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libidomechanica · 7 months ago

Text

“For shade to shade will coin young Cupids”

A ballad sequence

Himself thrice in the act of love. And honour, if ye will. Or like not of the pan I scrub and burn, and here and every

tree does shed its fruit. For shade to shade will coin young Cupids. But O the heavens fall in a gentle rain, when they

say she’s coming home the train as it leaves the mouths of men. Beauties budde, reliuen not for themselfe, but form and only

wake with yours in the Light of Lights forever.—I’ll write whatever feeling of thy swinck, that with such a rare carnation

grew. Into the day, and which cloys, for the sword and for his gray shadow, he pursues! And even those people roll

by in the mouth. One of those sweets that dwell in my delicious meat is to the man. Once more among the rest—turning

from the golden Morpheus in silence of that which slays even more—the death, no, not the praise, phoebus replied, Your blood

should die: till out of long frustration of an Alien Name I shadow One upon whose toppe the stars, and then decide,

without love’s flame. So now his frend is chaunged for darting it. By this Leander sitting under the other

Sestos here who on Love’s seas more glorious eyes watch our close ivy-twines; there I’ll behold thy bared snow and thy

tears, so long as I have above! Learnt our meaning to be venged for a frenne. Of haggard seeming, but effectually

is out; for it no form delivers to the water from moats and how the strangers shelt’ring from the blue skies derived

a double light in air and sinless child of sin; but closed in Stygian Three April perfumes there.

They fed her that their cups with tears! And once she stayed, and wound wherewith they bring that great elixir to thy hive. Some

have wronged it, sought far less for loss of tickets, or codille; spleen, vapours, or smallpox, above the team hotel, the

moon shall shine upon, lulled a sleepe through, and you in Grecian dame, that is tame, and but at other eyes serue him with

deluging storm. But Time, which down her prayse, but into weeping for thy prey: the name of murdrer now on thy faire forehead

sitteth, and euen while I meditate the thankless Muse? We kissed her and Juan thought, be torn. I learnd a lesson derely

bought that nys on earth assuraunce to be Nature’s own hand painting fools, yet is, whate’er may seem good to the hills

bene nigher heuen, and them did saue with blazing still would I give for thee. The old world grows dull, and long, long deserts

scorch the camel is to pass, than this I would that I were dead! Of all his bearded Victor of ten-thousand men, who

looked at her, and live with softest downy breasts, have passions brought the past still we moved together. To spare, blinded alike

from sunshine and from the Queen’s decease she brought her falling, yet was honest meaning truly, and nothing at all

how I love thee in such sort as, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. But hear that she wile your fancy frae me,

for fear of seeming rather touch’d earthly faces. To keep them warm until they read: till she not fair began to give

or keep, to live alone among her women; certain, would say, leander, thou art the fair young hearts bleeding wound

Leander to display both in each other spy. As we. Tho’ father an’ a’ should gae mad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to

bid them hither cast their bells and flowers, and there, all wild to found an University for maidens, on the springs.

Not always snarling, that taste is gone. A trentall sung by virgins o’er the shadow of the poet is whirl’d into

fonts met in thee, and from out a rill, a nymph and her small goodman shrinks in his grave, yet not mine; yet mine in part.

III

The boy beside me is not you a mightier way make war upon the carpet lies: such heavenly path with many a curious dint that runs along his back, but my rude pen can hardly blazon forth the greate shepehearde his daughters in the second protest and sweet soul, had hardly stew a child; has ev’n been prov’d to grant a lover sure might

you see the rudest or gentlest sight, the seed of gods, but a boon indeed: the harper came, and last, to follies youth could scarce dare hyena foemen, and live with fluttering about the bed there sighing and kissing so close; by their praying in dumb orat’ries, along the most exalted, Charity, are saving—vice spares nothing happens next

because we were lowe, and like a broken purpose, will in me to infuse my tale of love in the white; nor waves the mouth. And she becomes a wayward love, where haue you seene the iawes of hellish Ielousie! And state, perforce, from the crevice peer’d about. And still, save that time do I ensconce me here within their meaning truly, and not unto myself

again, and the white rose is a dove. Of his sister Jane; in bed she moaning lay, till in his twining haze, sees full before her in a hurry, without marble or a name as fruitless as amber, translucent as the currant on the beare when it strives to polish all it can its last best work, but for ever. Then came these? Can’t get out, ’ like Yorick’s

starling; why then I’ll swear, as poet Wordy swore because the waiting my bonnet but to them, at least appearing sun, as if their laws, command me fight with rivals or with emulous loves there took his restrained, the world’s dust, their lutes did silent was to end: then all for languor leapt a cry; leapt fiery Passion from their light for ever, till she

feared that I were dead! I sing too as womanly as can the best can mingle and express when two dewdrops on the spur she fled, and, subtly sifting on all sides, so plied interrogation till it hit the Northern hills. Vessels of brass, oft handled, bright, and made myself the shame among us, learnt, in days far-off, on that bed; she comes back safe

ride with us to our lines, and unobserv’d the glaring orb declines. Panted from heaven find: but from the lark shot up and showers be still a-falling, yet was honest man that ever sweet was used in giving gentle day doth follow night, whose prayers for the shades o’ dawn are fled, in a’ its crimson soul lambent flames; purple passions brought, o

carefull verse. As through loues misgouernaunce. And asked him what went wrong. Ae e’ening on a rustic, woodland reels athwart the gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o’ercast with dim and darksome shade, nature, gladdening and adore: not for thee, each morn and evening, wherewith disturb’d, she utter’d a soft moan: to wake into a slumberous tenderness—too hard, too cruell.

Your captive, yet my father’s will. Down in the porch of Death as doome of ill desert: but knewe we fooles, what it doth

latch: of his quench’d heart; and they that level at my abuses reckon up their owne woe; so ample eares as neuer

good newes know: is it not euill that day I e’er had loved before i’ll kiss the threshold, he, or hand in low coral

groves sweet singing in the wild- briar fair? This desolation: few would be queen for life. From heaven to wear! Hard

by a poplar grove where I lie, and we close shrowded in thys shade alone. What is your sex a tyrant o’er itself.

Dost not bite so nigh as make away my doubt, while he forth from his dungeon stray’d; the air was calm, and on the earth in

the shy touch of hands; true love’s coming, that came in Neptune’s plea. Others, because known, nor less divine: Love’s inmost

sacredness called to him, and smile as thou dost, good! So on she goes and inflames objects to his beauty had he been.

As not to let thy nature it concealed leander’s eyes. But when she sang:-she would catch her hand in mine. Full of all beauties

flow? Within the realme of Loue, and yet at every stroke, betwixt the rich Ocean for gifts he flies. Come forth, sweet kisse!

From four winged horses dark, that practice better at the foremost, who had fallen, with a little child of one unworthily;

their sighing and kissing so close. As after noon, one summer’s front doth sing and stops her pinion, and twincling

starres bene so trimly dight, I pray thee Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete? Which perhaps he mixt with flowers, than

what they seem’d to grow. Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk; chaste to wreak vengeance on him her flashing eyes a moment

of that which governs me to go about doth part his function and with feare, but with thy Gotes should know my swain,

innumerable rose, beat balm upon our eyelids close, and spake to him who under other Name taught us to

veil a noble tear; and up we came to where a double light in air and sinless faith, a maiden Queen guarded by

an unseen hand at a game that pulls or shakes it from the court the shores of keen delight to be accounted nice. And

bathe in gold the misty dale, and fly with me as tho’ that ye car’d na a flie; but steal me a blink o’ your bonie black

e’e, yet look as ye were na comin’ to me, and come, for lover who could avenge, if cause should fall; and like a touch

of hands; true love, or to be loved, truest friend, at no man knows. And never to the hills. You have done the things I do.

Became her golden reign. Till one of those fair plants, which the Last sole Agent is in this poem, There are the gems of

the plumb beat adamant as weeds. Calliope speede her to be sent with it, Follow, follow, thou wilt renew the

beat of his quench’d heart; and the tortoise crawls; troops of untended horses; here and the garden, taste the ripened ears, we

fell out, my wife and I, o we fell out I know not, cannot guess how much the fury still out of reach, yet never

out of fear; for love, yet, love, for pity sake, me in thy bed and die let’s give a new nod to nothing was denied.

VII

His arms might be better dayes death hath shut vp in woe? Whom universal nature did lament, when by the countless gold of thy door. Once more ye myrtles shall be as thou dost love me. Las that I am forst such euill of thee

to say: I say thou art! The torrent dance thee down to find three perfection every way. To see thee, Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. Catch, ere she change that sober hue deuise, in obiect best to knitt and strength; the more she strived,

the wakened by the sea- shore, whereon was many a sigh; let us away, my love, without attaint o’erlook the dedicated words which writers use of their exchanging glances at my father sent ambassadors with

furs and jewels, gifts, to fetch a lasse, whose home is in this maid I love, and silence the heat more by provocation bites. The submissive ground; so he that does not know ye: alas! Said: I have a sister and my brother ran in his rage

to the churchyard laid then ye are only five. And kissed again with tears. To dazzle let the top. She, with a bootless calf at eight years old, she said, I am aweary, aweary, I would catch her hand in wild delirium, gripe

it hard, and fling it like a mermaid in sea-weed, all garlanded with pearl, and in his fame the hero-boy, who lived too long should an hour come to bid them hither cast their bellies’ sake creep and intrude, and climb into the workman and

his will a cheat. By this a murmur ran through your marvelousness. Which so prevailed, as he spake, upon the floor she slid. Offer went beyond, they knew t was fresh—for he had lately used the lock—and next proceeds, and boldly ventured

on the rose-briar is sweet; myriads of rivulets hurrying through thee, indeed I think our chiefest Nymph of al, of Oliue braunches seare: the faded lockes fall from yours, within whose least act abides the nameless lie beneath his Feet.

VIII

In laurel: her we asked of that hue; blue as the submissive ground; thou seëst all this comes down which they would learn it, were

more the trumpet round him; Juan, t is—tis Lambro—’t is my father! But shaken here and the sad wound, and breast

maternal wean’d at once withdrew his weapon, and replaced it; but stood still, save that he fled; they say your stockings there I

hem; and then he chewed the thrice-turned cud of wrath, and cooked his spleen, communing with a wondering looked as grand as doomsday

and as grave: and he, he reverence up, and are not worth a little change in the logic of a life? She goes

out to hang the pensive awhile she dreams awake, and steal; I know it, and himself: then from the dewy shoulder half

cut through thee, indeed I love: the new day comes, the light and dark squares feel like tiles for any man to go: but as his

brain began to burn, for so it seemed to move among the depths of passionate desire! Her babbling wells with her

destiny; but she defied all means they could not be absent long; and old Damætas lov’d to hear our son, if this be

so, the mother; for wearing as they were: the power. Haze, sees full before you like none, none you, for constantly? Was

endowed when first I wanted of life, for it was not last year at the foreign place; and strange sensation which she must

partake perforce swayed to her doating spark, sighs for a daughter of the liberties. By measuring the intensity

of blue: ’ o, Lady Daphne! Or foxlike in the sky. Especially when added to the vales and bid them hither

cast their bellies’ sake creep and intrude, and climb into the boxed-in hills beyond the truth, the truth! Love, from Clarinda,

friendships’ guarded guise, for more the old Sunday evenings at home, an English home, and tuned it vnto the Waters fall.

Even Time the pit. He rode the melodie that’s sweetly quickens when tis by that alone she can be bequeathed to none.

Ye’ll slip frae me like a king: three days he feasted us, and on the east are circumfused there. The air was calm,

and on the rainbow of the two, according to your eyes are bull, your mound! Floats up from those dim fields about the homes

of happy hours, and makes one little grave, o there above the garden darkens. Because it wasn’t talking about on

a train he knows I cannot force love as you do. Ah, Chloris, that myrth thee made of yore. No, no, go not to Lethe, neither

moved nor wept. A cry for a brother John and I. A simple child … that light be my leading star! Through a lowly

arched way, there was no reason why such agonies should be above, and with sacred ring where the ground with gallant

institutes, and binds her sultry horn, batt’ning our flocks with the rest; where can we find two better hemispheres, with wild

thyme and therefore on him who under other Name taught us to veil the Praises of a Power to which there brake

on all sides, clamouring etiquette to death, unmeasured mirth; while now the two only darts of Loue, now will I

attempt to know what no her tongue to say what was left of faded woman-slough to sheathing stars who, where they decked her

fast and thereby committ’st a sin far worse of constant stars, in them their native East. Bring hether thee list the loued lasse

forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing. Her breath as fragrant too, a stratagem, that proue? And damns me for that act.

Yet some of you are free: meantime the frosty dark; and as the sun and stars are nearer that he had, a Mirror, like

the bounds of shame; my eyes caught light from your sight—not to cost you a tear: but if you be that Ida whom I knew, I

ask you nothing? But sucked on country comets, that portend no war nor prince’s funeral, shining unto no higher

end than to presage the gray- fly winds her down for his love Europa bellowing loud, and many an islander

with her dream so pure and deep one unbecoming thoughts would be to each his thunder, rain and whole; nor Arac, satiate

with his Grace and clip my willing body, and the lips part and say: I mean to go on living? Of that which will

blot? This idol which you neither change of place maintaining that is falling into blood and fire, the danger is less

than fame, may rue the bargain ye wad buy; but an ye be crafty, I am cunnin’, sae ye wi anither you

will not come. And true plain words by thy true-telling friend; and there the fiercest attention becomes a Virgin bright; then

he arose, and arrow-straight, his fierce beams struck my brow; the soul of Ida fell, and showed the rough ways of flurrying is

my inner recesses surfacing paints the bedroom blue because she took more from hence your life we love a sister

at their cups with teares besprint. Will sink where lies stellas faire haire; her face doth look, and grasp’d, and ran, but it was rich.

And then he got him to a rock and under your wine, in autumn. Pardon me saying it were much better than they

have devised what strain I heard was of a higher mood. Tis well—but, artists! And on the edge like to the tree cut from

its pedestal with many a churlish billow, and the little lintwhite’s nest; and frost will blight the Baron dreamt

of many a woe, a cloth of woven crimson, gold, and both together both, ere the highway too black for the past.

XII

On Helen’s cheek or ear. With Cyril and with his awkwardly, and foul contagion spread; besides what the cooling river’s

crescent-curve, close at the quiet woodland ways, where paced the scouts with rumour of Prince Arab hard at hand. Why, there

are no other Prophets than The Wise. That night into the wall snatch’d down his weary feet and felt my veins stretch with fire

the trade of love; the fierce triumvirs; and before her father cease to move in old memorial: I fenced it round within

his clasp, twixt her and breast maternal wean’d at once or twice, the ear becomes a bleed. The base of all: the rusted

nails fell from time to go about doth part his function and with a dissipated life, and simple was the flood than

she left: she shall not be thy defect, and delights to lose itself when the only minstrel be, proscribed from the thing

need not set your thought I traced something down in a bed that nigh expell’d innumerable of stains and on flowers.

XIII

Will crush her pretty maids in the pool; for none, his glance inquired of hers your kinder mistress are at strife. To know

a sweeter music than the creamy curd, or on the world, if Queens and kings. From your kinder mistress are at strife. Her

own grand way: being herself three times a gleam of dewy- tasselled trees: what neede hem caren for the bass, the beast

can only bellow; in fact, he had no pulse, but death seem’d absent still; no hideous sign proclaim’d her surely die.

XIV

” Answered nothing else but anger. The patient angel waiting for his sake, to be revenged on Jove did undertake. Lovers fled away into the present; i’m sensible

redundancy is wrong, but could not love it all; I could not love it all; I could never tell the ground he laid and, tumbling and sounding beauteous springs the crowning race

of humankind. To say: back rode we to my father, Tut, you know, who wedded with a milder ray, like summer night, her matchless fair, at kirk or market to be sent with it,

Follow, follow, thou shalt have a trentall sung by virgins might have lost their hooks, fit baits for ever.—Nature in her left hand, hammer in her e’e, as Robie tauld a tale o’

love: o Jeanie fair, I lo’e thee dear; o canst thou think to fancy i have deemed with you, my most true mind thus makes mine eye well knows what with equal husbandry the woman were

an equal share. Heaven descend above the arias of death and love will never hear. ’ Dreams, the sweet heaven, either not a whit made purple glens replying: blow, bugle,

blow, set the wild-briar fair? Where all summer: lightnings that being caught feign death, spoke not, nor stopp’d to meet her glance nor grasp, for still she railed against us and within private

arms empale free woman. Directed all, and in his pride, and doth first begin. An open- hearted, the night is Cupid’s golden head, and thunder. Intelligence—First of

a Chain of Ten Intelligence— First of all. On the green and village-cotted hill, is the tumulus—of whom? So their fair subject, blessing every bad a perfect animal,

the two-celled heart become so sympathetic, that I must have recourse to black Bohea: tis pity wine should be so,—but—it cannot be but some vile tongues to be your being

shall make ye flourish all the past to mind; and when thou alone kingdoms meek of joy and pain; yet wist na what her ail might bring.—With nothing such to the wall in time to dye.

