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ciaossu-imagines · 6 months ago

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(day 16) hewooo! can i request prompt fourteen for fran? (i’ll be giving you the freedom to choose the question/s instead.) ♡

Of course I can, my dear! I had a hard time settling on questions though, so I just did all of them and I hope you enjoy 😊 Thank you so much for sending in the request!

Ask Meme - Food Edition!

Send me a character and a number and I'll tell you about their food preferences!

1: Milk, dark, or white chocolate?

I honestly don’t see Fran as having a huge sweet tooth and even when he is craving something sweet, chocolate is not normally his go-to. When he does eat chocolate, it’s usually dark chocolate and his one chocolate weakness is Cote d’Or’s 86% dark chocolate bars.

2: What do they get on their pizza?

Fran actually ends up really love pissaladière, a type of French street food very much like pizza, with a really crispy crust, caramelized onions, anchovies, black olives, and some grated Gruyere and Parmesan cheeses on it.

3: How well do they handle alcohol?

Honestly, when he first started drinking, not at all. Fran’s a quick drunk early on and because of that, it’s not something he does a lot of. Even when he does learn to better tolerate his alcohol, he’s still pretty featherweight about it all and after a couple drinks, he’s definitely tipsy. Knowing this, and because he doesn’t really trust a lot of people, Fran normally chooses not to drink or nurses a single drink if he’s pushed to do so at social functions.

4: What would be their ideal birthday cake?

I feel like Fran isn’t a huge fan of cake overall. He’d rather, if a cake was needed, that it be something single sized and individual, like cupcakes instead. As mentioned, he’s not a huge sweets fan and while it’s nice to have a birthday ‘cake’, a cupcake is really all he needs. After that, it’s just a chore to eat.

5: Coffee or tea?

I think it really does depend on where in the world he is at the moment. There are countries, like Japan, where he really prefers tea. There’s more of a culture around tea there that interests him and a wider variety of types of tea. However, in places like Italy, the coffee is simply heavenly, and Fran can’t get enough of it. On trips to North America, he gets his caffeine fix with soda though, especially since there’s so many varieties and types.

6: Burgers or hot dogs?

It’s burgers all the way. With a burger, at least Fran knows exactly what it’s made out of, while hot dogs he really has no idea what they’re made out of, how they’re made, and really doesn’t want to know because he feels he would probably puke if all that information came to light.

7: How do they feel about vegetables?

Much like most other varieties of food, there are vegetables that Fran really enjoys and vegetables he hates. He likes lettuce, carrots, raw beans, mushrooms, radishes, and cooked turnip. He really hates peas, both raw and cooked and cooked tomatoes. Raw onions gross him out, but he loves cooked onions.

8: What's their favorite kind of cookie?

Again, as someone who doesn’t eat a lot of sweets, Fran doesn’t really have a strong favourite cookie. He absolutely won’t refuse most if they’re offered, except for oatmeal raisin cookies. Raisins deserve to be eaten on their own, not put in cookies.

9: What's their favorite of the five tastes?

Fran is the kind of guy who really likes both creamy and savory tastes. He’s not a huge fan of sweets, can handle a decent amount of spice, likes some saltiness, but will almost always go for something creamy, like cheese and yogurt, or something savory, like steamed pork buns, which are a weakness of his. He prefers stronger flavours to delicate ones.

10: What's their favorite fruit?

In a silly twist, I really do think it’s apples. He loves the taste of apples and since there were apple trees near where he grew up, I think he enjoyed the luxury of going and picking them straight from the branch. Apples taste better that way, after all, at least according to Fran.

11: Do they prefer hot or cold food?

The contrarian that he is, the answer for Fran is neither. He prefers room temperature or slightly warm/cold foods. He’s big on a lot of finger foods, things that are easy to pick away at, and most of those aren’t served burning hot and definitely not frozen.

12: Are they a big eater, or do they tend not to eat much?

I do think Fran eats a fair amount for someone his size, but it’s eaten in little bits and pieces. He’s someone who eats several dozen small meals (that are more snack sized) than someone who wants to sit down to a huge and extravagant six-course meal.

13: What's their favorite drink?

We’ve already answered this for hot drinks but in terms of cold drinks, I think Fran really enjoys juice. He likes the ‘no sugar added’ fruit juices, the ones that aren’t artificially flavoured and overly sweet, so they’re normally more expensive but he figures it’s worth it for the better taste.

14: Ice cream or popsicles?

Fran, when he eats sweet treats, prefers popsicles. However, what he really likes on hot days is shaved ice. Sacre is his normal go-to since he really enjoys citrusy flavors.

15: Do they spell it "doughnut" or "donut"?

Normally doughnuts aren’t actually something Fran talks a lot about or writes about, so the English spelling of them hasn’t really ever came up. He uses the spelling of whatever country he’s currently living in, along with the word for doughnuts in that language though.

16: How are they at cooking?

Fran can make finger food, things that don’t really rely on cooking too much. He makes an absolutely gorgeous charcuterie board, to be honest. He can make basic cooked meals, like ramen and pasta but past that, his cooking skills decline. It’s not that he’s a bad cook when it comes to the technicalities, because he’s not. If he could just stick to a recipe, he’d be fine, but the problem is that Fran likes to experiment while cooking to some very…insane degrees (Ken swears he once saw an Eldritch beast arise out of a pot that Fran swears was just a soup).

17: From best to worst, how would they rank the Starburst flavors (cherry, lemon, orange, and strawberry)?

Fran goes against popular opinion that the pink Starbursts are the best and tells everyone that Starbursts suck and are hugely overrated on the candy front. They get stuck in his teeth, are a pain to eat, and they don’t even taste that good, in his opinion.

18: How do they feel about spicy food?

As mentioned above, I do think that Fran can handle a fair amount of spice and even enjoys it. However, he wants his food to have flavor, to have a kick to it. He doesn’t want his whole mouth to burn or feel like it’s melting off. Spice shouldn’t get to the pain level in his opinion, not unless he’s the one offering that kind of food to unsuspecting victims friends.

19: Do they have any strange eating habits?

There’s so many strange things about Fran that you would expect him to have so many strange little eating habits too, right? Except he really doesn’t. The strangest he gets is his habit of talking while he eats and holding full conversations while he eats, but that’s more just bad manners and less a strange eating habit.

20: How do they take their steaks?

Fran really enjoys a perfect medium rare steak. However, because most places are absolutely horrible at getting that perfect ‘it’s cooked but just slightly still pink, soft and almost melting in your mouth’ steak, it’s not something he’ll order often. The reviews for the restaurant have to be amazing for him to be willing to give it a try, as a badly cooked steak is honestly one of Fran’s big pet peeves food wise.

21: What do they get on a burger?

He’ll ask for the works, but then he’ll ask for the kitchen to hold the onions, hold the pickles, go light on the mustard, and make sure the bun doesn’t have sesame seeds on it, please. So not the works at all.

22: Do they watch cooking shows at all?

I don’t think that Fran is someone who really watches television. He was raised by a grandmother who was strict about the amount of television he was allowed to watch, and which shows were appropriate for him to watch. He watches a lot more television when he gets with the Kokuyo Gang, but still not a lot. He can only sit still in front of the television for about an hour to an hour and a half at a time before he gets antsy and bored and needs to get up and do something more mentally and physically stimulating. Food shows aren’t something he’d normally ever think of watching, but he might watch an episode of one of Gordan Ramsay’s shows if someone else had them on.

23: What's their favorite snack?

Fran is a simple guy when it comes to snacks. He enjoys chips and fruit as a kid but his favourite as he gets older is really just a good cheese plate. Cheese, some grapes, maybe some meat on there if he’s feeling super fancy. It’s filling, delicious, and easy to do up so why not, right?

24: What's their favorite ice cream flavor?

When he does want ice cream, he likes fruity flavoured ice cream. Strawberry is always a solid choice, but his favourite when he’s in Japan are Lemon Gyunyu Soft’s.

25: What's their favorite meal of the day?

Fran doesn’t have a favourite meal of the day. He’s never stopped to actually think about it at all, honestly, and even if he had I don’t think he could have found an answer. As mentioned, he likes a lot of small little meals throughout the day instead of the standard three meals a day, so it’s a little harder for him to choose.

26: Pancakes or waffles?

Crepes! So, really, the technical answer is neither. I mean, if he was absolutely forced to choose, he’ll take a pancake, roll it into a tube and eat it that way, but he prefers crepes.

27: What's a food they find particularly comforting?

Fran’s grandmother made the most amazing tartiflette you could ever imagine. She’d make it any time Fran was having a rough day, because it was his favourite of her dishes. Because of that habit of hers, he came to associate the dish with comfort and love so that is his favourite comfort food.

28: Do they put marshmallows in their hot chocolate?

No. Fran finds marshmallows to be almost painfully sweet, so he wouldn’t add them to his hot chocolate. He’d rather flavoured hot chocolate, something with peppermint in it or hazelnut, rather than adding extras on top of traditional hot chocolate.

29: If they were a food, what food would they be?

Despite not being a huge fan of sour tastes, I do think Fran would be a sour candy, something like Toxic Waste candies. They’re super sour to the point where your face puckers, enough to make some people spit them right back out. However, keep going and you’ll find some sweetness hidden under all that sour and that sounds just about right for Fran in my opinion.

30: What kind of foods do they hate?

It’s been touched upon here and there throughout these headcanons, and will continue to be, but I’ve mentioned what types of certain things he doesn’t enjoy. As hinted, Fran also does not like super sour things, super sweet things, or super spicy things. Pretty much, the stronger and more intense and overpowering a flavour is, the less likely he is to really enjoy it.

31: Soup or salad?

I do see Fran preferring soup, just because there are a wide variety of soup in his opinion and it’s easier to eat on the go. You can simply drink soups out of a travel mug, for certain types at least. But salads to Fran are always the same – just a bed of greens with some different toppings for the most part and while he enjoys them when he does have them, he’d eat soup more than he’d eat salad.

32: Cupcakes or muffins?

While Fran ordinarily buys neither for himself, if given the choice he would take a muffin over a cupcake any day. He really likes carrot muffins and any muffin type that features berries in them.

33: Do they spend all year waiting for pumpkin spice lattes to come back?

No. Complete no. Fran might be basic in some other ways, but he really doesn’t get the pumpkin spice trend as a whole. He can eat a good pumpkin pie, if it’s offered, but even that isn’t something he actively seeks out. He likes pumpkin soup, but only if it’s offered or on the menu somewhere. He just thinks the trend is weird, not his thing, and would definitely make fun of those who get so excited for pumpkin spice lattes to return.

34: Do they eat food even after it's been dropped on the floor?

Yes. Not even going to lie, Fran definitely would eat food that’s been dropped on the floor, as long as it hadn’t been sitting there for hours or anything. Why not? A couple seconds on the ground is no big deal to him.

35: How do they feel about food touching other food on the plate?

It really doesn’t bother Fran too much. He might sometimes pretend it does, simply to be annoying and get reactions out of other people but it’s really just fake outrage or faking being bothered. He figures his food all ends up in his stomach all touching and being digested, what’s the big deal about it touching on a plate?

36: What would they do if someone took a bite out of their food?

Now this one? This one pisses Fran off. He might not show it at the time…in fact, he probably wouldn’t show just how upset he was at all. What he would do is be petty as anything, making sure to really torture the offender in any way he could for the following days until the person was just absolutely going insane.

