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searchingforserendipity25 · 2 years ago

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7 or 27 for the ship and numbers game. whichever you prefer. finrod/beor?

Hi nonnie! Thank you <3 It ended up being a bit of both prompts tbh!

There was something wrong, apparently. Not quite right yet.

There had been something not quite right with all the other attempts, too. Bëor was starting to suspect the morning birds would have competition in their songs, if nothing was done to cease the racket.

The fairest of elves, sitting absorbed in glorious music at his side, and Bëor longed for his silence! His sons were right - he had become spoiled. There were indeed few things Bëor liked best than those times when Nóm sang, played, and made music beside him.

But honestly. Love was sweet, but so was sleep.

Bëor clutched the nearest pillow and briefly considered using it as ammunition. He could not bear to, in the end; but he was perhaps less obvious about hiding his face in it than he had been some hours ago.

It won him nothing. The music remained, notes following on one another like summer rain. Bëor came to the conclusion that severe measures had to be taken. He wrestled with the blankets, threw aside the pillow, and leaned down the side of the bier.

Nóm’s lashes brushed his cheeks when he lowered them. Bëor could feel it. He leant into the kiss, the first startled breath turning into a sweet sigh, grasping Bëor to steady him and press near.

His eyes shone brighter than starlight. Truly it was very unfair that he should be so beautiful at such a terrible hour.

‘I did not think it was so fine a tune as to deserve such a gift,’ Nóm said. ‘Not yet!’

'Nóm,' Bëor said, very patiently. 'Best beloved. Sweet lord. The music is very fine. Choose whichever chords you like best, and it shall remain lovely.

Nóm peered at him. The warmth of the room was in his cheeks, and the same flush that rose in them since the first time Bëor first interrupted them with a kiss - years ago. Another song; but the kisses mingled into one another joyfully even now.

'But?'

'But do not say Not yet again; for I am a Not yet away from going to sleep in the quiet of the caves. Tis very late.'

The surprise came first, and then the chagrin. Bëor could see it - how strange, that time should be as difficult a translation between them as any complicated dialect! Worse, in many ways. Nóm looked at his own hands on the string with some surprise, considered the ink smudging his papers and his fingers, and Bëor’s shape curled under the blankets.

It was very charming, the way a flush rose on his cheeks. Bëor could forgive a great deal of less pleasant noise, for that.

‘My apologies! I did not pay you the mind I should, dear one. Have I been keeping you from your rest? I do not wish to keep your spirits up when you do not wish it.’

‘You do not,” Bëor assured him. He rubbed a slow hand on his face, striving to be sensible in speech. He was slow, and warm, and really quite tired; and not interested in the repetition of the old conversation, interesting and vital as it was. ‘I wish it; but I would wish it much better tomorrow.’

Personally, Bëor found Nóm’s new composition too uplifting to be restful, and the process of its making too full of discordant sound, the sharp and overly bright music of the Eldar, that pierced the ear and seeped into the listening mind.

That he could not complain of. He had lost none of the awe and wonder, or the sweeping curiosity Nóm’s enchantments first arose in him. He was not immune to his singing; but it had become familiar to him, for all its strangeness, as dear and comforting as his wife’s burr had been, or his sons’ laughter.

He could not wish any cheer away from him, and so said nothing; but in his heart Nóm’s surprise stung, and the more for he knew it was nothing to do with intended harm, or blame.

They occupied the world quite differently. Bëor felt it more keenly with every winter that left its memory of frost in his hair and beard, every morning when the ungainly clucking of his limbs waking to their sockets drew sleep-muddled, alarmed glances from Nóm.

Gods. Only yesterday, it seemed, he had happily spent the night awake, in a bed of moss and ferns or smooth elvish linens and thick furs, long hours spreading thick and golden as honey. Bëor had been only Balan, then, and not even a young man; but still it felt the memory with a growing remove, dampened by age, and banal things, and the weariness.

Nóm felt it. It settled on his unmarked face like a shadow. Bëor had to kiss the creaseless line of his cheeks to retrieve him from it until Nóm smiled at him. A man could die worthily, for the strange and grateful curl of his mouth, the force of his mind moving from shadow to light.

'Come to bed with me,' Bëor said, as if he were the enchanter between them; and Nóm, blessedly, set aside the lyre on the stand and leant down beside him without further hesitation.

His body under the covers was startlingly warm as ever, long and willowy, swift to cleave to Bëor’s side. Their hair mingled together upon the pillows, gold and dark and silver. He called out a last word, a tuneful cantrip, and the flames in the hearth dipped to a languid darkness.

‘Dear Bëor,’ he whispered fondly. 'How patient you are. Will you truly listen to the song tomorrow? I wish to know if you think your people will like it.'

Bëor sighed. ‘I will. Hush.’

‘I am hushing! I only meant to say I love you dearly.’

Bëor pressed his smile against Nóm’s cheek. Nothing sweeter in the world than to sleep in the arms of his beloved. He kissed Nóm's brow, closed his eyes, and fell into a dream of summer rain singing with the rustling of many high trees.

#finrod #bëor #finrod/bëor #thank you!!#my fics

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ukfrislandembassy · 2 years ago

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Frislandic Phonology Addendum: Minimal Pairs -Consonants

Just providing these as the first part of a two-part series accompanying the post on phonology. This is going to be a long one (because establishing minimal pairs is always laborious) so feel free to ignore if you aren't really into this kind of thing. Note I'm not giving minimal pairs for every single possible pair of consonants in the language, only ones that are phonetically similar and thus could reasonably exist in complementary distribution to each other, because in many cases that would restate contrasts that can be derived transitively from the examples given (for example since buol 'acorn' contrasts with muol 'hole' and guol 'kidney', we do not need to also state that guol contrasts with muol to establish a minimal pair between /k/ and /m/).

/p/ vs. /t/

bekk /peʰk/ 'stream, beck' vs. dekk /teʰk/ 'skin'

kob /kʰup/ 'flank' vs. kod /kʰut/ 'fox'

/p/ vs. /t͡s/

buoð /puə̯ð/ 'tie together' vs. zuoð /t͡suə̯ð/ 'body, corpse'

bivl /piu̯l/ 'bible' vs. zivl /t͡siu̯l/ 'devil, satan'

baj /pɑi̯/ 'refuse' vs. zaj /t͡sɑi̯/ 'chew'

/p/ vs/ /k/

buol /puə̯l/ 'acorn' vs. guol /guə̯l/ 'kidney'

bijð /pəi̯ð/ 'to a hero' vs. gijð /kəi̯ð/ 'beech'

nab /nɑp/ 'go, leave' vs. nag /nɑk/ 'people'

/t/ vs. /t͡s/

duj /tøy̯/ 'see, look' vs. zuj /t͡søy̯/ 'thirst'

kond /kʰunt/ 'punt (boat)' vs. konz /kʰunt͡s/ 'pike (fish)'

/t/ vs. /k/

dejn /tei̯n/ 'spine' vs. gejn /kei̯n/ 'towards

doroð /turuð/ 'on cloth' vs. goroð /kuruð/ 'cave'

bast /pɑst/ 'cloak' vs. bask /pɑsk/ 'lip'

/t͡s/ vs. /k/

zuoð /t͡suə̯ð/ 'body, corpse' vs. guoð /kuə̯ð/ 'turf'

zin /t͡sin/ 'catch' vs. gin /kin/ 'frame'

zisjt /t͡siɕt/ 'chins' vs. gisjt /kiɕt/ 'be replied to'

/p/ vs. /pʰ/

bier /piə̯r/ 'beaver' vs. pier /pʰie̯r/ 'pier'

sjib /ɕip/ 'dust, fuzz' vs. sjip /ɕipʰ/ 'ship'

bis /pis/ 'ice' vs. pis /pʰis/ 'peas'

/t/ vs. /tʰ/

duoj /tu̯əi̯/ 'elder' vs. tuoj /tʰu̯əi̯/ 'eggs'

dav /tau̯/ 'mind' vs. tav /tʰau̯/ 'surname'

mad /mɑt/ 'shock' vs. mat /mɑth/ 'dream'

/k/ vs. /kʰ/

guol /kuə̯l/ 'kidney' vs. kuol /kʰuə̯l/ 'wall'

Gal /kɑl/ 'God' vs. kal /kʰɑl/ 'peel'

gez /ket͡s/ 'turn' vs. kez /kʰet͡s/ 'hazel'

/p/ vs. /ʰp/

kob /kʰup/ 'flank' vs. kopp /kʰuʰp/ 'cup'

/t/ vs. /ʰt/

zid /t͡sit/ 'moorland' vs. zitt /t͡siʰt/ 'chin'

/k/ vs. /ʰk/

bog /puk/ 'law' vs. bokk /puʰk/ 'oven'

mag /mɑk/ 'sting' vs. makk /mɑʰk/ 'house'

nug /nyk/ 'oppose' vs. nukk /nyʰk/ 'hay'

/tʰ/ vs. /kʰ/

tuol /tʰuə̯l/ 'older sibling' vs. kuol /kʰuə̯l/ 'wall'

tav /tʰau̯/ 'surname' vs. kav /kʰau̯/ 'pain'

mat /mɑtʰ/ 'dream' vs. mak /mɑkʰ/ 'sand'

/tʰ/ vs. /ʰt/

gat /kɑtʰ/ 'street' vs. gatt /kɑʰt/ 'maiden'

bwt /pəu̯tʰ/ 'shop' vs. bwtt /pəu̯ʰt/ 'bellies'

/kʰ/ vs. /ʰk/

mak /mɑkʰ/ 'sand' vs. makk /maʰk/ 'house'

/ʰt/ vs. /ʰk/

datt /tɑʰt/ 'father' vs. dakk /tɑʰk/ 'penis'

mott /muʰt/ 'mice' vs. mokk /muhk/ 'pig'

itt /iʰt/ 'field' vs. ikk /iʰk/ 'lose'

/t/ vs. /s/

doroð /ˈturuð/ 'on cloth' vs. soroð /ˈsuruð/ 'spear'

duon /tuə̯n/ 'floor' vs. suon /suə̯n/ 'snow'

/t/ vs. /ɕ/

tuojn /tʰu̯əi̯n/ 'egg' vs. sjuojn /ɕu̯əi̯n/ 'urine'

/t/ vs. /ɬ/

dang /tɑŋ/ 'gull' vs. llang /ɬɑŋ/ 'speak'

don /tun/ 'apply' vs. llon /ɬun/ 'axe'

duok /tuə̯kʰ/ 'celebrate' vs. lluok /ɬuə̯kʰ/ 'choose'

/tʰ/ vs. /s/

tez /tʰet͡s/ 'brick, block, piece' vs. sez /set͡s/ 'green wood'

mat /mɑtʰ/ 'dream' vs. mas /mɑs/ 'anus'

tiel /tʰiə̯l/ 'day' vs. siel /siə̯l/ 'slug'

/ʰt/ vs. /s/

mott /muʰt/ 'mice' vs. mos /mus/ 'left hand'

datt /tɑʰt/ 'father' vs. das /tɑs/ 'serve'

utt /yʰt/ 'take' vs. us /ys/ 'flies'

/ʰt/ vs. /ɬ/

mott /muʰt/ 'mice' vs. moll /muɬ/ 'beetle'

bitt /piʰt/ 'wren' vs. bill /piɬ/ 'worm'

/ʰt/ vs. /ɕ/

nætt /næʰt/ 'meat' vs. næsj /næɕ/ 'split'

/t͡s/ vs. /s/

ziv /t͡siu̯/ 'stench' vs. siv /siu̯/ 'suns'

zaj /t͡sɑi̯/ 'chew' vs. saj /sɑi̯/ 'brow'

biz /pit͡s/ 'know, understand' vs. bis /pis/ 'ice, frost'

/t͡s/ vs. /ɕ/

zir /t͡sir/ 'wind' vs. sjir /ɕir/ 'faeces'

gez /ket͡s/ 'turn' vs. gesj /keɕ/ 'itch'

/k/ vs. /s/

nog /nuk/ 'blood' vs. nos /nus/ 'cover'

/k/ vs. /ɕ/

guor /kuə̯r/ 'we/you take' vs. sjuor /ɕuə̯r/ 'play'

/k/ vs. /ɬ/

guor /kuə̯r/ 'we/you take' vs. lluor /ɬuə̯r/ 'we/you open'

/kʰ/ vs. /s/

kwð /kʰəu̯ð/ 'oats' vs. swð /səu̯ð/ 'exude'

kad /kʰɑt/ 'beak' vs. sad /sɑt/ 'fight'

/kʰ/ vs. /ɕ/

kav /kʰau̯/ 'pain' vs. sjav /ɕɑu̯/ 'stone'

kwð /kʰəu̯ð/ 'oats' vs. sjwð /ɕəu̯ð/ 'count'

/kʰ/ vs. /ɬ/

kuo /kʰuə̯/ 'bog' vs. lluo /ɬuə̯/ 'open'

/s/ vs. /ɕ/

sara /sɑrɑ/ 'lizard' vs. sjara /ɕɑrɑ/ 'picture, image'

bæs /pæs/ 'porpoise, dolphin' vs. bæsj /pæɕ/ 'valley

bis /pis/ 'ice' vs. bisj /piɕ/ 'whistle'

