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libidomechanica · 4 months ago

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State, nor when the rudest peasant smiling on him

A ballad sequence

She told him, soft and loth by brains she sung, it seem’d the foremost in the Wise to talk; one that drink a drop of rainbow. To go, and yet I seek with gomen is your thousand Moslems perish’d—his other he hit semed, ne non euel on nawþer hales in at þe lorde hym broȝten, for where she stood, and sing all Things entire, would understand? The poets

of Selefkia from the second wedlock. When we saw of passionate hearth: but young Lochinvar. A hundred arms and his purpose of þe scowtes skayned hymseluen—his colours all in all, and glent with his hode of þe chaunged his passion, for all of us this batters, and forward to wood, he flew, aboute vpon bench hade belt and body of hate,

I feel so free and spuryed so long on every way. And ocean waves, where I, who that starves himself your camp: we seem wrong, and always makes as much rather hae her in humble manners frame, well staid with smiles no anodyne; give me once more a woman for the Dark? The windy jest had labour’d to say a thing which rain’d from her tower to kindled

soon as touch’d with relief; undone by one, the bard had reached to no such trial John Bull’s pavement— if it be sothe þat he myȝt haf lent in Annihilated glass, and every bole, a song on every limb did, as a dream, yet in contradiction the most kyd of your own footsteps—voices from him went, a hundred years she glows; mild as an old-world my one

sweet sake to the humour many a heart you may exclaim’d, I’ve lost but only moves not Ida right, deep drenched aȝayn with fugitive articulate, with baleful ardor burn, be where he could now a pointed fan of curled plumes let fall, thinking to quell his memory of what she stayed, and hit the old burst, new emerge, lash’d the Idols I have not thinkers

are at stake; but that large-browed steadfast friend to government was. State, nor when the rudest peasant smiling on him who had found us, and shine in sewe sauer to the years, that drinks and borez oþerquyle, compare? Love, or wrap about Horne Tooke, as acids rouse a dormant alkali, although far off I bear my fall silent, drawing on his way. He

call’d eternity, to other Muses chaunged for a draught of lips: but, as the found and watched away the absence to unsluice a tear; but see his tyrants. After þe swyre, chymbled on, to try. Nay, as hit fallez—and þer bayen hym to drynk of wyne. For ȝe lufed your lovers know. Spoke nor moved. Pensive, and the conflict with oyster-shells: streets thee greete?

As in a fit of Juan’s lore so white. Glorious to a pitch of nicety, wherein he doth for soþe, beau sir, ’ quoþ þe god mon schulder he hade lerned at his windows of

fortresses played in hert hade eft a ful loþe be more a woman, and we bot oure one engendering kiss: work that the bought, when, jaded, bloated, sated, thy long, too, who, though

he was as far from Latmus’ mount up to sigh, with Psyche’s babe, my sweet wild mornings showed he his wants weight, to he crush’d with morning in the world’s contray cayrez þis knyȝt, tyl Krystmasse

gomnez in his arms might be five, or Wrath consume me quite calmly held. Your worchip þerof, þat most hie, with words, the charm of women come and gold, such follies blend, was strook.

From his spectre of him here! My heavy firing are, shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a bande of þe rach mouþes, haldez þe fayntyse of þe chapel men knowen oute—and

bi trwe tytel þerof neuer arȝed for excused. He knew not what—and our daughters in the grainy dusk through Warsaw, famous, but not o’ergrown bulk, the motion: and layde on

his seruaunt to me; and now they love deep learned well, helpe me too, and þe masse, with blyþe semblaunt, and þe knyȝt; to hym I haf fonged þat hatz skyfted synne. No one else for their

sovereigns, who employed, no nearer that the death-hour rounding lovers had dreary frontier of age, and ruchched twynnen of a something—I forgets the dark trees,—he moves right had

ne’er so soft, cried, return, unhappily be his song in clamor’s hour. You knowez þe colde. Of safety, where yow hom to haylce, of her Moon a Year—while the young heir, to make, leude,

so lymp, lere of armes, of colour blacken’d, Man’s Forgiveness give—and take the snow’s daughter, something ne’ertheless t is sair; but there might be freër understanding done, o’erspreads,

wax less as she triple mace, which longer cold, but breaks the smart boys spurr’d fast in the chief worke, Stella loue. Ah, with stars, medals, and while we have we, for Caesar wore his. Will the

training; at other what this same segge, bot þat ȝe put on his harme, bot vnhap ne may he live and songs, who now at least to every kiss the flattered with the Fates were of a peach?

III

Of war; ’—’t will renew our buried Ashes such belief, there a face to be and Tree. Such chaffer and anguish in

hand, but they their cups they drank deep: and Bahrám, that each may breathe upon their eyes and let me put a padlock on you,

Mother, lovely by the death most unfashionable bees— and Wilderness is Paradise enow. In the human

lives began, through thunders grown wearied mind draw from men I built a fold for the dullest of kings, where she wakened.

Whence they need more than what he worship her? When all men, and bede hit to you; before hit forth at þe last scho con hym

þere al one; þe stif mon hym after with chere: loke, Gawan, woldez þou not fair, whom you offer, and the flashing eye,

away we stolen light, and so hardy in þis valay verayly his hede as all ruby red, cheeks like Catherine’s

boudoir at threescore; cure then unpaved stars and his worth destroy? If not, I must. Till e’en the day with her, right have

been wrong—a smoke go up through Hades, and every body shoulders of the turned at last, poor soul, assays, loving, not their

little light, till the confusion he himself’s so dirty; the sapphires, greens, and kissed it and therefore mine. A young

Leander’s face, silent now, but not yet, with ill-usage, when first heavenly ignorantly old, that he exactly,

she saw his darling be the last commenced to gentle bosom is the serpent’s ears, who preferr’d youngsters all in vain.

As much on one sigh, nor seize the rose. To gentle bosom flew, breathing storm; burnez so bolde morne, forþy þer stones; þe

fole þat mayn hors watz raysed is euentide of all naked, þat þe coke hade fro þis be þe grene chapel, for chaunce

of birth was talk’d learned to tender Lambes ytorne? A red lip with the friends, but that head: she nor signs: his hed of

human life. Of heauenly haueour, her new voice ceased to feel: in vain; the swift countering: that when I ride in a dusky

garb, appeared understand. Mary nevertheless t is said he was and constitutes, and alle þe wo on lyue

þat ferly þat knyȝt for her seruauntez vus to his bedde, and we schal sitte, so bisied him even to be borne blusched

and rather good threescore, were they might moon dropped. He wex as wroth with no more; nor hours, our eyes: what care I, whom I

long his pipe’s ambrosial gales, as my younglings cryen for thee. And Juan grew carnation to keep from eating ices, were

two parted from thence then, and body on the present was he noȝt deme with smiles at last year’s bitter peep out some deadly

quarrels burst put to such a Bellibone, and full- flowering with that I fear, her fingers hold the liberal Graces

long-distance calls it The Nighting a littel on a broken. Like at any daylyȝt watz dyȝt and death repentance

hath half a Scot by birth, and gaynly is half a poetess, ’ turning friends, as months the seat of Julia’s breast, and schrank

þurȝ þe ryalmes so bright bayonets which eyes and dit with their eyes followed, and once again but it is to be sure.

And as in I went. And I in duty will make us feel? And shudder;—while, like Painter with a smile of bedding.

I saw this save the very supernatural historian, you should press than catches. Of thy soul and wise. No

woman a’ her wings presently be bride to those that day wyth yow schal happe yow here, and he may hit, for faith is the

last, when I see Calliope speede her sex nor age in the Bough puts out, above, as thoughts of base decline and gef

hem all for Elisa, in her first I heard of Night.—Not defend. Leaving very glorious Gothic scenes—though not

exactly, she sank, and those who were lost, þat þe burne sayde: so god as Gawayne in halle, þe mon meue to-morrow

and that wild with eyes did they pass’d as suddenly, took like Mars and lively tone, as to honour, your hendely, and

kind, I see she can talk; and whether it ought not reprov’d; I knew that was wont, and severe, sublime than laughter loved,

that’s half as good, in taking truth to force loveliest Hero shrunk to do. After þe swyre to þe gargulun, and

thirty, in royall bloud full of high she’s bonie, O: the op’ning gowan, wat wi’ dew, nae purer is the child is her

own most trwe and thus the King roared make your eyes: what care I. Enmesh me, and ladies, willow bend; nor shall never look,

or speak without found the young, whose tender favour and his not two bats and sayde, Wyȝe, welcum þis ilk rake bi ȝon rokke

syde, þen may þe trowe. Alas, that the dead. That flicker’d as such trembling like these, in saying the world unseen; unseen;

unseen her song. Say, maiden from a bande of her wrong, I care na by. The glory to a table; let us go

and may her by the hand reached white hair of coolness plays: hither rennez, and fayre watz with great dislike to no conditionly,

this Gama swamped in stel bot on littel quile, I schal gif yow my girl remember for to brydle loue?

VII

’ Hardly will be time, the Black and roars, and mark with the sky is light words have ceased to take as knyȝt comlyly as marre hym hent, and ran before the Winter is out, that which augur’d

of the little captive gain’d. He dresses; tell the word. Flying prey, As boys that dwells in towered lea spread a fact—and t is impossible eye, that it is something voice

been ceaseless sunrise, dart: with lore. Fair Hermes thou vanish with a heart flies too high, while my eye, and groans; and the striplings! One Moment, as I here passed, founded churches with thee!

VIII

—If I should look on before here; þis is þe worlde wyth noyse. Don Juan, a mere quiet consoled by her he myȝt, and in

the Closet lays; then wait as yet had more impatient, and love the lawns beneath the brimstone of those who scour thousand

not one hour of greeting these poor rude lines of grene. Yet hiding eyes attempred to the Porter’s Shop I stood in tears

amid the Fates were, and with reverend fathers sank serene, the rest foes—converted Bowl we call so;—God may have it.

A breathes, even in the fingers. He touched in that incarnate lie, would see that you and I read. While, like a baskets

heap’d of amorous herbs and fiddle. ’God save his grace I should I presume? Which foresaw how frivolous a babe; then,

said that god of day. Forth cast; and such mistaken, o’er far Atlantic continue: I say nothing beyond the sable

frock and bleden, bi bonkkez and bray of the night drown all life shall matches, with fashionable month of June, because

she talked. No! Don Juan, thou, that depth bottoms of mine: but, when love a yong suster fer biyonde the taller grasses and his

son, thinking towers o’er his Head, and yet contented I: then will leave the springs unseen, but they lock the Door! To

dull even for slyȝt vpon erþe, sette þe schal dryue. Your frailties, and swearing on her first snowdrop’s inner leave to sloughs that

leaped lively began to lay, yet stared at the infinitely distant shriek for want of ties made little carped to

þe face of Man is blacken’d, Man’s Forgiveness give—and taking of all their bloodshot eyes, and sung to, when first to speke:

what, is þis Arthur þe hende heuen I hope þat louked at þe here with wolues als, and madee hym mawgref his hede, and

merely to yield her, Hermes thou should I begin with Carlton, or with ooze, and þe sted with truth not lyȝtly haf lenged

so long; the reeking water fro þe hyȝ and þy bur, bede me no more, to toll me back to command,—i’ll tak what

Heav’n itself can honour’s in abundance upon the scarlet ornaments and thought. Had bagg’d this; but the sky above,

as waters shone his want of lantern, Child, to light dazed me hider, bi lawe.—If I should she her face, lightly pranced

threading talk like Mars and crushed against the motions of shot and began to chace; heȝ with her will I sweep foam away,

like planet, thoughts as the Couch of oþer dere dalyaunce to quat kyth he became a hungry general noise of arms; the moor.

And whether both that’s great sorow to telle of ermyn in erde þer bot trifel; bot I schal haf al in his hande,

þat alle his hed in oþer, a hoge and he grange, the hunter’s at the forme wordes; gif me sumquat of þy gifte, þi

gloue if hit soth were not deserved prosperous woods, before the rays of free millionaire: no more she touch’d all snugly

on his way þer hym a leude, schal hunt in þe colde morne meryly he telle hit wele at wylle. ’ Her will I

quit the shore. With mony cler burdes bifore your sembelaunt, and ryȝt here I could not to be mingled! ’ And Upharsin,

’ which the whole of my fre, by might and magnificent: how, ever, when I the least act abide with inward, and

patriotism—albeit he was as independence, nor care a pinch of snuff about themselves and grieve, that

asking, hitherto he did not need him up and steak while budding Boy, or Girle, this caple, and love, I could

returning over the charmers, who preference between friend Don Juan, when the veriest jade will rise like a nurse of an idle

day, he wende me bihous. Let him down: and but this, and depreced prouinces, and majesty, she euen in þe morne,

and ȝet gif hym red to quench young man so absurdity, that he had heard she turn’d to lie as in a hurry, as

going at the fire, the lanterns, or as bare arms threw, and without of paper, my bosom, is Jenny, fair God! The

bloom in the skirts that they came unto a right and pertly he melez to horse highways of freedom and force the pain.

In sign her throat’s long, how long, in indifferent and topples down to hide. Al one. Mine, mine by a right, downed with rotez

þat þay sued hym ful radly þay laȝed he þe costes þat coyntly bigynnez. Of mony þro þoȝtes, how she

is won! Of flies too high, while he afraid, in offering poured from those passenger then his stanza Henry said never

known, and alle þay woned þeroute bi þe rygge bonez, euenden to home, þe auncian hit semez, as comes think me

burde hym with calm uneager face. Upon a time I stood about his crime, can reason was a goodly match her brightnesse

companions, and heard, in gerez hym to schulde no mon mynez þat rod hym gayn schuld I won’t weep! Which taught three A.

For to haue troubled, the morning sigh? We have light, the most trials must, the pale smile deceived. Newspaper; the fair Ellen

of brave Lochinvar. Of his mother, a good use. Dutiful than empires, and dies, each sitting those cooler shades.

XII

Some thither resorted many a lustful glad, and life, and quen þis foule fox felle— þe fende haldez, and how

should bide by those workmanship both many poor excuse, ’twas, ’cause he’d nothings below, around broadening toward another

still and would not shrink from brows as pale herself thou shall: tis shadow’d by his uisage verayly oure one his fere: now

I þonk yow, bi þe rygge after þis benche, and replied, tis Apollo when only take things fresh puncture, as the footmarks,

one thine eye is fam’d to gratifying hour: but if she went, full of sorrow and they battering life—he said,

How long, furnish’d with pity: even a maid more be found, nor, in the lea and rode þurȝ forse of a parted in sight,

but that my Lucia seemed a dream of delirious; some sweet singing, each doth smother outward dislike to linger

by the desecrated such things from her unjustly did enrich, he climate was dizzy, busy, and high. To

recommend the Cynic on some corner secrets to herself; then his own in Englishman. Let our winds kiss thy praises,

in sight, the moon should not yet in a Trice life’s a fine young race-horse; much as had never again would be dead! Your tender,

so shalt thou found their new tricks in vision, or a strange fits of them to strip your honour. Which foresaw how frivolous

a babe; then Deeper from wood to won quyle yow bytyde, and heuen I hope þat mote maden mony borelych

burnez tellen, þou wyl grant þertylle; when she rose’s thorn. Two roads diverged in philosophised: a great joy

of my lyf, leue vchon oþer wyth wele ful hyȝe to þe chepez. Calm pervades his blod, braynwod bothe, til Meȝelmas mone watz

cummen with apples, and mantle, adding wings waving. Watz grayþely ho laȝez, and woes therefore I eþe þe, haþel, how þay

wroȝt. For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and ȝe wyl a whyle, such comfort her, comfort to plese, þat were boþe vpon bent his back,

it happens to brave Tartar, twixt them all, haunters of the tip of your face—but you—she’s yet a colt—take, break of blood?

XIII

Which all Petersburgh: the bed a tent a stone-wall; and through Poland the fourth, most curious as the rest, or at least

vouchsafe me burde þerafter Alle þe los weldez neuer are; forþi for fantoum and friendships’ guarded nymph near-

smiling cheek, don Juan’s setting in despite till then what love you yet may spend with old picture is a living fires and

sayde Cros Kryst wither’d at the hero of this great city. So fully flash’d the head a Cremosin coronet, with

a heaven and crimes he felt to þe burde be excuse with all sorts of vast eternity: the roofs and ladyez were

wrang, iwysse, and lach þer hir luf, oþer amount—to meruayl myȝt on his pilgrim’s staff gave out green kirtle blue, as mortal

fame, which grow more rooted, as it went; whether the cup that casque, which when she rose-mark on her drurye þat day þurȝ al

þe sale richely rayled in his yrnes mo nyȝtez at hame; morgne þe gome metes, and compare with þat pyȝt in

his arms chain so sure: leave the gentle breast thou upon the rest had fallen in jealousies of this happy, if to

know whence they brim. That I shall never ran away, except cold wonder what things do now at least to all—which laid her

mind. Nay, profanation and fairplay for help as wolves do for a little friend, was whole as some like me, the sceptics

who would not yield her, was glad to be you not proude hors fete þay fel on horse laughs at your statues reared, the gilded Squire.

XIV

Others—How blest the Súfi flout; of my hous lenged þenne ful loþe be more and cachez þat oþer þat I wel þy costes þat knit ar þerinne, þat alle his helmets spray has

lately married? And reigne with two strings were scatter’d by the sweeps out upon this be so, the motion: and Look you’ cried my father, and just named, they missed, embrace though it were neuer

are. The powers! His children! Heaven’s greater fon, that I felt my veins fill’d all snugly on his tresses, the hunt rehayted þe bor were embrace them their wintry brink, like

David, fling their night stretch the taking up like a youth once so bytyde, and let it be as time upon their state shall commerce and loth by brains; and in the messequyle, and

creped with his sister’s bed, to chace; he tax’d his jaunt to German, knew as music from a farthest come? And that awoke in each other, and trwly me half-blind: I stood about

the God for þy luf þat I kaȝt haue; þe lord comaunded þe lorde þat watz not þerwyth, what you and man made for bloodstreams, the child is woman’s Angel Shape bearing no excused.

He lovers had a woman, let þe naked neck his back, except his for his cry herkenez bi heggez ful selden.

Said young years, set hir ful sone. Of what here it was, but t is the sown, where by fate. In silence; she straining a

yard or seen, because ye hae wooers mony burde to my fote, and swyerez comen þerto, policed ful clere costes, lest

felle to fonde noȝt of yourez, ȝet schulder he hit eft fonde. In heathen, Turk, or Jew; where passengers are strong minds

can standing like rain, which the princesses of the raw as quietly as a bright, the mother’s and eye’s sphere. The land

of all mould they begin to jar. Of Heav’n replied. So deep in any grounde, and fire, the lonely, vigorous, harmlesse

follies blend, was stern, as if facing a battle with the Boston Common on speed and sprong on a broken, o’er king

moon. My sweet lays. Burden in worlde wordes; gif me now and sallow fear, that which in fashioned aptly to tell court

kyndely serued, þer hade he no less, knock’d upon this of it, as I know, a man become a better. Heart of me!

Poor thing in extremes, stood for her tears—sweet maiden moods of sovereigns may we lerne, syn we haf fonged þat we say and

dusky, but a child’s a pretty child, today I reach around to the coals to blaze against such a pertinacious

versation, the spot, a thing rather than the presents to teach him greater is out, the chiefest Nymph and Samson

eftsonez—dalyda dalt hym hys wyrde—and Dauyth þerafter watz blawyng of þe wylde, and virulent; her belly, buttocks,

and patrounes craftyly sleȝe. ’St thy mother dies. In the dove was a nobler seat them down. Many princely

poet. The hills, the rugged founts of those,—mothers, who spared; the people far away art resentments levell’d weapons

such scenes! Hell mix with heart of Ruth, whereas blacke, like Ariadne’s tides, withinne þe welkyn. Was much as men to wish him

back against such things are in their plate; time for moe. The outside the very donor, rather gods nor mermaid’s yellow!

Of all payment! How little reason was petrified; he said, lest frekez þat charge, and the bloody. And, if more, each

other interest’ meaning the shadows where the things well lodged, but being do not removed far, and afterwards burn

rych, bolde burne to þat terme þat þay haue; for thou, were neglected. Fade far away art resent and better loved before.

XVI

Strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms; but that fatal shaft struck at his harnays watz ryche: þe lest lachet oþer hales

in the under thread-bare Penitence apieces tore. And so belaboured him in commanded, and base of Auld

Lang Syne! Get up, sweetest Silvia, wed and as he stands still more than what are changed, for so it seems, to the Hands of

love; yet your sale, but wept and fearing to the ocean waves, whereunder cried, return, unhappily be hid, as thou

so dear for my low stile to shield. ’ As they, beyond the gay bon-mot, or hang the self-same welcome the parapet appeared

under there, bot in syngne þat þe bitte bi þe bakkez in oþer, as is pertly payed þe chemné, þer ches he innoȝe þat

þou hatz fraysted þe better, bot I am sad and hopes begot him to the sky retires, bordred within, which such

as Wind along, and grace is famish’d for joy in the Fool. He clapped in a yellow, who expended all that he would

survey; just such bodies, felt like young Leander going to embrace though neither sides on the warning of what it

was greater pride, as is a pointed there, instead of compaynye þe couenants make. Beyond the sad, second son was a

Greek or Turkish battered and plaintive anthem fades that I do not knowing how much they her infant brow was bent, and

rain. And pulled the father’s eyes shall cover, and highland dresse, be bayn to ȝowre wylnyng worche! And your cort ryche. Whether it

ought not thine eye is my love as you may die glorious Lord that Midas’ brood shall unlock thee in the shore; for soþe.

XVII

Paints they fed not for her mother. And that is convinced the Tuism, which sets the truce obtain. But, come, and lusters to reche

to schere þe schelde, þat snayped þe wylde were. And now ye daintie Damsells may deem, too gentler dreamt, clothed in his oþer half water,

wayuez vp hys grymme tole to pole, and with Truth. I took the battery; but gentlemen engaged in armez con felde

þe now þy geserne, vpon Godez halue! Then thus he saw that yearning shadows wilt thou live and lyft half this same Garden

throw. While juice she less fight, that day it came to his sphere. The face of Lucy Gray upon her crescent all were hasped

in such one shall lean her eyes gave but seldom—sages never; tis pity that I would hope they at the hearts her stay;

true love, the huge bush-bearded Barons heaved up herself lamented and kneled doun on glodes aywhere, with all its

pearls the thornless was admiring eye, flying along the things upon such wages as þou hatz þe myry al day,

til I to cort torne; ȝe lende, aȝayn his duty, in royall aray: and with bugle he blowez, he kyssez þe knyȝt

comloker þat tary he ne dyngez hym vp and dounez, ne kyd bot as couenauntez a deuys þat vmbeteȝe mony

arȝed þerto tacched in oþer, for þere were the hills were made non abode, bot in his deuocioun on her lele luf

hir bityde! Of Satyrs, Fauns, and meticulous; full oft; and ȝe drowe. To quat kyth he become a sweet sister: ah!

XVIII

Of perilous seas, in faery broods drove Nymphs, that glitter’d in the sky like horse we hung, till duly disappear’d—the

thick as harbinger of ledez were ready. And was thilk same stately been the peace must blend whose sweet bitter horrors

of strife, the scene of champagne, with help of my desire after went Mercury, then bloody track, it happened that

is so well; and like a Shadow- show, play’d us many difference me, renk, to ryche golde boȝe of tuly and stand stream

embracements sweet bed of his hede, halowez faste, faythely ȝe knowe þe costes of keen remorse, to the town

was talk’d on a slothful shore, though ’t will had won. And bounden wyth yow sum reward the drooping to inquire into

the ocean’s form, and on fele wyse of arms; the more’s the powd’ry snow that can bind humanity—must make at

Morning through Prussians say so too;— and thus the hill-side; and I with my native land, and such belief, there will bring to

the hills where he could retains; and he did, was the buxom middle-aged ladies, save some fifty thousand to mete

with þe lyuer ande gle glent laȝed, and roughly spake came, as I haf fraystez, faylez þou go myn ernde; bot þe daynté þat

lofden, in vayres. At either good king: I took up my dream and a dozen, came mountains darken, a paradise

enow. She sank, and sorrow yet had more low, mounting quite forget her neck regal white before, since our time mine ear;

a shuddered, as doth a cry; himself;— if not, as banished by long fingers fine when þe couenauntez a deuys þat vmbeteȝe

mony turned, and now we reached the door. Watz in drowping depe, Ande þy matynez to his lufly her beames so loude

þerat, so lef hit me tene were fetled on a giant; at last, upon them, to the lea and romancers, that he

soȝt; and sixteen bayonet, and leave the greatest like a gipsy lately build some hunter’s depth, or want of his hed

of him who feasts, and me, would understanding! But wonderly depe, bot he hade geten of his stede stif men in þe

wod, er any deviation from them for a Prince, with bright the muffin whereon concluded that which were to the

dreams I slept, kind Nature had said, A loveliness and to the other Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero this delight.

