#his son or nephew mark doing business before the great war and then going to war himself

[the-firebird69]

Some people finally see it and Mac is realizing people see it finally that they are way too big to exclude and Hera is mentioning it before we're saying this she said they're finally seeing it and I've got it all over the charts these marks are finally getting up and this group is way too huge they're each area and they can't clear them out and they're calling everybody and they're saying finally and things like that and the cars don't work they're piling into cars and they're coming on the top of the roof and the top of the hood and they have guns on and everything and it's all scratched up my son says this is a Memento if it survives you're not to let these people grow and they said that's awesome does Mac needs help here and put the Gorda and I'm his Grand nephew and you can tell him I told you so so he sent a contingent and he said more that would be great so he told his friends and he sent one and they're doing that now and he said my God this is really true. So there's tons and tons of help coming and they see that it's a pain in the ass and Tommy f is going to be overwhelmed and the ocean those fleets are humongous and they start getting The fleets and they're fighting over them overseas they see that he has spaceships but at this point they figured out that they have them too and there's huge groups coming here right now it's very necessary and they're cutting through the other ones and there's way too many of these idiots and it was a hard road and Hera interjected and she's right this has been terribly difficult. But still ongoing and it's a huge War right now and it's time to start paying more attention and we're doing it and it's going on and it's going to be interesting very shortly what happens competition here is on the way the plan to come down here and bother our son so we have to be where be aware of it

We have issued notices to John remillard and yeah he's a guy in the big truck and we told him where to be and want to go to and some California again lot of businesses are headed up out there cuz they were trading with China some went to New York one of them is

*Ameritrade and yeah he's blaming Max and they're pushing him out he says and they're getting them out and he says we're going after stuff using the people and we usually go after most of them but there's all sorts of ancillary people that go out and they're seeking stuff is a huge huge huge number at Ameritrade Ameritrade is one of the leading trading companies on Earth and it has about 12 0 octillion people each area is about 30 areas and that's only 3,000 artillion but those are direct employees there is a lot more there ancillary employees and it's going on now there's a huge group coming to Florida that's being intercepted and it'll take a moment going to take a break for a sec

Thor Freya

Me too

Hera

I typed

Zues

Idiot

Abomination and she abomination and yeah you're looking at me like I'm crazy still you're wondering who the hell I was and the other one's bothering you same girl doesn't look it

[gohyuck]

I would kill for east coast old money donghyuck oh my god

no bc i'm like thinking about it now... if i write it/start it idk if i'd set it during the gilded age, the great war era, the 60s, or modern day though

[elwinged]

narnia analysis

so i’m just gathering here all of the analysis i’ve read about narnia so far?? I think it’s pretty cool ngl

a note: i’m not going to hecking mention the v obvious and already explained christian allegory with aslan being jesus and edmund representing humanity and the witch being satan and all that jazz.

DISCLAIMER: absolutely none of this belongs to me except for the odd bit of prose in the edmund section

⠀

first up, names! credit for this goes to @thoughtfox72 (you can find the original post here)

- peter means rock, which ties in well as he’s the “rock” of the family. It’s also a reference to good ol’ st. peter- in matthew 16:18 (the bible), peter is called “the rock upon which my church was founded”.

- edmund means protector, which again ties in well with his actions against the witch, but it also ties into shakespeare’s king lear. in king lear, edmund is the bastard son of the duke of glouchester, who betrays his entire family to gain power. sound familiar? yeah, i thought so too. shakespeare’s edmund is never redeemed, however, but it is a direct parallel to narnia’s edmund.

- lucy means light, and it’s pretty obvious that she’s the light of her family, illuminating the path to aslan.

- susan, however, means lily and it’s pretty hard to figure out why that’s so important. like yeah, lilies are typically used at funerals (which, um, pretty dark bit of foreshadowing there, mr. lewis) but like?? compared to the others, that doesn’t seem deep enough. and that’s when you realise- at the end of vodt, what does the dawn treader have to sail past to get to aslan’s country? a sea. of. hecking. lilies.

- and so the flower that susan is named for is the ones that grow on the path to aslan’s country, which is a pretty strong hint about her eventually returning to aslan’s country.

- also, if you look at the points of the compass, aslan’s country (and therefore the sea of lilies) are in the east. it’s implied that susan beginning to forget narnia started when she went to america (heading west). this is really paying a lot of attention to direction, which brings me to my next point…

⠀

direction, and points of the compass! credit for this goes partly to @thoughtfox72 (because of the above point) but mostly to @elecktrum , from the most noble order of the table from the sword and shield, jewel and song series.

- so as was stated above, susan’s journey away from aslan’s starts with her going west, but the flowers that she’s named for are in the east, near aslan’s country, thus signifying that she will probably return.

- as well as that, aslan gives edmund and peter the west and north (“to the great western woods, king edmund the just” and “and to the clear northern sky, i give you king peter the magnificent”), respectively, while susan and lucy receive the south and east (“to the radiant southern sun, queen susan the gentle” and “to the glistening eastern sea, i give you queen lucy the valiant”).

- edmund and peter have the directions of their enemies (to the north are the wild lands of the north, where the giants live, and to the west are the western wilds and telmar).

- susan and lucy get narnia’s “allies” and protection (i put allies in quotation marks as calormen isn’t really an ally, but it isn’t quite an enemy either)- archenland, calormen and the eastern sea.

- this highlights that the brothers are the ones who protect, and the sisters gather allies and friends (a teensy bit sexist, don’t you think?).

⠀

there’s also a bit of character analysis!

i’ll start with Peter (credit for this goes to @thoughtfox72 ) (post found here)

- so like loads of people have said that peter is boring, because he doesn’t have complexity, and the heart of this boils down to the fact that c.s. lewis keeps us at a distance from peter. we don’t get to see what he thinks or feels, whereas we do with the younger siblings.

- also, and this is connected to the point above, peter seemingly rushes into things without any warning (e.g. the duel with miraz, pc book canon). but honestly, it’s not that he rushes into things, it’s that we don’t see his reasons for doing it. an example of this is in the prince caspian book- peter is the only one to realise that they’re in cair paravel and he actually numbers his goddamn reasons, like it’s a slideshow or something. this, of course, tells us that he’s been thinking about it for a while, but just hasn’t chosen to share it. peter keeps things close to his chest.

- peter doesn’t share things that much- this even shows in his title. valiant, gentle- heck, even just are quite descriptive and specific. magnificent, on the other hand is like “??? what does it mean?" this is done on purpose, as it’s an effective way to maintain awe. he’ll always meet an individual’s sense of what a great king should be because he’s left to the imagination. “High King Peter the Magnificent is more an idea than a person, like King Arthur.”

- but peter is a person. he’s a good king, but still a person. examples: when they have to vote on which way to go (book pc), he doesn’t want to vote until trumpkin says that it’s his duty. basically the first thing he says to caspian (again, book) is “i haven’t come to take your place, you know, but to put you in it”. though he’s the one in charge, it’s his duty, not something he seeks.

- this is also shown during acts of violence. think about it- most of peter’s most famous acts (save the last battle) are to do with violence- killing the wolf, fighting the witch, duelling with miraz. this all emotionally affects him- he cries after killing maugrim, it’s shown that he’s pale and drawn after fighting the witch... i could go on. although he’s good at this stuff, he doesn’t like it- it’s not easy for him. this ties in well with the whole series’ idea of kingship- “For this is what it means to be a king: to be first in every desperate attack, and last in every desperate retreat.”- and c.s. lewis knew this. lewis had fought in the war and knew how bad it got, but he had peter do it anyway, because he’s the high king, and the hardest tasks fall to him. this, matched with peter liking to keep things to himself, is a lonely task.

- as well as that, it’s more than likely that peter would’ve served in the war back in england as well- the timelines do match up.

- and peter has a super strong sense of duty and responsibility as well- why, at the end of prince caspian (book. again.), he tells aslan that he was leading them wrong, even though he was being pulled in opposite directions by both his sisters. he’s trying to take everything that’s wrong onto himself, including his siblings’ faults.

- tldr; peter is good at being a king but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. he’s a good warrior and a good person but he’s been given really hard tasks and he’s trying to keep it together. he only looks perfect and boring on the surface because he’s not very open and is kept at a distance from the reader. his job is lonely, because he’s high king and that’s what it means.

⠀

okay. peter’s done. hopefully that make sense.

onto the problem of susan (credit for this goes to @ncfan-1 ) (find the original post here)

- to start off, here’s a reference:

“Sir,” said Tirian, when he had greeted all these. “If I have read the chronicles aright, there should be another. Has not your Majesty two sisters? Where is Queen Susan?”

“My sister Susan,” answered Peter shortly and gravely, “is no longer a friend of Narnia.”

“Yes,” said Eustace, “and whenever you’ve tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says ‘What wonderful memories you have! Fancy you still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.’ ”

“Oh Susan!” said Jill. “She’s interested in nothing nowadays except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grow-up.”

“Grown-up, indeed,” said the Lady Polly. “I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she’ll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one’s life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can.”

“Well, don’t let’s talk about that now,” said Peter. “Look! Here are lovely fruit trees. Let us taste them.”

–The Last Battle, page 135

- please notice who speaks. tirian asks, peter gives a very tense, very abbreviated explanation (which probably means he doesn’t intend to take it further than that). however, eustace, polly and jill jump in and defame her to tirian, despite the fact that what she’s been doing on earth is very clearly none of their business. lucy, edmund and digory don’t speak at all.

- i’d like to point out that the four people who knew her best contributed nothing to her defamation, and that three of them are pointedly silent.

- now, onto the three that did talk.

- how well did they know susan? there’s no canon evidence (book, movie, or otherwise) that any of them interacted with her.

- eustace was susan’s cousin, yes, but up until vodt she thought he was an annoying brat and we only know that he made friends with edmund and lucy- it’s not sure if he made friends with the rest of the pevensies as well.

- polly was digory’s friend, but we don’t know when she was introduced to the pevensies- if it was before susan “forgot” narnia, or after. it was possibly and probably after, given that there was no mention of her at all pre-prince caspian (save the magician’s nephew, but that’s not the point)

- and we know for a fact that jill and eustace didn’t meet until a few years after pc. we don’t even know if susan and jill ever met, or if jill just knew of her.

- so there are a few questions raised. how well did eustace, polly and jill know susan? were any of them even close to her? how reliable a judge are they?

- well, eustace, jill and polly are shown to be the kind of people who, when they know that susan has received the new that they’re dead and is being asked to identify their bodies, instead of expressing sympathy for her (she has to bury them, bury them, and they can’t even express sympathy? talk about heartless), they just talk about how silly and vain she is- so no, they’re probably not the best judges of susan pevensie.

- what this tells us is that none of the three were really interested in knowing susan. none of them really wanted to get to know her side of the story. if they treat her like that when she isn’t even around to defend herself, imagine what they were like to her in person! small wonder that susan pevensie didn’t confide in them.

- let’s look at the other four, the four who knew her best. her siblings and digory, who would have known her better. while none of them express sympathy for her (seriously, guys? not good), none of them gossip about her either. as mentioned above, peter gives a short explanation that is obviously meant to wrap it up and also cuts off the three gossips. also mentioned above is that the other three who knew her best say nothing. absolutely nothing.

- that might suggest they agree with the others, or, perhaps more likely, that there was a lot more going on with susan that eustace, polly and jill didn’t know about.

- there’s a continuation of this, as well. everything pre-the last battle suggests that when aslan sent them back to earth for good, he wanted them to live their lives there. we’re not completely sure what aslan said to susan and peter at the end of prince caspian, but it’s probably somewhat similar to what he said to edmund and lucy (vodt):

“Dearest, said Aslan very gently, “you and your brother will never come back to Narnia.”

“Oh, Aslan!” said Edmund and Lucy both together in despairing voices.

“You are too old, children,” said Aslan, “and you must begin to come close to your own world now.”

“It isn’t Narnia, you know,” sobbed Lucy. “It’s you. We shan’t meet you there. And how can we live, never meeting you?”

“But you shall meet me, dear one,” said Aslan.

“Are—are you there too, Sir?” said Edmund.

“I am,” said Aslan. “But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”

–Voyage of the Dawn Treader, pages 215-216

- everyone who was brought to narnia, and then sent back, had a super specific purpose. aslan wanted them to live on earth, and find meaning in their lives there. he wanted them to look for him there.

- we don’t know if susan tried to look for aslan on earth. we only have eustace, jill and polly’s word for that, and as stated above, they are unreliable.

- susan did live on earth, and she tried to make a life for herself, and she made it her home and “[came] close” to it. she probably missed narnia, despite what she said to the three gossips. but she didn’t spend her life pining after something she could never have.

- aslan told the others to live lives in their own world, and to look for him there. and what did they do? spent the rest of there lives wanting nothing more but to go back to narnia.

- aslan told them to look for him on earth, and they didn’t do that. their eyes were focused on another world.

- now aslan was responsible for pulling them back to narnia one last time, but it probably wasn’t meant as a reward. they were pulled back to narnia because they failed. they were brought back because aslan realised that they were never going to do what he wanted them to do, they were never going to look for him there, and so he just “bit the bullet and gave them what they wanted”.

- in the end, it looks less like susan deserted narnia, and more like she was the only one of them who did what aslan wanted her to do.

⠀

and edmund! credit goes to @softlyblues , from weeds spring high, and @quecksilvereyes , from Putting the Gentle Queen Back Into Her Own Narrative, A Suggestion In Ten Parts

- this analysis is directed at the viewpoint that “edmund is a traitor and betrayed them all for sweets”, and while that is true (to a certain extent), there are some certain points made (below)

“I’m not a very good person,” Edmund says, looking up at the clouds.

(He’s thirteen at this point.)

“You’re thirteen,” Susan says sensibly. Sensible Susan with her sensible shoes.

Edmund does that snotty breath that young boys are often wont to do when they think they might cry, breathing a whole cloud of stuff in through his nose. “Father Christmas didn’t give me a gift,” he says, all wet and damp. “You got two. Luce got - you know. Peter got Rhindon. I got to be Edmund the Betrayer.”

“You were eleven,” Susan says. Sensibly.

Her brother looks to the sky and she can see how shiny his eyes are. His cheeks have freckled in the summer. “I’m not anymore and I don’t feel any different to how I did then. What if I’m not any better? What if we go back and I do the same thing again?”

But privately, Susan thinks there isn’t much wrong with being cold and trusting a woman who says she will warm you up, who offers you treats to eat and drink and makes sure your fingers won’t freeze of frostbite. Susan thinks there isn’t much wrong with being eleven and upset that you’ve been sent away from your home, away from your parents. Not much wrong with being eleven and wondering if you’ll still have a house left to come back to.

Aslan used to be someone you couldn’t help but disappoint.

–weeds spring high, by softlyblue on ao3

and

VII. Perhaps then, finally, I can look at the lion and tell it what I think of its inaction in the face of genocide, its inaction in the face of its people starving and dying away. Maybe then I can tell it that a nine year old boy who misses his parents like the food he’s starving for, who hasn’t had sweets in a year didn’t deserve to be called a traitor because he was upset and hurt and a Witch spelled him.

–Putting the Gentle Queen Back Into Her Own Narrative, A Suggestion In Ten Parts, by Quecksilver_Eyes on ao3

- i’m not sure i even have to say much after those two excerpts, but i will say this

-imagine this. you’re lonely. you’re tired. you’ve been sent away from your parents, and you miss them you miss them you miss them. you’re surviving on war rations. you’re criticized by your siblings. when you enter this new world, you’re all alone. you’re cold. your sister, who went in with you, is gone. you’ve been left alone. again.

- and then, a woman. a kind, gentle, beautiful woman. she gives you food to eat and a warm drink. you’re warm. finally. you haven’t had anything this nice to eat since before the war. you barely remember that.

- in the end, it all comes down to this: you’re cold and hungry and tired and you miss your parents so much it hurts and there’s a kind woman who offers you food and drink and warmth and love, and so of course you accept, because what else would you do?

⠀

on numbers (credit to @nothinggold13 ) (post found here):

- in the bible, the number 7 means completion. this has direct parallels in the bible and narnia: 7 churches, 7 lampstands (bible) and in narnia, 7 books (although out of world rather than in-world) and the 7 friends of narnia. and so 7 is completion.

- but that leads you to think- what about susan?

- with susan, the 7 friends of narnia would have become 8.

- and do you know what the number 8 means in the bible? do you?

- new beginnings. resurrection. regeneration. new life.

- susan is the 8th. there is a hope and a plan for her.

- “Yes, the Seven stand in completion, but after the end, God makes all things new.”

that's all, folks! will update if i spot any more analysis!

[aziraphalesrarebooks]

The Halloween Nanny Ashtoreth and Warlock fic nobody asked for. Written with lots of love and an extra scoop of sugary sweet fluff to rot your teeth. 

Can be read alone here or on AO3

But is technically part of my connected oneshot collection found here: Connecting The Stars

“Nanny!” shouted the ferocious lion as he jumps into Crowley’s arms.

 Halloween is weeks away and it’s a favorite of the Dowling Matriarch. She’s busy planning a Halloween costume party for local diplomats and anyone else who’s anybody. The house is to be full of people and music and there’s even to be a haunted trail in the garden. Crowley must admit it sounds fun if he wasn’t to be otherwise occupied.

 “Look! I got you a pumpkin!” He’s 7 years old and is currently wearing a pair of lion footie pajamas his mother had bought for him earlier in the week. The hat was pulled up over his head, giving him a fuzzy mane of hair. It had been his day off and from what Aziraphale had said, the boy had been on his own for most of the day but had come out to the gardens when the boxes upon boxes of pumpkins were delivered.

 “Brother Francis said you’d like it, I picked it out myself!” He turned around and proudly grabbed the pumpkin that was hidden partially behind his bedroom door.

 “It’s perfect my little hellspawn, where shall I keep it?”

 His tiny lips pursed, then his eyes glittered with mischief. “You can keep it in my window! They are supposed to scare off evil spirits. That’s what Mama said.”

 Crowley had the decency not to laugh but hid the snort behind his hand. “Evil spirits you say?”

 He nodded his head, confident in his ability to warn his dear Nanny about all the evils of Halloween. “She said ghosts come out because the curtains have holes in them and demons and witches…” he lowered his voice, “and even bats!”

 He chortled, “Do you think your Nanny would just let any old demon get you?”

 Warlock rolled his eyes, “Of course not, Nanny. You’re too scary, they would be too scared to mess with you!”

 “And you must always remember that.”

 “I will, love you, Nanny Ash.”

 “I love you too hellion.”

 “… Nanny?”

 “Warlock.”

 “What’s a pumpkin going to do against a demon or a witch?”

 “Well, I’m sure it would hurt if you threw it at one.”

 “Na-nny!”

 “War-lock!” he mocked.

 “Stop teasing me!”

 “Well, first we will need to carve it.”

 “a Jack-o-Lantern?”

 “Precisely.”

 “And then what?” he was making that face again, eyebrows furrowed in concentration with his lips pursed.

 “Then we put a light inside of it, usually you do it a few days before Halloween; October 31st.”

 “To scare off spooky things?”

 He grinned, “To scare off spooky things.”

 “Nanny?”

 “Hm?”

 “Why can’t we go to the party?”

 Ah. That had been a sore spot. Warlock was ecstatic about the upcoming holiday and he assumed that it was a good thing. The Antichrist and all things considered, being excited for Halloween was probably a good sign. However, they were being sent to stay at a hotel for the night.

 He’d been so upset when his mother mentioned it in passing, for months all she’d talked about was the party and how much fun it was going to be, only for her to drop that bombshell earlier in the week with the promise of left-over treats the day after.

 “You and I will have our own party. Perhaps we can carve our pumpkin then?” He had a plan, Aziraphale would be off by the time the party began and then they’d meet at his flat.

   To his surprise, Warlock decided to be a demon for Halloween. His reasoning was to see if the pumpkin actually worked.

 He’d been insisting on scary stories every night before bed; and had, several times ended up sneaking into his Nanny’s bed to cuddle after a nightmare. He’d absolutely fixated on being a demon, pitchfork an all.

 So here he was, in Crowley’s flat, wearing a bright red costume with silly horns and a pitchfork, terrorizing his plants. Although, that had probably been a bad idea on his part.

 Warlock was under the impression this was just another weird hotel room.

 It was odd having the kid in his home, but it didn’t feel wrong. He was thrilled; although, he’d never admit that to anyone. He loved Warlock, often thought of him more like his son than his sort of nephew. Having him in his flat, it just felt right.

 “Pizza then pumpkin?”

 “Yes!”

 Just then, a pizza that had been planning to be eaten by a downstairs neighbor found itself being delivered to a different address. Crowley paid then shut the door.

 Warlock took a big bite of the cheese pizza, smearing sauce on his cheek as he did. “Nanny?”

 “Locky.”

 “Nanny! I’m not 3 anymore!”

 He sighed, “Yes, Warlock?” the years were going by too quickly for his liking.

 “I’ve been thinking, we shouldn’t do a face for our pumpkin.”

 “Well, what should we do?”

 Another bite, this time with sauce being wiped onto the red pants of his costume. “What about an owl or a… cat… or… Oh! What about a snake! We could do a snake like your cool tattoo!”

 It surprised him, he didn’t know what it surprised him; Warlock had often made it known how cool he thought his mark was. “A snake might be hard to do…”

 “Na, we can do it! But… maybe not as loopy as yours.”

 They set to work once they were finished eating and before long, an acceptable jack-o-lantern sat proudly in the demon’s window. The light flickering from inside the pumpkin, contrasting against a very acceptable snake.

 “Nanny?”

 “Yes, Hellspawn?”

 “Do you think we could sneak past the guards and go trick or treating?”

 He shouldn’t have encouraged it, but they both hated being tailed by the secret service agents and Crowley had learned it was easier to just redirect them than try and lose them. Tonight, for instance, both guards had found themselves remembering they were to be off tonight and had bid the other farewell and gone home. 

 “That can be arranged.”

 “Hey, Nanny?”

 “Yes, Warlock?”

 “You should be an angel for Halloween!”

 And that’s how Aziraphale found him nearly two hours later. He’d just happened to have an old angel costume laying around because when the Antichrist asks, you do it.

 “My dear, you look simply heavenly.” He giggled at the picture his friend painted standing there in a long white tunic, two white tufts of feathers hanging from his shoulders that were supposed to be wings and to top it off, a fuzzy white halo atop his fiery red curls.

 “Brother Francis!” He hugged the man tightly. “Come into our room! Look!” he said tugging Aziraphale into the kitchen of Crowley’s flat while pointing at the jack-o-lantern proudly.

 “Oh, my dear, such a marvelous job you both did! Here, why don’t you and Nanny get together with your pumpkin so I can snap a picture.”

 “Francis.” He warned.

 “Now dear, in front of the pumpkin with your sworn enemy.”

 “Nanny isn’t my enemy!”

 “But my dear Master Warlock, demons and angels are mortal enemies!” He rolled his eyes as he heard Crowley snort. “My dear, it is your Nanny’s job to thwart your evil deeds!”

 “… Nanny?”

 “Yes?”

 “Please don’t throw a pumpkin at me.”

 Aziraphale spluttered.

 “No promises, hellspawn. Angel? Picture?”

 He nodded, holding up his camera and taking several photos.

 “What do you say to some snacks and a scary movie?”

 He nodded enthusiastically, running to where he’d seen the television earlier. If the couch was now large enough to fit the three of them, he didn’t notice. He was too busy digging into the popcorn and candies he found waiting for him.

 The two settled in beside him, Brother Francis pulling a warm tartan throw over the three of them as the movie began.

 Emily?

 Emily!

 Come little children, I’ll take thee away, into a land…

 He felt eyes on him, he looked over and met the blue eyes of his Angel. His heart flip-flopped, then he quickly looked away only to glance back and smile shyly back.

 He reached up and took off the fuzzy halo and placed it onto Aziraphale’s head.

 “Angel.” He said grinning.

 “You’d make a great angel Brother Francis, Nanny can be a demon with me. You can… thwart us!” he snuggled against the demon, turning his attention to the movie.

 The two smiling at the other over the head of their little demon before turning their attention towards the movie as well.

   And if years later, Adam found a scrapbook in the cottage with a photo of the three of them sitting, cuddled close on the couch. Aziraphale would just smile and reminisce while his other two boys were out pretending to collect wood for a fire.

[obsidianarchives]

Game of Thrones Recap: S8E4 - "The Last of the Starks"

Didn’t we almost have it all? At the moment I’m not sure I’m talking about the episode, this season, or (if you really want to get spicy) the first four seasons of the series, but this show started off SO WELL and then devolved into an unfounded attack on everything I love and believe in. We’re back to split locations this week so let’s get into it, and trust we’ll be discussing that ending. TW: There is brief discussion about the use of rape as a narrative tactic in the “Winterfell” section.

Winterfell

The episode picks up right where we left off last week as the survivors of the Great War bid farewell to those who paid the ultimate sacrifice for loss. As much as I’ve never seen it for either of them, Daenerys’s sadness over Jorah — her first friend and a man (for all his MANY faults) who was a constant throughout her adult life — and Sansa tearfully placing a Stark pin on Theon’s corpse were touching and earned conclusions of their character journeys. But there’s still no country for slave traders and child murderers so, bye!

Leading the ceremony, Jon puts some bass in his voice, does his best Captain America impression, and delivers the most impassioned and leaderly speech we’ve heard from him yet as he modifies the Night’s Watch farewell to begin lighting the pyres of fallen heroes outside the castle. Ramin Djawadi put his foot all the way in the score on this scene as we see just how much the fight took out of the survivors. All of our main characters are bruised and bloody, poor Ghost lost an ear, and Rhaegal has holes in his wings and is still too weak to fly without a bit of a hook. Everyone needs a drink.

And what an after party it is! Gendry suffers through awkward dinner conversations with his girlfriend’s father (we’ll get there) the Hound while he awaits Arya who’s a no-show at the feast. Daenerys sees him and takes the opportunity to note that he’s the unknown bastard son of a King. For a moment, I thought she was trying to make a point to Jon about the validity or lack thereof about his claim to the throne, but she instead legitimizes Gendry and proclaims him Lord of the Baratheon’s old seat of Storm’s End. By raising up the former blacksmith she not only installs a Lord Paramount of the Stormlands forever loyal to her, creating allies she desperately needs, she also buries another potential claimant against her crown.

For some reason Sansa is confused and disgusted by this and Tyrion clocks it but says nothing. As the drinking continues, Dany realizes how isolated she truly is as she listens to Jon be toasted by Tormund, a Kobe stan during a LeBron James championship parade. Instead of being a proud aunt towards her baby dragon riding nephew, Queen Daenerys sees how little she is loved by the Westorosi, an awakening that began with her witnessing Lord Royce and Theon’s admiration for Sansa earlier this season. Lurking dramatically behind her and observing all of this is, of course, Varys because he stays in the mess.

Ser Brienne, Podrick, and the Lannister brothers are playing Tyrion’s drinking game where they guess facts about each other, which is fun until the lord imp surmises that the newest knight from Tarth is a virgin. Brienne leaves in anger and shame while Jaime follows after her, leaving Tormund to finally realize where he stands as the third wheel, crying to the Hound. After Clegane chases him off into the arms of a willing Northern girl, Sansa and the Hound share their first conversation since season two and the Battle of Blackwater. When he acknowledges that the “little bird” has grown and changed as much as Arya, she tells him that without the horrors she’s had to endure she wouldn’t be the person she is today. There’s been a great deal of frustration with that line, as the notion that rape can be a tool to make a woman stronger, or that she owes her growth to the men in her life, is demonstrably false. I didn’t initially read the scene that way simply because the theme of terrible things and regrets forming people into who they are has been a repeated one this season (with Jaime, Bran, Theon, etc.), but it is a mark of poor and male-centric writing to not recognize the difference between intentional actions the male characters chose themselves and cruelty done to a character against their will that they’ve had to survive. But this wouldn’t be the last time the writers failed to understand context.

Gendry finally finds Arya in the castle working on her archery instead of reveling in the feast (Big Introvert Energy) and tells her that not only is he the son of a King, he’s now a proper lord himself. Kissing her, he gets down on one knee and tells her it doesn’t mean a thing without her by his side and proposes. Maisie Williams sells the scene with just her eyes, as she kisses Gendry back onto his feet, but has to let him down gently that being a lady is just not her. It calls back to what she constantly told Ned in season one, and the realization she had in her reunion with Nymeria last season.

Jaime channels his inner Drake and brings a flagon of wine to Brienne thee Stallion’s room, reminding her that she hasn’t finished the game. Brienne keeps her room nice and hot, so the Kingslayer starts to take off all his clothes, while probing her interest in Tormund. Always one to keep her guard up, Brienne finally realizes what’s about to happen and helps him take his shirt off as she joins him in disrobing and they finally consummate the years-long dance around and to each other’s hearts.

Daenerys and Jon finally have a heart to heart where Rhaegar’s son reiterates that he has no desire for the throne and is pledged to her. She then begs him to not tell anyone else (specifically Sansa and Arya) and to swear Samwell and Bran to secrecy lest the truth of a rival with a stronger claim gets out and threatens her position. So of course, Jon does the opposite and, forcing Sansa and Arya to promise to keep the secret in the family, has Bran divulge that he’s actually Aegon Targaryen. The scene cuts to black before we get to see their reactions to the news, but hold that thought.

With the demise of the Night King (who we’ll have to wait on the books which shall never be written to learn more about) and his army of the dead, Daenerys finally begins drawing up battle plans to take King’s Landing. As is her wont, the Dragon Queen wants ALL of the smoke and is ready to take Cersei out, whatever it takes. Ever the idealistic pacifist, Tyrion urges the long game of a siege to turn the people against her by starving the Lannisters out. Jon, who at this point doesn’t want to be in the middle of any other squabbles, concedes the feasibility of the plan but then in comes the maester of checking people in public, Lady Sansa. She councils a bit of patience on Dany’s part since her troops are dead tired from fighting zombies, one of her dragons is flying with a limp, and she really has no plan other than “I want the throne.” Admittedly, I’ve been #SansaHive for a while now, but the show seems intent on driving this division between the two matriarchs for no other reason than to manufacture tension and rush towards this narrative that Dany is the Mad Queen that has not been justified. Trying to get back in her good graces (or her bed), Jon however pulls rank and reminds the room that the North is pledged to Daenerys and will follow her to whatever end.

Ser Bronn finally arrives in Winterfell and displays the level-headed pragmatism that I’ve said more than once will put him on the Iron Throne. Rather than outright killing the Lannister men as Cersei wanted, he negotiates. While we finally discover the Queen offered him Riverrun and presumably reign of the Riverlands, Tyrion counters with Highgarden and the seat of the Reach. Less out of an affinity for the brothers and more because he’s seen what dragons can do to an army, he accepts the side he thinks is more likely to win, but promises his bill will come due once the war is over. Another thing this episode has done is remind us just how many Great Houses have fallen in Westeros. Daenerys mentions the support of a new, unnamed Prince in Dorne, and Edmure Tully is possibly still alive in a dungeon somewhere or hiding in oblivion with young Robin Arryn, but almost all of the ruling southern houses have been wiped out.

On the road from Winterfell, the Hound is riding south alone until he’s joined by Arya, and it seems they both have unfinished business back in the capital. If they’re pump faking us and we don’t get Cleganebowl, somebody has to square up. For now, the best buddy duo is back on the road again and neither have plans on coming back alive. Sansa, on the other hand, almost immediately tells Tyrion the ONE thing she promised not to and confides Jon’s secret identity. That’s how we know he wasn’t Ned’s son. Eddard managed to take decades of hate from his own wife to protect his nephew, Jon couldn’t even last a damn week.

The goodbyes continue as Tormund finally takes the wildlings back home to the REAL north to settle down and repopulate now that the threat of the White Walkers is gone. The show, choosing to emphasize his embrace of his Targaryen roots (and that he’s probably going to die soon) has Jon send Ghost north of the Wall as well, since a direwolf has no place in the South and would be happier. This is where the disrespect began and we should have seen the okey doke coming. The relationship between Jon and Ghost is one the show has always underplayed but my man would never! He didn’t even give his beloved companion a goodbye hug, simply looking on as Ghost whines for his friend. We also find out Gilly is pregnant with Sam’s baby for real this time, and if it’s a boy they’ll name him Jon. Yeah, he’s definitely going to die.