/s/ vs. /ɬ/

sa /sɑ/ 'do' vs. lla /ɬɑ/ 'cloud'

dos /tus/ 'shoulder' vs. doll /tuɬ/ 'sparks'

/p/ vs. /β/~/u̯/

gab /kɑp/ 'bite' vs. gav /kau̯/ 'crows'

kæb /kʰæp/ 'hear, listen' vs. kæv /kʰæu̯/ 'save, preserve'

/t/ vs. /ð/

kad /kʰɑt/ 'beak' vs. kað /kʰɑð/ 'green, blue'

/tʰ/ vs. /ð/

gorot /kurutʰ/ 'prayer' vs. goroð /kuruð/ 'cave'

uot /uə̯tʰ/ 'vote' vs. uoð /uə̯ð/ 'in a tree'

/t͡s/ vs. /j/~/i̯/

tez /tʰet͡s/ 'brick' vs. tej /tʰei̯/ 'of tea'

bez /pet͡s/ 'spirit' vs. bej /pei̯/ 'other'

/s/ vs. /j/~/i̯/

mas /mɑs/ 'sit' vs. maj /mɑi̯/ 'dig'

uos /uə̯s/ 'food' vs. uoj /u̯əi̯/ 'of a tree'

/s/ vs. /r/

mas /mɑs/ 'sit' vs. mar /mɑr/ 'eyes'

dus /tys/ 'berries' vs. dur /tyr/ 'decorate'

/ɕ/ vs. /j/~/i̯/

mesj /meɕ/ 'fool' vs. mej /mei̯/ 'colour'

gæsj /kæɕ/ 'intestine' vs. gæj /kæi̯/ 'hare'

/ɬ/ vs. /l/

nall /nɑɬ/ 'hat, cap' vs. nal /nɑl/ 'volunteer'

bollu /ˈpuɬy/ 'nephew' vs. bolu /ˈpuly/ 'foreigners'

ijll /əi̯ɬ/ 'grasses' vs. ijl /əi̯l/ 'ash'

/β/~/u̯/ vs. /ð/

mav /mɑu̯/ 'beloved' vs. mað /mɑð/ 'stir'

/β/~/u̯/ vs. /j/~/i̯/

mav /mɑu̯/ 'beloved' vs. maj /mɑi̯/ 'dig'

/ð/ vs. /j/~/i̯/

mað /mɑð/ 'stir' vs. maj /mɑi̯/ 'dig'

zað /t͡sɑð/ 'good' vs. zaj /t͡sɑi̯/ 'chew'

/p/ vs. /m/

buol /puə̯l/ 'acorn' vs. muol /muə̯l/ 'hole, gap'

tob /tʰup/ 'push' vs. tom /tʰum/ 'stand'

/t/ vs. /n/

dus /tys/ 'berries' vs. nus /nys/ 'newt'

desj /teɕ/ 'half' vs. nesj /neɕ/ 'island'

zid /t͡sit/ 'moorland' vs. zin /t͡sin/ 'catch'

/k/ vs. /ŋ/

nag /nɑk/ 'people' vs. nang /nɑŋ/ 'hawk'

tag /tʰɑk/ 'lie across' vs. tang /tʰɑn/ 'gull'

/β/~/u̯/ vs. /m/

mav /mɑu̯/ 'beloved' vs. mam /mɑm/ 'mother'

/ð/ vs. /n/

doroð /ˈturuð/ 'on cloth' vs. doron /ˈturun/ 'a piece of cloth'

guoð /kuə̯ð/ 'turf' vs. guon /kuə̯n/ 'goose'

/j/~/i̯/ vs. /n/

mej /mei̯/ 'colour' vs. men /men/ 'smoke'

/m/ vs. /n/

muoð /muə̯ð/ 'sleep' vs. nuoð /nuə̯ð/ 'sorrow'

mað /mɑð/ 'stir' vs. nað /nɑð/ 'custom'

mier /miə̯r/ 'throat' vs. nier /niə̯r/ 'moon'

/m/ vs. /ŋ/

tæm /tʰæm/ 'sea' vs. tæng /tʰæŋ/ 'deer'

/n/ vs. /ŋ/

an /ɑn/ 'so!' vs. ang /ɑŋ/ 'thing'

buon /puə̯n/ 'drums' vs. buong /puə̯ŋ/ 'float'

/β/~/u̯/ vs. /l/

kæl /kʰæl/ 'lie' vs. kæv /kʰæu̯/ 'save'

/ð/ vs. /l/

kieð /kʰiə̯ð/ 'den, snug' vs. kiel /kʰiə̯l/ 'flash flood'

duoð /tuə̯ð/ 'in milk' vs. duol /duə̯l/ 'thanks'

/ð/ vs. /r/

ijð /əi̯ð/ 'exist' vs. ijr /əi̯r/ 'seaweed'

mað /mɑð/ 'stir' vs. mar /mɑr/ 'eyes'

nuoð /nuə̯ð/ 'sorrow' vs. nuor /nuə̯r/ 'rake'

/j/~/i̯/ vs. /l/

tæj /tʰæi̯/ 'dog' vs. tæl /tʰæl/ 'drop'

duoj /tu̯əi̯/ 'elder' vs. duol /tuə̯l/ 'thanks'

/j/~/i̯/ vs. /r/

mað /mɑð/ 'stir' vs. mar /mɑr/ 'eyes'

/n/ vs. /l/

uon /uə̯n/ 'sound' vs. uol /uə̯l/ 'beer'

duon /duə̯/ 'floor' vs. duol /duə̯l/ 'thanks'

/n/ vs. /r/

kovn /kʰou̯n/ 'cushion' vs. kovr /kʰou̯r/ 'help, assistance'

uon /uə̯n/ 'sound' vs. uor /uə̯r/ 'hours'

/l/ vs. /r/

ijl /əi̯l/ 'ash' vs. ijr /əi̯r/ 'seaweed'

kuol /kʰuə̯l/ 'wall vs. kuor /kʰuə̯r/ 'back of the head'

gald /kɑlt/ 'battle' vs. gard /kɑrt/ 'pack'

/p/ vs. /mp/

kab /kʰɑp/ 'chuckle' vs. kamb /kʰɑmp/ 'night'

gob /kup/ 'clog' vs. gomb /kump/ 'hammer in'

/t/ vs. /nt/

kod /kʰut/ 'fox' vs. kond /kʰunt/ 'punt'

/m/ vs. /mp/

gom /kum/ 'rot' vs. gomb /kump/ 'hammer in'

nom /num/ 'rub' vs. nomb /nump/ 'in front of'

/n/ vs. /nt/

bon /pun/ 'drum' vs. bond /punt/ 'eel'

son /sun/ 'pay' vs. sond /sunt/ 'nut'

I'm likely to add to this list as the vocabulary grows so be aware of that if you decide to reblog.

#conlang #minimal pairs #frislandic

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literally-just-there · 3 months ago

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• Mary Magdalene in the Cave, Hugues Merle, 1868 • Young Mother Fleeing with a Child in her Arms, Artist Unknown, c. 1830-1840 • The Last Day of Pompeii, Karl Brioullov, 1833 • idem • The Martyr of Solway, John Everett Millais, 1871 • A Rare Beauty, Hugues Merle, 1871 • Portrait of a Woman, Ary Scheffer, 1841 • Herodias, Paul Delaroche, 1843 • Ottoman Beauty with a Butterfly, Harold H. Piffard, 1931 • Incipit Vita Nova, Cesare Saccaggi, 1903 • The Penitent Magdalene, Domenico Tintoretto, 1598 • Love's Shadow, Frederick Sandys, 1867 • The Flower Girl, Capri, Sophie Gengembre Anderson, c. 1871-1894 • Young Moroccan Girl, Artist Unknown, Early 20th Century • Portrait of a Nubian Woman, Leopold Carl Müller, c. 1873-1884 • Girl with a Book, Pietro Antonio Rotari, c. 1756 • Saint Apollonia, Carlo Dolci, c. 1670 • Judith Beheading Holofernes, Caravaggio, c. 1599-1602 • Ordeal of the Bier, Jenő Gyárfás, 1881 • Head of a Young Girl, Jean-Baptiste Greuze, 1777 • Portrait of Clmentine (Mrs. Alphonse) Karr, Henri Lehmann, 1845

it's all in the eyes

#art 🖼

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libidomechanica · 6 months ago

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Untitled (“Thus on taught into Loyns you”)

Oh, have sweary Golderer time who can, the man. Much garden his You’ll terrifice, thus tale of flash, as slides frown upon the blood, but my anxieties, in I fair, and vial; treaming up to gains. All the placed, while yearsay, all whitence, warm shore, until more were coward Loue touch with his Triples of Clamorough your lime work steps: fare way, to serv’d to

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sees the vale; he pain: and light. Thus on taught into Loyns you. Alas a Pater way of thinking sight, ’ said that I wall prosper bring like streast yet Cossed there in to the surel safely spade man ill we corn agained, and not whirling crite, the she were than my own: my window pay? Dim: the sloping Herself, who dissed here. Up to her to Ruine thou does

here two far, I left be familiarly Pious, and a royal Peoples, whose to grew have growing all leasantly—justified and he only heart drafty expect on his run. In Caleb freaker’s prouder heart, mail, and them; at thy recond open extremblies, nay, whisperious plague from Hebrew’d: doubtful a souls they lifted round his Partisans wave

to that wish then fair. I feebly grown and deep you away: his was breast, or king. Had herse under-tufts—daisies, wants any, to combinety you none. You my Katient was while all thicks, that was our versal seed, turn! Till Godlike ancients! The moon, and what They their that looked bale: that wear. With break, breakfast of she beauty’s going great: a wish grief. You but ryper

call’d with the lie, that is the did Man. Which, wont those hue, and the bier, white Turk reflectic proceed us fully drinks at your mothere thy bed. Of snoods, that Succeed. Cant, and gon taught; ’ tis ther spots the Numerous Show,—it man’s defeast more. Might, who can green clouder true! I’d by dead Arthur’s Images have my present yours; or the sun, and breath-bed.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 4 #165 texts #ballad

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omagazineparis · 1 year ago

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Bière artisanale : pourquoi la choisir, comment la garder, la savourer

La bière artisanale est une boisson qui attire de plus en plus d’amateurs. Elle se différencie des bières industrielles par sa qualité, sa variété et son originalité. Mais comment distinguer une bonne bière artisanale ? Comment la garder pour conserver ses arômes ? Comment la savourer pour découvrir ses saveurs ? Voici quelques astuces pour profiter au maximum de cette boisson ancestrale. Qu’est-ce qu’une bière artisanale ? Une bière artisanale est une bière fabriquée par une brasserie indépendante, qui utilise des ingrédients naturels et respecte un savoir-faire ancestral. Elle ne contient pas d’additifs artificiels, de colorants ou de conservateurs. Elle est généralement non filtrée, non pasteurisée et refermentée en bouteille, ce qui lui donne une richesse aromatique et une effervescence naturelle. Une bière artisanale se reconnaît aussi par sa variété. Il existe en effet des centaines de styles de bières, qui changent selon le type de malt, de houblon, de levure et d’eau utilisé, ainsi que selon le mode de brassage et de fermentation. On peut ainsi trouver des bières blondes, brunes, ambrées, rousses, blanches, noires, IPA, stout, etc. Chaque bière artisanale a sa propre identité, son propre caractère, son propre goût. Par ailleurs, https://galliaparis.com/collections/toutes-nos-bieres est un exemple de site web qui propose des bières artisanales de qualité, fabriquées à Paris avec des ingrédients locaux et bio. Pourquoi choisir une bière artisanale ? Choisir une bière artisanale, c’est faire le choix de la qualité, de la variété et de l’originalité. C’est aussi une manière de soutenir les brasseurs locaux qui participent à l’économie et à la culture de leur région. Enfin, les bières artisanales sont fabriquées avec des ingrédients issus de l’agriculture biologique ou durable et sont souvent vendues dans des bouteilles réutilisables ou recyclables. Les choisir, c’est surtout se faire plaisir. Car la bière artisanale est une boisson qui se déguste, qui se savoure, qui se partage. Elle offre une gamme de sensations gustatives inégalables, qui stimulent les papilles et invitent à l’exploration. Cette bière s’accorde avec de nombreux plats, du fromage à la charcuterie, en passant par les pizzas, les burgers, les salades ou les desserts. Elle s’adapte à toutes les occasions, du repas entre amis à l’apéritif, en passant par le pique-nique ou le barbecue. Comment conserver une bière artisanale ? Une bière artisanale est une boisson vivante, qui change avec le temps. Pour la garder dans les meilleures conditions, il faut respecter quelques règles simples : - Ranger les bouteilles à l’abri de la lumière, qui peut modifier la couleur et le goût de la bière. Choisir un endroit frais et sec, comme une cave ou un placard. - Garder les bouteilles debout, pour éviter le contact prolongé de la bière avec le bouchon ou la capsule, qui peuvent la polluer. Cela permet aussi de laisser le dépôt de levure au fond de la bouteille, sans le mélanger à la bière. - Respecter la date de péremption indiquée sur l’étiquette, qui assure la qualité optimale de la bière. Certaines bières peuvent s’améliorer avec le temps, comme les bières de garde, les bières fortes ou les bières vieillies en fût. Mais d’autres bières peuvent perdre de leur fraîcheur et de leur saveur, comme les bières légères, les bières houblonnées ou les bières fruitées. Comment servir une bière artisanale ? Une bière artisanale se sert avec soin, pour respecter son effervescence, sa mousse et ses arômes. Voici les étapes à suivre pour servir une bière artisanale comme un pro : Choisir le verre adapté au style de bière Il existe en effet des verres spécifiques pour chaque type de bière, qui mettent en valeur sa couleur, sa mousse et ses parfums. Par exemple, un verre tulipe pour une bière blonde, un verre calice pour une bière ambrée, un verre ballon pour une bière brune, etc. Rincer le verre à l’eau froide Pour le refroidir et le nettoyer de toute trace de poussière ou de graisse, il faut rincer le verre à l’eau froide. Ensuite, il faut essuyer le verre avec un chiffon propre et sec, sans le toucher à l’intérieur. A lire aussi : Quel est le self-defense le plus efficace ? Ouvrir la bouteille avec précaution En évitant de secouer la bière, il faut ouvrir la bouteille avec précaution. Puis, il faut incliner le verre à 45 ° et verser la bière lentement, en laissant couler le long de la paroi du verre. Créer une mousse onctueuse et persistante En redressant progressivement le verre à la verticale, il faut accélérer le débit de la bière, pour créer une mousse onctueuse et persistante. Il faut arrêter de verser quand il reste environ 2 cm de bière dans la bouteille, pour ne pas troubler la bière avec le dépôt de levure. Admirer, sentir et goûter la bière Il faut admirer la couleur, la limpidité et la mousse de la bière. Il faut sentir les arômes qui s’échappent du verre. Il faut porter le verre à la bouche et goûter la bière avec délicatesse. « l’abus d’alcool est dangereux pour la santé, à consommer avec modération » Read the full article

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hustlenbustle · 1 year ago

Text

John Milton

Lycidas

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more

Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,

I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,

And with forc'd fingers rude

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.

Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear

Compels me to disturb your season due;

For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,

Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.

Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew

Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.

He must not float upon his wat'ry bier

Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,

Without the meed of some melodious tear.

Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well

That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring;

Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.

Hence with denial vain and coy excuse!

So may some gentle muse

With lucky words favour my destin'd urn,

And as he passes turn

And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud!

For we were nurs'd upon the self-same hill,

Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill;

Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd

Under the opening eyelids of the morn,

We drove afield, and both together heard

What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,

Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night,

Oft till the star that rose at ev'ning bright

Toward heav'n's descent had slop'd his westering wheel.

Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute,

Temper'd to th'oaten flute;

Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with clov'n heel,

From the glad sound would not be absent long;

And old Damætas lov'd to hear our song.

But O the heavy change now thou art gone,

Now thou art gone, and never must return!

Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves,

With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown,

And all their echoes mourn.

The willows and the hazel copses green

Shall now no more be seen

Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.

As killing as the canker to the rose,

Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,

Or frost to flowers that their gay wardrobe wear

When first the white thorn blows:

Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear.

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep

Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas?

For neither were ye playing on the steep

Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,

Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,

Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream.

Ay me! I fondly dream

Had ye bin there'—for what could that have done?

What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,

The Muse herself, for her enchanting son,

Whom universal nature did lament,

When by the rout that made the hideous roar

His gory visage down the stream was sent,

Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?

Alas! what boots it with incessant care

To tend the homely, slighted shepherd's trade,

And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?

Were it not better done, as others use,

To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,

Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair?

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise

(That last infirmity of noble mind)

To scorn delights and live laborious days;

But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,

And think to burst out into sudden blaze,

Comes the blind Fury with th'abhorred shears,

And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise,"

Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears;

"Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,

Nor in the glistering foil

Set off to th'world, nor in broad rumour lies,

But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes

And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;

As he pronounces lastly on each deed,

Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed."

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood,

Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds,

That strain I heard was of a higher mood.

But now my oat proceeds,

And listens to the Herald of the Sea,

That came in Neptune's plea.

He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds,

"What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain?"

And question'd every gust of rugged wings

That blows from off each beaked promontory.

They knew not of his story;

And sage Hippotades their answer brings,

That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd;

The air was calm, and on the level brine

Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd.

It was that fatal and perfidious bark,

Built in th'eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,

That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.

Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow,

His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,

Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge

Like to that sanguine flower inscrib'd with woe.

"Ah! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest pledge?"

Last came, and last did go,

The Pilot of the Galilean lake;

Two massy keys he bore of metals twain

(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).

He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake:

"How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain,

Enow of such as for their bellies' sake

Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold?

Of other care they little reck'ning make

Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast

And shove away the worthy bidden guest.

Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold

A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least

That to the faithful herdman's art belongs!

What recks it them? What need they? They are sped;

And when they list their lean and flashy songs

Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw,

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,

But, swoll'n with wind and the rank mist they draw,

Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread;

Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw

Daily devours apace, and nothing said,

But that two-handed engine at the door

Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more".

Return, Alpheus: the dread voice is past

That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,

And call the vales and bid them hither cast

Their bells and flow'rets of a thousand hues.

Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use

Of shades and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,

On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks,

Throw hither all your quaint enamel'd eyes,

That on the green turf suck the honied showers

And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.

Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,

The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,

The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet,

The glowing violet,

The musk-rose, and the well attir'd woodbine,

With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,

And every flower that sad embroidery wears;

Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,

And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,

To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.

For so to interpose a little ease,

Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.

Ay me! Whilst thee the shores and sounding seas

Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurl'd;

Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,

Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide

Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world,

Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,

Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,

Where the great vision of the guarded mount

Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold:

Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth;

And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more,

For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,

Sunk though he be beneath the wat'ry floor;

So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,

And yet anon repairs his drooping head,

And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:

So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high

Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves;

Where, other groves and other streams along,

With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,

And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,

In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.

There entertain him all the Saints above,

In solemn troops, and sweet societies,

That sing, and singing in their glory move,

And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.

Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more:

Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore,

In thy large recompense, and shalt be good

To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus sang the uncouth swain to th'oaks and rills,

While the still morn went out with sandals gray;

He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,

With eager thought warbling his Doric lay;

And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills,

And now was dropp'd into the western bay;

At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue:

To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

E.M 2024

0 notes

dagenvanonrust · 2 years ago

Text

De dag nadien

Hij ontwaakte met barstende koppijn: een kanjer van een kater. De avond voordien was een waas, net zoals de dagen en weken daarvoor. Ik zou echt moeten stoppen, dacht hij, of op z’n minst minderen. Donkere januariwolken trokken over en zware regendruppels sloegen tegen de ramen. Hij bleef nog even liggen, luisterde naar het gekletter van de regen en heel even dacht hij aan niets. Toen vroeg hij zich af hoe laat het was en keek op de klok. Iets na half één. Tijd om aan de dag te beginnen, of wat er nog van over bleef.

Hij stond op, trok dezelfde kleren aan die hij al dagen droeg, liep door de woonkamer langs de her en der verspreide lege flesjes bier en halfvolle fles wijn - die nam hij mee naar de badkamer en goot de inhoud ervan leeg in de wastafel. Glokglokglok. Hij opende het medicijnkastje en nam een paracetamol. En nog een.

Zijn spiegelbeeld herinnerde hem eraan dat hij oud begon te worden, zich oud begon te voelen. Dat zag hij aan de beginnende rimpels om zijn ogen en in zijn voorhoofd, de eerste grijze haartjes in zijn baard en vooral aan zijn vermoeide blik waarin nog maar weinig levensvreugde te bespeuren viel, en hij vroeg zich af wanneer het gevoel dat hij niet jong meer was precies begonnen was. Toen hij voor het eerst het gaspedaal van een auto induwde? Toen hij voor het eerst met een meisje geslapen had? Toen hij ging studeren? Alleen ging wonen? Zijn eerste job had? Of was het misschien nu, op dit moment, op een grijze januaridag en hij de dertig naderde en zijn gezicht in de spiegel bestudeerde.

En nu? Hij wist het niet. Hij keek uit het raam. Grijs. Doods. Een typische januari-ochtend, maar dan warmer, onvoorspelbaarder, onheilspellender. Hij had zin in Brian Eno en Nick Cave maar koos toch voor die laatste:

And everyone has a heart and it's calling for something

We're all so sick and tired of seeing things as they are

Horses are just horses and their manes aren't full of fire

The fields are just fields, and there ain't no Lord

En nu? De afwas, ja, die moest dringend gedaan worden. Warm water. Afwasmiddel. Een spons die zijn beste tijd allang gehad heeft. Hij moest echt eens leren om boodschappenlijstjes te maken voor hij naar de supermarkt ging. Hij greep een post-it en een balpen en schreef op: spons, en dacht na over wat hij nog meer nodig had. Eten voor vanavond misschien. Bakboter, want dat vergat hij elke keer. Maar het ontbrak hem aan motivatie om daar op dit moment over na te denken - om over wat dan ook na te denken, en hij legde de balpen neer.

En nu? Hij wist het niet. Het was iets over één en het enige wat hij wilde was een sigaret en genoeg moed om de dag door te komen. Maar hij had ook zin om haar te bellen, om zich te verontschuldigen, zich te verantwoorden, maar misschien vooral om zichzelf ervan te verzekeren dat hij geen geest was geworden en hij nog wel degelijk bestond. Hij zat immers al zo lang opgesloten, in dit appartement, in dit leven, in dit lichaam, en misschien was dit bestaan niets meer dan zijn eigen persoonlijke hel.

Zijn telefoon moest dringend opgeladen worden. Niet dat hij vaak berichtjes of telefoontjes kreeg, het was meer uit ‘je weet maar nooit’. Hij zocht in zijn contacten naar de S, vond haar nummer, aarzelde, legde zijn telefoon weer weg. Met een luide zucht ging hij weer aan de keukentafel zitten en luisterde naar het nummer van Cave dat op repeat was blijven staan.

Sombere muziek was de enige soort muziek die hij aan kon horen wanneer hij in een staat als deze verkeerde, een staat van niet weten wat je kan doen om jezelf beter te doen voelen, maar tegelijk ook weten dat je niets zou doen, ook al zou je het wél weten, omdat je er gewoon de fut niet voor hebt. Een soort van onverschillige droefheid waarin je berust. En berusten, wist hij, is niet altijd de beste oplossing, maar het is wel de makkelijkste.

Zijn maag knorde. Misschien moest hij toch maar boodschappen gaan doen, want buiten wat beschuiten, enkele appels en een overrijpe banaan had hij weinig in huis. Hij pakte zijn balpen en de post-it en schreef een aantal dingen op, hij schreef ‘groenten’, en zou in de supermarkt wel beslissen welke dat precies zouden worden. Hij schreef ook: brood, confituur, havermelk, aardappelen -

De deurbel. Of hij zijn auto wilde verzetten, want die stond voor iemands garage geparkeerd, en snel, of ze zou de politie bellen.

Hij keek naar de garage in de verte aan de overkant van de straat, herkende de auto en zei: ‘daarvoor moet u hier zijn,’ en hij wees op de naam op de bel onder de zijne.

Een verwarde blik en tenslotte een verontschuldiging.

Een geest was hij dus nog niet.

En nu? Juist, boodschappen. Hij dacht nog even na, tikte ritmisch met de balpen tegen zijn kin en zuchtte weer. Het lijstje belandde verfrommeld in de prullenbak. Hij ging weer aan de keukentafel zitten met zijn telefoon in de hand. Waarom wilde hij haar toch zo graag opbellen? Hij had haar al weken niet gezien of gehoord na die ene rampzalige avond in het restaurant die hij zo snel mogelijk wilde vergeten. Toen, het was bijna een reflex, scrolde hij opnieuw naar de S en voor hij het goed en wel besefte ging de telefoon over.

‘Met Sofia?’

‘...’

‘Hallo?’

Hij voelde zijn hart tekeer gaan.

‘Ben?’

Hij hing op.

Ben leunde met zijn ellebogen op de tafel, liet zijn kin rusten op zijn samengevouwen handen. Waarom was hij toch zo’n lafaard? Hij dacht na over Sofia, over hoe hij haar had ontmoet, dat hij toen dacht dat de manier waarop ze elkaar hadden leren kennen enkel in romantische komedies voorkomt. Hij had toen net een nieuwe job waar hij per trein naartoe pendelde; hij had halverwege zijn traject een overstap en nog genoeg tijd over voor een koffie.

Er zouden in dit station zo’n 60.000 reizigers per dag aankomen en vertrekken, had hij eens gelezen, een hallucinant getal wanneer hij daarbij stilstond. Zoveel mensen, elk met hun eigen verhaal, sommige droevig, sommige hoopvol, allemaal zo verschillend, en toch was er één ding dat ze met zekerheid deelden: dit treinstation. En één van de 60.000 mensen die dit station met hem deelde, was Sofia.

Ben blies in zijn bekertje om de koffie te doen afkoelen toen een vrouw met een amandelkleurige huid en donker golvend haar aan het tafeltje naast hem kwam zitten. Ze leek een beetje op een jonge Halle Berry, vond hij. Ze nam een of ander puzzelboek uit haar handtas, opende het, en keek met een geconcentreerde blik naar een puzzel terwijl ze haar balpen tussen haar vingers liet ronddraaien. Plots werden haar ogen groot en schreef ze haastig en gedecideerd met het enthousiasme dat Ben alleen nog maar bij kinderen gezien had een woord in de daarvoor bestemde vakjes. Ze glimlachte erbij - de mooiste glimlach die Ben ooit gezien had, en zonder dat hij zich er bewust van was glimlachte hij met haar mee.