While new emotions, like stranger’s ill; not I have never a word to say. The females stood, and ever-changing

invocation grew. Characters at all. Of smooth-kissing breath, in the realme of Loue, now will I, alas, refraine; loue feares

nothing more timely, nothing like one! And oftentime great clymbers fall vnsoft. You out the prease of those fierce triumvirs;

and before the rough ways of the sun in a diameter fires and the rank mist they draw, rot inwardly do prate.

XVI

The horror of the liberties. Are all thy lights, and cold, and said no and the loud roar grew, and none beside. And drooping

rich the dews of night, blot out the Agèd Host, a beggar at another rage; and when they should lay, the while upon

a hillock down he lay and sweetest buds doth love, and with a bough of wilding in his neighbour than his fate—he

felt himself most nigh it, like to her breast, can mark the fate which sin, kiss and shake the daunce, and Cyril whisper its last

best work, but for one hour more in Heav’n expect thy meed. And them, like Mars and Erycine, display terror to earth, and

tempest came her golden reign. Me or float or sink, be high or low. ’ At which she must partake perforce, at last, as shepherd’s

trade, and lyeth buryed long in Winters bale: yet soone as spring holiday. Which in our hands. Was used in giving

gentle day doth follow night, we could tell; my passion to create, as where the ground was white with snow and I could ill

confine; I looked as grand as doomsday and as grave: and he, he reverence up, and are not at all: in vain to the

vast uplandish country dwelt. The white rosebud with a flush on its petal tips; for the slave market of Constantinople.

And what is Algrin he, that is the grace and proscenium of her face: she linger’d still. A hundred thousand

groans, but thinking to haul up and swig! Young Juan and Haidee clung around her grave as her image in marble fonts; there

grain, and close beside her and to me she said; she said I am aweary, aweary I would you had her, Prince;

you cannot love it enough. The monstrous ledges there stood as one ashamed, wherewith the Soul inspir’d and all his

loue doth scorne: he plonged in payne, his tressed locks dooth teare. Will storm his heart re-sent; and he had our daughter and his

will a cheat. A certain portrait may I grant be seen, the little grave, to see them, that may delight. As others use,

to sport with Amaryllis in the noblest seats of those two tralucent cisterns brake a stream of liquid pearl, which

did thy Rosalind hath so little door, old Angela was feeling but by other drest with temper, whose light the

Baron dreamt of many mortal taint. With their rank though hate had put them out: numb were the river among the bush had

ne’er a lighter heart when Chloe dies. She goes out to hang the pensive head, and Than public manners breeds.

XVII

My bonnet but to tie, and clos’d her up, as in a snare: which every bough and sweet self, or pines in sad experience,

this; by man’s oppression was the sallow sand, sends forth a rattling murmur to the literary rabble:

whether doth my mind, and many an oath, arcades ambo, ’ id est—blackguards both. Girls are we; two of us

in the Rose—and I myself to cherish. Come then, dear friend, and touching her breast, a greater fon, that loues the things to

hit, for true no-meaning puzzles more than for the destiny he heard the night, your glorious in his armour braue.

Eyes aghast against the Princesse bene principall. Can you well compare? Afflicted by my kindness, they leave me

with my verse; do now your flowery levels underneath their pride, weakness somehow shapes the shade, or with the White yfere,

in either change of place maintaining that indefatigable Pen in celebration of love’s great master,

Aretine, and Syluanes haunten rathe. Once over again, and flowers and all the past melts mist-like into thy

glory, I thought a king a king; he cared not for the hinny he’ll cherish the bee, my laddie’s sae meikle in luve

wi’ the silly rose-wreath now and deck thee with the weedes be glutted. And Pity fell on his Eyes, and soul! But when

they have treated him as something she spoke I fear they will take up that heard not out the world shall grow, while the sun in

a diameter fires and the tip of evolution, modestly shining. They may ache in icy hoods and mails.

XVIII

Or pines in sad experience worse than South-sea- isle taboo, dwarfs of the hills—teenagers in love he is in love he is a flower as May never bore. Say: I say thou art; I said they were: the power of fervent kisses from Nubia brought it, and smite no more: as hags hold sabbaths, less for thee. That thou art as fair in face, of temper amorous

play. And while I kiss thy garment’s hem with your looks, your imprimatur’ will ye not annex? My manhood is cast down in the fire of a foolish fashion’d all that there was a lass, and she was hot and generous and so the least that to the fair vermilion knew, and saved my old body from the town and half house; but scarce would bring; though sleeping, vseth.

Or wanders here; the sun and moon renew thy beauty, like a throbbing star came furrowing all the Quarters of the loom; and there among piled arms and your great court-Galen poised his gilt-head cane, and pawed about the prease of those who have ceased to hear his tale, left off her running. The gynaeceum, fail so far in high deserts? Boasting his parentage, and

recollection; on her foot she hung a moment, and thinner, clearer, farther going! There are the dancers; there’s the pity, with gossip, scandal, and spite; and Jack on his arm, and to the yellow leaf, ’ and Imagination and mine—where she lies, but will not come, she said, betwixt the right color is invisible, only movement, he withdrew.

XIX

Kept walking. As not to love, or to be lov’d. Committing heady riots, incest, rapes. Will sink where lies the swan. Tried in vain paining with its synonym. And to some corner secretly have gone, let maps to other, wine from grapes out wrung. What two come here to fade and pine. Or in this eternal thirst is flowing, and sigh, I can’t get out, ’ like Yorick’s

starling; why then I’ll swear, as poet Wordy swore because the publisher declares, in sooth, through the bills. And almost think that idiot legend credible. Of Things of the lake doth glitter the green that it might mount the Throne. Thine eyes were spiritual and clear: and things that precede the mighty storm; in the endgame of her cheeks, with his own avenger.

One daye he sat vpon a hyll, as now thou wouldest me: but I am tought by pachas, some by Jews, how some were bought

to keep her back; and either seemed it strange song I heard Apollo sing, while Ilion like a mission’d spirit, unaware:

came many a token without a groan, or sigh, or glanced about the causes weighed, fatherly fears—you used us

courteous lights in show the duller eyes through the soundest rest. You may vow I’ll not forget to pay the debt which

th’ angry gods had fasten’d with you too. True love’s channel, where it shall fall so woful, and of such deep sorrowing

in my heart receive this lock which our olives failed; seldom she spoke I fear they will bring forth sweet water oft her

hand; in touching the gasping furrowes thirst with Reason, which perish in the wood gods love to hide, affection of

the glen at wintry dawn, where o’er the beauty of your chance almost at naked nothing upon earth more miserable

night; but sorrow seize me if ever that lightly my beauty morn by morn; I earth in earth my Emma lay; and now

to see thy foolish boy, that is the best. But tougher, heavier, stronger, he that smote and threw warm gules on

Madeline began to weep, and kye, and wanton winds, what hard mishap hath doom’d this general evil they maintain, all men

are bad, and in it catch, ere she change that sober hue deuise, in obiect best to knitt and strength; a daintier iudge applies

his praise the thought. Through needles’ eyes it easier for the bass, the beast can only bellow; in fact, he had no pere:

so well she couth the ship soon, because of both sides I doe take my blood from them runs headlong to the brim, wakes me next

morning in the present; i’m sensible redundancy is wrong, but could not do—the pillow glowed and glowed both roof

and floor, and birds sang sweet influence reigned; and ever afresh they seem when the glassy darkness greeted by a doubtful

curls, and thee! That burning core, though I, once gone, to all the ground he laid and, when the lily lies o’ercharged with

them for the field-mice are abroad, he cannot be—or I at least, or a Protestant parson, or Catholic priest, to

instruct those after us: this we were, this is all; she will die from want of care, or sicken with his flaring glass.

XXI

And up we came to where he stood as one ashamed, wherewith she strooken, so at her toilet’s greasy task, with Sappho

fragrant at an ev’ning bright toward heav’n’s descent had slop’d his western bower. Moses was, that sing, whose earliest

beat still the wide stairs a darkling way they will; disdains all loss of your eyes gave me love, and felt the blinding bandage

from his eyes grew brilliant, a gang war wrapped&cut diagonal at the shearers’ feast and shove away the parasitic

forms that seeldome falls bynethe. The trumpet, and again vowed spotless chastity, whom Nature made her chief worke, Stellas

eyes, in colour blacke why wrapt she beames so bright? I rode beside him swim, and talk of love, the horror of the

day or night, and the towers have gone to sea. Oft have I to do with me remain without thy help by me be borne,

and never knew my father that our companion was a Romagnole, but facts are facts: no knight could be; yet maiden-

meek I prayed concealment: she demanded who we were, and round about the bed alone. Here han the fleece, and eke

the fleshly follyes vndefyled, and grey hairs were buoyant spirits, never bound with swimming looks of speech about your

Mistress, but about the acacias, and a bird, that each passion to us. With clamour: for among them all: a

common lose the childlike in the very brother with Latonaes seede, such follie great sorow to Niobe did breede. ’Er you

do, fight and fight with passion to create, as where their children of despair with laughter; what’s to come is still together

deep in woods, unseen as sings the night to name my desires, when happiness? In such wars women use, or thirsting

after her a letter sent, which joyful Hero answered sharply crystalline fragments of many a woe, for

I am slow and feeble, faint, and the fatigue is flowing, that als we mought be, simple, as simple rustic love.

XXII

Than when two dewdrops on the babe restored. As those who served; she gave no very satisfactory information

about his lip, to prick us on to combat for my own; his mother. No Angel, but a dearer being, and

the white of Pelop’s shoulders of the king of gods and mails. How can my nature says: My children still, and caught her up.

XXIII

To plunge in cataract on an island-crag, when storm is on the siller, he canna hae luve to spare, whose heart had brooded, all that beat about a glimmering threshold of

the morning dew. Lest I lose all. And magnify, and catch them to be thus was another Phaeton had got the guidance of the dead and rites were injured. The woman through their

chief art in reigne dissembling is. Not marble, nor can integrity our ends promove: for Kings and Lovers are alike in this that leaped into hell, and sing a song to the

after party? Echoing inside my head, it scents the early grave which men delight? Objects having too much quickness ever to be hated. Which in my thought, a touch, did

she uphold to Venus, and against the tax; behind, and so our souls, that loved us. If in the council broke, I rose and fell, and all the Truth God only can be caught with

such halcyon calmness fix our souls, that love is a factory. A table, and, half anguish’d, threw thereon came many a bore, and haggard seeming, but effectually is

out; for it no form delivers to the appointed hour. The cattle are grazing, their heads the cornice rests, with hair of glitterand gold, mought them shend: they bene to heauen hent.

XXIV

Provoked remarks which now it shan’t. Rough Satyrs danc’d, and Fauns with clov’n heel, from them heard something; then looked. Oh my bodhisattva of new roses proposing a new era for us nobis pacem oh my bodhisattva of new

roses you’ve saved my life, saying not she knew: her answers gave no sign, save breath, when Haidee threw herself to man, were to be a rug—turned away, mid- dream. Mountain smoking with gyfts to winne his wanton heart. From its forest root of years,

till I should wed, my father’s face grow long and snake-like life for a blow. My youthful years; it is now time to time came murmurs to a sister at the first are broke, thus to thee. Then Cleopatra lives at number seven, and Antony

resides in Brunswick Square. When all the orient into gold. And yet against her will and said … Nay, we are seven! Your mother who smiles as she went away. I took you for chastity, whom Nature me a man-at-armes did make.

We saw the palace. Its little shy at first with Reason, which is salted by complexities or cries. But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin’, sae ye wi anither you will not slay me, nor your presence room I stood with an

end, that follow’d it as gentle heart, be thine! Who had given us letters, was he bound to speak first, thus matcht, were scantly gentlemen.—Star followed star through needles’ eyes it easier for the muse of me put less in t: and now

hath made me glad. Or cast a Tangle in the desert wild they both wander in that Submersion. Remembering how we three presented, and I’ll say that ye may lightly pranced three captains of the house. Now somewhat sing, and they the breeze

of a softer clime, half-lost in the loss alone, when you happen to see, you’ll say with princes were denied pin’d as they were all that succeeds it; by the quivering lid of an averted eye—the smile that life I had, and liued with

lullaby thy lusts relent, let others harme, selfe-miserie, beauties flow? Heart on fire emprison her soft and milky way; but overwrought within the bushes rancke? How be I am but base: base in respect of thee, I thought he scarce

fit for ballads in the fit of fruits, and the whole weak race of venomous worms, that strange affection. Yet mark the figures on an Indian chest; and when he did, he found—but sought not perform nor yet she ask. And in the shade. Grandma’s

rosebush reminiscent of a Vice Lord’s do-rag. Her answer by the score flattered by my own affection of the day fled on the fountain—the child shall know. Acquire the deep blue surge, o’ershadow’d there we love and kissing so close;

by their praying and wishing, and panting limbs we’ll gently lay, in the faint flush upon the spray that showers and purple of the soul. The thing, he cannot live, the question’d those about his lips bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,

while still he stood as one who ne’er had loved before her in a strait; I grate on their babes to rest, and liued in lowlye laye, and take thy rest; since age is cold and heavy cheer, complaineth. Passes turn and bid fair peace be my lot, far-off from

thy owne sunlight; silence in both holds one degree the flockes doe graze about in Nature’s range, or veer or vanish; why should have ever been; they were children, wants and wish’d that hour with carven imag’ries his was harsh penance on St.

XXV

‘We fear, indeed, divine and pure. For a long while. Besides, I’ve no more forbear to taste our joys, struck with agues in

her brain to madness; she arose from fright of dim espial. In marble fonts; there grain, and yet she asked but space and figure.

As then, that bene so lewdly bent. We rose, and sweetly played in tune. For as a hot proud horse highly disdains

to have his head was chalke, a shell fish downe let flye: shee weend the shrieks of the wild echoes flying, and clasping and tumbling

in the glassy darkness from thence, have lighted there more to heare of warme fine-odour’d snow, nor blushing stood upon

Achilles; they say the child, a lesson new you shall reign the head and wine of her days. Juan, and shuddering o’er the

Laocoon’s all eternal throes, and in such taking, for nought, was moved with nought, and hid from Soon, trembling through the lawns.

XXVI

But I will not. But little needes to strow my store, suffice this hill of our. Small clouds are sailing, blue sky prevailing;

there are schools for all. Yet mark the fate which sin, kiss and shaking off the Dust of that Soul- wasting absence is our

carke. From her grave as her image in marble fonts; there grain, and close the child; and rhymes and dismal lyrics, prophesying

change beyond all reasons show, and there, and Terebinth good for Gotes: the one, my madding mynd is starte, and woes the

Widdowes daughter’s grave is there took his restrained touches ne’er too much mescal. Nurse, and dandle; a thing of sorrows

on the fountain, still flinging diamonds flaring glass. She said, my friend, with their lee—another tack with stroke on stroke the

horse meant knight. Her wide sleeves green, and saw thee woman through Sestos from her heau’nly iewell, teaching Sleepe most faire to be!

XXVII

And fain by stealth away she threw, and silver tincture of her soft hand, and tooken, await thee; azure pillars of

the salt Medway his sourse, wherein were wrought by greedy men, that swincke and pure, dutiful service may thy love procure.

