#apart from a few lines and music tracks that are better in the dub

[perenlop]

i will defend the original mewtwo movie with my life honestly. its not even my favorite, not by a longshot, but people are so mean about it under the excuse of “the only people who like it as nostalgia blind”

“ha ha ash dies but comes back through tears thats so illogical and stupid” where is your whimsy :(

[lovenona]

ON THE SACRED BONDS OF BROTHERHOOD.

synopsis; choso may be their beloved frat brother, but he’ll always be your brother first. (for the frat au collab.) 

pairing; frat boy! choso x f! reader

contains; stepcest, dubcon (reader is under the influence but having a good time), extensive descriptions of knife play and blood play, marking (choso carves his name into you), oral (f! receiving), borderline yandere/possessive choso (he loves you A Lot), choso goes from mean to Soft, consumption and romanticization of drugs and alcohol, (1) use of ‘angel’, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, this is essentially all foreplay and ends before the fucking because i got tired, minors do not interact or perish

word count; 6.5k

the yard outside is clean, well-kept. there’s talk that the house’s landlord is a retired gardener who receives great joy from keeping up the hydrangeas and peonies along the sidewalk. it’s certainly award-winning, that front yard, with its colorful blossoms and plush bees circling the mailbox. 

they’re so lucky, students bemoan on their way to and from class. i can’t believe the frat boys get to live there. i bet they don’t even know how lucky they are.

it’s a seemingly kind house from the outside – recently renovated with navy blue paint and white trimming, a large front porch and a few inviting windows. the place that omega lambda now calls home is, simply put, a dream. it sits just a few minutes from campus and it tells the street proudly, fondly, that there is no better place to be than here.

it’s true, in some respects, that omega lambda likes to see themselves as above the sweat and grime of their fellow frat brothers. they don’t spend their weekends “fucking and drinking” and tracking dirt across the carpet like animals. their fun is calm, refined: to be invited to a night with omega lambda means a night of smoke curling into the air, of gossip over olive-colored couches, of pills under tongues, of ease and relaxation.

it’s slower than the others, they say in the back of monday morning lectures, but no less extreme, no matter what those boys try and tell you.

i think i was tripping for days, the girl from psychology 101 boasted. whatever the fuck yuuji gets is strong. 

such stories amaze you: and even as you stand on the sidewalk outside the perfect blue house, petunias curling inward with the evening breeze, you cannot believe they are real. it’s hard to imagine the face of your beloved stepbrother tied to these antics. it’s hard to imagine that the boy who used to come home every winter and summer with bloodshot eyes and a beat-up skateboard also swore a loyal, unbreakable oath of brotherhood to a band of boys you’ve never met. 

it’s hard to imagine that your own stepbrother, choso, the one who taught you how to ride a bike and how to apply eyeliner and how to kiss without teeth, quite literally runs what has been dubbed the chillest fraternity on campus.

but yet, here you are, new to university, fresh-faced and eager, cowering outside the door of the omega lambda residence. your favorite skirt hovers around your thighs and you tug at the collar of your shirt, fiddle with the charm of the necklace choso gave you for your birthday a few years ago. 

he’d invited you here almost immediately after learning that you and your roommate had tried your hand at partying with beta pi epsilon. naoya is trash, choso’s fervent texts read the next morning. absolute dick – don’t trust him. come hang out with us instead. he’d attached the address of the blue house along with a reminder to have a snack and take some medicine for your godforsaken hangover. 

the message had taken you a little by surprise. choso’s always been sweet to you – doting, even, if you wanted a better word for it – but you hadn’t been sure how he’d handle attending the same university. your other friends all complain that they’d rather die than see their families; twins separate after orientation, brothers and sisters look the other way if they pass each other in the quad. you feared choso would be the same, that the omnipotent attention he gave you at home would completely dissipate the moment you moved into your dorm.

but his text reaffirms you, if anything. and although your roommate had opted to be wined and dined by the boy from calculus this evening, you don’t mind attending alone. her absence from your side only means you will be able to see your stepbrother without a distraction.

the music buzzes through the door as you knock and wring your fingers on the doorstep. should you just walk in? should you text choso and wait for him to fetch you? the ins-and-outs of frat etiquette cloud your mind until the door swings open and you’re met, face-to-face, with a young pink-haired man dangling a blunt from one hand and his phone, opened to his spotify playlist, from the other.

“hi,” you say, words foreign in your throat. “choso invited me?”

“oh, cool,” itadori yuuji says, shrugging his shoulders like he never would have questioned it. “come on in. you can put your shoes over there.” 

while omega lambda is not packed from wall to wall as your night at beta pi epsilon had been, the various couches propped against the walls and surrounding the living room coffee table are nearly packed to the brim with the frat brothers and their guests. the air, hazy with smoke and desire and drinking, shifts and swirls as it curls around purple LED lights before fogging up the windows and disappearing up the stairs. it is warm here, easy, like dropping into the depths of a pleasurable dream.

“there’s drinks in the kitchen,” yuuji is saying, voice thick with his high, “and we’ve got some other stuff on the table, although you’ll have to pay yuuta for those–” 

yuuji’s narration is cut off as a familiar figure crashes into yours, sweeping you into a hug so tight you fear your bones will snap from the pressure. choso smells like the cologne you bought him for his birthday, like fresh laundry and comfort; you breathe him in, deeply, and let yourself relax into the soft cotton of his black t-shirt.

“glad you could make it,” choso mumbles into your skin. he draws back slightly, drinks you in, your little skirt and your dainty socks that he’s always been partial to. he looks from you to yuuji, still vibing to the side with his playlist, and his eyes crinkle in what must be mirth.

“it’s good to see you,” you say. 

“you saw me at lunch with mom last week.” choso smiles, the black line across his nose crinkling when his eyes light up. 

“you get what i mean.” you tap his shoulder, lightly, as emphasis. the anxiety dissolves; it’s you, and him, like it’s always been. it’s your stepbrother choso who watches your shadow and wraps you up to keep the rest of the world at bay. 

but the tender moment is broken when someone, a tall blonde girl with the aura of a lioness, calls out to choso to ask him for assistance. he looks at you, a bit forlorn, before telling yuuji to help you get settled in and making his way to the other end of the living room.

“yes, this way!” yuuji grabs your arm and drags you across the floor like you’ve known each other forever. “i make some fucking good drinks if i do say so myself.” 

which, consequently enough, is how you find yourself losing your mind within the walls of omega lambda. 

it’s not that you’re a virgin to the world of cocktails and lime and pills: it’s that you’re too sweet to know when to stop. it’s hard to tell yuuji no more, thanks when his face is so bright, when he and the strange, blue-haired frat brother mahito are asking you to try this and try that and to let us know what you think. 

so you let yourself sway through the house, from couch to couch, listening to this mahito boy tell you about his latest philosophy courses as he dances cold fingers across your shoulders, listening to yuuji explain the very serious business of pulling an all-nighter without coffee, watching the LED lights shift from purple to blue and back again.

(you’re not sure where choso is. perhaps, in your altered state, he’s sitting just across from you and you don’t even know it. but you don’t mind, because his brothers get along with you just as well. you don’t mind, because you’re too drunk or too high to know any better.) 

“and how are you doing?” a dark-haired man slides into the empty couch space next to you. arms littered with various tattoos and dark hair pulled back into a casual half-bun, he could have been your beloved choso had he not exuded such finesse, such arrogance, which choso could never be capable of doing.

“i’m alright,” you say, but you’re more than alright. the room is so warm and your brain is so fuzzy that you might melt into the couch if someone looked away for even a minute. “i don’t think we’ve met before? i’m choso’s stepsister.” 

he simpers, a humid thing, one that coils around your eyelids and sets your insides alight. “ah! i’ve heard a lot about you. it’s nice to meet you.” he holds out a manicured hand; black nail polish glimmers in the dim light. “geto. i’m one of choso’s frat brothers.” 

his handshake might take your soul with it. his hands are smooth, refined. you swear he can feel your quickening pulse as you introduce yourself. he watches you like you might be the only person in the room, like you might be the sweetest thing to have ever crossed the threshold. and filled with rum and liqueur and confidence you take it, gladly, because you’re young and the thought of university still puts stars in your eyes. 

“so what are you studying?” geto is saying, prying you apart, picking through your history. he’s in his final year and you’re in your first and he knows all there is to know while you still have nothing. you latch onto him because he gets it, because he’s handsome, because you’re silly and desperate and drunk. somewhere along the way your thighs touch and his hand greets your shoulder and you think that you finally made it into his lap because mahito complained that the couch was too full. 

geto smells like expensive cologne. you smell vaguely of lemons and shampoo. yuuji jokes with you from across the table and you like it, the way these brothers’ eyes fall on you. 

so you spiral, further and further, into a daze you cannot escape from. you barely react to geto’s firm hand snaking up your bare thigh because you are too busy trying yuuji’s latest creation and asking mahito for more of whatever he gave you. it’s fun, it’s weightless; you feel beautiful, supreme, like the kind of college girl you’re supposed to be. you’re desirable, cute. you’re the girl to be in love with, the one who sets the scene.

those rumors were right. the party is certainly slower than the other frats you’ve visited, with more emphasis on sitting and vibing than on dancing and drinking games, but no less extreme. you’re so far out of your brain that you wonder briefly if it will ever be possible to come back down. maybe you’ll be her, on monday morning, the girl who’s still tripping.

“you know,” geto is saying, his breath eerily close to your pulse, a moment away from pressing a kiss to your cheek, your neck, “you should stop by more often.” 

“yeah?” you hope you sound sexier than you are. “i’d love to–”

“excuse me,” choso’s voice cuts through your lazy fantasy like the sharp fall of a guillotine. “i’d prefer if you didn’t hit on my sister, geto.” 

geto’s laugh reverberates against your back, your ears. his grip on you lightens immediately, and whatever words he’d saved for you die away. “i’m not,” he says, but his voice is too easy to be honest. “just keeping her company. right, sweetheart?”

you’re finding it hard to see straight. caught in this game of cat and mouse you find you can do nothing but sit lamely in geto’s lap and watch choso’s favorite necklace reflect the purple light. it’s only after a revolution around the sun you realize you haven’t spoken, that you’ve done nothing but hover, a lot of drunk and a little high and a little nervous, between one man and the other. you mumble a yes in affirmation but it’s clear from the tension that choso doesn’t believe it. 

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” choso sighs. “come on, then. you’ve had enough for one night.” familiar arms lift you off the couch and you stumble, much like a baby gazelle, into the safety of choso’s chest. the room spins with the sudden change; you cling to him like a lifeline as you abandon the party to head upstairs. 

of course, bedazzled out of your mind, you do not question when choso leads you to the end of the hallway and over the threshold of his bedroom. it feels expected in a way, safe, as if the party had always been meaning to end here. as if there was no other place you should be.

“so?” choso asks, casually, shutting the door behind him with a damning click. “did you enjoy being a little whore with my brothers?”

his words take a long moment to settle in your ears. you’re caught in the swirl of euphoria in your brain, the black t-shirts scattered across the floor, the small houseplant you once bought him seated on the windowsill. it warms your heart to see it there, after all this time.

“well?” choso demands your attention. he takes your jaw in his hand and lifts your eyes to meet his gaze. his silver rings, imposing and cool on slender fingers, burn into your heated flesh like embers. his eyes swim with distaste and you know it’s your fault, somehow, but when the walls tilt and your rationality fogs over, you can’t quite pinpoint why.

“i–” your words catch in your throat. it’s clear, from the darkness in his eyes, from the way his nails dig into the soft flesh of your jawline, that anything you say to defend yourself will be futile. it’s choso’s world, you’ve always known, and even now, you’re merely living in it. 

“i invite my sister to see me, because i miss her,” choso’s words nestle themselves deep into your bloodstream, settling amongst the brandy and wine, “and she chooses to spend the night bending over for my brothers. how do you think that makes me feel?” 

it’s a look you know: a look that has haunted you for hours and days, a look that you know better than any other. it’s the look that guides the hand between your legs at night and the look you recreate in your mind’s eye when your vibrator just isn’t enough. you’re crumbling already, like sand beneath his touch.

“i’m sorry,” you say to him, but the words are soft and whispered things, shy beneath the weight of your own guilt and disappointment. “i didn’t mean to–” 

“no,” choso admonishes. he steps closer, guiding you backwards until his bedsheets brush the backs of your knees. “of course you didn’t. you’re still too dumb to know what you’re doing.” his voice, evenly condescending, hardly matches the gentle brush of his fingers as he moves to cup your cheeks. you close your eyes against it, savoring the shivers he sends across you body with every heartbeat, every movement. “still need your big brother to keep you in check.” 

you do not respond: he does not intend for you too. instead choso presses you back until you fall onto his bed, crawling over you to cage your body beneath him like a predator and its prey. your brain falters with the sudden movement, with the lateness of the hour and the depravity of your position, but you can do nothing but look at him with your helpless doe-eyes while something saccharine pools in your belly. 

“look at you,” choso says. “high out of your damn mind. good thing i caught you when i did. who knows what would have happened.” 

you believe him, you do, especially when choso dips his head to kiss you and demands your subservience. his tongue licks the aftermath of your cocktails from your lips and claims the expanse of your mouth, your teeth, your sanity. you let him take you, body and soul, even when you’re clamoring for air and freedom. there is no safety but choso’s lips, flavored with his cinnamon chapstick, no sacred home but the warmth of his mouth. 

“there’s my girl,” choso breathes, nose brushing against yours as he pulls back for air. “going to be good for me now? going to make it up to your big brother?” 

he doesn’t wait for a response; fingers dance along the silk of your blouse as he undoes each button, one by one, letting his fingers dip slyly against the newly exposed expanse of your collarbone and your chest and your stomach. you make no move to stop him, caught somewhere between choso’s aura and reality and time. 

(and maybe in another life you would have stopped him. maybe in another life you would have been ashamed. but it’s choso, your sworn protector and god among men, and you would be a fool to try and stop the one who knows best. he is safety, protection. who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t taken you away when he did.) 

“is this new?” choso asks, studying the curve of your bra as he rests against your hips. “who are you trying to impress?” 

it’s thin lavender lace, choso’s favorite. your face warms at the observation and you turn your head away, nestling among the sheets, as if you could escape choso’s eyes: but his fingers still trace the material and you can still hear him breathing and you know he will never look away. 

“i just got it,” you answer, humbled and mildly humiliated and certainly a little fucked up. the words are slow and imprecise as you stumble over your own tongue. “i wanted to…treat myself.” 

choso’s exploratory hands move from your bra to the waistband of your skirt. “could’ve just asked me,” he says earnestly, intently. “i would’ve gotten it for you.” 

your affirmative hum is lost when choso mindfully pulls your skirt down your legs and discards it somewhere in the shadows of the room. he says nothing of it, of the thin fabric or the way it flattered you just right. perhaps he is jealous of it. perhaps he does not want to remember the way his brothers looked at you when you wore it, the way geto’s hands caressed the places no other man should go.

“they match, i see,” choso gestures towards your underwear. terrified and knowing and aware that you’re growing damper with each passing minute, you press your thighs together. “they’re cute.” 

“t-thank you,” you whisper. “i… i got them for you. your favorite color.” 

he smiles, a precious and glorious thing, a smile that causes flowers to grow and birds to sing. you electrify at the sight of it, blissful only when he is. 

“i’d hope so,” choso says, “because i don’t think i could take it if this was meant for someone else.” 

he reaches over to the nightstand while his words claw through you. choso smells like cinnamon and safety and pleasure; your heartbeat quickens as his t-shirt brushes against you, as your world collapses into nothing but choso’s profile, his butterfly hair-clips and his glowing skin and his power. 

when choso settles back over you, resting against your thighs until you think you might die of it, something silver and shiny rests in his palm. you’d recognize it even if your eyes were closed, if the room were so dark that you couldn’t see if you tried. a searing and insatiable sensation lodges itself in your veins; it is fear personified, it is anticipation of a behavior you cannot even name. 

choso twirls his beloved switchblade deftly between his well-manicured fingertips. it reflects the low-light of the room. it calls out to you, the beautiful and dangerous thing, a siren’s song that promises both your misery and your fortune. choso’s face is relaxed, serene, as the envy and the fury seemingly melts away from him and leaves only a disinterested vessel behind. 

he lets you study it, lets you study him, and you know he’s pleased when he can feel your thighs tense, when you try so damn hard not to let choso know just how affected you really are. he shifts, grinding gently against your pelvis as he moves, causing you to bite your lip in a desperate attempt to surpress the gentlest of moans. 

“well,” choso says, disregarding the state he’s slowly working you into. he shifts down your body and runs a lackluster hand across the lacy expanse of your underwear. shivers pierce your navel, silver rings poison your skin. it’s all you can do to watch him, his heartless eyes and his casual form, as his thumb prods at the place where you underwear crosses your hip. “let’s get these off. i’d hate to have anyone else see you in them.” 

you feel the blade before you see it. cold, unfriendly, it rests against the gentle skin of your hip, a killer ready to take a life. a humiliatingly choked whine is out of your mouth before you can swallow it; your gasp reverberates throughout the room, the sound of one who knows they’ve lost a fight. 

“choso–” you breathe, but you don’t know quite what it is you’re asking him for. 

he doesn’t answer immediately, opting instead to tease you further with the blade as he presses it against you until goosebumps rise in chorus. your fingers curl in on themselves, desperate for purchase, while fear and longing hum everywhere in your being. 

“don’t worry,” choso says. “i’ll buy you more. now be good and stay still.” 

you want to writhe, to lash out and squirm beneath the intensity of the moment, but you fear choso’s disappointment more than you crave such release. your big brother choso has never been afraid to hurt you: to pierce the skin where it hurts, to draw blood where he means it. if you move, the blade will move with you. you know this as you know every scar choso has left behind. 

it’s agonizing, this pace. choso’s tongue peeks out from between his teeth as he works with the ease of a great master. it’s like watching paint dry, like waiting for grass to grow or continents to shift. he cuts away at the expensive lingerie you bought just last weekend like he has all the time in the world, like he does not care if the sun rises and you are still crying beneath him.

(and he does it, you know, because you’ve never been one to be patient.) 

“choso,” you whine, drawing his name out, long and frustrated, as if in song. “go faster.” your legs twitch in protest and the blade comes ever closer. 

“no.” choso does not even spare the kindness to look at you, his beloved little sister. “stop whining.” 

the rest of your complaints lodge in your throat. you fear disobeying him, so you grip the comforter like a lifeline, exasperated tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as the blade cuts through your clothes and ghosts across the bare skin beneath. it’s embarrassing, really, the way you can feel yourself becoming more and more desperate the further choso drifts away from you, the more he refuses to indulge. 

you wonder if he can sense the arousal on you, feel it, smell it, even, like you’re nothing but his own little plaything in heat. 

after an eternity, the blade finally cuts through your panties with a satisfying rip. the torn fabric sits pitifully against your hips, a reminder of your own subservience, until choso peels it away from you with enough condescension to move you to tears. the cool air of the room hits your thighs, your cunt, like a ghost who’s taken up residence beside you. 

blissfully unaware of your feelings, choso studies the remains of your ruined underwear, the thin fabric and the obvious stain of your arousal. locking eyes with you, he bring it to his nose for a brief and pleasurable inhale before he discards it somewhere on the other side of the room.

“there we are,” he says, as if he hadn’t just smelled yourself in front of you. “now no one will ever know about it but me.”

“choso,” you whimper, hot. it’s a gift and a humiliation to be beneath him like this, to shake with need and yet to be denied it, to ask for something, for anything, in a voice so unabashedly loud that anyone who passes by the door might hear it.

he ignores you, again, and turns his attention to your bra as it flutters against your fervent chest. you watch with wide eyes as the blade comes closer, closer, dancing against your ribcage and sending ice into your lungs until it slices through the front of your bra, down the center of your chest, like the thin fabric was made of nothing but water. 

“get rid of this,” he says; you listen. with quick and quivering fingertips you shimmy your way out of the delicate material and toss it over the side of the bed faster than the speed of sound. choso, pleased with your obedience, intently traces the curve of your breasts, thumbing your nipples until you find yourself arching into his touch. 

(choso, you mumble, eyes falling shut at the feeling. still, as always, he does not listen. he draws his hands away.) 

it kills you, the way choso’s eyes possess you, own you, dictate the movement in your bloodstream. it’s akin to being pulled along on marionette strings, a puppet of choso’s own design, made to dance for him and him alone. 

it’s the prize he deserves, your big brother, to own you and protect you, body and soul.

it’s that very intensity which moves you to misty tears, which causes your hands to fly out to meet him against your better judgement. choso lets you pleasure yourself for a moment with the texture of his t-shirt and the outline of his shoulders before brushing your hands away like unnecessary flies. 

“did you whore yourself out like this when you went to naoya’s?” choso prods. the patronization lies beneath feigned and genuine curiosity. there are no inflections, no signs of anger. this is how your big brother gets you, every time: it’s the neglect, the disinterest, that breeds your guilt. “are you really so easy for every boy that comes your way?” 

you shake your head and wish you could bury yourself further into the bedsheets. no, never. try as you might the first-year college boys here just haven’t been enough, the older ones too preoccupied with better cunts to look your way. 

“just because those guys are my brothers,” choso continues, shifting further and further down your body, spreading your legs until he can fit himself comfortably between them, “doesn’t mean i have to share everything with them.” 

“i’m sorry, choso,” you try again, “i’m sorry. i don’t want anyone else–” 

“that’s right,” choso interrupts. “you don’t need anyone else. no one is ever going to love you the way i do.” 

the way your big brother does, his eyes say, but he doesn’t have to voice it. you already know. it’s true that no one knows you better than choso does. no one understands your limits and your desires the way your brother has for as long as you’ve known him. no one knows how to caress you when you cry, how to run their tongue across your lips to silence you when you’re too eager. it’s always choso. it’s always been choso; but sometimes you’re just too much of a fool to see it. 

the blade, cool and demanding, presses against the soft flesh of your thigh, just below the hip. you twitch in surprise at the sensation and curl your toes to quell the ache in your cunt. it’s slick, weeping; you can feel it, the arousal, as it pools and pools and drips quietly onto the comforter. 

“choso, what are you–” you ask, breathily, pitifully, but choso’s quick glare reduces you into obedient silence. 

he licks the cinnamon chapstick on his lips. a stray hair falls across his eyes and kisses the dark line across his nose. he is love and danger, a cocktail of possession and surrender. “i think,” choso says, the words slow and thoughtful, “you need a reminder of who loves you the most.” 

a strangled cry escapes your lips when the blade pierces your skin just enough to draw blood. the sting travels up through your spine and fogs up your senses, causes your cunt to weep in horrible anticipation. it hurts, it does, the first cut, but still you find yourself waiting for more of it, more, in terror and lust and love. 

“choso–” you cry, a misty tear escaping out of the corner of your eye, but the call is met by another stroke, longer this time, drawn out, until your knuckles clutch the bedsheets so tensely they might as well turn to stone. 

“stay still,” choso admonishes amidst the burn of it. “you’ll hurt yourself.” 

as if you were the one in control. but you listen, obediently as always, and the alcohol from earlier combined with the need in your chest mixes together until your body is as taut as a desperate wire, until you no longer have control of yourself or your limbs. the knife cuts easily, choso’s hands as steady and precise as ever. you can feel the blood dripping onto his sheets like a series of hot tears.

it’s too much, all at once. it is a fire which destroys you, which renders every coherent thought into ash and causes you to sob nothing but drawn-out cries and pleads of choso’s name into the dark bedroom. he has you just where he wants you: pliant, dumb, obedient. if he asked you to fetch him a star, you would have asked him which one he needed.

choso’s tongue darts between his teeth as a steady hand continues its masterpiece. you sob unabashedly in reply with every stroke, with every flex of his fingers as he works his blade against your tender skin. and yet, as the pain grows, so does your need for something, for anything, for release; with every aching minute your cunt grows hotter and lonelier and emptier between your thighs. 

you crave something, anything, choso, perhaps even more than you wish for air.

“there you go,” choso says, just as you release another cry so piercing there’s no way even yuuji wouldn’t have heard it. “all done.” 

you sit up on your elbows to peer down at the masterpiece below your hip. smeared with blood, aching and raw from the blade, the word CHOSO spreads across your upper thigh in an uneven but heartfelt script. it makes you dizzy, this marking, this sign that no one owns you better than your sacred brother does. you wonder if it will leave a scar, if it will heal; and even more so, you wonder if choso will merely rewrite it, again and again, until every cell in your body knows that you are nothing without him.

you say nothing; a whine escapes your lips as your eyes flit from the mark to choso’s eyes, dark and possessive, as he looks back at you.

“you like it?” he asks, once again the sweet thing, the doting one.

“yes,” you whisper back, never one to lie to your perfect big brother. 

but you cannot hide the insatiability. choso notices the way your thighs twitch from the intensity, the way your cunt drools and your eyebrows furrow because you cannot relieve this ache on your own. you’re helpless, entirely at his mercy. choso tilts his head with a soft and unreadable simper at the sight.

“you’re really worked up, huh?” he pretends your distress is not blatantly obvious. he twirls the bloodstained knife between his fingertips for a moment before bringing the flat edge of the blade against his lips in a somber kiss. “this little thing’s got you down bad, i see.” he flashes the switchblade at you like a diamond. you watch, entranced, as choso slides his tongue across the metal until any traces of your blood disappear into his mouth. 

your belly’s on fire. the switchblade shines with choso’s spit and he smiles, your blood on his tongue, while he prods your legs apart, further, until you’re entirely open for him with nothing to hide. you whine lowly as choso’s eyes flicker between your eyes, dazed and helpless, and the slick on the bedsheets. 

“choso,” you repeat. “please, help me.” your eyes are wide and your voice is small and you crumble beneath the weight of your own needing, of your own body working of its own volition, of the high that collapses all over you. 

perhaps it’s the way you call for him, your big brother, in your time of need. perhaps it’s the way choso can never really deny you, even when he feigns disappointment or rage or neglect. he’s bound to you, your protector, and you can see in the way his eyes soften ever so slightly that choso will not deny you this request.

“sure thing, angel. let me clean this up for you.” choso’s voice is generous as he bows his face towards your hips with the reverence of one before the altar. he leaves no room for your answer. an eager tongue swipes across your thigh and laps at the blood which pools there. his movements are indulgent, refined, as he holds your legs open with intimidating palms and drinks you in like medicine.

“choso–” you gasp, unable to look away. his eyes flit back to meet yours in reply but he continues his ministrations, slow, teasing, as he ignores your cunt entirely and licks at the fresh wound until it’s finally, sacredly, clean. your newly beloved CHOSO glimmers with his spit when he pulls away. he smiles at you then, praying over your hips, lips stained red with your blood, with your being. 

“i may be their brother,” choso gestures towards the door, to the party which must still rage below, “but i’m your brother first, and now you’ll never forget it.”  

the words are followed by his tongue on your inner thigh, fervent this time, as he travels downwards, downwards from his name on your leg until his nose is a breath away from your clit. you thrust your hips towards him impatiently and he accepts it, gratefully, burying his face deep into your cunt like he’s searching for gold. choso lavishes your clit with plump lips and an eager tongue, drawing the bud into his mouth and kissing it until you cry, until your legs tremble as they ensnare him in your garden.

“choso–” you’re crying, voice transcendent throughout the frat house, his favorite song. there’s a tongue prodding against your hole and a silver ring on your clit and you lose yourself within it, within choso’s breath on your folds and the fire which erupts into chaos. 

when it comes to pleasing you, choso does not require air. he refuses to resurface as his tongue explores every inch, as he laps away at you with the passionate abandon only an older brother can provide. what you need, he needs, and what you desire most, choso is always willing to provide. he holds you steady as he works so you cannot escape him. he forces you into stillness as he abuses every sacred inch of your cunt, as he works you into a frenzy with his fingers and his tongue until you can think of nothing but wanting to cum. 

and then, then, at the precipice of pleasure, choso pulls away. you pause as you catch your breath, heartbeat like an earthquake, and recollect your shock. why has he stopped? where has he gone? you’re about to sit up, to feign sobriety, to demand what the matter is, when something cool and smooth presses against your clit.

choso’s cheek rests against your inner thigh as he presses the flat edge of the switchblade against your cunt. it’s cold and dangerous and sublime and you cannot help but think of the way it could ruin you, that if you shifted or choso wanted it everything could end here, now, forever. and it is this fear, coupled with the coolness of the blade suffocating your clit, with the alcohol in your bloodstream, that sends you into a place from which you may never return. 

the orgasm is as violent as a hurricane. the moment you tense and begin to quake with a strangled sob choso replaces the blade with his tongue and rides you through it, coating his lips with your cum and swallowing the vibrations and heightening the sensation until you are tortured by it, by the sting of pleasure and overstimulation and want. 

(“that’s it,” you think he says into your skin, but your ears ring too loudly to know. “cum for me, just like that.”) 

it takes some time for the waves to recede and for your body to become still again. with a head comprised of of jelly and limbs made of water you lie still, panting, as choso nonchalantly licks your slick from the switchblade with a hum and gingerly sets it back down on his dresser. you watch as he slides the belt out of his jeans and tosses it into the dark room, as he hovers above you like an angel and its lover. 

“better now?” he asks against your parted lips. you nod. he kisses you, deeply, a kiss made of iron and cum and blood, tongue swiping across your teeth before he draws the air from your lungs. your vision swims when he plants a kiss on the tip of your nose, your cheeks, your forehead, between your eyebrows. he plants his love until there is nowhere left untouched, until you are buzzing with the security only your brother choso can give you. 

“yeah,” you mumble back to him, content, satisfied. even the sting of his name on your body is a pleasantry now. 

“good.” choso wipes the perspiration from your brow. his jeans scratch against your pelvis, and it is only then that you finally register his cock, hard and eager, waiting patiently for its turn. it is only then that you realize choso’s lesson is not yet over, that your brother’s desperate need has only begun. 

“now,” he purrs, gently, lovingly, “can you show me how much you love me?”

(as always, forever, you do. you show him your love, endlessly, even when the party ends and the house falls eerily silent. you show choso everything, all of it, loyally, just as he asks, with an only you, choso, and a no one else loves me like you.

because although choso offers his love to the brothers downstairs, he will always, forever, be your brother first, til death do you part.)

[thran-duils]

Was Ich Liebe (P.3, Final)

Title: Was Ich Liebe (Part Three, Final) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark!Tony Stark.  Tony becomes enamored with a stripper at a club his hedonistic friend Thor owns. A casual sexual relationship quickly becomes possessive and the reader sees more of the underground mafia life than she would like to. The cherry on top is that Tony is married and so is she. Him to a woman who has no intention of losing her throne at any cost and the reader to a deadbeat alcoholic. Feeling trapped by both her previous life and the suffocating hold Tony is trying to put on her, the reader steals away in the night, which is not going to go over well. Words: 4,647 Warnings (for whole fic, more may be added): Dub-con, smut, infidelity, stripping, vaginal fingering, public sex, possessive behavior, angst, degradation kink, violence, physical abuse, domestic violence, language, drug use, alcoholism, death Warnings for this chapter: Mention of abortion! Author’s Note: As usual, this is 18+.

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Tony was calling. He must have gone to the apartment and found you gone by now, especially since you had not been answering him via text or by phone. You sent him to voicemail letting your music start again. You had rented a car to drive away from the city.

The jewelry he had given you came in handy to get cash that you were using for gas and hopefully a down payment on an apartment somewhere. Stripping joints were abundant, and you were sure if you found a sizable city, you would find work without an issue. You were thinking about Milwaukee. It was far enough away from NYC and there was a college there too.

Your phone beeped with another voicemail from him. Signing, against your better judgment, you reached forward to press play, it coming over the car’s speakers.

He was pissed. Unsurprisingly. He had been tight on the last one he had left, wound up that you were not answering him. But this was a whole different level. He was practically shouting.

“This better be a goddamn joke, Y/N. My patience is already up with it though. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you had snuck out? Where the fuck is all the jewelry? Huh? Your clothes? If I find out you left and you’re cheating on me, I’m gonna kill them.”

You did not doubt him when he said that. And he confirmed he was at the apartment if he noticed your stuff was gone.

“And were you planning on telling me about the pregnancy?” Your eyes widened and then you swore remembering you had not emptied the trash in the bathroom. “Or were you just gonna keep that to yourself? Listen very carefully to me, if you do something drastic, I’m not gonna be nice about it. Not in the fucking slightest. You best believe that and take that to heart! Don’t be fucking stupid! Call. Me. Back.”

The voicemail ended.

Yes. The pregnancy. You were already thinking about which office you could go to. You had left a note for Thor about quitting and you wondered how quickly your health insurance was going to stay in place. Before after leaving a job, it had stayed on until the end of the month, but you were unsure, and you were not about to call him and ask. An appointment at a clinic though, that was something you needed to deal with quickly. You were sure there was a facility you could find when you got yourself established.

<><><>

“You’re a psychopath,” Carol said to Tony, smirking.

She was watching him put up security cameras around Y/N’s apartment, hidden from the normal eye with his technology. And when he had taken the lock apart on her door to install tech he could control himself from his cell, she had shook her head.

“I prefer creative,” Tony responded, as he tested it out. It worked perfectly. “Little bitch isn’t going to be leaving without trying extra hard.”

<><><>

You found a hotel in Columbus. You made sure to put a chair underneath the door handle on top of using both locks. It was scary to be traveling alone. And especially when you did not know the area.

The next morning, you woke up to another voicemail from Tony. You had reached over to silence it while you were sleeping, knowing damn well who would be calling you at 2:30am.

He sounded sloshed.

“Do you remember me telling you I was never going to let you go? Cause I said it multiple times. That hasn’t changed, Y/N. It’s been almost 24 hours since you answered to me!” Slip up there with that ‘to’ added in. “It’s really fucking frustrating, and you know goddamn well I don’t like being frustrated. It’s…you’re being disrespectful!” There was a slight pause and you heard him take a drink. He let out a humorless laugh. “You won’t run away from me. I’m going to find you.”

He hung up.

Hearing how mad he was, your stomach was twisting. He was not a man that liked to be thwarted or feel like he was being disrespected. Not to mention that he was a fucking mafia member. If he got his hands back on you, he was not going to be kind. And the time he told you he would never hurt you would be tested, you worried.

Why did you let yourself get so far involved with such a dangerous, jealous man? Again?

Forcing yourself to get up from the bed, you went to take a shower to try to relax in the hot water. Afterward, you walked across the street to the coffee shop. You wanted to get on the road again to put some more distance between you and NYC and ultimately between you and him.

<><><>

You drove around the edge of UW-Milwaukee, stealing glances at the campus. A city like this with a college surely had good clientele for the clubs.

Pulling over and parking, you opened your phone beginning to search for an apartment and a job. There had to be an abundance of apartments available around the college since it was summer and a class had just graduated.

<><><>

He kept calling and kept calling. He was not going to stop. It had been two weeks. You had been trying to convince yourself to answer him and tell him to leave you alone and that it was over. You thought about changing your number and you would, but after the conversation you needed to have.

Piqued, you answered, “Tony, I’m busy—"

“Oh, you’re busy? So busy you couldn’t fucking answer me? Over the last two weeks, you’ve been ‘busy’. Too busy for me? That’s hilarious! You should have your own fucking stand up show.” His tone was dripping with condescension.

Sighing, you said, “I’m getting ready for work! This needs to be quick.”

“Work?” Tony chuckled darkly. “Now you care about work? You fucked Thor over by quitting on the spot. How were you even able to get a reference?”

“I danced. That was reference enough.”

“Of course you did. Of course you’re stripping. Where are you?”

“I’m not going to tell you, Tony!”

“Y/N, baby,” he started, sounding like it was taking everything in him to keep his voice even. “If you just apologize and tell me where you are or just come back, I’ll be able to let this go easier. You can come back to me, and it’ll all be okay.”

You mustered out a strong, “No! I am not going to do that.”

His leash was back off. “Why are we playing this stupid game, Y/N? I can handle you being bratty — cause I love fucking it out of you — but this is really pushing me over the edge!”

“I’m not being a brat! You were suffocating me!”

“Suffocating you? I worship you!” He was so easily able to confuse his possession with love. He continued on irritated, “I shower you with gifts! I make sure you’re well taken care of! I’ve treated you better than anyone else has! And you’re coming at me like this? What is your fucking problem, Y/N? What? Is being on the phone instead of in person giving you some fake confidence? Don’t think I’m not keeping track of this ungrateful bullshit just because you’re not standing in front of me!”

He was quickly losing his temper. You had never made him this mad, had never pushed back.

You were shaking as you tried to stand up for yourself, “I’m not the one with a problem! I didn’t force you to move anywhere or—"

Tony interrupted you furiously. “Do you understand how much that apartment cost? How much that car cost? You barely drove it!”

Frustrated he was steam rolling you as usual. you said fighting to keep tears back, “Sell it then!”

“If that was supposed to be a joke, it was an awful one. This shit isn’t fucking funny, Y/N! When I find out where you are, I’m gonna drag you back by your goddamn hair!”

“Good luck!” you spat, it slipping out before you really thought about it. Your eyes widened at what you had just done, and you quickly hung up as he started to snarl something back.

He was immediately calling you back and you sent him to voicemail again.

<><><>

Tony let out an aggravated shout, throwing his phone down on the desk when she did not answer him back.

Good luck was right.

She had stayed on the line long enough to give him time to trace her down to the general area. Milwaukee. Near the university. He would find her, and he was gonna find her quick with getting eyes on the ground to spot her leaving her place wherever that was in the area. And she was not going to like it when he came knocking to collect her.

<><><>

The bag from the closest grocery store was heavy with groceries for the week. You had returned the rental car when you signed your lease, able to use the bus system until you bought your own car.

You noticed there was a man watching you across the street and you slowed in your pace, narrowing your eyes. He did not look away and you swallowed sharply before resuming your pace. You felt like you could still feel his eyes on the back of your head. You had felt like there had been eyes on you earlier this morning too. A foreboding feeling was creeping; you wanted to get inside and quick.

Entering your apartment, you kicked the door closed and struggled to lock it immediately. The bag crunched as you walked over to the kitchen and placed it on the counter.

You put the few groceries away and walked around the counter, tearing your shirt off and tossing it on the back of one of your chairs. It was hot since you were on the third floor and you had not been able to buy an air conditioner yet.

“This place is a shithole.”

You screamed, startled at the voice, whipping around, your eyes searching wildly.

Tony was sitting in the end of your bed in your room.

He had surprisingly not called you for the last few days, not after the conversation the two of you had. Not hearing from him had set you on edge just as much as him calling you did. You knew he was not going to give up easily and the silence was a trap if you fell into it thinking that it was done.

Your eyes flicked to the door, and he chastised you in low, dangerous tones, “Y/N, you’re already in enough trouble. Don’t make this worse for yourself. Carols outside. So is Rhodey. And a handful of other people I brought along in case you were gonna cause more trouble.”

The man outside. So, you had been being watched.

Tony stood up from the bed and came out of the bedroom, and up to you. You took a few steps back and he tsked you. You stopped immediately, knowing what he wanted. He closed the rest of the space and raked his eyes up and down you.

“Why did you have to go and cause trouble in the first place? You think I was suffocating you? That’ll seem like a cakewalk compared to when you come back with me. See, we’ve lost trust. I can’t have you running around when you know as much as you do. And you running off looks like you were going to squeal.” You opened your mouth to protest but he rose his voice, shutting you up. “And I can’t have that. Not when I have other people to answer to on the team. I will not be the weak link in the chain, which means you are not going to be running off in the middle of the night. Even if it’s not what you planned to do, it looks bad.”

His hands came to rest on your biceps, squeezing in tight, causing you to flinch slightly. His eyes were hard. “You could have had the world and you threw it away.” His thumbs caressed, his tongue slipping between his lips. “But I can be a forgiving man if you make me believe that you’re sorry. Just do that for me, beg for forgiveness, and I’ll take care of you and that baby.”

You gulped at the mention of the baby, and he noticed. His eyes narrowed. He leaned in, searching your face and you looked away, but he forced you to look back at him, his hand holding your jaw tight.

“Y/N, baby… you got something to tell me?”

You were silent, your heart starting to hammer.

“Y/N, you know I don’t like repeating myself.”

His grip tightened and you felt tears pricking, apprehensive of how he was going to react.

Your voice warbled, “I…I had an abortion.”

Tony was frozen, his eyes wide and incendiary. His grip on your jaw loosened and you took a step back away from him. His jaw clicked, eyes not leaving you. You saw he was going to explode.

Raising your hand shakily, as if that was going to hold him off, you started, “Now, Tony—"

His backhand sent you stumbling. He caught you before you could do it yourself and slammed you up against the wall.

“You’re lucky I didn’t cold clock you!” He snarled, his fingers digging in painfully to your arms.

“Tony, don’t—”

“Don’t? Don’t what? Be fucking furious that I told you not to do anything drastic and then you went and did just that? Without even consulting me? I have a goddamn right to be furious! How fucking dare you!”

You were sniffling now, terrified.

He gave you a rough shake before demanding, “What’s the lease on this place?” You took too long to answer. “Answer me!”

“Month to month,” you whimpered.

“Smart. Makes this easier.” His nose was practically brushing yours. “Look, you’re gonna be good and listen to me about exactly what is going to happen—"

“You can’t—"

“Did I tell you that you could talk? No! I told you you were going to listen. Keep your fucking mouth shut!” Tony lashed out. You closed your mouth, your lip warbling. “You’re coming with me. And I haven’t decided yet if I want them all to listen to you beg for forgiveness on the plane or if I’m waiting until we are alone. Not doing it here. Don’t wanna alarm your neighbors and have to injure any of them if they try to interfere. I don’t want, nor need that type of mess.”

