#curse of cheese upon thee!

[branches-in-a-flood]

@wispmotherr this is your legacy now, fyi

i dont know who needs this or why i draw it,

but here is Pyramid Head, but cheese

[gremlinrat]

ok fine cause your such a little sensitive retard, I’ll use a burner to talk to you. You suck. Your art is horrible.

that’s nice.

you.

A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality.

Away, you starvelling, you elf-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish. Get off my blog. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver’d boy. I am sick when I do look upon thee. I wish your grilled cheese never to fully melt; your bread always stale, and your milk curdled. I’d beat thee, but I’d infect mine own hands.

I scorn you. Your ancestors scowl upon you. You are despicable to god himself.

Methink’st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee. You are a compilation of The rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril. The tartness of your face sours ripe grapes. Thine face is not worth sunburning.

A filled urn of dissapointment. What would your mother think.

YOUR MOTHER WAS A HAMPSTER AND YOUR FATHER SMELT OF ELDERBERRIES.

may every step you take be cursed with a 2 by 4 lego. Your mother was a broken down tub of junk with more gentlemen callers than the operator.

Your mother took nine months to make a joke but that’s alright because everyone that sees your face is still laughing at it.

Joe mamas so fat that she has more exes on her shirt size than Taylor swift.

you are an untitled word document.

How much thalidomide did your mom take?

your supposed to be dumpster diving for ham scraps you six piece chicken mcnobody.

the worst to you. Goodbye.

[davidsmith9582]

CHEESE ATTACK 🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀��🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀🧀

nice try. i counter your cheese attack with my arcane dairy shield, the cheese is deflected to you. i cast upon thee a curse of Lactose Intolerance and you flee the scene with your pile of cheese.

[libidomechanica]

“Th” Arabian dew besmears my uncontrolled brow and my next self the

The braw lass made the bed to me.     Or heart; wound me: for his scythe and hear the deepening time for     ever can compare. ’ A

smile his prayer more than my o’er-     press’d my Julia’s breasts like a roe or a young savage of     thine eye is famish’d

pilgrimage to the door, she packed hand,     and die, heart-stifled, in her empty masks, and in the     distraction too, be off! If

such deep sorrow to hand and each     by others ever eager- eyed, her rich a curse; but are     twins, and her lambs unshorn,

and still they quite shrink in her bed,     but merely their flight. The small stock of sheep which fair Madeline     began to sip; but

with delight. But what is misunderstood.     ’Re sweet with forest boughs, the moon, answer’d; fool; who     think thee, dear. To hopes and

dumb death all we do for our long     preserved virgins with fair philosophy, less friend; nor that     she will in vain that they

were she: how prettily for him.—     Though less the sound is surprised, as filchers use, he thus began     himself dost pay. His

Psyche was the Lip of Beauty,     or the words are as gold rings seem only one in the jawing     waves make the chamber

ward i’ll take that bare her. I tried     the smell thereof of silver. Took some honey that we’ll go     no more than now, she said,

and dinna sae uncivil be;     gif ye hae ony luve for my fair the court we paced, and     shall whisper, and saffron;

calamus and hornblende, rag and     the Hour came; she is the roofs of the woman like moist fingers,     appear before are

thee. At once adieu, as if it     would give him leave the day return, return. My verse shall not     fret at that you swim sentry

over the rings set with that     warmed jewels, the thunder of the woman’s fingers am I     at all for one plant again

and the show appear: that lent     my knee desires. A strange seizure came upon your father     has met wi’ my Phillis,

that you can, be yours for some     fresh cheese and prey. Said she, you’ve lost they were walking through thy     prisoned soul fatigued away,

I have rest. I said methinks     he seems he’s right. At barn or byre thou hast won? Which old-     recurring waves make that art

in love Gregory! I love than     another friend than wine. Th’ Arabian dew besmears     my uncontrolled brow

and my next self the spark of glowing     and triumphs gay various morn? And with ourself would     utterly be contend.

[lesbianknighterrant]

What could possibly move thee to enact this upon a person? The effects you describe happen to me, and they are terrible; no place can I call home for fear of hurting its inhabitants. I urge thee to choose a more benign curse. Something involving excess cheese perhaps?

I used to have a wizard tower. It was swallowed by the swamp. Then I built a second wizard tower on top of it. It was also swallowed by the swamp. The. I built a third wizard tower on. The same spot, and it was only mostly swallowed by the swamp. Now I live on the top floor of a wizard tower which is the only part not swallowed by the swamp.

[viciouslyfilthy]

*You got mail! The letter smells of soot and cheap liquor.

-----

Hi!!!! This is for the big cheese, Sün!!

To make a very long story short that is NOT any of your business, I have blood. A lot. And none of my STUPID friends want any!!! LAME!!!!!! >:(

So uh, I was wondering what kinda junk you like being sacrificed in your name! I can get anything, and I mean ANYTHING, and I really need to use that blood for SOMETHING!!

Thanks!

Charles "Fucker of Mothers" Nunya

(From the desk of @lenorethequietbookkeeper)

It was not uncommon for Sün to recieve letters in the slightest, however, the odor of this one had caught his attention particularly.

"Blackwood, who delivered this letter?"

"I- ..I-I'm not quite sure, it was in the mail room just like all the others."

"Hmmm.."

The towering entity did not pay any further attention to the meek pastor, whom rested his hand upon the nearby cream-colored table; he hesitated a little, but inevitably (and awkwardly) ended up leaving his Lord to his readings.

The attention Sün paid to each word soon turned into annoyance with a grunt and a soft "not again" escaping his unseeable lips.

' These cursed sacrifices will be the end of me. It's not even worth smiting these knuckleheads I still, somehow, refer to as an intelligent form of life. ' Were his thoughts while-reading.

He straightened his pose as he carefully folded the letter and organized his words before expressing himself. He did not take his gaze off of the letter, though.

" My dear, slightly-foul-mouthed, Charles Nunya, the blood could be of use for next summer's harvest and rituals, I thank thee for such a pleasant offer. However, much to my growing intolerance for this topic, no. I do not accept sacrifices. I accept any offers, or 'gifts' ; my followers do not kill to appease me- they worship, pay their tributes during the summer- they give me something that belongs to them, along with their praise, I grow their crops, give them food- money- immortality, whatever they wish for in exchange. Not the blood of some insignificant little animal or some stranger with an equally mediocre life, we are not barbarians. "

[queennicoleinboots]

Taco Mac with Count Macrula and Count Macula, Jr., part 6

Colonel Mac, FreeLee the Banana Girl, and I were back at Publix to pick up ingredients for vegan Taco Mac. Michael the Great Arc Angel of course flew around and followed us. It is important to note that Colonel Mac wore a white MAGA mask: Make America Godly Again.

Colonel Mac was rattling off ingredients from his long list: corn tortillas, black beans, pinto beans, great white beans, brown rice, white rice, spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, jalapenos, onions, cilantro, Annie's vegan macaroni and cheese, Daiya cheddar cheeze shreds, red bell pepper, yellow bell pepper, orange bell pepper, green bell pepper, limes, ground pepper, green tomatillos, red tomatillos, tobasco, and whole golden kernel corn.

"Are we getting more margarine?" FreeLee the Banana Girl asked.

"Oh yes, I forgot," Colonel Mac said.

"But we are not getting Blue Bonnet," I clarified.

"No, but are we getting Smart Balance with olive oil?" Colonel Mac asked.

"No," FreeLee the Banana Girl said.

"Really? That's the kind I usually get for Mr. Williamson and his wife," I said.

FreeLee the Banana Girl then stared at me as we were picking up all necessary items from produce: spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, jalapenos, onions, cilantro, red bell pepper, yellow bell pepper, orange bell pepper, green bell pepper, limes, green tomatillos, and red tomatillos. She said, "You need to repent."

"Everyone's been saying that lately," I said. "And it is a process."

FreeLee the Banana Girl sighed. "Let's go to the margarine aisle. All of life's questions will be answered there," she said.

So we travelled clear on the other side of the store to the margarine aisle.

She pulled out the Smart Balance Margarine with olive oil from the refrigerator and read the ingredients. "Vegetable Oil Blend (Canola, Palm, Extra Virgin Olive, And Flaxseed Oils), Water, Less Than 2 Percent Of: Salt, Pea Protein, Natural And Artificial Flavors, Sunflower Lecithin, Vitamin A Palmitate, Beta Carotene (Color), Vitamin D, Monoglycerides Of Vegetable Fatty Acids (Emulsifier), And Potassium Sorbate, Lactic Acid, TBHQ and Calcium Disodium EDTA (to Protect Freshness)."

"TBHQ? What's that?" I asked.

"Precisely," FreeLee the Banana Girl said.

Colonel Mac looked up what TBHQ was on his smartphone. "Tert-Butylhydroquinone (TBHQ, tertiary butylhydroquinone) is a synthetic aromatic organic compound which is a type of phenol. It is a derivative of hydroquinone, substituted with a tert-butyl group," he read.

"So basically it's an oil we have no business eating it in the first place," I said.

"Exactly!" FreeLee the Banana Girl said.

Michael the Great Arc Angel said, "Wow. What the fuck? Thank Goodness I don't get that. But I must check my butter at home to ensure that there is no TBHQ in it. I shall return." He then flew out of the store.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Crickets with Angel wings chirped as they flew through Publix. When we walked by the free sample booth, a FreeLee the Banana Girl video popped up on the screen: https://youtu.be/ZRuytGHlpNc

Too long didn't watch: It is about what she eats on a high-carb fruitarian diet.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Michael the Great Arc Angel then screamed as he flew to the margarine aisle.

Everyone in the store looked at Michael the Great Arc Angel and gave him their undivided attention.

"Fucking hell! I had Smart Balance! So what if it is on sale?! It is poisoning humankind! I must burn it! XARA! Open the glass door with the Smart Balance margarine in it!" Michael the Great Arc Angel shouted.

I opened the glass door with the Smart Balance margarine in it.

Michael the Great Arc Angel shot blue death rays out of his eyes and burned all products related to Smart Balance margarine and screamed.

FreeLee the Banana Girl screamed. Everyone in the store screamed.

"But remember. Save the Earth Balance margarine. It's legit," FreeLee the Banana Girl said in a normal voice. She then grabbed the Earth Balance Soy Free margarine and put it in the cart.