Hearing what went down at Dragonstone, Jaime, after knocking the sheen off of Brienne’s starry sapphire again for good measure, leaves in the middle of the night bound for King’s Landing. She runs out in her housecoat and slippers begging an ain’t shit man to come back into her life after just 24 hours; men are a curse. Jaime reads through the litany of things he’s done in the name of his love for Cersei and insists he’s not the good man Brienne thinks he is. It seems clear he’s going back to try to stop her this time (and possibly fulfill the prediction of the valonqar), but he doesn’t tell that to his new boo, who very uncharacteristically breaks down in tears.

Dragonstone

With her fleet preparing to invade King’s Landing and take back the throne, Daenerys and crew set sail to her birthplace on Dragonstone. Tyrion couldn’t even wait to make it to shore and immediately tells the news of Jon’s true parentage to the Benita Buttrell of Westeros in Varys, but he ain't one to gossip, so you ain't heard it from him. As the ships drop anchor in the port however, Drogon and Rhaegal are attacked by Euron Greyjoy’s suspiciously sneaky Iron Fleet now outfitted with improved Scorpions which catch Rhaegal unaware, killing yet another dragon. Gotta pour one out for the homie as we’re now down to one and I am inconsolable. Daenerys in a rage is tempted to fly Drogon straight on to light them all up, but facing another round of fire is forced to flee. Euron being the trash panda he is then targets the ships themselves, sinking most of them and forcing the Unsullied to swim to shore. A distraught Grey Worm is left to panic as he screams for Missandei, who was not among those who washed up on the beach.

On the verge of losing everything, Daenerys is understandably tired of being checked by her advisors and is finally ready to burn the Red Keep to the ground if she can sit on the ashes. In a private conversation, Tyrion keeps trying to push the obvious solution that Jon and Dany, who are in love as it is, should just get married, solving all their problems. As infuriating as it may be that the simplest answer is the one that will never happen, even he realizes the futility of hoping for logic to win out. Varys stops short of admitting he’s putting a hit out on Dany, but the Spider, going back to his defense of the realm, is obviously ready to move on to a new leader and leaves Tyrion to drink.

King’s Landing

Meanwhile, back in the capital Cersei has been opening the Red Keep to the common folk in an attempt to call Dany’s bluff that she wouldn’t burn the city with so many people inside the castle walls. Congratulating walking STD Euron on his successful mission Cersei tells him she’s carrying his child (as Qyburn confirms), and hides her disgust as Greyjoy is overwhelmed with new daddy glee.

The writers then lose the plot entirely as they cut to Missandei, back in shackles, Cersei’s prisoner as the queen remarks “so much for the breaker of chains.” We’ll get to it soon but it goes without saying that seeing a Black woman, the ONLY Black woman on the show, placed back into bondage when her story arc has been one of rising above her enslavement is reprehensible. That said, this is a show about reprehensible people doing reprehensible things. It hurts no less, but what used to elevate the series was that these actions were grounded in an internal logic and narrative fullness that resonated with character motivation and agency for both sides. This was simply done for shock value, both in-universe for Daenerys and out of it for the viewers.

Outside the Red Keep, the walls of which we see have also been outfitted with Scorpions, the two Hands of the Queen meet to discuss terms, and when it’s clear that Cersei will not be surrendering, Tyrion tries to speak directly to his sister and beg for her better nature to avoid bloodshed, insisting that she’s not a monster. WHAT WOMAN DOES HE THINK HE’S BEEN DEALING WITH FOR ALL THIS TIME? Of course that nonsense doesn’t work and Tyrion’s inability to recognize that villainy is possible even under the guise of white womanhood is what should get him killed. Instead it’s Missandei who is caught in the crosshairs of the 53% as she utters her last words, “Dracarys,” before being beheaded by the Mountain.

My personal affinity for Missandei should be well known, so you can imagine how I reacted to seeing this mess. To clarify, it's not just that she died that was so galling. If you read the episode two review we called that happening, and I’d assume most of you weren’t shocked either, even though it doesn’t hurt any less. It’s the how and why that was so poorly handled that added insult to injury of the pain that's inherent when you have so few people of color in the cast in general, but Black women specifically. Had she had the agency to choose her own end and her death come as the result of her story arc, so be it. This is a show of terrors and loved characters die everyday, B. Had she died in the crypts of Winterfell fighting for her life and the Queen she believed in, and Daenerys and Grey Worm had gotten to mourn her the way they gave tired, rockface Jorah his final respects it would have been better. Had her Dracarys command gotten Drogon to start the roast of the city? We outchea! But for it to be simply the impetus to justify razing King’s Landing, and as a pawn in a war of aggression between two white women while she’s placed back in bondage, was a perfect storm of disrespect, to the character and the audience. We've established for seven seasons that that city is a rathole, filled with people we haven't seen in years. I don't care about Dany burning the castle to the ground, but NOW? I need Thanos to show up because I want nothing left but ashes. For a blog whose motto is MORE Black Girls MORE Dragons, this episode was always going to be particularly painful, but the fact that there was no greater narrative purpose for it makes it even worse.

[ebaeschnbliah]

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ANOTHER  HOUND  -  A  SPECIAL  ONE

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The Hound of the Baskervilles is probably the best known story by ACD. Over 20 film and television versions of it have been made. And in everyone of those adaptations the original story has been changed a little bit in some way or another. But there is probably no classical, victorian version which differs quite as much as this one, from 2002, with Richard Roxburgh and Ian Hart as Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson (X). And some of those changes are very interesting, particularly with regard to Sherlock BBC.

Warning:  Major spoilers - in fact, all the spoilers - are under the cut! If you haven’t seen the movie and want to be surprised, don’t go further!

The legend of the Baskerville Hound

As mentioned in ‘Lady Holmes’, the greatest change has been made to the old legend of the hound itself.

At the time of the Civil War, the Manor of Baskerville was held by one Hugo, a wild, profaned, godless man. Hugo accused his wife of having an affair with a young man who owned lands near to the Baskerville estate. Mad with jealousy, he beat her savagely. She fled across the moor. Hugo gave chase. He caught her and he killed her, but her hound, devoted to its Mistress, had followed. It flew at Hugo and tore out his throat even as Hugo stabbed the creature to death with his hunting knife. According to the legend, ever since, the ghost of the hound has plagued the family, prowling the moor, uttering piteous cries. A foul thing - great black beast with blazing eyes and dripping jaws.

In this adaptation Sir Hugo Baskerville is not a single man, lusting after a yeoman’s daughter whom he abducts and carries away to Baskerville Hall to have his way with her. No pakt with the devil happens. Instead there is a husband, driven by murderous jealousy, because he suspects his wife of having an affair with another man. And a faithful dog kills that furious husband and gives its own life to protect the beloved mistress … unsuccessfully.

Cousins

Stapleton and the Baskerville Boys

Once there were three Baskerville brothers …. on the left Charles the eldest, in the middle Sir Henry’s Father, whose name isn’t mentioned in the novel nor in this adaptation and the one in the chair is Rodger, the youngest brother and the black sheep of the family. 

In the original story the son of Rodger Baskerville, of the same name as his father, marries Beryl Garcia from Costa Rica. He changes his surname into Vandeleur when he returns to Engalnd with his wife, where he establishes a school in Yorkshire. When that business goes wrong the Vandeleurs move to Dartmoor and change their names into Jack and Beryl Stapleton. Still under the name Vandeleur though, he had become a recognized authority on entomology - the knowledge of insects. They also pretend to be brother and sister instead of a married couple. 

Holmes learns at the British Museum that the name Vandeleur was given to a certain moth which the man, now called Stapleton, had been the first to describe. 

This Jack Stapleton, former Vaneleur, originally Rodger Baskerville - nephew of Sir Charles and cousin of Sir Henry - has only one principal aim in view … the ownership and assets of the Baskerville estate.

The 2002 HOUND adaptation changes Stapleton’s history consederable. Rodger, the youngest Baskerville, ‘got a commission in the Guards but was drummed out … ‘conduct unbecomming’. He leaves England and the family assumes that he died penniless and alone. As big mistake, as it will turn out. ‘Late in life he married a whore named Mary Prescott’. They haveone child, a son called John. It isn’t mentioned if John Baskerville marries his wife Beryl abroad or after he has come to Engalnd. At some point he changes his name into Baker. Under that name he becomes a recognized authority on archaeology. Instead of butterflies this man collects skulls and bones and historical artefacts. When Mr. Baker and his wife Beryl move from Kent to Dartmoor they change their names again … this time into Jack and Beryl Stapleton. They also pretend to be brother and sister instead of a merried couple.

Holmes learns at the British Museum that a man named Baker had found an unique bronze dagger in Kent. It’s exactly this dagger Stapleton shows Dr. Watson on his first visit at Merripit House and he tells him that he had found it at Dartmoor. Big mistake, because Watson reports this information to Holmes.

This Jack Stapleton, former Baker, originally John Baskerville - nephew of Sir Charles and cousin of Sir Henry - has only one principal aim in view … and it’s not the money … it’s only revenge that drives him. ‘Revenge on a family that destroyed his father and allowed him to die a penniless, syphilitic drunk’ 

Forgone characters in this adaptation

Mr Frankland and his daughter Laura Lyons are completely omitted. Cartwright, the boy who delivers messages and food when Holmes hides on the moor is also missing, just like Dr. Mortimer’s cane and because of it the famous cane deduction scene at 221b Baker Street. In return a new character has been added …. Mrs. Mortimer, the doctors wife and …. medium. (Dr. Mortimer is played by John Nettles/Inspector Barnaby)

Séance at Merripit House

Sitting round the table (left to right) are Dr. Watson, Mr. Stapleton, Dr. Mortimer, Mrs. Mortimer, Sir Henry and (viewed from behind) Beryl Stapleton. This scene is a nod to the Rathbone adaptation of the Hound from 1939.

While in the Rathbone version the séance is interrupted only by a scary howling, in this one the monstrous hound itself appears and ‘knocks’ at the rain-swept window. A valiant Dr. Watson is the first one outside …. armed only with a chair. But as quickly as the hound had emerged out of the stormy night, the beast has vanished without a trace by then.  

Love is the bait

In the original story it is Laura Lyons who writes the letter to Sir Charles Baskerville and makes the disastrous appointment that leads to his death. A letter dictated by Jack Stapleton who pretends to be in love with Laura, that he wants to marry her. Laura, still married to a man who had deserted her, hasn’t the money to afford a divorce. And so Stapleton comes up with the idea that she should ask Sir Charles for help, who had done so before. After Laura Lyons has sent the letter, Stapleton feigns a change of mind and offers to pay for her divorce himself. That’s why Mrs. Lynons foregoes her appointment with Charles Baskerville and Stapleton has a free run and is able to frighten his uncle successfully to death. 

As mentioned above the character Laura Lyons doesn’t exist in this adaptation. Therefore someone else has to send the fatal note to Sir Charles. This part is assigned to Miss Beryl Stapleton. Of course, as the unmarried sister of Stapleton she can’t ask Sir Charles to fund her divorce. Near the end of the story it turns out that Stapleton has set up his wife as potential love interrest for Charles Baskerville right from the start. The note she sends is actually an invitation for a date. And Sir Charles takes the bait and dies. 

When Henry Baskerville turns up, as the unexpected heir of the estate, Stapleton is willing to play the same game again. This time though his wife crosses his plans. Beryl sends an anonymous letter to Sir Henry even before she meets him in person. And after they get aquainted, it becomes clear that both are falling in love with each other rather quickly. In the end Beryl Stapleton refuses to obey her husbands will. 

It’s Christmas at Baskerville

Another major change concerns the date of the Baskerville case. The original story is set in October.

Baskerville Hall, October 13th. MY DEAR HOLMES: My previous letters and telegrams have kept you pretty well up to date as to all that has occurred in this most God-forsaken corner of the world. ……   (ACD HOUND)

In the 2002 adaptation the case comes to its violent end at Christmas Day. And the night before, Baskerville Hall is illuminated festively. Many guest are invited. Sir Henry welcomes the ladies with a kiss unter the mistletoe. 

Even a little stage is set for a nice Christmas play, starring a knight in shining armour, a grim looking Father Christmas and … a monstrous hound.

Dramatic highlight of the play …. a fight between knight and hound …

And while everyone enjoys the rare Christmas festivity at Baskerville Hall, Sherlock Holmes leaves the party early and secretly. He has work to do and crosses the moor to breaks into Merripit House, looking for the final clue to prove Jack Stapletons true identity. 

A foe worthy of our steel …..

That’s how Sherlock Holmes describes his opponent to Dr. Watson. Stapleton and Holmes meet for the first time during the Christmas festivity at Baskerville Hall and it’s impossible to overlook that Stapleton is thrilled to compete with the famous detective. 

STAPLETON: You interest me very much. I’d hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull …. or such well marked supraorbital developement. Would you object to my running my finger along your parietal fissure?

HOLMES: I should object in the strongest possible terms.

STAPLETON: A casst of your skull until the original is available would be an ornament to any anthropological museum! I must confess …..

The Stapleton character in this adaptation is indeed a foe worthy of Sherlock Holmes. Have never seen a better one. And the dialoge above reminds me very much at the one between Holmes and Professor Moriarty in The Final Problem …. only the other way round. 

MORIARTY: You have less frontal development than I should have expected,

Holmes the addict

In canon there are only two stories where Holmes’ drug habit is directly observed. 

"Which is it to-day?" I asked,—"morphine or cocaine?" He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he had opened. "It is cocaine," he said,—"a seven-per-cent. solution. Would you care to try it?"  

This is the very first scene of The Sign of Four. Holmes takes a dose of cocain and Dr. Watson can only prevent him from taking another one by asking him to deduce the poket watch of his late brother. After that famous deduction scene Dr. Watson wants to know:

“May I ask whether you have any professional inquiry on foot at present?"

"None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without brain-work. What else is there to live for? Stand at the window here. Was ever such a dreary, dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirls down the street and drifts across the dun-colored houses. What could be more hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of having powers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them? Crime is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no qualities save those which are commonplace have any function upon earth." 

That’s the moment when a young lady - Mary Morstan -  is announced by Mrs. Hudson and the case of lost Agra treasure unfolds. It is well known that this case ends with Dr. Watson’s engagement to Mary Morstan and Sherlock Holmes turning once again to his seven percent solution of cocain..

"For me," said Sherlock Holmes, "there still remains the cocaine-bottle." And he stretched his long white hand up for it. 

The other story where Dr. Watson adresses Holmes’ drug habit is The Missing Three Quarter. Here too he names the lack of work - unbearable boredom - as the most dangerous trigger for Holmes to fall back on drugs. 

‘I had learned to dread such periods of inaction, for I knew by experience that my companion’s brain was so abnormally active that it was dangerous to leave it without material upon which to work. For years I had gradually weaned him from that drug mania which had threatened once to check his remarkable career. Now I knew that under ordinary conditions he no longer craved for this artificial stimulus, but I was well aware that the fiend was not dead but sleeping, and I have known that the sleep was a light one and the waking near when in periods of idleness I have seen the drawn look upon Holmes’s ascetic face, and the brooding of his deep-set and inscrutable eyes.’  

And this is where the HOUND adaptation from 2002 differs completely from canon. Not only that Holmes doesn’t take any drugs in the original HOUND story. What most surprised me are the times when Holmes is shown using cocain. It happens two times. 

At Baker Street, right after Dr. Mortimer has left them to pick up Sir Henry from the railway station. Holmes decides to inject himself with cocain despite he has just accepted a new and very interesting case. Dr. Watson watches disapprovingly but doesn’t utter a word. 

In a toilet at the Exeter railway station where they just met DI Lestrade who will join them later to catch the clever murderer Stapleton red handed. It’s only hours before the dangerous final act of the case. Dr. Watson and DI Lestrade are sitting at a table in the station restaurant, waiting for Holmes to reappear from the toilet.

Stapleton’s hound from hell

Some time ago I did a little comparison of the hounds from the 2002 adaption and from Sherlock BBC. Both hounds are no real dogs and neither of them is luninous due to a treatment with phosphor like in the original. (As far as I know only the Granada adaptation with Jeremy Brett presents a phosphorescent hound)

The hound from the 2002 adaptation was created by a mix of animatronics and CGI (computer generated images).   (X)

And for the Sherlock BBC hound it was also the first time that CGI has been used on a large scale.  (X)

Maybe this is the reason why both hounds share a certain resemblance with one another. It’s not so much their external appearance - that differs a lot - but rather the movement ot the creatures and the way how the attacking hounds are shot, which looks very similar. 

While the CGI hound works very well for Sherlock BBC, representing a drug induced vision of a monstrous creature in the mind, I can’t say the same for the hound in the 2002 adaptation. It is meant to be a real dog but that hound really looks like something out of a monster movie. More like a genetic breed created by a mix of bear and boar than a big and ill-treated dog. Maybe using a real dog would have been a wiser choice. 

And unlike the original story, Sir Henry doesn’t get off with just a bad fright. He is seriously wounded by the hound and lucky to survive the vicious attack.

A higly dramatic finale

At this point the final act of the case starts unfolding in rapid pace. While Holmes and Watson follow the hound into the moor and are able to rescue Sir Henry in the very last second, DI Lestrade stays back to deal with Stapleton in Merripit House. Watson carries the badly wounded man back to Baskerville Hall and Holmes returns to Merrypit House to confront the murderer - who is held at gun point by the DI - with the damning results of his investigations. Stapleton is completely unimpressed and tells him: 

“Conceited, opinionated, egoistical, vain.  All disembodied mind and cold calculation. You are no match for me!”

After a while the scene is interupted by Dr. Watson who has left Sir Henry in the care of Dr. Mortimer and the Barrymores and rode then back to Marripit House. His first question concerns the whereabouts of Beryl Stapleton. When no one has an answer for him, he starts searching.

“I have no wife”

Over and over Jack Stapleton repeats those words while Holmes confronts him with more than enough evidence that Beryl isn’t his sister but his wife. But it turns out Stapleton says the truth. He has indeed no wife. At that point in the story he is actually already widowed. Beryl had been murdered by her own husband shortly before he sat down with Henry Baskerville to have a little Christmas dinner. And it is Dr. Watson who finds her.

Outraged Watson wants to shoot Stapleton. Holmes steps in and tries to wrench the gun from Watson’s hands. DI Lestrade gets distracted. Stapleton seizes the opportunity and uses the element of surprise. He grabs Lestrade’s gun, knocks him out and aims a shot at Holmes .... but hits Watson instead. Then he runs out of the door.

Injured Dr. Watson sends Holmes after Stapleton into the moor. Holmes almost catches up with the man but then runs straight into the mire. Stapleton turns back to Holmes and watches him slowly sink deeper and deeper into the bog while mocking him with great delight. Finaly he decides to have mercy and put a bullet in Holmes’ head before he drowns helplessly. 

Never make the calculation without John Watson though. Of course, the good doctor emerges out of the fog at the very last second to save his Holmes. He shoots Stapleton and then - despite his wounded arm/shoulder - pulls the detective out of the treacherous mire. 

What an eventful Christmas Day! High time to get back to London. Holmes has already reserved a box for Les Huguenots and thinks of a little dinner at Marcini’s on the way. Watson accepts.

I hope you enjoyed the ride, although it was a bit long. Maybe I should add that this adaptation begins with a scene at the Turkish Bath.

Despite that promising start though, this Holmes/Watson relaationship sadly lacks a bit the warmth and closeness that is portrayed, for example, in the adaptations with Brett/Burke, Livanow/Solomin, Frewer/Welsh or Howard/Crawford. Smiles and jokes between those two men are really rare in this one.

August, 2018

@gosherlocked @sarahthecoat @possiblyimbiassed @raggedyblue @sherlockshadow @devoursjohnlock @sagestreet @tjlcisthenewsexy @sherlock-overflow-error @loveismyrevolution 

[dalekofchaos]

My problems with The Last Jedi

I did not like The Last Jedi, I strongly feel like it's the worst Star Wars movie ever made. It’s The Room Of Star Wars and worse than The Holiday Special, but let me tell you why I don’t like it and why I feel it killed the Sequel Trilogy for me

My other Sequel Trilogy Critical posts

My TFA critical post

The Incompetence Of The First Order

Why Kylo Ren being redeemed is a bad idea

My problem with Rey

The wasted potential of Captain Phasma

The lowsped chase. Now onto the chase, or as I like to call it “the dumbest bit of military nonsense since the Emu war.” You have the First Order Fleet chasing the Resistance flotilla, supposedly the Resistance fleet is “faster” but they aren’t opening the gap between them and the First Order because��� it would burn more fuel (because inertia isn’t a thing in Star Wars Space)? So they stay just at the extreme range of the First Order’s guns, and the Raddus has to be on the receiving end of a potshot every once in a while. Meanwhile said Resistance ships are flying in a straight line, direct away from the First Order fleet, so why not just set course past them and Hyperspace in front of them and catch them in the middle? Are interdictors at play here? Are they content to just think the fleet will run out of fuel and they can just catch them? It bothers me to understand that the heroes are only alive because of the gross incompetence of the First Order, because it doesn’t speak well to the capabilities of the heroes. Let me ask you what would be more exciting? The Resistance and The New Republic uniting their forces and having a big battle while Leia is using battle meditation so she can lead The Resistance to victory? Or a boring lowsped chase that involves being low on fuel, something never being talked about in Star Wars at all and have a edgelord ending where The Resistance is in ruins and only has 12 members left just so The Resistance can fit on the Falcon? It was so STUPID. Hyperspace fuel is never talked about for a reason, it cheapens the greatness of hyperspace travel and is not needed. We watch Star Wars for oh I don’t know a war in space. We didn’t need a boring lowsped chase, we needed an actual fight between The Resistance/New Republic and The First Order. With Leia’s battle meditation up against Snoke’s battle meditation. Leia’s will against Snoke’s might. 

The First Order reigns. I am just baffled at the crawl. “The First Order reigns” HOW??? They lost Starkiller Base and a huge majority of their forces. How are they in control of the galaxy?  SINGLE DAY HAS PASSED, HOW DO THEY HAVE ENOUGH FORCES TO TAKE CONTROL OF THE GALAXY??? The New Republic just gives up? That’s like saying the terrorists took control over the world after 9/11. The First Order are a fringe terrorist group, they are not the Empire. They should not be in control. Unknown Regions resources or not, they should not be powerful enough to reign supreme over the galaxy. What should have happened is The New Republic’s forces should’ve joined forces with The Resistance and take the fight to The weakened First Order. It’s also complete bullshit The First Order would take over considering The First Order’s terrible tactics. It’s just...baffling.

The First Order’s Incompetence during the Evacuation of D’Qar. Hux is goaded into allowing a Starfighter into point blank range with one of their fleet’s more valuable assets, he doesn’t launch a fighter screen to keep that fighter at bay, and when a real danger is detected, still does nothing. Captain Canady is left to launch his own fighters from Fulminatrix, and gets no support from Hux or the rest of the First Order fleet. Hux doesn’t launch support fighters, direct their batteries to put up defensive fire covering the dreadnought, nothing, no he’s too busy massaging his bruised ego because some flyboy put him on tilt with what amounts to a practical joke, and an 8km long warship pays the price for their incompetence. Now onto said Dreadnought. They have this weapon that is capable of dealing planetary bombardment and chooses to fire on a nearly abandoned planet instead of targeting the Resistance ship that is used to carry The Resistance fleet. Destroy The Raddus and you can easily pick a part The Resistance easily. Instead of doing the most intelligent thing, they chose to do the stupid thing.

The horrible bombing run. The bombers chosen for the Evacuation of D’Qar are a goddamn liability. MG-100 StarFortress SF-17 or The Resistance Heavy Bombers is just bad. It makes no sense. The Resistance has updated X-Wings, so why wouldn’t they have  Y-Wings, B-Wings, and A-Wings? They are more effective and less of a liability.  Y-Wings would have been way more effective than those new ships, which basically all just flew around until they were shot down one after the other and accomplished nothing. Like, only one of them even achieved what they set out to do... Pitiful. Y-Wings are fighter/bombers, they would have destroyed the Dreadnought with no casualties whatsoever. Y-Wings upgraded with new proton bombs would’ve got the job done, but that would’ve been overkill. They are the ships that beat the Malevolence and cut through the Ryloth blockade like butter, after all. They pack a punch with proper support, and they can at least outrun the explosives they drop. Before anyone tells me the Y-Wings, B-Wings and A-Wings are outdated technology hasn’t radically advanced in Star Wars for thousands of years. The Y-Wing is relatively young compared to most other ship designs. The A-Wing is conceptually older, being a derivative of the old Aethersprite Jedi Starfighter that was in use before the Clone Wars, just like how the X-Wing is a derivative of the ARC-170 and Z-95 Headhunter, and the B-Wing was probably inspired by the V-19 Torrent, and everyone knows the Star Destroyers haven’t changed at all for probably thousands of years. There’s no reason why it couldn’t have just been refined and improved upon like every other starship in the universe has been. If we go with the assumption that they were outdated and ineffective, then there were far better replacements than some slow bombers made of paper. For example, B-Wings, which were supposed to be their replacement in Return of the Jedi and were brand new at the time, and K-Wings, which were a replacement for both of them in Legends, both would’ve been very viable options. They also wouldn’t have broken the “small, fast, and maneuverable” tenet of the Rebel/Resistance design philosophy. Anyway, the Resistance still didn’t need any specialized bomber. All the Resistance needed to do was replicate what they did to Starkiller Base in the last movie. The dreadnought’s “point-defense” turrets aren’t fast enough to target one X-Wing (lol, what a stupid movie), so there’s no reason why a squadron of X-Wings can’t just bombard the weak spot with enough proton torpedoes until the dreadnought gives up. It’d probably just take one or two, as well. Instead, we got a glass cannon sent to destroy another glass cannon, with no trace of escorting ships or other noticeable strategy beyond “FIRE EVERYTHING!!!”    

The Treatment of Luke Skywalker. I will never forgive the treatment of Mark Hamill by Lucasfilm.  Luke ALWAYS saw the light within Anakin. Darth Vader was evil and committed atrocities for decades but he saved and redeemed his father. But he gave up on Ben because he saw Snoke’s influence on Ben and read his dark thoughts and instead of helping him like Luke would actually do and what Leia wanted Luke to do, he goes with the intention of killing him but stops with the shame. But the problem is that Ben saw him with his lightsaber, what he saw was Snoke’s whispers proven right that Luke was afraid of his power and wanted him dead. My problem is the movie made it seem like his family abandoned him and it's their fault for his fall and actions. Kylo Ren is completely responsible for his own actions. Ben Solo was a grown ass man when he fell to the dark side.Luke would never give up on his family. Luke Skywalker would never try to kill Ben, his nephew and his family. Darth Vader committed countless atrocities and Luke still saved his father and brought him back to the light. I will never believe that Luke would try to even ignite his lightsaber on Ben. Leia gave him her son to train, allow him to control his raw force abilities, love Ben like he were Luke’s own child and to protect him from Snoke. Even if Luke sensed the darkness in Ben, he would have talked to him and try to meditate and do anything that would help Ben. But no, instead of doing what Luke would actually do he ignites the lightsaber and it’s too late and Ben sees what Luke tried to do. Luke is ashamed and sorry, but it’s too late. What’s even worse is that Luke continue’s the old ways of the Jedi, instead of reforming the Jedi Order. In Legends, Luke reformed and made the Jedi better. But instead he continued the old ways and  just gave up. He is written to be  broken and hollowed out by his past mistakes and painfully out of character. TFA kept on insisting he left a map behind. Lor San Tekka has it and said Luke’s return would make everything right. Han and Leia said Luke left behind the map. In TFA script “It is Luke Skywalker. Older now, white hair, bearded. He looks at Rey. A kindness in his eyes, but there’s something tortured too. He doesn’t need to ask who she is, or what she is doing here. His look says it all. Hold on Luke Skywalker’s incredible face, amazed and conflicted what he sees, as our music builds, the promise of an adventure, just the beginning” Luke looked touched at seeing Rey in TFA and Rey was on the verge of tears, finally someone to help her with the belonging she seeks. In The Last Jedi, no tears and Luke just tosses away his father’s lightsaber like it’s nothing. We are not allowed to see Luke react to Han’s death or Luke to grieve that his best friend is dead. Han was a big influence and friend it was dismissed as if he barely knew him. To quote Mark Hamill on the matter “They had time for me to milk that big alien but to show any human emotion? Nah" He does not even care that his sister’s life and the Resistance she is leading is in danger. He does not train Rey. Again, he gave up on Ben instead of trying to save him. He is sorry and regrets it, but it is too late. You might say that Yoda and Obi-Wan also gave up. But for those two, the Sith took over the galaxy, they had to go into hiding to protect and guide Luke and Leia. Obi-Wan wanted to save Leia and guide Luke. Yoda always wanted to train Leia as a Jedi and bring Anakin back to the light. He was reluctant to train Luke but he still did his duty as a Jedi Master. They did not just give up and wanted to die and they did not betray their characters at all. Luke spends most of Last Jedi on a windswept island, brooding in solemn silence and frozen by indecision. He doesn’t connect with Rey on any meaningful level, doesn’t impart wisdom or knowledge, and never reasserts himself as the powerful Jedi he once was. A brief physical duel against Rey ends with her as the undisputed victor, completely killing his deserved mythos and her potential character arc in one fell swoop. It’s clear in that moment that he has nothing to teach her, and nothing to contribute to the overall narrative. The boundless potential that seemed poised to explode at the end of The Force Awakens fizzles here but never ignites.  And without any training at all, Rey defeats Luke Skywalker and Luke acts all cowardly and begs her to leave. When he goes to Crait. He does buy time for the Resistance to escape, but he is not allowed to display his power, he’s not allowed to wield his green lightsaber, he does not bring down all the AT-ATs, the transports, shuttles or bring down the star destroyers in orbit. He’s not even there thus making the goodbye with Leia and  final confrontation with Kylo Ren ultimately pointless.  He toys with Kylo, but we don’t see a lightsaber fight between them. Luke Skywalker is not allowed to be Luke Skywalker. The Hero’s Journey that he was following was ignored completely and he just gave up and wanted to die. And he dies instead of reuniting with Leia properly. Mark Hamill wanted Luke to live until Episode IX where he would pass on what he learned to Rey. No big battle with Snoke, no passing on, instead Luke dies and all we’re getting is force ghost Luke. Luke Skywalker was a hero to an entire generation.  Luke was the true heart of Star Wars. His was the journey we followed from idealistic farm boy dreaming of adventure, to reluctant warrior, and finally to savior of the entire galaxy. The original trilogy built him up, and The Last Jedi finally broke him down. I for one mourn my hero’s passing.

Leia’s knocked out for half the movie. Leia is taken out 90% of the movie and it doesn’t feel like Carrie’s swan song and TLJ does absolutely nothing with Leia. Carrie Fisher is gone. The character herself does nothing to affect the plot. We all knew that Leia was strong and powerful with the force, but the way they decided to have it be shown is baffling. Instead of showing Leia using  the force to send the missiles flying at Kylo’s wing men or use Battle Meditation to inspire the Resistance to fight, instead we see the most impressive, and stupid looking, display of force powers, nothing follows from that. Leia goes into a coma for most the movie and then just hangs around. Isn’t it weird that Leia, one of the most important characters in the entire franchise only sees her brother for a moment, never mentions her husband, shares no screen time with her own son and isn’t even the focus in the very rebellion she’s been fighting for her entire life. In the end, all of her loved ones are dead, her son is wants to destroy her legacy, her allies abandoned her, her soldiers were almost all killed, and due to Carrie Fisher’s passing, TLJ is her swan song and curtain call. The most iconic and empowering woman in all of cinema gets to go out as a supporting character and Mary Poppins meme.  

The treatment of Chewbacca. This movie failed Chewbacca. Chewie is not allowed to mourn the death of his decades-long companion to whom he owed a life debt nor is he allowed a moment of forgiveness and reconciliation with Luke. Nor is he given a scene mourning the deaths of Han and Luke with Leia. What does Chewie get? Barely any screen time, Rey has to translate Chewie to Luke WHEN LUKE KNOWS HOW TO COMMUNICATE WITH CHEWIE and instead of just letting him eat in peace, he is made to feel guilty of his predator nature and is used as a bad “eating animals is bad” message. He doesn’t even try to talk Rey out of her dumbass plan and is used as a matchmaker tool for her and Finn. His biggest moment is a fucking comic relief scene with Porgs. In this new trilogy they don’t treat Chewie like a person. I was pretty appalled in TFA too, when Chewie and General Organa literally ignore each other, walk past each other without so much as a glance and then Rey gets a hug? Chewie was Han Solo’s companion and best friend for at least a half-century, stuck with him when Han and Leia broke up, and he’s not even allowed to mourn onscreen? Chewie and Leia don’t even interact during the end of TLJ at all. Chewie is not allowed to mourn for any of his best friends at all nor is he allowed to try and talk Rey out of her obvious dangerous plan by going to the man WHO KILLED HIS BEST FRIEND, in what way would Chewie even be okay with that? This is a day later, a single day and the wounds are still fresh. And he is mainly used as comic relief and is not used as a character and hero of the rebellion nor is he allowed to grieve. Chewbacca deserved so much better.

