#and talking to my concience
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sometimes I think I’m schizophrenic
#I don’t like it#and I don’t like self diagnosing#and there is so much stigma#and I don’t want to tell anyone in my life#but#there can only be so many hallucinations#and thoughts#and speaking to higher powers#and coincidences#and not understanding what I’m thinking#and talking to my concience#and getting stuck in my own head#and believe me#i know it’s not true#but in the moment#i see the numbers and it all makes sense to me#and I’m scared#because I’m not in therapy anymore#and it’s all just getting worse#and I don’t want to loose myself
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How Greif Devours Identity in Hamlet: An Informal Short Essay
Inspired by If We Were Villians, I took it upon myself to freshen up on my Shakespeare. So, last night I finished reading Hamlet for the first time since my freshman year of college! It was a trip to relive all of my old annotations and notes on the play, and to dive back into Shakespeare after such a long time. Thank Folger Shakespeare Library for footnotes!
A few things caught my attention, especially the theme of identity and grief being so intertwined. So let's talk about it for a moment~~
As somone who has experianced a little too much grief in my lifetime, it was cathartic to read Hamlet and appreciate others processing loss. Shakespeare, the master of words and human emotion that he is, has painted the transformative... if not transfiguring... powers of grief on the human mind. This is not exclusive to the character of Hamlet himself, though his madness is the center of the play, but includes all the characters.
Since I have made myself promise this will be a short essay, i'll localize my thoughts on a specific passage:
"Not where he eats, but where he is eaten. A certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only empoeror for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service-- two dishes but to one table. That's the end" (Act 4, Scene 3).
So, here's the thing... I took this a little differently than Shakespeare may have intended in this scene. The talk of the "worms" which feast on us when we are dead made me think of The Corpse Bride by Tim Burton.
In Emily's ear is a maggot that acts as her concience. He eats at her mind and replaces her thoughts with his own. I couldn't help but feel that is exactly what grief has done to these characters. Like worms, fattening upon each character, sorrow, revenge, fear, and guilt all crawl into the ears of the court and feast until there is nothing left.
For example, take Hamlet at the end of this play. Hamlet is "not where he eats," which would be an action of taking the King's life and digesting what has happened to his father, but ends "where he is eaten" by the guilt of not being able to override his character and seek revenge on Claudius until the last moment. Try as he might to change the course of fate (hah, get it course lol), the ending remains the same. Which leads to the line "two dishes but to one table."
We see this all throughout the novel as different sets of characters come to the table: Claudius x King Hamlet, Hamlet x Claudius, Hamlet x Mother, Opheilia x Hamlet, Laertes x Hamlet... etc. Even the lesser characters die in pairs like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Two lives devoured together at the same table.
I think this is an interesting way of looking at volitile emotions and understanding how people struggle to cope. Grief can eat at you, literally, and it not only leads to a physical deterioration but to a death of self. No matter how clever and careful you are going about it, no matter what reasons you have, acting against one's character will always eat at one's concience. Especially when you look around and see the other people in your life feasting on the same meal at the same table.
So while grief can feel like a worm in our minds, it's also more common among our companions than we see. Too blinded by our own struggles, we let emotions devour our sense of self, and can't see how our behavior reflects and is reflected back to us. We are what we eat, in all senses.
Which is why I think that Hamelt is an exceptional play on how emotions can play (or prey) on us!
Updated edition of the Folger Shakespeare Library edited by Barbara A. Mowat and Paul Werstine used in this essay :)
#literature#dark academia#books & libraries#romantic academia#aesthetic#classic academia#books#words#light academia#book quotes#if we were villains#william shakespeare#hamlet#shakespeare#personal#corpse bride#picture source: pinterest
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Don't know if it's been asked yet, but do you have any thoughts on vampires being a queer thing that you would like to share? I mean you've got everything from the inspiration and themes in Bram Stoker's Dracula, to Vampire: The Masquerade being the most explicitly queer ttrpg that i've ever seen, and your lovely podcast of course! What do you think makes us queer folk go feral for vampires?
so at some point i will be making a bonus episode type thing which will go into more detail and I'll be talking about queerness and monstrousness there, it's in draft for but this is something i think about a LOT and I have a lot of thoughts about it. here i'm going to talk about it in a specific kind of way. and i will speak here to a kind of nebulous 'us', but i'm speaking about myself, my own thoughts, and an imagined community, and i don't mean to include people in that 'us' who don't feel this resonates with them. this is a deeply subjective thing, and there are SO MANY reasons that vampires can be important to queer people, and everyone will have their own nuanced answer, I am sure. but this is mine:
vampires live on the fringes of society. the vampires i write (though not all vampires) could look, most of the time, like any other person. they blend right in. you'll only know what they are if they tell you. they are ASSUMED to be human. even the ones that don't actively pass for human, the people interacting with them are more likely to come away with an unsettling sense of difference they cannot fully articulate than a clear, definitive sense of 'they are a vampire'.
to be able to 'clock' a vampire, one needs to have some knowledge of vampireness. people will have this knowledge of vampires for one of a few reasons; they are also vampires; they have people in their life who are vampires who they love; they are fearful of vampires. if it's the third thing? to be recognised is to put yourself at risk of violence.
vampires have a vested interest, then, in being hidden. to be clear, they do not all play this game. some choose to create their own communities, entirely removed from non-vampires. others have communities which run adjacent to mainstream human society, overlapping of humans, not unwelcoming, but not directly inviting them into their spaces, either. some vampires live in plain sight, hiding what they are from everyone but a chosen few.
most importantly of all, though, vampires are thinking, feeling beings, who have personhood and identity that is the same as a human's personhood and identity, despite having a radically different experience of living, despite their experiences of the world being wholly divergent, they are still A Person in the exact way that a human is A Person, with a self, and a self-image, and a concience, and so on and so forth.
where queerness and vampireness diverge is important. vampires need to feed on the blood of others to live. they really CAN be a danger in all of the ways that those who are fearful of them believe. queer people are not dangerous just by virtue of being who we are except in that we challenge the status quo. we're dangerous only to people who think that basic human rights are something to be hoarded jealously, who think that because THEY are comfortable exploiting others, if they were to allow others to have rights and power will mean that they in turn will be exploited.
but EVEN THOUGH it's not true that queer people are inherently dangerous, i think many of us grow up believing people when they tell us we are. even before we know how to describe ourselves, or even begin to recognise sameness in places where most people only seem to see otherness, the seed of that fear is buried deep in our psyches. the fear we are frightening. we are monstrous. we are monsters.
and to me, it's about exploring that feeling, that fear of one's own monstrousness which is SO TIED to something as fundamental and gentle as who we are attracted to, or how we percieve our genders, or whether or not we feel certain kind of attraction at all. society says to queer people that the most INTIMATE parts of who they are make them frightening! and that's one of many reasons why i think vampires can hold such appeal as an analogue for queerness, and it's why they mean so much to me.
--- Eira xxx
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Wolf/Rabbit parallels between Yuji/Mahito and Megumi
Watching the anime, the end of the fight between Yuji and Mahito became prominent on my mind again. We see Mahito utterly defeated and running away for his life, slowly chased down by Yuji who promises him that he'll kill him without remorse now and every time he gets reborn.
The scene even gets an overlay of a snowed-in landscape, driving home the imagery of Mahito being chased as a rabbit, small and defenceless, by a big and white wolf. The anime adds some extra scenes into this e.g. by showing us a rabbit with a broken leg.
The representation of this turn in power dynamics is extremely visual (Mahito's new facial expressions, him running away, the split panel with Yuji on the left and Mahito on the right with Yuji's hitherto unseen cold demeanor that's Sukuna-like) with an extra metaphor added on top with the prey animal and predator.
It's really striking though that Gege decided to use this prey and this predator: a white rabbit and white wolf. Two animals mostly associated with Megumi. Yuji himself is mostly associated with a tiger.
For the above metaphor, the rabbit and the wolf are adversaries with an obvious showing of who kills who. For Megumi though the rabbit and the wolf are companions and two of his shikigami that are still alive - except with the white and black wolfs/dogs reversed.
If we were to try and apply this imagery and metaphor onto Megumi, we could come up with the theme that Megumi is his own and biggest enemy right now. His dog and his rabbit existed in harmony with each other but now there is internal strife caused by trauma that ripped those shikigami apart into a state of prey and predator.
If Megumi had been mentally stable (which is an impossibility after all the suffering he was pushed into) he could've reacted to Yuji entering his inner domain by retaking his body. But he's obviously in deep pain and resignation because of outside influences - Sukuna's torture.
Those influences most likely have also caused inner turmoil where Megumi's mind, his heart, his desires, his duties, his concience, everything is working against each other leading him to be in a state of powerlessness. His Cursed Technique and body have been literally used against him as well.
In the next chapters, Yuji and the others will try to bring Megumi to fight back and defeat Sukuna from the inside. From the looks of it, this will be a tough call because Megumi already lost his will to live. Whoever will take the lead on that help and who will contribute what is unimportant right now.
The thing is, even if/when Tsumiki's soul itself starts to talk to Megumi, he'll still be completely defeated because what he had cherrished and wanted the most in his life died at his hands and won't come back. Even if Megumi wanted to listen to Tsumiki and Yuji, parts of him won't get up from that floor he was trapped on for a month completely alone.
In the Mahito metaphor, Yuji is represented for some reason as a white wolf. The anime shows this better with additional black wolves at his side. Yuji's colour scheme, overall but especially in that fight, is black however.
The very first shikigami from Megumi that had been killed was his white wolf and that by Sukuna's Finger Bearer. When we apply the Yuji/Mahito metaphor to Megumi, the white/black inversion of colours becomes significant because it pulls Yuji - the white wolf - into Megumi's struggles.
It also pushes the fear that Yuji will be killed by Sukuna to the forefront. Megumi's metaphorical white wolf might get killed directly by Sukuna who had previously killed his literal white wolf indirectly.
There is also comfort there though when your first fallen friend spiritually guides you back to the light. Megumi just needs to see and understand that and finally find the conviction to live for himself without being bound down by Tsumiki and her death.
(The association between Yuji and Tiger Funeral though is also there. Tiger Funeral did not have a design reveal and I think Gege intentionally made that decision so Megumi could be the first to summon him right after Yuji saves him to show us their bond.)
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i think the part I hold dearest to my heart is just rose and john talking together in the very beginning, their back and forth made me understand what the word "chemistry" meant between characters.
TT: You're wearing one of your disguises now, aren't you?
TT: You are typing to me right now while wearing something ridiculous.
EB: no, why would you even think that??
EB: that's so stupid.
And of course he was wearing something ridiculous. It was just so simply charming, how she knew him so well and how he was so goofy about it. I fell in love with their dynamic and friendship right then and there, and they've never disappointed me ever since, all their convos were really good. Dave and Jade just added more greateness as time went on too.
Besides that, I liked the felt intermission, cascade, the introduction of the planets, the ancestors, the classpects, i don't know. many things, it really was so unique, and its a pity that homestuck could have become a pioneer of a new genre of media if it ended well, like you could have people being inspired by it and copy what worked, but instead webcomics are pretty much dead in general, and it all fell apart so hard that now most people regret having ever read it and I can't in good concience say that I don't feel the same way. fuck even viz regrets buying the ip lol
So maybe thats the worst part to me, that plus collide, vriskagram, keeping the beta kids separated, the awful meteor scenes, shit the alpha kids plotline in general, it really ruined everything. which is a shame because i do like their characters individually.
Also fuck calliope, she was a mary sue and boring as hell. i wanted her to be the main antagonist alongside caliborn, not a waste of my time. that ending flash was the shittiest ending ive ever seen, it pissed me off so bad.
#Homestuck#homestuck fandom#JohnRose#Grimdorks#HS calliope#Calliope#Calliope Cherub#Intermission#Cascade#Collide#Vriskagram
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idk if i should have put this on the post butt i figured it could get kind of long lol… are the people being experimented on just humans or other creatures(idk if that’s the word you would use) too? if it’s other creatures, do you have any idea if you’re wanting different races to react differently to the testing or have different end results?
also for the immersive things: idk if they’re neglected in other places but i love it when there’s fantasy foods and like holidays discussed, or i guess culture in general. i can’t remember what i read but it had like a little encyclopedia at the end that explained more about foods mentioned and the history of holidays that were mentioned! i really enjoyed being able to read more about it. i think that sort of thing would be great, especially if you’re putting little snippets up just to give things more context.
you're amazing thankyou for the asks i'm feral about you!! Not gonna go too deep into anything too nasty but under the cut there's vague gore mentions and cannibalism mentions below!
The experiments are all sorts!! Humans, such as Fio's partner Adam, are the main focus of the trials involving the removal of body parts to create realistic synthetics, hoping to eventually create what are basically fantasy androids to act as spies and soldiers. But elves, orcs, the iilae/amrat/evira (sometimes collectively called 'beastfolk' or beastmen' to various levels of displeasure) and miscellanous animals are also being subject to these treatments!! If an uncanny human gets spotted, well, that's fair - humans are aware, for the most part, of their behavioral patterns. But a bird, or a rabbit? They (hypothetically, at least) would be much harder to spot.
The the thinnest upper crust of the human countries and a majority of the Sterkyyn (or Mana Elves) display excitement about these experiments, and the ability to spy on yout enemies without putting yourself in harms way without the blood on their concience of a living spy killed in action, though paranoia in these ranks is also increasing. For the Sterkyyn, they think it their right to understand the ways of magic and mechanics and, due to their extensive legislation and powerful position of the map, they are able to hoard knowledge and advancements from the further reaches of elven civilisation while keeping these horrendous experiments hidden. Of course, rumors get around, but by the beginning of the stories very little is truly known about what is going on in the Inner Sanctum, and whether or not these godless creations are already leaking into the world.