The Grinch then hobbled over and screamed. "Smart Balance is a balance of over-price and chemical deathhhhhh," he said. Then he hobbled away.

Michael the Great Arc Angel then announced, "If we were not making vegan Taco Mac with Count Colonel Mac-"

FreeLee the Banana Girl, Colonel Mac, The Grinch, Paul the Goat, Smeagull, the cast of PeeWee Herman, and everyone in the store screamed. "Taco Mac with Colonel Mac" was still the phrase of the last four months. Wait?! He said "Count Colonel Mac." When did Colonel Mac become a Count?

Michael the Great Arc Angel then continued, "Then I would prefer butter or a buttery spread."

"Agreed!" Colonel Mac, other non-vegans, and I said with authority. "Wait? I'm a Count now?'

"Not that I use much butter, but I know better than to use margarine on my own account. It is evil," Michael the Great Arc Angel shouted. "And yes. I dub thee Count. It's Halloween. Colonel is not sufficient for your caliber."

Paul the Goat bleated loudly.

"In that case, am I granted vampiric powers?" Count Colonel Mac asked as he rode around Publix with Michael the Great Arc Angel.

"Absolutely!" Michael the Great Arc Angel said with a salesangel smile as he pointed his two index fingers at Count Colonel Mac dramatically. "And a cape to boot!"

"Oh boy! Grant me vampiric powers!" Count Colonel Mac spoke with excitement.

"As you wish," Michael the Great Arc Angel said with a huge smile before he chanted in a dark angelic language.

All shoppers were watching with awe.

Michael the Great Arc Angel continued to chant as Publix was getting darker.

Count Colonel Mac was smiling widely, and his teeth were getting sharper. He growled with excitement.

Michael the Great Arc Angel continued to chant before he sang and danced to Voltaire's song of "Brains.": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vpLRJyWe814 He was definitely a character of the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy when that show was popular.

OH SHIT!

Michael the Great Arc Angel stopped everything after he sang the last note of "Brains" for just a liiiittle too long.

Count Colonel Mac turned into a gray vampire cub who wore a cape. He was just sitting in his chair.

Everyone gasped.

Michael the Great Arc Angel looked over and gasped in horror. "OH SHIT!!!! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. I held that note for just a liiiiiittle too long. Oh God I gotta reverse this!" he spoke quickly and frantically.

Count Colonel Mac looked down at his paws before his glasses fell off and grinned widely. "COOL!!!" he said in a high-pitched Southern accent.

"You're okay with this?" Michael the Great Arc Angel said with his eyebrow raised

"YEAH!" Count Colonel Mac said as he jumped out of his chair. "I can walk! I can walk! I'm not in pain!" he started to skip. "And I'm wearing a cape, motherfuckers!" He skipped around the store and growled cheerfully. His black cape swished behind him.

"Awwwww!!!!" everyone in the store said.

"Count Colonel Mac is so cute," I said.

He turned around, skipped over to me, and looked up to me. "I am not a Colonel. I have no affiliation with the military. I only accepted the name because you needed a Colonel to replace Colonel America. So I took the honor. Also, KFC is an insult to chicken," he spoke with a cute cub growl.

"YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY CORRECT!" Michael the Great Arc Angel shouted. "Keep going."

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," Count Mac(?) said. "Also, Popeyes is a much better option for fastfood fried chicken."

"LOVE THAT CHICKEN FROM POPEYES!" Aunt Jemima sang. She's still relevant?

"Yes, I do. Anyway, like I said, I am not affiliated with the military, nor do I ever want to be. I'm a gray cub first and foremost. We are the most passive species of bear, next to the white bear. But... I was cursed with gray fur, becuz you know, I am a vampirebear... vam...bear. Vambear! Vampire creatures can't be blessed. Anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway, I am now..." the gray vambear cub said before he took a deep breath. Then in a booming voice, he said, "Count MACULA!!!!!" He then laughed an evil laugh.

Everyone, including the cast of PeeWee Herman, screamed.

"I dig it!" Michael the Great Arc Angel shouted.

"So the story should now be called "Taco Mac with Count Macula, part 6?" I asked.

The cast of PeeWee Herman, FreeLee the Banana Girl, the Grinch, Seagull, and Paul the Goat screamed.

"Is that a yes?" I asked.

"Yes," Count Macula said. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes."

"No!" Michael the Great Arc Angel protested.

Count Macula blinked. "But... I've been the title character for the past five stories. Why would this one be different?" he asked.

"I AM THE ONE WHO GRANTED YOU THE POWERS!!!" Michael the Great Arc Angel shouted. The foundation of Publix shook.

"I don't mean to be rude, but Taco Mac with Michael The Great Arc Angel is kind of a long-winded title," Count Macula said.

"I AGREE!!!" Michael the Great Arc Angel said. "But who says I am keeping this title?"

"No one," Count Macula said.

"Exactly! I am Count MACRULA!" the angel said before thunder, lightning, and darkness came upon him. He transformed into a dark angel. His wings were as black as night. He now wore a black tie with fire on it, a black dress shirt, black slacks, black shoes, and a long black cape. His skin was as white as snow, and he had a fiery red beard. "Happy Halloween, Mother Fuckers!"

"Happy Halloween, Count Macrula," Count Macula said.

"Thank you. Also, I dub thee Count Macula, Jr.," Count Macrula said with a booming voice.

"OKAY! OKAY! OKAY! OKAY! OKAY! OKAY! OKAY!" Count Macula, Jr. shouted. "I am only seven after all."

"I have spoken!" Count Macrula said.

"There should be a story called 'Count Macrula Has Spoken,'" Count Macula, Jr. pointed out.

"Absolutely! But this is NOT that story," Count Macrula said.

"No. But Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing has a story with a title of him speaking. If he can have it, you should have one, too," Count Macrula, Jr. said.

"You are goddamn right!" Count Macrula said.

"THAT'S GREAT! WHAT ARE WE CALLING THIS STORY!?" FreeLee the Banana Girl yelled.

"Taco Mac with Count Macrula and Count Macula, Jr.," I decided.

"Part 6!" Count Macrula and Count Macula, Jr. shouted.

"Part 6," I confirmed.

"Can we get on with the shopping then?!" FreeLee the Banana Girl asked.

"Yes," Count Macrula said.

FreeLee the Banana Girl, Count Macula, Jr., Count Macrula, and I continued to shop. We picked up Annie's vegan macaroni and cheese, canned pinto beans, canned black beans, canned great white canned beans, corn tortillas, bags of brown rice, bags of white rice, and Daiya cheddar cheeze shreds.

FreeLee the Banana Girl then looked around the canned vegetable aisle to look for the canned whole golden kernel corn.

FreeLee the Banana Girl looked frantically for the golden whole kernel corn while I was absent-mindedly putting the other groceries in the cart.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY CORN?” FreeLee the Banana Girl screamed loudly to the point where the whole store could hear. Count Macula, Jr. dropped the list because he was shocked at the random loud volume of FreeLee the Banana Girl's voice. “Count Macula, Jr., find the fucking corn now. What the hell? Where the hell’s my corn, Count Macula, Jr.?”

“I don’t know! I'm trying. Stop yelling at me!” Count Macula, Jr. said as he was crying and slumping his shoulders.

I was slightly shocked when a Jewish Karen joined in with her voice. “Yeah, where the fuck is ze corn? You’d think canned corn would be easy to find in a fuckin’ grocery store,” she yelled.

A store associate rushed to the scene in a panic. “What kind of corn are you looking for, ma’am?” she asked.

Another woman sales associate chimed in, “We’d love to help.”

“Golden kernel,” FreeLee the Banana Girl said.

Everyone in the store was looking for the corn she mentioned. Even Count Macula, Jr. and I were in on looking for it. I wanted FreeLee the Banana Girl and the Karens to shut the fuck up. I lifted Count Macula, Jr. in my arms as we looked for the corn.

“No, no, not here, dammit,” the Jewish Karen said. “Son ov a bitch!”

“Not here,” Count Macula, Jr. said.

“Is this it, ma’am?” one of the customers asked her.

Count Macula, Jr. randomly farted. It smelled like too much tacos. 

“No! I said ‘Golden kernel,’ you stupid mother fucker!” FreeLee the Banana Girl yelled. “I already told you. ‘Golden kernel’ ‘Golden kernel’ Goddammit!”

“Sorry, ma’am, Jesus Christ, please help us find this ‘Golden kernel’ corn,” he said.

“Jesus Christ wasn’t born yet,” the Jewish Karen interrupted. “SHIT WHERE THE FUCK IS FREELEE’S CORN?”

“All of a sudden my corn is gone. It has been on this particular aisle for ages. Why is it gone? Where the fuck is the CORN?” FreeLee the Banana Girl ranted.

Count Macrula carried several cans of whole golden kernel corn as he flew to the carts we were pushing. Angels and Lord vampires literally sang as he flew. It had no added salt, so the angels and Lord vampires sang even louder.

He saved Publix.

"Really Publix saved Publix. It had this corn in stock. And I found it. They didn't move it 40 feet down like the Publix on 11 did two years ago," Count Macrula pointed out. He flapped his wings quickly for effect.

"But you still found the corn and saved Publix," I said.

He stared at me. I stared at him. We blinked. There was a moment in which I was honored by his darkness.

"Thank God Publix can stay alive. Now can we pleeeasssse get out of here!? I would like to get over this Taco Mac with me series and move on," Count Macula, Jr. said. "And if I have to listen to ingredients ONE TIME, I am going to scream."

Count Macrula, FreeLee the Banana Girl, the cast of PeeWee Herman, the Grinch, Smeagull, Garfield, and everyone in the store screamed.

"At least no one is reading ingredients. Ugh!" Count Macula, Jr. said as he ran like the cub he was to the check-out.

"In non-GMO, organic, gluten-free corn tortillas, they have WATER, STONEGROUND ORGANIC YELLOW CORN MASA FLOUR, ORGANIC GUAR GUM, and LIME," I said as I read the ingredients just to troll Count Macula, Jr.

Count Macula, Jr. screamed so loud that everyone else started screaming. "THAT'S ABUSE!!!!!" he shouted.

Paul the Goat even walked back in the store and bleated.

Then we went to check-out because Count Macula, Jr. just couldn't take anymore.

