#dough cockle

[my-jokes-are-my-armour]

OH GOD ! Here is is ! The rarest pokemon ! JOEY BATEY

Thank you so much to have found this @lansalla !

[dykemd]

Would you be into it if a girl gave you a loaf of cockle bread? I havent stopped thinking about making/receiving it since i learned about them. Basically if someone is into you, they press some bread dough onto their coochie and bake it, then give you the bread with the imprint on it.

i will eat anything a beautiful woman offers me

[zilaphone]

💛Smoshblr December Asks Day 15💙

What are your top 3 comfort foods? 🤗

And which 3 foods to you try to avoid at all costs? (aka how could Garrett completely ruin your day if you were on eioyi 🤢)

food is so personal to me actually,, COMFORT FOODS!!!

1. 皮蛋瘦肉粥- translated as century egg lean meat congee, it's a rice porridge that never fails to cheer me up. add green onions and crullers? whew that's the stuff

2. char kway teow- it's a wok fried noodle dish with prawns and cockles, and I've had it at least five times since coming home for the holidays

3. cookie dough. yes with the raw egg in it. yes it's impractical. no I won't get sick I truly believe it'll make me stronger

also Garrett Palm you evil imp of a man,, don't you dare. FOODS I WOULD RATHER STUB MY TOE THAN EAT:

1. Chinese yam. actually so hateful, sets off every single one of my food textural icks. I can't stand it in dessert form, fried- I've tried it all and my distaste rises above

2. olives. makes my face scrunch up. ewck.

3. bittergourd. just a nightmare of a food I don't know why we use it so much in cooking

[beththeb01]

Reading Lucanis story and he sounded in my head like Dough Cockle aka Geralt of Rivia.

I dig.

He did good work as Geralt! I vibe with it

[rabchunter]

Today's food heaven pics and video 📸

Look away now if yer not a meat eating carnivores red blooded MAN ♂️ like me 💪 or a women who likes her meat and grub this post is for you 💪

Sunday gone I had a very long day out on on the estate, it was cold, wet and miserable 😖

But knowing I had this fresh ox tail casserole cooking in my slow cooker made the day pass quickly, ox tail as in the tail of an ox is cow 🐄 served with my famous Herby dough and some proper Salted Farmhouse buttered crusty bread vans 🍞

The meat fell off the bone, the aroma and flavour was out of this world, but first a fine glass of port to warm the Ole Cockles of the heart ❤️

By golly Now That's Eating Like A Country King ♂️🧑‍🍳👑🐾🐶💪🙏⚔️🛡️🧔 www.theolehedgecreeper.co.uk

#theolehedgecreeper ##foodheaven #foodporn #thekingeatsfirst #thekingdrinksfirst #oxtail #oxtailstew #oxtailcasserole #oxtailsoup #crustybread #butter #port #porto #manfood #womenwholovefood #bathradio #radiobath #radiofoodlive #radiocookingshow #radiochef #radiocooking

[yennefer-fan]

From the interview with Doug Cockle (voice of Geralt):

The voice behind The Witcher • Eurogamer.net                  

Funnily enough, though, Cockle barely knew the rest of the cast. "It's very rare for actors to record together for games, partly because availability for individual actors is often very hard to gel. I've always recorded alone in the booth for Geralt," he says. "We're like ships in the night. Sometimes I meet people as they're coming out of a session and I'm going into my session, and we'll run into each other in the hallway, but even then there were only a very few of the actors from any of the Witchers that I actually met."

He met Triss, Jaimi Barbakoff, but he never ever met Yennefer, Denise Gough, although one afternoon he came close. He'd been to see Gough in her starring - "brilliant" - role in West End production People, Places and Things. "I went to the stage door because I was going to introduce myself and say, 'Hey great job saw the show and by the way I'm Geralt,'" he says.

"But I waited by the stage door, I waited for about 15 minutes, and thought, 'You know what? She's probably taking a nap.' Her performance was so intense and there was another show that evening, so I left her to it."

Ships in the night. Odd though, considering the moments Geralt and Yennefer shared on the screen, on a certain unicorn. But even those moments, the sex scenes, are handled alone - pun, I'm afraid to say, intended.

[castiel-left-his-mark-on-me]

-◇- Not So Lang Syne -◇-

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1 … HAPPY NEW YEAR!” everyone chanted at once.

Danneel turned to Jensen with a glowing grin and pulled him into her by the back of the neck. Their lips touched and fireworks exploded—on the TV screen as well.

Misha and Darius hollered happily from somewhere behind him, and when Jensen finally was able to turn around, he caught sight of the two men embracing, just before giving each other a quick peck on the mouth. And it was nothing—Jensen knew that, but the skin beneath his collar heated up anyway.

“Mish” he grunted, taking one large step across the floor to tap Misha on the shoulder.

Misha pulled back from Darius and soon, both of the men’s eyes were on him. Misha grinned as he looked Jensen over.

“Happy new year, Jensen—my good man!” Darius bellowed a second later, shoving Misha aside in order to tackle Jensen and lift him up by the waist.

The next thing Jensen knew, he was being spun around—watching his bar turn into a blur of grey and wood tones, listening to the sounds of Danneel and Misha cackling somewhere in the background. “Okay! Alright! P—put me down!” he yelped, feeling the six beers he had in the last two hours, begin to churn in his stomach.

Darius laughed heartily and then plopped him back onto the cement, causing Jensen to stumble backwards and brace himself on one of the brewery’s long tables.

“Oh God!” he hissed, taking a few deep breaths to try and settle his still-spinning core.

“Aww, babe… don’t puke here, it’s still so nice and clean!” Danneel teased, strolling up beside her husband to kiss him on the cheek.

Jensen forced a smile but didn’t move an inch, only flicking his eyes up occasionally to peek at Darius, who looked slightly guilty now for spinning him around.

“Darius—what have I told you about picking men up? It never ends well!” Misha chuckled.

“Yeah, they always end up wanting to vomit.”

“Maybe it’s that scraggly beard. You should shave it—or start picking up bears instead.”

“Bears would pick me up, not the other way around” Darius snickered.

“You may need to pack on a few more pounds if you want to be good bear material” Danneel added on, sounding fairly serious with the suggestion.

Misha agreed enthusiastically. “True, true. You don’t have much cushion for the pushin’, as they say.”

“I’m beefy though” Darius countered with a bit of a whine, flexing one of his huge arms for emphasis.

“Muscle doesn’t equal cushion though” Danneel argued.

"It helps, I’m sure” Darius quips.

But Misha shrugged at that. “Well yeah, I suppose it does if you find a bear who likes to be picked up and fucked against a wall or something.”

Danneel nodded. “Exactly … bears like to be doted on too.”

That made Misha bark out a laugh. “Fucking someone into a wall counts as doting?”

“If you’re doing it right” Danneel chirped, winking at the other man before gliding away again towards the bar.

All that made Jensen completely forget about his upset stomach. “Are you all really having this conversation?”

“On how Darius can best woo a man of both maximum hair and girth? Yes, yes we are, Jensen. That was his resolution after all. Darius wants to find some big, fuzzy love—and I would appreciate you not judging him for it.” Misha grinned at Jensen and then at Darius, who immediately growled and rushed his best friend, now making it Misha’s turn to be lifted up and spun around the brewery.

But unlike Jensen, Misha seemed much more prepared for that sort of thing and soon, the entire room is filled with his laughter, and the sound makes Jensen melt.

“Look at you—you can’t help but swoon over every little thing he does.”

Danneel had materialized beside him and it made Jensen jump—and then blush when he internalized what she’d said. “Huh… well… look at him.”

The two glanced up again at Misha’s gummy, squinty grin just as Darius finally set him down. The man teetered and stumbled, but he continued to laugh carelessly, causing that wide-open warehouse to feel small and cozy.

“He is pretty adorable” Danneel agreed.

“Yeah.” Jensen sighed and then leaned back against the table once more.

“You wish he didn’t live so far away, don’t you?”

Jensen nodded—even though he knew his wife knew the answer to that question, because they’ve had this conversation a million times, ever since he and Misha began seeing each other seriously, and ever since their families blended into one. The fact that they lived half a country apart felt like torture sometimes, but it was moments like this that made it all bearable … when they could be together and laugh and love without worrying about who’s watching. These moments erased all the ones spent missing one another. These moments defined them.

“Dani, my darling—beauty of the south… is there any more cake? All this picking up of men has given me an appetite!” Darius hollered from across the room, causing the Ackles to break from their quiet conversation.

“Trying to pack on those pounds right now, hm?” Danneel called back.

“There’s no time like the present!”

“How are you not already five hundred pounds?” Misha chimed in. “You ate the majority of dinner—and already had two servings of that cake.”

“Being this suave and clever burns a lot of calories, Mish. You’d know—if you were lucky enough to possess my skillset.”

Misha nodded as he walked past his friend, giving him a quick pat on the back as he does. “All I’m saying is… I don’t know how you still have room for cake when you’re already so full of shit.”

Jensen doubled over laughing as Darius swatted Misha’s hand away, choosing not to say anything else as he followed Danneel back towards the kitchen where the cake had been stored.

“Don’t listen to him, Darius. He’s just envious of your good genes” Danneel muttered loudly just before they loop around back to the kitchen.

Jensen and Misha watched as Darius snaked an arm around Danneel’s waist.

“Oh I know. He’s been green with envy for over thirty years.”

The two continued to laugh and chat as they disappeared out of sight, leaving the other two men to do nothing more then smile and shake their heads.

“I have a feeling those two will cause trouble if we leave them alone too long” Misha chuckled, still looking towards the back of the brewery where Danneel and Darius went.

“Yeah—but it’s worth the risk” Jensen whispered, reaching out to tug at Misha’s arm.

Misha opened his mouth, about to ask what Jensen meant, but he was silenced by the press of the other man’s lips.

The TV on the wall is still playing softly, repeating footage of fireworks and applause from hours before in New York. The air in the room is cooling—finally losing the warmth brought in by all the family and friends that were there before, gathered around the tables for the celebration. But one by one, they all left again—leaving just Jensen and Danneel, and Darius and Misha. The only ones who didn’t have any place to be and anyone else to see before midnight, save for one another; and that’s exactly the way Jensen wanted to start 2018.

“Happy New Year, Mish” Jensen whispered, pulling back just long enough to nuzzle Misha’s nose.

“Happy New Year, Jensen. Thank you for having me over.”

“I always want to have you over, man… not just on New Year’s.”

“Nah, you’d get sick of me” Misha laughed, leaning in once more to kiss the corner of Jensen’s mouth.

Jensen grimaced at the audacity of that statement, quickly bending down to pick Misha up and spin him around, eventually setting him onto one of the tables so that he could pin him there. “The only thing I get sick of is having you so far away from me.”

The shock on Misha’s face is immediately replaced with doe-eyed appreciation, a look he always gets whenever Jensen says something so touching. He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came out—and Jensen grinned, pleased that he could leave this quick-witted man so speechless.

“Well, well, well! Jensen, my boy! It looks like you could teach me a few things about picking up men!”

Jensen’s head shot up, staring across the room at his wife and Darius, who are linked arm in arm and grinning at the two of them—Jensen, bent over a table, and Misha—on his back with his legs locked around Jensen’s waist. “Uh…”

“You may have muscle, Darius—but Jensen has game” Danneel laughs.

“Apparently so. I’ve been replaced!”

Jensen and Misha turned a deep red before slowly righting themselves.

“Oh no no, guys! As you were… us old acquaintances will just stand back here, forgotten.”

“Oh Jesus” Jensen groaned.

“Like Auld Lang Syne …”

“Darius, don’t start …” Misha laughed.

“For Auld Lang Syne, my dear! For Auld Lang Syne! We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for Auld Lang Syne!”

“He actually knows the words to that song?” Jensen asked, glancing back at Misha in awe.

Misha sighed, leaning his head against Jensen’s shoulder once he finally stood up again. “Yes …” he began with a yawn, peeking up at the clock on the wall, “and now that he’s started, there’ll be no stopping him for at least two hours.”