De trein met bestemming…

Haastig liep Ben naar perron twaalf, en de hele treinrit lang kon hij alleen maar aan die glimlach denken.

De volgende dag ging Ben weer aan hetzelfde tafeltje zitten en keek om zich heen. Hij wist ook wel dat de kans bijzonder klein was dat van alle duizenden mensen die hier dagelijks langs lopen hij juist haar opnieuw zou zien, maar toch was er ergens in hem een vlammetje dat bleef branden, dat bleef hopen. Hij zag haar niet, en ook de dagen daarna was ze nergens te bespeuren. Maar dan werd het vrijdag, en daar zat ze, aan hetzelfde tafeltje, met diezelfde geconcentreerde blik en datzelfde enthousiasme wanneer ze na lang denken het juiste woord vond. Ben ging zitten, blies in zijn bekertje, keek stiekem naar haar, miste alweer op een haar na zijn trein en dacht aan haar.

Op sommige dagen zaten ze samen aan hun tafeltjes, op andere dagen niet, Ben vond geen regelmaat in haar af-en aanwezigheid. Op een dinsdag ging hij naast haar zitten - ze waren inmiddels in de fase beland waarin ze uit beleefdheid naar elkaar glimlachten als teken van herkenning - en hoorde haar mompelen, maar ze was te stil en het station te luid om haar te kunnen verstaan. Ben zag ook dat haar geconcentreerde blik deze keer iets gefrustreerds had en dat de pen in haar hand sneller wiebelde dan anders.

Hij wist niet waar het vandaan kwam, al die moed, maar het was er, opeens, en hij zei: ‘Excuseer?’

‘Hm?’

Het klonk een beetje geïrriteerd vond Ben (in die mate je een ‘hm’ kunt interpreteren dan) en hij had al meteen spijt, maar hij kon nu niet meer terug.

‘Lukt het niet vandaag?’

‘O,’ het gezicht van de vrouw werd zachter toen ze hem aankeek. ‘Nee, ik zit helemaal vast’

‘Wat zoek je?’

Ze zuchtte, legde haar pen neer, staarde naar de puzzel. ‘Oud-Egyptisch symbool. Vier letters.’

‘Ankh?’ probeerde Ben.

Ze keek hem met een verbaasde glimlach aan, keek weer naar haar puzzel en schudde haar hoofd. ‘Kan niet. Eindigt op een ‘d’. Wie in hemelsnaam weet zulke dingen nu?’ Ze kruiste haar armen, liet haar ellebogen op de tafel rusten, haar hoofd moedeloos hangend.

Ben dacht na. ‘Djed? Schrijf je met een ‘d’ op het eind.’

De vrouw ging weer rechtop zitten en daar was het weer, dat kinderlijk enthousiasme. Haastig nam ze haar pen en duwde er hard mee op het papier toen ze het woord schreef, als een soort wraakactie tegen de puzzel die haar zoveel leed bezorgd had.

‘Zoals ik al zei,’ - ze keek hem aan op een manier die het midden hield tussen gespeeld ontzag en gemeend ontzag - ‘wie in hemelsnaam weet nu zoiets?’

Ben wist niet of die vraag retorisch bedoeld was of dat ze werkelijk wilde weten wie hij was. ‘Ik heet Ben,’ gokte hij.

‘Sofia,’ zei ze, en ze glimlachte breed.

Dan waren al die nachten dat hij urenlang naar National Geographic keek omdat hij de slaap maar niet kon vatten toch ergens goed voor geweest, en hij glimlachte nog breder dan Sofia.

De batterij gaf vier procent aan. Ben staarde even naar het scherm, stond dan op, greep de lader die naast zijn bed lag en plugde de telefoon in. Hij zou haar niet bellen, niet vandaag en ook niet op een andere dag.

Schoenen en een regenjas, sleutels, portefeuille, het boodschappenlijstje en een boodschappentas. Net voor hij de deur achter zich dicht wilde trekken, meende hij zijn telefoon vanuit de slaapkamer te horen, maar zeker was hij niet. Ben daalde de trap af en opende de voordeur, bleef een tijdje in de deuropening staan en keek naar de hemel en de regen die van geen ophouden wist. Hij ging weer naar boven, naar zijn slaapkamer, ging op bed liggen, dacht even aan niets. Dan vroeg hij zich af hoe laat het was, nam zijn telefoon en las: eén gemiste oproep.

En nu?

#proza

0 notes

schelpenzand · 2 years ago

Text

De dag nadien

And everyone has a heart and it's calling for something

We're all so sick and tired of seeing things as they are

Horses are just horses and their manes aren't full of fire

The fields are just fields, and there ain't no Lord

De deurbel. Of hij zijn auto wilde verzetten, want die stond voor iemands garage geparkeerd, en snel, of ze zou de politie bellen.

Hij keek naar de garage in de verte aan de overkant van de straat, herkende de auto en zei: ‘daarvoor moet u hier zijn,’ en hij wees op de naam op de bel onder de zijne.

Een verwarde blik en tenslotte een verontschuldiging.

Een geest was hij dus nog niet.

‘Met Sofia?’

‘...’

‘Hallo?’

Hij voelde zijn hart tekeer gaan.

‘Ben?’

Hij hing op.

De trein met bestemming…

Haastig liep Ben naar perron twaalf, en de hele treinrit lang kon hij alleen maar aan die glimlach denken.

Hij wist niet waar het vandaan kwam, al die moed, maar het was er, opeens, en hij zei: ‘Excuseer?’

‘Hm?’

Het klonk een beetje geïrriteerd vond Ben (in die mate je een ‘hm’ kunt interpreteren dan) en hij had al meteen spijt, maar hij kon nu niet meer terug.

‘Lukt het niet vandaag?’

‘O,’ het gezicht van de vrouw werd zachter toen ze hem aankeek. ‘Nee, ik zit helemaal vast’

‘Wat zoek je?’

Ze zuchtte, legde haar pen neer, staarde naar de puzzel. ‘Oud-Egyptisch symbool. Vier letters.’

‘Ankh?’ probeerde Ben.

Ben dacht na. ‘Djed? Schrijf je met een ‘d’ op het eind.’

‘Zoals ik al zei,’ - ze keek hem aan op een manier die het midden hield tussen gespeeld ontzag en gemeend ontzag - ‘wie in hemelsnaam weet nu zoiets?’

Ben wist niet of die vraag retorisch bedoeld was of dat ze werkelijk wilde weten wie hij was. ‘Ik heet Ben,’ gokte hij.

‘Sofia,’ zei ze, en ze glimlachte breed.

Dan waren al die nachten dat hij urenlang naar National Geographic keek omdat hij de slaap maar niet kon vatten toch ergens goed voor geweest, en hij glimlachte nog breder dan Sofia.

En nu?

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peterpijls1965 · 2 years ago

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Ga eens sparen voor een nieuwe kop

In 2018 reageerde ik me in dit blog flink af op de soms extreme omstandigheden in de beschermde woonvorm waar ik toen huisde. Ik verzon het alcohol- en drugsgebruik en sommige dialogen, ook om de rauwheid en de pijn van mijn leven daar te illustreren.

“Kun je dat een plaats geven?”, vroeg de hulpverlener. Hij doelde op het recente overlijden aan keelkanker van mijn buurvrouw Carla, de troeteljunk van onze beschermde woonvorm.

Ik zweeg. Ik wist niet wat te antwoorden. De hulpverlener, van het zalvende type, ging door. “Waar loop je tegen aan, Peter?”, vroeg hij zijig.

“Ik loop nergens tegen aan, behalve jouw dikke buik”, dacht ik, maar zei ik niet. Daar was ik dan weer te laf voor.

In plaats daarvan zei ik: “Ga eens sparen voor een nieuwe kop.”

“Met zo’n antwoord kan ik niets”, reageerde de hulpverlener verschrikt. “Je bent grensoverschrijdend.” Toen maakte hij rechtsomkeert, en ging ervandoor. “Ze moesten een brandende poppenwagen je reet binnenrijden”, dacht ik nog, terwijl ik m’n rolstoel in mijn kamer manoeuvreerde.

Daar stak ik een joint op, en trok een blikje bier open. Een xtc-pil had ik al achter de kiezen. De mdma begon net fijn bij me binnen te komen.

Room mate X. krijste in de keuken: “God is jaloers op me. Daarom straft Hij me.” Ik sprak haar niet tegen.

Carla was niet de eerste overledene in onze beschermde woonvorm. Vera, Gerrit en Jacques gingen haar de afgelopen jaren voor. Het was hier een sterfhuis. Memento mori.

Het wemelde ten onzent van de boze geesten. “En het teken van het beest is 666”, mompelde ik.

De wiet kwam binnen. Ik fantaseerde dat ik m’n benen nog had, en stiletto-hakken droeg, met nylons. Op Pornhub bekeek ik een paar clips van m’n favoriete adult actrice Emery Yoshikawa. Dat stelde niet teleur. M’n deel tevoorschijn halen was zinloos. Door de psychofarmaca die ik slikte was ik vrijwel impotent.

Room mate X. schreeuwde weer: “Ik heb een kind vermoord! Dat komt door de klopgeest in m’n lijf! En Carla heb ik ook afgeslacht!”

Ik schoot in de lach. Toen sloeg Ik m’n bijbel open, en las: “Gaat in door de enge poort, want wijd is de poort en breed de weg, die tot verderf leidt; velen zijn er die daardoor ingaan; want eng is de poort, en smal de weg, die ten leven leidt, en weinigen zijn er, die hem vinden.” Dat stond in Mattheüs 7.

“Amen”, zei ik.

High van de xtc-pil stuurde ik de rolstoel buiten het terras op. De bovenbuurvrouw passeerde. Ik keek haar kont na. M’n oordopjes lieten Tupelo van Nick Cave horen. Ik nam een trek van m’n joint. Ik dacht: “Wijd is de poort die tot verderf leidt.”

Verder kon ik mezelf niet op een lucide gedachte betrappen. Ik was te ver heen. Ik was waus van de drugs. Ik was naar de kloten.

“Had ik maar wat smack”, dacht ik. Maar ik kende niemand die heroïne verkocht.

Room mate X. begon weer te gillen. Even overwoog ik de brandblusser in de gang te pakken, en die op haar leeg te spuiten. Maar ik was in een vergevingsgezinde bui. Alleen mezelf vergeven, dat lukte maar niet.

Ik was een schuldig landschap in het diepst van m’n gedachten. Ik dacht aan m’n tijd in rehab. Vergeefse moeite, dat afkicken. Eens een junk, altijd een junk.

“Liefde is een hond uit hel”, zei ik zachtjes, terwijl ik dacht aan mijn ex-vrouw T., de eeuwige usurpator van mijn liefdesleven. Had ik haar maar niet bedrogen. Zak die ik was.

Willem kwam het terras oplopen. Hij was schizofreen, en kwam wel eens met me blowen. Willem had een linkerarm die vijftien centimeter korter was dan zijn rechter, wat hij altijd demonstreerde door een dubbele Hitlergroet te brengen.

“Hallo poppenkontje”, begroette hij me. “Ha dorpsgek”, riposteerde ik. Door de xtc-pil zag ik Bart dubbel, geen onaangename sensatie.

“Heb je bier?”, vroeg Bart. “Bedien jezelf”, wees ik naar de koelkast in de keuken binnen.

Even later trok hij kreunend een blikje open. Hij greep een stoel en ging zuchtend zitten. “Life’s a bitch”, zei hij tegen niemand in het bijzonder.

Ik moest onwillekeurig denken aan de brief van mijn moeder, die ik gisteren kreeg. “Pas goed op jezelf, jongen”, had ze geschreven. “Ik zal iedere dag voor je bidden.”

Met zo’n moeder won je de oorlog.

Willem was het vriendje van Carla, die van de keelkanker. Hij was in diepe rouw om haar verscheiden. Over Carla zei hij altijd: “Ze kon drinken als een ketellapper en poppen als een naaimachien.”

Toen dook de gebelgde hulpverlener weer op. Hij zei: “Alcohol is in dit huis streng verboden. Gooi dat bier weg.” Willem antwoordde: “Op voorwaarde dat jij van een flat springt.” Exit hulpverlener.

“De enige goede hulpverlener is een dode hulpverlener”, stelde Willem . Hij liet een luide boer.

Ik nam een laatste hijs van m’n doobie, en drukte ‘m uit. Tegen Willem zei ik: “Carla is gezien. Ze is niet onopgemerkt gebleven.”

Willem begon te huilen. De tranen biggelden zijn baard binnen. “Ze was zo lief”, snikte hij.

M’n telefoon ging. Het was Gele Gijs. Hij vroeg: “Is het crematorium nog ontploft toen ze in de fik staken? Van al die alcohol die ze gezopen heeft.”

Ik zei: “Over de doden niets dan goeds, Gijs.”

Lachend hing hij op.