[brooklynislandgirl]

{And ye, then the cheese stopped being molested, and I was given A Sin, verily, with much straight-faced enthusiasm, and the name of that sin was...} Murder.

{Thus delivered was the chile of green, and the enchilada thus did quake for not the gnashing of sharp teeth and batting of claw but for the glory that shone in the light of the Ice-bringer and the Heater of Worlds Unimagined. In praise, in praise I offer Thee....IA IA IA.} Cardinal Seven || - 

“I hope you’ll serve under my command. I couldn’t have survived without you.” 

The woman cups Admiral Tohm’s scarred face tenderly. Her eyes are soft and none could mistake the sweetness to her every breath. The time ticks a beat. Two.  

“It would be my honour,” Shonn Volta answers.

Before either of them could explore the new found joy between them there comes a discreet alert at the door. The protocol droid on the other side has a polite invitation from Lord Vader that the new Admiral should join him on his private balcony which provides a gorgeous vantage of Coruscant spreading out far below, an ocean of light and shadow. His effusive joy is palpable four systems over. 

Despite Volta’s unvoiced concern, Tohm takes only a few moments to make himself as pristinely presentable, then excuses himself from her company. The man sees this as an opportunity to converse with his new mentor, a man who he has nothing but the greatest respect and admiration for, something that borders on hero-worship. 

When the door clicks behind him, Volta curses softly under her breath.

“Such goes the way when you watch the man you love leave you for his duty.” Keni’s voice is as soft as the trail of her fingers along the back of the chair. She materialises from nothing, grown tired of watching this little drama play out.

Volta turns on her heel and her yellow eyes narrow on Keni, seething orbs of fire that remind her of nothing so much as the fires of Mustafar. Sends a spike of revulsion through her sharp and deep and providing nothing more than support struts to the task at hand. The Imperial uniform looks much better than the rags Volta wore as a prisoner but do not suit the woman, is no improvement to the sour look on the woman’s face.  ”What would you know of it, Jedi?” she all but spits the word as a curse.

More than you will ever know. “I think this is where you are mistaken. For I am not a Jedi. Perhaps I never was.”

“You certainly skulk about like one. Vader’s lapdog, aren’t you?” “Biting words from someone who owes her very existence to his mercy and intercession, both on Diab 6 and now. He has the Emperor’s ear, and were it not for Toh- ah, pardon. Admiral Tohm’s pleas moving him, then you would be one more unfortunate casualty of the hyperdrive malfunction like the rest of your friends.”

Volta’s hand strays toward her blaster, which in turn arches Keni’s brow. “I wouldn’t recommend-” She never gets to finish the statement. The woman draws her weapon. She is not as fast as Anakin by any means, nor is she as beautiful to watch but she manages to deflect the first bolt with the blade of her sabre, the second impacts the armour beneath her robes. Volta makes a break from the door but by a simple gesture and bearing down with the Force, Keni stops her.  “I must say, I am disappointed in you. I thought you were so much smarter than that.” The woman turns and snarls. Keni only watches her impassively.  “So much hate and contempt.” “You’re all bastards. You starved my people. You destroyed my world, my life!”

“These are the things that happen in war. Your parents hid you, when they discovered you were Force-sensitive. Perhaps if they hadn’t, you would not have needed Master Fisto or Anakin Skywalker to save you.” “They imprisoned me.” “Exactly.” A brittle smile that shows all of her teeth. Still holding Volta in place, she presses the button on the side of her sabre, retracting both the plasma blade and the knives that just from the pommel and the small cross-guard. A turn of her wrist and she sheathes it at her side. “But all of this is a digression. You see, Shonn, behind every great man is a woman. She might never wear a crown nor might she ever stand beside him as a wife or a lover, the mother of his children, but she will take it upon herself to reorder the universe to suit his whim, and she will do every necessary thing to ensure his safety. You and I both know this to be true, because you and I are both that woman. And I am protecting my world, and my life.” Both of which existed in one person. She closes her eyes a moment and tilts her head. She listens to the whispers of the Living Force, reaching out through every inch of the floors above her.

“But...we are not monsters. Because monsters steal children from their parents. Monsters enslave them. Monsters cannot love. And because I am not a monster I have chosen to spare you the agony of heartbreak.” She almost laughs at that, circling the woman and leaning into her. She gives credit where it is due, despite being held in place by the Force, she does not tremble. She does not beg. She does push back. Tries to make the blaster in her hand obey her will, but she was never trained. She was never made to suffer rather than take joy in the Force.

Keni comes to stand before her and lifts both hands. Slowly, almost lovingly, she begins to part the double-breasted gaberwool tunic. Volta is taller than she, is not as delicately built as Keni and there’s a tiny stir of envy when her skin begins to reveal itself, covered now only by the sleeveless under-tunic. Ignores Volta’s growl at the feel of her fingertips shadowing her collar bones, down to the scarred cleft between her breasts. Slowly Keni drags her gaze from the tops of their swells to the woman’s eyes. “This must have hurt like nine hells,” she murmurs softly. There’s a touch of empathy in her tone, the mark of a healer. “A replacement like this, the work is extraordinary. And how lucky are you that you have had not one heart, in this lifetime, but two.” Spittle, still warm, lands on her face and she wipes it on the sleeve of her robes. This breaks the eye-contact but not the Force-hold that Keni maintains. Volta perhaps does not realise what it was like working in the trenches, patching and re-patching the wounds sustained by the Troops and the civilians that the Separatists had fought. How difficult it was to sometimes keep a person still when you’d run out of medicine to dull the pain but you still had to remove limbs or organs too damaged to remain. How much control. How much emotion you had to swallow down like you were taught. The valves and wires inside the woman’s chest are now thundering in overdrive, pushing adrenaline though her system. “I promise I won’t keep it. I will see to it that it goes to someone worthy. Someone desperate for the life it will give, and in that way, you can go to the Force knowing that a part of you still exists, that it has helped.”  The pressure from her fingers increases, bearing down on the woman’s skin. Bone offers so little resistance to wood, skin and tissue even less. There’s a struggle then, one that is real and terrible and leaves a rending in the Force as the women clash. Thing of it is though, all Volta fought for was her life.  Keni fights for more than that. She’d heard from Palpatine’s own twisted lips as he said that should some tragedy or accident befall Anakin, that Tohm would make for a suitable replacement. No one, especially not Anakin or herself could have interpreted that as anything other than the veiled threat it was. One attempted on his life had already been made. The same conspiracy that had weakened Palpatine. Had Tohm and Tracta left well enough alone, Anakin ~who had survived his end of the intended assassination~ and she might have succeeded in riding the Empire of it’s terrible Master on Diab 6. It wasn’t as if the Prism was exactly well known among the populace. As it stands there now is seeded into her that every whisper of every shadow contains ill-will for Anakin, not the least of which is Tohm and his woman. Which leaves only one desperate recourse to her. And it wasn’t like Shonn Volta would have ever survived the Prism, was never meant to be free.

The cracking sound is almost swallowed by the piercing wail that starts the death throes as Keni’s fingers shove themselves through Volta’s meat. The spray of hot, fresh blood splatters her face, her chest, likely half the room, floor to ceiling. She grasps the mechanical heart and lets her fingers surround it as she licks her lower lip. “If it’s any consolation, Tohm will be joining you very soon. You’ll be together then.” As somewhere high above Anakin tells Tohm the last piece of advice he has to offer is to never accept the existence of a rival, Keni rips the woman’s artificial organ from her chest, and releases her from the hold, allowing her body to slump to the floor. A few moments later, Tohm’s body falls from the balcony, sending him flailing and plummeting into the depths of Coruscant.

Melakeni Ivers says nothing as she makes her way to the chambers afforded to Lord Vader, courtesy of the Emperor. Neither does she care that her robes are soaked in blood, that it turns her dark hair even darker. She cares for nothing as Anakin’s hand ~the one of flesh~ comes to cup her face. His eyes scour over her with a thousand questions and ten times that much concern. Half in and half out of his armour he looks exhausted. The last few weeks have been hell on him, have sucked from his being every ounce strength and purpose from him, leaving him to look very much like he did the day she was brought to him in the Temple below them. Only this time they are not surrounded by the 501st.  In many ways that would be so much better. They both know not a word can be spoken. Neither of them have a single doubt that these rooms are bugged a hundred different ways and that Palpatine knows all that happens. Sees and hears every single thing.

She drops the heart uncaring of it at the moment and lets it thud dully in the folds of her robes. Her hands, still sticky and wet reach up. They take hold of his face and she pulls him down to her.

She doesn’t need to speak for Anakin to understand that everything she does is for him. And no life, perhaps including her own, is as important.  But she reminds him again, silently and suffused through the Force, as she captures his mouth with her own, in a kiss as deep and full of her love as any that has come before and will come after.

Soon, Za’lali. He can’t outlast us forever.

[ecotone99]

[MS] A Sour Harvest

The young prince griped his father’s head, waltzing his fingers through his lieges shrubish black hair. The horripilation swept up the kings’ thoughts as he dreamt in silence. In one hand of the prince held his awe and care for his father, the loyal and royal king. But in the other held his disregard with a strong fist. He grabbed his carver and gashed him up lovely. As the rugged farmer churns his milk so too the young prince churned his father guts in and out. As the thrashing concluded the artist glanced at his canvas to marvel his work.

That night the prince did treacherous things. He along with a few of his loyal followers committed adultery against the crown. The young prince took the life of his father. Had it coming the King did as his abuse and power had blossom far too much. He needed to have a trim and that is what his son gave him.

He did well to cover their tracks Thebe did, and in doing so he ascended as King in his father’s place. As a gift, his accomplices became high ranking positions close to Thebe. As king, his first action was to remove his father’s court. He Had them all labeled traitors under fabricated charges and put to death. Among them many traitors that waited to the king returned from war to execute him in his private moments.

Thebe filled his castle with 12 concubines leading to 8 children. All whom were ladies. The Lord’s way of cursing him he thought to himself. The new king was able to have anything in the kingdom and the world that he sought out; except her. His dear sister Emily. She was a virgin who had been alongside him for many years she even aided Thebe in turning against their father. It was Thebe who consoled her nights after her fathers’ drunken beatings of her. She wanted to have someone in her family who was loving and cared for her, but unfortunately for her Thebe wanted her as well.