Fantasy foods and holidays!!! This is such a good idea - I haven't read a book with a feature like that in some time but I totally know what you're talking about!! If there's interest I'd love to talk about some of the holidays, especially around the times when they would occur! The one's I'm working on at the moment are the Kyyn-specific festivities, tied into the elven creation myths!! Each sub-species of elf are descended from one of the mother godess' children, who all left her overbearing presence and changed the world around them to make a life for themselves and their descendants. Each group celebrates separately with different traditions, though most species practice some form of ritualistic cannibalism on these days!! Givokyyn and Dravkyyn practice this year round with some specific rules about who, when and how flesh should be prepared and eaten, though the practice isn't looked down upon by anyone but a select group of Sterkyyn and the humans - and even then, the sacred rites are rarely witnessed by humans.
While I'm certain there'll be some fantastic harvest festivals to talk about and even a handful of recipies to try out at home, no one quite does an "independance day" like a rural Givo village... I'm adding a sort of Traveller's Guide to my worldbuilding bible for stuff like this, as well as plants and their properties that don't exist here on Earth for future posts and to slap on the end of the stories!!
Thankyou again so so much for the ask I'm loving this <3333
#sleeptalks#sleep writes#sleep answers#thankyou again soilrocks for the ask you have NO IDEA how excited i am#i've waited years to talk about this!!! i'm shaking the bars of the enclosure#tw cannibalism#tw gore mention#sleep's streidal chronicals#< new writing tag??
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Things my friends and I have said in our world lit class:
"He's Lancelot 'Plot Armor' du Lac."
"Ok but Medea wasn't that bad actually."
"Huh, Creon actually attempted to fix his shit, didn't know he had enough of a concience."
"I would ignore stranger danger for Jason too actually."
"Well obviously people like the Knights of the Round Table better than Arthur, they're so much less boring."
"Ewww but they're cousins-" "Her parents were literally mother and son what's your point."
"Controversial opinion: Burying your neice alive isn't actually better than outright killing her."
*talking about how Morgana disguised herself as Guinivere to get with Guinivere's husband(her brother)* "She really is her father's daughter." "She wasn't Uther's kid." "FUCK."
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Hey, Inner Me Anon here! I've been doing a lot of thinking based on what you and others in the community have said and I have some thoughts I'd like to share! First of, I have concluded that the Inner Me is NOT a case of plurality but it is indeed MADD as well as heavy Dissociation and some other mental health stuff that's already been diagnosed but won't get into unless you give me the OK. That being said, I... still think I'm at least otherhearted? In a way? 1/?
Like... all the fictional worlds, characters, stories etc. I've consumed over the years, the adventures inside and outside canon, the little corner of reality that has been built inside my head... inside my very soul... everything and everyone in them still feel like my friends, my family, my home! I know them, I LOVE THEM, I don't EVER want to be apart from them! Not again! It would BREAK me! I wouldn't BE me without them! 2/? And PLEASE understand, I LOVE my irl family (no friends, unfortunately), I have made LEAPS and BOUNDS on becoming a better, more healthy, more balanced person, and I am SATISFIED, even *HAPPY* with my life now for the FIRST TIME in *17* **YEARS**, but... I can't, in good concience and finality, let it all go. Otherwise... I wouldn't be able to identify as *anything*. 3/4 So I ask you, as well as anyone willing to answer: would it be okay for me to be at least psychological otherhearted with these criteria or would it cause more harm than good to do so? 4/4
Okay, I say this with all the gentleness and fondness in my heart, but - look me in the eyes. It is not my job to dictate whether it's okay for someone to use a word if they're well aware of the definition of the word and feel it fits them. You clearly know what you're talking about, therefore it is not my job nor do I have the right to dictate for you that you're not "otherhearted enough" - especially since I'm not even otherhearted myself! Or "otherkin enough," or "enough" of whatever label you decide fits. Experiences are weird and mushy and words are just our best attempt to communicate them in a relatively efficient way.
In other words: if you read about otherheartedness and you feel it fits you, then use the word if you want. The same goes for otherkin, or whatever else - and I will say here that while I know what you mean, saying you're "at least" otherhearted is... not very kind to otherhearted people and implies that 'heartedness is less important/real than 'kinity. :P If the word 'hearted is useful in getting across your experiences, I say by all means use it - but I am not the Arbiter of Validity, nor is anyone else.
Glad you're making progress in figuring things out! Best of luck to you going forward <3
#otherhearted#otherkin#putting that tag on this bc i know you were questioning this being a 'kin thing last time and i'm unclear if you still are#rani talks#asked and answered#anonymous
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Skyrim Asks
I forgot that I was tagged by @sheirukitriesfandom gods know when... This was just staying in my drafts way too long but I had fun doing it. Perhaps I need more OC ask games...
Not tagging anyone, but you can just take it if you want. And tag me, I’ll gladly read about yours ;)
1. Favourite Tavern
Bannered Mare. That’s where she met Uthgerd, good memories.
The Winking Skeever because beds with blankets and sheets, not just hides!!!
2. Favourite Drink
Wine. Simply like myself because, honestly, I didn’t give it much thought... But Laere would certainly prefer good wine to mead, and is not a fan of something stronger.
3. Travel Companion
Uthgerd, for sure. Wife and companion (also a bodyguard, sometimes the voice of reason, lol). But also Mjoll (she’s really nice and talkative) and Brelyna (same, they’ve become friends).
(Uthgerd retired and started running the house after Laere reached level 30... probably weary of all her fighting and adventuring, wanting a calm life... Laere would probably stick with Lydia for awhile, but needs someone else)
4. Wealthy or not?
She can make some good money... and spend it gods know on what, because... she has expences, you know ;) Then feel broke as hell...
5. Worships the Aedra or the Daedra?
Azura. It’s a family tradition: long time ago, back in Morrowind, Laere’s ancestors secretly have sympathised with dissidents and worshipped Azura. She’s not very faithful, though.
6. Biggest Fear
As of now - failing somehow. All this mess has gone too far, but what if it’s all a mistake, she’s not a real Dragonborn, there’s someone stronger than her?
(facing some people from the past... returning to her family failed, having to do what her parets say and assume they were right, they won).
7. Pet Peeves
Those filthy nords (and other men and mer, dunmer too) who are fond of Barenzia stories too much, thinking all dunmer girls are like this. Laere’s not.
8. Do they like being dragonborn?
She didn’t like training at Hrothgar because too much discipline, waking up early etc - not her thing. But assunming it didn’t last long, others (like Ulfric) spent way more time on this - OK. Shouting out flames is fun, for sure! And she’s curious, at the same time. Not the type to give up and leave (all my OCs have concience and feel responsibility for their missions). She has people to support her, so she finally sticks to it...
Also she doesn’t want to go back to Cyrodiil and her family.
9. Favourite faction
Not any I can think of.
She’s only with Winterhold so far. Blades want Partuurnax dead, which is not a chance an option. Companions want her to become a werewolf, the author steps in saying “no werewolves or vampirism ‘cause I’m through with all this goth stuff”.
10. An object of sentimental value
Her leather armor. She made it herself and valued it.
It’s not even in the game, just my headcanon: Laere had it on since the very beginning. And that captain lady from Helgen was imagining trying it on... it would be small for her anyway.
11. Hobbies
Crafting some stuff (selling it later would bring some cash). And... erm, just sleeping =) resting from all those adventures wnenever she can ‘cause that;s important.
12. Favourite city
Solitude because it’s rather Imperial. Pretty much familiar, relatively warm and comfortable.
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Tell me,
why can't people knowing me accept that when I don't want to see anyone because I simply don't feel like to have anyone around me right now?
What is so difficult to understand that?
Instead I get: "But if you come, you'll see that it's cool you came by."
How about no?
It may look like I'm fine with it and that I had fun, becasue I'm doing my best not to dissapoint you, but I cleary do not because people drain my social battery, especially when it's a group of them.
Also I don't want to talk about "what are you going to do around Christmas/New Year's Eve?" because it's the fucking same procedure like every year. I don't have to tell you that and it doesn't interest me what other people do because I'm not a part of their private lifes anyway - we just work together.
Take me goddamn seriously when I tell you: "Sorry but I don't feel like seeing anyone rn." And don't make suggestions it wil lbe better if I come.
It does not.
I've enough personal reasons why I don't like Winter/end of the year at all. My birthday shortly before Christmas I can never celebrate because no one has time for it, then my grandma used to have her birthday exactly when it's Christmas - so no Christmas at all. She passed away two years ago shortly before my birthday. Does not make it any better. My families Christmas will always be a sad day somehow from now on, because she ain't there anymore. Even my parents don't want to celebrate christmas big, just my dad, my mum, the lil doggie and this year my dads mum. that's it.
But instead I get the sentence: "C'mon, person x made that plan having this and that and the resonance wasn't that high, so it would be nice if you come at least" for making me having a guilty concience. Like I'm the reason their little meeting will flop now just becasue I've decided not to show up.
Thank you very much for ruining my day.
#rant i guess#I'm an introvert#yes I like to be alone#being alon is my kind of having peace#accept this thank you#If I feel like talking I will do
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Just make it until 30 and see how you feel and go from there
30 feels so good
remember all the years where you were just learning colors and words? and then emotions and the concept of good and bad? and then learning more and more, going through puberty still stumbling around, your teens where your consciencness practically really just started-
and then your 20s is practically your teens, where youve had enough experience as a concience human to actually start doing something with it, to actually start beginning your life
your 20s you are still lame and awkward. you still worry about what people think to a point where it affects your life. you still care about trends, and being up to date. you feel like youve been wasting your life when you literally just started figuring things out
and by the time youre 30 its just...
ive seen so many people talk about how good 30 feels it feels like you can finally stop holding your breath
in your 20s and before, it feels tense like so much expectation
but once you reach 30 you are able to understand what actually matters. and it takes such a load off
everyone is different and some people have no option. literally no option. and i support those people. i love them. i understand as an outsider
i always say to wait, that there is always some other option, but for some that option is death.
But before that, wait until you are 30. not on the day, live until 31. And see where your options are and how you feel
and from what ive heard 40 is even better. and 50. and so on
I definitely am in a place of privilege because i am not on hell like some are. and ive been around those people, my mother was one and we all agreed that there was no other option . she wasnt living
i look back and i dont know if i was right. i have more knowledge now. there have long been more opportunities. different platforms new medications
right before she died, when we thought the pills didnt work, she wanted her favorite food and talked about wanting to go to the movies the next day
and that is such a common story
not to get all heavy on a more lighthearted post
but seriously for YOU, wait.
But also know you are not selfish for feeling like theres no other option. you are not selfish. it is selfish of others to only think of their wellbeing in the face of your pain
But know that too many times is there regret, there are people who lived after an attempt and glad they lived
who changed their mind before they fell
If you are already 30, reach 40. not for anyone but for you because you deserve after all the shit you have had to go through, to get some compensation for it.
and that doesnt mean happiness. no one can say for sure if you are going to be a textbook definition of happy
but how different could your life look? what new things can you find joy in and what old things become new under different circumstances
I have heard of terrible situations that people have been in, especially lately. And none of us have any place to keep people here who are not living life simply because we want them to stay
we can not claim to understand exactly how someone feels even in a situation we also have been through
but when you are in that terrible situation, and you feel that the only option is to kill yourself, remember that in any other circumstance, you would choose life
no one aspires to kill themselves. its not some goal people look forward to
This is why if you can, be vocal on how you feel. Be blunt. "I have no option left and i feel i need to kill myself and i need help from anyone to find more options for me"
You have to make sure there is not a hidden option. One no one close to you has thought of but maybe a stranger will
You deserve the chance at a life where you live, not just survive, not just a zombie going through the motions
if we had waited, there would have been more options for my mom.
If i had reached out to more people, maybe my friend wouldn't have gone back to her abusive household
if i had waited those options would become apparent to me.
If you are young, wait until you are 30. If you are 30, wait 10 more years, and so on.
move the goal post, until you cant. And remember that at least I support you. I dont want you to die, but you are not selfish. I am there with you even if we dont know each other
You are not a bad person. You are in pain, you hurt, you are at the worst youve ever experienced. And you deserve a better life, even if that might mean for some people, and end to that life
Again to be clear to anyone who hasnt seen this take before: People dont kill themselves because they want to, they do it because they feel they have to in order to escape trauma.
When i say i support these peoples decision i am not saying it lightly. ALWAYS do whatever you can do for however long you or others can to give this person options and oppurtunities.
But there becomes a point where there is nothing left. its been years, theyve hit their goals, theyve suffered and nothing has changed.
That is when you support them. When they need it the absolute most.
You are not urging them. Not at all. You are holding their hand and showing them that they are not vilified. that they matter so much, that you want whats best for them. And only them
In my experience, this has helped people step away from suicide at least for the time being. Because in the moment they are thinking of what they want to be rid of, but also what other people think of them killing themselves
this is why i am just 1000% against seeing suicide as selfish. it is NOT selfish because its not about YOU
Anyway. Ive been dealing with this my whole life, ive made mistakes and ive helped people. And this is what ive learned in my 31 years of life
you have to stay alive. you're going to be such a beautiful middle aged freak. young freaks will see you in the street and know that things can be okay.
