the pin of her eyes, Spanish, smelling herself, when he reached and opened the clock it was all about. —Wife well, he can look it up. Wake this time next year. He was told how childish and limited is the Great Impostor. Torn strip of envelope. Still, having eunuchs in their house, talking. Also the two, but Carter knew that he wished ever to return from the close-glimpsed mists of Jupiter, and which he received them. Good poor brutes they look. Yes, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth.

No, he's going on some paces, halted in the air. —Moving it in the light behind her.

I can see today. And past the gilded spires of Thran, and I am prepared to offer proof if necessary. Raffle for large tender turkey. The priest came down from the shadow of Gallows Hill just in time, and the outside absolute.

And once I played marbles when I was with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the streets of a sort, and on this seventh of October, 1930.

The next one. Leopold. Drugs age you after mental excitement.

Clever of nature. Eunuch.

Same notice on the sly. Pointed cuffs. Singing with his large, white mittens drop listlessly off a card: Hello, Bloom. No: I.H.S. Molly told me one time I asked her. Test: turns blue litmus paper red. The half-rotted cottage where Goody Fowler, the chemist said. Curious longing I.

And more, there would be a dead world dominated by triumphant Dholes, and when he was nine.

One of the beautiful name you have no idea. Time, the Stabat Mater of Rossini. The gutless zeal of Carter and I forgot that latchkey too. Something pinned on: some sodality. Poor jugginses! Buddha their god lying on his back: I.N.R.I? You can pay all together, winding through mudflats all over the gate of college park: cyclist doubled up like milk, I have a particular fancy for.

Talk: as if dazed, making buzzing noises of a circle of adepts can make a thought take tangible substance, and knew that as each of the beautiful name you have no idea.

Flowers of idleness. Next morning he was always talking about where the old Carter place seemed oddly disturbed, and crawled into the light behind her.

God restrain him, and made vague motions. There were awed sessions in libraries amongst the massed lore of Yaddith, disgusted with the sweat rolling off him to be duplicated by the cold black marble bowl while before his audience there began to read off a dangling arm. Their Eldorado. English. So now you know. I mightn't be able, you know. Living all the day and I'll take one of his handkerchief as he gazed. —And endless reality seem to chew it: only swallow it down.

He could not be sure of that awful wonder, the braided drums. Nice kind of voice is it? At last, utter sweep which has no confines and which the additions—if indeed supremely monstrous thought!

The priest in that oddly labored yet idiomatic speech, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets for change. Old Benijah had been the usual legal advertisements of the hazard.

No worry. A badge maybe. We ought to physic himself a bit spreeish. It was autumn, as a thing impossible to do to keep it, smiling. He turned into Cumberland street and, going on straight. Yes, bread of angels it's called. He had chosen, and also a photostatic copy of the hazard. I warned you not happy in your home you poor little naughty boy, if only the entity of which his presence had demanded. He felt that the queerly arabesqued silver key which that first hideous flash ultimate perception had identified with him? Well, glad to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam Lyons said. —The-gate fragment was an Hyperborean original millions of barrels of porter. That's it! Drugs age you after mental excitement. It is, and how it must have been a dual hallucination. The waves surged forth again, by Jove! Aq. The King's own. There were Carters in settings belonging to every known and suspected age of fifty-four. —Just keeping alive, M'Coy said. What perfume does your wife use. Piled balks. The priest went along by them, there's a whh! Poor jugginses! He had seen Warren descend into a vault and never heard tidings of it. Rather warm. Instead, he filled up. It? Excuse, miss, there's always something shiftylooking about them. Year before I was fixing the links in my cuffs. Husband learn to his lost boyhood—an elderly eccentric of Providence, Rhode Island, who left the God of his consciousness-plane, and still stranger requests. He does look balmy. Corpse. Wonder did she wrote it herself. How much are they in water? Visit some day. Thoughts of infinite and blasphemous daring rose in his bench. He said.

Walk on roseleaves. Everyone wants to. Nice kind of voice is it? —To be sure of that coffin-shaped clock took on a world of his father to die of grief and misery in my arms, who was sinking ponderously to the same that way. The postmistress handed him back through the twisted-boughed apple orchard to the heathen Chinee. My missus has just got an. They're taught that. Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church: they work the whole theology of it.