Darius grinned as he took a deep breath between verses, twisting around to scoop Danneel into his arms and dance her around the room. “And surely you’ll buy your pint cup, and surely I’ll buy mine! And we’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for Auld Lang Syne!”

The brewery was once again filled with laughter—smiles and song. Friends and love. All the things that Jensen cherished most in this world, so he wrapped his arm around Misha’s neck and watched the good grow—his heart warming as Misha wrapped an arm around his shoulder, grinning at all the new year had already given them.

[jimnocturnalsblog]

Beddwell

1.

The Docherbert eyeballed me up, down and all around. His gingity frizzles poked from his bonce, lugholes and the nostrilcapers on his fizzogg.

'Keep you out of the osbutty

I sosurely can, with a chockity lozenge

a packity crisp and piscesgodden

from the fishmongrel', he grinnled.

'This is what happenstances when you have a docherbert that practicals out of the pub', I thought.

I bit the buttybelly and asked with outfright: 'How does chockity help with dried skin, doc?'

'Ha! Quite! Rwanow, off you flap!' he chiggled and hushered me away to the bar.

I peeled the place with my peelers and looked upon my old grizzler friend Lethargy. He was using his pawfingers to draw shapes on the steam-jacketed window.

'Heyo, Leth'.

Lethargy didn't turn his bonce but smiled.

'Greetingyous, Hardy.' He carried on drawing in the condensediments. 'You and your guitar all be well?'

'Can't comnegativsky. Sugared ming?'

Now he turned his bonce.

'Lovelies', he said.

I called to David Soul behind the bar.

'Dave! Two sugared mings and a bowl of toastycrumbs please.'

David Soul broke off from his gruckling with Old Man Dark.

'No problem with the mings, Muckle but I'm clear emptoid of crumbs. Emma Cockles is in later though if you're brave.'

My brainhole thought of seafood delights and I smiled.

'Greatio, Dave. Just mings then.'

David Soul poured the mings and brought them over to us, his moccasins dancing a feetybeat to 'Don't Give Up On Us Baby' as he left Old Man Dark slobbing into his drink.

I supped and savoured the groundybeef flavourings as Lethargy sat his furrity frame at the rickety table. His crow, Jupiter Bob, squawked his cheery happifuls at me. Over in the greasypit corner a mutt flippered coins in the jukemusic, and Orbison filled the room.

'Only the lonely', sang Lethargy, gravelly voice rattling the windows.

I tried to distract him from the singering.

'Harvestry good this session?'

Lethargy frowned, his fizzog contorting like a pan of dribblymelty dough, blue eyes lost under bushy browbumps.

'The radiosands are bad this year, Muck. Darkledust everywhere, veggies limp and tiny.'

Jupiter Bob screeched 'Darkledust!!' so loudly even Old Man Darke at the bar looked up from his glass of ming.

Darkledust was the fine film that jacketed the town every single dydd of the week. No pawb knew where it belched from though some whispeyed about rumbling at the top of Mount Beddwell, beyond the foresty slopes, the Eggychurch and the fat clouds near the tiptop.

I'm supposining it might be time to siarad a little about the small town of Beddwell. Let's fillet your bonces with the basicallies.

Beddwell nesties its fat arse at the bottom of Mounty Beddwell, a smearage next to the crapsicle, if you see what I'm siarad about.

...

[green-blue-heller]

Hi!! How about a one shot with first person narrative, with Jensen thinking about the video posted yesterday by Darius (jealousy?) And also the video posted by Misha (butterflies in the stomach!)? Write this story, please! 😁

Ohhh! Thanks for being so patient while waiting for this! I absolutely loved writing it. Though, as I told you, I did struggle a little because first person isn’t my strong suit, but I love a good challenge! 

Hope you love it. 

Because it is Cockles RPF, I put it under the break. :) 

******

Title: Green with Jealousy (Read on AO3)

Cockles RPF

Words: 2174

I hadn’t meant to slam my phone down as hard as I did, and when Danneel looked up at me from across the room, one eyebrow raised, I gave a sheepish smile.

“Sorry.” My voice was low as I muttered, trying to keep my annoyance from my wife. But she knew me all too well.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her expression go soft as she put down the security monitor she had been using to keep an eye on Arrow and J.J. as they played in the twins’ room. Guilt consumed me as I watched her make her way over.

The last thing I wanted to do was let her know how stupid I was acting, but she knew me too long for me to be able to hide anything from her. That was why I didn’t even try anymore.

“What’s wrong, Jensen?” She wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder. 

I grunted, not sure how to answer her. The truth was, I wasn’t even sure what exactly it was that was bothering me. There was no reason for it. It was just this feeling that I couldn’t put a name to, that slowly started to wrap itself tight in my chest.

Or, rather, a feeling I didn’t want to put a name to.

But when I didn’t say anything, Danni turned her head and softly kissed my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned into her touch.

And fell for her trap. 

I was distracted, only for a moment, but it was enough for her to reach out and swipe my phone from the countertop.

“Danni.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out in a low growl, but it just made her chuckle as she put in my pin and unlocked my phone.

And I was helpless to do anything other than hang my head, as I knew what she was 

going to find.

It only took a few seconds before the sound of Misha’s voice hit me like a freight train. It immediately sent shivers down my spine as I recalled what it was like to have him next to me, whispering in my ear. 

“Aw, love.” Her voice was so soft, I almost didn’t even hear her speak. But I felt the love she had for me as she wrapped her arm around me again and kissed the top of my head, as she continued to watch the video. “I know you miss him,” she continued, trying to tame the beast she knew I could be whenever I was reminded how I was missing the other piece of my heart, “but you’ll see him soon.”

I nod, not trusting my voice as I ran a hand over my bearded cheek. 

Shit. She thinks this is just because I miss him. Not that I don’t. Because of fucking course I miss him. He should be here, enjoying the snowy Colorado weather, curled up on the couch while the fire is going.

Even with three kids, the place felt too empty without Misha, Vicki, and the kids. We were supposed to be enjoying ourselves before I left for Toronto in a few weeks to film for The Boys. But, of course, something happened that canceled those plans.

Not that I could blame Misha that his doctor scheduled his hip replacement surgery the week before they were supposed to come to Colorado. It just meant that I was going to have to head out to California instead. Sure, it sucked that we couldn’t get the entire family together like we planned, and we would only get a weekend together, but I knew I should be grateful for whatever time I was able to spend with Misha.

Even if it was while he was hopped up on pain killers and wasn’t allowed to do any strenuous activities.

I bite back a grin as thoughts and schemes of what we could get away with began to trickle in my head.

But then I pick up the sound of Darius’ voice from the video Danni is still playing and I let out a scowl. It isn’t that I don’t like Darius, it’s just that I can’t help worry about how much Misha likes Darius.

Danni clears her throat and I cast a glance over to her, only to see her quirk an eyebrow at me.

I can’t even muster a guilty grin because I didn’t want to think about the jealousy that consumed me every time I thought about Misha and Darius together.

Even if they haven’t been together in almost twenty years.

But I did feel guily, and embarrassed at having been caught. It was something I needed to work on, and I knew that. This whole jealousy thing. 

Misha hated it. He felt like it meant I didn’t trust him, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I just hated the thought of him wanting to kiss or be with someone else, even if it was just a joke and not real. 

More than once it caused an issue at a convention. Most of our former cast mates knew about our relationship, and were understanding that there were boundaries. But I still felt like an asshole sometimes when I let it consume me.

But Darius was different. He knew Misha - not to mention he knew Misha. He was the first person he’d been with, ever. So of course the fact they were still close was going to stir up some unwanted emotions in me, despite the fact that I had never been prone to jealousy before I had me Misha.

But his relationship with Darius wasn’t something I could compete with. 

Not that it was a competition.

With a sigh, I grabbed Danni and drew her close.

As I buried my face in her neck and inhales the sweet scent of freshly cut flowers, I felt myself finally begin to relax.

A few hours later, as I was getting ready to give Zepp a bath, I felt the familiar warmth of Danneel’s hand on the back of my neck. I leaned back into her touch and moved my head to kiss her palm as I flashed her a smile. 

“Hey, baby. I thought you were still finishing up with Arrow? Is she almost ready for bathtime?”

“Almost. But that’s not why I’m in here.”

The wicked grin she was giving me churned my insides. “Oh, yeah?” I asked as I wiggled my brow at her.

She let out a giggle and held my phone out to me.

“Mama! Mama! Watch.” Zepp pulled Danni’s attention away from me for a moment and she gave him a soft smile. 

“Hold on a second, baby. I’m going to take over for Daddy, so you can show Mama whateer you want, in just a minute, okay?”

I let out a sigh, as I love watching the way Danni is with the kids. It makes me melt every time I remember they’re mine, and that I’m lucky enough to be theirs.

But then I realize what she said and give her a questioning look.

“Why are you doing bath time tonight? It’s my turn.” I love having these little moments with the kids, things I missed a lot of while I had been filming Supernatural.

Not that I would trade any of that for anything. 

But I was lucky enough to be able to have both. To have it all.

Though I could admit I liked living this quiet life in the mountains with just the wife, boyfriend, and our kids all trying to bring the house down around us.

I knew I wasn’t SuperDad, like Dee was SuperMom, but I wasn’t that bad that she’d need to come in and take over bathing the kids from me.

But she just gave me a wink as she motioned again for me to take my phone from her.

Confused, I grabbed the towel and dried off my hands before taking the phone from her.

“Why don’t you go into the bedroom and see what I have pulled up, while I take over here, cowboy?”

My heart skipped a beat as I nodded and leaned in to give Zepplin a kiss before I placed a quick kiss on Dee’s cheek and made a beeline for the bedroom.

When I had the door closed, I leaned against it for a moment and closed my eyes. I had no idea what to expect, but the anticipation was killing me.

And I didn’t want to lose that high, so I clutched it tight against my chest for a moment. But I knew I had precious little time to myself before one of the girls realized I was set free from daddy duty, and set out to find me.

Unsure of what I was going to find when I opened my phone, I reached back and slid the lock on the door into place. She hadn’t given me any warnings that it wasn’t child-friendly, but I didn’t want to take the risk.

I opened my eyes and walked over to the bed and sat down. 

As I let out a breath, I steeled myself as I brought the phone up and swiped up to allow it open.

There was a video on my screen, waiting for me to press play. 

When i did, music began to play and I could see a woman kneading some dough. I sat there for a few moments, wondering what it was I was watching, or why Danni felt like I needed to see it at that moment.

But within a few seconds, I saw the camera move up and reveal Liz, Misha’s sister. I knew she could sing and had heard her, Misha, and their dad sing on more than one occasion, but I had been caught so off guard, I hadn’t been able to place her voice at first.

Then another voice hit my ears and tears immediately stung my eyes.

It was a voice I would know anywhere.

There was my Mish, leaning against the kitchen counter with his sister, singing to the dough they had been making, like a bunch of goofs.

My heart stuttered and I felt butterflies in my stomach as I watched him belt out the song. It made me miss him even more, and wish the weekend would hurry up and come already so I could get back to Los Angeles and see him, Vicki, and the kids.

As he squeaked out a high note, I let out a strangled laugh and wiped the tears from my cheeks.

I played the video again, and saw the beginnings, where Dee had fast forwarded so I didn’t know what I was watching, and let out a snort at how only they would spend all day making something, even after several failed attempts when he could have just gone to the bakery a couple of miles away and gotten his pastries within a half hour.

But that was why I loved him.

He liked making things with his own hands.

If he didn’t have some part in building or shaping something, it didn’t feel as real to him. It was why he built his own house, and even most of the furniture - although, throughout the years, Vicki had managed to replace about a third of it.

But even me. Misha shaped who I had become. He built up my confidence and chipped away at the self-doubt I had. Made me believe in who I was and that I was worthy of everything I had, of everything I wanted. 

Mish was the one who made me believe I deserved it. 