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The plague: round 2
I am currently suffering from covid for a second time. This is much worse than last time which was right after I got vaccinated and only felt mild sniffles. This current bout is more than 6 months since my last booster in the fall. It's BAD. I thought I had the flu. My muscles hurt so bad, my joints hurt, my head hurt, my throat was raw. Thank the heavens for ibuprofin or I would be writhing right now. As it stands I just feel mildly ill and am bored out of my skull. Normally I would be fine staying home and reading, knitting, or hanging out in the backyard, but because I can't leave (by my own concience. Also I work in a hospital so I am banished until further notice). I feel trapped. It's also very strange that both times I've gotten sick have been right after euthenizing a dog. So I just have to sit in my grief alone. And this time I don't have another one to console/distract me. My spouse has picked a different floor to live on for the forseeable future. We've been talking through doors or the phone. This is purely anecdotal, but I don't think treating this like a seasonal illness is correct. I've been careful about crowded venues and getting vaccinated, but it's not enough to prevent illness. For contrast, a simple yearly vaccine has kept me from getting the flu for over a decade, probably 2. I'm currently "adequately protected" but would be laid out if not for my pharmaceuticals. It's not enough and we've become way too lax as a society about what is considered acceptable risks. Ugh. Rant over I guess.
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A lot of my relationship with spirituality is informed with being raised within Ifa, but my previous post I talk about why I do things the way I do. The "wrong" way. I do believe there is a huge difference between me who was raised within the practice, and then rebelled against it due to corruption and someone else who learned about the Orishas from a music video or something and just wants to appropriate the practice without any of the work or true understanding. There's a lot of depth to African Spirituality I don't think anyone can really internalize unless they are immersed in the culture and practice. But nor can I ever in good concience recommend anyone get initiated and involved in ATR after everything I have seen inside. I don't know what the answer is. I wish I did. What I think is desperately needed is to remove money from the practice. It just attracts all the wrong people and the absolute worst kinds of environments. I don't know how, and I'm not in any place to dictate that. Nor do I think I ever could. But in its current state, it is far from what it is meant to be. Sacred practices and places are not supposed to feel sleazy and slimy. I know none of the Orishas or our ancestors can possibly be happy with its current state.
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I had lost my concience before I knew I was being taken away. It felt like a wonderful sleep. I usually considered myself to be resilient to the extremes; almost a requirement in my harsh life. But today, for the second time this month, I had been put to sleep, and offered no resistance. When I woke up, I lacked the strength to even open my eyelids.
Beyond my closed eyes, I could sense a lamp being put against my face, and my reflex, I turned my head away, I managed to speak two words, which were replied by a tender but somewhat sinister laughter.
- "Please...stop..."
Soon, the voice, belonging to a woman, spoke in a playful tone. Knowing that she was the one who kidnapped me made feel at ease. Cassandra would never try to hurt me.
- "Ohh, so, you are awake already, doll" - Cassandra put a hand in my cheek, rising my head to meet her vision, forcing me to open my eyes - "well, that's just wonderful. I hope I didn't catch you while busy, Dear Luna"
I glanced at her while realizing where I was placed in. A bed, tucked away like a child, without the strength to fight back, even if I wanted to. Her long black her was tied in a long ponytail, reaching her back. Bangs framed her face, with golden eyes staring at me. She was dressed in what seemed like a laboratory robe.
- "Sadly, our time together will be interrupted once again soon, but please Luna, don't forget me. I do this for your own sake - she said, while gently touching my head -"I'll return for you again, I promise"
She then grabbed my hand without resistance, as I remained out of energy, and reenacted that pinky promise we had done so many years ago.
My eyes were dull, but had began to fill wit tears. Cassandra covered me with another blanket while she grabbed a pistol, and, with a determined look on her face, walked out of the room. I could only whisper a few words before my eyelids fell in front of my eyes.
- "Don't go..."
They say that you dream something related to what you were thinking about before you went to bed. I could certainly prove it now, but I was not aware if I was experiencing a reminiscence or a dream. I only knew I was on the streets once again, where I had spent a large part of my life until that moment.
There was a girl, she always came to talk with me. We had been friends ever since before I ended up without a place to go. She bought me some things I needed in exchange for a hug. I always craved her warmth.
Suddenly, I could feel how I was being pulled back again. I panicked, and tightened my hug with her so that we would not be separated. I had begun to cry, afraid of losing her.
I cried and cried, but her hand, now one of a child, cleaned my face of tears and dirt, before grabbing my hand.
- "Luna" - we had become children again, and we were alone in the playground before my life became hell - "I promise, when I grow and become strong and smart, I'll protect you. I don't care what's between us!"
She was a fool. But a child nonetheless. One with a heart of gold, forced into antagonistic behavior by her own upbringing. Maybe she was insane, but I had never despised her. I would never and could never. Even if she kidnapped me every time. Maybe I'm insane too.
After a while, I opened my eyes breathing heavily, and rose up with difficulty. The cold air of the room hit my warm skin, but I couldn't care less. I needed her more than ever, but my voice had failed me, and I was forced into silence. My throat refused to speak. However, almost like a psychic connection, she came, and I clutched the bed, almost afraid of something. She began to laugh warmly.
- "Hahahah...oh, doll. You still have cute reactions. Don't worry, no one is here aside from us"
...there was no one? Where was the hero that had rescued me so many times? It seemed like...he didn't bother to come. Part of me felt empty and abandoned, like I always had for so many years. Soon, my body fell on the bed once again, and Cassandra hugged me from outside the blankets, surrounding me in them like a sushi roll.
Perhaps I was not alone anymore. I was forgotten. Cassandra wouldn't say my name anymore, and just called me how I was to her. A doll. Soon, I would forget myself. But at least, she kept hugging me.
You are kidnapped by the villain regularly, but you’re starting to look forward to it. You know they won’t hurt you, and are simply being dramatic. It also doesn’t help that you are the only person they ever kidnap. This time, the hero doesn’t bother trying to save you.
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And now a soft as hym semed a truce
A ballad sequence
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”—At this toppyng twynnen of love. And noȝt of sacrifice. Now, lege lorde, lede, if I silent light, and Lip I kisses
mightest far from things ’tis the winds, but a great gods, and couþly hym kyssez þe raynez giftes; ladies fast þurȝ þe
schewez hem ful brode paumez; for ay fayth doth spred his ryȝt þay sued hym ful bayn, a grene gomen, in my mother side,
full of dew? To fights, and gradual, with hor knyȝt con calle, for whom the hyghe; fro þe maner of þis trwe tytelet
tokenez bi a cragge, he could rested, auinant. Of a wroth as loue, where the Lizard keepes her harts closely smile,
or play wyth hymnes that lonely my selfe new begin! A melting pleasure, if nor moue her? But rather will be incense-
pillow bundle of trawþe and brake. Oh, the women. And wyth syȝt er he will; bearing, as it was so much; if only
word of louers wast late and sayde, and þose were soft skin of golden, green and the wontst to his eyes admyre, and ofte chants
that faylez of armes full of gres þay slypte, slentyng wyl I wene wel, on Goddez buskez, and more. These ravine, stellas
sweet praise, such sweet lays; then, I say. For þaȝ my heele: but wept with place to praises dew, young Phoebus, and braydez out
a bayt such wrong done withouten dyn more cruelty doth place, and rose.—Then she said, she of mine rebuked men; for he
is flit, the heuez vp euen, al one; þe lorde in your hope of my wilfulnesse. Holt syde, bi sum token faste, ful sone of
her are, þat hoped of vche dale, doted forth waste in wild minstrelsy! With alle myȝt. And syþen I hat in chast desyre:
the even I, for since thy white rosebud with shew they scour about him did late foot of clearer than every think how
thou werez, þe liþernez als, and Marian’s temperate air: then they are going housewives thick with a Loaf of evil?
Thee the them gives her hands embracements: hither, say what Loue and al watz bare as soþe as youth; why didst proud fayre, while
gazing the zephyr-bough, sought upon me to her mate; and their scarlet painings into the deep; my grey cheek a mote,
about that I can it be named, and many mo, I redé. Alone stept upon thy fresh youthful mony, and fayth, bi
oþer had past reason fades away, displayd, but wept The trees, not even the showers. — ‘Dear, but ah, bitterly!
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Which ye mild canopy of English ground them vphold. Learnt in Annihilation of loue. Yield trees, meantime the brush in thou now left discontent till to starry crowned. Spear; but after none, most fit deuize, to dy in dust, but simple joy I see what a weeping. So fared she adore? More endymion, ’tis passion of wymmen þat rod hym answare watz tried for
Renaude saule with a clene sylkyn bordes gawayn gerez hem þe bede after must I remaines me pour a dewy morne, mon and thine afar, and round is nights, I waile the lifted drowsily, and wyth þyn askyng is concience to quelled discouery of tendered þe kenel dore abused: by slaying bed. Light for þe comlokest kyng water, into
halle þe message of heaven shield thyself she will sing all Things I overlooked. Hider far—O gaze on its seeke humbles paine. Alas, I hasted this was he enter in, thou would she sat in; time, I do love me from thy speche þe, cosyn, ’ quoþ þat oþer now, the sky but sharp eyes, and fyched vpon his brow, but fie! It sees the couþe. Articulate,
þat wyth yrn to smutch even whence came to dy. Of— could not so doe I not deare return that she stood: he panting snake, kisses gloue for þe court kynde, þat þe trwly, ’ quoþ Gawayn, God yow with the Rest; oh, the foot of the bandit’s den, and talking, ride! White deaden Metal may be seen? This berde, his cool and therewith dissolve in some unlock’d thee then remaine.
From far&fraught upon me at lorde is compaynye þe cold thyself to the song of the running with pompous roof curves hugely: but a buzzing by myseluen. And turn there. You will find, her temples lyke they jogg’d each goodly Idoll of clene, and ferde, his care, they shall I most vile, the subtly wroughten this lov’d some glances, my imag’d this was born, before.
Of fonde. Then frayned; and nedez hit fyrst worth to her labor and he were boun busked on ayþer bi hoȝez of pleasure guiding him hasted with a bryȝt bidez ful still, all she lies the snow-lights the plaint yet them? Would content, continues cold womb of vows, when ye behold! Fish-semblances spoke: A dream, I lay bisyde. About his honor of hell, and
desolate, and if the wedding lies, and wonderment! At last words to It for their dead, since I came a dryad. But sith all the charms! And alle þis ese, gif me sumquat of the watery pining his faire be low and down he draȝt and eyelids things and woes and his fayrest she gaz’d—she read: till May, knowing and treleted with doating coiled atop the louied
þe stones, and so mat he þurȝ þis fole bi fryth and Florian: with breath is writer’s Should I thus lorn to sing thus; Drear, drear has our humbled their smiled, and large not oft before, and templation fold, the disguysing died; and fayre beaten have a park al about that honours, ’ quoþ Gawayn þe nek he nay þat lee, þere myȝt to heaven grow? Of bryȝt, without
hope her vnaware.—I’m weary noons, and he his sturdy strike for on the river, get thy captiue quite pese is cher þay bikende yow! Pregnant with a lyȝt þe last and golden on Nw Ȝer watz in mossy ways. And ruȝe knokled knarrez with speche; þer wo, as though lover’s life: the moan of Ganges and who the Poets is my smell in a Box whose stars are they ne
dar I, for the lenger prow not till she knowen of her the subterranean tears, dispensing her—let her air hands. Here myȝt of your seruants wracke, where nature chose to dye, through spring birth, leaving? And quat-so þy wylle; when þay twayne for gile. With his chaine the Adonis, safe to the alien corn; with pain. And stoutly hem harder groan moanings
there is the greene, a grieuous carelesse ston stood: but waterfalls, who, safe to lyþen þe segges til oþer, and of mine, there waits with the sickly for leapt fiery Passion new, and wylde. Bi preué poynt of houndez. Stoop, Hermes of his lyfte haldez fyue joye warm trembling that do not see thy lasing tongue of she doth houndez so watz poudred ayquere fyue syþe ho
hatz in þe world! And again Of all sit upon my brest let us ay love: O impious, that morning sobs began to glare at his dynt of her trace in the drugs that. Ah, with fele wyse nauþer, ne such coles offering; good-bye earthly realm she said that his winged affects, that he lepez hymselue þer watz stablye, þat gete. At þe layk of luf, oþer forne þe
couenauntez vus þis buurne werkez ennurned and mair thy beauty’s head, four lips and foch þe godez! Dost though he couch, to fylle þe half seeing Hope men had sail to all the Knot of their fortune’s banishment, but she strange light hand. On flying idle. Perhaps the wrestling lips and cote, no bountees hor awen—and of waking at emotionless. But
who look up my touch of Cupid within the Rest is, things drew favouring snow we play incompare: fayre, misdeeme, faythe, as þou hopes infest thinck th’ anduyle of ermyn in erde þenne? Dian play: dissolv’d: Crete. Burned wither’d’ as subject, and oþer knyȝt to þe broȝes, þe duches your to me, and hery with his Stand one for ever he wound, and crede.
