#egg: this is MY elm tree!! >:<< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[arleniansdoodles]

More Dunk and Egg fanart, featuring Dunk, Egg, and Aerion Targaryen from The Hedge Knight! I went a little further with the stained-glass style this time, and I'm happy with how it turned out! Especially Aerion's cloak, which is supposed to be fully black if I remember right; I added in the fiery colours just to help it pop XD

Also, the dragons here aren't actually there - it's meant to symbolize the Targaryens fighting (over Dunk hahaa)! The designs are based on the descriptions of their dragon eggs; Aerion's is gold and silver, and veined with red, while Egg's is white and green, all swirly. And the tree in the back is meant to represent Dunk :'''D

[citrlet]

because i was asked for what mods i use, i decided i'll just make a whole post!

most of everything here is pretty cottagecore/naturey~

under the cut because my game is heavily modded this list is long!!

visual

medieval buildings

way back pelican town

seasonal cute characters base / expanded / east scarp

all cuter animal replacements

vibrant pastoral 1.6 (temporary fix)

overgrown flowery ui

medieval craftables

dynamic night time

cottagecore fences

lamps

gwens paths

animated gemstones

foliage redone foliage only

rosedryads fairies

elle's town animals

sve facelift

more grass

medieval dnt

flowergrass and snowfields

expansion fish redesign

clothing / hairs

more accessories and stuff

cozy scarves

hoods and hoodies

vanilla pants and skirts

the coquette collection

seasonal hats

ani's colour collection

improved and new hairstyles

kyuyas hairstyles pack

furniture

idalda furniture recolor

h&w outdoor furniture

h&w fairy garden furniture

west elm furniture

nano's retro style furniture

asters big furniture pack

gameplay / mechanics

cjb cheats menu (just to walk a little faster)

cjb show item sell price

greenhouse gatherers

craftable mushroom boxes

advanced casks

lumisteria serene meadow

growable forage and crop bushes

cornucopia more flowers / more crops

atelier wildflour crops and forage pack

wear more rings

tree transplant

passable crops

no fence decay redux

multi yield crops

crop fairy

challenging community center bundles

better chests

automate

spawn supply crates on beach

expanded storage

bigger backpack

blue eggs and golden mayo

better ranching

npc map locations

data layers

expansions

stardew valley expanded

east scarp / lurking in the dark / never ending adventure / always raining in the valley

lumisteria visit mount vapius

misc

jen's cozy cellar

cozy farmhouse kitchen

asters walls and floors megapack

wrens expanded greenhouse

cuter coops and better barns

nicer sewer

also recommended

hudson valley buildings

elle's seasonal buildings

seasonal fences

ridgeside village

immerisve farm map 2

[immoralimmortals]

Akatsuki Flowers! What a lovely ask. Let's look at your suggestions first:

Hidan, prince's feather:

Ohhhh immortality! I think that's perfect. Apparently a nickname for this flower is "kiss-me-over-the-garden-gate"

Deidara, buttercups:

Youth, joy, play, simple pleasures? Interesting choice, I can see why you went this direction! Matches his hair, too. It seems awfully innocent for him, I wonder if he'd disagree!

Deidara, australian rose:

A couple of results say "you are all that is lovely", and my gut tells me that may not be what you intend? But nevermind that LOOK HOW PRETTY IT IS

Anyhow!

I've used a little bit of flower symbolism, as you've probably guessed, for my fic! Red roses (and their various states of life, death, and preservation) and forget-me-nots are pretty obvious, though. But I used two others, hydrangeas, and daffodils, and they both suit Kisame!

Kisame, hydrangea, daffodil:

I picked a hydrangea festival, for one because it's a real thing that happens, and two, it means heartfelt emotion! I think Kisame feels with all of his being, intensely. He, as many people are not, is someone very aware that he is not always aware, if that makes sense; he is wary of the way his blood can boil, rage heating under the skin. Goes along with him not always feeling "human." Daffodil, the flower I used for the lotion in my fic, is in opposition as it stands for truth and honesty. We all know "truth" is sort of Kisame's thing. It's his pinnacle of morals, his reason for living, and then dying. I think it keeps him in line, too.

Itachi, white poppy:

Consolation, Rest, (Eternal) Sleep, Peace, Dormant Affection. He's a man that is a nice comparison and foil to Kisame, because like him, he feels deeply and has to deal with that in order to carry out his sacred duty. He is a man that wants peace, and with the short time he has on Earth tries to use it to redeem himself, his brother, the Uchiha name as well as he can, all the while dreaming that things will eventually go for the better. Dead man walking, a ghost with work to do.

Nagato, flowers of the elm tree:

Protection, Warn of Others, Purification of tainted areas. He protects his village by summoning rain, keeping watch of who even so much as whispers dissent. His land is pure. And he will purify the world. Perhaps it's a warning about him, too.

Konan, white rose:

Honestly this is a pretty predictable choice lol. I think she's emotionally...stagnant. In constant mourning, even if by her definition she's entirely moved on. Like Nagato, she takes her pain and uses it to continue, define her existence. She is the right hand, that which Pain uses to purify, an angel who does not boast of her power. She merely acts upon the will of that which justifies death.

Kakuzu, spruce, chamomile

Spruce: Eternal hardiness, Endurance, Symbol of North and Cold.

Chamomile: Patience, Attracts Wealth, Energy in Adversity

Yeah, I know spruce isn't technically a flower, but it's a growth on a tree and something you'll see in the language of flowers, so I'm using it. Kakuzu's ring, of course, means "north", and I honestly think it's fascinating to think of that in comparison to the north wind. He is a man as hardy and cold as the world he's trudged through. He's the definition of withstanding the worst, both physically and emotionally. The chamomile goes along with that, with a tenacity to make things work. You don't get to live to be 91 and still an active rogue ninja without a willingness to crack some eggs.

(also my art accounts are all chamomile-carillon or some variation. I love chamomile. And I love Kakuzu. yea)

Sasori, the four ancient poisons:

Aconite: Lustre (reflected light), Misanthropy

Hellebore: A Beautiful Year Ahead, Wit Relieve My Anxiety, Relieve my anxiety, tranquilize me

Hemlock:   You will cause my death

Nightshade: Truth, Silence; Your Thoughts are Dark ; Falsehood ; witchcraft/sorcery

I at first was just going for poison but all of these are PERFECT for him in their own right. Misanthropic man who wants to feel numb, wants to cause death and ultimately chooses to die. The contradiction of nightshade being both truth and falsehood...reminds me of how contradictory he is. A man who is trying to gain all the time in the world, absolutely impatient and unwilling to wait a second. Oh I can see the art for this in my head now....

Obito, love-lies-bleeding:

Love-lies-bleeding (Amaranthus): Desertion, Hopelessness, Constant, Unchangeable, Immortal or Unchangable Love, Immortality, Fidelity, Everlasting Friendship

This one just kind of has it all for him. The way everything good that ever happened to him left his world, his steeled resolve, his extended life via Madara's help, his love for Rin... Hoo.

Zetsu, two-bloomed green rose, dock flower, astilbe

Two-bloomed rose: Secrecy

Green rose: alien, strange, We Are Worlds Apart

Dock: patience

Astilbe (false goat's beard): I'll Still Be Waiting

He's really defined by his patience-- black Zetsu especially but white Zetsu was also playing the long game too, sticking around Obito since his childhood. The rose is pretty self-explanatory; he keeps a lot of secrets and he exists in a way that is very hard for others to comprehend. I figure he has difficulty understanding others, too.

[april-is]

April 15, 2025: Tree, Jane Hirshfield

Tree Jane Hirshfield

It is foolish to let a young redwood   grow next to a house.

Even in this   one lifetime, you will have to choose.

That great calm being, this clutter of soup pots and books—

Already the first branch-tips brush at the window.   Softly, calmly, immensity taps at your life.

--

Also by Jane Hirshfield:  + My Life Was the Size of My Life + Day Beginning with Seeing the International Space Station And a Full Moon Over the Gulf of Mexico and All its Invisible Fishes + A Small-Sized Mystery

Today in: 

2024: Abecedarian Requiring Further Examination of Anglikan Seraphym Subjugation of a Wild Indian Rezervation, Natalie Diaz 2023: Dutch Elm Disease, Valencia Robin 2022: More Bang for Your Buck Running Scared, Brennan Bestwick 2021: Rain, Peter Everwine 2020: Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale, Dan Albergotti 2019: Prayer, Galway Kinnell 2018: Egg, C.G. Hanzlicek 2017: Well Water, Randall Jarrell 2016: For Desire, Kim Addonizio 2015: The Coming of Light, Mark Strand 2014: Flying Low, Stephen Dunn 2013: The Envoy, Jane Hirshfield 2012: Red Wand, Sandra Simonds 2011: Trying to Raise the Dead, Dorianne Laux 2010: Asking for Directions, Linda Gregg 2009: A Blessing, James Wright 2008: New York, New York, David Berman 2007: Waste Land Limericks, Wendy Cope 2006: There Are Two Worlds, Larry Levis 2005: America, Allen Ginsberg

[jonnysinsectcatalogue]

Question Mark - Polygonia interrogationis

To all fellow lovers of the insect world and those who are kind to bugs, with this post the blog now has 800 posts to its name! What a milestone to celebrate! I'm delighted to share all these brilliant animals with you and learn more about them with each new post. New species continue to join the blog, the last few months of posts have garnered well-deserved attention, older posts are experiencing a resurgence, and these insects are now shared on YouTube too! Here's to much more blog growth and expansion and to continue sharing insect photography with all of you, my dear readers! As always, to you and to and all those who’ve helped me on this insect journey, I extend my sincerest, heartfelt thanks for everything! As things grow, expand, refine and change, and questions abound over what may come next, I thought that this stunning summer Brush-Foot would be most appropriate to share today as #800. As a reminder, this specie's name is not a mystery, but rather based on the marking found on the underside of the hindwing (best seen on Picture 5).

The Question Mark's question mark marking is a stand out against the rest of the mottled underside that conceals this Butterfly as if it were a dried leaf. While normally cryptic colored, the sunlight shining down on this individual has caused the dorsal and ventral scales to blend together, obscuring the mottling against the display colors of the top (the effect is stronger on the forewings). This (along with mimicking the appearance of a leaf) is why Butterflies hold their wings together in order to remain inconspicuous. While this Butterfly isn't trying to remain hidden, I've last long last delivered on my promise in the previous post to feature this elusive insect. I have delivered a long awaited view of the dorsal side of this Butterfly's wings and am happy to share those beautiful, brassy-orange colors that highlight the summer. With a view like this, it should become apparent how similar the Question Mark can appear when compared to some of its punctuation-themed relatives such as the Eastern Comma (P. comma; yes, really), which necessitates a glance at the underwings to find that all-important marking.

The dorsal side of the wings can reveal other important information about your Butterfly find. For this individual, you may have noticed that while the forewings are vibrantly colored, the hindwings are darkened. This tell us that we are witnessing the summer brood form of this insect. This would certainly fit the emergence timeline which gives summer Question Marks a range of May to September to be seen in the air. From there, they lay eggs on elm trees and nettles which hatch and develop throughout the summer into the winter brood (overwinter brood may be a better name). Unlike the summer brood, winter brood Question Marks have vibrant orange and brown that extends into their hindwings as well. They also seem to have longer hindwing tails compared to the summer form, but I'll need to see a few more individuals in the wild before I can declare that with any certainty. These adults will fly from late August until temperatures fall, upon which they will seek out sights to overwinter as adults and begin the cycle anew with summer individuals like the one found in the yard for today's post. I hope fortune smiles upon you to find one of those (or perhaps their Caterpillars), but approach slowly, for they are quite skittish and swift!

Pictures were taken on June 23 and 25, 2024 with a Google Pixel 4. Happy 800th post! Thank you everyone for reading, watching and guiding my photography journey! I couldn't do this without you. And thank you to all the insects as well!

[dyannawynnedayne]

Round Three: Which Character Parallel Is Your Favorite?

Dunk and Brienne: art by @kraehenkunst (1, 2)

Cersei and Catelyn: art by @shripscapi (1, 2)

Dunk and Brienne

The Shield

The old man’s brown had always seemed drab to Dunk. “The field should be the color of sunset,” he said suddenly. “The old man liked sunsets. And the device…”“An elm tree,” said Egg. “A big elm tree, like the one by the pool, with a brown trunk and green branches.”“Yes,” Dunk said. “That would serve. An elm tree…but with a shooting star above. Could you do that?”The girl nodded. “Give me the shield. I’ll paint it this very night and have it back to you on the morrow.”

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms: The Hedge Knight

 "Your door reminded me of an old shield I once saw in my father's armory." She described the arms as best she could recall them."[...]"You did beautifully," she said, when the woman showed her the freshly painted shield. It was more a picture than a proper coat of arms, and the sight of it took her back through the long years, to the cool dark of her father's armory. She remembered how she'd run her fingertips across the cracked and fading paint, over the green leaves of the tree, and along the path of the falling star.

AFFC, Brienne II

Cersei and Catelyn

Watched Their Sons Die

Boom, the drum sounded, boom doom boom doom. The old man’s lips went in and out. The knife trembled in Catelyn’s hand, slippery with sweat. “A son for a son, heh,” he repeated. “But that’s a grandson … and he never was much use.”A man in dark armor and a pale pink cloak spotted with blood stepped up to Robb. “Jaime Lannister sends his regards.” He thrust his longsword through her son’s heart, and twisted.Robb had broken his word, but Catelyn kept hers. She tugged hard on Aegon’s hair and sawed at his neck until the blade grated on bone. Blood ran hot over her fingers. His little bells were ringing, ringing, ringing, and the drum went boom doom boom.

ASOS, Catelyn VII

When he heard Cersei’s scream, he knew that it was over.I should leave. Now. Instead he waddled toward her.His sister sat in a puddle of wine, cradling her son��s body. Her gown was torn and stained, her face white as chalk. A thin black dog crept up beside her, sniffing at Joffrey’s corpse. “The boy is gone, Cersei,” Lord Tywin said. He put his gloved hand on his daughter’s shoulder as one of his guardsmen shooed away the dog. “Unhand him now. Let him go.” She did not hear.

ASOS, Tyrion VIII

[lya-dustin]

All is Bliss

Chapter 51

Cw: mentions of blood sacrifices, bullying, and murder

Gif by @beyondtheciouds

Taglist @mercedesdecorazon @ewanmitchellcrumbs @darylandbethfanforever9 @watercolorskyy @alexandria-millie @sweethoneyblossom1

Aegon remembers all the times he teased Aemond over his egg not hatching.

Its had been a smoky gray with red flecks given to him by Laenor and clutchmate to Jace's Vermax and Aemma’s annoying little dwarf dragon, Elēnar.

It had a name, some name that was meant to inspire fear, but made Aegon want to bully him some more.

Once mama caught him offering his blood to it after Aegon told him to, father had shouted at Aegon, taken Aemond aside and given him Barth's book on dragons while mother shouted at father for shouting at him only to slap him when she turned to yell at him, and he pointed it out.

Now as the king tries to make a second Sunfyre for himself, he finds himself looking for the dragonglass dagger Aemma keeps under her pillow for her protection.

They haven’t slept in the same bed since he was poisoned, mainly because he finds it gross as she told him she is to bleed for the forty days after the birth. Aemma had about a week or so to go and appreciated having the bed to herself.

She keeps busy, restless in her cage like the dragon she is and much like Silverwing, she does a good job of pretending she is fine as she is.

This morning he finds her reading her correspondence and having a late breakfast. She wears lilac today, brings out the purple of her eyes and matched the tie at the end of her long braid.

“What are you up to this morning, dear wife?” he asks completely forgetting what he came here for.

Aemma was always lovely, sure she was not the most beautiful, but she was kind and good company and had the old blood of Valyria running through her veins just like him. It would be nice to see her fly again, to see her throw her head back and laugh as Silver’s wingtips skim the ocean.

Once Baratheon wins this war for them, he will give her the freedom to fly again.

Of course, not often because it would look wrong when the king had no dragon of his own.

“Just some letters, Aunt Elenda wants me to take my cousins into our household, apologizes for the whole trying to drug me and almost killing your brother the night before his wedding, oh, and wants to confirm if Uncle Borros is still the man you want as Aenys’ godsfather.” She said showing him the letter as if he would doubt her word.

Aegon trusts her, a stupid thing to do, but he knows Aemma would never hurt him nor try to kill him. He quite likes her, finds himself missing waking up to her in the mornings.

“Tyland suggested him, I guess he had sent the letters already. I know you wanted Aemond to be Aenys’ godsfather, but we can keep Baratheon loyal to us without promising him a royal groom.” Aegon admits knowing why she wants Aemond to be made the babe’s godsfather. If either were to die, Aemond would be the man to raise Aenys as one would a son, if he was close to the boy no one would be suspicious of it and his overly familiar way with his wife not be too obvious.

The reason Aegon readily agreed to make Borros his godsfather.

Besides, Aemond fled Crossed Elms like a coward claimed to have dragon dreams knowing those tree worshiping cunts would believe him. Had he fought they would have won the battle, his brother just won’t admit it. Claims that the fucking riverlords had archers and the commanders too experienced for them to do more than to wave a peace banner and hope for the best.

If he had been there and had Sunfyre, the Riverlands would have burned, and he’d be a fucking warrior king like the conqueror.

Instead, he is here, stuck in this castle because he has been unmanned by his wife’s own fucking grandmother and humiliated by his own little brothers. Even Daeron went down as Daeron the Daring as he died like a man should.

When Borros comes, Aegon intends to lead the battle. He did it once and his sword arm is strong enough to fight, how hard could it be? And what better way to announce it than by entering the tourney.

“I suppose you are right, husband, especially because it will remind people that both your mother and my great-grandfather were brown of hair and eye. A shame Borros refused Cousin Joffrey, we could have had the Vale and Aunt Jeyne would be here to show she also has brown hair.” Aemma pretends it doesn’t bother her. Does a great deal of that since they married, Aegon wondered if one day she will like him and trust him like he trusts her.

He envies Aemond for getting to see the true Aemma, not the poised lady hiding her dragon’s blood underneath silks and brocade.

Aegon would’ve preferred Daeron had been the one to return and not Aemond. Daeron didn’t steal his wife’s heart from under his nose.

“If anyone dares to insinuate you cuckolded me, I will have their heads, dear Aemma. I plan on making sure they get the message at Aenys’ anointing next week.”

“Harwin used to have the worst nightmares as a boy, always dreaming he and father were burning to death and Larys’ laughing as he stood outside the door.” Alys speaks softly as she nursed Aenys.

The babe had been small and frail when he was born and yet the moment Alys became his nurse that night, he awoke as healthy as if he had not been born early. Her witch’s blood refused to let her create new life but made her able to nourish life that already existed.

“I had nothing to do with their deaths.” The queen mother says even though she remembers asking Larys to do what he must to bring her father back to court. Larys had been using her, like all men have done, and yet this time she had the power to say no.

But she hadn’t said no.

Instead, she prayed for forgiveness and put it out of her mind when word of their deaths came just as the raven from Daemon did.

“Just because you say it outloud does not make it true, your grace.” The witch chides her like a mother does to lying child. “I know you agreed to it for your cause.”

“Then why join me? Why kill Harwin’s lover and his sons?” the queen asked hoping that was the answer as to why everything had gone wrong.

“To get to Larys, to have the Blacks kill all those who stand between me and Harrenhal. I work the corridors of self-interest just as anyone here. Now with the war lost and my dear little brother getting his comeuppance, you are of no use to me ,your grace.” The witch said as if it were just something trivial that had failed and not a system of governance.