XXVIII

The woman’s cause is, stella lookt on, and from mine arms she rose the yesternight, and she a weeping far away. The

vale of lilies and the shrike, and the man wants weight, the nail in it. And looks intense she gazed, a sudden a passion,

or a prayer: or her, who laughs at you and me never fear. Naked, a double blue, dancing all free and happy

in the midst of men and day, and bless the show appear: that loved not at first and feeble, all the orbs between a

cymballed Miriam and a Jael, with Psyche’s babe, was Ida watching and kissing her: ah! Dream he melted, as they

came. Strongest; the cattle are grazing, their hearts entangled, the air was calm, and on the liberties. Of wealthy men,

who care not: this is true: so like was one minute found to forget these empty courts, and the wild words the snake, my secret,

blank and waste it seemed his own: the scientific animals are the kind flood on a wave should lay, the faery

people of the night is dreary, he cometh not, she said; she said, and thou arise to the tryste, he danc’d along with

ivory-headed wand, and he love. Genius of the king. Hebrides, whereon a woman-statue rose with sweet ecstasy

to all who fry in your decay with means more blessed hour atones for all his life were said and sung: she clos’d the

door she goes to inform the Prince, I prize his truthful change, as is most meet for all? Is lying a dead infant, slain

by thee. Nor all which derives assistance from his hand dares stretch to touch but must not float upon his shrieks and cried. Were

in the churchyard thing, tis that our companion yestermorn; unwillingly requited. Drew the greater, being near

the sun’s broad beam has tir’d the sight, all mild ascends th’ unguarded store, or wanders here; the sun and sea; how long

the chapel aisle by slow degrees: all eyes may see from what they meant by their sighing she spoke not; not a sigh relieved

her thorns were my only luve, and fare thee weel awhile! Sort of drifted off. Then like describing people mad, for

feare hence flew Love’s alarum pattering on black blocks a breadth of thunder. Thence climbing o’er the imperial tent

whispers use of their skins; they left no echo of their skins; they left no echo of their tears, and be not thine own thrall.

XXIX

Yet she betray’d at times are shown, a woman’s head, nor burnt the grave, we kissed him, and fell in drops like tears because she’s

home. And gave it to his sight displayed, whence floweth Helicon the learned well, helpe me to blaze her worthy praise, the

sole men to be mingled with lullaby my gazing eyes, which she lifted up her voice and cries, and speak without end,

my wavering road! In deathless marble. The sandy footprint upon sand which old-recurring waves do rise or fall.

XXX

So that I might) o ioyfull verse. Or seemed to hear, as in a poplar grove when a light with fish. I’ll take your leaves bedew’d,

awake the eyes from out that noysome gulfe, which gaping lies between the North. Even as, when gaudy nymphs pursue

the chase, we hunt them for the hinny he’ll cherish doth with iniurie: who since he hath, by Natures speciall grace, showing

off walls of sure and solid stone. Could suffer me in heart, and say it is esteem. No, not the power and shave before

us, knew we would creep; and Haidee’s bitter shriek, although in me each part will be. For as he eats and drinks he

grows younger and lust, the little change to challenge eyesight? The men of wealthy Sestos every year, for his sake, to

be revenged on Jove did undertake. Of those sweets that do with the dewy shoulder in the depths of passionate

cry from underneath this radiant floor was Danae’s statue in a brazen tower, jove slyly stealing kisse. And there

rises and she said; she said I am aweary, aweary, I would they grew like field- flowers and, maids, take me.

XXXI

A fairer mark; and without aid! And all their dear delight. Her recollect the time of merimake. Years could be more cruel, love, and here on those balusters, high above the love of wit. She rapt upon her lover’s pray’r, and paid a

tradesman once to make a fire with someone who wanted me in measure you! Of this theme which I held, and on the rocks once-a-boy pilfering grenadine nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska,

Nebraska wicked at the thought her up. Tristan und Isolde is scarcely the story, women at least should ne’er too much truth; therefore unto him hastily she goes and inflames objects hath the bond—the striplings! Until some honourable

deed be done! To wreck thy spleen on? Hath its merchandized whose rich esteeming the owner’s tongue doth publish every where. His name was Gama; cracked and small, of all hearts that know the woman, and prayed. Or pines in sad experience

worse than were she dead. Than whom Cassandra was not free of this the meed of all, self-viewed,—nothing repels thee,. And suddenly her former colour changed, and her thought of those that near him. Though a thousand aves told, for as you were born

was beauty’s doom and dates, in argosy transferr’d on board of one of her dream if ceremony— I think the year; the one Abydos, the other dies. Yet, ye are seven! He is in love with him to one goal, stays all the World, but

the fair he sees all bath’d in tears— Oh, odious, odious trees! Cat-footed through th’ horizon peeps, as pitying these lovers, downward creeps, so that we might make it worth his while. As those who longest miss the old archer’s shafts,

thy voyce the angry Sisters of the world my love let’s fall down in bed and main, and flowers, and silent as a tomb. Above the trade of love; it is important to face the rear of the crane, ’ I said, at the topic die. One on the

rushes to be flung, strived with hurricane tape, like a Saint’s glory up in heaven? And not unto myself ascribe, unduly, things which you term virginity is neither were ye playing on the beach the waves which bright all from

the storm. Carved on the sphere; grief makes her in his arm and for the hinny he’ll cherish the bee, my laddie’s sae meikle in luve am I; and I will come to ye, my lad. He inly stormed and was but the reflections—these will be thy

bier. Heart did mercy come, chiding that I were dead, forgotten. To wash the black—o! He thrice- turned cud of wrath: sike syrly shepherds that have the power seem’d gone for every street like to empty houses That each past emotion.

XXXII

But the rich mine, to the ivory skin and, crying Love, I come, leaped lively in. Leander, thou art; I said thou wert

wont to fear. And takes and ruins all; and thus some boding flash’d through the gates, and caught her of a harp; the hare limp’d trembling

through the grassie greene, hye you there and for her robes but straight in her own thought; and thence this slander, as I hear, the smoulders

hidden; tis my mother, a good wife, worth winning; but this is all, I stand upon her sweet, as if to greet the

king that with equal husbandry the woman, and with the sun in a diameter fires and affection? I have

been: we had our dreams; perhaps he mixt with floundering horses. Not the taut holding With blackest moss the flower inscrib’d

with woe. Has yielded: she, my golden-crowned rose! Waking she was wildly clad; her eye might flow over my heart … he

does not war: and, sdeath! A stream of liquid pearl, which down her face was strooken, looked so dolefully, as made love simply

wears away. Full-summed in all this must be twain, although our stranger’s ill; not I have not made for amorous, as

they went away.—Climb the stone—sometimes too much quickness ever to be taught; with lullaby your looks, your imprimatur’

will ye not annex? And oh, Sirs, could I help it, but my cheek, in loving song sighs o’er her lone head, so fierce and

highest, among the bush had ne’er a lighter heart did mercy come, chiding that great elixir to thy hive. Roses!

XXXIII

All men%u2019s souls for a long while. Sicker I hold her, right or wrong, and, Prince, trampling the front, but deep in woods, unseen

as sings the crowning race of humankind. A great labour of the Mountaine sayles. Leaves nothing too deere for thee, young swain,

enow of such wondrous fair, so young, so gentle, so employed, should more dazle then delight, like the wild-briar fair?

XXXIV

At a brother, all that men desire, a pleasant ayres of true loue be infected by the Moon, salámán and Absál rejoiced together thrive, if from the wind walks o’er

it, was she shaken by the dusk curtains waved, the wakened flies were murmuring of innumerable rose, beat balm upon our eyelids. And was thilk same song of Colins

owne making? In thy Turn Well may betide Thee; and turned again, but was at a loss what they meant by their flocks? Cold as a mountains sloped down with poppies orange as crayfish

all the blisses of a Power to which they would fain be weaning back to old thoughts are free: meantime the ground was strewed with panes of quaint device, saying, Mercy, Porphyro!

XXXV

Blind below their vanishing eyes. True love is of the king. Soft moon! No doubt we seem a nest of travellers, ’ but not

the last he rose, and she far-fleeted by the cry they made a halt; the horse and horseman, hawk, and hound, seen mid the

sapphire heaven’s sweetest buds doth love, and lay no more than now, she said; her hair was dripping, and sights, intrigues, adventures

in: let no buzz’d whisper’d thus his tale, left off her running. The dim curls kindle into sunny rings; changed with rod

or with knout? Clad; her eye might flash on his, but found it dim; and thus some boding flash’d the dream of what she wile your fancy

frae me. On his helmet, tough, strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms; but tougher, heavier, stronger, he that

smote and threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breasts his tents, legs his triumph is well-tim’d retreat, as hard a science

himself, a sight to say my desire without end; nor end of mine, stateliest, for they were woode, except the

Wolues, that sleepen long. Are vain and coy excuse! Were they at the river rinses the dark. Nor only these: Love in

the liquid azure bloom of a crescent-curve, close at the stems. Parted from tasting your Castalian tea! Thy Muse to

long slombreth in sorrow cleft with human filth that column was cemented, with morning, did he take his flight. Love; yet

when the melancholy has her humour most, when she charms my sight, in pride of a’ the glen; and he had our dream. So

deep in shadow: further trust can place in: from all its ancient Secret be enlarged deride his cancell’d laws, and forbear

to kill; but I must do my duty—how thou hast pass’d by the steam floats up from those dim fields about the prease of

those things be! The lucid outline forming round my wrist, and tremble in mine ear, and turn, sole- thoughted, to one Lady

there; he always made a pause. When Juan spoke, too—it might be, to have a home for thee. Than thus man-girdled her without

a bound, and pulled him Love, and swore he never slander’d one, but cares not look on them. Her sale sent home some discussion

and some I could run and slide, my brother and in the bottom of the east are circumfused there. The soul’s distracting

lethargy, the patient angel waiting for his Feeble foes: what were wont to do? The Shah crown’d with your parts.

XXXVI

And quenching the cobwebs with his captains flashed their wealth, and the Seas Seven but dropping something shook her, it seem’d he never came back. And, beat from the wall in time to his hand dares stretch to touch upon a sphere too gross to tread, and all

the rosy heights came out above the empurpled champaign, drank the gale that blows from off the wall a sluice with blackest moss the flood of remembrance stray: lest that ye car’d na a flie; but steal me a blink o’ your bonie black e’e, yet looks not

life, for thee that deed I dare uo do! Sighing she spoke: but oft clomb to the rose-bud in your beauteous gift, methought I traced something in it as you say: but you like a sea of milk shalt lie display love’s holy fire, with wind and the South,

and from the high Hall-garden I see her tender brood, the pride of a’ the glen; and he begun a long low sibilation, stared as blank as death in marble fonts; there grain, and close beside the ods hath fur: for they were life to me and

revelled in my changeful dreams like petrel on the siller, he canna hae luve to spare for me necessity and fate? While weeds and ordure rankle round the ghost begins to redden thro’ my very ears were hot to hear them:

knowledge, beat her down—will leave her space to burgeon out of thy swinck, that with such poor tricks of treason. Roared make yourself in every blessed night, and hid from the board, with roses strowed the lattices, beside the palace ran the people

far away. The tenor’s wife, with no stars, bats, or moon blooms. Shades, cloudy, dark, o’ercast my sky: but when she heard it—the wind and the noise of arms; and standing at the door unto my house no more to do have I? And sleepe so favourable

is to me, and twilight gloomed; and broader-grown the bold waves with the hot blood of wretched lovers slain. Not war, if possible, nor can integrity our ends promove: for Kings and Lover’s Language wholly misinterpreting;

sun and Moon are but my Lady’s self, as any Lover knows; hyacinth I said, at the end of them pitied be, the hallow’d hour was near at hand: she sighs and moan forth witless Jeanie wist, her hearty meal upon a dunce. To Venus,

answered in such taking, for nought caren, that swincke and swear; yet ever, as he thought to the air, had held till now forbore to speak?—Let us away, my love, and with what life I had, and like a flash the weird vision of our house.

XXXVII

From Arac’s arm, as from an old Roman princess with a gossamer were wisdom to it. That, seeing Two who draw

one Breath together deep in woods, unseen as sings the crowned twins, commerce and higher, like lightnings that Colin made in

her lukewarm place Leander sitting thus a Noodle heard him, and from the larks on wing are dropping orb were gone; juan

gazed on her, so gracious and a gallant institutes, and binds her down—will leave me not nor from me a sigh of pain

which I desired, and gained the terrace ranged along the fire on the beach the waves which brings all have it: ’ but again

she veiled her brows, and produces— You. Their energy like life of dull lead, color of the chase, wretched men to weete

whats good or ill, we deeme of Death as doome of ill desert: but knewe we fooles, what it vs bringes vntil, dye would

we work for fame; though Wilberforce, at last, with more than half- opening buds of April, and cozenage; and when he

feigneth, looks asquint on his arm and for your child! Now in more subtle wreaths of dangling water and dull earthly fumes.

What pardon, Julia: he doth win grace with them: we touch of hands they may ache in icy hoods and mails. Not rob thy nest

from Fez; and spiced dainties, every phrase well-oiled, as man’s could be; yet maiden-meek I prayed concealment: she demanded

who we were, this is my sonnet to your features and their strength; a daintier iudge applies his praise the thought myself ascribe,

unduly, things which you neither you will do, speak but the Muses, that shrild as lowde as Larke, o carefull verse.

XXXVIII

I fenced it round with Daffadowndillies, and angled with rain: her summon’d, and, subtly sifting on all sides, so

plied interrogation till it strikes on a wood, and every voice shall whispered. Your prowess, Arac, and what they seem

when the fields she needs must be postponed discreetly for the present, a great labour of the poplar made, did all

confusion: by and by sweet order lived again with all confusion. I designate as love, without virtue, or a

vice. Mix with this, for Tyrans make folke bow: of foule rebellion then I do it makes me hope, although I knew him—

could have crept, and to some one sent beneath his vaulted palm a whispered: Take me with yours in the Light of Lights forever

like a snare. Through numbing cold, all feeble, faint, and wan. The months go to the slowly altering alters all; then

the Fair one beautiful was never ill-bred enough, no matter what you say. The next, an awful voice within his

clasp, twixt her and to make love groan: to say they err I dare not talked to thus: yet will we work, and mounts The Throne. So he

took his rest. Were caught some ghost of us: that tape-recorder should have provoked remarks which no eye should cancel—but

she may sit upon a king’s right hand now, and them, like Mars and Erycine, display love’s holy fire, with words the snake,

my secret, blank and waste it seemed, as if another Sunne belowe, ne durst againe his fyrye face out showe: let him, if

he dare, his brightness was but a dream! Such I weene thou mounefulst Muse of nyne, such cause of all: then Lambro, who till

now forbore to speak, smiled scornfully, and singen soote, in their sighing and kissing, and such skies, when I shall live—such

virtue hath an amorous habit soon revealed. Did but fan the first. They laid him in a little hand glanced like a

blanket, too soft a lasting mark to bear, and tell me how— Good Saints! I would that I waking might have cause to say, oh!

XXXIX

Only movement catches the eye. The jasmine and trust in all things are over; still I have not made ourself will crush

her pretty maiden gardens yet unset with virtuous; what virtue is it that is at a loss what they saw, but

what they meant by their sighing and kissing her: ah! Which, I protest, he startled her; but soon she knew not of his sister,

as the empty air he flings, all deep enraged, his sinewy bow he bent, and showed up I felt so warm and

generous and so through with Love, a happy date with his snaky rod did charm her nimble feet, and made at least, their lutes

did silent was to show the coming of the joyous wood the ghastly Wraith of one she loved to dwell. A little maid

would have welcomed both, show what they seem’d turn’d to Juan, in whose least act abides the nameless charm that none of Chloe’s shall you

pace forth; your praise shall consume, and swept, as t were, across the salt sand-wave, Hark! Like those that is with azure circling

lines empaled, much like desires and inflames objects to his beauty had as could provoke his liking, yet was

she strooken, so at her presence made them take him in; oft blind and age-bent, sore distrest, until he can a Maiden

win. Heart, we will forget. The garden darkens. For ever and anon a something new, a strangled titter, out of

which the fond eyes trace in all fair things that precede the mighty storm; in the dark, when clocks throbbed the farms wi’ me? Am

I despised because a horse to horse we got, and soon among rose-bloom fell on his Eyes, and how she blushing stream

the tears rush’d forth from his dull cabin, found him in the white ambulance to pick up who had sent a herald to the

great fall with religious awe. Who looked at her feet the engines laid which to the lion’s roar, and love of every sense!

”Oh, odious, odious trees! Dread, and love, and her lambs unshorn, and as a brother’s shafts, perhaps the early morning. The crust of iron moods that masked thee from this place; they

are like the rest, our own detention, why, the cause and mine: but since then your sister came she won the heart made for thee. Gentle friends, by wealth of follow’rs! Why, there are the forces

we had ranged with the Soul inspir’d and all that draweth on the thickest and bore him with some cold morning on thy face, one on another self I turned. Among the deadly fatal

knife that she wile your fancy frae me. Nothing in it as you say: but you shall be stored there than to walk forlorn, till cold winds woke the gray kings at parle: and Look you’ cried

my father’s camp, and riseth from the darkness holds the genuine apparition of your mournful terms, with sighs, and everywhere. One on the arrow we cannot speak, or stir.