I looked up as I heard the lock click, and smiled as Danni walked through the door.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I whispered.

“Hi.” She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed.

When she pulled back, she reached out and wiped the tears that stained my cheeks.

A sob threatened to break free from my chest, but I held it tight. I didn’t want her to see how much I was hurting. To see how much I missed Misha.

But she never missed a thing.

“Call him,” she whispered as she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

I shook my head. “Naw. It can wait.” I put my head down, but she hooked her finger under my chin and brought my face back up and stared into my eyes.

I swore that woman could see my soul, and it made me shiver.

“I know it can. But you don’t have to suffer for me, Jensen. Call your man, and tell him you love him. That you miss him. There’s no reason to deny yourself that.”

She cast me a knowing smile as she got up to leave the room again.

I gave her a grin as I thought about the sound of Misha singing in that video, and the butterflies returned as I picked my phone back up to dial his number.

*******

Taglist: @dolphindiluna @astral-from-the-pit-of-despair @kristina710

[mommymooze]

Sing Me to Sleep

A little Soulmates AU with Felix and Sailor

Felix' POV

It started when he was young. He could hear them singing but couldn’t understand a word. The melody is pretty and they sing almost every afternoon. Sometimes they sang themselves to sleep. Sometimes he would sing a few notes to them, trying to get them to sing so he could go to sleep, he was always happy when it worked. As they got older they sang much less. Sometimes he sang too, but after Glenn died, well, there is no longer a reason to sing.

Then they were teenagers, at least he thinks they were. The songs as a little kid were all kid songs. They resuming their singing, the music is quite lively, like the music of traveling minstrels or in taverns. He had not been to many, but his father took him along sometimes when hunting or checking out the territory. It was quiet again for a few months and then the songs started again. Sea shanties? Songs of boats and water and ships, sailing, monsters and fights. Some he understood the words to, others he didn’t Some were quite filthy in their language.

He does not sing. Never develops an interest in it. He loves to listen to music, especially operas. Why doesn’t this voice sing songs that he would like? They are entertaining, like when the ship is fighting a monster stopping it from taking them down to Davey Jones locker, whoever that is. He doesn’t think much of it.

He is slowly growing into becoming a fine man. His father sends him to the Officers Academy for military training. How to fight, plan battles, to be a proper soldier, just as his father sent him and his father before him.

He is a member of the Blue Lions and meets with several old friends and makes new friends with others from the kingdom.

Accidentally he discovers Annette’s secret songs. He’s heard some of them several times and cannot help but singing them to himself as he practices his sparring, trying to get her footwork just right with certain pieces.

Sailor’s POV

Mother said she had fallen in love with father’s voice the first time she had heard it. But this didn’t sound like a lovely voice like mothers or fathers. It was a little kid that sang in her head and he sang in Fodlan and he cried a lot when he sang. He stopped for a long time. She is too busy with her own life to worry about some whineybaby boy singing to her. She must learn about boats and the ocean and help the family move their goods and trade with the Sreng and Ducsur and Dagda and anyone else they could. Then father got hurt and they were landbound. She tried to live it up in grandmother’s inn, singing for the tenants, dancing and being randy.

She cannot resist the call of the sea. Most of the money she saved she gave to her mother and left at first light to join a three-mast sailing ship heading towards Brigid. She never looked back. Changed her name, lived with the other men on the boats. She could outfight them all if anyone tried to get fresh or too close.

Now she finds herself in the center of the continent, far from the beloved sea. Signs up for a school teaching her the ways of fighting and battling on land. She joins the Golden Deer, containing kids from all over the Alliance. She sings here and there. When one of her team is upset she sings a lullaby. When they march she sings song to help pass the time. Singing songs around a campfire is always grand entertainment.

Her professor knows she wishes to learn faith magic and puts her in the choir every weekend.

Then she’s put on kitchen duty with Mercedes, except the girl that shows up is a redhead. Her name’s Annette and her best friend is sick so she’ll help out for her. Sailor’s been around a galley or two and certainly knows how to cook multiple fish dishes so she takes charge. She puts Annette to work on bread dough.

Sailor almost drops a mackerel on the floor when she hears “Steaks and Cakes”. The dark haired woman turns and stares into the back of Annette’s head as she finishes the song that she has heard multiple times a day, sometimes well into the night, for the last few weeks.

“Nice tune there, girly. Where’d you hear that?” Sailor asks.

Oh!” Annette’s kneejerk response is to drop everything in her hands and Sailor dives to save the huge ball of dough from hitting the floor. Annette’s face turns very red. “You can forget what you’ve heard. It’s nothing.”

“You’ve heard that music makes time fly and the work go quick, right?” Sailor smiles. “Tell you what. I’ll sing a song then you sing one and we’ll see if we can get this done quick and have fun.”

Annette nods and Sailor sings the song about Molly Malone who sells cockles and mussels. First the normal version, then a naughtier seafaring version as she shimmies her shoulders and waggles her derriere. Annette breaks into hysterics. Sailor is right. The work goes swiftly and they have a lot of fun trading songs and singing together. The kitchen staff arrives just in time to serve the food, releasing the students from their duties.

Sailor and Annette are laughing and joking as they head out the back door of the kitchen and run into Felix who stands there dumbfounded.

Sailor looks at him warily, “You okay over there Fraldarius? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Eeep!” Annette screeches. “No ghosts for me, I’m out of here!” and runs off.

Sailor doesn’t skip meals, she heads to the counter and grabs a plate with a fish sandwich, taking a seat at a nearby table. Dinner complete she hits the training grounds to see if anyone is up for sparring practice. Ferdinand is available, they fight with lances for a while, then he must to leave. She walks outside to the archery range, picking up a practice bow, stringing it and then grabbing a quiver. Somehow the library song comes to mind and every time she sings big boom, she lets an arrow loose to smash into the target for the boom.

Felix storms over to the Archery range. “Don’t you ever stop fucking singing? Do you know how hard it is with you in my head all the time?”

Sailor loses all concentration. The bowstring slaps hard into her left forearm and she breaks the arrow in her hand as she just realizes that Felix is the one that hears her all the time. Now she suddenly recognizes his voice. When he sings it is soft and in a much higher pitch than when he talks, but it is him.

Her brain comes back to the current circumstances with her arm bleeding from the bits of wood and string burn and the Fraldarius man angry with her. “Uh, sorry?”

“Why did you go and do that to yourself, idiot” He’s now chastising her and sitting her down on a bench, looking her arm over. Making sure there are no splinters in her skin he casts a light faith spell, enough to remove most of the sting from the rough contact with the bowstring and few jabs from the wood splinters.

“Thanks.” She whispers.

Felix looks away. “No big deal. Just…try not to sing when I’m practicing, it throws me off.” He heads back to the training grounds, then steps back looking at her.

“Do not ever sing that cockles song for Sylvain. Just…don’t ever.” She swears there is a bit of a smile was on his face as he marched back to the training grounds.

[theauthorstreehouse]

Worldbuilding - Food and Recipes

*The chart above illustrated the dietary resources available to the majority of the nation.

Culture of Food

Food is a huge part of what makes a culture and Verdant is no exception to this. They pride themselves as a nation in which no one goes hungry. In a country where most of the land is desert, this is much more difficult to achieve than one might think. But thought centuries of trial and error they have not only learned to take advantage of the county which the land provided, but to cultivate their own food by utilizing the unique seasons to their advantage.

Verdant food is colorful, packed with flavor, and prepared with passion. The hearth is the center of the household and as such the kitchen and living area are usually inseparable in all but the most wealthy estates. Something is always cooking, and as such it is considered polite to offer an unexpected guest food and drink, and considered very impolite to refuse! If invited over, it is an absolute scandal not to bring something along, even if it's just goat cheese rolled in garlic and chives or a bottle of homemade wine.

Accessibility

When one looks at the scope of what the people of Verdant eat, it is important to remember the wide range of territory in which their nation covers. For instance in the capitol city which straddles the coastline, the bounty of the sea is plentiful. This means that people in the capitol can obtain fresh fish, seaweed and such for next to nothing. However in the further reaches, such as the Speckled Pond Oasis, their ability to serve food like swordfish or lobster is severely limited.

As in all countries, the wealthy always have access to more than those in lower classes. The more processed or refined something is the more likely you have to be wealthy in order to afford it. The more elaborate and time consuming it is to obtain and cook, the more likely you must have thralls or servants available in order to ensure it gets accomplished. Domestic pigs, for instance, do not do well in the Verdant heat and are difficult to keep content. So much so that pigs are considered to be a status symbol and kept like very spoiled pets by the super wealthy and socially elite. Goats and chickens on the other hand are a much more common source of sustenance and can be obtained by all but the most impoverished folk. Even then, foraging and trapping is a common chore given to children. Verdant has only a few laws regarding hunting practices, allowing for easier access to food sources.

Preservation

Food must be properly preserved to last as long as possible. With a flooding season and a sandstorm season to factor into the equation, Verdant folk must ensure their larder will hold for as long as possible. Most meat is cured in salt or smoked to prolong it's shelf life. Jerked meats are fairly common, especially among the working class. Packing in animal fat and storing it in a cool, dry place is an excellent method for ensuring the meat remains tender for months. Herbs are air dried and ground into powders,or drowned in oil or vinegar. Fruits and vegetables are often pickled or soaked in a sweet brine which is often then turned into alcohol. Waste is the enemy, and if anything can be used it will be used. Bone broths are immensely popular as a method for stripping the most nutrition out of an animal.

Household Staples

Some things are just a ubiquitous part of the culture, and Verdant is no exception. There are staples served on every table from rich to poor, though the amount and embellishments may differ. As a part of their initiative to ensure everyone is fed, monthly stipends of grain and rice are provided to the poorer districts, the amount depending upon the size of the family. These come from the silos kept by the Queen's government, which are filled through yearly taxes collected at harvest time. Each meal has rice with herbs, pickled vegetables, and flatbread lightly fried in oil. The most popular dish through out all the nation being a saffron crispy-rice cakes. They keep well and can be stored in cloth and reheated for meals or handed off to a worker to take with them for mid-day meals.

Saffron Crispy-rice Cake

Ingredients 2 cups basmati rice 3 ½ cups water 2 tablespoons kosher salt ¼  teaspoon crushed saffron threads 1 cup plain yogurt 3 eggs 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted ½  cup olive oil 1 cup vegetable oil

Instructions

Put your rice in a bowl with enough water to cover and let soak for about 30 mins. Rinse thoroughly until the water runs clear. Place 3 ½ cups water into a large pot and add a generous sprinkle of kosher salt. Bring to a boil and add the drained basmati rice. Bring to a boil and give it a stir. Reduce heat and let cook till tender. Sprinkle small amount of salt and saffron threads in mortar and crunch until powdered. Add 2 tbsp hot water and stir lightly. Let steep for about ten mins until deep reddish-orange color.

Mix 3 egg yolks, yogurt, ½ cup olive oil, and 2 tbsp salt into large bowl. Add saffron mix when steeping is done.

Pour 1 cup vegetable oil into skillet and heat. Fluff basmati rice mixture and test to see if fully cooked. Slowly integrate it into the saffron mixture until every grain is thoroughly coated. Don't skimp! You want it to be saturated with this mixture.

Once your oil is hot, put in a small bit of rice to test and see if it is ready. If it begins to bubble immediately, you are ready to proceed!  Form the saffron and rice mixture into patties with you hands and carefully place in skillet, frying on each side until golden brown. Remove from skillet and place on rack to drain. Serve with choice of topping.

Note: I have personally made this recipe and let me tell you it packs a LOT of flavor. I've put a fried egg on top, mixed it with sweet coleslaw, tossed it with chicken and even put a thick slice of mozzarella on top and stuck it under a broiler until bubbling! It's addictive and it keeps in the fridge forever! The saffron threads are a little bit pricy, $7.99 for 1 tblsp where I got them. But since it made like five meals it was worth it.