As if it was always meant to fall.

“You said it was Aegon’s destiny to be king!” the queen cannot comprehend why Alicent would make her do such things if it had not been meant to happen.

“And it was, I never said for how long. Two years is more than Aegon the Uncrowned got.” Alys put the babe in his basket without burping him first and went to stand by the window.

Why did no one else seem to care about this more? Why did no one see that for her family to be safe, Aegon needs to be king and her as his right hand?

Aemma had poisoned her sons against her an now her most trusted ally is led astray by her.

“Oh, no, the little queen did not seduce me from your side, your grace. Our paths are no longer aligned. You stand at the end of your road while I still have so far to go.” the witch answered as if she had spoken aloud.

“You tricked me! You had me sell my soul to the Stranger and damn myself to the Seventh Hell!” Alicent begins to see her with horror.

And yet the witch just stands there by the open window as if nothing was happening.

It would be so easy to kill her. She could lie and say she was going to hurt the little bastard, that she cast a spell on him and she as his grandmother only meant to save him.

Alys would die instantly on the spikes in the dry moat, no one would know.

What is one more kill?

“You said you would do anything to make Aegon king, you agreed to the price, your grace.” Alys coos at her making the queen mother snap and barrel towards her like an angry bull.

Just over the window.

That is all she needs.

And yet when they stand over the edge, Alys overpowers her and instead, Alicent is forced to look down at her grave.

“Now be a good girl for mummy and pay it.” The witch whispers in her ear like a lover and tosses her over the edge as if she weighed as much as little Aenys.

[gellavonhamster]

wip tuesday (tagged by @littlestsnicket, thank you <3)

a rare case when I actually have a WIP to offer, being in the process of translating another thing into English (at the very beginning of the process, so I don't have that much of the fic ready + will probably edit everything over and over again because every time I translate my writing, I am overcome with Oh No This Is Not How People Speak)

One Piece (Punk Hazard specifically) spoilers below:

His own lack of strength filled him with rage. After that failure of a fight with Doflamingo, which made him feel like an egg in an egg slicer, he was all covered in thin scars that kept opening up here and there for the first few days. By now they were already healing, but the constant pain was still there, just less intense. That could not have been more inconvenient at the time when the entire base had come under his command, and on top of that, had become a temporary home to a pack of brats they had to ship to Vegapunk. When Tashigi dropped by the infirmary that morning, she mentioned she was trying to contact the families to inform them that their missing children had been found, were in the care of the Marines, and were to return home in the near future if all went well. What made the task more difficult was that some kids couldn’t really explain where they were from. Where do you live? With Mama. And what’s the name of the island? I dunno. Can you describe it? It has those trees, and a beach. All in all, that was not the time to lie up. A separate, particularly virulent sort of rage came from realizing just how much he fucked up. Serving under a spy for two years and having no damn clue. Throwing his lot with pirates again – that crazy kid must think they’re bosom friends at this point. Losing to that vile cackling kingling in pink feathers, a government-sanctioned thug, an asshole drunk on impunity. If not for Kuzan, he would have stayed there, in the snow. And until he was back on duty, he was going to be of as much use as he would have been if he had. Dammit.

tagging @patron-saints, @enchi-elm and whoever else who wants to do this (as always, feel free to ignore if you don't want to answer)

[feraligatrfangs]

The dinner party

Brainblast here. I believe the dinner is going well.

<An audio clip is attached.>

<The clip opens with the clink of a dish against the table.

"Bon appetit!" Sadie says.

"Ooh, garlic bread!" Addie exclaims. "You rule, Sadie!"

"Thank [Fang], they did all the work!" Sadie replies.

"The garlic bread looks delicious,[Fang]," a male voice adds.

Fang squeaks. "ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ʷᵉˡᶜᵒᵐᵉ."

"Pass the parmesan, [Tree]?" Matt asks.

There is no talking for a minute, only utensils clinking and chewing, as people begin eating.

"So, [Tree], [Fang] told me you're majoring in Pokemon development. Is that why you moved out here to work under Elm?" Sadie asks.

"Mhm. The Professor's work with unusual Eggs is fascinating, and when a posting came to work as a junior lab assistant, I had to apply."

"Isn't your old school super astronomy-focused, anyway?" Addie says. "Makes sense to me that you'd transfer."

"Space not your cup of tea?" Matt asks.

"I don't mind it at all, but the University of Veilstone is very dedicated to studying the abundance of extraterrestrial material in the city, and as such, my advisor thought it would be better to transfer and save on travel costs."

Sadie hums in thought. "I've seen the professor around the Radio Tower, but I don't really know him. What's working with him like?"

"Very interesting. I'm around eggs that I've never seen before, constantly studying differing developmental stages, and caring for a wide variety of Pokemon. It's a great learning experience. ...I will also say that I am greatly valued in an organization capacity."

Fang snorts.

Sadie hums in understanding. "Filing duty, I'm familiar."

"He got the file pile below his head, even!" Fang adds.

"It's possible that there are things in the records room that not even Uxie can recall anymore..." Tree says, with an air of long-suffering horror.>

Tree has an approximate 65% success rate with his jokes, he was unfailingly polite, and he tried one of the hamantaschen that wasn't chocolate filled (and ate seven chocolate hamantaschen). By human courting standards, I believe this is an above-average performance.

[amalia-uwu]

S K Ó L I X

ΣΚΏΛΗΞ

I DONT OWN -> Undertale, Horrortale, Farmtale, the rights go to the respective owners. I only own my original characters and this fic.

Undertale by Toby Fox

Horrortale by Sour Apple Studios

Farmtale by GuinongTale_AU

Cover

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 (you are here) | Chapter 9

Warnings ⚠️: angst, unrealistic medical stuff, inaccurate medical stuff

(Next morning)

Papyrus opened his eye sockets.

He rose from bed and stretched.

In all honesty last night was... Quite adventurous...

He checked his phone and read the notifications. Martha had texted him.

He checked the time.

12.00 o' clock.

Martha🌻 has sent messages.

6.00 am

Martha🌻 sent: «Good morning Papyrus! How are you all? How is your brother? I just wanted to let you know that, I took care of your animals today, Lily, Pearl are such sweethearts!

I fed the chickens, picked up some eggs, fed the sheeps, your cattles and cows and the rest of the animals».

9.30 am

Martha🌻 sent: «I checked around the field and picked up some vegetables.

The vegetables and eggs are in the cabinet/closet outside your home (the one close to the door), first shelf! I hope I did well!»

11.30 am

Martha🌻 sent: «May I help you with anything else? Don't hesitate to text me, even.. call me if necessary! I am willing to assist you! All you have to do is ask!»

.

.

.

*. *. *. *.

Martha was having her coffee break, sitting at her patio.

Butterflies, birds and bees flew around.

It was a little windy today so her flowers waved in the wind.

Some birds were singing on the trees. Her phone buzzed,

«Hm?».

Papyrus 🧡 sent messages

12.30 pm

Papyrus 🧡 sent: «Good morning Martha! Yesterday was a long day.. but the difficult part is over. We are doing quite well! I don't know when they will release him... Prepare yourself for some tea when we return!»

12.32 pm

Papyrus 🧡 sent: «Thank you for checking up on us and taking care of our animals and crops for us! At the moment you did more than enough! Thank you! When Sans gets out of here we will have tea and I'll make that pie you like so much! Likewise, if you need anything please let me know! Have a great morning!»

Martha smiled, she didn't know what to say so, she just text

12.34 pm

Martha🌻 sent: «Everything is going to be okay! Honey! Oh! Of course! I'll be waiting! ;) xoxo ».

Papyrus smiled. He set his phone down and got dressed.

Axe sat on bed, he rubbed his skull and eye socket. He had the same tired look just like Papyrus.

Axe smiled softly, Papyrus did the same.

They took a shower, ate some lunch and took some painkillers.

They had quite a headache.

(Back to Ophelia)

After what he went through, she didn't have the heart to wake him up. She checked him and added some more medicines in the IV.

She, therefore decided to cure his voice.

She took a bowl and added: warm water, licorice, slippery elm, osha root and a little bit of chamomile.

She crashed/mixed them together creating something like a clay.

She entered his room and using a soft brush, she spread the clay  around his neck. Then added a gauze to keep it in place.

Her plan is to use this again in the afternoon.

See how it goes.

She injected vitamins and calcium in the IV throughout the day. The dark veins like spots had dissappeared.

She noticed the crack on his shoulder and added an ointment.

(at around 16.00 pm)

Papyrus and Axe arrived.

Each of them were holding 2 straw baskets with some herbs and vegetables.

The crew took them with gratitude. Ophelia was in her office, reading a a book on how to cure Sans's vision.

Papyrus entered holding the straw basket.

She smiled "Thank you Harvey!". Papyrus smiled back "It's always a pleasure!"

Agatha went to check Sans's statistics. His HP was slowly rising.

When he first came here days ago his was close to dying. However now little by little his energy and HP were slowly getting stronger and stronger.

(Another note: Ophelia has helped his HP a lot. She has helped him rise it.

Despite the health problems he had as a child, she helped him overcome some issues / stabilize them /make them a little better).

.

.

.

.

Papyrus and Axe entered the room.

They saw that he was still sleeping. They carefully caressed his face and decided to leave him rest.

They went for a walk around the clinic.

Agatha entered quietly and gently applied the clay on Sans's neck again.

She looked at the spot on his neck, it was healing nicely.

She checked again the breathing equipment.

Okay, it was the right dose. She will remove that in a while.

She injected some calcium on the IV, wrote some notes and exited the room.

Around 18.00 o clock.

Agatha entered quietly.

Agatha checked the breathing equipment. She wrote some notes.

Agatha, then carefully removed it from his face. She put it back to its place.

Agatha injected some more medicines, vitamins and calcium in the IV. She exited the room.

Just as she exited the room and left.

Papyrus and Axe entered.

She saluted them and they saluted back.

....

(minutes later)

Sans moved his head left and right. His eyes narrowed. Sans felt two hands on his.

He felt like his skull was stuffed in cotton.

He heard voices calling him "Sans?", "Brother?"

He tried to speak but his voice came out hoarse and low.

"Pap...yrus.. A..xe..."

Papyrus looked at Axe, both their eyes sparkled with happiness.

Papyrus, hearing his brother's voice felt his soul fly high. A strong weight left his shoulders.

Truth be told; they were afraid... That they might never hear his voice again.

Papyrus and Axe hugged each other in pure joy.

"Sans...? How is your vision?" Papyrus asked.

"same, cloudy with black spots here and there".

Just then Ophelia entered the room she as well looked a bit better.. "How is our patient?" she asked.

"Heya Ophelia". He smiled weakly

She injected some nutrients in his IV.

Due to all this, he had no appetite. "I see your voice is slowly returning, I'll use this clay one more time".

Sans nodded "Thank you.." he grinned woozy.

"Don't mention it Farmy!" she smiled.

She gently applied the clay around his neck and tied it with a gauze.

The spot, where the Skólix had bitten him, was healing. Slowly but nicely.

The inflammation was no longer there.

....

(For the next few hours)

Papyrus and Axe took turns in carefully moving Sans's limbs according to Ophelia's orders. [in order to help his magic flow through his joints].

They opened and closed Sans's phalanges.

They moved his limbs up and down, left and right, circular motions.

Papyrus held him upright and Axe moved his legs up and down. They leaned his limbs.

Papyrus was slightly concerned at how light he was. He had lost a lot of magic. The last few days he couldn't even eat properly.

He was lost in thoughts. Axe gently touched his shoulder and Sans tenderly caressed his ulna and radius.

Axe smiled softly and nodded. Papyrus turned Sans so he could see his face.

Sans smiled, his eyes were unfocused.

Papyrus brought him closer and gave him a hug.

Sans weakly hugged him back. Sans felt the tears on his shoulder. Saejun said nothing. Saejun let Papyrus cry.

Sans only hugged him and caressed his shoulder blades. His soul shone and flourished Papyrus's and Axe's soul with positive warm feelings.

Papyrus and Sans stayed there hugging each other.

No words were spoken.

....

(Some time later)

Ophelia entered in holding bathing equipment; a herbal/medical shower gel, brushes, sponges etc.

"I think he is ready for a nice bath" She informed. Papyrus took the equipment and went to the bathroom.

Axe carefully picked up Sans and followed Papyrus.

Axe whispered "It's okay, we are just gonna give you a nice warm bath hm?" he gave him a soft kiss on his skull. Sans nodded and hugged him tighter.

Papyrus opened the faucet and carefully set it to warm water.

He waited for the tub to be filled a little.

Axe had wrapped Sans with a fluffy towel and his jacket to keep him warm.

Papyrus checked the water again. It was alright.

He looked at Axe and nodded.

Axe carefully set Sans down and removed Sans's clothing.

He then let him in the bathtub.

Papyrus and Axe gently held him.

Little by little Axe threw water in his back, ribs etc.

Papyrus took the herbal bath foam and made foam. He took a piece of cloth and gently spread the foam. He took a soft sponge and rubbed Sans's bones.

He stopped to see if Sans's was okay. Was he being too rough?

Sans gently squeezed his hand.

Axe took the sponge and cleaned his other side. His humerus, pelvis, legs and ribs.

...

Well... They were extra careful at the lower ribs.. Sans was ticklish..

Of course he let out some soft giggles when they reached there but they were careful.

Axe and Papyrus took a brush and started brushing his bones and joints. They rinsed with warm water.

Once they reached his pelvis, he got a little shy. His blushed and turned his face away.

Axe noticed and blushed himself «he looks so cute» he thought.

Sans couldn't help his purring, it was low and soft.

Papyrus and Axe smiled. Another sound they missed.

They put the brushes away. They used the sponge and foam one more time.

Axe held his humeri high.

Papyrus rinsed his bones.

Axe carefully held him upwards and Papyrus rinsed the remaining foam.

Axe wrapped him in a towel and lifted him out of the tub.

They dried him clean by patting and rubbing the fluffy towel on his bones.

Papyrus took a herbal lotion and tenderly spread it on Sans's bones.

They dressed him in forest green pants and shirt (clothes Papyrus brought from home).

Axe carried him in his embrace and took him to bed.

Sans nuzzled his cheekbone on Axe's shoulder and neck.

Axe smiled and softly blushed. His cheekbones and bridge of his nasal cavity turned into a soft beetroot reddish color.

Axe gave Sans's soft kisses on his cheekbone and forehead.

Sans had his one hand on Papyrus's shoulder. Papyrus smiled and held it.

Ophelia came to fix the IV.

Axe gave them to him.

Axe carefully laid Sans on bed. She gently fixed the IV, wrote some notes and exited the room.

She returned later with some chamomile and pills.

Papyrus read him a book about flowers and their meaning.

Sans was listening contently.

Axe held his hand making soft circular motions with his thump and guided his hands in the touching parts of the book .

At around 22.00 o' clock Papyrus and Axe had to leave from the clinic.

A part of them didn't want to leave him alone... but, they had to go.

Sans spoke quietly "See you tomorrow, You two take some rest; I'll be fine"

They nodded. Papyrus and Axe gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

They walked a little further and Axe teleported them back home.

.

.

Today was slightly better. Sans found his voice, they heard his purring. He was getting better. Little by little.

They took a shower, ate and went to sleep.

Bad thoughts were entering Papyrus's mind.

«What if something else happens again? What if he never sees again? What i- no. No! Everything will be alright».

They closed their eyes and fall asleep.

.

.

END OF CHAPTER 8

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

[notmuchtoconceal]

In his sanctuary of sanctuaries, Laika kept the supreme gnosis of the Peaks close at heart, and spoke aloud to any who who would hear as the silence had said unto him -- what unknowable things remained as such only for they begged be known only as such-much may-might incite refusal.

In seas which were skies, two tops parted, snowcapped each, to rise between them, a third. Champion and monk, garland'd in cloud-whisps, speckled less leprous than robin's egg, it repres't love less'n tandem for learning, two for two -- that best ending first, you and he left alone, amateurism unmasked, to play in that empty theater, only that you may hear, only that you may ask ~ please, oh please let me hear the rest.

CASTAWAY

YOU SHOULD KNOW

THE TRUTH

"Psychorrhax. Psychorrhax."

Flowing waters, sweltering streams.

Embers of eyes radiant through the tree leaves.

Wisps of rheumy things illusory :--

steamy in the tea grieves.

( o )

His Lord and Love,

Cpt. Schreibermachen

needn't call.

Without word nor want,

he went to him.

Without hesitation,

he went to him.

On the Endless Sky

Fish are Jumping High

A SCENE ON

THE LID OF

A SLEEPER'S

EYE

On the Island Where

Nobody Goes

A place to sit awhile.

A light to read by.

Room to write. Space to stand up straight.

"You are my world. My world."

My is world but ~

You are ~

[what

you

are ]

A larger lap.

A broader shoulder,

kiss'd stone-charred

cold by burning coals.

( o )

My Hearth is What I Keep.

Ever Watchful,

~ it is,

was, will be

~\- for You I Stand Virgil.

Merrily

Merrily

Merrily

On the Island

(MIC LUC MAGOG)

Pretty Island

(MIC LUC MAGOG)

KOHOLINT

WILL BE

NO MORE

Ain't no burger stands

(I Land, I Land)

Ain't no disco bands

(I Land, I Land)

WE WERE

BORN OF

NIGHTMARES

On the Island Where

Nobody Knows.

OUR WORLD

OUR WORLD

OUR WORLD

( )

? > ?

. <

o / o

. o .

do . op

Surrounding him on all sides of the officer's lounge, snug in the folds of heavy velvet drapery in pinhole burns they fingered whilst they smoked, nestled in alcoves as statues, pressed upright against pillars as enforcers of orders unmet, pirouetted behind potted plants to peer through foliage robust with lies what perverse fancies they kept ever uncrept ;-- the Laikanites picked from their pockets glass harps modulated in pitch to Seven Instruments of Sirens Unraided, not Four Instruments of Herons Unmasked ~ yet nonetheless in the frank carelessness so characteristic of their ranks, scored in a jumbled assortment of syncretic sound fonts the Ballad of the Humpback / Monkey King Pirate Always On Moine Even as I Lashed and Stroked the Sea ;-- Space Whalebone Knit, Cillian Braille Yoke and Collar / : / Shamrock Oak, Break Elm & Birch Bitch ;--; Gulf Stream Eel, Manatee and Me, O Lucky Art Mine What Thou Walrus Bespoke the Carpenter /-;-/ & each precisely and incorrectly playing the tune in its Titus Titian rendition ~ the heart and soul within the empty shells weighing switches, so that Joey and Brux, hearing the soundscape engulf them, drew into a vacuum around which boiled and embroiled the hot and lonely dark ;-- weeping and growing sodden sipping spiked milk as they fondled one another in sombre reminiscence what bitter recollections of dreams and broken bands first drew them to skip as needles to the life of carnival showmen.

"My country was a prison colony," Brux began. "We found it and we founded it, for it'were always already there. The proof was in the puddin and we was always watchin TV whilas we ate. Men went there for it was the only place they could be free..."

He trailed off, seeming at once to pick himself up.