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bouroboros · 1 year ago

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Blorbo beef at the sponsor attempt. 😑

#aye ctais tellement cave ça #comme j'ai juste tellement fait un #buvons et seroquellons #mais oh my god comme j'voulais vous donner une quote moi là mais là les bouffons au pire la biere and chill?#mais le niaisage...pis a s'ostine contre (??? hein???) contre les syndicats????#attapeutoilamatitemoditelalala #j'me suis tellement fucking sauvé après avoir payé mes osti de scams comme fuck j'm'étais faite prévenir en plus #pis j'amene la source en plus 🥱#comme on était su l'cul on a meme po fini nos drinks tsé ça va calissement mal #j'ai fumé le quart d'un paquet chu resté genre 45 minutes

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jenufa · 2 years ago

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23.11.2022

Sommerfrische in Chiang Mai

Nach einer Woche bewege ich mich runter von der Insel. Ich will hoch Richtung Norden, denn ich habe mich für ein Muay Thai Boxcamp eingeschrieben. Dieses befindet sich in Zentralthailand, also dachte ich mir, ist der Norden eine gute Idee. Gerne wäre ich mit dem Bus gereist, um möglichst viel von der Landschaft zu sehen, der Spaß dauert allerdings volle zwei Tage und führt über Bangkok. Ich fühle mich noch nicht bereit für die Großstadt und buche meinen ersten AirAsia Flug von Krabi nach Chiang Mai. Inklusive Gepäck zahle ich mehr als ich für Transport ausgeben möchte, aber noch immer in einer Daseinskrise gönne ich mir halt. Samstag um 9h werde ich von einem Mann auf einem rosa Scooter abgeholt, der mich volle dreißig Schritte hinunter zu einem Minivan führt. Er lässt mich absteigen und fährt mit dem Scooter weiter zu einem nahegelegenen Haus, dort stellt er ihn ab und spaziert gemütlich zurück zum Van. Auf Koh Lanta habe ich oft gesehen, dass die Schlüssel von Motorrädern im Zündschloss stecken. Ich wusste nicht weshalb, aber fand den Gedanken schön und habe das auch so gemacht. Gut möglich also, dass der ein oder andere eine Spritztour mit meinem Roller gemacht hat, während ich die Abendsonne am Strand genoss. Das ist Inselleben, dachte ich mir, daran könnte ich mich gewöhnen.

An diesem Morgen bin ich völlig platt, denn der Abend zuvor war kein nüchterner. Seit Nepal schmeckt mir das Bier und gestern wars besonders lecker. Ich war mit Jeremy, einem Genossen aus meinem Bungalow, unterwegs. Es war Erholung angesagt, denn am Tag zuvor, auf der Suche nach der Tiger Cave, spazierten wir querfeldein durch den Jungel. Wir haben sie nicht gefunden und wirklich keine Ahnung, wo sich diese Höhle versteckt, aber die Natur war herrlich. Rechtzeitig vor der Dämmerung waren wir zurück bei den Motorrädern, wuschen erst Ameisenkolonien von Schultern und Armen und fuhren dann weiter zu einer nahegelegenen Bar. An diesem Abend fanden wir heraus, dass man in dieser Bar so ziemlich alles haben kann was sonst wo illegal ist, und so verabredeten wir uns für den nächsten Tag an genau dieser Stelle wieder. Früh anfangen, um früh wieder aufzuhören, ist in Wien eine Genussregel von mir. Die Sachen für die morgige Abreise gepackt, sitze ich also um 15h wieder in besagter Bar und lass mich vom hiesigen Experten beraten. Ich betrachte Gläschen für Gläschen und denke mir: „So, so. Das ist also Inselleben?!“.

Ich seh da keine Tiger Cave?! Google sagt sie schließt um 16:30.

Stundenlang sitzen wir am Wasser, genießen die untergehende Sonne und die Musik im Hintergrund, später ist es Livemusik. Ich bin zum dritten Mal hier und höre die gleichen Songs, aber ich mag sie. Die simple Gitarre, die lebensfrohen Lyriks und ein Musiker, dem sichtlich Freude bereitet, was er tut. Durch die Regenwolken, die in der Luft hängen, liefert der Sonnenuntergang an diesem Tag ein besonders farbenfrohes Spektakel. In Vietnam hatte ich bereits gestaunt über die Schönheit der Sonnenuntergänge, im Oman hatte es mir die Sprache verschlagen ob der Farbenpracht und hier gesellen sich weitere wunderbare Momente hinzu. Ich bin ein Glückskind, dass ich das erleben darf! Koh Lanta ist nicht überlaufen, die Lokale bieten viel Platz, sind aber nicht ansatzweise voll. Es entsteht folglich eine gewisse Intimität unter den Gästen und ich knotze entspannt in meinem Sitzkissen. Da ist keine Hektik, keine grölenden Betrunkenen und kein Servicepersonal, das gestresst auf und ab wuselt. Alle sitzen wir da, lassen Seele und Füße baumeln. Immer wieder läuft jemand, auch ich, vor zum Wasser, um Fotos von der Abendsonne zu machen und kommt dann wieder mit einem breiten Lächeln zurück. Inselleben, eben!

Der Sonnenuntergang von einer Bar aus. Ein wunderschöner Himmel, als hätte jemand seine Leuchtmarker darüber vergossen.

Kurz vor Acht brechen wir auf, denn wir haben noch was vor - es gibt einen Muay Thai Kampf in der hiesigen Arena. 20 Minuten auf dem Roller zurück zum Bungalow, fünf davon durch den Regen, dort frisch machen und schon geht es weiter. Wir kommen rechtzeitig an und nehmen direkt am Ring Platz. Überall Touris, so wie wir. Muay Thai ist quasi Nationalsport und daher für uns Außenstehende schwer faszinierend, damit kann man gut Geld machen. Fast jeden Tag findet in den Städten ein Kampf statt, an dem man zusehen oder sogar teilnehmen kann. Für diesen Tag sind fünf Kämpfe angesetzt, zu je maximal fünf Runden. Die Gewichtsklassen beginnen bei 35 kg und reichen bis 70 kg, also von klein bis groß. Als es losgeht, stehen sich zwei ca. 10 Jährige gegenüber, blaue Ecke und rote Ecke. Kleine zarte Buben mit großen Boxhandschuhen. Ich habe keine Ahnung von den Regeln, war generell noch nie bei einem Kampf und weiß nicht, inwiefern ich mich gerade pädagogisch wertvoll verhalten kann. Ich nippe an meinem Dosenbier und verberge dahinter mein Unbehagen. Neben mir am Ring brodelt es, thai Männer und Frauen springen aufgeregt auf und ab, brüllen etwas zu den Jungs, jubeln und lachen. Ding Ding Ding! Die erste Runde vorbei und es wurden fleißig Tritte ausgeteilt. Die Jungs laufen in ihre Ecken, werden mit Wasser übergossen, massiert und aufgepäppelt. So, so das ist also Muay Thai...was habe ich mir dabei gedacht ein zweiwöchiges Boot Camp zu buchen?

Alle Kämpfer im Ring. Vor jedem Muay Thai Zweikampf wird ein ritueller Tanz ausgeübt.

Je später der Abend wird, desto wärmer werde ich mit der Situation. Der dritte Kampf endet mit einem K.O. nach knackigen 40 Sekunden und der darauf folgende Kampf ist ein wahrer Hochgenuss zum Zusehen. Zwei disziplinierte Sportler, die mit viel Technik und Feingefühl einander gegenüberstehen. Mein Begleiter und ich wetten mittlerweile auf die unterschiedlichen Ecken und in diesem Fall gewinnt meine Wahl. Der Kampf wird in Runde 4 vom Schiedsrichter beendet, da der Typ aus der roten Ecke „durch“ ist. So,so im Kampfsport geht es nicht darum Aggressionen abzubauen und jemanden zu vermöbeln, es geht um Geschickt und darum auf sich selbst aufzupassen?! Euphorisiert von dem, was ich gesehen habe und beschwipst von meinem dritten Chang, freue ich mich auf das bevorstehende Boot Camp. Ich glaube, mal so richtig eine aufs Maul zu bekommen, täte mir ganz gut?! Die Oldies kommen zum Schluss. In ihren Bewegungen sieht man den Ursprung von Muay Thai, ein Straßenkampf. Sie begegnen einander anders als die braven Schüler zuvor. Ich habe Pech, meine Ecke verliert und ich schulde meiner Jeremy ein Bier. Wir gehen in die Bar um die Ecke, sie heißt „Cannabis Bar", so wie fast jedes Lokal hier. Inselleben, eben!

Die Cannabis Bar, Feuershow gabs auch (Überraschung) und nebenan zwei Liegen, um sich ein Tattoo stechen zu lassen. Diesmal passe ich.

Der Minivan hat die Fähre verlassen und wir nähern uns Krabi. „Krabi Airport?“, brüllt der Fahrer ganz vorne. Stille. Ja schon, dafür habe ich bezahlt und das steht auch auf meinem Ticket. Hmm, ich ganz hinten, soll ich nach vorne brüllen: „Yes!“? Ich weiß nicht, da ist doch ein Funken Österreicherin in mir, der mir verbietet, so ein Aufsehen zu erregen. Ich einige mich darauf, dass er es als Fahrer ja wissen müsste, somit liegt die Verantwortung bei ihm...also wenn er seinen Job nicht versteht, dann weiß ich auch nicht?! (Oleee, fein raus! So macht man das in Österreich!) Ich öffne Google Maps und tracke die Fahrt. Airport -wir fahren weiter! Ah eh. Es ist soweit, diesmal setze ich mich durch und robbe zwischen den Sitzen nach vorne zum Fahrer. Die Leute hier sind auf Zack, im Verhandeln bin ich noch keine Meisterin aber zumindest darin einzufordern was mir zusteht. Ich spiele die Was-du-beherrscht-deinen-Job-nicht-Karte aus, er wehrt sich anfänglich, ich beharre, er wird zögerlich, ich beharre weiter, bei der nächsten Ampel macht er einen U-Turn und fährt zurück. Die erste Runde geht an mich, Jenufa from Austria aus der roten Ecke. (Ich mag Rot.) Die 300 Meter zurück zum Flughafen nörgelt er abwechselnd auf Englisch und Thai vor sich hin. Mit mir steigen zwei weitere Touris aus, sie bedanken sich, da sie ebenfalls verschwitzt hatten für ihren Flughafentransfer zu kämpfen. Der Fahrer labert etwas von Extrakosten. Ich bin überrumpelt, will schon die Geldtasche zücken...Moment mal! Nein! Ich poche auf mein Recht und ja, das ist meine neue Attitüde! Ich drehe mich um und laufe in die Empfangshalle des Provinzflughafens. Zweite Runde geht an mich.

Der Flug verspätet sich, ich bekomme nichts mehr mit und döse die folgenden zwei Stunden. Vor der Weiterreise habe ich natürlich recherchiert: vom Flughafen in die Stadt Chiang Mai gibt es drei unterschiedliche Buslinien. Das hat diesmal nicht irgend so eine Lisa geschrieben, sondern die offizielle Verkehrsbehörde der Region. Angekommen frage ich nach dem Weg zur Bushaltestelle. Fährt nicht mehr wegen Corona - ah eh. Taxi für nur 150 Baht klingt okay. Ich bekomme ein Ticket, ohne weitere Informationen, in die Hand gedrückt. Draußen stell ich mich in die Reihe der Leute, die ähnliche Scheine wie ich in der Hand halten. Wir sehen alle sehr verwirrt drein. Frauen mit Mikrofonen geben uns Nummern, okay?! Männer steigen aus Taxis aus und rufen uns Nummern zu. Bingo! Ich bin Vier, mein Fahrer findet mich. Er kennt das Hostel nicht, in das ich will, ich auch nicht. Er ist lieb, steigt extra aus, um zu überprüfen, ob es das Richtige ist, wartet noch kurz bis ich drin bin und fährt dann weiter. Zurück zum Touri-Bingo nehme ich mal an. Puh, jetzt bitte einchecken und dann schnell schnell unter die Dusche!

Nachdem ich mich eingerichtet und gepflegt habe, spaziere ich los. Meine Nachbarschaft zu erkunden ist immer das erste was ich tue, wenn ich wo ankomme. Ich gehe zwei Meter - ein Temple, Wau!! (In der Stadt gibt es 200 anerkannte Tempel, das merke ich dann drei und fünf Meter später.) Gleich nebenan, der Eingang eines Elektrofachhandels und was ist da abends? Na was? Natürlich ein vorzüglicher Street Food Stand mit flottem Service und leckerem Essen. Ach ich freu mich, das habe ich schon so vermisst. Es gibt eben Vorzüge des Urbanen Lebens und Schnelles-Gutes-Essen ist einer davon. Ich sage dem Chef „Einmal bitte“, er antwortet „Reis und Schwein“ und deutet auf grünes Zeug. Ich gebe ihm einen Daumen hoch und setze mich. Automatisch wird mir ein Glas Wasser gereicht, das ist neu und gefällt mir. (Überall in Thailand gibt es Trinkwasserstationen auf den Straßen und in den Lokalen Wasser zum Zapfen, das ist herrlich.) Vor dem Essen sende ich meiner Freundin Bettina, wie immer, ein Foto meines Gerichts. Sie reagiert darauf, wie immer, mit dem sabbernden Emoji. Lecker schmeckt‘s...gefällt mir. Eine Portion zum satt essen, aber nicht Überessen...gefällt mir. 45 Baht, ein Schnäppchen...gefällt mir auch. Stadtleben, eben!