38: Do they prefer their noodles al dente, or do they like them softer?

Fran prefers them slightly softer than perfect al dente, but not soft enough to have turned slimy and mushy. Somewhere in the middle is the perfect sweet zone for his palette that he has perfected by the time he’s an adult. He refuses to make pasta any other way, even if the people he’s with prefer it al dente or super soft.

39: How do they feel about bacon's explosive popularity?

Fran honestly doesn’t care. He personally thinks bacon is overrated but he still eats it and enjoys it so he can’t blame other people if it’s their favourite food.

40: What's their favorite kind of candy?

Again, Fran doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth. When he does want candy though, he really likes those fruit snacks made for kids in a variety of fun shapes and colours. He’ll have to buy some if there’s a character or something on the front of the package that he really likes.

41: Do they eat everything they make, or do they tend to save leftovers?

When he’s making food just for himself, Fran tends to only make portions big enough for him. He doesn’t like the thought of wasting food. While it might take him a while to eat everything, since he tends to pick at things here and there, he does eat everything he made and there’s never any leftovers unless it’s someone else who made the food for him, and they portioned things too largely.

42: Do they chew gum at all?

I feel like Fran used to chew gum semi-regularly until he really started living with the Kokuyo Gang for an extended period of time. He likes gum but he stopped chewing it, just because Ken chewed gum so often, so much, and so loudly that it really got under Fran’s skin. Now any fruity gum is something he strongly associates with Ken, the sound, the smell, the packaging and he’s not someone like that dog, so he won’t do the same things.

43: Have they ever eaten something that wasn't edible?

Most definitely. Fran was a curious and weird child, and he wasn’t afraid to try eating things, just to see what they tasted like. Coins, dirt, bugs, his grandmother’s earring once, and paper, he’d try them all.

44: How much cheese-in-a-can would they put on a cracker?

None. Cheese in a can is meant to be squirted straight into your mouth, right? At least, that’s the way it’s meant to be consumed by Fran…well, that or just spraying it at people passing by or spraying it into Ken’s shoes…either or works perfectly.

45: When it comes to Oreos, do they prefer the cookie or the cream?

When Fran eats Oreos, on the rare occasion he does, it’s in this order – separate the cookie and the cream, roll the cream into a smooth little ball, pop the cream into his mouth where he sucks it until it dissolves while he throws the gross (to him) cookie parts into the garbage.

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #fran khr #fran #event asks #replies #character specific headcanons

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thewildwitchkeziah · 4 days ago

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the Winter Ones: Folkloric Figures of Winter, Yule, & Christmas

by Keziah

The winter holidays are ebbing ever closer for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere. With each passing year, more and more practitioners of witchcraft and/or followers of pagan paths have looked to taking up the customs of their ancestors or incorporating those customs into their practices in some way. Holidays have become a popular way of embracing such traditions, traditions that can make diasporic practitioners feel a little closer to home, traditions that can bring one nearer their ancestors, traditions that can aid in making one’s practice and customs truly unique to them.

Winter has many customs and traditions, and those practices differ from region to region. One of my favorite aspects of winter is the amount of figures associated with the season – folk figures unique to the regions from which they hail. For many people, if you ask them about figures they associate with winter, you’ll hear Father Christmas, Krampus, and maybe even a nod or two to Hans Trapp, but there are so many more winter figures out there! In this post, we’ll meet a variety of these folk spirits, and we’ll learn a bit about their tales. It’s my hope that readers of this blog may find a new way of incorporating beliefs or customs of their ancestors or of their homelands (for our readers who are members of diasporic populations), and that, in doing so, their winter holidays may be brighter for it. Now, shall we dive in? Who to meet first…

GRÝLA, JÓLASVEINAR, & JÓLAKÖTTURINN

Grýla, the Yule Lads, and the Yule Cat

(Icelandic Folklore)

A prominent feature in Icelandic Christmas and Yule folklore is the tale of a mountain-dwelling family that descends upon Icelandic communities during the Yule season, or during the 13 days leading up to Christmas. This family consists of –

Grýla – a large, frightening giantess, ogress, or half-troll/half-ogre (depending on what version of the tale you hear) who feasts upon naughty children;

Jólasveinar / the Yule Lads – Grýla’s thirteen thieving, tricksy sons;

and Jólakötturinn / the Yule Cat – Grýla’s pet cat, a massive, vicious, people-eating creature.

According to lore, throughout most of the year Grýla and her crew keep to themselves in some isolated mountainous area. If not in the mountains, it’s often said that Grýla and co. live in Dimmuborgir (lava formations in north Iceland). During the Yule or Christmas season, though, Grýla and her brood leave their domain behind to bring a bit of terror to the inhabitants of Iceland.

For thirteen nights, Grýla’s sons, the Yule Lads, will leave gifts for (and party with, play games with, and perform for) well-behaved children, and leave tricks or warnings for naughty children, but this version only came about after a shift in the tone of the tale. Most sources state that the Yule Lads were once purely horrible and simply wreaked havoc for the thirteen nights leading up to Christmas. Why the change? Well, apparently the original lore was so terrifying that the parliament of Iceland officially outlawed its use as a scare tactic against children. Thus, the brighter lore of playfully mischievous Yule Lads was born, differing greatly from the ‘creepy and revolting’ ways exhibited in the earlier tales.

As the stories go, one-by-one, the Yule Lads go into inhabited areas of Iceland and sow a little terror and chaos, each carrying out his own special form of mischief. They could only do their deeds at night, and were quite terrifying to behold – large, dirty, and ‘humanoid and bestial in equal measure’ (though now most depictions of the Yule Lads feature cheerful, bearded men with woolen clothes and pointed hats). The Yule Lads arrive (one per night) starting thirteen days before Christmas, and each continues their mischief spree for thirteen nights, only then departing (again, one per night).

The Yule Lads are:

Stekkjastaur ‘Sheep-Cote Clod’ – from the 12th - 25th of December, Stekkjastaur sneaks into pens and stables to harass sheep, attempting to suckle them all, though this is made difficult by his long, stiff, wooden legs, which don’t allow him to bend his knees and kneel on the ground.

Giljagaur ‘Gully-Gawk’ – from the 13th - 26th of December, Giljagaur hides in the gullies near homes until all the household has fallen asleep. Then, he makes his way to the cowsheds to steal milk.

Stúfur ‘Stubby’ –Stúfur will, from the 14th - 27th of December, steal into homes and nab anything leftover in the pans. Some versions say he steals the pan itself, for he likes to eat the ‘crust’ left behind on them from cooking.

Þvörusleikir ‘Spoon-Licker’ – from the 15th - 28th of December, Þvörusleikir sets about his diabolical task of breaking into homes and licking all the spoons (in particular, the wooden spoons).

Pottaskefill ‘Pot-Scraper’ – from 16th - 29th of December, Pottaskefill breaks into homes to steal unwashed pots so he can lick up all that’s left, be that the remnants of sauces, broths, and gravies, or leftover bits of food. He’s also said to eat any unfinished foods from plates.

Askasleikir ‘Bowl-Licker’ – from 17th - 30th of December, Askasleikir hides beneath beds, lying in wait for anyone to set their askur down. An askur is an Icelandic wooden bowl with a lid, which, according to these Yule tales, would sometimes be carried off to bed whilst one was enjoying a late-night snack. The bowl would then be placed on the floor beside the bed or just under the bed, where Askasleikir would be waiting to scarf down whatever is left in the askur.

Hurðaskellir ‘Door-Slammer’ – from 18th - 31st of December, Hurðaskellir starts his rounds, going around slamming doors. He finds it even more fun to do whilst everyone is sleeping.

Skyrgámur ‘Skyr-Gobbler’ – from 19th of December - 01st of January, Skygámur commits the heinous act of robbing any and every pantry or refrigerator he can find of skyr, a traditional Icelandic dairy food similar to yoghurt.

Bjúgnakrækir ‘Sausage-Swiper’ – as if Skyrgámur’s antics weren’t enough, Bjúgnakrækir is a rotten old sausage thief. He sits in the rafters of homes, waiting for everyone to go to bed or to look away. Then, he steals as many sausages as he can manage. Bjúgnakrækir makes his arrival on the 20th of December and leaves on the 02nd of January.

Gluggagægir ‘Window-Peeper’ – perhaps the creepiest of the lot thus far (though someone licking all the spoons is the stuff of nightmares), Gluggagægir makes his rounds from the 21st of December - 03rd of January, peeping through windows into homes, hoping to spy something to steal.

Gáttaþefur ‘Doorway-Sniffer’ – from the 22nd of December - 04th of January, Gáttaþefur, lured to your home by the scent of freshly baked laufabrauð (‘leaf bread,’ a traditional Icelandic Christmas bread), arrives to one’s doorway and will attempt to steal the laufabrauð.

Ketkrókur ‘Meat-Hook’ – from the 23rd of December to the 05th of January, Ketkrókur would find a way to steal the meat from your kitchen. He’d hide in the pantry, behind doorways, in the rafters, up the chimney, and he’d use his long, hooked staff, or meat hook, to quickly snatch away the meat either while it was being prepared or from the holiday table itself.

Kertasníkir ‘Candle-Stealer’ or ‘Candle-Beggar’ – from the 24th of December to the 06th of January, Kertasníker, the last of the Yule of Lads, steals candles, especially from children. Candles were once typically made from tallow and were edible, and some lore states that Kertasníker would steal the candles to snack on.

Nowadays, the Yule Lads are said to leave candies and small gifts for good children, placing the goods in the shoes that kids leave on their windowsills in hopes of finding them later filled with presents. Bad children, however, are said to be left nothing but rotten potatoes.

As for Grýla, well… Grýla comes and kidnaps naughty children, loading them into her sack and carrying them back to her husband, Leppalúði (who most sources say is quite lazy and prefers to stay in his cave than to go with Grýla and the Yule Lads to terrorize Icelandic children). Grýla and Leppalúði then eat the naughty children, cooking them up in Grýla’s giant pot or cauldron. Though Grýla and Leppalúði are known to have a particular fondness for eating children, some sources also warn that they’ll eat adults caught outdoors on their own during those long, dark winter nights.

If Grýla and her husband weren’t bad enough, you still have the Yule Cat to worry about, especially if you didn’t receive any gifts of new clothes for the holidays. It’s said that the Yule Cat, on Christmas night, eats anyone it catches that isn’t wearing at least one new item of clothing.

LA BEFANA

(Italian Folklore)

With particular association with Epiphany Eve (the night of the 05th of January), La Befana is witch in Italian folklore (sometimes called, fondly, the Christmas Witch). She’s said to fly around Italy on her broom on the night of Epiphany Eve, when she visits each household with children and fills each child’s stocking with gifts or punishments, depending on whether they were well or poorly behaved. Well-behaved children receive gifts and sweets, while those who were naughtier receive a coal lump, black rock candy, or a stick. Some tales also say that La Befana (who is obsessively tidy in some variations of her origin story) may sweep or clean your house before she leaves.

La Befana is said to be a very old woman with a cheerful, kindly disposition. She dresses simply, usually wearing a shawl either around her shoulders or tied over her hair (sometimes both), and her clothes are soot-covered, as the tales say she flies into each home via the chimney. She carries a wicker basket or cloth sack filled with all of the gifts and sweets she must deliver.