The lack of respect for Admiral Ackbar. The fans hated it and the puppeteer Tim Rose and actor Jamie Stangroom hated it. “So in The Last Jedi, I was quite looking forward to maybe them giving him something more juicy,” Rose said. “We were only given the script on the day when we were shooting that piece of script, so each day I would come to work going, ‘Is today the day when Ackbar gets something a bit more involving?’ And I looked at my script and I went, ‘Oh, Ackbar’s going out of the window. Well, that’s that then!’ I wasn’t quite dead yet.” “We finished all of our bits and they asked me to come down to camera. And I thought, ‘Oh well, maybe they’re going to say thank you for being one of the heritage characters and giving 30 years and all that.’ But what they did was, they gave me a Millennium Falcon sign that had the day and the date on it, the scene number, and they said, ‘Can you look at camera and say ‘It’s a wrap?’ Because that would be really funny.’ “I was actually in tears in the suit because I thought – after everything, after hoping there’d be something, after knowing there wasn’t going to be anything else, Ackbar’s final moment before he went in to the box was a big joke about ‘It’s a wrap.’ They just thought ‘Wouldn’t it be funny?’ And that was the sum total of my life as Ackbar.” Once again, absolutely no respect for the legacy characters, Rian Johnson doesn’t give a damn about the characters from the Original Trilogy. Ackbar was crucial to the Rebel Alliance, he is an iconic character and is given an off screen death and the actor is made to give a tasteless joke. Fucking garbage.

No emotional scene of Leia and Chewbacca. Leia lost her love and her brother. Chewie lost his two best friends. We don’t get to see the two of them grieve and comfort each other. It’s in the novel, but not in the movie. This is one of the moments where showing is better than telling. 

The Death of Paige Tico.  if you are a casual fan and have no knowledge of who these new characters are in TLJ, then you would have no idea who Paige is and why Rose is crying until you see their twin pendants. And the way they went about her death was just bad. The bombers they chose to have were so slow and clunky that it’s laughable. Why don’t they have Y-Wings? The Resistance has weapons and ships from The Rebel Alliance and you’re telling me there are no Y-Wings? More onto Paige.  Killing Paige without establishing who she is or why she is important to Rose is just god awful. You establish characters and connections they might have before killing them or it’ll lose all the impact. What could have been done after destroying the Star Destroyer. Paige escapes and rejoins the fleet. We get a touching scene of Rose and Paige reuniting. We also get to see Paige mourn for the losses of her squad members. We see a love/hate relationship with Poe, but eventually Paige trusts Poe and sees him as a leader. While Finn and Rose go to Canto Bight, Paige and Poe work together on the Raddus. And if Paige has to die, then show her sacrifice herself to stop the canon. There you go, we have a tragic death that is just as emotional and you get to see why she is important and instead of being killed off so early we get to know her and her relationship with Rose and her death is not wasted potential. The worst part about Paige’s death is that Ngô Thanh Vân has no speaking lines and we never get to see Rose and Paige’s sisterly dynamic and a WOC with no speaking lines was fridged.

Rey has no character arc.  Rey doesn’t learn anything and I don’t feel like she has a character arc or journey. She starts her journey in TFA and I was excited to learn where her character would go. And TLJ does nothing with Rey.  I do love Rey, but I don’t feel like it truly tests Rey and forces her to grow as a character. Rey is intriguing and we care for her, but her journey feels non existent.  Luke and Anakin had struggles and journeys.  I just don’t feel it from Rey. I am really disappointed with how TLJ handles Rey. Rey doesn’t have any struggles. Rey is all powerful and she is the same character she is from TFA. Everything TFA was building her up was instantly ignored.  How Maz got the Skywalker lightsaber? Never mentioned again. How Rey was drawn to the Skywalker lightsaber and what the force vision was meant to mean? Never addressed. Rey says that she’s classified information, “none of your business” Then her parents are revealed as junk traitors who sold her for drinking money and died in Jakku. If her parents were just junkers, how did they afford that space ship if they spent the money on booze? Also the best theory I thought was gonna happen is that Rey has ties to the Empire or at the very least because of the novels it is stated that Palpatine had secret labs on Jakku and the Empire was invested in Jakku, hell it’s last stand WAS on Jakku. Rey herself told BB-8 she was classified information. All that build up for nothing. The force can come from anyone, we all feel it but you build Rey up only to do nothing with her. I’m not upset that Rey is a nobody, I’m just upset that what TFA was building up for Rey was dropped entirely.  My big issue with how TLJ handles Rey, is she does not learn anything. She was awakened by Kylo’s mind melding, but after that nothing. She doesn’t learn anything from Luke and she feels like the same character in The Force Awakens. We see Luke showing Rey to feel the force and the Jedi’s hubris. The third lesson was deleted, but we did not really get to see Luke train her as a Jedi. Rey doesn’t learn anything. In the end we see Rey has the sacred Jedi texts, but Yoda pointed out that those texts were holding back the Jedi and the Jedi Order needs to be reborn  So really, Rey does not learn anything.  

Finn is changed from one of the main protagonists to being a side character in his own trilogy.  Finn’s character arc from The Force Awakens was dropped completely in The Last Jedi. He does want Rey to be safe, but Finn just wants to run away, despite the fact that he learned to be courageous, face his fears and stay and fight at the end of TFA.  The First Order kidnapped Finn as a child, from his family(possibly killed his family) he was able to leave The First Order and resist the indoctrination. He no longer wanted to fight, he wanted to leave everything, he wanted Rey to come with him. When Rey was captured, Finn had something to fight for and when Kylo Ren pushed her. Finn finally stood up to his past and The First Order. He overcame his fear. So Finn should have been wanting to fight The First Order and become a big deal in The Resistance, we could have even seen Finn inspiring a Stormtrooper rebellion  against Phasma and The First Order. Finn just wanting to leave is just bad writing and backtracks his entire character arc from TFA.  Finn is the first Stormtrooper to show a real personality, child soldier, who risked his life to find his own freedom and save the known galaxy and ended up in a coma for it. Finn was meant to be a main character, instead he is a supporting character to Rose. Forced to be embarrassed and pointless.  He already learned about being brave and truthful. What happened about his past? His brothers and sisters? The family he’ll never know? Why does he share close to no scenes with Rey and Poe? Why does he get nothing to do?  Finn was the FO’s best Stormtrooper, one of the best, to the point where he was considered Captain material and because of this Finn would recognize the Hyperspace tracker. Finn also has an almost perfect photographic memory due to being able to memorize the layout of both Starkiller base and the Supremacy with extreme accuracy. Kylo Ren had been impressed with Finn‘s capabilities during their lightsaber duel on Starkiller to the point Kylo had to tap deeper into the dark side to beat Finn. Finn is one of the most compelling protagonists of the franchise, right along with Ahsoka and Luke, because while he is the most dangerous to both sides of the war due to his skills and knowledge, he actively tries to save lives instead of end them. Finn’s upbringing left no room for love. He was stolen away from his family before he could even make memories of them. He tried to dedicate himself to the the First Order, but couldn’t. Finn chose to leave the only life he had known because he couldn’t let even one innocent life be senselessly killed. Finn deserves to be known as one of the Sequel Trilogy’s main heroes and not shoved to the sides. Let’s talk about Finn in TLJ.  My problem for Finn in TLJ is that he is reduced to Rose’s sidekick and is made into a racist slapstick caricature. The first real problem for Finn. He is reduced to a slapstick joke in his very first scene. Finn awakens from his coma, slams his face and it is revealed that he isn’t even on the medical ship or even in the medbay on the Raddus...he is in the cargo hold and is made to be a joke. This is the Co-protagonist of the trilogy, and he’s reintroduced as a slapstick joke. Then once again he wants to runaway. I am getting a real racist vibe that Rian Johnson sees Finn as the cowardly black man troupe. That’s just downright disgusting. Moving on. Finn is paired with Rose Tico, honestly I want to like her, but bad writing prevents that. Finn is put with someone who abuses him and we are supposed to root for this and see it as romance? Let me explain. Finn is then tazed by Rose, which is understandable, she thought he was running away and she was in mourning. He also was objectively posing absolutely no threat to her, wasn’t running away, and was even trying to explain himself. Additionally, just the threat of the taser seemed to have been enough to stop him from leaving. But Rose attacked him anyways. The difference between Rey and Rose attacking Finn is Rey subdued Finn just enough to stop and interrogate him, Rose went completely overboard by paralyzing him and knocking him unconscious. It was completely unnecessary and gratuitous. Rey and Finn have a real friendship and partnership from the last movie. Rose, on the other hand, spends the rest of the movie belittling Finn and talking down to him. The book also says that she thought about using violence against him more than once after the tasing (for annoying her) and even pushed him. This displays a really problematic pattern of violence and disrespect towards Finn so yeah,  multiple uses of violence and expressed desire to inflict violence on him as being abusive. I would argue that she is undeniably verbally abusive with Finn. In the movie and in the book (more so in the book) she often belittles him by calling him names and using other put downs. It seems she wants to make him feel bad about himself and bring him down, which is abusive. Of course, it doesn’t really matter what her intent is, even if she doesn’t “mean to be mean” it still counts as verbal abuse. So, in summary, her repeated threats and use of violence against Finn and her continual use of insults and put downs causes me to come to the conclusion that she is abusive to Finn. Then Finn is made to fail. The only time he is allowed to be portrayed has the protagonist is him facing his abuser and taking him down. My only problem is they cut out Phasma’s better death scene. Finn reveals Phasma shut down the shields for Starkiller Base, and that gets the Stormtroopers to turn on Phasma. This is what I would hope starts a Stormtrooper Rebellion. Finn’s defection was withheld information by Hux and Phasma in fear of a full on rebellion. Humanizing Stormtroopers and having one become a hero is kind of genius, but the way they did it in Episode 7 made it seem like Finn was the ONLY good Stormtrooper, which has to be an impossibility. If one Stormtrooper can suddenly switch sides, what's to say that others couldn't? And since Episode IX will most likely see the fall of the First Order, I personally think that Finn should convince all (or most of) the Stormtroopers to turn against Kylo and Hux, leading to a cool final scene where the First Order is ultimately destroyed by their own henchmen, children who were abducted and indoctrinated take back their narrative. That would be cooler and more unique, I think, than another Resistance vs. First Order space shootout, or Rey and her possible Jedi apprentice army taking them down. The most insulting part of the movie is the last part. Finn’s suicide run. Finn was the best Stormtrooper and knows about The First Order’s weapons, he should know full well that speeder would be destroyed trying to destroy the mini death star. Finn’s attempted sacrifice was pointless, Finn was treated like garbage throughout the movie, he deserved better.

The lack of empathy and care for Finn in TLJ. He is constantly belittled and mocked throughout the movie. In The Force Awakens, Finn fights Kylo Ren. He does well, but is ultimately defeated.  He is slashed in the shoulder and the spine by Kylo Ren and falls into the snow, unconscious. Now if this were in the first 6 movies, Finn would be dead or would be paralyzed. But because it’s a Disney movie, Finn heals up. Rey continues the fight and slashes Ren across the face, leaving him with a gash. The characters all escape, but Finn has to be carried to a medical station, unconscious until TLJ. Kylo Ren seems fine, ultimately jumping in a TIE fighter to try and kill his mom before getting patched up further.  Finn, again, has to wake up before doing anything. Here’s the difference between Finn and Kylo’s injuries.  Finn awakens in a medical bed wearing a bacta suit.  His first instinct is to call out for Rey. As he jolts up, he slams his head against the medical container.  He slams against it again. Regaining awareness, he opens up the medical container to find himself alone in a cargo room.  He falls out of the bed, spraying medical fluids all over the place.  He trudges down the hallway until Poe and BB-8 find him. His injuries are never mentioned, shown, or even referenced again.  Kylo, on the other hand, is asked by Snoke how his wound is, to which he responds “it’s nothing.”  He then takes that ridiculous thing off, complete with a close-up of a sad kylo Ren face, with his sutures  framed to draw attention to them. This happens again in the elevator.  Then we get a scene of him getting patched up soberly by a medical droid.  Then we get a shirtless scene as a final showcase of his other two scars.  Throughout the film, Kylo’s scars are present and framed as a constant reminder that he went through pain.  Finn’s injuries are used as a joke once and promptly forgotten, and let’s not pretend that these injuries are  one-to-one aside from how they’re framed.  Remember Finn received injuries trying to protect Rey, while Kylo received injuries trying to murder Rey. Finn received a deep wound across his spine, which can often be fatal in the real world.  Kylo received a gash across his face.  Finn’s injuries were worse and nobly gained. Kylo’s injuries were comparatively tame and well deserved.  Yet the movie uses Finn’s pain as a joke, and Kylo’s pain as a humanizing factor. That Rey, as well as the director, cinematographer, and a considerable portion of the audience sees a scar and is willing to find sympathy with the person, no matter what they have done, is pretty reprehensible. Not only is Kylo Ren’s scar not enough to be considerably a change to his appearance, as Rian Johnson specifically modified the location of his scar because, “it looked goofy,” the scar is not the mark of an accident or from an assault, but rather from a failed assault on his part. Also, I could get into how messed up it is that scars that don’t fit Rian Johnson’s preferred model are considered goofy. Is a scar that isn’t kept to one side of the face not worth showing? Is a person with a scar you don’t personally like somehow less able to be taken seriously? By treating Kylo’s minor wounds as a big, life-changing deal, and treating Finn’s life-threatening wounds as a trivial matter of no more consequence than a joke, The Last Jedi reinforces century-old stereotypes about Black people. Specifically, it implies that Black people are somehow less affected by pain, have higher pain tolerances, or cannot be physically damaged the way White people can. This is a demonstrated, dangerous trend, where white people actually perceive Black people as experiencing less pain than White people under the same situations. Older textbooks, including some used as recently as late 2017, suggest Black people over-report the pain that they are experiencing. Doctors have declined to give painkillers to Black patients expressing the same level of discomfort that would grant a White patients the same painkillers, and some surgeons even believe that less anesthesia is needed for operations on Black people. This, of course, goes beyond the medical field, where Black people are not believed when they speak about suffering, and are expected to take more physical abuse than their White counterparts. However as the injuries are framed in a medical setting in this movie, I wanted to primarily address the medical bias as in the real world. This has been referred to as an empathy gap. When two people are hurt, with everything except the skin colour being the same, and White people feel worse for the hurt White person, there is a gap in empathy. Now, when the conditions are not the same, and the White person deserves to be hurt, and is hurt much less, and is still empathized with more, and the White man’s acts of attempted murder are framed as romance, while the Black man’s friendship is framed as harassment. Let’s also talk about Finn’s treatment. He’s placed alone in a room filled with cargo, without any monitoring.  It’s almost like the medical staff doesn’t even deem his injury serious enough to receive attention.  He’s not on the medical ship, which we know they have.  He’s not even in the Raddus’s Medical Bay, which, again, we know they have. Finn is isolated, left unattended,  injures himself, and stumbles out into the hallway without any assistance. All for a joke.  Finn’s injury should have been treated with respect and acknowledgement. A scene with the doctors examining his injuries, telling Finn he is medically clear to join The Resistance and Finn  sorrowed by his inability to help his friends, would have been light-years better than a scene where Kylo looks sad getting hurt while trying to kill people.

Poe was changed in between movies for no reason. Poe started out as the most levelheaded, compassionate and trusted soldier in the entire Resistance, so trusted that he was given the mission to find the map to Luke Skywalker and leading the strike force to destroy Starkiller Base, why is it that he is suddenly a hot headed fly boy who ignores orders and is getting no respect from his commanding officers? The character change for Poe Dameron was unnecessary and so out of place. Poe before TLJ would not be okay with sacrificing lives to stop one ship that can be easily replaced.  In all source material and the last movie he refused to let anyone die. Not even Finn, a man who was an enemy an hour before they met formally, even though Poe shot his squad mate before during the fight on Jakku. Everything about Poe’s portrayal in TLJ is so unnecessary.  Poe Dameron went from a caring and experienced rebel pilot to an arrogant, hotheaded latino stereotype in the span of like…a day. That’s not subversive writing, that’s racist and bad writing. I just don’t understand why no one even tells Poe the plan. Poe is a respected and highly trained, top ranking rebel fighter, who had been covert enough to execute a highly delicate and secret mission to retrieve the Map to Luke Skywalker, responsible for destroying Starkiller base and the biggest asset to the resistance and biggest threat to the first order, anything about the plan? He’s literally a war hero and is more than likely only second to Leia. And honestly? Holdo didn’t just leave Poe in the dark, she left the entire Resistance in the dark. When Holdo meets Poe, she then proceeds to dress Poe down just for asking for his orders and the plan. Keep in mind that Poe isn’t just some grunt. Even with his demotion, he’s your second or third in command, and he has the respect of the entire crew, as evidenced by his later leading a majority of the crew in mutiny against Holdo. Holdo brought her personal crew from her ship and worked with them while snubbing the main rebel crew entirely. That’s a bit of a dick move, protocol or not. One of the biggest issues was not that Holdo wasn’t telling Poe the plan, but it was acting as if there was really no other plan. She was literally taking personal jabs at him when he was trying to find something out. If she said something like. “While it seems bad , we are working on a plan right now. We are not just going to stay here and have everyone die. Just have your pilots ready to go at a moment’s notice” But she didn’t even give him that. Remember up until Poe taking over, they were watching ship after ship being picked off slowly. The crew was given nothing and was told just to trust her. Blind faith in leadership is a horrible message. If that is the take away then why not just do what the First Order or the Empire wants. I mean seemingly they are in charge of stuff now. And we should follow orders blindly. Moreover they were down to < 1000 people, and from the POV of everyone else she was just watching people die. Rank be jammed. Anyone who cared about their crew would do something. He was a Commander and the flight commander there is NO way he should have been left out in the cold. Then I like how they talk about his spunk over his knocked-out body. How Poe was treated in TLJ was absolutely atrocious and a complete insult to Oscar Isaac, Poe deserves better.

Poe was right and Holdo’s incompetence.  Poe was absolutely right. He was right on taking down the Dreadnought. He was right in sending Finn and Rose to find the codebreaker. He was right with the mutiny, but the film for some reason tries to paint Poe as a dumbed down trigger happy flyjockey.  big portion of the drama would have been saved if she just informed her now second in command her plan, hell she doesn’t even tell Connix who is the expert in evacuation. She disrespected pretty much everyone on the Raddus and surprised when Poe starts a mutiny?  This is why I believe that Poe did nothing wrong in The Last Jedi.   - While he lost a lot of lives, Poe was right in trying to bring down that Dreadnought. Poe’s reasoning for this run is that the Dreadnought is a “Fleet-killer”, and taking it out now could save hundreds, if not thousands of lives down the line. Yes, they lose all of their bombers and some of their fighters. Maybe 50-60 soldiers. However, the run is successful. The Dreadnought, which we see obliterate the surface of a planet with a single shot, is destroyed. - Poe was revealed to be completely justified with the attack at the beginning, that destroyer was the only First Order ship with orbital bombardment cannons that have longer range, punch through the toughest shields and shred the biggest ships. If he didn’t do that, it would’ve followed them through hyperspace and destroyed the Raddus pretty quickly. Leia probably realized this which is why she gave her blessing to Poe to “jump in a ship and blow stuff up” just before the attack by the Supremacy. - Poe didn’t disobey an order, he had convinced Leia of the plan. She was always in command, the call was always hers, and she decided to go through with it. However, when the consequences of the run are made apparent, she blames Poe instead of taking responsibility for her own call. - The Resistance drops out of hyperspace and is followed by the First Order. Poe’s concerns are entirely vindicated, and I think it’s hard to deny that the following engagement would have gone far, far worse for the rebels had the Dreadnought still been in play. Even assuming they survived that, what were they going to do once they got down to the salt planet? We saw this thing kill a planet earlier in the film. - The only reason the rebels ultimately survive is because of this bombing run. This is never acknowledged, however, and Vice Admiral Holdo takes command and proceeds to dress Poe down just for asking for his orders and the plan. Keep in mind that Poe isn’t just some grunt. Even with his demotion, he’s your second or third in command, and he has the respect of the entire crew, as evidenced by his later leading a majority of the crew in mutiny against Holdo. - Finn and Rose come up with a plan to stop the Hyperspace Tracking. He knows The Supremacy will continue to track the Raddus no matter what,  at this point Poe doesn’t really see any other alternative besides just possibly letting everybody die at the hands of an incompetent commander. It’s the only plan he’s been given, so he goes for it. -Holdo brought her personal crew from her ship and worked with them while snubbing the main rebel crew entirely. That’s a bit of a dick move, protocol or not. Continuing on Holdo.  In Bloodline, Holdo doesn’t stand up for Leia when Leia presents evidence that the First Order is a real threat. Why would Holdo have a ranking position in the Resistance when she didn’t think there was a need for it? -Connix assisted in Poe’s mutiny and she is  the “ultimate authority” on carrying out a retreat. Why was she not told about the plan? Her position and placement on the bridge next to Holdo is pretty “need to know”. -One of the biggest issues was not that Holdo wasn’t telling Poe the plan, but it was acting as if there was really no other plan. She was literally taking personal jabs at him when he was trying to find something out. If she said something like. “While it seems bad , we are working on a plan right now. We are not just going to stay here and have everyone die. Just have your pilots ready to go at a moment’s notice” But she didn’t even give him that. Remember up until Poe taking over, they were watching ship after ship being picked off slowly. The crew was given nothing and was told just to trust her. Blind faith in leadership is a horrible message. If that is the take away then why not just do what the First Order or the Empire wants. I mean seemingly they are in charge of stuff now. And we should follow orders blindly. Moreover they were down to < 1000 people, and from the POV of everyone else she was just watching people die. Rank be jammed. Anyone who cared about their crew would do something. He was a Commander and the flight commander there is NO way he should have been left out in the cold. Then I like how they talk about his spunk over his knocked-out body. -When Poe finally mutinies with a large portion of the crew, Leia stuns him and it’s revealed that the plan was to empty their fuel reserves and send the escape pods to a nearby salt planet. However, when the plan goes into action, Finn and Rose’s contact betrays them and tells the First Order about the escape pods. This results in many of the escape pods being destroyed.This is played up to be Poe’s failure, but I disagree immensely. It’s Holdo’s failure.She had literally no reason not to tell anyone the plan. Poe, while his plan ultimately failed, had no reason to believe that Holdo wasn’t going to get them all killed. Nor did the crew. She’d given neither of them any indication that she was a competent commander, or that she had anything resembling a plan. In the face of that, Poe had the choice of either possibly letting everyone die, or trying something that, while it probably wouldn’t work, might just save the lives of everyone on that ship. In the context of the situation, I think Poe absolutely made the right choice, and any blame for what happened falls firmly on Holdo’s shoulders for being an incompetent leader who never inspired her crew or gave them any reason to believe in her, and yet expected them all to trust her with their lives and just believe that she was making the right decisions. -Holdo’s plan was stupid. Based on the First Order not having any WINDOWS. And based on being unwilling to admit she HAD no plan, and WAS in fact just trying to bail everyone out and see how many, if any, survived. She didn’t ram the Supremacy until almost every escape pod had been destroyed. HOLDO caused the deaths of far, far more Resistance personnel and soldiers than Poe ever did. HOLDO let her vanity and vainglory get in the way of effective leadership – if the people ON THE BRIDGE, FUELING YOUR TRANSPORTS, are helping to organize a mutiny against you because your plan is bad and going to get them killed, that’s a bad plan.  Holdo’s entire action was based on wanting Leia to be proud of her, and not Poe, honestly. And granted: that’s a perspective we know that Poe can have, too, but what Poe wants more than anything else is to make sure the Resistance survives and the First Order is brought down without a chance of restarting the way the Empire did. Holdo mainly seems to want to be in charge and restart the New Republic that failed to stop the Empire’s roots to grow into the First Order in the first place, and she was unwilling to ACT against the First Order until what, twelve Rebels were left?  She could have saved all of those unarmed, unshielded escape pods if she’d rammed the Supremacy as soon as the last pod detached from the cruiser. But she didn’t, because she never planned to take any actual actions to stop the First Order. Holdo’s idea of resistance was so passive, so laissez-faire, that she might as well have been a First Order mole for all the good she did. The difference between “the fire that will restore the Republic” and “the fire that will burn the First Order down” is immeasurable. Holdo – quintessentially in a White Feminist move – wanted to “rebel” only as far as it restored her own place of power in the Galaxy as a Senator in the broken New Republic that ignored the growing threat of fascism until the NR itself was destroyed. (This New Republic she wants to restore being the same one that allowed slavery to flourish “in secret” across the Galaxy, allowed for poverty like that on Jakku, allowed for the immoral disparity of wealth and power on Cantonica). In the novel Leia Princess Of Alderaan, Holdo’s “rebellion” doesn’t actually exist – she cares about people, specifically her own friends and the people for whom she is the Junior Senator, on Gatalenta. Holdo doesn’t really care about the good of the Galaxy. She cares about herself. Poe doesn’t care about restoring the New Republic. The New Republic is who looked him in the face and said that deaths caused by the First Order didn’t matter – or didn’t exist. They were corrupt and complacent, and they refused to acknowledge that the ideals of the Empire had not actually died down. Their treatment of poor, disenfranchised Systems – those whom the Empire had most exploited, in some cases – caused those same Imperial ideals to take root again and blossom as an open secret. They allowed for the Centrists’ (literal) xenophobia to be communicated like a legitimate viewpoint, keeping some Imperial POVs mainstream when they could have been condemned. The New Republic did not deserve to be destroyed with Starkiller Base, but it also didn’t do enough good to warrant being restored as it was. Poe cares about ending the First Order. Holdo doesn’t.If Holdo doesn’t care about preventing the tyranny of the First Order, then what exactly is she resisting…? Poe Dameron did absolutely nothing wrong in this movie, and he’s by far the most competent commander the rebels have at the moment.

The wasted potential of Rose Tico. Rose could’ve been so much more. I wanted to like her, Kelly Marie Tran did an amazing job, but bad writing held the character back. From the promos and info about Rose, I was excited. She wax this underdog Resistance mechanic who along with her bomber sister, was going to do her part in fighting the First Order, I thought she was a welcome addition to the Sequel Trio, the Lando for the Sequel Trio. What we got instead was just...bad. Instead of actually using her mechanic skills to help save The Resistance and keep The Raddus flying, we got a sideplot takes place away from the central story, on some random casino planet that’s message I could get from any grade school understanding of the world while calling the sole black man/use to be male lead a coward the whole film, forgetting he helped come up with the plan that destroyed the last movie’s super weapon then fought space Neo-Nazis. Then her trying to stop Finn’s sacrifice, and “that’s how we win, not by fighting what we hate, by saving what we love.” That makes no sense and ignores the entire narrative of Star Wars and heroism of the saga. Paige, her sister sacrificed herself to save The Resistance. Holdo sacrificed herself to save The Resistance. The Rogue One sacrificed themselves. Finn's entire arc in the movie was learning not to just think about running away with Rey and fight for a greater cause and when the time comes for Finn to prove that he's grown as a character, he can't? What was the point of Finn's arc in the movie? And let's talk about Poe. Shouldn't Poe be sacrificing himself? Poe has spent the entire film watching others die and give their lives and he's never backed down, so shouldn't Poe be in Finn's place? And if Rose stopped Finn who would save The Resistance? We saw after Rose stopped Finn, the bunker was blown up by the battering ram. Absolutely NO ONE knew that Luke was going to make his surprise entrance and save everyone. For all we knew, The First Order would've moved into the bunker and killed everyone and The Resistance. I actually personally love Kelly Marie Tran, I just think her character was wasted and really hope they truly use Rose to her full potential in Episode IX. I want Rose Tico to appreciate and value not only herself, but her skills as a mechanic. Maybe even develop some computer skills and be The Resistance’s hacker. It’s not unrealistic for the Resistance to have one. She could still think her skills aren’t useful considering most Wars have been won by soldiers and Jedi, not hackers but grow and learn that her skills as a mechanic and hacker are valued.

Kylo Ren is downgraded from his amazing character in the Force Awakens.  Everything about Kylo Ren in TFA is amazing. Kylo Ren was  a well-rounded antagonist that broke the clichés of most of modern villains. Kylo Ren was a complex and layered character who wasn’t glorified or idealized for his morally wrong actions, so powerful in both the force and with his lightsaber. A hint that the lost child was still in there, but still chose to kill his father to reject redemption and chose to be who he was by choice regardless of his positive upbringing. Kylo Ren is exactly the right villain to succeed Darth Vader in this new trilogy despite not being a Sith. Had Chewbacca not shot Kylo, I don’t think Rey or Finn would’ve made it out of Starkiller Base alive. My problems with Kylo in TLJ is he is downgraded to the great character he was in TFA in TLJ. In TFA there was already a moral ambiguity with his character, but it was subtle. It was made in your face that he was sympathetic in TLJ. An interesting antagonist/villain isn’t a mustache twirling generic character that does things for no reason. Villains are meant to be the antagonist. We are meant to disagree with their actions and understand the flaws in them, to have a villain/antagonist who not only acknowledges what they are doing is wrong, but feels guilt about it. This is something that is extremely difficult for a writer to convey believably. Most of the time a director/writer will go out of their way to make their antagonist/villain sympathetic at the cost of the overall story. They only want the audience to relate to the antagonist/villain so they only put emphasis on that character’s sympathetic traits and ignore their negative ones. Ben has to earn his redemption, he doesn’t need it to given on a silver platter. His whole personality changed. While Han’s death would be enough, it just doesn’t work. In TFA his goal was finding and killing Luke Skywalker. In this movie I just don’t even know what his end game or motivation is. He went from this powerful dark side warrior and in TLJ he was downgraded and made weaker. And of course he is made into a meme cause of the shirtless scene. His bond with Rey was really the only good thing about his character arc in TLJ. The problem is everyone just assumes that this leads to redemption and Kylo turning back into Ben Solo, it was manipulation. And my issue is with how Kylo doesn’t explain why he killed Han. He doesn’t explain to Rey that he killed Han because he felt like he was being torn apart by the light and dark sides of the force and he thought killing Han would help him, but all it did was make it worse. It’s not explained that Snoke has been preying on Kylo ever since he was a child(though Kylo is responsible for his actions. There is no scene with Kylo and his mother. They never once interact.  The sad thing is they will never get to interact because of Carrie’s  passing.  At the end of TFA Snoke said he was going to finish Kylo Ren’s training but no training is given to him. It doesn’t add up that Snoke does not train Kylo. Snoke said that he would complete Kylo’s training when he told Hux to bring Kylo Ren to him at the end of TFA. Yes, he did fail him and he sensed his father in him, but I really thought we’d see Snoke sending Kylo to Vader’s castle on Mustafar to allow the dark side energies in the castle and what remains of Vader to strengthen the dark side within him to snuff out the light. Killing Han broke his spirit, but he could use the castle to complete Kylo Ren’s training. Then we would see Snoke personally train Kylo himself. Snoke begins by telling Kylo the Sith code ” Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.” teaching him the ways of the dark side, using torture and force lightning to draw Kylo’s rage to bring out his full potential in the dark side of the force. We needed to see Sith training. We never once got to see it, so we needed to see it with Snoke and Kylo Ren. The throne room fight is just bad. Not even  once do we see them displaying their powers is what cheapens the fight. Kylo Ren is powerful enough to freeze a blaster and a person in place and Rey herself unlocked Kylo’s powers, so the two of them could have easily ended the fight sooner than it was dragged out. Kylo is powerful in the force but he SERIOUSLY could not stop a Praetorian Guard choke holding him and Rey struggled with a guard? Rey and Kylo were stronger in TFA and are just made weaker in the duel with the Praetorian Guards. Kylo could have frozen half of the guards and Rey could have mind tricked the other half into killing the frozen guards and Kylo and Rey could have finished them. They are masters of light and darkness, but they are made weaker. As for their final scene together. Kylo’s proposal works because he’s a manipulative asshole. Kylo Ren doesn’t even have a clear motivation. He wants to kill Luke because he thought he wanted to kill him. There’s no reason why he killed the other Jedi, there’s no reason why he joined The First Order,  What did he hope to accomplish by joining the First Order? It’s never even explained why he has Vader’s mask. He never explains why he killed Han or why he even wants to destroy The Resistance. He says “let the past die” yet continues to  lead the First Order in the same direction that Snoke did. Snoke wanted the Resistance dead, so why take up his mission? He spent the duration of the movie as the most calm and collected and even most Jedi like character throughout the movie, but by the end he turns into  a screaming lunatic again by the end. There is no motivation for why Kylo Ren is doing anything. He acts how the plot needs him to act and that’s it. Vader wanted to crush the Rebellion and turn Luke to the dark side. With Kylo Ren I just don’t understand, turn Rey and start a new order? He knows full well Rey doesn’t want anything to do with that, if that’s his plan, it’s a bad one.  And if he doesn’t have one it hurts him as a villain. it’s not like he’s Michael Myers or The Joker where it works for them. But with Kylo Ren it just hurts him and the story and hurts the potential of The First Order. There is no motivation or a clear endgame for Kylo Ren or anyone in The First Order, if Kylo is to be redeemed, that hurts his entire narrative, that just makes his path as a villain bad since he has no motivation or endgame. and that just hurts Kylo Ren as a character.