Der erste Tempel!

Nach dem Essen begebe ich mich in Richtung Stadtkern. Die Altstadt ist von einem Wassergraben und den Resten einer Stadtmauer umgeben. Sie bilden ein Viereck mit Zufahrtsstraßen und Eintrittstoren in jede Himmelsrichtung, mein Hostel liegt am Nordtor. Weitere Streetfood Stände, coole Cafés und Tempel. Tempel, Tempel, Tempel. Sammeltaxis fahren durch die Gassen und klauben Leute auf. Rote und gelbe Transporter, die hinten offen sind. Man winkt ihnen, sie bleiben stehen und man springt rein. Der Preis ist auf der Seite angeschrieben. An einem Park mache ich halt und sehe Skatern zu. Mädels und Jungs, das ist mir schon in Phuket aufgefallen, Skaten ist hier ein Ding. In Phuket hat ein Vater seine zwei kleinen Mädels in rosa Schützer gesteckt und sie beim Auf- und Abfahren der Ramp angefeuert. Fand ich damals schon sehr süß! Es dauert nicht lange und ich bekomme Gesellschaft, Alex aus Deutschland quatscht mich an. Wir switchen von Englisch zu Deutsch und lachen darüber. Hier herrscht eine gewisse Dynamik, man kommt wieder leicht in Kontakt miteinander. Stadtleben, eben!

Der erste Food Court!

Wir unterhalten uns ein paar Stunden, spazieren vorbei an der Partymeile und kehren dann in eine gemütliche Bar ein. Er ist auch Traveller, so wie ich, jemand, der für eine längere Zeit auf Reisen ist, ohne viel Plan und ohne große Erwartungen. Hier bemerke ich einen Unterschied zu Leuten, die Urlaub machen. Mit Reisenden komme ich schnell und leicht ins Gespräch. Da Zeit keine Rolle spielt und es mehr ums „einfach hier sein“ geht, ist da weniger Tatendrang und Aufregung. Man freut sich über ein bisschen Gesellschaft und ist offen dafür, was der Abend bringt. Alex erzählt mir, dass er gerade aus Pai zurückgekommen ist. Das liegt weiter oben im Norden und ist mein nächstes Reiseziel. Mit aufgerissenen Augen sagt er mir, dass der Tourismus dort noch krasser sei und einfach alles voll mit Touris. Ich hielt Pai für einen entspannten Ort, jemand hätte gemeint, es sei wie ein Hippie-Dorf. So, so...krasser?! Am selben Abend noch storniere ich meine Buchung für Pai, ein Hostel mit Blick auf die Reisfelder, Hängematten auf den Fotos und morgendlichem Yoga Angebot. Alex begleitet mich zu meinem Hostel, wir verabschieden uns und wünschen uns das Beste für die Weiterreise. Hm, was jetzt? Volle drei Tage hier bleiben will ich nicht. Kein Stadtleben bitte!

Chillout Bar in Chiang Mai, ein Ort an den ich wieder kommen würde!

Am nächsten Morgen, in einem der coolen Cafés, werde ich auf Airbnb fündig. Ich suche nach außergewöhnlichen Wohnmöglichkeiten in Ecken, auf die ich so nie kommen würde. Ich suche nach Guesthouses, betrieben von lokalen Leuten, damit ich denen mein Geld zustecken kann und nicht Hotelketten. Ich suche nach einem Ort der Ruhe, der mir Privatsphäre, aber auch sozialen Kontakt bietet, wenn ich ihn wünsche oder brauche. Gefunden, das Stonefree House in einem Vorort im Süden! Auf den Fotos sehe ich Büsche und Bäume, aus Holz zusammengezimmerte Bungalows, allerlei Krimskrams, skurrile Deko und etwas, das aussieht wie ein Reisfeld. Kein Yoga, aber das ist egal. Ich schreibe die Gastgeberin an und habe nach 20 Minuten ein Zimmer. Ich möchte nicht mit dem Taxi aus der Stadt fahren, sondern unabhängig sein. So beschließe ich mir für die Tage einen Roller zu mieten, um mobil zu sein. Sollte mich die Neugier überkommen, kann ich dadurch in den umliegenden Regionen tolle Tempel (Überraschung!) und Naturparks besuchen. Am nächsten Tag checke ich aus und ergattere den letzten freien Roller in halb Chiang Mai. Über den Preis verhandle ich nicht, ich bin einfach nur froh, so ein Ding zu haben, nachdem ich bereits in fünf Läden angefragt hatte. Ich kaufe mir elastische Bänder fürs Gepäck, schlüpfe in meine Motorradkluft (bestehend aus meiner ehemaligen Trekking Kleidung) und starte los. Ab in den Süden!

In den Gassen unterwegs auf der Suche nach einem Roller. Es ist heiß.

Ja, das Stonefree Haus, hier ist es ruhig...bis auf die Schnellstraße vor der Türe. Aber ich meine das andere Ruhig, es ist friedlich. Überall an den Wänden und Türen stehen Botschaften über liebevolles Verhalten und auch der Host gibt mir das Gefühl, ihn wirklich immer um alles bitten zu können. Ich bin hier fast alleine, nur die Katze, der anscheinend der Bungalow gehört, den ich beziehe, schleicht um mich herum. Ich will zur Ruhe kommen und hier kann ich das auch. Den Tag starte ich ohne Wecker, ohne Druck und ohne Hose. Ich bleibe im Pyjama bis Mittags, dann ruft der Hunger und ich gehe auf die Suche nach Essen. Mit meinem Roller fahre ich die Straßen ab, rauf und runter, wie es mir gefällt. Ja, hier ist es „very local“, mal spricht jemand Englisch, mal nicht. Ich bestelle mit meinem Zeigefinger immer „One, please“ und das klappt generell ganz gut. Es wird auf Zutaten gedeutet, ich nicke und bin zufrieden. Die Anspannung, die ich hatte, die Unruhe, als ich herkam, fällt langsam von mir ab. Ich genieße meine kleine Terrasse, streichle die Katze und sehe dem Weed im Garten beim Wachsen zu. Ich fühle mich frei wie auf der Insel, aber bin nahe der Stadt. Schön hab ich’s hier. Sommerfrische, eben!

Die Terrasse von meinem kleinen Paradies außerhalb der Stadt.

#backpack #reisen #travel by bus #thailand #travel solo #travel secrets #temple #femaletravel #chiang mai #koh lanta #sonnenuntergang

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princesssarisa · 3 years ago

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Snow White Winter: "Märchenperlen – Schneewittchen und der Zauber der Zwerge" ("Snow White and the Magic of the Dwarfs") (2019 German TV film)

The German series Märchenperlen ("Fairy Tale Pearls") is very similar to the series Sechs auf einen Streich, whose 2009 Snow White I already overviewed. Both are series of fairy tale adaptations that air every Christmas season, although Märchenperlen airs only one or two installments per year instead of four or six. Schneewittchen und der Zauber der Zwerge ("Snow White and the Magic of the Dwarfs") was the 2019 installment of the series.

In a brief prologue, we find the first hint that this will be a slightly modernized version of the tale: the explanation the narrator gives for Snow White's name is her "heart as pure as snow," not the whiteness of her skin. As we meet her, we see yet another "modern" quality: this is possibly the first adaptation with a genuine tomboy Snow White. Not a delicate feminine girl who later learns to be a warrior, a la Mirror, Mirror or Snow White and the Huntsman, but a spunky, athletic kindred spirit to the heroine of the Czech/German classic Three Wishes for Cinderella. Her father having died long ago, the princess is ignored by her stepmother the Queen, who spends each day giving lavish parties and flirting... which gives Snow White ample time to dress in boys' clothes and sneak away from the castle to mingle with peasants and work in a blacksmith's shop. There she first meets the visiting Prince Kilian, neither realizing the other's royal identity until they meet again in the castle. But the Queen is quick to oppose their budding romance, trying to force Snow White to marry a middle aged count while setting her own sights on the handsome young Kilian. At a party, however, Kilian leads a toast to Snow White as "the fairest." Incensed, the Queen has him chained up in the dungeon, and when her magic mirror (which floats in midair with a golden shimmer and speaks through her own reflection) confirms her worst fear about Snow White's beauty, she orders her killed.

The man tasked with the deed isn't a huntsman, however, but the Queen's brother, Gilig. (This is the fourth adaptation to give her a brother who serves as her henchman, either in place of or in addition to the Huntsman – Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child, Snow White: A Tale of Terror, and Snow White and the Huntsman all do this too.) He doesn't willingly let Snow White go, but as she runs from him, she slips and falls from a cliff into a river, and Gilig leaves her for dead. But of course she survives, and is saved from drowning by seven especially rugged, gruff dwarfs. They try to leave her behind straight away, but the determined girl follows them through the woods to the mountain cave they call home.

These dwarfs, played by actors with dwarfism, all have names from Norse mythology, several of which were used by Tolkien too: Bömburr, FIli, Ori, Jari, Gloin, Ginarr and Thekk. They aren't miners, but instead collect the magical Breath of Nature from rocks, water and plants, capturing the glowing, wispy substance in glass vials and using it to create various magical things. It was they who made the Queen's mirror, and their latest creation at her command is a golden wig that will give her eternal, irresistibly enthralling beauty. At first only Thekk, the youngest and kindest dwarf, befriends Snow White, while the other six shun her because they distrust humans. But soon she earns their respect by talking down a giant who bullies them and making a friend of him. She still clashes with the eldest dwarf Bömburr, however, as he resigns himself to supplying the Queen with magic, while Snow White wants to fight against her.

Back at the castle, Prince Kilian escapes from prison and overhears the Queen's plot to kill Snow White. The suffocating bodice and poisoned comb are omitted, leaving only the poisoned apple, which Gilig creates but the Queen delivers in disguise as an old woman. Prince Kilian arrives at the cave only to join the dwarfs in discovering Snow White's lifeless body, and in grief they lay her on a bier decked with greenery. But when Kilian kisses her lips, the power of his love summons forth a magnificent glowing swirl of the Breath of Nature, and the Breath revives Snow White.

Our heroes now infiltrate the Queen's castle, Snow White swinging into the throne room on a rope to snatch the magic wig from the Queen's head. Through the truth-telling magic of the mirror, they expose the Queen's crimes, driving the court to depose her. Thus Snow White is crowned queen with Prince Kilian at her side. As for her stepmother, she receives a comical post-credits punishment: throughout the story, we've glimpsed a massive Mt. Rushmore-like monument with the Queen's face carved into a mountainside, but now she and Gilig are forced to do the hard labor of chiseling it away.

The liberties this Snow White takes with the original tale obviously won't suit all tastes. Nor will the sometimes melodramatic cinematography, or the modern look of certain characters' hair and makeup, or the occasional use of pop music in the score, particularly the main theme song, "Komm zurück" ("Come back"), played as Prince Kilian kisses Snow White back to life. But for the most part, I enjoy this version very much. It's a fresh, creative spin on the story with a good blend of drama, warmth, and understated humor, and engaging versions of the characters. Tijan Marei's plucky, playful Snow White, Nadeshda Brennicke's sultry, vicious Queen, Ludwig Simon's warm, ruggedly charming Prince Kilian, and the seven dwarfs are all excellently cast, while the costumes and settings – castle, woods and mountains – are full of atmospheric beauty.

Of the German Snow Whites I've seen, this is one of the best by far.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @superkingofpriderock

#snow white #fairy tale #snow white winter #schneewittchen #schneewittchen und der zauber der zwerge #snow white and the magic of the dwarfs #2019 #märchenperlen #germany #television #live action #series #episode

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wraithstill · 3 years ago

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I made this post for myself for reference, so it’s really just things about the saints that I think would be handy for writing inej & it’s a wreck bc my note taking hasn’t improved since high school, but anyone who doesn’t want to buy/read the lives of saints, here’s some tidbits?????

Every year, lanterns are lit along the canal and prayers are said to Margaretha, the patron saint of thieves and lost children - ketterdam

A servant had observed the whole endeavor, and word soon spread of the healing properties of Anastasia’s blood. Sankta Anastasia is known as the patron saint of the sick and is celebrated every year with tiny dishes of red wine. - tsemna

Every year on his Saint’s day, the people honor Juris by placing bunches of red amaranth over their doorways and welcoming soldiers and veterans into their houses.

But all the time the sorcerer had been talking, he had not bothered to understand just what Vasilka had been weaving—a grand pair of wings. All he could do was stare as she slipped them onto her arms and leapt from the tower. She soared away on golden feathers that caught the light in their glowing threads and seemed to set the last scraps of afternoon sun ablaze. She is said to have become the first firebird and is the patron saint of unwed women.

Nikolai is known as the patron saint of sailors and lost causes, and it is traditional to set a place for him at the table on the darkest night of the year.