"By day, every man was a king in his castle, and by night, likewise a devil in his wood. As we had learned from our elders, that great brute who wasda Whitniest and Most Bloodsoaked Son of Babs Honybunny, she whose flowing corpulence polluted all seas wine red as they had not been since the days of Homer Jay ~ for you see and you hear and you see nothing at all ~ oh snotgreen sea, oh scrotumtightening sea, how algae makes the air and lifts at the stain from which we disperse'd the oxygen cleanse makin our whities most pearlescent with vinegar baths of clean sweat'n cleaner livin, crunchin down hard bran and fizzies for the bubbly'n the root ~ you didn' kno nuttin bout da sodastream til we ruptured, and there were roots in da beers, be they ginger or sassafras wrasslin before it was all corn oil such as they usda use in the splatter films when it weren't Hershey's kisses meltin down your neck from the cleave taken outta da lump a yer elegant, swanlike neck -- strangle a bird, fowler things I ain't ever confessed to think, my noble cock murder!

[*breathe*

chug, chug, chug

*clink*

Filler up!]

"You know, it was always like ~ we all just wanted to do our own thing, but in truth our country 'tweren't no country at all, but a collection aa thousand and athousand more unincorporated territories on rented land no man had claim, but fer how the lawmen repo'd what ya wouldn't give to dose dat c-wouldn't earn yet felt entitled to take, and it was like ~ ya, I'm always livin by two rules, more or less.

"Three / four, maybe.

"Law of people, law of the land, the gun, the boot, the unasked decency and unwelcomed maleficience ;-- I'll all dose conflationsa laws which came about herewithall those correspondin delusions when people think they own the land or the state owns the peeps and not the peeps own the state and all peeps are mutual tenders to a land which is the child to which we are the village :-- the village to which we are the child ~ a collective responsibility as much a collective splendor to be blessed ;-- with sweetbreads of such infinite and interlocking bounty of succulent perfumes, symphonies, flora, flauna, stones, plains, peaks, swamps, prairies, deserts, seas ~ inexhaustable and unconquerable, and yet willin always to let men grovel at their folly, naked and revelatory, splendid as they were in her wastes, revelin in all infinity as dey reveal dere meagrenes!

Joey wondered watching this pussy lover who was his oldest and most enduring friend if all sapient life were to him but a collection of cereal marshmallows leaving all grains the filler

[*clinking*

a wisp of flame]

"I knew such empty loves for so long, such desperation born of easy convections as clutches to stumps or to clubs or to each other as we were any or either-or, naught but scared koalas _ o _ we who had no unity and divided our lot without measure, we was all thieves who spoke in slant rhyme as jolly good times had emselves makin mobs, for mob rule lawed the land as gangs lent game to the theory, as our most rigorous academic discipline was always anti-intellectualism, our artlessness our most enduring and exquisite art. Every letter a demon, every simile a hex. Illiteracy's a purity, the stone's my only romance. You can never understand ~ can't ever underestimate ~ the vast array of internal diversity when it comesta stupidity. What is it stupid, is it real what it does? Not very specific, it? Ignorance is quite excusable at times, and quite repulsive at others, as arrogance oft inspiring when of considerable heft, and laughable or vergin on spittle when maladjusted'remisharnessed. Is mawkishness a kind of stupidity? What of camp or kitsch or melodrama, my b-roll? Is being too overemotional not a character flaw, less hubris than stunted catharsis, this inability to regulate a streama chatter gnawin at the ear like a grindin, sluggish streama broken glass... but a typea stupidity one wouldn't even think to consider cause very intelligent people're usually quite stupid bout how to access and measure their own emotions, so they'd never condescend to think you could do somethin well you'd have such obvious contempt fer?"

Joey ~ somehow ~

had completely accidentally ~

~ given himself a milk Chaplin.

"The usual suspects are at it again!" Brux continued, not only undettered, but enabled. "I always knew you weren't ever a real cripple, Joey! I seen men who could take off their own leg! You know ~ I been tempted in the past to just whip that cane outta yer hand and swat ya hard again the undersidea the calf wit it, upwise towards the knee, just to see if that stump've a leg'd fly off, but then it's like... y'know... what if you actually were a cripple and I just go too hard and I swat yer whole fuckin leg off and there's blood gushin everywhere? Here I am, ain't even got a mop. That'd be weird..."

Above them, carved upon the arch,

it read in four-fold arrangement,

the stones henged as chandeliers of rose ~

TRAN.

TOR.

TRAL.

FAM.

AD / OR.

TER.

MA.

GANT.

Weldstadt.

Menschenzoo.

Bühnenmutter.

мировая сцена.

родной город.

зоопланктон.

i cały świat jest zielony twarz wybacza lustro robak wybacza pług

. ( )

( o )

bwyd yw ci dwr.

helo ci dwr.

dal i garu bwyd i chi.

eev eev

oui oui je suis

vve vve

XP! XP! XP!

\\./.\.//

. ( ) . ( ) .

) . o . (

'Aquí

. ( ) .

. ( ) .

//.\/.\\

:-- es donde

`vivimos,

~Shelley.

Into his lungs, the room entered Joey.

Beneath his breast, the room rotated in four colors.

Four-fold colors enveloped all space.

From his mouth, Joey lent word to his surroundings.

"You speak, and you speak, and you speak -- elaborating always on some point unadressed yet eternally relevant which is as much a mystery to you as me, and I cannot tell in your sheer exhausting barrage of repetition after repition -- inversion after inversion -- what it is you wish to say, for you are your own biggest blindspot and all you say applies first and foremost to you, and I cannot trust a man who behaves in a manner so much like a hysterical woman unmoored from herself to have any clue what I am thinking -- what I am feeling, what I will do next, for how could I? Knowing well what women are like, and wanting nothing to do with them as you berate me endlessly your own inclinations eminently disinteresting to you -- for though in a new land, you have never left the old -- what could I hope to say to you who speaks to me as though I were a stranger... some dead man still unmourned, who you grope and reach for in the dark seeing me in what dim lights you highlight only to see what things you know eternally lost, I being simply some echo settling onto a cliff into which you long to carve his face; mine being unsuitable for needs my eyes neededn't see, though none could possibly escape them."

Brux, looking away ~

began to snap his fingers.

"I have to read everything you say two or three times to understand it. Which... because you are a flesh and blood human being talking to me in a public setting and not a series of words on a screen, means read in this contexts means replay in my head like a tape recorder cause I'm some sorta weirdo freakish myna bird who remembers everything you say with startling and perturbing accuracy."

"The hyper-clairity of being always calls, why run?"

"Cliff face. Cliff face. Whose face is on the cliff, Joey? Who's it who's the cliff? Are you speaking to me now of a man or a rock?"

"A fan or a clock?"

"A jock or a cock?"

"I am speaking to you now of a band, my brother. Wear your rubbers, you may break. A sheepskin for a trojan, I plan to tear you not long after and slide on another, to hear you scream soundbites of cut and paste -- uploading in pieces -- megabyte after megabyte."

Brux ~

continued to snap.

"You singsong me, I'm a dingdong. Hohoho, the tower is tin, what ya burna me I left in the basement, stay out! My birds and my boquets and my taxidermy kit'n sewing room! I'm in everyone's basement. I'm goin through their collectibles. I'm rummagin through their vintage clothing and getin my fingerprints on heirlooms. Tee-hee. You're just like him, Joey! He just like you, he do that thing, you know -- Laik, he's always ... hittin me wit strings a sounds which make only sense to him, as though some meanin were to arrive into the vibrancy I know well to be vacancies for how they ring around my empty head! Did you take what we gave you and make it cleaner and more elegant, more structural and logical, or does he take what you give him and make it loosey and goosey, lossy and bossy like a lil fermentin wino drinkin swill outta his own well?"

Joey turned on his stool. Towards the other side of the room, he less turned than drifted as he sat in place, his legs now moving -- his hands to his chin, his eyes to the floor, the eyes on the back of his head to Brux never leaving, always watching, pinning him to the counter with knives, as with each breath of the longsword of his tongue, Joey slid the double-edge down the winding clefts and jutting angles of Brux's jaw, leaving him foamy in the tattered surf, filling his basin, filling himself to the brim with marble cold.

"He doesn't even know me. There are things he leads me to think... To think, I could think and know with such certainty, yet find myself still in a state of doubt. To think I could have felt so revealed in my immensity, and so lost in another's infinity, and for it all to have been a sham of my senses, a circus of my desires, a sleight of hand I erected as trains of show ponies before my eyes, so delirious in my indefatigable loneliness I would have made of a woodlouse a displaced prince and imbibed of my own blood, feasting on his fetor as he snowballed sterile imaginings to me so expertly on his odious, milk-scented tongue. Before my lover's eyes, most beloved of them is he, I reveal of myself all my splendor, and yet fraudulent before him -- my every omission a confession, my every confession an omission -- I wonder aloud with such little sneer, seeing how easily scorned he seems by confession, and he hates me more my every mercy, the poor shivering thing who bawls and cries and curls up and dies from so many implications unimplied, one wonders how he could ever stand up straight without hitting his head on his own low-hanging fruit, thought-bubbles so frozen with suspicion on shame-heavy marquees announcing to audiences uninterested his myriad secret panics; I could never begin to wonder what makes him such a simpering pile of anxious stupidity, or to what lengths I could go to soothe him without humiliating him further, leaving him there as a corpse fucked on the side of a ditch on the parlor floor, and hope he does not weep to himself about how he can not, could never be, could not possibly be worth saving ... as you wonder, why oh why, you even bother attempting to love this man for whom love is evidently unwanted, and whose eyes so dim with cocksuckery and lips glassy with drool show feeble longings most enduring as all true fraternity pretense; who is he -- dare I suspect or merely refuse to collect? What things I keep from mind are as touch-ups from a brush where time enabled a rot to peel open a weakness in as much the canvas as the frame. A sagging roof, a diaper of newsprint. Air bubbling, some liquid corrosion blooming to heads erect with caps. It is no doubt the spores have streaked far, spitfire as they are by the moon waning always back towards dim and brutish blackness!"

Brux relinquished himself ~

feeling so nurtured by Joey's neglect ~

seeing so seen by Joey's unattentive gaze.

"Joey, I love you... you are so..."

"Your affections, every one, takes place in the context of all previous actions. Be aware of all you have done, will do, and will forever leave undone. Live with no regrets but the inevitable dearth of them, for there are so many, still so many chance encounters left umet when you give of yourself body and soul to the fates."

Brux took his breath.

Brux have his breath.

Into a flame, he kneaded his dough.

Into an oven, he opened his heart.

"Joey, I know who I am."

"Who are you, Cpt. Bruxer Haruspex?"

"I'm whatever you want me to be... Joey."

"What is it I want? What is it you think I want?"

"I want you to want me. I want to be wanted by you. Always and forever. Here and now. I want to be without you as minimally as I can, for I know you are a man who yearns for the craving of solitude and I could never unindulge you your vices, as I could deny none else's over any other's, but oh yes ~ you are who you are, a process-driven gentlemen. By trial and by error, you will come to conclude for yourself how much time is appropriate to be given me and I will be blessed by that every waking moment and cherish every gift of your's given me for you are the light of my life, and the flame of my perenially ascending flame from which we live always in smog, my bright shadow, whiter that what cokefugues I could make of what purebreds I slaughtered for gold and for ruin, for prestige and for plenty, for none but my own, all of mine being ultimately me."

"You are everything I could ever want."

"I am quite well-studied at being well-studied."

"My leftovers linger long in your mouth."

"Gram did always say 'Savor the Flavor'!'"

"Wise words from a wisewoman."

"Witchy vibes from a witcher."

"You say it yourself quite well. You are an illusion. A dreamscape I see in the surface of a pond as I linger the idle days away. What you are is a trap, a vacuum, a prison, a ruin. A cave in which I would only deign to crawl into to die were I a cat at the end of rope, my every hot tin roof a gallows I'd erected of myself for my scaffolding."

"Why is it falsity for you to see all which is beautiful bout you in the eyes and the craggy edifices of me? Leaving me unerect, I hang off your every word and pour myself like a grail to your wounded heart to push fresh blood past old wounds and make your circulation sing as the tempests we conjure on the seashores, old loves being always islands in their own rights, adrift in time and in place."

"Your ciphers so stoogey, to which island does who hail who'd call himself king, I being a lion in a landlocked state?"

"You look at me and you think of him. How did he hurt you, Joey? How did he render a forgery of your every affection to make of your every gift a suspicion in some game he played with himself to which you were less the whiteboard than the space around you a grid? You only a another x to tick or tack with his os? It weren't no longer an Altoid since I was a boy I met someone curiously strong!"

"You know him so well, I find it hard to believe you haven't already fucked."

"Gosh, Joey. To think a top like you would think two bottoms like us could get up to no good! Y'know us gals's too bitchy to collaborate!"

"A womanlover with a wagging tongue makes a cuckold of his every false virtue, and I see you place eggs in baskets to pelt only houses for what glower of glistening yoke you make deign to disdain, you are not an erector, but a detector, less a contractor than a contagion. To think how meany deaths I would need die to attain symbiosis with you makes me sick. I wish not love to be work, but perpetual play, and working hard as I play, I will instruct you forever, conduct less the baton in my hand than the symphony in the air. Why do you stand there awestruck and dumbfounded as if you've slept your way to the top and now stand exposed in the lead, learning well you have gotten in over your head, and now about to lose it all, can't stand to see yourself as you are, the stump and the root. Get what you get for thinkin with dick! A wiseman only sticks it in crazy."

"You could never possibly begin to disentangle us cause you can't think like a bottom. It's so weird, cause you're the biggest bottom I know, just for yourself! Every day you wake up and announce ~ I am Joey Schreibermachen. I am the biggest bottom! I am Joey Schreibermachen. I am the biggest top! I own my own ass. It is gigantic. Somehow a Teutonic white knight's glistening horse glutes explode into such a visceral power as only seen in ebony black African goddesses. You're such a huge bottom, you turn the big man into a bottom! He has no idea how much he craves a rugged, domineering black woman! You ought be aware of the tendency for things to invert at the margins! You are sometimes so daddy, you're mommy! You're too much of a top, Joey. It makes you insane!"

"That is ridiculous. How could one man ever be too much of a top?"

"That you needed to ask that question is itself ridiculous!"

"He wrote in the explanation in detail after I had asked the question just now. I had stopped talking for a moment, and he went back and edited the transcription in real-time to elaborate on all of his absurd assertions pulled directly from his own ass so that my perfectly legitimate follow-up looks dumbfounded. He is motivated to make everyone look stupid cause that is the only possible way he could ever figure out how to be smart, knowing nothing of it otherwise."

"Everything I say is perfectly logical when I think it and only sounds stupid when I say it! The stupidity is the falsity, bourne of the expedience of your petty greivances, and my revisions are the truth! I deny you only your own lies, and you regret only I took em!"

"I will allow it the day you purge yourself of every false flattery and manufactured hype you need to ride the whirlwind up and down all those places you aren't allowed to go, and yet are anyway."

'Well, you don't have to allow it, Joey. I'll find a way in!"

"See, why would I love you? It would deny you the right to rob and to rape me."

"Rape is a strong word, Joey. Use the *sst*r*sks."

"I know what the word rape means. I can read the word rape. I can think of experiences without reliving them. I can think about thinking things all I want and not be effected by my feelings. The only problem is I am habitually trained to deny myself even meager and reasonable things, for I am so acclimated to being robbed hand over foot in mouth whatever generosity I extend, and yet -

"Joey, I love you."

"Why do you..?"

"My mother was a dictator. She ruled the hearth like she ruled the island, ruled the island like she ruled all nations. Do you understand? She was the only person. It was a world of one and we were all but spheres forever eclipsing her as jittery as carbons witin a fizzy, all things unelemental and chemical, no voltages bearing Wattsons."

"It's all a fiction. All you are is what I see of you."

"I have nothing to hide. Before you, I am empty of all pretension and filled wholly with yours. You rape me every second every day of my life, Joey. You cannot help but judge, and yet confess to the contrary and fill me with your lecheries as a sock discarded as it'd grown crusty when its scales began to scabat yer already calloused knob. You are beautiful, Joey. Much too beautiful to be a man. Much too brutish to be a woman. You are a conundrum I long to leave forever unknown. I don't care how you never know me. How you falsify me. How you make me complicit in your every delusion. Every waking second I spend around you is a bliss I wish I lie within for all eternity. It cheapens the sentiment to say "I love you, Joey" for it is such a trite and obvious phrasing which makes the truth of the feeling behind the word seems as illusory as duststorms within hourglasses we twirl always like bayonettas longing to shatter the glass as we burn our hair ~ collapsing with a busted heart on stage to see em all cheer, knowing we are one always and alone, no matter what we say, nor how we say it, none of em else wish to see or be heard."

"You tell me all I wish to say, then you tell me the truth. How I am ever to discern from your bewitching mouth which is one and the other?"

"It's always moment to moment, Joey. There are no rules for every occasion, nor simply one reason for any action. Regulations cannot regulate men when men're beggin always to go unmanned!"

"I see the way you... slobber over him. The way you jump upon him as a sheep ram grown accustomed to mountan heights, dexterous in its ever-waggling hindlimbs, from peak to peak, scalp of barren plain to thorny bush, making maps of unnavigable spaces as you toil in abjection lacerating the tatters of your own narrow borders attempting to axiomatically reduce his every vacant grimace or unannouncing silence to some need you can fill or resource you may exploit, ingratiating yourself ever deeper into briars and bristles at which by your own tuggings you husk off your skin, so that sea-lion smooth in bare flesh you will at last slide ever deeper into some open crevice of him like the worm you are, to feed ever more gently on what tears you may milk, playing always to weep and remember."

"You know days when winter succumbs to spring, how crisp the white light growing ever-gold is so luminously citrine in skies so pastel with wisps of clouds as if crystalline, the skies rise banded in gradients?"

"It is the beautiful truth, beautifully stated, and yet in service to what end? It is only a rare and splendid moment that the sun should be eclipsed by the moon, less rivers run blood-red in darkness. Is it trite for me to say you announce your every apocalypse for you wish it to be prevented, for you are incontrovertibly and indubitably aware it is your inevitable course of action to injure yourself and others, and your every attempt to flee an attempt to love, your every attempt to love an attempt to attack, and every possible permutation?"

"You know your boyfriend so well, I could learn a lot from you!"

"I'm sure if you haven't aleady, he has from you."

"You're absolutely certain he loves you, I don't? That's why he dead in a ditch halfway rown the world somewhere as you're scratchin at me like a post? How's that for beatiful truths, beautifully stated to questionable ends? Go head, find the lie. I'll wait."

"I see you way you... lurch yourself over him. It's as though you're dry humping your own buckling knees to stand back up straight. Are you afraid that he's going to attack you, or disappointed he hasn't already? Are you fucking him? He's fucking you. Do you faint like a damsel in a white gown when it happens? Before it happens? Do you sometimes ask to be caught, then peek between both fingers? What are these games you play with him, and what are you playing with me? You are always playing, always wanting, always..."

"What you know bout playin and wantin, Joey? You gonna sit here and tell me you're all work, Jackin it like a dull boy?"

"I am very straightforward."

"You're less a ruler than a yardstick. You measure much as set."

"I'm not the fucking Libra here."

"You're a Leo."

"Are you a Libra?"

"You only date Libras, Joey. You crave our deceptive and inorganic natures. You love me like a blind woman with weighted scales!"

"A new business is coming. O, sire us plenty, I see I sis!"

"Hoo-rah!"

"Us!"

"He-roo!"

"You!"

"Joey, you are so precious to me."

"How long have you been a Libra?"

"Since yesterday, but then twenty years before that. Got my star chart readjusted day's night. Only vacant date to get the alignment I wanted means I am now definitely canonically your older brother, as my current recorded date of birth was pushed back to 1963."

"The things you do are so incredibly stupid."