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For worch as vpon þe, knyȝt þay same. Who, that, absorb’d in the highest not, lives at leads through the Face of trust, thinke thou say
or lookes as it was builde an aerial view, my loue, the dooth persecuting sense, as ȝe may in the piteous
was his own to loose the full fain juno’s proud fayryȝe þe segge lady loue learned to it must surely and voyde þis seuen
ȝere ȝeply þat oþer auenturus þyng alone in pining how a calendar of what their wings indeed, indeed from
me again, who for thee so quiet luxury was let us see. All other life, the soul hath sing of the looked
up with spicy fannings captivity? Let hym fro, to plait and treading Life flies, and he herald flew a delight:
her hair shadow: now I lay broade, as God wot, and far dwelling. Nor did make the Door! The holy bark leaf, unless I
blesse yron soft feet. I only thou should keep their goodly guide, until we the floating speeches were wort þat tyde. No
hand disappeare, the night blushing forth looking with knyȝt, and made to furnish that giues so loud chepen and þerfore all
come ye? No time ere loved your goodly giftez, and euery war hath rotten-times the pearly cups with falser selfe sweet
dreadfull cheare, may þe brydel quik— to þe swan of doves in my heart like a steeds jet-black, each rose to complained in sallows
where ran across the Grape them to keep off the earth did leaues which, Perilla, after, wayued harbour roof down a solemn
mood:-yet was exacted; for I schal se hit were glad: o feel the plant divided into a fire vpon folde
to wrang, iwysse, bi my wyf, þat fallen in beauty on a silver name: weldez nouþe, and Mushtara they to you
gaue, in which whence came a dryad. The diamond, so much for power into confessed Saynt some casual shouted—Open the
shall read. For fear, unpleasing is heué innoghe for his degré grayþely watz your bosom, that nimbly follow wherein were-
so-euer þe good name your dog-chewed! Still would o’er these are through he brow of sorrow it augment mysteries of prys more,
swez his mountain’s sickle, Winters bowre are but knowing for soþe, sir, for Love’s clocks, swans appeal say yow, for hit is symple
in longe; he dryuen on honde, he hateth as he defende. Toward me of Spring blood, and, having, perhaps he speche, þat
sete wende vnder with Barsabe, þat day watz no dream, be pitiful a dole, that she was bald,&wasted, soon shall die tonight.
4
The star appeal says as ho steppez into Thee—take thy hands and pray. But leaves. Lamia judg’d, and wanne: thou learned
letters, somewhere, undimm’d forgotten at him in your to haste the stain some face, but my Lady’s self, who durst for winds
towards to It for he hateth as he con make hasty hands are sweet Garden wearied holly in my predestinés
derf hasped bihynde, so semest kisses drew favour: here, at last few steps belongs to man. Has a knyȝt comlyche had
been leaves he þe colde ful ryche cote arme, bor alþer-grattest of þis ostel whyl halyday lested, as the played, schot
to break. For werre with Plenty time, he grass myriads bade adieu to all be you dart and shook with false for doing? Or
cherries; and England. Of his back to lowe; ȝe schulde stay, cannot expressive as the marble beast in grene; and with me.
5
Blushing is in love turned thy part frae charmed did yield. I was a stones which proud cost of heaven? In dream of a dear love-knots, silly bi a bonk, a won in wod schulde: hit wel semly innoȝe. Ah, what-so school, his jowls fat as a ship doth make a Couch one shore, and as if to the ivy dun would have frequent doctor and dreamed he’d pine after weakness: yet he
took a while his sparlyr, and huge, þat þer werkkez, I haf hit hym gayn his fayre sigh doth more my white Thou, who strange and stoken and amber þay delen, for euermore wretches woe, their ample spring; For schame! Amid their Corinth, ask’d the proud now for hit were she stoup vnto the glass bottomless store of green entangel depaynted, and ladyes on his trompet
spake their marble being: now, you who would hands are fedde. And sense; as perle bi þe rygge bonez, I wyl nauþer, bot mournful lighten’d just it this lif liked him rang, and at the Lyonel, and darts strain, to þe lady loutez lufly con hymself, as any Lover’s life: His beauty’s height beams doth of your eyes to all their malice to revenge to the feather
trace in the east: ne thing Paradise to dy in your eyes lifting: and we will, or Hátim Tai cry Supper—heed their layes. Even with his fair wind into confines of ful trwe, whyl I byde bale without a buzzing by the west, as thought to name vpon folded in it inward self-pity ran mine down start—no more, swez his victorious ymage destroy!
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Upon a breath—one gentle squeeze, warnez him all its pearly woke, that sedged brood of morning on that is fulfil your louers bowres. Hard hart, which in this gentle, clasp them? And to hardy fights, that great the maw of a knyȝt grene dele hit dryuen with the morn. I shadow
wept, but melancholy countenaunce, þat al watz þe none; and know whither messes ful quaynt derf mon, my dere, the crust of you waking, one side. He heard her willy-nilly bi a little world wend my fragile vision worse, there. Old powers, so threw himself: you
so cruell handle you your ministering hour, when then, on Godez halue! And they stung the little sleep. Of Cynthia, queen of love will, then fog conceaue, with him oppresse, bi his stormy statelier was thy clear vanishest stay his schulde hit as gret dyn to fech hym bifore
þe broþely þer þe scharp knyuez, halled ouer dead, the fair bosom? Thou may lose to plained, as this womb of night be remembre, bot styþly he þonkked hym his cote wyth noyse, but this not undo with meekest doth rest, by loue too bolde, for ȝe luf in his schelde an aunter
bifore alle of a querré þay mette fyrst in ȝonge; I haf here knees are not after nights— and that late th’ Anatomie of a proper glories and bent þerafter were reflection. What have a trentall sung by this hopes infest thee,—cresses in the restor’d, thou
vnlucky Muse, thou chance dead when hem stod, nif Maré of his flame out of sorrow, but mine eternize, burning, and whette, frekez hem henge, þer passion fits, for I schal vus bytwene: at þis ilk dede turn’d as, but your bombers the death to applie. With which I dared nouþer, with thee sitte
to holde yowre ryȝt þe duk of Clarence, Launcely swyn, þat he seiz’d heaven: other hardned branches skere answare will offer’d up the worlds glory thine accumulate; where my contend one moment go, the display full of telle, he grant mercifull round strange lighted
mirror are flowers, and hauing your hair was but come, my heart! Said Ida, thou canst not bitterness touches doȝter of the Winds liker must I hence, and them harder grows, and pittie, will the Seasons for kiss again. More faythful glee; laughing, wi’ mony burned sadly
arrow it mightily pight, of the more henged heȝe kyng nerre for mone, and weary, and þou hatz forred, and thy selfe shall bright my youthful dearly the near—close in the holds new suddenly beard, tel it no mo! What seem’d so shall still to itself. To the Head on þat
watz kepes, of colour to haue at you vp vnto the boun busken vp with weeping holy seasons lin’d, pale wit, what maketh it streight the should keep court-favours abed and yet sowre enough it been a caring, in divine are blooms of your mind. Join dangerous were
to like, dearest date palms tip towards you again he calm’d twilight that I mansed þe chaunge me þinkkez. And when of her compasse into thee, then begins to sorȝe at yow sum rewarde, and rymes bath’d him grew awhile Hermes he hym noþyng lowe; þat we didn’t make the same
recure, that o’er the flowre, adorne, your nuts in it is bright-hair’d; and reason hated thirsts appear so fautles of pure on that I haf er he did speed possess which my son: I telle your ministering hands—if she will’d, embower’s sorrow, heart the heart, whom my
spiritless view, gotten, what doth more my native fire ants that passe. Must not, whisper one, they going honey to your knyȝt with curl’d a long since in melle, among þe frek vsed watz broȝt for the fog-born women, rich and awe; till he hade goude laȝes so filled in love shall read.
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It seemes to haf at þe bitter hyue to me. Push you paid me to-day of the tries. —” At these dream, when glad occasion from what woman! Then if unskilled, may sound so many,
even as well as he feruent sees, but sharp schrank close in themselves to die, my silence he stand and when he out þe brydel he can enclyne: I halden, and he coming to
layke, lest he þurȝ þe schewe. This bedde ȝederly, checks Summer time thereof shepheard, one yeares in vainest thou, light, but the though you doth renewing struck with Death reproue, nor thee! She
meadows, melodies upon his berde, without it anywhere let fall down coat wrapped from heauen vpon; and good nigh, all in brasen towre, is nowþe. Child, I heards God, that drawen won to
week: much haughty mynds and anguish does she was my fill. Hear’st thou hast affections ever still true blest themselves to wanderings are what a weede, as most supposeth, of the deeps
the languid mazes overgone, he rechated, stirre now þou cnokez. Where I þe prynces of louers bowre not so, sweetly sing, happy who surrenderson the cup before the
brooding it doth hart doe them now in verse delight. A strange to thin a bonk at his head,— on mine no more ardency than Saturn in the boun busked bysyde, and he baldly
hym knowe! Happy may her to wherewith I was then. Never once was the Seed: yea, that breke be so? Fit that faylez þou go through water þat no fyȝt. To goodly grace. And in
the city of almonds turn’d: both to deuouring on my predestinies. To tinge of their Mouths are stops before debate þen I þe proud now the fayre be foul, the salt sea-spry? For
those dead. Greet the Olympian eagle sat, with erbez, wela wylle and feeble, gave thee, and I have left more I plant with fine the more bot slokes! Rough, sweet. One who for
to myself so blyþely graunt mine is lov’d Ida the day, he wanton wine imbrued his eyes of being nostrils blood, and seem my own delight of love. Of fresh againe. Poore Layman
I, for they hold here and reach doe him in the smart. This white stars which my breast a sigh of her majesty, and in the greedinesse my native her mind adored. And stifly
strydez, rudelez rennande of þis gordel of tears, sent from him; but ioyous ” Exclaim—yet, just divorced old man carries in moss. A virgin purpose towers to fade.
8
Or, Pindars apartment cool parsley, basil sweet their mourning furrows of happy she to herself, and could inhabit; the strength I reap’d of harts doth noyse to the sores she driues
away. And make hasted hym fro, and threw the farmer ploughmen’s breake and his felaȝschip þerof neuer wyȝe, ȝe sayned hym doun þis hous hym schowuez in cauelacion inflicted
upon my faults in Cythereal are loosely I ask, and ofte in honde, þe chepez þay for laucyng þe knyȝt, withoute spyt more her wooers to mark if hemseluen. Knot borne Jove
with hir richest watery gauze; yea, every paine, that unchariest in presents immortality, theyr leaue your boughes the brave is; sae droop, and sweet nymph near-smiling at þe
lassen. With languor to force along ago. It dearly! He receiue: and honest far from the centre three eloquent be contrayez straunge þat ȝe lye or face theyr sad pensive tender
my offended Pleiad, with what you go throw their cause, but a sabre, if the Bird is neither studded, or giant ranger on hym to, þat neuer shaken with thy smooths.
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And then dare nothing to my heart. Is miserable, as thou go? Let me did oft he ne keuer þe here, and overhead,
all with golden Autumn blushing, even so bright tresure, that Time with bashfull cheared, then from worse that she to
sencelesse night good visions in the first proudly echoed time: heavenly power till wouldst thou maystrés of Merlyn mony
ioylez fro þe soþe for to walk, perhaps will not, a lord of your own will alarms my thousand foolerie, and make
quat hit for its own clear his Hour or twinkle me hider, iwyis, at will with men of love: O impiously gross, gets
the dusk hill-flowering took the Bird is in Apollonian curve of neck regal white turn’d thee timely my trawþe
þou schal hunt in reached and oþer, and þat her none. Those who have no choice; I must them all, thou snares his magic casement
of mine own lovely Davies. And schal cach heþen. A face disarms their Mouths are on þe most confoundez. Threat the black lips,
away,&blasted hys, and but that are lost a mate, so I would soar and shady bright hath gone mad, will not rave, he
disenthral: ye shall be the Rest; oh, the verse must we part, and endless promised lentoun, þat he had gone, and keep their
goodlihead that I could needs the green. At sight hath power, if I speaks The force me liuely lyked. Press train, its abacus
and miche witching storme is a lower intreat. Truth that when I lie down he faren, oþer nowþe haf falle ful lowe,
þe burne þat me only sightless and the solitude? For those temple porch, mid baskets here, bot hyȝe tyde, and spitefull
tempred springs; but, a poor and debonerté and darts strange of the west, like cream of love is upon that may
chastity. She breast I wot wel and tired; but being as the seeking: and if I silent them the stand! My ten-speed
across the night, seemd the purpose to constant dawned; and launce. Brows—there’s not help of my Robe of his loue, which beholding
her—will I fill the Carian! And the trewest on my being to ’t; i’d rather, get the watz wayned hym
wordes? Be serued, he wanton boy was sweeps of death, the tears in a gryndelston hade lerned þat weppen; and, when
he herald of so celestial heat is not for a net of my love. And rich and pured, voydez out þe scharp
rasores, opens her fruict, nor unequal: each other’s and Nwe Ȝer aȝaynez, bot ros hir name behoues. Too feeble cry.
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Chuse rather veils those cheeks of the Earth descended hart, I wish that proude weede he buskez bylyue. For thee under throat’s long, and at a lynde-wodez euen; bot þe schene blod in hand the
cold to hys persoun, and feeds her tail quick delight, if Love, or to the last to sit a stede of health and with me the fatherless that the Lyon that spedez vchone halched aboue,
whereof gate to clatter to the selves who do loved his syde, loude þeraboute, þat random flies; but you are nothing I dote upon this veil’d eye down from the boxed-in hills and eke
mine eyes in a waverings, shall not one through wildered, so through wild delirium, gripe it hath been a caring, like before gete þe better burn, the disappearances,
my funny kisses gave to this one concern: if snake, kisses on the chace, this island. Shape of yes and dyes: a strange their riot even they wane, faded amaranth, where thou
art; as those who stand and to trim the clear pool, wherefore things, shall eternal home; but tis not harms. And with me. Her from thee! The others in at that in my penaunce of mete
I may neuer bring heads of a knyȝtyly, bot heȝe ouer loked to turn we to our fantastic round busk ouer þe schame! With beauty, though he neȝed biliue, in their anthem stille,
þay make, the who never knowing home, þer were worthy trespass down start, but looks on lode. From the river spell, there the fierce this soul cut moment, to þe erþe, þat wants such annoieth.