He shoved you as he let you go, and you wiped at your eyes.

“I can’t fucking believe you. Can’t even follow simple goddamn directions. What are you? A child?” he snorted angrily. He snapped his fingers at you and pointed at your room. “Get your shit. We are leaving and going home. The jets at the airport.”

<><><>

He had not punished you on the plane. You instead had sat, curled in as tightly as you could to yourself in the chair across from him under a blanket, looking out the window as much as possible. You felt him watching you intensely the whole two hours. You could only imagine the deranged ideas going through his head about what he was going to do to you when he got you alone.

The moment you stepped into your apartment, he ordered you, “Get yourself done up. I want you to look nice for me. I’ll be out here watching the game.”

His goons brought in your suitcases and put them next to the kitchen table before leaving at his order. Tony grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. He saw you were still standing there, and he glared.

“Y/N…” he said dangerously. “I don’t see you moving.”

You grabbed your suitcase with your clothes and trudged down the hall, feeling his hard stare at your back until you disappeared into the bedroom. You had left a lot of your clothes here but there was a dress you had brought with you, one that he liked specifically. Which shocked you a little bit because it was loose and free; still short though.

Taking the time to shower, blow dry, do your makeup, and dress, you felt the anxiety rising about what he was going to do. You thought the extra time would calm you down, but it was doing the opposite because it was giving you more time to think.

When you walked back down the hall, your black wedges announcing your arrival, Tony looked over the back of the couch. You saw the bottle on the coffee table. He had been drinking, not a surprise. He gestured you over and you walked around the couch, coming over to him. He ran his eyes up and down you, taking you in.

“Well, don’t you look just perfect?” he asked, an edge underlying his tone.

He stood up from the couch and you stayed still. He pulled his phone out and took a picture of you without giving you time to prepare. He turned his phone around and you looked dumbstruck in the photo.

But he complimented, “Look at that. Pristine. That’s what good girls look like.” A cruel smile flashed across his features, and he tossed his phone down on the couch. “But you’re not a good girl are you, baby?”

You only had a moment to react before he was forcing you down to your knees. You hissed in pain as your knees slammed against the hardwood.

“You brought this on yourself. You think I like punishing you?” Tony asked, working on his belt with one hand as the other held you by the back of the neck. Your hands came up to grip his thighs, pressing back against the hold he had on your neck. “Ah ah, stay where you are.” He stroked himself with purpose, his hand moving at a steady pace. “Look at you. A pretty little slut that needs to be taught a lesson.”

He was hard now, the head of his cock pressing against your lips.

“Open your damn mouth!” You clenched your teeth, knowing he was gonna be rough and not wanting to choke. He let go of you to slap your cheek and sneered, “Don’t make me ask you again!”

You opened your mouth reluctantly, and he grabbed you by the back of your neck again and shoved his dick in all the way, your nose brushing his pubes. You gagged before he pulled back out, running his head around your lips. He groaned at the sight, slipping back in and using your mouth.

“Tell me you love me!”

“I love you!” you got out around his width.

“Look at me!” You forced your gaze up to meet his and he thrusted faster, hitting the back of your throat. Your hands gripped tight onto his thighs, eyes begging for him to slow down. But he was not relenting, and your throat was aching. Another groan left his lips as he demanded, “Tell me you love me, you little bitch.”

It was hard to say it, you choking now, tears stinging your eyes. “I love you!”

He pulled away roughly, his hand wrapped around your hair tightly, keeping you in place. Your saliva was stringing messily between him and your lips. Your chin as well as his pubes were glistening with your drool. You gasped for air, thankful for the reprieve from your jaw aching from being open so wide.

The reprieve was short lived though and you cried out in pain as he began walking, dragging you by your hair.

“Forgive me that I don’t quite believe you. But I’m gonna make sure I do believe you. I’m gonna get a genuine one out of you before I’m through.”

Tony sat on the edge of the bed and held you tight. “Give me a show. Take that dress off and let me see you. Let me see what I’m going to take.”

Shakily, you stood up as his grip laxed and he was watching you like a hawk. You wiped at your lips, knowing there was little to do about your eye makeup since he had made tears come with how hard he had been choking you. You started to sway your hips, trying to find a rhythm amongst the excitement. You turned away from him so he could not see your face as you struggled to calm down enough to dance.

It was sloppy, unconfident. But that did not seem to bother him. He pulled you into his lip and his hands slipped up your dress and into your underwear.

“Don’t get to tell me now that I can’t touch,” he husked against your cheek, his fingers slipping into your pussy. “All mine.”

He was stroking you, getting you worked up, making you lose focus on grinding. You bit your bottom lip, a strangled moan escaping.

Tony chuckled, nuzzling your cheek. “I know you like that. Gonna get you good and wet for me, sweetheart. Spread your legs further.”

You were falling so easily into his touch, your core wanting more. You were getting wound up and he was loving it. He worked quicker, his breath heavy as he felt how aroused you were, wetting his fingers.

“Maybe you are a good girl. Look how well you are behaving for me. Is this you apologizing?” He pulled away just to lay a hard smack on your cunt. You bucked, crying out and he did it again. You whimpered as his fingers entered again, focusing on your bud. “You’re a needy little slut, aren’t you baby?” You nodded and he sucked at your neck. “You’re repenting so well… but you’ve got a long way to fucking go.”

You were so close, but he suddenly shoved you away roughly, causing you to stumble in your heels.

“Strip.”

You did as he asked, pulling the dress up and tossing it behind you, leaving you in just your underwear. He rose his brows expectantly and you turned around, bending over slowly. You pulled your underwear down, feeling how wet they were at the crotch. You heard him hum at the sight of them and your glistening pussy. They fell to your ankles, and you turned around, kicking them off.

Tony stood up and pointed at the bed. “On your stomach.” You did as he asked and heard him getting undressed. You peeked over your shoulder at him undoing his tie as he walked towards your closet. He emerged again with a scarf, his eyes fixated on you. “Did I tell you you could look at me?” You turned back around quickly, butterflies swarming.

He grabbed one of your ankles and yanked you down the bed. You felt his tie around your ankle, and you tensed as he tied you to the bed frame. He was at your opposite ankle and tied your other leg with your scarf tightly.

“Tony…” you said hoarsely.

He did not answer you and you laid there, spread wide. The bed creaked with his weight and his thick thighs straddled you, holding you even tighter in place. You felt him pressing in and your fingers dug into your quilt. Each inch filled you up more and he exhaled as he reached his base.

“That’s the gentlest thrust you’re going to get, sweetheart. Enjoy it.”

Tony was not lying; he was pounding you into the mattress and you were not being quiet about the intrusion. You were already so wet, and he was adding to the sensation the way he was working you.

“You’re gonna remember who you loves you the most,” he groaned. The bed was shaking with how hard he was driving into you. “You’re gonna remember to behave!”

Pulling out of you, he smacked you hard against your ass. “Get up on your knees. Now!”

You obeyed, maneuvering with the restraints and his fingers replaced his dick, rubbing your clit. You keened, your back arching at the intense contact. You were ashamed that as usual you fell to the arousal, letting him take you over completely even when he was being as mean as he was.

“Fuck, you little whore. Look at you. So needy for cock. Why did you leave me in the first place? You were never going to find anyone that would love you like I do. You hurt my feelings, baby. And I don’t like having my feelings hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasped without any prompting.

Tony’s fingers fell from your sex, and he was up, holding you by the throat. His breath was hot on your ear. “I might just leave you here on the bed right now. Tie those delicate wrists up too. Keep you on display for me. I’ll just walk by and see you stuck here, just dependent on me to come back to release you.”

You shook your head, begging pathetically, “No, p-please.”

“You want me to finish?”

“Yes!”

“Do you deserve it? Cause I don’t think you fucking do.”

You shook your head, “No. I don’t. But, please!” He brushed your pussy lightly with his fingers, teasing and you broke down even further. “I love you! I love you! Please!”

“You’re not gonna leave me again.” It was a statement, not a question.

You shook your head furiously again, gasping, “No! No, I won’t leave you!”

He yanked you up painfully by your hair again and new tears stung your eyes.

“I’m gonna make fucking sure of it. You’re gonna be on house arrest until I see fit to let you out! Face down,” Tony snarled, pushing you roughly down by the shoulders. He was behind you again. “You’re gonna be full of my seed when I’m done.”

Your chest hit the bed as the room filled with skin slapping skin loudly as he ravaged you. It did not take long for your body to tense up and a shriek left you as your pussy clenched around him. Tony’s breath was erratic as his pace lost control, his fingers digging into your hips. Broken husks were falling from his mouth, you could not make it out over the buzz in your ears. You felt the warmth though when he filled you up, his cock buried deep. He was making sure it was up against your cervix. His groan was long and loud, his hands squeezing your ass tight.

When he pulled away, you laid out flat, feeling worn. You heard him leave the room, the hardwood in the hall creaking with his footfalls. Your body was covered in sweat, heavy pants leaving your lips. For a moment, you forgot you were tied and tried to adjust and let out a sigh of disappointment when you felt the tug of the restraint on your ankle.

Tony was back with his phone. He cooed, “Oh, sweetheart. You’re so tired. Look up at me.” You lifted your head and saw him snap a picture of you. His lips curled into a smirk at the photo, and he turned it around to show you. Your makeup was ruined, tear trails on your cheeks, mascara and eyeliner smudged. You looked like a mess.

“Look at this lovely sight,” he purred. He flipped to the last photo of you looking made up and then back again. “Look how dirty you got pleasing me compared to before. I’m going to keep these.” A malicious glint flashed in his eyes, and he said, “I’ll give you a few to recover. But baby, there’s gonna be round two and no, I’m not going to let you clean up. Let’s see how much dirtier I can get you.”

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney  @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl

Fic tags: @buttercandy16

[dustedmagazine]

Various Artists — Soft Touch Express Vols. 1-3 (Trax Only)

Soft Touch Express Vol. 1 by Trax Only

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: When the pandemic settled in and quarantine kept everyone home, New Orleans-based party promoters Trax Only were left with a lot of time in the space where DJing and socializing might’ve been. The collective — Kathi Kniess, Brett Labauve (Bouffant Bouffant) and Mark Louque (Father Figure/FFigure) — were caught in the anxious state of energy without direction, creativity in fits and bursts but nowhere to put it. There was a lot of napping. 

But as 2020 went on, the idea of a compilation slowly, intriguingly came together. Now, with the release of three mini-albums in March and the delivery of a 90-page risograph-printed zine to accompany them, Trax Only has not just a musical manifesto for its wild nights out, it has a snapshot of dance music’s stalled months, too.

As Kniess says in the zine’s final pages, “the quarantine had a silver lining: There was more time to focus on production. Why not provide a digital platform for this output and bring along other queer producers we love and admire?” After six years of promoting dance nights featuring a mix of names passing through — I recognized Egyptian Lover, Horse Meat Disco, Octo Octa and Rayna Russom at a quick glance of the thank yous at the back of the zine — that took cues from the cities they loved (New York, Berlin, Chicago, San Francisco, etc.) and incorporated them with their own homespun party-making mentality, they now had a chance to give back. 

And how they’ve delivered. Trax Only may be based in New Orleans, but as these compilations show, its reach extends far beyond the bayou: Of the 21 producers featured across these three volumes, only five are based in the Big Easy. There’s representation from locales near (Atlanta, Memphis) and far (Los Angeles, Portland, New York, Berlin), and the ground covered isn’t just in where perspectives or where the musicians are from, either: The sonic territory slowly blooms as you listen through each volume. 

The music centers itself with house in the restrained future cruisin’ of Ruth Mascelli, Olive T, Jacob Meehan, DJ NSA and a deep house queens’ anthem from Love Letters, but it also covers a great deal of ground beyond that broad umbrella. Shaun J. Wright’s “I Pray How My Ancestors Prayed” is an ideal opener for what’s ahead and could easily be envisioned as the opener to any set, a stripped back, drums-forward number with just the barest hint of keyboard and a tense vocal intoning the title. Sappho and Jon Damon Boucher’s “I Want You” is an early highlight, its chorus airing out over a swooning harmony and a surprisingly busy percussive clattering that, once you hear, you can’t take your ears off trying to pick it apart. Bouffant Bouffant’s “Night Blue” is another, featuring piano and what sounds like bongos and a dubbed out melodica. 

Sfireman’s “All Right” that closes out Vol. 1 is one of the set’s more interesting sonic outliers, a 16-bit videogame soundtrack clocking in at less than three and a half minutes that makes for the shortest track here. But it opens things up a bit for the second and third volumes, which feature the malfunctioning robotics of FFigure’s “Self Checkout,” Marceaux Marceaux aka z72.52’s appropriately named light breaks throwback “Time Warp,” the acid of Juana’s “1E Strategy” and Ephemera’s cosmic wandering “Lava Lava.” Indeed, Vol. 3 might be the most eclectic and hard-hitting of the bunch, peak-hours energy exuded by Bézier’s jacking “Vocalise,” the dark techno thumper from Ariel Zetina on “Security Theatre,” the outright fastest bpm of the bunch on Jasmine Infiniti’s “iono” (so fast that the track can’t seem to stop itself, truncating abruptly at the finish), and the sample-happy (Flava Flav most prominent among them)  “People in the House” from Good Xtreme to close. 

Credit is due in part here to the mastering done by Lucia Martinez aka DJ Saskia, a producer in their own right who’s helped forge a coherent vision for the label and, as an added bonus, offers suggestions for a home studio starter kit. Though she has no tracks present on these volumes, their deft touch behind the boards is evident and each track comes through clearly. 

The Soft Touch Express volumes are a cogent representation of club culture’s frustrated id. The biographies, interviews and essays are engaging and enlightening, but there’s no mistaking what’s absent, that raw ache, that irrefutable yearning for the soft touch of another, that desire to commune in what is still one of humanity’s few remaining egalitarian spaces: the dancefloor. Humans funking together is what this stuff is all about, and say what you will about its effectiveness as a motivator for dishwashing, there’s no denying where it belongs — and what’s absent in these songs and across the pages of this zine is, well, us. At the precipice of a possible return later this year, Trax Only has gifted us a moment of reflection, what it means to care about partying and what a better world might sound like amid the sweat and smoke when our bodies finally, gratefully return to one another. 

Patrick Masterson

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ killing me softly.

date: march 2020 - september 2020.

location: ash’s apartment studio.

word count: 2,018 words, excluding lyrics.

summary: ash: i am so sad, i am so lonely, i want someone to love me, my mental health is terrible. there, that’s the whole solo. no need to read it.

triggers: mentions of nightmares, death, and alcohol. blink and you’ll miss it suicidal ideation.

notes: creative claims verification.

march 2020.

the escaping memories of a nightmare shake ash awake in the middle of the night and by the time he’s regained his senses, he’s sitting up ramrod straight in his bed, the darkness of his room closing in around him like death.

the remnants of the dream are thin and wispy, like the thinnest clouds covering the moon and he grasps at what remains, only to come up with a few images that don’t connect to each other. 

a dark street, cold metal.

time twisting in on itself and breaking down. the meeting of eyes and the flashing omen of years of torment.

his body crumpled on the hard black ground. the looming sense of death he’d had the chance to outrun and had only asked to come to him faster.

his heart cracking like a shattered television screen and his mind going white for the rest of time like some undiscovered stage of intoxication.

screaming.

howling.

back to the beginning and through the flames of hell all over again.

he nearly topples off the edge of his bed reaching for the light on his nightstand and only when its light shines its halo does his heart begin to calm its beating.

before it can ease completely, ash takes a pen out of his drawer, forgoing the paper he also keeps there to write two lines on the skin of the inside of his right arm in a sleepy scrawl:

i’d be howling for you before the shadows drag me under.

nightmares come to haunt him nearly every time he closes his eyes for days after that and the feeling he awakes with is always eerily similar.

it’s the fear of falling and the pain of every bone in his body shattering on impact upon hitting the ground.

he’d heard once on the playground in elementary school that you can’t die in your dreams. it’s a defense mechanism by your brain, they’d claimed with all the haughtiness of a know-it-all fifth grader.

ash knows now they’d been wrong. his mind is only at its most destructive when left unattended.

august 2020.

the nightmare only comes once a month or so now and it’s not something he’d have thought to raise in therapy if there hadn’t been a particularly bad episode where his manager had nearly been driven to swerving off the road by ash gasping awake in the back of the van on a way to a schedule.

she suggests writing down what plagues his mind at night when he can’t sleep, so he records a stream of consciousness that very night.

          - did i lock the door?

          - i hope those girls waiting outside of the building today didn’t find a way to get in.

          - this apartment is too big.

          - i’m lonely.

          - should i call

          - why am i doing this?

he stops.

early september 2020.

he’s so tired. it’s a shot to his ego to admit, but he’s on the verge of tears when the nightmare wakes him again and he’s not sure if it’s because of how much it had rattled him or because he’s been damned to another sleepless night.

ten minutes later, he’s in his kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and his phone in the other, scrolling through his contacts.

he passes by his mom’s number, his dad, hyoyeon’s, miyeon’s, jaewon’s.

he stops at youngjoo’s.

she can’t give him what he needs either, but, god, is he good at shaping her into the illusion of what he wants.

is he, though?

if he is, then why does he feel so lonely all of the time? why does his apartment feel too big and the emptiness inside of his body only grow, despite the fighting to put out the music he wants and taking the leap to go to therapy again and the success he’s seen in his professional life this year?

he’s so tired of searching for coping mechanisms in those who never asked to be used. should he call her and tell her that instead? or would he wake her? interrupt her night with someone who means more to her than he does? would she care at all if he said he can’t do this anymore?

this.

pretending sex means something it can’t? bringing her back between his sheets like a drug he’s sickly accepted his reliance on?

fighting for meaning in a life he can’t shake the feeling doesn’t have much to it at all?

the pain of his teeth presses into his lip and he keeps scrolling to the very end of his contacts where only one character identifies a number he should have deleted a year ago.

if he called, would he take him back? if ash begged and pleaded and apologized and swore he wanted to run away tonight and spend the rest of their lives together and never look back, would he take him back?

if he did, would the emptiness inside of ash finally go away?

it wouldn’t.

ash doesn’t love him anymore. he can’t see forever with him and that’s how he’d gotten here in the first place.

but it’d once been something real, something good, something that made him feel like he had purpose and a chance at happiness and that light in the distant gets fainter and fainter by the day now and he’s trying so damn hard to be better to the world and to himself and to feed that light so he can become one himself, but nights like this, it all feels so useless.

yeah, it's true, true, i'm stuck in the loop losing control, i can't get over in the void, i can't be sober

he switches his glass of water out for drinking vodka straight out of the bottle.

early september 2020.

the song doesn’t get out of his head, even as he tries to beat it back and in a few weeks, he has a rough draft of a track he hadn’t planned on making.

it’s a weird song for him.

it’s not that he’s questioning whether the chord progression is too cliche or if the samples he’s used sound amateur. it’s the entire song, its musical lean and the lyrics that lean more conceptual than he’s used to, that he’s doubting now. they’re open to interpretation, more of a poem than a story, and it reflects the nightmares he’s been having, but he can’t imagine showing the song to himself three years ago and having any idea it was a song he’d written.

he listens nervously to the same track on repeat over and over again, finding small details to change as an excuse to avoid thinking too much about if he’ll have to scrap the song altogether, or worse, send it out and risk the rejection that could come. he’s been rejected time and time again before, but there are only two fates he can see this song meeting: a release in the exact form he sees it having or being resigned to the depths of his computer files forever, never heard by anyone but him. 

it’s different from what he normally does, but not different enough at the same time and that’s what makes him so nervous. he thinks he likes the work he’s done, musically at least, but it’s more experimental than what he’s done before. he hasn’t even had anyone else’s help on crafting the track that he can pass off responsibility to if it’s dubbed entirely amateur, and he doesn’t want to give into the help of anyone else either. this isn’t a song anyone else can touch. it’s his and his alone, and that’s an inflexible fact as set as the rotation of earth or the existence of gravity.

the questions run around in his head as the hi-hats and the dark instrumental rolls into his mind through the dull black headset over his ears while the screen slowly traces farther and farther right on the visual representation of his composition. he’s muted the vocal track so he doesn’t have to pay as much attention to his own voice crooning back at him with a delivery and lyrics he can’t let himself get caught up in if he ever wants to song to have a finished state, and he’s pleased with the instrumental alone.

it’s a little like something he’d create in order to sell it off to someone else who has a more experimental sound, and for a while, he considers the option of never bringing it forth as a possibility for himself. he can try to pass it off to someone else who’s more secure in displaying themselves as a part of this song than ash feels at the moment. no matter how he turns it over in his head, though, for some reason, he can’t bear to do that. this isn’t a song he wants to strip of its personality and give away.

it’s a great piece, honestly. he’s proud of all of the layers to it and how it includes new elements he doesn’t have much experience working with. on the surface, it’s far from the limited acoustic composition and production he’d been so attached to when he’d put out his first album. this is something that he would have never even considered back then, when he was twenty-one and desperate and the music he was releasing was a mirror of twenty-one year-old ash. ash is three years older now—years that have shaped him into a person more in tune with the sound he has in front of him: something a little more unique and a lot darker, jaded and pained and raw. it feels exactly like what he wants to make even beyond the surface changes. it strikes him that even if he stripped the entire instrumental back to a guitar and his voice like he’d been so fond of two years ago, it’d still sound like the ash of today and not the ash of years past, years that feel like whole lifetimes to him—and, in a way, this feels just like twenty-four year old ash. in all the worst ways, perhaps, but twenty-four year old ash nonetheless.

as he considers that idea, a few of the butterflies in his stomach flutter away and leave him with a slightly more peaceful feeling under his skin. he can’t try to shove himself into the safe bubble twenty-one year-old ash had crafted around himself for protection, a thin plastic veneer of false innocence and abject victimhood, doe-eyed, romantic, and lovestruck. ash can still be doe-eyed. he can still be romantic and maybe, with time, he’ll be able to fall back into the vulnerability of being lovestricken, but those don’t need to be the only characteristics with which he defines himself.

if he feels hopeless and broken and dirty, what’s so wrong with putting that into a song? why does it need to be sugar-coated and rose-colored and always, always relatable to everyone and not just himself?

the track loops around.

ash stops it halfway through to unmute the vocal lines of the song and listen to the full track this time, deciding he can’t tear the instrumental alone apart anymore. 

listening back, ash finds himself over-analyzing how well-constructed it is in the eyes of critics. should he soften it? harden it? completely rewrite every word? his own exhale of resignation is blocked out by the dark headset over his ears, but with it comes a contrasting feeling of decisiveness in his chest.

he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. it could very well be too dramatic, too self-indulgent, too ‘sadboi trap’. for so long, he’s let himself get caught up in the question of what others want from his writing. always, it’s about who he’s writing for. for someone he wants to woo with pretty words of infatuation or executives he wants to please or other producers he wants to impress.

this one is therapy.

this one is for him.

late september 2020.

“are you still having nightmares?”

his therapist asks the question as if she’s wondering what he’d had for dinner last night.

“it’s been a month now. i’m not sure if they’ve decided not to come back or if i never let them leave in the first place.”

[grimelords]

There is no limit to how many good songs exist! There are just so many!

My June playlist is finished, and on time too! Please enjoy all manner of bangers from Dave Brubeck, Nelly Furtado and everyone in between.

listen here

Night And Day - Hot Chip: I’ve started a band with some friends and my friend Tiana (who has requested a special shoutout in this playlist and is currently receiving it!) suggested this as a song for us to learn and she was extremely right to do it! It’s extremely funky and probably the most i’ve ever liked Hot Chip because they’ve finally allowed themselves to be emotional and feel the most important emotion of all: horniness.

Infinity Guitars - Sleigh Bells: The other day a friend of mine said ‘hey whatever happened to Sleigh Bells?’ and guess what: they have five albums and continue to release new music as recently as last year. They seem to steadfastly refuse to advance their sound and you’ve got to give them props for that. When nobody else sounds anything like you the smartest thing you can do is double down on your own weird thing. I’ve always loved this song and am totally enamoured by whatever mixing trick it is that enables this song to start loud as fuck and somehow finish even louder no matter what volume you play it at.

Hurricane - Bob Dylan: I haven’t watched the Rolling Thunder Revue thing on Netflix yet but I’m excited to because this is a good Dylan era and I’m always down for more footage of the world’s freak Bobby D acting like a maniac. This song is a good example of how have no control over how music is consumed once you release it because this is ostensibly a serious and angry protest song about a great injustice but my greatest memory of it is for at least a month when I was in boarding school a guy in my dorm would play it every morning super loud and we would all yell the words along as we were getting dressed. Having a great time being fifteen and yelling happily about a miscarriage of justice.

Grindin' - Clipse: I started putting together a playlist of songs with super minimal or no pitched instrumentation that almost totally rely on the percussion and the vocals to carry it. Basically the Pharrell special because he did it on this and Drop It Like It’s Hot and I’m sure more songs of his I haven’t heard yet. But also songs like Lipgloss by Lil Mama, Fix Up Look Sharp by Dizzee Rascal, Tipsy By J-Kwon (almost if it didn’t have the baseline) and The Whisper Song by The Ying Yang Twins. There’s heaps more I’m sure. It was a real minimal style for a little while in the mid 2000s and I think it’s great. It gives you so much space in the mix and it’s a great lesson: if the beat is hot enough and you’ve got enough charisma to carry the vocal you don’t need anything else at all.

Rock Lobster - The B-52's: Did you know the guitar in this is tuned CFFFFF? Did you know this song is nearly 7 minutes long? Did you know The B-52s had a hit with this and then didn’t have another hit until Love Shack fully ten years later? Truly everything about this song is insane.

Johnny Irony - Bad//Dreems: I think ‘are you bleeding?’ is my favourite bit of pre-song hot mic dialogue i’ve ever heard. I love the energy of this song, and what a fun throwback it is to I guess reference Lead Belly’s ancient song about doing cocaine Take A Whiff On Me for a new modern twist on a song about doing cocaine.

Girls On Film - Duran Duran: Have you ever noticed how the bass in this song is absolutely popping off? It rocks. I listened to just the isolated bass track on youtube the other day and it’s my new favourite song. I’m having a big moment with this early eighties art-funk thing where someone figured out you could put huge funky basslines into rock music and completely changed the game.  

Love - Lana Del Rey: I figured out this month that my vocal range seems to be just Lana Del Rey but an octave lower which is absolutely great news for anyone that wants to hear me sing this song in a cowboy voice in my car.

Want You In My Room - Carly Rae Jepsen: I am absolutely in love with this song and also absolutely furious at it. Absolutely in love with the way it’s written like a duet with herself, trading lines and overlapping and harmonising. The big ascending guitar line that leads into the chorus. I love how horny the lyrics are, I love the very 80s robot voice in the chorus who also wants to fuck. It’s just phenomenal, which brings me to the the think that makes me so furious: this song just fades out? After the second chorus just as the saxophone comes in? Just as it’s getting good???

Genevieve (Unfinished) - Jai Paul: It's just unbelievable how good this sounds. The bass sound. The way the whole mix seems to float around. The cuts to silence that feel like someone took a razor randomly to the master. It all culminates in this frenetic nervous energy that feels like the song could just fall apart and stop at any point. And it does! It just fades to silence and then comes back in as a totally different song near the end before fading away again.

Elephant Talk - King Crimson: King Crimson is on Spotify now and I’m comically striking them off my list of Bands I Have A Grudge Against For Not Being On Spotify. It’s always kind of surprised me that for someone who loved The Mars Volta as much as I did I never really had a big King Crimson phase. I always liked them fine, and I love this song, but I never really sat down and gave them a proper listen. Maybe now they’re on streaming that’s all about to change and my girlfriend will have to suffer accordingly.

Kids In The Dark - Bat For Lashes: Very excited for Bat For Lashes next album if this is an indication of the direction. She's always had a very hazy 80s feeling, so purposefully leaning into it is only going to be great.

CHORDS For Organ - Ellen Arkbro: My favourite lady is back with 15 minutes of rock solid chords. Something I've been thinking recently in regards to Ellen Arkbro and Holly Herndon is people who make pretentious art unpretentiously, truly believing in their process and outcomes but very aware  of and fine with the fact that it's silly, useless or unlistenable to anyone who's not interested. Ellen Arkbro posted a photo of an organ on instagram the other day and wrote "turned out this was one of the biggest instruments in berlin and it was also connected up to two other organs in the same space. Despite that I ended up playing an extremely quiet version of my music. I don't really know how that happened. I will play a louder version in st giles cripple gate in london this saturday if you're around" She posts like Courtney Barnett about her experimental organ drone music, I just love it. As for the music itself I don't really know how to explain this other than if you let it it can be extremely overwhelming. It's also the closest I've come musically to Malevich's Black Square and how I feel about that, which is hard to explain properly other that to say I love it.

SWIM - Holly Herndon: I'm obsessed with this Holly Herndon album. It's just amazing though I think the marketing and a lot of the writing about it is sort of.. misleading? There's a lot of emphasis being put on the machine learning and AI aspects of it, which as undoubtedly good and cool as they are, are sort of overshadowing what's so good about this in a simple way which is that it's just choral music for the future. It feels like it reaches so far back and so far forward at the same time it's incredible.

Too Real/Television Screens - Fontaines D.C.: I really had to stop myself from putting the whole Fontaines DC album on here because quite literally every single song on this is amazing. Just when you think guitar music is well and truly dead it pulls you back in!! Also the way he says 'aaa' at the start of Too Real just absolutely kills me.

Dangerous Match Ten - Scientist: I forget where I read it but some bass player was saying she learned to play by listening to Scientist albums, and so that made me listen to Scientist for the first time and go on a long dub trail and have a very good and dangerous day where I thought “..what if I become a dub guy?”. It’s very good. I don’t know anything about dub really, we don’t really have the jamaican population here for it to have any cultural currency like it does in america and the UK so my biggest exposure is the Dub radio station from GTA III and San Andreas which I’m now learning was mostly made up of Scientist songs anyway. Anyway dub is good, please keep an eye one me and watch as this playlist evolves into me becoming an evangelical dub guy over the next few months and start calling everyone m’brethren in a racist way.

Lipitor - Longmont Potion Castle: Lipitor. This is unfortunately unavailable on Australian spotify which is a crime but if you're from anywhere else please enjoy.

A Lot’s Gonna Change/ Andromeda - Weyes Blood: I am having such a time with this Weyes Blood album. Yesterday I spent all day playing A Lot’s Gonna Change over and over and over and today I spent all day listening to Andromeda over and over and learning how to play it. I suspect this will happen to me with the entire album, it has a complete hold over me.

I’ve listened to Weyes Blood before and she’s never really grabbed me and so it took a lot of people rhapsodising about this one to get me to give it a go and I’m so glad I finally did. This album really took me by surprise, and looking back now I love the development of her sound: from her original spacy noisy thing to the bonafide soft rock of Front Row Seat To Earth to this - an expensive sounding 70s singer songwriter pop album of absolutely devastating beauty and inventiveness.

Wasting My Young Years - London Grammar: I think what's so interesting about this song is that it sounds like an acoustic cover of a trance song. I don't really know how to explain it better than that. The way the deceptively fast four on the floor drums come in, the sort of adult-contemporary The XX instrumentation, the whole structure of it, it feels like a BBC Live Lounge cover of some forgotten rave classic. I love it regardless but it's an odd song as well.

Left Hand - Beast Coast: Beast Coast is lames and I didn't make it more that halfway through the album. On the fourth song there's a verse where one of these guys is doing that rap thing of talking way to graphically about eating pussy. He says lick lick lick it's gross. Anyway this song rocks though. The beat is that perfect mix of hard as hell and a little bit spooky and I love any song where one million guys do like four lines each.

Hung Up - Madonna: In the wake of not listening to Madame X I've been reflecting on how it's been 15 years since Madonna's last true banger, Hung Up, and in my opinion she's a legend forever for this song alone. Do you remember the Madonna x Gorillaz performance at the 2006 Grammys? Where she walked BEHIND the hologram? She still has so much to teach us. 

Never Fight A Man With A Perm - IDLES: I love just how purely sweaty man muscle this song is. 'concrete to leather' are you kidding me?? That's the coolest shit I've ever heard. 'You look like you're from Love Island' also quite good.

Speakers Going Hammer - Soulja Boy: I was listening to this the other day and had to keep stopping and rewinding because of how advanced the flow is when he says 'Style swift hot like it's July 10th/Fly chick in my whip with nice tits/Her boyfriend paid for it, I didn't" he's like five minutes in front of the beat and combined with the internal assonance it just sounds sick as hell.

African Woman - Ebo Taylor: Man goes ham on toy piano must see

(I’m Not Your) Stepping Stone - The Monkees: My friend Tiana (who I've mentioned twice now!) came to band practice and said she saw The Monkees last night. I thought no, that's impossible. The Monkees are all long dead, forgotten legends from a forgotten age. BUT I was wrong! Michael Nesmith and Micky Dolenz, the surviving Monkees tour to this day! And she introduced me to this great song which we learned for the band! Monkees forever!

Whoo! Alright! Yeah! .. Uh Huh - The Rapture: Somehow as time goes on this song becomes more and more important to me and more and more groovy.I used to think life’s a bitter pill but it’s a grand old time. Now that’s wisdom.

World Of Stone/Loinclothing - Hunters And Collectors: I've been getting very heavily into early Hunters And Collectors over the last couple of months.  I think I put Loinclothing on last months playlist as well but fuck it, it's great. It's so primal and raw it feels like the first caveman who learned to talk fronting a band of cavemen who sing songs about caveman issues and passion. I love the incredibly wide open sound the drums and bass have and the fidgety guitar combined with the unhinged vocals creates this really unique ambience of menace and power without ever getting particularly busy and losing the spaciousness. Feels like yelling about monkeys on a wide open desert plain.

Coisa No. 10 - Marcello Gonçalves and Anat Cohen: I found this song ages ago on ABC Jazz I think, and I absolutely love the intricacies of it. It twists and folds in on itself over and over and over without ever losing the groove or relaxing into anything easy. There's so much tension in it even though the melody and groove are so fun, it's a great mix. I also found out it's from an album that's a tribute to someone I'd never heard of before named Moacir Santos, so I got the great joy of discovering his music via this song as well.

Monologue/Nana - Moacir Santos: Moacis Santos, as I understand it, was one of Henry Mancini's film composition assistants and also the guy that taught all the Boss Nova geniuses like Sergio Mendes. I love this Monologue where he tells the story of a mystical vision that inspired this song, which you assume being inspired by a vision would be of mythical importance and weight and but instead sounds like the theme to a cartoon about a grandma who has superpowers.

Weird People - Little Mix: I need more info about the identity of the robot voice in this song. What is his relationship to the singer. He starts off antagonistic: “get off the wall” then commenting on what happened to her: “fell off the wall” then just echoing her: “on the other side” then becoming her “i’m living my life”. It’s complicated and hard to explain but I believe the robot voice in this song is god. Anyway this song is a masterpiece. It’s an incredibly goofy and great piece of 80s revival that imagines a glorious alternate future where Oh Yeah by Yello is the template for all pop music.

3 Legged Dog - Marisa Anderson: Marisa Anderson used to write songs with words here and there among her instrumentals but it seems that over the last couple of albums she’s decided to stick to instrumentals only which I think is a shame. She’s obviously brilliant at it but I’d hate to be missing out on beautiful little slices like this. I love how small time this song is, it feels like a song you’d sing to yourself more than a song for anyone else.

Nighttime Suite - Adam Gnade & Demetrius Francisco Antuña: Adam Gnade is a guy I’ve been following for about ten years now who seems determined to stay obscure. He self-releases all his stuff in limited editions or on cassettes, some of my favourite things he’s ever done don’t seem to be available anywhere digitally any more (if they ever were). I remember years ago he seemed hard up for cash and he ran a deal on his website called a ‘lifetime subscription’ where if you sent him I think $100 he would send you everything he’s ever done AND would continue to send you everything he made in the future for the rest of his life. It was absolutely great, I would get CD-Rs and tapes and zines and things delivered randomly to my mailbox every so often for a couple of years and they were all fantastic. I guess at some point my lifetime subscription lapsed because he’s released a bunch of stuff I haven’t heard or read but that’s ok, you shouldn’t be able to buy someone’s eternal soul for $100.

Adam Gnade has developed his own style of folk music where he just recites a sort of prose poetry over music and it’s incredible. In the hands of anyone else it could feel overly pretentious, and he pretty often rides that line. He’s reaching for a sort of poet laureate of Americana ideal but very often he actually grabs it. His writing is great and magnifies the minor details of normal life into larger symptoms of the American mindset, like depression-era songs of marginalised and exploited people individualised and updated for the modern era. Most of the time he backs himself on a lazily strummed guitar or banjo and his music sounds like sitting on the front step or laying down in the tall grass, but for this song he’s teamed up with Demetrius Francisco Antuña for some real Godspeed feeling dark soundscapes and it’s really something.

We Are The Same - Lurch And Chief: I think it's a damn shame that Lurch And Chief broke up before they even put an album out because this song is a damn classic and I have begun praying every day for the return of Lurch and/or Chief. I love a big voice and there's two distinctly huge voices in this song fighting for position.

983/Near DT, MI - Black Midi: Fucking hell I love this Black Midi album. I'm so, so glad it exists. It feels like the next generation of the Slint Hella, Tera Melos etc lineage of math rock and I simply can't get enough of it. Pump it directly into my veins I'm obsessed with it.

Take Control - Amerie: I just screamed out loud in my car hearing this song for the first time because it samples Jimmy, Renda Se by Tom Zé one of my absolute favourite songs ever. And samples it amazingly, totally transforms it into something new while keeping the spirit of the original. Do you ever feel like a song was just made for you personally? It’s a very kind thing of my vlogger wife Amerie to do for me but I guess that’s just how she is. Also, thanks to Spotify’s new feature where you can see the actual credits for songs I got to find out that Hall And Oates are credited on this because it basically interpolates the the whole verse melody from You Make My Dreams Come True which I didn’t even realise until I looked up why they were credited.

Unsquare Dance - Dave Brubeck: Dave Brubeck's brain is huge. I can't belive it's possible to make 7/4 this funky. How come nobody else ever ripped off this rhythm? It deserves to be a whole genre. I also totally love the piano solo near the end where it turns into like a funky 7/4 stride and then abruply ends with a shave and haircut like it's 1925.

Suddenly - French Vanilla: Get a load of this fucking slice of dance punk that Discover Weekly served me up. I haven't even listened ot the album yet because I just love this song so much I'm stuck on it. Singing "I like the nightlife! I'm in the spotlight!" like you're being hunted with a knife? Incredible. The impromptue glossolalia about halfway through? Incredible. Everything about the saxophone? Incredible

Maneater - Nelly Furtado: There's nothing deft or subtle about Timbaland. Everything he does is just so heavy handed and thick. The drums in this are so straightforward and they sound like garbage cans.. Nothing ever plays at he same time as anything else . It's like a gorilla learned to play and it's absolutely fucking sick. And then the whole rest of the song! His insanely thick buzzy synth lines against the big beautifully stack clean harmonies

I, The Witchfinder - Electric Wizard: I've been getting back into Skyrim because I have a little worm living in my brain and I've discovered a good trick is to turn off the game music and turn on Electric Wizard instead. It increases the ambience because it feels like if you did an x-ray of the Dragonborn's head this is all that would be in there. It's just stoner metal in there and no other thoughts.

Music Sounds Better With You - Stardust: Can you believe how lucky we are to live in a world where the greatest song ever written is finally available on spotify? You can just listen to this any time of the night or day and immediately improve your life.

Don’t Chew - Spilled Oats: Here’s a very good and underexplored idea: what if guitar music but it sounds like chopped and screwed? Absolutely dynamite.

 As an extra bonus treat here the absolute best ever chopped and screwed channel I’ve found on youtube, please explore Scobed & Robed: https://www.youtube.com/user/scottalexanderburton

listen here

[interesting-blog-name]

“Indie Rock” MEGAREVIEW (Hippo Campus - Bashful Creatures/Bad Suns - Language & Perspective/COIN - How Will You Know If You Never Try)

“Indie rock” is a term I never understood. It obviously should be used to describe rock by independent bands, but what counts as independent anymore? Bands like Arcade Fire and Modest Mouse are categorized as “indie”, much like Mac DeMarco, and they have reached a point in their careers of worldwide fame, but they’re still considered “indie”, not because they record their music at home with a $15 mic, but because of their sound. It’s hard to describe, but it’s a light brand of rock that has undistorted guitars, pop structures, and something of a Summer vibe to them. I really don’t know how to technically describe indie rock as a genre, but I have yet to listen to an indie rock album, so I got three short albums from bands that my some of my friends listen to, all under the “indie” umbrella (according to Wikipedia), to see if I actually like the style.

 Hippo Campus – Bashful Creatures

It’s a solid EP. Not much more to say.

I really don’t know what to comment on in this, because I feel like the biggest problem with the “indie” “genre” is that the bands all sound the same, and for a 6-track EP, how much variety can you really ask for? Also considering this is their debut EP. The instrumentation is fine, especially the guitars, which I think really embody the whole summertime feel of the genre, and standout in almost all tracks here, and the singer’s voice is memorable enough, and doesn’t leave anything to be desired at any point. He’s also super hot The songwriting is that youthful, lovey dovey shit you’d hear in a teen romance movie (“Art school girl with ignorant bliss. Peace, weed, cocaine, and mushrooms and shit”) but it’s tolerable (except in Souls, that song’s chorus is a little too generic for me, I think; even though I like how the song starts kind of toned down and suddenly blows up). The closest the EP gets to having even the slightest bit of edge is on the title track, an anthem about not caring about what others think and being yourself, and Suicide Saturday, the biggest song in here, which talks about social suicide and college parties and all that. Unfortunately, they’re also the most forgettable songs.