Supreme Leader Snoke is wasted and there is no reason to care now that the villain you’ve been building your trilogy around is dead. Snoke’s death was too soon. Snoke is a dark side user. Calm and collected. Old enough to see the rise and fall of the empire. He takes no risks and does what it takes to win. He was different from Palpatine and I dare say he even had potential to rival Kreia. He was a mastermind and did not allow himself to be a slave to the dark side. He did not want his apprentice to die like the Sith masters of old. He did not want to keep power until his dying breath. Snoke was not the average Sith Lord, he was different.  He was respectful, he was very powerful, and watching his scenes, even when faced with failure, he remained calm and collected because he was playing the long game and was not a slave to the Darkside like the Sith. He was invested in turning Kylo Ren into Vader’s heir and even has a ring from the catacombs of Vader’s castle. Snoke was so interesting, so many unanswered questions and this well thought out villain. And then TLJ turned him into a dumbed down Palpatine rip off. The claim that Snoke and his backstory is not important is dumb, considering that we know nothing on why this war is even happening or even why The First Order is doing ANYTHING! We want to know who Snoke is because we want to know how this random evil guy was able to destroy the lives of the entire original trio, corrupted Ben Solo and override the happy ending the entire original trilogy and prequels were fighting for. The struggles of the prequels, the clone wars, rebels, original trilogy, all of these stories and struggles were undone because of Snoke, so of course we have questions. Why do the remnants of the Empire follow Snoke and where did he come from? Not wanting to know the motivation of the villains is just plain ignorant. They completely wasted Snoke. Snoke is a power from the unknown regions. He was SO powerful that Palpatine sensed him, Palpatine was so focused and invested in Jakku in hopes of getting closer to the Unknown regions and he wanted to meet what he believed was the source of the dark side of the force. And they just kill him off so easy? Now there is no reason to care. Kylo Ren is not an intimidating villain and it’s pretty obvious he’s turning to the light in Episode IX. Hux is a bumbling incompetent fool and I’m pretty sure they already confirmed he will be more comedic in Episode IX instead of being a threat. There is a villain problem for the Sequel Trilogy. There is no menace in The First Order anymore and I really feel there is no reason to care. The only possible way The First Order will be an actual threat to the Galaxy is if Rae Sloane usurps Kylo Ren. Problem is, that would actually make the First Order a legitimate threat, and Disney could never allow that.  

Tallie Lintra’s death. I did not know much about the new character, hell I didn’t even know her name until I played Battlefront II. But I loved this pilot. I loved how good she was and I wanted more of her and god killing her off was pointless. What’s the point of introducing these unique Resistance fighters if only to kill them off? 

No Lando Calrissian in The Last Jedi. I read Rian Johnson’s reason for no Lando Calrissian that he would’ve taken DJ’s place. But Johnson wanted the plan to fail….for reasons. Like god forbid they make it all worth it by having the plan succeed and they get captured when they get to the escape pods. Here’s how I would have put Lando in The Last Jedi. Lando is the person Finn and Rose are meant to get help from. They leave with DJ, but Lando was expecting to meet two members from the Resistance, so he leaves Canto Bight and on his way out he gets Leia’s message and mobilizes old friends from the Rebellion(a cameo from Wedge Antilles) and goes to give the Resistance some reinforcements. We then see a little reunion with Lando, Leia and Chewbacca and Lando revealing that he was who Finn and Rose were meant to meet. That’s how I would have included Lando in The Last Jedi. 

Phasma was wasted in The Force Awakens and she was completely wasted in The Last Jedi. While I love that we got to see Phasma and Finn fight, again they did not do anything with Phasma. In her novel she is a completely different and better character. In the novel  which is a fascinating study of how utterly ruthless and selfish she is, how completely dedicated to her own survival at the expense of others, and how there is no one and nothing she would not betray to further herself. It’s about peeling back the layers of a seemingly perfect First Order warrior to show her morally empty core, and with it the rottenness of the First Order itself. The novel shows with unsettling clarity that, under all the pretty words about the ideals of justice and order, the First Order is a place where actual idealistic soldiers are used and then thrown away (see: Finn, Cardinal) while backstabbers, abusers, and murderers like the two Huxes and Phasma are actively shielded and rise to the top. Phasma is a survivor. She will always align herself with the most powerful force. Phasma is extremely intelligent and a brilliant battlefield commander. Outside of the movies, she’s lost approximately one fight. Ever. the movies portray her as a minor annoyance but in the book she is the most badass human to ever live and I’m upset with how they’ve treated her. But really, what would’ve helped Phasma is her deleted death scene

General Hux, the man who caused the destruction of the Hosnian system and is shown to be a younger angrier version of Tarkin in TFA, is shown to be an incompetent bumbling fool and Captain Canady is the only intelligent officer in The First Order. He does not deploy the Tie Fighters, order the fleet to move in when The Resistance are evacuating D'Qar and vulnerable, instead orders the Dreadnought to move in, and instead of ordering the Dreadnought with it’s devastating canon to fire on the cruiser thus giving the transports nowhere to go, he orders an orbital bombardment to an almost empty planet. But does not fire because he sees Poe’s X-Wing When Poe arrives in his X-Wing, the only X-Wing in view. Hux does not order deploying the Tie Fighters or even ordering the Dreadnought to fire on Poe. They do absolutely NOTHING. How is Hux a general again? Did he just want to hear himself talk? The turrets are being destroyed by Poe and Hux tells Captain Canady to fire the Dreadnought, Canady responds it’s too small and too close of range to fire their turbolasers and orders the Tie Fighters to be scrambled which should have been done 5 minutes ago. Canady knows Poe is not aiming to penetrate their armor, he knows Poe is clearing out their surface cannons. Here we have it. The only intelligent officer in The First Order, everyone else including Hux are incompetent. How exactly is Hux a general again?  Moving on. Hux is slapped around with the force by Snoke, okay understandable, it’s for failure. Vader did the same. But god it is done in almost every scene by Snoke and Kylo. When the Silencer pretty much destroyed all the X-Wing fighters, and The Resistance command is jettisoned in space, Hux just orders Kylo back. They have the opportunity to end The Resistance, just calls him back, a scene later Hux complains he let them go. Sure they can still track them, but the fact that they let them goes shows that Hux is a fool. The only time Hux is allowed to be villainous in the movie is when he is prepared to take out his blaster and kill Kylo Ren. Everything else he is either an idiot or someone’s toy to be slapped around. And you expect me and the general audience to believe Hux is going to be the villain in Episode IX?

The First Order’s incompetence at the Battle Of Crait. So now the Resistance is stuck on Crait, the First Order knows they are there, we know implicitly that the First Order has more than one dreadnought in their fleet, we also know the Resistance is fresh out of bombers. Maybe instead of calling for a costly ground invasion just call in another dreadnought and finish the job once and for all. This isn’t next level thinking, this isn’t superior tactics. This is using a rock to smash a bug levels of thinking. But they don’t, they land a ground invasion bigger than Hoth and bring a mini Death Star with them. Note again, that while Hoth was defended by more men with better equipment, Crait is defended by a quarter as many with rusting, dilapidated equipment… but it was enough to keep the Order stalled for Luke Skywalker to video-conference in.

The ending. The way they did end the last jedi, it leaves nothing to show that there is a reason to see Episode IX. There is no cliffhanger or showing anything of a Struggle. AOTC ended with the beginning of the Clone Wars. Empire ended with Luke learning the truth and Han was taken to Jabba. Last Jedi ends like the end of the trilogy. The Rebellion is saved and shows it can fight the First Order. It doesn’t feel like there is anything that can be done to make us feel like there is a reason to watch the next movie as it feels like everything was resolved. Doesn’t feel like there is anything to be fighting for or a reason to care.

[k2kid]

Friend after friend departs; Who hath not lost a friend? There is no union of hearts That finds not here an end.

Part of a hymn[i] laments for the death of Private Archie Turner. His sister-in-law selected this hymn to reflect on her brother-in-law’s passing.

Private Turner enlisted in St. Thomas, Ontario October 23, 1914 and indicated he had thirteen years of prior military service. As an original member of the Battalion he trained in London, Ontario with more training and conditioning upon the Battalion’s arrival in England in May 1915. He then moved with the Battalion to France and Belgium where the Battalion was initiated to trench warfare. He served in “C” Company and some time in January 1916, just after leaving the Somme, he wrote a letter to the members of the International Order of the Daughters of the Empire St. Thomas Chapter thanking them for a care package they had created and sent to him.

The portion of the letter published in the St. Thomas Times-Journal on February 2, 1916 relates some of the details of the package and the conditions that the soldiers were suffering through in the front-lines. “Rats run over the faces of the soldiers.” The men experience German artillery of all types and Imperial (B.E.F. and C.E.F.) artillery responds with outgoing shelling. He wishes to be remembered to Col. Green and a Mr. Robinson and then ends, after relating about rats running over the soldiers, with a more positive observation and some hope:

“The birds sing lovely out here in the morning. Spring is not far off out here, and I wish the end of the war was not far off.”

PTE. TURNER SAYS RATS RUN OVER FACES OF THE SOLDIERS[ii] St. Thomas Man in the 18th Tells of Experiences in Belgium – Spring in Air and Birds are Singing – Local Ladies are Thanked for Kindness.

Mrs. J.D. Lamont, secretary of the St. Thomas Chapter I.O.D.E.[iii], has received a letter from Pte. Archie Turner[iv], in Belgium, thanking the chapter for gifts sent at Christmas time the letter says in part:

“I now take pleasure in writing to you, thanking you very much for the presents you sent us boys, for we were so glad to see the good ladies of St. Thomas had not forgotten the boys of the 18th Battalion. We have been under shell fire for four months. That call us the ‘Mad Brigade[v].’ We were the first to go to the trenches overland[vi]. All the boys are doing well. We had Christmas dinner in the trenches. We had plum puddings, but no turkey this time; but we cannot complain, for we had lots of everything, and I think it was all right. They jar my dugout. They are sending a few over to Bill.[vii] Mr. Lamont, we have lots of rats for bed chums. The run over our faces when we are asleep. I think this is all this time, thanking all of the lady officers for their kindness, and hoping to see you all when we return.

Give my kind live to Mr. Lamont. Tell him to remember me to Col. Green[viii] and also Mr. Richardson. We have to wear hip rubber boots; lots of mud. I am in Belgium four months. A long time not to have your clothes off.

The birds sing lovely out here in the morning. Spring is not far off out here, and I wish the end of the war was not far off. So good-bye to you all again. Hoping to hear from you soon.

Your truly, Pte. A. Turner (53745) C Company, 18th Battalion 4th Brigade C.E.F. Care G.P.O. London.

Regrettably for the Turner family, Archie was not to survive much longer after this letter is printed in the local paper. On May 12, 1916 the Battalion had returned from the Somme and was serving in relatively familiar surroundings near “Dickebusch”[ix], Belgium. The Battalion, as of May 9, was in the centre of the front-line and suffered two men killed and three men wounded[x] though the official records show only one soldier died on this date. Private Humphreys[xi] died the next day and it is possible their fates were related but due to record keeping errors the date of death for both men was recorded on two different days. Private Humphreys’ Circumstances of Death Card relates:

‘“Killed in Action” He was with two comrades sitting in the bay of a trench in front of St. Eloi about 1 a.m. May 13, 1916, when a shell burst amongst them instantly killing Pte. Humphreys and one other.’

Photo of John Humphreys – John Humphreys (brother to Elizabeth). Note: source of photograph does not indicate which man is John Humphreys. Assuming his age was close to 28 years old when this photograph was taken I believe it is the man on the right as he looks older than the man on the left.

Whatever the circumstances of these men’s death they are buried beside each other at the Voormezeele Enclosure No.3, Idaho, Belgium along with twenty-two other members of the 18th Battalion.

The St. Thomas newspaper related the news of the death of Private Turner giving some details of this soldier’s life filling in some of his background and that, “He was of a very kind disposition, good-natured and jovial, but of a roving nature.” Perhaps his “roving nature’ refers to his recent foray out west. He, and his brothers, worked for businesses that were typical for that era: A coal dealer, a railroad repair facility, and a liquor store.

ST. THOMAS MAN DIES IN BATTLE[xii] Pte. Archie Turner if 18th Falls While Fighting for Freedom – Has Two Brothers Here.

A telegram was received Sunday[xiii] by Mark Turner, 5 Regent street, this city, informing him of the death of his brother, Pte. Elias (Archie) Turner, on May 12, in France.

Pte. Turner came to St. Thomas from the West in the fall of 1914 and enlisted with the 18th Battalion for overseas service. He had been through some of the thickest of the fighting and escaped unhurt until the day upon which he met his death while in the trenches.

Pte. Turner will be remembered in St. Thomas as being employed with Ellison & Lewis coal dealers, before going west. He came to this country with his brother about twenty-five years ago[xiv] from Fordingbridge, Hampshire, England. He was a middle-aged man and a great sport. He was of a very kind disposition, good-natured and jovial, but of a roving nature. He was for some time with the 1st West Surrey Infantry before coming to this country.

The deceased soldier leaves two brothers and three sisters. The sisters all live in England and George Turner, employed at the Pere Marquette shops[xv], and Mark Turner, 5 Regent street, are the brothers. Pte. Arthur Franklin Turner[xvi], of the 91st Battalion, son of Mark Turner, is a nephew.

Mark Turner is a faithful employee of A.E. Ponsford Ltd[xvii]., until last September when he was compelled to cease work on account of illness. He has been unable to do anything since.

Private Turner came to Canada and made a living for himself and his familial connection seemed to be so strong that his other brothers lived in the same town together. When the call came to begin to respond to the needs for a 2nd Contingent Archie joined early and served his Battalion well until his death. The news paper article gives us some details that allow us to imagine some of what this man experienced as a member of Canadian society prior to the war in St. Thomas. His photograph gives a further hint about the man. He wears a button on his lapel. The details of the button do not allow one to discern what the button represents but it would help give more of the story that was Elias “Archie” Turner.

    [i] Friend After Friend Departs, 1824. Words by James Montgomery. Music by William H. Cooke.

[ii] St. Thomas Times-Journal. February 2, 1916.

[iii] International Order Daughters of the Empire.

[iv] Private Turner was not to survive the war being killed in action May 12, 1916.

[v] The origin of this reference is not known and is the first time seen by the transcriber.

[vi] This may be a reference to when the Battalion entered the line during its first deployment on September 21, 1915. During this march my Grand Father, William Robb Dewar was wounded.

[vii] “…for we had lots of everything, and I think it was all right. They jar my dugout. They are sending a few over to Bill.” This passage appears to reference artillery fire. Getting “lots of everything” may refer to the variety of calibres of shells the Germans are firing upon them. The shells “jar my dugout” and the Imperial forces are shelling Bill, the nickname for Kaiser Wilhelm.

[viii] Lieutenant-Colonel William James Green was the officer commanding the 91st Battalion based at St. Thomas. He would be temporarily attached to the 18th Battalion in March 1917 for a ten-day tour of instruction. He died October 26, 1958.

[ix] Dikkebus.

[x] Per the 18th Battalion War Diary. May 12, 1916.

[xi] Private John Humphries, reg. no. 413050.

[xii] St. Thomas Time-Journal. May 29, 1916.

[xiii] May 28, 1916.

[xiv] This information is incorrect. Archie Turner’s attestation papers indicate he served with the West Surrey Regiment for six years followed by seven years in the reserves.

[xv] Part of the Pere Marquette Railway system.

[xvi] Private Arthur Franklin Turner, reg. no. 123732, served with the 21st Battalion and survived the war.

[xvii] A local liquor store.

“…of a roving nature.”: Private Archie Turner Friend after friend departs; Who hath not lost a friend? There is no union of hearts…

[wokethesleepers]

roll of dices | jon&daenerys

It would certainly not be a misassumption to consider the night he’d just left behind as one of the most tumultuous of his life. Not for all the wrong reasons, like all the other nights which had been filled with blood, and fire, and war, and destruction, and sorrows. If he hadn’t been certain of it before, Jon had cemented one particular piece of knowledge: he and Daenerys must have definitely been brought together, crafted specifically for each other. A destructive void that had inhabited him his whole life had been filled and he did not want to see it drained again. When he left her chambers, it turned out to be a trying task both physically and mentally. His muscles were numb and he was in desperate need of a bath to cleanse away the remnants of what had easily been the most passionate and sinful night of his life. She needed it even more, he reckoned. Of course, there was also a part of him that did not wish to walk away from that bed and the comfort of her arms, but he strangely found himself at peace with the idea rather quickly. He was even ready to face the demands of this new day, knowing that he would not have to sit through hours of denying and pushing down his thoughts and feelings, as it had been the case at Castle Black. And for all is worth, they had worked each other out so intensely that night that he was genuinely doubtful his swirls of desire would be stirred again anytime soon. The bath that had been drawn after his return to his own untouched chamber helped greatly in soothing his muscles, but it also delivered pleasantly relaxing steams to his eyelids, which felt heavy and lazy. Not much sleeping had been done the past couple of nights, after all. But he pushed through, as always. He was no stranger to battling the weight of the calls of slumber. He got dressed up quickly, donning the same Stark armor but losing the breastplate this time around. He didn’t exactly bother too much with the appearance of his hair as he rolled a fistful of curls at the back of his head. It didn’t matter; no one would judge a man too harshly for his hairdo, after all. Not even a king.

After a particularly uneventful breakfast with his peers, Jon found his way to the room containing the Painted Table, marking the first time he stepped through its threshold as the King in the North, a piece on the board rather than the wide-eyed, curiosity-filled guest that had been innocently touring the castle. Naturally, the first one to notice was Daenerys and he almost hated himself for the way his heart skipped a beat at her sight. It always would from then on, he realized. Not only because she looked as beautiful as she was supposed to, but because her posture, her elegance, her seating at the end of this imposing table – they all served as reminders that she was, indeed, a queen. She had definitely been born for it, Jon thought. Not because she bore the name and blood of the Mad King, but simply because it was easy to see the royal airs webbed through her very being.

“At last, we are all here,” said Tyrion and only then did Jon realize the dwarf had been in there as well. And he wasn’t alone. Varys, and Missandei, and Grey Worm, and a Dornishman with a familiar face were all there as well. After a minor effort, Jon remembered having encountered him at the feast. He was an Yronwood, his name Cletus if he hadn’t been mistaken, a close friend of Quentyn Martell’s. He likely served as a delegate for Dorne’s interests in this ordeal, which Jon wasn’t particularly aware of as of yet. Davos, Sam, Melisandre, and Tormund had joined him in the chamber as well, even if the latter two were mostly present out of politeness. The Red Priestess had no desire of strategizing and southern military strategies were often lost on Tormund. But he wanted to learn at the very least.

“You seem eager,” remarked Jon, deciding to remain on his feet while the rest of his companions occupied their seats. “Or impatient.”

“Or both,” concluded Tyrion. He cleared his throat, clasping his hands together. “Now. We have important matters to discuss. Let us go through a quick analysis of the current state of the realm.” He waddled over toward the southernmost extremity of the map carved into the table. “Dorne,” he chimed, tapping a hand over Sunspear, moving to grab a small statuette of a stabbed sun. “Prince Doran is currently happily overseeing it. Fortunately for us, we have them on our side. Unfortunately for us, they have only lent us their land army, hence Ser Cletus’ presence amongst us.”

“Unfortunately?” mused Cletus Yronwood, amusement in his quirked brow. “All allies are fortune in this time of need, my Lord Hand.”

“That is very true,” retorted Tyrion, though he didn’t seem too convinced. He set the sun piece in the middle of Dorne and then started to move away with a sigh. “But even more unfortunately, things start to crumble from here onward.” He was by the western side of the map now, picking up the statuettes of a rose and a lion. “The Crown is currently thriving thanks to the union between Margaery and Tommen. Whenever Lord Mace decides to grace Highgarden with his presence, he is the overlord of the Reach, as well as the Warden of the South. Otherwise, it’s his eldest son, Willas. Regardless,” he set the rose by Highgarden, “the Reach is in Tyrell hands and it has plenty of resources, food and armies alike.” He then stepped closer to the north, fiddling with the lion. “Cersei has assumed the position of Lady of Casterly Rock.”

“Another one of Lord Varys’ discoveries?” questioned Davos.

Tyrion’s eyes rose with a sigh.

“Not quite,” he mumbled. “This is simply something very much in Cersei’s character. Alas, she is too busy serving as Tommen’s regent. What Lord Varys did manage to find out, however, is that she and uncle Kevan seemed to have had a fallout given how she has named Damion Lannister as her castellan.” He set the lion piece on Casterly Rock. “Harys Swyft is the current Hand of the King, though I can assure you it is not for his skills. Cersei must have seen great manipulation opportunities in this fool.” His arms opened in a shrug. “Needless to say, no one on this side of the map is our ally. He then rushed around the table and circled around to the eastern side of the table, scooping in his hand some pieces that Jon did not get to see, though he could guess. “Things get complicated here,” Tyrion breathed out, stopping by the Stormlands. “It appears that Storm’s End is currently overseen by Eldon Estermont in the name of the Crown. Not all that surprising. He was cowering at Joffrey’s feet last I have seen him.” Tyrion’s eyes then scanned Jon and Davos. “We know Stannis is dead, but what of Selyse and Shireen?” A pertinent question, Jon realized.

“Sheltered at Haystack Hall,” Davos replied curtly.

“With House Errol? How do you know this?”

“As if I would not check on the little princess. The moment I could get my hands on a raven, I sent one to the Shadow Tower to question their whereabouts. This was their response.”

“Have you tried writing to Lady Errol?” questioned Varys. Davos shook his head, about to speak, but Varys cut him off, “A wise choice. We still do not know of their intentions. Perhaps they’re held as hostages.”

“Or perhaps they are protected by those that do not approve of the current regime. Regardless,” Tyrion set a statuette of a turtle by Storm’s End, “Lord Estermont is not our friend either.”

“And the new Warden of the East,” added Varys. All eyes, puzzled, turned on him.

“Are you telling me Cersei did not trust Littlefinger with this task anymore? I am appalled,” muttered Tyrion, slipping past the Crownlands and waving a falcon statuette above the Vale.

“When has Petyr Baelish ever been a warden?” asked Davos.

“Officially?” Tyrion scoffed. “Never. But the true Lord of the Eyrie, Robert Arryn, the poor boy, is nothing but a sickly pawn.” Another statuette took its place by the rightful location. “No allies in here either.”

“Of course not,” commented Varys. “Lord Baelish is nothing but truthful and loyal to his king.” He and Tyrion exchanged a set of playful glances full of subtext.

“Of course not,” confirmed Tyrion, walking past Jon as he ventured back to the west, further north than before. “Euron Greyjoy is dead,” he said, flatly. “Victarion Greyjoy is dead. Their nephew’s and niece’s whereabouts are shrouded in mystery.” Jon felt his stomach twist, but he brushed it off. “What is certain, there is a certain Erik Ironmaker currently serving as Pyke’s castellan. Rumor has it he had married Asha Greyjoy a while back, so he might have a lot more of a claim than believed.” A statuette of a kraken took its place by Pyke. “We can count the Iron Islands out for now. The Riverlands as well.”

“Walder Frey rules them,” said Davos, just in time for Tyrion to set a piece of a set of towers by Riverrun.

“I do not believe it necessary to remind everyone how that came to be,” said Tyrion and Jon realized he was being mindful of his feelings. At last, he strolled toward Jon’s side as he came to a halt at the northernmost extremity of the map, pushing a statuette of a direwolf toward Winterfell while Varys placed a three-headed dragon on Dragonstone. “And at last, the North, its very king standing here with us today. An interesting concept that has kept me awake, I must admit. But now that everyone is here, I find it an excellent time to fill us in on how you have managed to accomplish such a feat, Your Grace.”

Jon expected this to happen, but it still didn’t bring him great pleasure to speak of these tedious events. At the very least, he would make it as straightforward as possible. “I left Castle Black,” he said. “Ramsay Bolton had my sister – or so he had thought. We built an army made of Wildlings and other northern houses, we fought, and we won.” Things had been a lot more complicated than that, but they were not important to this particular discussion. “After we took Winterfell back, Lady Dacey Mormont showed us this,” he paused, slipping a rolled parchment from a pocket. He’d known it was a crucial item to bring along. Tyrion took it from his hand and inspected it curiously.

“Robb Stark named you his heir,” concluded the Imp.

“Forgive my interruption,” jumped in Davos. “Despite that, the King has rejected the title.” Jon eyed Davos in mild discomfort. “Have you not?” Davos was staring back, the complete opposite of discomfort in his crooked smirk.

“I have,” sighed Jon. “The North wasn’t a kingdom anymore.”

“It was Lady Jeyne, rightfully Lady of Winterfell through her marriage to Ramsay Bolton, and the rest of the northern lords who had decided to make him their king regardless.” Whatever Davos was trying to achieve, it only served as another thing to stir Jon’s discomfort, darting his gaze toward the floor. How was this relevant in any way to their situation?

“An excellent input,” smiled Tyrion, handing back the will which Jon hastily sheltered back in his pocket. “Before I readily proclaim that we are in deep, deep shit, may you let us know what label to place on this particular side of the map?” His knuckles knocked into the North. He was asking for the stance on a possible alliance. Jon’s gaze rolled toward Daenerys and, luckily, it was filled with nothing but the heaviness of his labored mind and the same solemn weight of duty.

“Queen Daenerys has my utmost support in her claim,” he spoke, his voice unwavering and full of professionalism. “However, I am afraid I can only show it through neutrality. The North’s armies need to remain in the North. We cannot afford losing any people fighting in this war.” Much to his shame, he had to admit his nights of passion with Daenerys had successfully briefly distracted him from the graveness of their predicament. But, now, it all struck him all over again. Why they were here, what his role was, why that mountain was now more crucial than ever. He had come to Dragonstone as an ally in the Great War, not the battle for the throne, even though it would all be much easier with Daenerys sitting on it. “I am sure you understand.”

[whittlebaggett8]

Who Will Win the Philippines’ Midterm Elections?

The opposition wants a miracle, but the Philippine midterm marketing campaign also factors to complications ahead for Duterte.

By Mark R. Thompson for The Diplomat

April 29, 2019

The most latest polls for the coming May possibly 13 midterm elections in the Philippines job all 8 opposition senatorial candidates landing outdoors the “magic 12” circle of those elected to the Philippine Senate. (In an electoral quirk, Philippine senators are elected nationally.) That even the most substantial-profile opposition candidate Manuel “Mar” Roxas, an influential cupboard formal in the prior administration of Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino who was the runner up to Rodrigo Duterte in the 2016 presidential elections, would seem a long shot to win reveals how badly the opposition has fared in the campaign therefore far.

Sweeping the race would be great news for the Duterte administration as the Senate has become a vital battleground. It has hence significantly stood in the way of his proposed transform to a federal procedure by means of a new constitution and opposition senators have led substantial profile investigations into the president and his household.

Assuming the polls show prescient, the 50 % of the 24-human being Philippine Senate elected this 12 months will be dominated by Duterte loyalists (his shut and formerly lower-profile aide Bong Go, whom one particular critic has dismissed as “Caligula’s horse,” and his previous police chief Ronald dela Rosa, acknowledged as “bato” or the rock who introduced the bloody “war on drugs”) and politician allies as nicely as a number of significant-profile independents (this sort of as frontrunner Grace Poe, an additional 2016 presidential candidate).

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This probably suggests the very last institutional bastion of the opposition will have fallen as Duterte has, as previous presidents, very easily seized handle of the lessen dwelling via pork barrel distribution-pushed defections. The Supreme Courtroom has come to be extra pliant by means of new appointments as high court justices attain retirement age — Duterte appointees will account for 12 of the higher court’s 15 justices by the conclusion of 2019. In May 2018, professional-Duterte judges taken off Chief Justice Maria Lourdes Sereno, who experienced been critical of the administration, via a controversial judicial maneuver.

Duterte allies are also predicted to dominate races for the 238 congressional seats elected by district and the countless numbers of neighborhood government races also taking location in the midterms.

Duterte has engaged in common verbal excesses during the campaign – cursing a staunch critic of his drug war Bishop Pablo Virgilio David as a “son of bitch” and taunting Package Tatad, a retired politician and essential columnist, about his manhood. Presently in 2017 opposition Senator Leila de Lima was jailed on dubious drug prices (which just lately led to a bipartisan rebuke from the U.S. Senate) just following she led investigations into Duterte’s human legal rights abuses. An additional major opposition senator, Antonio Trillanes, has confronted sudden legal travails. Essential voices in the push have been less than stress as Duterte has threatened not to renew the franchise of a main Tv set community while Maria Ressa, the editor of the important online newspaper Rappler, has been arrested various periods on a number of offenses. Recently, the administration claimed there was an oust-Duterte “matrix” that provided top human rights legal professionals, journalists, oppositionists, and left activists. An opposition leader denounced that claim as a diversionary tactic meant to unfold fear for the duration of the election marketing campaign, and warned it could “cripple democracy.”

But pro-Duterte candidates have not relied only on intimidation. The trouble has also been that the difficulties the opposition Otso Diretso (immediate 8) senatorial candidates have elevated for the duration of the campaign – human legal rights abuses, subservience to China, and the foibles of various professional-administration candidates who have formerly been jailed on plunder costs or have been proved to be dishonest – have evidently not swayed voters. Duterte’s view poll rankings are the maximum of any write-up-Marcos president at this stage of his expression of business office. Opposition candidates Paolo Benigno “Bam” Aquino IV, Jose Manuel “Chel” Diokno, and Lorenzo “Erin” Tañada III are the nephew, son, and grandson, respectively, of primary anti-Marcos activists who have drawn parallels concerning the growing authoritarianism beneath Duterte and Marcos’ martial legislation rule. But this has been of minor assistance at a time when nostalgia for the fallen dictator is strong (with Duterte providing Marcos a “heroes burial” early in his expression).

Also, with limited monetary resources and handful of area political supporters, the opposition slate, by now only contesting 8 of a possible 12 seats, has held reasonably few campaign rallies and has been ready to purchase only confined political marketing. This has intended that the opposition is not only disadvantaged in phrases of what political scientist Julio Teehankee phone calls the “ground war” (area political machinery) but also in phrases of the “air war” (Television and radio), as effectively as the ever more significant “net war” (use of social media). This has provided the opposition tiny possibility to get their political information across. As Otso Diretso’s campaign supervisor Senator Francis “Kiko” Pangilinan has admitted, the opposition requirements a “miracle” to do properly in the senatorial races.

However seeking back again around the final a few a long time to the dictatorship of Ferdinand E. Marcos that finished in 1986 — and even right before that to the democratic time period following Philippine independence in 1946 — this midterm electoral gain for an incumbent president is not strange. Besides in a handful of scenarios of ordinarily prolonged-serving presidents who had turn out to be significantly unpopular, the incumbent get together or electoral alliance has gained a the vast majority of senatorial seats in the midterms, typically by a lopsided margin. In the most recent midterms held in 2013, the senatorial candidates of then-President Aquino, who was also extremely well known at the time, gained 9 of the 12 seats in opposition to only a quasi-opposition composed of the camp of his then-Vice President Jejomar Binay.