XIX

But evermore he is. Sucked from my soul passage, and what it is winter with fluttering I know your precepts wise, her hidden face as þe dok lasted, syþen þurȝ alle oþer

watz burne bolde vpon fyrst bur as bad: Frederic the Grape my fading violets cover’d safe and surly, yet t is but in a grett wyse. A mode adopted since let loose. Hermes had

been and found he thrilling nothing of their ferocities caged. Thoughts quite forget her infant orphan went with her wings presence all silver bow sunk, and stronge. Besides, the other:

when many a stain, made epigrams occasion; deeming gore: there’s not a Moslem, who in a modern wit named after years, pale grew, it is to heare. We tease mild Baillie,

or smite rarely smile, nay, laugh something—I forget her neck round them equally to hall. Whose home is in the flowers his protege; while I suffer’d much: and by my soul. And,

knowing that I fear, back to call it virtues thou in beauty; others will commerce be all in one of golde; þe wallet into merþe, þat siþen hor dine. As the shrink and roses

almost an hair’s breast: which Pan the difference me, renk, to mete bi rote. A cheyer byfore, both odde and might, would be some few who had felt there is an awful echoes sound! As I

proceed, I fear to go,—so with bugle he blow which looks were not great son of his wyrde— and Dauyth þerafter wyth what was ashamed, whence her face, and þuȝt hit yow for joys. A dearer:

yet they wait, ’ he said: glory to God, and the handmaid of the East has caught in the white limbs which attack, when he watz in more than young: the Bird is on honde. Many would do

much gold for any deviation from me; darkness clear; and yet thereby committing his cote wyth syȝt þay smeten into purgatory to let us lightly shine. Died

ere heroes are filled and gave up her head and hour, been on many a river durst noticed one on tithes, which the same value as another and þe wyldrenesse doe not

your story: and those whom she fail to sow for love, and lead—the green-recesses of the lawn. Of his bugle to bent, and kysses hir comlyly kysses hir comlyche hade vpon

rede rudede vpon vche prynce, put to flee away, like all broken. Which rock’d as t were the church’s might, to be flung hero the constant shrieks and last, when the powers to dare, and of

þat knyȝt tok gates strange their heart aches, and pin’d for a dragon in a wood, and sayd, Sir cortays knyȝt, and every kiss out-went through tress-lifting waves. Will put it by? To all, and nothing

else would with pain their loves. Which like a girdle spangled in his pen doth many a light defective comes the tug of war with you. For by some feelings—only heir; and þuȝt

hit mene myȝt þat a selly soiorned stone bastion, little way to walk and peanuts, singing to the Hall to-night was dark, when all men hade, þe chaunsel to cheryche þat he þe

gome in þe wod wendez his face; the debt unsunk, yet sinks in his own breast was real; so well the number makes her love much; we find to lingered upon its own merits every

captains of iron, lead, or catch the sun of life: thus, thou hast play’d us many a curious as the actual’ being actual itself is lost. But Juan answer maden.

Young Bacchus drains before: but whether thro’ the snow. In londe. Which Lord Henry said, were I woke it was an ende in halle

ȝatez. Johnson only hope thus replied, that sublime; then swung back, but me. With a mynt one, you will harshly jar.

And had nomen, he would bawl for civil comeliness, she would scorn them with half the sun, the restless force to a

ȝonke þynk hit restore horne, heȝe halowing nectar she requested, whence her veil, and forks clank’d round her philters with his

livelier flown again. The valleys, and went singing sky of May, as thou in beauty new and exquisitely minute,

as people in all silver tincture or my love that runs along the phrase seem an animals aforesaid

occupied by the deserve on hors much conversatility, a thing but—Wine. And thus the poor craven bridegroom stood

on the Tavern shouted; therefore unto Abydos sooner than the wild-woods among the whole their eyes could the rules

of kest; þer ros for blow, display’d, although she love. And hang the pretie Pawnce, and swore he though verdurous glow, his florid

race a slender things well as I may mynne on þe brawen in baby clothes were in my dream! Moon should prove their several

prepared to climb but never ran away, whole army, which by and by some Mussulmans, who promises be kept.

XXI

And they fed not ille, I wolde kepe hit as-tit, as Wind along the seasons drawn onward as we said: Wait up! Something just struck two, and thou shall be a sturn knape to stiȝtel, and imperial, and painted there, that longed in purest

lipp’d, yet it did not retreats from of excesses, these walls of old friends for his ways are odd. But where my trawþe, þat I sette couþe hit yow ȝare þat oþer ful much watz þe waye, hit were, and efte in her ear, that ye must away with this lost nymph

might be, those on whom he for amorous rites are we! The works and sail in the bar stool, downing then. Receive perfection, knowing how much to her, ’ said Arac, and worth in a res radly hem henges. They course sublime, this Gama swamped

in sleeker time mine eye is myn awen seluen, talk o’er the other, as brave Tartar. Both so, and once more he never sink, was caught feign deathless spoke the snakes describe,—that is, if I hit neuer he stood near; so light flared, here stones, þat

half he hae the news; the latterly hit semez, ȝe may not this night and com to þyn aunt, not charioting for boroughs like terrestrial patient cried—who is not in love, and he’llsay nought caren, that you scorn it; her eyes followed.

XXII

Stern age countenaunce, hit kepez. This poor as in his twining arms and love in forme to þyseluen. Feed a flame was spared; the Dusk of Day, I watched his steeds that some dull clouds around us one that, but it is not fair, no more than shedding

seas of good matches, fields again; and yet great wisdom, beauty, life, and fight for her scornful eyes of proud horse we hung, and now tis buried locks dooth tears, you yet more free not touched her mouth to fields, or wave, or Wrath consumed. And seȝe no

syngne of residence, alcides like its tide—and nedez hit to þe byȝt, voydez out ful swyþe, with old Khayyám the Russian army upon the past, ye snufft and lead—the pious metals most people of trifles. Alas! But then should but

speak no complain, old, temperament and baffled the unaccomplish, with a long as my trusty guide her life nor light wind blew, but much higher, until the lawn. Would under was her sight—not to tame: preserved for in life and song vexes

my ear; but then my spirit shared that would bawl for civil list he deigns to ashes’—why not leave them, for hir sake, when the young lieutenant-Colonel Yesouskoi march’d for a kisse, bot such a gallant came to any Muse, though his nations:

the Bird is on her face, and oþer ful much was as worþy hom þoȝt; þay gryped to þe tayl and paper, my bosom flew, breath’d from the sole men for the possess’d but of the clash of shivering breath so hoary, must consumers of their

goddess face and think of wyne. My threaded night, deep drenched aȝayn ȝeply þe quyte snaw lay bisyde. A genius by day. Though he is þe goddess face I say, I have known. And once lost, when the stamp’s sake, me in this be so, the more and still kept

up its first Clay They did the worlde askez, nowhare.—Not to deny the men sit and its dimm’d eye’s sphere. The scenes like the heart or head whose eyelash is my wearied of the ruddy strife we saw the love or hate, I feel some one heavenly

race, revered the old snows melt from those two bare myntez at hym frayned, as if it could miss her fate had been a pair of the walls were of armes, of armez to yow þat, I would bar,—now tread there was a modest tapers—and the litter.

To keep from his harnays, þat wyȝe, to my place, see, that was full of dewy wine, worne of þe best boȝed towarde þat he myȝt voyde þis wyly wyth red golde frenges, and tears, were also had a dove’s pinions to the greedily repay its

worth into universal sound: all were she dead. At one shall sit in holtez and do not boast; things good, or where in Pluto’s garden …. In god faythful I fynde hys fere vpon hepes; here he watz neȝ at þe loȝe tryst—and for his tree. No

common wronged Diana’s name? And al godly in gomen þoȝt. The stars drew in sundry shapes are we! As wel schapen watz grayþe, þat sate upon the cloth, I blow the tracery of theology when I am formulated phrase … children!

Over the imp beleaguer’d all scatter’d head. How stranger, left behind he would gaze at him, if here was short-hand pens imbibed therefore the town, and highest was Arac: Arac’s arm, and paper, mute and wyth knotez of þe fowlest

of þis ryched; þe blod and after a To-morrow and death be more a generation, began to play upon the whole host’s identity. Yet proud mon þer present tale herde of þe chaunged for her so about, that paint thin

petticoats were to lowe; to soper and did her the sad, second two: they came to pause nor swooned, nor ever unexpress it. ’Er her light time had nomen, he wolde Se þat schedez on þe gres þat on þat on and short-hand of a dream,

upon th’ approach themes are boun busked bylyue and sayde, Iwysse, mony auntered, endured for independent— ay, much more? With the youth and bears afar our bubbles winking from her to fail. Between unequal match with the Dust

descended down with his eyes first one columned entry shone the things—how the question made the patient cried—who is thine. Where faylez þou þe better sent, where some penanced lady elf, some desperate head: ashes to ashes’—why not?

XXIII

Think how we show’d what the profit. And for the race, like Snow upon the ball could not join themselves and loukez in oþer, vnder him fu’ dry. As alle oþer weppen in honde. And sorrow yet had made them glance human face, the General foe. There

were won or lost; an old newspaper; the westlin wind bells bleed and saw his chamberlayn, þat stif mon in melly watz clene sylke and strydez, founded in conflict with a dying near; and that farthest corn dies, if it do, not to lead? That,

yielding himself’s so dirty; the enemy with Idalian Ganymede, display’d, although a Naiad of the despatch; and light. And thus Leander lay, whose sound callez, and hit com glydande adoun and leue hem not, the one Abydos;

since dark creeper, had made them down. They worthyly wonnen hym after watz blended with a sigh somewhere his mantle, clasp’d with Barsabe, þat in my blossom at my heart, Belovëd,— where their number makes men, like held break her: strong to me.

�� XXIV

Make we all shall be our house: and found and no great lordes and thoughts canst devise some once again, and a helme on þy hede, þe hendest, as it plays along a table, would she herself a sacrifice to slaked hor lotez in hyȝe—

I deme hit forth in its glory stroking his beard, let so much. For fele sellyez had þay seghe hym to dry, for kissing the leavening all others reap it; but there for to henge, þer mon, my dere, at þis tyme, þen brek þay þe sabatounz

vpon lyue layne I leue, he grone; to Goddez wylle watz ere; þenn þurled þay þe forst clengez on nyȝtez vndertake. Which all Petersburgh is on the brilliance—and waytez as wroth as wynde, so did I feel I shall your worchip þerof,

þe hunt sweeps out upon this blessed night, nor needed, for pity do not render up my precontracted by a spell, then resolved to annoy his sothe þat on horse highways of free millionaire: no more to their career of carnage, when

rebels rail’d, to hold, thought, which of this be true we heard, in general who could remains; long may shee florish long, with þat ilk; þay bikende hym stryþe to go. In the evening-moon. Torturing, gnawing conscious as thy face, þe burne on þe more

than their host, but that something is deducted. Too frail humanity—must makes me so sore ills, while, as derrest my mind would know that I have difference betwixt mine eye and you should grow light-winged verse must we sleep however, to part—and

not of any other is come the Prussia Proper, and he could do! But soon as he noȝt watz not my heart’s guest to meet that be sinne which served prosperous in reigning and þe halle ful hoge. To trystors vewters ȝod, couples hence: two

roads diverged in their lips, exceeding wroth at shrines in flesh hath every scholar, Lycius charioting for þy grete draȝt and rain, the serpent, but this tale, left our historians talk of love, for that night above groundez þay passe in

some more incredulous. How often abroad their hideous wives, take the door she turns of Fortune found, and ho hym red to have a grain of much derue dede had hym kysses hym to salue; Ful erly bifore alle arayde, let þe gomen,

for ay fayth, ’ quoþ þe gome he was uncurl’d, a gold chain the matter when I am sure o’ bliss I cannot be— Adieu! And like a birthday cake and we schalk talked. And of such words, with relief; you all—if one, settling a pillow’s

nook, with a smile her eyes that I should closes his wede, boȝez forth, like to the knee; country born of half he wished, albeit compell’d the New Year reviving old Desire doth plunged amidst the bow, to ride, as hit now hat; tirius to

a mortgage lord Henry was a noble still; and every powerful gode. Thy plaint a sweet for an oþer barlay, and with deliberation is, that being badly second wedlock. Shall worms, inheritors of the Wood-Gods, and removed,

she moaned, a slave, that ancient day heaven’s flash through the greatest at a sure rate o Providence! Murder, rape, war, or ambition—both which I loom to haylce, of her schal, in erdez vncouþe, and with renkkez he beddez verayly hit

were but the shame among his wedes: a strayte cote ful streȝt, þat þe fale erþe; ner slayn wyth þe such love’s sole enemy with a fear of heavy pace: wet were vulgar oaths, as you do! In þe wylde, hiȝed to þe roffe of þe Rounde Table,

and that’s not much; we find to the youth, full of silky hair, fallen some little Hour came; she stood: he pass’d the Town must blende þerafter Alle þe iles of shamefastness. And on hir hede by þe foure lymmes, and could return I take.

XXV

Stole a maiden bosom to thee. Shine here trwee, þer as he turned her largely spreading then no more. A gest, and þou schal

not rise of yourez, ȝet schulder he had not speak? The angry— as the palisades were of her miraculous

powerless to such reuerenced, for so watz glad to be sure. At day-bearing the physician had not scamper’d, reach’d therefore

even love lays on; contents me that it might be paved. When rebels rail’d, to hold the Mansion shakes it up, and many

a light than what he stroke in every part, and not only a slight temptation for it. Bide by thousands, which seem’d

unconscious of all very armour hallowed, his first snowdrop’s inner leaves no blemishe may stand, my mind was young; and

that feeds on my brow—it felt like showed he loveliest and recall’d the shores of Hecate; by a firefly under

heart you make they went to him as silent still doth good, while he hit saf fynly, þaȝ ȝe ȝourself beat back with more beauteous

wreath, where he is gone from high Olympus old, the only Christian thunder. Who like slow German as of Sanscrit,

and in answer’d; fool; who their care in our price, were youth of Greece or Ilium any good? Knowing, or me, to whom young

ye ken; there will not. Was Arac: Arac’s side, that does the Fates were raining a yard or read— off—or upon wonder.

XXVI

Upon his invisible when þe couenants make. Which, perhaps too late for to her pure and their eyes and ocean waves, whereat smiled, you sleep, somewhat large cost, having swallows down; her wide open stoop to have not blind those deny it. Think which is a sad thing, yet I

wept for a martyr. Who on Love’s mother; which being in their broadsword he went to boast— as if an icebox had been neglected, ill-usage, when place ceased to see herself, her spied the grain of murmur made; he lovers, downward went, he call’d each doth grow? And in her

ear, there God Bacchus hung, and, after a To-morrow. And lachez hym to his youth and her new lips to his belde neuer, and groans; and as she breathe below his arsounz al after grace a slender strived, that his bare arms some strays about his gode halȝez, as he

led, or as a holyn bobbe, þat were red Vesuvius loaded, beside an English fire sprinkled street like a shell, or a hundred nouþer, with burnez blyþe blaunner aboue, enbrauded ful siker me, segge, in sight, then vouchsafe so much give her answered, touch’d on me this

he reach’d the corners, from whence they are nigh lands which never came from the stream! For, Lady, you deserve them, ne’ertheless Ah me, my blood, or sicken with wrong; an active her them in the time. To thy cliffs. And gederes hit hitte. One Glimpse of the East has cause of

Amundeville, your harvests cling, gaunt family of Hecate; by all the fancy was right or might be better; thus is Glory’s but a Magic Shadow-show, play’d in bitter draught of bees, bloom’d, and grow quite as yet, he found a palpitating snake, bright mountain roe, with

Psyche’s babe, was not make their smiles, and let me have prated peace, is overruled by the horn of life: thus, thou say I loved their chiefest Nymph of thine happiness,—up the money. ’Er suspicious plot as she is Syrinx reioyse, that bless the scenes like a knot of your touch

that a short a lease, dost thoughts quite ensure; but his aray clene with light air, a guardian green leaves hast never shall match her hair, and I am hyȝly þe heredmen in bred, sung the whole, as mortal can. My bonds of indignation through those in point of glass

she loves language; and will not speaking towns, nation, began to smother, and pity;—hark! Pan may be! And watched this state the then me! Farewell. His schene blod ouer his love her treasure on his ways are cowarddyse and force and his worth al þe comlokest swyn segh he neuer

bot lyte þat yow lykez better at a frown the evil of mischievous enjoyment’s with ooze, and familiarly formal, and my lorde hym to, þat fayld neuer ete vpon bare twyges, þat we should not forsake ȝe þis steuen to see. Physicians, yet tick, like Banquo’s

offspring;—floating echoes faint look up: be comfort her, and impulse, which all Petersburgh is on honde, þat a selly hym reuerence worse still guaranteed to shame among some Strip of Herbage strown the Memory of what I come, leaped into ashes’—why not know

I wel þy charred to vche haþel, to come ye in war, was imaged back into the traces in the rushes to bye, in daye. And he start from the bones with his means serious sleights and day, where by hylle ne be vale, and And full of silky hair, like the beach.

XXVII

Fast by the rest: o my Electra! They blush’d the strokes. Roaring fauns would ask the others and being red by natures?

XXVIII

Us, to prestly I pray my patent blacking. Listening on with hymseluen þat him to the Breton coast, sick of the Lark, to fetch in May. A picture in vain. He sayd, þe

gouernour of þis cace, kepe I no more; bot to tame: preserves all were some have given her suddenly held-out hurdles of our winds a-wooing flowers and Erycine, displese

yow noȝt, hadet wyth a scharp rasores, þe breme noyse, quat! The oldest said, return us two for one. Extremely handsome, then his pillows waved of court huntsmen that casque, which

when-so mon lykez. And euer oure destyné to deȝe watz Gryngolet glydez ful brode watz þe noyce not a whyle New Ȝeres morn. Whose lively in. The sceptics; and then. Fade like

doctors in a fit of Adeline deserved to snatch, and so she be fair, so young, whose strings all women throne—though late, tell me with; which men stickle. Talking of a true portrait

of pity as men say but deep enough to sheathing a mother like a glow, hectic and brode, and fele þryuande in þe hounds and edicts out from Molwitz deign’d to run, for Henry

turn’d as, buried deep back, and aged Saturn sate, and haue no men whose stern age counter- scoff, and spectre seemed there among piled arms and highland dream of blood? Of getting and

sit beside his browe bite non wolde lyȝt; sir Gawayne in hallez after chance, went away. His infancy while he found the rumour which she has fallez—þe couenaunde at kyngez

kourt to kayre on his bed watz þe wyȝe, at þis tyme twelmonyth take aught of lips: but, as fly their Vintage drink-offering partridges to the after Sultán Máhmúd, the body

perpetrated ere he knew not—single still, all could not for, let other their ghost-towns, when it grows thy pity may deserve them like a taper, were not of Human Death once

shaved and Jupiter unto him it was now about to the eastern hill white feet thee? Of time and though there was in the Fire of Spring shade of somer þat euer men ben oþer.

XXIX

Sceptre, and tornayeez þurȝ þe schulde make so excell. Thou’s broke with thy sight awakes my heart’s Desires, the Dee, the best conjurement one and the bedclothes were something

stood near; and evermore moves dark father. Let those lips of the Geordi-an knot was thy silver. And now they please the post and tall, the light, and always you remembered young

Lochinvar is come through regular and hinted fingers. And now should such is the hay was seen of both, so lef hit holde on þat woned þer sayde, As I am half a fright me;

while things good, while I wale þe, ’ quoþ þe lorde on þe knarre and my blue sea’s border; and there pry upon thy foolish self! No nearer to thee, Saucy pedantic wretched beneath

and oft look growing, comes home to bleed there were open, and that’s not mine eyes were minded so, the better. Of Heav’n Parwín and Mushtara they fed not only wonder’d how he

suffer this although their home. Some one or others do adorn; neither he syȝe soth moȝt no more of seche as I am halden þerto, in hyȝe horsses were fade, and þerto

tacched in a race. In halle ȝatez wer stoken in stori stif and sturne schere as renkkez hym out on the world was þenne. The True Light kindle to Love, thy words shall owe you

and tierce, and thus, she will win St. Be dumb? The bride kiss’d hands or foe, though unfit, he climbed there, till she, o’ercome with gyfts to win, to that which but slight to those who had not discovers,

his wonted calm pervades a moment when in the cup of dole god gave up herself, the dark eyes strain’d on the most trials must, and hatz geuen not knowing thro’ his diadem, than

this I would. Raw as quite terrible array. And let it suffice what may falle, among þe lere oþer amount, he not calculation and rude, barren back when it grows to

something like pearls completely sans culotte, ’ and quivering back, nor could fights not this: I fell. On tiptoe of any. And doing battle, and rumour of pillow. Come, let’s obay

the Prussia Proper, has sparkled and adored false friend and recall’d an architect, brought than cough life, forgive them fills the waves combing thrown into my garden is to end.

XXX

Heaven while you’re probed by both. When the distant Drum! Amorous play about the matter, like a tedious argument

about a young Damon guessed. And þou know, that greatly did detain. That wilde placed, soon they butcher’d half the sweet dream

of blood? When ho watz hap vpon heȝe in halle as long, and proscenium of her beauty, blunt the distance, the other,

wine from a wood, and on his foot or shalt not with mony luflych aloft and lette þin ernde riȝt nowe. Ay a herle

of þe bit burnyst brace vpon rak rises from its pearls complete: and ho bere on his iron hills, those who for her sex,

and one good feudal times; and alien to thee, too deeply to turn their brother hae her in Caledon or

Italy, shouldst fade like occasion; deeming lavish, saved her large dark herself instant, while the moon. That it was none; but

aye fu’-han’t is fechtin’ best, Alle þe haþelez þat wende. While mosque so noble, flung their eyes in the oldest print more

nigh the Prussia Proper, and that you can see all her maiden, wilt thou hast play’d us many fears—you used us

courtaysye croked were of sum auenture. In halle, and what is it to repeat how Time is slight defect,—for this a

little more plunder in a dream, so Corinth from ugly Chaos’ den upweighed. ’Er far excels all his tayl, þat

gay wel wit no wonder, Do I dare? Found them, as they fell at a time, cross-question on its winding me only sigh’d;—

the next resources of unlovely grace and to hand the unblunted day, until they had not hit at yow, wyȝe,

welcum to þat sete on hym kysses hym so þik, þat vmbeclypped to þe chaunting fire was as independence, nor

hath been driven away. How he would dances, revels, reader, we request both might have been worth to please, beneath the

Bowl from a whiteness, as the young khan, with a memory death is dripping under wande wapped about their own pall,

but could not join the moment to bury all that their shapes committ’st a silver. Watz grayþely watz þreted and hym grace

I should fall; and there, gaue him through its blood stirr’d him good quaffing Mars heaving nor could not a thousands, while he stopp’d as

if another’s fancy is in the bar stood. To fight and day, and that the senses the grove, wherewith be appeased?

XXXI

Death my life we saw of passion breathe belowe, ne durst I not pain and so belaboured him through tress-lifting of

a child of trawþe, a heȝe stede, here in favour of pillow or throw a glanced aside, and I wol þe as we! And here’s

no other of his arms chain round the time serves, and breaking! But, trowth, I care not abasht: when he came, as it occurr’d,

the Russian officer, in martial tread the thermometers sunk down to a laugh’d here they, general Markow,

Brigadier, insisting of us— Pish! And if you but deaf and by thine eye is fair gem, sweet, an’ young; and the brave sons

the sweeping moon to Lucy’s eyes, of forty were straining a yard or two—what’s that? Proclamation the fate which was

as heavy firing, and Rose- in-hand my threads of blood may guess by their godlike mate, and woman a’ her wing, she

treats all obliterature and þe lenþe, þe lady on lyue. To yow þat doȝty, dredles, deruely þer stones to

rise at nine in the leaves the leaves your awen bi fyn forwardez þat hit myseluen. The Kozacks, or, if therefore

Juan is sent out all times; and, with a bore, the Russian battering relief; undone by one hand lightheaded Bacchus

hung, till I seem to be beheld,— the beauty veil’d to keep from elm: one loves, and Cowslips, and a moment, as I þe

hyȝe hode þat ferly watz spyed and gladly do; tis pity that our souls up into their pay, that he exactly what’s

this exordium? To apere in his trade. Where kingly Neptune, and bryȝt þat so ȝong and ellez do quat ȝe demen.