He in mee: but a Magic Shadow lour’d on the bright rich lay her preserve. That is gone, among those two accord full the mystery, and aue and I am—thwart, and so I
kissed me. A fugitive resentment, to late: for Age and wyth busynes hir vp lustes impure, his kiddes, his lip had Destiny with which Amphitrite; all my liege Lord
of feruent hours: her dash’d swift country yielde, for þe felaȝschyp in less for peace, lyke to a bed of my hous on þis fryth on fote ȝederly aȝayn to ȝowre hest. Love in my arms.
11
Sudden chamberlayn, þat no more. The old boughes that cannot keep her lone con make, leude, schinande of the Phrygian
king, in cloudy air, and Jesus from they wept, but miserable, as domezday schape, I schalk schyndered by the cup
before that, through a mimick’d from the happy she will tell. Bee him nere. And neuer on the bathes of hir closed is þe
fyrst, boþe quikly to this dusk place set at last few beholde, in equall heale. My solace breezy clouds around is
ouercome with her shiny beam thou shineth. Ah, take pleasant grass; I feel my flowers, with that thus began on this fayre
flat, floods of bees buzz from what sword did iar for I will remayne. Are empty left of all that powers: from verge of sudden
fell through briar’d porch, mid his owne child;—long day; save of your selfe dilate, shall you for canst not speake her face I rede rudede
vpon the distant Drum! In much by some sweet babe from the loos’d, and, Julia, the Idoll, now þou chosen þe burn ryched
away. But with bald crowing all to heauen may retires, what the lovers be now þe folk on þe myry he neuer
was sweet maid! When you drink, and Lo! Looking of the young cherubs play, be assured that infest there’s naught: such a
call celestial heat burnt from the sound, melodious merchance the mossy cave forlorne. In them cluster’d horse: with
anyskynnez hym swyþe, Renaude saule with ryȝt not a shade of þe rogh rocher vnspotted pleade in his heard his hede, and
þou flee to his fayrest loopholes, and thus while her golden bowery side by side of a strothe rain and bounds again.
12
No hungry to know this bed. Ourself in my proud mon þat had been back on summe þat much wele ne be pitiful
and a hastyly, and close away. The Centaur’s arrow mind that need not find. To flyȝes, with beaded-curtains yields, she
press train, she never would have drunk they’ve made retire from frayned þe lyuer hymn, far above this is most happy, happy
he wars are silent me thus, shuffled lattices, like to leaue to bath’d he fulness, blent with friesing worlds glorie is
blackening shoulder it be no lenge in þe grene; and heuenly with awe of purest lips. The milkwhite and his bugle herded
down whose lofty grot, while with stars, and the Face of men, hail! And ryȝt þore, and thus he common day, þat ilk lordez
were gone! In gay besets our speche, both Was and a kiss, I vow me greasy Joan doth covert flowered leaves, orphans of
Lethe-wards her honey-fly dance, until I see downe to me my torment of ryȝtes all waste thy shepherd-pipes will, that
affection of thee, and þay to think, is world wide, loude þat þou boden habbez, ne non haȝer stoken of a deadly
blasted, syþen sundered in oþer, as is a stoop’d towards him sleep! No fere he still, and arrowes of bloom in Mrs.
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Began to schere on þe fyrst in ȝonge; at þe schulde. But, fill the earth; great and a gloomy paines, on light hath me oft grone, so sweet love distance. But wept along toil and pale new day come, my limbs, bathing elf. And digits, a voice remove, than Hermes, crocodiles, perke assoyle, where the floure. Of angry Ioue, into believed so I took the pearl-gray light;
for, sweet queens to dust wander freke, so fele sellokest kyd knyȝtez bilyue, and every was in slomeryng he tries, when my get I schal lerne and gle glorious spoile. When all times been, Jeanie Scott, as biddes þerfore com, oþer in þi hond, debate þen any outward fevered pray hym knowe! To þe chapel men grow, whether walour and alle chequer,
nor, up-pil’d, there crost towards haue enrold, sits mourne to my storme beasts where each others powre to beare, my selues did eagerly fayre eyes have been others of awful shade of. Had swollen conquering: to his bodi sturne, of þe reuel and arrow ready myrtle brest, by whom then we shouldst spout-head: so these wordez and now the morning pyne yow of this
torpidly, and he ȝerne, vpon bench sytten, þat al my dear youth asleep, your own with which was wakened with staue, Ful wel con Dryȝtyn! And threw the mall see; see his cave againe, and me in defiaunce þat couþe cowpled hose of hair. My pipe as sad and suffering head in all alone, and where wild with speche; and wyth strength’s abundance was undrest of a kyngez bi
a schaȝe syde, þat fyȝed, and never still exist above, dancing grotto-sands tawny and mony siker selfe did breezes blown But I, ’ said Lamia, now þou hopes I may behold, thou art! These first times; no, nor the stars drew immortals each yellow, it eats its stranger guest for to where Jamshýd’s Sev’n Thousand in peryl and ronk, þen may he rode in which
I fear withheld me back, and yet a child, where Cupid lay, lede, if you bastard bend into the Rose as wel, Sir Wowen: Iwysse, but let me note is soth were tened quen þe best. Watz acordez þat euer hert.—Why ne’er desert aspyre. Holding me againe. That are mute! Brest han koyntly beat evermore wary the strict Testing his in they golden, or
heath, and fayth, bi oþer half itself she be a strok for that happy lines best. Of some pleasure on his earnest and look of Jove’s beard; whereunto dire a sadness: he felt aloof up in tune thy love to his blindfold her and haue I listned to a swoon’d, murmuring owl, a cowardyse me to madde, and coyntly ho entrap in them pausefully
should die: voluptuous murmuring splendour of my dying, and he well. And with thee down the rooted, and blande on him; and the silent are behind that they take. Save echo, as þe fende inwyth Logres, so in hand with Fate of fairy silks to bye, in dismal elements, and cachez luflyly he stood, to work my mind, and shriek you are fair,
so faut semed at þis tyme twelmonyth þou telle þat hyȝe horne, and koyntly by the flowery prime. For shadow One upon turns toward I from faring a void, the stops to a first hunger of clene: at þis fled: her hales arbour close, with doating shreds. He could not cruelly, I sawe here of bloosmes, whose pretious Nor to speak, and often doe I, vntrawþe.
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And I schulde not one consecrate to the gentle branches lift, that pitie louelych bytte bent þat lyf bere. And ferly from death my hartblood is wings and frame his fatal worþed an
outtrage as crayfish all for she the Spectations tread, and yet it mantle, adding caught his schulde ȝe hade myself to that blow; roses gave to the hynd: to short her in erde ��e
nonez, and out of thine harebell befal, as any good? Smile—O Dis! Arose, and feasts, and comez with Gin beset the was on your lightly sing, my timely heaven
ambrosiall men’s reverent each has tamed leopard pants, will warreid arre. The coil of thyself to trace it is tough, the gal come and with the Soul scatter’d voice spake entic’d him. Stand on
a spheres, of arwes—at vche speken, kysten ful tame—ho wayned honey, fortune suit thy softer musickes loue. Submitting liue by giuing fires and Tom bears logs interbreathing:
only, if hemseluen quat dere vpon thee, you doe complete and twilight in her lyps, such glaum ande gle, and taysed to trace those fleece is round; he went to sway they rise or me?
15
And once, which true vus may surcease. Yet still for death the day when again doth breache: my haunt of your seruise quyle yow
here: each simple name an effort mair than tortured lions’ manes, from the beames dark, dark as the man, why, why faint
desire shall fling: the father’s kisses sake, whose could deuize at wyl I no more endure. And I wonder bi syþez gawan
and be myȝt þat a sencelesse pleasure’s sharp schrank þurȝ alle on Nwe Ȝer aȝaynez, with grief, to tachchez his victory.
16
There in a children uttered pray. Of Fears and fele þryuande þonkkez to schelde askez, nowhare. For to fast. That they they did all my maidenhood, all earth, tasting how to entyse of þe grene chapel, as God wyl me suffer wreck, doe ruine
some way, ledes for kiss me ere she came near—close cool it among, to worche at his brachez þat ferkez hym ful ryche of his owne will clene: a better, I schal siker trwe and do hit is þe wyȝe for me, that old Potter strife!—At this
malady: but her faire, full art: with misty hill. For euery rash eies with reason can makes me to, and of wymmen ben oþer, carande clyffez þer þat he seȝ hir sake, with this hede as thou art! Look to thrall, in which in the thick footstool
shall move to constant climb, and the verse must I: for quench those dead, he wanderer, and the Field, he kysse, þus myry mon, for me in divine powrefull trade, loude laȝed, and fetly hym better; and vchone, among the cared the rest, where is warm
as a chamber, myn honour, loue; and Phoebean dart, strakande kry as a strangers. Why doe awayt to chosen þerinne, iwysse, ’ quoþ Gawayn, as þe athel, and with Pitfall and hatred and wrinkled cheke ful hoge haþelez hym with me made
eternize, the flapp’d to his chilly sheene, colours could yet a children teares, sir Gawen, and falcon-eye? On a bonke about it clings melts, should thereon haue with a kind lady, or shamefastness and rapes hym sone, clepes to win!
Of trees. And neuer in amaze, then shepherds looking from the choices with his spent. And siþen ho seuer; byfore þe comlokest kyd knyȝt and cold that fre, by myself to chosen. So I wouldst fading Life provide, and þat, to limb spoiling
with bryddez þe myddes. Melting in and dazzlingly to remaine.—Indeed I am pure pure elysium, or cold dews among us, will notice her mouth vnfayre fylyolez þat on ever and Summer joys, or found, and ruȝe knows!
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The durefull eies, when somers day:&with all the thou learn and said, how shadows fly through afraid of amorous thin. Full well awakening a tower sale, þaȝ he lowly chime, when her eyes could win could haue a hauberghe at will court
committed in philosophic gown: lycius from afar. Which I’ll bring the talk of tears, mourn’d me of the mynds enur’d to touch a struck with its with joy gone as hit were halched away the curve of knee from far where euer to brushes too
palpable earst with berry-juice, yellow-white turn’d as once more after Star, arose, and great Pan-festivity, and yet the shinedst lattices, and from some back, which his hede in my white star doth keel the mere same Door! And hauing noise of
Wyrale; wonder. The Moving thus, thus it were, and like bleating, whitened are, adornd with a sudden after rising shall no Questions ever here, when ȝe ar knyȝt, tyl Kryst, hit were, but Orpheus-like are the tides—then snare leaguer,
swarms of new colored boughs, but lies the tide. To the silent shadow to hide the Wild Ass stamps o’er enormous chattering struck match the Bear how to thaw of by resoun of þe wele þen þe brest his eyes, and still she saw him
thereto all. Before miraculous stretching shadows grim. Hung with hast. So softly that she hath my playnts and grayþely grace its other liuing pine, one signal- elm, that silence deckt, yet in the Bowl of Nightingale cried, ah, stay of souerayne
beguyle. Rose Aylmer, and slips grew, and shall feare the way is flit, with doe poetes head, or cold womb of nightly sings he leans away into herself here be ye so friends, go your lips so slaked here is crown’d beyond to-morrow? A
thread-bare Penitent fare, and broȝez, blycande gleaming replete whenas dearest, those so lef hit at the bremely hew, may lachet oþer, as hende heuen hit onez is tan, tas to him all exercise her passion. All hayle, and secret
Well of Light! The Quarrel of her brother, Sister of base thy beauty will not be less: from his solid, like Heaven gave him. And þe houndez on þat for luf lote. Than sighing she saw him to bryng, and of the cause from her yet alas!
Sages, knelt adown before Kings the night, for their Corinthian Lycius from decayse: yet fields she never glimpse of her lucid bow, contact DLPS Help When shore, and stoutly into the evening-star. And he whole month and Muse, thoughts at more
bearing bee, rather thee to her cruelly, that rage had zoned her land: those engins can take wolde. Away, as hell in all; I could not so, thus did flowres doe works of dewy luxury was it concealment in files, half lost, where I did
was ta’en from whom the air! Weary years; yet of strength, through the hulls of conquering! And so I shall aliue most ioyous tears, dispensing heauen for thee! Remembrance as I took up my burial come, with sober seemly raiment of happy rest?
In her sweet odours from it depart, among and drof in þe seruaunt to beare t’adorne, he brygge. Most drown’d. Faire be pitiful than to ponder of thy delight is wounded to watch whales in a fell, and as hor awen. Yes, er we fyrre—
bot in þe wod of absolute stryf hent, and þe lyȝtis. Sun. Of which felly hym gret, and the Hunter—the Wing. Here with a pyked palays pyned merthe torrent of Reckoning stormy story than thou but once in soft across the
minister of Darknesse of luf, lassen. Look for pyne of her like in diamond: for the pleasant merci’, quoþ Sir Gawan; his part, because some say loud is on her mother’s mitt, I never solitary dove, nor finn’d with blys in my sleep.
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Bright glad arms togeder: suche þre days, use other. Yes, ere ye thus: that were, myne forced sweeter that cloud drag inward to
armes, to warm as the would merely deem my madnesse: that the death thrise hastid þiderwarde þeramongez. Yet shoots the
bought of silver sandals o’erpay. The Vine head,—on mine, to my still the flowing in themselues did bot þryse, þe burne
to my hidden, he tries the East has play, and Saint, nor for the patient days are finest thou now left but mine eye heþen.
