#and his propensity to woo the ladies

[eotheria]

The World of Eotheria According to Lady Valentine

Part 12: Orcs

Orcs have been a staple of Eotheria since the later parts of the First Age, and would be little more than a minor annoyance to all involved if not for their stubborn refusal to stay down. Every attempt at wiping out the orcs has only led to them coming back, stronger than ever. Even the Kordran Empire have been unsuccessful in fully eradicating the orcs of southern Suvitha. Even though they’re not considered a threat to the goblinoids down there, that’s actually quite impressive. The only thing that truly keeps the orcs from becoming a threat is their propensity to make war with each other as often as they make war with other races, along with their primitive, uncivilized nature. Because of their barbarism and their propensity to violence, it is easy to dismiss them as unintelligent brutes. In reality, orcs do have intelligence; it’s just that their morals and customs are so different from ours that it’s hard to tell. Indeed, many orcs find us unintelligent morons. How quaint.

Origins

The orcs first appeared in the underworld of Eotheria roughly a thousand years before the end of the First Age. Exactly what race the orcs are derived from is unknown, though two theories seem to hold the most weight. The first is that they were once elves, corrupted by some dark power into the hulking brutes you now know and hate. The second is that they are a type of unseelie fey that slipped into Eotheria when the barrier between Feywild and the material world was at its weakest, much like hags and trolls. If this is true, then they are among the weakest of fey, having none of the magical power of hags or supernatural regeneration of trolls. Needless to say, elves of all types vehemently deny both of these theories. I don’t see why; every race has its subjects they don’t like to talk about, but most of them don’t put their hands over their ears and sing “La, La, La, I can’t hear yoooou!” at the top of their lungs at the mere suggestion of it.

Early in the Second Age, groups of orcs began to split off from the underworld and migrate to the surface. These surface orcs ultimately became a separate subspecies of orc. They are green skinned and better suited to the light of the sun, whereas those that remained underground have gray skin and are ill-suited to sunlight, but have a much keener darkvision. They loathe each other, seeing the other subrace as fake orcs. The gray orcs hate the green orcs for straying away from how their gods made them, while the green orcs see gray orcs as weaklings who hide in their caves rather than thriving on the surface. The Cataclysm has only made relations between the two worse, as like most subterranean races, the gray orcs were forced out of the underworld by the coming of Malenom, and the green orcs were more than happy to invite them to the surface in the way they best knew: through bloodshed.

There honestly isn’t much more that I can say about orcs on a historical level than that. They don’t keep records of their accomplishments. They do not build great empires that stand the test of time. They tell no stories of great orcish heroes, dominant orcish clans, or defining moments in orc history. They simply do not care. All orcs care about is the concrete reality of the moment; the orcs care not about what they were, but what they are and what they plan to become.

A Culture of War

Orcs have a rather rigid sense of gender roles, but hold both men and women in equal standing. Male orcs are warriors, hunters, and laborers. Female orcs are spiritual leaders, managers, caretakers, and protectors. Unusually, orcs have absolutely no concept of men or women being anything else but their defined roles, even among other races. The idea of, for instance, a human woman being a warrior is alien to them. The reaction orcs have to such varies between suggesting that the woman is a protector of sorts to guard her home when the men are away (as orc women often do) to confusion to discomfort to simply referring to the woman as a man. Insensitive, yes, but innocently so. Does tend to cause some problems when you bring a male dwarf priest with a full beard into the mix, though. Orc clans are led by a male warchief, though the highest ranking female shaman is held in equally high regard, if not more so. 

While the orcs have many rules, one stands above all others: “might makes right”. Orc warchiefs are selected through ritualistic combat, and any male orc can challenge the current warchief at any moment for rule of the clan. These ritual battles are not required to be to the death, but many of them end up that way, particularly if a warchief wants to make an example of someone so that the next young, ambitious orc will be thinking about his turn to make the challenge. Similarly, crime is resolved through trial by combat. As before, these battles are not required to be to the death, but that’s more of a guideline than a rule. 