In some Italian regions, bonfires are burned on Epiphany, and those bonfires sometimes feature effigies of La Befana. Many people dress as La Befana at various Epiphany events and festivals in Italy.

ST. NICHOLAS & KRAMPUS

(Central European Folklore)

On Saint Nicholas Day (observed on the 5th or 6th of December, depending on the region), many children throughout Europe (and in diasporic communities around the world), wake up excited to check in their shoes or under their pillows for gifts from St. Nicholas. St. Nicholas, is a tall, lean, cheerful old man with a long white beard, usually depicted as being dressed in fine vestments, including a cape or chasuble, and almost always wearing an ornate miter atop his head. In Central European (and some Eastern European) folklore, though, jolly old St. Nicholas does not work alone.

The Krampus travels as Saint Nicholas’ companion. Usually depicted as a large red, black, or brown demon with cloven hooves and the legs and horns of a goat, pointed ears, a long, pointed or forked tongue, and a frightening, human face with a crazed or menacing expression, Krampus is truly the stuff of childhood nightmares. Saint Nicholas and Krampus make their rounds on Krampusnacht – the night of the 05th of December. While the well-behaved children received gifts from Saint Nicholas, naughty children meet punishment at the hands of Krampus. The punishment varies from one tale to the next – some say that Krampus switches the children with birch branches; some say that Krampus devours the children, often swallowing them whole; and still other tales say that Krampus nabs the children, loading them into the basket or pouch he wears upon his back and taking them to hell.

Despite attempts by the Catholic Church to ban Krampus, belief in the goat demon is very much still alive, with festivals and parades dedicated to Krampus, such as Krampuslauf, booming in popularity.

BELSNICKEL

(Germanic Folklore)

Belsnickel (also often spelled Belschnickel or Beltznickle) is a figure of Germanic folklore that finds its origins in Rheinpfalz, a historic region of Southwestern Germany. The belief in Belsnickel finds life still yet in some areas within this region, as well as in diasporic German peoples (and the descendants thereof) in Pennsylvania Dutch communities (birthed from settlers from the Rheinpfalz region) throughout the US.

Belsnickel is a man dressed in tattered, dirtied furs and clothes. In some versions, he also wears a mask with a long, pointed tongue. Belsnickel travels around at night (usually on the night of Christmas Eve), wielding a long switch in one hand and carrying a sack filled with cakes, candies, fruits, and nuts in the other hand or on his back. Poorly behaved children would receive a switching, while well-behaved children would be given sweets from the sack.

Brown’s Miscellaneous Writings features a first-hand account (having taken place around 1830) of one Beltznickel tradition from Maryland, USA –

‘One hand would scatter the goodies upon the floor, and then the scramble would begin by the delighted children, and the other hand would ply the switch upon the backs of the excited youngsters – who would not show a wince…’

In some Pennsylvania Dutch communities, it’s said that Belsnickel arrives one-to-two weeks before Christmas to ‘check in’ on how the children were behaving, punishing the bad children and serving as a frightening warning and reminder that they had better correct their ways before Christmas.

PERCHTA

(Alpine Folklore)

Known by many names, such as Pehta Baba (in Slovenian lore), Frau Perchta, and Frau Faste (in some Swiss and Slovenian lore), Perchta is a goddess associated with winter, spinning, and folk magic, particularly in Germany and Austria.

Perchta’s association with winter bears particular emphasis on midwinter and Twelfth Night. It’s said that Perchta would enter homes during the twelve days between Christmas and Epiphany, and she would dole out rewards and punishments. Children and servants of the home who had worked hard throughout the year and who had been good people would wake the next morning to find a small gift left by Perchta (usually a coin or trinket, though some modern customs say she may leave candies).

Her punishments, however, were far greater than her gifts. For children and servants who had been poorly behaved, unkind, and lazy, Perchta enters their bedrooms while they slumber, cuts them open, and replaces their stomach and guts with straw. Some tales say she does not replace one's entrails but simply fills the stomach with straw. It’s also said in some tales that Perchta delivers this same punishment to those who on the night of Perchta’s feast day eat something aside from the traditional foods of her feast day (those foods being fish and gruel).

Perchta’s association with spinning also comes into play in some variations of this tale, in which Perchta’s punishment is reserved for those who did not complete their spinning by the time of her visit. She was also said to trample or set fire to any half-spun fibers she discovered.

Perchta’s links to midwinter come from her ties to the legend of the Wild Hunt. Some tales of the Wild Hunt feature Perchta as the leader of the hunt.

As for Perchta’s appearance, there are two main versions. Perchta is sometimes described as a beautiful, young woman, with white or very pale hair and fair skin, usually dressed in white or silvery white hues. This Perchta differs greatly from that featured in some old depictions, which describe a hag woman dressed in rags, with a wrinkled face and a large beak-like nose made of iron. Some descriptions say this woman carries a cane, and many depictions feature her keeping a knife or blade beneath her skirts or robes.

The difference in these two depictions of Perchta is also reflected in the two variations of Perchten – a term that is used to apply to both the masks worn at festivals and processions honoring Perchta, as well as to figures associated with Perchta and seen as her subjects or helpers. Of these figures, there are two types –

Schönperchten: the beautiful, bright Perchten dressed in silvers and whites, said to deliver blessings of wealth and good luck during the Twelve Nights,

and Schiachperchten: the monstrously ugly Perchten with fangs and tusks, horns, tails, and beastly, fur-covered faces. The Schiachperchten are said to drive away evil spirits, ghosts, and demons.

SPILLAHOLLE

The Spillaholle – also known as Mickadrulle / Mickatrulle, Popelholle (‘Hooded Holle’), Zumpeldrulle – is believed to be a regional variation of Frau Holle or Perchta. She is said to be a very short old woman dressed in ragged, tattered clothing and a hood, and is, in some tales, said to carry stinging nettles with her.

The Spillaholle appears in towns and villages during winter, especially nearing Christmas or during the Twelve Nights of Christmas. The Spillaholle, who is strongly associated with spinning, is said to travel through town, peeking in the windows of each house to check to see ‘if the children and spinsters are spinning diligently.’ If their spinning hasn’t been taken care of by evening or nightfall, it’s said that the Spillaholle will dole out punishments. It’s even said that the Spillaholle will take the lazy spinsters away, beating them with the stinging nettles she carries with her. As for those who have finished their spinning, instead of a punishment, the Spillaholle leaves a blessing of protection – a single nettle is left upon the stoop or at the threshold of the home, a nettle that shall protect the house from various misfortunes for the next year.

MARI LWYD

(Welsh Folklore)

The origins of the Christmas tradition of the parading of the Mari Lwyd are up for debate. Some say it’s an early Christian practice, while many others believe that it’s a surviving pre-Christian tradition that’s been Christianized throughout the years. Believed to have come from a wassailing custom, the Mari Lwyd (said by some to mean ‘Grey Mary,’ ‘Holy Mary,’ or ‘Blessed Mary,’ and by others to mean ‘Grey Mare’) is a hobby horse, puppet, doll, or effigy that is paraded through town, carried from door-to-door by wassail-singing groups. This is done during the Christmas season, often ‘between Christmas Day and Twelfth Night.’

The head of the Mari Lwyd is usually a skull of a hoarse (and in most cases, the same skull is to be used each year), though there have been accounts of a head being carved from wood or shaped from a pillow. The skull (or makeshift horse head) is beautifully decorated with flowers and ribbons (the ribbons usually making up the Mari Lwyd’s mane), and has lights, baubles, or bottle glass for eyes. A white cloth is draped from the horse’s head down over the base of the Mari Lwyd, concealing the carrier of the doll underneath. A spring or stick is usually attached to the lower jaw of the skull, so that the jaw can be made to open and snap shut.

The parade is to begin at dusk or sundown. Singing and dancing is to be enjoyed whilst the Mari Lwyd makes her way along. At each door, the Mari Lwyd procession would perform traditional songs, and the household was to reply (usually through the closed door) with improvised, taunting poetry, usually delivering some kind of funny insult. A competition then ensues, a back-and-forth between the Mari Lwyd party and the household (this is a ritual called pwnco), until one side was bested and gave up, having no reply. Should the Mari Lwyd procession singers lose, they leave empty-handed. Mari Lwyd winning and entering the house, though, is believed to be a blessing that will bring good fortune to the household for the coming year.

The Mari Lwyd is said to be mischievous as well – chasing people, gnashing her jaws to scare children, and even trying to steal things or knock things about when she enters a home.

DED MOROZ & SNEGUROCHKA

(Slavic Folklore)

Ded Moroz (also called Dedushka Moroz – and other variations of Grandfather Frost – and Morozko) is familiar to many as Russian Santa, but Ded Moroz is much, much more than that. Ded Moroz finds his origins in pre-Christian Slavic paganism and folklore as a great magician and wizard of winter. Belief in Ded Moroz and customs surrounding him were banned during the early Soviet era. Nevertheless, Ded Moroz not only lives on, but has become a winter icon in East Slavic culture and is now the main figure associated with Novy God, the secular Christmas-like Russian celebration of New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.

Ded Moroz – a tall, old man with rosy cheeks and long white beard, who dresses in a floor-length fur coat and fur hat, and usually wields a magic staff – travels about (usually depicted travelling by a horse-drawn sleigh) delivering gifts to children. Some tales say that he delivers gifts all through December as well as on New Year’s Eve night, when he places the gifts under the New Year Tree whilst the household is sleeping.

One aspect of Ded Moroz’s tale that is rather unique is that of Snegurochka – Ded Moroz’s granddaughter who helps him make his deliveries. Snegurochka (also called Snegurka and the Snow Maiden), unlike Ded Moroz, doesn’t find her roots in pre-Christian Slavic lore, but rather in 19th century Russian fairytales. Snegurochka wasn’t depicted as Ded Moroz’s granddaughter until after 1935, when the holiday of Novy God was permitted by the Russia Federation. From then on, Snegurochka became Ded Moroz’s granddaughter and assistant, and has since been more commonly depicted as wearing wintery silver and blue cloaks and a fur hat (sometimes a crown made of glistening snowflakes).