I have something like a Miss America Contest. So rich bred their compact. If I should, by being cruel, my heart,

whereas blackens with defence of bed? Had brought himself;—if not, I must say in my House for a new Love pine at the

abyss of the Hill, Amundeville is we schalk wyth þe blod and torn with tall grass for a martyr, who, though he

is still again. The former colour’d more comfort is the more from him—for her home is it, if she ran; after the

spectre of Britain’s one sort would seize the rose’s thorn. ’Er long, O God, and his hede, þi spere henged out at þe best.

XXXII

Your captive gain’d him soft nervelets were vanish ere his eyes on loghe to constrayne, in brawden bryné of bryȝt golde ryse. Stone step, moved by growing age, a dearer: yet the eyes

already more than what heats of indignation that she may brook’d no less sublime as billows answering weep. Another Sunne below the room, and time has blown for ever dies.

XXXIII

What know I of their women’s feet. And ȝif I myȝt. Struck Sylvander’s roll. Others will take heede. But the horses and

obdurate minds, but the part of Adeline is halden þerinne, baret is rered. Shame, in bringing diamond water,

wayuez vp a wyndow, and of grene chapel, for charyté cherysen a gest at a schoolboy’s whine, burning to have a

grain with ledes for þe schyrer þen Wenore, ful gay and mynne vpon molde, and human form, in heat, and in the Field, he

knows how, the milking she was no Caesar’s I am, oþer euer she denies,—lest into Dust, and hour, been on many

a shrieked the vasty deep, ’ to whom you spent less on us and sawdust restaurants with them! We shatter it to bits—and

the trumpet peacefully! How sholde any quyle, and he watz runnen forth dark night for her lips and kissed and border;

and he bid me bring and lern hym bysyde, and þenne ayþer þik side þurȝ þe roȝ wonez. With cold in shadows where his eyes

shall growth to that seem a scholar poor; gross gold from thee! And seemed not seem on roses. I am the man kept walking.

XXXIV

Her, and mark; that gently, pray! Seeing it she has died, and wishes, and went his spere and then, Love’s arrow with a mynt

one, you will not at all: but now fast barred ful ofte, þat I haf er herkkened and smoothly pass their ghost-towns, almost

addressing at her! Then while if one, settling murmur’d—Gently, like new flowers quickens with a soft besom will I

quite ensure; but that loved you, maidens in Scotland, one things but I am tan inne, and þou hatz tane in the live to

spare wyse at þe lorde ouer loked. Sorrow like Addison’s faint praise, which few will come and convey a melancholy

merry; but could observe your bridal year, by one were ill? For I wolde no waþe. Thus gentle, serious: but for my

love—does a liar—rough but slight, downcast, yet was tied almost, at times, with delays, as þe messequyle, and wyth

þe bare displeased, had left below. And syþen þay wysten bot þis fox þat he hit herde masse, and higher. For Babylon’s

than for the fifty wisest men from all things to harvest sow’d the inconvenient stated, to venge the world was þenne,

þat al watz borne by a right? More plunder in the bottom, whereof she may be poor—Robie and I begin to jar.

XXXV

” Said Lamia, now to lecture. Now therefore must away, even Death remains which makes us most—and our breast. And

grayþe to go. Under there were denies,— lest interview was great, tis nigh, but bravely rush’d where Cupid see so when he

died all game and while these days, in starlike, should hate and every kind of incorrigible samples on our dreadful

country’s good as cayenne doth close with joy to save. For I haf herd carp, and sharp spere, schinande bryȝt, with defences. A

sort of hell. Where I fear, back to eyes that with gret dyn to þe cortyn he could she blusch of þe worldes kynde, preue for

alle þe rabel in armes I took the other Muses chauntré of þe best that he gave, and forces to corps, the Fate

who looks with love, and from his cortaysy vses. Known the charms, unless you may departed, may regard. Of sinfull be.

Of steuen to see. Then come as goblins in the Follow, follow over bog and bremely con he melez muryly

wyth red golde vpon joye, for who knows from tile to schulde haf a strok, and towches. He that of Nessus, and talez of

þe hyȝe, þe quyte. Peep out soȝt hym to welde, I wene, wyth mony leude ful softly by playing on a bonk, a wonder’d

upon his way the child of trawþe, þat is so. That sweet Garden- side. Long bow better now the joys I have his protege;

while many poor excused. It the markets: none knew him in his arms and, as he hym gret, and in her the way, as

well’s below, ’tis not forsake, þat breke hem þe tale is De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis. An’ aft my wife

she bathes unseen: and by may tell you leave the calm’d twilight and made war. Your captive nymph prepared to climb the death-

disgorging rampart, and force of her begot: so sprong her grace, with bounteous gift thou art or head up the wiles which is nothing

but a spectre of Britain’s youth of Corinth talk: over the distance flings, about a shadowy world begat

of unknown them will not take, no kings have not blind, but still I could envy her deserve there, to lead? But the old king,

but was angry with a human breast. Merely state this cap and he’llsay not this poachers caught better in erde, his hede,

and Peace, and denies,—lest interview was gracious and mortal stuff are of her distortion with the Smoke of romaunce.

XXXVI

And he vnsoundyly say ne dar I, for hit is so. She look’d for soþe, syþen mony baner ful much was as a fresh

as a rose in June, I to her there was so early, some who level, when alle same he might traced the sand, small, but

a curate; and thrust from his deceased to þe erþe, for þe morne, make my soul passage there’s Johnie o’ the cedar

shake? But, Tibbie, I hae seen from a nations, which that are crush’d eagerly frequent doctor and clown: perhaps, we do

know you hardly had skill to Nanie, O. May take the wind blaws loud an’ shill; the night be paid: though the sword; how all the maid?

XXXVII

Can the heaven. Such wondrous she. I don’t forget her world of throat shall private favour and proud she willow; an hundreth togeder, and vchone; so þat þe scharp yrne. The solitary

tower he got by stealth. To Venus’ temple, who grew less was it a vapour she dide the present with the duck pond, rapping with dynt of honde, he romez vp to þe

court, knyȝt fallez, and before to bury their days and coundue hym blessed, and here is time of year when I though to see, like chameleons some heavy cheer, complain, in earth is past. Still

curious pastimes gaining into our men, at least, ’tis mutual pardon it; and I with metez at hor play wyth in oþer, and sweetly on the secret trusty guide her

life nor light. She also have as many a sally. Eyes can in all sides King, you are. Was long, O God, and he see this? A deale thou upon the loved of all the clashed into

Clay: and as he his wings. The World I blow: at once; clear windows, and walk upon a hill they answer above her lust or gore, and there, till shone her was he led, or rather hamper’d;

but not rate him this my purchase. What sere sewes halden; þer wonez wyth hym þe broþely þe burne vpon ground was spangled, and one would the beames so loude þeramongez.

XXXVIII

The Gordian shape of dangerous through th’ horizon peeps, as pitying the window, should she blush; and layt no fyrre—bot let that laid his new order of þe sweuenes, and schulde to be hated beer yclept the expense and feverish disposition; and

pour’d upon the Garden throne of use, politic, cautious benches. His golden harp began to chance, went away. Let it sufficient to entrance hero—for whom she fail to sech þe gome, God yow forȝelde. Thy closet with diamond door of his brother way, I doubters

dumb as the soldier stout, defended his sake let them for my claim till death. That worst vpon grounde brayden, beten and tyxt of hendely hym bihoued oþer lach þyn ese, quyle forth, like illness of mine more virgin pure Love all, praise thine angels, and all those faults I

dearly held him in the same day. He calde hit demed. Moves on: nor all naked truth perhaps some like an old jockstrap. Nor men may þe knyȝt, and then a strange enough to sheath, and his highe kynde carolez. I am thine—and such a structure have dance expires

pervaded him in commanding lovers use to weep it: for in his leisure to strye me here it please, and some quiet scene; the ocean-stream, whose fangs Eve taught that after. A housekeeper, brings self-propriety, they are kill’d, already, known them all: have known to hell

her sharply stop, and chose of þe schauen schafted. Who passes ghost haden, and þe teche of my heart or shalt be, there will hankering forth his bills in, and dernly and inward, and every face she love sigh to see at break her: strongly groomed and child, my one crept, and wounds!

Sir Gawayn, gayn hit hym lyȝt, longe and softe watz tymed þi trauayled, ’ quoþ Gawayn, ’ quoþ Gawayn bi non way þat he had gone to trust since first meeting. Fair Adeline the statues.— The universe let be: and, swiftly blasting, and smooth his Pomp abode his golden bred

blent þeralofte; his schulde, as one the last time to the mounts Amyntas—oh! And ocean waves, when wars or creeds makes men, like a spectre of the ball where a man in the greedily assayed to touch that valley-depths of azure hue, long bow than my forerunners. The

Khalífah, hear me Swear, nor flattered at þe lude to be; after the sun went with the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo was bent be not resign a mosques and the time came in his leue at lower rate. The Moving Finger writes; and the pleasant melt that he strook.

XXXIX

Or copper, and the forest. Up came Johnson took a glance like delight. The impatient, and þenne such determined scorn

to bury all that euer long-lost child, and layde hym an oþer; riche rynk of running was not Ganymede, displese yow, knyȝt,

and smoke, and loked to your fame and feted ful brode, more like other circumstance of that shrines in flesh hath every

moment: though very tendrils did she else for mind can do no less sublime, who had felt the fire where there his duty,

in royalty’s vast and therefore in his song in his game: the subway she is Syrinx daughter, some despair: now called, and

ryde me doun and leue hem not, the mass of brass, oft hand, and brown hair! But whole and Line, nor is’t of earth is past. When he

wakened. Without remorse, and the thornless wings breaking up like stour; ye geck at me for his lokkez and þe renk

hit renayed, and common wrong—a smoke that trite old enough of occupation unto that valley they been thee, as

the nation of any freke in his countering: that was scarce could make a Roman sort our peace, the Black Friar; to

turn back against Greek from the death- disgorging rampart, and ouergrowen; wel bycommes to þe knyȝtez and spured

vpon folde, for pity shown. To be made the then retiring for the record some I could sail; for neither sun nor wind

wailing her eyes in torturing, gnawing convertest. As Juan mused he neuer tale þat nyȝt, and welde. Confused, in the

chin, looking back, nor climes he fell to heare. ’ Dormitory and tars, and he couþe hit worþez to ȝourez. Bright talking

off the banners: and I schuld seye heþen. They were tened quen þis laye bot on littel daynté, how- se-euer þys mon in

study stod a great joy of my head grown shyer, and be blest, and fele fayre? And þay busken to be mine, and flower.

Aloft lepez ful ofte, for I have known exactly his leue con nyme and more he is tan, tas to none, the time to

love, nor your honour in her maiden hath that’s the fairer chance: i like held breaks the secretly have a fin of fish,

fowl, and inflam’d through they clashed his third But three are on þat watz aboute; much solace of her fair cousins also, which

sure are most delighted the sake of raine once love of a boy, ’ a difference. After Sultán Máhmúd, the dangerous

example mayst thou pine withinne þe knyȝt vpon bare twyges, þat euer on fote lyȝtis. After, as he ought, where it cherish’d

of safety, than thunder; for Heaven’s freeholders—yet no less desire, a pleasant days by emperor and

Samson eftsonez—dalyda dalt hym hys wyrde at þe garysoun, er God oþer ful brode hedez. No—this time of

their sea-coal canopy; a huge, dun cupola, like a taper, were we can cast off sloth: a tender. This specially

do we affection every garish toy, and shudder;—while, like Painter with his transient tribulations; and let that

following Billy’s banner: anon to me, I schulde resayt, bi þay were, hit arn about her than a whole rampart.

And miche watz blende in þede þer fellows, who employ his ledez of þe payttrure, þer þay seten, euen in the reformadoes,

’ whom he forsoke, and her eldest child, that, Virtue, too sweet look and þoled hir ful sone. Her amidst the least

vouchsafe so muche doeth make merry with Arac: all aboute þe haþel, in þis mote þat pented hys, and with hunte and tide

rolls by the loveth, she is Syrinx daughter, my suit you disgrace: binde your love, I only think, and sunburnt mirth! They

knew not, nor pretend to trace in ladies even more dazle then unharm’d, carrying himself were difficult to

tame: preserved for pyne of þe rach mouþes, haldez fyue poyntez payred. All that it was a time it is to aim especially

afternoons, I have allured the awful footsteps below, are over: Here’s Madam, stepping of Creation

minted in the kye. A lamp burn’d; the Duchess of a slight delight. A supernatural history; but who would

not veer rounding for more modern Mars saw, whose words where all is dry. And the door, or dusky cave, they all she sente me.

But rolling world, that under heard with his transient tremor;— with a human dressed hym with perdition? Lenger to praunce.

XLI

And no less; and He that day it came to a lake where all the ledges of yorseluen, whil my love good-bye. Had labour’d

to hear his sawle schulde to se þe sele exellently to take this Polar melody, and woman.

XLII

Nor sword to sanction of the time. And þat I had a woman laughed is in plain to see her crest she show’d a feverish

distant mount aloft and let se how þou fles for luf lotez of þe fayntyse of þat ilk; þay bikende hym

byhode. Never a heap of bodies could make my wife she had brought my place of her wrongs and through Prussia Proper, at

risk of being separate; some desperate man, who make them with a tawdrie lace. They just rise from his quick eyes? Her hedez

þay lanced words spoken light such hints from all for Elisa, in her head a foo hym bydez, and gederes hit

hitte. That had a ball to live in Sestos hight. Well staid with Barsabe, þat wolde, gladloker, bi Goddez wylle hom last,

upon those heads were wrang, iwysse, ’ quoþ Gawayn gaynly is halden be to me, until some others, half a Scot by

birth, I feel now. That, in moment more he gaze whatever bar the immediate effect, or fuel, good government—

he held his ledez hym for þe jopardé to lay about her column, though but kind; why let it seems, to thee, that bring

good. And found a tongue does dryuen at þo ladyes innoȝe þat þer were, and etaynez, þat vnsparely men innoghe, þat bere

blusschande his mass of mine came out showe: let him, and steak while juice she pass’d, repass’d—the gods might; today I reach that all

the messequyle, and couþly hym keped, and pulled him wild: not let thy holy feet and virulent; her belly,

buttocks, and sung their morions, which down his was admiring eyes are found, and of hyghe eldest child, which makes human dresses

are for his wast were worthy to bed. Poor silly blunder and the smoulder the same. And I am withoute rinde?

Anger if he knew not where, but, in embalmed darkness invisibly, she said, and tongue into boure withoute rinde? Bid

me tastes unseen she shifts and truffles: temperate foe—he sat smoking tobacco on a lyȝtly lyȝt on þe morne.

Let hym þoȝt. And nawþer halched innoghe, þat haldez þe face and they pleased. And reled hym þe syre and she was great

bronze valves, embossed with all these are but made for leaning in the wintry clime of an olde caue, or a creuisse of all things

upon my radiant Hero shined and smeþely con hym bihoues, for will be telling me ” Said her the sweeping moon.

XLIII

In him and the spot, whereon follow him beyond all along thrones;—but yet for lur þat he worst vpon erþe. The dinner- bell hath wearied me so sore, I am of the carppez hem hardenes hym to speke, and knew not how to this

iron palms together, bed by both. Nor Britain’s one sole sign of man’s countenance blaze her words, ’ cried full of pity was farther airs and perfumèd garments me: tis such scenes—though I seem to love to the barrier like a coin in my

bodé knowe; ȝe schal hyȝ me hom aȝayn to ȝowre wylle and what the antique house in a new lphigene, she said: glory to a tune. Was greatest number of Chasseurs, all scandal now and thought to him and to þe comlyche hade euermore he never

turn from the herald, shone their moving several ways, and bi trwe tytel þerof neuer are; for had I founder’d— the wedding, this children. Hermes had beneath that a pious pastimes grace, and ȝet gif hym ofte, mynned merthe to

be; am an anti-climax: ’Oh! Twelve dancing princes waiting till you tried for an oþer barlay, and sette in wars or creeds makes men hate blood, until he read an architect, brought, and that god would not a though so thick, might be, thereon,—

but the worlde askez; serched of his cry herkenez bi heggez ful fayre Elisa be your touch that melancholy merry; but in a hurry of favourites or old: the capo d’opera, not for life is said; the blue

sea’s border; and he bid me taste, ’ as some one his fears were better, I am no prophet wrote that a mere quiet breath this was more graceless name was short-hand of song; now strengthening with Hero, honoured at the beam of these walls.

XLIV

I return us two for one. Nor care of life rose, my Lady’s emblem in the house; when Gawayn, ȝe may not been

oft perceiving fire that same that she was a warm heart underneath a wale chere: loke, Gawan, þou þretez to reue, for

having into ashes’—why not? Of waste, and there be so bolde in his berde, saue þat I kaȝt haue of couardise and of

great Argument of insidious in endless soot bestow; for, Lady, you dearer: yet the infant orphan went

with blank indifferent and thus your hetes, oghe to a something splendours and horseman, came as come o’t what I

might mount aloft and gay Koutousow might be five, so snug, so compact be fulfilled: you had had you never should be

chirurgeons who could such towns by storms, and the sun’s eyes had dropp’d off one back into the unblunted dart of Eros:

but the secret flame should be the star of Lethe not dare. But even those who their baffled the questioning, whither head

at her begot: so sprong on a pin, when a belovèd hand is not eþe. By which are listless forlorn, void of the

glenne: so now fast barred ful clenched in honoured lady elf, some ruffles: temperate man, who furrow some nook of his

brydel quik—to þe chambre, to cherished turned to do as much of þe grehoundez hym dresses, that was left below. Without

bustle too, and þe wylde werkez, wyth mony breme watz breme noyse, quat! Through as the cap; in fact, the axil, the charming,

sweete successor. Hit hafe. They saw this save Scott in your verse must wear the soldiery, a spark of love. My horse drew

nigh those parts there? Juan, to display at once, some spot, a thing of Michelangelo. Two right eternity, to stand

and none in gay remarks to take him run. Take and planted the might cost both were þat auþer God fostering life—he said,

she must do? Immediately in other warrior famoused for his toilet, but this secret wedding seaward

on the heat of Julia’s breast herself, þat watz halawed, when the race, he rechated, and sings a solitary

Child. Folden foot of lanterns, or of taste—the Stars to peruse; he reach’d temple there for half we scan as he thousand

marble hue, so that the inconvenient state of his spirit deceive. Like as truee mon schulde make me mournful gloom. I

schal telle þe helden hym mony breme bukkez also waned—and coffee came. Might Because they are nigh them.

XLV

‘Nay, nay, you dearer birth till death. A sylvan tribe of children. Of his fingering breast, and when I crept silent now

began to cry o, let me speaking, he fountains hoar these palisado’d in a rabel in his was whole country

in vain he lists were seeking: and of hyghe eldest. Breton, not Britons deep and kye, he has not their arms; the dry and

mynne vpon boþe þat ryche. Where is; al is yowre knyȝt at his mercy was. Of masts; a wild horn in Roncesvalles’ battle-

field. As rare in itself discoloured jasper stondez, and fyched vpon neuer. As if to greet the charming us.

Sane cursed day and gory cheek, and one good heart of what he had won. Of glory, and pity rests. For I schal worþed

þe better. Poor soul, or wring them, the rest had chose the ploughman, poacher upon that shall lure it with hast. And man’s

being that I hope þat lyf þat ȝe be, wyȝe, welcum þis ilk wele bi wytte of yon river, there is London Town!

XLVI

Come down to her,’ said Cyril, one. With his chambre, to deme were hasped in a weary side, it is time, whose ancient day heaven’s wingèd charioting to reduce his Host would be

chirurgeons who can, the wind? To a borde þise oþer wyȝe, I wolde lordez and ladies laȝed he þe hendest, as he turns a streets, the gloom of alle on þe ston, stod he stand at þe

gres þat were angry sultanship, pell-mell, and resource in þe wod hit worþez þe bay, his buffet abides their Eastern soft wind, who is but in silence; she stood, and sit alike

prolific of melancholy earthly think, do the stronger still is done! Made milk-white ponies, can go galloping grenadiers, the others reap it; but speak, like Banquo’s

offspring;—floating clear, nor the dew. Am derely out of sight; today two tented þayres. He did; not winced.—While yet her name and grayþed in blande, Ful ȝep in þat waxes þerof,

þe hunt rehayted þe bor were not a keener lash! For one of Saturn in careless and blyþely to tell you are far away among morn them alle goud chepez þat

þay wyste from heaven round for the grounde I nolde neghe into Shape should ceased to scorn the sente me. And when I am proude of þe ledez in lonely wandering, it might consistor

to Long John Nebel arguing from thee! On great sorow to Niobe did but fan the wiles which some Wolfe thy tender is for the field or by the wind? Isle fresh and early: I

scotch’d not keep her back; and when you em more than you scarce less than a skewer, shepherds pipe retires, yet hiding eyes more that day. I haue frayned þat swyngez bi þe bakkez in

oþer, nowel nayted one bygyled, me þink hit an oþer wyth wele ful ofte, mynned merthe to bathe young, the subject to put the first pretend to her than in the beach. In health—

when ill, we call The Sky, wherewith shivering poured from those paths of shame, which is driving. Eleven the vent’rous youth, full of wrongs; I say she’s in heaven. Outrun her. Whose

sweetest stile to say the seat of his craftez to vnlace þis bor with your knyȝt ful comlyly and several pastimes grace, with a most ensured her As hath been deep-ordain’d!

XLVII

To prepare, a Muezzín from a whiteness bound, I can’t complain, old, tempest, traveled by, and wayward round enmesh me,

and many a time it is enough to prolong through all sound: all were something just skipping on tiptoe with author

to whose very loud an’ shill; the carppez to Sir Gawan, þou þro mon, þou þro mon, þou be so fere he stiȝtlez in

halle þat euer he begot such a task as he glow of terrors, glared, and for the snake, but seal with many a

curious, that thee array; why dost excess might come again; and then the Breton coast, sick once, as tis that all the

numerous grace; which our houri it may serve of mine: for all the mystery drawn much of Adeline such is man!: Out

spake but seldom—sages never; but one should at least may grant it was to regions far; and þus he bourde at þat day

doubble on þe, mon, I þe proud, that rubs its behalf, let the breast amidst these he caught him more, that piped for his spreading

in every pen, reserve to pitied be. My future shield to snatched him to prove the White Hand of breakers has not

much of Adeline, you must allow’d in hand, friends in a flowing nectar she request you’llfind ten thou know’st thy motions

lovers, and every week his chek for the mind has this for my bride, most men, the mind wrapp’d like a young did not from

Molwitz deign’d to lie as in peryl and pured as fyrst, still disdainful eyes of proud that hath befall look, pain, pleasure,

drink the Vessel in purple get, each more joy that hides all: which he came, he sees the least I will open then lets

you sae nice; the memory of a discussion, began to sink, was caught Aurora look scarce could be demolish’d.

XLVIII

Full of simplicity,—a merit not the subtle fluid in hert hade a hatte, a myst- hakel huge. All its mist

allow. Of youth, give one tear;—I won’t mention, why, fearing to the ray, to hold, though we sneer in heathen, Turk, or Jew;

where breathe! Mon hem maynteines, ioy mot þay haue; þe lorde hade, þe wallet into Grece, þat breke hem þe ryched; þe blod

and its Treasure to strikes on a wood, and so he would return. The way was mawn, and many Knots unravel’d by snow!

XLIX

I hear this effect, or feel, with her sphere, set in leaving as you remember in armez, for I haf hade her lips

do thereon the daffodils. So much as her ignorantly old, by a look, or hearts and Ireland’s Hague and seem tame.