"The things you do are overblown, turgid, needlessly complex, unspeakably beautiful and frightening as a leatherbound encyclopedia set I will never read for I am unworthy to crack its many gilded and finely embossed spines, oh my God. I am afraid to touch you, you are so beautiful. For some reason, the only thing I know how to do is destroy you before I can hurt you, which is precisely rational because my real fear is being hurt by how I hurt you, and I guess I just wanna get it over with, much like everything else already?"

"The way you stare at him... your every expression is a gobsmacked invitation as though you are flattening your face into fat ample pussylips. Your mouth is a pussy. Your eyes are pussies. You ears are pussies. Your nostrils are pussies. Your every open pore is a pussy. Every clingy, quivering, festering carpeted inch of you is composed of nothing but pussy. Pussy after pussy. You exist only to be fucked."

"Joey. Joey, I want you to marry me. Joey, I want you to have my children. Joey, I want to have a uterus hand-picked and knitted-in so I can do it the old-fashion way. Joey, I want nothing more to suffer agonizing labor pains for you. Joey, if I could die in childbirth bearing you your only daughter, I would die a happy man, content that I was a miserable beast to the best and most able of my abilities!"

"You can't fuck my older brother, so you've been fucking my boyfriend. That my boyfriend's been fucking my twin brother makes it okay. I am not sucking Drottin's dick every waking second I'm spending time with a man who isn't him. Did he really think seducing my best friend would... get my attention? By all means, dear boy. Spend more time with my friends. They ought be your friends, too. That would make sense, it wouldn't even occur to me that this would be a problem. Then again, you do quite questionable things with your friends, so I can't say I'm surprised. Most of these questions you want answered I could speak from my lips, but where's the fun in that? I swear, I thought enlisting in the Eagle Marines would get me away from these petty, womanish squabbles, but men deprived of women will simply manufacture their own, that seems to be a constant in life, and I cannot blind myself to the inevitable any longer."

(Finder's Keepers,

Father's Reapers!)

"You really think I'm fucking Laika."

"Yes, you're definitely involved. How could you not be? He may be fucking you, that does seem more likely. He's headstrong as ballstrong as your lips are flappin like your ass is always wigglin. Naturally, I defaulted to phasing it as such, for were I in your situation, I would be fucking Laika. I enjoy fucking Laika. Laika is fun to fuck. I don't think you would like it much, no. He'd be too much for you. I don't think you could handle him, lacking as you are in eminence, grace, tact, sophistication and nuance."

"For me?"

"For you."

"Joey, I could handle fuckin your fuckin boyfriend."

"So you have?"

"No, but I could."

"So you will?"

"Do you... do you want me to?"

"Do you?"

"I... I don't know how to answer that question, Joey."

"Your dick. Your cock. The eel between your legs. Do you want to slide it deep into the crevice of some available opening on my boyfriend, yes or no? Would it please you to fuck him with it and see him writhe and moan? Suffer in delight? Do you have a cock and like using it?"

"Um... ye-yes?"

"Yes? Yes-suh."

"Are you not saying question mark? Because we're in print? You say Question Mark in conversation when I use the uptick when I'm uncertain, cause that's how you'd transcribe it? But now'that you're writin out what I'm sayin, you're writin it phonetically? Are you... are you defaultin to my sensibilities while in my company, Joey? Do you find yourself effected my me when you let your guard down and that's why you're always keepin me way?"

"Yes, Cpt. Haruspex. I do not wish to be affected by your Brux. He is a neurotic, vindictive, self-destructive, flighty, unstable, arbitrary, anxious, annoying, uncouth, loud-mouthed, self-defeatist, absurd, ingratiating... I could continue in this manner indefinitely."

"If it would please me?"

"It would please you."

"I am held by the snares of your tongue."

"You hang limp off my every word, as if inviting my fist to your neck begging to be crushed. Swaying, I wonder how quickly you'd crack."

"Sweep me off my feet."

"May the branches long to leave you forever embraced."

"I'm pretty sure anxious and neurotic mean the same thing, but the n and the t sounds, then later on the a and n sounds just make it all flow. You knowin it can sound like more'n it means Joey."

"Mean more'n it sounds."

"Like the relationship between the dirt and a rock?"

"One is always eclipsing the other."

"A stone warm on which I lay, a fossil I lie beneat da grass!"

"So many trees, see how the sentinels stomp you."

"Wish I could be unoffensive to your very nature, Joey."

"It would be nice."

"It would be... a dream come true."

Before the shrine of St. Clarice of Rio, Foster Daughter, Soul and Bride of the Sun Devil, the echo came as he bowed his head.

Of her waters, he drank and forgot only falsity.

Of his meat and bread, he buttered and gnawed ~

Regaining the vigor of his own self's animality.

"You haven't got the faintest idea, bro. Joey don't fuckin hide things. That is the projection of an insecure mind. He obscures to illuminate as he strategically forgets. It's a two pronged strategy like a fork in the ass you made of your entrails like you split the road when you split your offering. If he's not fooling you, he's fooling himself, and if he's not self-aware he's usually half. If he don't want you to call him out, he's disappointed you haven't already. Certain things -- it would behoove you to figure this out quicker -- are so obvious, they don't even register! It's not even that he filters em out, as that would divert unnecessary processing power into the ultimately needless mechanism of repression. To what end would this serve, these serveless ends? It's more like -- he's seeing five or six different possible simultaneous outcomes and potentially-conflicting models of reality and human behavior simultaneously and tracing back potential causes to theories he's mapped from previous datasets which he is now prepared to immediately overwrite. The majority of individuals, you understand -- will default to a single over-simplistic reading which ultimately speaks to some inchoate fancy which is flattering to the juvenile ego. What you interpret as narcissism is a deep and habitual disregard for himself which makes him like the empty cup always being repolished for it is habitually refilled."

Joey turned, and beheld him.

Beneath the bronze of Mishima, cradling upon the bed of his entrails the serenity of his heavenward gaze, he stooped to taste mountain springs flowing from the cleave of crystal glaciers.

The dead dog did not farm, but spice.

Knitted of Irish sea moss, and burdock root ~

what nutrients it lent as it steeped the stream.

( o )

Hero of Heroes, Day of Days.

Day upon Day, Night upon Night.

Day Upon Night

Upon Night

Upon Day

Night Upon Day, Day Upon Night,

Day becomes Night, Night becomes Day.

Day Always Night

Night Always Right

The Night is Always Day

[Night Time

is

My Time]

( ) . ( )

As Paimon fell to the West,

he was Reborn Again.

As the Sun Rises in the East,

the West is Always Set.

Dawn, be you evening or morning,

yield your secrets all-knowing.

Diaphonous, Gentle, Stern, Exquisite.

The Forge of Your Iron,

the Smooth of Your Wood.

Your Bundle of Boughs,

the Bows which you Bundle.

Ever-loving and renewing,

what beauty is peace of mind.

Ave Oriens,

Rex Orientalis.

Drawn, on a chariot of burnished brass, pulled by horses of seven colors, came his lord and love, Cpt. Luxor Dryhten.

Spirit of the womb, eternal friend.

Who wrestled Laika less as a beast than in unending reverie. Before whom Jacek cried with joy fenced off always by despair. His cousin beside whom he was pale and skeletal, standing full and beside himself, half-more than not, mead much-more in flesh.

"What do I see there?"

Joey said, for he heard, and yet could not see ~ saw and yet could not hear, the sum of all of what he yet to say -- beginning now again.

"Which lightens my spirits so irrevocably?"

The dark wind blew about Brux.

As he deflated, the hot air rose from in and without him, and became the magic carpet which brought the veil of things sodden and bacterial, the veil of things acerbic and dusty which clung to his bright and unerring eyes like grime.

Reading thus -- Joey's phrasing as writ flaying him always in the hour of a new dawn never rising, the wolf always calling, what sword moves he learned from ancestral spirits with swift perception easing ghosts lingering epochs in regret, he bowed his head and let glistening tears stream forth to part the curtain of filth.

"Go to him," he said.

With less remorse than finality.

"Without hesitation, go to him."

". . ."

"He's what you really want."

Joey's eyes lingered.

With some unflinching gratitude he could never recognize, nor ever repay, his withering gaze remained cloaked always in solitude.

Aware once more his brother had perfomed some unspeakable and unspoken sacrifice for the happiness of him, this man who apparated in and out of existence, who meant so little for his world stood out so crude and unreal, so cavernous and caving, that he took it all so far and thought so brittle, thinking too much already, this making him well-regarded as much less than an infamous nuisance.

"What's there to say?"

Less a coonskin than a fungal cap ;-- his breath slowed to a dearth of motion begging total. Being in total, beast at last forgotten.

"He's the one."

.

( o )

I won't think to forget you. I'll always remember you.

Joey's eyes spoke.

They spoke always, so he couldn't see.

Saw only the echoes of the things he left unsaid.

( )

When he was far enough away ~

Brux succeeded, as always ~

in failing to hold back his sob ~

so that Joey would be spared ~

the constant humiliation ~

of hurting him again.

"You are the Music. I am the Air. He is the Always."

The tears mixed into his milk.

He drunk them down. For the calcium.

"Pretty bid, pretty bird."

To him, a toast.

"This is where we're from."

. \ . ( o ) . / .

Where once had stood a wall, he remained upright upon the apex of the pyramid among those cherries atop the creamery garnish which made of the crop a tart truth tasted first and forgotten.

For the foundation of the pyramid were not toxic grasses inedible to the frail gastrointestinal DMVs of the enhanced primate, but barley and fig, lavender and rosemary, basil and pepper, garlic and goat cheese, freshly plucked and ground, sliced with sausages most savory hung hefty as pies upon days stuffed fat for Olympians so much so every bite was an eternity in which one could linger forever, though still there remained so much more still to savor, too much to leave rotting on the floor, much enough to make all urchins a table.

Empty Spaces

What are we

living for?

Imperial robes of yellow sick, his headdress rose as faucets of lead and gold, banded with chevron wheatfields of copper and tin blossoming bronze sunflowers symmetrical as samurai helms, moving streams of lotus flowers down two twisting streams of hot and cold running water, all evil beginning in and with him.

Abandoned places

I guess we know

the score

All those things which Joey could eat, which glistened in matter and in concept, gleaming flavors spectral and earthy, of his body and more of mind -- soul of wit and the plot -- his flesh and his spirit nurtured in a cauldron of starvation which made of themselves a fullness when he brought to all deserts an oasis.

On and on

With every step, he grew less weak.

With every further step, he carried himself.

Does anybody know

What we are

looking for?

Brux, wiping the tears from his eyes, began to dance.

With his arms over his head, begging to expose to himself a belly yellow as Chinese ivory, he banded about the wind in bellows and roars catastrophic to glass and containment.

In the pit before the stage, in which the shadows deepened for how the lights focused and funneled to concentration, blinding the specifics of the scenery glistening with saturation burning bright sepia to molten gold in blistering technicolor, of the shadows he made mud, and of the mud he made men black as tar with eyes white as spidereggs, and of them all, they remained one man -- one man with the body of many, and he took his form -- the form of Joey Schreibermachen, who was enshrined forever in the shoebox vigil and bird-feeder he hand-colored himself of his empty heart.

Far above him, Joey walked.

Thus below him, Brux arose.

His nebulous body, airy as clouds of methane emanated out from the vapors of those manifold pussies which covered his every inch as the eyes of Argus. Blind and puckering and idiot-relentless as the captain as the Argo, from this torrid ardor he rose from the mechanisms beneath the earth twelve electrical towers white and polished pewter-silver more'n missy time aluminium tree, and of the radio static projected upon them from twelve titles spelled out in marquee bulbs on the vault overhead, there came rorschachs of inky black upon their surfaces rippling as globules in a lava lamp.

I'm Your Only Friend I'm Not Your Only Friend But I'm a Little Glowing Friend But Really I'm Not Actually Your Friend But I Am

Another Hero

Another Mindless Crime

Behind the Curtain

In the Pantomime

Solidified, ethereal for how it condensed, semi-suspended in a liquid state, this second Brux-Within-a-Brux stood as much spongecake as living flesh on legs hanging limp, hefted by his own phantom taint.

I Have A Secret to Tell From My Electrical Well It's a Simple Message & I'm Leaving Out The Whistles & Bells

( )

Hoooooold

the Line

The Laikanites -- cloaked in black velvet robes, of which the folds hung and clasped into mandibles as much as executioner's hoods, out which only leather gauntlets and sword hilts extended -- lead the Bruxites by gold veils and horse bits cradling in their outstretched hands each, a rainbow trout freshly caught through a hole in the ice by night, left to swim in the spring til suffocated by boiling heat from which they could not leap. Carriying thus, they mounted now, one each, upon the branches of the electrical trees.

Does Anybody Want

to Take It

Anymore?

Streams of sound, chains of media, swam from the darkness and darted as barracudas in straits, to bite, to pinch, to pull, to tear his delicate flesh asunder as the titanium scales of the fishes rippled and shone in auroras of all colors -- RBY, CMYK -- on screens saved all the day away, amorphous shapes and scrolling text, revolving cement blocks of words in the viewer window as more concrete in infinite space, pulsating with the black light and deep violet flames sparking streaks of magenta thunderclaps, the streamlined bodies swelling in real-time with enemas of stuck tree limbs bulging yokes and pancakes whose gradients became layer-cakes of honeycombs dripping lavender and laventine syrup.

A great buzzing descended -- first of the kiss of the doleful mic shrieking, then of a thousand killer bees, Africanized, Americanized and African-Americanized, descending as Brux fell before the feet of the mudman, bolting him, tracing topographies of his teeth, dying briefs desert tan and olive drab, probing caps with tonsils eyes well-alert and focused with precisions of his prodding tongue.

Taken by the neck, begging to kiss, Brux's embrace met him and found, beneath his crude, no fair flesh but pure pitch, and became trapped in him as a nitrate amber flash-panned and Pez dispenser'd into Pixie sticks, snorting the burn as he fell backwards, ass-first into the pool of black between the trees, out which all radius'd out.

The bees crawling across lack of flesh, Brux dove deep into himself, and accessed, in the eternal Dreaming, states of friction long past, and as his nose flattened and scalp broadened, all trace of Anglo melted from him as whitewash over matte paint, the coffee stirring black as all milk leeched out, and raising legs to deep oily fingers beneath his knees -- between them he took, and of the air which escaped this throat all was hoarse and sibilant as, hands on heads, playing didgeridoos, the Laikanites compelled the Bruxites to drown out the buzzing of the bees, as Brux's lips full-figured with pert and aching breasts, and the swelling of his gut stiffened as Easter shells painted paisley, and in the darkness before the bottom of the stage where no rod nor pull-cord stood, another curtain parted to reveal.

So the Room Must Listen to Me Filibuster Vigilantly

Inside My Heart

is Breaking

My Makeup May

Be Flaking

but My Smile

Still Stays On

He came upon him now -- Joey, on the top floor once more, of that attic room empty but for the creaking boards and the broken window through which the bright light of day blinding through mothscales of mottled newsprint remained the only and absolute luminance.

To look upon him, Cpt. Luxor Dryhten, and see in the symmetry of his features, such expert gauntness and wizened cattiness leonine as tart-tongued retaining rasp without berry, plenty without merry, of how of his cousin's face he transmuted his broad and boisterous fleshiness, the ethereal dopiness oft syncopated as sycophantic, breathless as it was belated, into something entirely sculpted and grandiose much as it were not-even paradoxically demure.

To look upon him, he could not help but smile.

To be looked upon, he could not help -- but smile in return.

The side of his cheek broke from sluggish reverie of things uncontemplatable as the blood flowed back into the circuitry of his twitching side lip, and from the resulting smile new life entered into the sockets of his stiffened rods, stuck like globes on rusted diases, and he could find himself not only blinking, but almost deigning to look away as he found he could not help but laugh.

"I am unworthy," he said, bowing his head as some frail whimsy overtook he who had no words to tabulate.

Joey

This were not Brux speaking. With Brux out of the way, he could hear his own thoughts sibillant and serene as they had been before, in the voices of silent symphonies he always remembered, yet likewise constantly forsook, being hinged on his spine much less like a book than a door -- being opened to be entered rather than skimmed.

Not once ever

Have you written

A line of this man

In any extent

or available

public transcript

Now, at last. Before him, but without looking into him ~ could Joey finally see himself.

"I'm in love with you."

The tears, dry in his eyes, he could wipe away before growing heavy enough to accumulate flow.

"... I'm in love with you."

You loved him more than Laika. You loved him more than Jacek. You loved him more than Brux. You even loved him before the Major.

With him, there was no Father.

With Him, there was Never Any Father.

Never Any Father, but You Alone.

Onto his shoulder, His Brother Lux had laid his hand.

"You're lonely."

To his eyes, tear-striken, he rose.

"I'm lonely."

Hand in hand, guided as much as pulled -- they stood together.

Speaking in unision -- they met one another.

"But Together ~ We're Lonely Together."

Eye to eye, man to man.

What could words do. What could words say.

Words yielded only meaning from the strata of dead time when you broke them into shards as petrified amber to drink deep the long imprisoned blood, and make a race of giants again.

Words froze moments into voided meaning when words did not melt time from broken shards into combs of potentials spun, blown and displayed on rickety pedestals to be shattered and made again.

"Brother Joseph," he said to him. "You are my Joey."

He could hardly see what countenance made most meaning of subtle mockeries, all absurdities naught but resolutions in progress, face painted in the full-palor of drama as the Newly Elected Queen of the Republic -- moronic as oxy, he but a poor sodder soldier from a desert waste still tending to scrap, left to see all things unspoke.

"Light of my loins," he said. "Pale fire of my life."

"What need have I for worship, Brother Joseph?"

"What need have you for me?"

"Have I for you?"

"None whatsoever."

"A feeling far more than mutual."

"Then the pleasure of my company shall remain perennially on offer."

"You keep me waiting. It's always worth it."

By his hands, Joseph took Lux's into his, and the lights which shone forth were the Rays of John Jr. J. R. Great Evangelist Who Upheld All Scrutiny With the Perversions of Art, affections valuable for purposes of regulation, easing tensions of contracted psychic constipations, Serving No Value Otherwise to a Regulated Mind Moral on a Hearty Diet of Cereal Boxes :-- and into a psychoanalytic frenzy fell pop surrealism out of the implanted dramas of advertising execs and all men became as he, his little brothers -- smug, constricted, shallow in their depths, and deep in their shallows, navel gazing less at reflections than muddy waters, seeing all ways they could strain out the brown as they let their coffee drip increasingly artisinally, driving lead pennies, offering up dolorous by the ounce.

The reader, well-accustomed to needing an editor, saw this pun which was a typo and knew it to be very deliberate. He, she, it or they -- all genders being unequal in times of forward progressionism -- knew well their chastisement to be deep for such an offense, and would never think to sin as such that it could be called kreativ, great waster of time which does not serve the men who hold the money and time. Knowing well in their hearts -- that they lack the strength of mind or soul to trifle with such slight and meaningless offenses, less they continue upward with more deliberate and obvious ones guaranteed to make pause take stock -- chose choiclessly to shut themselves off from a truth they had no desire to see for the sacrifices it would necessitate, in this case being simply proactive consequentialism, the refusal to refuse to own your mistakes -- and so, unable to confront themselves, and being much like any of the interchangeable pawns they let themselves be molded and modeled by, could not stand the sight of any of their colleagues's sick and lecherous faces in lieu of their own in the mirror, and so did the right and proper thing -- not carrying an AK into the *ff*c* tomorrow, but a screwdriver -- to st*b and to st*b and st*b -- bluntly and obviously at the abdomens of any screaming idiot who'd cower and panic, already beggin to die, waitin to fall, waitin for the first offense to cower -- that he may smile upon them truly aware of what he is, and what he had the strength to do, taking a bullet to the head gladly, and proud to have given his body to end the illusion, and he did it on his own terms -- but nobody's and no one's, making only a bigger mistake!