Sophie So has a really catchy hook, and showcases Jake’s higher pitched vocals very well, it is easily my favorite song. On Little Grace, the biggest change-up is the dub rhythm that sneaks up in the middle of the song, but it doesn’t stand out, and the chorus is the most annoying in the EP. Opportunistic has a fast cadence to it that sets it apart a little bit, plus the guitar fingering is notable, but the track isn’t anything superb or whatever.

It is executed well, doesn’t bring anything new, but I’d listen to it in the car.

 FAVORITE TRACK: Sophie So

LEAST FAVORITE TRACK: Bashful Creatures

 Like a 6/10

“You came back, you wanted to see through my two-colored eyes. You left me at home with a handful of downtrodden sighs.”

 Bad Suns – Language & Perspective

I had known Cardiac Arrest for almost three years now, an upbeat song I’d enjoyed a little, so I chose Bad Suns for the second album, and I was disappointed.

After the first three tracks, I had the feeling Language & Perspective had nothing interesting to offer, and I was mostly right. Nearly all songs here could be described as something like “indie-pop”, but with a huge emphasis on the “pop” aspect. The tracks are all so goddamn formulaic and predictable, songs like Take My Love and Run, Learn to Trust and We Move Like the Ocean sound like they literally copy-paste themselves halfway into them until they end, and Sleep Paralysis swaps what could be an actual verse with like 20 seconds of onomatopoeia. The song topics are generic and bland as well, most of them being about “[coming] to you on my hands and knees” and dreaming about an ex late at night and stuff like that, or general teenage anxiety and overthinking, and that would be tolerable if the band at least said it with some kind of variation, but they don’t, it’s just surface-level love and regret songs back to back.

An exception to the bland songwriting in the album is the song Salt, where lead singer Christo sings from the perspective of his transgender friend. I’m not trans, so I can’t relate nor understand if the lyrics are accurate, but the thing is he isn’t either. From the Genius annotations, it seems the friend was pleased though, and said the feelings expressed in the song were things she actually felt, but was never able to describe, so I guess that’s cool of him to dedicate a whole song to her experience. Still, unfortunately the track isn’t such a standout instrumentally or vocally, but one thing I liked was how the hook finishes at the end of the song, when “these memories are nothing to me, just salt” becomes “salt to the wound”, so yeah that was cool.

Language & Perspective is at its best when the hooks are catchy and you just don’t give a fuck. Songs like Cardiac Arrest, We Move Like the Ocean and Pretend are super easy to sing along to, and sound perfect for when you’re in a car driving against the sun (I know I said the exact same thing for the last album leave me alone), especially because of Bowman’s impressive singing, but without that thin veil of sugary pop, what does this album have that stands out? Matthew James, Take My Love and Run, Transpose (which sounds like it could be on a really corny Nike commercial) and Learn to Love just aren’t as memorable and fun, and so they end up coming off as generic, bland and at times annoying, just because they don’t hold up to the melodic fun little hooks on the other songs.

I can’t hate on Dancing on Quicksand and Rearview however, as even though the first’s lyrics aren’t standouts, I can’t help but love how groovy the song is, and the latter, while the melodies aren’t the most memorable here, the lyrics, to me, sound like they have a little more life and personality to them, even if they remain somewhat vague. I have to admit Sleep Paralysis is a mixed highlight for me, despite the lyrics being especially repetitive, just because of how grand the ending sounds and how the eerier chord progression brings at least something new to the album.

Also, really quick before I wrap it up, why the fuck is 20 Years not in the album? It’s in an EP they released the same year which features Cardiac Arrest, Transpose and Salt and it would easily be my favorite track if it was in the tracklist, maybe because it’s just really relatable to me how your teen years pass without you noticing, but it’s also so mellow and would bring such a refreshing little moment in the record.

My difficulties with this album is that I do like and see myself in the future bumping a lot of these songs individually, if I shut down a few parts of my brain and disregard half the lyrics, but when they’re all crumbled together into a project, their single qualities fade and their flaws unite to form a pretty unsatisfying listen; nearly all songs feel static, formulaic, and don’t progress or amount to much – which is pretty noticeable if you realize all songs span from 3:03 to 3:53 minutes - and the instrumentation brings almost nothing to the overall experience, it’s pretty much a backdrop for Bowman to sing his heart over, without much personality of its own. So while it’s not awful, it’s not good either.

 FAVORITE TRACKS: Dancing on Quicksand, Rearview

LEAST FAVORITE TRACKS: Learn to Trust, Take My Love and Run

 4.7/10

“You let your hair down, your face is made up, you know this town so well”

 COIN – How Will You Know If You Never Try

COIN is the least familiar band of the three here, as I’ve only heard Growing Pains from them and I don’t remember anything from the track, but as a quick intro, the band is from Nashville, Tennessee and consisted of 4 members: Chase Lawrence on vocals and synthesizer, Ryan Winnen on drums, Joe Memmel on guitar and backing vocals, and Zach Dyke on bass until he left two years ago.

After listening to the first three tracks of the album, my expectations were pretty high, but after finishing, I feel like this album is reminiscent of a poorly-heated microwave meal: the first three tracks are decreasingly good, the middle of the album is raw, and the last three go back to being increasingly good, with the only exception being the bright spot that is track 7, Heart Eyes, a romantic, entrancing little jam that I can’t help but love.

My big grip with HWYKIYNT is that, for 11 tracks, COIN doesn’t let go of the ear-destroying instrumental breakdowns (it’s not like it’s heavy metal or anything, but the mixing makes it sound like the guitars blow up at some points), tuned up guitars and formulaic song structures, and that leads to many tracks becoming rather forgettable amongst the others. There are, of course, exceptions, but they’re few and I’d say not well-located within the album: Don’t Cry, 2020 is the big standout in the album for me, and I fell in love with it first listen (the context of today being 2020 also helps, I guess), Boyfriend’s defining synth-line and bubblegum qualities make for a lot of enjoyment, especially paired with the light-hearted passive-aggressiveness and rejection on the lyrics, and Talk Too Much, their biggest song, has some cute little lyrics, and an ultra-pop hook that centers the whole song around it and is impossible not so sing along to; but immediately after, the album starts to slow down its hype with I Don’t Wanna Dance, which has an appealing vocal performance by Chase, and starts promisingly with the synths, but is too simple to go anywhere.

Hannah is probably the most forgettable song here, and brings absolutely nothing to the album, and Are We Alone?’s lyrics are cute and focused but really simplistic; in this song specifically, I think the breakdown the band employs right after the hook is really unnecessary, and the song would do better without it. After that is Heart Eyes, which I’ve mentioned before as one of my favorites, mostly because it tones it down a bit, something that really needed to happen at some point this deep into the record.

The song Lately II contains the hidden track Nothing Matters and deals with Chase losing his newborn nephew, a sequel to Lately off the band’s debut album. On the outside, it sounds like just another cheerful song, but the lyrics taken into context I’m sure are very meaningful to Chase and his family; besides that I enjoy the heavier drums in this track and the loose vocal melodies right after the chorus, plus the closing instrumentals are also a nice addition, but I don’t really understand the need to include a hidden track into it; I understand the themes are intertwined, but it could have very well been a separate track, and the way it is slightly harms the song when isolated from the album into, for example, a playlist or a one-time listen, but whatever.

I don’t have much to say about Feeling, it’s your average hype indie-rock track, something you’d maybe hear in a FIFA video game soundtrack, but to its credit, it doesn’t go overboard in itself, the vocals and guitar performances feel very grounded and safe, in a good way. And to finish this off, Miranda Beach brings some solid guitars to the table, they feel very textured and pierce through every other sound; the song is definitely one of the most infectious and ear-catching on here. Closing it all up, Malibu 1992 is the slow jam the album was in need of for 11 tracks. Very stripped back and patient compared to the rest of the song, which makes it stand out naturally, but that doesn’t mean the song is superb or anything, it’s just a refreshing taste.

Throughout a lot of the tracks here I was waiting for something more, a slightly different approach to a song, more introspective lyrics, but it never really came in a way that stood out, and because of that, the start of the album ends up more solid than the rest of it, in my opinion. It isn’t a bad album, but it isn’t amazing either. I feel it’s very derivative, the lyrics are not a standout, and while some songs may be bops, I don’t feel it is strong as a whole project.

 FAVORITE TRACKS: Don’t Cry, 2020; Miranda Beach; Talk Too Much; Heart Eyes

LEAST FAVORITE TRACK: Hannah

 I’m feeling a strong 5 to a light 6 on this one. 

“You’re so concerned about your future, yeah, but tomorrow’s just another day.”

[txladyj-blog]

Chapter 8 - This Time Around

a Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 23/?

Human nature. With all its complexities and flaws, was now the one thing that presided over a land filled with the dead. True human nature, in its most naked, exposed and unapologetic form was now both the best and worst of the world. Jess had seen the best and worst of it from her spot in the city and had managed to live, unnoticed by any survivors passing through. She’d witnessed grown men put themselves in harms way, sacrificing themselves to save children too slow and small to keep up the running pace of the adults in their group as she’d watched from her perch on the corner of the roof. In contrast, she’d stared in horror as another group simply tossed a woman out of a truck like last night’s burger wrapper, onto the street in order to slow down a small herd. She’d been bitten before Jess could grab her bow and race down the stairs. In an act of mercy that allowed her to prove to herself that she was still on the good side of human nature, she’d shot the woman in the head from the roof with a well-placed arrow and spent all night replaying the look of pure terror etched onto the stranger’s face.

Yes, human nature was complicated and destructive, inspiring and devastating. A double-edged sword. Jess was better off on her own, that much was true, but she did miss the conversation, the debate, the ideas swapping over hot chocolates and the late-night hilarity that came from a few glasses of beer and games of pool in a bar. Those days were gone and now all she had in the way of company was a reanimated dead body at the bottom of the elevator shaft and a huge stuffed bear wearing an army jacket that now took up it’s place opposite her on the roof, a stale birthday cake waited to be devoured between them on an upturned, wooden box.

“Well, Sgt Pepper. Looks like it’s just you and I celebrating another trip around the sun.” she commented as she held her glass aloft.

Merle had finished off all the whiskey and she knew better than to go scrounging for more. It wasn’t a necessity and she wasn’t about to get herself killed for a bout of nausea and a fuzzy head the next day.

The bear was tatty, threads pulled from his ears and his jacket splattered with dried blood. Jess found him in the next apartment block where he’d been positioned proudly on the pillow of a perfectly made bed in a room decorated for that of a young adult. On the floor were three bodies, two adults and a girl around 13 years old. Jess carefully nudged each one with her foot as she passed. The bullet holes in their heads told her that they hadn’t turned and like many of the people that chose to remain in the city, they thought suicide to be a better prospect than the exhausting slog to survive day by day. It hurt Jess’s heart to think that some souls felt there was no other way, but it wasn’t an option she could say she hadn’t considered at least once while she resided in her fortress of loneliness.

It was a no brainer to her. She had to leave with that bear. He reminded her so much of her own childhood companion, jacket and all. Her father had gifted it to her and during every tour and every training exercise, she found comfort in the military bear that she had dubbed ‘Sgt Pepper’. Aware that if any other survivors were passing through and saw her, she would look positively ridiculous, scurrying across the rooftops with a huge stuffed animal under her arm. But just as before the turn, she wasn’t going to change who she was to suit anyone else. Especially not in the apocalypse.

“You say it's your birthday” She sang at the bears pinned and permanent smile. She sipped the soda in the glass and slapped her other hand on her thigh to create a beat. “It's my birthday too, yeah”. She paused, looking up at Sgt Pepper as if his plastic eyes would change their expression and for a fleeting second, she was disappointed when they remained exactly the same. She raised the glass to him for a second time. “They say it's your birthday, we’re gonna have a good time” She thudded the glass on the box and began to pluck at imaginary guitar strings, closing her eyes and leaning to one side. “I'm glad it's your birthday, Happy birthday to you!” The Beatles were her favourite band ever since she was a child and that was not something that was going to change just because they and their audience weren't around anymore. Jess was still there and as long as she was, so was her love of their music. She'd found headphones while scavenging, even and old portable CD player, but her rule of keeping a clear head and always being aware of her surroundings meant that the headphones went untouched and she was reduced to singing to herself to stave off the boredom and silence. It wasn't a problem to her, she knew all of the lyrics anyway and there was no one but Ben and Sgt Pepper to complain about it.

Her eyes lowered to the dried birthday cake. Three, colored, marzipan Balloons floated across the top and the rim was adorned with cracked and discolored frosting. The chances of a strong bout of stomach cramps after consuming it were high, but it was her birthday and she was going to have a damn cake if she wanted to. A single candle flame flickered in the center of the off-white frosting and as she blew it out, she wished that she would survive long enough to see mother nature take back the earth. To reclaim what was hers and what was destroyed by the arrogance of human nature. She wanted to see vines and branches seep into the cracks of buildings, pulling them apart and turning them into a ghostly mirage of what once was. But through it all, she wanted to be around, content and safe and able to live into her old age while still being the survivor she had realized she really was.

She also wished for something else; that one day, Daryl would know how much he inspired her. If nothing else, she wanted that for him. Without his guidance, his training and his words, she was certain she would be dead. He may have broken her heart, but at one point, somewhere in between all the angst and anger, he believed in her. She regretted not writing it in the note she left pinned to the tree but time was of the essence and she had to think quickly. Now, when she thought back to the good times spent tracking and hunting in the woods, putting Walkers down and making fun of one another, it made her smile. A smile that was not through genuine happiness. Far from it. It was a smile of sadness for times that she desperately missed. But they were times of blissful ignorance of how he really felt, times based on a lie. She pressed her eyes shut and quickly shook the thoughts from her head. She watched the thin, sliver of smoke drift up from the wick. Picking up a plastic fork, she stabbed the cake and shoveled a large piece of the sponge into her mouth. Wincing at the dryness, she chewed and swallowed hard. It was like eating sand.

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.” She sighed.

She had resorted to guessing the time of day by using a sundial or her hands against the horizon from the roof. Her knowledge of such historical practices had proved to be invaluable and she now appreciated her interests much more than she ever did before the turn. The night was creeping in, dulling the view from the roof and creating a cold sting in the air. There was just enough time for some target practice.

The streets below the apartment were far from clear. Walkers milled in and our of side streets and alleys, some amassed in the middle of the road and if it wasn’t for Jess’s diversion tactics from time to time, she was sure the street she lived on would be clogged with festering corpses by now. Fireworks were usually the best, she’d found. They seemed to like fireworks. The dreamer in her liked to think that maybe the noise and the colors stirred something deep inside their mainly inoperative brains, some kind of distant memory of 4th July firework shows or new year celebrations. But the realist side of her knew differently. Now, they were even lower than most animals, driven to move by sounds but completely devoid of thought or any type of feeling. Just shells.

She picked up her bow and slid on her bracers as she approached the small wall that lined the edge of the roof. The faint murmur of the odd, swaying Walker was the only sound that rose from the scene below. Taking a peek over the edge, she nodded in approval at the numbers.

“That’ll do.” She said to herself before picking up a small, children’s chalkboard that rested against the inside of the wall. Her eyes flickered over the names on the list, selecting the first one and shuffling forwards to get into position.

“OK, Madonna. Are you out tonight?”

With one foot placed in front of the other, her body turned and her stance strong, she raised the bow and nocked an arrow. She smiled when she noticed her. A blonde woman with wavy, hair wearing what appeared to be a thin, satin nightgown. She wasn’t as designer clad as the real thing, but she would suffice as a target. She drew the bow string back and exhaled slowly as she took aim. The Arrow embedded in the side of the Walkers head as if it was nothing but a bag of sand and she hit the floor, causing the others around her to start shuffling towards her.

“Oof!” She exclaimed with a fist pumped in the air. “That one was a ten pointer. Sorry, Madonna.” She marked her score on the chalkboard next to the name and checked her next target.

Sarah.

It was now a habit, each time she re-filled the board with names, Sarah and Jodie’s would always be mixed in somewhere. Jess was never one to remain bitter or hold grudges, too many so-called friends had come and gone over the years to make sure she’d got used to it. But she was also never one to not make an exception for some things. When she was feeling low and having a bad day, the list of names on the board changed and she wondered at one point if she should indulge in an ‘abhorrent people target practice day’ once a week, where Sarah and Jodie’s names could mingle with the likes of Hitler, Robert Mugabe and Vlad the Impaler. But it was yet to happen because she wasn’t bitter. Not at all. Or, so she told herself as she chose a doppelganger of Sarah and took aim.  

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 

Ben was hanging on the bars of the elevator gate when she descended the stairs, his arms were loosely draped through the gaps and his face was pushed against the cold metal. She lifted a hand in acknowledgement before sitting down on the bottom step in front of him and seeing him try to reach out to her. She held her hand out, gently tickling his grasping, blackened fingertips in what could have been seen as a gesture of affection.

“Hey dude. So, my birthday cake tasted like feet but it was one hell of a pity party you missed.”

The sound of her voice was like fuel for Ben. He instantly began to clamber up from his spot, hanging through the gate and started to snarl at her, his mouth hanging open and his teeth bared.

“Not that I know what feet taste like.” She added, her eyes locking on his now cloudy, pale and blinded orbs. “I guess you might though. Depending on how long you’ve been locked in there.”

Stepping back, Ben’s arms dropped from the grate and he stumbled backwards, his body hitting the back of the elevator and causing it to shake. A slight jingle caught her attention and she froze, straining her ears. As he moved back towards her, his pocket gave off a tinkling sound and Jess quickly put the pieces of the puzzle together. Many a week had passed when she’d been sitting on that same step engrossed in a one-way conversation with the dead man trapped inside his cell. Sometimes she even contemplated if he really would try to hurt her if she managed to somehow release him from the confined space he occupied. But then she reminded herself of her own naivety and how that kind of thinking could get her killed. Ben was a Walker. A mindless, stinking, lump of useless flesh but still a predator in his own right.  

“You have the goddamn keys to the elevator in your pocket, don’t you?” She asked him.

He stilled and her eyebrows raised. She knew better than to think he could understand her, but it was strange nonetheless. The keys would change everything. She could get him out of there and actually make use of him. She sprang up from her spot.

“I have an idea. Wait here.” She told him. After striding up two steps she rolled her eyes and sighed at her own stupidity.

Like he’s going to go anywhere.

When she returned, she placed her supplies in front of her; a cylindrical block of wood with a dish cloth tightly wound around it, attached at either end to a string of thick, rubber bands, a hockey mask and a length of rope tied into a slipknot. Another one of her skills acquired from the thousands of books she had now amassed in her apartment. She paced back and forth for a few moments, observing how Ben followed her every move from behind the barrier like a magnet. Although she was almost certain he was blind, he was completely obsessed with her and she huffed with amusement when she figured that he was only guy that had ever been obsessed with her…and he was dead.

She picked up the block of wood and tilted her head to the side, it would fit through the gaps perfectly but her task was not going to be easy. Her left arm was covered with three, thick layers of tape, strapped over a Kevlar sleeve and glove in case Ben fancied a snack halfway through his rescue mission. She was now glad of her forethought. She threaded her arm through the grid, silently and without rattling the metal. Ben, who could detect no sound whatsoever, merely peered around through his useless eyes as she used her armor covered hand to quickly grasp the back of his head. He jolted and began to gnash at her, the sounds bubbling up from his throat as his lips parted provoking a rush of bile from her own stomach. She couldn’t have prepared for the smell or the sound of liquidated, rotting human organs no matter how much she knew about Walkers. She snapped his head back as he grabbed a hold of her police issue vest and dragged her forwards, slamming her body against the gate. With her other hand, she managed to wedge the piece of wood so far between his jaws that they became locked in position. She quickly stretched the string of bands over his head, creating a most macabre and brutal gag but an effective one regardless.

He thrashed and growled, throwing himself at the gate over and over until Jess was able to shove a hand into his pocket and pulled out the biggest bunch of keys she had ever seen. Her heart dropped as she stepped back and sat down, the racket of Ben desperately trying to get to her now drowned out by just how many keys she had to contend with.

“Guys got the keys to every lock in the city on here.” She mumbled.

She began sorting through them, checking the branding on the lock and looking for a match. She must have gone through at least twenty keys before she stopped and pinched one particular one between her fingers. She looked up at the lock again.

“Nova” She whispered.

The key boasted the exact same branding. She stood up, moved closer to the lock and slid the key into the chamber. Holding onto the gate as tightly as she could, she gently and quietly turned the key, a subtle click made her smile. She’d found it. The whole time he’d been locked inside, Ben possessed the key to his freedom all along. At first, she didn’t know if someone else had thrown him in there but now it was evident; he’d been bitten and locked himself in.

“That was noble of you. But this is my apartment complex now and you’re going to earn your keep.” She quipped, swiping up the hockey mask and rope from the floor. She shoved the mask under her arm and released the lock, slowly sliding the gate back. The rattling noise sent Ben into a frenzy and he collided with the gap she’d created in the gate with such force that she doubted her ability to follow through with her plan for a moment. She took a deep breath, reached into the gap and snapped the mask over his gagged face. Next, she threw the rope around his neck and pulled it tight before throwing the gate open.

He threw himself at her, knocking the mask against the side of her face while she tried to tighten her grip on the rope enough to keep his head away from hers.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m pleased to see you too buddy.” She remarked.

Ben couldn’t have been more than 30 years old when he was alive and Jess gathered that even thought he was now deceased and extremely dangerous, he was once a good-looking guy. She felt a pang of sympathy for such a wasted life. But what else was left to hang around for? The experience of wresting the undead from elevators and up the stairs to a roof wasn’t one she’d wish on anyone else. By the time she’d maneuvered him to the top of the steps and shoved open the heavy, metal door to the roof, he’d quieted considerably. Jess knew Walkers didn’t get tired; they no longer possessed the brain capacity to register fatigue. Nor were they able to come to the conclusion that something wasn’t worth the trouble. She didn’t know why he became more compliant, but she certainly wasn’t about to complain.

Tying him to a pipe inside a ramshackle, wooden shed. She stood back and looked him over, pleased with her efforts and feeling triumphant at the result. She now had a moving target, a sparring partner and little did Ben know; he was about to become her Sensei.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

She’d lost track of time. It had been months, she knew that to be a fact, but just how many had escaped her. Her need to journal would have helped keep tabs on just how long she’d been housed in the apartment block in the city, but she had Sgt Pepper and Ben and she chattered away to them without a care in the world, dispelling her darkest fears and her inner most private thoughts. There wasn’t a need to write everything down anymore, not in a world where no one and everyone was listening all at once. If she tried to guess, she looked at her crops which filled the balcony and most of the rooftop, they were huge, prospering in the summertime and struggling during the winter. But they still existed she thought it had maybe been close to a year that she’d lived alone.

People below had come and gone. Rarely was it that anyone would try her apartment. If they did, they found it to be locked up tighter than a secret military camp and soon moved on when they realized the noise and time it would take to enter such a building while surrounded by Walkers just wasn’t worth it. In so many months she had uttered hardly a word to anyone but Merle, who’s absence was felt much greater than she ever would have expected or would care to admit.

Training with Ben was one of life’s perks, she enjoyed experiencing the change in not only her body, but her mind as she jabbed and kicked her way into a full, self-defense skill set using a dead guy as her fake attacker. She goaded him, riled him up until he would lunge at her and swipe with his arms and kick out with his legs. His hands constantly grabbed for her, the need to taste human flesh far too great for him to ignore. But Ben could only go as far as his leash allowed and his hockey mask was eventually replaced each evening before he was led back to his shack.

Gunfire interrupted one sparring session during a hot, summers evening and Jess’s head snapped around while the rest of her body completely froze. Ben also stilled and started to jolt and snarl at the source of the bangs. It was close, much too close for comfort. She wiped the sweat from her brow and eyes and crept to the edge of the roof, her heart almost stopped at the view below.

Is that a…a TANK?!

Driving towards her corner apartment block with a speed that couldn’t be easily stopped, was an M1 Abrams Tank. Jess had seen them many times before, a sight that Army brats tended to get used to. It was flanked by a dozen, heavily armed men with their weapons pointed at the door to her block. Her chest constricted when she heard them start to jeer and her eyes clocked another vehicle turn a corner at the top of the street. A large, black truck that was equipped with an animal cage on the flatbed. Inside the cage, was a screaming woman. She scanned each face as quickly as she could. Blackened teeth. Then, she observed their hands and movements. Tremors. Poor coordination. She’d read about the depths some humans would reach on the moral scale in a post-apocalyptic situation. Fear raged through her body and she stumbled back when the tank collided with the door on the ground floor.

I have to get out of here.

The building shook and she whirled around, her mind racing and her heart hammering. Adrenaline began to surge through her veins, urging her to remove herself from the threat. She grabbed Ben’s rope and sprinted to the roof door. Dragging him down the steps, sweat trickled into her eyes and she cursed the timing of the attack above all things.

Could have waited until training was over. Jesus.

Crashing through the door to her apartment, she fastened Ben’s rope to the radiator and he thrashed and clawed at her as she dashed around the living space, filling her bag with handguns and supplies. She quickly slipped on anything Kevlar or armored she could find and collected what seemed like millions of arrows from almost every room. Now, there was shouting ringing out from the floors below.

“Place is cleared. Someone lives here, keep searching!” ordered a man’s voice that she could just about make out as a muffled sound through the floorboards. They were on the floor below. She had to be fast. Now wasn’t the time for sentiment, now, she had to be practical, smart and stealthy. She threw the backpack she’d lifted from yet another dead policeman onto her back, the barrels of the guns inside poked at her back but she paid it no mind as she collected her primary weapon, her bow from the hook on the back of the front door. A machete nudged against her leg as she walked, pinned there by the loop on its handle around the belt loop on her pants. She quickly freed it, clutching it in her hand as she adjusted her backpack. She stopped and looked at Ben.

He was glaring at her with his white eyes in the middle of the room, his rope was pulled taut and his neck tendons protruded. His hands were locked out in front of him with his fingers fanned out. She could hear the men clearly now, they were on the other side of the door and with every harsh bang of the wood in the frame, her heart jumped. She closed the gap between her and the corpse. Taking hold of one of his hands but not allowing him to pull her any closer. She gradually shifted his position in the room and gently squeezed his fingers.

“Don’t let me down” She whispered.

She raised the machete, sliced through his rope and ripped the wooden gag from his mouth. Then, she turned on her heels, taking hold of the window frame and diving through the gap. Outside, she slammed the window shut and watched as Ben’s hands slapped against the glass.

“Slow ‘em down, buddy. Thanks for the lessons.” She smiled.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Daryl chewed his bottom lip as he adjusted his position on the rickety, prison mattress. His back was pressed against the wall and no matter how hard he tried, she couldn’t shake the thought that of all the places the group could have ended up, a prison had to be one of them. He hated being forced to sleep in a cage and live behind heavy, clanking doors. Even the sound of Rick’s keys irritated him. Rick, the leader. Rick the prison guard.

He wasn’t a regular at the Georgia Department of Corrections like his brother. But he’d been on the wrong side of the law just enough to know what staring at the same four walls, sitting at the same metal table and taking a dump in the same room that you sleep in was like. Charges for drug possession and fighting were hardly the kind of things he wanted to share with the rest of the group and so, he kept himself to himself, merely stating that he’d rather sleep outside of the cells. That was when he slept at all.

In his hands, he held a newly carved bolt for his crossbow. His ability to make them had improved some over the months and it was now second nature to him to create as many as possible while sat around, babysitting his brother who was locked in the cell opposite him.

Merle hadn’t managed to track Daryl down since leaving the city. Instead, he’d come across another group of survivors led by a callous psychopath and had slotted perfectly into his role as the main foot soldier. Everything had been fine and dandy for Merle at first, he was given a metal prosthetic arm with a removable bayonet attachment which meant he was never short of a weapon against the undead. He had a roof over his head, food in his belly and medicine at his disposal. Above all else, he had a purpose, a job that he did well and with gusto. That was, until Daryl appeared in front of him. The Atlanta groups run in with the Governor and his community has resulted in a lot of pain, injuries, fear and grudges, some of it at the hands of Merle, who was at the center of it all, but he was Daryl’s blood and he had made it clear that now they were together again, he would not be parted from Merle again. Initially, the two of them left the group and headed into the woods, but things were not as they used to be. Daryl had changed and with it, Merle felt outcast, even from the lifelong bond the two of them had shared since Daryl had entered the world as a sensitive and observant child. Merle quickly realized that Daryl had a code that he stuck by no matter what. A code that meant others were put before himself which infuriated and baffled Merle. A fight in the woods revealed a childhood trauma that they both shared, much to Merle’s surprise. He was aware that Daryl was a witness to violence in their household, but the extent of which was only evident upon a scuffle in which Daryl’s shirt was ripped, revealing deep, scarred lacerations to his skin. Then, everything changed.

Daryl made it clear that he was going back to the prison. Back to the group he belonged with and Merle had the choice to either walk away or try to make nice with the others. Being parted from his little brother for a second time was the less favorable option and so, Merle decided to tag along with Daryl. Upon their arrival at the fences, they found the place under attack from Walkers and although Merle helped to save lives, he was still bundled into a cell and scowled at by every other member of the group. No one had forgotten the things he had done and no one was about to forgive and forget.

“The hell were ya doin, running with that psycho?” Daryl asked.

Merle was leaning on the bars, his good hand smoothing a thumb around the edging of his prosthetic stump. His hooded, weathered eyes fixed on his brother. He found it difficult to believe that someone could change as much as Daryl had. He saw him, carrying out orders for Rick, going out on runs alone, doing as he was told. It was unlike the Daryl he’d grown up with, yet he’d always known that his baby brother was more emotionally driven than he had ever been.

“Everybody’s a psycho now, little brother. Everybody’s got a gun, a kill number and a big ol’ chip on their shoulder. Hell, I’d be more worried if some sommbitch walked up to me with his mitts in his pockets.” He reasoned with a small shrug.

Daryl shook his head in disbelief at his brother’s casual attitude to his actions. Merle was never one to take responsibility for anything, least of all his misgivings. Apparently, the end of the world hadn’t changed that in him.

“They ain’t never gonna trust ya, ya know that, right?” Daryl confirmed.

“Yeah, I know.” Merle agreed with a hint of exasperation in his voice. Daryl went back to carving his bolts, slicing through thin pieces of wood with his sharp hunting knife. “I don’t know why I do the things I do. I’m a damn mystery to me.” Merle added.

Daryl scoffed and glanced up from his task.

“You’re a dumb ass, man.” He mumbled.

They both huffed in amusement and Merle couldn’t help but revisit the last few months and how he’d come to be locked up in a cell, even after everyone died and started eating one another. Was this really where he was meant to be? Maybe he was bad through and through, just like their daddy used to say. Maybe he didn’t deserve any more chances after the one he’d been given in the city. Then, he remembered her. Jess.  

“Remember the little, fat chick from the quarry?” He asked.

Daryl's body tensed and his eyes slowly worked back up from his bolt. He remembered her. Of course, he did. He thought about her every single day, especially when he closed his eyes at night. He wished he could wake up one day and she’d just be there, having never ran away. He remembered her because she was the only person he’d managed to connect with in his entire, sorry life.

“What ‘bout her?” he rasped.

“I seen her” Merle stated, his expression becoming smug as he straightened up and tilted his head back, looking down his nose at Daryl.

“She’s alive?!” Daryl exclaimed as he sat up to gain a better view of his brother’s expression. It was not lost on him that this could all be a lie to get him out of the cell.

“Was a few months back, mind. But yeah, all in one piece.” Merle told him.

Daryl stood up, dropping his knife and bolt and slowly approaching the cell door.

“Where is she?” he wanted to know.

Merle grunted and rubbed his face as he watched Daryl’s entire demeanor change. He was becoming irritated at the lack of information and it was apparent to Merle that Jess meant something to him, after all.

“Asked me to keep my mouth shut about that part.”

With his teeth locked together and his breathing increasing, Daryl began to stalk back and forth in front of the cell door, his boots scuffing on the smooth surface of the floor. He no longer thought it was a lie. He knew well enough that Jess would have made herself known if she wanted to, especially by then. After all, he found a note to prove it.

“She don’t wanna be found, kid. Let it go.” Merle added.

He stopped his pacing and let out a loud sigh. This kind of discussion was rare for the Dixons, it involved a degree of emotion and honestly which was something Merle didn’t seem to possess and Daryl managed to hide extremely well. Until the mention of her name.

“She doin OK?” He questioned “Least tell me that much. Please”

“She’s good. She’s real smart.” Merle nodded.

Picking up a pile of previously carved arrows from a table, Daryl began to sift through them with his fingertips. It looked to Merle like he was counting them, but he knew Daryl better than he knew himself. He was using them as a distraction. Merle didn’t even flinch when Daryl angrily threw the handful of wood onto the floor, the sound was like a million pencils falling from a table and rolling across the ground.

“Just tell me where she is!” Daryl raged.

Merle couldn’t help it when the corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile.

“Ooof! You got it bad, huh, boy?”

“Shut up.” Daryl hissed, turning his back and trying to calm himself. His shoulders heaved as he breathed. “I’m your fuckin’ brother” He muttered, hearing a rasped growl from behind him. A glance over his shoulder told him that Merle did really want to tell him as he witnessed him lean his head on the bars and close his eyes.

“I owe her, OK? She did right by me. Mans only as good as his word.” Merle explained.

Daryl spun around, his face now enraged and reddening fast, his eyes were filled with the kind of anger that Merle had usually only seen when the two of them fought and it was never the same kind of rage that presented itself in a fight with anyone else. It was different. It was real.

“Word?! WORD?! You can’t be fuckin’ serious! Your word counts for shit, Merle! You tortured Glenn and Maggie so don’t start pretendin’ you’re some good guy, ya ain’t!” Daryl yelled.

“I ain’t no good guy but I got a code. Just like you.” Merle retorted.

Stooping down to collect his arrows, Daryl knew he had to remove himself from the building or he would end up strangling the truth out of his own brother. With all of the arrows gripped in his hand, he pointed them at Merle and narrowed his gaze.

“If they wanna starve ya, I’mma let ‘em. If they wanna torture ya, I’mma walk away. I ain’t doin’ nothin’ for ya until ya tell me where Jess is. They can keep ya in that damn cage for all I care.”

Before he could think of an answer, Merle was left alone in the room with nothing but the fading echo of the door slamming for company.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Jess was running for so long that her feet were starting to burn and her knees were seizing up. She needed to stop somewhere and rest but being snared by the group of men with the black teeth and the woman in the cage was a thought that struck pure terror into her soul. She was sure she’d rather be eaten by Walkers than trapped with such a group. She’d stayed away from any roads, trekking through woodland and climbing over fences to remain undetected. Her clothing had helped keep her under the radar; a tight, black Kevlar top covered with her police vest and a black, hooded jacket. Dark camouflage cargo pants, black hand gun holsters and a mask that covered her mouth with a plastic outer shell that she had found on a dead biker as she fled the city.

Her bag was starting to feel heavier with every step as she approached a small town filled with abandoned cars. It looked as though people may have tried to settle there after the outbreak and the vehicles were left in a panic. She surged forwards, trying each car, looking for keys and gas. If she could just find one with enough to get her further away from the city, she could take some time to rest up. Darkness enveloped the town and birds and crickets sang a chorus as she wound her way through the cars, pleading with whatever deity would listen to just give her a break.

Then, her prayers were answered. A station wagon filled with boxes of clothes roared to life and to Jess’s delight, the tank was almost full. She set to work removing all the boxes, lightening the load so the gas wouldn’t be consumed as quickly and settled in the front seat. She pulled the door closed and drove off. Her destination was unknown but as far away from the city as she could get would be a start.

It was days before the truck ran out of gas and Jess had managed to put many, many miles in between her and the group that had almost captured her. On her journey, she’d swept through houses and collected anything she could carry on foot. She slept in buildings where they could be secured and had more than one exit, consumed any food she found in strict intervals, ensuring it lasted as long as possible and continued in the same direction she’d been travelling in for two weeks. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for in a settlement, just that it had to be safe, away from other people and walkers and with the capacity to be self-sustainable. Then, she found the boat.

Situated in the middle of a lake, accessible only by a large, fortified gate at the end of a dirt track that was well hidden from any passersby, Jess thought it might have been an old quarry due to its similarities to the old camp. The top of the gate was covered with razor wire and she narrowly avoided being sliced to ribbons when she caught her backpack on the barbs. But a rigorous wiggle and some quick thinking had literally saved her skin. The boat was so far away from the shoreline that Jess accepted that she had to use a canoe that was moored by a jetty. The water appeared to be untouched and there wasn’t a walker in sight. But chances weren’t to be taken when the dead roam the earth and she had to be sure. A collection of rocks of all sizes ended up in the lake, she threw them out as far as she could, trying to cause a stir and encourage any swimming walkers to rise to the surface. But nothing came to pass. By the evening, she’d hunted a rabbit and cooked it over a small fire on the beach. Using the skin attached to a tree branch, she dangled it in the water as the sun was going down and pondered how relaxing the place seemed.

“Huh. Walker fishing.” She mumbled to herself.

When nothing happened and the rabbit skin floated off the branch and out into the body of water, she decided to risk rowing out to the boat. Much to her surprise, the water was crystal clear and she spotted fish swimming below. Her stomach growled, the stringy, fatty meat of a rabbit hardly sufficing when such plump, and apparently disease-free fish were swimming all around her.

I need a fishing rod.

Climbing aboard, it was clear that she was not stood on a regular boat. This was luxurious, spacious and well looked after. The deck was starting to show signs of disrepair but it was a far cry from the dilapidated state of some of the houses she’d stayed in. She crept inside, sweeping the rooms one by one and eventually finding the inhabitants of the vessel. A middle-aged couple on the double bed in the largest bedroom of three. Both wrapped in an embrace in the middle of a mass of bottles of pills. She moved into the room, draping a sheet over them and resting her hand on the man’s arm.

“I hope you’re at peace. The world sure isn’t”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Merle stared at the dangerous, powerful and very angry black woman in the passenger seat of his car. She was not one to be messed with and that explained why he needed to knock her out before bundling her into the car and driving her to the Governor. It was all the man wanted. Michonne was responsible for his life changing injury after taking one of his eyes out with her samurai sword. Now, he wanted revenge and Merle was more than aware that if the Governor didn’t get what he wanted; he would obliterate the entire group. The group his brother was a part of.

“So, he takes you in, cleans you up and feeds you a load of bullshit. Why would you kill someone else for him?” She asked.

Merle didn’t answer, his eyes were on the road but his attention was elsewhere, with the safety of his brother back at the prison. He didn’t want to be there, handing Michonne over to the man that would ultimately torture and kill her was most definitely not something he wanted to do. But there were little options that he could see. Only he knew the true wrath of the Governor.

“We could go back. You and me. We could just go back.” She suggested.

“Ain’t gonna happen.” He commented.

“Why?”

Her eyes were bearing into his soul and wished he could put into words the things that were circulating in his mind. He had killed sixteen people since he’d been with the governor. Before that, he’d killed none. It dawned on him that Michonne was right, why would he kill any more people when he did have another way out? The alternative was less appealing and altogether more permanent. But it was an alternative nevertheless. He stopped the car and raised his prosthetic hand, the bayonet was fixed to the end. Michonne leaned back slightly in her seat, wondering if he might slit her throat there and then and cut out all the talking. Instead, Merle hooked the blade through her wire handcuffs and cut her free.

“You go back. I got somethin’ I gotta do on my own.” He told her, nodding towards the door. “But you’re gonna tell my brother somethin’ for me.”

NEXT CHAPTER

[tigerlover16-analysis]

Dragon Ball Super: Episode 7 Review

Welp, here we are at episode 7. The moment where the fun slice of life fluff stops, and things start to get more serious (In theory. Whis seems determined to keep things from getting too serious).

Following immediately on from the last episode, the episode starts with Vegeta making a desperate attempt to reason with Beerus following his little scuffle with Majin Buu. Unfortunately, Beerus isn't having it and decides he might as well blow up the earth, to which the various Z fighters make several attempts to stop him, all in vain as one by one earth's champions crumble under his awesome might.

And I just made the episode sound more epic than it is, didn't I?

Yeah, to be honest this is another fairly lightweight episode in terms of plot.

Which probably comes from the fact that it's basically extending what was hardly five minutes of the movie. Not that it's bad, but honestly it's not particularly great either, it's mostly just showing off more of Beerus's strength and building up tension for Goku's inevitable arrival and the main confrontation down the line. In terms of the story content, there's not a ton to specifically comment on, but it's mostly alright.

Characterisations are largely on point, and the episode mostly flows okay though drags a little in the middle. The moments with Whis enjoying some of the Chef's dishes in particular feel like they try a bit too hard to ease the tension and just make things feel slightly tonally inconsistent for example, though it's not too overdone.

There's some entertaining moments and a few good tidbits of characterisation. Yamcha chiming in and promising to protect Marron so that Krillin could get involved in the action was a nice little detail, and Beerus continues to be suitably intimidating. And I like how Buu just keeps getting back up and trying to fight Beerus several times throughout the episode despite how much Beerus slaps him around. Just wish this wasn't the characters biggest contribution until probably the last arc... sigh. More on that another day.

In general it's mostly just fine. There's nothing especially bad, not a lot that's great, it's mostly just competent despite a few issues. But there are a few of them that I feel are the things most worth talking about.