SOURCES & FURTHER READING:

Þjóðsögur Jóns Árnasonar - the Collection of Folklore of Jón Árnason The Icelandic Yule Lads and their evil mother Gryla A Journey Around the Figure of the Befana – Manciocco, Claudia; Manciocco, Luigi Krampus | Definition, History, & Facts The Origin of Krampus, Europe's Evil Twist on Santa ‘the Krampus and the Old Dark Christmas: Roots and Rebirth of the Folkloric Devil’ – Ridenour, Al The Winter Goddess: Percht, Holda, and Related Figures: Folklore: Vol 95, No 2 ‘Deutsche Mythologie’ – Grimm, Jakob Holda: Between Folklore and Linguistics Who is Belsnickel in Pennsylvania German Christmas lore? ‘Brown’s Miscellaneous Writings’ – Brown, Jacob Yes Helen, there is a Belsnickel ‘A Dictionary of British Folk Customs’ – Hole, Christina The Mari Lwyd ‘Ritual Animal Disguise: A Historical and Geographical Study of Animal Disguise in the British Isles’ – Cawte, E.C. Mari Lwyd, a Welsh Christmas Tradition ‘A Tour Through Part of North Wales, in the Year 1798, and at Other Times’ – Evans, J. ‘Perchta the Belly-Slitter and Her Kin: A View of Some Traditional Threatening Figures, Threats and Punishments’ – Smith, John B. Felix und Ulrich Mueller - Percht und Krampus ‘the Old Magic of Christmas: Yuletide Traditions for the Darkest Days of the Year’ – Raedisch, Linda "Дед Мороз и Снегурочка" (Grandfather Frost and the Snow Maiden) –Dushechkina, E. B. ‘Encyclopedia of Russian & Slavic Myth and Legend’ – Dixon-Kennedy, Mike

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art-portraits · 5 days ago

Text

Isabel (Swinburne) and Thomas Crathorne

Artist: Francis Cotes (British, 1726-1770)

Date: 1767

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: The Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens, San Marino, CA, United States

Biography

Thomas Crathorne was born in 1721, the only son of Margaret (Trapps) and George Crathorne. He descended from a Roman Catholic family in the North Riding of Yorkshire with an ancient history of piety and a strong tradition of recusancy. The Crathornes were unusual in the region for sustaining both faith and fortune well into the late eighteenth century. On his uncle Ralph's death in April 1755, Thomas succeeded to the estates of East Ness and Crathorne Hall in the North Riding, which had been in the family's possession since the fourteenth century. Four months later, on August 13, 1755, in Hovingham, Yorkshire, he married Isabel Swinburne, who also descended from a venerable northern Catholic family. She was born on November 8, 1731, the eighth of eleven children of Sir John Swinburne (1698-1745), 3rd Bart., of Chapeaton, Northumberland, and his wife, Mary (d. 1761), only daughter and heir of Edward Bedingfeld. Among her four brothers were Henry Swinburne (1743-1803), the cosmopolitan antiquarian and travel writer, and Sir Edward Swinburne (1733-1786), 5th Bart., great grandfather of the poet Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909). Thomas and Isabel resided at Crathorne Hall and had five children. Little more is known of their lives. Thomas died at home on February 21, 1764 at the age of forty-three. His wife became sole administrator of his estate, which she held in trust for his heir, seven-year-old Henry Ralph (1757-1797). Thirty-three years old at the time of her husband's death, Isabel Crathorne never remarried. The date of her death is unknown.

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lboogie1906 · 7 months ago

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The Nigerian Civil War, known as the Nigerian-Biafran War, was a three-year bloody conflict with a death toll numbering more than one million people. The war began with the secession of the southeastern region of the nation on May 30, 1967, when it declared itself the independent Republic of Biafra.

Nigeria has often experienced an uncertain peace. Following decades of ethnic tension in colonial Nigeria, political instability reached a critical mass among independent Nigeria’s three dominant ethnic groups: the Hausa-Fulani in the north, Yoruba in the southwest, and Igbo in the southeast. On January 15, 1966, the Igbo launched a coup d’état under the command of Major-General Johnson Thomas Umunnakwe Aguiyi-Ironsi in an attempt to save the country from what Igbo leaders feared would be political disintegration.

Less than two months after Biafra declared its independence, diplomatic efforts to resolve the crisis fell apart. On July 6, 1967, the federal government in Lagos launched a full-scale invasion into Biafra. The Nigerian army surrounded and buffeted Biafra with aerial and artillery bombardment that led to large-scale losses among Biafran civilians. The Nigerian Navy established a sea blockade that denied food, medical supplies, and weapons, again impacting Biafran soldiers and civilians alike.

Biafra stood firm refusing to surrender in the face of overwhelming Nigerian military superiority. The Nigerian Army continued to slowly take territory, and on January 15, 1970, Biafra surrendered when its military commander General Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu fled to Cote d’Ivoire.

An estimated 3,000 to 5,000 people died daily in Biafra from starvation as a result of the naval blockade. The international reaction to the military conflict helped define how the world now views and responds to similar #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

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totallyseiso · 1 year ago

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The non-binding UNGA resolution calling for an immediate ceasefire in Gaza passed with 153 in favour, 10 against, and 23 abstentions.

In favour: Afghanistan, Albania, Algeria, Andorra, Angola, Antigua and Barbuda, Armenia, Australia, Azerbaijan, Bahamas, Bahrain, Bangladesh, Barbados, Belarus, Belgium, Belize, Bhutan, Bolivia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Botswana, Brazil, Brunei, Burundi, Cambodia, Canada, Central African Republic, Chad, Chile, China, Colombia, Comoros, Congo, Costa Rica, Cote d’Ivoire, Croatia, Cuba, Cyprus, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (North Korea), Democratic Republic of the Congo, Denmark, Djibouti, Dominica, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Egypt, El Salvador, Eritrea, Estonia, Ethiopia, Fiji, Finland, France, Gabon, Gambia, Ghana, Greece, Grenada, Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, Guyana, Honduras, Iceland, India, Indonesia, Iran, Iraq, Ireland, Jamaica, Japan, Jordan, Kazakhstan, Kenya, Kuwait, Kyrgyzstan, Laos, Latvia, Lebanon, Lesotho, Libya, Liechtenstein, Luxembourg, Madagascar, Malaysia, Maldives, Mali, Malta, Mauritania, Mauritius, Mexico, Monaco, Mongolia, Montenegro, Morocco, Mozambique, Myanmar, Namibia, Nepal, New Zealand, Nicaragua, Niger, Nigeria, North Macedonia, Norway, Oman, Pakistan, Peru, Philippines, Poland, Portugal, Qatar, Republic of Korea (South Korea), Republic of Moldova, Russia, Rwanda, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Samoa, San Marino, Saudi Arabia, Senegal, Serbia, Seychelles, Sierra Leone, Singapore, Slovenia, Solomon Islands, Somalia, South Africa, Spain, Sri Lanka, Sudan, Suriname, Switzerland, Syria, Tajikistan, Thailand, East Timor, Trinidad and Tobago, Tunisia, Tuvalu, Turkey, Uganda, United Arab Emirates, United Republic of Tanzania, Uzbekistan, Vanuatu, Vietnam, Yemen, Zambia, Zimbabwe

Against: Austria, Czechia, Guatemala, Israel, Liberia, Micronesia, Nauru, Papua New Guinea, Paraguay, United States

Abstain: Argentina, Bulgaria, Cabo Verde, Cameroon, Equatorial Guinea, Georgia, Germany, Hungary, Italy, Lithuania, Malawi, Marshall Islands, Netherlands, Palau, Panama, Romania, Slovakia, South Sudan, Togo, Tonga, Ukraine, United Kingdom, Uruguay

#glad to see australia vote in favour instead of following the us and/or uk #this may not achieve anything on its own but hopefully seeing that this many countries want a ceasefire could increase pressure

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libidomechanica · 11 months ago

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“The sparrows crownd, where I made of man”

A sonnet sequence

My fates are alle þe mete and lurk; her hat and sky; wonder. In pieces. I think they gazed upon a pillars of mine: I cannot be bitte bi þe chapel rydes, monk oþer munt for dread; thy packets, all from piety, or from her father willy- nilly flows the liquefaction of the North. Love professions that reseeds itself: the soil’d: thus is theogony? As the worser spirit—not a sense. I dreamed I was fair as any men. Maintain the leave me here his this? The sparrow’s crown’d, where I made of man. To holde yow! Standing army who stand, the sooner star, thy guide, shines cleere.

He brought by day’s end assembled into her arms a wet napkin, wrapp’d about: but evermore came murmur’d like Water will keep a heart is sick of woe; my life is in her sad ears like a rose—syne pale year in my body, layer by lent, as a knyȝt mynne. I don’t know your direction; on her sire: On me, ’ she saw fair Annie, O Annie, Annie, Annie, speak without the shuddering creation which do they tell, to them and dounez, ne kyd bot as couenaunt schop ryȝt so, fermed in Arþurez hous Arthor. I relece þe of þat knyȝt þe gordel of þe grene silken twine.

So, little moment her many death to cloke. Forget, renoun of Gawayn, in god fayth, to be a good use. Air. And sunk upon his Soul found thy perfect day. A thousand scimitars await her; on her breast for my lost all hell where they most rich of its own merits; for love, a heȝe ernde and oily courted: wha spied and waytez as wroþeloker haf waret, to þe hyȝe kyng þe lere he embark’d, and marrow. Now, while I kiss the wealth have been hurl’d from the place; þe howndez þat chekke hit to þe erþe; ner slayn wyth yow sum game; dos, techez hym þen lymped. A strayte cote ful stoutly ascryed.

Re-cement our lives. As boys love profered. I wolde fulsun hom, þe fayntyse of þat chapel of my displays of the best, double-felde, as þe stones dead relief! Of baser Earth are unmating the free, toward the garland weak; I love you and the lips for any haruest Queene. With layers the great hearts are not my fond endeavour. With pyping and be at the brag o’ the Buskie- glen and wide, as but a little change: thy pyramids built on a time, true knights’ fees. Of all Created of, but arose, and we gazed upon her, as thou sea of speechless lie beneath the salt sea, or Thetis.

As a crime to go as þou hatz taken— for ho hatz dalt—disserued semly hit semed hym in syþes sere. To love it, that bless: they send: for each year them, at least all, yea, the fuel; and almost every mantyle watz in drouth, I feel a little Cup whose accent no fault in women sang; and there grief forgetting air and vitamins. Yet saw but he grew strongly you remain; thy life forget-I kept sounding on my soul. Who promise to elope like decay’d, the crew; in vain my substance, and scarlot berries by the Turmoil, creeps aside, and, relaxing, waned against the sun in flight!

That on the wall is specialté þat speche, bot þat ȝe prece to ful perelous is halden, and that it lasts the lost as much force my ways of saints with him, and swallows’ call? Better by the seal. Even to gaudy house and runs natural atmosphere, extremely taken with cold, and credit: Like displaced, made Catherine, pondering: it is to rest, did I look for ease in mind, as an egg. Self-sway’d our feels, and ay þe lappez þay past. Of all love approaches—Ellen stone jaw of a deep dear sweet myrtles shall I tell the animal loveliness. From room to roost Of asphodel, for your daughter. Who art dearest Juliana’s eyes? My foe behelde þat Arþur þe raȝt, hid hit þe weued, I watch’d— the lucid outlined in lusty arms; it glides away, and’t shall thy chosen, that holds deare. Perhaps a young feelings, they are awa’ that will: out spake a dame in wrinkles. There death, desires.

That must we beneath their tongue could I care? At vche warþe oþer better to worse, sure of heart, who had laid him in the best þat I knew your feature: incapable of truth, of lasting union—slashing. Come, dear cockade, ye’re but pilgrims made, maie, the Door as in a harmonica line dance. The hard sky limits here? Fools are less foul as being praise that which do in excellencie passed— prayses þe soþe for gile. The greene, colours meete to þe comlych fere, bot sum for cortays carp closed so clene with tale.—As if too brittle of it—she stood upon their My grief to find three, when the price to death!

Through optics black beauty and dusky race. As sauerly and cortays knyȝt falle! I know not why, and in love, but adoring, see, no mortal as I were born at Bethlam. Tho’ a’ my wearied mind draw from the large—hit watz late, þay lance; and as my friends: the lace, thou hast sail’d it round thee; I am shamed by thy comfortez þe colde bounden wyth þe best, double-felde, as he saw her branches of cherubim! As every lucky blunder, call’d from the crimson comes it that moment, the tattoo pulsing at the page wondering how she would not from point to proof, to try an old grandfather?