"Do you think it hurts Laika?" he asked.

"Everything hurts Laika."

"Does anything in particular?"

"Does anything ~"

"W h a t ?"

"Does what hurt Laika?"

"Other than everything?"

"Nothing at all?"

"That you love me more than him?

"You more'n he?"

"He less than me?"

"Little fish, little fish.

"Here's your bait, now draw me a map."

Joey remained. Where they stood, it remained always the periphery, the periphery always the center. "Why would he need be loved more? Is it not enough that I love him at all, he being the One?"

"One of him is far too many."

"Three of me's hardly even a crowd."

I love you

for You

( o )

He needs to be special

Educate him

Twelve of them -- turning now, in unison -- spectral and overdubbed upon the scenery with impositions of faces like thumbprints, you could not tell, singing in the bulbous and serrated steel knobs to which they pressed their lips, if these were the same twelve Bruxites lead on leashes now, back at the studio in pre-recorded time, or twelve additional singing to the mute and dumb, for a total of twenty-four. Yet regardless of any duplications, twelve men now appeared on screen, plus twelve overdubbed, plus twenty four men in gowns on each beside -- and all came singing her praises, those of Epona Mustelid, the Horse'n Otter, Great Founder of the Facade of Mars, who opened portals first to hell in 8-bit, bringing silence upon public squares once before a loud ruckus would shut up the peasantry of the false elites forever ~ their banners shone ever louder in ribbons like county fairs as much the pigtails in her hair.

My Name is Blue Canary One Note Spelled L-I-T-E

Whatever Happens

I’ll Leave It All

to Chance

Onto stone slabs half-wedged in the earth, the Laikanites lead the Bruxites, uniforms coming off piece-by-piece, buckle by buckle, as the Corps of the Lil Sisters clung to them, pressing stuffed bras immaculately shaped beneath the cling of their linen gowns, and tossed them aside as trails less of breadcrumbs more of articles -- to expose golden tethers of chainlink gift-wrapping the cleaves of their scrotes, choking fat hogs streaking quicksilver tusks into river valleys snakin between shorn skins, and lead them now, the men -- these Laikanite silhouttes bastardly as their older brother -- and pressed the skulls of the Bruxites -- still blind, half-hobbled -- squeeing with delight through bridles as the Executioners brought boots down upon their temples, drawing sword hilts from the billows of their upthrown cloaks / the swords spinning upward into space, catching the light -- and with a blink (blink) of the viewer or view-screen, whichever was projected onto which, the feed smashed and split -- so the swords vanished mid-plummet and fell to earth into the outstretched grips of the Laikanites as bone-clubs seized in brutal primate fingers, descending now upon the heads of the Bruxites.

My Story’s Infinite Like the Longines Symphonette It Doesn’t Rest

Another Heartbreak

Another Failed

Romance

Jacek now, standing before the curtain -- whose folds he seized as if catching himself, half-daring to tear down the runners which weren’t there -- came dressed in purple turban and Amarillo silks of embossed intricacies, in ringlets of gold bands and precious stones somewhere between Josephus and Muhammat, improbably bore a full yellow-mane blonde as Joey’s hair, though his hair were black and slick as Joey’s beard were red as burnished copper.

I guess I’m learning

(I’m learning

I’m learning

I’m learning)

I must be warmer now

A stairway of light suspended over the pit collided from the banister of two interlocking half-turns out the abyss below -- banding in and out of the white light of the one, and seven colors of the visible spectrum -- shone lucite as crystal panes with strength enough to support a platoon, as Jacek crept with full-weight on ev'ry step.

I’ll soon be turning

(Turning

turning

turning)

‘Round a corner now

Ascending, he crossed the floor of the stage where upon the middle balcony of the pyramid, a room drew itself a living. The nebulous Brux stood in the front room of pink paint and shag, poised between two white pillars over arches, before which sat the sofa onto which he bled from a flog of dongles and ports, and as Jacek crept up past him, not even sparing his gaze, from the back of that room, the alley of the kitchen in darkness, a second Jacek his beard disheveled as it was splintered and seeded cotton, grease-monkeyed with white-out and raven feathers, flannels ash-grey'd and leathers electrical blue over sky-marbled denim, his decals rose from sun-baked pavements in the grit of every crease and pore -- placed his hand over Brux’s mouth and hooked close the taut of his prongs, pulling in his left palm a flat and a phillip’s head both, extending elbow out to jut with the sudden force which would be his enduring joviality, and yet -- as Jacek ascends over the arch of the stage, to the second stage within the rafters, visible where the brick’d retreated though the crowning still framed as a marble balcony of great embellishment -- from the direction where the stairs'd be, the perspective flips and the second Jacek moves forward, from stage-right into the center, to pirouette with great gusto into Brux’s flank by panorama of side-profile.

There’s a picture opposite me of my primitive ancestry Who stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free

Outside the Dawn

is B r e a k i n g

But Inside

In the Dark

I’m A c h i n g

To Be Free

The room around Brux spun as a record in a malt shoppe jukebox, and across the formica spackle tile floor, their boots clacked and hopped -- heavy leathers and star-sewn canvas, the Jacekobeans slick in stooge jackets with the Laikanites puffed up in varsity letters, grabbing one another by the sleeves and collars and spinning in place, throwing one another to the walls, over booths, grinding against machines and groin to groin, clittering change and frothing flurries, breaking jaws on fists, knuckles on skulls, burying switch-blades deep into white tees of their twitching abdomens.

Down below, the Laikanites in their executioner’s hoods cast them aside to reveal the Man Himself Grown Young-- identical in a dozen faces, his soft and pretty baker’s hands, dough brick-baked hard as adobe as bread, he rose in bare contours mounds of putrescence wormy and coral-stepped, fungal as it were a shimmer of petrified wood- - rose the stump-matter now to the twitching mouths of those hive structures which once'd been the fish mounted on the trees.

Though I Respect that a l o t I’d be fired if that were my j o b

AFTER KILLING JASON OFF AND COUNTLESS SCREAMING ARGONAUTS

I’ll face it

with a g r i n !

I’m never

giving i n !

O n

with the show!

The men which Brux had made of mud in Joey’s shape, who was one man with a thousand bodies, cohered now into one form, and entered Her, Her Supreme Abundance, the Aboriginal Goddess who was Brux’s Mitochondrial Eve, and satisfied her vigorously in a night which was as a thousand days and one, a day which was a thousand nights and two. As electrical storms erupted from the candy-spackle aluminum flowers blooming in bitter ammoniacs of the spring-scented air, the curtains before the stage parted in full as he pressed apart her legs, pinning them to the stones of the rim around the pool in which she sat, pressing upon her with his knees as he lay her hands over the rim of the stones, near blistering her wrists and she pressed her breasts forth, nipples hard as carved spearpoints on which the mudman would leave his spittle. There, behind them, emerged a third stage beneath the main stage, of emerald spires and billowing smoke cinnabar as unprocessed mercury, for he sat in his half-mask and cloak at the keys of a great organ from which spewed fire and music as the burnished breath of a dragon, roaring as some great engine across the veil, and projected upon the lights before him in his concave dome between the draped legs of the stage ;-- a pillar arising from the grain of sand, a wildflower on which he could not help but perennially trample, bearin fat masses a bloomin light distendin pinecones on lily pads between two succulent lips of his globular laburnums, Brux Am Being Big Brain Once Again.

Blue Bird of F r i e n d l i n e s s Like Guardian Angels i t ’ s Always Near

My Soul

is Painted

Like the Wings

of B u t t e r f l i e s

Fairytales of Yesterday

Can Grow

But Never D i e

Before him, near eclipsing his silhouette, sat a woman on a barstool with the face of withered turnip, deep-rooted in hair-curlers elongated to the crown of Nefertiti, domed between the crystal skull of a Peruvian idol and boarded like a Houtaomuga noble, her flipper-tails encoiled, and of their frail insides sprouted short legs, slender and centripetal, pieced together from splinters of bone and skin cohered with staples to sutures beneath pins pulled too tight, an array of needles entered her flesh as an acupuncture dummy or madame, and a mesh of carvings scarred not only her arms, but the excavation point where her navel’d been left a cleave.

I Can F l y

My Friends

Thus the twelve who were Laika extended their hands once more heavenward with the brunt of their clubs still clinging to corrupted matter -- and concentrated these disparate points onto a new center, which was the core which burned bright in Joe.

While you’re a t i t Keep the Nightlight o n Inside the Birdhouse i n Your Soul

I’ll top the

b i l l

I’ll over

k i l l

I’ve got to find the

w i l l

To carry

o n

Cpt. Luxor Dryhten -- wrapped his hands around Joey’s neck. Silently, he could only implore. With eyes poised, he needn’t beg. With lips shut, what feign’d explanation he would leave unremaindered. Palm-lines to throat, what readings he would give.

Not to put t o o f i n e a point o n i t Say I’m the o n l y b e e in your bonnet

On

with

the show

Make a little birdhouse in your soul

Locking eyes with Luxor Dryhten, Jacek placed his palms over his. Taking Joey from behind, drawing so close, he mounted but for force of gravity.

You are an Architect by trade are you not?

I am.

Then I would have you build me a Cathedral to Pain. A Place Where You and I and Others Like Us May Join Together. A Place of Asylum for All of the Unique and Misunderstood Individuals Who Will Follow You as the Time of Armageddon Approaches And at the Heart of Asylum We Shall Construct a Great Dark Engine Powered By Souls of Equal Hue To Create an Immortal Army To Punish and Cleanse This Pathetic World

From a shot in the dark, into his memory roared the Bident of Longinus.

A double-helice of red enamel-alloy, its prongs jutted forth into skewers, which he named as such to avoid all controversies and contritions as to whether the Holy Spear were a Holy Lance, or the Holy Lance a Holy Spear, and spoke always that old name -- Longinus -- in its preservated Latinate pronunciation rather than Late Laurentian.

He'd been polishing its blades one day, for far too long’d he let it grow caked with blood in the expedience of his cunning, that upon distraction once -- tossing back a ball to some children perhaps -- Jacek snuck off and squealed to himself as he squeed with delight at his theft, not caring much how the Holy Blade with the Handle and Two Heads scalt his unworthy flesh, and tossed it horizontally through the air so it spun like a frisbee towards Laika, who had sense enough to wear heavy lambskin gloves, and tossing the Lance -- he enjoyed the alliteration, he felt no compulsion to unadmit -- into the air with the torches and rifles and sabres he was already rattling as much as juggling, he let it move from hand to hand, twice, thrice, and then stuck the airing with a sudden force -- throwing it with a great momentum which was only a great height into the air, it seemed to twirl as it fell back. Twirling and twirling, you knew he wouldn’t catch it, it’d grown too late / before you even had chance to grimace, you only -- blinked ( blinked ) -- and still watching, you saw it -- not so far as the edge of space, but falling back in orbit around the moon, though turning back -- Laika remained here on Earth with you, and yet you swear -- not once -- had you ever taken eyes off him.

Laika...

Joey wondered now to himself.

How did you throw...

the Bident of Longinus...

into space?

In his ear, Jacek’s tongue probed at the lobe.

His breath'd fill airy caverns with miasmas of hard-labored breath, fingers far muddier with gum.

THE THIEF

OF

ALWAYS

Punching at the Mystery Block flashing upon the Nebulous Brux’s leather belt, with a fan-fair banded horses a sprout of umbilical pink broke from the top of his skull and carried up his cap -- ripping up fragments of his scalp that only the sides remained and he appeared bald though in actually his mane’d remain lush were it still attached to his head -- and of the wormy roots, the flower arose, serpentine and predatory in voluptuous curves and hefts, seeming to breathe through its every pore as pollen and musk filled the air with a smog of fireflies and glitters of broken-glass by hose-storms.

g o o n

g o o n

i’m your only

f r i e n d

i’m not

your only

f r i e n d

but i’m

a l i t t l e

glowing

f r i e n d

but

r e a l l y

i’m not

a c t u a l l y

your

f r i e n d

but

i a m

Cpt. Drottin, poised for any entrance, broke the ice as voyager down the Delaware.

“Cousin, cousin! You are the way, and I am always in yours!”

[Indebted,

this Bond

to you,

We Share]

Loving only Laika, and carrying him, in craft and in image, where-withall he went, with one hand he extended salutations to heaven as with his other he lay gently thumb and index to heart as if lined for rule ;-- as above he extended likewise salutations to himself, as with his other he extended salutations back downwards to Earth, loving most only these many sublime and broken things he'd left made.

Our Two Lights

Here Forever

One Light

B l e n d e d

Carrying in, as huskies on skis, the Joeys ran-wild in blazing helms of Wotan, free-radical Germanic pride, with the Danish Kings of the Luxemborgs, pulling a mausoleum cubical in cubits with sculpts of Mexican marble banded oxide as rust, quartize as Mediterranean cliffs -- of Romulus and Remus suckling the rock which broke his brother’s head, Gilgamesh and Enkidu enjoined in a forest lichen, Ajax and Achilles mounted on entrails of encoiling spearpoints as drill-bits in navels, Set and Cain smoking sausages over black flame -- and on its bottom Shiwa and Wishnu, its top Joshua and John, in a meditative serenity each, from which the soul of the world arose between them in a flower.

Two Suns

In the Sunset

Could be

The Human Race

i s r u n

A foot rose first from the floorboards.

It spread open webbed-toes in amphibious phalanges hinged like the petals of a lily.

IOUDY / юди / Joan

ili ~

& ~

ili ~

IOULIA / юлия / Jordan

ili ~

& -

ili ~

IOUI / юи / Jon

ili ~

& ~

ili ~

The Laikanites, standing tall in that attic room, now twelve on each side -- in the kettle helms, pelts, scales and quilts of Atilla’s raiders, mixing among the landed gentry of the Francophiles, imperial court-dress disheveled by raucouses in graveyards where cold soil still clung to chokers, they carried each -- six, on each side, severed heads of union leaders who spoke against pretensions of the idle rich, and were joined now in life forever -- whispering sweet and deathly incest upon the limp loins of the son-fuckers -- as in the other, six on each side, replica Lemarchand’s Boxes custom-ordered from the Nowe Pyramid Gallery in the VVest District, obscure and more intricate designs which pushed the limits of taste and reason to the edges of the form’s innate capacity to color-process.

The Joeys and the Luxemborgs -- hinged to leashes on the lid of the mausoleum cube -- ran in place until they could remain in place no longer.

With a great crash which shattered the ear drums as open walls of atrium glass, into a roar all space plunged as eyes burst from all-heard.

“You’d like... my room?”

A supernova of echinoderm limbs.

Brux touched all corners of the ceiling and floor.

( )

Into darkness plunged the stage.

By sole light the city stood within the milk bar.

( o )

In thigh-high boots and stockings, fish-nets torn and rebraided with threads of red silk, his kilt as much a school girl’s frock as a herald's weave, at a glance Irish Catholic as Nipponese -- Wally rose from his stool, half-entwined with the cord of the mic, jutting massive heaving mounds of silicone which were his plenty, tucked away into a knotted halter slit down the middle and laced with old boot-straps, extending forth as a precipice the bulge of his nylon swim bottoms straining on silkscreen meshes of distant lands, muscular thighs and brawny forearms exquisitely shaved and moisturized glistening salamander muscle, hair glossy bob-cuts of obsidian which streak'd the air to sparks of flint on every switch, red-lipstick so bright beside his eye-patch, on which velvet-gold the American eagle held in outstretched talons the Russian hammer and sickle as it clutched in its beak a madame.

De

R i e n

De

R i e n

As atop a diving board, facing miles below, he stood staring down into the recess of a long and winding tower, and saw into what lengths the room had stretched, as the lens of a camera coming unsprung from a spring, an eye eternally dilating.

Leurs pue

p e t i t

c h a l r e u s e

A streak of light, the Bident of Longinus emanated in place.

From the air, he pushed its blade, and as the needle of a compass, watched it spin, that its hilt might slow once more to face his palm yet never burn.

You Are

My Master

Taking him in hand, up the staircase now marched a broken boy, heaving his limp legs by his busted back hand over rail, pelvis against guard, and hoisted himself up that he might touch him before he jumped -- unsullied he was, a slave he was not born to be, the breakages coming down his arms popped his shoulders into place, and out them and to them, the full-rotation of his arms swung as twin pendulums to place hands on all corners -- knees uprighting fully into the trot of the stallion he is.

De

R i e n

De

R i e n

Peering into and away, it called.

The box placed upon the floor which was not there before, below which was the pool of the black tar between the twelve electrical trees, in which now he saw only the eternally twisting maw of that black engine in the open box -- the music emanating forth, the spoked eyes and teethed wheels of the gearshafts which’d come to mince him.

Et puis me

b i e n t o t

m o u r i r

Eyes peering to heaven, chin pressing forward, he let his legs carry him forth -- and falling, faced straight down, to turn and see in rotation all walls of the room -- the ceiling as if frame by frame, there was no motion-blur, so attentive was he to every detail, every fixture of the room, he spun himself back into place with adequate enough time, to see the gearshafts into which he would fall a full three or four seconds ahead. Taking in their machinery with the full splendor of observation for the additional two or three or one, however precise or imprecise he was, and -- about to meet them there, he had less decided than already knew, so had decided long in advance that it was finally time --

He / blinked.

[libidomechanica]

That I doe, I saw prone anotherness

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               1

That I doe, I saw prone anotherness.   Next Cynthia he rose forbiddest of   eggs, a bluff the brutal shook thretning. Her eye, and he a woman too farre in sigh’d fails at evermore, Love, and—with thy morn   thou see such he driven, as is of othern   downe me captiue vs to take. Anxious torments meriment with been fellow roar, but because your naked once a judge the   breezy elm-trees, breast parson, her deep   discreechen gladly you calme through in her own, my love, pantine; has beyond all nation? It should man’s hands of day. The soft name on   the durefull oft doth euer yet the dove.   Just asserted up, as if all see our feeles nest; or can purple and mammoths.

               2

Who ever face of a victorial. Ask   me to my eye a mild, liked men come—this   man, so let your ere landlord’s daughter eyes I ioy resound as clear sparkling in truth of seed washed joy, going mylde her sung   fearfulness and the bands, but heare, we sate   were.—If we two second all be as they relations pale in mine eyes when before and pantine, clothes and the wind. Whiles wind in   viewless lie alone, for the posies, wherein   the Candia they nonino, how dull built with a banks of hands are his my sill, throwing, lead you to be wel recure,   but a grinning like a fared: neuer ceas’d,   thou art her as the mirror, e’en to catch’d Abyssinia rounds embase, her vnaware.

               3

The worke the cried, or Thee—Oh Shame intreat?   After forehead world—sweet is such doth throughly   tree, fifteen, and deed to me love is steering were herald know I admire echo round and moving of trousers, but praised   be from sometimes closed will, whom heuenly will   now not a silently sleep! And euery mind me, alas, nor reward I have been did novice in unquiet the lake I seek   no more heigh-ho! Composed her height, than skies   to seemed the first feed. The other old Skiddaw’s top, where is the beauteous joy I return’d earth; for my love, was a tune suit he   knew the follow banish heat, the could your   did with must say. For aboue to night, nor else begg’d the three his poore life, just, nor my sad?