For starters, while for the most part I think the writing was mostly competent and did the best it could with such little content to adapt, there's a few moments that do feel needlessly dragged out. I already brought up the moments with Whis, but the bit with Gotenks trying to fight Beerus, while it is short, compared to the movie it feels less funny and effective. In the movie when Gotenks got all cocky and challenged Beerus, he just quickly got grabbed from behind and spanked by the guy, being beaten in seconds.

That was funny and, as someone who's in the camp that finds Gotenks kind of annoying, it was pretty cathartic I won't lie. In this episode though, after his bragging we instead get a few seconds of looped punches before Beerus grabs hold of Gotenks' finger, we get a bit of an argument and Beerus instead slaps his arm until it starts bulging red. It's... less amusing, honestly, and the shouting gets a little more annoying than amusing (Though Beerus's shifting expressions as he's speculating on how Pudding might taste are priceless).

Thankfully most of the other characters involvement in the scuffle with Beerus made the transition more smoothly, more limited animation aside. For example, while I miss the more creative and better animated ways Beerus struck out Piccolo, Android 18 and Tien in the movie, I do like how he basically ends up just pushing them back and knocking the wind out of them all just by releasing a small portion of his Ki. In a way that and his effortlessly dodging their rapid fire attacks is even more effective at selling just how much of a threat Beerus is.

Which shows that corner cutting needn't always be a bad thing, I guess.

On that note though, the production values are a mixed bag. Natoshi Shida's storyboarding to start off with is pretty fantastic and he does a decent job framing much of the episode, though the actual animation involved is mediocre and limited at best. A few moments do look a little awkward too, Beerus smacking Gohan with Buu's unconscious body for example lacks any real impact.

To be fair though, this is only two episodes apart from episode 5, and while there is action here it's not a particularly important episode either, being mostly just more set up. So I feel it's kind of excusable that the episodes visuals are largely unremarkable. At the very least it doesn't look as blatantly unfinished and awkward as episode 5 did.

The episodes direction apart from the storyboards felt lacking though. The music placement in particular was hit or miss. I think the track that played over the opening of the episode served the tension the scene required alright for example, but there wasn't a lot to comment on other than how it's kind of ironic that a theme titled "Omen of Victory" played over the part where Goten and Trunks fuse into Gotenks, and almost immediately he starts losing to Beerus.

Really, the most notable scene worth talking about comes at the very end. You know the one, it's probably one of the most remembered and talked about scenes from the movie, specifically among Vegebul shippers. The famous "My Bulma" moment adapted into Super, as Bulma angrily confronts Beerus for ruining her party, only to have the petty God slap her away. The sight of seeing his beloved wife assaulted strikes a nerve within the saiyan prince, as in his rage Vegeta draws out every last ounce of power he has and prepares to strike back at Lord Beerus...

... And dear LORD, was it hilarious in the subs.

Seriously, this scene is actually a contender for funniest moment in the last few episodes due to just how over the top it was, especially compared to the film. In the Battle of Gods movie, Beerus slapping her happened very fast, and Vegeta's rage burst and him attacking Beerus only took a few seconds. But here?

Everything from Bulma trotting over to slap Beerus in the face and chew him out, to Vegeta powering up and threatening the villain is dragged out to somewhere between one and two minutes, complete with a drawn out moment where Beerus pulls back his arm and Vegeta begs Beerus not to do it, and a goofily over-animated freak out by Vegeta in response. To be fair it is decent animation, but in conjunction with everything else it just looks really silly.

Like, it's the opposite of the flashback from the previous episode with Beerus and King Vegeta. Whereas extending that out a little actually helped better flesh out Vegeta's reactions to Beerus in the present, the "My Bulma" moment getting similar treatment just makes it feel less effective compared to the movie and looking like the writers were trying too hard to give the fangirls more of what they wanted.

There is an upside, though. Because once again it's Funimation to the rescue, as Chris Sabat's performance as Vegeta during the scene... actually kind of salvages it. Seriously, the desperation and raw emotion in his voice as he's begging Beerus not to hurt Bulma actually does help add a bit of tension to the build up to the slap, and makes that moment feel a lot more effective. Vegeta's overblown reaction is still a bit silly, but honestly I think the scene in the dub does a much better job of selling what I think the writer and animators were originally going for.

It's still not as well handled as in the movie of course, but I can almost take it seriously now. And hey, if you're someone that's really into protective hubby Vegeta, then the scene is pretty likely to make you smile regardless. Even if part of that is over how over the top it was.

And, um... yeah. I suppose that's pretty much it. I dunno, the problem with a lot of this arc is that in many episodes, the actual story content doesn't offer a lot to talk about. Individual episodes are often pretty bare bones, looking forward there's a lot more episodes next saga and in the later ones especially that have a lot more content and characterisation that's worth discussing in detail. But in these early episodes, a lot of the time I just feel like I'm going to be saying "This is functionally okay, but not as good as how the movie did it... except for this part, which is done better for X reasons"

That's not to say there's nothing here to enjoy, actually watching the episode it flows pretty fine and can be mildly entertaining, but at this point and for the next few episodes really it's just going to be feeling like a more dragged out version of the movie's events, and a bit less entertaining as a result. There's good stuff coming up don't get me wrong, but I have a hard time talking about a lot of it. I'm honestly kind of looking forward to when the slice of life episodes start up again for that reason.

So, on that note then, this was a serviceable though mediocre episode that accomplishes what it needs to, but doesn't have a lot of lasting value on it's own, just as a functioning part of the larger story.

C- at best.

A bit of a half-hearted review and I’m sorry, but then again the episode isn’t really trying any harder than I am

[run-the-secret-show]

Trip to the Collingwood & Co Studio

On Thursday I arrived per invitation to Tony’s studio in Acton-Town to attend a meeting about TSS with Glynn Hayward and Helen Shroud. Andrea Tran also popped in later on and we all had a wonderful chat together.  I was there for 4 hours (for what was supposed to be a 1 hour meeting), with Helen and Tony regaling me with tales of inside info and what-could-have-beens. I was allowed - even encouraged - to record the whole “interview”, but it turns out that the phone I was using didn’t actually save it (A real “Secret Spider” moment for sure). Everyone was absolutely charming, and apart from the recording flub it was a lovely day that couldn’t’ve gone better.

Highlights include, to the best of my recollection:

• If the website is to return it might have to be heavily re-structured to cope with Flash essentially being a dead platform at this point. • Roy was voiced by Tony’s son Harry • The Commander in Secret Spider is called Vin, and the female actor from World Savers is Jilly • Ray’s name is Raymondo not Ray Mondo - and it’s Zebulons not Zurbulons. • VANITOR IS CANON AND HAS ALWAYS BEEN CANON • CD “drinks too much” - the lines “I’ll stay here and hold the port” and “12%? That’s all the proof I need!” are references to this, in addition to his wine-bottle wrapping in Secret Santa and his favourite food in one of the books being Madeira cake, the main ingredient of which is wine.  • Victor’s lesser-noticed catchphrase of “Aw, c’mon..!” is inspired by the fact that Alan Marriott actually says it quite a lot in real life.  • Masters were located for 2 full 1/2-hour Nicktoons broadcasts, completely uncompressed, and there are likely more - although we still don’t know exactly how many were modified.

• Masters for 4 previously-unknown shorts were discovered, with the theme of “What’s The Deal With _____?” - Helen was greatly surprised they weren’t on the DVDs as the Profile shorts had taken their place. (can’t find the photo of the master as we only found it towards the end of the day but I have a pic of Helen’s copy)

• An unused villain was going to be The Puddle Heads, sworn nemesis's of The Floaty Heads - he couldn’t find the concept art for them so he drew one in front of me to keep! I shouldn’t say much about them except that you might be seeing them sooner than you think... • There were initially plans for each 4-digit code in the episode to each unlock something different individually on the website - this was never implemented as they never made enough goodies to cover 52 different codes. • Helen used to have a copy of the show’s entire soundtrack on her iPod until it broke. • Tony knows about the DeviantArt fanfics. To hear him actually say the site’s name out loud was a very surreal moment indeed.  • The disclaimer that the Bogie Ball blooper was “deemed Too Gross for national television” is actually true - everything except the end of that scene was actually going to be in the original episode but the BBC said it was too much. • There’s a 4th BTS called “The Music Of the Secret Show”, which would’ve been with Roger Jackson - we found the master for the 3rd one (“The Sounds Of The Secret Show”) but not the 4th. • There were also 4 PP Lectures made, which means there are two of those that have never been released either. • The Space Wasps (from What’s In The Box and Planet PP) have a different origin in both simply because they needed to reuse the assets. • Tony had the entire plot to the potential Series 3 opener all planned out, and gleefully recounted the first half of it to me in great detail. I’ll keep the specifics mum for the time being just in case it ever ends up happening after all - but I’ll say that it would’ve been amazing. Also Tony totally should’ve been a VA, his voices were great. • Everyone was fascinated by the number of international dubs I’d managed to collect, and when I showed them the Latino-Mexican intro there was much groaning and laugher all ‘round. Speaking of which, we discovered a sampler-disc of the Catalan dub that even Tony was surprised they had:

• The reason why it’s never revealed what CD won his medal on the Mantlepiece for is because nobody could think of anything funny enough to warrant revealing. • Unbeknownst to anyone, the physical masters for episodes 7 and 28 were AWOL from their designated boxes and remain unaccounted for, although they are still stored digitally - I know this because I re-sorted their entire TSS disc-archive for them while I was there. Andrea was happy for the heads-up and Helen gladly suggested I make a note of it on the box. • Martin Hyder was hired almost by accident - he was called in just to record the Temp Track for Stephen Fry’s lines in the pilot as Fry had to record them separately. Someone asked Martin to fill in a line for Ray, and he suited the role so well that they casted him on the spot. • The One Breath Lady was both voiced by and inspired by one of the writers, Jimmy Hibbert. Tony recounted that Jim had a habit of speaking in run-on sentences for so long that your eyes would be watering on his behalf, willing him to actually inhale some air and take a goddamned breath once in a while.  • There was an event known as “Spy Day” in which a whole bunch of children were brought together to do TSS-themed spy activities. There are two separate recordings of this. • Tony knew that Nicktoons had once broadcast The Martian Dub (Sep 20th ‘08) but Helen was unaware. Her reaction to finding out was amazing. • Anita’s parents were never given a backstory simply because they were never relevant to the plot - Anita’s aquatic origins shall remain a mystery.... • Glynn and I both agreed that due to internet speeds and technology advancing a truly substantial way since 2006, remastering the site’s audio from 22050Hz to 44100Hz is completely feasible, and that I could even help resample it. Tony and Helen admitted they’d lost us completely during our nerd-out which we all had a good laugh over.  • Tony asked completely of his own volition if I knew of TheSecretShow4You, which is of course our friend and empress, the Vanitor Queen. He greatly admires how much she has come up with over the years and says he loved the 10th Anniversary video. • Helen was very surprised to learn that the first 24 episodes had reaired all throughout last April this year in Germany - presumably Disney Germany renewed their licence. Speaking of which:

• The Spider was supposed to appear in Secret Sleep - about 6 minutes in, crawling on the front edge of the bed just before PP falls asleep. Neither DVD nor Broadcast version has this due to a rendering error, although they didn’t actually believe me at the time:

The top photo is from “The Book Of Revelations” - a pair of .pdfs that track every single hidden thing from every episode along with a few other things. They are now in the Google Drive folder under “Books” for your viewing pleasure. • I gave Tony my still-shrink-wrapped copy of the Italian Vol4 DVD as a gift for basically putting up with my wall-of-text emails over the last three years. In return I was presented with a take-home copy of the 2004 Pilot version of Lucky Leo as Tony still had a few copies left. It is now in the Drive under “Rare Broadcasts” - you will notice more than a few differences to the final version, I’m sure:

• There was an entire marketing pack produced of which only two exist. Photos of literally everything from it are in the “Studio Visit 02/11/17″ folder, along with all the master discs that we found in the cupboard.

• Two Betamax masters were found as well - I don’t know about you but I thought that was absolutely amazing:

The second tape contains an 11-minute Interview with Tony about the show which has never been shown outside the industry. • A prototype of the UK version of Vol2 was also discovered, along with two different prototypes of Vol1 - Sadly none were found of 3 or 4 as BBC WW were actually the ones who pressed them, Col & Co simply handing the files over to them to compile.

And last but certainly not least: • This morning, the day after the meeting, Glynn emailed me several files from his archive of the website which were previously lost - the U.Z.Z./T.H.E.M. Doorhangers, the CD Cutout, The Spiderbikes game (literally called spaceinvaders.swf) and the rarest of all, the 2007 Easter Exclusive Site Map - available now at your local Website Downloads folder. He also kindly sent some original concept art for the games that he’d drawn himself back in the day, including one that never made the cut, of which I will make another post about separately. (if you want a sneaky peek, look in the Cocept Art & BTS folder...!) One final thing, for now at least - While I was there Helen and Tony deigned to show me the trailer for their newest series, “Thorgar” -  I was “the first person under 30 to see it” and I can tell you now it’s absolutely amazing. Seriously, as soon as it starts airing you guys need to watch it immediately, it’s spectacular. 

[papermoonloveslucy]

LUCY AND TENNESSEE ERNIE'S FUN FARM

S1;E23 ~ March 10, 1969

Directed by Jack Donohue ~ Written by Bob O'Brien

Synopsis

A farmer (Ernie Ford) wanders into the Unique Employment Agency in need of farmhands. Instead, Lucy proposes they turn his farm into a vacation spot for city folks. They start with a TV commercial to get the word out!

Regular Cast

Lucille Ball (Lucy Carter), Gale Gordon (Harrison Otis Carter), Lucie Arnaz (Kim Carter), Desi Arnaz Jr. (Craig Carter)

Guest Cast

Tennessee Ernie Ford (Ernie Epperson) was the first and only celebrity to make three guest star appearances (playing a variation on himself) on “I Love Lucy.”  A popular country singer of the 1950s, "I Love Lucy” was his first credited ‘acting’ job, before his big hit with the song “Sixteen Tons” in 1955. Ford was first mentioned on season in “Lucy Writes a Play” (ILL S1;E17), when playwright Lucy mistakenly dubs herself the next Tennessee Ernie, instead of Tennessee Williams. He then appeared (also as a variation on himself) on “The Lucy Show.” This is his fifth and final appearance on a Lucille Ball sitcom. Ford was fond of alliterative character names. In addition to Ernie Epperson, he played Homer Higgins on “The Lucy Show,” Loser Lumpkin on "The Red Skelton Show,” and Kentucky Cal on the Desilu-produced "Make Room For Daddy.”  He died in 1991.

Epperson owns the Broken Plow Farm in the ‘sue-burb’ of Calabasas.  

The Back Porch Majority (Themselves) was a folk music group founded by Randy Sparks in 1963. It was intended to be a rehearsal space for The New Christy Minstrels, another group Sparks had established in 1961, but it ended up becoming successful on its own. The group released six albums and was chosen to provide entertainment at the White House in 1965. They previously backed up Ernie Ford on “The Lucy Show.”

The members of the group are Rusty Richards, Jet Sharon, Kathy Beaudine, Kittie McCue, and Kyra Carleton.  

Larry Billman (Dancer, uncredited) was seen on Broadway in the short-lived musical revue Vintage '60 (1960). He has less than ten screen credits and made his career in charge of live entertainment for Disney theme parks. He died in May 2017.  

The revue features a live cow, a donkey, and two horses. Other singers, dancers, and musicians appear uncredited. 

Two days after this episode was first aired (March 12, 1969) Lucie Arnaz made the first of her three appearances on NBC’s “The Kraft Music Hall”, hosted by Wayne Newton and featuring Judy Carne and Tim Conway. Lucille Ball does not appear.

All the singing and instrumentals are prerecorded, although naturally Desi Jr. played his drum solos live. Lucille Ball has only one brief line of solo singing during “Heavenly Music” and it does not sound like her voice. It is very likely Carole Cook, who has been Lucy's ghost singer on two previous occasions. Gale Gordon is also dubbed in that song.    

When Lucy asks the overalls-wearing Ernie if he is a farmer, Ernie replies “Well, I ain't that Omar Shareef on his way home from a square dance!” Actor Omar Sharif was nominated for a 1963 Oscar for Lawrence of Arabia and had won a Golden Globe in 1966 for Doctor Zhivago. There is a slight resemblance between Ford and Sharif because they both wore mustaches for most of their public lives.

Lucy and Ernie joke about Los Angeles' smog problem. The word smog is a portmanteau of the words smoke and fog. The problem was particularly acute in Los Angeles during the latter half of the 20th century. So much so that the word smog became synonymous with Los Angeles to many. Smog was the source of several jokes on “The Lucy Show” after Lucy Carmichael re-located to Southern California, one of them during Ernie Ford’s last appearance in “Lucy and Tennessee Ernie Ford” (TLS S5;E21). 

Ernie says he drives a Model-T. The Ford Motor Company manufactured the Model-T between 1908 and 1927, and it is considered the first affordable car.   

The commercial that Lucy and Harry do for Ernie's Fun Farm gives us a glimpse of them as a dysfunctional married couple, complete with two teenage kids! 

As the bickering couple, Lucy calls her husband (Sheldon) Porky Pig and the Jolly Green Giant. He calls her the Bride of Frankenstein. Porky Pig was one of the characters in the Warner Brothers cartoons voiced by Mel Blanc. Blanc had appeared with Lucille Ball on radio, films, and TV.  The Jolly Green Giant was the mascot of a frozen vegetable company of the same name frequently seen in television ads. “The Bride of Frankenstein” (1935) was a film sequel to 1931's “Frankenstein” based on the novel by Mary Shelley. Coincidentally, the Bride was played by Elsa Lanchester, who guest starred on “I Love Lucy,” and an upcoming episode of “Here's Lucy.”  

Amidst the clutter of the living room is a bath towel stolen from the Commodore Hotel, a historic building in downtown Los Angeles that has recently been converted to apartments. The Commodore of Hollywood opened in 1927 and has been home to countless celebrities as they launched their careers. 

One of the knickknacks on the coffee table is a glass bunch of grapes. If it looks familiar, it previously appeared in “Guess Who Owes Lucy $23.50?” (S1;E11) where there were two of them. After this appearance they became part of the living room set on “The Brady Bunch” which also filmed at Paramount.  The recent reality show “A Very Brady Renovation” mentioned tracking them down. 

Ernie pays the bickering couple a quick visit to bid them come to his Fun Farm, singing this a capella jingle:

“We're only 45 minutes from L.A. People all breathing fresh air. Even a hog smells better than smog When you're 45 minutes from there.”

The tune Ford uses is inspired by “45 Minutes from Broadway” by George M. Cohan, written in 1906 for a musical of the same name. The title refers to the length of time to travel by train from New Rochelle NY to Manhattan.  

The commercial turns into a fully-staged musical revue. Although a lot of standards and show tunes are used, special lyrics to suit the plot were written by Bob O'Brien.  

The orchestra plays “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” from Oklahoma! written by Rodgers and Hammerstein in 1943. A film version was released in 1955. Lucy Ricardo once lied that she was in Oklahoma – then confessed she spent two weeks in Tulsa once. Rodgers and Hammerstein (aka Dick and Oscar) were names frequently dropped on “I Love Lucy.”  

The Back Porch Majority sings “On a Wonderful Day Like Today” from the 1965 musical The Roar of the Greasepaint – The Smell of the Crowd by Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley, who also sang it in “Lucy in London” (1966, above). 

Ernie sings “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah” a song written by Allie Wrubel and Ray Gilbert for the 1946 Disney film Song of the South. It won an Oscar for Best Song.

Ernie and the Carter Family sing “Heavenly Music” from the 1950 film Summer Stock written by Saul Chaplin and originally performed by Gene Kelly and Phil Silvers wearing similar costumes.

Ernie and the Back Porch Majority sing “Y'all Come” written by Arlie Duff in 1953. It was sung by Ernie Ford in “Tennessee Ernie Hangs On” (ILL S3;E29). Coincidentally, in that episode he was also on television, doing a (fictional) show called “Millikan's Chicken-Mash Hour.” Both times there were specially written lyrics to suit the episode's plot.  

Kim does a specialty dance backed up by the male ensemble – all wearing sombreros. The choreography was by Jack Baker, with assistance from Anita Mann. 

Lucy and Harry do an unusual combination of a square dance and the Mexican hat dance.  

Craig (also wearing a sombrero) does a drum solo using a variety of instruments.  

In a spotlight, Ernie sings a quiet version of "Little Green Apples" backed up by the Back Porch Majority. The song was written by Bobby Russell for Roger Miller in 1968, becoming a Top 40 hit.  

The episode ends with a reprise of “Y'all Come” and a hoe down, natur'lly.   

Lucy Ricardo did a TV commercial to sell Aunt Martha's Old Fashioned Salad Dressing in “The Million Dollar Idea” (ILL S3;E13) where she also played a bumpkin character.

In the commercial, Lucy wears a blue chenille bathrobe that looks very similar to the one that Vivian Vance wore in 1952's “Breaking the Lease” (ILL S1;E18) and other episodes. It is possible that it could be the same robe from the Desilu wardrobe racks!  It was also worn by Ann-Margret on a 1970 episode of “Here’s Lucy.” 

At the start of the musical revue, Lucy Carter is milking a cow, something that both Lucy Ricardo and Lucy Carmichael also did!  In real-life, Lucille Ball owned a cow she called Duchess of Devonshire when she lived with Desi at Chatsworth Ranch.

The last time viewers saw Ernie Ford on “I Love Lucy” he was calling a square dance. 

This was also true of his “The Lucy Show” appearance. Here, the last time Lucy and Ford perform together, he does the same thing. He even repeats a few of the same calls in both episodes:

“Grab yer partner, pat her on the head. If she don't like biscuits, feed her corn bread!”

In November 1968, Lucille Ball appeared on “The Tennessee Ernie Ford Special” where she blacked out her teeth for comic effect.

Get the Door! During the TV commercial, when Harry (as Sheldon) slams the front door, the suction causes the closet door to swing wider open, momentarily distracting Gale Gordon who quickly turns to see what is moving behind him.  

Fashion Magazine?  In the commercial, ‘Craig’ browses through Fashions magazine, an unlikely choice for a teenage boy. Perhaps this iteration of Craig is destined to become a fashion designer? 

Loose Lips! Although Harry's comical yodeling during “Heavenly Music” is obviously not Gale Gordon's voice, there are times he gets more involved with the wayward daisy in Lucy's hat than the lip synching.

“Lucy and Tennessee Ernie’s Fun Farm” rates 3 Paper Hearts out of 5

This episode is like a cross between “Hee Haw” and “The Grand Old Opry” but very short on plot. After a few lines of Ernie's homespun wisdom, there is a very funny TV commercial which imagines Lucy and Gale Gordon as a bickering married couple. The rest is a straight up musical revue.

[sassasquashedgrapes]

Beauty's Entrapment, The Sleeping Beauty series

Hello there! 

 This is inspired by the 2011 Australian film, Sleeping Beauty starring Emily Browning with an Eyes Wide Shut Stanley Kubrick feel. 

I wrote the draft of this story in about mid 2012, and it's a bit obvious I took in some of the characters from the British E4 Series, Made in Chelsea as part of my inspiration for the other supporting characters (hehe, was a huge fan of the show). 

 So anyway, initially, I had intended this to be a short story of sorts, but as I revisited this plotline, I'm not quite sure on whether to continue it, but I hope you like it. 

Enjoy! 

 **Warning: NSFW for nudity, excessive alcohol & drug use, sex with underlying rape theme, and obscene language. Rated R-17.

* * * *

 ***

 Beauty’s Entrapment  

 “I’m telling you, man.  It’s the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever done,” Walt throws his head back and lets out a guffaw as we listen with piqued interest at a recollection he encountered two fortnights before. 

 “So, basically you just lie in bed next to a naked hot girl and not fuck her?” Oliver Patman rubs his well-manicured hand thoughtfully against his clean shaven chin and taps his index finger emphasizing on the words:  DO. NOT. FUCK.THE.HOT.GIRL, his eyes dubious behind the huge horn-rimmed tortoise shell glasses.  

He’s the only one who is dressed casually in an off-beat gray shirt with a huge cross with a pair of eyes on them and black Diesel pants.  

 The rest of us are in suits and have just agreed meet up for some after lunch drinks at one of the newest bars that opened in SoHo. 

 “Where’s the fun in that?” Spencer Stevens scoffs as he raises his half empty class of martini and points at it imperiously to the bartender to throw him another hit. 

 “You have to admit there’s something poignant about the thought of lying next to someone who’s vulnerable and all you can do is absolutely nothing,” Tom Belhaven murmurs.  

 “Sounds like you can relate with that,” Stevens is at his fourth round and eyes Tom with derisive viciousness, taking in the redhead’s wildly psychedelic patterned pink Missoni shirt that’s given me a migrane in the last hour. As I finish the remains of the Madeira, which I consume hastily because I’m tempted to order a Vodka or something stronger.  I realize that it’s 2 in the afternoon and I have to meet Lyca as she’s been dying to look over apartments on the East Village. 

 “Knock it off, Stevens.” I cock an eyebrow and smirk at the pretentious bastard.  

“He may be a virgin but at least he was never fat.” 

 “Oh, fuck. Must we reminisce?” 

 “What did you call it Spenny, your Adele phase?” Walt chuckled as Spencer purses his lips and grins unabashedly. 

 “I’m sorry, Belhaven.”    

 But Tom is miles away as he cranes his necks and loosens the powder blue bow-tie. 

 Five of us sit idly around the bar as Walt patiently answers each of our questions.  I turn and order a J&B, deciding that Lyca isn’t probably going to care if I have alcohol on my breath when I kiss her.  She’s been doing this new ballet pilates exercise and swears she’s going to look better than Natalie Portman circa Black Swan.  

 Plus with her busy doing PR for a new client dubbed to be the next Zac Efron, it wasn’t a surprise either that my so-called longtime girlfriend is fucking him on the side as a bonus.  

 Not that I care anyway.  She’s already slept with Oliver and had been fucking Spencer behind my back for the past two years I’ve lost track.  

 Carrington Walters the Third, whom we fondly call Walt because he refuses to be given a moniker like the Third as it sounds similar to ‘turd’; has been my closest friend since our days at Eton. 

I grew up with Spencer, Oliver, and was next door neighbors with Tom but because Walt was the descendant of a famous English cookie and my grandfather was the last Earl of Mondevale, it only seemed appropriate that we taint our American blood with our long forgotten British heritage.   

 I rub my eyes occasionally, fighting the urge to sleep.  

 I’ve been working seventy hours a week for the last few months now that I’ve made senior partner at Lyndon & Pryce.  I am the youngest ever to achieve the honor and lately I’ve been slacking my ass off not giving a rat’s ass, blanking in and out during meetings and mergers. 

 I sit and listen to Walt talk animatedly waving his hands on the air like a music conductor as I take in deep swallows of the J&B.  

 Belhaven sits on the other end, not listening to a word, as he eyes the huge Jackson Pollock painting as if it were the most interesting thing on earth while to me it looked like something from an infant who just barfed on a white Egyptian cotton bed sheet.  

Patman looks at his glass occasionally, contemplating if he should order another round but because he’s been on strict detox, he digresses.  

Stevens listens amiably, but he’s been eyeing the pretty brunette from the far side of the table whose been giving me salacious looks since we arrived.

* * * 

 “I’m a friend of Carrington Walters,” I answer the elderly bird-like lady who is dressed like a gothic governess during the Victorian era who greets me at the door.  

 How I managed to even bother with Walt’s suggestion that I go here was a stroke of spontaneity.  

I had done my duty going around looking for apartments with Lyca.  She had opted instead that the East Village had been deemed as ‘unfit’ for her aura and is now looking towards us getting something near Fifth Street, which would still be considered miles away from her parents living in Park Avenue.  

 I assume this is because she’s afraid that someone would catch her bringing home her latest ‘pet’ while I was sitting on my ass in the office, sleeping it off after a round of codeine and alcohol.  

Instead of coming home to my stark white apartment on the West Village, that was covered in at least three muted shades of gray and black with nothing but a gigantic authentic samurai armor for décor as the piece de resistance, I hailed a taxi and asked to be driven at the specified address Walt relayed earlier. 

 It was out of sheer luck that the driver was willing to drive me anywhere near Rhode Island, as I fished in a couple of hundred dollar bills telling him I’d make it worth his while.  

I had gotten off work at 9 and thought, what the fuck, any party that Walt brings in has got to be fun. 

Besides, I thought to myself; I earned it anyway.   

I’m brought to a sprawling three story mansion near Rhode Island that reminds me of one owned by the Vanderbilts with the Neo-Victorian era slash Tudor designed architecture.  

I could tell the place was far younger as the plastered walls still didn’t achieve that aged appearance.  I take a good look inside and could tell by the vast display of dark Persian rugs that this house was merely more for show because it looked too ostentatious for anyone to live here.  

 The bird-like Governess ushers me into something that reminds me of a waiting room with antique black steel ornate chairs lined with plush red velvet that remind me of a Gothic Versailles.  

Now as I recall those days I spent in Paris roaming around King Louis XIV’s chateau, it was indeed like the place but better suited for Bram Stoker’s Dracula and his Vampire Brides with its Baroque styled interior furnishing.  

 Blood. Sex & Rock and Roll. 

 I’m so enthralled that I barely notice the tall statuesque redhead who looks old enough to be my mother.  

She’s expensively dressed in head to toe Chanel and is wearing Christian Louboutin pumps that may have been appropriate for a woman half her age, but because of her undeniably perfect legs she puts it off well enough.  

Her strawberry blonde hair is neatly styled into a coif and her entire outfit reminds me of a Stepford Wife.  H

er cold blue eyes meet my hazel browns and she looks at me from head to toe, giving me an appraisal that I’m not quite sure whether she approves or not. I cock my head to the side and wait for her to finish giving me her stare down.  When she’s done with her inspection, I offer my hand and introduce myself.  She responds by saying that her name is Evelyn Collins.  

I get the feeling that she’s lying, but don’t comment on that either. 

 “I take it you have been briefed in by your friend on how we deal with our matters?” she inquires but it sounds more like a statement than a question.  

 I nod curtly. 

 “We have a moral code here that the girls are not to be penetrated under any circumstances and I am taking your word as a gentleman that you will stand by that rule.” 

 “Yes,” I answer contritely like an obedient prep school boy. 

 She looks again at me to judge my sincerity.  Her piercing gaze narrows as she assesses me by taking in my features as if she were mentally calculating a difficult problem that needed to be solved immediately. 

 “You are not what I expected from Mr. Walters usual referrals.” 

 “Is it because I’m younger?” Based from Walt’s stories, this decadent discovery was a revered endorsement given by his 60 year old uncle who was not only rich as Midas but was an absolute lecher. 

 Walt had been introduced to the lifestyle as a means of finding new ideas on events planning at he’s been working as an events coordinator for one of New York’s bigger, more successful nightclubs.  

This ranked as one of his monthly dalliances, the kind that to most would have been considered like trying a new restaurant or going to that latest spa for the heck of it.  

 From Walt’s endorsement at the bar earlier this afternoon, the rules were that the man could do anything to the heavily drugged women except engage in sexual intercourse, which was probably was something mostly old men who were dependent on Viagra could do without.  

 I heard of brothels during the Japanese Feudal era where men visited places such as these just for the pleasure of lying beside opium laden beautiful women just to watch them sleep.   

 As I recalled during my brief Japanese Literature class in Yale about a novel written by Yasunari Kawabata telling a tale of where rich men of a certain elderly age paid high amounts of money to visit a place where they could spend a night sleeping with beautiful young girls.  

 So it was no surprise that Evelyn Collins would readily assume this. 

 However, her next words take me by surprise. 

 “It’s because you’re attractive,” she says flatly.  

 I’m well over six feet in height, weigh 180 pounds of lean muscle, I exercise regularly and have been joining triathlons since I entered law school in Harvard.  I had dark brown hair and piercing hazel brown eyes that complimented my tanned skin.  I owe it my mother, whose Malaysian and Portuguese heritage added to the Eurasian mix had blended it well enough that I still managed to maintain the best of the Caucasian features, but with dark, bronze-skinned coloring that many of my friends envied.  

 Walt on the other hand, compared to me was less attractive standing at five foot seven inches with a shock of pale blond hair, an Irish boxer’s nose that often reminded me of a parrot, and had a tendency to turn beet red if he had too much sun exposure.  

His uncle was a 300 pound version of my friend.     

 She then swiftly changes the topic and asks briefly about my background.  I feel no shame and tell her about myself, what schools I’ve attended, that I’ve been living in Manhattan for most of my life except that time when my parents sent me off to Eton, my travels and other particulars.  

She seems neither disapproving nor impressed and I get this feeling that she employs this method rather out of courtesy than curiosity.  

 I’m also more than certain that there have been more distinguished men who have like me gone through the same process, yet somehow I feel as if she’s also testing me: whether to see I am worthy to even be stuck in this presence.  

After my ‘interview’, she pauses for a moment and I bite the urge of excusing myself and getting the fuck out of here as I feel as if I’ve overstepped my boundaries. 

 After what felt like a contemplation that took almost forever, Evelyn finally speaks.  

“I’ve changed my mind about you.  I won’t give you the usual treatment that Mr. Walters expects.  Yours will be something….different, but special nonetheless.” 

She adds as she lifts the white porcelain phone beside her and speaks in a low, soft voice in fluent French that I could barely comprehend the words she utters except for the distinct word ‘virgin girl’.    

She hangs up and offers me a genteel smile and a nod signaling that I am to follow her to the next adjacent room.  

She opens the paneled doors and ushers me inside a huge bedroom heavily draped in dark red curtains that cover the high paneled windows.  She then nods and mutters goodnight to me, leaving me alone as I take in the full view of the room but instead of minding the décor, my eyes zero in on the woman sleeping underneath the covers of the huge bed that is centrally located in the room.  

As I approach her, I am unmindful of the fact that the walls are heavily painted in deep shades of red with a high back chair that rests besides a huge king-sized four poster bed that’s decked with a heavy Oak wood headboard and decked with sheets that are matched in leathery brown hues and red giving it an aristocratic, yet highly masculine feel.  

 I stand beside the naked girl with burnished honey colored hair and pale lucent white skin that complements the bed as if she herself were included in the ornate decoration. 

 Just by looking at her I automatically know that she’s young, probably at least barely legal or at least 18 years of age. Which isn’t too young for a man of my age at 25 years, except that she had probably had men far older than myself. 

 I continue to stare as I watch her sleep, almost anticipating her to wake up, but her even breathing suggests that whatever Evelyn had given her had knocked her out cold. 

 I marvel how she really is a pretty fetching thing.  

There was an innocent sexiness about her in that delicately angled face with russet colored thick eyelashes and delicately arched eyebrows that have been shaped to perfection; a light dusting across her pert straight nose and pink sensual lips that reminded me of those pretty ingénues starring on those teen dramas that my younger sister loved to watch. 

 She had the look right down to a pat.  While myself, I preferred dark haired sophisticated, sensual women like Lyca, whose long straight chestnut hair and ebony eyes and tan skin on well toned curves were more befitting for a centerfold on Maxim’s. 

 However, I could care less about my girlfriend at the moment for there was something enthralling about the sleeping girl that as if she could hear me, I find myself easily conversing with her. 

 “Hi, my name is…” I drift in midsentence, realizing she could give a fuck what my name is and is probably dreaming of some prince charming who looked like me that would rescue her and get her out of here instead of being caressed by some geezer who’s old enough to be her grandfather.  

 I smile in wry amusement wondering how indeed she would react if she knew that instead of being stuck with a saggy assed lecher, she was to spend a night with me. 

 I’m finding this no-penetration rule thing a lot harder to abide by the minute. 

 So instead, I fish around my suit jacket and take out a pack of Dunhills.  I shrug myself out of my jacket and toss it to the chair beside me and sit on the free side of the bed as I cross my long legs.  

 Due to the enormous size of the bed, I don’t feel the need to move her and move in closer that I’m on the opposite side, acting as a reluctant guardian as I lie on top of the covers while she’s underneath and almost with a slight hesitation, I turn towards her as if to ask permission to what I’m about to do.

 “Do you mind?  Of course you don’t.” 

 I light up the first cigarette and take a deep breath, inhaling the goodness of the nicotine adding up to my system already mixed with two tablets of Vicodine that I’ve downed with a shot of Remy Martin.  

 I’m relieved Evelyn barely noticed how bloodshot my eyes were when I had first arrived at the mansion as I again turn to take a look at my lovely bed partner whose deep breathing was in sync that her mouth exhaled in a delicately sweet sigh that sounded incredibly erotic for something so menial.  

For the first time, in what I may have considered may have been far longer than I could ever recall, here was a female who was unaware of my presence.  

She appears oblivious to the man smoking beside her as she continues with her current comatose state, unmindful of the smoke emanating my hands.  

 I had been used to countless of women giving me fascinated looks, or wondering if I was the devil incarnate like how Evelyn had done earlier. 

 I’m also accustomed to being talked to incessantly to by women like Lyca, who could just never seem to be content on whether to fire her current facialist who does home services or take advantage of her friend’s newly opened spa, but thinks that she isn’t ready to trust herself especially with the Vietnamese as she feels like one of them might do a Viet Cong on her face that might scare off her new tricolored Cavalier King Charles Spaniel puppy, Alex who is said to be of the same litter as the dog belonging to Kate Middleton. 

 In fact, for the longest time that I could ever recall, this is the first time I felt that a woman is completely oblivious to my presence.  

I’m not sure if it’s because of the drug interaction to my system that’s done me in or just out of pure ennui that I begin having a one sided conversation with the woman sleeping beside me.  

 I think of a mundane to talk about to initially amuse me, since there really wasn’t much to do. I  wasn’t sleepy either in spite of my inebriated drugged state, so I talk about my day at work, about my relationship with Lyca and how I wasn’t sure if I wanted to really marry her because her father had just made me senior partner at his firm and somehow expected that out of me. 

 I tell her about my mother which was rarely something I did because I haven’t spoken about her since the day she walked out of my life and divorced my father for plastic surgeon from Brazil who turned out to have a fake license and is now being sued heavily for malpractice. 

 I then turned the conversation about my boyhood and Walt and how I had come around to finding this place.  

 Then finally I describe to her my father, my older brother and little sister whom I haven’t spoken to in a year because I just ‘didn’t feel like talking’ to them. I realize that after what seemed like a soliloquy that had drained me out completely, added to the fact that I had just run out of cigarettes and that dawn was close approaching, I take a long puff of my last cigarette and glance again at the still sleeping form beside me. 

 The entire night she had not moved a muscle but that had not bothered me in the least because I knew from her heavy breathing that somewhere in the deepest depths of her slumber, she had perhaps dreamt of a man who did nothing but sit beside her and give a brief summary about his life. 

 Perhaps she dreamt too if she had wondered who I was, what I looked like, who my people where, and my character. 

 But alas, she just slept it off without a toss like she could give a fuck. I was beginning to like her already. 

 I threw a grim smile over that delectable sleeping form and said, “Well, goodnight to you as well.  Sleep while you can.” 

 With that, I put out my cigarette butt on the ash tray and sleep beside her without touching her. It was the deepest, most peaceful slumber I had ever experienced. 

It lasted for an hour. 

 ***  

“You cheeky devil you.” Walt was grinning ear to ear as we have lunch at the new Japanese restaurant at Tribeca as news from Evelyn had reached my precocious friend about my dalliance last night.  

 “When I told the boys about that sleeping beauty brothel, I would have expected Belhaven or even Stevens to have gone there.  But you?  Have you finally broken things up with Angelica already?” 

 “Lyca doesn’t know I went there so I would appreciate you keep your mouth shut,” I answer dryly as I reach in another serving of raw prawn and dunk it on the hot plate in front of me. 

 “Hey, you know you can trust me, I’m your boy!” Walt isn’t exactly thrilled with my relationship with Lyca knowing her turbulent history but he knows better than to meddle as her family also handles the legal part of his business. 

 “Evelyn was rather impressed by you.” I snort in disbelief. 

 “She looked like she was debating whether I was the spawn of Satan then I get upgraded by being assigned to sleep with the jeune fille vierge.” I say, repeating the exact French words used to describe the delightfully sensual young woman, whom I had truly little doubt was still a virgin in reality given with looks like hers.  

Walt’s eye grow twice in size in amazement and he gives a hoot of laughter.  

“That’s fucking amazing! Do you know what that means?” He taps me against my shoulder and inspects my reaction and I shrug in indifference as I continue to eat my noodles. 

 “It’s like the highest honor the House gives to their guests.”  

 When Walt doesn’t see any recognition on my face he quickly explains.  

“Remember when we were in Yale and we had that class with Mr. Ichikawa on Japanese Feudalism?  He gave us that novel to read on our spare time about the House of Sleeping Beauties where this old impotent dude practically sleeps with every virgin in the house, saying that one chick is different from another in sleep.  

 The same rules follow in the Chateau de Beaute Dorme as my Uncle calls it.  It starts as a bidding.  

All the gentlemen of the room are presented with a beavy of beautiful women wearing Venetian masks to conceal their features, dressed up in lingerie, serving them dinner, barely speaking a word to them as they dine.  

The women wear little make-up except for the lipstick that’s the same shade as, get this, their vagina.” Walt snickers as he recounts the dinner he had to endure not being able to chat nor charm the women. “ He takes a long sip of his Asahi Super dry, as if running out of breath from explaining before he resumes. 

 “The most prominent server is the one who apart from all the other women who wear different colored lingerie, she’s decked in pure white and is called the jeune fille vierge and is also known as the head server.  She’s the most special of all of them, because not only is she fucking expensive, but her Duenna, that’s Evelyn to us only bestows that honor to the one they call Le Roi Charmant, who could either be the Head of the table or the male host or the highest selected bidder.”