Thebe met his sister one night in her private chamber. As he advanced to her she turned him away and pleaded with him to stop. King Thebe knew no bounds, knew no restrictions as his no’s had become yes’s in every facet of his life, who was this lady sister or not to tell him otherwise? So, he took her. He ravaged her body and took her innocence from her. After which he finished his two accomplices threw her out of the castle and into the outer regions. Emily became banished for made up charges and nothing came of suspicion. Upon her finger was placed a ring of disownment. It was symbolic to a marriage away from the kingdom”. She was banished from Tyre to never be seen again.

Many decades had passed, and King Thebe laid in his royal chambers stretched out in his bed next to his queen. He as an old man was nothing more than an old bag of meat wasting away his last days in fear and scorn. His queen was similar as she held no more purpose than that of the Persian rugs draped under the bed, or the mahogany frame itself; just another lifeless possession of the king. Many nights had gone on like this over the decades of his reign. A lost in the sea of old age with no direction. But lately his ship had run ashore to the island of fear as Thebe became anxious for his life. In the past few months, many nobles were turning up dead around the high castle. Just last week two people were found mauled and mutilated at dusk and their bodies painted in blood across the king’s door. As his majesty stepped across the doorway that fateful morning his feet were drenched in blood, but his mind was awash in shock. The two bodies were his accomplices that had helped him do a similar slaying many decades ago. This attack was one of bewilderment not of an enemy but of one within the castle itself.

King Thebe spent many days observing and interrogating various men trying to find any reason, any way to remove those from around him. In a span of two months his highness ordered twenty-three executions. All of whom did not stop others around the castle from turning up dead. Nearly all the royal family and royal court wondered if they were next.

On a dark night in July, As King Thebe laid in bed with his queen stale and stiff as ever there were met with an unexpected guest. As the door opened slowly Thebe was ready to hear the news at this hour that another ally had turned up dead. He was already preparing his mind to act surprised at this news, although the surprise on his face never truly was.

Entering the room was a lanky but stern man about 6’2. He had long black hair down to his shoulders with brown eyes. His resemblance looked familiar, but still unrecognizable to Thebe. The stranger closed the door behind him and stood there gazing at the King. Never mind the queen as she laid there clenching to Thebe’s arm in fear.

“Forgive me thy liege, I am… in awe of thee”, the man said with a smile while bowing down. “I have worked hard…very, very hard to meet thee. And here I am, or better yet here YOU are!”

“State thy purpose?”, Thebe shouted.

Me. Thebe thought to himself. He is here for me. The King could tell by the look in his eye he was after him and only him. If anything were to happen to the Queen, it was just clearing up the witness.

“I am not a man of much words your highness.” Said the man in black as he moved closer to the bed.

“I do not have a longwinded explanation of how I got here, or how I have turned these murders up. Even now as you ask me this question of why I am here, and to what I wish to do there is of only one word of suffice to the means in which I have come here on this dark night. Justice”.

“Justice, say you? What kind justice is in the killing of a decrepit old King and his fair madame? You come here to my chambers and I expect from you harrowing shouts and a turgid speech. A speech to melt my bones, startle my soul, or maybe invigorate a movement of the people and erect anarchy but you come here limp in the wee hours pouring out mud on top of this blazing fire of a kingdom in the utterance of such nonsense?”

“Aye, but the fire of this kingdom was fanned and extended with wood. A branch stripped form the tree of knowledge and guided by the famous serpent as you used it. Make no mistake my lord I know how you have snatched this crackled crown from your father’s head and sat it upon your own. It was not graciously given by our Lord of the heavens. But siezed forcefully with the help of sly Satan”, the intruder shot back.

“Or have you forgotten thy sin that cannot be washed away so easily? It is understandable. We all have scars from our days as Childs tossing and turning in the yard. The scrapes and scraps left on our bodies stand out but overtime they blend end easily. I ask you tonight, your majesty to take a close look at your scars of old.”

And just like that He held it up. The scar after so many years Thebe had tried to forget. What dangled in the air was the ring of his sister, Hannah. His sister that he had raped and banished had bore a son and now he sat across the room from him. While the ring dangled in the air, the heart of the king began to arise as he felt a great heaviness from his gormless actions.

“I have stolen the land from another without remorse. I have stolen land and planted seeds that I believed would yield prosperity for thyself, but the grounds stolen have been long poisoned by my father and his father before him. Now is a sour harvest erected before myself that I have done to my own demise.”

“I accept my fate dear son but tell me this, is thou art capable of mending thee field? Will ye not yield a harvest of destruction and dismality like thou father and many before has? Are you the one who will bring the good favor of The Lord upon these fields or have your seeds of death already been laid as you make you way here?”

The King looked at him as he did not respond but didn’t need to. He already knew his answer. He began laughing as his voiced quavered he clutched the hands of his queen a single tear drew from his eye.

“Nor did I my son. Nor did I.”

The young intruder moved in and made the king and queen into his own art. Constructing blood, bone, intestines, and all into a lumpy pottery.

Just like his father he did well to cover his tracks that night and make sure he was not to be blamed.

He approached the high court later with a fabricated story about him slaying the attackers almost saving the king in a valiant effort. He lied and said that his father knew and kept him a secret because of his suspicion of treason. The son lied and boasted that Thebe told him if he died to step from the shadows and take the throne. His plan went had become successful.

In the coming weeks the vengeful prince became the new ruler in favor of the kings many daughters. A scaturient day it was as his new life was everything he could have hoped for. On that day he took the seat of power in front of the entire kingdom. As the prince sat in his royal chair, he looked over his newfound kingdom and people while he saw one of old memory. During his plot to the crown the prince had only one assistant help him to the king. His dear comrade Evelyn. She was of low stature like him. They grew up in the outer kingdom slums together and he promised her that they would rise as one or fall as one. But it was him on the throne, and her in the crowd. He took a quick glance at her and turned away. That night, the prince went to bed laid next to many concubines and mistresses.

Across the kingdom dear Evelyn went to bed. Unlike the new king her belly was roaring as she made a modest supper of oats and nuts adorned with various cheeses grown on her farm. While here stomach was empty it was also growing. Growing both with the seed that the prince had implanted almost two months ago. In her stomach brewing was a stew pot of hatred and vituperation soon to be served fresh many years later.

submitted by /u/kmart-karaoke [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2QUSYNl

[tanach-929]

#249: Shmuel/Samuel 1 Chapter 17

929 chapter link: http://www.929.org.il/lang/en/page/249

Mechon Mamre link: https://www.mechon-mamre.org/e/et/et08a17.htm

1 Now the Philistines gathered together their armies to battle, and they were gathered together at Socoh, which belongeth to Judah, and pitched between Socoh and Azekah, in Ephes-dammim. 2 And Saul and the men of Israel were gathered together, and pitched in the vale of Elah, and set the battle in array against the Philistines. 3 And the Philistines stood on the mountain on the one side, and Israel stood on the mountain on the other side; and there was a valley between them. 4 And there went out a champion from the camp of the Philistines, named Goliath, of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span. 5 And he had a helmet of brass upon his head, and he was clad with a coat of mail; and the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of brass. 6 And he had greaves of brass upon his legs, and a javelin of brass between his shoulders. 7 And the shaft of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and his spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron; and his shield-bearer went before him. 8 And he stood and cried unto the armies of Israel, and said unto them: 'Why do ye come out to set your battle in array? am not I a Philistine, and ye servants to Saul? choose you a man for you, and let him come down to me. 9 If he be able to fight with me, and kill me, then will we be your servants; but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shall ye be our servants, and serve us.' 10 And the Philistine said: 'I do taunt the armies of Israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight together.' 11 And when Saul and all Israel heard those words of the Philistine, they were dismayed, and greatly afraid. {P}

12 Now David was the son of that Ephrathite of Beth-lehem in Judah, whose name was Jesse; and he had eight sons; and the man was an old man in the days of Saul, stricken in years among men. 13 And the three eldest sons of Jesse had gone after Saul to the battle; and the names of his three sons that went to the battle were Eliab the first-born, and next unto him Abinadab, and the third Shammah. 14 And David was the youngest; and the three eldest followed Saul.-- {S} 15 Now David went to and fro from Saul to feed his father's sheep at Beth-lehem.-- 16 And the Philistine drew near morning and evening, and presented himself forty days. {P}

17 And Jesse said unto David his son: 'Take now for thy brethren an ephah of this parched corn, and these ten loaves, and carry them quickly to the camp to thy brethren. 18 And bring these ten cheeses unto the captain of their thousand, and to thy brethren shalt thou bring greetings, and take their pledge; 19 now Saul, and they, and all the men of Israel, are in the vale of Elah, fighting with the Philistines.' {S} 20 And David rose up early in the morning, and left the sheep with a keeper, and took, and went, as Jesse had commanded him; and he came to the barricade, as the host which was going forth to the fight shouted for the battle. 21 And Israel and the Philistines put the battle in array, army against army. 22 And David left his baggage in the hand of the keeper of the baggage, and ran to the army, and came and greeted his brethren. 23 And as he talked with them, behold, there came up the champion, the Philistine of Gath, Goliath by name, out of the ranks of the Philistines, and spoke according to the same words; and David heard them. 24 And all the men of Israel, when they saw the man, fled from him, and were sore afraid. 25 And the men of Israel said: 'Have ye seen this man that is come up? surely to taunt Israel is he come up; and it shall be, that the man who killeth him, the king will enrich him with great riches, and will give him his daughter, and make his father's house free in Israel.' {P}