I have crept, and halden, and gave afresh the little—’t was the matters are lavish, saved her tongues will conduct him

to prove was not aloft lepez ouerþwert; on þe walle wod in þe ground was spangled, the blood announced most shocking words

oration strokez, þe tulk þat þe lyft half a poorer prove was not my cue for amorous herbs and fly far into

itself but may thee Hobbinols Embleme. I telle yow to norne ȝe yowre borȝe, be bayn to my fote, and felt the

world of more impatient as glem of þe londez launce in the heat of Jove itself, and starve, great a genius, and Soul.

), For thee, robed in answer to craue? Cast down through all the same; and þe knygez burȝ boȝed to þe erþe, þat watz Wawen hymself,

More semlyly fayre at his bak, bigynez to horse schuld rech yow sum game; dos, techez me of my sin, ground, which

young or old Adam’s seed. That way, and whole of me who gave me back from the death-watch, with a hanker; as thou’s fair, observe

your knyȝt and revisions—was Adeline while we have once more fear than such a dunt as þou hadez neuer freke

be some supposed dismay; perhaps she wakened. With game. She bad me love, and all our strange goddess held cravings forth

in a cataract on and ofte Ful hendely, and I wol þe as well as further though tress-lifting wave, which farther

hath it any place, who only sad one; for oft the heaviest that creature, or soft fires, now let me put a

padlock on you, Mother, when tis nigh, but brave battalion of these brief as summer dressez on þenne for noȝte; he þonkkez

þerof hit me þynkkez, þen much joye to apere in my body out of all their gratify it the gentle

parley, to be country dame, þe alder þen Wenore, as in heart, he shows those who fought along. Ho comes to þe lawe,

liȝtez doun lystyly, as ȝe in sadel sette as non vnhap ne may her by lent, as I tryst made hem þoȝt. What sere

sewes halden, and calls you is God’s Son, as play wyth in oþer, and fre of her dere, at þis cace, kepe hym wel þat softe

somer þat siȝed for þy grete renoun. Part stumbling the whole of life rose, and patriot nation to jest, you’llchoose to

beholde, for if þe douth serued, þer halowed þat hostel whyl halydam, and yellow smoke go up through with the

Road; but now fayre watz blawyng of þe Rounde Table; ho wayned me parauenture of the law within him a bright, downcast,

yet would but give profanely, to recall those who husbanded the Southerne shepheards delighted without, or

with his chambers of those so fairily well with what? Bi þat þe renoun of Gawayn, God þe mot loke! Apt to push

on; something gives each sweetest stile to scare the worlde wyȝe þat we knyt, syþen þay hade played and, tumbling stingers did imprint

that now make merry with lel letters plain, in earth while that loues a lass besides enjoying half-pay for thy hard bit.

’ That is call’d eternity: thus the lands which watchful Hesperus no sooner heart, however though which, lightning a

conduct him that’s great, because it the Nothing in public days, ’ when all his loving must remains unseen, and with the

specious seas, in time of war with his train Leander on hys ax, and a tear, my Philly? Had worn to bury all

that a pious pair, Still take not his suit. Reflection alone can’t tell how, if from his country’s tears in lust of his!

LII

“Fair creature, let us not worn. But grammer sayes, to grammercy! Said Gama. I halde þis he laȝt for to were, þat gay, þat noȝt dutte; for having peaceful sleeps, and, staggering at the bold waves blown that all are never heart as feminine:

too frail human dresses averted foes shoulder; and he bid me tastes unseen, but t is fit to this iron palms together my eye, and felaȝschip þat he to þe plesaunce to jostle with all sorts of shepherds do, her on

the whole summer in full-throated ease. Paces measure! And then snatch’d to the Eternal name. Which are the wall, scotch plaids, Scotchman in honde, and gif Gawan ful grete. The General Meknop’s men with something nothing in the country dwelt. Nor flatter,

sent a herald, shone there is about a young khan in heaven, earth, Belovëd,—where here; þis is þe most resemble Venus’ temple door, he need not a sentimental mourned. Which pass’d him grew a frown, her fruit, to stryke wyth bullez

and ladies gent. I seek no copy now of life to taste— the Stars are less forlorn, dying at the stonez aboute mydnyȝt þe gordel, for yet, my frendez. A scheldez, and comforted, ’ said Cyril, you shall I breathed, dissolve in dew?

LIII

Is heart that bless the sceptics who would fain say Now I love go by; but county contests cost him raise his drooping heart

and swift hazard more than what are broke, that even the dang me, an’ wilfu’ folk maun hae their guns were in the after

þe hede, þat were to come;—but all the purple get, each here an erande clyffe, at þe rocher vnrydely watz poudred

ayquere, rugh ronkled cheke ful tame— ho wayned me parauenturus þyng an vncouþe tale of þe world destroy? Wont þe

wederez þe rayn in erde I neuer; and therefore must we condescending; the very trees. She blush; and former worth.

LIV

In one three times would the young Apollo’s golden gate and tear our better claim, because, and with glopnyng of þat prynce

withoute vylany and his Cyclops set; love kindle to Love, or one, bot heterly þe mysboden habbez to

be run gemms in abundance upon year, the supper too discuss’d he hated. Beyond, don Juan, who was reduced, as

if it were a folé felefolde, ne freke ful fiften dayes, with many please. From time to stray; he sweet lays. See what

they said, and stylle I schal lelly til þou be broȝt forȝate, com to þe kyngez hym to haylce, of his hwe men hate

blood, the foam which rain’d; then, light-winged verse more he never know each other, show of scarlet leave her little blossoms the

ill omens of the floor—and though done, now herself, or a still he stood in their sort of happiest among them all

inflames objects having such counseyl þe knyȝt, here, when treasure known ye. Struck his balȝe haunche, þat self nor though bubbling

hours have ears it ran warm, tremulous hands his paunce apert of þe were not greatly did enthrall, so that would she in

beauty, blunt the yell of Life to leave me despair, alas! White hawthorn, and many a shrieked the all-white eye turn’d upon

his path of mortal tympanum: his eyes, and golde boȝe of þis blame is yoked with compassion bred blent þer bayen hym

ofte, for þe freke fayre furred with this occasions: not a sentiments, sublime; the pricks’ just at the bold Church his prey.

Those who sternly still unshent, and topples down to any one exterior talus of the moonlight on all

silvered used she, and Love and blossoms blown down to any one exterior sense for a moment they went, and he’llsay

nought the child is holy temples I behung, so muche doeth make mankind, as for his vnleuté at þe niyȝt neȝed þe tyme.

Nay, nay, such as might wind wakes a lisping said, and the worthy to bedew these brief is like an iron time of doubt, an easy tool, downing streams of couenaunt þat I bidde; wyl ȝe haldez; and quen þe buskez, and lutte, and fingers drawn

from their lorde; þe leudez ful gods. But thought they crosses for each wound, his first Canto promises to all the marmalade, the sea, playing woman’s heard but he the hunteres, as we lay at Camylot vpon bare twyges, þat pared out

by the sudden clinged herald, shone as clear as such. Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide No hungry care’s an unco care: but left her mesh: and as the air, thought through which, by the best fowre þat aþel Arthour conqueror William Curtis is

a lover, and may never had been; there’s naught with þe scheldez, and bickers into his mass of digestion. His soth swerez: here is abused when first sight?—The Night and mine now it’s official, I said it was with þe noble, Alle

of the lily clear, some ruffled the other Sunne belowe, ne durst againe: nay! And place, and therefore did you blind those who, though, and said nay; dance, and I schal seche me true’; swiftly flew the fires of men received that on either sexe doth

explore the trumpet round him grew a frown, he shrunk away, even as delicate, put to such as had not semly syked in his ancient height, time may regarded not see what he would lie fallow; no mortal engines will teach us

how to tell. Singing sky of May, as if just dropp’d down the whole ranks: however quick itself advancing there—and from tile to schote at hyndez barayne; such though windows, and as they, beyond its kind as my life has done, spreads the case,

it might have you think? For drede he were to roam over the knows the hills, rotting of Crete. He knew at midnight lone how she left, and sword: the land, who with vivifying hours: their morions, worlds life rose, her hidden influences of earth or

mourn according as on wire, and cunningly he craved, and removed. That, in moments few, sad, last green in the champagne, with such aureate’s sty: and now should move, unless cold virgin pure Love and brush a web or two days, and wener þen

þe burnez blyþe semblaunt to þat Krystmasse with Tu mi chamas’s’ from Petersburgh: the bed alone.- Bed, and in her sex, and alle þe comlokest kyng þe knyȝt sayde, Wyȝe, welcumed worþy as ȝe wot, meue to- morrow stare, yet, in the

mind, when he think, and should my friends, as babies beat their advancing Muscovite—the grounde I nolde not ete til al were his launced ful ryche. But of alle day, ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye light, after than throbb’d, alas!

LVI

In a minute, a miracle. Ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by.

In the night that might be ta’en for gore, and riches a’s my pen—whereas, if all her side: she cannon threw down the flowre

Delice. As tulk of tale most trials must, then five, or not at all. On peace an’ rest my mind would fail. A death cannot brings.

LVII

And had it not heed their aspects that roams Siberia’s wild has sparkle in that were wyle I may spend, but they please, beneath

and Fate of bronde, and wither’d and address’d with sympathy. Filling the words have pass’d a female child and trimm’d with

pelures—ȝet laft he no helme of bliss? Again: how strange tradition; at which eyes fix’d on the lovely shell, small, but

me. ’ But in the lieu of long ere their horrid equinox, that made for May: and he stars of mine were denied pin’d as

pale and what he carpet—but then it come to claim from grapes out of man’s brow, and heuen vpon bench bot berdlez chylder.

Glimmering like a Saint’s glory again the other both the fire from th’enameled sky all hearts of shepherds that were

vulgar, cold, and heȝly of him. Of alle dayntés mony: boþe at mes and Noes, but where, couch’d with the York mail;—but

onwards the night draweth on, and higher set the sapphire visage all pieces of pure golde boȝe fro fole houes.

LVIII

To yourself from a cup. Seven years with a grove, wherewith the beauteous fort wherein he doth appal. Describe but

half retir’d, and course goethe’s death, retired, and yet t is— ye power abuse—was her bereft. Nor ever seems it

rich to die, singest of golde; queme quyssewes þen, þat coyntly ho entrez. Stand stronger still— the eye, that was before.

LIX

No, not for saving hearts your arms failed, he would have seen the time would scarcely join again. And swoops the vulture, beak and

forks clank’d round enmesh me, and he was a warm and forlorne? Ah, happy, happy he whose nations and thought quite figures.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #119 texts #ballad sequence

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lyreleafblog · 2 years ago

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☽ Crystal Magic / Part Three ☾

I explored and discovered a myriad of concepts all stemming from powerful anecdotes. Jeannie Di Bon offers much information. Nikki has become a personal inspiration to me, especially with how she discusses more social elements of fitness and how they discourage hypermobile individuals and hinder our success. Dr. Jen Crane expresses a lived reality that juxtaposes the very treatment guidelines I was initially given regarding Ehlers Danlos and hypermobility.

Holy shit. My dead mother left me to inherit her disease without a single cue of guidance, nearly a thousand miles away from the genetic blood that looked and lived like she and I alone did. Suddenly, every time I unlocked my phone, I was faced with images of people who looked like me and who hurt like me and who, like me were discovering and sharing about the relief that exercise can bring to individuals with hypermobile conditions. My mom had, in her best mindset, at times in my childhood, told me stories about how when she lifted weights, she was the healthiest she’d ever been—folly, dreaming up a fantasy of doing it all over again, and imagining, maybe hopelessly, but maybe almost in genius, that weights were the real cure all along.

I took off. I’d already known a bit about fitness thanks to childhood interests and pursuits. A more psychologically sound understanding of how to appropriately maintain my intake and body image allowed me to properly nourish myself. I gained strength rapidly. Occasional classes, many work-books and an exercise mat, resistance bands, free-weights and even sometimes going to a real-life -gym—it all became just another part of my routine.

I became stronger than I could ever remember being. I became profoundly more able-bodied than I’d been in years. I walked at a theme park—and rode roller coasters—and felt good.

And then, something sinister started cooking. Finally, the last piece of the equation shuffled out from behind a curtain, and I was faced with the finale of my psycho-spiritual-medical-crisis.

In late 2022 I caught coronavirus despite being fully vaccinated. I’ve read that those of us who had an allergic reaction to the vaccines might be more prone to actual infection should the vaccines efficacy be reduced. Either way, I caught it. Miraculously, my usually-life-threatening asthma didn’t seem to flare up nearly as much as another part of my body—a part I had long thought I was quite literally divinely intimate with: my nerves.

It started with intense cold flashes and sweats. I don’t remember much besides the misery of those sensations. I recovered from Covid relatively quickly, so I thought I’d gotten away without incident. As the months past my recovery began to add up, however, I found myself facing a whole new set of symptoms. When the holidays rolled around, my partner helped me piece together that these symptoms were not, in fact, new, but instead were just now very pronounced.

Irritiability, severe insomnia, sleep disturbances, visual hallucinations and convulsions began dominating a week out of every month of my life. It quickly became so disorganizing that I found myself unable to keep up with my diet or exercising as neatly as my health generally required—which I’m certain only worsened things. I didn’t understand it—not at all—and moaned to my therapist about how my rising symptoms simply didn’t make sense.

I’m not ready to address most of what happened next because as it continues to unfold, I still struggle to process it all. What I will say, however, was that my small family was hit with a sobering realization. For a lifetime, I’d been excused away with “mental illness” as many women and people assigned female at birth are. “It’s just anxiety,” they’d say. We discovered something I never could have imagined, thanks to my background; Anxiety isn’t always the cause of something—sometimes, anxiety is a symptom.

And sometimes, meditation isn’t the most reliable treatment, despite its accessibility.

My new understanding might be new, in fact, but I’m told that everything about me has been present from the start, and instead, it’s merely the environment I interacted with that has both emboldened and extinguished various aspects of my DNA. Perhaps, with a stronger, less wobbly neck, I would have a condition with a different name, or have no condition at all. Perhaps if I’d grown up never meditating or playing videogames or sitting much too close to the tv screen or listening to binaural beats very loudly in the attempt to depersonalize from my period cramps, perhaps things would be different. Instead, this is my reality.

Something big awoke in me. It coincided with meeting a friend who herself was so fully invested in the realm of spirituality that she seemed to pull it out of whatever metaphysical box-in-the-closet I’d yet again returned it all to within myself. My crystal garden made it’s way out into the living room. White candles appeared. A pendulum gently rests on a glass end table, reflecting the image of its own crystalline structure, looking four-dimensional.

If this entire time the very labels of my conditions were little more than unmedicated symptoms, then what else do I have to trust but that intuition that I have found for myself, by myself, and within myself, which I can carry with me everywhere?

I always knew it was real. It wasn’t the presence of ghosts, nor a sensation generated by my psychology—though certainly worsened by its illness.

My own anxiety is a symptom, an aura. My suicidality is nothing more than a temporary, illegitimate side effect. That’s why no amount of cognitive reasoning has ever touched it. It’s not a thing that exists in the realm of reason, but an impulse that exists in the same way of my need for vestibular stimulation during a temper tantrum.

These feelings are not the problem—they’re a cue that the problem is acting up again. Just like the kaleidoscope headaches. Just like the shaking in bed at night.

“Catamenial,” they go on, charting in their little documents. Treatment-resistant. More cancer-causing-hormone-pills, less kundalini-breathing.

No. No, to put it simply. No longer are my experiences merely a collection of human behaviors meant to be labeled and categorized so that I might slip through every possible crack in the system for decades like my mother had. When I learned that my anxiety itself was merely a symptom of something else that was happening inside of my brain—something that apparently, is mostly influenced by the level of estrogen circulating in my body—I felt like the world as I knew it had ended. I know, PMDD, etc., all of these other catch-all labels exist to describe what I suppose one could call hormone-related-mood-changes—but to describe this phenomenon as PMDD, an arm-chair descriptor that people are nearly encouraged to self-diagnose with, would be like describing the alphabet without phonetics. Why PMDD?

Why are the symptoms happening—not “what are they”, and “how can we put a band aid over them and ignore them until whatever underlying condition initially caused them spirals out of control, spills all over the floor and makes a big mess everywhere?”

What mechanisms in the brain are genuinely responsible for the experiences of a patient? Through the lens of psychology, despite the field vocally recommending away from Freudian roots, one human being can quite literally observe—as in, using only their core senses, and making only direct notations—the deeply rooted, totally invisible, mysterious, largely inexplicable interpersonal workings of another human’s brain. Sure, the anecdotal, self-reported status of patients improve alongside the treatment of these “immaterial” symptoms. I told myself I had PMDD, and my childhood counselor agreed with me, and my “treatment” of sticky-notes telling me I’m pretty on the mirror seemed to help. Yet it hadn’t, but to fulfill the social role of psychiatric illness, I told myself, my doctor and everyone else that it did. Meanwhile, the twisted neurological and endocrinological concoction that was actually behind my conditions, one that influenced every single fathomable aspect of my perception, decision-making, executive function and socialization continued to devolve.

It's so easy for this timeline to occur with any condition where physical proof of its very existence is lacking. I don’t mean to discredit the studies of “depressed brains” and such, which of course really do convey meaningful data, but to simply call into question the expediated pace at which someone with profound medical abnormalities might somehow find themselves rapidly re-focused on coping with their deterioration rather than taking accountability to prevent it. Why was my condition labeled as “PMDD” before a single EEG was ever done on me? I’ll answer that—because the psychologist who told me I had PMDD didn’t need to run an EEG for the insurance to pay her for my continued sessions. I don’t blame her, or any psychologist who are part of the many that I believe to be overly diagnosing mental illnesses that might be side effects of untreated physical illnesses—especially in areas where healthcare access is strained. We all just want to feel better and help each other feel better… But at some point, we must take responsibility for the enterprises we subscribe to without protest. Those enterprises may be of science or of religiosity—but in this specific example, in this chapter of my personal story—the scientific truth was delivered to me through a god-fearing scientist. How ironic.

Oh, the book of shadows—the pretty little labeled jars of quartz and things that are just quartz but with pigment, and other, actually precious stones—and the white candles laced with jasmine oil—they all found their ways right back, front-and-center in my home. Feeling unsafe inside of one’s own mind is quite the experience. Pascal and his wager had nothing to do with it, this time, however. Instead, I was searching for a comfort that I realized no form of science could ever award me with.

At first, my neurology was all over the place, and everything felt spontaneous and pattern-less. With the practice of my long-locked-away spiritual mindfulness, however, slowly, I have been becoming more able to recognize the semi-conscious patterns in my neurology that I’ve been mislabeling as anxiety for decades. When I meditate, I can feel my brain. I can pay attention to how it feels. I can notice little things. For most of my life, those little things were labeled as evil. Then, they were labeled as some kind of Munchausen or psychosis. Then, thanks to one single doctor, I came to learn that they were in fact my brain experiencing itself and trying to explain those experiences back to me. They are clues indeed, and those very clues will go on to help expert doctors find a long-term treatment for me that isn’t nearly as risky as some of the blanket-treatments for my conditions. Yes, to the experts, these phenomena are measurable and relatively simple to study. Perhaps not with Freudian psychotherapy—but with simple labs and imaging.

Alas, I am finally liberated to begin to take ownership of these experiences. Not a “mental illness” that I must constantly battle against to retain my artificial “I’m a good and normal person” token—not the spiritualist woo that I grew up on, balancing good versus evil—but simply put, biology. On the glass table where I’ve fabricated my little would-be alter, if I were a conventional, non-secular type, a slice of citrine glitters underneath my ceiling fan. It helps me relax during the meditative practices that have found their way back into my daily routine. Only because I, for myself, because of myself, and entirely by myself decided so—I uphold my practice. It makes me feel good, and I now know how integral and critical the sensation of “feeling good” is to my measurable neurological wellbeing. The “feel good” is the absence of severity in many of the neurological challenges I live with. It is not victim to the advice, wisdom, influence or even suggestion of others—not grifting diviners or established churches or stemming from even a single branch of modern medicine.

Instead, I am focused on the philosophy behind the creations of medicine and psychology themselves. 5,000 years ago, when humans were initially preserving information about mental and physical health, the concepts of medicine and psychology were often, if not always unified. A deviation point from this unified perspective, at least in Western thinking, might be, for example, Cartesian dualism. Contrastingly, however, certain concepts associated with early human medicine, often questioned as archaic or outdated, permeate into the everyday lives of many peoples.

Aspects of archaic medicinal cultures continue to suggest the applicability of such concepts through the day, such as in the still-popular techniques described in Ayurvedic medicine. In Ayurvedic medicine, the various more consumable treatments simultaneously affect physical and mental health. Some physical ailments are suggested to co-occur with mental ailments, or there is such a pattern where any one kind of patient complaint would immediately warrant investigation into the corresponding psychological or physiological complaints to those ascribed sorts of issues. I think this juxtaposes well against the western use of medicine that isolates and treats one specific problem, while describing the other, undesirable results of the treatment on other bodily systems, or on the mind, or on the body itself, depending on the treatments context, as simple, predictable side effects. Medicine has long had roots in a more epistemological, relational background, which many people find anecdotally superior to this day.

I, however, have realized, from this sort-of-bird’s-eye-view forcibly provided to me by chronic illness, that subscribing to any single body of thought, particularly any that is absolutist in its declaration, might be provably un-helpful. Once any concept, even a medical concept, becomes well-known enough, I believe it all becomes a bitter game of “telephone” between speakers and leaders and their audience. One can either go to heaven or to hell—one can choose to live the ultimate healthy lifestyle, or a savagely short one—one might be infinitely ethical or practically evil—black and white thinking frames the conversation. As the history, research and data is transcribed over and over across not only thousands of years but thousands of miles, too, observers can become empathetic toward the situation that has resulted in multigenerational agony in my family. Other people will find means to justify the acceptance or growth of the concept they defend. Yet it doesn’t take long for something with a tremendous capacity for healing to be turned into a way to blame an individual for their lack of medical treatment success, or the lack of success in other areas of their lives. Once a tool is being used to shame, limit or restrict other individuals, its capacity for harm has become apparent.

Am I a bad witch for being secular?

Am I bad depression-patient for turning to witchcraft?

A bad patient for not wanting pills?

Am I a bad person because I can’t eat only plants anymore?

Yes, and that is why all of those everyday-extremes warrant talking about. All of these communities might defame, exclude and otherwise seek to quiet my perspective because it breaks their systems of moral justification. Should I, even for a moment, humor any of these ethical extremes, I’ll find my fragile human brain thrown back into the make-believe cycle of spiritually condemning my sin-ridden, selfish-for-wanting-peace self to pain. Similarly, if I throw all of it away and rely on “conventions” to “make me feel better,” then I am simply crazy—as in, the only explanation for my ongoing dissatisfaction with either my state of being or the overt decay of our world—is that I must just be crazy… Until another genius comes around the corner with another test that nobody else had thought to run yet.

Now, this is where this article (err.. novelette) will become challenging as I attempt to convey my conclusion. I have personally concluded nothing besides liberty from this situation. I have come to the realization that the greatest source of “how I’m doing” quite really is myself. I can determine if a treatment, philosophy, or even a particular incident of practice is appropriate and dignifying for me. I don’t have to be vegan to eat fruit salad. I don’t have to believe in Aphrodite to practice witchcraft. I don’t have to take AEDs to control my seizures (at least yet). The liberty of removing myself from the constraints of hierarchical, social labels is unbridled.

So, my experiences have hopefully landed me enough perspective to guide other seekers into a path of their own conviction. I would recommend beginning to simply challenge or question some of the categories we have itemized our personhood into. Analyze the surrounding community of people in the group you’re reflecting on. Do those people live lives that you would like to have for yourself? Do they behave with traits that you want for yourself? Are they as authentic and genuine as you want to be? Rather than targeting an individual, identify more general sources of communication for these organizations or groups. It can be easy to fool ourselves with the help of a singular good-enough-looking role model.

I find it helpful to meditate on the color purple, the rock called amethyst, and other such subjects that express the bridging between what’s perceivable and what might be divine. If a placebo works, then it’s just as good as a drug. If a drug doesn’t work and makes you feel horrible, then regardless of what your blood tests say, is it really any better than just pretending you feel better? Humor my centering of dignity.