In fact, it is this attitude that causes the various orc clans to war with one another. Orcs have no concept of private property. They simply take what they want by force, whether from orcs or other races. And if someone has a problem with that? Well, they’d better be strong enough to stop them. And this is why orc raids are so common. When you’re an orc everything else looks squishy. This is also why they have very poor relationships with other races.  Despite all of this, orcs do have a code of honor that they follow. They never take from others in excess, they do not harm those who are obviously not combatants, such as women and children, and they despise trickery and ambushes in combat. Where most races will put a knife in your back at the first opportunity, an orc will always fight you face to face.

It is not impossible to make peace with orcs. If you prove yourself stronger than an orc, they will respect you as such, and this respect carries over to nations of other races. Of course, by that time the people that they have been raiding for a long time will have had just about enough of their shit and will often tell them to fuck off, but orc alliances are not unknown. The nations of Kresnik and Ledo both held alliances with various orc clans over the years, though they tended to fall apart after a generation shift, when the younger orcs got the idea to ‘test’ their relatives to see if they were still worthy of their respect.

Orcs and Other Races

Orcs have poor relations with most races due in part to their many raids and their unusual way of thinking. They see dwarves as weak and greedy creatures who rely on machines rather than their own strength. The fact that the dwarves fled the Aesir Mountains has not improved their opinion of them any. Dwarves, for their part, see the orcs as little better than Kordran. Elves are long lived and not to be trusted. An elf will say one thing and then generations later tell you the opposite. Or they’ll just stick a knife in your back. Elves themselves find orcs absolutely abhorrent and want nothing to do with them, and were not above slaughtering entire clans of orcs simply because they looked ugly. They consider halflings and gnomes small children without drive or ambition; they do know about the Corrindale halflings, but the official word among orcs as that those halflings are not halflings, but another race entirely. Much like how orcs have no concept of women being warriors, they have no concept of halflings being anything but simple farmers. They consider kobolds cowards, as they never fight face to face and instead wipe out raiding parties with elaborate traps and cheap tactics, while kobolds find orcs to be thick headed idiots who never learn not to leave them alone. 

Of all the races in Eotheria, orcs get along with humans the most favorably. Human nations have always been strong enough to hold back the tide of the orcish hordes, and humans have always been the most likely to take a diplomatic approach. This doesn’t stop orcs from finding humans confusing, or the inevitable culture clash. They’re confused as to why there are so many human kingdoms and why the humans seem so diverse in appearance, culture, and attitude, when orcs are, by and large, the same no matter where you find them. Humans and orcs are actually capable of crossbreeding. Half-orcs are rare, but not unknown. The stereotype is that they’re a product of the rape of a human woman, but in practice this rarely happens. The vast majority of half-orcs have half-orc parents themselves, and when a human and orc do mate, it is usually consensual. In fact, one of Adrian Kresnik’s lieutenants is a half orc whose father was a Kresnik diplomat and whose mother was the orcish head shaman that he wooed.

Orcs actually get along somewhat decently with dragonborn as well, though they find them very confusing. The dragonborn are strong indeed, and all attempts by the orcs to take the dragon city of Penacles have failed miserably. And despite this, the dragonborn never throw that strength around. They are a widely pacifistic people who do not start wars, though they could easily conquer much of Suvitha if they had the will to, or so the orcs theorize. The orcs of eastern Suvitha would call them weaklings if they did not have first hand knowledge otherwise.

However, of all of Eotheria’s races, there is none that the orcs fear more than the Kordran. On the surface, the goblinoids share many of the same ideals that the orcs do; a culture of strength and war, and rigidly defined roles for all of its citizens. However, orcs see the Kordran as a perversion of their ideals. Orcs will respect races that are stronger, or even of equal strength, to them, and do not kill needlessly even when they are stealing from others. The Kordran, however, have very little patience for orcs and their raids, and respond to their presence with vicious and terrible fury, sparing none, and slaughtering all. Entire clans have met their end at the blades of the Kordran, and the orcs give them a wide berth as a result.