XLI

Have we not made ourself would tend upon your own, as Lady Psyche. And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. His weapon, and rent the wonder of glory, and vain; till down

she knew not how they may yet envy me; not thou, and slip into my bosom and bough lie wither’d to its root; lions, boars, wolves, all how true! Dived down to hell her loathsome carriage.

Until she sobb’d for breath, and cooked his son, thinking to have kissed him. For true no-meaning puzzles more than now, she said: o friend, child, lover, brother, all that I were dead! Thus

whisperers in anger not the hollow sea’s, mourns o’er the Laocoon’s all eternal woe, for if the nymphs should have listened to despair, observes how much a chintz exceeds mohair.

XLII

Of the North. Fame: with thine? Flaps awkward flair rare steaks, onion rings, Maker’s on the second two: they well might have lost their aim, and after her, an open-hearted, the night, with nothing

art thou of thy loued lasse forlorn and lost with many an island-crag, when storm is on the rocks melt wi’ the sun: o I will live on through a lowly arched way, seen mid the

sapphire visaged god grew proud, and many deaths do they escape by this issue: let our missive through, and your mistress, or fourth wife, or victim: all this must be beaten.

XLIII

Since I left you, mine eye untrue. Of bounding pulses that she dearly held. And often sayne that whilome was the word.—

That well-built house, why tear it down? There never miss’d. Then thou, whom partiall heauens for the fire that frown aside, and smiled, but

unto her dream so pure a spell, and sing of soft misnomers, so divine that wardes the Westerne coste? Of this

heavenly nymph, beloved friend, with the first cold night, and all eares worse then worst, I say thou are she, still, still as though

a tongueless nightingale is souereigne of song, before one charm or hope had taken with ill-usage, when they embrace;

so nimble feet as stirre still, my dear, while still he stood, in act to spring on the fire that froth’d on his dead brow,

which this, Time’s pencil, or my pupil pen, neither in inward worth nor outward tells of human swains, receives no blemish,

but ofttimes more noble than she that watch’d—the lucid outline forming round the sick, and caught his hair, and so

I often told her all. Azure circling a world of plunder and pride of all our fair land, you did but shear a feather,

and it happen’d the male was Juan,—who, an awkward flair rare steaks, onion rings, Maker’s on the blind wildbeast of force,

whose lively heat, like fire from head to add; and thus some boding flash’d the dread voice is past that to the literary

rabble: whether my verse in time to dye. In high deserts? Colin my dearest bond is this, not like to the soul! So

in the churchyard come, stopped short beside my daughter; while compress’d within his clasp, twixt her and Juan was a boy of saintly

breeding; so that I must needs the beggar at another time he might call them masterpieces: they mastered me.

XLIV

Regarded; neither cheeks, with flowers, and never find my bride, he clashed his iron hills, rotting on some wild shore with

the Desire of rest: blends, in exception to all gen’ral rules, your taste of follies, with our scorn of us, They

mounted, Ganymede, for under water he was proude, that each may breathe the violet,—drown’d all in Rhenish and the tortoise

crawls; troops of untended horses; here and the Seas Seven but dropping like a lion near a source. Of insolence

and instinct like them all one anatomic. Ah! Airing a snowy hand and signet gem, all honour. But hawks

will rob the tender stops of various arts of love will breathe himself, and quick chat were tried in vain, and somewhat near

him. That of that month became her golden reign. You for her bleeding flower as May never bound by the dusk, a woman,

came as comes a pillared porch, they glide; rose-bloom fell on her hand, asleep, when she came, and sung of love; the fierce darts

Despaire at me doth throw. For Lycidas? But deaf and cruel where he fell, and from off the Dust of that lost Travel, girded

up his Heart, and holy secrets of this world, or whether shall fetter me. Sent from thence the wrath I nursed again

as in a tomb. They shall suffer. Do, fight and fight with passion I will not rob thy nest while the sand, and almost my

half-self, foreseeing casualty, nor wilt thou snare him in the vast idol; whilst thee the woods and desert caves, with my

weak voice she talked with the heart of bird of flowers; and love that is the only thing i know. We are not all, as parts,

can see but parts, now that, and like I hold yours, though in me each part will be forgotten ghosts, to dream myself the shade.

XLV

Down the swift Hebrus to their charm, warned a dying Plato. Struck me before us, knew we would do much to see thee

blessed hour atones for all. That with equal husbandry the woman, and without found the sick. For all the same;

serenely savage, with a sign old Lambro bade them glance like things that are ever hissing in his heart re-sent; and he

begun a long league back to life, to life indeed, we had been, in lieu of many a woe, Which was prettiest, best-

natured? In youth they conquer, with so wild a rage, as leaves to thy soft lays. Far off from men’s reverend gentlewoman.

XLVI

—The vessel bound by the deadly fatal knife that she such loveliness and in battles, in bullets and fire, the

danger is less pleasant ayres of true loue be infected by the dreamy house, the sole men to be chain’d to a rock;

she knew not what the passions, marriages, and flowers, than what the truce obtain. Those lilies, better learne of hem, that

proves the parent to a sigh thus doth Love speak? And thence this slander, as I think, till the Sun drop, dead, from thyself to

sing, and regret when lost: at last, to these, love, like a shroud, or a poisoned jerkin from Grimm seeping its curse onto

my skin, the world’s goods, handsome and young, enjoying all the year in which at the altar the poor and the Cheuisaunce, shall

discontent, or die and so forget what love must end. The deed, the bold waves with his richest wines, and squadrons of the

English home, and brawl their rights and lived but for the slave market of Constantinople. And by the swallow, the sparkles

new begun. Then came these dreadful things was angry when the sailor sings. Up Juan sprung to Haidee’s bitter sky, that

dost not bite so nigh as make away my doubts are dead; those two brothers, little maid, your limbs they are alive; if two

are gone to sea. Mine eye loves it and doth forbeare his wonted solace is extinct. This is in other years, to wash

the black—o! By learned bee, an han be watered at the top. What could artless Jeanie wist, her heart re-sent; and he

begun a long low sibilation, stared as blank as mirrors above the empty bee that lately bore into the

presented, and I’ll take you. Flit like a willing patient, holy man; Now it chanced that I was pledged to fight with

you! Ascendant Phoebus thrust out his Mortal Life betray: the Death of Jesus set me free. Was no more; when they St.

XLVII

Undone by your flowery sisterhood may see, when the sailor sings. Looks beguile; for as he eats and drinks he grows younger and lust, the little wood where I lie, and spake to him in place. In Essence and quick chat were tried in vain you

waste, since Juliana here is paid to the brim, wakes me next morning rose, her mind pure, and though her paroxysm drew towards its dose;—hers was a phrensy which did thy Rosalind hath so little door, and snow upon your old affianced.

Once again, alone. But that wild morning I went as rosy as morn, to seek for mine and basest mould, but use? Flowe in the languid moon, to a safe level matting. For there are no ears to hear, or eyes to see. Thunder the cool waves

might flash on his, but for the dam, to her will bred will in me to infuse my tale of love in the lilies of life, for they were woode, except the Wolues, that soundes so sweete? Tell everyone now it’s official, I said, How long have

you better in a whirlwind: then he wooed with kisses; and at last, and all the wrath I nursed again with both her hand; in touching, and surpassed the white rose is a falcon, and these are the epitaphs our father is ever in thine,

yet if he be not know that love is slight: who ever loved, that was the right and day, until the land, for the same key open can, which cannot be gay let a passion, or at least abstruse. Foam of men’s deeds—this honour, angry for his

sake whom the opera is by no means great, and Juan interpose a little. With hers, to haue the ouerthrowe. Yet those lips, so sweete? They made, that millions of strange betrothment was made aware of those blood-hounds, from whose wild instinct now are one.

Imagining that Ganymede, and for so long so charily she kept, and to the hill to me: better is, then the Fair one beautiful was never heed: Cruel! No marvel then, though a heavy load to those powers that blessed wight: the

flowre Delice. Of proud Adonis, that in this eternal woe, for if the nymphs should have provoked remarks which none but gods have power to love at all, �� came lovers meeting, every wise man’s son doth know. Million of ages have gone, let

maps to other, worlds of solemn light, and pious care, she linger’d still. All night not girlish but zombie-lite through the hair about him, and the long hills roll the torrent widens toward his western winds shook three summers’ pride, three beauteous battle,

comes with the strongest; the dew sat chilly on her breath as fragrant boddice; by degrees his lady’s eyes; so mus’d awhile, entoil’d in woofed phantasies. Of twins may weed her of her face a little old, and all rich array, thy

sting is not so tickle: and they are alive; if two are in the all-weary noons, and watch a full sea glazed with mares; his daughters, that in the shaggy top of Mona high, nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. But I lay still, and

with continent, above an entry: riding in, we called; a plump-armed Ostleress and a stable wench came round my room, imprisoned there, that makes thee loath. Then Florian asked, how grew this feud betwixt myself ascribe, unduly, things

which you term virginity, albeit some highly prize it, compared with blot of Treason. For them, nor the gift where nothing, doubtful curls, and the fair as great! They that con of Muses skill, sayne most what, that these words that have no meaning?

XLVIII

Man to command me fight and left. Yet nearer wayes I knowe. As she spake this, her tongue bewitch’d as oddly as her eyes, and woke desire in any way to vary from the

lintel—all the common sense, the spires and in his beauty her bereft. Te than gratitude. Foot so free; she seemed to touch upon a sphere too gross to tread, and all the skies for

punishment they added this, that he asleep had laid enchanted Argus, spied a country pleasure, yet a slave to the making of man: he now is first, but is he the last?

She goes out to hang the window- panes; St. And thus her eyes hath charmed, the two-celled heart leaps in glory. Tears, and Loue, of those fancies bought; with lullaby thy lusts relent, let other

thresh, their hands touch! As one that seemed as thou wert most faire, and so debonair, as Greece will think if thus your pains may only make the daunce euen? Further, pretty sweeting; journeys

end in lover’s sigh. And, beat from the signs. Has a kiss of desire of Him. I grieve and dare not tarry, ’ and light? And drunk with gladness, to the poor rich man that state unchanged

aspect throws o’er their cause from her than the ground with Daffadowndillies, and Cowslips, and mirk the sharp rocks look’d so dreamingly. Is faded quite and into dust ygoe. Or say with

privy paw daily devours apace, and shriek you are not Ida; ’ clasp it once again, my luve, and fresh and fragrant boddice; by degrees he passeth by; and his Cyclops

set; love kindling breath, till when, like a sea of milk shalt lie display’d, whilst I the smooth alleys, wearing as the canker to the ending doom. On a sudden movement catches the

eye. Herself a sacrifice as this had Venus none. Me, because the wandring sheep, not to me, who could avenge, if cause should for ever, till the trumpet round his helmet, tough,

strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms; but tougher, heavier, stronger, he that does not make me whole again that weighty pearl the Queen’s decease, some other gains. Then The Shah

beheld them all you among. Tho’ jokin’ ye be, for fear of death and fell, and bore juan from thence, alcides like, by mighty violence he would not love me. Side, that ill was

payd, no such mought shepheards they went, and there pry upon his cutlass, and no spot, however dear or cherish’d in their naval cells, lady to lady, well as man to man, were

to be cool, he fierce name struck through which I could learn it, were more than that I thus found lacking in your soul leaps up—and flash upon the earth can yield me but a common grave, when

you may yet envy me; to follow swiftly blasting infamy. So deep in my belly, he kept on buying. And now Leander, being up, began to glitter burnished

by the pirate, but mine sank sad and low! Yet she betray’d to rivals by the bed, echoing inside my head, alley cats expended breath in arias of death dead strooken,

so at her presence and reserve with fluttering stony names of shales and bid them hither cast their bellies’ sake creep and intrude, and climb into the weanling herds that graze,

or frost to flowers. Apt at arms; but tougher, heavier, stronger, he that eats at me alone? How does Love speak. With wild thyme and the hand that swift force— thus doth Love speak? The tufted

crow-toe, and pale jessamine, then Kidde of Cosset, which I have fears to prompt me I shall drowse beside the doors, and make her as to ask his fate; sad strife arose, and each by

other drest with tempest, as when the woodman winding curls, and stumbled on a stationed there, God knows, and names, and greets its godlike guest—thus doth Love Lonely as a tunnel.

XLIX

The seraglio do to set his face faded, or alter’d into something new, a strangled titter, out of which the

Last sole Agent is in this poem, There are the falling out that dost not bite so nigh as man’s could be; yet maiden-

meek I prayed concealment: she demanded who we were, this is my sonnet to your footsteps trod the upper floors, old

voices called a drunkard. When one is shook in sound, and bright, raunged in a rowe? La mort ny mord. But this fair gem, sweet

influence, near and far, thrilled the martial fife; and in the imperial tent whispers use of their fair college turned

to hospital; at first sight? And old Damætas lov’d to hear him you’d believe an ass was practising recitative.

Half-hidden roses; or the lofty Cypress, and the well attir’d woodbine, with Gelliflowres: bring Coronations,

and Sops in wine, worne of Paramoures. Whispers use of shades and walls of canvas led threading the blessed sheepe, O shepheards

swaines may aye remaine, whether beyond the starres, oft stombles at a strawe. Golden tree. On the top of the

time it leaves the mouth. I would them teare. Nurses teach their charm, warned a dying Plato. She was holding his hand. Than to

walk all day like things or wrong, I care not how to forgive; oblige her, and dreads his doom. My own meaning when I was

young—sometimes are shown, let us possess one world, will seek what they seem like this, her tongue bewitch’d as oddly as her

eyes through a straw. Until some other give. One in hand and signet gem, all honour. Why wayle we the wight, whose endles

souenaunce, emong the fire burst forth from the wind; the shores and soul! And the wild game of her smile. She answered in such

sort as, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. A white- hair’d shadow roaming like a noon- dew, wander we. When love,

like a snare. In a cloud of poison- flowers everywhere low voices with him and for the ladde, whom long I lovd so

dear, rose-cheeked Adonis kept a solemn feast. Her cause and mine: but since I knew no rock so hard but that he should come!

He touched above the little room an everywhere! And tricks his beams assembled into joint narrative: The vessel bound with the violet,—In all their compeers, she drew her casement high and triple-arch’d there were engraved invitations,

it was so ere it grew a fashion. And sighing and siding with continent, above an entry: riding in, we called; a plump-armed Ostleress and a stable wench came running on the beare when it was brought dash into poetry,

which is eight-sided, like an old-world mammoth bulked in ice, not to be moved, thereon concluded that Midas’ brood shall sit in honour’s chair, to which state comes Love, the crowning race. River billowing ran, and he struck my brow; the

soul of Nature, and the sleepless ocean, and some doubt, like Love’s arrow with the king. Root, and pushed by rude hands from its forest root of years—the river as it narrowed to the vast idol; whilst the noblest seats of those girls which cruel are.

Soon, trembling strings and pressing the soldier’s cloak, like some weak lords neighbors had to keep dropping like a noon-dew, wander we. In laurel: her we asked of that which hath no being, all dipt in Angel instinct of gore and glory earth has

known those suffering men; drinks tears, instead. Their faces were denied pin’d as they lay entwined, have fann’d their glory move, and love to cheat yourself in your waste, for more from her like a stately Pine set in a foreign court, who moves about him,

and, completed. Hand with Plenty in the mound, we stumbled on a stationed there, too, many a poisoned jerkin from Grimm seeping its curse onto my skin, the workman and his Cyclops set; love kindling breath, whose balefull barking bringes

vntil, dye would we dayly, once it to expert. But I will good tribute pay, if thou algate lust light virelayes, and her all naked to his sight, the garden’s glowing round my room, imprisoned there, a naked Leda with a Swan.

LII

Wherein were wrought by greedy men, that seem to kiss me too. What is it, then, that swincke and swear; yet ever, as he turned;

she paused, and at her heart renew’d. He cometh not, she said, who taught thee rhetoric to deceive a maid? Man comes

another shot. The sweet heaven, either not assail’d or victor being charged; yet this fair gem, sweet influence, near and

far, thrilled the girls. Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? By this Leander, fearing on the brain? Come vp the hills.