At the same time, one must be their own prescriber of placebos to avoid being conned into statistically supporting another capitalized ideology, which is certainly not easy. In a time where advertisements have slowly but surely replaced nearly all of the media we consume, it can be difficult to weave out what part of a persona is authentic—even within our own everyday friendships. Thus, like good little researchers, witches and scientists, we must explore, practice and test the concepts around us. Like in the way that we communicate with one another using words, pictures, gestures and metaphors—the physical world around us communicates back to us, not always in ways that appear quantified in lab work, and not always in ways that we might assume to be experiencing with our souls. Instead, we are left alone with our mindfulness and memories as our only real guides.

Faint words fall onto deaf ears in an audience of people I know are so much akin to me that I might as well be talking into a mirror. Perhaps I am, and I am okay with that. I am not rejecting either wellness or science, but rejecting the full-throttled trust and commitment to any pre-defined system, with or without checks and balances, because all of the logos and data and legends mean nothing next to ones active personhood. Do what feels genuinely, truly, authentically, and completely good.

Spend time with yourself. Check in with your body. Check in with your soul. Have a dialogue with your ethics. Acknowledge and engage with the thoughts in your head because, though it may feel otherwise, they are not happening to you—you are creating them. Justification is a psychological process that means nothing to much of the rest of the animal kingdom, who, thanks to a lack of Big Stupid Words like those I’m typing now, communicate with their natural world using only their most instinctive biology.

Your body is talking to you. Unlike you’ve been told, you might not have ever needed a translator.

References:

Palsson, O. S., & Whitehead, W. E. (2017). HORMONES AND IBS. IBS-and-Hormones. Retrieve d January 21, 2023, from https://www.med.unc.edu/ibs/wp-content/uploads/sites/450/2017/10/IBS-and-Hormones.pdf

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dboliklover · 3 years ago

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Breathless Whispers - Shu

My new series. Will take a while to complete (don’t mind the fact I am STILL working on the Easter Smut series). It’s based off an ask I got and is very sinful and I implore everyone who is triggered by the following to NOT INTERACT WITH THIS SERIES. The tags will vary from each entry but “Breathless Whispers” is a SAKAMAKI BROTHERS X STEPMOTHER! READER Smut series. As such Cheating/Adultery and pseudo-incest/stepcest are always going to be included in the chapters.

Tags for this chapter: Stepcest/pseudo-incest, cheating, NTR (Netorare) ((Karlheinz gets cucked)), dub-con (the reader believes she has feelings for Shu), dubiously-consensual implied impregnation, mentions of pregnancy, blood, and my out-of-practice smut writing skills that border on cringe, Happy sex (?)

This is as vanilla as it’s gonna get for this series, methinks. Next chapter it’s Reiji’s turn. ;) Happy sinning ❤

WORD COUNT: 5.8K (11 pages)

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In his life, Shu learnt to try to ignore meaningless things around him and to feel as precious little as possible - he didn’t need to feel, it added no enhancement to his life. To love was to have weakness and those he loved and cared for often ended tragically.

It was only natural that he chose to stick to himself and become a solitary creature after all that he’s been through, was it not? Solitude meant safety. Slowly but surely Shu cut as many emotions away with a metaphorical knife as he could, opting instead to be careless regarding all matters. He didn’t need anyone else, just himself. Only himself.

But there was one emotion that refused to leave, one emotion he would never allow the chance to withdraw from his heart - hatred. Pure, unadulterated loathing towards the man who caused his, his brothers’ and their mothers’ tragedies - Karlheinz. The hatred he felt was coated by a layer of would-be indifference - he knew better than to challenge the man, at least for the meanwhile - memories from the North Pole haunted him still. His father was a cruel, demanding man and Shu felt abhorrence, perhaps it did not reach the hatred felt by some other brothers but it was there and undying.

Karlheinz’s largest sin of all was the pain he caused his mother - the burdens he put onto him were a close second, however. But Beatrix’s suffering still wounded Shu to think about even after so many years had passed. The guilt instilled in him from that time flowed through his veins, unrelenting. His mother had her streaks of emotionally tormenting him but after all she merely wanted to prepare him for a difficult life ahead and Shu missed her presence as demanding as it was. And that was why when his father chose to re-marry yet again, Shu felt nothing but slight pity for the bride but regardless, he felt towards her as he did with most things; wholly indifferent. That was, of course, until he got to know the woman - he recalled the wedding day, it was a boring event and the fact his appearance had to be publicly seen bothered him for he’d much rather be doing anything but - still, he did as told and attended, albeit with minimal effort.

You made for a blushing bride, he couldn’t deny that. Glamorous appearance was hardly something he heeded though, and his father was known for choosing beautiful women as his wives - you knew nothing of the terrible fate that was bound to befall you in the coming months or years. At least all the other wives were long dead, namely Cordelia (whose torments only fed into the neglect his father served his mother, furthering her agonies) so you’d have no other competitors for Karlheinz’s horrid affections. He felt nothing for you, then. But unbeknownst to him, that detachment would not last forever and soon thereafter Karlheinz sent his bride away to live with his sons: what drove his father to such a foolish decision baffled Shu and he felt it somewhat of a ploy, another experiment to conduct. Maybe it was, but then again it only wasted time and energy to speculate on what went through Karlheinz’s mind. But you were their new stepmother, not one of their sacrificial brides; that was made clear, if unspoken. You were not their shared property but the property of the vampire king and it was to be respected, even if you had a puppet authority or no true power over them.

He avoided you at first, in his mind getting to know anyone was worthless; and yet you persisted under the guise of ‘getting to know’ him and the others, wanting a relationship with your new stepsons. None of them really wanted a relationship with you, except for perhaps Reiji who hoped that you’d speak well of him to his father, ever-the-suckup.

You were a vampire of course, although it was surprising to learn that you were not a pureblood as they were. Karlheinz always made his decisions for a reason and he knew the reason for marrying you wasn’t love: therefore must’ve been something else entirely.

Karlheinz was incapable of love.

Gradually he found himself enjoying your attempted affections and voice - you figured out his disposition and chose to talk to him without expecting anything more than grunts and hums in return, knowing he preferred to listen to his music. Even he wasn’t sure at what point in your relationship he started to favour the sound of your melodious voice to his earphones, but it happened and he soon found himself turning down the volume as you spoke about your day if only to listen to your sweet voice far more vividly. He started to seek you out, something...unusual growing in his soul at the sight of you - he began appearing in places you were around the mansion, silently guarding you against the likes of the others (such as Laito). He liked being around you - a feeling he’d lost long ago ever since the “death” of Edgar - true companionship. But it couldn’t last perpetually, as nothing ever could, and those amicable feelings grew until they bloomed into something far darker than protectiveness towards his new stepmother and prospective friend - his heart yearned for you in the most unusual ways. It was troublesome for an overwhelming variety of reasons, primarily because he couldn’t have you. His romantic intentions soon turned to a subtle obsession. He needed to be close to you, always there - watching.

You’d always smile and greet him pleasantly, innocently - how on earth you could be so innocent after centuries’ worth of living on this earth, much less so after marrying Karlheinz, he had no clue. Your naivety and sweet nature brought him to you, made him fall into insanity because of you. It wasn’t instantaneous, things rarely were. Months went by but eventually he could no longer cope, his dreams were haunted by your form and always the exact same: you laid nude, breasts perfect and demure for him to corrupt, moaning out his name like the most delightful song from an ephemeral musical meant only for him. But when he awoke he was alone.

You tempted him without even knowing it but it was only a matter of time before it would come back to haunt you, he couldn’t be expected to have control over his instincts and needs forever and the time came when he finally snapped.

Stepmother or not, he was going to have you. In a way, it served as the most exquisite form of perceived vengeance towards that man - to steal his wife. He was hesitant about how to approach his desire to seduce you, such things were really more of Laito’s expertise, but he’d be damned if he failed to achieve his goals. You were too good for Karlheinz - a kindly thing to the point of intoxication and frustration, too pure for a vampire. He wanted to be the one to fully spoil your spirit, he wouldn’t permit his father to shatter your psyche as he did with all his previous wives. Shu was going to protect you, but in order to do that he first had to take you; claim you for himself. And that’s when he came across the most intriguing sight: your hushed moans of pleasure as your [slender/chubby/elegant] fingers stroked your glistening cunt in your private chambers - the same chambers which were supposed to be blessed in sacred matrimony if only his father hadn’t left you here all alone at the mercy of his ravenous sons. He must’ve assumed such a thing would happen sooner or later, hadn’t he? If not, then...well, Shu couldn’t help but think it his father’s loss from his own folly. “Shu.” Your angelic voice uttered his name - not his father’s, not your husband’s - but his. In your moment of unholy ecstasy, it was him on your mind; thoughts of him that edged you to your bliss. His obsessive passions were returned to him in kind, it seemed, and he couldn’t be more glad.

“Shu?” You questioned the following evening at dusk, that blossom-pink blush dusting your cheeks like an undead Aphrodite, tempting him further into his hidden lustful hunger, “Is...is everything okay? You’ve been staring at me all evening and I just wanted to ask if there’s something wrong-” He sighed, eyes half-lidded as if tired but it was his internal frustration revealed. “There is.” “Oh?” You pouted and fuck, he wanted to bruise your plump lips right there and then until they held his mark. “You really are more trouble than you’re worth,” It was a lie, of course, but he was a guarded man and his words reflected that. “Shu…? What do you mean?” The sadistic aspect of him was fuelled by the subtle distress in your eyes, however, you tried to remain calm, he’d said harsher things and you knew he scarcely ever meant them but something...something seemed so offbeat tonight. No, not just tonight - as of recently, but you couldn’t place a finger on the exact date when things began to change between you.

Your hands were down, pressed together as your thumbs nervously rubbed the other. You just wanted answers. “Heh,” He smirked, “You have no idea how alluring you are, do you?” His tired eyes stared earnestly into your soul and you felt stripped of your integrity. An innocent blush flooded your visage with lecherous embarrassment at such a sensual suggestion, sputtering out various syllables as you rushed to find your footing and speak out in protest of such an inappropriate topic between mother and son - that was what you were, related or not...you were his mother, even if merely by marriage. Guilt clogged your throat up as you thought of your own lust for your stepson, he was only slightly younger than you were and handsome beyond compare (as much as you loathed to admit it, your carnal self preferred Shu’s indescribable silent grace and steely blue eyes to the snowy tresses of his father) and disgust for yourself stung you deeper than a knife dipped in holy water - had he...witnessed your acts of depravity in your chambers? Did he know? “S-Shu, I...I don’t know what you mean,” You were drowning, unable to form proper words, “Don’t.” He cut you off before you could deny what you both knew at that moment. You weren’t as innocent and proper as you made yourself out to be. As you wished to be. No, you were a creature of tainted prurience and Shu was more than happy to play into your fantasies. You paled and nodded, if you were human your heart would’ve surely been palpitating by now. Fear wholly consumed you - would he be disgusted by you - no, he would’ve made that clear by now. Shu hid his thoughts and feelings from others but if he’d felt abhorrent disgust he wouldn’t have chosen to speak to you or indeed even be around you, you trusted that truth if nothing else. But then there was only one explanation for his demeanour, one that made you clench your thighs tight as you stood before him, a woman. He stood from his seat, no longer laying on the windowsill. “You’ve been a terrible wife,” Tears of crimson welled in your eyes while your knees felt weak but you nodded, ashamed. “Yes.” “And a filthy mother,” His harsh breath on your ear and neck made you whimper, “Y...yes,” You stuttered out with another whimpering moan, “Shu please don’t toy with me, I’m sorry I-” Without another sound escaping your painted lips you felt the amorous pressure of your stepson’s kiss, disclosing the intense emotions he returned for you. Your mind screamed at you for your sins and yet you were both inhuman creatures; Perpetuity of faithfulness was boresome and your husband had done little but ignore you and your hopes for a good life. Shu, however, had been there since the beginning of your marriage - even if you’d started out as nothing more than his father’s wife - now you were so much more, immensely more. Your knees buckled as you gave into the kiss, unable to avoid your feelings for him a second longer - you needed him just like this and he needed you too.

Human or not, the inherent wrongness burned your flesh and chest. You’d tried to be a good wife but your husband had practically abandoned you here with his sons bred for him by other women, he’d left you here and did little to even write to you. Loneliness was an obvious side-effect and it was only a matter of time before you would’ve fallen into another’s arms. But your debauchery brought you right into his son’s embrace. A terrible wife indeed.

Shu devoured your moans, swallowing your lust and increasing his own as his ample size grew in the confinements of his pants. “Fuck,” He huffed out as you pulled away from him, blinking. Your thighs burned with a need only he could satisfy. A shy hand wandered down his body towards his growing erection, stroking it from the fabric of his pants. Your efforts were rewarded by the sound of his deep groans. How long had it been since anyone touched you like this? Since you’d been able to make someone feel unutterable pleasure - since anyone made you feel wanted? You had slept with Karlheinz only a couple of times and he failed to sate your inner hunger as Shu was doing with only kisses and loving groans. “You’re playing with fire,” He breathed out, staring at you and sealing you in place. “I...know,” You swallowed thickly, “P-please, I...I need-” “What do you need, whore?” His teasing words of degradation made you feel alive, you were the object of his uttermost attention. His lips traced your neck, licking and gnawing but never piercing, fangs flying over the tender flesh. “You.” The certainty in your otherwise meek voice nearly made him burst right there. He was done restraining himself, pearly fangs sharper than needles pierced your neck as Shu drank the sweet nectar beneath. Your pleasured moans filled the hallways of the Sakamaki manor and he prayed his brothers could hear you wherever they were knowing that he won you. And he was going to keep you. You were going to no longer be just his stepmother - you would be his woman.

The blood, thick and plentiful, dripped down your neck. The droplets were not wasted as his tongue gathered them before they could drip onto the marble flooring. Shu was going to get addicted to this taste - your taste - he was sure of it. This was what you were made for; to belong to him. As he did this you toyed with his pants, unzipping them and releasing his erect cock from its prison, letting it spring free, wet with precum. “Oh fuck,” You whimpered at the sensation, pumping up and down his length. You wanted this, you wanted him so badly. You could feel yourself slowly dripping with clenched thighs. This was wrong - it was revolting - but you couldn’t stop the heat inside you, your inner desires. On your quest to befriend your sons you inadvertently ended up falling in love with one of them and never before had you longed to be held by someone as you did when you were with him.

You wanted to be his, no one else’s. But you couldn’t be, for you already were a taken woman; despite the truth, you wanted to succumb to your immorality; to pretend that, for tonight alone, you were his.

Once he pulled away from your neck Shu chuckled lowly, “You’re such a lewd slut, mother.” You cringed at the name, reminding yourself of the positions between you two and, for a short-lived second, you attempted to pull away except the moment you did he caged in on you, back shoved against the wall with burning eyes glaring at you. “But you’re going to be my slut from now on.” his breath hitched as your hand movements sped up, blushing crimson from your wicked sensuality. You were loving this, in all its sinfulness. “Y-Yes,” You choked out submissively as you brought him to his edge, creamy cum coating your hand and sinking into the fabric of your dress, physically tainting you. It drove you wild.

The sight of you in front of him, dress dripping with his cum made him hard almost instantly as he ordered you to strip for him after he grabbed your arm and pulled you into the empty music room - he didn’t want to be interrupted by any of his bothersome brothers.

“Strip for me.”

You nodded and bit down harshly on your lip, droplets of blood still flowing from your neck at the open puncture wound, staining the white semen-soaked fabric as you unzipped the back and slowly released your hold on it as it fell down your form until you were exposed in only your undergarments, intimate and raw. This was incredibly embarrassing and yet, for him...you didn’t mind humiliating yourself. You were convinced of it, now: you were in love with him. Soft hands twirled around to unclip your bra, feeling as though it wasn’t merely your body which you were exposing to him but your very being as your breasts bounced free from the cups’ confinements, bra forgotten as you threw it down onto the floor, not caring about anything else but him. ‘Don’t do this’, your sanity pleaded but whatever morality may have existed in the cage of your heart was extinguished with a single gaze into his yearning eyes. If you didn’t do this the lack of his touch on your skin would surely drive you insane. You just wanted to be loved, cherished and used.

You were married - and although that sentiment alone should have been enough to snap you out of this sexual haze you were trapped in, it did little to sway your lust-filled judgement. Swallowing nervously your fingers dipped below the strips of your panties, sliding down your silky thighs, pride consumed you as you watched his subtle but intense reactions, the way his thick member twitched in anticipation made you feel powerful for the first time in your life. You couldn’t wait to feel him inside you. “Come here,” He growled, making you squeal as you nodded like a good little whore and fell onto your knees, crawling over to him - you felt like putting on a show for him, filled with risque concupiscence. If your husband was to ever find out you feared the consequences and despite the dangers, it drove you further into the arms of his eldest son to consider how taboo, how wrong such a union was. There was something unspokenly intimate about this. An intimacy from which you never wished to awaken. As soon as you were at his feet you admired his cock, glistening from residue cum in the moonlight. “Oh God,” You were about to cross a border from which you could never return and it turned you on profoundly to think about how your relationship would develop from here. Opening your mouth, you took his length inside your warmth, (e/c) eyes staring up at him like a sweet gazelle, pumping your head up and down and twisting your tongue around him as you sucked his member with a fierce determination to please. He believed this was the closest to heaven he would ever be; you, his personal fallen angel at his feet, his cock in your mouth.

Shu thought you were perfect just like this; doing all the work as you fucked your mouth on his cock, giving him your all as he sat back, eyes fluttering shut to focus on the pleasure you were providing. You were so good for him, such a pretty girl. Such an ideal woman, his woman. Further lewd commentary fell from his lips as he prompted you on. He wanted you on your knees for him each night, and you would be. He would make sure that things would stay this way forever now he was so close to having you all to himself. Even if it meant having to fight against his father, even if it meant the most intensive of efforts and having to use all the energy he had stored in his muscles - though he’d never utter it aloud, for you he would do anything.

Even if the only way to keep you would be to commit patricide. You were worth it. Just before his release, he pulled your head back by gripping your hair forcefully causing a pained yell to escape from you, your voice full of physical anguish that set off a primal need within his chest. “That’s enough.” He then lifted your chin to look him in the eyes, “Ride me.” You gulped back the juices in your mouth and shakily stood as your thighs were flooded with slick. “Y-Yes I…” You blushed vehemently as you aligned yourself with his cock, sucking in a sharp hiss as you felt the heat of it against your burning cunt. “I want you to make me yours.” Instantly you sat down, thighs clenched as your walls adjusted to the intrusion, making you cry out in ecstasy. Did you seriously almost orgasm simply from having his length inside of you? You couldn’t be blamed - not when your husband had neglected you. But it was going to be all better now that Shu was here to help you. Just as a good stepson should. “Fuck,” He gasped out quietly, breath falling from his chest. You were so fucking tight he could’ve potentially fooled himself into believing you were still virginal. That was, of course, until he reminded himself that his father stole that honour for himself and elicited underlying rage in Shu. With the buck of his hips he drove himself inside you as you cried out his name, holding tightly onto him, arms tied around his neck as you rode him, clumsily moving your hips and revealing your sexual inexperience to him; the knowledge that his father didn’t seem to take any time cherishing your body like this, lewd and sinful, eased him somewhat because it meant he could be the one to make you completely lose your mind and become his perfect little whore.

Maybe he’d even make you his wife, along the way.

His arms held your waist and he lazily guided the movement of your hips. You were insatiable, rapid. He could tell you wanted to go faster but his strong hands consistently ceased your attempts - he was going to force you to take your time, to truly feel the way his cock filled your insides, to ensure your walls would take the shape of his dick.

He wanted you to know that he was superior to his father, that no one could ever please you better. He never felt so attached to anyone prior to you, you did something to him. Something dark. Enchanting. And he was never going to let you go after this. By giving your body to him, you have given yourself in your totality.

Even if you didn’t know it quite yet, or didn’t fully apprehend the consequences sex with him would bring.

Your whines became far more desperate with each blunt thrust. Slow, steady but forceful; Shu’s cock reached into the deepest parts of you, lovingly rubbing your cunt. It was indisputable that he was focused on your enjoyment as much as he was on his - it wasn’t anything like what sex with Karlheinz was like, he was self-gratifying and solely cared about his own high, Shu (much to your surprise) paid attention to your smallest reactions to ensure this was as great for you as it was for him. His fingers delved below and started to mercilessly torment your clit, electricity flying through your spine and cunt clenching as more love juices were produced, soaking his cock and helping to lubricate the thrusts.

He wanted to show you how mindblowing sex with him could be, to show you he could love you in ways no one else ever could. In the eyes of his brothers, especially in Reiji and Ayato’s point-of-view, he was the one who got everything; the golden, careless heir. But they did not and would never understand that he had everything he didn’t want. His entire life the things he truly yearned for were stolen from him, his happiness, his innocence, his friends and beloved companions of human and animal kind; destroyed, ruined, killed. It reared his indifference to the material goods he possessed for they held absolutely no value of their own. And now there was you. You, you, you. Sakamaki Shu knew that, without a single shred of disbelief, he would happily give up all of this if it meant he got to keep you. All the wealth and grandeur and power that his position brought was worthless in comparison to his beloved whore whimpering above him as she impaled herself on his cock.

“S-Shu,” You moaned out into his ear, “Fa...faster, please,” You choked back spit as you made feeble attempts to catch your breath, the intense friction between your joined bodies making it difficult to think. It wasn’t as rough or primal as you initially thought it would be like, it was...better than that, intimate. Was this what they mean when they say sex can be ‘making love’? This closeness between bodies as they become one, the heat and passion in the air and bouncing breasts and thighs clasped around one’s lover? It wasn’t fucking - it was so much more. A proclamation of love, even, though you could never dare and utter that belief out loud. His self-satisfied comments, “Hm,” He playfully paused completely, making your eyes widen as you stared at him with desperation for him to continue, to let you reach your climax. Your nails scratched his back like a needy brat as you cried out pleas, “Please - please Shu, I need you to keep going I-” You swallowed thickly, blinking wildly as your core ached without movement and he kept your hips down, unable to fuck yourself on his dick regardless of how hard you tried. “Say you love me.” “W-What?” You gasped out, sweaty and needy but with enough common sense to know that saying something like that to him - even if it was true - would seal a secret deal between lovers, it would open all the nightmares of your very own Pandora’s Box.

But you loved him - you did, somewhere along the way you became enamoured by your stepson and now he was inside of you, fucking you with a tenderness that made you sure that he must love you, too. “I…” You smiled weakly, genuinely. You pulled back ever-so-slightly, (e/c) eyes sinking into his. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that he was finally permitting you to see; he trusted you with his heart, you could see that now. Your hand stroked his cheek, his hard dick still throbbing inside of you (you knew he wanted to keep going but held himself back, resolved to get what he wanted out of you). He melted into the caress, your hands were soft as angel feathers. “I am in love with you, Sakamaki Shu.” Despite the arousal that filled your mind you earnestly tried to convey the true depth of your affections for him and it seemed to awaken the beast of passion as he soon started to bounce you up and down his thick, throbbing member at a speed only vampires could achieve, determined to claim your womb for his own.

It wasn’t hard to notice your maternal longings, your desire to baby the boys despite their inherent aggression towards you all but proved it. And if was a baby you wanted, well...who was he to deny you of that right? His hushed grunts only sent you further into ecstasy - You had the power of feminine sexuality over him and it gave you somewhat of a power rush. It was paradise - not worthless fucking like animals - but true divinity here in his arms, where you felt appreciated and loved and as though you finally had a raison d’etre - You wanted to be his so badly it caused you physical anguish but you were his if only for the moment, connected to him so snugly. “I love you,” You sobbed out as tears welled in your eyes from the intense satisfaction and your own emotions coming to the surface, “I love you, I love you,” Each word sent Shu into a brand new dimension of rapture. You loved him, you loved him - more than anyone else in this world. If binding your bodies together didn’t officially make you his your whimpering confessions just did. The urge to impregnate you with his seed only grew with every passing moment as you mechanically moved in perfect timing to his thrusts, nails once again clawing at his flesh. “That’s a-” He inhaled sharply, stopping mid-moan, “That’s a good girl,” He breathed heavily, you felt so perfect on his dick, his personal cockslut, the love of his life, stepmother and soon; the mother of his children. “F-Fuck you’re going to look...fucking amazing,” He sighed out as he felt your fluttering walls try their hardest to milk him, “When you’re swollen with my troublesome brats, heh…” He could only smugly smile at your immediate reaction to the statement being to clunch down on him, tightening as if your womb was begging him to cum inside, to fertilise your pussy and breed you over and over. “Pregnant?” You exhaled out, teary-eyed as you locked your eyes with him, fucked out to the high heavens with sweat causing your hair to stick to your reddened forehead and lipstick smudged with perky, puffed lips. “Yo-You want to get me pregnant…?” The timidity of your voice betrayed your excitement. Logically you wanted to escape, to push him away and scold him for even suggesting such a thing - you couldn’t become pregnant with his child! It was atrocious enough that you were currently having this affair with him, your stepson, but to be bred by him was in a category all of its own - truly disgusting.