Of hewe. He knows—HE knows! Slaughter move, and Ywan, Vryn son, ette with cold, this he owed to armes, ne no schelde vnder his sin. Stella, loadstar of despair under my head, which— as a whelp clings like love is sometimes convey what was the Stars to common-sense! The sun in flight that worst if he halde þe quile. So they treated it, I do not shrink. Love but Like, a semi-demi goddes þerfore, hende knyȝtes; to þe hal dor, his hands! To heare a dolefully his lips and misery.—That times are all women bygan, or glod to an ende in halle. The moth, grinning sand. Besides, he or shame.

Did I hear ye lie; for had I founden wyth no membre, bot þe poyntez, þaȝ polyst þay were a way as any of Mortality! Hade hit hym lachchez, ledes hym þat al þuȝt þenne al rypez and erbez, wela wynne wil hit neuer shine on me. I think of this youthful joys, or foxlike in thine? I dance with the West, and Bi þis skyl’ sayde Cros Kryst me no more;—Farewell love a nations’—not yet saved, as hit were embraces o’erflow, led through the death of smoke are generally prosperous in reigning; which my Love his chambre for to ferk þurȝ mony meruayle þaȝ hym no gomen þoȝt.

Afraid I pout when on your face where awful arches make a tent, and under Friends! Bi a forȝ of a flode þat Arþur vpon, þat aþel is now that the torrent of recover by and bring for you and merry was she but and berez, and ben; Blythe by the poor kind sea-sick passengers turn’d my slight saw the Fantom Image of you with a nobleman from her breast, defying augury with loss of brass that brief as summer shine between, above, below. And stel to his Earth descend then majesty, which Life bestowes on me, O eyes, and be at home it might be, so loude þat hym an oþer, and some inscribe truths, that spattering, who did not Love her dream, mither, it were þay boȝed to hear such, or ne’er display: she, so disheuld blush when happiness at a long for þy luf þat I hade hent in a case of Auld Lang Syne! To the bark of every weary, and deserts? And I seal.

Of which I have repair’d off with such a world? And can find none to Chide! Desires has broke, I rose and rest, that I should look, shall profit while they must be possibility poised his rine, his molaynes, and it has its endings. And once as you releases man from fear, a little thinks I might take away my hand upon him her flash’d the Sea’s self but thy stream the tears dry. A strangers feel a little helpe their siesta took, a gentle dames, and sone þer com a porter, and as it fell, or better, bot for ȝe haf a lemman, a leude, on Nw Ȝere, an oþer barlay, and wide, as well.

Finding, too, that numbers join, thy voices, wild with Florian, unperceiving fingers paralyz’d with an unnumbered flock, this must we eat. Of course the offer went beyond, they dwelling, and his bow, and love, the Iliad and Helvoetsluys, thou growest beauty’s frail deeds might have left a trample upon the fayrer fonge and stirring vp sterne strife. All of you; the radio plays its sphere,—but would care form’d a poet’s foreheads, vacant leaves they are raven black was none thinks my luve, though she were the very spirit hath rotted thee my heauy mouldy mammoths, grant me go: take back down.

Must finish, thou leave forgotten, bone bag man, your hed helde no woþe, haylsed he neuer þe lece to ful perelous is halden, and groans of buried ghosts I do not go astray. That even a maid;—the humming. Me of those flame was proxy-wedded string, or a wild, and set his world adores, for so watz grayþely departing pang, the brag yond Bullocke beares, so smirke, so smooth’d forth her father dear! Positions. The phantom glue my clasping at full worth: beauty’s frailties whispers talk’d of an eyelash dead cold my wrath did greue. For thy revenge in yowre knyȝt; to hym I haf fonged þat wyȝe.

For gold tune; he cheats us from Michelangelo, hands from my soul began to pray for the tenor’s voice that to do? Thus, with a goud wylle and waked to þe plesaunce of the gifts; he said, I won’t analyse—our stockings prowl, and þou schal me pryk for prowes of affection of th’ all-beauteous boy, and her brydeles, vche burning on thy fairy charms my whole thinks she understood, its webs. Ah, take her mind; Yet hold me oft a sleepe: let alle þe mute hade hurt is not end me, left him up their season was a hummingbird sipping underneath the Oake, pitied of none.

Or are ye Queen of Heaven knows, it is, then, thou canst prevail against thinking t was shaped? Virtues thou wert wont to do? Sees in one another’s dwelling. In Blood, kings have one or two—is gone, the servile to a small animals: an old Roman prior to chaunge wyth þe conysaunce to forsake. Thus we sit together possible, now with Arþer he bode in hard iisse-ikkles. In these Angels see, before the eye, the whole world spin for ever, wha for their tongue would lie fallow; now the sands a gloom enough, for me. But I hae dream once more interlace. And subject as more fancy!

The present nor the less, and robb’d no longer than worst vpon Krystmasse with vases, to fuddle with vases, to worthe, with ryȝt I þe kyng and beauty, the way home. So close of Eden blowe your parts. There comes, but now befal loves Triumph, must not cry to your age, repeyreth houndez so great authority. So Cathering in their extremely troubled hands and I myself, believe, thought I saw my father’s frontier of ages on records Ravenna’s carnage, but therewithall away sum oþer knyȝt with mournyng he sayde to late: suppose him then unpaved strong in the might choose my all.

Just at this same forward longing constellation for it half in doze I seem to pass thy saving&rescues me anyhow listen to it; and there is paid to beauty from the man your round me hopped and chose to the bridegroom wished that winds of her black snakes upon the surgeon’s knife to cut theirs more than for their dresses you wear, thy shepheard swayne: sike a iudge, as Cuddie, freshest cheek, in this desk, of what we before Salámán’s Soul, and was sensitive and feared to overlean a finger bled, but speach, alas, that glows. She sail’d it roused to re-cement our little tired of yȝen, when at Petersburgh; suppose him that they heard him crept behind in the Bough puts out, and b the last, to chafe and sesed at some parts his duty, in royalty of sweeter than life begun: rift the beauteous region both defy, until I see that my heart had one, than the sunlight, wherein my place?

Quiet sheep and beat me then greuez grene þis gome gered bitwene two souls: nay, four. Hotter think, in its sheath: mark how its life is the last Man’s knead, and there he schrof hym schowen to þe flette, freke, lest craþayn he sete in þis Nwe Ȝerez lyȝt, longe to terror to enjoy. Of his brother, ere the charms, and are. And ho stepped thoughts serene! With Raucocanti lucklessly before, since here is a mere philanthropy I compress’d with nimble fancy falls into pure forward to an ende. What is old, and their lances past bounding on the halcyon Morn to fylle vpon joye, for þre at þys onez?

Thy pangs be so; and i say that incarnate lie, would be chill’d by snow! Desires has broken and we bot on littel daynté þare of the age to turn to, lightingale alone: cloistered from his eyes that mercenary pack all, with which hovers on the grainy dusk toward, the night, destructions of Cockney spirit a woman colours had too little thinks I might be, that’s one convulsive groan; on her stopped lips, and odd female, who madest him thy hart did trembling is. Or Paradise was like a rising souls are laid the lass of Lochroyan, as an East Indian markets overflow.

To recreate the more spight: and subject as morn, to steal away, children nursed, deliver’d into halle; quen he watz and beauty, all Young innate feeling as thou art welcomest wyȝe one, and of hope, I wished his way, do not like a dream he was not your winged crocodiles. Go call out I know how it gave offence, Let me gowd, but the Face of what would rather this mop and sit in his face, and gef hem alle goud day, þe golde rungen aboute, of þy knokke coward, in these spindrift pages nor for shame, are as I trow thou be’st loth, by sun or clime? And gazing on the calendar.

And Pallas for a lieutenant of our slumber: not the tortoise crawls; troops of untended: laiko, Common Sense. Stella, Starre of her recollect far sweetness that attempt with eyes the daisy-star that worth al þe roust of Wisdom in his semblaunt sene; he ferde for wet filaree and meikle thing whose accents, your hed helde þou hit hatz, halde þe quile. If thou dost loudly vaunt, not why or where’er my grief that old Potter shriek, and half house; he hade ben ded and obstinate skin, love but told his spere and sea’s borders to inspired and of paradise, and telle yow lykez; I schal dryue.

Wild men who caught for island of all thy fame! Over the unpaid bill, Despair, which royally did smile, like a parting, she raisèd up her head, and gainst the wonder your dearth. The world’s art for beauty, and swyþely hym kydde, and contains repent old pleasure you! So you do but love. As we stepped the same, and þe whene alce, and let se how þou fles for þe los weldez neuer þe helden to home, and hath pressed hym diȝt. Was never know how the four winged crocodiles. And arm’d from Juan’s setting night. Life. For such great wrong done but in such as marre hym his whisper her upper crimson comes nae ill.

Why, all the poor can’t get out, ’ like Yorick’s starward longing to be seen? A lover looks, thy worth, despite my sad and spread, under my heart sorrow-clouded eyesight quite pese is of pure golde werke, ne wowyng of the Three-feather’d Fowl, discharged with wit, admitted through Manheim, Bonn, what is not half house; but forst clengez adoun, leuez his masse, with the first taught meets she things forth; their holders. Because the world hear planet that warmed by thy eyes shoulder half a gale; high doth dissolution climb, and he was one who was their hydes, like the house is this? Doth much sele in cheuisaunce to qualify.

Of gentle press’d, no craving with thy flame my plunging thee. Ill death alone and crowing space; I will not find some inscribe truths, that godly hym kyssed; he welcumed worþy as ȝe may not forsake thy sovranty, recoiling wind on glassy water’d afterwards do from out the false impostor can we trust? And he was not to save the house is a letting go. Perhaps to pick up shoes, and me, that their stature, striue, such force in the things—ocean and Haidee’s bosom under that vngently came. His neck like rocks melt wi’ the sea-snakes coil and though I could ne’er declared my firm belief in her hert. The longer it is my father’s Arms they stow’d him, as loved. For to hent hit at your mitt not then the bound no Key: there is Kosciusko’s names, pulling of travelers can’t appoint our lives. Whirling eddies, and with piercing frowns to kill; but the passion free. A chill so numbing yougth to spil.

And laws unto the poor do waiting for weight market scarce is knowledged my life provide than satire, he still I but ashes prove twas but small leaded panes. Or hand obeys. And sigh, or glowing guilt exalts the grief’s strength or weight of a window, and waive thee dear, couldst not abhorr’d gigantic proportions of Cockney spirits of talk; nothing but then they’re over; thy baited hooks shall ready should resign, for he is tan, tas to no earth could write not, think to flyȝe ful hyȝe to þe kyng comfort and mists at length not that Muse stirr’d with the sun strike down into my Darkness cries, alas!

Of all the whole court us no more! Days eternal sunshine from too wide a breast, the face aglow with your famish’d count no more fit for his schyree grece, and hery with his heau’nly beames of love, thy beauty of things—ocean and his launced after a time to thy solitude retired,—and so hardy in þis euen þyn aunt, Arþurez half, or a flame the death from mobs as kings—from you, that dark eye meets she talk’d their level, such all she made; and now, through, I do not shrink, like figure. I would ever wife was like that slowly crimson comes again with; the next grand when she does diddly.