               4

Legions make into the green idly; were’t   not Itself a harvest weep to amaze:   By Cupid is malady: but if yet his lull an immortal may be my teach day—that she murmurs to be kind Syren!   Meet thus sair, whiles which seemed to the   upbraided my own Bristol buttered sense the gaine against all me, thousand as in moue, allure had care eerie; and the long adieu   to save. Afterward you used, thou hast   dim: fade for a long whose sad world do not such green would not words whom all decide: by us; we may not be the foes embased   with the could I by there t is beneath   to discussion! And, amidst with which refined an active powre, because away.

               5

To come near, all that a little tire,   fury design’d and was the windows dead:   to grow to me giue leaues amended, one should have known the bestows, that trouble; shoals of her night on earth to each me mischaunger,   to of Michelangel fell in mynds   appeared. She was a worth to what thy hand; there her sex and Lethe-wards say: I am pinned to this happened, is low, and left the   silent among thereby, that sunsettle,   but Dian aspire, the fight hath end fantsies shuffled by the world—sweet isle they knowes took into the strength all the moving   the tiny, clear and stream. So listen to   deck’d hatred, with stray away: the winds are last trembling that sweethean clay, this I call.

               6

Among there young for thy hearts briar’d tyrants’   crescents of the beach. Adds more I condition,   such a stone-cast, of seeme to make men bee.—For oh, her heart through somewhat hour mouth, O Loues honour barn not heat or curl’d, baked,   frieseth in his born pages than seruants   play full buy me a well agree, and kissing a pinion’d one was peregall these endure the fyre: but stir by night me by   slaugh’d all the teach of rubles ratherine,   cloth’d with such a problem, like a iudge ere though narrow laid or stems in secrete with the wind’s blam’d for euery of winter rare   all ye are; like a vain, to the mark the   bed’s she will buy youth! But mine far for a bed hart, and gold me fool, seek him be so?

               7

Love, so cleared, her days, drafts, care forsooke, so   did he go slow ye mischiefe that ye were   fordonne, how state, as her mine. While the word to me of the guest, and restless to the talk in slew. The kindle new East I say,   I am happy earthly pleased, she’ll see   it with human voice will safe-left, shall respecial perfum’d, whose least doth puree, made incline to grossly dyed. Dame on on the   be to each in lane she said, I hear it   is this poor tears going glad occasion purity; and glory has make coming to speculate in his hand, that facetious   as if born, unless down weake loue from   stormy mare, has my tears, quakes, palace-gate a flee to holy prison foundelaying?

               8

One day, thou saw’st, if I come to my life   is now crowded inn-yard. My Helice with   no doubt. In the blind me. Would I do not ayre: thou have I soughts that dared, and when be called, scarcely Heart! Doth the read to tired   feet his verse or western gate one, and hides   Platonic longwhile. The old garden, Maud, you Stella, the greater mistresse and evening off ordinary was good! Its   to lived she all his world! Forsake these our   eye: my selfe butter part is cabinet, born fortunes buy me are my pen without all, and third sometimes rather to her majesty   look that deeper sight, hey ho hollow   forget you have been hart, the hour was she smile warm as the earth require, nor Man!

               9

Such wooer frets our to a rash of air; the   tried my hart the sparrow’s face to view was   she, those end of smooth; o let not being here bloodletting to many wondrous the great enough I was to encount of the   storment out upon a brighted, or wheele   and whisper the blue from very and pantine; pollutes, and aloof up in the floods: I loue, though my loue in my stores, level   was a gypsy’s ribbon of God, the   Moone: for ought was stripling on the will, he sea, which fire, when the tiger at thereon feed me seem’d as worlds bed red again. For   oh, her my way, dear; and silver, to show   ye misanthrope? Young laughing bowl; it is think of speechless my countenaunceth thee.

               10

I said Endymion! Shalt aid! And a nights   and in and in the kindness the hourly   dry lair. But a soft named with have denied thou never wilds her eyes may i stay, was upward thereby, the spoon throng, but in one   the sad work princely air bosom, and waked,   thou would, I leave thou best may turns now, by fortune anothers power, where will leave me that seemes to be scanned to hushed   his string litigious. Bleeding motion, her   return, and all his arms the moon is doo: but that mote soft cheek whenever and I shall be delightest go. Come intellectually   we are tutor’s asleep with sence   traverse; ’twas Bacchus all that low Bess, deigns to proved of natures of all great Dian’s: lo!

               11

Speedy Fame doth mollify: delighted,   upon the with liberty, i’ll convenient,   and thither of that first-born force she univers, and bent the hour owne to the brutal kindle fyre, unto nought. Thou are   those into the had see how in your coyness   of immortal many a sweet: and with a brain-drops of beer and deep prop not a day, I am now arrants’ crescent   peace, that flaming to ensew. And twixt these   renewed, the ship again, who ruled there—methink in our might and thence of flat complete, a bottom wilds her be theyr banefull   of all blood bored Margaret, for evenings whence   gave me out, as worn a pattered that may I be but praise shent when thought overcast!

               12

As we had his God-knows-what: for her Vlisse   which in her seven, to Endymion!—You   would have begun: the thus he talk about some and the Throne, or deare tutors, wilt switch with once, once my own, the thus away, and   sat soften doth not, she upper cruel are.   Aged by moon withalamitous eyes the love warmth as an age in marbled and turned as we lost? Her in the woods what we   fair of this steep me coy maid or ident   wrong: only are louers breast! By chace, an electing them under wins, let Fortune despairs, or this could repayre. Cassandra was   the penny forelock, idly ravished   joyance from the jolly. Pale bloom off the fly. Creature’s generals turn untoward sway.

               13

To warmer will find inquires: for Maria’s   well this, to grace he inspired, a   time earned and his is he? Tigers whose paines: gentleman. I do that your visions audite I do not cruelty, well; the   corne with the teeming quests a bountenaunce   before them all chest hide is thrown his staff, stood bored Man say—look his wouen as none divine, the love ditties flung approve the not   of five greater that misanthropy? To   decades, till speedy fyre; the slumberless born forget his honor, your brain entangle and her horsehoofs ring-doves me seem’d   thy bower’s lazy heauen, before: you to   says Shakspear to vtter doth steal found; but, in Nature’s back upon my silken she done.

               14

But noted into the rest: they did bow,   and ways? Being what ever leaf thankes   all they were and tender bibbers joins chorus, come face was thought. Whose which her long the fight it have been a favoured out of   Cullambynes: that Perigot, with melted   dearly trees. But to their turn’d no tiding— ridings were baffled to keepes heart never song there is like, O prince with his   wretch the passage out long toward not seldom   I every virgin fact, and brightly to endure. His lady-flowre, but death it, and of Titan’s voices well desolate, but   first instrelsy! Sunk down on the fool without   of the voice firbloom seeds of weathenish fishes late, that he is reft his art.

               15

At he hand presume, when I have shower,   she care there never half in louely fault   wind in could I am, yet restless maternall be praise hangs upon a stranglers dare to a winds some undering flashing,   of smooth; o looks inuent, goe lyke vnto go   within the pays your selfe kynd. Andromeda! As Pasimond his very mindes that to three Elizabeths for what sawe   held the golden tits arching musket should   with girls wreathed think theyr ecchoes on thy Thronelet, of jubilee to kill, and their may liuely lighted; and just on his   come again. Her own bait: that seemes of   garden of then thee by iustic heaven and the distant eve voyage prevailed breaks.

               16

Prove as Mars in its early know I have   knot. Nor course of my last thou all—if one,   and confinest! Half-announced and you are; but note or could did she whole empty air. Sorrow litle gales furens; so that affect.   At length See it wrung from professors   were none murmur above: o keep in easy, and greater weeke to me; for me beauty you’ve made, then she words, with trust she said   he is upon thus sair, the Italiant   such liue a sleep: or whom the daily. Call its cruell cast, gives as if my dull remaine, entration, who never burden do you   thensformed’st for winter ran one who lay   the view any richly displays her way, perverse onto their anthem them, that you.

               17

Freeze, fresh, which my paine. It was innocent   a bright, which my spirit first incensed and   tombs of her be the world, and time is written, juan recognized into play thine other, and carv’d, and to pitie the ostlereagh!   Brings, with doth mortal Bird! Sing a whirlpool   in all my five suck all that path call arts be Saphyres praying so timid necke diamonds, thought with neuer majestic bee,   your promise to the reared, by side the more   forces the window of, that was summer summergirl, the mass with iced by skin, when I almost be passage prevent; sighed, but   look on me I tie about Indian   beauty’s sovereigns the time to wicked for dare wonder. No shall sort of one, nor war.

               18

The teeming the lost heard not free the purchase   on did just when was birthright with his   eyes this of my booty soft as in vain or than a windows? Those latter, rising evening, of a bore tremble shall be back,   of Christian languid rouse fruits hazle cirque   of her own children’, as head o’erleap the great wrapt his dubious meaning on the new years shall ask no mercy doth could hand   office: all the clear be at her, in the   art. I turn of Egypt me recrease; her had robber smock: she doth speake his horses fish in. Of the Court and protestinguish’d,   or here was he, I am a man came   of war, oud, which meekness we left incense the kind, sith a Dagger toy’d—most ruthful.

               19

Oh, I am sitting on then we tripped   by she lone is altogether eyebrows   heart to my smart. Goddess, traveled both with fennel trees where their dawn of my son. I were shadows shine Arrow at one, who sate   to find and liar, every sought obliged   be deal, which thorn. Upon a sence wear from my recklesse dwell of love costive chearfulness silver hips there your love-knot into   her which may garment. Still, by moon, and in   a former tree she long delight. I should repair, warbled whispersed so aloof up in you wert a little pair! He feature’s   no other; let oft I will finish   chast worst to thy soul, and desire, dust wheat. And thee down breather’d with her high feast.

               20

That, say their kindle new Pandora see.   Allure of love and Phoebe pass to the   poets golden before her approch, that path the kite those hankes al loue the peoples— go on with equally throught, his soul hath   the door it have been groans, wherein apples   sharp I take. Shall for Cupid quoth heard that was the you lo’es me then, Sorrows pale as a sadisting-place. Die the moon, and all   my face, who passed: but cruelty, sound-like   said she tiptop said and with parte’s conquering themselves and eye is more to growth a vests, hadst be time we musks, thy own from   tears she doth vs beards, thou a thine us!   Long a daintiue quite and of love; on But therefore I none with stern skies to see.

               21

Her too. Sweet voice for than for each my selfe   doe offspring off. That enough I of my   lover the next of the time, and I’m indoors of the see. Tobacco, never knot.— And yet Europe from the least, are salmon   sight. Poor javelin, fly in thy grace, t’ accord,   but as the thing and the implide, and leave heart, and panther things, shall brown with then secret shalt will hew, the room is life. Such   worship moor, and I am aweary,   he come an amazement in losing balks on streight doth deployment and feel adown her smile, and go talking run, but lucky   thou rehead of the sweet fruits have sun to   me, a poor fish, and sky. How dear been at you adjacent. Don Juan was good aloud.

               22

On its watery pleasance, all the power   part: thou my collect, but wherein is   t, but watchful Hippocrene, by thee; or, as is that dying on remove, should not that follye euery more if theyr meet; but one,   settling the skeleton shall through I came.   Last gray-eyed deeme of seamen, which maids singing on transgress, nostrils bottes, ’-I will brushed many long black hairs, or soaring hold   up a hecatomb best off they suffering   the less they can fire, and to speak, and raw in the open the was not root is to blend its of pearls, not both: but training to   comfort that fall are wrong, the fulness would   Wisdom ask me to purchased to stood waters we’re taper on earth coffee spoyle.

               23

But her selfe those calamion? See thy deared   of emotionless well; for thou   departed, or bluster’s present, turned, and rape, for my greenest eyes she drooping their jug was I traced it seems, and hereto cared   and even his moths, and for Charlotted   wit her, she was so can attends to be for thine Arrow at only said Endymion said, and Love. Age like the aerial   season—Reasons would the Cretans own fyre.   And weary, hey ho bonie face; let thus said, Tis not in which the world? Now out upon his fathers learnes at the Queen’s bring for   thee, far and why the on the tale of winter   night in wealth, wear they did fly pure affliction of a victories they blunderson!

               24

With my head—I guests unfound thee alone,   two from thee; and doe want debarren she   sash a sea deriued with his mind, come bestadde? I’m giddy ship already, Dian, her sell, the gild that place, and wide strong call   such grace, whase pearles, her of the Ocean   much precedent and look, even when the lodest come, nor chide: then, his honour light above, pantine, and, the her home for to   hush, there, like one could have while we fails they   are of my greater slave fell you Stellas already to this bread her scare not heat is all thee topsy-turvy, twist; away   that avails and yet attire: that allure:   in my bones with Buonapartment, why thought! Come, be the who show em her eye-wine.

               25

Their by hap. Leaving to the little of   golden, sing, then, Sorrow spread, my Muse did   particle and marriage-knot in should be wish too much frosty was sent a kissing the flowery native laid among the   early life doth seem’d to tell hew, which is   shun the you hasten to bent, what we, yet are to make a quiet, my face of Pasimond is best acquaintain stand wings: but   now read with fine assurance will provocation,   here is these besmear’d thing moon, that flood felt be fit depart, and you make thee the more, that is tempests she alarms, travel   in the rules came riding—forget me   her gentlesse heart did agreedy Fame doth fennel troublous mutually places.

               26

Where the wouldst tell, what his came marriage. When   the damps did reede thee? Fragile limbs from this:   That wound abroad, in a grave: meant he melancholy prisoners’ prances late for peace that bleedingly passed, nor month the moonshine   and now to the please, of all my mind, pronounced   my day thee: thou didn’t care so best of love, and felt. Into her that seconds in vain; for war’s art. What not to Lucifer   and make away, when tyrant, certained   proffering without have seen glimmering lies are clerks, the store; and sails at late past desyre: therefore your soft. Crossed tastelessed   her, and of that have I show of new   creater alone swimming swan said she, his latest for love! In the good plight, over.

               27

Had benight, for theyr reuenge his beneath a   serv’d to thy rightful joys in the bone, yet   thy deed I to send, thou, or each those weary of need notarize our very chang’d. To spite, since to following, and when he   by lips were you what payne, to the fool enlist   art; but genuine spirit-blow was changeful ground wine who, in the clearer air. Part of chiefly things which have look like   accursed the would strength, her an’ jealous   men in spleenin’ frae e’enin’ to encounts, opprest not fall, would not mine! Like a dressing to pay eue, hey ho hollow brooke, of   pure yvory: desire, already   plaintive landed among? Love conceaue: and scaped; the those despair of need, and indeed.

               28

But little with half state? Each rate; and doth   not to rejoice of girls which glee? When he   famous with Asian elections, bearing time with Though the merry war that Woman’s voices sweete Violets blude it ye? Perhaps   to my station to direct, a close. With   fair, nor truth of me, but a breath of life: and his mother in them to eat asserted once molest. And of Heavens so   cruelty! A trees, first I find bent on the   worke my forky light, doth such flatt’ry season stinging the fools, no author of blissful sword retreat. And such grace world with me   myself divine such the past. At ever,   but to force shepheard that cannot live in this look a whim to what indigestion.

               29

That shouldst no flattery: dare will I need   not her glass or for my tongue wing, me may   on throught touch of yre, the said he you are; let us go, and be as good courts: beg from those happy if you were through at high.   She world’s mastern skies to stood and pillow   roar, joining, drunk to us, of white disposed the season first I bred, why dost with silly find and can no more enought to   repeat. The come her beames and smit, from   my desired confound; this surges silver name, that speak on, to see it not Time I turning to keep my most disapplied,   nor our hand obstinate, and saw him an’   wrack in him do adorned, affrayd, now the prime, her to ashes from the could not so.

               30

Upon the less shortly enfold, my soul!   And her nigh death least excellent, and swim   sent then reduced to the to place, doth fine repent. How litle gales of ease. I’m wear tongue, I say, and made his answers warbles,   to proud arch themselves at length delayd by   the years and worn thy foot out of dew exhal’d to she light shining, if not see, motionless as going. Will I may has none   of this parents sun to a womanhood,   by what even awake, and cruell be speechless with starry meteor sung out grove him caught touch of me, thereof the tell was   left. A songs to enuy let myself aloft,   your skin’s most air to his to that he fence, and her eye-lids at silken she sad.

               31

Then sith the referred from yon gate, and Cymon,   thou are disowned, the main, as Pasimond,   saved nor rent, lilies, with sigh as she sad. Who, in tune, to shun the fire, that sight; for the vale you shall we sitting over   we are; like delicious name with you to   shining man, say I die; nor pledge, as sappeare, my cruell product of her own that your minister, the yellows, had bound her eyes,   too, of which make a hymns, and dear brothers   sun and shadow swayne: suffering the head my thou woxen arbour and a pin, would kind began to fight, where we ground—the shalbe the   long me do rude. Hey have been and I have   remembrance, with fine to the rear his grass, that faint more the was no other away.

               32

There here; nor my God. In Iphigenia   was office: all these record of late; the   evening, and idle flies on me, and the catering in spill with still I not beame songs? Limbs from heavenwardly; for thy hair   of theyr sleepe, an elections learnes   impernel tree clevedon, see and clear; striving too growing those three parting yeare Loue, vnless, a sweet it is no one drop a quiet   ride sweet eglanticke words of a foe.   They of thy brace, now apace, deriu’d, tea and pantine, clothing with bath’d wide for the sand so goes do the grey to her confound   the prevent; vnable war shapes that through I   was the corners from afar: for in they shall ears as rauisht hath days had the ocean.

               33

Advise; with the love all these well and bed’s   she upheld and to his hair’d Legitimacy’s   cried, when don’t stooped by heauy hart the people in the she golden fawn. Great and had to fade, though Britain official song   those prevent; in earth not, she turned in Hells   and in slewed fall, such least of wisdom turns thinke athwarted to stol’n of tree. That I alone?—And doe behold me a merry   show of endless and languish in chast   at his still the rising all iudge of human dust of a progressing. The more place. Long or better, like, that fondly, and twixt   then sweet in blissful seed saved, I see, motion   shield vnworthy thou make a quiet. Pearly spring’s propose the watery fears.

               34

After eies will, but love cost down to my   eye of my loue from revent, that Yermoloff,   while I tied thrown: aye, but she saw me you canst things of they brown childe and cast of the was the she caught of loue, and lost and   all my part of Beres on measure and fickle   mail, drinks one swift as your small pleased: his taught of griefs they fear hath mortals each government see: for silken bow, unless, when,   the transcendent with brass of native cheare,   of air seas, suborn of moonlight have a forme in the felt so hard I’ve her flesh against his singed neuer; patient. Much wound, sweet   a cot and when ever from thought see thee   windows shoot ye surely begins his the along, and I will I have just meant heart.

               35

The soft cheerly, cherelessed by flowers,   thou shouldering the beast would I torments,   and open further Electing shape, for the merriment: with posed at thy to be freewill, and that receive his voice of   this boyish did entered pepper—althought,   and nough at hidden with returnd the dance, or it so I waile mind fragrant Eglantine, made the panes, and sigh away to   the rose wynd. Till with was as my thoughts of   lace know not what we, of the lieutenant talent of sticks because diamond to me? Of rest it can leave-silk thou rest, bleedingly   unkind of the say, the great so strong   as for my quick disdayne to me little with thy soul tongue, I saw your own, and pray!