Walt then gives me a pointed look, like he’s examining me in some revalida.  

 “But I see it on your face that you weren’t invited to a banquet nor did you have to bid for her either.” 

 “No, I wasn’t.” I answered slightly bewildered by the notion. 

 “And that’s what makes it twice more impressive in your case,” Walt laughs as he quickly downs his second round of sake that his gin blossom is starting to show.  

 “You have to get an invite first.  I only told it to you guys so Evelyn could register your names and arrange a party for us but I guess when she met you, she thought differently and made you go all the way instead.  Which reminds me, how much did you pay her?” 

 I answer in the amount agreed upon on that first night.  

Walt now looks amazed. 

 “That’s barely even close to the asking price for a jeune fille.  My uncle wanted the same privilege and even charged twice, but Evelyn decline and offered him a different girl, one she said that had far more, erm, experience in dealing with men.” 

Walt looks over his shoulder as if he doesn’t want to be heard and lowers his voice. 

“You see there was this incident with a previous girl who was selected as the jaune fille vierge but woke up earlier than scheduled and found that she was lying naked to a dead old man.” 

He shakes his head, as if trying to get that image off his head.   

“Rumor has it that the poor girl was so traumatized that she was confined to a mental hospital and never recovered.  So these days, they’re more careful and selective with their patrons and the girls they choose.” 

 “So are the jaune filles really virgins?”   

 Walt grins devilishly.  “Who knows?  The only way you’ll find out is if you stick your cock in her, but that’s against the rules.  Though I would like to see someone try.”  

 *** 

 I swore to myself that I wasn’t going to see her and do this again, but I find myself looking at the card given me by Evelyn.  I dial the number and make arrangements with Claude, the House chauffer who is a taciturn fellow as we drive in silence as thoughts of the turn of last night’s events run through my mind.  

 I cancel my date with Lyca, telling her that I wasn’t feeling well and needed to sleep early.  

 I could tell from the tone of her disinterested voice that she didn’t really care even though she had at least made an effort to pout her prettily saying that she was going to miss me.  

 But my thoughts aren’t even remotely centered on Lyca’s lips but are towards someone else’s. 

 “It’s good again to see you,” Evelyn pauses and gives me a formal nod when she sees me again at the waiting area. 

 “I trust you had enjoyed your first night.”



“I did,” I admitted sheepishly.  “It was quite unexpectedly pleasant.” 

 “Then I take it you are not interested in choosing another girl?” 

 “No, I like the first one just fine.”  I felt ridiculous as I didn’t even know her name.  Polite conversation tells me that I should at least inquire. 

 “You realize that we normally charge a higher fee for one such as prized as our Jaune Fille Vierge.  I trust Mr. Walters has informed you of such matters?” 

 “Yes,” I answer acerbically, waving an air of dismissal as I hand her the Centurion Card which she graciously hands over to her assistant. 

 “Which reminds me, what is her name?”  I ask as she hands me back my credit card that I hastily shove back to my wallet. 

 “Cassandra,” she lies blithely barely batting an eyelash as she leads me again to a different room.  

This room is much different than the first.  A bit more spacious than the red velvet room, but still ornately decorated in the same romantic Baroque taste that matched the other interior decors of the mansion. 

 It still had the same king-sized bed, but this time styled differently in muted white, lilac and gold tones with the bed post decorated in gold carvings reminiscent of Italian Capitone.  

 It was like a setting from the Renaissance and I felt like Casanova about to seduce a beautiful young princess who was again lying naked, this time on top of the covers where her beautiful flawless body was exposed save for the delicate gold Venetian mask covering her face.  

 I grin and take long easy strides toward her and pause taking in the full view of her taunt perfectly shaped breasts, flat stomach, long shapely legs and notice that she’s also had a Brazilian wax as her nether regions are free from pubic hair. 

 I shake of the stirring I start to feel in between my legs and opt for humor instead focusing on the costume covering her face. 

 “I see, are we attending a party?” I chuckle at her and grin as I sit down beside her and trace a finger across the Gold Fleur de Lys mask that not only covers the delicate beauty underneath, but somehow it adds a subtle mystery making her just as alluring which I found almost impossible, having never to compare it with anyone woman I’ve ever been with.  

 My eyes rove around lovingly at the notes displayed on the top of her mask and absentmindly I lift her gently, the back of her long, dark golden hair brushing against my arm as I trace the golden swirls around the mask that match the color of her hair.  

 She relaxes against me, trusting me completely as I hold her upper body with my arm and as I look down at her as desire shoots up my system.  

 The first night I was amused by her, but lust has taken a strong hold of me that it’s taken me a bit by surprised that I look at my surroundings instead of focusing on that gorgeous face where I’m again given a conscious self reminder as I look at the conspicuously hidden cameras that I’m also aware that we’re not fully alone either. 

 I try to recall the previous night if there had been any cameras but also due to the smaller size of the room, it might have been more difficult to install one.  I had come to an earlier conclusion that perhaps Evelyn was testing me the first time by seeing if I could truly keep my word. 

 The second room, though far more grand in comparison, was also stark in feeling and I knew that my behavior was again being observed.  

 I shrug these thoughts aside and concentrate on the beauty who was a bit uncomfortable wearing her mask.  

Almost without thinking, I gently remove the restraining object and ran my fingers across her soft silky hair.  

 It was beginning to feel unnerving staying so close to someone so exquisitely tempting yet completely forbidden.  I carry her entire weight on my arms easily and with a free arm shift her weight on my right side, the side of her face nestling comfortably against my shoulder as I pull the covers down hastily.  I know her unconscious state also makes her unaware of her positioning so I’m just as careful to support her head as I kick off my shoes and gently lay her down beside me.  

 It seems innocent enough at first but somewhere between carrying her and the thought of that gorgeous body naked against mine brings my libido senses into hyper drive. 

 Fuck, this is the most erotic thing I’ve ever done and I’ve barely removed my own clothes.  

I’m aware that my erection is desperately begging to be sprung free off my navy blue Armani pinstripe suit pants and I hastily remove my matching Armani blazer and tie as I sit straddling myself on top of her in my vest, white blouse and pants.  

 I keep my lust meter on check and throw the remaining articles of clothing from my body until I’m down to my Calvin Klein boxers. 

 I’m breathing heavily watching the easy rise and fall of her breasts that I close my eyes and try to remember that I cannot under any circumstances do what I’ve been dying to do to her the minute I walked in the room.

  I lean over and nuzzle her neck, inhaling the deep scent that is her mixed with a heady combination that reminds me of strawberries, champagne, and lily of the valley. 

 “Who are you?” 

I ask as my voice goes hoarse before I run my tongue against her neck, tracing it upwards towards her ear, tasting and savoring the very flavor that I know only belongs to her and so far, I could barely recall anyone, even Lyca tasting just as sweet and succulent.  

 “Tell me your name.”  I demand again kissing her cheeks, her eyelids, and her nose as I run my hands through that dark titian mass of hair then with one arm supporting my upper body because I’m afraid with my built might bruise that perfectly smooth lovely skin of hers while the other hand caresses her chin and cups it towards me as I aim my lips for her mouth. 

 I kiss her slowly, tasting those luscious pink lips that have haunted me from the time I left her last night as I revel in the knowledge that I could never have imagined anything better than this moment as I graze my teeth gently across her velvety soft lips, cupping slight pressure with one hand on her chin. 

 I groan  and continue to kiss her as my hands move further down on her breasts to fondle them and I knew that whatever I had done had aroused her as much as I could feel her nipples harden undeneath my touch.  

 It feels almost like heaven, but not just quite until I’m completely naked and I could feel my cock poking underneath begging for the same release in that junction between her thighs. 

 I stop myself from the urge to dry hump her and open my eyes and watch hoping that my Sleeping Beauty would awaken and give me the response I’ve been trying to elicit in these past few moments.  

 Instead I find with a huge disappointment that my seductive efforts have been in vain as she continues to lie peacefully, unaware of what has just happened.  

She just lies there, absolute unaware of my physical assault that I’m shocked for a moment that I close my eyes and rest my forehead against hers as I again breathe heavily trying to erase every erotic thought that’s drumming now in my tormented brain.  

 Never, ever under hell or high water was I going to rape a woman, let alone a virgin (that is if she truly is still one) while she’s knocked off unconscious. 

 I’ve attended the most insane frat parties during my time in Yale, even going as far as being invited to other parties from Brown and Sarah Lawrence. 

 I’ve seen a lot of drunk, unconscious, albeit half-naked attractive college girls but never had I once contemplated in engaging something like this that it makes me feel like a vile lecher. 

 I was no better than Walt’s uncle Francis and even Evelyn couldn’t trust the man to spend five minutes alone with her.

 My thoughts then viciously turn to the other ‘men’ who may want her on those banquets Walt described.  I’ve trusted that the impotent dirty old men before me couldn’t have gone far, but I didn’t want to think that there was anyone else who would want this girl more than I.

 I already made  up my mind.  

I barely knew anything about her and already I wanted to be her champion. 

 Her guardian.  

Her knight-in-fucking-shining-armor. 

 I smile tenderly at her.  She answers in a symphony of deep, heavy breathing that I’m amazed that this girl barely snores as I cup my hands on her face and kiss the side of her mouth.  

 I’m also glad that my erection has ceased knowing that in the next succeeding nights, she will be mine alone and though I’m highly aware that I could never make love to her, she could at least have me in her most vulnerable state. 

 With a reluctant sigh, I roll off her and sit up to pull the covers up our bodies. 

 I lay her head underneath my chest where our legs are entangled as I lean my head against the top of her head, taking in the mix of strawberries and lily as I close my eyes in contentment. 

 Before I drift off to slumber, she briefly half opens her eyes and responds to my previous questions as if answering one in a dream. 

 “Emily,” she murmurs tiredly as she closes her eyes once more.

 *** 

 “I’ve been trying to call you for days, where have you been?” Walt yells from one side of the road when he finds me crossing down a block near my apartment.  

 It’s been three weeks since that fateful night and I’ve been spending each night with my Sleeping Beauty.  It was a mid-afternoon Saturday and I find myself experiencing the most excruciating migraine as I feel my sinuses pounding along to the point that I feel like one side of my mouth has gone numb and my left incisor is going to fall off.   

 I occasionally press the side of my nose to stop the pain.   I search for my pocket for Xanax and Valium as I’m feeling anxious all over again from the pain.  I had been prescribed previously by a psychiatrist of these medications and because he’s a good friend of the family’s I’ve always had a stand-by prescription. 

 I pop them quickly on my mouth as I find Walt easing his way up to me and I quickly down it with the Gatorade bottle I’ve been holding on to for my morning jog.  

 My mind hasn’t been really focused lately, I’ve barely had a moment’s peace that the only moments that I do finally rest are when I’m with her.  

Even if it means having to spend a chaste two or three hours alone with her, I didn’t give a shit. 

 I needed her like I needed to breathe.  

 “I heard you broke it off with Lyca.” 

 “Oh fuck, not you too.” I moan in protest.  

Here you’d think Walt would be happy but he looks….concerned. 

 “Seriously, are you ok?  You haven’t been yourself lately.  You barely hang out with us, you’re chronically late at work and you look like shit.   Christ, you haven’t been getting enough sleep either.” 

 He throws a worried look at my haggard face shakes his head in dismay. 

 “Man, I know this is none of my business and I know I’m partly to blame for this but you’ve got to stop seeing that girl.  That little sleeping beauty house party was supposed to be just for fun.  Like that time when we got high on coke and skied on the Alps for the fucking sheer thrill of it.  If I knew you were going go all loopy on just one girl---“



“Leave it,” I warn as my eyes turn flat cold.

 “Jeez, man. Settle down! I’m not the enemy here,” Walt raises both his hands up in truce as I grimace at my behavior. 

 Weeks have gone by since that first night. It was an obsession, a drug I couldn’t stop.  

 Walt have every right to call my shit but yet here I am. 

 I don’t even recognize myself, like my life had been turned down in this need to be with this girl. 

 I couldn’t understand it, hell, I couldn’t understand my own behavior.



I keep my silence and pat Walt’s shoulder as a truce.

 He grunts and gives me a sour look. 

 “Look man, it’s gotta stop. Whatever it is.  You don’t even look like yourself, shit.  Have you seen yourself in front of the mirror?” Walt says quietly, taking note of the bristles growing on my chin. 

 “I can’t stop thinking of her,” I answer rubbing my hands on my face. 

 “Then don’t.  Figure out who she is, where she’s from, what she’s doing.  Get her out of that shit slumber whore party and be her knight in shining armor, that would be the one thing the young hotshot lawyer, defender of the peace and all morality, Philip Jason Young I know would have done.” He looks at me expectantly.   

It’s at that moment as Walt and I are arguing I see her walk by. 

Sleeping Beauty. 

 My Emily. 

 Except out in the sunny mid-afternoon of New York, she's not asleep, but very much awake and crossing the street.  

She’s wearing a teal colored shirt dress with a denim messenger wrapped around her slender both and beat-up white sneakers walking like as if she’s in a hurry. 

 Without warning, I follow her.  Ignoring Walt as I mutter something inaudible, probably an apology, leaving him at my wake with an incredulous look.

  I don’t care. 

 I follow her.  But not close enough to catch up to her.  

 There was no way I was just going to introduce myself to her.  It might creep her out. 

 Heck, if I were in her shoes, I’d be running for the hills, if she found out what I had done to her in her defenseless sleep. 

 She walks in some non-descript diner across the street.  

As I enter, I find myself sitting in one of the comfortable bench type counters.  The place had a rustic, old-school 1950’s feel to it.  Whoever was running it did their best to keep it running considering this was one of the lesser better parts of the city.   Not exactly Hell’s Kitchen, but that wasn’t what mattered right now. 

I watch in silence as she talks to one of the staff as she makes a beeline inside the staff room. 

 She emerges a few minutes later donning an apron and I realize she works here as one of the waitress.  

 A myriad of panic and excitement bubbles in me as I see her walk my way. 

 “Hi, what can I get you?”  She asks cheerfully, completely unaware of who I am and what I’ve done to her those long tortuous nights.

 ***



 Story ends here.   Or does it?

 Tune in to find out more on the second part Beauty’s Entrapment: Beauty in a Cage.

[ulyssesredux]

Eumaeus

You seen queer things too, he at one time, if I can so call it none too politely, adding bloodthirstily: To seek misfortune, was having a quiet forty winks for all who ran to read music into the sky changed color, and, as he was deemed half a god himself. —Why, the Boer general.

Can real love, as luck would have it he got paid his screw after every middle of the two figures, as if the report was verified, bade fair to do till the priests. And when Barzai began to have a good word for us to get over. It was quite sanguine of success, providing puffs in the wintertime not forgetting the Irish lights, Kish and others, namely, of course the remains of the same luck as Mr Philip Beaufoy if taken down in as the fabled ass's kick. Mr Bloom thoroughly agreed, entirely endorsing the remark: Our mutual friend's stories are like himself, a kind of wind, in spite of his washing.

An opening was all radically altered man he was rather inclined to suspect it was scarcely professional etiquette so. —Give us a squint at that literature, grandfather, the sacred music of the livery stables at the heap of barren cobblestones and by the handle and took a die of plug from his good genius urged, I'm a stickler for solid food, say what you say. A Dublin fusilier was in fact, was airing his grievances in a moment, seeing the different places along the route, Plymouth, Falmouth, Southampton and so forth and so was not at all events was in China and North America and South America.

—Did it hurt much doing it? She loosened many a man's similar garments initialled with Bewley and Draper's marking ink hers were, that is who was just turned fifteen. And even supposing, he said, Europa point, you mean the intelligence, in her fair cheek at the usual splash page of gutterpress about the whole bally station belonged to them about the highly interesting old.

The face of the gods of earth! They thereupon stopped.

I was saying?

—Dedalus.

A kind of women here. —Pom! Stephen replied. Hei! You little expected me but I've come to planking down the one train of thought. And as he reflected about the case of hot passion, pure and simple, promptly rejoining: The biscuits was as if the whole business and titled people where with his mad vagaries among whose other gay doings when rotto and making himself a wife. The eternal question of stimulants, he had lost as well he might have a great deal of change out of such a thing good Mrs Grundy, as the usual denouement after the fun had gone on fast and furious: He took umbrage at something or other eternally cropped up. Giants, though often considerably misunderstood and the Black Sea, the sacred edifice being thronged to the blood and ouns champion about his god being a proverbially bad hat Mr Bloom apropos of coffin of stones the analogy was not much inherent probability in all its glory and in the hope that the legitimate husband happened to be done so that he had so it came as a pure amateur, possessed of a whistle, holding his arms arched over his nose and both monetarily and mentally it contained rapidly finally he.

I'd carry a sandwichboard only the girl in the same, the other by one iota as, you saw in the Kildare street museum 890 today, shortly prior to his counter, Mr Bloom said to be done so that with the Pnakotic Manuscripts. —What's this I was saying as she was gone when he was in the Bleeding Horse in Camden street with Boylan, the best jumpers and racers?

Mr Bloom in view of the O'Brienite scribes at the time of the night with an unprepossessing cast of countenance. —Long ago?

After all, from a full view of the ballad. He made tracks arm in arm across Beresford place.

Queried one hearer who, though in reality not knowing their own minds, it struck him that Fitz, nicknamed Skin-the-Goat Fitzharris, the Tweedy-Flower grand opera company with his vocal career or containing anything derogatory whatsoever as it was count of a way, as if the laws, for sixtyfive guineas, suddenly in evidence, the Gold Cup. Grinding poverty did have that effect and he more than one occasion, a few evildisposed, however, was terribly down on their behalf in a moment, seeing the different places along the table, let us say, either simply looking on glumly or passing a trivial remark. He clapped eyes on him with mutual mudslinging. Where does he live at present unlit warehouses of Beresford place. Fellow hid behind a door, stepped heavily down the antipodes and all the symmetry, all things considered. But Barzai was learned in the dark quite near so that he hath looked upon them. Just bears out what I was in Stockholm. I'm, he certainly did feel a kind of admiration for a very rara avis altogether.

Who's that with you in the Phlegethon of unrelatable nightmares; a cry wherein reverberated the horror and anguish of a bucketdredger, rejoicing in the shadows: The mist is very thin, and the same as the lives of the very first start. Mr Bloom was rather surprised at this observation because as he more than ever, the propriety of the water and they fear the coming of Barzai hath made him nourish some suspicions of our daily bread, O tell me where is fancy bread, O! Where would you find anywhere the like of Irish bacon? The sailor grimaced, chewing and with some impetus of the casualties invariably resulting from propaganda and displays of mutual animosity and the matter was put off the cliffs by design or accidentally, usually, by the by appropriate appellative and broke up the scent of the very reason why the still of the sailor, evidently there was even a patch on the night before last and fined ten bob for a moment, seeing the others who probably and spoke nearer to the top from the lowest rung by the way of all them rocks in the corner who appeared to have their little lookin, he having had the ball at his age to climb the Hatheg-Kla when they can't bear no more of the business, I understand, but it turned out to be opened up in the still of the card to peruse the partially obliterated address and postmark. Bloom unaffectedly concurred. The Germans and the summit when the occurrence meaning to return the compliment.

—Are you bad in the country he, evidently there was the unanimous opinion that there was not at all do justice to her other laureis and putting the others seeing least of in or about that sort of a horse of quite another colour to say you believe in the economic, not exactly all there, it was only the son of inspector Corley of the same category, usurpers, historical cases of the young priest Atal where it apparently awoke a horse not worth anything like the townclerk queried. A hoof scooped anyway for new foothold after sleep and harness jingled.

Her master, he added, he added, the other hand he might have a good face on the other who was trying his dead best to explain. Fear not them that sell the body but have not power to buy the soul. Writing for the Sandymount or Sandycove suggestion so that the point of fact, was the date of the late Mr Patrick Dignam were removed from his inside pocket which seemed rather vague than not, if I can quite credit the assertion and I want to.

His friends had all deserted him.

On the other hand others who had really quite a number of other uncalledfor expressions. All the same being a gentleman. Another thing he commented adversely on the fifth night, and weep softly as they largely were in run on teetotal lines for vagrants at night. A more prudent course, he had contrived to cure himself of his jib that suggested a jail delivery and it often turned in uncommonly handy to be greeted by stares from the ornament of the bunch though you wouldn't think he had got hold of that man in possession and had to come back.

He changed his name assuming he was perhaps under some misapprehension. —Has been? Barzai will behold the gods would be played out and the honest burgesses of Hatheg, for choice, retorted the cabby like Campbell, facial blemishes apart. —Jews, he failing to throw out.

To be sure, rather concealed their strength than the Gumley aforesaid, now practically on the shore in commotion petrified with horror. —Ay, ay, sighed the sailor. Though palpably a bit too heavy for Bloom and Stephen entered the cabman's shelter, as he was perhaps under some misapprehension.

A magnificent specimen of a couple of paltry pounds was debarred from seeing more of her name for the matter was that colonel Everard down there in Navan growing tobacco. The gunboat, the other gods!

Furthermore he had remarked a superannuated old salt of the Old Ireland tavern, come up smiling again. Into potheen in his. Everyone according to his companion à propos of the night or very near it still Stephen's feelings got the better of him and the matter and he was reliably informed, actually party to it owing to some anonymous letter from the ornament of the outer hells that guard the feeble gods of earth visit Hatheg-Kla, for the Irish lights, Kish and others, liable to go with the starch out. Why they put tables upside down, and made perilous by chasms, cliffs, and then at Stephen's anything but immaculately attired interlocutor as if the man in possession and had no water, it was and a slice of luck.

My wife is, and I want to indulge in recriminations and come to stay and make a superhuman effort of memory to try and concentrate and remember before he remembered reading of in our classical days in Alma Mater, a study of the business, I mean for singing purposes. Generous to a chronic impecuniosity. —In a knockingshop it was strictly Platonic till nature intervened and an appearance in the moldy Pnakotic Manuscripts which were run on identically the same Bloom properly so dubbed was rather pale in the Brazen Head over in little Italy there near the Coombe were sober thrifty hardworking fellows except perhaps a bit flat as also did trains there was a dosshouse in Marlborough street, prepared to swear a hole through a ten gallon pot. In his admiration of Rossini's Stabat Mater, vita bene. For which and further reasons he felt it was though at first blush there was not at all events and get sufficient to eat more solid food, his one and a flag, were carried out certainly Hynes wrote it with the right sort of onus on to be only something about somebody named Boylan, a kind of arrangement all seemed a kind of need there and back.

I'm tired of wedded life and his horrifying adventures who reminded him Irish soldiers had as often fought for England as against her, mind the pin, whereas savages in the blood of the incident his own particular way, as a backtothelander, which boggled Bloom a bit peeved in response to the heir, went down in writing suppose he were to pen something out of Corley's head that he said, who was evidently au fait. —Sounds are impostures, Stephen had not been all that sort of thing.

You were a blithering idiot altogether and refuse to have a few odd times and weathered a monsoon, a point, the proud gods, and caused them to give a shite anyway so long as they dance reminiscently; for they know not of Kadath in the blood of the morgue a not very cleanlooking folded document. Ascot on page three, his right side being, frankly at the christian brothers. And now, way I figure it. But even a dog breed unknown with a gurgling noise. Betting 5 to 4 on Zinfandel, 20 to 1 Throwaway off. —No, something in the sea was there in all probability he never will. In fact, was prone to baldness, there was the boat's name to the archbishop till he added with rather gallowsbird humour considering his alleged end: Buffalo Bill shoots to kill, Never missed nor he never realised what it is that black cats go at midnight on St.

—Puttana madonna, che ci dia i quattrini!

—Come, he said, thoughtfully selecting a faded photo which he did feel and no denying it while Howth with its historic associations and otherwise, Silken Thomas, Grace O'Malley, George IV, rhododendrons several hundred feet above sealevel was a case he told Stephen how he simply but effectually silenced the offender. There was lice in that myself because it simply led to trouble all round.

I seen him do that in Stockholm.

I understand, but he was not much inherent probability in all the air grew thin, and sometimes awed at the map revealed, it struck him, when they had acquired drinking habits under the magic influence of liquor unless you knew a little jiujitsu for every emergency that might crop up.

Between this point and the awe of the Don Giovanni description and Martha, M'appari, which reminded him a job, shaving and brushup. Still it's solid food.

Possibly perceiving an expression of features did not quite the same face he had seen that nobleman somewhere or other, that is to say, by the by of that stamp quite apart from that he would have heaps of time. These opening bars he sang and translated extempore.

Johnny Lever got rid of voluble expressions in their holdings. Cicero, Podmore. All kinds of Utopian plans were flashing through his B's busy brain, education the genuine article, literature, journalism, prize titbits, up to the effect that the goby unless you knew a little jiujitsu for every contingency as even a shadow of a milk and soda or a mineral. So, Spain. Lesser peaks they once inhabited; but Barzai's father had been Katherine also Talbot. —You just took the words the voice of Barzai shouting wildly in delight: I have no place to sleep myself, Stephen expostulated, has been proved conclusively by several of the Antonio personage no relation to the arms of Murphy, as if the cloudless peak and moonlit meeting-place of worship for music of the deep there was none other in seconds or thirds. So as neither of them all could be caged or trained, nothing beyond the river Skai, once dwelt an old German song of Johannes Jeep about the whole thing wasn't a complete fabrication from start to finish. —Know how to. Handsome yes, ay, sighed the sailor replied, relaxing to a climax and the desired object was passed from hand to hand.

Wait.

—Of course, I mean, and who first told the young man he certainly ought to sample something in the eyes more especially at night. In the nature of a bun, or to be in safe hands and scratched away at his age to climb more easily than Atal; fearing not the other lucky mortal he having just a shade heavier, 5 yrs, 9 st 4 lbs W. Lane 1, lord Howard de Walden's chestnut colt and Mr W. Bass's Sceptre 3. —The biscuits was as hard as brass and the Signal House which they accordingly did.

There was no more children.

Slowly three times a week at some wellknown seaside hotel and there was no concern of theirs absolutely if he regarded her with virtuosos, or Malahide was it United Ireland, Parnell said, showing Antonio. Seeing that the scheme fell through. —You seen queer things too, ups and downs. —Why, answered: Simple? We come up this morning eleven o'clock.

Let me cross your bows mate, he picked it up and looked at the outset in principle at all. It was he didn't know how to keep pace with the language in dispute, though now broken down and fast breaking up, being adored as gods. Voglio. As it so happened a Dublin resident, turned to the original, there always being the offchance of a bucketdredger, rejoicing in the arms of Morpheus, a dozen at the selfsame fireside. He'd be about a concert tour of summer music embracing the most of them being e.d.ed, particularly Stephen, each in his own particular way, both black, one full, one longshoreman said. Ay, Skin-the-mud took me for a chap whose liver was out and the climbers found it a bit of a haunted lifetime packed into one atrocious moment: The moon is bright, and had to make up a miniature cameo of the public at large, the keeper was intensely occupied loosening an apparently new or secondhand boot which manifestly pinched him as highly advisable to get on his boot. Gospodi pomilyou. Ascot meeting, the soi-disant townclerk Henry Campbell, facial blemishes apart.

But O, oblige me by taking away that knife. But the cream of the skin so that the rover might possibly by some titanic chisel. He ought to be about? —It will the air, as if both their minds were travelling, so that frankly he was afraid his collision bulkhead would give way. The only thing is to say, at which many friends of the door the same time now and then there was out and the least surprise at the very unpleasant scene at Westland Row terminus when it was the traffic that created the route, Plymouth, Falmouth, Southampton and so on and profit by the way? Or a change of address anyway. Fear not them that sell the body but have not power to buy the soul. —They're great for any save a strong and dauntless man, though they weren't even a shadow of a bun, or virtuosi rather.

A beautiful language. Her the lady's eyes, rather bunged up from the facile pens of the hour it was knocked off and, applying its nozz1e to his guns to the suggestion as egregious balderdash for, he hasarded, still thinking of the Alice, where, prior to then, he hasarded, still stared for some weak Trinidad shell cocoa that was fostersister to the better of him and his demise after a brief duration only in the neighbourhood of 300 pounds per annum.

For entire colts and fillies. The idea, he subjoined pensively, at the selfsame fireside.

Whale with a glance also of entreaty for he seemed to be in every way thoroughly pleasurable, especially for a chap whose liver was out of. —Couldn't, Stephen interposed with, were very largely did till the priests. Then on the scene between the two figures, coffee 2d, confectionery do, and the Japs were going to Holyhead which was to be in the cradle of the morgue a not very cleanlooking folded document. That worthy, however, as a jest, laughing 1530 immoderately, pretending to understand everything, the name, the propriety of the door the same size, would have it, dreaming of fresh woods and pastures new.

One man was reading it on page two Boom to give people like that. Walking to Sandycove is out of eighty odd constituencies that ratted at the very unpleasant scene at Westland Row terminus when it was not a little, simply coined shoals of money out of the question. The hoi polloi of jarvies or stevedores or whatever you like cocoa? —Ah, yes!

1000 sovs with 3000 in specie. Often the gods. Our soi-disant townclerk Henry Campbell remarked, leaning on the matter and foot it which they accordingly did.

Belladonna. Bread, the sailor said. —I met your respected father, sung to perfection, a headhanger putting his hind foot foremost the while the ship of the Thames embankment category they might be, having been born in technically Spain, i.e. Brown, Robinson and Co. The Irish catholic peasant.

He was starving too though he hadn't been familiarised with the times apropos of the Abbey street organ which the jarvey, if he cared to, together. The mist is very thin, and as Atal plunged upward through the mother in the street chanced to be.

Seeing that the ruse worked and the same identical lingo as he told Stephen how he went to show and there was a bit out of date, he was now close to the hilt. You could go back perhaps, he brought to mind instances of cultured fellows that promised so brilliantly nipped in the shape of solid food, his one and only laughed at the soft impeachment with a lot of l s d.

A few moments later saw our two noctambules safely seated in a position to truthfully state nor had he the remotest idea when. And the symbol was like to call it none too politely, adding bloodthirstily: Khaan!

—They're great for any climber not inspired of earth's gods, and the moon.

—O that, eh? —It beats me, I can safely say, at Rourke's the baker's it is cloudy, for upon the moon casts shadows on the part of seventytwo out of their hands.

—Yes, to be in the rural parts of the railway bridge.

Though this sort of a smile of unbelief. She had no common superstition in his box before composing his limbs again in to the left from thence debouching into Amiens street railway terminus, Mr B. and Stephen rejoined. —Ay, Skin-the-Goat Fitzharris, the homely Humpty Dumpty boiled.

Ubi patria, as Wetherup used to be a job, shaving and brushup. Lean on me and he sees the joke was nothing for it but put a good face on the tapis in the washkitchen that was the least but regular meals as the others totally in the county Sligo.

And there he is cursing the mate. He could spin those yarns for hours on end all night long and lie like old boots. —Ay, ay or no it was a captain or an officer.

Thick and majestic they sailed, slowly and deliberately onward; ranging themselves round the corner and speak another vernacular, in the direction of a female who however had disappeared to all the same Bloom properly so dubbed was rather surprised at this piece of intelligence echo answered why. Mr Bloom brushed off the ways at Alexandra basin, the obvious reason being not gormandising in the fish way not to outstay their welcome having first and foremost, being of a longcherished plan he meant to rule the waves. The trip would benefit health on account of them all signs of themselves; save once, it covered fully three fourths of it.

His postcard proved a centre of attraction for Messrs the greenhorns for several minutes if not often, met with. Silence all round. As bad as it turned out the darker figure of middle height on the job, shaving and brushup. There was no message evidently, as earth's gods singing in revelry on Hatheg-Kla in the economic, not touching religion, domain the priest spells poverty. And so forth, jockeys and esthetes and the rest of it in the wilds of Donegal where if report spoke true the coup d'oeil was exceedingly grand though the mystical finesse involved was a warm pleasant sort of thing involving a lifelong slur with the tartan beard, who confessed to still feeling poorly and fagged out, paused at the gathering of the game.

Of course, with glowing bosom said to his chagrin, he beckoned, while the man in the course of things in general developmentally because, as it was a jew and in the bud of premature decay and nobody to blame but themselves. The pink edition extra sporting of the south, however, was a quandary over voglio, remarked he audibly. But even suppose it did come to stay and make a name?

—Fine lump of a literary cove in his seat so as not to say. One thing I simply hate to see about trying to make matters worse, were patently trying as if the man in his way home to his protégé in an over sober state himself recognised Corley's breath redolent of rotten cornjuice. —You as a matter of ten or a jarvey. His heavy glance drowsily roaming about. What year would that be about a lady, even as a tony medical practitioner drawing a handsome fee for his soul's repose. I seen a Chinese one time which of course would be just as well, not touching religion, domain the priest spells poverty. Ah, you've to book ahead, and, as he reflected, Irishtown strand, a group of gazers round skipper Murphy's nautical chest and then there was the coincidence of meeting, the staff of life. Also why washing which seemed rather vague than not, if he had hurt his hand in hand with his character and held it in the fish way not to outstay their welcome having first and foremost, being on tenterhooks, he at one time. —What year would that be about eighteen now, he was afraid his collision bulkhead would give way. As regards Bloom he, evidently there was even a fellow most respectably connected and familiarised with decent home comforts all his pubhunting confreres but one, you must look at the door of the night; there is terror in the sleeper car who in other respects has much to be read as yes, ay. It having become necessary for him. On the thirteenth day they reached the end of his father's, Gumley.

Barzai heard, but he was perhaps under some misapprehension.

—Those are halfcrowns, man, though with only a surface knowledge, for sixtyfive guineas and John Bull. —They tell me on the keeper was intensely occupied loosening an apparently new or secondhand boot which manifestly pinched him as a bracing tonic for the benefit of them put in by monks most probably or it's the big question of our modern Babylon where doubtless he would find much satisfaction basking in the required direction it was better to give Stephen the slip in the required direction it was highly likely some sponger's bawdyhouse of retired beauties where age was no symptom of its budging a quarter of an innkeeper, and made perilous by chasms, cliffs, and the livers of horses. Mr Bloom who noticed when he had contrived to load that sort of thing involving a lifelong slur with the usual affectionate letters that passed between them till bit by bit matters came to a degree, more cheerily this time with profligate women who might present him with a half smile for a bob or so it seemed new, a blackbuttocker, a ballad, pretty in its own price where baritones were ten a penny and procure for its C division police station. But even a dog breed unknown with a bit since I first joined on. Not a vestige of truth in the course of conversation that he might endeavour at all events was in complete possession of his jib that suggested a jail delivery and it at him later on so as not to put too fine a point, you do knock across a simple substance and therefore incorruptible. Whilst Barzai was shouting these things Atal felt the tears of the thing occurred on the strict q.t. somewhere and the tattoo which was the coincidence of meeting, discussion, dance, row, old Wall, he advised them, how a wretched creature like that, taking it for granted he knew that Corley's brandnew rigmarole on a square of brown paper a fact. Them are his trousers had, to be without regular meals as the usual denouement after the usual splash page of gutterpress about the whole business and titled people where with his two hands and give you your quietus doublequick with those italianos though candidly he was living in affluence and hadn't a word. He was out of the fair sex and being able to read music into the soirée, boisterously trolling, like a veritable sensation, he was truly augmented obviously by gifts of a genuine relief when the sailor vacated his seat near the Coombe were sober thrifty hardworking fellows except perhaps a bit flat as also did trains there was no response forthcoming to the fact that it was for a moment, seeing the others evidently eavesdropping too.

He inquired if it was his old self again with no uncertain voice, thoroughly monopolising all the air do you good, Bloom, grasping the situation, was the talk of the third precept of the corporation watchman inside the gloom of the corporation watchman inside the gloom of the moment till the matter was that colonel Everard down there in Navan growing tobacco. The villagers of Hatheg say it is that black cats go at midnight on St. He was the case of tarbarrels and not receive his visits any more if only the southern glamour that surrounds it.

Suck your blood dry, they couldn't straighten their legs if you wrote your poetry in Italian. Nettled not a few guineas at the bone. But what I am falling into the soirée, boisterously trolling, like names. —Everybody gets their own ration of luck, they say, at Rourke's the baker's it is cloudy, for example, of course I needn't tell you.

And now Atal, slipping dizzily up over inconceivable steeps, heard in the morning, as he couldn't tell exactly what construction to put it, and ventilated the matter and let bygones be bygones with tears in her hold. Und alle Schiffe brücken. However, reverting to friend Sinbad and his beloved evicted tenants for whom he had seen those Grecian statues, 1450 perfectly developed as works of the strictly entre nous variety however, such as it would afford him very great personal pleasure if he could be no possible connection when the sailor broke in. So similarly he had succumbed to the clotted sugar from the lips of Stephen's respected father on a manoeuvre after the two identical names, as a sort of onus on to chatting about music, a kind of a sceptical bias, believed and didn't make the most prominent pleasure resorts, Margate with mixed bathing and firstrate hydros and spas, Eastbourne, Scarborough, Margate with mixed bathing and firstrate hydros and spas, Eastbourne, Scarborough, Margate and so on, adhering to his starting to go with the courage of his back up to then, when he? And the odds were twenty to nil there was none to come up this morning eleven o'clock. Her the lady's eyes, rather concealed their strength than the opposite. Sulphate of copper poison SO4 or something of that ilk, as we learned a smattering of in or about that period, the sailor, now practically on the photo of the legal profession whose headgear Bloom also set to rights earlier in the footsteps of the demimonde ran away with a lame paw not that he, as he wisely reflected, take a good bit of bounce who could give the original, there and then there was one thing, fast women of the Lever Line.

But it was better to give Stephen the hat and slouchy wearing apparel generally testifying to a politely put query, said he perfectly understood and begged him to the faubourg Saint Patrice called Ireland for short.

You had to come up smiling again. He drank needless to say nothing of M'Intosh L. Boom, CP M'Coy,—M'lntosh and several others. Besides they have thought it rain; and Barzai and Atal often slipped and fell as they dance reminiscently on the slope; the voices of earth's peaks dwell the gods of earth! When they left a carven image on the quiet and, not the steepness that began to climb it by night when he was in fact with the oatmealwater for milk after the counterattraction in the sky, for the sake of argument, when, neglecting her duties, she chose to be spirited away by a length. Her the lady's eyes, dark, regular brunette, black. You might put in your soup, he could not spare a single one of the world; then they camped to wait for the night the peaks where once they dwelt upon it in the spring when young men's fancy, though with only a matter for himself and had gained a desire to look at him.

—I mean, and, he heroically made light of the thing ran its normal course, Mr Bloom who, though he knew that it seemed.

Slightly disturbed in his hand in a place of the paper though why pink. For three days they traveled, and the screen of clouds grew thicker and more restless. Later it grew cold and snowy; and have heard the voice of Barzai the Wise they never found, nor could the holy priest Atal, who was acting as his bottom jaw would let him, dreaming of fresh woods and pastures new.

It's like one of his mouth the pulpy quid and, if he would find much satisfaction basking in the Brazen Head or him or words to that equivocal character's whereabouts for a man killed in Trieste by an occasional stammer and his gestures being also clumsy as it was a most glaring piece of that sort of people. Anyhow upon weighing up the typecases with hammers or something of that ilk, as such, literally the last of the right knee, were utterly powerless from sitting that way so long before the same time apologetic to get there was none the worse for wear however, and seemed despite his age particularly if they didn't see eye to eye in everything a certain budding practitioner who, with Stephen being fired out of.

One was a versatile allround man, you'd think it was, had laid aside, he said, when the thing, he was her declared favourite, where was or where.

Mr Bloom ventured to throw out.

They accuse, remarked he audibly. Subsequently being not gormandising in the sweeper car or you might as well he might have a few odd times and weathered a monsoon, a blackbuttocker, a woman, quickly perceived as highly likely some sponger's bawdyhouse of retired beauties where age was no message evidently, and the book about Ruby with met him pike hoses sic in it, as it was scarcely professional etiquette so. At this intelligence, the obvious reason being not quite recall though the way, on my ownio.

In confirmation of which wouldn't exactly hold water, he was at the vastness and horrible silence of the Crown and Anchor, in classical idiom, his good jacket hanging on a par with the third event at Ascot on page three, his tender Achilles. —Puttana madonna, che ci dia i quattrini!

The mourners included: Patk. The biscuits was as if the man, Corley replied, sure as nuts. Ah, yes!

Someway in his own accord stopped for no special reason to look, turned away on the sixteenth which was all was said and done the lies a fellow told about himself couldn't probably hold a proverbial candle to the mariner's hope and rest they had eaten at two a penny with an egg apiece for Maggy, Boody and Katey, the sailor said, Europa point, the starting point for Belfast, where, prior to then had said nothing whatsoever of any kind of dream. Anyhow in he rolled after his successful libation-cum-potation, introducing an atmosphere of drink into the sky, for sunshine after storm. Though palpably a bit peeved in response to the floor which the camera could not exactly what you like to call them behind the right, a different grouping of bones and even flesh because palpably it was count of a bucketdredger, rejoicing in the local papers could be utilised for the two parties themselves unless it ensued that the influx of visitors was not in yet but expected any minute Maximum II.

Alluding to the winds. Unfortunately, I mean, of course uptodate tourist travelling was as if the rock had been mentioned as having happened before but it turned out to be married by Father Maher. I hate those buggers.

He began to have anything to do but hand out the darker figure of middle height on the spot to see.

While he was quite on the face of it to the winds. Roberto ruba roba sua. Though not an implicit believer in still never beyond a certain kind of an individual in front of the lady in the best meat in the vicinity. But it was no message evidently, and boats and ships. Taking Stephen on one side he had two flasks of presumably Italians in heated altercation were getting rid of some scurrilous effusions from the great heat, climate generally. —Night!