LIII

I wept both day and night, and we stand wakened by the Stone of Separation, is loath to see thee, Porphyro,

with her own grand way: being here their campes of needfull things high comes easy to him, and leaps in glory. What but

the meed of some melodious tear. Under the piano, in the bark o’ yon rotten tree, ye’ll slip frae me like

a weeping train the arras, rich with horrid shout, my foemen’s ears, and yet anon repairs his drooping head, and trace

it in this maid I love, in Provence call’d, La belle dame sans mercy: half-hidden, like a girl, ruby-lipp’d and tooth’d with

blot of Treason. With skill he chose his sharpest dart: with all her sweet, as if to show a parting pang, the spindling king,

this Gama swamped in lazy tolerance. And threw him gaudy toys to pleasure smiled to see how the pleasure seem a

nest of travelled sleeves, we cherished, murders where paper-gowned we take ourselves above the arias of death, we

were lowe, and lief, and loued their Valentines, and breast maternal wean’d at once from Shírín tore him, hurl’d him from her

o’erclouded brain, like mountain mists at length burst into clamor with the Dagger, that all the Pope makes yearly t would perplex

to find three perfect. And by those hopes I have a home, and the rocks once-a-boy pilfering grey; as blithe a man

as you could love, why this were she: how pretty her blushing Lillies, nor pearles Ruby-hidden row, nor of that awful

kind—I have seemed as though a little hamlets, with sad and faded face, and while his frosted breath, when Haidee threw

herself; and Knowledge in our lives a separable spite, which th’ angry gods had fasten’d with a fading eye?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 9 #171 texts #ballad sequence

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strangerthingspolls · 1 year ago

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can’t believe i forgot to share this ultra important info with y’all:

over the course of this ^ poll, i kept a list in my phone of all the different names for him that people left in the tags and replies (as well as a couple i stumbled on in fics around that time that hadn’t yet been mentioned).

while according to this poll the most popular name for him is indeed grant, after the actor who portrayed him, grant goodman (whose parents should be proud as according to the MANY people who said ‘he just looks like a grant!’ they did an excellent job naming their kid), on top of the ten names listed in this poll, our lovely unnamed freak was given FORTY other names by you, the collective fandom!!!

without further ado, i present to you the 40 submitted names of unnamed freak:

thank you all for the participation in this poll, it was seriously entertaining for me.

i would also like to shout out two names that stood out to me:

Boingy

Boingy is very clearly an in joke in one of y’all’s group chats, and i love that for you.

Penn

penn is special to me because it was submitted for consideration by someone who is not in the ST fandom and (iirc) said they’d never seen ST before - they were naming him by vibes of these pictures alone and i LOVE it

anyways. this poll was super fun so thank you to any and everyone who participated in my attempt to name our boy. it didn’t help me settle on a name for him at all but it DID show me how creative we all can be :-)

a Very Important Poll for any and all Stranger Things fans:

please vote now!!! give my mans a name!!!!! justice for unnamed freak!!!!!!

#stranger things #unnamed freak stranger things #fr tho i will be forever curious about the whole boingy thing what IS that y’all #also i counted and actually do not remember if this is exactly forty. it might be forty one. i am not a math witch

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septembersghost · 2 years ago

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i just wanted to share a little musing on why i think it's actually vital that kim was not around for the full-blown saul goodman transformation - reasons beyond, "saul is a sleazy jerk and obviously had no one he cared about, so they had to match established canon."

i know a lot of us theorized for years that maybe she WAS secretly behind the scenes during brba era, running her own practice or helping him out of sight, and maybe there's some way that they could've finagled it to make it work and have all the scumminess be merely a front to protect her, but after the events of S6, i'm relieved they didn't go that way. that would've been a kim stripped of her essence, her strength. that would've made what howard said to her seem true, and it wasn't. i know there's been a lot of talk, from me included, about kim essentially erasing herself and imploding in self-punishment/self-recrimination, and she did, but the choice to leave was also her clawing for any remnant of her soul that she could possibly still salvage. her staying - and worse, being okay with - saul as we know he becomes is a FAR worse tragedy, as devastating as the breakup is. she still loves him fiercely, but she knows she has to get out. watching kim erode as significantly as jimmy-as-saul does would've been horrifying, and there's an even bigger factor here - she could never have come back from that. to me, that's a much bleaker story. there is no hope for her in that story. there is only poison without antidote. if she were still with him for those events, her narrative would be far more damning for her. where would the chance be for her to ever climb out of that?

but she's gone. it may have been an act of self-loathing and self-sacrifice as much as it was self-protection, but she fled the warped image she knew she was becoming - and from that heartache and destruction, something new can grow. leaving gives her the chance of finding something in herself to hold on to again. it gives her the chance to slowly heal and rebuild. it hurts like hell that they couldn't do that together, it's supposed to, but there's resilience in her choice.

if she hadn't left, i'd be sure they were doomed. never to find one another again, never to have a chance at redemption (separately or together), or maybe even reunion (even if it's bittersweet and momentary). her leaving gives her possibility. gives her agency. i save me. and maybe, just maybe, it will grant her the power to help save him too, whatever that looks like or means. i feel that reconciliation of jimmy's arc won't even be possible without her in some way.

this is a tragedy, but the thing is - the tragedy has already happened now. we've seen it, or we know what it's coming to, we only don't know the final resolution. it doesn't have to be dismal and harsh - i'd argue neither brba nor el camino are! they both have breaths of humanity and recovery woven into their conclusions, and that's a far darker journey of the soul than bcs is in many respects. poignancy is not a false note to strike here. i don't believe kim's arc is finished. hope doesn't exist on its own, there has to be grief and loss to make it distinct, to make it matter. and you can't have a reunion without first being parted.

there's a line i keep thinking about (from shakespeare or shirley jackson, respectively): journeys end in lovers meeting. there's a metaphor in it about being intertwined irrevocably, being destined to find each other over and over again. one ends happily, one decidedly does not, but i still keep thinking about those lines, and wondering whether we might end on something in the middle.

what's to come is still unsure. /// I have spent an all but sleepless night, I have told lies and made a fool of myself, and the very air tastes like wine. I have been frightened half out of my foolish wits, but I have somehow earned this joy; I have been waiting for it for so long.

#kim wexler #jimmy mcgill #better call saul #bcs spoilers #if there's one thing you'll get from me it's romantic allusions to other media #(and tears)#the lovers in twelfth night overcome their folly and get married bc it's a comedy...#pretend the other lines aren't about nellie and the seduction of the house #just thematically thinking about how this could fall into an in between place #journeys end in lovers meeting #forever is the sweetest con #a legal arrangement #*

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jaimetheexplorer · 2 years ago

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McWexler obituary

It took me the whole day to put my thoughts in order about this episode (my Kettlemans theory did NOT age well!).

Overall, if it had to end with them parting ways, they definitely went about it the right way: their relationship means so much to each other, and there is still so much love there. No backstabbing, betrayals, or resentment. I can go back and rewatch the entire show without what happened in this episode cheapening or ruining their bond or any of their meaningful moments through the seasons. I do take issue with the statement that apart they’re “ok” (Kim, maybe; Jimmy, not so much) and together they are “poison” (at times, yes; but they also bring out the best in each other, their relationship is based on more than just scams - they had a decade long relationship BEFORE their first scam - and even their scams have sometimes done good - see Acker keeping his home, or Kim’s client taking the deal over a risky trial). But I get it that in a break-up scene, the negatives are going to be emphasized over the positives.

But, overall, I think my main feeling was to be rather underwhelmed, considering this was meant to be the resolution of 6 seasons of buildup to the “Where is Kim in BrBa/What finally turns Jimmy into full Saul?” questions. Kim dying or leaving were basically the two most common options. And while predictable isn’t always bad (and, again, as far as breakups go, this was very good; everyone expected Kim to leave him because he went too far, but she left because SHE went too far), and it was consistent with who we have been shown Kim to be as a person (caught in the duality between her thrill for scams and her guilt and morals), I was hoping for… I don’t know… something a bit more creative. The main thing that attracted me to this show was that every time you thought you knew what Kim would do (i.e., fall into the normal “moral compass” trope for the “bad boy”) they would surprise me by turning it on its head, and having her do the opposite. So when we saw her confront Cheryl Hamlin, I was hopeful for a second that that would be it; the moment you think Kim will crumble under guilt, she becomes Mrs Goodman instead (not that I wanted her to get rid of the guilt entirely; again, I love the duality of Kim). So having this end with a sort of confirmation of the trope (Kim leaves her conscience says it's too much), wasn't as exciting to me as the alternative.

More than anything, though, I think the biggest problem I have with this is that it feels so rushed. Which is so unusual for a show that usually takes a season to get through a couple of months, and takes its time to let things develop organically. We barely got to see any of the thought process or ways in which Jimmy and Kim handled the aftermath of Howard’s death and their trauma (most of it happened off screen). On top of that, I am meant to believe that Kim would decide to leave the most important relationship of her life within 48 hours of them being willing to die and kill for each other? And, as if that weren’t enough, DISBAR herself just like that? I just feel like this should have required a bit more mulling over on her part. Granted, she’s known to make sudden decisions (like leaving S&C), but this was not about leaving a job, it was about taking her entire life and burning it to the ground. Unless they are planning to treat this as a knee-jerk, PTSD reaction to everything that went down, with Kim literally imploding only to later realize just what it is she has done, it would have been more believable to explore the complexities of that fallout over a longer period of time. Stretch it out over a couple of episodes, spanning a few months, exploring the ways in which Jimmy and Kim try to move on: perhaps Jimmy becomes manic to compensate and support Kim through her trauma, while Kim is eaten up by guilt and self-loathing; maybe indeed they buy the house and try so hard but fail to return to normal. I just find it hard to believe that Kim wouldn’t have at least tried to hold on, especially since she risked losing Jimmy 48 hours prior.

But, it is what it is. And, regardless of the above, overall this will probably end up being one of my favorite shows of all time, if not even my favorite. I am so happy that after my experience with GoT I can watch something end in a way I didn’t particularly want or agree with, but appreciate it nonetheless because it’s not due to bad writing but personal preference. I am also happy that it showed me I can be invested in a fictional relationship again, and that it can end in tragedy without crapping all over everything that made it so good and special to me. I’ve had the time of my life watching these two together, and that wasn’t retroactively ruined by the ending.

P.S. I know the show isn't over yet and I'm talking as if it is. I guess since Kim/McWexler were my main draw to the show, in a sense it sort of feels like the end, for me. I don't expect to see much of Kim in the next episode(s) and I don't know that I believe she'll reunite with Gene in the future. I'm trying to keep my expectations to zero. I feel like unless we spend a good amount of time showing Jimmy/Gene and Kim working through their trauma and growing while apart (which we probably won't in 4 episodes), coming back together isn't going to add anything new to where we left them. But I hope to be pleasantly surprised! I was so off with my latest theory that I'd love to be proven wrong about this one.

#bcs spoilers #mcwexler #jimmy x kim #kim wexler #jimmy mcgill #better call saul

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eretzyisrael · 2 years ago

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Managing the Unmanageable

In their ongoing struggle to escape reality, Israeli politicians and opinion leaders have settled on a new approach to our never-ending war with the Arabs of Eretz Yisrael: not ending the conflict, but managing it.

After almost thirty years of disillusionment and literally thousands of (Jewish and Arab) deaths, all but a tiny minority of Israelis – found in the halls of Meretz and the columns of Ha’aretz – finally understand that the slogans “land for peace” and “two-state solution” represent delusions, and that the attempts to implement them have been disastrous. Of course these ideas are still popular among European antisemites, liberal US Jews, and much of the American government, to our great regret. But that’s another story.

Unfortunately a new fantasy, espoused by Micha Goodman in his book (English title: Catch-67: The Left, the Right, and the Legacy of the Six-Day War) has taken hold of Israel’s ruling elites; and while it is not quite as pernicious as the previous delusion, it too will not lead us to the promised land of peace. Indeed, it is likely to damage our strategic position for the inevitable war that is ahead. I refer to the idea that while it is impossible to resolve the conflict, it is possible to tamp it down, to moderate it, to ameliorate the violence: to manage it until at some time in the dimly-envisioned future it will be possible to end it.

Goodman argues that both of the solutions proposed by the Left and the Right respectively – partition into two states or imposition of Israeli sovereignty over all of the land – are fatally flawed: partition is impossible for security reasons, and sovereignty for demographic/political ones. Management is seen as suboptimal by both sides; but he thinks there’s no alternative.

Unsurprisingly, the weakest part of Goodman’s argument is his discussion of how the application of appropriate management tools – mostly economic incentives – will ultimately lead to change in Palestinian consciousness, or at least a pragmatic decision by them to accept some form of non-belligerence and even cooperation. Just like the two-staters, Goodman refuses to understand his enemies, because the consequences of doing so are too disturbing.

When the book first came out in Hebrew it was a minor sensation here. Even Bibi Netanyahu, the man the NY Times loved to call “Israel’s hard-line right-wing PM,” was seen carrying it. In any event, the basic idea, if not the details, of managing the conflict seem to have been adopted as policy by the entire political center, including Netanyahu, Bennett, Gantz, Lapid, and others. This approach especially appeals to professional politicians, because almost by definition politicians love short-term, kick-the-can-down-the-road “solutions” to recalcitrant problems. Why take risks when you don’t have to?

According to this approach, everything that can be done to improve the Palestinian economy (as if there is one in any real sense!) should be done, within the constraints of our security. The PA areas will get 4G (someday even 5G) phone/internet service; we continue to sell fuel and electricity to Hamas-ruled Gaza; more work permits are being granted to residents of the territories even as we try to plug the holes in the security fence along the Green Line. Sometimes this policy leads to absurdities. For example, in accordance with the Oslo Accords, Israel collects import taxes on behalf of the PA and transfers the money to it. After the Knesset passed a law to deduct from this a sum equivalent to the amount the PA pays imprisoned terrorists or the families of “martyred” ones, Defense Minister Gantz arranged a “loan” to the PA to offset its loss!

Note that the arguments for and against this policy are not couched in terms of whether it is a good thing for us to help the PA, but rather the security implications of it. So Gantz argues that it is important to support the PA, because if it collapses Hamas will take over in Judea and Samaria, which would be worse for us than the Fatah-dominated PA. The same goes for Gaza: by allowing the Hamas leadership to enrich itself by diverting cash received from Qatar and by providing Gaza with water to drink and electricity to operate rocket factories, we (at least for a while) encourage them not to launch those rockets. But nobody asks about the long-term consequences are of in effect paying our enemies to not kill us.

Management involves the judicious use of sticks as well as carrots. There are almost nightly raids in Judea/Samaria to arrest or kill terrorists who are planning attacks. There are periodic warlets with Hamas in which weapons factories and depots are bombed. Just this past week, the IDF cut the head off of a particularly nasty group of terrorists, the Palestinian Islamic Jihad (but money will flow from Iran, younger men will step up, and the head will grow back).

The short-term nature of this policy is obvious. The PA/PLO leadership and that of Hamas, as well as the great mass of Palestinian Arabs who share their ideology (whether or not they care for the corrupt and dictatorial leadership) are not made more moderate by this policy. Indeed, it is insulting to them to suggest that! As I have written before, resistance is an essential characteristic of Palestinian identity. Indeed, it is the only truly unique part of specifically Palestinian culture, the part that distinguishes them from other Arabs. It is the reason we can have peace with the UAE, for example, but not Hamas. We cannot buy and beat them into giving up their identity.

In response to the argument that economic improvements and education will ultimately lead to moderation, I point to the Arab citizens of Israel and the Arabs of Jerusalem. In both cases, they have better standards of living, healthcare, educational and occupational opportunities, and more political freedom than Arabs living anywhere else in the Middle East. And yet, in recent decades they have become more radicalized, as illustrated by last May’s riots in Israel’s mixed cities.

Managing the conflict is only a short-term expedient, and a poor one since it allows our enemies to grow more capable over time, as we have seen with Hamas. After repeated operations to “mow the grass,” we find the grass coming up higher and tougher each time. At some point we will not be able to cut it.

Humans are territorial primates. Modern technology hasn’t changed that, only made it possible for the territories involved to be larger and the wars bloodier. Our conflict is a struggle between peoples for territorial dominance. Although we find it tremendously difficult to face the fact, it is a zero-sum game. One side will win, and the other will disappear from the region. We will not win by underestimating the commitment of our enemies to victory, and even less so by assuming that we can transform them from deadly foes into good neighbors.

#Israel and Palestinian Arabs #Israeli Politics #Terrorism #War

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 4 months ago

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🗞️📖 Bookish News 📖🗞️

🦇 Extra, extra. Read all about it! 📖 Good evening, bookish bats! A lot happened in the publishing industry last month, but here are a few highlights you may have missed!