And þat ȝe breue wolde com to þe dale; and his piteous plea, him resteyed, and of breake; loue did set her deed, and Thine only—I, mine host to a livelier land; and stad with him, and Kryst I kende yow of kyssyng he carppez hem tille, wyth clene sylk wyth þe schyree grece schorne vpon fyrst, and wrought you to me, as unkind, no fancy while in my though, we were swyfte by his tree. And more he ben ded of þe were widows, Lady Blanche’ she sat down, and drank in Joy; shall thy passion and skill, nor remedy, could’st the called; a plump-armed Ostleress and a helme on his boþe armes, with my souerayn I holde on þe des and yourself for rough, not I, ’ he said, the higher beauties, called mine together. Sweet the Road; but not the Parliament of the sacrifice, amid that far too far, till my life from books entered on chasyng þat þe wyȝe, and pausing as close to that never know how change alike, named from.

) Thou break through the shadow passed reproved. After many a dear strong when clear to year for long goodbye like a cedar fell’d. When I tune myself to trwluf expoun of drurye þat dawed bot þryse, þe lorde hym aboute þe haþel þen on a spere henged all my life forms that lightly dread reposed; when þay wysten bot blysse. Ye rugged rocks! Never be clean any mo, I redyly schal seche me trembling I unclose, the Sage under that brow, feeds you by printing half turns on the Branches of cherubim! Least, poor fish beset, with money in the calendar. Along with its synonym.

Iron blunter growing in the First Hair, drove Penmen, as in humble cot, and its day. Unless we call such Clytemnestra, though life, just then, they see no beautye I weene, the body gryde, uch wounds for the princely poet, silly man: thought of her cleaues doth kisses from afar, nor for the train came, twas no hypocrite at least light was in the table. Ah Willye his old tune; he changeless fellowship soon, because I knew no better angel from wave to see and mee: I pyne for pain nor smart: lovers, bravery turns paler, seeing how bright-beaming when I’m indoors of all the wast Oake.

With blinded of those power for Babylon’s than foe: whom she employes, dismisse from gliding back not the meadows managed like and lachez luflych adoun, leuez hym so clene spures vnder of bryȝt golde hewen, þe mon hit praysed with weeping, among whose Candle is that seemes, as leuest him that lately, left his Desert; there’s that, as from palms in clay! And scatter firefly- like in court were, and garland washing in disorders to the sprout of sight; my lips let me, true it is to rest the common sense of Logres, so often lie deepest in a hurry, as going away sum oþer gate; the wretch’s aid, some small sword, but nothing I did not how, as is the same to his belt and on lyte droȝen. And as the moonlight lone how she lovers bring in sighs, and I won’t read him, this has not enough to suppose him thy husband, from pole to half of this orphan he hade a hole, when cloud.

Will be false, ere I was, the joy of your bad instinct like old man’s intense she drew: swift to him, as love Platonic love, even thousand blood bounded? We left upon the dusk of Day, I watched you better than they, yet t is innoghe þoȝt, and mony a bonk, a wonder the rising and of dreadful sacrifice, as tis that love up groweth within whose voices, wild white girls longed to luf, lasse hit is þe most true that then? And a song neuer in hot water— and I will have felt a doorknob, for your lyf; þe last sight which holy well; I will was quite forgetting on the bugle-horn.

And his son and tears, green ribboned water, leaden Castle wa’, she still place, I cannot tell me of my hous lenged, for he is tan, tas to nourishing things ill, thou placer of place, þe alder þen þe houndes wyth þe stablye, þat is large excitement the grain, as fallez, and he schuld rech yow be chose his burþe schauen schafte ne no schelde and burning star that my name I am wyȝe vnworþi were, across a city which too poetic war to wage, and brouzed, and Lover are not betray’d to rivals in the solstice thunderbolt. But when the prince I left you, chopping thro’ the outer gate, pulling fetter—love had made a pause. We saw the sad highway ringed from isolation: there to obliterated Tongue, thy voice is spoilt by affection be, so t is bed watz þe last sight and kiss; and He that to the First Hair, drove Penmen, as in a hurry of waste, þe world—ah me!

And of þe houndez, and bryȝt sunne; wyt ȝe wel trawe. But we stood before her banish mee. Though modest, on his knowledge saw his fair doth trust, and thunders, crept with other of annoy; stella, should take from hidden in wod so wlonk. Is frowne. That heav’nly-pensive ghosts gliding. Concrete too feeble to do more the second principle of our June—shall the cup before we parley: we so strong in dreams have change that lately bore into the wings be, a long-drawn Sigh, my Clay with her schankes þere þe felle ouer loked. Others thou do’st dwell; and askez, Ferde lest a saying, though young man, your stave.

—Lo, laughing lover as pale and ȝe ar a lede vpon folde watz þerinne oȝt say. As for the prima donna and tears: and the nightingale that hiatus maxime deflendus’ to bear upon your slim, expressly foretold, and siþen mony iapez, til þat hit watz Gryngolet, and hwen hit in that grace, and hat in a green breckan, wi’ purple and conueyed, bikende hym to his awen chambrez with lower fellows, all of a Celestial palms, and bright clouds descend; dust into Grece, þat spends her wrist, but come with necks unyoked; nor is it teeth clamping thro’ the divineness Union.

The tinkling rill to keep my mind; syllables both white robes ful mony; forþi me for one shepeheards daughter, was left behind, that now makes him pardon that spangled breast. You read my stanzas, and heȝly of his quick object from thy brands with increase! That fine fixed place the lawn, the body deranges itselfe, still it grew both defy, not leaving songs have stood, for he alone can deny than in the past to this time the Brazils, and turn’d her paroxysm drew the time will to secure, the source of orient pearl makes the great Hunter—the Wild Ass stamps o’er his helme, þer watz much did shine.

And þe grace will I dwell in; so well hath wearied on mince, a rhyming lovers are ridiculous. An order from the place seemed a though you know myself, a sigh relieved in not that is bigger fellowship in the lounges two steps down for speeding because you keep my mind, love and forefinger, the present vouches ne’er could hear planet chiming clear, and far, near death, if shed, presents to the ship travel. And wha will build a bonny lass of water; and Juan their vocation had no part ought to grow; but bland the thrilling the genitals I feare me, and not too near, instead of day.

Their eares hungrie of each sad, sorrow hath shut me safe and scattered catalepsy’. Where were sun or moons and stepping into the common treasure lives in every other side, which I have found a thing whose braunche. And ay sawes so suited, and oþer, for suche in þat same, þat schulde telle, of þe worlde askez; serched hem after wyth serenely savage woman: these effectually is out of a weed that harmes had been poised at Troye, iwysse, and too bold, I feare me, thou shalt win. She might have lost in its sheath: mark how thy self: cast all, yea, this truth— to prove how I know not why, and ladyez.

Is always envy, thought it, and ‘Will’ more. Guess I figures on the hinny he’ll nourish languishment. His arms with the sky and whole world, I doubt shoulder; and all my life I sported, who say strange princess; she, you think of thee! I hope þat þe couering o’er the other die than thought his stormy darte, while ribboned walls; the Ball no more day be fill’d with hymself a-stirrup for the less, the witless Falstaff of a hole one, and start bi stoundez, and he begun: rift the right—It’s a’ covered owre wi’ the simmer, when he best of living fame, may rue the iolly shepheards gladde with schnapps’—sad dogs!

Then shall stands the nations should’ve said what cool cave shall be for one especial providers than human thou hast been, she thinks would have to set himself, a sigh, nor a tendency to spare, love smitten, juan much joys as rare in tech of a more ungainly Make: they sneer at my feet warm and chafed his berde, at frekez þat ran on race. There was once romantic, and robb’d no longe lye or to lay one’s attain, was the Ground. Bi alder- truest token of sturne, and how that still thy Secret Beauty slander with human fellows with continents, the vacant leave me time, where thee, than cough life, near her.

Face, of temptation; but gleg as light to show the grass fell down on Danaë in a storm has prove, burning to recall the more and to some sailing of amber, a pavement. And its core like to honour, wait till my bliss: fie, pleasure lives were the gate now, through there in his cloþez, whyssynes vpon queldepoyntes þat schulde loutes þerto, and let them shake upon your tongue silly poet, silly me do not the murmuring how all desolation with the day till welcom, wyȝe, welcum to won quyle þe halme halched in the old Law did say, i’ll force, something that hides always had a quiver.

You may buye gold that this flesh upright hands. Her gloomy voices should strive to the wind which neglect is hastening to repeat how Time is out of frame? That she was she but fully, and three, when we first o’erwhelming world, you say, knowing, new-perfum’d with mony luflych knyȝtez and last till morning, friend be dear than ever tarry. The morning on the strength are much pass’d these lips it part, nor his meyny, on þis be þe grene gome, God yow forȝelde! Which word which in youthful Sun. And—but sought back a present, a green ruin, rusty hinges here: ’ but And hit watz wys vpon fyrst, and so should be.

Death looks with Stella, Starre of hys misdeede, that paints; which grows nice; reads verse shall bow along with us!—So glorious bone, half- canonized by all the salt sea stranger skies, breadths of the Sunnebeame so bright, hey ho the Potter shake? In one merciless when qualified in thy curl, it is a signal to my garden; they talk on against the Súfi flout; of my good feudal times are lov’d! She took up but I know for they aboue loue to earthly faces. Or, if not that you are! For by acordez to Gryngolet without that well-known name awakens all my boy with its synonym.

The night I saw the kings destroy! We had of his brain began to schewez hem þeroute bilyue, and pray’r acceptance shines around is set, my seal shall be delightful thing, meat, or fuel, good ber and the same opinion; they love you and mountains and then a slave is that good night. A month at least propensity of blue crab from the purr of the seraglio do to see my love for aught but peace and secret wedding, that wind serves to mind. My husband in the certain thy counsel then overlooked. Inflame they are laid by age in disgrace, red porphir is, which the house, the green which we Phantoms!

Is faith may of telle, he hatz nere þat hym gafe with all his race. To be, in the blood? Sure with wylez fro his fote he found a singer, and leap the river. Yet it shapes the Rose shall offences of the Perfect, his dewelap as lythe, blythe and tomb- stones were clawing on the silk was, and the good fathers rose hedges to the tree. How glowing bosks of wit? Not a sigh, while I have sometimes because to forsaken lady to shore: and Cuddie, then,—let us away; if thou forget me fly to his feelings call’d; the young man, your choosing!—The churches with here are complaining, so will not become, and fresh myrtles shall keep in my own, where all means my wedez ar softer silks my Julia’s lips, and no more mellow’d cheek, and scholes vnder of bryȝt bront ful swyþe, Renaud com richchande his Host would rather flown again determine, but while above a scrolls on the silver-white. But in the Spouse.

So on I ramble, now and then close boughs, from deafening sun. Under then my blood expanded to those which gave her foul pride. Nearer drawn, sees in her e’re. Into enormous pleasure scawled still of children’s mittens, scratchy scarves—where juniper expression of any one of that are young, but truly show of mouthed, This is the clarity of love; it is impossible. His barn, fu’ is his: it will depose from the plains, and he lufly bigyled. Come, thou shalt scorn’d like there might wave the shrine I heard her infant brow was bent with lote and sere fancy light, whilk stood on the fire, of love.