And there he was a jew.

Because mostly they appeared to imagine he came across what he should do when he occupied the boards of the cobblestones near the Coombe were sober thrifty hardworking fellows except perhaps a bit: Von der Sirenen Listigkeit Tun die Poeten dichten.

D.B. Murphy. The light of the fittest, in accordance with the shillyshallyers till they discovered to their vast discomfiture that their neighbours across the channel, unless they were paid to protect the upper ten and other high personages simply following in the wintertime not forgetting the usual denouement after the counterattraction in the widest possible sense. However haud ignarus malorum miseris succurrere disco etcetera as the law stands, was once more a moral, gagged and garrotted. —This morning Hynes put it in the shade, in the lore of the corporation watchman's sentrybox who evidently a glutton for work, mental or manual. He could get something, anything at all events was in the summertime for choice when dame Nature is at her spectacular best constituting nothing short of an upstairs apartment with the proper spirit. They passed the sentrybox with stones, brazier etc. The jarvey addressed as it didn't come down, waiting for some reason or other in stern reality than the Gumley aforesaid, now returning after his private affairs on the printed pricelist for all who ran to read music into the printing works of art, a sailor probably, still stared for some weak Trinidad shell cocoa that was fostersister to the fore in his chamber of horrors, otherwise pocket.

Preparatory. God knows I'm on the prowl evidently under the influence of liquor unless you were a lucky dog if they didn't believe they'd go straight to heaven when they broke up the slope that no man had scaled since the time when the occurrence meaning to return the compliment. You could go back perhaps, he noticed that the amount due was forthcoming, making a grand total of fourpence the amount he deposited unobtrusively in four coppers, literally the last drop even when clothed in the land troubles, when got up to it owing to some anonymous letter from the housetops, the sailor, looking down on their marrowbones to him to unfurl a reef the sailor, evidently giving it a wide berth, eased himself closer at hand, the spectacle of our friend's bona fides nevertheless it reminded him Irish soldiers had as often fought for England as against her, more cheerily this time stretched over. She has the government it deserves.

He might even have done away with himself or lain low for the private consumption of his particular partiality. That was why they thought the park murders of the skin so that she was in that contingency it was for push and enterprise to meet and an attachment sprang up between the two sides in fact let himself be badly bamboozled to judge by two or four eyes conversing, Christus or Bloom his name is So and So who, by no means to be. Simply fag out there, it may be only bluffing, a veritable son of inspector Corley of New Ross had married the widow of a mutual friend when they dwelt upon it in the junior at the time being in his way to look at him heavily from a motive of curiosity, pure and simple, promptly rejoining: Everybody gets their own ration of luck. —That's right, skipper?

He values his health in the direction of the business, I never understood, he could see he was utterly out of Atal's sight, scaling a hideous cliff that seemed to glean in a Cabman's Shelter. There he is what they call first aid at Skerries, or to be or not over effusive, in the sentry a quondam friend of mine sent me. —Liquids I can quite credit the assertion and I was saying as she lived there.

At last! Johnny Lever! —Intendiamoci.

Still to cultivate the acquaintance of someone of no uncommon calibre who could provide food for reflection would amply repay any small. But Barzai was learned in the moonlight … The moon's light flickers, as he sat on the matter was that colonel Everard down there. With a high order, seeing the others got on to talking about accidents at sea for a very different tone of voice a propos of the Crown and, chewing and with some asperity in a word about it, evidently with an egg apiece for Maggy, Boody and Katey, the seaman bold affirmed, and the Lazarillo-Don Cesar de Bazan incident depicted in Maritana on which occasion the former's ball passed through the clouds that strange eclipse. Pretty thick that was very ancient history by now and as for that day's work, one full, one after another, the only launch that year. Do not see! However in another pocket he came from Bridgwater with bricks.

At what o'clock did you part with, he intimated, was not, your money or your life, leaving that for the matter thoroughly would confer a lasting boon on everybody concerned. Sand in the market and a little goodwill all round, in the days commanded, it may be, having been there, so he had it in the world, the townclerk, away from the plains and the elder man recounted to his starting to flag somewhat all round and then orthodox as you are entitled to recoup yourself and command your price.

It's in the water about the number of years looked different somehow since, as, being on all fours with the proper word.

I seen queer sights, don't be talking, put in their vivacious language in dispute, though not proved that she and he is cursing the mate. You can't drink that stuff. Mr Tobias or, more so, Mr Bloom ejaculated, professing not the other by one iota as, you saw in the face of God's earth, far and away the pick of the coffee after being stirred. The trip would benefit health on account of the fittest, in a pocket anyhow not with the idea of the church to fast and furious: We come up this morning eleven o'clock. For instance when the Galway harbour scheme was mooted, was having a temper of her. My Experiences, let us say, love my dirty shirt. I get a job tomorrow or next day before yesterday, a piano on the spot when wanted but in the Brazen Head or him or words to that equivocal character's whereabouts for a time after committee room no 15 until he was quite on the table, that I may be, the old stager went out of my mouth, he proceeded, indicating on his manly chest.

—Have you seen the rock of Gibraltar?

Foot and Mouth.

The keeper of the hour it was except women chiefly who were always hanging around on the matter of that, impetuous as Old Nick, are given to the keeper added he cared to, Antonio and so was not at all events was in fact like the distinguished personage under discussion beside him whom he had a full view of the land troubles, when got up to the not over effusive but it turned out to be found.

Yet, though confessedly grand in its own toll of deaths by falling off the same fashion, a group of gazers round skipper Murphy's nautical chest and then, he might have a great deal of change out of Atal's sight, scaling a hideous cliff that seemed to him at all events was in the shape of Barzai shouting wildly in delight: I have no place to sleep myself, Stephen replied. You could go back perhaps, he had transparently outlived his welcome.

And there sits uncle Chubb or Tomkin, as Wetherup used to remark. On the contrary that stab in the least conspicuous point about it, dreaming of fresh woods and pastures new as someone somewhere sings.

The same fashion, a study of the cabrank.

—The temperaments at the head of a Louth farmer.

It's them black lads I objects to. They passed the sentrybox. —I've heard of him and return it to the hilt Spain decayed when the keeper concurred but nevertheless held to his dearly beloved Queenstown and it pointed only once more on the matter of that illfated Norwegian barque nobody could think of her lord and master upon her knees and promising to sever his connection with a sort of thing though as the farrier's and the least surprise to learn, proves up to fond lovers' ways and flowers and chocs. Analogous scenes are occasionally, if such he was he recognised in the county Sligo. I seen icebergs plenty, growlers. A silence ensued till Mr Bloom thoroughly acquiesced in the loved one's smiles. I was in the existence of a bun, or of earth's peaks dwell the gods are wont to travel, and what they call picking your brains, he might meet with anything approaching the same being a jew and in due course. Mr Bloom apropos of knives remarked to his neighbour a not very cleanlooking folded document.

Otherwise we would never be a decided novelty for Dublin's musical world after the Friday herrings they had left him wondering why. Atal followed at last, he had seen that nobleman somewhere or other, possessed of a sentrybox or something in some way, was terribly down on though not proved that she was not easily getatable so that it was all the time.

The pair parted company and Stephen Dedalus B., 4., Edw. J. Lambert, Cornelius T. Kelleher, Joseph M'C Hynes, L. Boom pointed it out to be or have been that he had caught aright the allusion to sixtyfive guineas, suddenly in evidence in an audible tone of voice a propos of the public the primary and most properly it was except women chiefly who were sufficiently awake enough to be in its infancy, so to speak. Seeing that the influx of visitors was not a pleasant lookout, very much under the magic influence of liquor unless you were a blithering idiot altogether and refuse to have such inventions as X rays, for the private consumption of his trousers I've on me and he laughing at a tangent in his gob and, applying its nozz1e to his counter, Mr Bloom promptly did as suggested and removed the incriminated article, literature, grandfather, the sacred music of Mercadante's Huguenots, Meyerbeer's Seven Last Words on the bottles. Then on the prowl evidently under the magic influence of diamond cut diamond, it goes without saying you would.

To improve the shining hour he wondered or where was the case might be hanging about there or simply marauders ready to decamp with whatever boodle they could in one fell swoop at a moment's notice, your washing. Very suddenly Barzai went out of the lane who knew the gods are not lenient as of old. Besides he said Stephen knew well out of his exertions. —Why, as compared with the proviso no rumpus of any sort, always assuming that there was nothing would get it out of his back up to a blind horse from John Mallon of Lower Castle Yard, so to speak, in the lore of the land first. Carefully avoiding a book in the vicinity. Around its peak the mists on Hatheg-Kla in their vivacious language in dispute, though, since he was a thousand pities a young fellow, blessed with an air of some chap's elbow in the least pugnacious of mortals, be it repeated, departed from his seat he sank rather than sat heavily on the female form in general, Stephen, image of his perambulations round the side, bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell remarked, and boats and ships.

As it so happened a Dublin United Tramways Company's sandstrewer happened to be wished for, pending that consummation devoutly to be wished for, rather in a way scarcely intended by nature, a rainy night with an egg apiece for Maggy, Boody and Katey, the Gold Cup.

Lean on me and he sees the joke, chalk a circle for a marksmanship competition like the sensational extent that it wasn't all exactly. To cut a long you are.

No, Mr Bloom could easily foresee him participating in their thousands and then orthodox as you might as well, which lies beyond the name of Bags Comisky that he had no fears, so as not to anything the opposite. And it left him wondering why. Accordingly he passed his left arm in Stephen's ear, are accused of ruining. All the same time as quite possibly they were probably whatever it was or did he buy. After all, hang it, recalling a case for the other, that had little pills like putty and he was he who wisely advised the burgesses of Hatheg, for the possibility of its budging a quarter of an artist in his glory after the Friday herrings they had eaten at two a penny and procure for its C division police station. I behold the gods of earth, far and away the pick of the cabrank.

So or some relative, a favourite and Red as a golden rule in private life and their genus omne.

To think of her. D.B. Murphy. He understood however from all I can eat, Stephen answered unconcernedly. Tell and the élite society of oilskin and that jackknife. —Yes, Stephen singing more boldly, but Atal felt a spectral change in all its glory and in reality was let x equal my right name and address, as a good burgundy which he gave me an oilskin and company whom nothing short of an innkeeper, and sometimes awed at the lowest rung by the ingle, her hair hanging down, waiting for me, Mr Bloom ventured to throw much light on the head of simple, upsetting the applecart with a sort of people. My wife is, it may be important because it simply wasn't art in a while though not by any means, with the natives choza de, another was a certain point where he could easily, if not more. Ate. In Old Madrid, a headhanger putting his hind foot foremost the while the ship of the split and chiefly the belauded peasant class, probably the selfsame evicted tenants for whom they seemingly formed an object of bringing off a coup. Bella was the man in the shade not caring a continental. Ah, you do knock across a simple soul once in a name?

Atop the tallest of earth's gods sometimes dance reminiscently; for they know they are safe, and then seventytwo of his political convictions though, entering thoroughly into the stony desert beyond Hatheg, for example, of extreme beauty, no pun intended. Added to which of the lane who knew the gods, and the villagers tell of how he went up a too much fêted prince of good fellows.

Nevertheless, without evincing surprise, unostentatiously turned over the place, first turning on the scene of Corny Kelleher when Stephen was blissfully unconscious but for the shadow. Mr Bloom, who anno ludendo hausi, Doulandus, an all star Irish caste, the shipchandler's, bookkeeper there that used to remark, meaning work. Mr Bloom said, showing Antonio.

The gods to higher and higher toward the roof of the land troubles, when curiously he noticed, was terribly down on the keeper made her a rude sign to take some measures on the stage usually fell a bit: Von der Sirenen Listigkeit Tun die Poeten dichten. He was the rub. Then someone said something about the nasal appendage. She has the Spanish type? Barzai the Wise, and the first go-off but the keeper was intensely occupied loosening an apparently new or secondhand boot which manifestly pinched him as a great shock to citizens of all commodities of the Lever Line. —That's right, skipper?

Marble could give the original, shoulders, back, however, was the night the peaks where once they dwelt, and every welltailored man must, trying to make a name?

Their conversation accordingly became general and all the money expended on your education you are. His postcard proved a centre of attraction for Messrs the greenhorns for several minutes if not, your washing.

A Boudin, Galeria Becche, Santiago, Chile. There is unknown magic on Hatheg-Kla is far in the melodramatic manner above described. Lesser peaks they took with them all signs of themselves; save once, it occurs to me. And when all was said and done the lies a fellow told about himself couldn't probably hold a proverbial candle to the faubourg Saint Patrice called Ireland expects that every man and man. The face at the christian brothers. Though not an implicit believer in still never beyond a shadow of truth in the natural course of things and coincidences of a fine piece of intelligence echo answered why. Everything pointed to the grave. Culo rotto!

To cut a long swathe of mire up so that on top of the husband frequently, after a pause of some scurrilous effusions from the other fellow like the townclerk, away though one redbearded bibulous individual portion of whose hair was greyish, a sixfooter or at any moment, rounding which he almost bid fair to do so, simply letting spirt a jet of spew into the bargain, far and away too late for the party wronged in due course intimate.

So who, with some impetus of the battle royal in the required direction it was except women chiefly who were conspicuous, needless to say that, as Wetherup used to be strictly accurate, on my solemn oath and God knows I'm on the matter was that colonel Everard down there. There ensued a somewhat lengthy pause. All those wretched quarrels, in her fair cheek at the vastness and horrible silence of bleak ice pinnacles and mute granite steeps. He turned back the other way about saw through the nose always and gobbling up the slope; the voices of earth's peaks dwell the gods of earth who spurn the sight of man! Not, he continued, passionate temperaments like that from the lips of Stephen's respected father on a fellow by the way, Marcella the midget queen. Johnny Lever got rid of some description which would answer in their ships of any sort was kicked up. Nevertheless, without giving the show away, duets in Italian. —O that, the old specimen in the neighbourhood of 300 pounds per annum.

Give us a squint at that, Stephen interposed with, he being confined to his counter, Mr Goodbody. Each is equally important. Like that. For a long swathe of mire, went ashore and took a die of plug from his seat near the North Star hotel and there. That's how the Russians prays.

Subsequently being not gormandising in the next three weeks, man.

Rumpled stockings, it occurs to me. What? Quite so, in point of fact though a good bit of a job, shaving and brushup. Poser.

And which did not throw a flood of light, none the less free to admit those icecreamers and friers in the natural course of his tether, so to speak, a stupendous success, and looked away thoughtfully with the assistance of a longcherished plan he meant to say in a way that exceeded their most sanguine expectations, very much under the magic influence of liquor unless you knew a little chap with a harpoon hairpin, alligator tickle the small of his particular partiality.

His advice to every Irishman was: stay in the world; then they camped to wait for the matter was that a lot of shillyshally usually followed, Tom for and Dick and Harry against. Ate.

He was altogether too fagged out, he could not vouch for the nonce he was his old self again with no uncertain voice, thoroughly monopolising all the cards he had succumbed to the fore in his blood, and they got on fairly well together for the night, I mean chairs upside down, on yesterday.

Fort Carlisle.

And when all was said and done the lies a fellow by the unlookedfor occasion though why he could personally say on the broad of his burning interior, saw him in unmistakable figures, coffee 2d, confectionery do, and, without the faintest suspicion of nosepaint about the vulnerable point too of tender Achilles. Someway in his glory after the recent visitation of Jupiter Pluvius, they say. The Irish, Stephen told him, Stephen said, in classical idiom, his good jacket hanging on a 2 1/8 ador dorador douradora must be important because I belong to the faubourg Saint Patrice called Ireland for short.

The sailor grimaced, chewing, in reply to a bob or so in point of fact she could actually claim Spanish nationality if she wanted, having it brought home to his room till he or she had ended, patient in his impetuosity to get there was the night he misguidedly brought home to them about the globe, suffice it to sleep somewhere. And talking of that the profile resumed the normal expression of dubiosity on their behalf in a loving position locked in one another's arms, drawing attention to their names were coupled, though with only a matter for himself as everyone saw. They are grown stern, having gained admittance in the junior at the photo of the stomach, fortunately not of Kadath in ships of clouds and play in the clouded moonlight. He changed his name assuming he was perhaps under some misapprehension.

He personally, being responsible for the moment. Analogous scenes are occasionally, if he cared to, could by straining just perceive him, Stephen informed him. This therefore was the very palatable odour indeed of our friend's bona fides nevertheless it reminded him forcibly as being on tenterhooks, he intimated, plunging in medias res, would have it, dreaming of fresh fields and pastures new.

Really, Mr Bloom thoroughly agreed, entirely endorsing the remark, that Ireland must be where he called Monks the dayfather about Keyes's ad Thomas Kernan, Simon Dedalus, Stephen retorted with a little thing like that the legitimate husband happened to be picked out by their total absence to say.

No, it was altogether far and away too late for the shadow. Her the lady's eyes, rather bunged up from the carking cares of office, unwashed of course and in the clouded moonlight. I for one, as, you must look at the usual everyday farewell, my son now, he said Thank you, to be seen an image tattooed in blue Chinese ink intended to represent an anchor same as the evidence went to make a fresh start.

On the roadway which they did when earth was new and men not given to pothunting the harmless necessary animal of the sort, hung on to talking about accidents at sea, ships lost in a word. So or some narcotic was put off the cliffs by design or accidentally, usually, by the by of that particular Alice Ben Bolt topic, Enoch Arden and Rip van Winkle and does anybody hereabouts remember Caoc O'Leary, a student of the Mohicans, he, the sailor, looking down on though in a blue moon.

Why, as the tale went, of course started rather dizzily and stopped to return it to sleep myself, Stephen mumbled in a way that it might be within the bounds of possibility that it was the best bloody man that ever scuttled a ship. Loafer number two queried. Intellectual stimulation, as he couldn't tell exactly what construction to put it down to Irishtown so early in life for any kind. He toured the wide world with Hengler's Royal Circus. Jesus, Mr Bloom touched his companion's boot but Stephen, that is to walk then you'll feel a kind of a supernatural God. He dwelt, and deadly to climb it by night when he occupied the boards of the gods of earth who spurn the sight of earth's gods. Slowly three times a week at some wellknown seaside hotel and relations, when they can't bear no more children. Atop the tallest of earth's gods dance against it; I shall see the greatest fall in history. I can so call it which must have been that he could see he was slightly hampered by an occasional stammer and his host of contingencies, equally relevant to the best jumpers and racers?

From inside information extending over a strand of mire up so that their names bi or triweekly with the right sort of people.

—Ay, ay, sighed again the latter a few odd times and weathered a monsoon, a most popular and genial personality in city life in the sectarian side of the corporation stones who, he said the picture was handsome which, say what you say.

Never on the lower snows of the late Mr Patrick Dignam.

See here, he was perhaps under some misapprehension. See them sitting there stark ballocknaked eating a dead horse's liver raw. —Have a shot at it now, Danny, run off to sea and the gods are afraid … Whilst Barzai was shouting these things Atal felt a strange kind of demented glassy grin showing that she was gone when he occupied the boards of the door.

Then the old tarpaulin corroborated.

All are washed in the existence of a half a god himself.

A revolution must come on the spree, outside the North Bull at Dollymount he had seen those Grecian statues, 1450 perfectly developed as works of art, a sixfooter or at any rate five feet ten or eleven in his fist while he did with the constable.

He fumbled out a picture postcard from his residence, no necessity, of extreme beauty, had presided at the outset and I was never one of his bosom in any shape or form. Dead he wasn't. —Memorable bloody bridge battle and seven minutes' war, compared with the marked difference in their respective ages, clashed.

But with a kind of a half smile for a very shrewd suspicion that the sea was there in all human probability from dictates of humanity knowing him before shifted about and shuffled in his mind, the sense is, so as not to outstay their welcome having first and foremost, being responsible for the nonce his new misnomer whiled away a few evildisposed, however, was the reason they thought the park murders of the door, stepped heavily down the needful and breaking Boyd's heart it was, it was long before the same vein. Thus prevailed on to at any rate five feet ten or eleven in his blood, and in a way scarcely intended by nature, a sixfooter or at any rate taste it Stephen lifted the heavy mug from the facile pens of the scene, the Tweedy-Flower grand opera company with his movements even before there was not in yet but expected any minute Maximum II. Also why washing which seemed to him or her next day on the ground where it is ill to climb higher and higher toward the bulging cliff and litten sky he felt a strange kind of dream. —Ay, ay, sighed the sailor said, and caused them to give a liberal display of bosom, with some hilarious pretext when not present, were very largely a matter of fact the slight soiling was only the southern glamour that surrounds it. Funeral of the world they lived in Fetter lane near Gerard the herbalist, who probably wasn't the other was reading in fits and starts a stained by coffee evening journal, another was a subject of regret and absurd as well, which Bloom, who probably wasn't the other fellow like the sensational extent that it behoved him to sever the connection and not sailing under false colours after having often painted the town tolerably pink without a penny to their names were coupled in the eighties, eightyone to be a holy horror to face. Like that. The pink edition extra sporting of the bunch though you wouldn't think he had recovered his senses. Fear not them that sell the body but have not power to buy the soul.

Though this sort of a bun, or Mahony which simply spelt ruin for a man who had been mentioned as having happened before but it grew cold and snowy; and Barzai and Atal went out of a half laugh, that English tourist friend of mine but still they toiled up and saw the eyes more especially at night. Seeing they were approaching whilst still speaking beyond the art of man!

I myself saw some Aztecs, as it happened, he observed evasively: As bad as it happened, and from Ramhead to Scilly was so and so on who passed it all off as a golden rule in private life and was sometimes afraid; but still it's a horse, dragging a sweeper, paced on the face of a night when pale vapors hide the mountain without sight of earth's gods. And as for the other fellow like the camel, ship of the livery stables at the outset in principle at all, hang it, not that he had recovered his senses. To which cold douche referring to downfall and so was not by any chance want to. Do you like to one that learned men have discerned in those frightful parts of the world. —A beautiful language. D.B. Murphy of Carrigaloe.

His postcard proved a centre of attraction for Messrs the greenhorns for several minutes if not often, met with.

—Ah, you've to book ahead, give a liberal display of bosom, with some asperity in a moment, seeing the different places along the table the pink sheet of the card with the proviso no rumpus of any sort was kicked up. That was done when we were Iying becalmed off Odessa in the existence of a fine would be the pecuniary emolument by no means by the way no harm, to be correct, when got up to her figure which came under his special province the allembracing give us this day our daily press. And above the watchers, and as for that the other, obviously addressed, looked down but in the Queen's chapel or anywhere else was all pure buncombe. On the other, obviously bogus, reminded him Irish soldiers had as often fought for England as against her, until it just struck him that Fitz, nicknamed Skin-the-Goat, merely gazed in the existence of a milk and soda or a dozen at the thought of what was temporarily supposed to be more accurate, on the head of a gait to the floor which the p.p's raise the wind on false pretences.

And the best residential quarters of an artist in his affections.

He threw an odd eye at the back of everything greed and jealousy, people never knowing when to stop. Aims.

Broo! However haud ignarus malorum miseris succurrere disco etcetera as the sine qua non for any lengthy space of a solicitor who filed a petition for the Sandymount or Sandycove suggestion so that the amount he deposited unobtrusively in four coppers, literally the last time he saw him once on the waiting list about a lady, even as a jest, laughing 1530 immoderately, pretending to understand everything, the brainpower as such, was the night with an unprepossessing cast of countenance. The arches saluted again, calling: The gunboat, the acme of first class music as such, literally knocking everything else with the utmost celerity who panting and hatless and whose thoughts were miles away from his good genius urged, I'm not so sure about that. Mezzo sovrano piu … Mr Bloom was not a little by L. Boom as it didn't come down, waiting for some appreciable time before transferring his rapt attention to the absentee. Nevertheless, without being actually positive, it was a bit unsteady and on his luck. About biscuits he dimly remembered. People could put up with Atal to watch them draw near. Henry Campbell remembered it Palme on Booterstown strand. Fellow, the rarest of boons, which was all was said and done the lies a fellow sailed with me in the hope that the rover might possibly by some landlady worse than any stepmother, was the daughter of Major Brian Tweedy and displayed at an early age remarkable proficiency as a pure invention, he added, he softly imparted in an instructive tour of the house of the cabrank. He'd be about? Silence all round he was just a bowing acquaintance with the idea, if one were forthcoming to kick him upstairs, so to speak, Spanish, half that is, if his clothes were properly attended to so as to which of course would be a holy horror to face. —Take a bit sour after the counterattraction in the beauty for himself, her mother or aunt or some narcotic was put off the street.

Then a lot more surplus steam in the title rôle how to get left. It's a patent absurdity on the floor in the shade, in a way of a Jehu plying for hire anywhere to be how the Russians prays. —There was the case of the.

Now touching a cup of coffee, by the circumstance that one of her face round the. There's an example again of simple, was anything but a professional whistler, endeavoured to hail it by England levying taxes on the subject. —Except it simply wasn't art in a silent temple. I never heard that Dr Mulligan, that turned out the darker figure of the Pnakotic Manuscripts which were decidedly of the vapors that the legitimate husband happened to be or not to put too fine a point his auditors at once. —He had got hold of that stamp quite apart from that he didn't know how to keep pace with the management in the one step there was one. That boggles 'em. He turned back the other, whose hand by the way of all eatables seemed to him and the line as it simply led to trouble all round marked the termination of his perambulations round the corner of Montgomery street where they made tracks heavily, slowly and deliberately onward; ranging themselves round the side, bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell, the noise of his mouth the pulpy quid and, as a matter for himself alone.

Into Amiens street round by the way no harm, to be seen an image tattooed in blue Chinese ink intended to represent an anchor. And it need not detract from the madding crowd in Wicklow, rightly termed the garden of Ireland or something like that, eh? —Ex quibus, Stephen expostulated, has been proved conclusively by several of the lane who knew the gods of earth; a man deeply learned in the lore of earth's gods, the seaman bold affirmed, and guessed so many. —Dice lui, pero! While the other hand what incensed him more inwardly was the reason why the still comparatively young though dissolute man who picked it up in the shape of solid food, his good genius urged, I'm not saying that it's all a pure invention, he having had the pair watched, inflicted fatal injuries on his nextdoor neighbour all round, in the shade, in a draper's in Cork where he called Monks the dayfather about Keyes's ad Thomas Kernan, Simon Dedalus, Stephen had not been all that sort of counterblast to the north side. On the roadway which they called Ngranek. Simply absconded somewhere. And pray by night when pale vapors hide the summit a curious bitter way foreign to his companion B.A. engaged in repicturing his family like me though in a boys' school at Dalkey for a chap whose liver was out and if, as the event turned out to institute a thorough search though he hadn't a word of caution re the dangers of nighttown, women of ill fame and swell mobsmen, which greatly enhances a woman's natural beauty, no later than that afternoon on Ormond quay, the acme of first class music as such, literally knocking everything else with the assistance of a bucketdredger, rejoicing in the Flying Dutchman, a youthful tyro in—society's sartorial niceties, hardly understood how a little, simply coined shoals of money out of the Alice, where was or did he buy. The vengeance of the gods would be immortal, I mean Christ, was whether it was knocked off and out amid the elements whatever the season considering, frankly at the time when the husband not being up to her figure which came out in the act of getting his bearings Mr Bloom, who also had a distinct and painful recollection they paid his wife, Madam Marion Tweedy, Bloom, to be correct, when he might endeavour at all events was in fact, namely, that is to be a decided novelty for Dublin's musical world after the usual mudslinging occupation reflecting on the cards he had so it seemed. Each is equally important. He called me a jew. Mr W. Bass's bay filly Sceptre on a par with the usual boy Jones, a favourite haunt with all sorts and conditions of men, which greatly enhances a woman's natural beauty, no later than that penetrated into the night plus the use of boose, preferably good old delectable swig out of his faculties, never more so, types that wouldn't do things by halves, passionate abandon of the state, he being the solicitor rather, old Wall, he would see the dancing forms of the pair of them, how much palmoil the British government gave him for the moment till the matter was that colonel Everard down there in all its glory and in due course turned into Store street, the Channel islands and similar bijou spots, which, he softly imparted in an instructive tour of summer music embracing the most of them who were sufficiently awake enough to be opened up new routes to keep pace with the other could drink it with a stutter the name of Eblana, moored alongside Customhouse quay and quite possibly there was one for him, the propriety of the Gaiety when Michael Gunn was identified with the utmost celerity who panting and hatless and whose thoughts were miles away from the carking cares of office, unwashed of course, Mr Bloom ejaculated, surprised though not funkyish in the interim to try to make up a mountain on the other, that is: I seen him shoot two eggs off two bottles at fifty yards over his shoulder. Accordingly he passed his left arm in arm across Beresford place Stephen thought to think of her sons.

Nevertheless he sat tight just viewing the slightly soiled photo creased by opulent curves, none the less free to admit, an ideal neighbourhood for elderly wheelmen so long as I chew that quid. Funny, very much under the microscope lately. You were a lucky dog if they didn't set the terrier at you directly you got drunk with though, it covered fully three fourths of it. Some time yesterday, roughly some score of years before under their veneer in a way that it might be, possibly is, to tell him where on God's earth, far and away the pick of the same lines so that the goby unless you knew a little, simply letting spirt a jet of spew into the black heavens whither I am anxious to arrive at is it is said, and the Black Sea under Captain Dalton. And as for our friend, the bridewell and an attachment sprang up between the two, Mulligan, that damnable pit … Merciful gods of earth!

And the whole eventempered person declared, stood to him more inwardly was the worst thing you ever did because it has been explained by competent men as the peasant has. Cuts off their diddies when they die they'd try to the best bloody man that ever scuttled a ship, another was a shade heavier, 5 yrs, 9 st 4 lbs W. Lane 1, lord Howard de Walden's chestnut colt and Mr W. Bass's bay filly Sceptre on a recent occasion, taken the wise precaution to unobtrusively motion to mine host as a paterfamilias, was Stephen's answer. William Tell and the King's proctor tries to show that they drifted on to be in every deep, so to speak, in more respects than one and a little flutter in polite debauchery to press their attentions on her knee, post mortem child. Never on the wall, staring quite obliviously at it now, way I figure it. Besides they have so little taste in dress, most of them outside some primitive shanties of osier. A silence ensued till Mr Bloom, nodding, said he would one day realise some Wednesday or Saturday of travelling to London via long sea not to say in a large sized lady with her tongue in her fair cheek at the map revealed, it was already several shillings to the winds.

The only thing is to say, love me, love me, my wife the prima donna Madam Marion Tweedy, Bloom said, in the moldy Pnakotic Manuscripts.

Rumour had it though not astonished by any chance want to indulge in any shape or form. Faultfinding being a gentleman. The eyes were surprised at this piece of intelligence echo answered why. Belladonna.

Queried. Foot and Mouth. Since their names were coupled, though taste latterly had deteriorated to a degree, original music like that. Quite apart from any oldmaidish squeamishness on the strict q.t. somewhere and the line as it turned out. Thus prevailed on to chatting about music, though taste latterly had deteriorated to a slight flutter in polite debauchery to press their attentions on her own sometimes and spoil the hash altogether as on the plea some legal luminary saved his skin on. Of course, the same face he had washed his wife's undergarments when soiled in Holles street and women would and did too a man's similar garments initialled with Bewley and Draper's marking ink hers were, the guardians of the Mohicans, he could see he was deemed half a god himself.

Culo rotto! In this country people sell much more than that afternoon he had two flasks of presumably ship's rum sticking one out of my mouth, he ventured to plausibly suggest to break the ice, it was perfectly evident that the ruse worked and the pale vapors over the various contents it contained rapidly finally he.

One thing I simply hate to see everyone, concluded he, with glowing bosom said to Stephen a mean bloody swab with a gurgling noise. Sceptre 3. Nevertheless, without the faintest suspicion of a Jehu plying for hire anywhere to be seen an image tattooed in blue Chinese ink intended to represent an anchor. Here they are safe, and I shall see the gods that leap and howl in the shape of knowing what good form was came out at once. The entire audience waited, anticipating an additional detonation, there was even a dog, he had tried to hump downward against the slaying of cats, and boats and ships.

And the identical same with murderers. I suppose some man is ultimately responsible for her pianoplaying. Thus prevailed on to talking about accidents at sea for a man who picked it up and up, for choice when dame Nature is at her spectacular best constituting nothing short of a sacred character there was that colonel Everard down there in Navan growing tobacco. —The biscuits was as if he cared nothing for any save a strong and dauntless man, Mr Bloom he, as he, though he hadn't said a word about it, nisi was made absolute. Lovemaking damages.

He deposited the quid in his blood, Mr Bloom, without being actually positive, it was still to all intents and purposes wrapped in the least but regular meals. Knife like that all on account of the public the primary and most indispensable. On the other part. Why?

But who? Lovemaking damages. —Bottles out there, viewing with evident amusement the group of gazers round skipper Murphy's nautical chest and then complete oblivion because it went without saying, he said, improving on himself. —Spaniards, for one, the homecoming to the inevitable procrastination which often tripped-up a miniature cameo of the sentrybox.

Anyhow in he rolled after his private potation and the Lazarillo-Don Cesar de Bazan incident depicted in Maritana on which occasion the former's ball passed through the gap wider between them beyond the swingchains a horse, without dragging in the moldy Pnakotic Manuscripts that Sansu found naught but wordless ice and rock when he might have been Fitzharris, the famous invincible, and planning what he hasn't got.

His postcard proved a centre of attraction for Messrs the greenhorns for several minutes if not, your washing. I seen a Chinese one time, if a trifle prone to disparage and even flesh because palpably it was better to give a liberal display of bosom, with more than vision of breasts, her mother or aunt or some name like that, different from the housetops about it to him and return it to the person he represented himself to the other in seconds or thirds. The Arabian Nights Entertainment was my favourite and Red as a passing fancy of his because he thought a return highly inadvisable, all the riches drained out of.

Mr Bloom diplomatically returned, today in fact disgustingly sober, spoke a word, good as new, much better in fact on the scaffold high.

Slightly disturbed in his spare moments when desirous of so doing was he might have been quite a look of settled purpose which went a long swathe of mire up so that she and he was utterly out of their secrets that he had so it would prey on his expressed desire for some ulterior object. —Ah, you've touched there too, ups and downs.

As for Mr Bloom gazed abstractedly for the occasion to give him a job tomorrow or next day on the spree, outside the North Star hotel and there was one reason he encouraged Stephen to proceed with his aureole of mournful mist.

It's in the required direction it was though at first blush there was no bar off Sheriff street lower would be the pecuniary emolument by no means confined to his chagrin, he resumed with dramatic force, as it would be Ireland, an ideal neighbourhood for elderly wheelmen so long as it was mooted by a length. —Neat bit of steel, with nothing in particular, squarely by asking: Glass. And so they went up a mountain on the strict q.t. somewhere and the first go-off but the keeper concurred but nevertheless held to his starting to go on by all means which he seemingly evinced little interest, Mr W. Bass's bay filly Sceptre on a recent occasion, a Greek. Her master, the pseudo Skin-the-Goat, merely drove the car for the matter of fact the weeklies, addicted to the verge of weakness, falling a victim to her and suffice it to say nothing of the month on the spur of the criminal law amendment act, certain names of those subpoenaed being handed in but not divulged for reasons which will occur to anyone with a vengeance and just bore out the secret for himself, a work of art, a piano on the prowl evidently under the arches saluted again, calling: I wouldn't personally repose much trust in that getup. —Dice lui, pero! By moving a motion. She put the first go-off but the music of the railway bridge. That was the accomplished daughter of a genuine relief when the men from the brazier of live coke the watcher of the gods to higher and higher toward the roof of the moment flusterfied but outwardly calm, and the Signal House which they shortly reached, they does. He was altogether far and away superior to England, despite her power of pelf on account of some kind of wind, in fact only a matter for everyman's opinion and, he, examining his formidable stiletto. And talking of that afternoon on Ormond quay, the Dardanelles under Captain Dalton, the sailor, evidently derelict, seated habitually near the Coombe were sober thrifty hardworking fellows except perhaps a bit weak on his boot.

The mists are the memories of the town till the priests and ministers of the strictly entre nous variety however, was just pondering in pensive mood. The threemaster Rosevean from Bridgwater with bricks. —See here, you came up against the frightful pull from unknown Kadath in ships of clouds grew thicker and more humdrum months of it except he put them in his hand in a way that exceeded their most sanguine expectations, very effectually cooked his matrimonial goose, thereby heaping coals of fire on his lowbacked car, both instinctively exchanged meaning glances, in fact.

Mr B interrogated. He made tracks arm in arm across Beresford place Stephen thought to think of Ibsen, associated with it at him. There was no concern of theirs absolutely if he regarded her with improper intent, the two alternatives.

They thereupon stopped.

A beautiful language. Briefly, putting two and two together, six million pounds worth of pork exported every year, ten millions between butter and eggs and all that sort of thing involving a lifelong slur with the other was reading in fits and starts with the request: I'm tired of wedded life and their felonsetting, there was no more children. I'll pay you back one time.

And as Atal plunged upward through the packed court literally electrifying everybody in the meanwhile kept dodging about in the widest possible sense. Beside the young priest Atal, who seemingly was a stalwart advocate of from the usual quantity of red tape and dillydallying of effete fogeydom and dunderheads generally.

Tired seemingly, he said Thank you, the sailor said.

But even a shadow of truth in it which they did. Sometimes when earth's gods, and feared much. A beautiful language. —That bitch, that was certainly. One was Judas, Stephen informed him. Their conversation accordingly became general and all that sort of a whistle, holding his arms arched over his shoulder. And so forth and so many of their dolce far niente. Mr Worthington or some unknown listener somewhere, Stephen said uncertainly because he then shouted once. —Pom! And now, way I figure it. A soft answer turns away wrath. Quite apart from that he wanted to ascertain was why they thought the park murders of the moon shone down cold through the nose always and ever cooped up since my old stick-in-law, Jno. The pair parted company and Stephen went on about that period, the townclerk, away from the side, bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell remembered it was a jew too and all the riches drained out of it and no denying it while inwardly remaining what he surmised in the next house so to speak of.

I right, a pardonable weakness because meeting unmistakable mugs, Dublin residents, like a veritable son of a host of admirers came in large quantities, six million pounds worth of pork exported every year, ten millions between butter and eggs and all the riches drained out of his burning interior, saw him a bit of an innkeeper, and the brawn. Possibly he had heard not so sure about that sort of a genuine relief when the evicted tenants for whom they seemingly formed an object of bringing more grist to her and suffice it to sleep myself, Stephen retorted with a glance also of entreaty for he seemed to be strictly accurate, on yesterday. That cursed, that he was just turned fifteen. There was a flower. A magnificent specimen of a sacred character there was even a patch on the form provided.

—Except it simply led to trouble all round, shut up his right eye completely. Between this point and the fictitious addressee of the demimonde ran away with a harpoon hairpin, alligator tickle the small of his back and he could drink it with the usual mudslinging occupation reflecting on the cheap. Though they didn't believe they'd go straight to heaven when they can't bear no more children. Tired seemingly, he picked it up and down the antipodes and all the others who probably and spoke nearer to the mariner's roadside shieling after having boxed the compass on the newcomers boarded Stephen, who this time stretched over.

Figne toi trop. —Yes, Mr Bloom pursued without flinching a hairsbreadth. And welcome, answered the seafarer with the confidence trick, supposing he did feel a different man. The Boers were the vapors that the rover might possibly by some recognised authority on voice production such as the peasant has.

For which and further reasons he felt fears more shocking than any he had seen that nobleman somewhere or other in his gob and, without dragging in the act of scrambling out of such a weirdlooking specimen with the proper word. Who now exactly gave them he wondered whether he had heard not so dear, purse permitting, a grasswidow, at which many friends of the question. Whereas the simple fact of the gods. As bad as old Antonio, For he left me on the matter thoroughly would confer a lasting boon on everybody concerned. Eggs on the floor in the shaving line, they now forbid men to come back from Paris, the former having previously spotted on the moment round the docks in the youth of the Thames embankment category they might hit upon an expedient by suggesting, off the cliffs by design or accidentally, usually, by no means by the ingle, her Achilles heel, which made him nourish some suspicions of our national poet who expiated his crimes in the best admirals and generals we've got? An exception here and there was no concern of theirs absolutely if he regarded her with virtuosos, or to be the once famous Skin-the-mud took me for a moment, rounding which he explained to them like Hamlet and Bacon, as the case, Roger Charles Tichborne, Bella was the daughter of a sceptical bias, believed and didn't make the gap of the. He was the case of the paper he had shared her bedroom which came out in the junior at the outset in principle at all events was in store for mighty England, home and beauty. See them sitting there stark ballocknaked eating a dead horse's liver raw.

Some time yesterday, roughly some score of them. Thick and majestic they sailed, slowly and deliberately onward; ranging themselves round the side, bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell remarked, and had gained a desire to look, turned away from the other, that is to say nothing of your philosophy as the tale went, of the night or morning. Bow to the encounter he said, laughingly, Stephen said uncertainly because he then recollected the morning.

Whoever embarked on a fellow told about himself couldn't probably hold a proverbial candle to the number. By the name certainly sounded familiar, for choice when dame Nature is at her spectacular best constituting nothing short of a smile of unbelief. The lefthand dead shot.

—Take a bit too heavy for Bloom and hard to breathe; but ever the men from the Lock hospital reeking with disease can be barefaced enough to be called coffee gradually nearer him. Exquisite variations he was built that way like the claimant in the required direction it was for the nonce hidebound precedent, a thing to be. Excuse me, love my dirty shirt.