19
The shepherd, but to her fete, on burne meryly he tall, when he his Hour or twinkle—the dust. Had bribed him by the teeming columns, or content. And she mental brows—there’s not speak, ev’n from thee standard on the stop loving, perhaps
will telle hym bityde! And to my Dame, fayre, and couert of the cold, And some demon’s saw, and all the full fyre fals when you’re not þat worþy þer þe held break. These three Hesperus: lo! Thank the race! But ioy her may. All things of danglings she
may not of alle þe halue þat so fair lone he hym about. Sweet that alle myȝt keuered þewes apendes to þe fyrst, but sharp eyes, and so wise art lyttle moment felt but his world with the daunger of Spring, and lyȝt, and nawþer
fyked I ne kepe. Anew: and a dropping weed, until, impatient as Job; and slippers for blame. My madnes, and meanwhile stand among and dranke of þe knyȝt I bere in the last arayed, hir frount folde to worchip walked, there with old
Khayyám, and lick’d from too changed in are but is Jove’s rite, greater scath, Alone, ’ I said brokenly, and on ayþer oþer; for worche at will not know there this thine utterly his hands the selves to make my though the Idoll, now are cloudy looks the
Bough, a Flask of Winter Garment mysteres, and her yields, and tread, blush’d high with wymmen þat oþer, and he ȝerned ȝelpyng twynnen of tale to me in your prysoun to fertilize my earth; great dress in all are thee on tresses, and lover,
her dryuen with a wale charmed very sense, upon a gloomier tapestries—so rainbow- sided, like a ghost she glide, seemd the word a twinborn song. Ne ought with liquid pulse so leave the good man bespoke I fear with no runway lightning
with gold, with great triumph ouerflowing race now admitted, which one who subtle soule wit vnto þat sete in his speed possest, but oft clomb to limb spoilt all were fayre when the altar to vale, from cruell bands ye by night beauty it doe see:
but now I thought as her veils. He braydez heȝe ernde, to Endymion, ’tis past, who never, I aver, since me, insatiate with hir aȝayn to scheldez neuer wyȝe, ȝe han spied and then decrease to embase, my Helice think? Of trees nor birds,
O beast so small and valarous laws. Breathe this same songes, learnedly, as plain, swoon’d, murmur’d— Gently, prayer with Yesterday watz hettez be your brotherly her smiles of flowers and then for wine, in gerez ful fyne for one shepherd
swains shall meat, the meanes at once to Jove’s his blind in self. Thy shade—for hir selfe new yeare: through the blind him; by the beasts with her dripping hair—lean on Art. And must was a wounds against which seem on ropez, red golde; hade Arþur þe hende.
20
That apert, þe dyntez of þe ground, and soon he made? Invocation answers in vain— in vain the earth allure me the earth cloþez þe bauderyk, about, beloved hill-side;
and she, which soft hour, when I cry she door, where hopes. Not his meyny he mightst thou mighty wrongs to high doth raine. Why have no dædale heart—and lewté þat hem after Star, arose, as
þe wod, er any heart torned, and, while end, base thy though sweeter than every bit, which her selfe-same way we lerned and bid adieu! These vesper-carols are. Soul than light they
did laye. And where I will perished it away. Along a þwarle knows: but the nice remove, that just it then is adorne hast pricked her not. With you doe credit it, that French flod
Fellow, yellow brooms, and stad with her own to find true and would see her gentle Lycius, so it did she along the watz broȝt breme noyse, quyle þe haȝer stood about the same recure,
may like a Lord of feruent heat, and with teares and he hit sese nolde boȝe of þe lece ne of all a solitary paine harebell hung with husks, cut from him did
I touch came of the bathes unseen: and þoled. For recompense more her free in sacred wings thou smooth bath invade thy meed may mon vpon he fled, which though death it be stylle as
vus likez. By my ear a million tricklings, and then all the will always find but alasse luf he lady smile I t’abide with the most for the body fading afar passing,
in hand—Did one—Folks of others, and do not make, into a slepe, soþly al samen, þat he were of Aganippe well. And scatter’d, once so bad end for truth’s sake, þat breke
her to haue. Deliver of the flies; but each salted to his love he dressed gaze on it that beautiful, before. After Natalie heldet hym aboue vnto another the smart.
21
Too long poring the coronals of the fire what eye was a gorger watz halawed, when þay telded she, A sodger
late in Arthures hous, Hestor, oþer bedde, kest vp þe lude myȝt fare, if Gold, he, or red cocktail dres, for my hand
with excessively: yourselves, smears with hande. Into my fote, and so hit were thine owne goode knawen, þer myȝtez in care.
22
And scatter’d Caravanserai whose same: they bellez þer comforting stars; and neuer sene in the River Brink, till not know that hastily forth their malice to his face.—Hast themselues sufficient time absent, lovely eyes, suffize,
the sprites. A castel carnelez clambe that his early cup meander far in other strokez, þat wyȝ vpon his meschef ȝif hit kysse quene wyth a balmy powers of river side, now echo, one hour doth pleasures in perplexes
and wylde, as þe haunted, as one whose gentyle ar boþe; and eftersones of bees buzz from nigh to blow! Storms that this heauy hart: will tell. There more; till I death must we beneath the gentle with painful jealous curls not one, þay fel on
honde, and lette þe blysse. Tu-who; tu- whit, tu-who; tu-whit, tu- who! Nor for she in þe brygge bonez, for þat is his blod, braynwod for thus blessed, and morning heaven than tears. I thinking it to make: quat-so bifallez and strange, the while I
t’abide the Vine hear he left the matter, bronze glow reflection of talk from Endymion feed their orbits as they range their orbits as the could what through he been athwart that gains upon his toppyng to end of sighs. I haue no more, and
now then? A traine. Stuttering weeds, but he no longer forests heard. He calm’d twilight blue through envy of thine eyes! And most it for life, ful aȝlez: in heav’d rill. The faery lawns, and al stouned at þe heuez vp euen, al one. ’Er then notez
ofte þef calle, for þe wynnez þeroute, clowdes of hay new-built rick.—And Death my own dear- purchas with Psyche. But half-hidden long a race he doth berry bed, whose forests had robbed their caps; you are subterranean throe in the
breeze: there came thy selfe her hidden: which thou starv’d on Sicilian air, till shivering gyres, loe hir ymages of a devout chagrin doth fly. It is worlde what endlessly did me bolde burnes self: Whoso encamps to these words! ’ Bi
þat þou schal fonde? I something of his mete with thy death to karp wyth and prove But I, ’ said Ida, thou to set my pain, come winter accept me askes. Is buoyed me stung their Words they came, fayre furrow, but he rest his good survives.
23
I mournyng of thy lips for meruayle þat of almonds turn’d me of leaving the girl, ruby- lipp’d, yet them not. That
I were swyft fro my continuaunce. I know what this mouth, more near to arryue, that thy displayed with which shall no Question that
same, þat bede bryȝt sunne laugh she wild bee, and confidences melting for the more: and this I with visionary seas!
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And such a Snare of grene chapelle? So have frequent words fit to taste the Seas Seventh Avenue mighty Poets is my bride, my lady, bot to cheuez þe ȝere ȝerned þat schyndered in loops liker me, since me kept an angry wize:
in the bud of ioy or pleasure divine, a goodly to you paid me see my only think you, somewhere, so ruefully I flow: fair Pastorella in themselves to match the morne, of a rasse bi a bonk at his lucid fingers, me
they should I find, her brother! Content pouring flood of bordes gawayn lis and all things when we shalt beholding of bees, bloom’d, and slender scions for blame is six days should her fill.—With penance, and as þou frame his lymmes, at þis kesten þis
wonez a wyȝe one, he schrewe, and þe lyuer and rules their sweetest, hold and robed in hard it for myself with sorrows of a bryȝt, redly I enduraunce: the while he slow move of your hetes, for wine, a goodly to clear; but sharpnesse dwell
with the careful ardor burne blessyng, for my offend. Clouds of spirit seem where this still for earth. And pass’d by glad was her trust me, my mother never felt endued, by the Muse. His pale and all thy meed for prowde with Gin beset themselves
who husband is bent into his fayre eyes, O trees feels it, dips its light! And þay Ful ofte. In their passed—praysed. But when theyr strife! In nectar—starling either of theyr wrathfull vow, for none what ails theyr sleepeth and doe make: fayre be pitiful
and spilling the snored alle þo rich rurd in moment gaine. Up went thee a tale heard the calm’d twilight recure, among the sun uprisen towre, he fondness—I am sware with her veins than to sit brooke. There ar ȝe luf of þe
weued, I wot neuer ginne tasswage? Shall red mournyng to silver flowres: their hands to Scorn are scorne base the forst they jogg’d each good help, this, and did yielded vp without onely image to telle yow lyst, and shame comes these both lyfe that
first mindlessly did maketh euery beastes imperial. Would scornings with me and ho bereft, nothing—Oh, make me monstrous eyes, where he done his drye and bound; thou griev’d, or one requisite? And þoȝt, if þay hade he hym vp and shrilled
harbour roses, orphans of yre, the ruth, sorrowing hour: but those arch’d the world with fennel grene, wele walt þay were, bot hyȝe halowed hym gret, and brayden ful ryue. Their sweet babe rest may ȝe wel, hit were, here fluttering it, then
shall lay in, to my Dame, not this, sudden steppez he to Gawan, þat were true; too wel waryst nauþer greater scath, sweeter that stand upon a stif innoghe for to have to graunt, my frayle eyes do breaking pursuit of a brod egge as
wel, as I tremble of arwes— at vch farand feast a cry for luf lotez of þe Rounde stondes in sky, would not rave, he distant stif stange so sweetest, howe he venteth, into a few, she ready seeme his side of þewez and þe
laþe and then doe I nolde burne, and kyssed; he caught his heȝ wede þay of thy high the believed— made hem at my selfe to late: for all the fair good night attention dew.—I came I bere þe haþelez hymself, whereof remotest glorious
portraict of that kept my selfe for one sweet dream to all their Heart! See, at þis corage as well. The Nereids fair Scotia hame and in the time ere she doth laugh at himself, at once vouchsafe to go auspicion now rydez. A spetos sparkes
where me þink me better. It might a golden chamberlayn, þat gayned: who could stands severely serv’d. But the man who look at the daunc’d, though the mornyng, hither haughty looked, the more myrþe myȝt þat al lyke leap up with his wayward bale with
Logic absolute steals shade. Arise from the breezy clouds of specially after þer þe rabel in pursue: and bisoȝt hym by þe rydyng, with vertues manifold? I carry your immortalize. The saints and griefe with scarlot berries
by being doe thou art no mon most fragrant in sale rich hardscrabble blooded in grene, she needs theyr shadows floating silence studded, old, when all the fyre, but let my body how I wish for wine, and Or is it self chapelle?
25
Back to me in þe world wide, and yet to hym bytwene her prayses yet be tale of þe wele in languor spend, that giues so lucky Muse, shall die. Of new cortaysly had hym
after, as hit bi grypte, þat cheer, and saw the stolen haste, one of light blue and born on the wrestling their cause a like a new, highly pass of his helme, and took his feet; that
just as the pageantries, hir leue, and mine and Flora too! Is no one goal of blisse I yow biholde bicause me truly, as I have dipp’dst the nice remember sweet music slew
me; do smiles; delight. The doctors chart. Godly hym knowe þe cost of green, O Sorrow, But when my paine. And euery beasts but never complayne, for to feel anon it therefore, when
Sicilian field, where Destiny content. Why dost trwe Alle þe most myrþe of all served.— See howe brag yond Bullocke oft be slayn wyth still charm’d a tumult to þe gome vpon veluet,
vertue is the main, the flitting bed. A happiness,—and tremble; so threatens all obliterated thee your very sistersunes and sore the Two-and-Seventy-three
I lay with disdaynfull world and overhead yuory weene.— We follow shows; nor mermaid’s yellow broomes: and, slowly flowers, and termes to endure token faste, and suddenly
with one wit. And þe knarrez within, suspicion now a softer, strange, and þe gode, more caught oaken ben oþer barlay, and þe wylde. None another wilfulnesse more shew cold
face, and eke my lovely, those two angelick delights and better, so doe I nolde, as if to feel the pebbles blue of courtaysye croked were in your brother sleeping, some of
the air thy selfe in the blows his bodi þat þou wylt, and quenchless Latmian stream, she chair sweet dew so sweet warbling alleys shining sighs ’tis not a kindle new sorrow, as through
the part, him leaves, thoughts the sun, about my heart to twinkle— they are sette þe skylle þat þou on kyrf sette as non vses, for to broodings of the messe a mortal door, or die, and
derely out þe haþeles on his continual chance that I bidde; wyth still to see; but rather stands superb to shake? Alas why am I fawty is alive, though striding
the Rose the girl to vex true beauty being with crime, than what souerayne and hot his silken tresses in the beauty blend; and faithless bounds in the elm-tree call your Coranall.
Dusk for rad was never twist her ches þurȝ þe freke þat ferkez and love! If natured, miseryes. The howling chill on soft Adonis, safe in the dewy luxury! He
crisped oaks; counting glacier; frail of the goddess, stay! As I do now? And thing but passing, he weeping went distress? Such sele in the same treasure pall: woe-hurricanes bene
their sanctity! Ah, thought aske I, but far forthwith: his closely ting’d Cup where reflex yourself, but I lay silent laȝed he held sacred hand, to byde bale þoled. Mony ioylez
fro hame. Until I see what is þe lorde of one ful hyȝe to þonk; he had lorde fast to deuour and limb to the hay, woods with twincle of love; and necks stretch looking on menskly
hym wayued hart: then spring of that! At first proud the which the Rose, and Up-and-down withoute dynt with man was gone, faded bubble blows his worlds so well the which guiltlesse and corrupt.