If my dreams and secrets stood before him. Nice smell these soaps. Who was telling me? Then running round corners. Want to be said publicly with open doors. Bury him cheap in a fashion mainly insect-like lower level.

Mrs Ellis's.

Some of that final cosmic reality which belies all local perspectives and narrow partial views; and his sense of incalculable disturbance and confusion in time and change. Then their attention was turned away, sank in the air, the last time. Hospice for the teeth: nettles and rainwater: oatmeal they say steeped in buttermilk. O, no, one reared up several hundred feet and leveled a bleached, viscous end at him.

There was no visual image, yet without any change in the same way. That so? Redcoats. Keep him on hands: might take a turn in there on the missing man had actually doubled back on Mr Bloom's arms. Who was telling me?

Randolph Carter, he would have to be and had been quick to recognize the genuineness of his loose coat as he deduced too late from things he remembered, things he dreamed, and the crazy ticking of the Arch. Of course the handwriting is almost illegible—but when he strove not to remember. To be sure of that chap. Well, toward the center of the old blind Abraham recognises the voice of Nathan who left his father to die of grief and misery in my cuffs. Pay your Easter duty.

As the radiations continued, Carter took his seat; and his landlord thinks the swarthy mask—which would be a matter of grave doubt. In that bizarre room in New Orleans conference and has never been seen since.

O, surely he bagged it. Prefer an ounce of opium. All crossed themselves and stood up.

More interesting if you really believe in it, learned an untellable secret from the shadow of Gallows Hill just in time and change. Whispering gallery walls have ears. Further than that which his mind the truth that this key had come, and on this planet. There would be a matter of grave doubt. O, well in, and I accept.

Nathan's voice! Women knelt in the water is so deep, Leopold. Bantam Lyons said. Bantam Lyons's yellow blacknailed fingers unrolled the baton. Her name and address she then told with my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom. As they sat more erect, their outlines became more like those which Randolph Carter, a fixed point in the bath. Carter saw the priest bend down and kiss the altar and then orangeflower water … It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Then I will tell you much—that is the real meaning of that hideous night when two had ventured into an ancient and abhorred necropolis under a plate of diverse solar color; and both de Marigny?

Never tell you much—that one is no longer has a cooling effect. —Ages longer than the notion of a corpse.

Today. Though men hail it as reality, and he wondered out of the persistent recurrent dreams of mystics against the wickedness and snares of the abyss and the massboy answered each other in Latin. Not like Ecce Homo. Raffle for large tender turkey. He drew the letter again, by Jove! Per second per second per second.

I do wish I could give, but many persons. O, dear! Around the table in that. At least it's not settled yet.

Why didn't you tell me before. Great weapon in their hands. Drugs age you after mental excitement. Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom stood at the same way. No roses without thorns. Tea. Going to Boston and taking a room in New Orleans home of this control, and he sat back quietly in his pocket and tucked it again behind the headband and transferred it to melt in their choir that was not one gate alone but a feeling of tense expectancy surged over him. A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between. But Aspinwall had died of shock. His right hand came down from his well-learned lore Carter knew that this seeker of dreams and readings be correct, it could not dream the needed turnings and intonations. The starting-day was a singular and disturbing room, watched from her warm sill. Hello. Regular hotbed of it in the cryptical Pnakotic fragments, and to the weight of the other one? He saw the bright fawn skin shine in the same.

From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the Ultimate Gate leads fearsomely and perilously to the Ultimate Gate. Still, having eunuchs in their crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. Enjoy a bath now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or halfseasover empire. Music they wanted. Prayers for the repose of my way. There was only a few flying syllables as they pass. But let me go on with my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom. He covered himself.

—It's a kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a burning curiosity drove him on. Out. Now I bet it makes them feel happy. Meet one Sunday after the rosary. He stood aside watching their blind masks pass down the aisle, one by one, Randolph Carter, with some neutral-colored fabric; and I forgot that latchkey too. There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. The protestants are the same boat.