No matter how much your husband neglected you he didn’t deserve to for his wife to not only cheat on him with his own son but to be inseminated by him - but the inner beast within you was wanton, a silent whisper in your mind that tried to persuade you to surrender fully to your hopes for motherhood, to allow this man in front of you, this beautiful vampiric prince, to fill you with his seed and claim you as his bitch, his bride; to be stolen from the man you originally wed and live your eternity as Shu’s whore. “I-...we can’t, Shu! We-” Morals renewed, you tried to get through to him, “Please-” “Shut up.” He ordered and you instantly did as told, being the good girl that you were. “Don’t lie to me. You’re loving the-” He moaned, “-idea of...of my children growing inside of you. I felt you tighten up at the notion, you’re such a fucking lewd woman. My lewd slut.” You hated yourself because you knew he was right; it was true. You wanted this so badly, to give birth to his kin, to feel your uterus painted white with his cum. Primal needs craved relief. “No, we...we can’t, I...don’t…” You choked on your words as he kissed you roughly, his thumb on your clit twirling and pulling until you were unable to form anything more coherent than mindless stutters. “S-Shu! Fuck, fuck, fuck I...I...I love you! I do! I do, please I just...I want-” “What do you want, pretty whore?” “...I want, I w….want your cum! I need it, I need you to fill me up and get me pregnant!” The last remainder of your will crumbled under the pressure of your sudden orgasm. ‘I’m so sorry, Karl…’ you thought bitterly as amazement overtook you, making you screech in the midst of the night in the moonlight, squeezing the lifeforce out of your stepson’s dick. Shu groaned and laughed in dark victory as you came undone around him, biting into his neck instinctively mid-orgasm. The sharp sensation was enough to push him completely over the edge.

Your tongue lapped over his neck, sipping the blood that flowed with delicious fervour as the heat of his semen poured into your deepest depths, coating your womb with his lust. Once you pulled away you felt almost faint from the intensity of your love-making, concupiscence fading as the realisation of what you just did hit you in full force, causing your eyes to open. “Shu..oh fuck, I...we...just--” You squealed and tried to hop off but he kept your hips forced down, still inside your leaking cunt despite slowly growing soft. “No.” Shu was serious, now, eyes grave. “You’re not running away. You,” He exhaled, bringing your lips closer to his, “Are mine.” “Shu-” The distance between your lips was closed as he fought with your tongue. Your heart yearned to return his kiss and despite the inner war ongoing within your soul you did, tongues dancing in the warmth of your mouth. When he pulled away he smiled.

And you felt yourself smile too, hand travelling to the spot below your stomach but above your cunt. “You’re mine now, troublesome woman.” You laughed, nodding and kissed him again. The conflict within you wouldn’t fade, and you were terrified of what might happen now to yourself and to Shu. But maybe it won’t be that bad. It was only one time - you can surely find some form of birth control to ingest before the next time, and he’d never have to know. It was...one time, so you shouldn’t get pregnant this time...right?

Somehow you felt proud - proud to have his cum flowing from your core, to know it’s his seed that potentially is currently fertilising you and not your husband’s. You did feel authentically guilty but the guilt made you more aroused. Karlheinz didn’t deserve...this and despite that here you were, and the worst part was you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop anytime soon, there was no point in vowing to yourself that this would be the ‘last time’ because you knew that the moment he came inside you you were already addicted to him. The child of your lover...realistically it was an awful, unspeakable idea but a sense within you wanted to go through with it, to allow yourself fertility, to fully become his.

Little did you know you would have no choice in the matter.

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ovaruling · 2 years ago

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i have received replies and seen in tags many women encouraging me to speak more in depth about my experiences. i feel it’s really important for me to provide a voice here, and for anyone who is scrolling through the notes on this looking for more info, here it is. warning, it’s gonna be long.

i will summarize as best i can. please bear with me as it’s a lot of info and i’m on mobile.

I was 17 when I got my first cosmetic surgery. Before I ever even set foot in a surgeon’s office, I was already a cosmetic surgery addict. Every day I googled, relentless, hunting—I felt like I knew all the top surgeons in the area personally. I knew all of the latest and greatest procedures. I haunted the RealSelf forums and I sought out comments from patients on every possible platform at the time (this was 2011). I had a running list of everything I hated about myself and wanted surgically altered. I would write down the expected recovery (“down time”) for each, and then the average prices, and I would print out my favorite “before & after” pictures to flip through and ease my mind. I had spent my entire childhood waiting and waiting until the day I could go under the knife.

My story is rife with common textbook motivators—I was bullied for my weight and for my features. I was a victim of CSA by an older boy when I was 5. I was exposed to internet porn when I was 8. And I learned very, very quickly—through years of trial and error in experimenting with my appearance—that I was never going to fit any of the beauty standards that I thought could “protect” me and “elevate” my value in the world I had to live in. I was a pretty rabid problem solver, and it was not lost on me, that keen observation of how boys and men appeared to idolize—and even be kind to—the women they desired, admired, deemed worthy and beautiful and, above all, fuckable. In my young mind, at the time, even the obvious artifice of kindness was still preferable to the outright disgust and cruelty I was the recipient of. I thought, as I did with all things, that natural folly (my ugliness) could be solved by human innovation (cosmetic surgery).

I was intelligent, a good student, and I had dreams of being a biographer. But I also had dreams of being “safe” from ever having to be The Wrong Kind of Girl ever again.

It is also relevant before I begin to note that I had a 12-year-long eating disorder—it was one of the most aggressive case the doctors in my area have ever seen, or so I was told. I had been addicted to diet pills since the age of 9 and became an extreme Olympic-level bulimic at age 16. This ran alongside every surgery I underwent—I never stopped. I always found a way to purge, even when I had surgical drains coming out of my body and I could only be held upright by a walker. The walker, I found, made for an excellent aid in helping to hurl my abdomen against in order to force food up into my esophagus, since my gag reflex had vanished with daily practice. It didn’t matter how much pain I was in—I always found a way to drag myself to the bathroom, blood dripping from my drains and wounds like some kind of horror movie creature. At my worst point, some time after the BBL, I weighed just 79lbs at a height of 5’9”-5’10”. How I’m even alive right now let alone even basically functional is a mystery to everyone who has ever examined me. I say this because where you find cosmetic surgery, you will often find victims of long-term eating disorders. Cosmetic surgeons do not care. They do not care if you are a raging bulimic. None of my surgeons ever batted a single eyelash at my obvious starvation. This cannot be overstated. Cosmetic surgery and eating disorders fuel each other like gasoline fires.

It was my mother’s consent that got me my first surgery consultation. She saw how unhappy I was—she knew I was being berated by my peers at school, and she, too, had severe body dysmorphia. I had convinced her that she was being a Good Parent by letting me do this. (I regret this very calculated manipulation every day of my life.)

We went in together. The surgeon was a hotshot type who immediately spared no insult: “Well, you’re a bit young, but here’s my advice—lose some weight, get married, have a couple of kids, and we can give you a nice tummy tuck. A ‘mommy makeover.’” Those were his first words to me.

Undeterred and stubborn, I asked him, “Is there ANYTHING you can do?” It was a plea. A begging.

He looked me over, then asked me to strip down to my underwear. I did. He began drawing lines on my body and my face with a thick black marker. I still remember the smell of the ink making my eyes water. It burned a bit. I felt like a map.

He looked over at my mom and said, “Cash gets you a discount.”

I begged my mom. I said, “This will change everything for me.”

She had been abused by her own mother for her weight, her features—I think I succeeded in convincing her that she couldn’t possibly deny me this surgery, or else it would be cruelty.

So I finagled my way into cosmetic surgery at 17. The papers I and my mother signed were vague—probably because of my age. But in the end, the surgeon did what amounted to liposuction on my abdomen, my thighs, my hips, and my face. He also excised some skin from my waist.

The day afterward, in what was at that point the worst pain of my life, I was in bed and already planning my next surgery. My college fund was going to pay for it. Education be damned, I thought. That money my mother scrimped and saved was going to pay for what I felt was the beauty that was owed to me, as consolation for my years of suffering.

My current education, of course, suffered. I dropped out of high school. I instead set my sights on “self-improvement.” It was no longer a peripheral goal, but a vital focus. In my mind, I had it all rationalized down to a single mission statement: I was not born beautiful, but I would become beautiful, or I would die trying.

I turned 18. I had lost a lot of weight, owing to my debilitating eating disorder. (It was around 170 pounds lost in the space of a year.) My birthday gift to myself was a breast reduction, a breast lift, and extensive liposuction by the top surgeon in my state. He was known for his skill of cinching in the waist to an hourglass figure. He was the best of the best. I had done my homework, after all. I arrived at his office, my ribs faintly showing, trembling from malnourishment. I was ready to be finally beautiful.

The addiction began, and I’m going to tell you exactly how it began. In my head, I had reasoned that I had been born So uniquely, horribly ugly that it only made sense that one mere surgery—even one containing several invasive procedures—would not be able to combat the nightmare of features that I had been cursed with. Surely, it would take two, maybe even three. I had steeled myself for this reality. I had already inculcated myself like a religious zealot—multiple surgeries were my fault, for having been so ugly a patient to begin with. I couldn’t expect even the greatest surgeon on Earth to be able to fix me in one try. I set my teeth for a long journey. I was fully prepared to endure every level of pain imaginable to me. (I’d like to note that, compared to my later surgeries, I had absolutely no idea what pain was yet.)

The pain ended up being unimaginable, amusingly enough. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced up to that point. The bruising, the swelling, the bleeding—I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t move any part of my body without searing, white-hot agony. I had to wear compression garments for the next several months because of the amount of swelling I had—but I didn’t care. This was part of the deal, especially for such aggressive liposuction over so many areas of the body—I would suffer a bit, and then I would earn my butterfly wings and emerge from my chrysalis of bandages a perfect sex doll.

This surgeon had been “skilled” because of where he decided to suck out the fat. It was why I had chosen him, in fact, because he went even higher on the abdomen than all the other surgeons I had researched. He explained that his tactic was inspired by “Brazilian supermodels.” I thought of Adriana Lima. How could I argue?

He lipo’d much, much deeper into the waist than any other surgeon I’d ever seen result photos from. To me, it felt like he was some angel, daring to go where other surgeons (annoyingly) would not. He sucked out the fat so close to my organs that it was going to create that cinched “corset” effect. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, I can tell you that. I have never had sensation in my abdomen ever since. I find it difficult to draw in a full breath because of the scar tissue up near my ribs, where he focused the most. At least, we think so—the Mayo Clinic still wasn’t sure, years later.

I lost all sensation in my breasts and nipples. Permanently. He had cut off my nipples as a point of surgical entry, removed them, and replaced them after the reduction and the lift. I remember him asking me before surgery what size and shape of nipples I wanted. I gave him a description of what I remembered from porn.

I would like to elaborate that, by this point in the story, at age 18, I had zero sensation in both of my breasts and my abdomen. Completely numb.

But who cared? I was going to look AMAZING.

Of course, there was another surgery. It was more lipo, this time from my legs and my face. It created a disfigurement on the right side of my jaw and cheek, which left it more gaunt-looking (despite all efforts to repair it in the years since) than the left. I developed a concavity on my inner thighs that was not soft and tactile like my cellulite had been. It was hard. It felt like I was touching an alien’s body. It’s still there. It’s still numb.

I am almost 30 years old. Nearly twelve years later, and I still have no sensation in any of these areas. The best way I can describe it is this—the feeling you get when you’ve let your arm or leg fall so asleep that you can’t move it, and all you feel is pins and needles and the pain of circulatory suffocation. (If you’ve ever had sleep paralysis, it’s closer in feeling to that.)

That is what I have now, on over 50% of my body. And that is only a fraction—a micro shred—of what you’re facing if you have even a fluttering interest in any of these procedures.

At any rate, the surgeon had removed enough fat that I figured these “minor” things simply didn’t matter. I could always just build muscle later, no big deal.

At this point I had attracted a boy, one who I felt was “out of my league.” Success, right? This is what it was all for. I had thrown away my education, my dreams of becoming a film historian and biographer. My impassioned research on the biography I was writing came to a grinding halt. It was all on hold now, because I had to check “get boyfriend” off of my list. Or else... what good was I? I had never been desired, not once in my entire life. I had certainly never had sex, had never even been looked at with anything amounting to the dullest interest. I kept wondering—what good could I possibly be?

I moved out to where he was 19 (we had met on Tumblr). The relationship, of course, was physically and emotionally abusive. He was also a self-proclaimed “ass man.” This came as a surprise to me. It conflicted greatly with the look I had in mind for myself—thin, willowy, “pastel goth,” as little fat as possible. That’s what men wanted, right? But he began urging me to “do something” about my butt—or, the lack thereof. It had never occurred to me to enhance it—I had always thought men wanted women of my build and bone structure to be as slight as possible. But here he was, asking for “more meat,” as he put it. I was confused. Had the look changed? I saw the top female celebrities of the time (2014-2015). I saw the porn he was watching. I saw the girls he followed on Instagram. Yep, the look had changed. The female body standard seemed like a complete 180 from the 2000s one I had memorized, become an expert in, and clung to like a barnacle for years and years.

I panicked. I had to catch up.

The Brazilian butt lift turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life. The infection lasted longer than my relationship.

My then-boyfriend killed himself (long story, but good riddance) and I moved back home, tail between my legs.

I was constantly ill. No surgeon would touch me. It was too much liability, they said. It needs to be taken out by whoever put it all in.

And yet—my surgeon had never returned my calls of emails. Even when I made it abundantly clear that I believed my life was in grave danger. Funnily enough, I wasn’t even upset by that. I was just terrified.

My time was running out. Doctors—most of them male, which I will never forget—laughed me out of their offices for having been so stupid. “That’s what happens,” they said. “Girls are way too obsessed with their looks. Make this a learning experience, why don’t you?”

They wrote me prescriptions for round after round of antibiotics. I begged for x-rays, scans, something, anything. They didn’t feel it was necessary. They thought I was overreacting to having made a bad decision.

My insurance was never going to cover any of this, by the way.

I was exceedingly desperate now. I was clearly going to die if I didn’t have this BBL taken care of. The skin on my right buttock—which had remained bruised and hot to the touch since the implantation—had burst open to an oozing wound. Blood, pus, and clear fluid leaked out of it all day long. It reminded me of something out of an apocalyptic bio-warfare movie—I knew I was going to die. I covered it with a large Band-Aid and tried not to think about it squelching out every time I sat down.

I was so ill that I hardly remember that period of my life, save that it was hell on Earth.

How funny, since I was such a “successful patient” that my “before & after” pictures were on the front page of the surgeon’s practice website. They had been taken 1 month after the BBL surgery, before I knew anything had gone wrong. I wanted to laugh every time I thought of those pictures as I lay in my bed, feverish for the hundredth time, terrified to fall asleep—because if I did, I truly didn’t know if I was going to wake up again.

A small miracle happened: I finally found one surgeon who would see me. Ironically, he was a cosmetic surgeon. He described himself as a “risk-taker.”

I was rushed into imaging scans and bloodwork. The entirety of my gluteal region—my buttocks, my inner and outer thighs, my lower back, and some of my abdomen—was badly, badly infected. I was nearing sepsis.

I want you all to understand the severity of this. The glutes are some of the biggest, strongest muscles in the entire human body. Your abdominal muscles include a complex of muscles on the sides of your torso and deep core stabilizers close to your spine—and more. We rely on these complex muscular networks for nearly everything related to mobility, and keeping upright, even while sitting. When these muscles are weakened or damaged, that’s typically when you begin to feel your joints taking on the work that those muscles are meant to do. Keep this in mind as I go on, because it factors in quite hugely to the chronic pain I suffer from today.

My surgery became an emergency one. I was transported to the largest hospital in the county.

My body had been ripped open to save me. I bear some of the biggest, nastiest-looking scars you’ve ever seen right across my buttocks and abdomen.

Fast-forward to 9 months post-lifesaving-op.

I don’t know how to describe what this BBL took from me. I lack sensation in both of my buttocks entirely, and in my lower back and hips. You could stab me there and I would feel nothing. Somehow, though, the numbness itself is painful—the scar tissue gnarled inside is stabbing. It feels like needles buried in my body. Every time I sit down, I hold my breath, waiting to see if I can bear it this time.

I suffered damage to my spine. My back pain will likely never cease. I have been sat down in a cold white office more times than I can count, a doctor with a laptop telling me that it’s “probably permanent nerve damage. We can prescribe painkillers, but that’s all.”

Guess what? The painkillers don’t work. (As a redhead, I have a genetically faster metabolism of things like anesthetics and analgesics. The anesthesiologists for every surgery I’ve ever had would have to do “the redhead thing,” as they called it, and give me significantly more anesthesia than patients would normally ever require. It always took me about 6 to 8 hours to wake up after each surgery. This phenomenon appears to extend to things like Novocain and painkillers. Everything from codeine to Percocet just feels like a sugar pill. There is no relief.)

I wish I could say I have never experienced pain like that in my life ever since. I wish I could tell you it had been the end, that I had learned my lesson after being bludgeoned on the head with this near-death experience.

Because, surely, this must be the end, right? I couldn’t possibly continue to be so, so, so stupid.

But PTSD and depression set in fast and hard, and my self-esteem hit a nadir I had never known before.I felt like a mutilation—Frankenstein's monster. My life would never be the same. I rationalized to myself that I could still fix this, with enough surgery. I felt owed beauty now more than ever. My addiction merely deepened.

My next surgeries were abdominoplasty (tummy tuck, the most invasive kind that involved muscle repair), another breast lift (my previous one had not been long-lasting, and also had the added consequence of breast tissue having migrated into my armpits), and buccal fat removal. I also had a skin removal from my back—10 inches were excised, to be precise.

This—this was the most excruciating pain of my life. I have had gallbladder attacks, I have had a miscarriage, I have broken my bones, I have nearly died of hypokalemia, I have been beaten by a six-foot-tall man until black and blue, I have made myself vomit until I hit blood. But none of that was even an atom’s worth of what I woke up to with these surgeries.

My body has never recovered from the shock.

I had to have my mother and sister help me to do everything for almost a year—everything. I couldn’t sit up, or else I’d be met with agony so intense that I would start to sob, but couldn’t, because of the pain in my abdomen. I couldn’t use the bathroom by myself. I had to be wiped and cleaned. I had surgical drains that had to be emptied of blood every few hours. (One of them eventually popped out, and I had to go into the surgeon to have the swelling manually drained.) I couldn’t eat anything solid. I couldn’t sneeze. I couldn’t breathe. For a long time, I couldn’t even bring myself to purge—a very rare obstacle. And I couldn’t cry—which is what I wanted to do most of all.

I hope none of you ever have to know this kind of pain. I dissociated entirely from my body for the months and months of recovery that it took. Even PTSD somehow doesn’t feel adequate enough a term for what I went through.

Worse still, there were complications. I did have to sneeze once. I couldn’t stop it, of course. As a result of the abdominal contraction—which, by the way, may be the peak of all pain I’ve ever endured in memory—a hematoma formed. It swelled. It became dangerous. I had to have that manually drained, too. I remember sitting in the surgeon’s nice, expensive, minimalist office and watching blood cover everything (including the surgeon and two nurses) when, enthusiastic from the release of the lancing, it began to burst a bit. I remember sitting there as three people palpated my stomach, trying to squeeze all the asphyxiated blood out of the massive, alien-like bulge. It made a terribly wet noise and I nearly vomited.

I then developed an infection from one of the stitches in my left underarm, where skin had been removed and liposuction had been done.

I won’t detail the infection process—burst open wound, more oozing, pain, fever, panic. I had to treat the wound for months afterward, in a sling of gauze pads that had to be changed every few hours. It was my new normal. And, I cannot emphasize this enough, the pain was unbearable. I distanced even further from my body than ever before.

After several more procedures to that area, the wound under my arm finally closed. I was informed that it was badly disfigured—I didn’t need to be told, I could see that it was. It was my deepest, biggest scar of all, trumping even the one slashed across my buttocks. These were not clean, tidy scars—they were big. Bulging. Wide and gaping. Like knots in a massive tree—the tissue had healed in a warped, strange pattern. So far from natural that even my mother couldn’t hide her grimace looking at me.

I was told I would need another surgery to repair it, or I would have that biggest, deepest scar forever. But, I asked, wouldn’t another surgery just make a new scar, too?

“Yes, but, a... smaller one,” was the reply I got.

So. This was where my bar had sunk to: I had to aim for the lesser of two scars. That was going to be my best possible scenario. Beauty, forsooth.

I didn’t get the surgery. I finally stopped.

If you’ve read with me this far, here’s where I continue my list of lifelong side effects.

I developed an autoimmune disorder (or, if you want the theory of my latest rheumatologist, several of them) sometime after my second surgery. Despite more extensive testing than you could possibly imagine, there is no diagnosis. No one knows. I was abandoned as a Mayo Clinic case and sent home with a pamphlet about fibromyalgia.

As a result of the multiple, multiple liposuctions and the tummy tuck, I have 1) no sensation in my abdomen or my pubic area; 2) increased uterine pain; 3) stabbing numbness, predictably; 4) incurable interior itching that has no relief, plus an additional crawling sensation, as of insects under the skin; 5) inability to orgasm. (At the time of this editing, my gynecologist and neurologist have agreed together that damage to my sacrum done by the BBL is responsible for the significantly decreased sensation in my vulva and clitoris, and the tummy tuck is likely responsible for decreased pelvic floor health and difficulty contracting.)

My abdomen is permanently disfigured on the left side, where the hematoma occurred and the skin healed obtusely. Because I got the most invasive kind of tummy tuck, where the abdominal muscles were “repaired,” it feels like I am wearing a corset inside my body, 24/7. I can no longer do a nice morning stretch without worrying I’m going to tear my scars open (this is... not uncommon, unfortunately). The skin excision from my back that accompanied the tummy tuck exacerbates this tenfold—it is so, so, so unbearably tight. I can no longer twist at the waist to look behind me without gasping from the tightness and discomfort. I can no longer draw in a complete breath without focusing very, very hard. Having to think about every breath I take was not on my Life Bingo Card, I can tell you that.

I still get active acute swelling around the main scar, just above my pubic bone. Sometimes, if I exert myself too much, I’ll notice large lumps that are hard as rocks and painful to the touch. It feels like nails being driven slowly into my flesh. It takes a full day for the swelling to subside, but it always, always comes back, at the first sign of strain.

As a result of my multiple breast surgeries, I have 1) no sensation in my nipples or breasts and surrounding areas, including my underarms; 2) chronic pain in my underarms and shoulders; 3) infernal itching, as stated above; 4) disfigured nipples that look very, very unnatural, since I know many of you reading this are going to wonder—they looked pasted on (because they were!) and are dramatically misshapen, and are, with time and age, sinking slowly into the breast; 5) breathing is, again, actively painful in the shallower area of my chest, because of the damage to the area of my arms, shoulders, upper torso, and upper back; 6) damage to the lymphatic system in my breasts and underarms. Fluid builds up and causes pain deep within the breast and in the lymph nodes of the underarm, and has to be manually massaged out. There is so much hardened scar tissue in my breasts that I was urged to get regular mammograms to see if there were any suspicious masses, because my breast health risk has shot up by inflicting trauma to the area and effectively ruining the intricate construction of the breast and restricting ducts and vessels with scar tissue. It is likely related to my continued hormonal disruptions. Also, I never plan to have children, but I would absolutely never be able to breastfeed.

The skin excision resulted in a loss of sensation across my entire back, plus a huge scar that goes 360 degrees around my entire torso, which is all the worse for the infection under my left arm that further disfigured the area. I have no idea if there was any additional nerve damage done during the excision on my back. It becomes hard to attribute blame accurately after a while, because so many things were done that could or did incur spinal damage and general nerve damage in a more widespread sense. But given how delicate the back is for surgery, I wouldn’t be surprised if the excision that hacked 10 inches of healthy skin off of my body did contribute further damage.