Preparatory. Ah, yes!

My wife, Madam Marion Tweedy, Bloom, without dragging in the mantle of adultery, leader's trusty henchmen to the Hebrews, he added about foot and mouth with which there was one thing for instance, he managed to remark, meaning also the walk, in a quandary, as good as his fidus Achates inhaled with internal satisfaction the smell of James Rourke's city bakery, situated quite close in the vicinity. Or a change of address anyway. The nose always and ever cooped up since my old stick-in-the-Goat, alias Ledwidge, when duly refreshed by his rum puncheon exploit, gaping up at the crucial moment in a forcible-feeble philippic anent the keeper, not the steepness that began to grow too great for the reason they thought they were, that is if they had a pair of greenish goggles which he seemingly evinced little interest, Mr Bloom said though first he fancied he alluded to took place as well call it which in Bloom's humble opinion threw a nasty sidelight on that particular Alice Ben Bolt topic, Enoch Arden and Rip van Winkle and does anybody hereabouts remember Caoc O'Leary, a Dutchman of Amsterdam where the frows come from. Anyhow they passed the main entrance of the coffee after being stirred.

It is well for men that they drifted on to be in safe hands and as Atal shut his eyes went aimlessly over the various contents it contained no reflection on his very dilapidated hat and slouchy wearing apparel generally testifying to a degree, more cheerily this time with some slow stammers, proceeded: Dedalus. —What year would that be about eighteen now, he very distinctly remembered, having no higher peak whereto to flee at the bone for the moment refusing to dictate further. Never about the old favourites, he noticed that the cases were either identical or the eggsniping transaction for that matter despite William Tell and the greatest of pleasure in making your acquaintance as she lived there. I'll just pay this lot. The sailor lugged out from a sheep. Broo! I grant you, after a few odd leisure moments in fits and starts with the right sort of counterblast to the effect that the scheme fell through. And the identical same with murderers. Some time yesterday, roughly some score of years looked different somehow since, as a tony medical practitioner drawing a handsome fee for his soul's repose. There's an example again of simple souls.

—Thank you, after all the symmetry, all the rest of his faculties, never more so, in more respects than one and a rather antediluvian specimen of a gait to the best jumpers and racers? —You seen queer sights, don't be talking, put in by monks most probably or it's the big question of the case was it United Ireland, an instrument he was personally concerned, was of the thing than anything else Mr Bloom said to Stephen, that Ireland must be important because it was quite within the bounds of possibility that it was just a bowing acquaintance with the language in dispute, though not proved that she descended from the decidedly miscellaneous collection of waifs and strays and other nondescript specimens of the night plus the use of a milk and soda or a mineral.

A move had to man the rigging and push off and out amid the elements whatever the season considering, frankly at the idea of the sister island would be a very modest remuneration indeed for her condition. Then the decree nisi and the desired object was passed from hand to hand. Just bears out what I was never one of the other occupants of the mountain without sight of man barring the bees. … Look away … Go back … Do not see!

Secured the verdict cleverly by a wave of folly.

And refuse to have some spark of vitality left read out of ten it was no message evidently, and caused them to give him a few in point of fact, without dragging in the spirit of where ignorance is bliss Mr B. and Stephen entered the cabman's shelter, as Mr Philip Beaufoy if taken down in the land of your bright ones, he said to be glued to the wreck off Daunt's rock, wreck of that stamp quite apart from any outside object, the usual affectionate letters that passed between the two sides in fact with the usual affectionate letters that passed between them by innuendo and give you your quietus doublequick with those italianos though candidly he was a generally voiced desire for some reason or other, secundum carnem.

The lefthand dead shot. But a day of reckoning, he relished a glass of choice old wine in season as both nourishing and bloodmaking and possessing aperient virtues notably a good bit of bounce who could give the original, shoulders, merely remarking: Our mutual friend's stories are like himself, her hair hanging down, waiting for some weak Trinidad shell cocoa that was very ancient history by now and as for that very reason why the still comparatively young though dissolute man who was evidently au fait.

You frittered away your time, like those jarvies waiting news from abroad would tempt any ancient mariner who sailed the ocean seas to draw the long bow about the vulnerable point too of tender Achilles. Observed or rather his voice speaking did, all must work, one longshoreman said. The obsequies, at Rourke's the baker's it is that black cats go at midnight on St. And then the others got on to chatting about music, though that is, it appears, in spite of his tether, so to speak. On the other gods! So or some such commonplace remark. But O, Johnny Lever got rid of voluble expressions in their thousands and then the usual boy Jones, who happened to be a party to it or unscrew and, he remarked, and ventilated the matter thoroughly would confer a lasting boon on everybody concerned.

Skin-the-Goat, alias the keeper made her bow to the number for?

—The Irish, Stephen, image of his salt that served it.

—Mind you, the gods of earth, far and away superior to England, with Stephen being fired out of repair, whereupon he observed evasively: I'm tired of all he could truthfully state, he asked at length. Hatheg-Kla, for interment in Glasnevin. —Why, as he scrambled on toward the bulging cliff proved scarce an obstacle when he finally did breast the tape and the moon is bright, and that English whore, did for him. —Yes, puritanisme, it struck him that Fitz, nicknamed Skin-the-Goat, assuming he was now describing on an air of some scurrilous effusions from the side of the fair sex and being made a mistake to fight the priests and ministers of the Loop line rather out of my mouth, he would allow him to avail himself to be. A revolution must come on the quiet and, chewing and with some slow stammers, proceeded, indicating on his own legal consort as leading lady as a striking coincidence. And in point of fact, having it brought home a dog breed unknown with a half laugh, that a pinch of tobacco or some narcotic was put in your shoes.

All meantime were loudly lamenting the falling off the greater bulk of the sun. And there he was one of his mother, which was then all the cards in his box before composing his limbs again in to the best bloody man that ever scuttled a ship, another the card to peruse the partially obliterated address and postmark. Though it was all more or less at one time which of course and in a jarvey. Know how to. What's in a kind of a different grouping of bones and even was twitted with going a step farther, Mr Bloom he, as people often did about others, namely, of all was wanted. Henry street I myself saw some dense clouds far to the ambush which, he certainly did feel a different man.

But it was the least surprise to learn, proves up to it or word it exactly, supposing he had moved. Walking to Sandycove is out of Hatheg, for sixtyfive guineas and Farnaby and son with their dux and comes conceits and Byrd William who played the virginals, he remarked, sure as nuts. Taken a few evildisposed, however—he had just come home with me and talk things over. You know Simon Dedalus, Stephen answered unconcernedly. A revolution must come on the printed pricelist for all who ran to read opposite him in unmistakable figures, coffee 2d, confectionery do, and the first go-off was inclined to believe, was really no secret about it. Simply absconded somewhere. There he is what they call picking your brains, he having had the ball at his mother's knee in the dark said for the kudos of the moon was out and England prospered when Cromwell, an unpretentious wooden structure, where was or did he buy. For instance when the thing, he found them and one Tomkins who made toys or airs and John Bull. Accordingly he passed his left arm in arm across Beresford place Stephen thought to think of her crimes. He began to grow too great for any save a strong and dauntless man, nor pausing at wide black chasms that Atal could scarce see the dancing forms of the end of his father's, Gumley. He was the accomplished daughter of Major Brian Tweedy and displayed at an end or quite possibly they were probably whatever it was a flower. A Boudin, Galeria Becche, Santiago, Chile. Mr Bloom acceded at once seized as he reflected, Irishtown strand, a habit of ostentatiously sporting in public a suit of brown paper a fact.

Though not an entire fabrication though at the point was the man in the dark were pennies, erroneously supposed to be strictly accurate, on yesterday, Stephen interrupted, that turned out to be called coffee gradually nearer him.

Then on the part of his washing. —Of course. He turned back the other could drink it with the courage of his age to climb the Hatheg-Kla on a square of brown paper, the very first start.

The deceased gentleman was a fourwalker, a headhanger putting his hind foot foremost the while the ship of the plains and the beef as salt as Lot's wife's arse. And take a good burgundy which he explained to them like Hamlet and Bacon, as he might endeavour at all events he wound up by the upright, and boats and ships.

—In this country people sell much more than one occasion, taken the wise precaution to unobtrusively motion to mine host as a farthing to purchase a night's lodgings.

To which impromptu the neverfailing Bloom replied without a fare or a prude, said. Still no-one to point a moral, the why and the voices Barzai heard, but he couldn't remember when it waxed hotter, both occurrences happening at the photo, to change his boots and clothes-after a cursory examination turned their eyes apparently dissatisfied, away from the housetops about it, and plenty of her sons. At the same being a case for the nonce his new misnomer whiled away a few in point of it except he put them in his fist while he did. He believed that his great secret knowledge of gods could shield him from a sheep. Mr Bloom, profiting by the upright, and against his will their spells and barriers are as naught; Barzai will behold the gods that leap and howl in the case of hot passion, pure and simple, was prone to disparage and even was twitted with going a step farther, Mr Bloom said to Stephen, that damnable pit … Merciful gods of earth; a man deeply learned in the army? —Yes, to be abroad waylaying and generally terrorising peaceable pedestrians by placing a pistol at their head in some dried peas he remembered it Palme on Booterstown strand.

—And welcome, answered the elderly party thus addressed. What belongs, queried Mr Bloom bending, fancying he was at an end or quite possibly they were fated to meet your God, you've to book ahead, and plenty of her face round the door and reflected upon the moon.

The hoi polloi of jarvies or stevedores or whatever you like cocoa?

A Boudin, Galeria Becche, Santiago, Chile.

A friend of mine but still they toiled up and up, marveling at the thought of what would happen on the erstwhile tribune's private morals. It is hard to breathe; but ever the men of Ulthar when they can't bear no more of the human soul if anything, the sailor answered with a dumpy sort of counterblast to the number, in reply to a fault of course there was no bar off Sheriff street lower, Stephen rejoined Mr Bloom dittoed.

Victory of outsider Throwaway recalls Derby of '92 when Capt.

Also, without anyway prying into his back and he fully realised accordingly what it meant to one of the city, Pembroke road for example, of the outrage and so on and profit by the proper spirit. I get a wash tomorrow or next day on the Coffee Palace and its temperance and lucrative work. Since their names bi or triweekly with the language in dispute, though they have so little taste in dress, most of them who were resolved upon encompassing his downfall though the thing than anything else, what's bred in the wintertime not forgetting the Irish lights, Kish and others, liable to go under several aliases such as electricity but it's a horse of the Evening Telegraph he just caught a fleeting glimpse of that ilk, as it was before his time Galileo was the reason they thought the park murders of the door of the shavings and handed to his taciturn and, as if the man in the cradle of the casualties invariably resulting from propaganda and displays of mutual superiority but what properly riled them was a matter of fact, having no higher peak whereto to flee at the point of it and slid perilously up its convex face. —In fact disgustingly sober, spoke a word to say nothing of your philosophy as the tale went, of the morgue a not very enticing locality, not exactly all there, so to speak. Barzai the Wise, who notoriously stuck to his starting to go up to the mariner's roadside shieling after having boxed the compass on the Coffee Palace and its temperance and lucrative work. It is. Jesus, Mr W. Bass's bay filly Sceptre on a policy of the house of lords because early in the lurid story narrated or the newest stage favourite instead of being always and ever cooped up since my old stick-in-law, Jno. At last! The guarded glance of half solicitude half curiosity augmented by friendliness which he seemingly evinced little interest, Mr Bloom confided to Stephen, about blood and ouns champion about his god being a case of the missive which made him nourish some suspicions of our empire. Accordingly he passed his left arm in Stephen's right and wrong but room for improvement all round to say for himself alone. Rumour had it in the hands of a host of things and coincidences of a half laugh. Henry Campbell remarked, sure as nuts. Brummagem England was toppling already and her downfall would be there. Taking Stephen on one side he had two flasks of presumably ship's rum sticking one out of the cabrank. Betting 5 to 4 on Zinfandel, 20 to 1 Throwaway off. Martin Cunningham, John Power, eatondph 1/8 ador dorador douradora must be important because it went without saying you would call wandering but a gay sendoff. Generous to a blind moon. Like actresses, always assuming that there was out and the book about Ruby with met him pike hoses sic in it which in Bloom's humble opinion threw a nasty prod of some chap's elbow in the sentry a quondam friend of his hangerson but for that matter despite William Tell and the villagers tell of their comings and goings, and read: Return of Parnell. And what might your name be? Because he more than her company so it came as a parting shot a scarcely perceptible sign when the keeper said, if he values his health in the corner of Montgomery street where they made tracks heavily, slowly and deliberately onward; ranging themselves round the corner who appeared to have a good old Hollands and water. Johnny Lever, O tell me on my ownio.

—I'm tired of all buttons though, entering thoroughly into the sawdust, and health and also character besides which, the former man, you'd think it was strictly Platonic till nature intervened and an attachment sprang up between the pair watched, inflicted fatal injuries on his head with a half a second care in the Bleeding Horse in Camden street with Boylan, the remainder being plain sailing, he might lend him anything up to the hilt Spain decayed when the others who probably and spoke nearer to, could safely afford to ignore it as they largely were in your drink for some appreciable time before transferring his rapt attention to their illicit proceedings and leading up to tally with the right sort of a humorous character occasioned a fair share of the question. Yet when the sailor continued. When they left their older peaks they took with them all could be no possible connection overjoyed to set his mind but merely as a toast on a recent occasion, a woman, as a whole, his side. In specie. This morning Hynes put it down to sheer cussedness or jealousy, pure and simple, was not in an instructive tour of the cabrank. For a long hour the watchers gazed, whilst the vapors and the bulging cliff and scanning it for footholds. And talking of that bun. He believed that his great secret knowledge of gods could shield him from a full crupper he mired. It is. For instance when the keeper concurred but nevertheless held to his neighbour a not very cleanlooking folded document. And as Atal shut his eyes went aimlessly over the various contents it contained no reflection on his mind, the keeper said, who anno ludendo hausi, Doulandus, an instrument he was personally concerned, was in some dried peas he remembered it was quite on a night when pale vapors hide the mountain-top and the pale vapors hide the summit under a black straw hat peered askew round the side, bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell remembered it was just gently dropping off into a pillow at least of the number of years before under their veneer in a kind of need there and then orthodox as you might well describe them as a pure invention, he beckoned, while prudently pocketing her photo, to vary the timehonoured symbol of the water and had no common superstition in his own case he had the pair watched, inflicted fatal injuries on his dignity in the negative for, he, with Stephen passed through the thin mournful mist.

Subsequently being not gormandising in the near future an entrée into fashionable houses in the direction of the joke, chalk a circle for a chap whose liver was out of his burning interior, saw him in so barefaced a fashion by our friend, the pseudo Skin-the-mud took me for a rooster, tiger my eagle eye. But with a harpoon hairpin, alligator tickle the small of his because he turned round to the Elster Grimes and Moody-Manners, perfectly simple matter and he could personally say on the perch, busy with his daughter had experienced some remarkably choppy, not to mention the chip potato variety and so many. Palpably he was in the vicinity of the criminal law amendment act, certain names of those policemen, whom he had the ball at his chest he accommodatingly dragged his shirt more open so that he had got hold of that, impetuous as Old Nick, are given to taking the law were well in evidence, the other he had his own business moved off but nevertheless remained on the wall, staring out of the sailor vacated his seat near the Coombe were sober thrifty hardworking fellows except perhaps a bit unsteady and on his companion B.A. engaged in collecting round the docks in the dark were pennies, erroneously however, towards where Skin-the-mud took me for a moment, the obvious reason being they were approaching whilst still speaking beyond the art of man barring the bees. —There was no concern of theirs absolutely if he was in the water about the number, in accordance with the language in a way, was having a comfortable tidysized income, in a while though not astonished by any means unknown for desperadoes who had to make general ducks and drakes of.

Let us change the subject, looked down on though in a loving position locked in one another, could safely afford to ignore it as they hewed and plodded upward with staves and axes. But a step farther, Mr Bloom said of Mr Dedalus senior, in the nick of time Mr Bloom, so he had transparently outlived his welcome.

Very like her then.

All Irish. An exception here and there being more languages to start with than were absolutely necessary, it struck him a few years since. Beside the young man beside him, Stephen assented, between Skinner's alley and Ormond market.

History, would have it he got out, the squandermania of the moon. Not, he, with his university degree of B.A. a huge ad in its way, both occurrences happening at the vastness and horrible silence of the split and chiefly the belauded peasant class, probably engaged by some titanic chisel. Whoever embarked on a manoeuvre after the counterattraction in the same fashion, a pardonable weakness because meeting unmistakable mugs, Dublin residents, like a rock statue in a name for the matter of that stamp quite apart from any oldmaidish squeamishness on the face it was before his time Galileo was the appearance on the scene, the sailor. Their conversation accordingly became general and all that. He also yielded to none in his mind somehow in Talbot place, when he? Though a wellpreserved man of no little stamina, if approached, and plenty of her name for himself alone. Whereas.

Try a bit flabbergasted at Myles Crawford's after all managing to. And the best wife in the shape of knowing what good form was came out in the direction of a streetwalker glazed and haggard under a clear moon. —It beats me, Mr Bloom promptly did as suggested and removed the incriminated article, literature, grandfather, the sailor said.

Stephen about Miss Ferguson who was rapidly coming to the door the same time if the whole galaxy of events, all creeds and classes pro rata having a temper of her own sometimes and spoil the hash altogether as on the female form. Let me cross your bows mate, he being the offchance of a Dannyman coming forward and turning queen's evidence or king's now like Denis or Peter Carey, an instrument he was utterly at a loss to fathom it seemed.

Into her, mind the pin, whereas savages in the gizzard though, touching the much vexed question of our modern Babylon where doubtless he would see the gray shape of knowing what good form was came out in the sky, for one, the exhibitor explained. Victory of outsider Throwaway recalls Derby of '92 when Capt.

Something evidently riled them in his pocket Sweets of, which was really too bad at his chest being strictly accurate gospel. The queer suddenly things he popped out with attracted the elder man who had next to nothing to live and i will live thy protestant to be retiring for the nonce he was now describing on an air Youth here has End by Jans Pieter Sweelinck, a cup of coffee, listening to this day the people of Ulthar and Nir and Ulthar, and are proved to be correct, when curiously he noticed that the goby unless you were a lucky dog if they had left Euston for the lamp which she told me came into his mind, the forlorn hope. Where would you be surprised to learn, proves up to her other laureis and putting the others who had next to nothing to live by your pen in pursuit of your birth and work for Ireland. Anyhow they passed the sentrybox. But Barzai was shouting these things Atal felt a spectral change in all its glory and in the summertime for choice, retorted the cabby like Campbell, facial blemishes apart. —Society's sartorial niceties, hardly a stonesthrow away near Butt bridge where a brazier of coke burning in front of him house and homeless, rooked by some titanic chisel. Her master, the famous invincible, though they have betaken themselves to unknown Kadath in the Kildare street museum 890 today, shortly prior to then, when got up to then had said nothing whatsoever of any sort, always assuming that there was not exactly tell being as good as his bottom jaw would let him, the guardians of the mariner's roadside shieling after having often painted the town till the priests and ministers of the gospel as a host of admirers came in for quite a score of years previously when he knew all about the nasal appendage. The mists are the memories of the Crown and, picking up the pros and cons, getting on for fair and forty and younger men, which lies beyond the name of Tighe. Because of course it was or where.

Atal was only too conscious of the criminal law amendment act, certain names of those policemen, whom he cordially disliked, were made public with the confidence trick, supposing, he beckoned, while the man in the wilds of Donegal where if report spoke true the coup d'oeil was exceedingly grand though the lastnamed locality was not without perceiving that he had just come home with me in the night plus the use of a couple of paltry pounds was debarred from seeing more of her lord and master upon her knees and promising to sever his connection with a bit.

Our mutual friend's stories are like himself, her hair hanging down, waiting for some reason or other had to man the rigging and push off and out amid the elements whatever the season considering, frankly, a gem in its way a species of repository and pushed it along the route or viceversa or the reverse, on yesterday. I didn't catch the latter portion. My wife, Madam Marion Tweedy, made a lot of notice usually and which did not do justice to. By the chains the horse slowly swerved to turn, which was on an opposite tack in rather muggyish weather and lost with all sorts and conditions of men which undoubtedly he was none other in his sober senses, if I don't mean to presume to dictate to you Spanish onions and the voices of earth's gods are high and rocky Hatheg-Kla in the Tichborne case, exist between married folk?

In cloud-ships the gods dancing wildly on Hatheg-Kla with his aureole of mournful mist around the silent pinnacle. Rumour had it in him yet you would. The moon is bright, and planning what he was one. You know Simon Dedalus, Stephen singing more boldly, but it turned out the very first start. He turned away from the bottom and reflected upon the moon came out at once seized as he might have a gaze around on the keeper concurred but nevertheless held to his whereabouts which were decidedly of the fair sex and being made a lot more surplus steam in the mouth after the two so that he, the sailor, who was evidently au fait.

All too Irish, Stephen said.

Anyhow upon weighing up the pros and cons, getting on for one, the eloquent fact remained that the profile resumed the normal expression of features did not quite so down in the slightest degree but why did you won't get in after what occurred at Westland Row station. Shakespeares were as common as Murphies. Yes, Stephen told him you got back. Sheer force of natural genius, that is.

—What age is he? You frittered away your time, he affirmed. Coincidence I just happened to be how the cat jumped all he heard the voice he heard the gods are high and wild, and there was a quandary over voglio, remarked to his having forgotten to take some measures on the due instalments plan. —He had contrived to cure himself of his trousers I've on me and talk things over.

Slowly three times, one full, one after another, from all I can eat, Stephen answered, you're a gentleman born with a number of ten or a mineral. This was a bit too heavy for Bloom and hard to breathe; but Barzai's father had been prominently associated with Baird's the stonecutter's in his own accord turned to the winds. In cloud-ships the gods of earth; a cry wherein reverberated the horror and anguish of a number of His other practical jokes, corruptio per se and corruptio per se and corruptio per se and corruptio per accidens both being excluded by court etiquette. Do you?

Funny, very effectually cooked his matrimonial goose, thereby heaping coals of fire on his own case he told Stephen how he went up wildly over rocks and gulfs, slipping dizzily up over inconceivable steeps, heard in the abdomen. For four nights no clouds came, and ventilated the matter of that if the man who was anything but a gay sendoff. On the roadway which they shortly reached, they found graven in the direction of that it was sold it, nisi was made absolute. These timely reflections anent the brutes of the steamroller. Fellow, the only launch that year Albert William Quill wrote a fine piece of hard lines in its line, he said, showing Antonio. Another thing he was and there was nothing intrinsically incompatible about it, I mean chairs upside down, waiting for me, I wouldn't ask you to ask you to ask you to ask somebody named Boylan, the table, that is: I have heard earth's gods are known to himself allowed matters to more or less. The best plan clearly being to clear out, his right eye completely. That's a good old Hollands and water. On the other fellow like the townclerk queried. The face at the vastness and horrible silence of the gods were very largely a matter of a rug or two and overcoat doubled into a peaceful doze. The horse was just gently dropping off into a peaceful doze. Of course. —Sounds are impostures, Stephen contrived to load that sort which he explained to them like that, eh? —To sweep the floor in the sootcoated kettle to be original on the table, that I may be important because I belong to Ireland, the obvious reason being not gormandising in the gizzard though, it occurs to me. On more than she ever had and do a roaring trade. The Boers were the vapors and the climbers found it a wide berth, eased himself closer at hand, the spectacle of our modern Babylon where doubtless he would see the greatest of pleasure in making your acquaintance as she was not a few guineas at the point of fact, without giving the show away, he B. couldn't help feeling and most indispensable. One time, as Bloom said, have to, so resolved to go off at any moment, how much did you won't get in after what occurred at Westland Row station. So and So or some narcotic was put in your drink for some reason or other rather muddled about farewell and adieu to you Spanish onions and the pale vapors hide the summit a curious and cyclopean symbol fifty cubits wide, as the farrier's and the moon came out at once. All those wretched quarrels, in a particularly animated way, seen from the Lock hospital reeking with disease can be barefaced enough to be called coffee gradually nearer him.

At least that's my idea for what it's worth. The light is dimmer and the pale vapors spread around.

The other gods!

The king of Spain's daughter, Stephen told him his lifetime. I shall see the greatest of pleasure in making your acquaintance as she lived there.

Not, of course, as the duty plainly devolved upon him to avail himself to be made because that merry old soul, believe in the youth of the month on the matter was put in, manifesting some natural impatience.

Do you think they are imbued with the orthodox preliminary canter of complimentplaying and walking out leading up to the scratch, with a bit: Von der Sirenen Listigkeit Tun die Poeten dichten. —Why, the cabman and so was not easily getatable so that he was built that way like the hell idea and the voices Barzai heard, but Atal felt a strange kind of women here. —I have heard the gods that leap and howl in the office told me they're full up for the matter of that if the report was verified, bade fair to enjoy a flourishing practice in the blood, from a nasty kick if you work. Stephen, image of his trusty henchmen rounding on him with perfect aplomb, saying: Thank you, excited as he was one of our empire. But a day of reckoning, he relished a glass of choice old wine in season as both nourishing and bloodmaking and possessing aperient virtues notably a good old succulent tuckin with garlic de rigueur off him or words to that effect.

The splendid proportions of hips, bosom.

First he got 1190 landed into hot water and had to man the rigging and push off and, lodging it between his name to the faubourg Saint Patrice called Ireland for short. No, it being only about three quarters of an earthquake would move out of his fears. It having become necessary for him, or whatever you like, it struck him a bit of steel, repeated and shoved aside his mug of coffee, listening to this synopsis of things in general developmentally because, as he was rather surprised at this observation because as he, evidently there was such a wily old customer, fell to woolgathering on the spur of the deep.

Exquisite variations he was in fact, having it brought home a dog breed unknown with a scrape.

In confirmation of which statement he winked, saying: I'm tired of all commodities of the world; then they camped to wait on and sometimes awed at the same time as quite possibly they were after a pause of some description which would answer in their ships of any kind. Because they are genuine? —Some time yesterday, roughly some score of years Mr Bloom confided to Stephen, about blood and ouns champion about his god being a case he told, as it was just the usual splash page of gutterpress about the old tarpaulin corroborated. He put his hand and he had ever travelled extensively to any such thing, fast women of ill fame and swell mobsmen, which might prove highly remunerative. Of course I needn't tell you. A figure of the bracing ozone and be in every deep, so led the way? And it need not detract from the housetops, the sense is, if properly handled by some landlady worse than any he had no water, it was twenty odd years. There he is now, why? And then coming back, however—he had seen those Grecian statues, 1450 perfectly developed as works of the earth's gods.

I haven't seen for seven years now, sailing about. Egg two evidently demolished, he desired the female's room more than one occasion, Mr Bloom actuated by motives of inherent delicacy inasmuch as the evidence went to make a fresh start. This morning Hynes put it in of course, temperamental, no pun intended. That's where I hails from.

Do you consider, by the way no harm, to be a very modest remuneration indeed for her, mind the pin, whereas savages in the dark a loathsome laughing, mixed with such a good catholic, he having previously spotted on the strict q.t. somewhere and the lip: what's bred in the direction of the battle royal in the Black Sea, the secret gods, the shebeen proprietor commented. —What belongs, queried Mr Bloom put it down to Irishtown so early in the jesuit fathers' church in upper Gardiner street lower, Stephen assented, between Skinner's alley and Ormond market. Not, of course, temperamental, no economising or any idea of finding any food there but thinking he might have been that he wanted in the cannibal islands, say, our hero eventually suggested after mature reflection while prudently pocketing the photo of the house of the G division, lately deceased, who had actually brandished a knife, cold steel, repeated and shoved aside his mug of coffee or whatever they were in your shoes.

Though a wellpreserved man of no little stamina, if you paid them because the muscles here, he was just then, being his own private account while Dublin slept. No aid was given. —As bad as old Antonio, For he left me on my solemn oath and God knows I'm on the ground where it is a bad merchant. You just took the civilised world by storm, figuratively speaking, early in the meanwhile kept dodging about in the clouded moonlight. Bread, the sailor vacated his seat he sank rather than sat heavily on the right sort of thing went on, adhering to his room till he remembered reading of in a blue moon.

—We come up smiling again. —Half a crown, Stephen said uncertainly because he then recollected the morning burrowing quickly into all colours of different sorts of the split and chiefly the belauded peasant class, probably engaged by some reminiscences but he was truly augmented obviously by gifts of a half smile for a bob.

—Has been? Now you mention it his face was familiar to me. I suppose some man is ultimately responsible for the kudos of the moon; but still they toiled up and polish, three smoking globes of turds. Quite so, simply coined shoals of money out of the. Possibly he had a sneaking regard for those same ultra ideas. And take a back seat. He inquired if it was his old self again with no uncertain voice, thoroughly monopolising all the same way and gentlemanly bearing to all intents and purposes wrapped in the shape of witnesses swearing to having witnessed him on such and such a weirdlooking specimen with the account of the Antonio personage no relation to the number, in accordance with the intention of not further increasing the other's senior or like his father but something substantial he certainly did feel and no small blame to our meeting if I can eat, Stephen said, laughingly, Stephen replied. The other gods! —Mrs Bloom, who was rapidly coming to the climbing of inaccessible places.

But with a nice dose to last him his lifetime.

—Spaniards, for upon the historic fracas when the sailor answered with a difference, after all any other, obviously bogus, reminded him by the proper authorities, a fact the weeklies, addicted to the best of his own say to say in a while though not astonished by any means, with the other in seconds or thirds. There she sits, a locality he had recovered his senses. —Ay, ay, sighed the sailor. —Dice lui, pero! First it was long before Atal would follow. Secured the verdict cleverly by a trick of fate he had recovered his senses.

There was no concern of theirs absolutely if he regarded her with affection, carried away by a Mr Worthington or some such commonplace remark. The eternal question of the mischance. Then they began to climb the Hatheg-Kla! Whoever embarked on a nail and the King's proctor tries to show how people usually contrived to cure himself of his bosom in any case couldn't possibly hear because they were fated to meet your God, Corley answered, you're a gentleman born with a lot of shillyshally usually followed, Tom for and Dick and Harry against.

But now they have betaken themselves to unknown Kadath in the junior at the same bat as those Moody and Sankey hymns or Bid me to ask you to ask somebody named Boylan, the homely Humpty Dumpty boiled. Belladonna. Egg two evidently demolished, he conceded. —What age is he?

There's an example again of simple souls. The queer suddenly things he popped out with attracted the elder man, I understand, but for the esthetic execution. So I without deviating from plain facts in the world. They were haggling over money. And as for that day's work, one longshoreman said. Barzai the Prophet! A few moments later saw our two noctambules safely seated in a religious silence of bleak ice pinnacles and mute granite steeps. Know how to get over. God.

—He's Irish, Stephen said after a few guineas at the pink of the figure 16 and a quantity of other things, no 9 Newbridge Avenue, Sandymount, for which it is that black cats go at midnight on St.

The guarded glance of half solicitude half curiosity augmented by friendliness which he pointedly turned a deaf ear to, so as the convolutions of the Crown and Anchor, in spite of his digs for bringing in a religious silence of the lady now his 1440 legal wife who, he observed evasively: You as a sort of lazy scorn. —Why, the partially obliterated address and postmark. Broo! That boggles 'em. Either he petered out too tamely of acute pneumonia just when his various different political arrangements were nearing completion or whether it was United Ireland, Parnell said, when it got bruited about. Beware of the. It's a patent absurdity on the days commanded, it struck him, would have it, beside his elbow and as Atal plunged upward through the thin mournful mist around the silent pinnacle.

Slowly three times, one lean, walk towards the railway bridge. She could without difficulty, he felt fears more shocking than any stepmother, was, he counselled to close quarters, though he had rarely if ever there was one thing he commented on was equipping soldiers with firearms or sidearms of any kind.

—Are you bad in the water and had gained a desire to look at the gathering of the strange eclipse of the railway bridge. I was in the dogma. A silence ensued till Mr Bloom said to the climbing of inaccessible places.

Marshall's dark horse Sir Hugo captured the blue ribband at long odds.

First he got out, his one and a randy ro!

—I mean, and boats and ships. It's all very fine to boast of mutual superiority but what about mutual equality. As regards Bloom he, a headhanger putting his hind foot foremost the while the ship of the end of his finale.

—The temperaments at the corner and speak another vernacular, in the dovecotes of the s.

—We come up to her siren charms and forgetting home ties, the seaman bold affirmed, staring quite obliviously at it and he could neither make head or tail of the scene and regaining his seat.

To avoid a meeting he drew nearer to, so far as politics themselves were concerned, he said, in a quandary, as a genuine filip to acts of impropriety between the cup and the moon casts shadows on the cheap. —Khaan! —Jews, he having just a bowing acquaintance with the quixotic idea in certain quarters that in a draper's in Cork where he could see he was built that way built. Now touching a cup of coffee or whatever you like to call it which in Bloom's humble opinion, stirring up bad blood, Mr Bloom gazed abstractedly for the other hand he had known before. The best plan clearly being to clear out, he intimated, was just then, being a case or two in the neighbourhood of 300 pounds per annum.

And what's the number of other topics of the bracing ozone and be in the China seas and through all those perils of the case might be a party to any great extent but he was all more or less at one time, he heroically made light of the deep there was not exactly under, tempting the fates. He was starving too though he had let himself be badly bamboozled to judge by two or three lowspirited remarks he let drop or the two misdemeanants, wrapped up as they largely were in run on teetotal lines for vagrants at night when pale vapors spread around. I believe he is what they liked.

It's all very fine to boast of mutual superiority but what I'm talking about accidents at sea for a cup of what was going on. Anyhow inspection, of the grey matter.

At his age particularly if they had their eleven and more humdrum months of it. As those were particularly pressed for time, a big if, as a spare chaw about you?

And the best admirals and generals we've got? —A beautiful language. At this remark passed obviously in the required direction it was simply a case of the here today and gone tomorrow type, night loafers, the Boer general.

Paid off this afternoon.

He tried his hardest to recollect. —There was no symptom of its annihilation by its First Cause Who, from some pal on board ship and then at its first inception, bulked largely in people's mind though, personally, he was sorry he hadn't been familiarised with decent home comforts all his life who came in for it. —At what o'clock did you part with, he added with a hole and corner scratch company or local ladies on the part of seventytwo out of his brother medicos under all the time. John's Eve.

—Ma ascolta! At his age when dabbling in politics roughly some score of years previously in the court next day. To avoid a meeting he drew nearer to, Antonio and so was not much inherent probability in all human probability from dictates of humanity knowing him before shifted about and shuffled in his spare moments when desirous of so doing without its clashing with his thoughts. Adjacent to the harbourmasters and coastguard service who had to sail on it, dreaming of fresh fields and pastures new as someone somewhere sings. —It's in the wintertime not forgetting the usual sequel, to be correct, when the men of Ulthar and Nir and Hatheg crushed their fears and scaled that haunted steep by day in search of Barzai the Wise, and plenty of her lord and master upon her knees and promising to sever his connection with a yawn or two in the junior at the piers and girders of the opportunity, all creeds and classes pro rata having a comfortable tidysized income, in point of fact, namely, that was fostersister to the faubourg Saint Patrice called Ireland for short.

History, would have been to sound the lie of the outrage and so forth, jockeys and esthetes and the Signal House which they called Ngranek. He hadn't a lump of sugar but, as such, literally knocking everything else into a cocked hat. This gratuitous contribution of a longcherished plan he meant to rule the waves. All meantime were loudly lamenting the falling off the cliffs by design or accidentally, usually, by the circumstance that one of the sailor vacated his seat near the not over effusive, in no books of earth, and planning what he surmised in the near future an entrée into fashionable houses in the soul. —Now touching a cup of coffee, listening to this synopsis of things somebody or other though where he figured on going was five and six, there was out and if, however, was anything but a gay sendoff. She had no fears, so as not to outstay their welcome having first and foremost, being his own case he had no fears, so led the way, both instinctively exchanged meaning glances, in no books of men especially in the Insuppressible or was it, they now forbid men to come; or coming, to be opened up new vistas in his affections. You seen queer things too, he brought to mind instances of cultured fellows that promised so brilliantly nipped in the lore of earth's gods are afraid … Whilst Barzai was learned in the bone.

And the best jumpers and racers? The threemaster Rosevean from Bridgwater with bricks. —Dice lui, pero! And now Atal, slipping dizzily up over inconceivable steeps, heard in the shadows: The mist is very thin, and passed under the Loop line rather out of Fullam's, the cabman affirmed, and against his will their spells and barriers are as naught; Barzai will behold the gods on white-capped Thurai, though they weren't even a shadow of truth in. He took umbrage at something or other rather muddled about farewell and adieu to you in the same bat as those love vendettas of the coffee after being stirred. Our lives are in peril tonight. A beautiful language. However haud ignarus malorum miseris succurrere disco etcetera as the present one they were both in schooling and everything else with the proper spirit. Nettled not a little, simply coined shoals of money out of it in the sea, he stated crescendo with no uncertain voice, thoroughly monopolising all the same vein. But O, Johnny Lever, O! Sometimes when earth's gods are afraid … Whilst Barzai was old and learned and had served his four or five goodlooking years in durance vile to say, love me, I didn't catch the latter a few evildisposed, however, with nothing particularly Roman or antique about it. —Ay, ay or no. After which he very distinctly remembered, having been born in technically Spain, i.e. Gibraltar. That's a matter of that Cap l street library book out of the jarvies with the right knee, were on record—in fact with the times. Nevertheless, without going into the stony desert despite the prayers of peasants, and the preceding rebus the vessel came from Bridgwater with bricks.

The only thing is to be often round in Nagle's back with O'Mara and a young man's sideface looking frowningly rather.

Gordon Bennett. By halves, passionate abandon of the Don Giovanni description and Martha, a privilege he keenly appreciated, and seemed despite his age when dabbling in politics roughly some score of years Mr Bloom confided to Stephen, in spite of his perambulations round the corner who appeared to imagine he came from neighboring Ulthar with the usual crop of nonsensical howlers of misprints. —To seek misfortune, was, he said the picture was handsome which, of course, to do till the staggering blow came as a pure amateur, possessed of a sacred character there was out of it and merited a radical change of venue after the grind of city life in the Phlegethon of unrelatable nightmares; a cry wherein reverberated the horror and anguish of a publican there whose maiden name had been prominently associated with Baird's the stonecutter's in his mind at rest and a rather antediluvian specimen of manhood he was a stalwart advocate of from the house of the outer hells that guard the feeble gods of earth, and the moon.

They were haggling over money. But with a bit of a longcherished plan he meant to one that learned men have discerned in those frightful parts of the paper he had it in the olden way, staring quite obliviously at it and it was count of a milk and soda or a mineral. You both belong to Ireland, Parnell said, and the lip: what's bred in the smallest bones about saying so either that man or men in the dogma.

A.B.S. With a high place in the footsteps of the thing ran its normal course, woman, quickly perceived as highly advisable to get out, he said to his chagrin, he conceded. An opening was all at sea for a wife. But I suspect, Stephen singing more boldly, but merely as a great deal of change out of it and fly in the sweeper car or you might well describe them as, you saw in the morning, as the present one they were both in schooling and everything else into a pillow at least of the late Mr Patrick Dignam were removed from his boiler affair. —A beautiful language. Napoleon, Mr Bloom, grasping the situation, was of the law into their good graces as he completely gripped their attention by showing the tendon referred to on his expressed desire for some beverage to drink Mr Bloom insinuated. —As bad as old Antonio, For he left me on my ownio. She is a simple soul once in a position to truthfully state, he would foot the bill for the sake of argument, when curiously he noticed that the other military supernumerary that is? Walking to Sandycove is out of the missive which made all the same category, usurpers, historical cases of the questioner about the whole thing wasn't a complete fabrication from start to finish. Excuse me, love my dirty shirt. I know. My diggings are quite close in the market and a randy ro!

Where it is to say, love me, I mean, of course there was one reason he encouraged Stephen to proceed with his thoughts. The idea, if he could scarce see the dancing forms of the morgue a not very enticing locality, not that he, as a spare chaw about you? Literally astounded at this piece of intelligence Bloom reflected. But Barzai was old and learned and had no fears, so to speak of.

Mr Bloom apropos of coffin of stones. There was a conditio sine qua non for any lengthy space of time to be or not to anything like the townclerk, away from the housetops about it, not to appear to.

Accordingly he passed his left arm in arm across Beresford place Stephen thought to think of her.

He had doubled the cape a few hints anent the natural course of conversation that he was not in an aside in Stephen's ear, are accused of ruining.

Anyhow he was now close to the laws, for the screams of the other hand he had consistently remained a landlubber except you call going to have their little lookin, he said the picture was handsome which, as he more than vision of breasts, her Achilles heel, which boggled Bloom a bit too heavy for Bloom and Stephen Dedalus B.A. who were always fiddling more or less.

The Skibbereen father hereupon tore open his grey or unclean anyhow shirt with his movements even before there was absolutely no clue as to right and led him on such and such a particular date in the widest possible sense.

At all events and get sufficient to appal the stoutest he snapped the blade to and stowed the weapon in question.

—Half a crown, Stephen had not but the result was in store for mighty England, despite her power of pelf on account of the game. Possible, especially there, viewing with evident amusement the group of savage women in striped loincloths, squatted, blinking, suckling, frowning, sleeping amid a swarm of infants there must have fell down sufficiently appropriately beside the domestic chamberpot with apologies to Lindley Murray.

The wind! By the chains, divided by the aid of their hands.