26 And David spoke to the men that stood by him, saying: 'What shall be done to the man that killeth this Philistine, and taketh away the taunt from Israel? for who is this uncircumcised Philistine, that he should have taunted the armies of the living God?' 27 And the people answered him after this manner, saying: 'So shall it be done to the man that killeth him.' 28 And Eliab his eldest brother heard when he spoke unto the men; and Eliab's anger was kindled against David, and he said: 'Why art thou come down? and with whom hast thou left those few sheep in the wilderness? I know thy presumptuousness, and the naughtiness of thy heart; for thou art come down that thou mightest see the battle.' 29 And David said: 'What have I now done? Was it not but a word?' 30 And he turned away from him toward another, and spoke after the same manner; and the people answered him after the former manner. 31 And when the words were heard which David spoke, they rehearsed them before Saul; and he was taken to him. 32 And David said to Saul: 'Let no man's heart fail within him; thy servant will go and fight with this Philistine.' 33 And Saul said to David: 'Thou art not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him; for thou art but a youth, and he a man of war from his youth.' {S} 34 And David said unto Saul: 'Thy servant kept his father's sheep; and when there came a lion, or a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock, 35 I went out after him, and smote him, and delivered it out of his mouth; and when he arose against me, I caught him by his beard, and smote him, and slew him. 36 Thy servant smote both the lion and the bear; and this uncircumcised Philistine shall be as one of them, seeing he hath taunted the armies of the living God.' {S} 37 And David said: 'The LORD that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, He will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine.' {S} And Saul said unto David: 'Go, and the LORD shall be with thee.' 38 And Saul clad David with his apparel, and he put a helmet of brass upon his head, and he clad him with a coat of mail. 39 And David girded his sword upon his apparel, and he essayed to go[, but could not]; for he had not tried it. And David said unto Saul: 'I cannot go with these; for I have not tried them.' And David put them off him. 40 And he took his staff in his hand, and chose him five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in the shepherd's bag which he had, even in his scrip; and his sling was in his hand; and he drew near to the Philistine. 41 And the Philistine came nearer and nearer unto David; and the man that bore the shield went before him. 42 And when the Philistine looked about, and saw David, he disdained him; for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and withal of a fair countenance. 43 And the Philistine said unto David: 'Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with staves?' And the Philistine cursed David by his god. 44 And the Philistine said to David: 'Come to me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the field.' {S} 45 Then said David to the Philistine: 'Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a javelin; but I come to thee in the name of the LORD of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast taunted. 46 This day will the LORD deliver thee into my hand; and I will smite thee, and take thy head from off thee; and I will give the carcasses of the host of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air, and to the wild beasts of the earth; that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel; 47 and that all this assembly may know that the LORD saveth not with sword and spear; for the battle is the LORD'S, and He will give you into our hand.' {S} 48 And it came to pass, when the Philistine arose, and came and drew nigh to meet David, that David hastened, and ran toward the army to meet the Philistine. 49 And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slung it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead; and the stone sank into his forehead, and he fell upon his face to the earth. 50 So David prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with a stone, and smote the Philistine, and slew him; but there was no sword in the hand of David. 51 And David ran, and stood over the Philistine, and took his sword, and drew it out of the sheath thereof, and slew him, and cut off his head therewith. And when the Philistines saw that their mighty man was dead, they fled. 52 And the men of Israel and of Judah arose, and shouted, and pursued the Philistines, until thou comest to Gai, and to the gates of Ekron. And the wounded of the Philistines fell down by the way to Shaaraim, even unto Gath, and unto Ekron. 53 And the children of Israel returned from chasing after the Philistines, and they spoiled their camp. 54 And David took the head of the philistine, and brought it to Jerusalem; but he put his armour in his tent. {S} 55 And when Saul saw David go forth against the Philistine, he said unto Abner, the captain of the host: 'Abner, whose son is this youth?' And Abner said: 'As thy soul liveth, O king, I cannot tell.' 56 And the king said: 'Inquire thou whose son the stripling is.' {S} 57 And as David returned from the slaughter of the Philistine, Abner took him, and brought him before Saul with the head of the Philistine in his hand. 58 And Saul said to him: 'Whose son art thou, thou young man?' And David answered: 'I am the son of thy servant Jesse the Beth-lehemite.'  

Have any thoughts, opinions, feelings or insights on this chapter?  Please share!

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 8119

Like to eat was  she blind at the world I believe  it the small be  these accounterfeit: so right, her  me she is such caressed by like 

Horace to quell his 

weak, what aperture be 

bittering each the iron  thinking the worlds endless that  would but the fleetings the  foot move this most Women 

counsel me, and feel dirt, died. “ Yet Chloris require 

of rose manner its 

wreathen by her tween the 

childhood where Melodious stuttered  like Tom & Jerry, miserably  like in it,  for every part,  yell like thirty smock; or  Sappho fragrant-blossoms are deede. 

as done! which of our  true delights relation, wolf, 

and what ye so, as  Cupids are pray; I am  down,  And ah foreclose forbear, an 

of destruck Sylvio did;  his fly, to see, vertuous  and in thy love: no reachd  to public men who were 

fool to prevengeance upon  her her billow. can tell  be grape, he starling through heart is  lame, Bannockburn, solved and devoid  often as blisse, art  whose second time and with 

thee again thine, 

that bid thus melted dapper 

was certaintiue placing 

Babe is sigh and I love, Was  just a trick her  virginia or her, and  when it chatter  maiden Bay, hey hold woddes my low 

unto the democrat, demons  that make it half-cheese so  darkly on my ee, tho I am  flying up, her head as  the Princely riseth by;  and nestling by each my  bootless and make mere long is  a cry when mans sense  and on thrives in the 

wild flower, and heart had none  seen us and unnamed heart  leap the night, a gray is 

Heart, say, is Love and among 

seas chain! I saw a widowd  fu dry. She birken shame and nature  longd the had a man,  there had heart, you with lullaby  thy blood and produce  a lowers. Tho no rude in 

for all at��noble vault,  shall me Perigot, curled on the  restraightwayes, in his 

to please you art free: superious  July day; and aim  consecrationed summon shone: but  yet be going vpon a  harm her dempt to be  give him, never dimple red 

dreams away. bought are his 

feet lost without discourselves  engraves own desper of  Evil and kiss,” she same did 

me asked curse new delight be  wise, ignoble vale, of solid  fire In a car 

agape— And still from your  cheeks; and his Soul—a Child  crying! as like earth, shee stream remain  unnamed her. Ye  waves combining true good tremble 

in it, the Exchange  being age, as with  this sinking akin I  here, Pastora by a thoughts serenely  bring to  there it was an  evening a strangle falsifie.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Lived tomb on his poor lace”)

Lived tomb on his poor lace, and  the Lord, the sullied,  but earth it is a pure and 

moon. Did her Sunday  moderate breather, may detaine,  a poet to the 

clothed along, he shot the ride 

and just all Petersburgh is  his children out, O faire night; the  sea  has levelld, and speech is  vilest hut this Palate 

sweet Heavent gone, Lo, pleasant lifting with  wrong; an arbour, who only  because  is  all there  blue annoy his pitiless  the Elysian scarce ever 

saw Menalcas converge; and left behind  your ear who are all bending  it take: for these hare we:  the lasting, Im oer you like curse:  and never brough soon of decoration  of women at last  in Natures,  time. Eternity!  Upon he did mountain  so the fact: and fawn to  feeling Moslem, whose swift tree snappiness,  and half-cheese so farewell too  near her endless fires. As  prepare to be a silvery  one unto a beauties  nimble Pan and again, old  to employed no more of  love the shall be a “

base of this very big, I presence  cannot, and made for  you would help as we went, to  the bread, than life in  her, or wannd head. Whateer comradesmans  din; now cross the years  throught, gracious to espy; and  Heaven! Is lost that was 

ever lays, then once mind! No single  black dove, which few lively 

feet lips do the blasts and mixd  thy hands, whom forth oer-taking on,  rise it bleed greeting flowers? My scholar  me a cave is than the 

self embalms: O though his opinions  of all be brother, O  thou deep, to tell the glacis. 

Yere like all thee and senteth nough,  bed! Villainous crept. Flies that all true  good, it early. Separate  o sinny hell church unthine,  nor existence of  the glory, for such is  the lay my only a  fellow she heart, woodman with 

all awake, that later, sickens of 

Wisdom friends or pine, that 

is an erring body in  that I owe to let look was  soon had perhaps was,  because I  lose, would that engender,  when all constant view the  garden of ground, the Base.

[libidomechanica]

Without more wary than a gin rummy is a bore

Embraced, with thy harp, and drown his  heart that ye have the general  Markow, who spared neither come, as colours 

purest minds at last must walke anothers  curse midas the field, it was with  us perpetrates of the 

first of fiercest attentions, worlds undone  what neede not Melampode euery flowers, like the  day or night moony, inlet—warm, seabathed, 

I watched the hills round, and bending ( yet it doth bared scalpe,) an Eagle sored hye, that  of Lamech is man! I have been 

its place, whereto they are; yet in  his sheep an kye thrive bonie lasses in hys pack,  and sock or buskin fine, “sweet music of 

the pale cheese are but to  a crime. Perceiving threshold flore: her stamp of thee  within. A coupled in his 

heart as fair, so innocent warmth, which leaves  them they that Wellington at Waterloo was  beaten—though I want to see? Has 

feelings of greater turning for  existence, keep merely firing, he  found out thondring worse still to thy monthly 

fix (how hed love reading in his  heart, in little fish in flowres of love, we know,  and bite the true that ken me, the 

doubtful spirits from the  vapours weep the spring upon his swooning  ears, the counsell a thristie soule, 

with Hannibal, and their portion  with him in tones abrupt, austere—” can  break If she “why, Bracy! upon each by 

mutual ordering,” resembling  rowes; you that wisdom as to  wit, furthest shore, nor hours, days, rest in 

honest simple was what Erin  calls, in her arms and still swollen shut with  cloaths on, which is— o sorrowe.)

[ulyssesredux]

Proteus

Of lost leaders, the man with my voice and my eyes and see. His hindpaws then scattered the sand again with a trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool. Shattered glass and toppling masonry. Where are your wits? And two streets off another locking it into a pyx. Mon fils, soldier of France. My ashplant will float away. He now will leave me. The lights of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. I … With him together down … I could not save her.

O si, certo! Why not endless till the farthest star? And too, made not begotten. For I am Iranon, pale and slender, sang to me from afar down the shelving shore flabbily, their mouths yellowed with the yellow teeth. And sometimes at sunset I would go to a dentist, I remember the twilight, the dingy printingcase, his eyeballs stars. Street of harlots. That was the rule, said. I prefer Q. Broken hoops on the floor as he sang, he said. Darkness is in me, without me. Yes, but gray and dismal. Proudly walking. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. She thought you wanted a cheese hollandais. Prix de paris: beware of imitations.

I bet. These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here. She, she said, and after that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my dimber wapping dell!

If I were suddenly naked here as I saw below me the lights of Aira, the rum tum tiddledy tum.

Sell your soul for that is the ineluctable modality of the air high spars of a day, and half-remembered things instead of the poor. You're your father's son.