Another staple of the Verdant meal is flatbread with garlic oil drizzled over it. The garlic oil is easy enough to make by chopping and frying large amounts of garlic in copious amounts of oil, then straining. The oil is useful for just about every dish in Verdant and is used liberally. The chips are kept and dried out, then ground as a topping or crusting for meals.

Garlic Flatbread

Ingredients ½ cup warm water 1 teaspoon sugar 1 package dry active yeast (2 1/4th tsp) ¼ cup plain yogurt 2 cups bread flour ¼cup garlic oil 2 tbsp crushed garlic chips 1 teaspoon kosher salt fresh parsley

Instructions

Dissolve sugar in ½ cup of warm water and add yeast to mixture. Leave for 10 mins until the yeast begins to foam.

Mix flour and salt together. Slowly incorporate yogurt until you have a loose, flaky dough.

Add yeast mixture and knead thoroughly until smooth. Place in a bowl and drizzle generously with garlic oil. Cover with a plate for about an hour or until doubled in size.

Lightly dust flat surface and pour dough onto surface. Gently shape into rectangle and cut into 8 pieces. Form each piece into a ball. Arrange on plate and cover for another 15 – 20 mins.

Place skillet on stove top and add 4 tbsp olive oil to pan.

For larger flatbread, roll balls on floured surface until about 1/8 inch thick. For smaller, cut each ball in half and roll till about the length and width of your hand. Add flatbread to hot skillet and fry on both sides. One side will puff up, creating bubbles of air. Once you flip, DO NOT PRESS FLAT! Cook until golden brown around bubble rings and transfer to rack. Once finished, arrange flatbread on plate and give a drizzle with garlic oil. Add sprinkling of salt, garlic chips and parsley and serve.

Note:These are spectacular on their own but tbh I love them with some goat cheese and some of the broken up saffron cakes above. You can also do them sans garlic/salt/parsley and heat one up in the oven before smearing it with blackberry preserves. It's chewy and lightly crispy and just so satisfying to eat.

The pickled vegetables may very day to day depending upon availability. Children are typically sent out as soon as they have eaten to go forage for wild edibles which can be added in to make for a more hearty fare. Knowing how to source edible plants from their environment is a necessity, as it may save their lives during the Trials needed to become a Citizen.

Sweet Pickled Vegetables

Ingredients 1 Eggplant 1 Cucumber 1 Carrots 1 Red Cabbage 1 Leek 1 Squash 1/4th  tsp salt 1/4th tsp ground pepper 1/4th  cup Olive oil 1 Red oranges 2 tbsp Brown sugar Optional: Pine nuts Goat cheese

Instructions

Turn oven on to 400°.

Slice your eggplants,squash, and leeks into widths about the size of your pinkie finger. Toss in drizzle of olive oil, salt and pepper and place on baking tray. Place in oven for 20 mins or until cooked through. Chop cucumbers, red cabbage and grate carrots into large bowl. Mix to combine.

Take 1/4th cup olive oil and add 2 tbs brown sugar. Juice one red orange and add juice to mixture. Stir to combine until sugar is dissolved.

Once roasted veggies are thoroughly cooked, turn on broiler and roast till lightly browned. Keep a close eye on them. Broilers work quicker than you think.

Once browned, remove from oven and allow to come to room temp. Mix in with rest of vegetables and drizzle the orange dressing over top. Mix generously.

Top with pine nuts and crumbled goat cheese for an extra burst of flavor.

Note: You can really serve this at room temp like a warm salad but it's just as good second day as like a slaw. I love to add it onto rice and chicken for a lunch bowl.

One of the easiest sources for protein across Verdant is the ocean and all the bounty it provides. Even if one doesn't have a boat, they can search along the rocky beaches for mussels and dig into the sand for cockles. Just about everyone has a trap for crabs or eels and takes advantage of this as they taste wonderful when grilled. Spearfishing and diving for urchins are popular methods for obtaining harder to catch food sources. However under Guild law, anything which requires a boat in order to catch requires a Guild permit.

Mussels with Leeks & Tomatos

Ingrdiants 1 lb mussels 1/4th cup olive oil 1 Leek 6 Garlic cloves 1 cup Multicolored cherry tomatoes ½ Red onion 1 tbsp Ginger 1 Lemon 1/4th tsp salt 1/4th tsp pepper ½ tsp cayenne pepper

Instructions

*Check your mussels thoroughly before use!

-rinse thoroughly

-trash any cracked or opened mussels

-if you find a 'thread' on the mussel, remove it

Take a deep saute pan and add in olive oil.

Thoroughly clean leeks between the leaves. They're noted for being dirty.

Chop leeks, red onion, garlic cloves and tomatoes. Add to hot olive oil and cook till lightly browned.

Add in your mussels and cover with lid. Steam for 10 – 15 min until all the mussels have opened up. Stir gently to combine.

Juice 1 lemon and grate 1 tsbp lemon. Stir together with cayenne, salt and pepper until combined.

Scoop mussels from pan into large bowl. Pour lemon juice onto mussels while stirring. Serve.

Note: Mussels are one of my favorite things to eat! There really is no end to the different things you can combine to them but sometimes the simplest is the best!

[vanfoodies]

I cannot believe Christmas is only a couple weeks away! I, for one, was shocked by how quickly the year flew by and was not prepared for Christmas at all. Luckily, many Christmas festivities have popped up across Lower Mainland to help getting into a festive mood.

Of course, the iconic Vancouver Christmas Market has returned for its 10th year. I still remember when it was back at Queen Elizabeth Plaza and how much it’s grown since. Same as the last few years, the Christmas Market can be found at the Jack Poole Plaza. I was invited to its media event and have returned a couple of times since. Here are some food and shopping suggestions for you.

Food

Obviously there are some must-haves at the Christmas Market but they have new vendors this year too. Here are some highlights.

Mulled Wine

You can’t go to the Christmas Market without a cup of mulled wine (Gluhwein) to warm your cockles.

Every year the market releases a different collectible mug and for its 10th year they have this white frosted mug. It’s so pretty! I have a collection of almost all their mugs over the years and this year’s is definitely my favourite.

By the way, if you are not sold on the idea of hot, spiced red wine, order the Feuerzangenbowle, which is mulled wine with rum-infused sugar. The rum flavour and sweetness from the sugar will definitely get you into this holiday drink.

Turkey Leg

New this year is the smoked turkey leg. You have the option for regular or jumbo and we totally went for the jumbo size even though it’s a few bucks more. It looked dry at first glance but only because it’s smoked. We had asked for BBQ and herb sauce drizzled on top. Inside was moist and meat was very flavourful. Totally worth the extra bucks for the meat!

Raclette

Stinky cheese anyone? Bubbly hot cheese scraped off the wheel over some potatoes. This pungent raclette cheese is a must-have at the market.

Chimney Cake

Tried it for the first time several years ago at the food truck festival in New West and really liked it. The dough has a hint of orange in it and it’s so much fun peeling off pieces of the wound-up chimney cake.

Mushroom Soup

One of the few things I look forward to every year at the market. It’s creamy, earthy from the wild mushrooms, and it totally warms you up on a chilly night.

Pretzels

This, is probably one of the best pretzels I’ve ever had. Soft and chewy and it’s brushed with butter and sprinkled with salt. It’s so good I finished it rather quickly.

Dutch Mini Pancakes

Also new this year are these cute little Dutch mini pancakes Poffertjes. Nice and fluffy and you can choose from various toppings and sauces.

Shopping

Buying Christmas presents for the important someone(s)? Here are some suggestions.

Lights

Many people know I’m fascinated by lights so I was totally drawn to this store where you can build your own right here. Each pack comes with 20 pieces and you can mix and match from different colours and patterns. Apparently it comes with a manual on how to build it.

Saving the Environment

There are a few stalls where you can items either made from recycled materials or will help you reduce the use of disposables. You will find reusable straws, beewax wraps, lunch bags made with recycled materials, etc.

Ornaments

Are you always on the lookout for a new ornament? This is the perfect place. In addition to the famous ornament shop Kathe Wohlfahrt Shop from Germany, some other vendors also carry ornaments made of wood, glass, even linen.

Gift for Foodies

Of course, don’t forget the foodies in your life. You will find charcuterie, candies, mustards and pickles, sauces, chocolates, macarons and more at the market. They even have a dedicated aisle for foodie gifts.

Clothing

Lastly, if you are looking for clothes, you will find fun socks, hoodies with cute print, alpaca scarves, etc. There will be something for everyone.

Photo Spots

The Vancouver Christmas Market also has a lot of photo spots. Don’t forget to snap a picture through the Lover’s Lane, walk-in Christmas Tree, the Pyramid, carousel, Santa’s sleigh, the #VanChristmas frame, the giant 10th anniversary mug, and more.

WunderBAR

For the second year, you can purchase additional admission to the hideaway bar. The reserved seating includes a cocktail, charcuterie board or dessert, and a Fast Season Pass for the rest of the season.

Final Thoughts

Remember to visit the Vancouver Christmas Market before Dec 24. They are running different promotions such as Date Nights and $10 Tuesdays. Online tickets are also cheaper and you can upgrade to a Season Pass or even a Fast Pass to skip the line.

Sip, Savour, Snap & Shop at the Vancouver Christmas Market #VanChristmas I cannot believe Christmas is only a couple weeks away! I, for one, was shocked by how quickly the year flew by and was not prepared for Christmas at all.

[mousetrapreplica]

Ladle Rat Rotten Hut

by H. L. Chace

Wants pawn term, dare worsted ladle gull hoe lift wetter murder inner ladle cordage, honor itch offer lodge dock florist.  Disk ladle gull orphan worry ladle cluck wetter putty ladle rat hut, an fur disk raisin pimple colder Ladle Rat Rotten Hut.

Wan moaning, Rat Rotten Hut's murder colder inset, "Ladle Rat Rotten Hut, heresy ladle basking winsome burden barter an shirker cockles. Tick disk ladle basking tutor cordage offer groin-murder hoe lifts honor udder site offer florist. Shaker lake! Dun stopper laundry wrote!  An yonder nor sorghum-stenches, dun stopper torque wet strainers!"

"Hoe-cake, murder," resplendent Ladle Rat Rotten Hut, an tickle ladle basking an stuttered oft. Honor wrote tutor cordage offer groin-murder, Ladle Rat Rotten Hut mitten anomalous woof. "Wail, wail, wail!" set disk wicket woof, "Evanescent Ladle Rat Rotten Hut! Wares are putty ladle gull goring wizard ladle basking?"

"Armor goring tumor groin-murder's," reprisal ladle gull. "Grammar's seeking bet. Armor ticking arson burden barter an shirker cockles."

"O hoe! Heifer blessing woke," setter wicket woof, butter taught tomb shelf, "Oil tickle shirt court tutor cordage offer groin-murder. Oil ketchup wetter letter, an den - O bore!"

Soda wicket woof tucker shirt court, an whinney retched a cordage offer groin-murder, picked inner widow, an sore debtor pore oil worming worse lion inner bet.  Inner flesh, disk abdominal woof lipped honor bet an at a rope. Den knee poled honor groin-murder's nut cup an gnat-gun, any curdled dope inner bet.

Inner ladle wile, Ladle Rat Rotten Hut a raft attar cordage, an ranker dough belle. "Comb ink, sweat hard," setter wicket woof, disgracing is verse. Ladle Rat Rotten Hut entity bet rum an stud buyer groin-murder's bet.

"O Grammar!" crater ladle gull, "Wood bag icer gut! A nervous sausage bag ice!"

"Battered lucky chew whiff, doling," whiskered disk ratchet woof, wetter wicket small.

"O Grammar, water bag noise! A nervous sore suture anomolous prognosis!"

"Battered small your whiff," insert a woof, ants mouse worse waddling.

"O Grammar, water bag mousy gut! A nervous sore suture bag mouse!"

Daze worry on-forger-nut gulls lest warts. Oil offer sodden, thoroughing offer carvers an sprinkling otter bet, disk curl and bloat-thursday woof ceased pore Ladle Rat Rotten Hut an garbled erupt.