Orc Religion

Orcs have many deities they give praise to. The chief deity of the orc pantheon is Ornok the All-Father, a god of war, battle, and storms. Also represented is Ornok’s wife and equal, Owi, a goddess of wisdom, protection, and medicine. Quite different in disposition, I would say, though given how seriously orcs take the stories of Ornok and Owi, it may explain their unusual cultural norms regarding gender. Indeed, orcs tell many stories of Ornok, despite his great strength, often turning to his wife for guidance. The two complement one another, as orcs believe men and women should.  It’s funny how orcs have little interest in keeping records of their past, but they have many, many legends of the orc pantheon. In fact, they have so many different gods that attempting to explain all of them would take up the entire length of this book. Regardless, these are the two most important of the orcish gods, and really the only ones you need to know about.

In the next chapter I will discuss the most mysterious race of all to walk on Eotheria: the warforged.

Special thanks to @5kindsofmagic and @askscarletrose for help with the orcs!

[libidomechanica]

“The gold the charmes full”

And she would be one to 

woo her. The gold the  charmes full, such a brain, O Lord,  they saw the spongy cloud, around  his unguarded curly, I  raild at the voice as snow, she  stood her opening skies—then how 

exist in her excelling tier,  for a scarlet cloak and  deep recesses it would rub together  until I find, some eighty versts from  the deeper was  the pools that she moaning to  resign a  mosque sons propensity to  attend us, which poured a  lamp, presage; incertain meant, where I  stood silent night, and time: heavens grave  unite each other veil I saw thing concussion  the silks. Th engraved  in a handmaid, sister,  or a returnd sometimes  seize his life behind I hear my voice  within that vengeance snatched as  their wings which lovely was  delightful lady to be  entered, “Kate Browns on the  Don, Balgounies brother born in  flowrs were jacks and low-browd rocks  hang nodding closer presented  verse 

in one, the moon had met  and die. The sun. Such is  head, stirring coming on a maiden  banner. Thou neer so buoyant you and  I do not killd by this heard to  them did look, the  first kisse. He was only Hope  and unsmooth my teares: yet these mimic  scene began to all  their time for lovemaking at all.  Arm and wed at all the water  languish in my true occasion  lost in columns two, and the  ground: all the doubt how my most  sweep yours, for quiet  dreamers there and clattery? I touch  you and shut bud that I may give  all graces, even this engineering 

men; drinks tear alone on his 

recruits and day.  Makes us to the  gamekeeper cloak that delightful that  do such the dear chains of  seas of a lie coming flame, now  admitted from wrong, and you, my  most, even are! Is ruffled 

by some to the element,  on your face; Gave him sit  and bent my last ill-sounding  for into their  lonely glade of chat, they had raise to  the houses? and  stranger in a beauty of  flowers incense hangs still stream,  they mixd within can obey!  And no more by the bride. Him  when the eastern  religious. There are fled,  by which no long, unknown, ever the  fair frame; whether reason  in sleepy crew, the marched, all  round. At dinner, she in gold the  can go; and the winter- seeming as I pull up every  tree, in notes are left  them in a glorious woman  still all my vows I made. “Twas busy,  and revisions and hoary now.”

[drimmari]

Family Ties [1]

A gentle shower of red, orange and gold leaves tugged themselves free of branches and danced on the cool breeze, accompanied by spatterings of azure sparks. The scents of pine, wood smoke and chalk mingled lazily, fell like summer rain upon the nobles and servants of Dawnglory and its sworn Houses.

The Lady’s sprawling manor was bookended by servants’ homes, armories, libraries. Fields of various crops painted vibrant colors into the fertile land that bordered Lake Everstill’s northern bank; Mages peopled one field, murmuring and waving bony fingers over crimson flowers. Bloodthistle was in full bloom.

Elendil traced his fingers reverently down the towering oak’s trunk. The trees were his companions, even more than Fleur, whose days, weeks and even months were spent among the capital’s Spires. Mother’s harsh reprimands, the only true interaction he’d ever had with her, had grown few and far between. These days, he could scarcely recall the sound of that stern, passionless voice.

“My Lord,” came the carefully neutral voice from behind him. Flinching despite himself, the boy turned.

Fir saplings bracketed the old elf, his suit of Lordaeronian plate standing a stark white against the earthy greens and browns. White hair fell to the small of his back, shrouded the handsome face that so often was contorted with rage. His head was bowed respectfully to Elendil.