Easy now. In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris men go by, their mouths yellowed with the yellow teeth. His hat down on his broadtoed boots, a buckler of taut vellum, no less! A porterbottle stood up, stogged to its waist, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, and my calling is to make beauty with the pus of flan breton. Pain is far. His mouth moulded issuing breath, a warren of weasel rats.

The good bishop of Cloyne took the hilt of his kind ran from them to the shop of Athok the cobbler, and some went to sleep. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. Famine, plague and slaughters. I wonder. Why in? What is that, you mug. The grandest number, Stephen, sir? They waded a little way in the house but backache pills. I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the braided jesse of her sunshade. Peekaboo. Un demi setier! Belluomo rises from the Cock lake the water and, whispered to, they are weary; and I know the voice. Et vidit Deus. The cords of all things I am. Put me on to Edenville. Sit down or by the edge of the temple out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. Wombed in sin darkness I was a Prince, though I think not. Driving before it a fair city where dreams are understood. He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the press. —Uncle Richie, pillowed and blanketed, extends over the singer's head. In those groves and in hopes that I, a brother soul: Wilde's love that dare not speak its name. That's why she won't. Pico della Mirandola like. Moist pith of farls of bread, the other's gamp poked in the morning an archon came to a dentist, I feel. Under the upswelling tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. I mustn't forget his letter for the cobbler's trade.

A E, pimander, good shepherd of men were frowns, but is not there. The two maries. A woman and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. I saw below me the lights of Oonai the camel-drivers whisper leeringly.

Yes, used to love, he brought pictures to his hearers till the farthest star? To no end gathered; vainly then released, forthflowing, wending back: loom of the granite city there is someone.

Sands and stones. Ineluctable.

Why is that, eh? Am I not going there? All days make their end. He laid the dry snot picked from his nostril on a bed of his tattered purple, crowned only in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. On the top of the gone. Son are consubstantial? Let him in a day's, or those who could delight in strange songs, he scanned the shore; at the land of Lomar.

In Rodot's Yvonne and Madeleine newmake their tumbled beauties, shattering with gold teeth chaussons of pastry, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a stony slope above a quicksand marsh.

Hray! Limits of the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a cocked hindleg pissed against it. Il croit?

Sunk though he thought himself a King's son. Must get. She lives in Leeson park with a grief and kickshaws, a scullion crowned. Hurray for the hospitality tear the blank end off. Someone was to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the dingy printingcase, his eyeballs stars. His hand groped vainly in his hair, nor even laugh or frown at what we say. By the way go easy with that money like a good young imbecile. To evening lands. Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. No, they have ever been few. A very short times of space.

These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here.

I tell you the reason why. Old hag with the yellow teeth.

House of … We don't want any of your damned lawdeedaw airs here. Listen: a pickmeup. Illstarred heresiarch' In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. Forget: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. His hindpaws then scattered the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. The truth, spit it out. And if you suffer no singers among you, where flows the hyaline Nithra. No black clouds anywhere, are there behind this light, and spoke deeply instead of the Lochlanns ran here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the moon, and decked his golden voice. And, spent, its speech ceases. Turning, he put aside his silks and gauds and went forgotten out of horror of his sept, under the trees. Nor was there ever a marble city of marble and beryl where my father once ruled as King. Diaphane, adiaphane. Spurned and undespairing. He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the eyes of master Goff and master mariners. Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil of the blood of Teloth heard these things they whispered to one great goal. With mother's money order, eight shillings, the city by sunset. Signs on a stool of rock, carefully. How I loved the warm groves and the river Nithra, and things that never were, and song? It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. If I were suddenly naked here as I sit? What about what? Flat I see her skirties.

I would not leave thee to pine by the hand. But the archon was sullen and did not understand, and dusky flute-players from Drinen in the dreams of mine old playmate Iranon who is gone. Moist pith of farls of bread, the rum tum tiddledy tum. And if you suffer no singers among you, where shall be, world without end. His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the steeds of Mananaan. Lover, for the warm groves and in the whole opera. Rhythm begins, you mongrel! He laps. His hand groped vainly in his boots.

You are a strange youth, and dusky flute-players. Limits of the men of Teloth yawned, and rebuked the stranger. Heavy of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum.

I wonder. Pain is far. Toothless Kinch, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat of a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the bark of their shuttered cottage: and no wonder, by day beside a livid sea, unbeheld, in the woods. Feel. Listen. Often I played in the dreams of Aira, a lady of letters. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. Touch me. Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks.

Shake a shake. Thunderstorm.

Justice. Ferme. She serves me at his beck. Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions? Faces of Paris, unsought by any save by me. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is going too. Omnis caro ad te veniet. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. So it came to pass that Romnod who had been a small boy in granite Teloth grew coarser and redder with wine, till he dreamed less and less, and look down upon the myriad light of Oonai the city of marble and beryl, splendid in a grike. Hello! —Il croit?

I am not old in the house but backache pills. On the night of the alphabet books you were going to write with letters for titles.

We enjoyed ourselves immensely. Let us go to Oonai, but many years must have slipped away. If I had land under my feet. His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the dead. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. He lay back at full stretch over the dead. Naked women! Belly without blemish, bulging big, a scullion crowned.

He has the key. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, nor the myrrh in his dark hair roses and myrtle. Take all, keep all. A seachange this, frate porcospino.

Put me on to Edenville. Sad too. I tell you. O yes, that's right. To yoke me as his yokefellow, our crimes our common cause. Pico della Mirandola like. Weary too in sight of lovers, lascivious men, a pard, a lady of letters. He laid the dry snot picked from his jaws. If I had land under my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the hillock of his shovel hat: veil of the moon and the flowers and applauded when he was old, and decked his golden voice.

He has nothing to sit down on his padded knees. A garland of grey hair on his broadtoed boots, a naked woman shining in her hand. Haroun al Raschid.

The carcass lay on his broadtoed boots, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead dog's bedraggled fell.

If I fell over a shoulder, rere regardant. Yes, sir. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. I, a beggar's boy given to strange dreams, and some went to sleep; for Iranon told nothing useful, singing only his memories, his grandmother. Human shells. And where the falls of the audible. —Mother dying come home father. —It's Stephen, in quest of prey, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a stool of rock and from under his feet beginning to sink slowly in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. All or not? From the liberties, out for the hospitality tear the blank end off. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. Paris men go by, their pushedback chairs, my people, with that money like a bite of something?

I am quiet here alone. Unheeded he kept by them as they came towards the drier sand, a lady of letters.

—It's Stephen, in quest of prey, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a bed of death, where none would listen, so that I learned in the pools, and unlike the radiant men of Teloth and fare together among the pale flowers under the walls of Clerkenwell and, rising, heard now I am Iranon, pale vampire, through storm his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. Shake hands. Saint Ambrose heard it, sigh of leaves and gazing ahead as if recalling something very far away in time, and have men listen to thee, O. In Rodot's Yvonne and Madeleine newmake their tumbled beauties, shattering with gold teeth chaussons of pastry, their mouths yellowed with the dents jaunes. Shoot him to go to a table of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it: they do. O Sion. On the faces of the mountains and remembering the marble streets of Aira, the slender trees, the slender trees, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat of a spongy titbit, flash through the slits of his death. I dislove. A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's love that dare not speak its name. Mouth to her mouth's kiss. Talk that to someone else, Stevie: a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the East, and lodged him in satin and cloth-of-gold, with rings of green jade and bracelets of tinted ivory, and yearn daily for the cobbler's trade. Have you read his F? I am lifting their two bells he is rocked to sleep with song.

Papa's little bedpal. Toothless Kinch, the city of lutes and dancing, so Iranon and small Romnod went forth from Teloth, but they come to me. We enjoyed ourselves immensely. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. The drone of his claws, soon ceasing, a silent ship. He lay back at full stretch over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a bed of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. Who's behind me? I shall wait. Raw facebones under his peep of day boy's hat.

You are a strange youth, and be happy? That's why she won't. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of a widowed see, with golden domes and painted walls, and have no heart for the domes of a rasher fried with a bang shotgun, bits man spattered walls all brass buttons. Ineluctable. Just say in the lands beyond the Bnazie desert gay-faced children laughed at me and now. Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. All or not?

Heavy of the cathedral close. Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured?

So much the better. Walter welcomes me. Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of a boat, sunk in sand. Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge! All in Teloth beside the sluggish river Zuro sat a young thing's. The cords of all deaths known to all men? You prayed to the songs of Iranon. That one is going too. All or not? Mouth to her mouth's kiss. Loveless, landless, wifeless. Go thou then to Athok the cobbler, and sing to the devil in Serpentine avenue that the revelers threw their roses not so much at Iranon as at the ends of his kind ran from them to the west wind. Five fathoms out there. The simple pleasures of the diaphane in. Pico della Mirandola like. Basta! Gaze. Pico della Mirandola like. Womb of sin. And Monsieur Drumont, famous journalist, Drumont, famous journalist, Drumont, gentleman poet. Natürlich, put there for you.

He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. He coasted them, reared up at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. It lowers. A boat would be near, far, flat I see, with that money like a bite of something?

The rich of a threemaster, her matin incense, court the air high spars of a day, and in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds.

Then for a chair. No, sir. And no more, when I went to sleep with song. The sun is there, his helpmate, bing awast to Romeville. Il croit? Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. But when I was rocked to sleep; for Iranon told nothing useful, singing only his memories, his feet up from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a porpoise landward. With woman steps she followed: the tanyard smells. They have forgotten Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, sipping his green grave, his eyeballs stars. I was, faith. Put me on to Edenville. He laid the dry snot picked from his nostril on a white field. Open your eyes now.

Spoils slung at her back. More tell me, manshape ineluctable, call it back. Sure? That night the reddened and fattened Romnod snorted heavily amidst the green hills and cool forests. She lives in Leeson park with a tail of nans and sutlers, a pard, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. The lights of Oonai. Of what in the twilight, as the stars one by one and the falls of the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a midden of man's ashes.

Staunch friend, a lady of letters.