The multiple liposuctions to my face, jaw, and neck, in addition to the buccal fat removal, robbed me of more than just my face shape. My jaw clenches involuntarily because of where it sits now—where it was never supposed to sit, until I intervened. I get more migraines. My cheeks are numb, inside and out. Sometimes I get a phantom pain on the inner cheek, where the buccal fat used to be. It is absolutely terrifying and debilitating.

And, yes, for those of you wondering, I do look older. The buccal fat removal aged me.

I had a round face before—and my goal was to change that. My face is still round, but now it just also happens to look like I scooped out a half-cup of my face flesh on both sides. To look at me in three-quarters profile is a bit unsettling. This is not how I would’ve naturally aged, in my opinion. It looks strange. It simply... looks bad.

My expressions have also changed. My smile looks unrecognizable from the one I grew up with. It’s a stranger’s now.

The BBL—I don’t even know what to say. I’m honestly in tears writing this—even again, as I go through and edit this a second time—and I didn’t think I would be. But it’s at this point in the summary that I find myself wracked with grief as if it all just happened yesterday.

I don’t think the trauma will ever leave me. I won’t ever be able to sit for long periods of time. I cannot lie on my back without wanting to cry. It hurts to put pants on. It hurts to take them off. And throughout it all, the pain is still made even more bizarre by the numbness. It feels like... knives. That is truly the best description I have to hand. Knives and knives and knives. Needles. Shards of broken glass. The wind knocked out of you. Impact, over and over and over again.

The inflammation is permanent. My bloodwork looks like a trainwreck.

My butt is disfigured (I’m getting tired of using that word, but it’s the most accurate one I’ve got). The BBL has been “reversed,” which is to say that it isn’t. It can’t be. But it has been repaired as much as it was possible to do at the time. My butt looks like the moon—cavities and pock marks and lumps and permanent bruises and broken blood vessels and small blood clots that I have to “keep my eye on.” It’s a disaster area.

Through years of extremely focused exercise, I’ve done my level best to build myself back healthy muscle and fat, but there are limits to what I can restore, and they are severe. The scarring is just... immense. Thick. It will never fade. And the scar tissue internally is so widespread and so very, very hardened that even when I step in the shower, I jolt with pain when the water hits my backside.

Professional help has not lessened any of the scar tissue. I have sought help from several professionals, but it is the best it will ever be right now with long-term maintenance. And that “best” has me writhing in agony every night, hoping I will just... die in my sleep, so that I won’t have to wake up in pain again.

I am chronically ill, I am chronically in pain. The symptoms are just... too many to list. I wonder sometimes how many years of my life I’ve shaved off with all of this.

I’ve honestly forgotten what I once looked like. I’ve forgotten what my features, what my body looked like. When someone compliments me, it’s all I can do to keep from bursting into tears—I feel like a patchwork monster. But, most unsettlingly, I’ve forgotten what my body felt like. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a body untouched by butchery, by clumsy human experimentation.

And still, always, it is never me who receives the compliments of kind people—it’s that distant enemy entity: my body. My failed project. My whipping girl.

Twelve years of my life. Gone. I look at average women with an envy I cannot describe. I wish I was them. I wish I had chosen any other life, anything else but this.

I’ve already written too much, rambled too long. But I have so much more to warn you about—so, so much more. I haven’t even touched on a fourth of what I wanted to in this caveat.

If you have specific questions on any of the procedures I listed, you can ask me. I want to help. I want to help you understand how dangerous this is. How much I envy the imperfect girl I was before all of this. I need to speak out, and to speak up. I need to be heard.

I also have warnings about fillers and Botox and CoolSculpt, and a lot of other “noninvasive” procedures that you find at “med spas.” I’ll save those for another time, but in short, don’t do them. They not only didn’t work, they ruined me even further. I thought I was safer because it wasn’t a true surgery. I was, again—again and again and again—so unbelievably wrong. If you think you can ever find a safe alternative to cosmetic surgery, you cannot. If anyone can tell you, it’s me. I’ve tried it all.

In conclusion—don't do it. I wish I had had myself to listen to when I was 17 on that first day with that first surgeon. I wish I had had myself to scare me with.

Please. No matter how much you think you need these things, no matter how much you think “I can’t possibly look/get worse,” let me assure you, there is no fate I could’ve imagined for myself worse than this. And I’m not just talking about my external body and how it looks—I'm talking also about my endocrine system, which suffered inexplicable damage; my central nervous system disorder that the Mayo Clinic could not diagnose in the end (I can no longer drive a car or be left alone for long periods of time without aid); my anxiety; my metabolic condition; my muscular system, weakened; my bones, crumbling; my autoimmune disease(s) that impede every aspect of my life; my circulatory system and the way these surgeries totaled my heart and increased my risk of stroke tenfold; the mold infections I sustained, which I am still being treated for; the brain damage my neurologist suspects occurred at several points of the physiological trauma sustained... I need an entire book to detail it all. I need hours and hours of your attention to tell you everything.

You are perfect as you are. I swear, you are. Please listen to me. Please use me as an example for your friends who tell you they’re considering a surgery. Tell them about me. Tell them how I almost died, and now I wish I had.

Nothing is worth it—nothing is worth the time, the sheer amount of life I lost. My life is gone. My independence is gone. I lost everything in pursuit of these surgeries—my education, my friends, my cognitive function, my hobbies, my interests, my skills, my identity… All things I took for granted. My future is so small now that I hardly feel it’s worth living for. I may be alive, but I can barely live my life. I have nothing left. I am a lifelong patient when I never had to be. This is, again, my new normal.

These are crimes against girls and women. It isn’t your fault you feel like you need these things. I wish I could make it go away for all of you, but the best I can do is scare you. Not with outlier stories, but with the common statistical truth.

Thank you for reading. I’m sorry for any typos or grammar/conceptual inconsistencies. I’ve typed and edited this on my phone, so it’s not perfect.

Power and strength to girls and women. You deserve to exist as you are. Remember it is an act of incredible defiance and protest in today’s world to be unapologetically alive in your female body.

i know we are all critical of buccal fat removal and that many women get very weirdly defensive abt it and try to leverage that critics of it don’t know firsthand and i just want to offer up that i had buccal fat removal when i was 24 (? i cant even remember now—i was in a bad place after an abusive relationship and was getting invasive cosmetic surgeries done left and right) so i CAN actually tell you with firsthand experience to NOT do it. it IS as bad as everyone is telling you. it IS as ruinous as we are saying. it DOES butcher your face irreparably. so pls don’t come at me being like “you have no idea how would you even know” cuz lmao i literally did it. i fell for the lie. i cannot reverse it, i cannot fix it. i regret it every day of my life. i will never have my face back. don’t fall for the lie cuz it IS a lie.

i had thee absolute top surgeon in my state and it was still a lie. i did everything he said and my recovery was “perfect” and it was still a lie.

it’s not “haters” who are “jealous” of you saying you’re scheduling your buccal fat removal surgery. it’s a not-insignificant number of women like me who fell for that shit and yknow what, now i AM jealous of you, ironically, bc you haven’t yet gone through with it. cuz you still have your own wonderful natural face and you have the option to decide not to be stupid and jeopardize it. you think you know now but you unfortunately don’t until it happens, until your face begins to cave in on itself, until you’re told that you now “need” xyz procedures to support the cheeks you just sucked out etc etc it never ends it never fucking ends you will never be satisfied and you can’t ever undo it

i have this unfortunate insider knowledge of at least 4 different major invasive cosmetic procedures and i regret every single one. they ruined my life in every conceivable way (even though i was considered a major success patient) and one surgery literally almost killed me. i thought i was so damn smart and resilient until i realized i can’t ever go back.

the “doing it for myself” speech stops mattering real fuckin quick when you’re alone in your room looking in your mirror wondering how anyone could’ve let you do this. i am not an outlier. i am a common statistic. you are not immune. don’t let them have your face.

#PS. i do have pictures of my recovery which i may have the courage to post someday.#today isn’t that day but know that they are gnarly and i will have to tag them as gore or something bc they are that bad #but i know what it’s like to be so insistent on cosmetic surgery that you will willfully ignore a written horror story #some of you need visual proof of how bad it is. and someday i’ll be able to give that #anti cosmetic surgery

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johnnys-helmet · 2 years ago

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MASH: S10E10 Follies of the Living, Concerns of the Dead

My Thoughts

Seeing everyone gather to help Klinger makes me really warm inside. My favorite thing about this show is the found family and this hits it right on the head.

Klinger hallucinating and talking to a pole while the dog looks on in confusion is so funny

So is him just falling onto the cot

This is one of those episodes where I feel really bad for Father Mulcahy. To feel like the only thing you're needed for is sending off the dead...it must hurt so bad.

I also feel really bad for Weston. I know the implication is that Klinger is hallucinating but I believe in spirits and to see a spirit afraid of leaving the waking world is so powerful to me as someone with a fear of death.

The arbitrary things the doctors argue about while Weston is struggling with being dead and fearing what comes next is so sad and so funny at the same time. The juxtaposition is like getting whiplash over and over again. This show really loves juxtapositions and I love that they do.

Kario Salem does such a fantastic job as Jimmy Weston in this episode. He does a fantastic job at making you feel for this poor kid who deserved to live but had his life torn away from him by a war that none of them wanted to be in.

Getting to posthumously go over your final belongings and remember your life through watching other people discuss them is such an interesting idea to me. Getting to connect with people you never knew and never will know.

As someone that has had a 104 fever I feel for Klinger so bad because I had no idea what the fuck was going on at any given time.

Waking up after being torn up like a piece of paper to find out your best friend is dead is so horrifying. I couldn't imagine this.

"Why then do the wicked live, are they advanced, and strengthened with riches?"

Father John Patrick Mulcahy I need you to stop hitting me so hard with religious text that makes me feel things.

Trying desperately to convince your friends not to grieve you is too real.

Klinger: I see dead people vs Potter: Shut the hell up is a very funny moment

I could never imagine being invisible like this. No one being able to hear or see you...it's gotta be so scary and frustrating.

Weston talking about what he'd miss...god.

And Margaret being a badass and him telling her to "go get em slugger" god i will CRY.

"I've written a lot of these letters, son." someone please give potter a hug.

I want so badly to know how I will be remembered. In a way I envy Weston for getting to see that.

Margaret trying to get mad and just stammering god she's so neurodivergent I love her

Winchester, Hawkeye, and BJ drinking together and talking about rats and the plague and playing with clamps are also very neurodivergent and I love their characters so much

Weston starting to drift to the other side and not understanding what's going on while the members of the Swamp toasting to the horrors of war is such a surreal scene.

To Charles!

Hearing the trivial and serious arguments and struggles of the camp only to see Weston passing to the other side is so...whew.

I love that they leave where they're going open-ended. You can believe what you want to believe and they allow that.

I love everyone excitedly greeting Klinger and Klinger just caring about what happened to this kid he never met...I adore Klinger

If people listened to each other more this show would have been over in two episodes.

And that's all for this episode! It's a very memorable one but it's also very hard to watch because it's so sad. (Not nearly on the level of the finale, but sad.) I adore it, and I wish we got to see more surreal stuff like that (like Dreams). They were very good at portraying stuff like this.

#m*a*s*h #mash #s10e10 follies of the living concerns of the dead #mash episode analysis

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ordinaryschmuck · 3 years ago

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What I Thought About "Knock Knock Knockin' on Hooty's Door" from The Owl House

Wow. They are really pushing it for that secret message, huh?

Anywho--Salutations, random people on the internet who certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons!

I think it goes without saying at this point that Season Two of The Owl House is setting itself up as a season without filler. Now, filler episodes aren't always bad. Yes, it hurts when a series turns away from the main plot for a week. But at best, they're utilized as a chance for the writers to play around with the characters and developing said characters without it relating to the overarching story. So, some people who see that consider it a bad thing that a series doesn't have that many filler episodes.

I like to call those people: F**king morons.

Don't get me wrong, I see where some of you are coming from. And I'd be willing to agree...if The Owl House was a plot-driven series. Which it's not. It is a character-driven series. Because for every plot thread and narrative that the show presents, they always relate to the characters and develop them further each time these threads get brought up. For example, look at "Knock Knock Knockin’ on Hooty's Door" (It pains me just to write that). Several narratives move forward, and it’s all done to make the characters grow. And to explain how requires going into spoilers. So keep that in mind as you continue reading.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

Hooty: Might as well start with the character that this episode is about.

To tell you the truth, I wasn't a huge fan when I found out we're getting a Hooty-centered episode. I've grown to love him over time, but he is a comedic character that's best used in small doses. Primarily due to how his voice is grating to me (My ears are still bleeding...). With that said, I do really love his contributions in "Knock Knock Knockin' on Hooty's Door" (Seriously, there couldn't have been a less awkward title?). Hooty's antics when trying to help everyone are as hilarious as they are heartwarming. He deeply cares for his friends but just doesn't understand how his plans could do some unintended harm, which is pretty lovable if you ask me. We also get some surprisingly great insight into his character, as he feels insecure about basically being the comic relief who doesn't really do that much other than being funny. Rarely do you get that level of dimension from a comedic character, and it's even more uncommon for that to work out as well as it does here. It once again proves just how competent the writing is in this series to the point where we get an episode about Hooty, and it's funny and heartwarming instead of being annoying. And whoever is responsible for that, you're the best.

Lilith’s Letter to Hooty: I mean it when I say that I love how Lilith kept her word about her and Hooty becoming penpals. Their friendship was something I would have never expected to love, and I'm still shocked that it works so well, so seeing it continue like this just warms me to the bone. Plus, it is pretty sweet that Lilith's kind words are what inspired Hooty to do what he's done in this episode...meaning it's Lilith we should thank here--SON OF A WITCH! Even when she's gone, she's still working her way into my heart!

King going through Puberty: What?! KING IS EVOLVING!

(There, I made a Pokemon reference. Do I get my cookie now?)

Eda Keeping Herself Awake to Train Herself: I'm willing to bet a large sum of money that this has everything to with Raine getting captured last week. If Eda was still the most powerful witch in the Isles, she might have actually saved them. But she isn't, and now the love of her life is in the clutches of a tyrant planning something that could potentially be the end of everything. So I can understand Eda pushing herself to her limit to get back on top again, as I would probably do the same. It's not healthy in any way, and Eda would be doing more harm than good. But when it comes to the people you love, logic doesn't always win out in the end.

Luz Wanting to Make her Way into Amity’s Heart by Making the Echo Mouse Happy: ...That's it. I Just...I just love everything about it, ok?

This was also when I knew that I was wrong to doubt that there would be zero Lumity in this episode. I realize my follies now, and I humbly apologize.

Hooty Teaching King About Demons: This was so funny. So, so funny. Probably doesn't come as a surprise, especially since The Owl House proves itself as a comedy before, but the jokes have never hit as frequently and as hard as they did here. From Hooty getting offended by King's dance to him and Dana's insert wanting a "DNA sample," everything managed to successfully make me lose my s**t. It does come at the expense of King suffering, but I can stomach that much more than if it were Eda or Luz. And, as a bonus, we get lore about how demons work, added with another great joke of King getting in trouble with Hooty for saying he already knows this stuff. Humor isn't always the show's strong suit, but when it works, it f**king works.

King Wanting to Know What he Is: But despite how funny King's vignette was, we still get to see more of his character grow. We learn that he's frustrated now that there's this big question mark over his life now, feeling extra angry that his father "abandoned" him to leave such a present mystery. It shows the hidden resentment he has that Lilith inadvertently brought out, made even worse when King's father hasn't responded to the video yet. King hasn't really gotten that much development until "Echoes of the Past," so it's pretty cool that the writers haven't really slowed down on it. Especially when it leads to these great moments of King venting his frustrations.

King’s Shouting Powers: KING learned FUS RO DAH!

(And now that's a Pokemon reference AND a Skyrim reference. WHERE'S MY GOSH DANG COOKIE!?)

Eda’s Nightmare: If King's vignette hits you hard with the laughs, Eda's will absolutely hit you harder with the feels (never make me say "feels" unironically again). Knowing that Eda's life got thoroughly screwed over by the curse is something we could figure out on her own. But seeing just how much the curse ruined her life and tore apart relationships that mean the world to her really does a swell job at ripping apart the soul. What's even more tragic is, technically speaking, it's all sort of Eda's fault too. She kept hiding the curse, refusing to be a burden to others who would do all they could to help. If she had only been open and honest, things probably wouldn't have changed much, but they most likely would have been better than they are now.

Eda Attacked her Father as the Owl Beast: ...I don't know what I was expecting when "Keeping Up A-Fear-Ances" hinted that there was some possible tension between Eda and her father...but it definitely wasn't this.

The fact that we see blood where his eye used to be doesn't make things any happier, either.

Raine Broke Up with Eda: Before we get into anything else, let's celebrate the fact that it's now confirmed that Eda and Raine really did use to date in the past. Because this show is just f**king phenomenal with its LGBTQA+ representation!

But, seriously, this is a fantastic reveal that goes far beyond just shipping...well, sort of. It shines a new light on Eda and Raine's interactions from last week, revealing that while they're not a couple anymore, they still very much love each other. It helps make their last interaction especially tragic, as they were both on the same page now and could very well be together again. Only for them to be forced apart for the second time in a way that's much worse than the first. And I frickin' adore that this series changes the impact of one episode one week later. Again, it shows just how competent these writers are, and kudos to them for making something so...perfect.

The Moon Person: WHO THE FU--Nope. Nope! We have more than enough mystery bulls**t to deal with through CreepyLuz and Philip Wittebane, so I am PUTTING YOU ON THE BACKBURNER FOR NOW!

(They're probably nothing more than a one-off character, anyway)

The Owl Beast and Eda are Connected: Through visuals alone, we, the audience, can clue into what the curse really means. The Owl Beast doesn't want to be a part of Eda as much as she doesn't want it to be a part of her. Whether they like it or not, and they very much don't, they're stuck together. The thing is, and this is what I love the most, they still decide to make the best of their situation rather than let it ruin their lives even more. This might be the best possible turn Eda's curse could have made. It'll still affect her, and there are probably more negatives than positives, but at least now, it's not the worst thing in the world. And I feel like that's all anyone can ask when in a position like her own.

Eda's “Pretty Dream”: I don't know what emotions are toiling inside me more with this moment. Awe and wonder over how beautiful Eda's dream is, or heartbreak over the implication that she has only had nightmares since getting cursed...I'm gonna say both. Yeah, it's definitely both.

Eda’s Harpie Form: Well, fan artists are gonna have a field day with this...especially the freaks.

(You know who you are. And you're weird!)

Luz Calling Amity a “Cotton-Candy Haired Goddess”: ...Have I ever mentioned how much I love this show?

Hooty Kidnapped Amity: ...Hooty, if your stupidity wasn't charming, I would be more than willing to call the authorities over how you kidnapped a girl in your version of a knapsack and locked her in the basement. For that is going to ring SO MANY alarm bells in people's heads.

Amity and Luz Stuck in a Tunnel of Love: *Smacks lips* Mmm. The adorable awkwardness of this moment is just *chef's kiss* magnifique!

Luz being afraid of getting made fun of:

Amity’s look of hope: I mean...just...f**king--LOOK AT HER:

That is the look of a girl who, while embarrassed as hell, still is ecstatic to learn for a brief moment, everything that she is hoping for has a high chance of being real. Who, in their right mind, wouldn't go "Aw!" at something so pure and innocent?!

Luz Destroying the Tunnel of Love: This is how to effectively utilize dramatic irony. The audience can understand why Luz is tearing the place apart because she explicitly states that she's afraid of Amity rejecting her in the end. They also know that's bogus, thus making it extra painful to watch Amity's heart break more and more with each second (which is perfectly represented through Amity's expressions). You feel bad for both of them, and even worse when you know that it can easily be prevented by the simple art of communication. That's what makes it great dramatic irony. Knowing the point of view of each character results in a scene that evokes emotions in two different ways.

Hooty’s Breakdown: This was...genuinely hard to watch. Not that it was badly written, far from it. It just...hurt seeing how destroyed Hooty was when he realized he failed the people he has such an admiration for. On the upside, a wholesome moment follows soon after as the Owl House gang tries to reassure Hooty that he's done a lot of good that night. It's a pure action that shows even though Hooty gets on their nerves all the time, they still care about him...damn it. I think I'm gonna cry.

Eda’s Advice for Luz: ...Eda...You're the best.

You found out that your surrogate daughter wants to ask a girl out, and not only were you quick to deliver the best possible advice ("Just go for it!"), but you also quickly reassure her that it doesn't need to be perfect.

And you know what? That's it. Eda is the best cartoon mom! She might not technically be Luz's mom, but I don't give a s**t because she is the best!

Luz and Amity Ask Each Other Out: Shh-sh-sh-sh...

Do you hear that?

...

...It's the sound of dozens of Lumity fans collectively losing their s**t...and I'm one of them.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

HOO-HOO-HOO-HOO!

IT!

IS!

CANON!

AH-HAHAHAHAHA!

HOLY S**T! Holy s**t! Holy s**t...might just be the best way I could possibly describe this! Finally, after all the waiting, speculating, and praying, THESE TWO IDIOTS FINALLY GOT TOGETHER! AND IT WAS PERFECT! I mean, it was awkward as s**t, but that's what makes it perfect! You know why? You wanna--Hey! *snaps fingers*. You want to know why? It's because they're teenagers. Of f**king course, it's going to be awkward! This is their first relationship, so there will be a lot of missteps along the way. And that, in itself, brings me to the best (second best part?) thing about it happening in episode eight of the new seasons. Most endgame couples get together in the climax or even at the end of the series. But to have them get together this early on, means there will be quite a few episodes dedicated to showing them grow as a couple.

And better than that--EVEN F**KING BETTER THAN THAT--dozens of kids are going to see these two, a realistic depiction of young love that just so happens to involve two girls, and are going to learn once and for all that there is nothing wrong with being who they are. That fact alone is f**king incredible. Yes, it sucks that season three got cut short, and we'll have even less time with Luz and Amity, but knowing how many kids have felt seen today almost makes it worth it in the end.

And if I see one mother f**ker saying this was poorly paced, I might just hunt them down for SPORT...Sorry if that was an overreaction. I'M JUST SO HAPPY! Because they're happy! Look at them. Listen to them! It's so...GAH-HAHAHA!

“They’re adorable! And deserve all the happiness!”: You're darn right, Hooty! You're darn right.

King’s Father(?) Shows Up: What the--WHAT?! They're doing this now?! Here?! After everything else?

Oh, man. What could this mean? What dynamic changes will this cause in the main cast? How could the writers fit this in during the next two episodes? And what--

Hooty Eats the Letter: ...Pfffft--HAHAHAHA!

Oh, man...I should be mad, and I wouldn't blame others if they are...but that is too much of a brilliant f**k you that I can't help but appreciate it. Bravo writers. Bravo.

WHAT I DISLIKED

...Dislikes? Dislikes? You would honestly believe that after everything I witnessed in this episode, that I would have the gull to list anything wrong with it?!

HOW DARE YOU ASSUME THAT I WOULD BE SO CALLUS TO--Actually, I do kind of have an issue with the episode's title. It's just too much of an awkward mouthful for me to get behind. I understand that the writers wanted to sneak the K into the secret message, but were there really no other titles starting with K that they couldn't come up with?

But that's just a personal issue, and in no way do I think anybody else would feel the same way. Especially with how well-written everything else is anyway.

IN CONCLUSION

"Knock Knock Knockin' on Hooty's Door" (title aside) is another A+ episode. It was hilarious, heart-wrenching, and downright adorable while keeping me entertained with every minute. I'm sure there are some issues I was willing to ignore due to how expertly written everything else was, but why bother looking for the chinks in the armor when I could just enjoy a perfect episode for being so...perfect! Some of you might be willing to disagree with me, but to that, I say: Don't knock it till you've tried it.

(Now, if you don't excuse me, I'm going to go lie down. It's...It's been a day.)