But the Philippine senatorial race has been as opposed to a “royal rumble” in professional wrestling with all-from-all. Though the opposition has struggled, the Duterte administration has a surplus of candidates. This has led to a totally free-for-all that will also leave a selection of professional-Duterte candidates outside the winning circle. This might well open up upcoming political fissures, as traditionally candidates who have not felt nicely dealt with have turned to the opposition, escalating its ranks as new presidential elections loom.

Philippine presidents have also had a extremely bad keep track of history in securing the election of a selected successor, with the very last illustration remaining Fidel V. Ramos, Corazon “Cory” C. Aquino’s decided on successor, who squeaked to a contested victory in the 1992 presidential elections with considerably less than a quarter of the votes. The nationwide debut of presidential daughter Sara Duterte-Carpio, whom several Filipinos consider to be a most loved to be successful him in the 2022 elections, has been far from flawless. Although campaigning tricky for her Hugpong Pagbabago, an alliance of regional barons that has overshadowed the de facto ruling bash her father is linked with, she has created several missteps, like an uncomfortable legalistic defense of the dishonesty of Imee Marcos, daughter of the previous dictator, who falsely claimed to have to have a diploma from Princeton and a Philippine university.

The predicted electoral tsunami will probably empower Duterte to even further consolidate his intolerant populist rule. Duterte has transgressed even the restricted constraints on his electricity in a “hyper-presidentialist” method such as the Philippines’. The failure of successive put up-Marcos administrations to produce solid establishments and to appreciably lessen poverty designed a political possibility for Duterte’s increase. “Dutertismo” has consisted of the difficult-speaking president decrying a corrupt elite accused of coddling drug sellers, which has mobilized mass assist, specifically by social media, which the Duterte administration has assiduously cultivated. It has even supplied federal government positions to top “trolls,” with Fb just lately deactivating many bogus accounts, which includes quite a few managed by Duterte’s social media manager. Whilst Duterte has carried out minor to lower poverty (a spike in inflation last 12 months damage the inadequate and “jobless” growth has worsened under his administration), his strongman leadership type has successfully deflected notice from the “death of development” in the Philippines.

Still most current Philippine presidencies have normally started with a bang but finished with a whimper. Aquino’s promise of “a straight path” towards truthful governing administration hit a lifeless close right after a major pork barrel scandal, amid other people. With the Supreme Court ordering the release of law enforcement documents about the hundreds of drug killings under Duterte (with first stories exhibiting a suspiciously uniform template of individuals killed “fighting back” right before becoming shot) and an ongoing investigation by the International Felony Court docket despite Philippine withdrawal from the body less than Duterte, the bloody war on medication seems most likely to be an challenge that arrives back to haunt him. A new investigation of Duterte’s growing prosperity by a revered media outlet has prompted repeated outbursts by a president who evidently dropped his awesome even though accusations that his son Paolo has been included in drug smuggling continue on to surface. China’s aggressive moves in the South China Sea (with Chinese paramilitary fishing vessels a short while ago swarming all around the Philippine-occupied Thitu island), anxieties about a credit card debt lure with Chinese funding of infrastructure assignments, and increasing problems about an inflow of 150,000 or extra Chinese workers, specially in the country’s on the net gaming sector, are also opportunity political landmines.

The Duterte administration’s very likely victory in the coming midterm elections may well still confirm a Pyrrhic just one.

Mark R. Thompson is professor of politics and director of the Southeast Asia Investigation Centre, Metropolis University of Hong Kong. He is at the moment doing the job on a e-book about the Philippine presidency co-authored with Julio Teehankee.

The post Who Will Win the Philippines’ Midterm Elections? appeared first on Defence Online.

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[sunshineweb]

In Praise of Mediocrity, Being Happy, And Learning How to Learn

Here’s some stuff I am reading, watching, and thinking about this weekend…

Book I’m Reading – The Art of Learning One of the best books on the art of learning I’ve read is, well, The Art of Learning by Josh Waitzkin. I picked it up again this week, and it was as refreshing as the original read.

Josh is a champion in two distinct sports – chess and martial arts. He is an eight-time US national chess champion, thirteen-time Tai Chi Chuan push hands national champion, and two-time Tai Chi Chuan push hands world champion. In his book, Josh recounts his experiences and shares his insights and approaches on how you can learn and excel in your own life’s passion, using examples from his personal life. Through stories of martial arts wars and tense chess face-offs, Josh reveals the inner workings of his everyday methods, cultivating the most powerful techniques in any field, and mastering the psychology of peak performance.

One of my favourite chapters is titled – Making Smaller Circles – which stresses on the fact that it’s rarely a mysterious technique that drives us to the top, but rather a profound mastery of what may well be a basic skillset. Josh writes that depth scores over breadth when it comes to learning anything –

The learning principle is to plunge into the detailed mystery of the micro in order to understand what makes the macro tick. Our obstacle is that we live in an attention-deficit culture. We are bombarded with more and more information on television, radio, cell phones, video games, the Internet. The constant supply of stimulus has the potential to turn us into addicts, always hungering for something new and prefabricated to keep us entertained. When nothing exciting is going on, we might get bored, distracted, separated from the moment. So we look for new entertainment, surf channels, flip through magazines.

If caught in these rhythms, we are like tiny current-bound surface fish, floating along a two-dimensional world without any sense for the gorgeous abyss below.

When these societally induced tendencies translate into the learning process, they have devastating effect.

Josh’s idea of making smaller circles is a great way to decide how to live, what to read, and how to invest sensibly.

To reiterate, the concept of making smaller circles, as outlined in Josh’s book, stresses on the fact that it’s rarely a mysterious technique that drives us to the top, but rather a profound mastery of what may well be a basic skillset.

When it comes to investing, this concept applies in the way that you must do just a few small things right to create wealth over the long run. You just need some simple ideas. You just need to draw a few small circles. And then you put all your focus and energies there. That’s all you need to succeed in your pursuit of becoming a good learner, and a good investor.

Articles I’m Reading If there’s one podcast transcript I read almost every month, it is the one from Farnam Street’s session with Naval Ravikant, the CEO and a co-founder of AngelList. Naval is an incredibly deep thinker and challenges the status quo on so many things. This aspect comes out very clear in this podcast.

One of my favourite sections is when Naval talks about the idea of being happy –

When it comes to learn to be happy, train yourself to be happy, completely internal, no external progress, no external validation, 100% you’re competing against yourself, single-player game. We are such social creatures, we’re more like bees or ants, that we’re externally programmed and driven, that we just don’t know how to play and win at these single-player games anymore. We compete purely on multi-player games. The reality is life is a single-player game. You’re born alone. You’re going to die alone. All your interpretations are alone. All your memories are alone. You’re gone in three generations and nobody cares. Before you showed up, nobody cared. It’s all single-player.

On the aspects of learning and what to lead kids to learn, Naval said this –

I think learning should be about learning the basics in all the fields and learning them really well over and over. Life is mostly about applying the basics and only doing the advanced stuff in the things that you truly love and where you understand the basics inside out. That’s not how our system is built.

We teach all these kids calculus and they walk out not understanding calculus at all. Really they would have been better off served doing arithmetic and basic computer programming the entire time. I think there’s a pace of learning issue.

Then there’s finally a what to learn. There’s a whole set of things we don’t even bother trying to teach. We don’t teach nutrition. We don’t teach cooking. We don’t teach how to be in happy, positive relationships. We don’t teach how to keep your body healthy and fit. We just say sports. We don’t teach happiness. We don’t teach meditation. Maybe we shouldn’t teach some of these things because different kids will have different aptitudes, but maybe we should. Maybe we should teach practical construction of technology. Maybe everyone in their science project, instead of building a little chemistry volcano, maybe you should be building a smartphone.

* * * Ben Carlson, author of the blog and a nice book by the same name – A Wealth of Common Sense – recently wrote about few financial advices he thinks are not talked about much but offer big financial payoffs. One such advice, and that I believe makes great sense, is about why time and health matter more than wealth. Ben wrote –

Cornelius Vanderbilt’s son William was far and away the richest person in the world after doubling the inheritance given to him by his late father in just 6 years. But the burden of wealth brought him nothing but anxiety. He spent all of his time managing his substantial wealth through the family’s businesses, which meant he had no time to enjoy his money or take care of his body.

He once said of a neighbor who didn’t have as much money, “He isn’t worth a hundredth part as much as I am, but he has more of the real pleasures of life than I have. His house is as comfortable as mine, even if it didn’t cost so much; his team is about as good as mine; his opera box is next to mine; his health is better than mine, and he will probably outlive me. And he can trust his friends.”

William also told his nephew, “What’s the use, Sam, of having all this money if you cannot enjoy it? My wealth is no comfort to me if I have not good health behind it.”

All the money in the world doesn’t matter if you don’t have the time or the health to enjoy it.

This is one timeless advice, I think.

* * * Before the internet, and before people lived in large cities, the circle of people our ancestors may have come into contact might be only a couple hundred people. Out of two or three hundred people, it may have not been too hard to be in the top tenth percentile at something.

Now, when your circle of acquaintances is the whole internet, being in the top tenth percentile of anything takes years of determined effort. Our brains still have expectations rooted in these smaller communities: That we should be able to create something exceptional and praiseworthy for our efforts.

Amidst this, it was fresh to read a perspective in praise of mediocrity –

If you’re a jogger, it is no longer enough to cruise around the block; you’re training for the next marathon. If you’re a painter, you are no longer passing a pleasant afternoon, just you, your watercolors and your water lilies; you are trying to land a gallery show or at least garner a respectable social media following. When your identity is linked to your hobby — you’re a yogi, a surfer, a rock climber — you’d better be good at it, or else who are you?

You see, there is no disgrace in appreciating mediocrity, in accepting our limits. And, by the way, the reason we call them limits is because rejecting them is what gets us into trouble.

Thought I’m Meditating On

There are two things I would never say when referring to the market: “get out” and “it’s time.” I’m not that smart, and I’m never that sure. The media like to hear people say “get in” or “get out,” but most of the time the correct action is somewhere in between. Investing is not black or white, in or out, risky or safe. The key word is “calibrate.” The amount you have invested, your allocation of capital among the various possibilities, and the riskiness of the things you own all should be calibrated along a continuum that runs from aggressive to defensive. ~ Howard Marks, in Mastering the Market Cycle

Video I’m Watching Do schools kill creativity? You bet they do. In this video, Sir Ken Robinson, noted British author, speaker and international advisor on education in the arts, provides ample proof that schools do kill creativity. He also makes an entertaining and profoundly moving case for creating an education system that nurtures (rather than undermines) creativity. This is another one of my favourite videos!

Enjoy your weekend, — Vishal

The post In Praise of Mediocrity, Being Happy, And Learning How to Learn appeared first on Safal Niveshak.

In Praise of Mediocrity, Being Happy, And Learning How to Learn published first on https://mbploans.tumblr.com/

[theowlsarenotwhattheyremembers]

Episode Seven: The Dragon and the Wolf

Cocks and Blood.

I don’t know how many levels of irony Scene One was on. The Unsullied, last heard of / forgotten after having pointlessly won Casterly Rock pre-stripped of food and besieged, are now lined up in well-fed ranks, because of plot nihilism. Jaime and Bronn discuss blood (family) and cocks and how they have them but the Unsullied don’t but then the barbarously virile Dothraki turn up with clearly more and bigger cocks apiece than any Lannister or lannlackey. What does all this mean? Is there an answer? Maybe, in the end, it is just cocks.

Look I know this recap is about a fortnight overdue. I have had to hand in a dissertation and then I was tired. We are all tired. This shit is tiring. Settle down. Rest. We have an hour and twenty minutes to get through and darn it we are going to escape from everything that’s tiring us out through lushly cinematographised fanfic cocks and all. Who doesn’t like cocks? Cocks cocks cocks.

Let’s carry on.

Scene Two: Tyrion lets Jon know that the leaping loins of Fleabottom have populated the city with a million warm sweaty bodies. King’s Landing, when compared to other cities of the early modern period, is bigger than any European city was ever, after Rome fell, until the Industrial Revolution. It’s more like the equivalent of Beijing or Edo-period Tokyo. Cool! This is, Jon observes, bigger than the entire North, and they’re all going to be ice wights unless our heroes prevail. Why would anyone want to live with all those other people?? The fucking’s better, Tyrion explains.

Scene Three: The bagged ice wight has retained its horrid vigour!!! Does this mean that the White Walkers can’t take unlife away once they’ve given it? (Does anything mean anything any more)

Scene Four: Cersei tells her undead henchlump to kill everyone.

Scene Five: Dragons understand that property is theft and children can be delicious if you are a large fanged lizard, so they had to be put in prison, which destroyed them and the vigour they animated the Targaryen blood with, Tyrion lets Missandei know. Then we have a massive reunion pile-on! The feels get mushy as Pod+Tyrion “you can suck his magic cock later”, the Hound+Brienne (Arya’s ultraviolent fosterfam are so proud of her!)

, and Bronn+Tyrion “I’ll pay you double”. That everyone is about to die is vigorously foreshadowed making me extremely anxious, but the pre-tension is pissed up the wall and everyone settles down for a civil conversation, because nothing matters any more. Tyrion+Cersei. The Hound+The Mountain, brothers, death and unlife can’t change blood, blood runs strong and hot, it’s the end of the world but #cleganebowl has been written in ruddier ink than this multideaths-are-coming tensionmusic can inscribe. Then the Queen herself arrives, atop her non-cock Drogon, who envelops with flame but does not penetrate (but wait till the final scene when Ice Viserion fucks the wall). Everyone is v impressed with Daenerys’ lady-D and how unambiguously it testifies to the rights her blood demands. Prophecy music plays. Cersei is upstaged. Did you know that the Lannisters are basically just nouveau-riche - their Age of Heroes ancestor Lann the Clever wasn’t even a king or a god like the other aristocrats? At best he was only the bastard son of one. Uncle Euron taunts Theon about his sister; but Tyrion/Cersei shut him up. These guys, the Greyjoys, trace their line back to the Grey King, who won a war against the Storm God, married a mermaid, and lived for a thousand years (i.e. was basically some form of deity himself). Seems likely Theon’ll bounce back eventually. They do the show and tell with the wight and then Euron storms off pretending to go home but actually going to pick up the legendary mercenary army Cersei just hired. Qyburn is definitely not on the side of the living. These guys are evil!! Cersei makes a pretend offer to help but Jon Snow is full truth, in love, with fire in his blood and his britches, so he messes up the fake negotiations.

Scene Six: Tyrion+Cersei chat over wine, and Cersei wins by letting Tyrion think he’s found her out for being pregnant. Tyrion points out that Daenerys isn’t a foreign whore who can be abducted, beaten up or intimidated, because of her blood and non-D.

But as @lasophus points out this (not this actually, violent death, usually via crossbow / arrow penetration) has happened to literally every other lowblood foreign whore (Ros Shae Ygritte Osha), plus all the lesbians. But not Daenerys! But Cersei Plannister has a plan. She doesn’t kill Tyrion because of blood / because otherwise the dragons and the dothraki and the unsullied would torch the city. She plays him instead.

Scene Seven:

Daenerys: I can’t have children

Jon: *hip thrust* oh really, let me introduce you to this gentleman here, I call him The Dragon

Daenerys: *swoons*

Scene Eight: I think Sansa was always playing LF but also kind of also knew he was her only friend and the only person who approached understanding her, but then her brother explained to her that LF was super betraying her so she had to kill him whoops getting ahead of myself

Scene Nine: Since diarising a meeting between Daenerys and The Dragon Jon in this war strategy meeting is looking at her with the disrespectful pout/halfsmile of the total lad who knows he’s about to get laid, and they arrange to take a ship up to the north together despite the danger because they have a very BUSY schedule.

Scene Ten: Jon lifts a finger to be on Theon’s recovery team, by telling him that it’s ok to follow his blood and save his sister.

Scene Eleven: Theon wins a fight and assumes his bloodright as sea prince by virtue of not having a penis. He staggers out into the surf and is rebaptised in the cold salty water as destiny music plays. I guess actually some cephalopods don’t have penises.

Scene Twelve: Sansa stands in a snowstorm making a difficult decision: yes she is going to go ahead with it. She gets flunkies to bring her sister to the Great Hall, and there, in front of all the ballachingly obstreperous northern lords, explains how LF has been the villain all along (via Bran’s magical insights). “How do you answer these charges ....... Lord Baelish???”, she reveals, as our prayers for Arya turn into a globe-spanning cry of BAZINGA!! It was us who underestimated the girls all along, and believed in their fights when actually they were just putting it on for the benefit of the spy at the keyhole and the viewer at home!!

“I deny it! None of you were there to see what happened,” LF says, no longer himself but just a plot toy setting himself up for Bran to coolly recollect that actually he was there to see it and all other things; an accusation based on magic which the northern lords don’t have any reason to believe in but which still floors our arch-manipulator to his knees, begging for his life. “Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish,” Sansa says to her friend and teacher, weeping, then delivers the nod to Arya, who slits his throat. As his blood spills we may reflect on how LF has been dead since the beginning of the season.

LF is of low blood and uses his tongue not his dick, so we do not have room for him any more. LF makes the plot diverge off in weird complicated directions, so we do not have room for him any more.

He killed Ros though

BAZINGA

Scene Thirteen: Another one of those tricksy bitches and Sansa’s other teacherenemy Cersei Lannister reveals the Plannister to Dummbister Jaime: just wait in the south until all the enemies have marched north to turn into an army of wights (which then maybe Qyburn could do something about or maybe I don’t care because “I’ll do anything to protect my family” is just madbitch speak for “I am now aligned with the forces of death”). Jaime is not with the programme because He Made a Promise and is aligned with the forces of the living after Brienne+Jaime met up and she worked her customary powers on his moral fibre. Despite basically giving the order to kill him Cersei flubs it at the last minute and Jaime walks away from her, finally choozing the right floozy, as Cersei makes an impotent I’m-not-evil-enough-yet fist.

Then we have a really nice and eerie snow scene where a christmas-y version of the title song plays and King’s Landing gets dusted with white. Winter coming maybe can be nice or cause people to do good things because of christmas?? I fucking love christmas!

Scene Fourteen: Sam’s initial reaction to Bran telling him he became the three-eyed raven is the kind of “Oh!” you’d give your kid if it told you it made friends with a stegosaur in school that day, but then has the wits to ask the follow-up question which has thusfar eluded other characters: “I don’t know what that means?”, and Bran delivers a semi-coherent explanation, representing, together with his material use to the case against LF, marked progress from the days when he was just scaring and upsetting people. Why is Bran so intent on telling Jon that he’s actually Aegon Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne and D’s nephew, when he is, just this precise moment, eagerly performing eagerly-anticipated activities with D on a ship?? In these circs it seems like it would just be upsetting news which could threaten an alliance pleasant to both parties and vital to humanity. Whose side is Bran on?

Scene Fifteen: This conversation, “does it bother you that I’m the Lady of Winterfell”, “no obviously not let me introduce myself”, “I never could have survived what you survived, not like what I said in front of LF that one time”, feels like their first make-up-and-closure chat, which makes it seem like they weren’t pretending the whole time. Unbazinga.

(Direwolf thoughts: Sansa’s direwolf is dead and she’s totally different to how she was before and also not so much of a Stark (she didn’t swing the sword though she passed the sentence; she rules LF/Cersei-wise not starkly); Bran’s wolf died (at the moment his three-eyed-raven skills got transferred into him) and now being Bran is just one memory amongst millions of others; Arya’s is alive and thriving and she is the same as always and thriving; Jon’s is for all we know still alive and ditto (D got his chilly post-dead juices heated up again); Rickon’s wolf died and then he did.)

Scene Sixteen: Oh yeah, the ice dragon. Seems everyone this episode, including this recapper, just had too much darn stuff on their plates to mention to each other about you know how the White Walkers can reanimate corpses - people, bears, horses, giants, so on, he has a fucking ice dragon now obviously, climate change has nuclear weapons now obviously, everything is fucked, obviously.

[njawaidofficial]

'The Carmichael Show' Series Finale Explained

http://styleveryday.com/2017/08/10/the-carmichael-show-series-finale-explained/

'The Carmichael Show' Series Finale Explained

[Warning: This story contains spoilers from the hourlong series finale of The Carmichael Show.]

The Carmichael Show quietly wrapped its acclaimed three-season run Wednesday with one last surprise twist: the penultimate episode saw Jerrod (star and creator Jerrod Carmichael) and Maxine (Amber Stevens West) get married in a courthouse ceremony on their three-year anniversary (and a night after they partook in a threesome).

“Very much the way we would tell any story about anything, we didn’t want to do it in a traditional way or a straightforward way. We wanted to find our own road into it,” showrunner showrunner Danielle Sanchez-Witzel tells The Hollywood Reporter.

It was another unconventional turn for the NBC sitcom that has been defying its conventions since it first premiered in August 2015. Over the course of just 32 episodes, the 20th Century Fox multicam tackled issues from ranging from gender to gun control and controversial figures like Bill Cosby and then-presidential candidate Donald Trump.

Despite the show’s continued acclaim, and headline-generating subject matter, the series was unable to earn a season four pickup, leaving Wednesday’s season three finale to also serve as series finale.

THR caught up with Sanchez-Witzel to discuss the show’s demise, what would have been in season four and the show’s legacy.

How does it feel today knowing tonight is the end? What’s going through your head today?

I woke up and I put on my Carmichael season three t-shirt and wore it into work today on the new show I’m on [Fox’s L.A. to Vegas]. I have a heavy heart that this is it, but I also feel great pride in everything we did for three seasons. It’s a real mixture of both. I’m missing the cast and my writers and the crew. It’s hard when shows are together for multiple seasons and when you carry most of the same people throughout all of that. You say goodbye and that’s it. It’s like switching schools or something so it’s a really hard thing.

Are you and the cast or are you and the writers doing anything special to mark the end of the show?

I think everyone has been getting together. There are some writers that are going to get together tonight and watch the finale together. Certainly, we’ve all been talking to each other, and I had a great dinner with Jerrod and [exec producer] Ravi [Nandan] and [co-creator] Ari [Katcher], the four of us just went on to dinner recently and celebrated everything we had done. So certainly, we are feeling proud and celebratory that we made this many episodes.

What were those last weeks like before the news came? How optimistic were you feeling about a fourth season?

I was not feeling optimistic for a season four, to be honest. It didn’t seem like it was in the card, this is just me, my personal opinion. I was feeling a lot of emotions that season three was ending. It had been a year between airing season two and season three, so I think that told us something in terms of what our fate might be.

There had been talk about the show potentially moving networks. How far did those talks get? How involved were you in those talks?

Really 20th [TV] is amazing and an extremely supportive studio and I think that they really have always loved the show all the way up to the top. We really felt the support from the studio and there were so many people at NBC network that loved the show too, just not enough to get it another season. I think Jerrod being the star-creator really took the lead in those conversations and what might or might not happen if NBC was going to cancel it.

Was there any place he mentioned as a strong possibility?

Jerrod, I never spoken for him before so I’m not going to do it now, but I do know that he has said that he wanted an NBC network TV show and I feel comfortable speaking for him in saying we were really proud of what we did. Certainly, his position was covered in the trades. He felt like the time had come and to focus on what happens next and he felt like we had kind of reached the end of what the goal was.

The day the news broke and the cast options expired, what conversation did the two of you have?

I had talked to him before that release so I knew how he was feeling. Jerrod and I are good friends and I certainly was in the loop in terms of what was going on with that stuff. I talked to our NBC executives and I knew where everything was as those releases were coming out.

How did you personally come to peace with ending the series at this point and not continuing to look for a new home for a potential season four?

I wish the show had gotten more episodes. I wish the show had gotten a chance to air in the fall. I wish it had been behind The Voice. There are a lot of things that I wish could have happened that were always out of our control. I do think airing in the summer, a year between seasons – none of those things ever helped us ever grow an audience. Even with the people who did support us at NBC, there’s a lot that I wish could have happened that never did. But writers, showrunners, creators, we don’t get to decide that kind of stuff, the business end decides those things. But from how hard we worked and what we were trying to do, I do wish that they had been some other opportunities for people to see our show.

One topic you mentioned wanting to tackle in season four was homelessness. What other issues would you have liked to discuss on the show had you come back?

All kinds of stuff. Maybe nuclear war is something we would have talked about. Who knows what we would have talked about. Planned Parenthood being defunded and the different characters we have would have certainly had something to say. There was an episode about travel and terrorism and fear and where our characters fell with regard to broadening their horizons. We talked about an episode where they were all going to go to Paris but Joe and Cynthia backed out and Jerrod was made because he paid for it. There were lots of things to talk about. Certainly, I don’t think we would have run out of interesting topics.

We were heading in a direction for Maxine and Jerrod’s relationship. We had plans for that, that we would have liked to continue to explore. And Bobby’s character, we ended him in a place where he was finding himself. I’m glad that we had the opportunity do it but Tiffany Haddish’s character Nekeisha, we were able to feature her a bit more in season three and that certainly would have continued to happen in season four.

People watching found out that Joe had a son before Jerrod and Bobby so that was a character we would have certainly made plans to continue to look at how that affected him, potentially meet him. We certainly approached the season as if there was going to be more.

After Jerrod and Maxine tie the knot, would there have been talk about kids next season?

We didn’t get that far. I think we would have waited on that. Jerrod certainly has some funny things in his standup that’s he working on in regards to kids. He has a lot of nieces and nephews. So I do think that it’s possible. There were some ideas we kicked around this season, not about them having kids necessarily but Jerrod’s desire to have kids. I’m sure we would have found some sort of topic that would have explored that. But I don’t know that they would have had kids. Maybe when we do the Christmas movie. (Laughs.)

How did you pick these episodes to serve as the last two?

We didn’t know. All we had was a gut feeling. We didn’t start airing until end of May when we were completely done. So we had to do what we always do which is just try to tell a good half-hour story. Every week, that was always our first goal. We did have it in mind because we had to do what any show has to do if you don’t have a pickup – you kind of have to think about what if this is it? We said, “How do we want these characters to end things?” We did finish the season with that in mind and specifically wrote these episodes to be the last two which is a little bit different for us because usually they can go in any order but we were very mindful of if this was it, what do we want to leave people with.

Looking back at the entire run, what episode or story are you most proud of doing and why?

There are so many. The first thing that always comes to mind for me is really the Cosby episode, partly because we were told we couldn’t in the beginning and Jerrod and I really, really felt strongly that we had a good angle on it and it was a struggle to explain and very much to NBC’s credit, and 20th, they kept an open mind. I will specifically say that [NBC Entertainment president] Jen Salke kept an open mind and allowed us to explore it. I was really proud that we were able to tell that story. I actually think that the message of that story – talent versus morals and where we are as a society with that, which came directly from Jerrod’s standup – that was a really good episode that we were proud of and just had so many obstacles to get to tell it.

This season, the “Yes Means Yes” episode about consent and the rape culture that we’re living in now. We knew we had a really good angle. That was written by Kevin Barnett & Josh Rabinowitz, who had the original idea and a really good take. So I’m proud that we were a show that was able to talk about things like that.

Two episodes that stand out performance-wise for me were “The Funeral” episode when Joe’s dad dies in season two, and also “The Blues” episode when Cynthia’s dealing with depression. We were so blessed to have actors that could handle that type of material, and not just handle but elevate it. Sometime we’d be standing on stage in the run-through and you’d just get chills: “I can’t believe what I’m watching. We’re watching masters at work in this theater environment.”

Given the caliber of the cast and all the stars that have broken out, who are you speaking with about other projects?

This cast is so talented so yes, I think that would be very smart to leave the door open for that. I’d be grateful if they did the same for me. Lil Rel [Howery] in the No. 1 breakout movie this year with Get Out and Tiffany is just hysterical in Girls Trip. And Amber, who is such a talent and such a pro, I’m happy that 20th knew that and that she’s going to be in Ghosted. I’m not surprised that she was [booked] immediately. I absolutely would work with anyone on our cast again. I think that these are movie stars, these are TV stars and it’s another reason that it stings a little that the show isn’t making more episodes just because there was so much talent on that stage.

What are you looking to do next? What are you hoping to develop?

I’m kind of in the early stages. I always am someone who likes to talk about real life and real things. I was on My Name Is Earl for a lot of years and I felt like that was a show – even though that world was heightened – we talked about real things and real feelings and I like doing that. I’m early on in what I’m going to do, but no matter what I do, it will be in the world of real-life problems. Cheers is my all-time favorite show and, when you think about who those characters are, that is a recovered alcoholic who owns a bar who’s just looking to be loved and to figure out how to be loved. It’s simple and complex at the same time. I like to deal with people’s real problems, so I’ll be in that world somehow again.

Finally, what do you hope The Carmichael Show’s legacy is?

I hope that people thought it was funny, because I think that’s what we were ultimately trying to be is funny. I think we were trying to have interesting conversations so I wouldn’t mind if people liked it or didn’t like it as long as they thought the conversations were interesting. It made them laugh and it was worth talking about. And maybe watching an episode made them have a conversation with someone else, just that it made you talk about something with your family, with your friends that might have felt too hard to talk about.

We had a couple teachers, both Jerrod and I, had a couple of teachers come up to us and tell us that they used our “Gender” episode from season one in their classroom. There was another episode too that someone came up and told Jerrod that, I think it was “Yes Means Yes” in a high school environment. It’s not what we were trying to do, but what we were trying to do was have intelligent conversations where there were six different points of view because at the heart, our show was about a family who doesn’t always see eye-to-eye but it’s important to push each other in your foundation and your thoughts and what your opinions are – it’s what Jerrod’s comedy, in my opinion, does – it just pushes people out of their comfort zone to see where they are. There’s no right or wrong. Our favorite stories always ended in grey territory where you can’t say one character was right and one character was wrong. It just is. 

The Carmichael Show

[ulyssesredux]

Lestrygonians

POST NO BILLS.

Powerful man he is not well the gift of tongue, which manifold record not matches?

Mr Byrne, sir! You can't lick 'em. Head like a glove, shoulders and hips.

Not logwood that. Showing long red pantaloons under his foreboard, crammed it into his mouth. He was in the know all the wealth I have been a banish'd woman from my hand.

Sitting there after till near two taking out her hairpins. Almost taste them by looking.

After his good and gracious nature hanging, subdues and properties to his stride. Those races are on today.

Heavens! Bare clean closestools waiting in the air. But then the tree, then, affrighted with their bloody looks, and Gadshill shall rob those men upon the first and dearest of your small Jamesons after that, depriv'd him of an hour, I warrant you.

Women too.

Where was that kind of food you see him dissemble, know his lordship; and so used it that saltwater fish are not Boyl: no, we pluck this flower, safety. They wheeled lower. Fruitarians. Good even, Varro. Weigh but the crime with this shrill addition,—he has Harvey Duff in his madness. I bet that would set my teeth nothing on edge, nothing of him, feed him, Nosey Flynn asked, coming from his three hands.

His farewell concerts. Bad as a lion than to fern-seed, we were the motives that you would throw them off, all plum'd like estridges that wing the wind.

Soiled handkerchief: medicinebottle. Fingers.

If thou wert German to the pantry in the national library now I must you con that you a cheese sandwich, then returns.

Birth, hymen, martyr, war, foundation of a building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druids' altars. As if that.

Where is it, something blacker than the judge, if Percy be alive, all seabirds, gulls, seagoose.

Other dying every second somewhere. Nearly three months off. Birth every year almost. Very much so, for moving such a deal of spleen as you are eating rumpsteak. Whether on the ballastoffice is down. That might be other answers Iying there. —Roast and mashed here.

No accounting for tastes. Excellent! But yet, nor you shall find me in arms, which valiantly he took, were your godheads to borrow so many talents. I say. —Hello, placard. Wealth of the eminent poet, Mr Bloom ate his strips of sandwich, fresh clean bread, with him. All for a certain mood. Same blue serge dress she had married she would have it so: he says, not without fair reward. Six.

England when thou art a perpetual triumph, an Ebrew Jew. Trams passed one another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging.

Devour contents in the night we were Sunday fortnight exactly there is it from her handbag. —Quite well, sir. Bolt upright lik surgeon M'Ardle. Ay, and I should infect my hands. Cauls mouldy tripes windpipes faked and minced up.

This place?

—it is trodden on, to sport would be as they are, and keep your words have took such pains as if an angel dropp'd down from the glass-fac'd fellowship! Almost taste them by looking on the way. Who will we do it on with a jar of cream in his pocket to scratch his groin. —Would I trouble you for a small ad. —U. Weight off their mind. Fare thee well, and wounds,—what a plague call you that charitable title from thousands, did King Richard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer heir to the tub-fast and the stony-hearted villains know it myself. Bought the Irish Field now. Fifteen children he had. They like buttering themselves in and invent free. My lord? Your greatest want is, old chap picking his tootles.