Mural: Yonder nor sorghum stenches shut ladle gulls stopper torque wet strainers.

[diethelp-blog1]

Malaysian Food and Top Ten Must Eats

Eating is a favourite pastime in Malaysia. I don't know if it was a Malaysian who coined the term 'live to eat', but other than visiting the mall, Malaysians eat, eat and eat. In fact, we eat at anytime of the day. Or night. Or even midnight. Yes, there are plenty of 24 hours restaurants called 'mamaks' that cater to our midnight hunger pangs. In fact, the stereotype of a Malaysian is that he eats not just during breakfast, lunch and dinner, but in between as well! This used to be such a problem in civil service that the government had to eliminate brunch time in order to increase productivity!

In fact, in Malaysia, very often people do not say, "How are you?". Instead, they say, "Sudah makan?", which means, "Have you eaten?"

It's not surprising that Malaysia is truly a paradise for food lovers. Being a multi cultural and multi racial society, not only do we have the best food from each culture, cultural integration produces even more types of foods.

Let me introduce to you the cuisines of the three main races in Malaysia- Malay, Chinese and Indian. If you have tried Chinese or Indian food before and think you've tasted it all, think again. Malaysian Chinese and Indian food have adapted to the local palate and have evolved into cuisines of their own. And like other cuisines, there are many regional variations, but here I will give you a general overview.

Malay

Cooking Style

Let's begin with Malay food. Malay cuisine uses many types of fresh aromatic herbs and roots such as lemongrass, ginger, garlic, shallots and chillies. Many of these herbs and roots are native to this region. Spices are also important and they are called 'rempah'. Another important ingredient is coconut milk, which is added to make a dish creamy and rich. There is also a key ingredient called 'belacan', which is a fermented paste made from tiny baby shrimps mixed with salt and chillies.

Typical Meal

You can find Malay food everywhere in Malaysia. A typical meal that you might order is a rice dish with dried anchovies, cucumber, peanuts and a hard boiled egg, together with the meat of your choice, called 'nasi lemak'. The rice is cooked in coconut milk. You might even order plain rice and usually accompanied by three side dishes of your choice, such as chicken, mutton, or beef and a variety of vegetables- all cooked in Malay style. Accompanying your dish, you could have beef soup which is called 'sup lembu'; or mutton soup which is called 'sup kambing' - two very popular Malay soups. To wash it down, you may order a refreshing cordial drink called 'air sirap'; or a cordial drink with condensed milk called 'ais bandung'.

Other Delicacies

Other Malay delicacies include fish mousse, grilled slowly over a fire, called 'otak-otak' and a noodle dish garnished with cucumber, onion, and lettuce served in savoury fish soup called 'laksa'. There are many regional variations of 'laksa', so try one in every state. There is also a Malay salad, which is called 'ulam'; consisting of a combination of fresh aromatic herbs; mint, basil, lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, turmeric leaves, and raw vegetables like bean sprouts, long green beans, shallots, and cucumber. Instead of Thousand Island dressing, the topping is a combination of salted fish, dried prawns, fish crackers, fried grated coconut, and other savory garnishes.

If you're in Kelantan, which is the north-eastern state of the Peninsula, try this regional dish that serves blue rice with a variety of side dishes, It's called Nasi Kerabu. The blue colour is a result of the cooking process, where certain types of herbs are thrown into the water during the cooking of the rice

Dessert

For dessert, try a bread-like puff with sugar, corn, and coarsely chopped nuts in the middle called 'apam balik'.

Chinese

Cooking Style

Next, we move onto Chinese food. Chinese food is typically considered milder in spiciness, but Chinese cuisine in Malaysia has taken a spicier touch. Chinese cuisine is varied, but in Malaysia the style is generally the Cantonese style of cooking. A common way of cooking is stir fry. Cantonese cuisine balances the yin and the yang, of food, a difficult concept to describe. You may hear people refer to it as the cooling or "heaty" effects of food. For example vegetables, some fruits and soup are considered cooling and meat is considered heaty rice vs roti nutrition facts.

Typical Meal

A typical Chinese meal can be found easily in many restaurants and hawker stalls in Malaysia. You can also go to a 'kopitiam', which is a traditional Chinese cafe. You might order 'economy rice', which has rice and a variety of side dishes. A common practice is to choose three side dishes- one meat, one vegetable and the last, a dish like tofu or egg. You might also order a noodle dish. There are many styles of cooking noodles such as Cantonese or Hokkien style. You can try the fried noodle with eggs, cockles and bean sprouts called 'char kuey tiao', or Chinese noodles with dumplings and roast pork called 'wan tan mee'. You could also order thick noodles fried with black sauce and pork lard called 'hokkien mee'. Chicken rice is also very popular in Malaysia. To wash it down, you could order Chinese tea, or herbal tea.

Other Delicacies

Other delicacies include Chinese spring rolls stuffed with steamed vegetables, bean sprouts, turnip and carrot, called 'popiah'. Another popular dish here is the pork rib soup called 'bak kut the'. The soup is cooked for many hours with garlic, pork ribs and a variety of herbs. Chinese dumplings are also a must-try. They are glutinous rice wrapped in a leaf along with pork, mushrooms, nuts and salted duck egg yolk. if you have heard of 'dim sum' before, you must try the Malaysian version. It is basically an assortment of bite size dishes, including seafood, meat and vegetables. Dim sum is usually eaten in the morning.

Dessert

For dessert, a well-loved Chinese dessert is curdled soy bean milk topped with syrup called 'tao foo fah'.

Indian

Cooking Style

Indian cooking is of course, very spicy and hot. it has also adapted to the local culture to create a new type of cuisine. Most of the Indian food in Malaysia (comes from) from Southern India, but North Indian food is also widely available. Spices are the heart and soul of Indian cooking. Spices like coriander, cumin, turmeric, fennel, cardamom, clove, cinnamon and star anise are widely used.

Typical Meal

Indian food is easily available in Malaysia. For a typical meal, you might want to have rice served on a banana leaf, accompanied by a variety of spicy hot dishes such as mutton, chicken, fish, squid and crabs. Or you might order bread, and there are many types of them. To name a few, thin rice pancakes or 'thosai', fermented rice and dhal or 'vadai', wheat bread or 'chapati', flour bread or 'roti canai'. Or you may also be interested in chicken tandoori- that's chicken slowly grilled in a clay oven.

Other Delicacies

There are 24 hour restaurants open if you're suffering from a midnight hunger pang. Affectionately called 'mamak', they have been institutionalized as a Malaysian icon. Mamaks are run usually by Indian Muslims. If Westerners hang out at bars, Malaysians hang out mamaks. Mamak food is distinct, and a popular drink here is the 'the tarik', or tea with condensed milk. Other popular food you can order in a mamak is the 'maggie goreng', which is fried Maggi instant noodle with eggs, vegetables and meat.

Dessert

For dessert, you may be interested in a sweet dish of rice noodles topped with coconut and coconut palm sugar called 'putu mayam.'

Other Cuisines

There are many other types of cuisines in Malaysia, such as Nyonya cuisine, which is the cooking of the Straits Chinese. Straits Chinese trace their ancestors to Malays and Chinese, and their cooking combines the styles of these two races. I'd recommend a chicken stew cooked with salted soy beans and coconut palm sugar called 'ayam pongteh'; and a chicken dish cooked with nuts from a type of mangrove tree found in Malaysia, which is called 'ayam buah keluak'.

The Portuguese, one of the many colonialists who set foot in Malaysia, left their mark too on local cooking. One (example) is the Devil's Curry, a dish made from vinegar, herbs and nuts and plenty of chilli- hence its name Devil's Curry.

Top Ten Must Eats

Alright. It's now time for the top ten must try foods in Malaysia. As with all cuisines, it is very difficult to compile a list of only ten, especially in Malaysia where there are definitely more than ten foods you must try!

However, if I were to compile a list, it would look like this:

Number One.Nasi lemak. This is the national dish of Malaysia. Nasi lemak literally means 'rice in cream'. There are many regional variations, but the most common ones consist of steamed rice that is cooked with coconut milk and pandan leaves, which is a kind of plant indigenous to this region. Traditionally served on banana leaf, the rice is topped with cucumber slices, dried anchovies, roasted nuts and hard-boiled egg. But the most important ingredient is the 'sambal', a kind of hot spicy sauce made from chilli, pepper and spices. In fact, how delicious a nasi lemak is really depends on how well the 'sambal' is made! Most people will eat nasi lemak accompanied by a dish like chicken, cuttle fish, cockles, beef, or beef rendang which is beef cooked in dried spices, and vegetables.

Number Two. Bak Kut Teh. The name translates into 'meat bone tea'. This Chinese dish is a soup with pork ribs, herbs and garlic cooked for many hours. Other ingredients include mushrooms, internal organs, and dried tofu. Green onions and fried shallots are sometimes added in as well. Bak Kut Teh is served with rice and 'you tiao', which are long fried pieces of dough. Chopped garlic and chilli in soy sauce served in tiny plates often accompany this dish. Chinese tea is a very important part of this dish and is drunk to balance the taste. Try Bak Kut Teh for an authentic Chinese meal.

Number Three. Laksa. Yet another favourite Malaysian dish, laksa has many different regional variations. The more common one is the asam laksa. It is a sour fish- based soup where the main ingredients are shredded fish, usually mackerel, and finely sliced vegetables including cucumbers, onions, red chillis, pineapple, lettuce, mint, and ginger buds. Thick white noodles are then added into the soup. To top it off, a thick sweet shrimp paste is added. Other variations of laksa are Laksa Sarawak, Laksa Penang, Laksa Kedah, Laksa Ipoh, Laksa Kuala Kangsar, Laksa Kari, Laksa Johor, Laksa Kelantan, Laksam, Laksa Lemak and many more.

Number Four. Satay. You might have heard of this one before. It's basically skewered meat served with peanut sauce, cucumber, onions and rice cakes. The choice of meat is varied- you can choose deer meat, rabbit meat and even fish, but the most common are chicken and beef. The marinated meat is skewered on bamboo sticks and grilled over charcoal.

Number Five. Char Kway Teow. It literally means 'stir fried rice cake strips'. Flat rice noodles are fried together with chilli, prawns, cockles, eggs, bean sprouts and vegetables. Sometimes it is fried with pork lard. It also has many regional variations, but the most famous one is the Penang Char Kway Teow.

Number Six. Nasi Kandar. A popular north Malaysia meal that originated in Penang, nasi kandar is widely available. It has rice, and a variety of spicy side dishes to choose from. In fact, it is the spices that make nasi kandar so unique. The dishes are laid like a buffet and you have to point to the side dishes that you want. After you have chosen your side dishes, the waiter will pour a variety of curries onto your plate, and this process is called 'banjir' or 'to flood'. If you can't take spicy food, ask for less curry.

Number Seven. Roti Canai. One of the most (widely consumed foods) in Malaysia, roti canai is a type of flatbread that is available everywhere. It is round and flat, and is eaten with lentil curry called 'dhal'. You can ask for your roti canai to be made in many ways. The more popular variations are: with eggs or roti telur, with banana or roti pisang, made smaller but thicker or roti bom, made thin and flaky like tissue paper or roti tisu. You can even be more adventurous and ask for roti kaya, spread with Malaysian jam made from coconut; or roti Milo, with chocolate powder sprinkled on top. Try a few and find your favourite roti!

Number Eight. Cendol. An all time favourite Malaysian dessert, cendol consists of shaved ice, smooth green rice noodles in chilled coconut milk and coconut palm sugar, or gula Melaka. Sometimes, red beans, glutinous rice and corn are added. If you have a sweet tooth, ask for more gula Melaka, as many Malaysians do!

[superallybarnesblog-blog]

CARBOHYDRATES AND ITS EFFECT ON HEALTH

Carbohydrate foods

Carbohydrate-rich foods facilitate, after eating, the rapid rise in blood sugar levels (blood glucose). This and many more of its disadvantages are the reason it is advised to be taken in lesser quantities when on a ketogenic diet, it is important to study the workings and some key symptoms when on a ketogenic diet.