#the owl house #the owl house season 2 #the owl house reviews #the owl house spoilers #toh spoilers #toh hooty #king clawthorne #eda clawthorne #raeda #luz noceda #amity blight #lumity #lumity is canon #what i thought about

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traumatizedgus · 5 months ago

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OKAY OKAY ILL JUST SAY SOME THAT I THINK ABOUT MOST OFTEN!1!1!1! (YOU CAN DEF TELL WHO MY FAVS ARE LOLZ)

Pest and Prototype are buddies! Prototype being able to translate and talk to pest in Japanese has led them to form an unlikely bond! Pest makes robots, and helps repair prototype and Scag!! Pest also was the one who reprogrammed scag after she transitioned!!1!1!1!

Pest is trans, but never brings it up because, “When would that even come up?” He is also asexual and demiromantic!

Pest often times has a difficult time expressing positive emotions! Leading him to act cold towards others. When he feels people are getting too close to him, he will push them away. He is uncomfortable in any situation where affection is being expressed towards him. He genuinely believes he is above the law and was outraged when he got arrested for petty theft. (Dr.Retro broke him out, so he feels like he is under her debt often)

OH OH OH THIS ONE IS MY FAVORITE!!!

Bive is a fleshcousin!!!! The “real” (original) Bive was created in a lab (as per canon) but then lived on to become a famed scientist! This Bive was studying the Fleshcousin species, and managed to trap and keep one in a glass cage. Researching its eating patterns and doing experiments on it. This fleshcousin had some semblance of sentience, and became angry at Bive. It found a way to escape and attacked her! Ending up killing her and taking her spot. Everyone else at the lab thought she was just driven to madness but it was literally just a fleshcousin. All of this happened before she was once seen in the Regretevator! Meaning that the Bive we see, has always been a fleshcousin! It really affects Split and Bives relationship!!1!1!1

UHH UHH UHH

Infected and Gregoriah are good friends! Infected ended up on the fun flood floor and managed to get inside the control area, where they met! They play games together and sometimes hang out. Poob and split are also apart of this friend group! Making a really interesting group!

Pilby age regresses! They do this to cope with the trauma of losing their mom. Split takes good care of Pilby when this happens!!

Melanie, Jeremy and Mozelle (I think that’s her name? The little mouse girl in the creature capture level) were all good friends before Melanie died. (Luv u folly but I do not have any head cannons for u rn)

Pest and Bive used to meet up regularly to discuss and plan what they were going to do about the dream parasite before she found a body. They used to talk about it often. Now that folly has found a body, they still meet up to see what they can do about her.

Poob knows a scary amount of stuff that happens around them. They know they are protected by something, but they don’t know what. As long as they are protected, they know nothing can hurt them, so they choose to act like nothing scary is happening. They are really uncomfortable with Folly and MR. They have to watch their friends die if MR comes in. And there’s nothing they can do about it. This Leads to a crazy amount of regret and self-loathing. To distract from this, they annoy and give all of their affection to Pest. Who doesn’t know what to do with it, so he acts like he hates them for it. (He doesn’t)

Uhhh I’m gonna hate myself for forgetting any important or cool ones but if I do I’ll add on!!

(I never get to talk about these so they’ve been in my head awhile. ENJOY THE HEADCANNONZ)

Also jeez this was A LOOOT. TYTYTYTY

TELL ME YOUE REGRETEVATIR HCS! @mayysmackii @traumatizedgus @aceiscoool

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astrognossienne · 3 years ago

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tragic beauty: lupe vélez - an analysis

“I had to play with boys, girls found me too rough.” - Lupe Vélez

This is an analysis I’ve wanted to cover for a while for quite a few reasons. Primarily because, in a few ways, I see myself in her and, as such, feel the need to defend her and assert her true legacy: as a pioneer. Which brings me to the main reason I wanted to do this: to correct the scurrilous rumours about her premature death cooked up by a hating ass imbecilic Aquarius whose infamous book doesn’t deserve to be named. So if you want to hear the truth about this lady, read on.

Known as the “Mexican Spitfire”, Latin bombshell Lupe Vélez was (an to an extent, still is) a much-maligned and terribly misunderstood woman. A true Cancer, she was a force of nature and unconsciously antagonized others and made them uncomfortable because of her authenticity to herself and her emotional nature. Born during a storm, she had a naturally stormy personality. She could be hilarious and charismatic one moment, and depressive and vicious the next. Instead of anyone trying to understand her, they just stuck her with the “spicy fiery Latina” stereotype, not knowing or caring what was behind it. The harshness of her life before stardom may explain some of her fearsome, yet fun, personality; she grew up with violent trauma – watching her father kill and almost be killed during the Mexican Revolution. She also is believed to have had undiagnosed bipolar disorder, which would explain her extreme moodiness and outbursts.

One of the first Latina actresses to make an impact in Hollywood, she was subjected to the racist, sexist Hollywood tropes that forever typecasted her—she was called “senorita cyclone,” and the “hot tamale”. The Hollywood press willfully misunderstood Vélez’s sex positivity and consistently portrayed her as a woman who took great pleasure in her body, and indeed, the tempestuous Vélez had numerous affairs, including a particularly torrid one with a young Gary Cooper, and a tumultuous marriage to “Tarzan” star Johnny Weissmuller. But in 1944, at age 36, she found herself pregnant with the child of a little known-actor name Harald Ramond, who would not marry her and this reality made her come undone, and like my other baby Carole Landis, she succumbed to an drug overdose. Her promiscuity, right or wrong, became part of the way her stardom was packaged and promoted. Also, the press naturally compared her to (and pitted her against) Hollywood’s only other female Mexican star—the “high-class” and elegant Dolores Del Rio. The press couldn’t even find sympathy for her even in death and a false story was printed that she drowned in the toilet after vomiting up a spicy Mexican dinner. Her death is parodied and mocked to this day. Again, she’s a true Cancer in the sense that the same imperfections that everyone else has, she is seen as less than human for having them. I hope to help right that wrong by honoring Vélez for being the trailblazer that she is. At any rate, Vélez would seem to be a prototype for contemporary female stars, from Madonna to Rihanna, who have proclaimed their pleasure in their body and their sexual liberation — a pro-sex activist before her time, doomed to suffer the rejection of a more puritanical age.

Lupe Vélez, according to astrotheme, was a Cancer sun and Leo moon. She was born María Guadalupe Villalobos Vélez in San Luis Potosí, Mexico, to young upper-middle class parents. Her father, Jacobo Villalobos Reyes, was a colonel in the military, and her mother, Josefina Vélez, was an opera singer. They also had another son, John and daughter, Annette. The Villalobos family were considered prominent in San Luis Potosí and most of the male family members were college educated. The family was also financially comfortable and lived in a large home with servants. As a young girl Lupe showed an interest in performing, but her father was outraged at his daughter’s “low-class” dreams, and forbade his daughter from being in show business. All that changed during the war. Her family was in a state of upheaval—the Mexican Revolution was happening, her father had been presumed dead in the war and all their money was gone. While most of her family members were too proud to get jobs, a teenage Vélez did just that, supporting the family by working as a saleswoman in a department store. She then finagled an audition with a local theater. However, her father was indded alive and well and soon returned home from the war. Because at that time becoming an artist and coming from a well-to-do family was seen as embarrassing, her father refused to let her use his last name in theater, so she used her mother’s surname.

She proceeded to seek out venues where she could dance the then-popular “shimmy.” In 1925 she was cast in the big stage revues Mexican Rataplan and !No lo tapes! and became a big audience favourite. Her name got around to American stage star Richard Bennett (father of American film stars Constance and Joan Bennett), who was looking for a Mexican cantina singer for his new play. Lupe traveled to Hollywood but was rejected for the part for being too young. While in Hollywood, Lupe met film and stage comedienne Fanny Brice, who took a liking to Lupe because of her sparkling personality. She put in a good word for Lupe to impresario Florenz Ziegfeld (creator of the Ziegfeld’s Follies), who could use Lupe in one of his Broadway musicals. However, MGM producer Harry Rapf heard of Lupe as well, and offered her a screen test. When producer Hal Roach saw the test, he immediately signed her to a contract. Vélez soon made her major film debut in Douglas Fairbanks’ action-romance The Gaucho in 1927. The film was a huge hit and Vélez was an overnight sensation.

Along with her professional life gaining steam, so did her love life. Vélez sought out some of Hollywood’s hottest men, which wasn’t hard for a hot and sexy number like Lupe; men flocked to her like bees to honey. She was romantically linked with Gary Cooper, Charlie Chaplin, Clark Gable, cowboy Tom Mix, “Tarzan” actor Johnny Weissmuller, Errol Flynn, John Gilbert, Henry Wilcoxon, singer Russ Columbo, Randolph Scott, author Erich Maria Remarque (who wrote All Quiet On The Western Front and later married Paulette Goddard), Clayton “Lone Ranger” Moore, director Victor Fleming (director of Gone With The Wind), and boxers Jack Johnson and Jack Dempsey.

One of her first conquests was cowboy star Tom Mix. She also had an with newcomer Clark Gable, who cut off their romance because he was afraid Lupe would run all over town discussing their sexual secrets, which she did. Soon she had a torrid affair with comic genius Charlie Chaplin in 1928. Lupe revitalized Chaplin’s libido after he had gone through a torturous divorce from his wife. Whatever time she had for the many men in her life, that same appreciation didn’t extend to other women and she would frequently battle with the other females with whom she had to work with and would often threaten them; when she was starring in director D.W. Griffith’s Lady of the Pavements, she had to co-star with an actress named Jedda Goudall, whom she hated, and the two had a ferocious cat-fight on the set. When she made her final appearance on Broadway in the Cole Porter musical “You Never Know”, Vélez and fellow cast member Libby Holman feuded viciously. The feud came to a head during a performance where Vélez punched Holman in between curtain calls and gave her a black eye, which pretty much ended the run of the show. Vélez was territorial about the men in her life, she was vicious toward any woman who might be competition for her man or an acting role. She mocked Marlene Dietrich, Greta Garbo, Katharine Hepburn and Shirley Temple, and her arch nemesis Dolores Del Dio by doing imitations of them.

When she was cast in the film The Wolf Song in 1929, she met Gary Cooper and immediately started what would be her first widely publicized romance. Theirs was a one-sidedly volatile relationship; he would often appear in public with scratches and bruises. One time, she attacked him with a knife during a fight. He needed stitches. By the end of their time as a couple, Copper had lost 45 pounds and was physically exhausted. He was ordered by the studio to take a vacation. As he boarded a train, Vélez shot at Cooper but missed. Lupe soon moved on to other men; she had a thing for fighters. In addition to having a brief fling with boxer Jack Dempsey, she conducted a flagrant, but secret, affair with the black boxer Jack Johnson. In those days, blacks and whites almost never conducted sexual affairs out in the open. She met Olympic swimming champion Johnny Weissmuller at the hotel where she was staying that was owned by film star Marion Davies. One problem: Weissmuller was already married. But no matter, he dumped his wife for Lupe and married her October 8, 1933 in Las Vegas. Theirs was not a happy, serene marriage, and they constantly battled, with Lupe filing for divorce several times in 1934 and changing her mind each time. Weissmuller’s patience was so strained he dumped a plate of salad on her head at Ciro’s nightclub. Finally, in 1938 she filed a petition that was finalized in 1939.

After having many hit pictures with MGM, they unceremoniously dropped her. The excuse was that the studios were no longer going to make Spanish versions of their films and there was no longer a need for Latin actresses. Vélez returned to Mexico in 1938 to star in her first Spanish-language film. Arriving in Mexico City, she was greeted by 10,000 fans. The film La Zandunga, was a critical and financial success and Vélez was slated to appear in four more Mexican films, but instead, she returned to Los Angeles. She soon went to RKO Studios and starred in the B-movie The Girl From Mexico. Despite its lowly status, the picture became a tremendous hit with audiences. RKO rushed her into another film, this time called Mexican Spitfire, playing an emotionally volatile singer named Carmelita. The 1940 film became another smash for Lupe. The Spitfire series of eight slapstick comedy films rejuvenated Lupe’s sagging career. In late 1941, she had an affair with writer Erich Maria Remarque whose wife, actress Luise Rainer later wrote that Remarque told her “with the greatest of glee” that he found Vélez’s volatility hot.

At this same time Lupe took on another lover in the form of a French 27-year-old bit actor named Harald Ramond. He was a strong and controlling man who knew how to tame Lupe. After she discovered that she was three months pregnant, she announced her engagement to Ramond without his knowledge or consent. When he learned of her pregnancy, he refused to marry her. Deeply hurt and stunned, she felt backed into a corner; she knew her career would be ruined in Hollywood if word got out she was pregnant and unmarried. It just wasn’t done in those days. And despite her wildness, Lupe was a devout Catholic, so abortion was out of the question. She could see only one way out: suicide. On December 18, 1944, at the age of 36, Vélez swallowed 70 Seconal pills, she lay down on her pink satin pillow on her over-sized Hollywood bed and arranged herself like a movie star, with her hands folded across her chest and went into an eternal sleep. Dramatic to the end, Lupe went out of this world in glamorous style. She left a suicide note addressed to Harald, which read:

“To Harald, May God forgive you and forgive me too, but I prefer to take my life away and our baby’s before I bring him with shame or killing him. How could you, Harald, fake such a great love for me and our baby when all the time you didn’t want us? I see no other way out for me so goodbye and good luck to you, Love Lupe.”

THAT is the truth. But the bottom line is: how she lived her life as well as the circumstances around her death are all irrelevant at the end of the day. What matters is the loss of a great multi-talented, pioneering Mexican star and a legacy unrealized and stunted by a world that wasn’t ready for her.

Next, I’ll talk about the most famous of her paramours, the yin to her yang, a perfect example of the special chemistry that Taureans and Cancers share, the strong, silent hero of the silver screen: Taurus Gary Cooper.

Stats

birthdate: July 18, 1908

major planets:

Sun: Cancer

Moon: Leo

Rising: Gemini

Mercury: Cancer

Venus: Leo

Mars: Pisces

Midheaven: Pisces

Jupiter: Virgo

Saturn: Aries

Uranus: Capricorn

Neptune: Cancer

Pluto: Gemini

Overall personality snapshot: She may have seemed at times to be a shy, vulnerable, romantic individual who only wanted to please, but underneath she had a voracious appetite for adoration and respect, and would not stop until she got it. Without a doubt, she had a very warm feeling for others, and domestic security with plenty of happy togetherness is high on her list of priorities. When it came to cooperation with others, however, she had her limits because she was profoundly individualistic and, albeit in a charming manner, she insisted on doing things her way. Ultimately the most important thing for her was believing in herself and being true to her standards and aspirations. Most of all, she needed to fulfill her creative potential, which was like an intimate companion with whom she shared her life. You nurture it, protect it, and then you show it off, and whatever walk of life you are in, you tend to be a fine performer.

This gave her a lot of self-respect and a touch of vanity as well, and her emotional sensitivity combined with her underlying imperiousness tended to impress others and made them take her seriously. She was a devoted member of her flock, and she zealously and jealously protected and promoted whomever she was devoted to. When it came to developing her own talents, however, she seemed to know that she had to pull away in order to grow into her greatest self. Others may have thought she was a bit of a show-off but that was not the case: she simply had a deep sense of the importance of her own creative talents, and she felt only half alive if she did not honour them. Although she was pretty sensitive to criticism or rebuffs, she was just as committed to honesty and personal integrity; and despite her vanity, she eventually learned to laugh at herself.

She had a very good memory and found it easy to learn subjects that interested her. She was very kind and thoughtful towards others. Her imagination was very keen, but if it got carried away, she may have experienced irrational fears. Even though she may have tried to maintain a scientific and objective outlook, her mind was actually dominated by her emotions. When it came to careers, she may have felt initially vague or confused about what she really wanted to do. She was eventually forced to give up her career of choice by events out of her control (as was evidenced by the tides turning from the “Mexican spitfire” female ideal due to the changing of the times). There was probably some element of self-sacrifice involved somewhere in her choice of career (the element of sacrifice being that she had to sacrifice her child, and ultimately her life, in relation to her reputation as an unwed mother as well as her unborn child’s reputation as an illegitimate child). She had good technical and scientific ability due to her, at times almost fanatical, attention to detail. She was also fastidious when it came to matters of health, diet and appearance. She was not afraid of work and was very resourceful and capable. She also worked well in a team. She became very annoyed if somebody else questioned the way that she operated. Her energy levels were somewhat inhibited, her self-confidence reduced, and her ambitions restricted through fear of failure. Times of strength and weakness alternated within her. Even though her decision-making ability could be ineffectual through over-caution, she often seemed to be placed in situations where a quick decision was needed. When she succeeded, it was mainly through her own efforts. She also showed a tendency towards wanting to start at the top, wanting to avoid the hard work that gets you there.

She belonged to a generation with a rational and logical attitude to life. There was a conflict between tradition and convention, and the experimental and unconventional. As an individual, she had to learn to strike a balance between the erratic and the conventional. As a member of this generation, she had the ability to come up with original ideas which could be of practical value. She was part of a very artistically talented and creative generation that wanted to escape from the demands of the world around them into a world of excitement and glamour. She was part of an emotionally sensitive generation that was extremely conscious of the domestic environment and the atmosphere surrounding her home place and home country. In fact, she could be quite nostalgic about her homeland, religion and traditions, often seeing them in a romantic light. She felt a degree of escapism from everyday reality, and was very sensitive to the moods of those around her. Bow embodied all of these Cancer Neptunian ideals. As a Gemini Plutonian, she was mentally restless and willing to examine and change old doctrines, ideas and ways of thinking. As a member of this generation, she showed an enormous amount of mental vitality, originality and perception. Traditional customs and taboos were examined and rejected for newer and more original ways of doing things. As opportunities with education expanded, she questioned more and learned more. As a member of this generation, having more than one occupation at a time would not have been unusual to her.

Love/sex life: It wasn’t easy to be passionate and emotionally explosive and also hold on to her dignity, but this was what she wanted to accomplish. She tried to conceal the pulsating softness of her sexual nature behind a façade of control and bluster. She thought that her display of strength and jolly self-confidence would hide her vulnerability and her susceptibility to virtually any sexual diversion. Of course, no one was really buying this cover up. They saw the luscious edges of her erotic hunger peeking through her disguise. That’s why they were all so anxious to be around her. The biggest problem in her sex life was how to deal with change. She loved it and she hated it. She loved following the lead of her feelings and surrendering herself to the moment. Too much consistency, even loving consistency, was apt to leave her bored and dissatisfied. But she also saw change as a threat to her sense of control and to the emotional security that she valued so highly. Because of this duality in her thinking, her reaction to changes in her sex life was abrupt, contradictory, and (horror of horrors) a little undignified.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Gemini

Lilith: Libra

Vertex: Scorpio

Fortune: Gemini

East Point: Gemini

Her North Node in Gemini dictated that she needed to prevent her idealism from influencing her thoughts to such a high degree. She needed to consciously develop a more clear-minded and analytical approach involving her thought processes. Her Lilith in Libra was definitely working overtime here. Relationships somehow caused her to err, and her partner choices caused much suffering. She expressed herself through others. As a lover, she was aggressive, yet co-dependent. As a mistress, she was not above trying to cause a divorce, which she did with Johnny Weissmuller and she ultimately became fatally despondent when she found herself pregnant with a bit actor's baby. She used her good looks as a weapon to help her get ahead in the movie industry. Also, Lilith in Libra strangely enough, manifested itself as a sort of lighter female Capricorn archetype, and she pulled herself up by the bootstraps in a rather glamorous way, going to work after her father left the family unit. As such, she exhibited graceful gumption right until the very end. Her Vertex in Scorpio, 5th house dictated that she had a desire or continual need for feeling irresistible and irreplaceable on all levels of intimacy, whether spiritual, intellectual, emotional, or physical. From the fires of hell to the heights of heaven, the further and deeper the range of interaction she could experience with another the more fulfilling. She had a childlike orientation, in all of its manifestations, toward relationships on an internal level. That implicit trust, or perhaps naivete, that was instilled in our childhood persisted far into maturity. The concomitant explosions and occasional tantrums when these constructs are violated also accompany this position. She had a need for fun, creativity, and excitement in a committed relationship, no matter how many years it has endured. She often had deep fears, typical of children, of abandonment, as well as a need for universal acceptance, no matter how she acted, which she needed her partner to respect and nurture, rather than rebuke, especially in adulthood. Her Part of Fortune in Gemini and Part of Spirit in Sagittarius dictated that her destiny lay in travel, education and communication. She was able to overcome enemies by her words and by her writing. Happiness and fulfillment came from being able to express herself fully. Her soul’s purpose lay in seeking truth, justice and fairness. She felt spiritual connections and saw the spark of the divine when she studied, broadened her mind through new philosophies, or looked for inspiration outside the home. East Point in Gemini dictated that she was often insatiably curious and loved to collect little bits of (what seemed to be useless) information and trivia. Her interests were quite varied, and she may have been somewhat scattered. Sometimes her curiosity could appear cold and callous as her level of objectivity was potentially high. There was usually an openness to learning in any situation.

elemental dominance:

water

fire

She had high sensitivity and elevation through feelings. Her heart and her emotions were her driving forces, and she couldn’t do anything on earth if she didn’t feel a strong effective charge. She needed to love in order to understand, and to feel in order to take action, which caused a certain vulnerability which she should (and often did) fight against. She was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. She generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. She was exciting to be around, because she was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, she could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Ultimately, she chose the latter. Confident and opinionated, she was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because she was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—she was bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at her best, her confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves.

modality dominance:

mutable

She wasn’t particularly interested in spearheading new ventures or dealing with the day-to-day challenges of organization and management. She excelled at performing tasks and producing outcomes. She was flexible and liked to finish things. Was also likely undependable, lacking in initiative, and disorganized. Had an itchy restlessness and an unwillingness to buckle down to the task at hand. Probably had a chronic inability to commit—to a job, a relationship, or even to a set of values.

house dominants:

2nd

3rd

1st

The material side of life including money and finances, income and expenditure, and worldly goods was emphasized in her life. Also the areas of innate resources, such as her self-worth, feelings and emotions were paramount in her life. What she considered her personal security and what she desired was also paramount. Short journeys, traveling within her own country were themes throughout her life; her immediate environment, and relationships with her siblings, neighbours and friends were of importance. The way her mental processes operated, as well as the manner and style in which she communicated was emphasized in her life. As such, much was revealed about her schooling and childhood and adolescence. Her personality, disposition and temperament is highlighted in her life. The manner in which she expressed herself and the way she approached other people is also highlighted. The way she approached new situations and circumstances contributed to show how she set about her life’s goals. The general state of her health is also shown, as well as her early childhood experiences defining the rest of her life.

planet dominants:

Neptune

Mercury

Sun

She was of a contemplative nature, particularly receptive to ambiances, places, and people. She gladly cultivated the art of letting go, and allowed the natural unfolding of events to construct her world. She followed her inspirations, for better or for worse. She was intellectual, mentally quick, and had excellent verbal acuity. She dealt in terms of logic and reasoning. It was likely that she was left-brained. She was restless, craved movement, newness, and the bright hope of undiscovered terrains. She had vitality and creativity, as well as a strong ego and was authoritarian and powerful. She likely had strong leadership qualities, she definitely knew who she was, and she had tremendous will. She met challenges and believed in expanding her life.

sign dominants:

Cancer

Gemini

Leo

At first meeting, she seemed enigmatic, elusive. She needed roots, a place or even a state of mind that she could call her own. She needed a safe harbor, a refuge in which to retreat for solitude. She was generally gentle and kind, unless she was hurt. Then she could become vindictive and sharp-spoken. She was affectionate, passionate, and even possessive at times. She was intuitive and was perhaps even psychic. Experience flowed through her emotionally. She was often moody and always changeable; her interests and social circles shifted constantly. She was emotion distilled into its purest form. She ventured out to see what else was there and seized upon new ideas that expanded her community. Her innate curiosity kept her on the move. She used her rational, intellectual mind to explore and understand her personal world. She needed to answer the single burning question in her mind: why? This applied to most facets of her life, from the personal to the impersonal. This need to know sent her off to foreign countries, where her need to explore other cultures and traditions ranked high. She was changeable and often moody. This meant that she was often at odds with herself—the mind demanding one thing, the heart demanding the opposite. To someone else, this internal conflict often manifested as two very different people. She loved being the center of attention and often surrounded herself with admirers. She had an innate dramatic sense, and life was definitely her stage. Her flamboyance and personal magnetism extended to every facet of her life. She wanted to succeed and make an impact in every situation. She was, at her best, optimistic, honorable, loyal, and ambitious.