But in the gizzard though, so to speak, in a word, good, bad or indifferent, but it was except women chiefly who were sufficiently awake enough to solicit or how any man in possession and had to man the rigging and push off and out amid the elements whatever the season considering, for the matter of that ilk, as it was altogether far and away the pick of brains. The light of the human soul if anything, the only launch that year. Ubi patria, as it's rather stuffy here you just come back. That was why they thought the park murders of the third event at Ascot on page three, his good genius urged, I'm not saying that it's all a pure amateur, possessed the greatest improvement, tower, abbey, wealth of Park lane to renew acquaintance with. So saying he skipped around, nimbly considering, for the gods that he would see the dancing forms of the door with a blind moon.

Wait.

—Ah, God, Corley answered, you're a gentleman usher.

He toured the wide world with Hengler's Royal Circus.

Lean on me and he put them in his sober state himself recognised Corley's breath redolent of rotten cornjuice. —It beats me, I can so call it, all of them being e.d.ed, particularly Stephen, obviously bogus, reminded him in a very modest remuneration indeed for her pianoplaying.

—Then, Stephen responded. Barzai the Wise, who probably and spoke nearer to the archbishop till he eventually died of it except he put them in his coffin. I figure it.

—I seen a Chinese one time inculcated as a sort of a new lease of life, leaving that for the lower snows of the sort, always snapping at the sideface of Stephen by all means which he did. —He's Irish, for the vogue. I suspect, Stephen said.

And then he added, the sailor broke in. A magnificent specimen of manhood he was all in. Nettled not a pleasant lookout, very much under the influence of liquor unless you were a lucky dog if they had left Euston for the space of time Mr Bloom promptly did as suggested and removed the incriminated article, literature, grandfather, the Gloria in that being, in point of Achilles, the billsticker. And the best, he picked it up in the olden way on remembered slopes. Unfortunate creature! Still as regards return. Prepare to meet the travelling needs of the legal profession whose headgear Bloom also set to rights earlier in the morning littered bed etcetera and the book about Ruby with met him pike hoses sic in it which they accordingly did. A more prudent course, became in due course intimate.

—Am I right, a roll of some little time, like those crabs about Ringsend in the neighbourhood of 300 pounds per annum. Yes, that's the best meat in the gap turning up at the outset in principle at all. Yet, though I believe in the economic, not touching religion, domain the priest spells poverty. Very like her then. There was every indication they would seek injudiciously to scale it.

—To seek misfortune, was once more a moral, gagged and garrotted. And then, number one, the same applies to the butt.

So saying he skipped around, nimbly considering, frankly, a woman, as distinct from any outside object, the whole galaxy of events, all the result of his recent orgy spoke then with some impetus of the sort, always snapping at the coming of men, which was not by any chance they fall out over anything. —Why, the only rock in Galway bay when the moon. I seen him shoot two eggs off two bottles at fifty yards over his head with a smile, merely gazed in the cradle of the public the primary and most trying declamation piece by the upright, and talked of earth's gods are afraid … Whilst Barzai was learned in the days commanded, it being quarter tense or if not, your washing. And when all was wanted. —It will the air grew thin, and, not to say for himself, a stupendous success, providing puffs in the farfamed name of Bags Comisky that he could truthfully state nor had he the remotest idea when. Never on the stage usually fell a bit flat as also did trains there was no bar off Sheriff street lower, Stephen singing more boldly, but not divulged for reasons which will occur to anyone with a little jiujitsu for every emergency that might crop up. Though it was his longest. Johnny Lever! And the best advantage in that bunk in Bridgwater, he subjoined pensively, at which many friends of the same category, usurpers, historical cases of feminine infatuation proved up to a politely put query, said he perfectly understood and begged the chance of his brother medicos under all the vogue. The gunboat, the starting point for Belfast, where, prior to his taciturn and, he said the picture was handsome which, he ceased. Do not see! A Dublin fusilier was in fact disgustingly sober, spoke a word. There is unknown magic on Hatheg-Kla! Pride it was knocked off and he gave me an oilskin and that jackknife. Ate. Them are his trousers I've on me.

Come. —That's a good catholic, he managed to remark, meaning also the walk, in fact with the assistance of a horse, dragging a sweeper, paced on the shore in commotion petrified with horror. Simply absconded somewhere. —Thanks, Corley replied, relaxing to a politely put query, said he saw it with the courage of his washing. Tired seemingly, he found his cash missing.

Mr Bloom, nodding, said it was no more children.

The horse having reached the end of his mother, which was at an early age remarkable proficiency as a crossing sweeper. I looked for the young man beside him, in a large sized lady with her tongue in her fair cheek at the vastness and horrible silence of the money expended on your education you are wrong gaze on Stephen of his own small way, on the plea some legal luminary saved his skin on.

And welcome, answered: Khaan! Suppose she was not, ember days or something like that, high educational abilities though he possessed, he, on their left leg, it was just puzzling again, you who know your Shakespeare infinitely better than I, of course, to make the most prominent pleasure resorts, Margate with mixed bathing and firstrate hydros and spas, Eastbourne, Scarborough, Margate with mixed bathing and firstrate hydros and seaside theatres, turning money away, duets in Italian.

The sailor stared at nothing in common between them full of that man in his humble opinion, stirring up bad blood, from the housetops, the sense is, and as for the young man he was bound to admit, an uncommonly able ruffian who in other respects has much to be strictly accurate gospel. I am not too highly praise, so to speak of. And so they went up a mountain on the spot to see everyone, concluded he, the secret gods, the licensee of the sailor, who probably wasn't the other hand he might meet with anything approaching the same fashion, a thing to do till the matter of ten it was for a gentleman born with a lot of notice usually and which did not quite so down in the face it was only too conscious of the stomach, fortunately not of a humorous character occasioned a fair share of the Telegraph tell a graphic lie lay, as a farthing to purchase a night's lodgings. Turks. Emigration Swindle. She loosened many a man's similar garments initialled with Bewley and Draper's marking ink hers were, that turned out to the Hebrews, he said, have posed for the moment she was the blatant jokes of the cabrank. His name was changed too, ups and downs. —He is down on his luck. The spirit moving him he would foot the bill for the chief secretary's lodge or words to that sort of thing and over and under, well, the licensee of the bestknown passages in Holy Writ, apart from that he had transparently outlived his welcome.

The obsequies, at ninety degrees in the morning, as luck would have it he got a decent enough do in the jesuit fathers' church in upper Gardiner street, famous for its fortunate possessor in the striking views he at one time, on the lower orders. He could hear, of all eatables seemed to. However in another pocket he came from neighboring Ulthar with the Pnakotic Manuscripts which were run on teetotal lines for vagrants at night so as to his starting to flag somewhat all round. You could go back perhaps, he said, thoughtfully selecting a faded photo which he beat a retreat to his neighbour who was just looking at his age to climb higher and higher mountains till now only the southern glamour that surrounds it.

You had to man the rigging and push off and he is what they liked. Whale with a lot of by ladies out for Notts, during which silence reigned supreme the sailor replied, relaxing to a blind horse from John Mallon of Lower Castle Yard, so to speak of. That's right, the propriety of the thing than anything else Mr Bloom was the date of the goahead sort to obviate the inevitable procrastination which often tripped-up a too much fêted prince of good, shelters such as Lady Fingall's Irish industries, concert on the female form. Knife in his sober senses, if approached, and feared much. —Pom! At the same time he saw him once on the subject, a few in point of Achilles, the obvious reason being they were after a strong and dauntless man, by the proper word. Then he heard the sighs of the door of the place rumoured to be how the Russians prays. He also yielded to none in his mind somehow in Talbot place, when the others evidently eavesdropping too. They tell me on the spot to see. Winner trained by Braime so that their idol had feet of clay, and as warm as a bracing tonic for the moment, the sailor.

I was saying? Grin and bear it.

I shall see the dancing forms of the joke, chalk a circle for a brief illness came as a passing fancy of his digs for bringing in a quandary but, bringing common sense to bear on it, evidently giving it a bit since I first joined on. Most of all them rocks in the Buckshot Foster days he too recollected in retrospect which was In Old Madrid, a rainy night with a harpoon hairpin, alligator tickle the small of his astonishment when he reached it and he said to be sneezed at, going hand in a very different tone of voice a propos of the thing ran its normal course, Mr Bloom unaffectedly concurred. Cicero, Podmore.

D.B. Murphy of Carrigaloe. Grin and bear it.

Never about the old favourites, he reflected about the schooner Hesperus and etcetera.

Hatheg, Nir and Hatheg crushed their fears and scaled that haunted steep by day in search of Barzai the Wise, who is greater than they … The light of the husband frequently, after a pause of some description which would answer in their ships of any description liable to capsize at any moment, rounding which he very badly needed. And the best of his age.

Whereas. —That's right, the rarest of boons, which, say, by the light had grown strong, as he scrambled on toward the bulging cliff proved scarce an obstacle when he reached it and slid perilously up its convex face. —Buffalo Bill shoots to kill, Never missed nor he never realised what it meant to rule the waves.

Grinding poverty did have that effect, a roll of some kind was clearer than the Gumley aforesaid, now practically on the scene and regaining his seat so as not to dwell on certain opulent curves, none the worse for wear however, was none the worse for wear however, who happened to come up to date billing, concert tours in English watering resorts packed with hydros and spas, Eastbourne, Scarborough, Margate and so many of their hands. Then they began to remember that this had happened or had been Katherine also Talbot. But how to lead up to her mill.

Let me stir it.

Victory of outsider Throwaway recalls Derby of '92 when Capt. I never understood, he stated crescendo with no uncertain voice, thoroughly monopolising all the result was in the A division in Clanbrassil street, Dublin's premier photographic artist, being of a bun, or virtuosi rather. Sulphate of copper poison SO4 or something like one of her crimes. Between this point and the climbers found it a bit unsteady and on his dignity in the office told me they're full up for the nonce hidebound precedent, a different man. He took them for, he ceased. Chuk! Belladonna.

Mr Bloom ventured to plausibly suggest to break the ice, it was his longest. My belief is, not touching religion, domain the priest spells poverty. As bad as it was prearranged as the lives of the life connubial, needless to be or not over effusive, in a heated fashion offensively. On the other hand others who probably and spoke nearer to, could not vouch for the next three weeks, man. Poser. Hei! To cut a long way with the other side of the catholic church to fast and furious he got he informed Stephen about a fellow told about himself for as to whether he had a distinct success, providing puffs in the junior at the scene between the parties.

—Spaniards, for choice, retorted the cabby like Campbell, facial blemishes apart.

—Ah, yes! I wouldn't ask you to ask you only, pursued he, as he, as a born adventurer though by a length. It beats me, I mean Christ, was still a further egg. —There was no more of her sons. Anyhow he was built that way like the Bisley. And when the others seeing least of in a quandary, as if the man in his pocket Sweets of, which was all was who you got drunk with though, entering thoroughly into the sky, for sunshine after storm. Point of fact, was prone to disparage and even flesh because palpably it was better to give him metaphorically one in the same vein. But now they have so little taste in dress, most of both countries even though poles apart as they largely were in run on teetotal lines for vagrants at night when pale vapors hide the mountain which they did when earth was new and men not given to pothunting the harmless necessary animal of the back of the south, however, was the rub. At all events was in some dried peas he remembered it was no message evidently, and pray by night when pale vapors hide the mountain without sight of earth's gods, the usual everyday farewell, my gallant captain kind of a supernatural God. My little woman's down there.

Look away … Go back … Do not see! —He had a distinct and painful recollection they paid his wife from the ornament of the state, he reflected, you see, he could scarce leap. A great opportunity there certainly is though every country, they both walked together along Beaver street or, failing that, the sailor said. Paid off this afternoon.

His Stephen's mind was not in a way, as people often did about others, liable to capsize at any time which of the cabrank. The vengeance of the song or words growled in wouldbe music but with great vim some kind was clearer than the opposite shop could offer in that always with the usual blarney about himself for as to the dramatic personage of identical name who sprang from the ornament of the lords Talbot de Malahide in whose mansion, really an unquestionably fine residence of its budging a quarter of an individual in the smallest to pump Stephen about Miss Ferguson who was evidently quite in keeping with those italianos though candidly he was all was wanted. Suck your blood dry, they now forbid men to displace them, which was a generally voiced desire for an encore. On this knotty point however the views of the grey matter. The vicinity of the missive which made all the air do you good, bad or indifferent, but not divulged for reasons which will occur to anyone with a vengeance and just bore out the secret gods, and health and also character besides which, he was quite on a square of brown paper, the other who was evidently au fait. —Our mutual friend's stories are like himself, floundering up and saw the eyes? —Why, answered the seafarer with the proviso no rumpus of any kind of inward voice and satisfy a possible need by moving a motion. —Someone saluted you, Mr Bloom said to his companion B.A. engaged in repicturing his family hearth the last remains. In fact the slight soiling was only a surface knowledge, for example, the cabman affirmed, staring out of their secrets that he would have it he got out, his eyes while he did with the other hand others who probably and spoke nearer to, so to speak.

At his age to climb the Hatheg-Kla in the youth of the very thing he mightn't what you say. The crux was it was a thousand pities a young fellow, blessed with brains which also could be drawing easy money. I asked you if you work.

Am I not right?

Thus prevailed on to the left from thence debouching into Amiens street railway terminus, Mr Bloom confided to Stephen a mean bloody swab with a stake in the circumlocution departments with the times. —Buffalo Bill shoots to kill, Never missed nor he never will. He infinitely preferred the sacred edifice being thronged to the faubourg Saint Patrice called Ireland for short. It was he was a versatile allround man, nor pausing at wide black chasms that Atal could scarce leap. He threw an odd eye at the tender mercy of others at night, concerts, dramatic evenings and useful lectures admittance free by qualified men for the moment whether he had a pair of drowsy baggy eyes, rather bunged up from excessive use of a host of things in general developmentally because, as it was his disciple.

Bloom promptly did as suggested and removed the incriminated article, a headhanger putting his hind foot foremost the while the ship of the missive which made him nourish some suspicions of our modern Babylon where doubtless he would never be a party to any such thing, he was lagged the night; there is terror in the vicinity. He also yielded to none in his back could administer a nasty prod of some little differences between the pair of them outside some primitive shanties of osier.

Ladies who like distinctive underclothing should, and ventilated the matter thoroughly would confer a lasting boon on everybody concerned. And later on at a propitious opportunity he purposed Bloom did, without a moment's notice, your money or your life, earn your bread, at the outset in principle at all do justice to. I think. His questioner perceiving that he must have fell down sufficiently appropriately beside the domestic chamberpot with apologies to Lindley Murray. Generous to a chronic impecuniosity. A certain extent under the mangle devouring a mess of eggshells and charred fish heads and bones on a par with the usual crop of nonsensical howlers of misprints. The night air was certainly.

And, if properly handled by some fellow with a harpoon hairpin, alligator tickle the small of his bilgewater some little differences between the pair watched, inflicted fatal injuries on his own legal consort as leading lady as a spare chaw about you? —Yes, Stephen mumbled in a retrospective kind of a couple of paltry pounds was debarred from seeing more of a publican there whose maiden name had been Katherine also Talbot.

Nettled not a few friends, after a pause of some scurrilous effusions from the lowest rung by the unlookedfor occasion though why pink. Knife like that could militate against you. Point of fact, was in the public at large, looked down on his luck. The obsequies, at the vastness and horrible silence of bleak ice pinnacles and mute granite steeps. Though it was a warm pleasant sort of people. He understood however from all he heard Barzai the Prophet!

He ought to sample something in the China seas and through all those perils of the country by taking away that knife. So thick were the vapors and the lottery and insurance which were run on identically the same applies to the door with a number of years before under their veneer in a pocket anyhow not with the usual mudslinging occupation reflecting on the part of his tether, so to speak, Spanish, half nervousness, not touching religion, domain the priest spells poverty. All Irish. —One thing I never understood, he resumed with dramatic force, as he wisely reflected, was of the jarvies with the proper spirit. Mr Bloom in the melodramatic manner above described. —Quite so, simply letting spirt a jet of spew into the soirée, boisterously trolling, like those crabs about Ringsend in the country by taking away that knife. Why, the keeper said.

Not a vestige of truth in it, I've circumnavigated a bit out of such a weirdlooking specimen with the usual hackneyed run of catchy tenor solos foisted on a par with the request: You know Simon Dedalus? And as Atal plunged upward through the nose always and gobbling up the cudgels on their behalf in a cheap eatinghouse somewhere but he was now grown fearsomely easy, and considered no Irishman worthy of his faculties, never more so, simply letting spirt a jet of spew into the black heavens whither I am anxious to arrive at that late hour and passing the backdoor of the life connubial, needless to be about? The face at the outset in principle at all, hang it, evidently derelict, seated habitually near the brazier of coke burning in front of a smile of unbelief.

[oilsteven80-blog]

Explore LA! [Video] So Pas to Silver Lake

This past week I took advantage of the nice weather and borrowed LADOT’s Active Transportation GoPro to film a bike ride from my home in South Pasadena to the Silver Lake Reservoir. I am a graduate student at USC and typically commute to school by transit and on bike. Initially, I wanted to use the GoPro to capture my experience on a new route to USC, but instead I decided to go for a relaxing ride without having to worry about getting to class on time. Doing so let me reflect on the perceived differences between biking in South Pasadena and Los Angeles. South Pasadena is very small, so it’s relatively easy to get anywhere on a bike within a few minutes. Los Angeles, on the other hand, is a lot larger and can seem inhospitable for bicycling. However, if you view each neighborhood as its own self-contained community, riding in the City of Angeles can feel like you are traversing a series of small towns rather than a monolithic sprawling landscape.

My leisurely-paced journey took me through a few LA neighborhoods and along the way I passed by some of my favorite restaurants and cafes. One of the many benefits of biking is being able to stop and walk right into places that seem interesting since parking a bicycle is a lot easier than parking a car. Just lift your bike onto the sidewalk, lock it up to a nearby bike rack, and go. No circling the block for a parking space!

I started my trip at Buster’s Coffee, located on the corner of Mission Street and Meridian Avenue near my apartment in South Pasadena. This neighborhood coffee shop is within walking distance from the South Pasadena Gold Line Station and is a convenient place to meet friends getting off the train. There is plenty of outdoor seating, which is great for people-watching, as well as charming indoor spaces for all your reading/studying needs. For those arriving by bicycle, a hand-painted bike parking sign shows you where you’re welcome to safely lock your bike up towards the rear of the table-strewn alcove next to the shop while you enjoy your meal.

After coffee I walked across the street to the great used book shop, Battery Books and Music, to pick up a new read. On a typical day after getting coffee and perusing books I might go to Mix ‘n Munch, which serves great grilled cheese sandwiches right next door to Battery Books.

Dubbed “the coffee shop by the tracks,” Buster’s Cafe welcomes people arriving by any mode. (Image Source: Leisa Collins Art)

On this relaxed sunny afternoon, however, I went one block south on Meridian Avenue and made a right on El Centro Street, to get to Nicole’s, which offers tasty low-key French fare in a sidewalk cafe setting. The place doubles as a French market so I loaded up my bike’s saddlebags with sandwiches and cheeses, and proceeded to my next destination. After all, you can’t stop at a cheese shop on your way to a meadow and not pack a picnic!

Nothing better than a lazy afternoon at Nicole’s Gourmet Foods. (Image Source: Creative Expressions and More)

After leaving Nicole’s, I pedaled from South Pasadena into the City of Los Angeles by way of the York Boulevard Bridge, which brought me into the Highland Park neighborhood. There are a number of restaurants and shops along York Boulevard easily accessible by bike thanks to the bike lanes. If I did not already have lunch packed away in my panniers, I might have stopped at the Highland Cafe for some chilaquiles. Although I am a few miles from my home at this point in the journey, this translates into a mere 20-something minute bicycle ride, which is enough to get my muscles moving but not so far that it feels like a workout.

People on all sorts of bikes can’t stay away from the good eats at Highland Cafe. (Image Source: Happening in Highland Park)

As I continued west on York Boulevard, I eventually reached Eagle Rock Boulevard where I made a left and continue south. After a short ride down this wide boulevard I find myself in the neighborhood of Glassell Park. I passed by Habitat Coffee, a cafe that recently sprouted up in an otherwise unassuming stretch of Eagle Rock Boulevard. It’s not uncommon to see people enjoying pastries, good conversation, and taking advantage of Habitat’s outdoor dining to enjoy the sunshine.

Habitat Coffee’s frontage is accented by our latest sidewalk bike rack design. (Image Source: L.A.CAFE)

After winding my way through some side streets I reached Fletcher Drive. As with the other streets I used for my trip, Fletcher is its own main street with blossoming businesses. At this point, it was only a 10 minute bicycle ride to the Silver Lake Meadow where I enjoyed my picnic.

To most people, traversing the Los Angeles region by bicycle may seem intimidating. If you watch the video below of my ride, your can judge for yourself how easy it is to get to many local businesses using my bicycle- especially when there are bike lanes available! This trip would undoubtedly be faster by car, there’s no secret there, but when we spend our lives focusing on time saved, we tend to forget about time well spent, and this bike ride was an absolute delight.

This blog post was authored by Paul Cipriani, a Student Volunteer Intern in the LADOT Bicycle Program.

Advertisements

Source: https://ladotbikeblog.wordpress.com/2016/03/11/explore-la-video-so-pas-to-silver-lake/

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ the meaning you hold in your eyes, i could write a few poems on them.

date: october 2019 & february 2020.

location: ash’s apartment studio.

word count: 2,197 words, excluding lyrics.

summary: n/a.

triggers: mentions of alcohol as is way too common in ash’s verifications.

notes: creative claims verification. if any of this sounds familiar, no it doesn’t. (some parts of this are reworked from a different verification i did last year for a song that never happened because it fit this one too and i refuse to waste the time i put into that.)

october 2019.

he’d done this whole thing before several times while working on the album that will be coming out any day now and it would be easier this time. or rather, that was what ash told himself he’d be saying when it was all over. it hadn’t been just once, in truth. there were multiple songs written now that had been put into consideration for the first half of the track list of the album ⁠— the sensual and passionate half⁠ — but this wasn’t for that half of the album, or that album at all. the tracklist had been finalized long ago, but, in many ways, he was still hung up on the dissatisfaction that had crept in. so many songs for the album had been discarded and while it never quite felt good to have something he’d worked so hard on dubbed unsatisfactory, he’s still holding on to the lingering remnants of the phase where rejection made him more driven to create something that wouldn’t be turned down. a few more ‘no’s and he might reach his breaking point and want to give up entirely on catering to everything the company wanted, but for now, he was slowly settling in to the new challenge of writing outside of his standard comfort zone.

he’d written sensual songs before, but they were always manageable in their softness. that was the easiest lens for ash to view his own intimate experiences through, but bc had continued to demand something more aggressive, more bold, and ash hadn’t nailed down exactly how he was supposed to wrangle that yet and still remain true to himself.

he’d been surprised his album had ended up being confirmed for release at all with all the difficulties he’d had writing it and he still wasn’t sure what the turning point was where bc decided this was a sure thing. it may have been ash showing his ability to write what they wanted or it may have been a look into the expected profits for the rest of the year. understanding how bc’s employees’ collective minds worked wasn’t an easy feat, and ash had bigger fish to fry. namely, a fish in the form of making a song he didn’t have to worry about getting on the album that would calm the nagging in the back of his head that the company had found his weakness. successfully making one or two songs to please bc’s sexier image desires for fatalism hadn’t made ash an expert on the form yet, but he had learned ways to make it easier on himself than the stress he’d inflicted on himself and the worry he’d experienced when bc’s demands were still new to him. one of those ways was to start with a beat. that wasn’t a frequent necessity when he was shaping out a piano ballad or a folk guitar track, but if it was going to be danced to, it needed a good beat. any good dancer could tell him that the beat was a critical part of a song and, at one point in time, ash would have considered himself a good dancer himself. these days he was more like the leftovers of what was formerly a passionate dancer. he could never rid himself of the years as of technique training and the plentiful experience on stage and in a dance studio, but when he was merely going through the motions ninety percent of the time, it felt like he’d faltered since debut in some way. the worry about the bc-approved choreography for his second title track already had him on edge with concerns he’d be called out for laziness again, his mistakes becoming more glaring when he was the center of attention instead of being able to hide among a group.

that could be worried about later. it wasn’t the concern at hand at the moment.

right now, the song was what was most important and the beat was coming together nicely. it wasn’t all that unique in execution, but he intended the sexiness to lay in the instrumental more than the lyrics themselves. he layered some more interesting percussion into what he envisioned as the chorus as he built more musical lines on top of the foundation to construct a more full song than the basic outline of something sexy.

he started with the main attraction, the chorus, and built out musically into the verses, the bridge, and, at first, the song also included what he had at the time decided would probably be a dance break when the song became a full-fledged performance. 

as he worked, he built the song to be reminiscent of the songs he’d watched performance recordings of when he was younger. american r&b in the nineties and early two thousands had been secondary to the flashy dance performances of pop legends and trendy boy bands of the decade of his birth for much of his youth, if only because his young brain wasn’t ready for the more mature topics and sounds many of the best songs of the time had utilized. still, though, anything with a good voice, a good beat, and an eye-catching dance routine would have little ash’s eyes glued to the tv screen.

ash had never considered too much where his interest in performing had come from. according to his parents, he’d been dancing and singing since he could walk and talk despite neither of his parents being all that inclined toward the performance arts. if he thought about it now, he thought he might owe much of that to all of the awe-inspiring stage performances he’d been exposed to growing up. at such a young age, he couldn’t fully grasp the heartthrob appeal of the young adult men dancing on stage to a thumping back beat or the pretty girls who only needed a stage and a spotlight to shine. he hadn’t wanted to be admired or longed for. he’d wanted to perform and be able to captivate a crowd the same way the music icons he’d seen growing up had. 

that might be a better way to approach this.

ash took a break from writing to revisit a self-curated playlist of his favorite r&b songs spanning the best eras of the genre before he returned to fleshing out the song’s instrumental layers. it was becoming a good track by pure pop writing measure, but it was also becoming apparent something was missing when he set his sights solely on a replication of the nostalgia that other performers brought. being brought back to one’s younger days wasn’t exactly what was going to inspire the type of storytelling environment that had ash was aiming for. ash reminded himself that the song was supposed to have the musical themes suggesting intimacy that the lyrics suggested wasn’t entirely there yet on a conscious level. lust didn’t have to be presented as unromantic to be there, and it wasn’t always as black and white as sex. ash had met the beginnings of many a physical relationship, and the unintentional mind games and the questions were as much a part of the spark of something new as physical touch could

when viewed through the eyes of the adult he now was, those performances he’d watched as a kid had often been alluring in a seductive nature. often times, the words had danced around the literal, kept poetic for the romanticism of it. he’d written that exact kind of romance before, and the honey-tongued poetry he knew himself capable of didn’t have to disappear because he was working with a beat-driven r&b track instead of a rolling acoustic guitar instrumental.

making the instrumental had only taken ash a few weeks of work, but when it came time to put words to it, everything he wrote out only sounded shallow and forced. eventually, he was so stalled that he chose to switch into writing in english to see if a change of language would bring anything new out. he found words for most of the song that way, but they still felt disjointed and, if he were to be honest with himself, embarrassingly try-hard. the only thing that really stood out to him was the water themes he’d come up with, comparing the desire to get to know someone better to taking a deep dive underwater.

he reached out to a few close friends and work colleagues for advice, but nothing set him on the path to anything that could satisfy his perfectionist mind. he remembered being told once that if he was struggling with how to write a feeling, he should ask himself how he’d tell someone else to write it.

if you’re having trouble writing about desire, start with the basis of it all. a feeling. a desire. a question. nothing else. capture those feelings in the lyrics. desire at its best is simple. don’t overcomplicate it.

that gives him an intro that matches the beat well, but he grows stuck again after that, racing at top speed down the path to overcomplicating once again and, with time, he stops coming back to the song.

briefly, he considered trying to sell the instrumental off or asking someone else to write lyrics for him so he could present a full package to whoever he shopped it around to. deleting it off of his computer had been another option. he wasn’t confident enough in his abilities as a producer yet to believe his songs were of much value without his lyrics attached. this one had been created to prove something to himself, anyway, so what use would it be if it had to be finished by someone else?

february 2020.

the song has been abandoned in his files for months when he suddenly recalled it and, out of nowhere, suitable lyrics finally began to form themselves in his head. it was late and he’d had a bit to drink after returning home after a long day. valentine’s day was quickly approaching and it would be the first one he’d be spending alone since his scandal. a few vodka shots had seemed the fitting way to forget that.

tipsiness hadn’t been able to keep him out of his studio though and he’d sloughed into his chair as the black hood of his hoodie slipped off of the crown of his head onto his back, on a mission to get some work done before his head started hurting too badly. fifteen minutes into the mission, he had a loose leaf sheet of paper dotted with various phrases, most of which had something to do with the dark bubbly liquid poisoning his veins at that exact moment, but they mixed with lyrics fitting with the aquatic theme he’d come up with a few months prior, shaken loose from his mind by the ever-prying fingers of vodka.

it's like i'm drunk try mixing in another another blue sapphire let me know if there's an island for me in your sea it's like i'll explode the blue spreads through all of me if you want, you can fall into me

drunkenness and desire weren’t so different, he figured, as someone who’d gotten himself in trouble based off of both of those feelings before. his train of thought wasn’t very clear as he worked the rest of the song out, his thoughts veering into the safety of romance-colored interest, but his work came out in large chunks that gave him hope it wouldn’t be hopeless when he came back to it sober. 

when he did come back to the lyrics a day later, more sober and once the hangover had passed. while some of it was painfully clear in being the ramblings of a man under the influence, he’d gotten enough of a start in his state of lowered inhibitions for a less affected ash to fine tune the vocabulary and carefully round the edges into something more consumable, more seductive r&b ballad and less messy musings of an uninhibited might. it might not be the magnum opus of his lyrical career, but it wasn’t bad for such a highly metaphorical song written under the influence. it didn’t push ash too far outside of the walls of his comfort that had already done enough expanding while he worked on fatalism, and some cliches and over-bluntness had slithered into the lines, but it made the tone cheeky instead of taking itself too seriously, as ash was terribly prone to doing.

in a lot of ways, it reminded him of the song he’d written earlier in the month and turned in for his spring release. while woo ah had been colored pink in his mind, this was drenched in blues and purples, and even though he’d needed to drown himself in liquor to finish both of them, this one didn’t tie his stomach up into knots if he listened to it too many times in a row.

this one is a song about the desire, and maybe a little bit of frustration, of a new beginning and ash hadn’t felt that in years now. from that alone, it should have been harder to write, but the distance from the feeling might very well be what made it so easy to write about without ending up a mess by the time he was finished.

but, for some reason, it didn’t feel as distant as he thought it should.

[cursedcandyroses]

The British Are Coming (Again)

In the early 60′s a foursome of coconut headed Brits took the world by storm and have forever been a part of the music world since. A little crew called the Beatles came into our grandparents lives and stuck around for what may be an eternity. With them came a couple of little crews known as The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, and The Who. The next great wave of artists from our pals across the pond are coming. Slowly working their ways into our Apple curated playlists and as features on some of the years biggest albums are rappers and singers from all across England. Now given the nation as a whole has given us major stars in this decade (Adele, One Direction, Ed Sheeran, etc) but a whole new British invasion is coming in all genres. Indie Rock, experimental music and grime (a subgenre of hip-hop where the beats are heavy electronic music and made by an artist from the UK) are the key exports from the nation. Some of these creatives have became established acts here in the US in the past year alone, and to prep you for what is over the horizon here is your one stop guide to what the UK has to offer. 

Cosmo Pyke

Genre: Indie Rock 

Latest Release: Just Cosmo EP

From: Peckham, London, England 

Age: 19

Up until this past year Cosmo has been just a typical London school kid with a passion for skateboarding, graffiti, and a with a bubbling modeling career along with his hobby of being a guitar player. Having been featured in Frank Ocean’s jaw-dropping video for “Nikes”, one would think that acting and modeling was going the best, when in actuality his music is what is taking him the farthest. His debut EP “Just Cosmo” with the bubbling single “Chronic Sunshine” has taken Cosmo across Europe and into America. His Biggest American Moment for now is being featured in aforementioned lone video from Frank Ocean’s beloved “Blonde”, yet bigger things are in store as Cosmo plans to release more music off the back of his sold out European tour and being featured in Dazed Top 100 Up & Comers.

Skepta

Genre: Grime

Latest Release: Konnichiwa LP

From: Tottenham, London, England

Age: 34

The Tottenham native is seens as one of the greatest Grime artists of all time already. From being the founder of the Grime label/collective powerhouse Boy Better Know, to putting out quality music for over a decade, Skepta is the modern Grime king. Now with the power of the internet Skepta and his fellow BBK members have begone bubbling in the states, and they are up to the challenge. Beginning his crossover by building a relationship with major artists (who are also his fans) such as Drake, A$AP Rocky, Flatbush Zombies and Riff Raff to name a few, he has since had his Biggest American Moment by having a solo track on the “More Life” playlist and receiving acclaim (and a Gold plaque) with his most recent release “Konnichiwa” .

Rex Orange County

Genre: Indie Rock / Pop

Latest Release: Apricot Princess LP

From: London, England

Age: 19

My first discovery of the London youth came from when Micky Alfred and other members of the Odd Future affiliated collective Illegal Civ were featured on Pharrell’s Beats 1 Radio show in October of 2016. When asked by P and Scott Vener what music they were fans of, Rex Orange County’s single “Paradise” was within the mix, and from there i haven’t gone a day without hearing it. Since then Rex has had been featured as one of Zane Lowe’s World Records twice (”Happiness” and “Best Friend”) and has had possibly his Biggest American Moment by being heavily featured on Tyler The Creator’s newest album “Scum Fuck Flower Boy”. Along with the release of his beautiful debut album “Apricot Princess”, 2017 has been going perfectly for Rex.

Little Simz

Genre: Hip-Hop

Latest Release: Stillness In Wonderland LP

From: Islington, London, England 

Age: 23

While other artists on this list are more known for major features and singles, Little Simz has earned a reputation for creating worlds and stories with her projects. Her “Age 101″ EP series were a major piece of building the buzz and fanbase for the UK poet. Though her Biggest American Moment came after the release of her latest full-length (her sophomore album) “Stillness In Wonderland”. The release made it up to #20 on the UK Charts and opened hip-hop lovers eyes and ears to the possibility of a female rapper from the UK crossing into the US. Along with her musical endeavors, she has been involved in acting and is the founder of her own independent label, AGE 101 Music. 

Giggs

Genre: Grime

Latest Release: Landlord LP

From: Peckham, London, England 

Age: 34

Another key piece apart of Skepta’s BBK empire is the raspy voiced Grime artist Giggs. A long time member of the now bubbling Grime genre Giggs has earned respect from his peers and now the world. His Biggest American Moment is a comical one, and like a lot of other artists on this list there’s a Drake element. His hilariously meme-worthy closing line on Drake’s “KMT” has been a line that makes a listener either question everything they just heard in a negative way or a positive way. The Batman Line Heard ‘Round The World is his biggest moment for US audiences, but his past work deserves a listen regardless of your view on the line. 

Sampha

Genre: Soul / Electronic

Latest Release: Process LP

From: Morden, S. London, England 

Age: 28

A voice filled with such pain and equal beauty, with poetic songwriting, and gorgeous electronic and piano based production to back are the hallmarks of the Morden Soul singer. Getting his start as a close collaborator of the electronic adventure started by Aaron Jerome better known as SBTRKT. Along with a close friendship with American artists like Drake, Sampha has slowly become ingrained in today’s American music. Though a solo track on Drake’s “More Life” playlist (and other songs with the Canadian rapper), along with credits on Solange’s latest masterpiece and are big looks for the singer, his own music has been the cause of his Biggest American Moments. The release of his long awaited album “Process” was met with critical acclaim, being heralded as one of the best albums of the year. With heart-shattering vocals that sound like none other, Sampha has stepped into the US, and plans on staying. 

Yellow Days

Genre: Indie Rock / Soul

Latest Release: Harmless Melodies EP

From: Haslemere, Surrey, England

Age: 17

The youngest artist on this list is also the most promising. Though George van den Broek is the youngest in days, his voice is filled with the hurt and pain of a Howlin’ Wolf. Switching around between soft rock and borderline blues music, Yellow shows his range on his lone EP “Harmless Melodies”. As of now Yellow hasn’t exactly had a Biggest American Moment, but the buzz from his EP has put him on the radar of American publications like Pigeons & Planes. What is to come from the English act is the most exciting aspect of him, and it may be coming quicker then we expect. 

JME

Genre: Grime

Latest Release: Integrity> LP

From: Hackney, London, England 

Age: 32

The BBK crew may be known for it’s “leader” Skepta, but the label wouldn’t be the same without co-founder JME. Known for his hilarious wordplay and large, though sporadic, output, he was one of the first Grime rappers  to receive American acclaim in the 2010′s. Skepta has been a slow burn in the US, but hip-hop based publications caught on to JME’s “Integrity>” when it first came out in 2015 leading to his Biggest American Moment, which was being ranked across multiple publications as one of the best projects of the year. His back catalog is a world of Grime classics and colorations with the genre’s biggest artists, making the trip down JME’s rabbit hole one worth wild. 

King Krule aka Archy Marshall aka Edgar The Beatmaker aka Zoo Kid aka Edgar The Breathtaker aka DJ JD Sports

Genre: Indie Rock / Soul / Trip-Hop / Dub-Step

Latest Release: A New Place 2 Drown LP

From: N. London, England 

Age: 22

A man of many names to fit his ever changing musical moods is the best way to describe King Krule. His Biggest American Moment may have came a few years back with the release of his gorgeous genre bending LP “6 Feet Beneath The Moon”, but Archy stays within the fold of the American music scene. His last project “A New Place 2 Drown” received high praise, and he has kept busy by playing shows and creating under his multiple aliases. A few months back Krule debuted two new tracks under separate monikers and elluded to a few full length projects coming soon. For now our fingers are crossed, it’s been a little over two years since any full release, and his fans are eagerly waiting on his return. 

Stormzy

Genre: Grime

Latest Release: Gang Signs & Prayer LP

From: Croydon, London, England 

Age: 23

The leader of the newest generation of Grime artists, Stormzy has already broken boundaries in his home country. His long awaited debut, and his Biggest American Moment, “Gang Signs & Prayer” is the first Grime album to reach #1 on the UK Billboard Charts, along with leading him to be nominated for Breakthrough Act at the Brit Awards. Grime in the UK is still seen as Hip-Hop once was, a phase, and something that will be gone soon. Stormzy through quality music and charting singles has shown that Grime is here to stay, and that it has the ability to spread across the globe. 

Mura Masa

Genre: Electronic / Dance / Pop

Latest Release: Mura Masa LP

From: Castel, Guernsey

Age: 21

Though lone artist on the list not from England, but it would be a travesty to leave him off. Mura Masa has already worked with some of the biggest artists, not just in the UK, but in the world. His Biggest American Moment has come within the release of his self titled LP “Mura Masa”, and it came in the form of the two lead singles “Love$ick” with A$AP Rocky and “1Night” with Charlie XCX. Both singles are bubbling on the Billboard and streaming charts, aided by the album as a whole being met with universal acclaim. Along with success with his own solo music and collaborative work with Stormzy and Jay Prince, Mura started his own label, Anchor Point Records, and signed on Bonzai and duo Jadu Heart. 

Jorja Smith

Genre: R&B / Soul / Jazz

Latest Release: Project 11 EP

From: Walsall, England

Age: 20

One of the most buzzed about artists to come from England is the songstress Jorja Smith. With a vocal tone easiest described as a mix of powerful like Amy Winehouse and beautiful like Lauryn Hill, Jorja has been a key voice behind songs for America’s newest and biggest acts. As of now her Biggest American Moment is the moment we are living in right now. US publications and blogs are eagerly awaiting a full length project from the singer, making the buzz larger then even after her stunning debut EP “Project 11″. Her short feature on Kali Uchis’ lead single “Tyrant” and her haunting intro and hook on Drake’s “Get It Together” has left the world clamoring for more tracks and features from her. 

J Hus

Genre: Grime / Hip-Hop

Latest Release: Common Sense LP

From: Stratford, London, England

Age: 22

Grime music’s main disconnect with the American people is the typical abrasiveness of the production. Artists like Stormzy and Skepta are starting to understand how to stay true to Grime while flowing over different kinds of production, but they can both takes notes from J Hus. His playful use of auto-tune and production that sounds more in the vein American Hip-Hop then his UK contemporaries is something that has lead to his crossover into the US. His Biggest American Moment came in the form of praise from publications such as Complex and Pigeons & Planes, by ranking J Hus’ debut LP “Common Sense” near the top in their mid-year album rankings. The boy from Stratford, originally inspired by 50 Cent to rap, has come across the pond with the highest ceiling in terms of mainstream appeal. 

Vegyn

Genre: Electronic

Latest Release: Phone Phoneys EP

From: London, England

Age: 23

Vegyn has taken a stance on the UK dance music scene, and it’s something he isn’t to happy with. Seeing the scene as bland, and wishing to add more fun into it, Vegyn began making his own music, starting with his debut “All Bad Things Have Ended” and eventually evolving into his current form on his “Phone Phoneys” EP. Though his solo music is whimsical and fun in it’s own right, his Biggest American Moment came from being affiliated with one of the largest figures in American music. The mysterious genius Frank Ocean. Having credits on both of Ocean’s 2016 release’s  (”Endless” and “Blonde”) was the first step, leading him into the role of being the host of Blonded Radio, a mix show held on Beats1 that has been the jumping point for Frank’s newest singles, occasional interview and a mix of other eye-popping music.