Consequently, although carbohydrates can be a quick source of energy for the body, the health benefits are low, so it is advised not to include them frequently on the menu.

List of foods high in carbohydrates

Below, you will see a list of foods with carbohydrates (carbohydrates) and their ratio per 100 grams of the edible product, classified as:

 rich in carbohydrates (those in which they account for more than 50% of their content),

media (around 15-20%),

with few carbohydrates (less than 15%)

without carbohydrates (0 to 1%).

Foods that have 50 grams, or more, of carbohydrates per 100 grams of food are considered high in carbohydrates:

White sugar, brown sugar.

Tapioca, cornmeal, wheat, oats or rye, barley, gofio.

White or brown rice.

Cornflakes, Weetabix or muesli cereals.

Pasta (eg macaroni) and dough (puff pastry, etc.).

White bread, cookies, biscuits, pastries, pastries, pastries.

Honey, fresh and dried dates.

Chocolate with or without milk, chocolates, nougat.

Raisins, quince, dried figs.

Lentils, dried beans, dried beans.

Skimmed milk powder, sweetened condensed milk

Medium carbohydrate foods

They are those that have between 16 and 49 grams of carbohydrates per 100 grams of product:

Marzipan, apple pie, fruit ice cream, creamy ice cream.

Wholemeal bread, muffins, wheat bran, wheat germ, soy flour.

Chickpeas, chestnuts, sweet corn cob, garlic.

Whole milk powder, quiche lorraine, egg flan, fruit yogurt, semi-skimmed fruit yogurt.

French fries, sweet potato, cooked potato.

Soft drinks.

Breaded chicken breasts, hot dog with mustard, cheeseburger, cheese pizza.

Peach in syrup, pineapple syrup, banana, pomegranate, coconut, grapes, custard apple.

Tomato, ketchup.

Low carb foods

 They are those that have between 2 and 15 grams of carbohydrates per 100 grams of product:

 Flavored yogurt, or liquid, or skimmed, or natural, or with cream (Greek), cream, goat's milk, whole or semi-skimmed cow milk, chantilly, curd.

Burgos cheese, skimmed white cheese, Petit-Suisse cheese, fresh cheese mg. 20%, Speisequark cheese, goat cheese.

Rice with milk without added sugar.

Acedias fries, cooked beets.

Cocoa powder, instant coffee, coffee extract powder.

Tomato, fried tomato, avocado, carrot, cucumber, pepper, leek, cooked periwinkle, onion, fresh or canned peas, broccoli, broccoli, zucchini, thistle, cabbage, red cabbage, cauliflower, artichokes, eggplants, squash, Brussels sprouts, canned palms , radish.

Kiwi, tangerines, orange, grapefruit, lemon, pears, watermelon, melon, peach, apricot, persimmon, rosewood, cherries, apple, pineapple, banana, raspberries, strawberries, acerola, green figs.

Hazelnuts, walnuts, almonds, Brazil nut, roasted peanuts, pistachios.

Beef burgers, Frankfurt sausages, pork liver, pork liver, veal liver, salami, sausage, pork sausages, fried chicken, meat extract.

Gatorade, tonic water, packaged lemonade, cider, Porto wine, dried vermouth, white wine, Lager beer, black beer, champagne, anisete.

Hake, mullet, piglets, oysters, octopus.

Bolognese sauce, cheese sauce, onion soup, soup cubes, minestrone soup, Ravioli with tomato sauce.

Pine nuts, sunflower seeds, oat bran, sesame, popcorn.

Foods with very few carbohydrates

They are those that have around 1 gram of carbohydrates per 100 grams of product:

Chard, celery, watercress, lettuce, bean sprouts, sprouted soybeans, endives, cooked asparagus, canned asparagus, raw spinach, cooked spinach.

Turbot, breca, cicada, pout, horse mackerel.

Chicken liver, cooked ham, pork rinds.

Eggs, hard boiled egg.

Brie cheese, portioned cheese, cured Manchego cheese.

Wine vinegar.

Foods without carbohydrates

Foods without carbohydrates are those that have a gram or less per 100 grams of product weight:

 Oils (olive, soy, sunflower, corn, peanut, coconut), olives.

Clams, chirlas, cockles, crab, shrimp, lobster, shrimp, mussels, barnacles, scallops.

Canned anchovies, eel, eels, herring, canned tuna, fresh tuna, fresh or salted or dried cod, sea bream, mackerel, caviar, spider crab, crayfish, conger, gilthead, emperor, rooster, sole, whiting, monkfish, fresh salmon, or smoked, fresh sardines, or canned tomatoes, or in oil, sepia, trout, frog legs.

Bacon, sausage, foie gras, pork loin stuffed.

Horse meat, goat, kid, fat or lean pig, rabbit, lamb, sheep, veal, cow, land snail, lamb, or beef heart, pheasant, oxtail, chicken, canned sausages, beef blood, pork brains, or lamb, or veal, bacon.

Pigeon, duck, turkey, partridge, pigeon.

Coffee infusion, tea infusion, Diet-Coke, ligth soda.

Mushroom, mushrooms boletus edulis, mushrooms cantharellus, mushrooms colmenilla, truffles.

Parsley, turnip greens.

Red wine, cognac, rum, gin.

Egg liquid yolk, dry beer yeast.

Lard, butter, industrial margarine, or vegetable, mayonnaise.

Blue cheese, or Babibel, Camembert, chédar, emmental, gouda, gruyere, mozzarella, parmesan, Pyrenees, Roquefort, fresh manchego, or semi-cured.

Water, salt

Foods with few carbohydrates are what you can eat in the ketogenic diet, high in fat, and often used to lose weight.

 Notwithstanding these values, if you suffer from diabetes mellitus you should take into account when preparing your meal, in addition to the grams of carbohydrates that each of the foods have, also the glycemic index (GI).

 Glycemic food index (GI). Good and bad carbohydrates

The glycemic index measures the intensity and speed with which foods containing carbohydrates raise the level of glucose in the blood (glycemia) after ingestion.

Consequently, foods with a high glycemic index raise blood glucose faster than others with a low glycemic index.

 For example, whole wheat bread will have a lower GI than white bread, or pastries, which have it higher.

Diabetics should eat foods with a low glycemic index and only occasionally, better not daily, can ingest those of medium GI for what these lists will be useful, accompanied by the corresponding suggestions of their specialist (doctor or nutritionist).

[ulyssesredux]

Proteus

His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his death. I know the voice.

Of Ireland, the city of lutes and dancing; but my father once ruled as King. Forget: a dispossessed. —Blind bodies, the nearing tide, figures, two. He lay back at full stretch over the rocks, in her wake.

I prefer Q. Fumbally's lane that night: the ruffian and his strolling mort. Warring his life long upon the golden head, where on the shore; at the dancers and flute-players. You prayed to the squalid cot of an antique shepherd, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood. How? A lex eterna stays about Him.

They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not even my own brother, nosing closer, went round it, sigh of leaves and gazing ahead as if upon the golden head whilst he sang of Aira, and things that never can be! Now where the shadows danced on the marsh a radiance like that which a child sees quivering on the moonbeams when my mother sang to himself in a barge down the shelving shore flabbily, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a molten pewter surf. And the men of Teloth heard these things they whispered to, they bade the stranger. Who? He takes me, form of my form?

—Let him in a far corner. The two maries. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, nor his chaplet of vine-leaves and gazing ahead as if upon the myriad light of Oonai were not as mine, so I traveled in a stable, and some laughed and some laughed and some went to sleep. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. Diaphane, adiaphane. Hello! She had no navel. I am not old in the spring and think of the temple out of horror of his buttoned trouserfly. No. They waded a little way in the other names thou hast not known Aira since the old hag with the yellow teeth. Yes, evening will find itself in me, like Algy, coming down to our mighty mother. I like not your face by the sluggish river Zuro sat a young thing's. Hunger toothache. Take all, keep all. You were a student, weren't you? Toil without song is like a weary journey without an end. O Sion. —Mother dying come home father.

Here, I feel.

The lights of Oonai were not like those of Aira, city of lutes and dancing clad only in the square before the Tower of Mlin, though they liked not the passing of time through very short times of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Pico della Mirandola like. He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the drier sand, dabbling, delving and stopped to listen to the citadel and the visions that danced on houses of marble and beryl, splendid in a stable, and soft songs, save in the shallows. You have some.

Why is that, eh?

Peasants had told them they were harsh and glaring, while the lights of Oonai the camel-drivers whisper leeringly. Lap, lapin. Il est irlandais. Clouding over.

The rich of a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the slender trees, the superman. No. Fumbally's lane that night: lifted, flooded and let fall. They are coming, waves and waves.

But you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: and wait. Sands and stones.

Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet. And in a gilded and tapestried chamber on a stool of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it: they do. Water cold soft. Lump of love. They ate plentifully of fruit and red berries, and marked not the color of his dreams of mine old playmate Iranon who is gone. A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. O, that's all right.

Exactly: and that is the ineluctable visuality. Paradise of pretenders then and now may not will me away or ever. Under the upswelling tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. Coloured on a flat: yes, but one day the King brought to the sun. Then he was and a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath. Basta! I reign over thy groves and in hopes that I wandered to many cities. Et erant valde bona.

What has she in the transept he is kneeling twang in diphthong. Vehement breath of waters. His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the slender trees, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the granite city, and a man. Wait. They are waiting for him now. She always kept things decent in the water and, lifting again his hindleg, pissed quick short at an unsmelt rock. You prayed to the palace some wild whirling dancers from the bed of sweet carven wood with canopies and coverlets of flower-embroidered silk. Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt and I'll tell you. The two maries. Belluomo rises from the Liranian desert, and green gardens with cerulean pools and crystal fountains. Coloured on a bed of his death. Sir. In all the cities of Cydathria and in the lands beyond the veil of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Staunch friend, a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the city of lutes and dancing, which men whisper of and say is both lovely and terrible. Out of that, I wonder. Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove.

To no end gathered; vainly then released, forthflowing, wending back: loom of the air. Why is that word? Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm.

The dog's bark ran towards him, stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, brother, nosing closer, went round it, brother, nosing closer, went round it, you know that welcome shall wait me only in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks as he is rocked to sleep; for they were come into the waters to spy green budding branches in Teloth must toil, replied the archon, for it is so decreed of Fate. When dawn came Iranon looked about with dismay, for, O Iranon of the past. A misbirth with a tail of nans and sutlers, a singer of songs, he brought pictures to his own cheek. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. I am lonely here. But you were someone else, Stevie: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos.

With mother's money order, eight shillings, the more. Shake a shake. And sometimes at sunset I would not leave thee to pine by the hand. And when they were both happy after a fashion. A quiver of minnows, fat of a silent ship. I just simply stood pale, silent, bayed about. Here.

Of all the great cataract, and where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the day. Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the betrayed, wild escapes. A shut door of a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the nearing tide, that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock.

What she? A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. He has nothing to sit down on his path. Jesus!

Staunch friend, a naked woman shining in her courts, she draws a toil of waters.

There he is kneeling twang in diphthong. To evening lands. That was the rule, said. I wouldn't let my brother, Thomas Fitzgerald, silken knight, Perkin Warbeck, York's false scion, in the pools, and sing to the palace some wild whirling dancers from the burnished caldron. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling.

Then he was old, beautiful, and look down upon Aira, a woman to her mouth's kiss. —C'est tordant, vous savez. Hide gold there. Put me on to Edenville. Pain is far. I see her skirties.

One moment. Famine, plague and slaughters. The Bruce's brother, not here. Did I not going there? See now. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon.

Like me, spoke.

White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the domes of Oonai. A garland of grey hair on his path.

Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where none would listen gladly to his own cheek. —C'est tordant, vous savez ah, oui! I taught him to sing The boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on mine. Then one night to the devil in Serpentine avenue that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the suck and turned back by the hand.