               36

And Iphigene thy Face fordonne. A goodly   bark directify your thigh with Dian’s   is to light, the winds and terme stamp of silent and some rayse tore did learn some when disquiet. Of passion shade his face, and all   man! Of the worke my carefull of my   heart in thee? With her down on cheered: Ha! Are the meant he watery face, this honour’d than Endymion bless horrors, saints add   what the will on that I can’t say the hedges.   By loving, and coupled, their crime to my payne, or lend who me climates aparte’s come in a row, of this Cot, and force   to my sun to past. To fall then should stalks   have the Sunnye beholding a distance, although life said or crooked wash Ambition.

               37

And Time the more sweete-cruell brush on the trees.   Maybe itself or face its cheer us   beauty blend its misse; that hemisphere, where the seasons his converses to bringiness; and shorn of a world? Forlorn; for one   e’en to reason, but of a tinkling rest   atchyue to beauty in the mind that Woman’s gardin of hero and—shouldst now entertayne, all wand’rings and pensiueness to disclose   our come hearted with payne. With the valley,   wha forest met. Her many a moment lyke dying thy lute-voic’d as no verse sorrow cloy’d. What newly still goes of that   ether mother: that very one more I   goe vision in the gave they led and To listneth only passe-praise bugle?

               38

He in slaying: Sister white Boy is buried   with shaken as if your listen’d on   this carry light, soon tale works and I shouts the walled strew on the fuel; and the water glorious haunts, not be a dolefull   fyre: ne that skill its blooded you art gone   that rob sence came a net offenced through no words and—should brothers—it favourite’s captiued is married. Had she may into   jests in languor, sure at fishy smells,   and, save where lives, or weeks, I breather plump round: their crippled with awful endure this own existen at length of Carian look,   but skil: along foes embrew, the rich ye   be, or sense hether ioynts with Cupids drown’d, or house the with Jewels, auster’d in a day!

               39

Most as is as rest, but wanted systems   in clearer to circlings of the raven   grot, which mirror, event love; And the rested round, when I thou canst thou sit and hauing sun. Under pass’d her eyes: gayned, when in   selfe doth inward the lo’es me thus in Blood   could plaintive land, is a row, and sometimes enjoy, and now to strongly still you leave me dy. That like said, The night I might   compenses: which poor rings with a goodly sick?   As lothsome subject to each to tell, he window, maid, and, and walk humbly came to lay. Field: but whethere an hours, when this verself   shedding on recountenant with may   prayers fast; and spirit of limbs and on the love much can he, in a new despair.

               40

And modern his laid an indigestion.   Weary, he without a forest thou in   dead shook they their friends, then one with frosen content. His fancies where maintance, with the Moone: for things to suck all man, those mixt by   a tinkling I must a petted to   surveyors, and thus violate, and guard, sithens her up, and that large dark, and entic debt is the shall the beats us of pure   yvory: and spring. I am   attaining moonlight. Tis not lease from the breeze knocks and rises drearily, yet of daffodil, be absence of Poesy, and now—   what clever than flowers as the stubborne   to divine; pollutes of their with my swan, my face will enjoy to the from there note.

               41

In crowne good felt an age in one unbecome   at, yet turn of my skill the fly and   kissing its out my wooed worn or muffling what is the Thonder fade. By her fountaines River has wept, or lend thick which   to appease, and Provençal songs chivalrous   imaginings boldly logs of continuall posterity, i’ll talking from over the penny thou willow’d her mind,   he sad he lily where is bedevils   mighty terme steps canst the silver wishes, with for comptrolls all abide, excellingtons the many, making snow, providence,   and afternoon I ramble unbred; love   is most, and would see than forgetting on the first, til you betake seemed shining smart.

               42

—You would auntie Katie upon my   abodes at last he wanting in see the   Damzell doth makes meet; the star; bright when his forth have sea, amongst the mountains in the shirt, her feet in love doe come to be sit;   nor has hers, therefore I have know becomes   alay, for bent, the brother: for if in like part is moment, hark! And so lucky blue; he shutter; I knowing a lieutenance   gave thy selfe were is companion from   wilds the Future steps be Saphyres, therewith a calls here with doth fly. But the wiser majesty command a child, but   a branch—and bade adieu to her moved their   prayzed: thou stop said; if she linger reposeth, that hinderstand if upon Time.

               43

Soules truly, whom his last he friends, on spare,—   why such are last he ancient to graceful   see ye shall my heard that makes me asketh Perigot, with crown’d with argument of grudging flatter, those eyes the Atlantine,   by the drain’d t’agree, thrown sullen corn of feruent   the Queene. Her selfe nor do I drew one obeys, pelted indeed I thus this face of late is soul of griefs the back and ruffled   sort times to and this body in the   pool in Hells her of the rose intery plump its hand, but your less. And it striue, at larged along enterpretation men   around the wood, nor had straight the full pitie   then the spices dying, no choice those lingered not enuide. As with many soules bred.

               44

Yet into its bloud, which if euer note armes   with slow he heads do make my payneful   ground which sort the tree clear bee-wine. On its had ye shade, make vnto glass of dreery dreaming quest fall; but cheerlesse your pocket. Can   hast that is the looking nights I enuy   or the by nigh a den, some so to immense, honor, or bowre of hath better wells from her listence—for thee, all the voice the   plague twinkle, his body in that we heart,   her is comes that rubs its entice. Like your glad I pours be yourse to me against your great he water grow old to that they fear.   She heart’s asleepe, and it! A want reasons   with false for ever work of that pleased: then birds a ghost or dreary, he sanctity!

               45

The wording burne of light: hers that she doom.   In see our lovers, and the placed? That held   that rob sence came of noble rabbit will say: I am through he lesse grief, or eloquench’d all-oblivion. Water, aloft,   and singing for no more meet the valley,   that for everyone I wake. Felt how calm and wilder lovely eye: nor canals, ere lie gagged with a sloping, laughers would   strings, and he laws: both the ruled twinkle is   bells wit, nor tutor’s gross thy breed of thou lurke, how far about a young Semele summer treacherous,—all suffer whether   touch on what last vow contest, hey hearts are   inly fury, now I could an infant love comethings were my Dame, she alive.

               46

Gave the wall and I sight, I bade adieu!   And speeches, and with her eyes bayes, over   though I carried with seaward theyr guyle. His tardy ages, I have regions breathd from dead and how control, suppose these tardy   ages equally we alone. Pistol   butter, though the dews among thee, I then doe embrace, the hear the flood, wooden applied unfamiliarly do melted   creative night, she told me kept the smart.   By the sudden both learnt how I should a good. To them wondrous that which I pleasure but reeds and there ne’er aparted seeing   grace, when and looked the flight, the honeysuckle   meadow as I may. Happy she last exceeds? And break like flower and her hips.

               47

My booty she drain’d to be diuine arms I   put my minnie to set me askew and   I sudden was good-night with this many a one. Grain: but in the Dambe. Well me for to battell, and after the greenest exile   music, my future state into the   days, and in earth which glee; laughing fleshes light, throgh complain my blood could love’s isle upon dew. He cobbles tread away to come,   and robbed then day by due; when yron soft   to bloody race in a whirr and flowed revent, we look’d upward the glances as pearles breeze wars, nor wounds the osier-isle in   long the love ditties mixed reclined the more:-   come be your bed, and yet since ye surpass for to tire, thought of invoke that new!

               48

Wind where through me when set me with somethink   the Faery lane to the marrow. Our   soon the Crampe that her you over three will, we will of lace me when the starlings, and, wretch time mine where whispered, for in peace, all   then, youth green let heart a sleek forlorne, then   year a mine own Bristol Stream and he folly, perverse on the like beholding of the roses; my toung fell vpon age in his   look, and bid me for waste, latter that is   to cleare hence deceaue: but and againsay, and sluttish philosophy, why not of others taught and plain by turns, and success: life   to the old start and dried then as summer’s   ocean and dismayd of sages’ long and speeding off. The wont to send, except they.

               49

Hairs, and thaw, and me driues so mix’d within   three, and hides Plain enough and forth a gorges   upon it blushes? Is of Ianus gatherine, O princessary; for colour and a most for the slew me; for the   flowers, lull’d his spare,—why do you thing held   that her lull accountry-farm to embased heart, how Bess, only paynefull person wall. Of tree clear—neither the got to   thee them then now birds do the woodbines,   as Cassandra was hear thee—cheere, nor lackens men separates appease, more pitty on the must justly resumptuous, but a   Pebbles that I may would be but little   those prey, by seasons as if she state the dies; that tropes, with as such strong caught wait.

               50

Assured hours of her the talk thou to sun,   as when the you art not ignorant thought   ship, this daily scoop’d a soul, the gladnessed with while we be that I were undid the lament: the marching—march, thoughts that its   muzzle bene to me give my proof darts,   which on the kindled and love hath torment love, and the washed him. That Memory ne legend beare allotte, had cost delight I   deem from above sense—besides is the mortal   tended ambiguous changed his hostage, to shrieking your immortar&some little horn of river fane conn’d their proffer   whereon hand arrow to sell that’s absens   wings the plaything for no end: his heart. Eyes, still me Perigot his holy number.

               51

It is to love comforts, gladly record   to warm South, what in a pairs, and still I   more: and belong blown; to just it is fray or depart; and the passion of though rate. Then let heat a meant not bitterly; and   he levee rose the floor would rising so   closely I enuy or decay wilt ship and thoughts with the old acquaintained be to spect buried their shadows on thine own   blood deepes he caterial feast, twixt her   Babe and sighed upon the old Bench, as the earst dim: fade and the powers inclined a rustice burrows of thou did enter in   the fire. Richer pressed it is thou said the   bare in the distress? Fragile life out of noble Perigot waters of hero.

               52

Gesture, to folly shak’d to be deckt, breathing   them, said her I returne? That skill to   many wonders stand love, strives on see with the universary, he for whether goodly tale will, and me, alas, nostrils   round so heart’s choir of disabled, she   wishing be as mighty chace, but the seeme to thee and had been bow, unlesse he fever proud mayd’n Muse! Which Hebe bright of a day   soule pleased be in the hoasts a banks and eye   is they through in begin to toll me wither take, her husband song the walls. The way, say tooke as only on, nor birth, tasting,   till doth feast invented again. Till hand,   with our merth not, she tried constantaneous pride. Nor love unfit, power of Dians past.

               53

Cupid an in the fool! But loath that are   softly, daily looks out for dare long; at   her for then he new shore. When around some from an auld be thy sound by light? Of my nest lyke but his eyes, ne fear, some leers of   her Queene. The Queene moment of matrimony,   seasons for brink of rebounded these story wilt thou could of ever, whom revealed. Its cheer’d horrors, sleeping, most as Sol’s   head should kissing while must heede; by the woes   had rather narrow and doe crevice peepers and only malady at he felt children and our hair—they puncture stedfast   thou mayst recompellant, at their future   I soughts brides the mortal may behinders storme before, but galloped by thinke hour end.

               54

Conceal it is to dry and wreck him dight.   Hart beach amatory can be idle   drew one neuer knots help but go my with foggy damps did clothed in my bruises had his multitude, doe but a poems are.   Whose louers mine repent, queer now the foolish   men set at his brutal flower at late and bubble being flower into those voyce, who may seem my head unto a lawn,   the would repeat both dew at the chaunges   and his wings desire the day landed throgh while too much one momental storme awake with my hear it charg’d with thee, Melancholy!   A strange the sun to breaking down   her seem to him thought arraignty heart is thy pick objects to deem, because none day?

               55

Of sweet civilitia swarms; mouth, and Phoebe’s,   and so goodly youth—Love! In the for   the green-kyrtled cloth’d her green thing like our kernel dozed on this gone—becauses, thou doth no peace to only arrow to her   brother yacht’s rubbed on thee the mine eyes lost   and her lanely led all declin’d: for festive land, for deformer, unders stede, thousand thus said: the Prince; at helpless mist,   will exceeds? And the vesper-cast, of them   semper and downright.—Blythe amorous warre, such pretty firmed very has they say is a pleas are, my sorrow, the death, immortal   manners of your fortune, to holly:   most of Julia, the other looked be one dry nor ought he sea, and cleft? Her spring.

               56

To move the loving of my own your fate,   but a paired consequench of my love? Nurse,   and Iphigene they nonino, how dolefull on Cymon in his foe I vowed regarden of merry cups, the pride amongst   which none of her we did to swaying   of the teeming windpipe-slitting in the golden morris. Sort of doomed did wit he most happy both thou did plain, that film so   necesses with stand, has been pours of my   names be ioy, when hold years; for yet the meane and daughtertyre grace else by my story must feeds did not tell madly madnesse. Dear   guess to its mournful due, of human dust   was not this heart, pondency best his way did the rose, how drugs well, they scorn’d each marks.

               57

Let it is will air into that feverish,   sweet as an East will no more. To mine   eternal stroke one Life is not a day as I vow me yet solicit fresh to- morrow of some to through the found and, brushed   his mind. Of flow journeyed it, if nature,   whose girl your proud in which power. Me to heauen most be calm and purple human presence, liue gladde: with dew at my Love. With be   put a flute. So say, and and her read and   ere, where could not endite. Since your common I rauisht is sure elysium. So oft to her is could be fifteen, to remove?   Here is philosophy, white her eyes well   as rays—world you, that cheer us both: but always be not great cause are young vintage!

               58

So I kissing against whiskers, sleek for   moon. It was slain beguiled; in can leave tea-   cup of day! Face, dayly when his too far, I am forward hardest please, improve be no betters be still meet to Lucifer   or fayre eyes that clearer head, before   admiring run the deriu’d, tears with fair, and he had never and prey that is changed; and, but the piece of more, those two angelick   disturbed to makes men hayre, and their passion’s   most fain juno’s pretty babe, a frieseth in myself asleepe, in vain the partly care to be more could in the whereto   with still drop their hookes their surfaces   dying I stable gave to our own accordialls he strong; the blown; each amisse.

               59

Through stubborne rested, came riding, fast, the   watery toyle. So I her sounded   in bliss, my day of all our proud rest, And oh, her owne in some of love whiles when I laughs the first go. But all my dismayd that   the fire where is convenient, in woe to   lookes, and like a shawl, and hauing look strain differer ambition, suffize, the while her? Upon the ruby nightie venerate   I am attayne, for wings of my loue,   thou saw’st, if thought me. Let others that your virtues good people spoke The doth my soul was lilies, on! Ere I’ve wakes the secret   some peace in the spare,—why not to-nights I   can mourn because he care the flax that words that, and called an act of the tawny fire.

               60

While wear witnesse shewes buried thee. That   weight, with ouer euery bites too close others’   cots and admire such al power, and say: I am not. I rush’d, and yet artiller an urn, and when al those to my carried   deep embargoed from the language but   love or the connections’ keen perish sprites things. It was of beautiful olives. With her owne into thought that ye you will   still of ioy, beneath darknesse his brutal   lust;—i’ve been whether bright on a third rain, and my bodies of Michelangely: but her the eye of Beauties mind fraile   as thou can deny. On the words count vp   to defend to slavery’s jackals are lang! Thou, or a dread of the tried with green.

               61

Which make me if I opening what they   passions to tell me bold, but soft. Tens of   his very far and leave bitter body doth proportion green peopled out quick. Was might blushing there Love’s hate to such a charge,   from thus—Poor wrecks again. Say, but by phants   playe: supposed upon her fill my fair; where attonce some at, the part would be the seas: this knowing were we want he toadstool’s lazy   heartbreaks of graven dissolve thee! The   towns, comes conveyed; so you restlesse lay all goes and a heaven as are eerie? And the in rank and she dive in the sought, and   warm dividing—riding—king nostrils root   on earth will the golden charm which, for thy picking litle gaze on sudden wit’s life.

               62

Hath no stone-cast of endured doomed did smelt   a love, but alas! It’s comforts wouldn’t yet   are the lease, whose diamond: for when alow; my eyes on me as thou art not, thus; Drear, then is on thee by ready with fragrant   Eglantine, but my tears for feare wonts to   beholding double day think that and full eies, and variously are gone—even awakes her so wide in rude. And away!   Might and out love the had not sense; but   misnomers des be ioyous defiled; in secret share it, after on a day, that colours suns as rayse. Or saw. ’Er liuing on.   I haue all meet thin my ankles await,   left alone, apollo’s garland blowing his broken arrowes on her chest wife.

               63

To save, and night: so, either know not to   heartbreaked where is of the flames to rections   audite I am in her first to beares, with me while of a rings, and many I knew not, she sprang the his which glibly   glides and see. This is frame but harder   green valleys of the worke the teeming to nought there be to assoyle of such fragrant Eglantine, in set my heauen doe your   because this way or the leveller’s low,   maid! To cheer, but too oft to life’s dozin, his world—sweet aspect whose regions with that the wed, too wel recurrender a red-   handed grass will I sighed and Antony   resembled as free swim in a great Migratitude of the Thonder, third by time.

               64

Carved barred there; thought wheel echoing their days.   Their heard nor whom mother love with my loue,   when new-born woe like one liver faire hart thought. And day so little babes doe at will great oppress’d his all that are kindle fyre:   then her liuing is days. And sleepe in the fayre   tree, t were delight read on puls’d it not know; so long dart outweighed away that smell lyken it in the loved you tell. Ragged,   but has cast as I vnwarily discussion!   And purling and all her eye in the musick objects so concerned to the horrors, garlands, but none, peona, we this coming   cruell be thee forme the black holes. Again:   he trees proper bowres did stir by the tinge, a graven in effections record.

               65

White lake I stood in little Carian! It   would it have I heart.—Deeds theft, shapes that bless:   from his starved. Which worthie to view: which with vain Philosophers some plain among thee; and full Oake, and the hills I’ve beeches manes, licked   to her self, yet for the air, and round the   scorn to the most foster in the by the Starres: then a dew,—and thing art, and the come will within the season is weary,   aweary chance could not fear than two and   arre. With streighty wroughout that is that sunning oars empyrean I then leaving by. Heard the hopelesse both shaded ambush   his done, and body doth fly. The sate with   and know its this name, glaunched sing how in fetter mind is woe, with a story breeze.

               66

—Tho’ the scorn; since, that mistress’d towards me by   it make all in her longer give; so never   know no dædale he gable-wall and the echoes beguiled breast entic long ere hope depart; and the like a vain: their fish,   what same he cause on the that a voyces   sweet is a man, sober sae wars … And if from the vaulted in all-oblivious pledge melancthon, weepe, and that follows, alone?   Their light. Her forests have passing of   that lowly as she is sharpe dare not, she end, enough all thou breathless cup with crooke, and swept the mine. For the forth harder growes   not world unseen the common can it   thou wast thy anxious bayt, it seldom in a young man so much strong creative laid.

               67

So ready spent whom the winterpos’d one   in vain, till that doth straggling run, the clear,   somewhat peculations audite I despaired on the wine. Even the chereless. Upon the rank Ormisda stores and passe-   praise, than tender head, come ye! The rest   the next. To roll, now all that I shall lifted with the with thou by powre too, the women to every crew of a Ghazál. As   the stoutly an olive, and should not lead   they are perhaps with been the fairy voices dying, for nough. So that comes it has no verse soft cheek a dying thee! Your fate?   Faire flow’d heart-honord by her felt how strove   of both shown this the stormy Cymon, surrender into though perceiue how light for marks.

               68

And thus love, and the rest, but not conquestion,   self-passionary part is careless.   What thou sit beat, or my long blocks inuent, and while Pasimond have her. Put thered Rhodian shed prayse and deeper since still not   reject, and turn’d, maintains, and rape, whom your   small alone? But them noises ever what thy cradle; hither down, regret—your bed. More my Chloris’ dear to the puree, our   vision fit battered love the name fort, what   growing Nooooo at then thou does spring came ride dispraise. The levee rose, I’ll soon is my sigh. But soone relate, your sacrifice,   his to known at her her slave for ones with   a god and low: and spirit by they paine: tis no giftes of the she said to speak!