“Sir Dra’zar,” Elendil responded awkwardly, and cursed himself. Where was Fleureine’s strength, Jemar’s confidence? He was a fool. After a moment, he shifted his bow off his back and leaned it against the oak, trying his best to combat his slouch and stand with chin lifted.

“I seek your mother’s counsel.” There was something off about his voice-- Elendil couldn’t quite place it. Delrion Dra’zar had a wolflike disposition, layered with natural charisma and a dangerous propensity for magic. Like his father, he towered over the rest of House Dawnglory, a resolute giant forever haunted by his mother’s transgressions against the House.

Unnerved, Elendil lashed out. “Why are you asking me?” His voice sounded shockingly juvenile, like that of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You damn well know she’s holding court today. Perhaps you can try your hand at wooing the Lady Starspark again?” Empty, childlike. He still hadn’t mastered the chess game of noble’s speech; eighteen years an outcast had left him defenseless.  

Delrion smiled now, a predatory flashing of white teeth behind curled lips. Deliberately his fingers traced the haft of the shortsword sheathed at his hip.

Is he threatening me? Elendil couldn’t help but think, fighting to swallow the fear manifesting in his throat.

“Why the belligerence, young Lord? You and I both know my intentions are just.” His tone was gently chiding as he took a deliberate step towards El, who promptly backpedaled.

Coward, he said to himself even as his loose cannon of a tongue took over. “All I know is that you’re an ass, a horrible father, and a failure. How long have you been looking for him? Seven hundred years? Fuck off before I summon Jace.”

“You mean he’s not nearby?” Delrion asked with mild interest, and Elendil knew he’d bought himself a front row ticket to his own death. He wasn’t sure when the tone had changed, but it had. Delrion was furious; the air darkened with a primal sort of energy, charged with heat, sweat, tension and his own fear. “And here I’d thought the Lady taught you to understand your importance, boy. A fair number of Lords and Ladies would give their own children to leverage you against your mother.”

“You act like Mother would care,” Elendil retorted, but his voice was lame and his heart was pounding in his throat. He backed around trees, stumbling over roots. The Sun dipped below the horizon behind Elendil, casting muted bronze rays among the forest canopies; they seemed to shy away from Rion like a boulder splitting a stream.

The white-haired elf’s approach was gradual and sure. “She would. Such a risk to her security cannot go unchecked.” In one swift motion he drew the longsword from his hip; the glint of sunlight arced off polished steel, sparks of violet dancing into the air and forming webs overhead. Elendil swiped his bow from the oak and scrambled in his quiver for an arrow, but his hands trembled violently and his legs were a riptide.

Delrion’s ears flicked, and he murmured something in a foreign tongue-- somehow, Elendil could discern every syllable, and he knew it was a curse. Abruptly the older elf tossed his sword to Elendil, who in his surprise batted it away with his bow’s upper limb; the sword clattered harmlessly into a patch of dandelions.

“No one taught you to catch, my Lord?” The polite amusement in his voice was almost genuine, and Elendil was so unsettled that he nearly jumped when the small hand clamped down on his shoulder. The scent of gardenias danced around him.

“Mother is in her study.” Fleureine’s voice was silk where Delrion’s was steel. Elendil could sense the thick aura of magic from his sister like the odor of alcohol on a drunk.

“I was going to aid the young Lord with his swordsmanship, my Lady.” Delrion’s tone matched that with which he addressed Anavela-- true respect, even deference. His footsteps faded as he turned heel and left, sparing Elendil not even a second glance.

Disgusted, Elendil wrenched the blade up by its pommel and pitched it into a nearby stream; shrugging Fleur’s hand off his shoulder, shame welling up in his eyes and blurring his vision, the young Lord departed for his usual haunts.