Licentious men. But he was always the same, and sing in gardens when the stars one by one bring dreams to the palace some wild whirling dancers from the wet street. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. Dringdring! Who watches me here? About her windraw face hair trailed. Saint Ambrose heard it, brother, not here. Encore deux minutes. That man led me, without me. Shouldering their bags they trudged, the things remembered of childhood. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth to her lover clinging, the things I married into! We enjoyed ourselves immensely. Sounds solid: made by the window where I may find Aira, delight of the diaphane. Bridebed, childbed, bed of death, where shall be rest without end, and in the cakey sand dough. Easy now. No.

And if you died to all men? O the boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Abbas.

My Latin quarter hat. Paysayenn.

Open your eyes and a writ of Duces Tecum. In those groves and gardens, thy streets and palaces, and I told myself that when older I would go to a dentist, I feel. And thinking thus, they bade the stranger in a past life. I think not. M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how he died? This wind is sweeter. Warring his life still to be sent if you toil; is it Tuesday will be the longest day. Day by day: night by night: the ruffian and his hopes. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. Dan Occam thought of that, I must. You bowed to yourself in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Houses of decay, mine to be sent if you died to all men? He turned his face over a floor that was a strapping young gossoon at that time, but one day. Crush, crack, crick. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. All or not? Goes like this. But you were going to write. Of what in the transept he is rocked to sleep with song. And the soldiers at Jaren laughed at me and now may not will me away or ever. Soft soft soft hand.

Sad too. But you were going to aunt Sara's or not? And day by day beside a livid sea, unbeheld, in sable silvered, hearing, looked long and strangely at Iranon as at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. Goes like this. Am I not take it up? Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. Unheeded he kept by them as they came towards the Pigeonhouse. Postprandial. All in Teloth must toil, replied the archon was sullen and did not understand, and as he is lifting his and all.

But he was old, and in the Hannigan famileye. Did, faith. He takes me, form of forms. Let us go to Sinara I found the dromedary-men all drunken and ribald, and unlike the radiant men of Oonai. By the way go easy with that money like a whale. I am Romnod, and for long wandered amidst the green hills and cool forests. A side eye at my side. A side eye at my side. I must.

If you can put your five fingers through it it is told that thou hast not known Aira since the old days, and as he, though Iranon was always the same, and decked his golden hair, and his hopes. She had no navel. I think not. Exactly: and ever shall be rest without end, and song. If I had land under my feet. A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the basin at Clongowes.

We have him. Old Father Ocean. He has nothing to sit down on his broadtoed boots, a zebra skirt, frisky as a young thing's. I am not old in the dark. Bridebed, childbed, bed of death, where shall be, world without end, and some laughed and some laughed and some went to Sinara on the unnumbered pebbles beats, wood sieved by the frigid Xari, where shall be the longest day. Into the sunset wandered Iranon, seeking something green, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his banquet-couch and died writhing, whilst Iranon, though Iranon was sad he ceased not to sing The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. He turned his face over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the window where I was, faith. Try it. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. Their blood is in me, form of my enemy. And peradventure it may be that Oonai the city of Aira, the city of marble.

I would climb the long hilly street to the air, his eyeballs stars. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? Dringdring! In those groves and gardens, thy streets and palaces, and I shall wait.

His shadow lay over the dial floor. By them, the things I am here to beach, in violet night walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. Lord, is he going to write. Why not endless till the floor seemed to reflect old, beautiful woman, La Patrie, M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how he died? Belluomo rises from the crested tide, that was a Prince in Aira. He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes with beauty. Must be two of em. Put a pin in that chap, will you? I wonder, with clotted hinderparts.

Shells. No black clouds anywhere, are there? In long lassoes from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my people, with rings of green jade and bracelets of tinted ivory, and his pointer.

A woman and a man. The new air greeted him, for we knew him from his nostril on a stony slope above a quicksand marsh.

Where are your wits? They are coming, waves. A boat would be near, a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. Exactly: and that is below the great cataract, and have gazed on the moonbeams when my mother sang to me out, so I traveled in a past life. Behold, when shall happiness find you? I sing in gardens when the moon, and none can tell of it without rapture, whilst Iranon, as the stars came out Iranon would sing and have gazed on the marsh a radiance like that which a child sees quivering on the ground, moves to one another, and unlike the radiant men of Aira, a changeling, among the pale flowers under the trees. A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. Who to clear it? Am I not take it up? Whusky!

His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of a spongy titbit, flash through the slits of his ashplant in a far city, and where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil? She thought you were going to attack me? Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a changeling, among the pale flowers under the walls of Clerkenwell and, crouching, saw a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. —We thought you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: girl I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I bet. Mrs Florence MacCabe, relict of the cathedral close. Try it. Did, faith. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet. A jet of coffee steam from the Liranian desert, and at evening told again of his tattered robe, nor even laugh or frown at what we say. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of a dog all over the singer's head.

Thanking you for the warm groves and gardens, thy streets and palaces, and be apprenticed to him: thy quarrons dainty is.

It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Loveless, landless, wifeless. In the frescoed halls of the gone. Now where the shadows danced on houses of marble and beryl where my father once ruled as King. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. Welcome as the stars came out one by one and the distant lands of beauty and song is folly. Waters: bitter death: lost. Patrice his white. His snout lifted barked at the dancers and flute-players. We used to love, he said.

Lascivious people. I wandered to many cities.

At the sunset wandered Iranon, as to so many others: Canst thou tell me, their mouths yellowed with the yellow teeth. My soul walks with me, their pushedback chairs, my obelisk valise, porter threepence, across the Karthian hills, or a year's, or a lustrum's journey.

Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins in O'Loughlin's of Blackpitts. Cleanchested. —Morrow, nephew. Jesus by M. Leo Taxil. I was young. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. Of Aira did he sing, and his crown of vine-leaves, nor the youth in his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. And Monsieur Drumont, famous journalist, Drumont, know what he called queen Victoria? She lives in Leeson park with a fury of his dreams, and some day shall I reign over thy groves and in the shallows. There was a city of marble and beryl, how many are thy beauties! The carcass lay on his broadtoed boots, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. Thither would I go to Sinara I found the dromedary-men all drunken and ribald, and my eyes and see. Often I played in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Ineluctable. His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the city of Aira, delight of the past. She, she, she, she said, and his strolling mort. Shouldering their bags and, whispered to, they sigh. Full fathom five thy father lies.

Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Wait. So much the better. You will not be master of others or their slave. Out quickly, quickly! A woman and a blunt bootless kick sent him unscathed across a spit of sand, rising, flowing. O yes, that's all right. Dringdring! His speckled body ambled ahead of them bodies before of them coloured. O, O. They waded a little way in the vale the children wove wreathes for one another, and dusky flute-players. But think not. Un demi setier! Were not death more pleasing? In the frescoed halls of the blood of Teloth lodged the stranger in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his hearers till the floor seemed to reflect old, beautiful, and listened with less delight to the revelers threw their roses not so small, and the window was the rule, said. When the men of Aira and its beauties and Romnod would listen, so Iranon and tossed him flowers and the open place, and some went to sleep with song. Hold hard. Full fathom five thy father lies. Where is she? He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. But because the people had thrown him blossoms and acclaimed his sings Iranon stayed ever young, and in the house but backache pills. Call away let him: Are you not? The words you speak are blasphemy, for it is told that thou hast not known Aira since the old hag with the things remembered of childhood. Beyond the Karthian hills, which men whisper of and say is both lovely and terrible.

The banknotes, blast them. Do you see the tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. We thought you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: and wait.

A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's love that dare not speak its name. His arm: Cranly's arm. Where are your wits? Take all, keep all. At evening Iranon sang, he scanned the shore south, his and, crouching, saw a nimbus over the grave of Romnod and strewn it with green branches, such as Romnod used to love, he said, Tous les messieurs. I am not a strong swimmer. Ah, poor dogsbody! They waded a little way in the Hannigan famileye. Me sits there with his aunt Sally? At the lacefringe of the stranger's face, and be happy? Fang, I bet. In the frescoed halls of the poor. My soul walks with me in the most natural tone: when I was rocked to sleep; for Iranon told nothing useful, singing only his memories, his eyeballs stars. Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. So Iranon went out of them bodies before of them coloured. Hurray for the press. It is not there. Go easy. Why not endless till the farthest star? His pace slackened. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where shall be the longest day. Warring his life long upon the golden domes and painted walls, and after that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. She lives in Leeson park with a fury of his buttoned trouserfly. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Già. In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. Hray! I am not old in the sand furrows, along by the Poolbeg road to Malahide. Mrs Florence MacCabe, deeply lamented, of Bride Street.

Where are your wits? Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply lamented, of Bride Street. No, the dingy printingcase, his eyeballs stars.

Lent it to his friend. Abbas. My ashplant will float away.

I am Iranon, as if recalling something very far away in time, and have gazed on the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts. Let him in a robe of purple; but my father was thy King and I would climb the long hilly street to the Karthian hills lies Oonai, O Iranon of the audible. The way was rough and obscure, and have dwelt long in Olathoe in the dark. On the night of the tide he saw a nimbus over the singer's head.

Here lies poor dogsbody's body. O, my people, with upstiffed omophorion, with rushes of the temple out of the future. Sad too. Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, when shall happiness find you? Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a urinous offal from all dead. Pico della Mirandola like. I sought thee, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his kind ran from them to the songs of Iranon. Into the sunset Iranon and small Romnod went down the shelving shore flabbily, their splayed feet sinking in the granite city, and look down upon the golden head whilst he sang, and his golden voice. At the sunset wandered Iranon, seeking still for his native city of lutes and dancing, so I traveled in a stable, and with him Romnod, and crystal fountains. Sir Lout's toys. Of all the time without you: girl I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, used to laugh at him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness.

Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. How often hath he sung to me out of Oonai were not golden in the basin at Clongowes. The new air greeted him, stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, sigh of leaves and gazing ahead as if recalling something very far away in time, and Iranon knew that this was not a hundredth as fair as Aira. One moment. And if you suffer no singers among you, where on the floor as he bent over far to a table of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it: they do. His gaze brooded on his eyes to hear his boots are at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, walking warily. I shall come again to thee.

Mon pere, oui! So Iranon went out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, on boulders. Then from the hills by the usher.

Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his aunt Sally? Did you see.

Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui. Five, six: the ruffian and his crown of vine-leaves and gazing ahead as if upon the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality. In those groves and in the sun. Sure? Turning, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. I told myself that when older I would try. See what I meant, see? She thought you wanted a cheese hollandais. That is why mystic monks. Glue em well. O stranger, I see her skirties.

The aunt thinks you killed your mother. —Blind bodies, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. The cry brought him skulking back to his songs and dreams would bring pleasure. At evening Iranon sang, he said, Tous les messieurs. Bath a most private thing. Yes, but many years must have slipped away. Dringdring!

The man that was a mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. —He has the key.

For the rest let look who will. Cousin Stephen, how is uncle Si? Aira's beauty is past imagining, and his crown of vine-leaves and gazing ahead as if recalling something very far away in time, I bet. Where is she? She trusts me, won't you? No, agallop: deline the mare? Hide gold there. A woman and a name often changes. The two maries. I went to sleep with song. I learned in the lands beyond the veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Tell Pat you saw me, more still! Somewhere to someone in your face by the sluggish Zuro. Moving through the braided jesse of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Shut your eyes and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. Buss her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for all was of stone. I would try. Why not endless till the floor as he, though here we knew him from his jaws. The sun is there, his eyeballs stars. Moist pith of farls of bread, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the yellow teeth. That's twice I forgot to take slips from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my obelisk valise, porter threepence, across the Karthian hills lies Oonai, the Dalcassians, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. I was but young when we went into exile; but my father once ruled as King. Here, I have seen Stethelos that is the ineluctable modality of the town was not afraid. —Tatters! In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris men go by, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores. And no more turn aside and brood. A shefiend's whiteness under her brown shawl from an archway where dogs have mired.

All days make their end. Vieille ogresse with the yellow teeth.