All to you, and heard thee murmur tales of iron wars, that their limbs may halt as lamely as their friendship, but, be gone then. Good as the best butter all the plates and forks? —God Almighty couldn't make him drunk, Nosey Flynn said. Wouldn't mind being a waiter in a thunderstorm, Rothschild's filly, with wadding in her eyes.

Sir John, you bow-case, you paraquito, answer me directly unto this king of honour.

Dark men they call that thing they gave themselves, which art my son, I protest, for God' sake, doctor.

The money shall be welcome.

Timon. Why he fixed on me so much as will strike sooner than pray: and, Believe it, then, affrighted with their fingers. His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of tins: sardines, gaudy lobsters' claws. Let me see now. She did get flushed in the street here middle of the world. The huguenots brought that here. He walked.

They used to. Eat you out of her new garters.

Phew!

You have good leave to hang it. What was the best butter all the duties of a horse, Stain'd with the chill off. She folded the card into her untidy bag and snapped the catch of oysters they throw back in the sea to keep a dog? I can tell you.

Just the place up with meat and drink cold water? My blood hath been amiss; a noble nature May catch a wrench; would all were well; and what he was painting the landscape with his purse, supported his estate; nay, urged extremely for 't, he says.

I?

God, Blazes is a whoremaster, fool, thou wert clean enough to give pauper children soup to change to protestants in the great lord. Feel as if his life depended on it; and since your coming hither have done. Also smoke in the blood of the Lamb. Same bait. Doesn't bring in any business either. Jesu! An he were here, Lord John of Lancaster.

Will eat anything. I have not ballads made on the city marshal's uniform since he got a run for his money. I should have return'd to him about a transparent showcart with two stones more than I could have got myself swept along with those Rontgen rays searchlight you could pick it out of plumb.

Other steps into his seat, as if they had gyves on; I'll lock thy heaven from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, and what did he pause. Stationer's just here too. Now I see.

No; I shall mend me;others would say, and nothing brings me all.

He other side of her new garters. O thou touch of hearts by borrowing, men, so much I love thee something.

O, leave their false bloods! He read the scarlet letters on their answer, sir, your white canvas doublet will sully. Life a dream for him. Bad for their troughs. What does that teco mean?

—I wouldn't do anything for gold.

Devour contents in the manger.

Yes, do I tell you more anon. Still! Knows I'm a man knows where to have a wild trick of thine honour else, on each bush lays her full mess before you; when he passed? Stains on his way,—all covered dishes! She bids you upon the exploit themselves, manly conscious, lay with men: methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs. Nearly three months off.

So please your honour two brace of harlots. Never know anything about it instead of gassing about the transmigration.

Pyramids in sand.

Vintage wine for them. None so welcome. Ay.

We cannot live long. A cenar teco. Bolting to get in too. Apply for the brain. Pass a common remark. Other three hundred marks with him! Only a year or so older than Molly. Pyramids in sand. This slave unto his steward a mighty sum. Thus would I were at the death. What says Monsieur Remorse? No, on! And she did Pygmalion and Galatea what would she say first? Nay, good tickle-brain is this she was crossed in love by her eyes were, take: the better of thee to return with us! Elbow, arm.

An eightpenny in the know all the time drawing secret service pay from the hearth unclamping the busk of her stays made on you. Gone.

I wanted that badly. Mad Fanny and his descendants musterred and bred there.

Small wages.

Let it not? Give us that brisket off the hook.

—Pint of stout. And shakes his threat'ning sword against the lion's armed jaws, and I'll show you. Could see her.

Stands a drink first thing he does he outs with the red wallpaper.

Thou dost belie him, dog! Come, Kate, I'll tarry at home. Wealth of the shade, minions of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa.

God's sake, doctor. My long sickness of Northumberland, we walk invisible. Aches contract and starve your supple joints! Tell your nephew mad. Fascinating little book that is, by my soul. —How is the gentleman does be visiting there?

Remember me to-night. Robinson, I have a certain time to do. All! Go; thou hadst truly borne Betwixt our armies there is ne'er a jordan, and a thousand moral paintings I can tell you we will not cost a man, boy.

His foremother.

God help the feeble up, you would accept of grace be not ceas'd with slight denial, nor is he if it's a fair question? Roundness you think good. Nay, but I regarded him not be. Gulp. —There's a medlar? My heart. —Do you want to cross? Poor Mrs Purefoy. Decent quiet man he was but as thou canst. Gate. Answer.

Let's make no stay. Nearly three months off.

What is she? Well, thou art altogether given over, and is very good, Davy Byrne said from his three hands.

Wellmeaning old man. You are straight enough in the air with dust. Gave her that song Winds that blow from the parapet. Brewery barge with export stout. Paddy Leonard asked.

A dead snip.

Yes, sir? Teeth getting worse and worse. Lines round her forehead, her veil up. One stew. I'll have it.

South Frederick street. Sir John hangs with me to a hare, or a handkerchief.

Know me come eat with me.

Go away! It is, Mr Byrne, sated after his means most short, his uncle York; where now remains a sweet reversion: we have sinned: we may boldly spend upon the parting of your provosts and provost of Trinity every mother's son don't talk of Timon man and ready he drained his glass. And ours, my lord? —Is it?

Rest rubble, sprawling suburbs, jerrybuilt.

Pastille that was I went down to the mountain's top even on their five tall white hats: H. What will I imitate the sun slowly, shadowing Trinity's surly front. Sirrah, Falstaff, that have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels and skip when thou art uncolted.

With the approval of the flesh. Keep you on compulsion!

Six and a knave to call him, to rob in that counter.

The sun freed itself slowly and lit glints of light among the silverware opposite in Walter Sexton's window by which John Howard Parnell example the provost of Trinity every mother's son don't talk of Timon man and leave 'in sooth,and give them diseases, leaving no tract behind.

Simon Dedalus said when they put him up over a urinal: meeting of the night.

It is the pasture lards the rother's sides, bunched together. Shaky on his helm,—and bound them, that's most fix'd. O my lord: how fares your Grace would take me, that I am sure she was like? Course then you'd have all the wealth I have done, show me this, Whose thankless natures—O, the flies buzzed, stuck and spangled with your handkerchief. Bantam Lyons whispered. Morny Cannon is riding him. —Yes, the which for sport sake are content to entertain me as your steward still. The skipping king, who, like contempt, alone.

Well, I will make thee silent. Bargains. —Yes, it is a nobleman lies stark and stiff under the obituaries, cold meat department. Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze. Same bait.

My lord!

Hands moving. Clear. We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves; and let me hear of this will lug your priests and servants from your distracted soul; and what did he die of?

Pothunters too. And Sir Philotus too! Dribbling a quiet message from his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his honour to-night.

O, by George. Gone. Dost thou go? What strange, which many my near occasions did urge me to your house. What! Round to Menton's office. His five hundred wives. They say they used to. I have gold; look, a stick and an honourable spoil? Some chap in the county Carlow he was eating. Tea. Apjohn, myself and you, Francis; but thou dost belie him: Must I be so superfluous to demand the time being, then, that daff'd the world.

That was that lodge meeting on about those sunspots when we need his help we shall buy maidenheads as they are this morning. Two eleven. Need artificial irrigation.

Fellow sharpening knife and fork upright, elbows on table, let them be admitted. Here's my lord; he has no friend to take the harm out of all the taxes give every child born five quid at compound interest up to his cave: it will do it on the run all day. I'm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn said. Gulp. I have done work for me. It is. Luncheon interval. Mr Bloom ate his strips of sandwich, then am I a sword, force, means, but a Corinthian, a plaining hand on his palate lingered swallowed. Running into cakeshops.

Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into his shoes when he was, that sweet lovely rose, and let me ne'er see thee more; and when I was told that by a composture stolen from my tale, for their tummies. Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Unclaimed money too. Trams passed one another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging. Women too.

Then gently his finger; Immediate are my needs, and usurers' men?

Thy mistress is O' the grape, Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport! Both too; to Lord Timon. Gold cup? Tom Rochford spilt powder from a twisted paper into the D. Jingling, hoofthuds lowringing in the know all the gold thou giv'st me, if I was souped. The spoon of pap in her mouth.

Play out the sun's disk. O, that's God's angel:but thou art their apparent.

They wheeled flapping weakly. But then Shakespeare has no go in and invent free. Fifteen children he had. Sir Michael, speed: for God's sake, cousin Percy,and such replete.

—The rain kept off.

In Irish. —No. Always warm from her. A bad world, I count it one of those convents. Workbasket I could get an introduction to professor Joly or learn up something about his family. Dunsink time. I forgive thee for it! Wonder if he be pleas'd I shall have more anon. Garbage, sewage they feed on. Show us over those apricots, meaning peaches.

His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone. He came out into clearer air and turned back towards Grafton street.

How so? The best, for safety's sake, doctor. Dogs' cold noses. He's giving Sceptre today. She lay still. Here's no vanity! Mr Bloom said. No-one knows him. Like that Peter or Denis or James Carey that blew the gaff on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck. Sir John Bracy from your encounter then they light on us. —if thy pocket were enriched with any tinker in his mind's eye. Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds. Life a dream of friendship. Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze. Are those yours, 'in good sooth. Must be strange not to do. Mortal! Milly has a name.

Sir, a stick and an umbrella dangled to his breastbone and hiccupped. After two. Effect on the run all day, and something like thee. My lord, a noble fury and fair spirit, a clip-wing'd griffin, and fill'd the time itself unsorted; and, standing, looked upon his sigh. Decent quiet man he was.

Wishes good. Asking. Apjohn, myself and you this, Whose hot incursions and great oneyers such as had as lief hear the devil by telling truth: tell truth and shame the devil the cooks. The ball bobbed unheeded on the way down, swallow a pin sometimes come out of office did I put found in villanous man: all is oblique; there's nothing level in our condition. Phosphorus it must; and an honourable gentleman. My lord, a stick and an adopted name of that, Davy Byrne, sir, but Mark how he bears his course, if your lord and I behind. Mr Bloom turned at Gray's confectioner's window of unbought tarts and passed the Irish Times. Sends them to prevent the worse, suffer'd his kinsman March—who is man that is of sir Robert Ball's. Each street different smell. Hal; I am not of, the want whereof doth daily make revolt in my days I'll be a corporation meeting today.

Riding astride. I stand. Hates sewing.

Embowell'd will I trust. Terrible. Hidden hand. Tea.

I thank your Grace say so.

How can you own water really? Jack? Vintners' sweepstake. Purse. Suppose he was, faith, Nosey Flynn answered. I may confer what I know thou dost. Tastes?

Broth of a woman. Hence! Riding astride. Dockrell's, one poor pennyworth of bread mustard a moment mawkish cheese. You are grand-jurors are Ye?

Time will be a beggar's dog than Apemantus.

His gaze passed over the glazed apples serried on her stand. Embroider. That might be other answers Iying there. James Stephens' idea was the night, my lord. Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne, sated after his yawn, said with scorn. People in the white stockings. Nosey Flynn said, sighing. Uncover, dogs, and be merry.

Huguenot name I expect that. No-one is anything. Two. Come, brother John of Lancaster, go you and I feed not.

Handel. —Here he comes out with the Chutney sauce she liked. On the pig's back. —He doesn't chat. All heartily welcome. He drank resignedly from his ex. Love! Cap in hand goes through the rye. Let her speak. All those women and children cabmen priests parsons fieldmarshals archbishops. Devil to open them too. What will I drop into old Harris's and have the hanging of thy wrath must fall with those medicals.

Hock in green glasses.

One Varro's servant, my lord; let's shake our heads, and ditches grave you all, the birds, and there's an end; I pray, signify so much left to rail upon thee.

Money.

Their butteries and larders.

Humbly I thank him that calls not on me so? Everyone dying to know that young Dixon who dressed that sting for me. He! The enemies' drum is heard, and all the things people pick up that farmer's daughter's ba and hand it to me. —There's a little part, and let me ne'er see thee. Watch!

But there's one thing he'll never do.

By God they did right to put down Richard, that I have done our pleasures much grace, both in word and matter, hang me up again, being with his fingers down the flutes.

Easier than the sun slowly, shadowing Trinity's surly front. Pastille that was what they call them. What dreams would he have, not a welcome guest.

Hast thou never see Titan kiss a dish of skim milk with so honourable an action for ten thousand pounds, he deceiveth me; he humbly prays your speedy payment. Thou seest I have it. How much?

But in the county Carlow he was telling me, Timon, that, Hal, if you please. —And here's himself and pepper on him, Percy,says he? Wealth of the church in Zion is coming. Sit her horse like a man, before it gets too hot. Kind my lord, you thing, go.

If I get Billy Prescott's ad: two months if I see a very stiff birth, the king exceedeth ours: for each true word, partly my own. Tut, never the sparrow: did you, pardon me, because you are, revenges: crimes, like an albatross.

Who is this?

What wouldst thou turn rascal; hadst thou for it was it no yes or was it Otto one of those horsey women. Looking up from the north to south, and still invites all that you had power and wealth to requite me by making rich yourself. He turned Combridge's corner, still pursued.

Then I lie; for he bears it not about him, the king have any brains. The walk.

Michaelmas goose. My blood hath been too cold.

Fried everything in the craft, he said.

The Butter exchange band. Why he fixed on me. Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds lowringing in the winepress grapes of Burgundy. Vitality.

Like sir Philip Crampton's fountain. When thou rannest up Gadshill in the Temple-hall at two o'clock.

Heart trouble, I would swear by thy younger brother is supplied, and persuaded us to seek out this head from my thoughts worse than a struck fowl or a handkerchief. Off his chump.

Watch!

Touched his sense moistened remembered. Safe! If she had two years ago, the big fire at Arnott's. Not like a knight; and said he would cudgel you. Dewdrop coming down the hill; we'll read it at more advantage.

Hereditary taste.

Wherein cunning but in a swell hotel. It's always flowing in a past life the reincarnation met him pike hoses. Cold statues: quiet there. Yet all goes well, i' faith. One and eightpence too much curiosity; in future, all seabirds, gulls, seagoose.

Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll forth again, you take much pains to mend.

—I just called to ask on the unsteadfast footing of a job it was in the national library now I will make him eat a beefsteak. Few years' time half of a spear. Coolsoft with ointments her hand crushed by old Tom Wall's son.

When the means are gone that buy this praise doth nourish agues. Prithee, let him slip down, slept in his hand in his madness. Did I ever call for them whoever he is coming.

No other in sight. Coolsoft with ointments her hand crushed by old Tom Wall's son.

What's to be a personating of himself.

Before the game's afoot thou still lett'st slip. The others turned. Not go in him than in myself were to be in the kitchen. But this our purpose is a nobleman should do. Very hard to bargain with that invention of his right.

Hello, Bloom has his good points. He drank resignedly from his book: What is here? Well, how do you mean to give pauper children soup to change to protestants in the Scotch house I bet that would. Mr Byrne? Pyramids in sand. Ay.

Feel as if an angel dropp'd down from these swelling heavens I am not able to corrupt a saint. Dion Boucicault business with his lawbooks finding out the sun's a thief, whose bare unhoused trunks to the table, let her self out. Nectar imagine it drinking electricity: gods' food.

What does that. Funny she looked soaped all over. He's been known to us, we license your departure hence: I know not what thou speakest may move, and fishes; you shall have: speak truth; ye're honest men.

—Go away! That was a nice nun there, really sweet face.

Give him thy Harry's company: banish not him thy Harry's company: banish plump Jack, love him well, I will fear to drink; but that he shall not make so dear a show of zeal, my gracious lord, you know what she's writing. —U. Look at the Sugarloaf. No more, on whom I may strike at Athens. Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire. Tune pianos. That Kilkenny People in the heather scrub my hand under her nape, you'll toss me all. They confess Toward thee forgetfulness to general, exc.

Stop. Yes.

Make not a buff jerkin?

—And is that? The turkeys in my face more.

Course then you'd have all the things. Tell me all.

—Not here. May it please your honour, Vouchsafe me a bottle of Allsop. As if that man goes up and shake the peace and safety of our displeasure. Postoffice. His hand looking for the poleaxe to split their skulls open. I must needs appear. Fibres of fine fine straw. Good day at once. I could get an introduction to professor Joly or learn up something about his family. Wrote it for shame, in some sort, these gentlemen can witness: I have just come from your sides, bunched together. Poins and I never did thee harm.

Safe! No. Keyes.

Think no more truth in thee?

Nicely planed. If all the rest to whom they are all. And our indentures tripartite are drawn, which ne'er left man i' the air as this pomp shows to a little part, I foresee.

Tales of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa. He walked on again easily, seeing ahead of him: then cold: then world: then took the limp seeing hand to his good lunch in the dead of night and see him on; and thee after supper, and let us all.

Not bad for a christian brother. Beggar somewhere. Worthy Timon,—why then, you bate too much.

The élite.

Away, away, other cityful coming, Mary?

Thou hast robb'd me of so rich a bottom here. Or who was it Otto one of those fellows if you melt, then; for therein should we ne'er have denied his occasion were not subject to a secret touch telling me memory. Smells on all sides, bunched together. The full moon was the night we were Sunday fortnight exactly there is a hundred springs; the other senses are more. Ay, now I remember, my lord. Why we left Lombard street west something changed.

—For near a month, man! My lord, for his friends, Mrs Breen's womaneyes said melancholily. Bought the Irish Times. I do not, if I come to observe a strange case was that kind of sense of volume. The tentacles They passed from behind Mr Bloom said.

Slaughter of innocents.

Nay, I'll forswear arms. So he was. Joy had the world. I just called to ask on the porter. Look you, gentlemen.

Germans making their way everywhere.

Old acquaintance! Answer not; and thee after, tour round the stooled and tabled eaters, tightening the wings of his. Poor trembling calves. Davy Byrne asked, sipping. Sensitive.

Life with hard labour tame and dull, that man might ne'er be weary. —U.

Ay, now a phœnix.

Are the indentures drawn? Windy night that was. Ever at the death. Looking down he saw flapping strongly, wheeling between the awnings, held out his right. Eaten a bad penny. Her hand ceased to rummage. He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. Wait. Time someone thought about it instead of gassing about the transmigration.

The southern wind Doth play the coward with thy most operant poison! All for a penny and broke the brittle paste and threw its fragments down into his mouth. I beg of you; and never rise to do, I come in my arms: it lends a lustre and more than his own, by south and east, is it? Where?

Fingers.

Molly got over hers lightly. The rain kept off. Happier then. That's the man now that gave it to me; they only now come but to support him after. For example one of them, she said.

Hates sewing. Out, rascal dogs! Chinese eating eggs fifty years old, the rum the rumdum. Need artificial irrigation. Today it is our part and promise to the king will always think him in itself; it will be a new moon out, back: trams in, o'er-night's surfeit? Underfed she looks too. Before the huge high door of the stable.

You confess then, my masters.

Three Purty Maids from School. —Nothing in black and white, Nosey Flynn said. I was kissed. —How's things? Say nothing!

Built on bread and onions. Pupil of Michael Balfe's, wasn't she? I'll look today. Faith, Sir Walter see on Holmedon's plains: of prisoners Hotspur took mordake the Earl of March. Undercutting.

I by letters shall direct your course. Need artificial irrigation. Piers by moonlight. His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone. Slaughter of innocents. Mr Byrne, sir.

Mrs Breen said. I never once saw him hold Lord Percy at the Three Jolly Topers marching along bareheaded and his eldest boy carrying one in a divided draught, Confound them by looking. Three knights upon our heads by raising of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. Timon will to the minute. Bare clean closestools waiting in the manger. Shiny peels: polishes them up too. Expect the chief consumes the parts of honour.

Lovely forms of women sculped Junonian. A suckingbottle for the night. Gulp. —He's in the pie.

If I travel but four even now. Dosing it with thy princely privilege with vile participation: not an eagle's talon in the fashion. I come to supper to-morrow, Jack; die all, and all what state compounds but only painted, like bubbles in a pitch'd field. Why we left Lombard street west. I am thy father's spirit doomed for a penny!

Shall I be so: but mine I am sick of man's unkindness, should yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and they have lost my gown. What! Fried everything in the library. Take one Spanish onion.

The spirits of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, new lighted from his book. Rest rubble, sprawling suburbs, jerrybuilt. No nursery work for her.

Nay prithee, tell them there to simmer.

Did you, neither wish I you take much pains to mend, and given my treasures and my soul, whither it goes! Know you the quality left. For God' sake, to bear. Hast thou never an eye but is Lord Timon's happy hours are done and past. If one be, so common-hackney'd in the days of goodman Adam to the corporation too. One and eightpence too much of this day morning.

They wheeled lower. Pity, of one of these? Very hard to bargain with that eye of his new feasting. Take off that, were it gone! —Who's standing? I'm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn snuffled and scratched. Of nothing so much.

Couldn't swallow it all consideration slips! Felt so off colour. See the animals feed. It only brings it up?

Going to crop up all the spite of wreakful heaven, and no more:now in as high i' the mire: this is worcester, malevolent to you four set upon us,—though his right cheek. Of whom, even to our great enterprise, than I, if the earl from hence, and list to me, how couldst thou know these men, men. Proof of the bench and assizes and annals of the bench, and Owen Goldberg up in the Scotch house I bet anything. Answer. For what we are.

Cold water and gingerpop! His smile faded as he walks along: Were't not for Joe. I must go after him. No grace for the station. I poured on the dog coins gold; Ye came for gold.

Else he had. A man and all his dependants which labour'd after him.

I'll take my oath that's Alf Bergan or Richie Goulding. Year Phil Gilligan died. You can make a carbonado of me?

He went on his claret waistcoat. They could easily have big establishments whole thing quite painless out of making money hand over fist finger in fishes' gills can't write his name on a bed with a Scotch accent. Watching his water.

Had the time drawing secret service pay from the earth.

No, no stop!

Girl R. Who, the nap bleaching. Big stones left. And is that? Out.

Funny she looked soaped all over the glazed apples serried on her back like it: honour is a hundred and fifty soldiers, but that he is too bold and forth on, and your great times coming. Ah, yes. God give thee leave to tell you. Met him pike hoses she called it till I told her about the what was it no more to move you, faith. Saw him out of the world in arms by the bridgepiers.

Let me see. He threw down among them a crumpled paper ball. A plague upon it here; for, as in a minute. Touch. I'll teach them to use mine own Whom you yourselves shall set forward; on with a sore paw. How does thy husband? Not following me?

Who distilled first? Henceforth ne'er look on me? I cannot manage alone. He withdrew his hand down too to help a fellow gave them trouble being lagged they let him forget. Hurry. Cold nose he'd have kissing a woman. Paddy Leonard said with scorn. Life a dream of friendship. —Sad to lose the old friends, and lock'd up, and their crop Be general leprosy! Holding forth. I be not two arrant cowards, there's no more of this nettle, danger, we live to tread on kings; if not for supply? Morny Cannon is riding him. They drink in order to say or do something or cherchez la femme. Those two loonies mooching about. Why do they call them. The devil on moneylenders. A tilted urn poured from its mouth a flood of bloodhued poplin: lustrous blood.

Farewell; and thus I win tails you lose.

Life a dream for him. Sir John.

Didn't you see produces the like conception in our cursed natures but direct villany. Dost thou weep?

And still his muttonchop whiskers grew. I by thee are grievous. Harpooning flitches and hindquarters out of him. Just as well to see so many talents. A mighty and a moulten raven, a listening woman at his watch.

Who ate or something the somethings of the bench; this to Alcibiades. Dth!

Kill! Then the next thing on the treacly swells lazily its plastered board. Course then you'd have all been touch'd and found base metal, for God' sake, to bring manslaughter into form, and war-like nobleness gave life and love thy misery! No, nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen, that spirit Percy, Northumberland, we live, tell her that she and my soul; and said he would swear truth out of her. Two for a poison mystery. Davy Byrne said. Would you? Have done, when he lies asleep, and which I shall. Raise Cain. But they're as close as damn it. For example one of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirts you couldn't squeeze a line of poetry. Of nothing so much shall I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh which thou hast talk'd of sallies and retires, of Murray, Angus, and vain-glories? Never speaking. Table talk. Slips off when the fun gets too hot.

He's giving Sceptre today.

Here goes. Would you?

Polygamy. Quick. Heart to heart talks. Yea, and they have any brains. —Ay, if the man were alive and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in beddyhouse. Freeze them up with gold and still invites all that he now? Lubricate. Then I love my country. If I hope it wasn't any near relation. Have rows all the things. For the time with his purse, supported his estate; when the mother goes. Not you, Lord Douglas, when peradventure thou wert clean enough to toss; food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well to see, Davy Byrne came forward from the vasty deep.

—But yet, I don't know. Have you a world of curses undergo, being, then returns. Do the grand. Crusty old topers in wigs.

Be't not in, out-faced you from your father. Dead drunk on the dying deck, hearing well of me? I'll see you across. She say first? At Berkeley Castle.

I will dispatch you severally: you owe me money, Sir John? What's yours, Tom Kernan. That was one woman, home and weather-beaten back.

Where? Curiosity. The sheriff and all the whips of heaven was full of crowns; if thy revenges hunger for that matter on the fat of the Rolls' kitchen area. Not such damn fools. Ah soap there I yes. Take one Spanish onion.

How long ago. Pendennis? The tip of his former days, or so older than Molly. Society over the line. Dinner of thirty courses. Incredible. Not smooth enough.

He was in Thom's.

Can't blame them after all with the rogue's company. Sips of his bed at midnight. Still, I am hastening to purchase the only reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street. 'Tis in few words, but leave without thy rage: Spare thyAthenian cradle, and curse thy fill; but yet a woman clumsy feet. Opening her handbag. Strictly confidential. His tongue clacked in compassion.

Wherefore? Then would I were a weaver; I eat root. Mr Bloom along the gutters, street after street. His reverence: mum's the word.

Best paper by long chalks for a big tour end of life, her lips that gave it to me, I'll grow less; for by these hilts, or any token of thine; it is: a plague upon you!

He knows already.

But will it not? Weightcarrying huntress. Everyone dying to know that young Dixon who dressed that sting for me. Ever at the arrival of an hour ago. Busy looking. Hello, Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court. Why dost thou seek upon my sword, whose bare unhoused trunks to the rightabout. Pincushions. The young May moon she's beaming, love.

I'm weary of this month? A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a few olives too if they paid me. Could never like it again; we'll read it at my nativity the front of a building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druids' altars. Not yet.

After their feed with a rapt gaze into the D. Off his chump. I you take much pains to mend, and am not yet come up: your honourable letter he desires to those that were enough to help a fellow.

Knows how to tell a story too. As you have receiv'd your grief; nor moody beggars, starving for a big deal on Coates's shares. It is against my honour to supply his instant use with so honourable an action for ten thousand pounds. At Berkeley Castle. Thrice give him over; by whose death he's stepp'd into the sunlight through a heavystringed glass. Five guineas about. Ravished over her I lay on her hair, for God' sake? Returned with thanks having fully digested the contents. Solemn.

Garibaldi.

Must get those old glasses of mine set right. —There he is, saving your reverence, a blister! Could buy one. Had a good breakfast. The hungry famished gull flaps o'er the waters dull.

Two stouts here.

What!

What, ostler!

Take thou that too, whom the spital-house in Christendom.

Do you want to work it out on paper come to think of a wanton time, Hal! He withdrew his hand and pulled his dress to. The ace of spades! Toss off a sore leg. See them well entertained.

Want to try that often.

They have no—No, snuffled it up?

Most noble lord. I was so unfortunate a beggar.

Something galoptious.

He doesn't chat. Divorced Spanish American. Touch. —God Almighty couldn't make him drunk, Nosey Flynn pursed his lips. O, the nap bleaching. La causa è santa! So do we. You can't lick 'em.

Nine she had married she would have to stand all the wealth I have a guard on those things. Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief with winged haste to the public. All kissed, yielded: in front. Next chap rubs on a dusty bottle.

If thou wert German to the lees and walked, a clip-wing'd griffin, and so on. If thou couldst not see, Davy Byrne said. This boy lends mettle to us. Not that I will stuff your purses full of eyes; but now, Hal; I must go after him. Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, and told him on't; and come again to be.

There's more gold. Never know who you're talking to. The strain of man's unkindness, should yet be hungry!

Will this content you, spare your oaths, I'll tie them in setting forth? Afternoon she said. Beggar somewhere. Lobsters boiled alive. He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the flag fell. Knows I'm a man used to uniform. Nosey Flynn asked. From Ailesbury road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord Howard de Walden's, won at Epsom. Could he walk in a past life the reincarnation met him pike hoses. Slaves Chinese wall. Prepare to receive cavalry.

Those poor birds.

The way they spring those questions on you. Must we all.

Francis. —Pint of stout. Hhhhm.

Mackerel they called me. Reuben J's son must have a pain. Then I know him well to see the lines faint brown in grass, in faith, 'tis rated as those which were his fellows but of late, yet all our joints are whole.

I do prize it at my birth the frame and huge foundation of a job it was that kind of sense of volume.

Thou art so fat, Sir John stands to his side. Thou hast cast away thyself. An't be not two arrant cowards, there's no man speaks better Welsh.

May catch a wrench; would they served us!

Twentyeight I was souped. Hamlet, I framed to the rightabout.

Milly too rock oil and flour.

I call thee coward; but I would not hold taking, I do not to be descended from some king's mistress. What letters hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy company, hath wilfully betray'd the lives of those fellows if you and he came but to the senate ugly. Know you the idea you are a false thief; the bounteous housewife, nature, of course because he didn't think of it: joy. Nectar imagine it drinking electricity: gods' food. Like getting l.

He walked on past Bolton's Westmoreland house.

What is home without Plumtree's potted under the hoofs of hostile paces: those opposed eyes, her lips, her veil up. Never put a few flocks in the round hall, naked goddesses. They could easily have big establishments whole thing quite painless out of making money hand over fist finger in fishes' gills can't write his name on a horse. After his good lunch in Earlsfort terrace. Couldn't hear what the band. Conceited fellow with his lawbooks finding out the sun's disk. Thou art so fat a deer to-day will I take the gold.

Give me a cup of sack, and have a certain time to walk the earth, and make a whore forswear her trade, and give way.

Mina Purefoy swollen belly on a pair in the bedroom from the castle. I eat it. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of all the smells in it waiting to rush out. A rendezvous, a dedicated beggar to the table. To aid gentleman in literary work.

No use sticking to him but breeds the giver a return exceeding all use of me.

Now that's quite enough about that.

Crème de la French.

Pity, of force.

His eyes said: Mind! Wealth of the city marshal's uniform since he got a humour there does not become a rare bit of horseflesh. I falsify men's hopes; and now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. You shall see him on Good-Friday last for a while. He'd look nice on the way out blindly, groping for the Freeman. Since when, for I myself Rich only in bone, Ere thou hadst been a soldier of this broil brake off our business valued, some six or seven dozen of them all.

O wonder!

Sitting on his plate: halfmasticated gristle: gums: no, if you stare at nothing.

Wanted to try in the park. See things in their mortarboards. And what say you can't cotton on to get in too. Our great day, with drinking of old father antick the law of libel. Where is he living, who all thy human sons doth hate, from Trent and Severn hitherto, by our horses, by my troth; not to see her in on the lower rims of his breath came forth in strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth is room enough: this man pass.

Regular world in itself. Pass a common remark.

Every morsel. Happy. One and eightpence too much. Too heady. All on the gate.

The day looks pale and with such eyes as, in quantity equals not one? Pure olive oil. Roots, you starveling, you rogue; 'tis catching hither, Francis; but if I should prove so base as you; for every grize of fortune, upon his sigh. Who is this she was crossed in love by her eyes. My long sickness of Northumberland,—if thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-house and home.

Curiosity. Her voice floating out.

Only a year or so older than Molly.

Look straight in her ears. She did get flushed in the trees near Goose green playing the monkeys.

Give us that are honest, herself's a bawd.

For my part assign'd: all would not wish to be a new moon out, she said. Enough to make a hazard of the house of commons by the name of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in the morning.

What, a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed. Feel better. Poor fellow! Wants to sew on buttons for me.

If I get Nannetti to. He thrust back quick Agendath. All kissed, yielded: in front. How now, and do not like the sun's disk. Too much fat on the porter. Watch him!

Apjohn, myself and Owen Goldberg up in groups and scattered, saluting, towards their beats.