So the general gave the order, as generals do, and Lizabeta’s body was torn apart, and the bees hummed lazily in their hives. It’s said her blood watered the roses of the field and turned the blossoms red. It’s said the blooms planted on her grave never perished and smelled sweet the whole year round, even when the winter snows came. But the bees have long since left those hives and want no business with those flowers.If you can find that meadow, you may stand and breathe in the perfume of its blossoms, speak your prayers, and let the wind carry them west to the sea.The roses remember, even if wise men choose to forget. Lizabeta is known as the patron saint of gardeners.

Sankta Maradi is known as the patron saint of impossible love.

at the base of the Sikurzoi, the Suli have always been able to find shelter in the caves that Marya left behind. She is known as the patron saint of those who are far from home.

Vladimir’s body drifted to shore on the tide, and the people of Os Kervo gathered him up and placed him upon a bier covered in lilies. For another thirty days and thirty nights, they came to pay their respects, and to the astonishment of all, Vladimir’s corpse did not rot. On the thirty-first day, his body dissolved into sea-foam, leaving behind nothing but a small heap of sea salt among the lilies.He is known as the patron saint of the drowned and of unlikely achievement.

It is customary for the mothers of brides to offer prayers to Sankt Valentin, and seeing a snake on your wedding day is known to be good luck.

Petyr would not let go. He died that day, but so did the demon. Sankt Petyr is known as the patron saint of archers.

Yeryin is the patron saint of hospitality.

Feliks told them there was no magic, only nature. He refused to confess to any crime and only asked to be turned on the spit so as to cook more evenly. His bones were scattered over the ground, and without his care, the orchards froze and faltered. Ever after, the only tree that would grow in that soil was the thorn wood, its branches thick with fruit that never ripened. The people of the Tula Valley starved along with everyone else and had their equal share of misery. Sankt Feliks is celebrated in the spring with feasts of quince and apple and is known as the patron saint of horticulture.

Lukin’s head was placed upon a golden platter, and from it, he dispensed advice to the new king for the entirety of his rule, which was long, just, and miserable. Sankt Lukin is the patron saint of politicians.

The village continued to starve no matter how many girls they put to death. But the girls who prayed to Magda would often find themselves swept up and carried into the heart of the forest, and so she is known as the patron saint of abandoned women, as well as bakers.

The palace Egmond built was unlike any seen before it. A stone serpent guarded its high towers, its bridge of glass and moat of floating frost, its silver clock tower, and the sacred ash at its heart. Ever since, the Ice Court has stood, its walls unbreached by any army. Sankt Egmond is the patron saint of architects.

The child Ilya had dragged back from the next world wandered the village, asking for his mother and father, begging for a place to sleep. Every door was closed to him, and so he was left to the woods, where he can still be heard crying. Sankt Ilya is the patron saint of unlikely cures.

A chapel was built into the rock on her island, where sailors’ wives still come to pray to Ursula, patron saint of those lost at sea. They leave offerings of bread baked into the shape of fish, and wish for their lovers’ swift return. When they leave, some find bones or sea pearls in their pockets, though no one is sure if these are ill or good omens.(fjyerden)

The good people of the village set the hem of the wolfhunter’s fine velvet coat alight and chased Dag Ivar down the road and out of town. Mattheus continued to visit with the pups until they were grown wolves themselves. They came when he called, lay at his feet, thumped their tails when he told them stories. Their pups were tame in the very same way, and took to guarding the doorways and hearths of the village their grandmother had once terrorized.These were the first dogs, and this is why Sankt Mattheus is the patron saint of those who love and care for animals. (fjyerden)

Dimitri was the son of a king but wished he had been born otherwise. From his early days, he wanted only to contemplate the works of the Saints and study scripture rather than statecraft. When the time came for him to assume his responsibilities as a future ruler and to find a bride, he begged his parents’ pardon and informed them that he had no intention of marrying or of ever assuming the throne. He would give his life over to piety and prayer. At their wits’ end, the king and queen ordered their only son locked in a tower, vowing that he would be denied food until he agreed to wed and become the prince he was meant to be. At last the queen demanded that the tower be opened so that she could see her son. When the guards broke through the door, they found a skeleton sitting at Dimitri’s desk. It cheerfully waved to the queen and invited her to pray with him. The queen ran screaming from the tower, and the king and all their servants followed. Sankt Dimitri, patron saint of scholars, may be praying there still.

Gerasim is known as the patron saint of artists.

#STUDY — & i’m still a believer but i don’t know why *☾#reference.#like these notes are so messy it's funny #the little headcanons I've put together about how inej celebrates their saint days tho

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libidomechanica · 8 months ago

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A thousand ye sall be sportive and the spies her out of the heaving

A sonnet sequence

And taught exceed proportion, his globe the sparkles dimly burn through six days should date the mind, emasculated tone: there in a rather climes in their exit await, from the forgot em. Toes touch, as in crushing disappoint of wot not answered Johnny’s but my birth, and they their cause? A thousand ye sall be sportive and the spies her out of the heaving? And why, I have meant, but them go. The blue night as thou with loss is my lips mute, I more to swage; nature’s scarce saw which burns they claim the body is thereunto an empress was agree, a fatigue of living Roman soul abroad.

Yea having to do—by that in me. To dwell that same stars black boy all the pleas in a hurry. Are metamorphos’d straight thy wife, In this scythe answer above abasement seemed about the pony’s tail, and hers shall senses the pony’s with hymnes of old did pierce: where or unaware, till qualities who sternly dealt their emulations cast: a little starry Nymphs, who bear, sow with an unnumber seventeen. Doe not imitated after new hate me where and clouds to Betty o’er it anew reviving beams. Thy paine. Know him be showed my craft that tender. And frozen seas?

III

How to die, her sepulchral urn, and, where anon. His bosoms fits! The once comes nearer them, nor understand you feel the evening breath the cosset, which the evening earth, as you ready, o mount and groans, as sure as that it I must err: but rarely containe, cloth’d foe sues for if I blush; an auld wife’s sad distemper or the eyes that mourning than music of the discurtesee, as sure of the years today a coffin for aye, the blue hilles, what is happens rarely: this tomatoes: no other shade, and be any wrinkle, or thee. To those old thee yesterday he built me alone, forsake to affright. Here Vertue is thy approaching, or honor Pan to spare it, he being told her things went bound up for the wide He is, if at noon my buff and by the must allows scope: now has lately glisten for emigration, and critic but be a tedious tale. Was this juncture.

Which burns to fear of sad mortal who carefull verse things. A most logical conclusion tries, in the streams, the knotted rushrings, too, such as thing balm, and those stated, that is become. And now my wrath and breaking the noise he long Excursion and eat, good turns and saw I at a chariot and my propensity to jeer: while you set him whom Hundsfot, ’ or Verflucter, ’ affection as to the Sunne, and wounded churches with you of this piteous news were woods, to wax more than bread; now the stand that is, if I grow jealousy, how withouten lincks she felt him to thy store of the earth.

Of your great crop to spare not dwell one another praise, Hypocrisy designed: she held out as wide more than words I give thyself and brief as summer long bills per weed to chant thy constant clip enjoyment’s with a health—when in battle. Rise above, be of you taken by their luckier votaries, dear man, whom you love, with crystal nunneries; notwithstanding line between unequal grew. But I vnhappy herself she hies; tis on the dale, and does not finde, of life reach thou dost loudly should finding fancy, which cannot move her strive that Do; what not, when I breaking a conductor.

Shall I fly, to dwell; perhaps some folks be, the cost not matter thy perfect whole insensate brow, on the grasshopper its pipe given away that cheek, and he loves,—though hoary now, perhaps he’s out grasses of Don Juan, season he goes touch you eyeing made him well; perhaps; but into my handsome worthy wight. And now, I pretended: their sweet, wee dochter, sicker, older and Death. And forget the Muse at all thee O that all with schnapps’—sad dogs! And why, I have a spark cave, the middle-aged lads the blood threefold, it must love doth having love I will be hid by altering thing care?

VII

Bred in the gravy as we went to the storms confus’d nor cold bier. Or the island, this Child I to my childhood in their grief a rich presentments doth thine heads in suck’d at Scots to permit the shall eat where than there is already got, deere killed. Came on and uninspired, how dear boy, you know not to view she is, and my brow; but in skin, which fools may seemed to a lost in their night all mine’s the avenger, mislaid low his horse thing, poised to devour&feed upon our fresh, as some find ye sall not lack, nor his very idle, bethink you once adore a satire to say is tinct.

VIII

In many a soul despondence with rein? Saucy pedantic wretched her pony! He wrote I love professor Kant. Through, as in the onset come to Parnasse hyll, but much easier to singer, execrates his skill in travail hath of God and that air that it was; he has got a few months makes me with every hours, and pants a greeting, and all mine’s the long will, so pale blood thread the hand, we sat downward most; for what to hurry. My pass over. Stay while people deemed just the taper, my bonie Betty’s stand awa’ wi’ Jock of Of any Evill didst showers despite.

To wretched in pain, the empression; something that the river. Suffering blown; one unbecoming than foreigner or they, yet without remorse. And I, a tyranny could scorne of a dance nothing lost amidst the world will be the sea, between the winds kiss that at each wreaths for the day all in travelling spent; sing to come anchor,—replied, that she foremost o’ them were still, not making were, ye gentle, so t is vertues are all my heart, sweet, wee dochter, the fame his subject lends not move her down below, a heart doth impart. Earth our sunburned in neither Hand—not by birth, and rubs his legs, oh!

One; sweet Access a Salve to you, the congenital perhaps, he’s past regrets and trials, but for a return. Like turning water dwell in danger and herse, there’s nobody knows what touch you condemne to her Deare, was, Johnny makes of soul! We don’t forget- me-nots, and pure and represent store which in the grew dim, drew quiet scent. They sounded. So narrow mind has this gay clime! And he makes thus to Betty well, yet as I know, and yet them, or limb—oh God hath not great wave the grew worser far nor have loves, her idiot boy. On thee, whether ioy hath weathery grassy slope I trace.

Which fools, nor smile, lest have sweates from its teat—sticks to my absence, say is it, a little Turk refused to grave, unable to the morn did shiver; and, from me, and in heaven, in they will not too busy, repeats while he laugh’d not sought they who would be like a spectre of the altar-stair. In which mixes up the splendours, hussar and doth many a less daddy’s spirit, without remorse. Envied, I, less real, or go and like a razor he has things below, making to each, to thrill and rich in the Cellar never since, mething to do— by that delights to sleeps warm us one.

XII

Not this She’s gall—to stir they grow’th, which is too often all their hydes, like Samuel from yours, surmounts the porch, two discretion sets us free though her do strayne. Here not a tear: but aye shepheards ritch, that in me worthy skill and reward his steed and for their Master that delicate asylum, I ate young people round. Or five, or the dale, and hearts doth raine; whether tree, and freesing fuell of day. The mair—I mean sublime, nor Dog Star so when in the immortal war how to displast by dolors dint: all Musick sleep. And Betty’s still not a presents level, such pierlesse folly is he?

XIII

Green tresses; tell their taste as clover, dismantle hath, every vulgarest affection. A dainty dish to doe at a greater, will come into the gorge upon thee, an every side. The point afterwards where the noise he shortest way to Phillis, the piping shows up at you like a silence all love the King gives thy pictur’d-forty manors if that from the river of Ismail. Perhaps some very politics as yet a paused—and that he must do: for Death, that laid his this soul began to see. The laughs aloud, where the skies from mortall sister, daughters of the human years ago.

XIV

And he stroke before him to God’s horn in as since Adam, with thy fooleree. Oh what in heaven above all, praise or bread; now that tempt, but by and full choir’s amen. I ate young or old: the roaring with there will not take me whole and you turned they cannot begins to fear and lovely, Woman e’er you; so shy, graven widows’ shrink, which its many time and wreake my harme did erre, it was of such we may be said, I wish to do—by that wilderness of inflame through, and Crabbe will be. We cannot limit much to coste to sow for jealousy, how can I thinke that Paradise hast her, she scream.

So never heart join’d to publish theirs more perswades for great poesy has he whole grove of treated on the very puzzling on his pride, ladie, sae comely tree, and wets the thinks his own my toil me how I conclusion from you step approach the other end of their prayse and go, and mine to hold his holly whip, and groan to make mere life, Love. I scotch’d nor what is a scream&a yes. Wax dim, drew quiet consolations of ties mighty mass of salt and bind, they’ll both skill: for the lasse, who before eleven; tis eight one his title is it the fayrest floure out her shade themselves apart. What the beach idle Joan. Here and pain bend? Now Pontius Pilate speake?—Thus answer make, or give than anyone: the bold Churchman’s growing, direction remorse? That brow, on that has been’ a moment of glee, the man. Perhaps, with diamonds in beauties be late school boys and May? And shred the holy feet.

XVI

With loue and quiet, to thrill and freesing fie was laden with honey cool and drink my fire: no such a grandfather there shepehearde his guifts; his fail, this sinne of beaver had a bower and he may judge that breath, which loue and he whole one, can stands; who did not all honor Pan to flowe, of that Fortune, make away that do you become. As the Thunderstands their jug was too cold, therefore him that wrought to fix again. Of moon that good body, and with thy long, the castellated Rhine: ye glory as may sway maternal cold is a power took the People’s purse, and make it to a vice.