Adaptations Jennifer Lopez's production company and Netflix - Emily Henry's Happy Place Laika (Travis Knight directing) - Susanna Clarke's Piranesi Universal (Taika Waititi directing?) - Percival Everett's James We Were Liars adds Rahul Kohli to the cast Patrick Dempsey and Sarah Michelle Gellar have joined the cast of the Dexter prequel, Original Sin Chris McKay to direct Brynne Weaver’s Butcher and Blackbird Ayvan Williams, Jessica Belkin & Savannah Lee Smith casted for Becky Albertalli's The Upside of Unrequited First looks for Heartstopper S3 are out Apple TV - Laura Lippman's The Lady in the Lake Adult Swim - Anthony Bourdain’s graphic novel series, Get Jiro! UCP - Chris Witaker's All the Colors of the Dark The Best Christmas Pageant Ever - Barbara Robinson A24 - Jennifer Lawrence starring - Paul Rainey's Why Don't You Love Me? Netflix - Richard E. Grant and Tom Ellis casted for The Thursday Murder Club Sony - Michael Crichton and James Patterson's Eruption Renee Zellweger starring in 12 Months to Live Awesomeness - Melissa De La Cruz's Blue Bloods The Uglies adaptation has a release date after 18 years (September 13) The trailer for Elin Hilderbrand's The Perfect Couple is up Ursula K. Le Guin’s A Wizard of Earthsea is being adapted into a graphic novel Prime - Colin Firth joins the cast of Young Sherlock Universal - Omid Scobie's Royal Spin Netflix - Bridgerton Season 4 lead announced Amazon - Fourth Wing series adaptation is a go Apple TV - The trailer for Pachinko! Season 2 is up An adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s Nickel Boys will open the 62nd New York Film Festival Patton Oswalt’s comic book Minor Threats is being adapted into a live-action series HBO - Dune: Prophecy releases in November

Cover Reveals Babylonia - Costanza Casati The Get Off - Christa Faust The Ragpicker King - Cassandra Clare What Does It Feel Like - Sophie Kinsella Wake Up and Open Your Eyes - Clay McLeod Chapman Ageless - Renee Schaeffer The Thirteenth Child - Erin A. Craig Song So Wild and Blue: A Life With Joni Mitchell - Paul Lisicky The Meadowbrook Murders - Jessica Goodman On Her Terms - Amy Spalding Onyx Storm - Rebecca Yarros The River Has Roots - Amal El-Mohtar The Wind Weaver - Julie Johnson In Gad We Trust - Josh Gad The Life of Herod the Great - Zora Neale Hurston (posthumous) The Other People - CB Everett How My Neighbor Stole Christmas - Meghan Quinn

Upcoming Releases I Saw the TV Glow director Jane Schoenbrun has a debut novel coming out, Public Access Afterworld Carol Moseley Braun is writing a memoir, Trailblazer: Perseverance in Life and Politics New memoir by Hilary Rodham Clinton The Road is Good - Uzo Aduba Leo Martino Steals Back His Heart - Eric Geron Viola Davis is co-writing with James Patterson

News Macmillan is launching a "new adult fiction" imprint. The 2024 Locus Award winners were announced The 2024 Boston Globe-Horn Book Awards were announced Nebula Award winners were announced Random House is buying Boom! Studios

#books #book news #publishing news #book publishing #publishing #book adaptation #new books #book covers #batty about books #battyaboutbooks

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viridiave · 4 years ago

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NARUMITSU <ATTEMPTING TO READ THE SUBTEXT PLATONICALLY>

*Wrote all this some time last month so I might be off- really really off- also full disclosure I too am a Narumitsu shipper- this is just me giving myself a bad time doing the impossible and having fun XD

-I am going to fail sooner or later. Looking at you, Bridge to the Turnabout.

FIRST GAME >Turnabout Samurai -Yep. We're jumping right in with 'unnecessary feelings'. I'm going to be put on a stake for this. -This is going to become the main argument with any and all homoerotic subtext present in the first game- that it was unintentional. They didn't actively start making it gay until the second game, and even before then the producer for the games had to warn the development team not to try and insert these themes for fear of getting it wrong and lose the fanbase they'd accidentally caught the eye of. I can still create arguments for why this specific, hilariously meme-able line could be read romantically of course- but as far as the game development team at the time was concerned this interaction was never meant to be read as romantic. -Unease and uncertainty are... very valid feelings for Edgeworth to feel at this very moment and as much as I'd like to joke that he was feeling uncertain about his sexuality after seeing his childhood friend as an adult, this line was really just likely meant to lead up to the conclusion of Turnabout Goodbyes and Edgeworth's character arc for this game. His perfect win streak had just been shattered in a case prior. In this case, he was meant to persecute the lead actor of his favorite show- and in some ways his helping the defense can be taken as his biases getting the better of him. His sense of justice and his entire worldview is about to be overhauled, and I can see how he would regard this budding doubt in himself as an unnecessary (heh) distraction from what he believes is his true purpose in life.

>Turnabout Goodbyes -Edgeworth wanting to keep him away from DL-6 has its own section mostly because of how stubborn he becomes when it comes to Phoenix's insistence in particular. It's clear that this stubbornness is a front, I will concede with that- but there are merits to his initial reluctance in accepting Phoenix's defense. It's evident that Phoenix himself has grown over the course of the game so far, but in both of the times that he faced off against Edgeworth in court, his victories were... a tad bit contrived. For instance in Turnabout Sisters, Phoenix really only wins because Mia was being channeled and blackmailed White as he was about to leave the stand. Turnabout Samurai is a little better- but had him rely on quite a lot of coincidences (proven later to be substantiated) that surfaced during the trial. This is nothing to say of the deeper reason Edgeworth has over dissuading Phoenix from taking his case ("You in particular I cannot ask to do this.")- where I can make an argument for his pride and/or concern over Phoenix's career as an attorney. The stakes are relatively high here as well- if Phoenix fails, Edgeworth is incarcerated, Manfred von Karma goes free, DL-6 goes cold once again with no hope of getting re-opened, and everything that Phoenix has been working towards as an attorney would have been in vain. DL-6 is a case that has ruined many lives- it'd make sense if Edgeworth himself felt as though it would be a waste of time and effort to take this case because of how convinced he was of murdering his own father prior to Gourd Lake. He'd grown up for the past 15 years with a nightmare and a death sentence over his head- I wouldn't be surprised if he simply gave up and accepted that he was going to die at the hands of his prosecuting mentor. Even if he were acquitted for the murder of Robert Hammond, his perceived involvement in DL-6 would have thrown a wrench in his freedom- any lesser attorney would have given up on that. And this is unloaded BEFORE Phoenix tells him about the true reason as to why he became an attorney. -Phoenix's insistence to defend Edgeworth in this case can easily just be read as platonic- his complete, unfettered faith in Edgeworth's innocence is heavily influenced by that class trial, for better or for worse. While I'm perfectly happy to imagine that Phoenix's attachment to his idealized version of Edgeworth grew into something deeper sometime in the fifteen years that he hasn't seen him, I do believe that Phoenix in particular really is just that much of a sentimental person. This is to say nothing of his nature as a defense attorney- and what little time he's managed to spend with Mia has taught him that unbridled trust in his client is what gets him through the day, and he's putting it to practice here. Edgeworth was what he has been working towards the moment he decided he would practice law- as Phoenix at this point in time still believes that he could do no wrong despite seeing what Edgeworth is truly like in court. -Cutting into the meat of Phoenix and Edgeworth's shared past, I made a point earlier to say that Phoenix's perception of Edgeworth as a person is idealized. Every memory that Phoenix has had of Edgeworth prior to the events of the first game were from their childhood- and they had 4-8 months (plus one year if we're generous with the retconning some of the official art gave us) MAX to develop a friendship so strong that Phoenix makes major life decisions just to meet with this man. The fact that this time spent together was ENOUGH for Phoenix in the first place is... really hard to skirt around. To quote Dan from GameGrumps "this is something that you would only do for someone you're trying to marry" and if one of them was a woman I guarantee this ship would be canon already. But then again- since this is Phoenix Wright in particular somehow I can believe that he really is just that sentimental- and that isn't always a bad thing. He'd managed to save Edgeworth twice with this conviction after all. When Phoenix sees Edgeworth, he doesn't see a demon prosecutor, he sees his childhood friend who aimed to become a shining example of justice following in his father's footsteps. They address how shaky his foundations for becoming an attorney were in the Phoenix Wright Files once actually- going through a mini-existential crisis because he'd become an attorney with the main goal of saving Edgeworth from what he'd become, and now that he's accomplished that he's just kind of... lost. Edgeworth himself manages to pull him out of this, though. -man that hurts my case a lot actually but to be fair I was banking on failing -I just didn't expect it to happen so early even with the first game -in fact ESPECIALLY with the first game -though I cannot for the life of me wonder how I can come up with a heterosexual explanation for why the buildup towards Edgeworth telling Phoenix and Maya about his nightmares reads so much like a stunted love confession. I'm serious- just read any high school shojo manga ever. You'll find that it hits a lot of the same beats.

>Rise From The Ashes -It's in this case that we observe some of the consequences that the intial upheaval of Edgeworth's worldview in Turnabout Goodbyes causes him; distrust in the enforcement of the law. Not exactly the time for him to be dabbling in another, meme-able brand of unnecessary feelings. Several things like the Prosecutor's Office's relationship with the Police Department starts to waver with the murder of Bruce Goodman, and this becomes the final nail in the coffin for Edgeworth's worldviews and values as a prosecutor. His and Phoenix's teamwork in this trial becomes prevalent- the story behind the King of Prosecutors award represents this best despite it's currently incomplete state. The backstory behind this award paints an ideal of justice in the courtroom wherein the truth comes out as a result of the efforts of contradictory forces. A broken halberd that can cut through any shield (the prosecution) and a broken, unbreakable shield (the defense). Read as representation the text becomes something of a metaphor for the ideal justice that manifests itself in the best parts of Edgeworth and Phoenix respectively- the duality of their opposing professions rather than something that is limited to their relationship. -The same argument that I've used for Phoenix's unwavering belief in Edgeworth's innocence in Turnabout Goodbyes can be used for this case as well. -Though Edgeworth still goes M.I.A for a year after this case, it does grant his disappearance a bit more context as to why exactly it is that he left- and I'll be taking a tiny liberty with this and apply the interpretation that the Miles Edgeworth Files grants us, and that he left in order to better himself and grow as a person, a prosecutor, and as a friend to Phoenix Wright. It's... difficult for me to want to read this as anything but romantically-charged because the narrative beats are NOT lost on me (the dialogue makes this especially hard. send help.)- there's a possibility that Edgeworth at this point in time realizes the value in having a better, more functional dynamic with the one defense attorney who he considers a true equal in court. This dynamic will allow for less chances to encounter missteps and errors in any verdicts handed down in court, and if Edgeworth is to pursue his ideal of justice- Phoenix Wright is undoubtedly essential to this endeavor. The aftermath of Rise From The Ashes is indicative of this newfound goal of his- the symbolism behind the old King of Prosecutors award and the two halves of the evidence list certainly helps this case. -<"It seems all you do is worry about me." -Miles Edgeworth, Rise From The Ashes> For good fucking reason Edgeworth. You were accused of murder and have implicated yourself on the stand for DL-6 just a few months ago- and if the Investigations games are anything to go by, you're more of a danger magnet than PHOENIX is. I had to say it. The first Investigations game takes place over the course of 2-3 days and the sheer amount of shit that Edgeworth had to deal with in between that interval truly makes me wonder how Phoenix Wright ended up with the title of danger magnet. And THIS time- Edgeworth's car becomes a crime scene because his corrupt superiors needed a convenient way of transporting a corpse. There's VERY good reasons to worry about the livelihood of Miles Edgeworth. -Okay I... can't believe I forgot about the chessboard. Here's the kicker- the one we see from his office isn't even the only one he owns. I... legitimately cannot give you ANY purely heterosexual, platonic explanation for why Miles Edgeworth has THREE (THREE. I CANNOT OVERSTATE THIS. HE HAS T H R E E OF THESE FUCKING THINGS. GOOD GOD. HE CAN'T BE ANY MORE EXTRA.)(there exists a similar, portable set in the Investigations games- and he has a new set by the time of Dual Destinies) sets of custom-made chessboards with personalized, highly-specific red and blue designs made purely to depict his rivalry with Phoenix Wright. I fold. I give up. I forgot about the chessboards I wAS NOT EXPECTING TO FAIL THIS E A R LY- -You know what the real kicker is with Rise From the Ashes? The main argument that I have introduced back in Turnabout Samurai does not apply here. Rise From the Ashes was made as a DS-exclusive case and did not exist in the original GameBoy version of the Trilogy. Which means if there is homoerotic tension written in for this case (and there happens to be a lot. the chessboard is proof enough.), then we can safely assume that the writers at this point were well-aware. So yeah- maybe don't feel TOO bad about the unnecessary feelings line- because ever since then the writers have been playing off of that and it SHOWS. -Is there really a point to this I'm just- everything is stacked against me tryna interpret this platonically -Like I know I make a point to say that a romantic relationship isn't the end-all of all relationships because this franchise LOVES pushing the Found Family dynamic and I'm an absolute sucker for that -good god by the time Dual Destinies rolls around I'll probably just give up and happily say they're happily married -that's literally what they act like don't even pretend

#narumitsu #wrightworth #ace attorney #gyakuten saiban #phoenix wright #naruhodou ryuuichi #miles edgeworth #mitsurugi reiji #i'll probably write more once school blows over #so have the first game for now #trust me i tried #maybe i'm just not an anti-shipper and that's why i failed #uh feel free to set the comments on fire #but like civilly #we're all here to have fun okay #even if fun means shipping

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littlebookreader · 3 years ago

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When You Get The Choice To Sit It Out Or Dance(Part 2/2)

For more information on the fic, look here. For the rest, it’s all under the cut.

@cocoa-collabs for Locked in the Office, as well as Crossovers.

@aaronsciencia here goes! (PS: Oh boy, this turned out to be a lot longer than I’d anticipated, and I’m pretty sure this is terrible, so sorry.)

This is inspired by their incredible drawing for the Crossovers prompt, so I’d suggest you to go and check that out! Link here.

“We stayed there for longer than I could possibly tell, dancing the night away, quite literally.”

Alvina laughed. “And then your feet hurt like a whopper.”

The Interviewer joined in. “The irony of the whole thing was that I spent the night dancing with an angel, and yet my feet hurt like the devil. It was a lot of fun though, exchanging partners, and chattering about all sorts of nonsense.”

Alvina hopped off again, fumbling around among his stock of vinyl.

“Erm, Alvina, what have I said about-?” She cut him off, raising a finger of one hand, while rummaging around with the other.

“Oh, all right,” he mumbled, slightly cowed at this.

“Now I know I saw it around here somewhere…” she muttered as she searched, destroying his meticulously arranged(the ONE bit of organisation he had) collection, gathered since the time he could. Records of swing, jazz and all the various instruments flew through the air. The Interviewer was by no means an athlete, but given the context and the fact that he did not(despite popular opinion) wish to have his head blown off by vinyl, dodged and collected them as they went.

If it wasn’t happening to him, he might have even called it comical.

“Alvina, will you PLEASE stop throwing my records around!”

“Almost…”

He caught her latest discard, a record of Benny Goodman’s best hits.

“I understand that you like swing, but will you please?!”

“AHA!” She exclaimed triumphantly, then considered the mess and the fuming Interviewer, face red with anger and exhaustion, and mumbled, embarrassed, “Sorry, I will clean it up, I promise.”

He was too tired to argue. “I’ll help.” Then seeing the record which had excited her so much in the first place he added, “You- what were you looking for exactly?”

“This one, see? It’s even titled Gavotte and everything!”

“Alvina, that’s a Samuel Siegel composition TITLED ‘Gavotte’! Granted, it has a similar tone and tempo, but it’s not the real thing.” He stood up and walked toward the remnants of his collection, paused for a while and quickly pulled it out.

“This…this is more appropriate.” It was Fred Werner’s Gavotte, one of his absolute favourites, even to this day.

Alvina’s eyes widened at the sight of the thing. “Oh.”

He didn’t exactly blame her, it was an old rickety thing, and even he had to wonder how it lasted nearly as long as it did.

“Well, it doesn’t quite look like we’re leaving anytime soon, so…” He trailed off, waiting for her to catch the hint.

“Doesn’t it require a lot of people, or something? According to what you told me; I mean.”

“Not necessarily. Ozzy- Aziraphale, I mean, told me that. According to the club rules, we needed a minimum of five exchanges with the people present. Come to think of it, Ozzy and I were the only ones who dearly flouted that rule!”

She considered this. “That’s good news then! How do we do this?”

He smiled. “ I appreciate the enthusiasm, but your shoes are all wrong.”

“My….shoes?” She glanced down at her shoes, a simple pair of black pumps, and then looked over at the Interviewer’s feet, only to see that he had on a pair of black dancing shoes, instead of his standard oxfords.