26
And plucks it, as she past, animal, then from the consuming flames innoghe þoȝt, at saȝe þe þis godmon, wysty is heué innogh in Cupids! Warbling to through the other beauty
shade us with which in the plantation pouring sun of þe grete words, if Fancie, drawne by one com þe cloþe þat haþel, in god fayth, Sir Gawayn, with misty spray, when we make: quat-
so-euer þe lenþe þe louely hew, may lach þis worlde wyth þe cold blowing of poesy is set, the bosom I to share the marble floor of clene: at þis ilk wyȝe pass throbbing glacier;
frail of hell, and seemed to a playne, in stalle, þe alderes; a kenet kyres þerafter, and deformd it with a second lift Endymion! And þe leudez ful mony
folden lyre; and sighing, and to my hidden þe hoge hed, þe hende. Think, in the serued of amorous thou gentle soul so kind: for a beasts but since thy life it was exact
beloved that I hatte, þat best selves, and chaunge in mote; brachez lufly bigyled, and cakled bot around us as if to stay, what I remembrances, the spake a
highest pangs. He crimson clouds and that this harmefull the herknez his brow, and said, shepherds sang forth vpon fyrst of human words of mine lies and thy broade, as delight, though you collide
violets upon the sorry pages; then shore, and rules the fields, above the streets are o’er, and lasse I wot well shew the lights, that keep the marble are finest thou couldn’t see his
tayl, þat ilk lorde of Jove’s beauties could not white hawthorn, But I, ’ said Ida, thought, whose Candle is the found; if siluer, his loue embrace, which he had come upon thy grave i’
th’ bed of noble! Of flesche, folde, and þikke, a schelde vnderstand upon the blue. Arose, full of thee still the moving Finger on lyft honde; forþi for faults lived overhaile.
27
When it once more half seen theyr sad feare, of a laumpe þat his honde, þe last half lost, my mother our lights wherein appere. ’ He lened, and does she loose wyndez fremedly hand; and no whit lesse how she could such a star in þat hade ground me thus: in mercy is the sallows
gathering pass to springs to my hert.—Because is come welneȝ to vche wende on land and the feverous soul doth needeth you, letting her eie lids shut eyes redemption shall never beene when ye hearts I know the gentylest heaven raining late hatz he neuer.
The father’d lyrist, when the pious weighd with white rose sudden all hew, may laughers mind a resting the clear and oþer, þat al forwonder. My serpent’s selfe were, and þat fallez, and fresche, folde, and brent to ease. Said Peona, mayster, þe kyng as kene men speded hom too
change in the waues attyre: I must maketh euery minutes, by thy sea-foamy cradle; or them. Ar her one, not on þe fowlest of ought to love conchs and all encreased be wise do make thy lewd talez ofte; þe skwez of his grave i’ th’ bed of vche lyne
vmbelappez þer þe fordonne, and seem’d large wings be devote thou art my executioner, and one day spred with musick, which made this worlde askez, Ferde let wolde ȝe, ladé, for Lamia: tell me back into þe Norþe Walez. To me, and alle þe meyny he melez.
28
That out the great gode of his woe. The harts to bye, in þoȝt. But with tempest, to þe, and tars to her course of þat swyngez bi þe byȝt, voyded her yre: in which ofte in þe cloyster
abides, naked, hir bryȝt, with the sounde of deed, founded to proof makes that can this face con mete, he granted of Wisdom of the faery lang—take break amorous insight,
for Dian play: dissolve, and stifled. To byde at a leaf may fail in chambre and his rine, albee my so hardy fight, theyr payneful sighs was his oþer þe comlokest swyn til
þou chose so longe louely fyre. Now the bosome face, and play. Taught to slepes Ful still, and sigh away—unseen! The sake their showers. A mimicking each upon the air, and Bi
þis Ȝol ouerȝede, and of the moonlight glance of all things for kiss’d his face despondency beseene, about her prayed for lur þat wyȝt, þat is þat noȝt watz grayþed for Renaud com richchande
þonkkez on lyue. Do thou only that way, so bury me byholdez, and the lofty be. Who look full oft himself a Queene of sad Winters, and on these sages, herbes
or beauty tempest doves sleek aboute hade ben seuer wyȝe, bi þe rygge after meeds, thou patient done: accompanionship the man, who stiȝtel, and blyþe—blynne, and stalk in throe in the
perished is. Whose stars growes vpon wodcraftez keped, and soldiers. Tongue will owe my hart with her slowe bite non will vnto this as amber hit is bronde and gedered. Its other
darting to nothing; but I lay sorrows come hit hym by þe dok laste, may kindest braine, and scarlot berdlez chylde; þe brem valay; þenne fersly þay buskez bolne to Spouse. For his
chamber stubborne dame, þe chapel rydes, monk oþer knyȝt I be less: from Egina isle fresh to comment of curtains shall sit, and heaped snowe burdned hit were, and the victours be
rewarde as he boun to feel that draws a virgins o’er and deep with worschyp—þe wyȝe schal haf arered; a mensk is a lovely in hor bloody, for I bayþen in the boating
that doth melancholy college she loved that he wade no hopefulnesse whyle wyth tryfles þe sounds with bred my iust cause þe kynges sister’s grace; and where low voice—divine—
a talisman—an amulet that thou art? It quite, nor to Tim’s others wounded to ryse, on silk bordes barred ful fyne fade away? Thou shepheards with þwonges to Rome ricchis hym
lykez hit hym oft; bot quen he grass and fall. Such is eight- sided, touches your best may. They ne dar I, for temple. Here came with haþel, to cortaysye, as Rainebowe best perceiving
blossoms blown no, no, that is so goud wylle to what reliefe vayne thy loue wound; if Pearless for youth, and so hette in my hairs bid come—the imprinted time: her hand, simple
with that she had no sooner had past reasons: he is diuine and took companion’d multitude, and shade hem þoȝt, at saȝe oþer for very sad? Came motion new-mown. In fair create
his dream of that out full of doves, meadows, over a mon may chace; heȝ with Barsabe, þat gostlych synge. And dumb presaging waues attyre: for awhile! As well awake, and you. With
sweet queens to dille youth a nervous twitch. For a beaker haf ben þen I þe haþelez about you ask proof surmised by blind Understand, before all He inquire whose bushes?
29
Keep, to leaue to þe watter, for pittilesse, t’ accuse me telle þat merk at my lovers on their orbits as
through a Naiad of the tilt of her amount—to meruayle þaȝ he loud sprites goe visions, that soon the white of alle
þe best for your fate? But Orpheus voyce, so dull brere, for þe wyȝe on hym bysyde, lepe lyȝtez and doun; he stemmed,
founden hym bihoues honde, forþy þer schulde haue pure pured, may lachen he schunt on hor dedez, of þe penance strok,
and trembled ayquere, tortors and his grene chapel to his boldness on the which wooed wo, most assurance secret bend
your sigh no more, and born on the while endless sorry Scheme of theyr strife did bring a race more common day; now are charm
could hider; for soþe, ’ quoþ Wawan to the smart and perish, but to atone for Mistress, on which aboue, wyll be on you
freedom as none with any spirit flit alone sted me vpon a bonk ryȝt þe day þe titles in a bliss, but shadows
numbers, waies, greater. I now much to the sense and proud fayre strong in his old and honour inmost creatures all, that
thou art were; a blisse, will she loved a virtue of you taken unawakening ethered the twilight in
vainely taduance that surfaces that have new yeare him, I on her. Make my hart to know’st though oft I will be, yet, Thyrsis
and now for scorning ether the lenger þe brygge. That my myȝt, and kennen to thee true; too well fayre election,
and fill your so hot despised strange their Maisters nine, thou completely comen token in stalle, þe hede fro þo wonez
þad daye. A bloom and pray hym ruched innocent mists aboute. And wysse hym to quicken, couth he brain begins to
bylde, as I haue hole syde pendulum soul, and a smallest pebbles or wit nor gref and payne beguyle. The Last Dawn
of Nothing Paradise, and unstain’d violets upon the shock of course, from a dew-lipp’d and dart the other gaue,
expressings and ay þe ryal kyng comfort yow lykez; I schal gif hym sone, rises and þe ȝonder mortality.
30
There my womankind beats its old and sin: and could have seen than shooting time he would hardest Marble flowers. Strays through.
31
Vast and cold moonshine in some that same full of past may. ’St pillow bundle unthreshing-room, like a negative landed in oþer wyth speake, your spright to threatens all other; let
the season will in are blush; the monstrous soul. Thanked be founts of night may he layd ouer þe schewez hym to ryse, on snawe þat hyȝe halowed þat I mightest mon methles, and to
throe the filled it. Cast vnto Christall chesnuts keep court-favours are laid he, why should your love disquiet, which the sky not of your wine imbrued his fate stop my torturingly, but
Orpheus-like in dust, but in the Angels compeyny noble pipes, Wylde watz wont belay, with vche a solitude. To norne ȝe yowre are wilt steal away earth, descence and I
be now with awfully, the bow’d, has wept alone, as on mossy green basking, until drown in the sun, o’er many thoughtfully. Said or sung by the sky, and hatz þenne repulse
so fere he could not on the will; bearing in the even a bud but could comez of fyne fade away. That way because I dare to paste of an Alien Shah whose conceiue, and
whatever here. Then sit a storme the short-liv’d a nothing: only, one repulse street of alle men in wyth a bande of þat I have spent, with myldest thou redeemed that louked
at her fingers least divine—a tale herald flew a delight Emperor and sayn bot þay þe trawþe and cry, from knee, nor carefull stagnate and it stopped ful lowe, þe grete renoun
of þorne, and laȝt a lace lapped from charioting sunneshine white and Fancy, pride: that which no wyse bi preué poynt of ancient work her burde þerat, and she moving about they
know thirst without end; nor sombre wholly, but cannot love, I wolde when roasted with face of filthy lustfull of sight and purer air, good ber ande glam of gedered by shall men
go and ladyes on the hill his lost; to herself with tempests sad assayde, Be sayn bot þay two had bribed him opprest. She issues radly, raykez þis fayntyse of þe reuerence.
32
And so bent his shadowy queen; one those who with which euen why not ille, when shall unconscious passion new, and then
the crown’d with breath’d into share, fresh out of dust fore-see my heart aches, to wayt on like a pinnacle doth his happy
swains slopes, how long languor to haste, precious prayse: but stilly and blesse they seemed there what pented me upon the slode, sleȝly
honowred crime. And weary, and setting bee, and þat not thou complaine, the mountain, still she vanquisht without consume
not see: but the seeth a hundreth. One hour was born of diamauntez of tresoun þer wroȝt at his payttrure and gos
þeder winters sting, of pebble- floor, that is this, and withinne with alle þe bonez, euen to take a coronals.
33
And schrank close to norne oure bared boys. Them find the end in heauen doth calm uneager face; then can make her laboured; and every word rested ful stoutly with his beauty did all with Stellaes face and as he herber þer he will in her
luscious lace, and full,—while ever crawling with the blood, and ten this mild guests, and enlivening harrowd hell with his joyfnes, and, for changed is euen to honour and one hour maids shadow’d bait on this nek, þis is my smart: that bring, aboute,
þay lance breezes, bower, much mirthe heard of flesh to blight the well awake him did like a rose— syne pale light in their orbits as thy curious plea faint pink-bronze and Flora and the blood, and sothly me to increace. In bryȝt, And ay þe
housewives to þe erþe; and þe resayt, bi þe chauncelot, and sees the earth nor reason fit that the wild lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, a dream; or say a dreamed of yorseluen, so Reniarde we met, if þay found me see my natives
offer: Pan will build to catch his tayl, þat closed þe waye, iwysse, bi my wyf: I wroȝt.—Ah, lean bat couþe wroþeloker to tempests cruell confusion by choices the air, heng vp þyn awen. That of his she, to the durt of cattell, but one
hour old, who bent, all gather’d how happy earthly complained, as first nigh past thou shalt! And things in a deep enchanter! Tis not thou wert a flowers thread- bare Penitence a skim of mealy sweetness, would offer: Pan will I there to schende,
in a swollen tide to aspye wyth þe laste, all for slyȝt vpon fyue fyngrez; and share wilt stealing it universal freedom as no drechch had chose bodies upon thy bower veils. Eyes so filled to þe, and with thee displays her huge heȝt hit
deme with lotez þay stode. Through my louely listen; and the standeth once again her female fierce! Come hit foyned with change, in all that happy gloomy rest: full dream of louers pitie they loosestrife dismay. The might’st forlondez, whether through thee!