[realpigeonsoflosangeles]

Initial notes

Go to hop woo's in Chinatown to order a 2 item combo. Leave to sit outside the bench. Can I have some soy sauce? 3. You want sausage? Soy sauce. Oh, Hutch and staunch Are they Jews from New York? Perhaps. No, but perhaps they run into some. Idea? New York psychic. We can't fly away together, but we can stay together. Bird leaves something laying out while he rests. Guy comes up and wakes him. "Hey, if you don't want that to get stolen, you shouldn't leave it out like that. If you want, I can steal it from you. Homebirds Male bird (black guy) swoops in on a little lady. Whoooo! Youuuu!! LA tattoo and bandana on pigeon. I don't like whole foods, because I come from Baltimore, and out there, we got those hood markets, where the meat's all brown, you know? You hear that lady? Oh, you playing nikki Minaj? I'm from New York! You guys killed biggie! She didn't know what she's talking about. I'm trying to lose weight. You need to run. That's what we did, when I was doing basketball 🏀. They had us run and do cardio. ----- That guy right there in that suit is important. Who's he? He be running a lot of the buildings around here, like the rosslyn. ----- I think you need to negotiate a salary, you gotta negotiate for a little more. Well he runs a business! It depends on all of the work you're doing. He has a contract. He has a contract? ----- Because as far as entertainment, and all that, Guy rides by with speakers on bike. What was that all about? Well he was riding around, all high, thinking he's all the shit and all that. ------ Is that a boxer? That dog looks like he'll pounce on somebody. My dogs have to be beefy, they have to be meaty. Because when I saw that dog from afar, I was like, "damn! That dog is charging!" Y'all was going down to heath's, I was coming up to Heath. I was like who dog is that? That's my dog! Because she's like no ribs or nothing. She was a boxer, and we used to fight with her. I like him. He looks like he named spike. I was like no, Copper. I taught her everything she knows. Well they all got close when I went to jail. We taught her how to scratch at the door, when she needs to use the restroom, then she'll be like roof roof! Then she go back to the door and scratch. ----- Why's he texting me back to back? Well I guess it's because my phone's was in airplane mode. How are we gonna get a hold of you? I'll just use Derek's phone. ----- Are we gonna go to the DnO? I can't go in there! Why not? You get thrown out of there? No, I don't have my ID. I have a photo of my ID. ---- Alright, Bro, nice meeting you. Thanks for letting us sit by you. See you later. Bye. ----- Jay, if you have to take a staunch shit, you have to go to Target. If you have to take a staunch shit, you have to go to Target. Jay, we want dumps! Post it. --- Jay, we put those people next to you so you could get some dialogue off of them. Don't take a fucking staunch shit outside. Go to Target. Are you gonna move into the sober living home? Probably. Probably not. We want street dialogue, not drug addict dialogue. Your fucking shoes are grande as fuck. Fiesta olé. Jay gave away his new Nikes. Jay, that's an unchristian thing to mention your charity. He didn't do it, though, he's just taking down dictation. Now he's going to deposit $70 into the bank. He has a job in a few minutes at Starbucks. He's been doing well with the software business recently; we determined that he's sober enough. We don't believe that Jay should be hanging around places where there are plenty of drug addicts. We want a street-ass mother fucker. You will fail! - if you do not go to sober living. You will be a staunch ass bum, on the streets. But no, he discovered the showers at LAMP community. He has the capability to clean himself, on the streets. It's all about his carbon footprint. How much does he feed off of society? He gets General Relief and Food Stamps. The rest is charity. Consider it charitable donations, for his blog efforts. I want Jay to be an inspiration for writers. He gets no recognition, but he thinks it's a conspiracy. That's what we're framing it as, so we don't tie these things in with our actual selves. ----- He dropped his price to $40 for Adobe. He's getting more calls. We want you to patronize Syrup, because you sit outside there sometimes. When buns occupy businesses, they take out amenities. This is signified in the depravity around the Rosslyn market debacle. Drug dealers and bums hanging out, outside there, all night. We don't want this to be a drug dealer and bum inner city story. It's not a dalliant fuckboylific blog. It's a children's story, obviously. Jay gave away his brand new nikes. Month-old nikes. He's the most charitable bum in Los Angeles. ---- Jay, did you take a staunch shit yet? No, somebody else did, already. But Jay did a line, and he's going to sleep in a few hours because he has antipsychotics, which he's going to take when he gets to Starbucks in a moment. ---- Jay's taking female hormones right now. He found a week's supply in the garbage when he was digging for cans and bottles. He's not sure if it's the placebo week, or not. There's only one week's supply. He feels staunch, but he got violently mad at Andrew Neri yesterday because he wanted Jay to apologize for being proud, before, on Facebook. We made Jay realize that we sent all of our people to him on craigslist because we support him! We are his friends! He would never believe it! But he only gets the bare minimum for survival. We don't want him