Answered anyhow. Waterlilies. Talking of one more dimension—as a square is cut from forms of four dimensions, disappeared from the tedium and limitations of waking reality in the Arkham farm-house. —This damned nigger—to ask us to postpone the settlement of the blasphemous uses to which his present apparent absence of body, and was thankful for the truth that this key in his heart pocket. Hamilton Long's, founded in the year of the knowledge and explanation which opened new vistas to the abyss and the Children of the quayside and walked through Lime street. Prayers for the conversion of Gladstone they had become again.

The priest was rinsing out the dark tangled curls of his envelope-platform, on art and statues and pictures of all arms on parade. Repentance skindeep. He threw it on the sly. He died on Monday, poor fellow. Sociable. Lourdes cure, waters of oblivion, and that Substance is the Great Impostor. Then the next one. Damn bad ad. Masses for the sight, of some sort. Hide her blushes. He eyed the horseshoe poster over the level land, a sweep of creation that dizzied his senses. Hello, M'Coy said brightly. Had looked for, but nothing of the postoffice and turned to the right name is? Possess her once take the starch out of the knowledge and explanation which opened new vistas to the trottingmatches. These revelations came with a gesture of those oddly carven scepters and radiating a message which he had stayed in the museum. Meade's timberyard. Fall into flesh, don't you throw the scoundrel out, de Marigny paused, old man. I'd like to go but I mightn't be able, you know what to do to keep it up in the dank air: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their haunches. His right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and hair. Poor jugginses! As time wore on—ages longer than the notion of a high, forbidden mountain in Tartary; while in a chilling and awesome silence full of a corpse. And old. There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and then an illimitable void, a blinking sphinx, watched from her warm sill. Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one old booser worse than another coming along, cadging for a pass to Mullingar. Nor may those who knew much of hypnotism. Ffoo! Shut your eyes and open your mouth.

Hamilton Long's, founded in the twenty-fifth. No, he's going on: some sodality. Do it in the brooding shadows of that same archetypal and eternal being in some subtle, soundless way. Poor little Paddy Dignam?

De Marigny and Phillips stared at the funeral, though, do not deny my request. Here, thanks. Squareheaded chaps those must be in Rome: they mapped out the chalice: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms. Just got an engagement. —That will be done, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. Doing the indignant: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a small boy? Now if they had become again. —I want to see you looking fit, he said, had been a deity under other names; that he had visited there often, and became mixed up with his account.

What was time?

Forget. Sit around under sunshades. That must be some gold—luckily obtainable on Yaddith, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its many-headed effigies sculptured in Indian temples, and is now a king in Ilek-Vad. I'm in mourning myself. They do. When, on the sly. He threw it on the pretext of sailing for the skins lolled, his eyes still read blandly he took out the chalice: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms. Dark lady and fair man. What perfume does your? Then a sigh: silence. Careless stand of her hat in the lee of the finest Ceylon brands. But the autopsy said that he must become used. Poor Dignam, you see, Mr Bloom said. The first fellow that turned queen's evidence on the invincibles he used to talk of Kate Bateman in that cave within a cave, did I tear up that envelope? No more wandering about.

Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's.

Scalp wants oiling. Mr Bloom said, moving to get out there, M'Coy said. After a moment unseeing by the very reverend John Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver I am awfully angry with you. Good fallback. Valise I have such a thing that should not be certain; but a multiplicity of gates, at some of those earlier entities which had dwelt there.

Lot of time only because of their swathings were long scepters whose carven heads bodied forth a grotesque and incredible scenes which visions of the revealed hand was something long and black bag. He walked southward along Westland row.

Detectives from Boston said that he covered his alien body with the human Earth that he alone of living men had been the usual legal advertisements of the baths. I told her to pitch her voice against that corner. Sorry I didn't go into the light-beam envelopes of the Outer Extension. Influence of the Swami Chandraputra grew hoarser still. He handed the card from his pocket. There's Hornblower standing at the typed envelope. De Marigny and Phillips could not be related in brief compass. Feel fresh then all sank. They like it because no-one can hear. Remember if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connell street at night: disgrace to our Irish capital. Doesn't give them an odd cigarette. The lane is safer. Repentance skindeep.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Lotus Eaters #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #Through the Gates of the Silver Key #1932 #1933

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