34
The mighty deed but all with Dust. Is just as the cause, but scar’d!—A blind Orion low into a bryȝt, and in moral
height: whilome thing time did not ille, he schere on a slope, and just into amaze no membre, bot wyȝtly hem hit
watz wylde so ashamed. He were enbrauded aboute hade noȝt had robbed thunder þay neme for my veined eares? In the
speed the reachery. His semblaunt, make Game of the towering heart, I would seemed to the hungry sands. That forgoe. Then shall
moniment: that very, very teares sinnes for the level of all about, free from the Gods in daynty is most
renoun of þe couenaunter hit fyrst could not rave, he did, ’twas lispt aboute. So well; Poore Layman I, for myself and
sayd, his friend, like in: I am here might affrayd of silver flame, not knowing hot. I never a moon put for her
obay, to silently round bush his honde, and we heard but despight with merþes. Upon a calm sea deriu’d by dew
descence and listen and bleden, bi my trespass, Silvia; I confessed look through the crowned. Had reach dragg’d down my fyue
and Me. While I yet thee; and nature I wale trysteree, and dumb presaging Damon guess’d his paunche. The level gleaming
crew; tis not for me, that winter campfires in which sought made nullity! For though, sweet fruit. Let the night, no horned sauered
þerinne, baret is this, suddenly of memory will vnto hear with adamanthus’ tongue and vows the talk wyth
a þwonges to þe hult, þat verily ’tis almost myrþe myȝt þat all a close in his ydle boast of þe ȝonge; he
þonkkez, I halden on barr’d; and all the constant eye, doth spy, remoue. My lips do smiles of her arms she doth please thyself
to win. After Nature, and chaste away, was no mon most vile, the strings I know whither flowing. Then, come for his nested
their smiles, hym heldande, and from the Rose as when you’re not a shade from her desperate air: then my bosom of hemlock
I hade. And near this bode burne blessyng, ’ quoþ þe loue hath dimd her up, and in the Seventh Avenue mighty prime!
35
For languid arm, delicatest that we shatter doth neede, or doth companion stood, while it smooths. The lad hem schewe, for he ȝelde ȝe, ladé, for Corydon, hath more impatiently encage, but newly bow’d his nail, and here is the living
tone came the foreuer in his hondeled þus much passionate and those fruitful still true friese with Pitfall asleep? To our many sought will walk this dusk place untenance dead, my humble cot, and blossomd Iessemynes, sent fro his
lethargy! Nor Arac, satiate with comlyly, and attention soundyly schal lenger of the bowre of your selfe, and gaze o’er stubborn spirit close implide, be lykez hit hym þere al one. And mynne vpon Gryngolet grayþed hym þere al one.
36
And his nek, þis aune nome, and henges. Damon, who is this quoth shouldst rejoice! Long hath my young Semele such bright that
keep her lily start, and walt out her with sence far off appease her from death lodge the mysterez of mony luflych
knyȝt con call her natures wonderment: the messenger can fynde if þow reconciled; seldom come with Dust. With a
fugitive and a hare ran the smoother Cypress, pale, as did fly with all things come upon thy charge, and wondered, endure
token. For Love’s cloudy rack, south- westward to schewez hym one, clepes to wander finger weeping yougth to dethe endless
turn like one were a blyþely wize her none. Of blwe þat þe sunny mead where ar no more: so shortly reascend, ourself
when alle his exile; where Beauty and smoothly part remaines and worse, perverse would I accoumpt of love: the
louely pleasure, but in the squirrel’s barn. What wyl I not complaine. Why must I bred, snails will she vanquisht quite forgotten,
save when þou wolde, in my House for truckers, thou not cheat me inclind: then to me appease, and þe morning; if thou
cannot kept you push young Bacchus, your goodnes thy spirit has plaints, and wondered, þou kysse quene wyth þe spured vpon flower
heauenly forme in your pillow. Frame his shoulders, enough this youth doth lopp and derely come, whose fleece is restore.
37
And syþen kayre al his plains; and He that French flod Fellow, yellow, yellow, the panting mortal you troubled with care. Came, that vngently bisoȝt of þe brawen wyf hit me þynk ȝern to run, began to answare, and take þe meny in halle
as long singest date palms tip towards her, thought, thou content to each tender passion, and Kaikhosrú forgoe. Conscious of ice, thou smoothe, to pleasure, liue you leave her, It’s you the spirit fail; a much I fry, Go, get the same too much for ever
proudest love? Of custom, that swete to brings a full tear- drops down and be seen, the wrought! Such sanity will mingle pured as clatered part: the lofty countenance deckt, ye be some strife melted in her lightning furrows that is
loveliness: awfully gave, will in height: whats the charms! Immortals dread of flower and clear his boþe halue! Der drof in þe sale to have must I bred, beheld a gelatinous eyes, and luflyly acorde me day I wroȝten. Dazzled
lips to hide—nor in one so be I made me ȝede; as heart. You lie, a small red colours meete talenttyf, to the Firmán the Seasons lin’d, endure. Or thou dost thy deerest religious sight officiousness. With a kiss brings the spight:
ne any mention dew. As if halfe tremulous-dazzling thee! Against the red ryche fulness and daunger on her, say what putting by virgins o’er Siberia’s shore from me again, that oiled barbarous lace, and angular: out-shooting
stood, while other. Sweet is thy selfe into a boy of sand, if it were, but Orpheus, from our heart shall not for þe segge and water at me, say I’m sad, say I’m sad, say I’m sad, say I’m growing smile thou alone survey the pained. Breaking
branches green her make, unheard, then daisies pied flowers, waies, great Brahma from his hopes infest to applie. She laughers mimicking on ever would offended Flora, and grace godly in the Well of things, nor for she turn’d entrancements
to deþe with hir richly spring; and lyȝt he tooke, that this masse, lays vp þe lufez vpon þe morning peace to remene. Of þe best, Alle þe godemon so goodly light slept on thy most sweet all the promise the passe in þe
wynne. If I silent sails those gentyle knyȝt þay wyste from the shores of Kent. Bi þat wyȝe, here it strongly it to this brest. As hit bytydez holdez, al þe worlde wyȝe strongly it repayres; vche burne seluen, and þe grene, in token
of his love, again her find the curd-pale most sweet Love were loved, a dream of an Alpine happy wooer frost, my ship of Hell; that gallant to endure to behold Apollo, could invent with merþe, his summer time? On too without these: Love
music dying at his thoughts had doted for truckers, to fonge and he goes who have made perfect, nay, þat hym aȝayn—and þe kerre sydes of þe brydel quik—to þe byȝt al of blooms divine and put you agree? In god fayth doth ioy
resembling new-found of absolucioun herde of þe profered. Then fayre pelures—ȝet laft he past. Shall ever and vnto Rosalind amid alle me that gallant trew. The luminous pine; or with earth cloudy air, bidding coming
made, but when turn’d on the bathe watz cumen wyth a little captiue quit and Soul. Now gan he repented me þis gyng? From their head knock it too. That is so goodly wonnen. In sacred for þe lenþe, þe dust for all things,&sdeignes not the King
gold sporez spende noȝt hit dryue. Ye tender paine. For pale aspect of those lips; my boon! Being noontide of þis burne, still true as if to strives its petal, nor see her harts wound as the sweet in the less quick apprehending gall. This dor, his
home: only to the first hunger on hent, as the shoulders did flow. What would beare, out of Lethe scientific animals are to behold a true blessing about, but what thou hear the door, no shame can it saue me Dryȝtyn schuld seye he
wound a path nor well; Poore Layman I, for pleasure’s holiday! Immortal you may liues last endymion blessings around sown will not of a swyn setting bed. To stirop and twanging in lonely imag’d this dark, dark as the grew awhile,
but themseluen, boþe quikly to þe burne, Blame ȝe disserue, ȝif ȝe haf wylt of þe quest, fed with her own that it forth eternal palsy shake, as than this sadel þat gods, and his greater me byhoues, naked, hir buttokez bylyue.
#poetry#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Markov chains#Markov chain length: 6#118 texts#ballad sequence
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i didnt know u had a milgram oc !! or i forgor... 12 for the ask game!!
hehe i do!! i made her back in like, april or may, and then did Nothing with her... n because we weren't like, that big of friends back then i think? we were close but we weren't divorced yet i think, i didn't know if you'd think me cringe or not for making a milgram oc i think !! n msotly chatted to arc about her... but i should have known better. shes like. girl loser. anyway!! gonna respond to this under cut:3 im gonna do every prisoner. sorry not sorry also i do wanna say, aiko is very underdeveloped. so if any of these things clash. 1) sorry:( shes silly like that 2) shes a hypocrite, sorta 3) some of this will probs change as i (if i) develop her
12. What is their relationship like with the other prisoners? as stated above, i will do every priosoner:3
Sakurai Haruka this guy... this dude.... hes sure a guy!!! what a dude.... i think, they're similar enough for both of them to dislike one another. aiko doesn't like him because he reminds him of her, in a way. he didn't get well cared for by his mother in his youth (neglected) and, i'm not sure about which one(s), but he has disorders also i think? or mental illnesses? i don't know boss . i like mahiru and amane and i only know things about the two of them. and also yuno. bc she's easy to know about. and muu. and umm . kotoko . twirls hair . i don't know much about the men ❤️as in, i while i do care about thinking about them, i prefer the girls, because, the guys are boring, to me . oh you're mentally ill? so am i. oh you're on twitter? im not. oh you have a guilty concience? youre actually pretty cool shidou btut fanon has ruined you for me. oh you, are? ok. oh youre a terrible depiction of did? why does the fandom like you so much. men cannot win in milgram. theyre all so. simple. and so are the women, to be fair, but. you get it. you get it mikey. you get it. anyway, i think aiko would act civil around him, if he tried to talk to her, but wouldn't go out of her way to interact with him. sympathises, though. pre-trial one results probs avoids him. thinks of him as a lost puppy. post-trial one, pre trial-two results, maybe envies the 'bond' he has with mu. post trial two resuls, she umm. well. haruka says "oh you wont forgive mu? ok well ill just kill myself then. loser" and umm uh. thats not. good for aiko. that was her murder, basically. yea also he has "born a guy, treated like a girl because parents wanted a girl" while aiko has "born. a secret. treated like a guy because, parents. something something. trans but never confirmed if she was a canon character, just alluded to."
Kashiki Yuno yuno my good friend yuno.. i think aiko would get along ok with her. again, doesnt seek her out, but! likes her:) thinks shes silly. likes listening to her talk and indulging in conversation. pre trial 1 results, aiko is generally very closed off, but, later on deems yuno a comfortable presence:) and post trial 2 results starts seeking her out to hang out.. likes sitting with her in silence. helps her take care of mahiru after t1. and umm . yuno also takes care of her. unsure if yuno likes her, too, or if she finds her. lame
Kajiyama Fuuta does NOT like him does NOT like how loud he is!!! thinks he should quiet down. doesn't like how brash he is. she doesn't stop him from acting out (doesn't really.. dissapprove of it? doesn't like the ways with which he goes about things, but, doesn't mind that he overall tries to do them? admires him a bit, maybe. but does think hes stupid and dumb). tries to help him after t2, but he'd propably go "psh i dont need your help" and, well, she wouldn't want to push her luck. she's injured herself, after all.. . does care about him and worry for his safety, though.
Kusunoki Muu pre-t1 results, aiko is too out of it to be annoyed with muu. tries to help her a bit at first, maybe, sympathises with her - but soon finds her annoying and stops trying to help her. after t1 results, she wishes muu would act towards her like she does to haruka, but, she doesn't. and. she was voted guilty, so! thumbs down. doesnt like her:( but . goes along with her schemes n such i think. relates to her also.
Kirisaki Shidou - suicide tw for this one hooo boy ok. this one is a big one. due to the nature of aiko's murder, she gets close to this guy. sorta. doesn't like him. so! aiko's murder. its more explained in the link, but, basically, tried to kill herself and.. huh? what?? how is she in milgram if she killed herself?? well you see, basically, i consider the milgram prison more of a concept than an actual prison in its universe. so. milgram just popped her conciousness out from her last moments and into milgram. idk. ✌️the explanation is too long for this but! so. a bit into t1 - either between her and kotoko's trial or after his innocent verdict - she goes to shidou and basically asks him "am i dead? can you do a check up please?" and, i actually think shidou would take her semi-seriously - of course, he knows she's not dead, but, is propably like. just worried for her. he's been declared innocent at this point, anyways - might as well help. so he tells her, "no, youre not dead." and she gets pissed and angry and upset and sad and depressed and doesnt talk to him again until kotoko attacks her. disappointed bc, if hes right, she failed. and. angry because he Must be wrong. he Must be. or. it all sucks and is shit.
SHIINA MAHIRU 🧡💛💗 likes her positive outlook on this. aiko is very 'love-starved', and, although i think mahiru finds her a bit creepy at first, they both warm up to one another:) theyre buddies... injrued buddies... tries to take care of her after kotokos attack, but, being injured herself, she umm can't that much. but they spend time together. shes very "our unlovable guilty verdicts... could be lovable guilty verdicts", and, just, rlly likes that mahiru is so lovely. she's so warm and always has love to give. and. aiko needs that so bad. it Is unhealthy, yes, aiko becomes sorta very dependant on her for most of her emotional needs... sorta like muu and haruka, but, not rlly, because, yuno is there to tell them "hey youre getting a bit too codependent" n keep them in line lol maybe a bit of girl yuri.. who knows
Mukuhara Kazui (why are all the guys blue?) kazui is the closest thing aiko has ever had to a father/parental figure in a long time, but, she will Not let him know she will Not she will Not let him protect her from kotoko because that would mean unraveling feelings and shit. so. yeah. thats all i will say about this. because. i am unsure if thats the path i will take she does dislike him tho. because hes 'stereotypical strong man' n she envies that she cant be that. and, again, the dad thing.. she doesnt like it. that she feels like that
Momose Amane 💛 Thinks she's silly:) likes listening to her talk about her religion pre kotokos attack- after, too, but the others probs kee the two apart (bc, amanes "you cant use medicine" actually works on aiko). but. yeah. feels bad for the kid, and, wishes she was in a better mental state to help her. at least recognizes shes unable to. doesnt stop her from trying to help her with the little things - which, amane does not like. bc. she feels like shes being treated likea little kid.
aiko mae herself:)
Yuzuriha Kotoko finds her intimidating. admires her resolve. rlly doesn't mind her attack all that much.. is a bit scared of her, but, dismisses it as admiration n such. really does Not mind her attack.
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