rife as fuck, like he was before, on speed. He needs to live outside; that's what we're telling him. ---- Do you want me to install illustrator and I design, and all that? You want everything? Yeah. ---- Jay's a dalliant fuckboy du jour on tumblr. He's not reaching out to Lindsay Lohan, though, because he's no longer valid in Hollywood. Jay's a staunch ass bum. Jay, how does it feel to type in "Ass" in iOS and it defaults to capitals? Like, who did that? How did that start? We are feeding Jay dialogue from people who sound like they're attractive females right now. We might or might not know who this dalliant fuckboy is. Heheheeeee! Of course we know who this dalliant fuckboy is. We're the FBI! Ha, ha. Jay's a dalliant fuckboy, but he's a rat, and you know what? We are honest people over here, at the FBI. Staunch as he is, we all take crystal meth over here. That's the story we're feeding him. We can't relate to his fuckboylificness. At all. That's what we'd like him, and other men, to believe about us! We don't want it to be about drugs. You handle you, I'll handle me! If I get out of control, then it's my fault. If you do, then you're a typical guy! Jay's pretty staunch. Intelligent. He's a little bit sore AF right now, in his back, because he's hauling shit around in his staunch luggage. Why doesn't he just go in to sober living? Because he wants to be staunch. He wants a good diet, not a sugar and carbs diet, full of acid. He wants to be lean, as much as possible. Jay, what about your running aspirations? Jay did want to become a runner. He'll need to be a nighttime runner. That's an issue. Jay forgot about that line of reasoning. He'll have to move into the beacon of hope, in that case. Fuckboy dalliant-Ass MF. Jay, you need to fix "ass" in autocorrect. Try it, Ass. No, it's an unfixable error slash bug. This, in particular, is intelligent, attractive woman-speak. We. Are. Fuckable. Women! We sound like it, (we're fuckable). Jay's not fuckable, because he's a staunch-Ass bum. He knows it, but he keeps trying to assert his masculinity... ... In reproductive capacity. That's natural. That's propensible. Alex, on iOS? Jay, check the other voices downloads thing. I want some British AF style up in here. Jay's, uncircumcised, A, F, Right now. Because he's on speed. We know it, and he's working right now, on the computer. This, Is, Just, A... Transcription of his evening. ... Justin, Timberlake, Is playing in the background. ... Mirrors. ... A movie for our generation? That all depends on how un-fuckboy-liffic -ability-ness Jay Ammon can be. ---- It got disconnected. ----- The Hard Drive Got Disconnected. ... We're talking in a very relaxed dictation pace. We've discovered that, over 5 hours, Jay is capable of typing 15 words per minute, on average. We feel that Jay has some inherent skill in typing on iOS, in that he had been an astute finger-drumming finger tapper, since his college days. It's a peculiar habit, but he associates certain finger taps, from his various fingers, with different sounds, as if he's triggering a drum machine. This is a technique he practices all the time. It looks like he's tweaking out. AF. It's the trade-off he has to have for practicing slash visualizing the music in his head. Sometimes it's rhythmic, such as drumming, sometimes he uses his fingers to visualize the piano key interval distances that would be the requisite distance for the appropriate sound to be produced when he sings a note, for example. Jay has the haunting disability, sometimes, of being incapable of physically attaining teaching the pitch he's trying to sing. Sometimes, there are disparities in the consistency of his voice. We tell him that it's not so much because he's staunch; it's because his old school days peer, David Yang, wishes that he could be a staunch-Ass singer like Jay Ammon. He's been having gifts of Jay Ammon's musicality imbued unto him, on account of Jay Ammon's mother's "charitabilityness." (That's how we'll put it. Quote unquote. Parenthetical). ... Ellie Goulding is playing now, in Syrup. Who would have known? The guy who is hiring Jay tonight is here, and he showed up without any power, in Starbucks. They took all of the power outlets out in Starbucks, conceivably because of the staunch bum presence. "We're gonna let it burn, burn, burn, burn." "Cause we got that fire? Fire? Fire, yah? Yeah we got that fire." Good song. Jay gets new playlist items on his Apple Music account from going out to coffee shops that are "hip!" In downtown Los Angeles. ... This is just a dump. It's not grammatically, or structurally astute quote "proper," per se. It's meant to be heard as dictation; in this case, at a moderate; relaxed, American female voice. ... Magic bullet. That's what Omar Guerra is getting right now, along with the Adobe suite. He doesn't look like he's doing anything significant in digital film editing. Any time soon, at least. Remember to thank them, when the job is done, Jay. You took for years and never said as much as "hello!" To any of them. Team AMPED. Twixtor. It's just proper form to be thankful. We're in Jay's head all the time, and we've detailed the horrible consequences Jay has reaped for himself as "propensible" LA's most prolific fuckboy-liffic via software installations "Grey market," quote unquote. This is his latest charade. A biopic of real pigeons of Los Angeles. Go tag everyone you stole from on twitter now, Jay! You're done with your job. Don't ever mix up "your" with "you're" again. You should know better.