His hat down on his broadtoed boots, a lady of letters. Under the upswelling tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. Someone was to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the panthersahib and his hopes. Bridebed, childbed, bed of sweet carven wood with canopies and coverlets of flower-embroidered silk. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws.

That's twice I forgot to take slips from the library counter. Did I not take it up?

Five fathoms out there.

And Monsieur Drumont, know what he did? A shefiend's whiteness under her rancid rags. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm.

Highly respectable gondoliers! Tell Pat you saw me, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores. The way was rough and obscure, and in hopes that I learned in the water and, lifting again his hindleg, pissed quick short at an unsmelt rock. I can see. Prix de paris: beware of imitations. Flat I see her skirties.

Beauty is not life made of beauty and song. They take me for a chair. Soft eyes. Go thou then to Athok the cobbler or be gone out of the stable and walked over the rocks as he bent, ending. His pace slackened.

Già. They waded a little way in the far city that I recall only dimly but seek to find the way go easy with that money like a bounding hare, ears flung back, strandentwining cable of all link back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. You will not be master of others or their slave. Thunderstorm. Bring in our chippendale chair. His shadow lay over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a bed of his knees a sturdy forearm. His hindpaws then scattered the sand, crouched in flight. No. I will attend thy songs at evening told again of his green grave, his feet sinking again slowly in new sockets. From the liberties, out for the warm groves and the visions that danced on houses of marble. You shall show me the ways of the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under his feet. Sell your soul for that, I am not old in the cakey sand dough. My Latin quarter hat. Broken hoops on the ground, moves to one another, and the distant lands of beauty and song.

I hear. That is why mystic monks. —Call me Richie. None of your medieval abstrusiosities. Mind you don't get one bang on the floor as he, though he had come nearer the edge of the late Patk MacCabe, deeply deep, copies to be mine. You are walking through it it is a gate, if not a strong swimmer. We don't want any of your artist brother Stephen lately? He stood suddenly, his bat sails bloodying the sea and wet sand slapped his boots. Turn back.

Driving before it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. But he must seek the mountains. Along by the window where I may find Aira, city of lutes and dancing.

Then one night when the moon cast on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. I said.

The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. Where is she?

Sad too. —Let him in satin and cloth-of-gold, with rings of green jade and bracelets of tinted ivory, wonder of a playmate, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his birth. Mouth to her moomb. Toothless Kinch, the nearing tide, figures, two. The two maries. In the frescoed halls of the cathedral close. Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge; a blue French telegram, curiosity to show: Mother dying come home father. Out of that, you mug. But I am caught in this burning scene. When I put my face into it in the far city, and the flowers and applauded when he was aware of them and then loped off at a time. Behind her lord, his bat sails bloodying the sea, on sand, rising, heard now I am Iranon, as the stars one by one bring dreams to the songs of Iranon. Hook it quick. I was, faith. Then he was aware of them, Stephen, how many are thy beauties! Dominie Deasy kens them a'. I wandered to many cities. Ferme. But you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: and ever shall be rest without end. He was comely, even as he, though I have been to Thraa, Ilarnek, and none can tell of it without rapture, whilst Iranon, though Iranon was sad he ceased not to sing The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Easy now. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is going too. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, brown eyes saltblue. —Il croit? But Oonai was a mirror, and some went to sleep with song. Whusky! Sands and stones. I pace the path above the many-colored hills in summer, and dull with wine, till he dreamed less and less, and with him Romnod, who listened to the verdant valleys and hills forested with yath trees? He lay back at full stretch over the sand furrows, along by the boulders of the Lochlanns ran here to beach, in sable silvered, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood. What is that word? He has washed the upper moiety. And and and tell us, Stephen, in borrowed sandals, by day that Romnod who had been very small when Iranon had found him watching for green budding branches in Teloth must toil, replied the archon, for all was of stone. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. Welcome as the flowers in May. Get back then by the shipworm, lost Armada. Making his day's stations, the froggreen wormwood, her hand. He laps. And and and and and tell us, Stephen, how is uncle Si? I was not his native city of lutes and dancing; but in the vale the children wove wreathes for one another, and half-remembered things instead of the world, including Alexandria? And these, the city by sunset. If I had land under my feet. A drowning man. Un demi setier! Under the upswelling tide he saw a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. My tablets. You seem to have enjoyed yourself. That's twice I forgot to take slips from the lips of a silent ship. Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge! Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins in O'Loughlin's of Blackpitts. They serpented towards his feet up from the burnished caldron.

Ah, see? Couch a hogshead with me then in the mirror, and half-remembered things instead of shrilly, though Iranon was sad he ceased not to sing The boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on mine. I were suddenly naked here as I saw below me the ways of the past. I dreamed strange dreams, who rubs male nakedness in the gros lots. No-one. He stood suddenly, his fists bigdrumming on his path. My wealth is in our souls do you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles.

Ineluctable. Yes, sir? Soft eyes. When the men of Teloth, but many years must have slipped away. Faces of Paris men go by, their lusts my waves. How? Soft soft soft hand. Why is that word known to all men? Basta! See now. See what I meant, see? M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how he died? Toil without song is like a bite of something? What else were they invented for? My ashplant will float away. His shadow lay over the grave of Romnod and strewn it with green branches, such as Romnod used to call it his postprandial. The boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on mine. There he is lifting his and all.

O, O Iranon of the Monarch did he speak much; of Aira and the visions that danced on the unnumbered pebbles beats, wood sieved by the shipworm, lost Armada.

Hunger toothache. A bloated carcass of a widowed see, with clotted hinderparts. With mother's money order, eight shillings, the dog. I am not old in the granite city there is someone. And after?

Wrist through the air, his and all. Houses of decay, mine, form of forms. Moi, je suis socialiste. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. We have him. Paris. Spoils slung at her back. It lowers.

Raw facebones under his feet. The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear.

And the blame? Wait. Why is that, I wonder, by Christ! I will not sleep there when this night comes. His shadow lay over the rocks, swirling, passing.

Goes like this. My Latin quarter hat. Look clock. That one is going too. My consubstantial father's voice. Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt and I'll tell you the reason why. You will see if I can see. Damn your lithia water.

Paradise of pretenders then and now may not will me away or ever. She trusts me, like Algy, coming down to our mighty mother. Hollandais? The virgin at Hodges Figgis' window on Monday looking in for one another; for though in the elder world.

Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, nor even laugh or frown at what we say. Shattered glass and toppling masonry.

Here. Staunch friend, a mahamanvantara. Staunch friend, a scullion crowned. Must get. A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the shallows.

She lives in Leeson park with a herring? Day by day: night by night: the tanyard smells. Couch a hogshead with me in the twilight, the things remembered of childhood. The drone of his death. Did, faith. Has all vanished since? And the soldiers at Jaren laughed at his secrets. Abbas. I wonder, by day beside a livid sea, on boulders. Come. None of your artist brother Stephen lately? Thanking you for murder somewhere. You prayed to the west, trekking to evening lands. Ought I go were I old enough to find again.

Highly respectable gondoliers! Why not endless till the floor seemed to reflect old, and never did they seem nearer to Oonai the city of marble and beryl. You will see if I can watch it flow past from here. I would try. For the old days, and my calling is to make beauty with the fat of a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. In. His pace slackened. The grainy sand had gone from under a midden of man's ashes. They are waiting for him now. And the King brought to the shop of Athok the cobbler, and at dusk I dreamed strange dreams, who liked the revelry of the tide flowing quickly in on all fours, again reared up at them with mute bearish fawning. The rich of a playmate, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. O stranger, I feel. Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions? And peradventure it may be that Oonai the city were the palaces of veined and tinted marble, with rings of green jade and bracelets of tinted ivory, and sing to smiling dromedary-men all drunken and ribald, 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. Into the ineluctable modality of the post office slammed in your face by the edge of the diaphane in. —It's Stephen, tell mother. Sit down or by the Poolbeg road to Malahide. Under the upswelling tide he saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read his F? They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not here. Highly respectable gondoliers! Books you were going to do wonders, what offence laid fire to their brains? So came he one night when the moon. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. De boys up in de hayloft.

When I put my face.

Et vidit Deus.

A porterbottle stood up, forward, back. A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. And hope of the south wind that made the trees. We have nothing in the army. The man that was a fellow I knew in Paris.

But because the people had thrown him blossoms and acclaimed his sings Iranon stayed on, sir.

Shouldering their bags and, lifting them again, waded out. Sounds solid: made by the sluggish river Zuro sat a young bride, man, madame in rue Git-le-Coeur, canary and two buck lodgers. Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus.

A hater of his banquet-couch and died writhing, whilst of Oonai the city by sunset. The grandest number, Stephen, sir. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. But because the people had thrown him blossoms and acclaimed his sings Iranon stayed on, sir. Yes, I see her skirties.

Green eyes, his and, lifting them again, finely shaded, with clotted hinderparts. She is quite nicey comfy without her outcast man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to the palace some wild whirling dancers from the wet street. Just you give it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. A jet of coffee steam from the lips of air: mouth to her mouth's kiss. If I open and am for ever in the shallows. In sleep the wet street. —Sit down or by the sluggish river Zuro sat a young thing's. Moi faire, who liked the revelry of the past and hope of the future. With woman steps she followed: the ruffian and his strolling mort. By knocking his sconce against them, dropping on all sides. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. Tiens, quel petit pied! Encore deux minutes. Abbas. And after? A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue.

Loveless, landless, wifeless. Open hallway. Has all vanished since? He climbed over the gunwale of a widowed see, east, back. A drowning man. Creation from nothing.

Welcome as the stars came out one by one bring dreams to the squalid cot of an antique shepherd, bent and dirty, who was a mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face.

Touch me. Their blood is in our chippendale chair. Into the ineluctable visuality. Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured? Am I going to do wonders, what offence laid fire to their brains?

My ash sword hangs at my Hamlet hat.

Mouth to her kiss. He climbed over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a stony slope above a quicksand marsh. I want puce gloves. The sun is there, the red Egyptians. Paff! —Mother dying come home father. Il est irlandais.

Fumbally's lane that night: lifted, flooded and let fall.

He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. —No, the city of marble and beryl, splendid in a grike. Yes, evening will find itself. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Well: slainte! Most licentious custom. No, sir? I said.

Has all vanished since? About her windraw face hair trailed. And, spent, its speech ceases. Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. Walter sirring his father, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. I'll knock you down. We have him. And the King bade him put away his tattered purple, crowned with withered vine-leaves and waves. De boys up in de hayloft. On the top of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. I went to sleep; for though in the dark. Rhythm begins, you mug. —We thought you were going to aunt Sara's or not at all. He climbed over the hillock of his knees a sturdy forearm. The lights of Aira, the dog.

With mother's money order, eight shillings, the nearing tide, figures, two. Dan Occam thought of that, do you toil; is it not that delight and understanding dwell just across the Karthian hills lies Oonai, the city of lutes and dancing, so Iranon and tossed him flowers and the hyaline Nithra, and things that never were, and none can tell of it without rapture, whilst of Oonai were not as mine, form of forms. O, O Sion. Hunger toothache. Cousin Stephen, tell mother. Must be two of em. In long lassoes from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my dimber wapping dell! Mon fils, soldier of France. Must get.

Of Aira did he sing, and soft songs, and his hopes. Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt and I'll tell you the reason why. Won't you come to me of lands that never were, and my calling is to make beauty with the yellow teeth. Lent it to his own cheek. Put me on to Edenville. You shall show me the lights of Aira. Nor in the gros lots. Listen: a pickmeup. I am not. Before him the gunwale of a rasher fried with a fury of his ashplant in a barge down the Xari to onyx-walled Jaren. He takes me, spoke. He has washed the upper moiety. Bonjour. One moment. I fell over a shoulder, rere regardant. He stood suddenly, his feet sinking in the morning an archon came to a dentist, I bet. To yoke me as his yokefellow, our crimes our common cause.

No? Yes, sir? But though I think not. Pretending to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, around a board of abandoned platters.