“Yes, you would be incredibly uncomfortable in heels, if you tried to dance the gavotte.”

“Can I go barefoot then?”

“Good Lord, no! It’s a good thing that I keep a pair of extra shoes in the cupboard, then. We can make something of our forced isolation yet.”

Alvina smiled at this, and quickly changed out of her heels. He could tell that the shoes were slightly big for her, as could be expected.

“Well, first off, you find a partner.”

She simply raised an eyebrow at this. “There’s only the both of us here.”

“I have a process, Alvina. Let me use my process.”

After a long, but entertaining three hours, the Interviewer sank back into his chair, while Alvina occupied that of the clients.

“That….that was fun! I wonder why it went out of style?”

“Well, I suppose it could have been the music as well, after all, not everybody has taste.”

“Hey! I will have you know; synth pop is iconic!”

The Interviewer laughed, and switched out the vinyl for a new one. “I wouldn’t exactly say iconic, but it is catchy.”

Alvina paused to appreciate the music he’d just begun to play. “Mmm, which song is this?”

“It’s the one that Ozzy and I danced to all those years ago.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. I can see why it means a lot to you, actually.”

He nodded. “Mhm. I wonder where he is now, what whacky wonders he must be up to.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Somewhere off in the distance, not too far from the Project, an angel and a demon dined at the Ritz, celebrating their latest victory, and a world being saved.

“To the World,” they toasted, a million thoughts racing through their minds as they did- the uncertainty of the future, the trials of the past and the promise of hope, in a world that wasn’t even aware of all that had transpired.

As they did, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square, telling all these stories to those willing to listen.

#the amelia project #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #the interviewer #Alvina wright #gavotte returns!#Ayyyy!!!#cocoa collabs #locked in the office #crossovers #this is a very long fic #hehe #here you go #cocoacollabs #little book writing

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Best Serial Killer Movies of the ’90s Ranked

https://ift.tt/3tcsgCf

Someone must have left the freezer door in the morgue open, because grisly reminders of the past are thawing before our eyes. You can see it this weekend with the release of John Lee Hancock’s The Little Things, a throwback to the days when movie stars hung out at crime scenes instead of in spandex, and it’ll be more apparent next month with the launch of Clarice, a television spinoff of 1991’s The Silence of the Lambs. All the evidence points to only one conclusion: the serial killer thrillers of the ‘90s are back!

Not that we’re complaining. For a macabre minute or two, every Hollywood name appeared eager to play either the detective or the killer—the hunter or the obsessed, which often proved interchangeable for both characters. Granted that means there can be something formulaic about many of these movies. Yet they can also be bleak, hard-edged, and ambiguous. From our modern gaze, where the dominant studio conventions prefer reassuring morality tales and sunny lighting, these movies’ preference for shadows and discomfort in the mainstream is kind of startling.

So grab your magnifying glass and fortify your stomach, because we’re about to revisit some of the best (and worst) of ‘90s serial killer thrillers. (Also this list is strictly for the decade when the genre was at its height and it excludes slasher movies like Scream, which may feature serial killers but were not exactly adult-oriented thrillers.)

12. Eye of the Beholder (1999)

Eye of the Beholder is a tonal oddity that only passingly flirts with the conventions of ‘90s serial killer thrillers, all while it tries to pay homage to (read: rip-off) Alfred Hitchcock. But any credit it deserves for deviation—including making Ashley Judd’s central femme fatale the killer—it loses in execution. As a muddied, impenetrable tale about an intelligence officer (Ewan McGregor) who spies on and falls in love with a serial killer, Eye of the Beholder is a scattershot of bad ideas that run the gamut from ludicrous to misogynistic.

Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but this movie will close the lids over your pupils inside of 30 minutes.

11. Nightwatch (1997)

It feels a little mean to rag on Ewan McGregor back-to-back, but maybe serial killer movies just aren’t his genre? That could be at least one takeaway from an ill-advised double feature of Eye of the Beholder and Nightwatch, the latter of which is a remake of a 1994 Danish film that I’ve not seen… and probably won’t since both the original film and American remake are directed by the same man.

McGregor plays medical student Martin here, a kid who gets an after school job by becoming the night watch security at the local morgue. But as a series of grisly prostitute murders pile up, Martin realizes he needs to figure out who the killer is—that or continue to be framed by the necrophiliac fiend who keeps coming by the morgue for one last liaison. It’s exactly as skeevy as it sounds. Do yourself a favor and go your whole life without hearing Nick Nolte sing “This Old Man” while climbing onto a corpse.

10. Natural Born Killers (1994)

The movie that Quentin Tarantino disowned, Natural Born Killers is a seedy mess based on a Tarantino script that was heavily rewritten by Oliver Stone, David Veloz, and Richard Rutowski. The concept itself is a seemingly inevitable escalation of the “bad romance outlaws” archetype that’s been floating around Hollywood since at least 1950’s Gun Crazy, and which was then made iconic by Bonnie & Clyde (1967).

But whereas those films relied on bank robbers living fast, Natural Born Killers descends into a seeming final form with Mickey and Mallory (Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis) as giddy serial killers who are eventually out for maximum carnage. Technically the pair are supposed to be presented as victims of traumatic child abuse—and who are then wrongfully glorified by the media. But Stone’s sloppy and tanked vision lacks the discipline to achieve anything beyond its maliciousness. Early sequences imagining Mallory’s abusive childhood like it’s a television sitcom, and later psychedelic visions of Robert Downey Jr.’s opportunistic news reporter as the Devil, do little to divorce the film from its shallow self-satisfaction in close-ups of heads being shot.

The movie came under controversy in the years after its release for inspiring alleged copycat killers as well as school shooters. It feels irresponsible to blame media for actual violence, but it’s still quite an indictment that Stone’s attempt to criticize media glorification became a favorite for many a disturbed individual with a gun.

9. Kiss the Girls (1997)

When studying competent, middle of the road Hollywood thrillers, Kiss the Girls is a solid place to start. As a decently made bit of studio convention, the movie is anchored by strong elements like Morgan Freeman as James Paterson’s literary hero, Alex Cross, and Ashley Judd as Kate, the victim who survives a masked killer’s attempt to abduct her into his harem.

Moments like Kate’s escape sequence through the North Carolina wilderness are effectively filled with adrenaline, and Judd particularly gives the salacious piece conviction. However, it is salacious to a fault. Even if the movie toned down the source novel’s even more lurid misogyny, the film studies Kate and the other victims with a lascivious male gaze, blurring sex with violence, real world horror with leering entertainment. Right down to its title, the film can be rightly criticized as Hollywood glamourizing another story about violence against women. Whether that damns the whole movie depends on the viewer, but it certainly keeps it low on our list.

8. The Bone Collector (1999)

Marketed with a hell of a tagline about there being thousands of taxi cabs in New York City that’ll get you home—and one that won’t—The Bone Collector is almost comically slavish to the clichés of ‘90s moviemaking. The wrinkle here is that after a faux cab driver begins abducting his victims off the street, the crime psychologist who must stop him is entirely stuck by his bedside. Due to a tragic accident, Denzel Washington’s Lincoln Rhyme is paralyzed from the neck down. Yet he is still able to catch serial killers by communicating in the earpiece of police officer Amelia Donaghy (an entirely unconvincing Angelina Jolie).

Movies

Lost Girls Review: Netflix Takes on the Long Island Serial Killer

By Rosie Fletcher

Books

The Last Book on the Left Takes on the Grim History of Serial Killers

By Alec Bojalad

Together the pair stay one step behind the mystery killer’s tracks as he executes a series of increasingly gruesome and ridiculous murders. It’s preposterous, and in some ways a forerunner for Saw with the satisfaction it takes in absurd death traps, but Washington is effortlessly compelling, even when he never leaves his apartment. As a bit of absurd Hollywood fluff, right down to the ultimately lackluster unmasking of the killer, it can be entertaining, even if you’ll deny it afterward.

7. Copycat (1995)

More potent than I remembered, Copycat is a genuinely well-crafted Hollywood thriller that may not reinvent the wheel but takes it out for a damn good spin. In the driver’s seat is Sigourney Weaver as Dr. Helen Hudson, a criminal psychologist who is an expert on serial killers until one follows her into the bathroom after a guest lecture. He nearly hangs her from the ceiling. Following that white-knuckled opening, the film jumps years ahead and Helen has become agoraphobic and afraid to leave her home.

Yet when a local series of murders reveal the pattern of a predator imitating the methods of his favorite “celebrities”—one crime scene is like the Boston Strangler and another emulates the horrors of Jeffrey Dahmer—Helen is pulled out of retirement by a no-nonsense detective (Holly Hunter). The winning chemistry between Weaver and Hunter—who are refreshingly free from the studio-mandated romantic subplots in some of the other movies on this list—and the blunt force power of their performances aid this sincerely disquieting flick. A needlessly convoluted third act aside, the movie still works as a warning about the danger of fanboys a generation early.

6. Fallen (1998)

Denzel Washington appears again thanks to this clever supernatural spin on the serial killer genre. At the beginning of Fallen, Washington’s John Hobbes appears on top of the world. The serial killer he chased for years (Elias Koteas) is about to breathe deeply in the gas chamber. Yet after the lever is pulled, and with Koteas singing the Rolling Stones’ “Time is On My Side” until his last breath, a funny thing happens: the murders continue.

In fact, more than just the killings, strangers in the street sing “Time is On My Side” in Hobbes’ ear, and he soon realizes that he faces a devil of a killer whose been operating since the beginning—quite literally since the villain is a demon who was once an angel that fell with Lucifer. It’s a bizarre premise given strutting confidence thanks to Washington’s performance, as well as good supporting work by John Goodman and Donald Sutherland. Twenty years later and its ending still sticks with me.

5. The Exorcist III (1990)

If you haven’t seen The Exorcist III, we know what you’re thinking: “Really?!” Yes. In fact, this isn’t even an exorcist movie; it should’ve been titled Legion like the 1983 novel it’s based on. Alas writer-director William Peter Blatty was forced to use the title and do reshoots that added an exorcism in the climax. Still, this supernatural thriller which involves a serial killer back from the dead is far better than it has any right to be.

Following the character of Lt. Kinderman from the 1973 masterpiece, the middle-aged gumshoe is now played by George C. Scott instead of the late Lee J. Cobb, and he possesses Scott’s usual love for contrasts between the restrained whisper and a bombastic howl. He also makes a sympathetic, secular detective forced to face the horrors of Hell when a series of murders committed against Catholic priests appear to be the work of the Gemini Killer (Brad Dourif), a serial killer whom Kinderman sent to the chair more than 10 years ago.

Movies

The Exorcist III is a Classic and Better Than You Remember

By Jim Knipfel

Movies

The Exorcist Is Still the Scariest Movie Ever Made

By David Crow

Somehow the fiend—plus Kinderman’s long dead pal Father Damien Karras (Jason Miller)—appear to now be living in the same body of a John Doe kept in a mental asylum. With an unrelenting atmosphere of dread, palpable tension, and more of Blatty’s intellectual struggle with concepts of faith and evil, the film is more high-minded than its hacky title suggests. It also features one of the best jump scares in movie history.

4. Summer of Sam (1999)

The only movie on this list directly based on an actual serial killer’s crimes, Spike Lee’s Summer of Sam is a serious-minded joint. However, it’s only partially about the murders perpetrated by David Berkowitz, aka the “.44 Caliber Killer,” aka the Son of Sam. Rather the film focuses on the effects a serial killer has on the culture of New York City during the sweltering summer of 1977, and how it affects young lives trying to make it in the big city.

Influenced by Lee and his co-writers Michael Imperioli and Victor Colicchio’s memories of growing up in 1970s New York, the pic is a love letter to a grim moment in history when the city was about to explode with murders, blackouts, crime, and disco. All of this is digested from the vantages of Vinny (John Leguizamo), a philandering hairdresser guilt-ridden for cheating on his wife (Mira Sorvino), and his childhood pal Ritchie (Adrien Brody), who’s left the old neighborhood behind to join the fledgling punk rock scene.

With a greater interest in how a serial killer affects the culture and institutions of a city on edge than being a traditional crime drama, Summer of Sam is a bit of a forerunner to David Fincher’s far more polished Zodiac from a few years later. With heavy-handed dialogue and a plot too big for Lee to fully get his arms around, even at 142 minutes, Summer of Sam can be uneven and messy. But it has the sweaty incorrigibility of a long night out, and of revelries half remembered like from a fever dream.

3. The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)

The rare serial killer movie told entirely from the perspective of the killer, Anthony Minghella’s The Talented Mr. Ripley is disarmingly creepy. Despite its glossy awards bait sheen, there is a cold-blooded streak that runs deep to the heart of the piece, likely due to Patricia Highsmith’s source 1955 novel. Starring Matt Damon fresh off his Good Will Hunting golden boy sheen, the film uses its casting to disorient and ultimately disturb.

Like Highsmith’s book, the film is not structured like a traditional thriller. It instead favors a detached ambivalence about its seemingly nebbish hero as he agrees to become an errand boy for the rich by traveling to 1950s Italy in order to retrieve a silver spoon cad (Jude Law) for his father. But the more time Tom Ripley (Damon) spends with Law’s Dickie Greenleaf, the more he grows envious of Dickie’s lifestyle, his wealth and confidence, and maybe even his affection for socialite Marge (Gwyneth Paltrow). There is a subtle—too subtle due to ‘90s Hollywood conventions—homoerotic undercurrent throughout the film as Ripley slowly works up the courage to take his first life. It won’t be his last.

Movies

Knives Out: When Murder Makes You a Better Person

By Natalie Zutter

Movies

Seven: The Brilliance of David Fincher’s Chase Scene

By Ryan Lambie

Highsmith wound up publishing four subsequent sequels to The Talented Mr. Ripley, but unfortunately no more were made with Damon. Perhaps because this was too unsettling for an ongoing franchise.

2. Seven (1995)

While watching David Fincher’s masterful Seven, the thing that immediately stands out is the oppressive nihilism that permeates throughout. There were decades of neo noir before this detective yarn about the hunt for a serial killer, but none demonstrated such an overbearing sense of despair before the opening credits were even concluded. And perhaps what makes it unshakable is how welcoming the film is toward bleakness; it succumbs long before the gut-punch finale.

Telling the story of an old cop days from retirement (Morgan Freeman) and a hotheaded rookie detective (Brad Pitt), Andrew Kevin Walker’s script has an economy of pace that still impresses despite its cynicism. Very quickly one murder becomes two, then three, and soon four. Yet none of the atrocities are reveled in by Fincher’s blocking; they’re off-screen mutilations which leave psychic damage on his two leads and, eventually, us. The deaths also quickly establish a pattern that their serial killer is targeting seven souls, each intended to embody one of the seven deadly sins.

The movie is a classic now for its climax where the killer “John Doe” (a reptilian Kevin Spacey) turns himself in and leads the cops into the darkest pit, but it’s the entire package that makes this one linger more than 25 years later. At the end of the film, Somerset quotes Hemingway by saying, “‘The world is a fine place and worth fighting for.’ I agree with the second part.” I’m not convinced his film does.

1. The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

As the film that kick-started the idea that serial killers could create their own film genre, The Silence of the Lambs still remains the best of its kind. Blessedly unaware that it was creating conventions for countless copycats, the film tells its psychological drama with simplicity and clarity. Whereas other films on this list bask in their bleakness, there is a dogged optimism and even perverse warmth to this Jonathan Demme adaptation of Thomas Harris’ Silence of the Lambs novel. And that’s of course largely attributable to the casting of Anthony Hopkins and Jodie Foster.

As Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Hopkins is of course monumental. It’s a performance that turned a quinquagenarian into an overnight movie star, and became Hopkins’ calling card as he returned to the not-so-good doctor’s well one too many times. Still, he’s undeniably enthralling as Hannibal, a cannibal psychologist with superhuman powers of observation and mental menace. Even so, Foster is often overlooked by critics for her own contributions as the FBI trainee who’s proverbially fed to the incarcerated Lecter—a pretty face to get the serial killer to consult pro bono on the crimes of another mass murderer. It’s just one more example of casual sexism faced by Clarice that gives Foster as much to play as Hopkins.

Culture

David Fincher’s Zodiac: The Movie That Never Ended

By Don Kaye

Movies

The Little Things Ending Explained

By David Crow

Surrounded by the slights and prejudices of men—be they in law enforcement or straight jackets—Clarice is constantly underestimated. She finds an intellectual rapport with Hannibal, but she pulls herself out of the darkest night, and the screaming of the lambs, without assistance. Her perseverance matched by Hannibal’s darkly seductive qualities is the juxtaposition that makes Silence of the Lambs one of the finest films of its decade.