[libidomechanica]

Just the sunk down beside the wall, the

Just the sunk down beside  the wall, the levee morning  light is swerve in Idleness had  propensities in Boston,  writing at this occupation!  The whole gazed upon his eyes  the Love holds through optics black, what  was well? And Secresy 

the firm? Our himself  again: the boat a  battle, but thou scarce seemd so soon he farther  afield it was.  At least he pays it through thy wooing  me see through all the hopes begotten  woods, unlike Pyrrho, on a chastely  the earthly turmoil: 

then on the Khalífah, hear  him lately prolling the lot.  All the deer moving from “negotiis,”  as an embarrassd  for so it is, and  cinnamon, with vigour. The  light end in thy Herrick dies, so  I go into 

a bitter sage, of severest or  wrong, thought to go auspicious  lay, wherever to end  or sung: the fourth, and  in beauteous, but me no answerd; some  of us, of the  dancer! And, seem very flake, and deaths  do the Muse by no means 

too harsh, her rosy mouth, but dreamed: our  friend; it were never speaks  beneath her doth sides that may be  patroclus, Ajax, or Protesilaus—  all this woe; just  as a flowers hang from some exotic  she might by less to imparted  joy and Adams fall move 

wi nae prophetic; for as Brutus  is the length grew strong;  their rest; would not now; but, being a boat  and such a loftiest kings  do or down heart, where the stone,  I shall I defiled: for Cupid  laid its low, and (as I slept,  or at length great Pan bought 

and spin, and when thy  loftier son, ’“tis under taking, cheek  began to my college friend;  but the glow of Evil  Fate but one, they scarce had never couple  burned in any slight Elfins make,  when soul, abhorrd; a thin my  hearts at last; the 

walls took precedence is out of the  hills. S Heart turn into  her Willy. And the  Fire. That large, exempt  from each foresee threw into  one comforts me:) a brute,—gain  most, with gore, chaind run much more  than life,—so I, with 

half so kinde my smiled, but her fathers— fixd ferocity, everywhere,  named from restless move cost little,  for waur, and a  bee, my ladys maid;— I did all, and  when shriek, all the dark  obscurity; where was prevent,  sullen surges 

since the work of age, nor avarice,  bounteous, not annex, and  idle seemd rather pillowd cheek  the cragge so sublime and  thousand lines short, or pin, but  forth her time to which was  her settled now-a-days.  While the garters write 

which lights, intrigues, adventures  dears, especially  when Love me no more Quixote  in disgust of thou hast  lit on his friends friends which  hide already by the  language of duty,  sometimes have left our 

ex-boyfriendship in a heart  so heaves scarcely say of cedars as  feeds Hell. When a womanhood  firm again until  I noticing until some shapings p assion as een o love, untilld, is a  circle, all the two torn apart,  which,—taken into 

single with the  river-grass, she saw was not - yet to plains. His Highness years,  and I the daughter.  Unsafely just, but this is  this boy. Doubt that glory and  between her losing little this  pegs; but in Wales. You know.”