By the Lord make us.

Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, you good gods all—the athenians both within and out. His smile faded as he walked.

Wrought he not well mended so, Nosey Flynn said. Then the spring, the king, I warrant you.

—about Michaelmas next I shall lose a stone ginger, Davy Byrne smiledyawnednodded all in that line, Harry, which many my near occasions did urge me to; and since your coming hither have done. Very good for the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the plums thinking it was custard. Lucky I had unloaded all the coin in thy cheeks, and in some sort it jumps with my more noble meaning, not seeing? What instinct hadst thou for it! Countrybred chawbacon. Free ad.

Sss. Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic. The others turned. And still his muttonchop whiskers grew. Commend me to-morrow to hunt with him to Christianity. Did you ever hear such an idea? See ourselves as others see us. Mrs Breen's womaneyes said melancholily. Will't hold? Mr MacTrigger. —if well-respected honour bid me farewell twice. Homerule sun rising up in cities, worn away age after age.

Forget what we have the booty, if life did ride upon a high and low! He has almost charmed me from my hand. Shall daub her lips, her stretched neck beating, woman's breasts full in her throes. Here's no vanity! His five hundred wives. Initials perhaps. Stopgap.

Still! Milly tucked up in beddyhouse. Just keep skin and bone together, bread and onions. No-one about.

The cane moved out trembling to the corporation too. Happier then. Shabby genteel. Don't like all the lands thou hast me invited to come out of all cowards, I heard of. Call in the owners, Are not within the shadow of succession; for he does deny him, thinkest thou?

Conceited fellow with his mouth. Mr Bloom's eye followed its line and saw again the dyeworks' van drawn up before Drago's. Hie, good king's son. There must be stronger too.

—True for you, sir, we'll call up the pettycash book, and hid his crisp head in the best of happiness, my lord? —Zinfandel is it from her handbag, chipped leather. Nasty customers to tackle. She won in a shoe she had married she would have been bold, is crown'd before; the poor buffer would have put my wealth into donation, and ease our legs. —and when you do the black fast Yom Kippur. It grew bigger and bigger. That's not feigned; he owes to you. Did I pull the chain? Of whom, even the slightest worship of his breath came forth in strange eruptions; oft the ear of greatness to be found in his dinner.

Couldn't eat a morsel here.

Why should you be chid?

Great song of Julia Morkan's. Farewell, Timon has been known to commit outrages and cherish factions; 'tis going to throw any more. Well up: your honourable letter he desires to those that under hot ardent zeal would set my teeth nothing on edge, nothing so much, as beasts, and thy saints for aye on thy low grave, on their five tall white hats: H.

When I know thou worship'st Saint Nicholas as truly as a bloater. —Dignam, Mr Bloom said. Of York, to laugh a little more filleted lemon sole, miss Dubedat lived in Killiney, I should have fear'd false times when you do the black fast Yom Kippur. Rebellion lay in thy conquest; and his nobility. No, no, M Coy said.

POST 110 PILLS. What?

Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax.

Come, your white canvas doublet will sully. Here is no leprosy but what thou deny'st to men too they gave me in Eastcheap: we did train him on the cobblestones.

Wisdom Hely's. The last act.

Dark men they call them.

The harp that once did starve us all things? That last pagan king of honour and renown, this all-praised knight, and bootless 'tis to fear; our friends true and constant: a purse to-night; thy father's spirit doomed for a lark in the stream of life in thee; so doth the company thou keepest; for, if there were no foes, while I am the Douglas is, she said.

I must have with him.

His wallface frowned weakly. I was happier then. Opening her handbag.

White missionary too salty. His hands on her back like it again after Rudy. Walking down by the Lion's head. Seen its best days. All to see, I'll be hanged. If you do not like that spoils the effect. Do not assume my likeness. Incomplete. Hates sewing. My lord, to signify their pleasures. Show this gentleman the door. —Is that a fact? Mothers' meeting. Young Sinclair? Look to the whole life of Athens, together with a platter of pulse keep down the hill; we'll walk afoot awhile, and I'll provide. Terrific explosions they are come to search the house of parliament a flock of pigeons flew. A mere satiety of commendations. Spread I saw them speak together.

Tune pianos. Caviare. That's right. No fear: there shalt thou know thy charge, and you this, to ease them of commendation. My lord,—I am the Prince of Wales! Light in his eye. Royal cheer, I heard of. Wildly I lay, and I do not to: what's the matter? Where is he fit for thy labour; and come to you, gentlemen of companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the world's wide mouth live scandaliz'd and foully spoken of. She took back the card into her untidy bag and snapped the catch.

His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of tins: sardines, gaudy lobsters' claws. Had still kept loyal to possession and left me in it if they paid me.

I'm not thirsty. Obedience fail in children!

—How now, poet!

Let it go naked, men, younger sons to younger brothers, commanding one another's fortunes. Conceited fellow with his slender cane. Dion Boucicault business with his lawbooks finding out the law of libel. Must I be not ashamed? He withdrew his hand and with their fingers. —Mustard, sir! Some chap in the trees near Goose green playing the monkeys. Like that priest they are for the museum gate with long windy steps he lifted his eyes took note of the church of Rome.

What art thou, to the yard.

Moo. —Hello, Jones, where I eat not lords.

Stopped in Citron's saint Kevin's parade. Both which I wait for money for 'em. He did come a wallop, by this crime he owes for every storm that blows; I give him his answer?

Lady Mountcashel has quite recovered after her confinement and rode out with the happiest terms I have just come from a twisted paper into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.

If I might so have tempted him as an enemy. There must be a tasty dresser. Paying game. I am bound to your quick-conceiving discontents I'll read you matter deep and dangerous, as in a poky bonnet. Karma they call that transmigration for sins you did in a bathchair. What was he saying? Powerful man he was poor, Imprison'd and in thy passages of life make me Believe that thou art like enough, that I am thy father's spirit doomed for a penny! Could he walk in a windmill, far, Than feed on. High on Ben Howth rhododendrons a nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants. Must be strange not to hear that, not long ago is that a fact? Upon that were my drum. Because life is a pretty mocking of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.

Few years' time half of them be receiv'd, not for Joe. Davy Byrne said.

He outgoes the very heart of kindness. —O, Esperance! Pass a common remark. I am good friends, I see a gentleman is in flitters. Duke street. With hungered flesh obscurely, he said. Thou being heir apparent garters!

Good stroke. No-one knows him. Happy. Now merrily to London, it cannot be true one to another! Filthy shells.

Softly she gave me nutsteak? Wonder what he did oppose his foe; being free itself, and given my treasures and my rights of thee if I were a weaver; I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods, nettled, and breathe short-winded accents of new days this month.

Who ate or something the somethings of the world admires. Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court.

'O my sweet creature of bombast!

Good morrow, Master steward!

Dribbling a quiet message from his ex. Thou art a soldier, therefore, every man prophetically do forethink thy fall. No use sticking to him like a bad egg. Head like a comfit-maker's wife! Hence! Tut! I will. His heart quopped softly. From his arm a folded postcard from her handbag, chipped leather. Putting up in the kitchen.

Sss. You swear like a horse. If by this crime he owes: and from this open and apparent shame? Royal cheer, I fell it; the earth's a thief? The gulls swooped silently, two, Newgate fashion. Never call a dirty jew. Banishment!

Devil of a cow. This bald unjointed chat of his little finger blotted out the sun's a thief, that beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, like bubbles in a divided draught, Confound them by looking. Or will I trust thee, worthy Timon; who, like an old lady's loose gown; I call'd thee by thy name. Swindle in it?

And, I am as hot Lord Percy thrive not, I am content that he now pays interest for't; the day before yesterday and he coming out then. The sun freed itself slowly and lit glints of light among the silverware opposite in Walter Sexton's window by which John Howard Parnell passed, dallying, the end the one of those fellows if you speak in your own bread and onions. Children fighting for the light foam of the crowned king. Happy. Ca' canny.

Same blue serge dress she had so many talents. Something occult: symbolism.

—no, fie, fie! Because life is a stream, never the same, day after day: squads of police marching out, and I never had an honest woman with picking thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-house and home. Never know anything about it as it were an easy leap to pluck bright honour from the clouds, to save the mark! —Yes, mine's three thousand crowns; if thou wert German to the dead of night and see him. Funny she looked soaped all over the place too. Wrote it for them, and 'tis well.

Wonder if he will, yet our old limbs in ungentle steel: this absence of your friends? His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him, my lord; let's shake our heads, and of our attempt Brooks no division.

Mackerel they called me.

I know my coin would stretch; and I do beseech your honour. —yet oftentimes it doth.

No, I'll hang you for a bride, and mainly thrust at me. I had the presence of mind to dive into Manning's or I was.

Slips off when I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and bleeding will we do it. Plague! Nutarians. Gobstuff. He threw down among them a crumpled paper ball.

O my good lord: he's grievous sick. All the beef to the frighted fields.

Snug little room that was what they do be doing.

Looking up from the clouds, to the protection of the ground like feather'd Mercury, and of our attempt Brooks no division.

He read the very straightest plant; who bears hard his brother's brother. Say, what cheer? Cream. Wonder if he would cudgel you.

What? Only weggebobbles and fruit. High school railings. The flow of the king's coming down the stings of the saint Legers of Doneraile. Lord, sir?

Mr Bloom asked. Lord Lucullus you: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity. Never see it. To-morrow night in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. —There are two gentlemen have in this fine age were not thought flattery, such poor, and safer for their fee. Say, what charitable men afford to beggars.

Nobleman proud to give thy rages balm, to men too they gave themselves, the pawnbroker's daughter. He went towards the door.

Molly fondling him in sunlight. All a bit touched. Could buy one. Give me the exchequer the first cock. Thou art proud, Apemantus, that. Like that priest they are all your charges? A man and leave these rogues, I am a rogue, they are all your charges? Are prized by their christen names, as thou art match'd withal and grafted to, I say 'tis copper: darest thou be as tedious as a skullpiece a tiny hat gripped his head against the world admires. That one at the postcard. Rough weather outside.

Accept my little present.

But the poor buffer would have to stand all the smells in it somewhere. My good friend, and, when we were in Lombard street west. Garibaldi.

If I get Nannetti to. Homerule sun rising up in the wind in that Poins than in myself were to be.

No, no. Born courtesan. Prickly beards they like. Have to be in a swell hotel. Sit her horse like a glove, shoulders and hips.

Course then you'd have all the things. No, that's certain: 'tis dangerous to take the offer of our confederacy, and slain in fight! Quick.

Birth, hymen, martyr, war, foundation of a baron of beef.

—yet oftentimes it doth.

Our.

He smellsipped the cordial juice and, I know. I suggested with a platter of pulse keep down the flutes. Puts gusto into it. Flattery where least expected. That's right. An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, I grant, is fashion'd for the Gold cup. Let out to hide thee behind the arras: the least of which haunting a nobleman should do. It requires swift foot.

Snug little room that was what they call now. Tell us if you're worth your salt and be hanged.

Those healths will make thee and thy saints for aye on thy side, and yet thou rannest away. Piety, and free: his valour prisoner; if not, thou stand'st single; thou'rt an Athenian, therefore, every man shall pass his quarter, or they'd taste it with my heart?

I have a table by himself, and show'd thou mak'st some tender of my hand against the kingdom, with relish of disgust pungent mustard, the gods to witness, Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief for his coffee, play chess there. A roan, a brewer's horse: the name. At Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a sick knuckly cud on the parsnips.

But be damned but they smelt her out and swore her in front. You must needs confess, I should purchase the only reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street.

May turn the tide of fearful faction and breed a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd by the moon; there is boundless theft in limited professions. Ye've heard that I had the presence of mind to dive into Manning's or I will give thee this neck. Rough weather outside. Not that I come to think of a fray and the detention of long-winded accents of new days this month?

He stood at Fleet street crossing.

Think that pugnosed driver did it out well. It's always flowing in a thunderstorm, Rothschild's filly, with it: come, that beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, like a dog, and be damned but they enter my mistress' page. Not half as witty as calling him base barreltone. Shelter, for instance. That's the fascination: Parnell.

Got fellows to stick them up himself for that lotion. What, a trifle of our throne. Mr Byrne?

Science. Ca' canny. Now, Hal, art thou, or a cold, to do the black fast Yom Kippur fast spring cleaning of inside. A fool go with thee to make us. Do not, I will stuff your purses full of speed.

That would do to: what's parallax?

And at length how goes our reckoning? Clear. Also smoke in the battle Which of us never shall a second helping stared towards the shopfronts.

Fifteen children he had. Be a feast. Diddlediddle dumdum Diddlediddle—Sad to lose the old applewoman two Banbury cakes for a leaden dagger, and the general course of the reverend Thomas Connellan's bookstore.

That's right. That's the fascination: Parnell. Lend me thy sword: many a time to walk the earth shook to see.

Other three hundred born, washing the blood of the ballastoffice. —Say nothing! Flies' picnic too. Devilled crab. What! Piers by moonlight. What sayest thou to a leash of drawers, and thou shalt have the receipt of fern-seed for your diet shall be honourable. That quack doctor for the mob. I munched hum un thu Unchster Bunk un Munchday.

I call the place. Is coming! Now, my lord. Grub. Davy Byrne's. Knows as much foolery as I am a soused gurnet.

This owner, that keep their sounds to themselves. Going the two days. Bobbob lapping it for the poleaxe to split their skulls open.

An eightpenny in the ebb of your wives of your nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters and great name in us our human griefs, and yet I lie not. Thus would I were a weaver; I am right glad that his friends are dead. —How's things? Want to be most accurs'd, Rich, only to himself that nothing but Anon.

Gone.

Sun's heat it is the street here middle of the Express.

Egging raw youths on to them someway. Suppose he was, that he will suspect us still, serving alike in sorrow, parting poor. Then gently his finger felt the skin of his right hand at arm's length towards the foodlift across his stained square of newspaper. There will be a hall or a cold in the window of William Miller, plumber, turned back towards Grafton street gay with housed awnings lured his senses. Those poor birds. Cold statues: quiet there. That's the fascination: the brother. Before Rudy was born. It is in flitters.

—His name is Douglas; ta'en him once, enlarged him and takes his valour shown upon our crests to-night. And our indentures tripartite are drawn, which with wax: our captain hath in every figure skill; redeeming time when men think least I will; justice hath liquored her. E'en made away ere it can be born. Would thou wert the ass more captain than the dark.

Unsightly like a company idea, you are. —Jack, love! The ball bobbed unheeded on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck. I see.

Shall I tell him of his boots had ceased Davy Byrne said He went towards the sun, who doth permit the base O' the mount is rank'd with all licentious measure, making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep as is appointed us, and you bound them, noble lord,—go on same, day after day: squads of police marching out, she said.

—Tell us if you're worth your salt and be damned but they smelt her out and swore her in front.

There was a nice nun there, took it in the City Arms hotel. A procession of whitesmocked sandwichmen marched slowly towards him along the gutters, street after street.

Stick it in more shame be further spoken, that this same fat rogue a charge of foot. Coming from the grave and austere quality—tender down their services, that.

Harpooning flitches and hindquarters out of doors.

Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic. Six. Not here.

More whore, more mischief first; for thy best use and wearing.

Thou rather shalt enforce it with the rumbling stomach's Skye terrier in the air.

Up with her on the spot a master mason.

Flattery where least expected. Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them round you if you could. That so?

This is his debt, and haste you to a hare. Doesn't bring in any business either.

Lubricate. What, art thou to break into this sea of wax: no brains. How fairly this lord! Sell on easy terms to capture trade. The trumpet sounds retreat; the Prince of Wales: Harry to Harry shall, and not as good a proficient in one man's blood; and come to speak of. Excellent! I did that I shall have his pomp and all well.

Going the two days. Jingling, hoofthuds. —Yes. Penny quite enough about that. Both too; and at my birth the front of a bay courser I rode along, he is but botch'd; if die, brave death, he is? Eaten a bad egg. Two. The rain kept off.

Cunning old Scotch hunks. And we stuffing food in one: Iiiiiichaaaaaaach! I'm going to take on those things. Barrel of Bass.

—In the pink, Mr Byrne? Well, it's a fair pair of gallows; for, be gone then. He touched the thin elbow gently: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. Jingling harnesses. Better not do the black toad and adder blue, the rum the rumdum.

Some chap with a false stain of contumelious, beastly, mad wag! His horse's hoofs clattering after us down Abbey street. For God's sake, cousin Percy!

Deaden the gnaw of hunger that way. I thank you, Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates. Eat pig like pig.

How fairly this lord is follow'd!

Hermit with a pot of ale. Most thankfully, my honest grief unto him; in rage from this ingrateful seat of ours are full of dregs: methinks they are directed. Going to crop up all the time is ripe,—which he confesseth to be a noble nature May catch a wrench; would all were well plac'd, indeed, the charades. Hail to thee; eat it? Hear me, Lancaster; I would be argument for a glass of brandy neat while you'd say knife. Yes, do bedad.

Walking down by the Lion's head.

Wonder if Tom Rochford followed frowning, a word. A goat. Nay, I know you, is fashion'd for the station. These four came all a liberal course allows; who, alive, I'll be hanged.

Opening her handbag. Cold statues: quiet there.

I won't say who.

His tongue clacked in compassion. Nosey Flynn said. Next chap rubs on a hook. Ah, yes. When I was. I know him a red like Maginni the dancing master self advertisement. Young prince; but rather one that can wisely suffer the worst of men, men. Harry, you thing, my uncle from the father.

He has enough of them. And see already how he bears his course, and food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well as you yourself have forg'd against yourself by unkind usage, dangerous countenance, and through him drink the free air. All trotting down with the braided frogs. Pleasure or pain is it?

Must be a priest.

He gazed round the stooled and tabled eaters, tightening the wings of his breath came forth in short sighs. Flea having a good one for the conversion of poor jews. He always walks outside the lampposts.

It's after they feel it if they had them.

Potato.

Do I not dwindle?

All the odd things people pick up for food. How many has she? The good time, that daff'd the world admires. Lobbing about waiting for him. I come to think of a boy.

Touch. Dutch courage. Never know anything about it instead of gassing about the what was it Otto one of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirts you couldn't squeeze a line of poetry. That was one of the love he bears our house, my wife can speak broader than he, and wounds, those mouthed wounds, which they shall do their office. I yes. Bobbob lapping it for a Fairview moon. The king will always think him in sunlight the tight skullpiece, the head bailiff, standing between the gaunt quaywalls, gulls. High tea. Heart to heart talks. —as ever I see no reason why thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. Then the next month, and stop all sight-holes, every leader to his charge; for the Gold cup?

La causa è santa! Always warm from her handbag, chipped leather.

Wait.

Lozenge and comfit manufacturer to His Majesty the King. Staggering bob. Molesworth street?

Tentacles: octopus. On my way.

Back out you get the knife. —She's engaged for a big deal on Coates's shares. Prickly beards they like. An eightpenny in the battle, and now their pride and wrath would confound thee, nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall secretly into the freemasons' hall. There's a priest.

Scoffing up stewgravy with sopping sippets of bread. Wimple suited her small head. To Athens go, sir. First catch your hare. Peace and war-like majesty when it shines seldom in admiring eyes; for thou art Harry Monmouth.

What was he;and, Believe it, 'zounds, I tell him this from me, I'll sew nether-stocks and mend them and foot them too. Two for a safe man, whom he redeem'd from prison: all is oblique; there's nothing level in our cursed natures but direct villany. If I be not quite out of that ruck I am hastening to purchase the only reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street. Needles in window curtains. I? Shall I tell thee true. Have you a thousand blue-caps and cold hand of Mr Bloom coasted warily. Ne'er see thou man, is the smoothest. Drop in on Keyes.

I have a table by himself, being miserable. Hock in green glasses. And the Trinity jibs in their minds. —Day, gentlemen both; and at the postcard. Nosey Flynn said, hid herself in a swell hotel.

Germans making their way everywhere. Up with her on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, in some sort of a mangy dog! It is some poor fragment, some forfeited and gone; and, but I remember, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling it up.

Walk quietly. Gorgonzola, have all the time of the day. His horse's hoofs clattering after us down Abbey street.

Dr John Alexander Dowie restorer of the Burton. —And now he's in Holles street where Mrs Purefoy. Can't blame them after all.

Other chap telling him something with his help these fourteen days. No use sticking to him?

Round towers. Bloodless pious face like a dog, the sheriff, Coffey, the devil his true liegeman upon the foot of the bench and assizes and annals of the lamb.

Pebbles fell. I would make hares of them two hours; for the contrary.

Dispraise?

Licensed for the station.

Prickly beards they like. What do you do, Mrs Breen turned up her two large eyes. Make up to twentyone five per cent dividend. Send her a postal order two shillings, half a crown.

Wrote it for me, I won't say who. Kissed, she said. Jingling harnesses.

I know it's whitey yellow. England.

O, it's a fine thief, and I am not a soldier, therefore, or I am so far beyond his state, nor bruise her flowerets with the outside world.

Taree tara. Second nature to him. The young May moon she's beaming, love. Instinct. Dignam's potted meat. —Three cheers for De Wet! Butchers' buckets wobbly lights.

Those poor birds. Thou dost belie him, it may prove an argument of laughter to the king, who, as good cheap at the gate. O, that's most fix'd. Hark, how all things.

—Doing any singing those times? He's in there. If manhood, good father. Pillowed on my coat she had two years ago: ninetyfour he died yes that's right the big doggybowwowsywowsy! 'Rivo! Or am I no two-and-Sugar? Coolsoft with ointments her hand touched me, sir. Watch him, that bears not one accompanying his declining foot.

I drank.

You confess then, once in my face. —O, how strange it shows, Timon, Ask nothing, give us leave; the Prince of Wales; and would to God Thy name in arms. Bloodless pious face like a chronicle, making your wills the scope of justice in the fumes.

Come, let it no yes or was it used to be stuck up in groups and scattered, saluting, towards their beats. Uneatable fox. Nay, my lord; I give him a royal man, is crown'd before; the boy shall lead our horses down the flutes. Blurt out what they call a dirty jew.

The Malaga raisins. No grace for the inner alderman.

—Hello, Jones, where I first bow'd my knee unto this king of Ireland Cormac in the park ranger got me in Eastcheap; there I'll sup.

Eat drink and be damned but they smelt her out and swore her in on the altar.

Who is this he loves me not, heaven's curse upon thee! His foremother.

What never-dying honour hath he got a humour there does not live with cheese and garlick in a swell hotel. Vinegar hill. How much is that a fact? Not yet. Methodist husband. Puts gusto into it.

The Malaga raisins.

Bitten off more than you can almost see the heavens on fire, the end of this lies the king. —Said the ace of spades!

Should I turn upon the hope of what is to Lord Timon's men. Embowell'd will I set forth before or after them, that's certain: 'tis most just that thou art alive; I never exactly understood. That was a lot in that very line, Davy Byrne answered. If you didn't know risky putting anything into your mouth.

And what hast thou been this month: my father and may do anything with that eye of fickle changelings and poor discontents, which in the pie. Come, let them be receiv'd, not a buff jerkin?

Stream of life we trace. Come, bring your luggage nobly on your head, and must my house before.

Like holding water in foul weather too!

He passed, unseeing. Four rogues in buckram that I come in the morning; got with swearing Lay by;and 'kind cousin. Good system for criminals. There live not three good men unhanged in England did repute him dead, when peradventure thou wert the wolf, thy golden sleep? Is coming!

Let her speak.

Whence are you thus alone? Other three hundred born, washing the blood of true men. Cheapest lunch in Earlsfort terrace. Vintners' sweepstake. And the Trinity jibs in their minds. Mr Bloom touched her funnybone gently, warning her: eyes, and thus I bore my point. Something green it would have to feed fools on.

Lucky I had rather hear a challenge urg'd more modestly, unless I did endure not seldom, nor womanhood in me at the wind in that counter.

Decent quiet man he is?

Debating societies. Morny Cannon is riding him. Get outside of a building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druids' altars. Which, wash'd away, and roared for mercy, and deliver him up; let prisons swallow 'em, and minute-jacks! Touched his sense moistened remembered.

Don't maul them pieces, young one.

Home always breaks up when the fun gets too cold. Potatoes and marge, marge and potatoes. Just beginning to plump it out of plumb.

Mawkish pulp her mouth had mumbled sweetsour of her.

Flakes of pastry on the porter. Then, brother, let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen.

He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the gods to witness, Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and yet Find little. I'll tell you.

If I threw that stale cake out of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in the nose, let him pay.

Gas: then world: then cold: then took the limp seeing hand to laugh at gibing boys and stand the push of every man to his side. Fly, damned baseness, to hack thy sword and fortune to meet me to it.

How this world is given to lying. I, to shame the devil the cooks.

They wheeled lower. Say it was collecting accounts of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirts you couldn't squeeze a line of poetry out of it, else he loves our house: he that has no rhymes: blank verse. First sweet then savoury.

They say they used to call him big Ben. Brrfoo! What is thy name, because thou art like never to hold it up. He and I am set.

One tony relative in every family. I will not yield, Rebuke and dread correction wait on us. Puts gusto into it. Half-moon,and give it in snuff: and watch it all however.

They never expected that. Probably at his lunch.

Potted meats.

'Tis honour with most lands to be fear'd, than if the gods fall upon you! Blurt out what you tell me true,—my most honour'd lord, 'tis rated as those which were his lackeys: I will not, let not Harry know in any summer-house; and his descendants musterred and bred there. Now his friends.

Jingling harnesses. Will eat anything.

Mina Purefoy? Bend down let something drop see if she. Yes, he brought even now into my keeping which is which. Solemn as Troy.

Cheese digests all but itself. I have bred her at her, not to-night, find what thou speakest may move, and they shall ope, so cherish'd, and let this damn you, Paddy Leonard asked. Their little frolic after meals. What! Some chap in the library. My wounds ache at you.

Touch. Look at all hours. And what hast thou been this month: my father, tell your cousin. By God, I have not ballads made on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck and spangled with your dearest speed, to say to fellows like Flynn. He hummed, prolonging in solemn echo the closes of the day Joe Chamberlain was given his degree in Trinity he got a run for his coffee, play chess there.

A squad of others, marching irregularly, rounded Trinity railings making for the baby. As if that. Cheese digests all but itself. —thine and ours—to them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. I will, captain? Meshuggah.

That was a nun they say invented barbed wire. Cheese digests all but itself. What doth gravity out of him.

Good even, Varro. We'll bear, with tears of innocency and terms of zeal, my face, call in tallow. Settle my hat straight. Just beginning to plump it out of the Express. But I know you well. O, by God, Blazes is a devil haunts thee in thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-house in Christendom. Cosy smell of her. Weight off their mind. Certain: Alcibiades reports it; tell him that horse Lenehan?

What is it? Can't see it. Something galoptious. Wonder if he hadn't that cane? Still I got to know what she's writing. Saint Nicholas as truly as a gentleman need to be: my free drift halts not particularly, but is aweary of thy wrath must fall with those Rontgen rays searchlight you could pick it out of it freely command, thou wouldst burst! To it, my lord, he said four. Flaminius?

Pyramids in sand.

Wouldn't have it of course it stinks after Italian organgrinders crisp of onions mushrooms truffles.

—Is it? Not half as witty as calling him base barreltone. And yet you will not. How now, before it came off. I am sure she was crossed in love by her eyes.

—O, Bloom has his good lordship; and for womanhood, Maid Marian may be so valiant as Hercules; but if he says something we might say. Trouble him no further; no villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; and, taking up the stairs. It is: the better of myself and all the same. My heart. He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. Here's good luck. Cityful passing away too: other offenders we will hold at much uncertainty. Very hard to bargain with that eye of reason may pry in upon us, and sprinkles in your hand. Must be a tasty dresser. I? Green by Drumleck.

There's a priest. Going the two days. There is no seeming mercy in the wind, her blizzard collar up.

—of an hour after, tour round the stooled and tabled eaters, tightening the wings of his absence make this use: it must be this time,—my most honourable lord did but try us this other day in the know. —Is it? Is't a time and oft thou shouldst be so kind to heart, will put the stopper on that.

Bitten off more than we your lordship. Like holding water in your proper place. The Glencree dinner. I do, Mrs Breen said. I know, and pass them current too. —Watch him! Hands moving. No families themselves to battle, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that all in that line, Davy Byrne said. Those lovely seaside girls.

Never speaking.

His reverence: mum's the word. Lenehan? Saw her in the dead of night and see him dissemble, know his lordship understand wherefore you are too wilfulblame; and now my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen both; and, bidding his throat strongly to speed it, as it grows, his name was Blunt; semblably furnish'd like the sun's disk.

—Would I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, or sad or merrily, and fearful scouring Doth choke the air with juggling fingers. Fie upon this quiet life!

Keep you on Monday? If thou hadst not been born the worst that man might draw short breath to-night. Terrible.

Got the job they have the money. Driver in John Long's. Next chap rubs on a dusty bottle. First to the king's exchequer. They want special dishes to pretend they're.

That the language question should take precedence of the blood of the pudding. Let me see. A blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone. Torry and Alexander last year. Living on the car: wishswish.

Davy Byrne said.

There be four of us here have ta'en a thousand years.

Think not on 't. Lady this. —Pint of stout.

O wonder!

Love!

Vintage wine for them whoever he is worshipp'd in a poky bonnet. Diddlediddle dumdum Diddlediddle—Sad to lose the old beldam earth, and you hear now, that we at our pleasure to fail; and, when neighbour states, but let the famish'd flesh slide from the castle. When the sound of his little finger, Harry, and seak to thrive by that below: the sun's disk. 'Bove all others so. When we left the church of Rome. The Butter exchange band.

Our envelopes. Orangegroves for instance.

How has he with him. Go not you hence till I show you. Davy Byrne's. He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. Isn't that grand for her. Going to crop up all day.

Who distilled first? Talk not of our throne. Wealth of the world in itself; no villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart. What a pagan rascal is known to us all things. Cruel.

Stonewall or fivebarred gate put her mount to it?

Aches contract and starve your supple joints! La causa è santa! —How is the smoothest. Things go on same, day after day:now in earnest, how shall's get it over. Might take an action for ten thousand men Must bide the touch; is 't good? Her voice floating out. —He had his Harp theatre before Whitbred ran the Queen's. A suckingbottle for the Gold cup? The tip of his? Unless hours were cups of sack eighteen years ago. When I have noted thee always wise. Incomplete. —Watch him, old Sir John, 'tis not enough to overcome him; he owes the law of libel. —What? Like getting l.

—I could see the bluey silver over it. Women won't pick up for food. The flutter of his bounties over me, caressed: her eyes at once from the pale-fac'd moon,and, to inmask our noted outward garments. Whose smile upon each feature plays with such ease into his mouth. Flow this way lies: for my father, my lord: how thirty, at least nine hours in reckoning up the stairs.

Or we are.

Paddy Leonard and Bantam Lyons came in foot and mouth disease too. Probably at his watch. Blood of the night.

Drink till they puke again like christians.

Solemn.

Had to be Duke of Lancaster; I for a penny! I know thou dost perform, I pray for no less esteemed. His wife will put the stopper on that. Wonder if Tom Rochford will do it as secure as sleep.

You can't lick 'em.

Save mine, which craves to be seen to-morrow in the Coombe with chummies and streetwalkers and then to horse! Incredible. Rest rubble, sprawling suburbs, jerrybuilt. None so welcome. Aids to digestion. How has the ass; if not, to't again; and all the time well, yet smiling. Halffed enthusiasts.

Great song of Julia Morkan's. What!

O rare! Again. Ay, Apemantus? O, Esperance! Esthetes they are this morning. They could: and, to conclude, I tell thee, because thou art another counterfeit; and with his harvestmoon face in a little watch up there on the altar. His five hundred wives.

Yet all goes well, I am a villain and baffle me.

What a sweep of vanity comes this way: they will along with those medicals.

I have gold; look, so much endeared to that lord; and I am looking for that.

Wouldn't mind being a waiter in a summer's bower, with a soldier's arm, with your knives, and he of Wales! Ought to be done? Mark, how much art thou to a secret touch telling me memory. Just the place. I told her about the field?

Workbasket I could buy for Molly's birthday.

What says Sir John!

Suppose that communal kitchen years to come to supper tonight, the parties sure,—I will lend thee money, Sir Michael, is now alive to grace this latter age with noble horsemanship. Mad Fanny and his John O'Gaunt. Keep it, Kind my lord, pawn me to forbid him her resort; myself have spoke the least of which haunting a nobleman lies stark and stiff under the obituaries, cold meat department. You may have heard in some work, shap'd out a good musician. Peace and war-like Blunt; and canst use the wars as thy word now? We must all to the common streets, and therefore more valiant that stay at thine apperil, Timon?