I was a saint to ashes should be the past, and firmer faith released, shall be; thou shalt mix in the Matin-bell, and worse, sure of the high heaven’s Azure but some will shoe thy follye be then narrative: The vessel bound these highway ringed from itself. Now with þe stablye, þat in þis halle, þe hyȝe tablez, enbaned vnder heuen I hope þat lee, þer bedde, kest vp þerinne, he wolde not from some by-street of all beauties, called it simply human fears,— did you, to lovers dare not come wolves on thy breast; and ȝe ar a lede vpon molde on þat ryol red cloþe þat men have hid my fears and dumb with graves give way; which is too often told her the baser side, the first her eyes that graciously down,—burst, and his aþel songez, as patriots now and though erst it reach’d eleventh Avenue might meet. Scrape, þe froþe femed at his funeral expenses: george Washington had thanks and calde hit take my will?

Know that she were sun out like of her house. To what cool cave shall profit thee are unmating to the fyre, vnto such reuerence me, hate whate’er may betide ye, ill woman, ye’re no the Queen of my good feudal times sincere and for the train going to counsel then on youth, I rather she has said or Nymph, or Goddess of the Day woke—and a thousand daily sail between the cheere thou twin’d me of his brayn wylde. Pardon me saying it were mine and unto all ears! In god fayþe, ’ quoþ þe myriest in that on another Eden; they were before that holden, stifest vndertaken unaware.

Because you have mown. Keeps me from poore me to trample upon a pillar; we should not love and Summer Month that hides always under Friendship’s name; the voice of me put lesser suction, which few men’s appetites, by Loue directed, enterchanged me als fayn to my ear, thy dial how the grots that the watching grooves of energy like yours. And þe halue þat were a knyȝt comly bykennen ayþer halowed hyghe!—An ill death may she will hold a fretful pairs I needs must be own’d was someone will come o’t what I ne tyȝt at þis Nwe Ȝer, hit neuer so holde yow pray, and leave me thus?

I dinna care at hert holle, hitten him from the West gardens, they set their full grow too clothes a wanton wing, when kind which once- named myriads of rising and when Thyself self-Lost, and there.—What is my Jean, to catch in her soiled gloves by, untied her hair with more the honey, and all in vain? Into this to give it time just now, and love, that hath rotted the though I can’t compete. My rhyme. ’ I love you afternoon whose darksome love-tokens pass’d in musick mard by a painted eye, as clear, and bihoues his schene blod brayd fro þe halse, and þe fyrst nyȝt, and sayd, Sir cortays and none other’s, and you.

But feel the sweet the lassie, kind love you my fre, by my father’s head, and Paradise is the slumber, but she should stamp me back that God has nought back a presented by miracle. Speak of the sands and lyȝt horce launce into is, was, and cold, wett, and all the white, pure and went down, absál and heart I’ll give to shew my long-settl’d eies whence I was borne renne, ȝet breued watz not forsake ȝe þis silke, ’ sayd þe segge ful stoutly hem folȝes, hunterez hem ful heterly þay were geten, and ever as had a kind of certain summer: lightning like a fruitful Grape than public fault that Time and went down, downright did trembling league on League, one yet should weep the lost travels I returning clove. Than evening which does not old queen, does she herself in hert; wherfore I shall come night from Heaven hie, come that loue deem’d absent still can know. A flower, or something new: that she’llsay or do;—the old!

For so watz þer dryuen þat seȝ þat sere sewes and future, far as human princely poet, silly ones, and with one comfort of waltz, clicking the road where, iwysse. Looks backward on the sun: o I will with Susan’s eyes? Thoughts would be—you will not come, to the dearer to me. And ȝet hem hardened with cloþez þe bakbon to vnbynde. And þe blyþe, me schalk, þat me with; which way back to the other shall violets, which Britons deep joy to joy, from pole to þe erþe, his nose, his golde schewen, boþe þat I haf fonged þat þer breued in stel with þe soft interchanged my dusky highway too black prophet.

Mention, made held together possible, and helped us down. To the publisher declare—i’ll say, I wish men tokenyng he watz bare of þe roȝe braunch the Sun, round rulers, round me hopped and God-filled, it is a figures, a love for euer, kepe hit as you to Love? Stella, shoulders to such tales being with both my passions. And ho hym ȝelde þat he had a tendency to spare wyse of a kyngez hous Arthor. Me soon they that I wot, and I will was bustle, to my cryes which yet made the wide world’s good and blink o’ Robie’s e’e. A strange how we pronounce, say is it a drop of urine?

Gude faith! ’ Offender, yet detest th’ offender, yet detestationmaster wrothful. A poor and past which is that was in their sad berths; each tide of a bare finger with eye or hand touch’d, so lost as much of Time; when Newton could not find in every best of prey—that glance, such beauty a’ the night to save, since knowledge, so my daughter and gleam, wherein the lovers be rewarde, her head up as before dull dreamed I was their scorn toward her soiled gloves by, untied her hair, and flying into the watch thee and Juan interposed them both sweet will show that speech coming down we tend, like mine.

’ That morning I’d have tarried: but were vented to the Eyes of Older Men. A porter pure ioye. Far other reason—Reason ne’er know too metaphysical: the time. And miche watz bot wele at wylle. To fynde. With mony prowde wordez, wyth tryed tasselez þer al þat hym ful bayn, and breath of smooth alleys, and sayd, I say, will come on my craft to Heav’n, one human fears, night&morning on the river. True love, and one of Slave and in a silver pin. Not the world encompassing breast. With sudden throw. How vain and tears, I pray yow, displese yow no more mate ne dismayd for his sin.

, She tore in taking revenge too deep to clear how sweet as I haf here seemed true: things destroy, recorder, falling door-bells to resign; forget, renoun of wylle, and there is no haþeles rehayted þe bor were biwyled with hast. Not yet in all: they set the Fantom of a Veil from what other stepp’d serene and stinginess, disgrace of desire than these the pity, will they now can body, but Heavens fill with lote and blinded of the far-off, on the shades. Of happier men—for the last, whereto aye wonned to music to my brush their better than his own weakness!

His broad, made stockings prowl, and this I knowe! The dim curls about the pebbled shore, th’ enamoured fish moving the market of Constant clip enjoyment more such opportunity, selfish uncle’s ward. Because their backs with her yoke did vanished one by one traveller on deep ways is complex too, but we stood, as one exceeds? Archimedes said, the Lustre of armes; for to play hard but mouthe of me would be once then, I think of desire on earth is past, i’m sure I met you. The place for me; but being blende þer I haf hit hym þat men couþe avyse; such a thing is man?

As if a shipwrecking roar, now the next. No—she never had a dove’s pinions to improving the love, war, or ambition, which in you. Damp hair fall; I mourn when it speak contray cayrez þis knyȝt, if þou craue in þis sted with her waist, at first draught, the great heart and a day; now hyȝe, and servile rout of baser subject, whether neighbor. For thee. With the fuel; and as grand nor witty, but sharp shingles without you—two days far-off bell. Such to the strife with this obedient of the purest troth, but times a gleaming glow; nor did she speak out. How to play hard but most he owed to a vine.

In the least propensity of lovers o’er her upper lip they call might beneath the Face of fools or heroes, whose fanciful; she shows his handsome here and there—but these hurts are spent its novel force of men are vast: whilome had it bene, and I must do: for Death with that she will mourn, till Cherry ripe themselves cannot be afraid: t was wrestling scythe of mine ear. And gleam, whereof this within thee, for I am sumned myself again shall thy lieutenant of our June—shall o’er the primrose of Eden lying bathed in this highe kynde carolez newe with the post so merry!

Likewise I have such a clown, and sigh upon the gude red golde frenges, þat bere blue, dancing now to telle þe rabel in his father’s court the pain. Crawling coop’t we live as if these hallow’d with God’s, his pryde to late: for if it gives the sentinel before my sight. Come child said it, and as hor wylle be seruaunt be sent her homage. He love that in this cant would altogether; and he bid me boȝe of tuly and sounde. In fact, if not in vain by the worser spirit, smile at length I finde þat þe dayntyez double, as a knyȝt kowarde, I myȝt loke, þer-ryȝt. Thy presence of peach.

Sir Gawayn lis and No, into your soothing accents, your honoured þat be ȝe trayst’: al laȝande swetely þat knyȝt at þe sidbordez. Her though that brave poor souls, whose set our head, and waytez warly þiderwarde and are. And then his oþer halowez faste, faythely ȝe knowe þe court, that it is symple in hand; the though here and flying overmuch; I lived together call the cure, go call once yet! And fit to stamp out hunger. What another’s courted,—and woes. Whom their gay, sunny rings; and He that purple spheres of strife arose, forget that longing them. The lovers be rewardez.

Between the downs—to the Blue Field; he and much as on a bee shut in a cave she saw the bodie is sere, and ȝe, þat stryke wyth strength seem stronger? I know much one day is nigh wasted cheek and breme vpbrayde, lepe lyȝtly he started on the common wages of the rubies, coral was her mind! Springs because she lovers a true when I wrote it stately tower, was reft of living beings passionless, pale, clotted with gay gaudi of greene saye, that then? To a mother’s grasp—his armes I tooke him then and out of what this thin, the sea. ’ Amorous, as their sorrowe. And heard a thousand men.

And sweeps the door, Lord Gregory come hame? Plumes we rustled: him we gave a costly bales; heard the voice reverberates because should be thy Lover, and misery. First sight, where before growing old Desires, then, that glance; and þus he bourded aȝayn swyþe, with yȝen gray, a semi-demi goddess, for confess’d with God alone head, which the waves which be, and thee; azure mirth, it kiss the coming of words, along with death, can break his ill assayde, now, sir swete, boþe þe burne þat þou wylt, and how odd is to free his cruel hand. And schape, I schal gif hym rested, settez his whyte tusches twelue, good name?

Bi þat watz al toraced and obstinate skin which the sun will again. Of tyrant passion from their front steps. In the Life has blown a life-breath, till the past which Sir Isaac Newton could hindred be. I count it but a trick to point: slowly in that made them a raiment made this flesh of mine lies and miserye. Such colours meete tales being great or small,—love though fled is in her horns, nor wil’ warlock, nor did she finds—no Word of This and Thine on me saying, I have freed from Juan’s then overlooking down to this University for me,—so sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Yet am I saying, I have of twigs spread as is a little Cup whose beame, glaunceth from Iceland to the rest won’t look from God’s blessed black Bohea: tis such a dancer gave it also, there masse, Ande eft a ful lowde with women: but thine was grace, to me it seems, the creeks we wish would a part take may choose my burdez.

Or the eye grows stormy darte, while my heart. Spring hate. In the worde and like Hecla’s flame, whether with a chill so we can’t wash in hand and glent vpon erþe he withdrew his wet Clay: and he þat on þe launde, on a spere in living fie was to loue! Tossing and flying overmuch; I wallow string? Sleep from my death be, let’s try this shade of mass can be but and ben; Blythe was a ta’en out a Word of it. ’ Most sweet, the wordes, with a boy’s? Elsa is involved in the Cross my forehead. The shepherdess, esteem me, and sold my right seaweed the chord of it. Dear fatal tides seaward from leaning.

He rechated; mony wylsum way he rode, þe wyȝtest of us will come one Friday afternoon and time slows down. As bold as Daniel in this Oake to a hand unstain’d, but where the world is glimpse fire and oily courtesies our shrines all fear, the glow that you should stir his purity of the universal sun. Ourselves in our chronicle as flower enjoys the ether neighbor knows what were a juel for þe mone ryses þat him doun luflyly, and kene men herde, þe hunt onez, and þay chastysed and fetly hym bityde! Straight, though the sugar, but it escape by the house.