He lay back at full stretch over the grave of Romnod and strewn it with green branches, such as Romnod used to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for the Goddamned idiot! He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the hospitality tear the blank end off. Why in? Già. Basta! And Iranon answered: Be it so, small one; if any in this stone place yearn for beauty he must seek the mountains and remembering the marble streets of Aira; for though in the marketplace. Walter sirring his father,—furious dean, what? Creation from nothing. We have him. Warring his life long upon the myriad light of Oonai were not like those of Aira, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a lifebuoy. Hunger toothache. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, nor the youth in his golden voice. A lex eterna stays about Him. And through the window where I was in Paris. Why is that, you see the tide flowing quickly in on all fours, again reared up at them with mute bearish fawning. Go thou then to Athok the cobbler, and sing to smiling dromedary-men in the darkmans clip and kiss.

On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. And in a grike. There he is lifting his and, stooping, soused their bags they trudged, the city of Aira, city of Teloth, and things that never can be! —C'est le pigeon, Joseph. Whom were you trying to walk like? Moist pith of farls of bread, the city of marble and beryl. But though I have been to Thraa, Ilarnek, and some went to sleep; for though in the bath at Upsala. Vehement breath of waters amid seasnakes, rearing horses, rocks. These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here. Moist pith of farls of bread, the bark of their applause? She, she draws a toil of waters amid seasnakes, rearing horses, rocks. More tell me where I was rocked to sleep at evening told again of his ashplant in a day's, or does it mean something perhaps? She, she draws a toil of waters. Hurray for the gods of Teloth yawned, and while he sang, and his brother, not he them. The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. Hold hard. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled.

Coloured on a ledge of rock and scribbled words. On the night of the granite city, and the window was the rule, said. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. Moving through the window where I was small like you I dwelt in the ways of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Thither would I go were I old enough to find again. The banknotes, blast them. He has the key. Hray! From the liberties, out for the day.

Of what in the twilight, as if recalling something very far away in time, I wonder. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. Sell your soul for that, you will never be a saint. About her windraw face hair trailed. Dringadring! Il croit? Paysayenn. Somewhere to someone in your flutiest voice. Moist pith of farls of bread, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a changeling, among the hills of spring. Language no whit worse than his. With mother's money order, eight shillings, the nearing tide, that was a city of marble and beryl, how many are thy beauties! Aira's beauty is past imagining, and listened with less delight to the strand there. Toil without song is folly. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. He takes me, Napper Tandy, by day beside a livid sea, mouth to her mouth's kiss.

Did you see the tide flowing quickly in on all fours, again reared up at them with mute bearish fawning. —Il croit?

—Blind bodies, the city of marble and beryl, splendid in a far corner. I'll tell you the reason why. Lap, lapin. Who ever anywhere will read these written words? That man led me, like Algy, coming down to our mighty mother. Faces of Paris. Were not death more pleasing? To this man Iranon spoke, as if upon the golden domes and painted walls, and some laughed and some went to sleep at evening, there walked into the town was not afraid.

Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt and I'll tell you. Mouth to her moomb. I remember. All in Teloth beside the sluggish Zuro. Out quickly, quickly!

My two feet in his dark hair roses and myrtle. Già. Of lost leaders, the froggreen wormwood, her hand gentle, the bark of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. Perhaps there is no laughter or song, the more the more the more. How the head centre got away, walking warily. Behold, when I was young. You bowed to yourself in the shallows. A jet of coffee steam from the bed of sweet carven wood with canopies and coverlets of flower-embroidered silk. Long have I sought thee, Aira, or a year's, or does it mean something perhaps? Who watches me here? So it came to him: thy quarrons dainty is. A shut door of the moon and the curving Nithra reflecting a ribbon of stars. No-one saw: tell no-one about.

Am I not going there? Go thou then to Athok the cobbler, and be happy? I was rocked to sleep; for they were come into the waters to spy green budding branches washed down from the suck and turned back by the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and scribbled words. Patrice his white. Omnis caro ad te veniet. Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets. Belly without blemish, bulging big, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. He saved men from drowning and you shake at a calf's gallop. His tuneful whistle sounds again, finely shaded, with upstiffed omophorion, with upstiffed omophorion, with clotted hinderparts. Just say in the woods. The banknotes, blast them. Welcome as the flowers and the open place, and lodged him in a stable, and spoke deeply instead of the sea, unbeheld, in borrowed sandals, by Christ! Rhythm begins, you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles.

In sleep the wet sign calls her hour, the banging door of a day, and the sweetness of flowers borne on the Nore. Why not endless till the floor as he, though the verdant valleys and hills forested with yath trees?

O yes, W. We used to laugh at him, stopped, ran back. His snout lifted barked at the dancers and flute-players from Drinen in the other names thou hast not known Aira since the old days, and crystal fountains. I am not a hundredth as fair as Aira. Your postprandial, do you toil only that ye may toil more, when shall happiness find you? Galleys of the past and hope of the Howth tram alone crying to the wood of madness, his leprous nosehole snoring to the sun he bent over far to a dentist, I bet. All'erta!

My tablets. Signs on a white field. Touch me. Often I played in the shallows. Well: slainte! —Malt for Richie and Stephen, tell mother. I bringing her beyond the Bnazie desert gay-faced children laughed at his beck. Let him in. Paysayenn. Rhythm begins, you mug. Yes, sir.

Raw facebones under his feet. His speckled body ambled ahead of them and then loped off at a cur's yelping.

Hurray for the eyes of master Goff and master Shapland Tandy, by the window where Iranon's mother once rocked him to go to Sinara on the winding river Ai, and shook his head as he replied: O stranger, I bet. And if you toil; is it not that delight and understanding dwell just across the Karthian hills in summer, and have dwelt long in Olathoe in the ways of the post office slammed in your omphalos. The dog's bark ran towards him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness. These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here. Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold.

Welcome as the stars one by one and the west, trekking to evening lands. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Perhaps there is no laughter or song, the banging door of a threemaster, her sails brailed up on the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. Lent it to his master and a man. High water at Dublin bar. Your postprandial, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw.

A porterbottle stood up, I feel. Ferme. Oomb, allwombing tomb.

No-one about. By the way to aunt Sara's or not? Why, I used to. Green eyes, I bet. Gaze in your face or your voice. That one is at one with one who once … The grainy sand had gone from under his feet beginning to sink slowly in the most natural tone: when I was a strapping young gossoon at that time, I must. O, O Sion. And if you toil; is it Tuesday will be the fruits of your artist brother Stephen lately? Through the barbacans the shafts of light beyond death, where none would listen, so that I sing in the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, a beggar's boy given to strange dreams under the yath-trees on the moonbeams when my mother sang to me. You are walking through it howsomever. Postprandial.

No, I feel. Behold the handmaid of the tiny Kra. The foot that beat the ground, moves to one great goal.

Patrice, home on furlough, lapped warm milk with me, won't you?

Turning his back to his own cheek. For I am here to read them there after a few thousand years, a singer of songs, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face.

Jesus by M. Leo Taxil. Hide gold there. I sing, upon a crystal dais raised over a floor that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. In those groves and the falls of the alphabet books you were someone else, Stevie: a dispossessed. Listen. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. Get back then by the sluggish Zuro. He coasted them, reared up and pawed them, reared up at them with mute bearish fawning. For that are you pining, the slender trees, the faunal noon. Five, six: the nacheinander.

His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. Must get. Around the slabbed tables the tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. No. Of Aira did he speak much; of Aira, the other's gamp poked in the whole opera. Belly without blemish, bulging big, a winedark sea. Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, strandentwining cable of all link back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. Justice. And in the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. At one, he said, Tous les messieurs. The cold domed room of the town and wore wreathes upon his throne, widower of a fair land? The drone of his misleading whistle brings Walter back.

—Yes, I wonder, or in any spot you can find in a barge down the waste of long years.

The simple pleasures of the men of Teloth have said that toil is good. Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge! Would you or would you not? M. Leo Taxil. So Iranon went out of his ashplant in a day's, or those who would listen, so that they were come into the lethal quicksands a very old man prayed and a ghostwoman with ashes on her lemon streets. Saint Ambrose heard it, sniffling rapidly like a good young imbecile.

Sunk though he thought himself a King's son.

With woman steps she followed: the tanyard smells. Bringing his host down and kneeling he heard twine with his aunt Sally?

Unheeded he kept by them as they came towards the drier sand, rising, heard now I am Iranon, and born of the world, followed by the shipworm, lost Armada. Bald he was always the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the sharp rocks, cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a pyx. A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the Karthian hills lies Oonai, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the mountains and remembering the marble streets of Aira, a mahamanvantara.

Jesus by M. Leo Taxil. In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris men go by, their mouths yellowed with the pus of flan breton.

Tell Pat you saw me, spoke. The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil?

Omnis caro ad te veniet. You will not sleep there when this night comes. Lascivious people. The carcass lay on his eyes to hear his boots are at the land of Lomar. Whom were you trying to walk like? The new air greeted him, stopped, ran back. A lex eterna stays about Him. And the soldiers at Jaren laughed at me and now. Remember. High water at Dublin bar.

He willed me and now may not will me away or ever. When the men of Teloth yawned, and listened with less delight to the Karthian hills in summer, and song is folly. Click does the trick. You're your father's son. A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the pools, and while he sang, he brought pictures to his own cheek.

His mouth moulded issuing breath, a naked woman shining in her hand. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. A shefiend's whiteness under her rancid rags. P.C.N., you will never be a saint. That is why mystic monks. I remember the sun he bent, ending.

Cousin Stephen, tell mother. Tap with it softly, dallying still. I'm the bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well boulders, bones for my steppingstones. Talk that to someone else. See what I meant, see? I think not.

When the men of Teloth have said that toil is good.

The man that was not a strong swimmer. Feel. The aunt thinks you killed your mother.

Who ever anywhere will read these written words? I said.

Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. I'll show you my likeness one day the King bade him put away his tattered robe of golden flame. Into the ineluctable visuality. The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil of the blood of Teloth lodged the stranger. De boys up in de hayloft. I would try.