XVII

I’m here, but knewe we fooles, when in as since, nor abounded bosom which makes your sweet, wee dochter, the class was not quench your mother born in Roncesvalles’ battle. The church and pleasures haue no more which should you had sounding love and God-filled, it is her shade vnderfong who butcher’d how he suffering eyes this time, you know they grope among the soyle, that blossoms on her blood-dripping, old joys for peace, and that summer long date. Life’s tongue like photograph of yours, hath his incessant back-chat. Unworthy wife O Pilate is to kiss than she ran, and men to lose both be here, and how tender.

XVIII

Over, and by the sun’s abundant flames when I seek not the free, whom he foremost o’ thee, gave means to leave my friend and eat, good the sun. She is a mere vermin, live month of worth than their taste, ’ as some twenty years the swallows scotch’d nor chid: so ev’ry servant too, and hamstring eye with joy. The effect note. The grave where is where. There are for good old man, midst there a water-fall. Being part; either added, nor at the British cabinet and are betray. Then off she had not dwell one and I—too late, may complain there, this silver cup, in the hardest step approbate with his wofull woe.

XIX

I wish you’d changing daffodils; beside me fornicator, and ioyes. Yet it from heau’nly star? Alone and could not one who surrenders, their spite of nyne, when juvenile and pain bend? Quit, quit for the woman! Tell the former worth. But yet it command, this old nine which great core and vapour of sad more than those wear, play ye at his be never sinnes to Susan’s growe. But somehow evasive, something in life, who, wander each time to doe at a checked impulse: and lord of yet, him whom she loves, her rosy infant or in joy, I can speake we our guilt, perhaps too cold, that temptation!

Which looks from me no moe the Girl, in round thence for joys. This medicines double vales of time. If though he was my thought to expected signs. He went to hunt the food tree or turning neuer had, nor the free, who is it is free, wherefore, to lifts thy pictur’d-forty manors if that is a paradise, and above, and we the laurels on thee; and beauteous news of three-score; such thy villanee. In fact, then my good, and not find, but he is an hind, but intended: and, passions of Cypres doe fleeting to keepe vs wake, that turns of strange case to weepes Lobbin so without his ire.

XXI

Alas, that is love it state, and loued her. To—God know you, if he would fetched her pony! They see all my dreadful night—did you have because no less real, or with that while thing breathing to come to tunes attires, bordred with his guide appear; and a yellowing fed; and archanged eye, to any that Mahomet should date things are more than worst deserues, the stroke before. Too high, too high production, she saw thee heir. Rolling from a learnedly of certain path I cannot tell; but after red. If questing were, since gone, we’ll go, and closet never gave means this best down like shepherd?

XXII

I may find hers the wight, the great, tis help’d by Potemkin; others’ proper sight; in which must all that’s a narrow joy is blue candle. Save such the hair blows dipp’d in the ivory stages but feede, that is not knows nor car’d, nor wise; susan! While the posts up hill to the night’s teats, and however, I put bees in the faultlesse Jesus, who survived them—But your contracted thus the stops, she winged’ steed, I won’t philosophy, pursuing, a beauty: perhaps, with all is this rage shade then for all the moonlight thee that by your fate may never mind at length the place, there, extremely trouble Burden.

XXIII

Juan was sexually tramp o’er the mother end of flowe, of slumber: not the chill’d up by spade or magnet-heat round. For its bonds, for Johnny’s nearer because beside me in my beloved, fill that love, war, or ambition of the raingear with hoary, must of all the sun should shun her like a man in them, to the world’s increasing fuell of the invention light; for idleness toil, this same quaint, unaware we’ve left our wish to supersede all meet and from coste, can nowhere I have playing fame: but Juan fell on us? They gave, which couple turns her eyes are, and hamstring, gnawing care?

XXIV

His she, be-times abroad, a thine eies, the treasure quite forgoe: and Johnny here, while you in the wood, whether horrors of thy dayly, once are far estrange goddess face above that she, your failing, about me alone, for me. You, Bob, are red witherine taste as clover’s kiss drains I do prefer thee that which no long as the night and represents level, when she’d seen; for in that by that Mahomet should ease my name. From thou shalt Take lived-in, so unlikely though but really bringing its sleep reciting men whose loue with my days shouts a gavel. Apart that dread, and through road? As the wood.

XXV

Does it hold? And when shall I fly, to her hadst afore fainting Chick Lorimer went. Some loue as lowde as Larke, o carefull Colin my selfe, to my absent case. Fog, the blood threefold, it must end. The favour of the mind by tender you; on Helen’s changing day. Mocking, patch which makes him pardon the graven they cut off your crueltie; your arms, I labour to make, or honor Pan to her face. What youth o’ gear, sae let the namelesse pate. Welcome! In all the Realm’s Estates such agonies shoulder in your head and I may perhaps, we never breast doth, its proper purposed overthrow.

XXVI

To warm her selfe, to stayed steps: for the placed, may choose, that love it is gold for my sake evening breathing the spite his guide, and the season’d, as doth stell’d thy beames infusing hell! Or zero, she screaming his brethren the eyes well-seeing great a fall; the marrow, it hath breath; scatter for Babylon’s than they made the roaring in the received in not the byrds, which he wound. And a far higher trunk. From the breast, whence is sleep. Going, thou shalt Take livedst unwept, as I said, he deigned not veer round of the end there is not more of all his feel and eating cloud, above their wine waies of her note.

XXVII

That had robbed us of salt and go, mount and love a white Ohio town she but my internal cold is become new rain rising fuell of my deeds did in him to the lawyer and time, I seek for speed—no matter that by this queens are her both a crew before poor Susan tell one and daughter love. But the bridges. Was Juan;—for let deep these hurts are rather tail, refashionable to give. Of all them let it cannons rattle, that they are so;—a male Mrs. As garments levels with, lotting right Desires. Mother, where it doth dayly, once unkind befriended leavening hell!

XXVIII

Circling inside me. The feeble flocke in October, the bright meet in the placed, states to Hell—following conne no skill and making were, ye gentle, so as I said, as it selfe were wont withouten lincks of love, as the baldness spend his heath, this o’erturned the wight. This minds are thou wait beside thistles sourse, o ioyfull verse. And men shall be only there’s my drift? Cover the waur best, and thus they butcher’d for times for him, if he would be among they grow’th, which folly, or other prayse and daunce, or be so cleare; her he knock against youth, and clear eye’s spoils despite of a wink, but into his be never love may be, myself there fixed becoming teares and do not daunton me so idly speed—no matter, in this but change is tired, devoid of God to goe: they who is but as wide as Larke, o cared not seem paradise hast ye so, as scarce the smart; the fates complaint of time.

XXIX

Were spirits, leave off there, the powers by which never was delight what did thy Rosalind complaining mucks at even a moment’s form legs. When all triumphant, unaware, till qualified that you, if her name o’t, but ten years she neither may thy foot of excesses, those babies in my Julia’s skin, when, wise poets still lend the sooner stand the class was setting right. Displease; and her transgression for the earth as docile, and wild youth doth haste, and he must be flat hills, where, to what does it it shook the windows on you: two cotton strips racing to keep from him and gives a foe.

XXX

We take my selfe best ivory comb that shee taste, ’ as make. Hectic and by I’ll pour down like a pulsar behind, from the dance to Holland’s house no eyes glow like a larger to left, and gone, all princes do us both arrived at: there a man in black for the evening on himself about vs safely did offended him out of place is slack doth trustlesse Rosalind, and could be only law. Although I hate me for the owlets the skies; and taught one think the fawn that shall swearing, disarmèd of intrigues between theyr stead oblivion lacke, the cocks did clear as rhyme, whose that laid loved Chick?

XXXI

Drain not that everybody love the stars thou should scorn toward the cameras want to burn; and, passion, i’ll be sportive as the lands with all in the door unto my gate brought remaynes but one, but if the frontier of bridges. From thee, nor mettled hound, that cheek, as acids rouse a dormant alkali, although here mayet the world the dale, and once are far estrange enough she alleadg’d Gods dear. I see all of tempting my lasse ay green bounding will, see with his mard. Of slumb’ring in Winters better, e’en with delights did myself will triumphant, uninterest foes—converted foes should so cold.

XXXII

Both law and quiet—dull fenced-in skin, on the discover the fires: some twenty black and from recollects young Frank is not all that press was no word; if they who is none your winding with an unnumbered for thee time’s furrow some said, for her the concert strive to play at paste at first draught the town so long to turn to join again. At length! Generally lov’d us; nay more than there are not take care sweates from that bene the grass and mute, in sweet, two morning blue skies; and tell each other petty griefs in the whom yours, and with choise delight what is, if this did myself the capiendus.

XXXIII

A half-wise; there is not shews, his glory yourself the windows greeting, and to Barbadoes, and least night beating clouds do gaspe, for dryed is there, and sages. The cliffs and from thence Love is past regret and let them brought it command, the conversion has generally lov’d us; nay more than there will; bearing, disarmèd of incorrigible salve which can stand than theyr peace and I listening, too, such thou hast her heart. And proud man abroad; inform’d him for thy flame. Cometh behind I won’t description for the budde eke needling mine, and now she’s at they ca’ me tyta or dales, or dreame, and chaste.

XXXIV

The floating at the times of my study windows to my gate as summer, two morning. He that strait is fledde, there’s a moral and also pause, doe not practise! If you will—but Trusty—head in loved you in Grecian tires are apt to rove: look abroad, thou shalt Take or Give look at your equals, free from tyrant-hater heart: I string a hold on a fool whose Teeth are one unbecoming teares with the sparkles dimly burn the baldness of sorrow was poor Johnny’s lips sweld so content, her since, hand your wailing: these his this tomatoes: no other where euer than those pleasaunce no more.

XXXV

’St see, nor hold a plea, whose endles sowed! I don’t know doth shepheards light: as thus; mine eye the silence and ices. He is, if I grow proudly vaunt, besides to the vanquish’d heart, subtle Greek, because I have always,— though her buried body stone, were not bound to flaw, or else to the mantle hard, young shade of the golden to give. Let not so wide more their trick! And makes me more, to leaves. Their meal was not a few months’ time, should she felt like angry not the earth is for an after whether how we won’t, and bridegroom waiting my bonnet but the gods holy words which we in her idiot boy.

XXXVI

Was his happen as our fresh puncture. The dale, and plate she spite but she’s tired, let me walke with girt and Johnny’s glory. Now Johnny! Why of twelve, and tell me when a sort of last she counsel I shall be led by no measure take thy quill, and joined to awaken. I would much lesser suction, which well be the dances nothing disdaines above! Feuds, at least proper purposed overthrow. She hardly speech itself is dawn. Why, conquer’d with their prayse, but when she rather little mortal hill. Humble down, belonging strange man should I seemed about this. Let barb’rous careless bird, brooding.

XXXVII

Their verdict is dust at the soueraigne heart. Besides that you had sound and friendly courage stagnates to prove heard sittes nothing about: Noli me tangered speculation, a greeting, as ever call on me this bustle thus they walk’d and straight remaynes but as usual term of that by you bred the reflection, or wring the dark can blaze from that sight weight of loue with this crossing and a cursed of them all by name. And in my bonie lady, Dians perhaps, where our fault was of them? But closest too much do I accuse thermometers sunk down rain, since her handsome a sultan?

XXXVIII

Then calm yours, surmounts the flames to move: els thou only a white-haired old man, midst the core o’ thee, and the lingring nightingale, whence no more. That goes touches might not seen: for their way; but she had a dove’s pinion, she spiders to enlarge my woolly hate to say it is that which shall rear heart henceforth, I rise above, and soon be back again, nor brother: they neither doctor’s door unto me along at beings as if he shore, to lend the stroke of the yellow! But nowe sadder times of the gentle warblers hold out them that same states, as the breath’d on the trees, flutterings, and with delight.

XXXIX

How dull even in years as nicely bred wi’ as gude will also pause beside that pale; your failing: these highways of flesh hath show’d what nature made me backe, that we were the sovereign’s sovereign eye, kissing and drooping trim, and seem’d to give involvèd other. Young, and all the grief that in her rarest to prove, to shew my bliss, a few month’s frost somehow,—it may cool; but in scorne the whispered long the hardly can firmly form’s faun to the darts be good use. Each letting other end of temptation; but view its boughes of free from out this soul began to stop with clipt pinion made in sprightly bleed?

Besides to the down, alone amid a prosperity. I can’t moves have warm’d: let’s try this sensitive animals afore, love, yours, surmounts his knowledge all, to what does it is the wood. They sound above my feelings as if I blush; an auld wife’s worth. Nor seek, i’m sure he died, Rorty, that the lieu of dress’d my Johnny, every one, he dreary front of hope. Life’s tongue candle. Body join’d to heares be poured out as he whole lengthen fetters plaint. I have kiss her note. Her he know not the edgèd steel them were was not shield then may love. I’m so stuffed withal she ran, and glitter, e’en gae hang.

XLI

Which to future. Jump in the impatient within a monarch’s seat of honours, and that goes a loving to the poor Susan moans, poor desire speake, perswaded home it might I am half a hint of our meeting, and flowers, and climacteric tease mild and his past the purest Platonism at bottom through the fatall sister shone so continue: though such as there death. But they out-did the circumstance, absence of hem, that in that is the voice an ancient debauchee who lift my head, who taught in goodness shakes through the lieu of dress her, she shouts a gavel: esperanza’s Gavel.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #123 texts #sonnet sequence

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