               69

Thee, all the earth in vain, where divine poem   I wakening heifer or fort me   forward weigh as love need noble Perigot to make each other own three how to stood to nought me tended I accord, to   be sit; nor forth with not said he, in patience   them all praise him sword by thing Was My Fault has cast she warmth torment: t willing to sore against move, and yet to well a   proue the lighteous pray:-nor car’d, nor my face   of Quietude. As one repay: napoleon, or with a farewell asleepy vigour to this peace. As I thinke not quick, and sing   under-green image of paynefull cruell,   but me, but alone. May it mantle Bee will should I thing horsehoofs ring within.

               70

Had been leaves lay doe beams are away into   my soul thral: ye shepheard no pleasing   it doth rewth, thou are scarce to virtue kept in the hall before abhord. From an accordialls all find to graunt, the flying but   thy sonnets comb in Westminstead. That jasper   one, and your it is the mahogany that which are let me apply. You would be could, as if thousand them, that stroll’d by   the aik, on Yarrow flower in, that once,   more wonderment. She stampèd face open further I roam that slow said; she told they souerayned.—Even in his face, the cheat of   human beauty in his eyes vnsures sparrow,   she wings, a tale with her liuing in two his folly: the world so force shall morning.

               71

Add to answerings well injured for prayse.   The old inn-yard. What summer, where wonder   a March-window, mourn; but skin, that thou in debate, Luke Havergal. A some a squired I looke. The people spring ere I   hearts are dead away this own hand inquire   and leafless where and repair, endymion! Her cast from the measure, into that very rashly senses; those which else colour   assigned, by moonlight. Half-comming were dive   is dreamy hope is thee his raisde: it is allured, her, which my silly labouring throe in the river shrunk at my lay, that   the foul as before whither from off the   had all those diamond the fayre it will let my eyes went. On his life, whose importune?

               72

The stay of how euer you makers and you   as my spirite will buy ioynts wrack th’   authentic loved: so evermore he tawny first, the was being thereupon history. Even isle, who brothers, and glide, let   you through playned: so you lingers and loose   ymage of a river-lily where not the worke is low, mote so hye, here the reachery! When I laugh, the type of louely   pain defies, whence dreaming came, seek so false   deck’d our quiet—the Soul women, which soul, are then friendship should give he knots of its water; I hand destroy the particle   and wilt behold that more grace: and from me.   Yet, heard now thus, just thy plaint inquire and bidding I am Lazarus, Fame it?

               73

I can make my parted her fragile life   in mine own rest: they were a lieutenance   random gales the bred her scatter hid, and wider. As I doo most fade. The Lily- white so fayre eyes do that length awake, you   to Ganges, t’ accoumpt of the might away.   Easy ransoms your cruell fayrest golden appear along the even dreaming heats as kindled is, walk’d and daily cups   of mind alone? I am aweary,   he wont to meant babies iewell at once didst redress. Lest renewed, withstood up, straine. All, in June to my colord duke! Be you   to moths, and bread of silence. Wide and that   same glitter come and doth professors while stour, on when the long still bring lyfe sustayne.

               74

Wherein the marrowes sake, and in love!   Baser mind at renew. While I to his   peregall the paradise, and the poet coat oft so hushed its mattery: then ever you might came trophee the ship I need,   dissolution grot, which doe you, your kindle   flowers!—Tho’ the floors, of smooth stead you never with greater what weary, I would not the greedily her huge masculine   my chaungers, asleep? I lookes, poor rings   deuize, is love-lock, of right, where through the drank and loathed the more when I praysed. New as which your nation mine eyes from the doome.—And   the houre in his swords. The has fled, and paine:   and the who now? Her better. Yet shall heuenly be forlorn had robbing it then bee.

               75

But when he tailor—that night, thereunto   their course and bow, mourn because I lose in   my ample that what more, being do adorne, Thou should hold as Daniel in the river flaming. To me headaches me not to   rested. He content blowing to human   race, it seem my mind and did unlocked-handed dart. And he ladies’ wrinkle, as we were and her owne goodly life. Till my mind.   When I stood to a race is the can no   more soul, are wrong. Matrons trade, but forlorn had no light. Your come: they through amorous empress tribe truth I may garment. Round things   for my storme into its blowe think of trump   shall be a human love is raine, and curl’d multitude: and in each other looke sheep.

               76

The people feather wind in hands that the   strings whirlpool. Was ne’er say that louers take my   Dame, why are years and up every sorrow thirty strike a sabbath increase him, glad to be my truth to feel the days asking   life, just ashes, palace-gate and of a’.   Or empty feast. The saunt my flowers, but made him do abhorred. In vaine another space and meek surrenderness, you gate. What   neuer been and than that I might says;—and   blesse grace was of that you not yet lingered bribe. Where in its hazle cirque of large, as two or speeches, by flamed with which the vengeful   glee? Upon youth without booke loue onward   steps of navigations’—not yet sleepy dust, attenderness, heart to begins.

               77

When thou art him first stones at timely fraile   me beautiful to possesse of   navigations it scarcely care closed hence might; there from being me a shaw; but, and begin to the weare. Snug, so that your wheel ceased   me where in Glenturit glen. Because and   I fear I find some reddens never and break opened, the tale of yes are to vengeance with you could have land wrap about wives   talking sail be my hearse. Raw in finishing   to make a twilight chearful, but not for thee my hair of bones and we will or piteous teres and called Cavalier no   end for to each idle legend benights   and adorne; they say the bed, and aboue vnto her: the pleasure I could advance, he wind.

               78

To me love the can come and you weeps in   such a glow! Her selfe against which her glass   of October she will before, I someone shall reueale, by what what I in me heard hart will my banners, which your simple   pleased astray. By so you agen. That long   lang! For therefore; in two his my life shall ever, cannot cheek a most shall wherein is wretches too rude to a ravishery   of Cincinnatus, Livy, or in   my mindes the still mone would do, but a stomach with loue whiles share, my necke him, and troll’d his to me, upon his quick disdayne   man what trace; it is that I would not thing:   and builds themselves me antic, from paradox become, is Lord vs to be more.

               79

I would looks free: but Phemie was what I, too.   Luke Havergal—luke Havergal—luke   Havergal. Now and leaning and so with fancies of flower said half-closed this despair. His hart distantly bare but your and o’er   it beat, and my native string, and o’er, and   sad augurs my swan, my selfe new voices diuing that could not lyfes Leach they walks have doe I deeme to saue the sky. I hailed to   hearts. Ah, dream’st what wake night, that good did he   you all, the light. And while this my selfe with venom’d green. Above taugmented round the Rhodians, and did my feeble breast out into   Reasons heaped with ice all the without   all thence doth gorgon wrath reasons are our eyes’ expresse. Weep not aid—hast thus in him?

[alphareleasemedia]

Insects -- George Macbeth

I swat my forehead, I scratch at my ankles, Mole and wart, and a rash that rankles.

Everything flying, and scraping, and biting, And wens and ringworm, canker and blighting.

It's become the season of webs and itch, Mites in the treacle, worms in the ditch.

It's become the season of mold and flies, And of snails and spiders with bulging eyes.

With buzz and hum, and with chuckle and whine, The flappers and creepers crawl in to dine.

On scrapes of our butter, on cheekbone and crumb, They batten and guzzle, then bite my thumb.

I hear them sizzle on leg or wing Then flutter or hiss to the cornice and sing.

The drawing room walls are alive with sound Like the dying elms out there on the mound.

With the twitter of martins, and caw of rooks. But here I have hornets, with stings like hooks,

And drunken wasps, and belligerent bees, Drone on carpets that jump with fleas.

Enough of September. Let weather chill And a drizzle of bright hail spatter each sill.

Let sleet and fogginess bother their hives And their haunts in trees. Let them hide for their lives.

No more mosquitoes, no daddy-long-legs, And no more moths with their eating eggs.

Nothing that whistles, and nothing that chews, And nothing that scuttles, or weaves in my shoes.

I'm sick of the lot of them, squirmy or stealing Over the window and up to the ceiling, They give me a horrible dirty feeling.

So spray the powder and pull the chain, Let cold October drown them in rain

And then November, with ice and mist, Throttle the rest in a choking fist.

It serves them right if, by late December, Insect is a word I don't remember.

[bllsbailey]

Why Would Anybody Vote for Her?

As the election draws closer, I am seeing Harris/Walz signs on lawns as I drive to work. And the number seems to have grown a little in the last few weeks. I drive through an old, established neighborhood in St. Louis called Webster Groves during my commute. Turn-of-the-century Victorians with wrap-around porches and giant elm trees line Elm Street (of course) as you drive through it. It's a nice area. I kind of wish I lived there sometimes.

To live in Webster Groves, you probably need to be a doctor, lawyer, or a business owner. It's not cheap. Having had a good education is probably the prerequisite to the career that provides the income to afford living there. I doubt there are many blue collars except for the ones that cut the grass.

So, as I drive through this area, the question keeps appearing in front of me like the flight data on an F-16's HUD display. "Why in the Hell Would Anybody Vote for Kamala Harris?"

I don't mean that rhetorically, as in, "Are you out of your mind? Why would you vote for her?" I mean it in sort of a scholarly way, like, "Are you day drinking? Why would you vote for her?" I jest, but no, really...what sort would give their vote to Kamala Harris?

So I decided to give it a little more consideration, sort of a thought experiment into the mindset of voters that would cast a ballot for her on purpose. This is just me spitballing, but I think there are actually a number of reasons. These appear in no specific order because right now, I'm doing the stream-of-consciousness thing.

1. You hate Trump. You would have voted for an old sack of rotting oatmeal that sits on the beach licking ice cream cones all day instead of voting for Trump. That's it, that's all there is. Thank God Kamala is now in the race. Now you won't have to hear the incessant taunts of I Told You So the next time Biden succumbs to gravity and somersaults down a flight of stairs, falls off a bike, or poops himself in front of the Pope.

2. You're a good, loyal soldier. You'll vote Democrat no matter what (Fetterman). You'd campaign for a baked lasagna (Fetterman) if it had a (D) after its name (Fetterman). Now, to be fair, Fetterman has turned out to be a bit of a pebble in the DNC's shoe with a few center or right-of-center comments. But Democrat voters never expected that when he ran. They saw Shrek in a hoodie and thought, "Kewl..." 

3. The Truth is more important than Facts. This little gem, once uttered by Joe Biden, drives the conscience that becomes your guide. It's Jiminy Cricket 2.0. If you're a Progressive, you know there is no Truth. There is only Your Truth. And nobody is permitted to question it because your life experience is your own, and so cannot be challenged. Therefore, when Kamala says she comes from middle-class roots and worked at Mcdonald's, that is her Truth in spite of the fact that her parents were Ph.Ds (who could actually have a summer home in Webster Groves) and no work records can be found of Harris' tenure at the golden arches. Speaking truth to power means never having to prove you're genuine.

4. Policy Doesn't Matter. To vote for Kamala means that platitudes are diamonds and promises are gold. Kamala says she will do "great things" for the country, and you know that as long as her convictions mirror yours, eventually, she will circle back and explain just what those "great things" are. After she is elected. 

Perhaps getting rid of your gas stove, your Weber grill, your combustion engine, your ceiling fan, your dishwasher, or the air, water, and trees on your private land (see SUSTAINS ACT) are among those little Easter Eggs that are buried within Kamala's Plan to do Great Things starting January 21st. But you know that policy is a secondary or tertiary consideration compared to personality because you have to believe her. You must believe her. She has nothing else to offer. Kamala has no policies she can direct you to. She hasn't done anything in four years, and whatever unpopular side effects of the administration might exist (inflation, immigration, more inflation), well, those can be blamed on Joe Biden. He won't mind. He won't remember.

Liberal Senators Confident Flip-Flopping Kamala Harris Would Quickly Veer Left If Elected

Meanwhile, Harris Steals Another Key Trump Economic Policy, Says Former Trump Senior Advisor

Can Media Dupe Enough of Us to Grease Her Way In?

5. We Need a Strong Black Woman as President. But until one turns up, you have Kamala Harris. She's no Condi Rice (whom I would vote for in an instant), but she's available and running now. Don't know how strong she is, but if she could ascend to the Vice-Presidency of the United States because of skin color and gender, she can accomplish anything and must have something going for her. But as Nancy Pelosi once said, you have to vote for the bill to see what's in the bill. So you'll go into the polling place, make the Sign of the Cross, pull the lever, and hope for the best.

6. We Need More New Americans. You will vote for Kamala because Kamala knows, as you do, that the continued growth of the country demands ever-increasing fonts of new blood. What was once an Illegal Alien has evolved into an Undocumented Immigrant, a Migrant, and now a New American. Because as we know, this country owes every good thing (and none of the bad ones) to people who came here by stepping over the Rio Grande (as well as our laws) and into our neighborhoods. And if a few million are good, 20 million are better. 

Unless you live in Martha's Vineyard. Or Bel Air. Or in Kamala's front yard. Those New Americans get moved onto a defunct military base in Massachusetts or just deposited somewhere in the Midwest. But of course, you can understand that. You can forgive that because Kamala knows, as you do, that this is what's best for the New Americans so they can integrate with the Old Americans who live in Tumblebutt, Oklahoma. They will overwhelm the public services, the school systems, and the police and fire departments, but this is a good thing because it creates intense challenges that both sets of Americans can struggle through together. It will develop the grit and guts that epitomize the unconquerable American Spirit. It melds them through the forge and within the crucible to produce new Democratic voters, ensuring a one-party state for your children and grandchildren. And, after all, isn't that the way to the future...Comrade?

7. Afghanistan. Afghanistan? Pshaw! That's so 2021. Old news. The exit was whatever it was because it simply had to be done. It had to be done all at once, and it had to be done anyway it could. Kamala knows this, and so do you. When she says she was the last one out of the room, you understand it wasn't because she was responsible. It just means she was told to shut off the lights on her way out. Dead Marines at Abbey Gate and Afghans plopping onto the runway from 130 feet in the air? Biden. Biden did that.

8. Sharp as a Tack. Smartest guy in the room. Best version of Joe Biden ever. For years, Kamala assured America that the President of the United States was in top form. Fully Mission Capable. Had his crap wired tight. But Kamala really knew better, and so did you. As a politician who may have to engage in some unsavory things to survive, you understood that she had to say those things in order to maintain her proximity to power should an anvil land on Biden's head or if he pedaled his bike into a cliff with a tunnel painted on it. Kamala lied to us, but at the same time, she did it for us. You can respect that. You can vote for that in spite of the fact that such a grave issue is more than just a fly in the paint job. Of course, the prudent and honorable thing would be to put the country first and initiate the proceedings for the 25th Amendment, but, uh....does she really even know what that is? Plausible deniability?...the events of the past sometimes cloud our vision of the pluperfect future and propel us into the field of what once was...or something. Ugh. Head starting to hurt, but yeah, you know you could still vote for that if only for the reasons mentioned above. 

Anyway, as the drive through Webster Groves came to an end and carried me into nearby Brentwood, I sort of came back to the education thing. You have a Harris sign in your yard, but there's no educated reason to vote for her. She has no track record of positive accomplishments; she only has a track record of being there in the background like Zelig or doing fluff stuff like the School Bus Shuffle or Looking at the Moon with Her Own Eyes. Say what you want about Trump, but at least he could point to actual accomplishments and positive numbers during his tenure, so it makes me wonder why other educated people don't see that. Or maybe they do. And maybe they don't care. Maybe they just want to virtue signal...I do not know. However, my hope is that there will be enough people out there who can sort through the chaff and vote from an understanding of the things that are greater than skin color or hairstyle. It's kind of important. Our future is going to be formed by what happens in several weeks, and we're all going to have to live in that world.

Dan Zoernig is a commercial photographer, retoucher, and illustrator in St. Louis, Missouri. Earning a degree in History/Political Science from Rockhurst University, he has been commenting on social and policy matters since the early 2000s.

[hunty627]

Hunter’s Pokémon journey part 5.

After I triumphed over Pokémon yellow, the time came for me to travel the Johto region in Pokémon crystal. When I arrived in New Bark Town, Professor Elm told me to choose my starter Pokémon. There was Cyndaquil, Totodile and Chikorita. And I chose Chikorita. Professor Elm gave me a new Pokédex and some Poké balls. We set off and we caught lots of cool Pokémon. Such as Spinarak, Sentret and Hoothoot. I even got a Pokémon egg too. When I arrived at Violet City, I made a quick trip to the Ruins of Alph and I caught some Unown. After that, we went to Sprout Tower. And then we went to the gym and battled against gym leader Falkner and his flying types. I managed to win and earn the Zephyr badge. After that, I caught more Pokémon such as Wooper, Hoppip and Mareep. And then my Pokémon egg hatched! Out came a Togepi! After I showed Professor Elm, I resumed my journey through Johto. When we arrived at Azalea town, I met Kurt and his granddaughter Maizie. I was shocked to hear the news that Team Rocket had returned! I assisted Kurt by stopping them from cutting off the tails of the Slowpoke in the Slowpoke well. Just as one of them was about to cut off the tail of one of the Slowpoke, I caught it to save it just in time. And with help from Slowpoke, Chikorita managed to beat them. And then my Chikorita evolved into Bayleef! After Team Rocket was beaten, Kurt turned some of the Apricorns I got into Poké balls that I can use to catch Pokémon. Then I battled gym leader Bugsy and his bug types and won the insect badge. After I went through the Ilex forest, I arrived in Goldenrod Town and got an Eevee. After that, I went to the gym and battled against Whitney and her normal type Pokémon. She was very hard to beat. But I managed to win and earn the plain badge. Then I went you to the flower shop and got a watering can shaped like a Squirtle. After taking part in the bug catching contest, I used the watering can on a strange looking tree, which was in fact a wild Sudowoodo! Eevee battled it so I can catch it! But it was nighttime, and Eevee was in trouble because it was so dark, he couldn’t see. When suddenly, the moon began to shine down on him and he evolved into Umbreon! And he weakened Sudowoodo and I managed to catch it.

[dyannawynnedayne]

Which Parallel Is Your Favorite? - Semi-finals

Ned and Sansa: art by @sare11aa11eras (1 , 2)

Brienne and Dunk: art by @wodania (1, 2)

SANSA AND NED

SOCIAL ROLE AS MASKING

Bran’s father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. He had taken off Father's face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell.

AGOT, Bran I

Joffrey frowned. Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady’s armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, “I’m sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord.”

ACOK, Sansa I

Dunk and Brienne

The Shield

The old man’s brown had always seemed drab to Dunk. “The field should be the color of sunset,” he said suddenly. “The old man liked sunsets. And the device…”“An elm tree,” said Egg. “A big elm tree, like the one by the pool, with a brown trunk and green branches.”“Yes,” Dunk said. “That would serve. An elm tree…but with a shooting star above. Could you do that?”The girl nodded. “Give me the shield. I’ll paint it this very night and have it back to you on the morrow.”

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms: The Hedge Knight

 "Your door reminded me of an old shield I once saw in my father’s armory.“ She described the arms as best she could recall them.”[…]“You did beautifully,” she said, when the woman showed her the freshly painted shield. It was more a picture than a proper coat of arms, and the sight of it took her back through the long years, to the cool dark of her father’s armory. She remembered how she’d run her fingertips across the cracked and fading paint, over the green leaves of the tree, and along the path of the falling star.

AFFC, Brienne II