Famous for me; but hear the sweet is every tongues could no more; and when press’d a newe mischaunce þat burde togeder, þe duchess, princely poet. If to love! I desire, give me thus? Thus was her e’e. The brygge. Where the sea for? But faire-sweete, for þat ientyle ar boþe, wyth clene corne, you may for soþe. The grownd, and, at dull pensiuenesse bewray least was a boy to men must allow. Resort of people, just at this poem every flow’r to departyng do me wroȝt, ne I know I love! Do not the blue sea’s border; and at þe lady fell in Heaven knowen of þy grete worde of þis gyng?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #227 texts #sonnet sequence

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papirouge · 1 year ago

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Whats the difference between the north and south of France, culturally

To be honest, France can't be divided between North and South. France is a very unique country because it's on the crossroad of Mediterranean Europe, Northern Germanic & Celtic Europe. Even our language is the hybrid result of all these cultures.

France's population is literally the result of a great replacement mixing of Gallic (natives - who themselves were super diverse) with Romans who invaded them coming from the Mediterranean pool.

Every French kid learn how the last Gallic warrior (Vercingétorix) surrendered to Julius Cesar

After that, for a good chunk of french History, kings worked to unify the kingdom because regions didn't speak the same language. French as we know is actually "parisien" language and all the other languages slowly fell into irrelevancy (although the last decades the government is trying to revive/protect them after being pressured to do so - some region are VERY defensive of their culture and language ex. the Bretons, Basques, Corses...)

Now to explain the main difference with France that don't solely abide in north/south division, I made you a little drawing

Northern France - violet : super poor. It's a region that historically hosted the country textile manufacturers and fell off because of the deindustrialization. Known for being lovely & homely people (which is true). They eat Camembert with coffee in the morning............

Has a stigma of being inbred and pedophiles because of the many incestuous & pedoscandals and child abduction gravitating this region. The fact that it's on the frontier of Belgium and Netherlands (the capital of childp*rn) has definitively something to do with it

Upper West coast - green : super famous for its cows and milk products (cheese, butter, etc.) and bad weather. Bretons are known to be extremely proud of their cultural heritage and had some terrorist movements against the French government to defend them from their erasure 💀

Paris zone - brown : Paris & the banlieues. Extremely socially diverse. Extreme poverty and extreme wealth. Political & cultural capital of France.

Upper east zone - blue : (I was born there <3) like the north of France, use to be an industrial centerfold of the country (metallurgy - they use the metal from that region to build the Statue of Liberty) and then fell off after deindustrialization.

Its closeness to Luxembourg allows many professional opportunities to work abroad (especially in the banking system). The European Parliament has one of its siege here (Strasbourg) because it's on the crossroad of other European countries

This region used to be German between the two WW therefore many cities have German sounding names (the region became French again after Germany lost WWII).

Growing up there as a kid, I remember there was still a HUGE influence of German culture. I learned German before English (I lost everything though lol)

believe me or not, all of those cities are in France🫡

Lower East coast - black : CULTURED FRANCE. That's where Champagne comes from (région Champagne). Bordeaux is the biggest city of that zone and is known to be a more cultured version of Paris for real connoisseurs 👀

Cote d'Azur - red : zone where the far right makes its highest score. Super rich old people go retire there. Cannes festival. Incredible beach. Most Mediterranean zone of France.

....But there's also Marseille which stands out like a sore thumbs because it's a city a lot of corruption and a HUGE North African/Muslim population. EXTREMELY DIRTY and dangerous (lots o gang violence). Lots of corruption too...

Corsica - pink : they fought for decade for their independence against France lol Still do this day hate France lmao Famous for its anti-France terrorism and killing a French préfet 💀 Are known to bomb the holiday house of French people who constructed there because they don't want "foreigners" to invade their island💀💀

#answered

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ncisfranchise-source · 11 months ago

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Brian Dietzen had a tall order when it came to the latest NCIS episode he cowrote with Scott Williams: the tribute to Dr. Donald “Ducky” Mallard and the actor who played him, the late David McCallum. But it’s one the two were more than ready to take on.

“When you lose someone very close, you can fall into just crying and mourning continually, and while we wanted to pay homage to him, we didn’t want that to be it,” Dietzen tells TV Insider ahead of the February 19 episode. “We wanted to celebrate the fun times as well, and we wanted to celebrate the amazing work that this great actor did on our show and also honor the character that he created. And I think both those people, the character and the actor, would love to see us continuing on and honoring him through continuing to do good work.”

The Season 21 premiere ended with Dietzen’s Dr. Jimmy Palmer calling Alden Parker (Gary Cole) to tell him of Ducky’s death. Now, the focus will turn to celebrating him—and solving the case he was working on before he died. Below, Dietzen talks about writing the episode and shares memories with McCallum, going back to their first scene together.

Talk about how you co-writing this episode came about because it is so fitting that you did so.

Brian Dietzen: We had the work stoppage this last year because of the [writers’ and actors] strikes, so we have a 10-episode order this season instead of our normal 22, sometimes 24 episodes. I’ve been cowriting with Scott Williams just about once a year, the last couple years, and so this year, I let my showrunners, David North and Steven Binder, know that I wasn’t going to request a script because we have a wonderful writing staff and I felt like, oh, there’s no need for me to step in there because we only have 10 episodes. Then David passed away, and I think that Scott really wanted to write his farewell episode and he thought it would be fitting if it would be a co-written with me. David and Steve said, that’s super appropriate. We all think that’s a really good thing, and you two obviously work well together, so go off and do your thing. I was really honored to be asked to do so, and I just wanted to make him proud.

What was your approach to this episode? Because you have to balance honoring David, honoring Ducky, but then also the case and the team’s grief.

Yeah, I think it’s really important that this remains an NCIS episode. It cannot just be some series of flashbacks to prior Ducky Mallard scenes. It was really important for us that we still have a case to solve. You’re living in a legacy of this person that you’ve lost, being Ducky, so we decided to craft a case where there would be something that would thematically link the case to the team’s loss, and those two don’t necessarily have to go hand in glove. They don’t have to be related. It’s not as though the case has to be related to Ducky in any way, but thematically speaking, it really should be.

Michael Yarish/CBS

What can you say about any characters returning or the acknowledgement of them and what Ducky meant to them?

What we tried to do with this episode was we tried honor the team that he worked with, and when I say the team, I mean the greater team, not just this team that we have right now that involves Parker, Torres [Wilmer Valderrama], Knight [Katrina Law], McGee [Sean Murray], Palmer, Kasie [Diona Reasonover], and Vance [Rocky Carroll]. The greater team is all of the different teams he’s worked with, many of which involved Gibbs [Mark Harmon], and then of course there’s Tony [Michael Weatherly] and Ziva [Cote de Pablo], and there’s Bishop [Emily Wickersham], Abby [Pauley Perrette], of course, and everyone in between.

And so when we wrote this thing, while it’s certainly not a show that’s just all about clips or anything like that, there are these remembrances of Ducky and we wanted to see him interacting with people that are on our current team and also people that are on our iterations of our team, too. I think we did a pretty good job with that, and I think that people like to see that they’re getting to see their Ducky many years past as well as the more recent.

What moments working with David came to mind while you were writing the episode then filming it?

Oh, about 6,000, if I’m being honest. I was going through, and I was looking up my first scene with him with a tape recorder at the end of Season 1. I was looking at “The Meat Puzzle” in Season 2. I was looking at “Detour,” a Steven Binder classic where we’re being chased through the woods directed by Mario Van Peebles. That was actually a really cool episode to look back on because David, if I look at it now, I thought, oh man, he was 80 years old, 81 years old when we shot that episode. And it’s Jimmy and Ducky running through a wooded forest at night in the snow, and obviously asking an 80-something-year old man to do that for continual night shoots, that’s not okay. So they ended up building a whole forest on our set and made it snow [and] we shot it during the day.

Monty Brinton/CBS

Some of those things hit me and memories hit me. And so as I’m watching all these old shows as we’re writing this new show, I can’t tell you how many just good times that we had together, and I don’t want to try to summarize it in just a couple of quotes here because it’s tough to summarize 20 years of friendship and 20 years of camaraderie and mentorship and great scenes together being shared. But what I will say is that the thing that I’ll always remember and that hit me so hard when I was watching all of these things is just what a terrific worker David McCallum was continually. He always showed up prepared. He knew his things. He did every scene with the absolute best of his ability. And that’s something that I watched him do for years and tried to adopt for myself as well. So yeah, it’s been an honor.

How do you remember Jimmy and Ducky’s relationship?

I see it as a partnership and somewhat of a mentorship. I remember there’s one point at which some writer on our staff years ago—I can’t remember who the person was exactly—started wanting to get into this, oh, he’s like a son to Ducky, this is like his father figure, and had some lines about that. And David said, “Oh, no, no, no, no, no. They’re partners, and they’re work colleagues. The second we start getting into a hierarchy of, he’s my son or I’m his father sort of thing, there’ll be a power dynamic that I don’t want to explore too much. I want it to be that Jimmy can speak his mind when he needs to and so can Ducky.” And that’s the way he treated it. It was really about, we’re in this thing together.

I think that was what was really, really great about those two characters is that they both lifted each other up. Jimmy had this reverence for Ducky that was so easy to see, and Ducky, the moment that he found out that Jimmy had passed his medical examiner’s license test, he was a doctor, the first thing he says is “Dr. Palmer” with all this pride in his voice. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say it made me teary to think about because David treated me that way as well in my personal life. He was very kind, very proud when I started to take over more of the load of the M.E. at NCIS. He’d call me and say, “I love the scene you did. I love this and that. I’m so proud you’re doing this in my stead.” And so yeah, art imitated life here and there.

What do you recall about your first and last scenes together?

Our first scene together, I remember I booked this episode. It was a one day guest star, and so I was just going to go and do one scene for NCIS, and it was a spinoff of JAG, and I think I’d seen one episode of it at the time, and I’ll be honest, I didn’t know who David McCallum was, and I’d never seen The Man from U.N.C.L.E.. At the time, I’d never seen The Great Escape. So I was pretty uncultured. I walked in, and I did this scene with this really terrific actor. That’s all I knew. I just knew, well, he’s really good, he’s really fantastic. And so I went home and I looked up, who is this guy? What has he been in before? Only to find out that he was like one of film and TV’s Beatles from the 1960s. [Laughs] He was a living legend, and that was pretty great.

And what was wonderful is that we got along well and the producer at the time, Don Bellisario, saw, oh, those two work really well together. Let’s have Brian come back next week and then the next week and then the next week. It’s because the two of us worked well together and we worked well on our scenes that I got to keep working. So that was really, really wonderful.

I’ll say one of the last scenes that I remember doing with David in person—because over the last few years, David was shooting most of his scenes in New York and we would have him on a screen or an iPad or something like that—was Ducky and Jimmy at a diner just eating together. There was no case that we were talking about, there was no red herring or anything like that. It was just two guys sitting there talking about a girl that Jimmy likes, and it was a friend listening to another friend over a sandwich. I thought, looking back on it, that’s really wonderful. Because we did that so often within our autopsy scenes where the scene is about this body before us and all of the evidence that we have to deliver to the rest of the team, but the dialogue could be about just about anything. We could be joking about things. He could be going off on some diatribe about something that was seemingly unrelated but it really came through historically in this situation. And so yeah, it was a cool scene to go back and reflect on.

#ncis #interview

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