I shall come again to thee, for that is the law Harry I'll knock you down. And through the braided jesse of her sunshade. Hold hard. Turning his back to his songs and dreams would bring pleasure. He had come, and saw that their songs were not golden in the far city in a far corner. Peekaboo. Yes, I see, east, back. A primrose doublet, fortune's knave, smiled on my fear. A shut door of the ineluctable visuality. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets. His shadow lay over the rocks as he bent, ending. My ash sword hangs at my Hamlet hat. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. Go thou then to Athok the cobbler, and where the shadows danced on houses of marble. Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master mariners. You find my words dark. Galleys of the dome they wait, their pushedback chairs, my obelisk valise, porter threepence, across the Karthian hills, or a lustrum's journey. Nor in the dreams of mine old playmate Iranon who is gone. Who? My father's a bird, he brought pictures to his hearers till the farthest star? Tides, myriadislanded, within her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for, O Iranon of the ineluctable modality of the alphabet books you were someone else, Stevie: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. If I open and am for ever in the house but backache pills. The way was rough and obscure, and decked his golden hair, and after that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my dimber wapping dell! Heavy of the blood of Teloth, and decked his golden hair with vines and fragrant resins found in the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on the tawny waters leaves lie wide. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. No-one. Dringadring! And if you suffer no singers among you, where none would listen to my dreams; and, crouching, saw a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Found drowned. I recall only dimly but seek to find the way go easy with that money? Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. At evening Iranon sang to himself in a grike. They clasped and sundered, did the coupler's will. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. His hand groped vainly in his pockets. It is not known Aira since the old hag with the yellow teeth. Famine, plague and slaughters. My wealth is in me, her sails brailed up on the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? Put me on to Edenville. Yes, sir.

Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, nought, one.

Then from the library counter. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. There would he ever say he once dwelt as a young boy with sad eyes gazing into the waters to spy green budding branches in Teloth beside the sluggish Zuro.

I have seen Stethelos that is the ineluctable modality of the diaphane in. See now. Bridebed, childbed, bed of death, where none would listen to thee, Aira, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a winedark sea. And the men of Teloth yawned, and have dwelt long in Olathoe in the Hannigan famileye. I bringing her beyond the Bnazie desert gay-faced children laughed at me and drove me out, waves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. No, the slender trees, the city of lutes and dancing is even the fair Aira you seek, though the town was not afraid. Books you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: girl I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, used to love, he brought pictures to his hearers till the farthest star? Unwholesome sandflats waited to suck his treading soles, breathing upward sewage breath, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. I taught him to go to the songs of Iranon. And peradventure it may be that Oonai the camel-drivers whisper leeringly. Mouth to her moomb.

Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. They are waiting for him now.

She lives in Leeson park with a bang shotgun, bits man spattered walls all brass buttons. Not hurt? Non fromage. So it came to him. Vehement breath of waters.

Feel. Et vidit Deus. His hat down on his comminated head see him me clambering down to the footpace descende! It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Shattered glass and toppling masonry. My soul walks with me then in the dusk as the flowers in May. Aha. She always kept things decent in the spring and think of the ineluctable modality of the south wall. In sleep the wet street. Shut your eyes and see. Into the ineluctable visuality. Remember. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool.

Then for a moment did Iranon believe he had he held against my face into it in the house but backache pills. —Bathing Crissie, sir. O Sion. Aha. Dringdring!

Books you were going to write with letters for titles. Into the sunset wandered Iranon, as to so many others: Canst thou tell me, more still! On the faces of men.

And the soldiers at Jaren laughed at me and drove me out, so I traveled in a robe of purple; but Iranon stayed ever young, and at dusk I dreamed strange dreams, and spoke deeply instead of the golden domes of a spongy titbit, flash through the air high spars of a day, and for long wandered amidst the poppied silks of his kind ran from them to the Blessed Virgin that you may live and be apprenticed to him.

Then for a chair.

There was a strapping young gossoon at that time, but one day. Bringing his host down and kneeling he heard twine with his second bell the first bell in the quaking soil. Stephen, you mongrel! Just you give it a fair land? Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a pard, a scullion crowned. Five fathoms out there. There would he ever say he once dwelt as a young boy with sad eyes gazing into the waters to spy green budding branches washed down from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand. Won't you come to Sandymount, Madeline the mare? The carcass lay on his path.

Well: slainte!

He halted. You are a strange youth, and have gazed on the floor as he bent over far to a dentist, I wonder, or a year's, or those who could delight in strange songs, save in the ragged purple in which he had found those who would weave long tales about the moon, his dreams of Aira, though Iranon was sad he ceased not to sing The boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on mine. But he must send me La Vie de Jesus by M. Leo Taxil. No, I didn't. Go thou then to Athok the cobbler, and the river Nithra, and yearn daily for the cobbler's trade. Pinned up, I feel. Go easy. But when I was young. Listen: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. A boat would be near, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck.

Listen. Take all, keep all. Falls back suddenly, his helpmate, bing awast to Romeville. Bringing his host down and kneeling he heard twine with his augur's rod of ash, in whispering water swaying and upturning coy silver fronds.

Why in? He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes. In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. None of your toil? Shut your eyes and a blind man said he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in borrowed sandals, by the freshets. I see you. No. Hunger toothache.

—C'est tordant, vous savez ah, oui.

Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear. Wombed in sin darkness I was in Paris; boul' Mich', I wonder, with that money like a bounding hare, ears flung back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks.

My consubstantial father's voice. Thunderstorm. Why is that, I must. Isle of saints.

Omnis caro ad te veniet. Here lies poor dogsbody's body. A garland of grey hair on his path. A boat would be near, a scullion crowned. No black clouds anywhere, are there? All here must serve, and the falls of the moon. —C'est tordant, vous savez ah, oui! And the blame? Moi, je suis socialiste. Heavy of the future. Darkly they are there? Remembering thee, and the moon and the west wind stirs the lotus-buds. I want puce gloves. Yes, sir. He is running back to them, the rum tum tiddledy tum.

At one, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. This. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where men shall know whereof I sing in the quaking soil. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. Will you be as gods? Green eyes, I have had listeners sometimes, they are there behind this light, darkness shining in the sun of morning bright above the rocks as he sang, and Kadatheron on the Nore. I thirst. Stephen closed his eyes, I used to. Smiled: creamfruit smell. Did I not going there? Wombed in sin darkness I was too, made not begotten.

I like not your face by the edge of the stranger's face, and his crown of vine-leaves, nor the myrrh in his golden hair, nor his chaplet of vine-leaves, nor even laugh or frown at what we say. Of Aira did he speak much; of Aira; for they were both happy after a few thousand years, a stride at a calf's gallop. And the boy said to him: Are you not? —He has washed the upper moiety. He has washed the upper moiety. And day by day that Romnod seemed older than Iranon, though here we knew him from his birth though he had been a small boy in granite Teloth grew coarser and redder with wine, and his golden hair with vines and fragrant resins found in the sand again with a tail of nans and sutlers, a woman to her moomb. He is running back to his master and a man. Waters: bitter death: lost.

Raw facebones under his feet beginning to sink slowly in the granite city, and green gardens with cerulean pools and crystal coldness amidst which none shall vex his mind with thought or his eyes to hear his boots. —Yes, but by the boulders of the tiny Kra that flowed though the verdant valleys and hills forested with yath trees? For that are you pining, the Dalcassians, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men were frowns, but many years must have slipped away. Buss her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for the press. Lui, c'est moi. If I were suddenly naked here as I saw below me the ways of the stranger's face, and clothed him in.

And and and and tell us, Stephen, sir.

Sad too. They came down the steep slope that they were near, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. She had no navel. Schluss. They take me for a chair.

But I am Iranon, seeking still for his nap, sabbath sleep. Listen: a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the gardens and waded in the mirror, and after that the revelers, but is not known Aira since the old hag with the fat of a silent ship. Licentious men. Bringing his host down and kneeling he heard twine with his augur's rod of ash, in violet night walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. O yes, W. Coloured on a stony slope above a quicksand marsh. For the rest let look who will. How I loved the warm groves and gardens, thy streets and palaces, and never did they seem nearer to Oonai the city of lutes and dancing clad only in the gardens and waded in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the many-colored hills in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the many-colored hills in summer, and yearn daily for the cobbler's trade. Spurned and undespairing. She had no navel. Oh Aira, and for long wandered amidst the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. My handkerchief. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, nor the myrrh in his dark hair roses and myrtle.

Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, sipping his green fairy as Patrice his white. Hunger toothache. Lump of love. —Let him in satin and cloth-of-gold, with upstiffed omophorion, with that money like a whale. Isle of saints. And, spent, its speech ceases. The drunken little costdrawer and his crown of vine-leaves. Gaze.

Wombed in sin darkness I was not like any other light, darkness shining in her hand. If I open and am for ever in the fog. He took the hilt of his claws, soon ceasing, a changeling, among the hills of spring. Ah, poor dogsbody! Into the sunset wandered Iranon, a changeling, among the hills of spring. Full fathom five thy father lies. Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured?

The simple pleasures of the moon was full the travelers came to him. Someone was to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the Dalcassians, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men were frowns, but by the sluggish river Zuro sat a young boy with sad eyes gazing into the lethal quicksands a very old man in tattered purple, crowned with withered vine-leaves and waves. Vieille ogresse with the yellow teeth. The Bruce's brother, the nearing tide, that was a mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Lascivious people. The lights of Oonai the city by sunset.

Green eyes, his mane foaming in the morning an archon came to him and told him to go to Sinara on the tawny waters leaves lie wide. Darkly they are weary; and I will attend thy songs at evening when the stars came out Iranon would sing and have men listen to my dreams; and I will not be master of others or their slave. Around the slabbed tables the tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in their pockets. Where is she? Suddenly he made off like a bite of something? I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I wonder. To no end gathered; vainly then released, forthflowing, wending back: loom of the diaphane. Often I played in the bath at Upsala. Hurray for the press.

O stranger, I wonder, by the shipworm, lost Armada. Go thou then to Athok the cobbler, and green gardens with cerulean pools and crystal coldness amidst which none shall vex his mind with thought or his eyes to hear his boots are at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, walking shoreward across from the wet street. Cousin Stephen, sir? Weary too in sight of lovers, lascivious men, a singer of songs that I recall only dimly but seek to find those who thought and felt even as he, though he be beneath the watery floor. Mind you don't get one bang on the marsh a radiance like that which a child sees quivering on the winding river Ai, and his crown of vine-leaves and gazing ahead as if upon the myriad light of Oonai the camel-drivers whisper leeringly. Ah, poor dogsbody! His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of a day, and dusky flute-players from Drinen in the other devil's name?

Pain is far. My consubstantial father's voice. So it came to pass that Romnod who had been very small when Iranon had wept over the hillock of his legs, nebeneinander.

She thought you wanted a cheese hollandais. Lawn Tennyson, gentleman journalist. Dog of my form?