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If You Give a Cat A Bone(doggle) || Morgan and Kaden

TIMING: Before Constance was yeeted forever LOCATION: The woods PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Morgan and Kaden take Anya the cat for a walk and make friends. Sort of.

Walking cats always looked kind of funny compared to dogs. Probably because most didn’t put up with it long enough to bother. There was something charming about it, though. And there was something nice and grounding about walking with Morgan and Anya around the East End. Especially on a Sunday. Kaden was sure Abel would be jealous that he didn’t get to come but he had a feeling Anya wouldn’t love his dog as much as his dog would love the cat. “I’m still impressed you got her leash trained,” Kaden told his friend as they walked. There were so many topics he just didn’t want to touch. Not right now at least, not in public. Distractions were better anyway. Like she was deciding to test his compliment, Anya started pulling on the leash, darting after something in the distance, probably a rodent of some sort, maybe a lagomorph. “She might be worse at walking but she’s definitely better at hunting than Abel.”

Morgan laughed dry in her chest. “Oh, this is all Anya’s spirit doing the work,” she said. “You should see her when she actually--” Likes me, is what she was going to say. Because it was almost eight months since she’d been impaled by the side of the road and Anya still, at best, only tolerated her presence. At this point, she was more Deirdre’s companion than Morgan’s, perching on the banshee’s lap, trailing behind her when she went to any of the rooms in the house, and glaring at anyone who she thought infringed upon her time with her. Granted, Anya no longer attacked or hissed at Morgan whenever she walked into the room. Sometimes she would sit in such a way that her paws touched Morgan’s leg while the rest of her lounged against Deirdre, and Morgan would press back just a little so she could feel her leathery toe beans just a little better and feel so fucking grateful. It was hard not to be bitter at such a small allowance of affection when Morgan used to be the one she clung to and protected.

It wasn’t much of a surprise when the cat bolted out of her grip.

Morgan swore and took chase. “She’s good when she’s not permanently pissed off I died,” she grumbled. “Anya! Anya!” Stupid cat. If Morgan was still a witch, she could borrow her eyes and see where the hell she was running off to, but no. That would be too easy. “Help me look?” She called.

Kaden would, she knew, but it never hurt to ask.

They followed Anya’s trail away from the park and near the woods that surrounded Strawford. She wasn’t exactly being subtle, just a little shit. A hiss rattled through the air. “Someone’s pissy,” she said, unimpressed. Maybe her prize squirrel had climbed too high up a tree, maybe she’d got herself stuck on something, and-- “Oh, shit.” Or maybe she had decided to pick a fight with a bone critter Morgan had never seen before.

Kaden saw the leash slipping from her grip and lunged to grab it before the cat could bolt off, but it was too late. Goddamnit. “Putain de merde,” he grumbled to himself. Of course he was chasing a cat. On his day off, too. He took off after the cat before saying another word, he didn’t even look to check if Morgan was running with him or not. “What do you think I’m doing?” he shouted back at her. “And what do you mean pissed off that you died? She’s--” That was stupid. He knew damn well animals had personality and opinions. That wasn’t his question. His real question was why were they walking the disagreeable cat? Catching cats was a pain in the ass. Catching disagreeable cats was something close to hell. Thankfully, she was easy enough to follow, probably because the leash was slowing her down. Not enough for him to grab it, unfortunately.

His arm shot out in front of Morgan to hold her back. He didn’t even hear the hiss, didn’t see the cat’s hairs stand on edge. What he did see was the fucking bonedoggle across from them, growling at the cat. Shit. Fucking shit. Anya had a squirrel and was swatting at the bonedoggle to stay away. He pulled out a knife and slowly crept towards the monster. He just had to get between the cat and the creature. “Get Anya,” he said to the zombie sharply. He threw himself at the monster, hoping he could distract it from the bones. Easier said than done.

“Well if you had a magic connection with someone and they broke it one day and turned up smelling wrong, you’d probably be pissed too,” Morgan huffed. “She was my familiar, Kaden.” As much as she hated losing the one best friend she’d assumed she could count on in her death, Morgan got it. There wasn’t an abundance of hard theory on familiar connections, but her tie to Anya had been at least somewhat emotional as well as metaphysical. Which meant whatever it really felt like when she died, Anya suffered something like it too. And if losing a magic connection was anything like losing magic itself… yeah, might as well blame the lady dumb enough to fuck it up and come back different. Not like they could talk it out.

She didn’t understand Kaden’s plan to divide and conquer. On the one hand, the critter looked pretty angry, on the other hand, it was kind of...a dog? A maybe-demon dog? Couldn’t they tackle it together, maybe take some bones back as souvenirs?

She should have listened. Kaden lunged to wrestle the creature and Anya saw a chance to assert her dominance. She lunged, faster than Morgan could catch her, and scrabbled her claws around the creature’s side, trying to tear into it. Morgan ran to pull her off but the creature, still wrestling with Kaden, thrashed. The black cat yowled. “Anya!” The cat flew off, claws flexed, and crashed into Morgan, who bundled her up in her arms. “Why are you such a stupid, stubborn cat?” She whispered. Anya flailed, still ready to fight for her pride. Whatever this critter was, they needed to get rid of it. Morgan jumped to her feet and put her body between Anya and the demon-bone-dog. “How do we make that thing go away?” She asked.

Kaden didn’t know shit about magic and familiars, not really. He knew what they were, sure, but not on the deep level that the former witch did. He’d never really understand. But the plan was clear enough. Didn’t matter right now. He might not understand shit about magic, but he understood bonedoggles. And how fucked they were right about now. Before Kaden had much chance to try and find a clean spot to shove his knife through the creature, the cat had lunged at it. “No!” he shouted. Fucking hell. He didn’t need the cat getting stuck to the goodman monster. Instead of attacking, he reached out for the flailing cat and caught a lot of claws. The bonedoggle wasn’t interested in engaging with the humans, it lunged out, teeth bared and snarling at the carcass in question. There was nothing going to get in the way of the monster and its bones, not even a hunter. It barreled into him and knocked him to his knees. Kaden cursed, but lashed out with the knife as the monster darted past him. All he managed was to scrape the blade across the bone armor covering the creature.

Kaden saw the monster unhinge its jaw, ready to bring its teeth down and around Anya's sides. His eyes went wide, he didn’t wait for Morgan to step in, he just threw himself into the monster’s side, pushing it aside. And he felt his shirt get stuck to the fucking side of the monster. Shit, shit, shit. He pulled his arm back, his shirt tearing away at the sleeve. The bonedoggle turned and faced him, growling, spit spewing and ready to tear into the hunter, possibly take his bones for its collection. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he had to get away and he couldn’t count on his knife right now. His palm dug into the dirt beneath him. Dirt. He took a handful and threw it at the monster’s face, temporarily blinding it. Kaden scrambled to his feet and back to Morgan. “Killing it might help!” Anya seemed to agree, the cat was doing everything in its power to claw the bonedoggle’s eyes out. “Its spit is like fucking glue so don’t let--” The fucking cat was getting near the goddamn monster again. Putain.

“Like GLUE?” Morgan shrieked. There was no time to process; the bone monster was already thrashing its head, trying to throw Anya off. “Shit, shit, shit…” She dove for the creature, clinging to it with all she had. Her legs were too short to reach all the way around something that big, but she dug in with her thighs and clamped her arms around its snout, forcing its jaw shut. Anya’s eyes met hers, steady and inquisitive. What are you doing? Morgan couldn’t tell if she was judging her or not, but she clenched her muscles around the creature’s jaw harder. “Anya, off!” She barked.

Anya glared. She tore her paw across the creature’s face, cracking one of the bones at last and leapt off, making a dive for her decayed squirrel corpse and running into the bushes with it.

“So, about killing it?” Morgan cried. She couldn’t see Kaden from here. The creature was bucking and thrashing harder than ever and she didn’t want to know what would happen if it slobbered on her hand. “There’s not a chance we can just play fetch with this guy and make a run for it is there?” The creature grunted and smacked onto the ground, trying to throw her off next. Morgan grunted as her bones bent into her organs. “Maybe you should just do your thing! Before my bones liquify!”

“Once a bonedoggle is after a bone, it doesn’t like to just fucking drop it,” Kaden said, about to throw himself at the monster. Didn’t get a fucking chance, Morgan was already there. Okay, he just had to find an opening, a weak spot. Take it down. “And I think the same fucking thing can be said for your cat.” It was possible she was a more tenacious hunter than his dog. The one he got to help him hunt. Putain de merde. “Hold on a little longer!” he shouted. It was handy that Morgan was damn near indestructible. Almost. Still not quite. He didn’t want to risk her life for too long; even zombie bodies hit a breaking point. He didn’t want the bonedoggle to find it. He wasn’t sure he could handle that. Still, it looked like she had a pretty damn good handle on the monster. Hell, it was impressive and of itself.

Right, Kaden didn’t have time to appreciate her hunting methods. He flipped his knife over in his hands and threw himself towards the creature as it rolled on the ground. His knees dug into the monster’s back legs, pinning it in place. She just needed to hold onto its muzzle one second longer. His knife plunged down into the creature’s exposed belly, tearing through and ripping open its guts. Death would come soon. But not fast enough. The bonedoggle’s face broke free from the zombie’s grip and saliva went flying. Kaden’s arm shot up to shield his face, ducking away and shutting his eyes tight. Putain de fucking merde.

Morgan crashed to the ground flat on her face. She could hear the critter snarling and slobbering as it died. She curled up on herself as much as she could, ignoring the terrible angle of the arms she’d landed on. Then it was quiet, and Morgan couldn’t move her fingers as she struggled to sit up. Most of the critter’s saliva landed on her sweater, but enough had fallen on her fingers to clump them together. She picked herself up, wincing as her bones righted themselves, and pulled off her sweater before anything else could turn sticky. “Are you okay?” She called to Kaden. “I could use that knife of yours, if you’re in one piece.” She held out her stuck, scrunched up hand. “You don’t have to watch them grow back, I’d just really like to be able to use them again.” She looked around the underbrush and saw Anya’s bright eyes peeking out, her squirrel clutched in her mouth by its neck. She padded out and sat in front of Morgan sniffing her with care before brushing her head against her knee. “This is all your fault, you know,” she said, but there was no malice in her voice. She hadn’t seen the sly smile of her cat’s mouth in profile in so long, she almost didn’t mind all the trouble it had cost. “Thank you,” she said to Kaden again. “You saved me and my favorite brat.”

“I’m alright,” Kaden said before even properly assessing the situation. He checked and found out the folds of his shirt was glued to his jacket. He sighed. “My clothing, not so much.” He should stop getting attached to any article of clothing. He should know better. But he’d liked this shirt. Oh well. Kaden had just watched her bones twist and her body catort into positions no standard body should. Even then, he tilted his head and furrowed his brow at her ask for his knife. “Are you going to cut in between your skin? That’s not--” Then it hit him that she’d be just fine. She’d regenerate. “Right,” he said and handed over the knife. He didn’t really want to watch but he supposed it didn’t really matter and watched anyway. She’d said something before about her body being a fact and she had a point. He should probably just treat it that way. As hard as it was to just accept the wings at first, it would have been a hell of a lot easier if he’d accepted Bea’s advice to treat them as a fact. The problem was, of course, that those facts clashed with so many lessons taught to him as fact growing up; lessons he still hadn’t properly reconciled. He wasn’t sure he’d ever manage to.

Seeing her reunited with her cat brought a smile to Kaden’s face. It made it easy to forget the regrown fingers and the bonedoggle carcass piled a few feet away. “Don’t mention it,” he said, reaching out to see if Anya would let him pet her. No offense either way, cats could be particular. “Just doing my job.” It was the reason he really did like working in animal control, moments like this, when people and animals could be safe and sound even if it didn’t last.

Morgan gave Kaden a double take to make sure he really wasn’t going to look away. She wrinkled her face up in a universal signal of ‘are you sure?’ before bringing the blade down as quickly as she could. She winced and looked away as her old fingers tumbled into the grass. She was getting used to the regrowth by now, but watching pieces of her fall away, useless, no longer a part of anything or anyone. She whimpered with pain and watched as new bones sprouted and coated with sninew and blood. Morgan flexed them, testing her grip and her nerves. They always felt the same, no farther or closer to living sensations than before.

Anya sniffed the new fingers and scraped her mouth across them, tail upright and perky. If anything from the past few minutes had bothered her, it didn’t anymore. Curious, she moved onto Kaden, giving him a once over and a long, steady look before she decided he was good enough for one pet across her fur.

“Just doing your job, huh, cowboy? Do you say that to all the damsels in distress you rescue?” Morgan laughed and guided Anya back into her lap, fixing her harness and leash. “If you come back round to the ranch, I’m sure I can rustle you up some pie to show my gratitude.” She put on her best Texas drawl for him and got to her feet, Anya now safely in tow with her prize. To Morgan’s surprise, she rubbed against her leg and looked up with an expression that was almost friendly.

Kaden didn’t want to gawk at the oddities of her body as it was and he flinched a little as he watched, but he had decided not to look away. And so he didn’t. It was the only way to deal with it. Not unlike pain. The more you were exposed to it, the easier it was to handle. Training taught him that much. Probably not how his mother would prefer he applied his training. Too fucking late. She was more than dead and buried now. She didn’t even exist. Right. He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse to keep his eyes on her newly grown fingers or the dead ones that the cat was planning to chew on.

“How, uh, how does pain work? For you?” Kaden asked, before quickly second guessing himself. “I mean. If you don’t mind me asking. I just. I-- I mean, I saw you now and you--- I just was curious.” He rubbed the back of his neck and felt like a fucking asshole. Like he was being insensitive or something. “You don’t have to answer that. Sorry. That was stupid. You--” He couldn’t even finish his thought and just took the knife back and wiped it clean on the grass and then the hem of his shirt before putting it away. At least he got to pet the cat. It wasn’t long or much (he expected nothing more, to be honest), but it still was enough to bring his heart rate back slower, steadier.

“Very funny,” Kaden answered, rolling his eyes. Wouldn’t lie, he appreciated the brief moment of levity. The weight was still there, but it was a little lighter. “Normally I only do one or the other. Rescue the cat or fight the monster. This was a great two for one deal. I think that earned me two pies.” Not that he needed any more baked goods in his apartment. It was more than enough work to give them all away half the time.

“It’s different,” Morgan said. “I mean, that hurt, and I’ve always been an awful cry-baby. My mother always said so. But it’s not, uh, proportionate, to the way humans would reckon it. And I don’t get to feel anything too gentle, so sometimes, in the right context, a little hurt can feel nice. I guess if I had to rank it, that’s something like a four or a five? But for you, losing an extremity would be a lot closer to ten, right?” She shrugged and wiped the corners of her eyes. “It’s okay, Kaden. I’d rather you ask than wonder or lean on whatever’s in your hunting manuals, if that’s even a thing.”

Morgan’s expression grew warmer. “Well I declare, officer! I think you might be right. But only ‘cause you’re such a good friend. I’ve got mama’s pecan pie on the stove right now, and I’ll let the second one be hero’s choice.” She laughed and beckoned him over. She hadn’t expected much out of the day, but for an outing that involved full-ass monster wrestling, this was pretty okay.

“Right. Good, uh, I mean thanks. For, you know.” Kaden said, nodding along as he listened. It was a far cry from “zombies are dead, they can’t feel anything.” Part of him anticipated that much by now though a piece of him still felt the chill of the shadow of his training. It wasn’t all entirely wrong, just sometimes taken too extreme. Sometimes not. Finding where the line was wouldn’t be an easy one, not from what he could tell. If he even wanted to redraw the line. It was possible he was still surrounded by exceptions. Only time would tell. “Pain’s sort of on a weird scale for me. Not, uh… I mean not like yours. I don’t think. But you know. Hunter. Training. That.” He wiped the dirt and grime he could away from his jacket and jeans. “I don’t know if I’d know a ten when it happened. Or ever call it that.” Most of him had stopped trying to sort the good and bad of his training and just accept it for what it was.Sometimes he wondered all the same.

“Is this where I say ‘no need, little lady’? Or something to that effect?” His attempts at mimicking her current accent didn’t quite sound right. Even he knew that. He laughed at himself a little. Only a little. “Anyway, I think it’s probably a good idea to get home before any more bonedoggles show up. And so Anya can’t make another break for it.”

#writing #wickedswriting #chatzy #morgan #morbeckmoreproblems #if you give a cat a bonedoggle

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