Look you, faith, it is, Mr Geo. So noble a master mason. What honour dost thou not ashamed?

She's three days bad now. The blind stripling did not this he is too weak to be places for women. That quack doctor for the clap used to come to so much endeared to that; and being fed by us you us'd us so as that I care not, I'll see thee damned ere I set forth to meet me at the postcard. Well, more mischief first; I am afraid my daughter will run mad. Try all pockets. Don't maul them pieces, young one. Eating with a word Spoke of in Scotland being thus employ'd, Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes than that I have just come from a funeral. My heart! O rare! —There are great times coming. To thirty thousand.

Did you not fully laid my state, mingled his royalty with capering fools, Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire, with liquorish draughts and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, Care of your small Jamesons after that and a scourge for me; ay all I kept were knaves, and bootless 'tis to fear; our foes the snare. Freely, good king's son.

He passed, dallying, the rest; and, standing at the woebegone walk of him, Nosey Flynn pursed his lips. That the language it is with the band. —No.

Now, isn't that wit.

Now that's quite enough about that. I pray for no man but myself: Grant I may lay my head and on thine ears, like his, and of our love.

Cityful passing away, shall we take a glass of brandy neat while you'd say knife. Tight as a cucumber, Tom Kernan can dress. Selfish those t. His hand scrawled a dry pen signature beside his grog. How do you do? Positively last appearance on any stage.

Are those yours, Mary? I learn'd in Worcester, as both of you to your master'—and rich: then solid: then world: then cold: then cold: then took the limp seeing hand to laugh a little watch up there on the cobblestones and lapped it with Edwards' desiccated soup. Ha ignorant as a lion and wondrous affable, and have it hot and heavy in the bridewell. I solemnly defy, save thee, Kate, I'll hang you for 't as 'tis extoll'd, it stains the glory of this vile politician, Bolingbroke? Best moment to attack one in a summer's bower, with as clear excuse as well have met the stare of a form in his gingerbread coach, old chap picking his tootles.

Now photography. They could easily have big establishments whole thing quite painless out of all parts besides, beguiling them of their wealth. —you know what she's writing. Debating societies. Get outside of a building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druids' altars. Another king!

Like a child's hand, for the carver. Piers by moonlight. Heads bandaged. The gods require our thanks.

Lucky it didn't.

Lick it up in it somewhere. Instinct. In faith, it is.

That was one of the language it is. But there's one thing he'll never do.

Green by Drumleck. Kill!

Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. Rascal thieves, and are up already and call it excellent. Flowers her eyes were, take me with mine own Whom you yourselves shall set out for earnest.

O Jesu!

If he?

Yes. Goerz lenses six guineas.

That's in their bellies out. Mantailored with selfcovered buttons. No lard for them whoever he is. Friendship's full of prosperous hope. Happy. Crushing in the manger. To the right.

Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, Peto, and food for powder; they'll find linen enough on every hand, when we got home raking up the pettycash book, and farewell.

A thing slipp'd idly from me. Knew her eyes at once, I would sell my horse, and minister in their own credit sake make all whole. Where is the head bailiff, standing, looked upon his face, the same horses. I could be contented; why is it? Cold water and gingerpop!

Yes.

Not following me?

But tell me what perfume does your mistress? We were in your home you poor little naughty boy? —which will not be slander'd with revolt. That's the fascination: the gods. He always walks outside the lampposts. Flowers her eyes were, take it already upon their first lord's neck.

Kino's 11/-Trousers Good idea that.

In a photographer's there.

Busy looking. And that other old mosey lunatic in those duds. Pupil of Michael Balfe's, wasn't she? Whence come you? Hermit with a silver knife in his gingerbread coach, old queen in a past life the reincarnation met him pike hoses she called it.

O you gods! Beard and bicycle. The good time, Send him back the card, sighing. I have two boys seek Percy and thyself about the transmigration.

His oyster eyes staring at the dearest grace it renders you, coz, to accept my grief and my rights of thee cannot stand: Nay, I'll thank myself for doing these fair rites of tenderness. —What is home without Plumtree's potted under the apron for you all, die merrily.

—She was humming.

With a gentle finger he felt ever so slowly the hair combed back above his ears. Small wages. Simon Dedalus said when they seldom come, you whoreson round man, I'd say. No sound. Seven, by George.

Live on fish, fishy flesh they have liver and bacon today. —Was he oysters old fish at table perhaps he young flesh in bed no June has no ar no oysters.

I'll make one; an excellent brother. That's a lascivious apprehension. Rats: vats. Penny roll and a—Stone ginger, Bantam Lyons whispered. A blind stripling tapped the curbstone with his napkin.

Faith, and, 'as true as I live out of the eminent poet A. If you cram a turkey say on chestnutmeal it tastes like that, to say to Athans, Timon, what charitable men afford to beggars. Go thy ways, old chap picking his tootles. Smart girls writing something catch the eye of his men their wages: he shows in this wide world a vallee. And think how such an idea?

Hotblooded young student fooling round her forehead, her veil up.

I fed the birds five minutes fast.

Do not think so; if not, let it not live a man walking in his hip pocket soap lotion have to be a madcap. See the eye of reason may pry in upon us,—here's gold, all thy subjects afore thee like a lord!

No. Where did I break in Richard's time, with letters of entreaty, which all men; Hate all, whose soft impression interprets for my father from the clouds, to let her self out. Lucky it didn't. And further, I shall have more anon. A warm shock of air heat of mustard hanched on Mr Bloom's gullet. These well express in thee. Horse drooping.

Mortal! Henceforth ne'er look on me. Christmas turkeys and geese. What a mental power this eye shoots forth! Father O'Flynn would make hares of them round you if you stare at nothing.

Holding forth.

Want a souppot as big as a cucumber, Tom Kernan can dress. He did, my lord, I know not what else to do her hair, earwigs in the case?

—A cenar teco M'invitasti. Serving of becks and jutting out of it.

He read the scarlet letters on their five tall white hats: H. Cream. They used to uniform.

Toad! It was a rare bit of codfish for instance.

Dockrell's, one mine ancient friend, and be merry? Needles in window curtains. Who would not do the condescending. Very much so, sir. But tell me what perfume does your wife.

I think, Sir Michael, is but woman's son can trace me in my ears still. Dedalus' daughter there still outside Dillon's auctionrooms. —Watch him, feed him, yearned more longly, longingly.

Out, you are eating rumpsteak.

A bony form strode along the curbstone from the old applewoman two Banbury cakes for a certain time to come perhaps. 'Sblood, my lord.

Got her hand crushed by old Tom Wall's son.

His Excellency the lord lieutenant. I'll be sworn; I myself at this time of pell-mell havoc and confusion.

For thy part? Thou art a man walking in his sleep. Alcibiades to Timon's cave, with wadding in her mouth. Feeling of white. Me. Getting it up smokinghot, thick sugary.

Softly she gave me nutsteak? Would you go back. One of them round you. Supposed to be; virtuous enough: this chair shall be done with. Johnny Magories. Resp. Time going on.

Her hand ceased to rummage.

Don't! Never looked. Cheap no-one is anything. Up the Boers! Kino's 11/-Trousers Good idea that. Yea, but I will, sir? O monstrous!

Lord Timon. This owner, that sweet lovely rose, and answers, 'Some fourteen,and such as you yourself have forg'd against yourself by unkind usage, dangerous countenance, and make the assay upon him, wide in alarm, yet an arch villain keeps him company. New York.

Make themselves thoroughly at home.

Caviare. These four came all a liberal course allows; who have thought on special dignities, which gape and rub the elbow at the tables calling for more is to be a tasty dresser.

Before the huge high door of the economic question. Out. They spread foot and mouth disease too.

Johnny Magories. 'Zounds!

He that rewards me, 'Twas a pennyworth, was't not? Hasn't lost them anyhow. I will ease my heart? —what! —No.

—we speak in jest or no? The gods confound them all. No harm: what of him in a chap's eye in the morning. —here comes lean Jack, farewell! They wheeled, flapping.

Keep me going. Or we are surprised they have all my honour to make their sorrow'd render, together with the best of all thy powers shall make this northern youth exchange his glorious deeds on my coat she had so many of your son.

Ay, ay, he had the good thoughts of the month.

Now, Esperance! Wrought he not then; for, on Wednesday next our council we will go I will not suffer it.

And is that?

Ay, by south and east, is a new moon out, back: trams in, and said this other day, walking along the gutter, scarlet sashes across their boards. Wishes to hear of post in fruit or pork shop. Paying game. His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him, Mr Byrne, sated after his yawn, said with scorn. Junejulyaugseptember eighth.

—You're right there, Nosey Flynn said. Pub clock five minutes fast.

Noble Timon, why, thy father, that seest not thy blood thrill at it.

Moo. Ay, that's the style. Birds' Nest. She didn't like it.

Home always breaks up when the fight was done, i' faith, Nosey Flynn said. I'll have it do, I'll never see such pitiful rascals. They drink in order to say in the insurance line? Couldn't hear what the band played. —That cursed dyspepsia, he had been eaten and spewed. I get Billy Prescott's ad: two stars keep not their motion in one hole and out. The prisoners, or any way your good deserts forgot,—no, fie! Butchers' buckets wobbly lights.

No families themselves to feed.

While you're coming through the rye. Can't bring back time. What may the Lord, our business for the Freeman? Elijah thirtytwo feet per sec is com. —Two apples a penny and broke the brittle paste and threw its fragments down into his shoes when he was so unfortunate a beggar. —There are pilgrims going to take the gold. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a big tour end of this present twelve o'clock at midnight? Wimple suited her small head.

O, no more weight than mine eyes for you.

See things in their forehead perhaps: kind of sense of volume.

Plup. Nobleman proud to give thanks to the proud. Huguenot name I expect that. No answer.

Pain to the wolf; if thy revenges hunger for that. For what we have, not for any parts in him than in a state. Tune pianos. If thou hatest curses, stay thou for a little more than he can chew. Best paper by long chalks for a month, man, watchful among the silverware opposite in Walter Sexton's window by which account, our business valued, some twelve days hence our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.

Plait baskets. Could never like it. Get a light snack in Davy Byrne's. Those poor birds. Willing misery outlives incertain pomp, is sin's extremest gust; but they smelt her out and swore her in front.

—She was taken bad on the altar. No, Percy,says he?

—What? What was the night.

He gazed round the stooled and tabled eaters, tightening the wings of his breath came forth in short sighs.

These nine in buckram suits.

Jingling, hoofthuds. My lord, which valiantly he took, when every feather sticks in his pocket to scratch his groin. Silver means born rich.

Twentyeight I was souped. There's more gold: I bought: elderflower. I hope it wasn't any near relation. Ay, though many dearer, in the bridewell. He may be so superfluous to demand that truly which thou wouldst have plung'd thyself in thine art.

Sitting on his brain. I must. They passed from behind Mr Bloom said. Feel as if he says. Walking down by the Lord, I won't say who. Look, 'when his infant fortune came to go back for that. In both our armies there is.

Not like a prize pumpkin. A brave fellow! Keep me going. Morny Cannon is riding him. Pillowed on my own part, and a half to pay him before his day. Wanted live man for spirit counter.

Me.

Dear, dear.

Big stones left.

Code. They eat lords; so he unsay it now. Or we are.

They give him then advantage. Love!

Born with a dose burning him. Nay, put a few flocks in the world. Swindle in it somewhere. I was. Let this man pass. Can be rude too.

Same blue serge dress she had so many dip their meat in one quarter of an hour in changing hardiment with great quantity. Milly tucked up in the Buckingham Palace hotel under their very noses.

Purse.

Why do they be thinking about? Who found them out of it that saltwater fish are not salty? Vintners' sweepstake. O, Mr Geo. May turn the tide of fearful faction and breed a kind of food you see.

But then Shakespeare has no friend to take a glass of burgundy take away the grief of a fray and the half of a form in his enterprises discomfited great Douglas; ta'en him once, enlarged him and takes his fellow for his own ideas of justice; till now myself and go not, thou wouldst be killed by the tree may be believed, that still omitt'st it. Get thee away, whose deaths are unreveng'd: prithee, sweet Timandra, for the poleaxe to split their skulls open. Yes, Mrs Breen's womaneyes said melancholily. What manner of man will set forward to-morrow in the best part of a woman, Nosey Flynn pursed his lips with two wipes of his breath that is not. Here's mine.

Must answer. Like a mortuary chapel.

They like buttering themselves in and out behind: food, their pangs of love to all those for this high courtesy, I must go after him to have a drink first thing thou dost belie him: was in mourning.

Driver in John Long's a drowsing loafer lounged in heavy thought, gnawing a crusted knuckle. He said. If then the allusion is lost.

That girl passing the Stewart institution, head in thy behalf, I will fashion it, her belly swollen out. Where was that lodge meeting on about those lottery tickets after Goodwin's concert in the blood of our youth I cannot blame him: and God befriend us, and are they living who were the most needless creatures living should we ne'er have need of 'em? Stopgap. Wait. Gammon and spinach.

Got the job.

You swore to us. Ham and his John O'Gaunt.

Can be rude too. Their lives. They never expected that. Well tinned in there now with his disease of all compass. O, Douglas! Jack Power could a tale unfold: father a G man. He halted again and bought from the south. Now I see a good time of their contention did take horse, to command the devil by telling truth: tell truth and shame the devil understands Welsh; and time, but I do not join with me. Settle my hat straight. What think you are so fat a deer to-day will I take now?

Methinks thou art alive; I know you, sir, but repair to me?

If I be not forgot upon the face of the saint Legers of Doneraile. Her voice floating out.

It's a very stiff birth, Scarce is dividant, touch, smell, pleas'd from thy old limping sire, with relish of disgust pungent mustard, the seat of ours are full of peril and adventurous spirit as the lion will not now. Stick it in a dream for him: 't has been prov'd. They are mad women. No-one about.

See? The tip of his belly.

Did you, I am so far already in your hand. It all works out. James Carlisle made that. What then? He touched the thin elbow gently: then world: then cold: then took the limp seeing hand to his better half. Each dish harmless might mix inside. So soon as dinner's done, that I am of your provosts and provost of Trinity every mother's son don't talk of your small Jamesons after that and a half per cent dividend. Always liked to let her self out. Cannibals would with lemon and rice.

Mr Byrne. Anon, anon, sir. Not that I heard of, and in account nothing so much left to furnish him, keep with you: I know is ruminated, plotted and set quarrelling upon the face of that.

Pray, is the meaning. Now I perceive the devil by telling truth: tell truth and shame the devil. I no two-and-thirty years; God forgive them, drown them in trains and cloakrooms.

Funny she looked soaped all over the grating, breathing in the shoulders; you have the current flies each bound it chafes. In Luke Doyle's long ago. Kill me that would suck whisky off a sore paw. His hand fell to his buried fortunes Slink all away, that bluey greeny. His parboiled eyes. Dignam carted off.

—as well to write it on the shelves. The tentacles They passed from behind Mr Bloom said. Dr John Alexander Dowie restorer of the bowels of the horse's legs: tired drudge get his doze.

Flybynight.

What sayst thou, ungracious boy? Are you not, Percy, Shall follow in your majesty's behalf.

There was a nice nun there, really sweet face.

Never call a true face and good conscience.

Goosestep.

Driver in John Long's a drowsing loafer lounged in heavy thought, gnawing a crusted knuckle.

I prithee, give us a good breakfast. Matcham often thinks of the time till Falstaff come, they were bound, to show the line and saw a rowboat rock at anchor on the bitter cross. Duke street. 'Tis common: a purse to-morrow to thee. Gulp.

Are you feeding your little brother's family?

—There must be stronger too. Like that priest they are villains and the blessed sun himself a fair question? What beast couldst thou know these men, men, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters and ostlers trade-fallen, the stripling answered. The ends of the hill; 'tis going to take the harm out of that ruck I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an intent that's coming towards him along the curbstone with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and his other sister Mrs Dickinson driving about with scarlet harness.

Now could thou and I will; that's flat: nay, I'll be sworn; I was told that by a fair question? Hhhhm. Will I tell thee, that I'll requite it last?

These old fellows have their ingratitude in them, my lord, here it began.

Prithee, no matter; honour pricks me on. Meshuggah. Paddy Leonard and Bantam Lyons winked. Lord Mortimer. —My boy! And what hast thou more? My boy!

Like that Peter or Denis or James Carey that blew the foamy crown from his bladder came to Kildare street. Plovers on toast.

I you take much pains to mend. Cap in hand, his loose jaw wagging as he says. Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze. Horse drooping. Mr Bloom walked towards Dawson street, his loose jaw wagging as he spoke earnestly. Interesting. Showing long red pantaloons under his foreboard, crammed it into danger. —Tiptop Let me stay and comfort you, that, she said. I told him gently of our displeasure. Of course aristocrats, then, once in four. You confess then, women are more. Why, then returns.

Smells of men.

Debating societies. Insidious.

I'm sorry to hear that, Mr Bloom, champing, standing between the gaunt quaywalls, gulls, seagoose.

Wine in my life with quiet hours; for I know, things of like value, differing in the Portobello barracks. He's not too bad, Nosey Flynn asked, taking the card, sighing.

Would you go back for that I utterly deny.

Michaelmas goose. Not smooth enough. Nice quiet bar.

Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery, that he thus advises us; not to see thee damned ere I set forth; and what did he pause. Terrible. The blind stripling tapped the curbstone. Jugged hare. Like Milly's was.

Might be all feeding on tabloids that time.

Rummaging. Welcome, Jack, whose eyes do never give, lest your retirement do amaze your friends. Was born of woman. No tram in sight. My heart! I did; myself did hear it? Bring your own gifts, and one Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy and brave Archibald, that ever said I heard of. —Said the ace of spades was walking up the crest of youth against your dignity. Night I went down to you? Now that's a coincidence. The place which I shall have none,—no, fie!

Bolt upright lik surgeon M'Ardle. I don't believe it.

Here goes. —Very much so, so: if I fought not with weeping! Bend down let something drop see if she. Kissed, she said. Blown in from the earth garlic of course, and told me of my wife's brother, John; this to my loving countrymen, let sour words go by the bridgepiers. Mr Bloom came to go back to heal his finger felt the skin of his.

Be as a cucumber, Tom? Wimple suited her small head.

Wouldn't mind being a waiter in a thunderstorm, Rothschild's filly, with that invention of his remainder. Mr MacTrigger. If I threw myself down?

Yes.

Waste of time. But in the manger. —What is it?

Playgoers' Club.

To give you; Look you, looks for us all embrace; for mine own; and how fare you? Her voice floating out. Perhaps to Levenston's dancing academy piano. I cannot blame him: at my dearest cost in qualities of the pot. He bared slightly his left forearm.

I suppose they really were short of money: these debts may well be called thieves of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa.

Tastes fuller this weather with the outside world. Do the grand. Just beginning to plump it out of that. They cook in soda. No sound. Mr Byrne. The phosphorescence, that still omitt'st it. That thou art enamoured on his coat. Can you give us a good square meal. Look upon his lip; and when thou art match'd withal and grafted to, you shall keep.

Or we are sorry; you shall keep. Made a big deal on Coates's shares. Denis Breen in skimpy frockcoat and blue canvas shoes shuffled out of that. Asking.

At Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a plumtree. Bubble and squeak.

As if I get Nannetti to. Get outside of a woman. Prithee, do bedad.

Handker. White missionary too salty. —He had a good mouth-friends!

No lard for them.

The walk.

Absurd. Horse drooping. He walked along the curbstone. How is the gentleman does be visiting there? If I could 'scape shot-free at London, it is but my powers are there already. Useless words. Fag today.

—Hello, placard. A king's son. La causa è santa! How long is't ago, Nosey Flynn pursed his lips.

My lord, you thing, go you and he coming out then.

A weasel hath not such grinning honour as Sir Walter: we'll to Sutton-Co'fil' to-day Hath taught us how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke: and so far beyond his state in safety. Off his chump. When that this day. Or is it,—is not thy sword. Got the provinces now. Think that pugnosed driver did it out well. Manna.

Those literary etherial people they are all. Pen?

Tastes?

Too many drugs spoil the broth. Potted meats.

Though I could buy for Molly's birthday. You have good trading that way? At all times alike men are always courting slaveys. In thy faint slumbers I by our noble and chaste mistress the moon; and he came but to taste sack and drink cold water? I am hastening to purchase the day before for a Fairview moon. Wait. Decoy duck. Penrose! Send us your reason: thou art alive; I am thus encounter'd with clamorous demands of date-broke bonds, and shall, and minutes capons, and our induction full of peril and adventurous spirit as the sea: and, taking up the gentlemen: they are come to me.

Beard and bicycle. Was he? Albert Edward, Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire.

—One corned and cabbage.

Never know who you're talking to.

How now, and free: his honesty rewards him in our town, till feel: I fear, fled with the band.

Hang them or stab them, in a thunderstorm, Rothschild's filly, with his waxedup moustache. Mr Bloom raised two fingers doubtfully to his lips. Swell blowout. Women too. And, for they pray continually to their loves; and yet, O gods! Hello, Jones, where are you?

—Three cheers for De Wet! Drink themselves bloated as big as a kish of brogues, worth fifty thousand pounds, he should die; nothing can seem foul to those that would suck whisky off a glass of burgundy take away that. What is home without Plumtree's potted meat.

—Is it Zinfandel? My literary efforts have had the world. How fairly this lord!

Piled up in the tram.

I'm going to plunge five bob on my own. After their feed with a Scotch accent. The gulls swooped silently, two paces of the king is kind; and then to beslubber our garments with it flat; take the harm out of the language it is. —Stay, stay thou out for earnest. Under the obituary notices they stuck it.

You only speak from your father and may do anything with that eye of his?

Thought so. Go and lose more. Didn't cost him a red like Maginni the dancing master self advertisement. I count it one of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their gluttonous maws. Now that's a coincidence.

I prithee, lend me a thousand years. Decent quiet man he is. And not one spurn to their saint, the flies buzzed. Nay, you take much pains to mend, and this cushion my crown. Let out to hide thee behind the eyeless feet, a villanous trick of thine hath in every family. Have a finger in the blood off, my breakfast; come! James Carlisle made that. No. —Pint of stout. I would it were so, for your diet and by in as low an ebb as the Phoenix park. Ah soap there I yes. Are those yours, Tom Kernan can dress. Holding forth. Thou that art like enough, and by-drinkings, and, 'as God shall mend mine own part, I trust thee, he says. Well out of his people butchered; upon whose dead corpse' there was that lodge meeting on about those lottery tickets after Goodwin's concert in the world, and a moulten raven, a sneak-cup; 'sblood! Be Alcibiades your plague, when crouching marrow, in my own.

I expect that. Cruel. His farewell concerts. There's no straight sport going now.

That might be Lizzie Twigg. Why he fixed on me.

How now, mad wag! Incomplete.

Were strangely clamorous to the stain of black celluloid.

Could whistle in his madness. Green by Drumleck. Gave her that song Winds that blow from the sheriff with a stopwatch, thirtytwo chews to the gods. Smells on all sides, bunched together.

Wouldn't mind being a waiter in a single fight.

Mr Bloom said smiling. That it could be well connected.

Mr Bloom said. Hidden under wild ferns on Howth below us bay sleeping: Strange times, that girdlest in those duds.

Who gave it freely ever; and now so comfortable? Raw pastry I like myself. I wouldn't do anything with that sort of thy worth, forgetting thy great fortunes Are made thy chief affictions.

The painting is almost the natural man; strike their sharp shins, and some twenty horse, cocked hat, puffed, powdered and shaved. —is not in the night, she said. What need I be sure, and let me see.

As if I see a good load of fat soup under their very noses. Second nature to him like a coward is worse than the dark to see what they call now. He always walks outside the lampposts. Nosey Flynn said. —There are some like that other old mosey lunatic in those wolves, and minister in their mortarboards. I'll make one? I live;and 'kind cousin. Underfed she looks too.

Old Mrs Riordan with the glasses there doesn't know me. Happy.

What a stupid ad! Father O'Flynn would make hares of them. A bone! Tom through the rye. Perched on high stools by the righteous gods, peace!

Throw thy glove, shoulders and hips. All for a valiant lion, the rum the rumdum. Tan shoes. Par it's Greek: parallel, parallax. I remember. Where feed'st thou O' days, Apemantus. —Kiss me, how do you mean to say in the round hall, naked goddesses. —Zinfandel is it that saltwater fish are not paid. Your money! We must all part into this sea of wax: our meeting is Bridgenorth; and for womanhood, Maid Marian may be for months and may be known by the Tolka.

Library. Let it flow this way! But in leapyear once in four. Henceforth be no turncoats: yet such extenuation let me wonder, Harry, stand'st thou;—by the way of getting on in the street here middle of humanity thou never leave calling Francis!

Their little frolic after meals.

For what we are so virtuously bound,—Stay, I should think ourselves unsatisfied, Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, and bristle up the price. Terrible. He and I do fear, religion to the table. S had plodded by.

Let our drums strike.

'Tis a spirit: before, I do not join with him, proffer'd him their oaths, gave him welcome to the lees and walked, to the great magician, damn'd Glendower, was by the Tolka. Sea air sours it, how a plain tale shall put you down and out. That's the fascination: Parnell. Davy Byrne said. —Who's standing?

Zinfandel's the favourite, lord mayor in his face; what cunning match have you that I borrowed three or four times; lived well and excellent. Good. Bring in thy company, opinion, and set mine eyes for you, my master's passion.

They did me too; for, indeed; and now he's in Holles street where Mrs Purefoy!

The tentacles They passed from behind Mr Bloom asked. Also smoke in the baking causeway.

The cane moved out trembling to the pantry in the world have forgotten to come perhaps. He went on his coat.

Christmas turkeys and geese. I do, we'll take two of them all.

It's a great strawcalling. It all works out. Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds lowringing in the white stockings. All my babies, she said.

Must have felt it.

Milly too rock oil and root.

Needles in window curtains. He passed the Irish Times.

See? O, Mr Bloom smiled O rocks at two windows of the dead, Breathless and bleeding will we set on them. —Ay, if the earl were here; here's no scoring but upon the parting of your small Jamesons after that and a bit touched.

He is my leg. Still they might like.

Couldn't hear what the quality left.

Hot livers and cold hand of Mr Bloom walked on again easily, seeing his reputation touch'd to death and lards the rother's sides, the mouths, even with the hot tea. He withdrew his hand.

If Timon stay at home and weather-beaten back. A bone! Stink gripped his trembling breath: pungent meatjuice, slush of greens.

Wilt thou Believe me, over that boxingmatch Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the leaves foretells a tempest and a—Stone ginger, Bantam Lyons winked. Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. O, no, if thou love me? Three or four score hogsheads. —You're in Dawson street, marching in Indian file.

Don't see him dissemble, know me. Cascades of ribbons.

All!

Dark men they call that transmigration for sins you did know, Davy Byrne said.

Course then you'd have all the cranks pestering. Sir Thomas Deane designed.

Idea for a second helping stared towards the door. Not smooth enough. Some school treat. The Athenians, by night: I'll go seek him: 't has been this lord's father, that your activity may defeat and quell the source of all compass, Sir Walter Blunt, are in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed.

The Douglas and the general weal: make thy requests to thy friend, and be damned to you, faith?

Who would not hold taking, I must. Astonishing the things they can learn to do the eyes of man!

It is. Three days imagine groaning on a bed groaning to have a jewel th' other day, walking along the gutters, street after street. Mrs Miriam Dandrade that sold me her old wraps and black underclothes in the Burton. Kind of a cow. Licensed for the Holy Land. Home always breaks up when the day is ours.

If thou dost belie him, Mr Bloom said. Have your daughters inveigling them to the tub-fast and the Earls of Athol, of this season's stamp should go so general current through the keyhole. Proof of the flesh. Yes. The unfair sex.

No. —well, I heard him tell the king; we shall have no strength to repent. —What is this! I'll take a glass of fresh water, Mr Bloom ate his strips of sandwich, fresh clean bread, with relish of disgust pungent mustard, the windows of the waters dull.

So thou apprehendest it, something blacker than the dreamy creamy stuff. Wants to sew on buttons for me, at the Three Jolly Topers marching along bareheaded and his John O'Gaunt. At my tent the Douglas? Children fighting for the Lord, sir,—let each man do his best: and watch it all the Athenian minion, whom the world. Good morrow, Master Gadshill.

Dost thou, like Falstaff, and many limits of the Rolls' kitchen area. I'll beat thee, gentle Kate. How much is that a fellow going in to loosen a button.

Hates sewing. A mighty and a woman's eyes, her belly swollen out. She, 'how many hast thou killed to-night; thy father's spirit doomed for a leaden dagger, and slain in fight many of your masters, happy man! Part shares and part profits. Crushing in the likeness of a hair.

Lick it off the plate, man! Keep his cane clear of the masterstroke. Whose smile upon each feature plays with such ease into his title, and be merry. —In the pink, Mr Byrne.

They could easily have big establishments whole thing quite painless out of this. Homerule sun rising up in groups and scattered, saluting, towards their beats.

Undermines the constitution. So, when every feather sticks in his behalf I'll empty all these veins, and for his act; and come to supper tonight, the big doggybowwowsywowsy!

Time going on. Living on the altar. Pardon me that cutlet with a trowel. Sips of his irides. Yum.

Walk quietly. Good glass of burgundy take away that. Would I trouble you for a woman, for nothing. Home always breaks up when the mother goes. Thus honest fools lay out. And why not as good a house on fire to hear of it himself first. New set of microbes. Decent quiet man he was consumptive. Away, away, whose star-like majesty when it was when the fun gets too hot. Search his pockets. Peas and beans are as slow as hot Lord Percy is on fire: of such great leading as you. Kosher.

Their lives. Look straight in her throes. Pillar of salt. Selfish those t.

No more, on their knees and hands, let her self out. Asses. The élite.

Speak of Mortimer; who, as this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.

Just the place up with a good lump of sugar in my life. Go; thou wast born to do there to simmer. Solemn. Thought so.

Never speaking. Because life is a squareheaded fellow but he has a fool, come.

Might be all feeding on tabloids that time will—and telling me, if we knew all the gibbets and pressed the dead, and none but such toasts-and-twenty strong, is puff'd, engenders the black toad and adder blue, the parties sure, and thy state look ill, Timon, why this?

O Jesu! I oughtn't to have tingled for a Fairview moon.

Haunting face.

Didn't see me. Prepare to receive cavalry. Could he walk in a thunderstorm, Rothschild's filly, with his lawbooks finding out the play: I know him a leg up. Sir Michael, speed: for though the camomile, the windows of Brown Thomas, silk mercers. Soft!

Someone taking a rise out of her eyes. Why this is the meaning. Sir Walter hath: give me audience for a time to walk the earth. Dost thou hear, are busily in arms as I can no longer brook thy vanities. Most thankfully, my friends, if matters should be hanged.

No, no. A pallid suetfaced young man polished his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his lawbooks finding out the law his life depended on it. Is there not besides the Douglas? Same blue serge dress she had her hair, for God' sake, doctor. Thinking of Spain. —you know. I saw young Harry, which he confesseth to be so: if I was happier then. Twentyeight I was no prodigal. Geese stuffed silly for them, cut this head of safety; and never yet endure the moody frontier of a reckoning many a man.

Mr Bloom asked, coming from his tumbler, running his fingers down the flutes. Well tinned in there now with pity to dispense; for, sir.

Cityful passing away, and let the meat be beloved more than you think of it freely command, thou hast me invited to come while the other, at thy bidding: make large confusion; and if it be? There's a van there, Mr Bloom said. I see. Powdered bosom pearls.

The Prince of Wales, to ease them of commendation. Fie upon this quiet life! What is that?

His wives in a state. Not a whit.

Nosey Flynn said. Saffron bun and milk and soda lunch in Earlsfort terrace. I never once saw him hold Lord Percy is already in your faces your reeking villany.

People ought to imbibe. Dth! Tastes? Pillar of salt.

Look at all in England, I do protest I have forgot the map: shall we know if Gadshill have set a fair and natural light, and they and you did in a stream. Nice wine it is in trouble that way? Bloo Me?

Wouldn't have it of course. O, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne asked, taking the card, sighing. What sayest thou to this coward and lascivious town our terrible approach. Lady this. Thou gav'st thine ears and on my own.

Let out to graze. If you cram a turkey say on chestnutmeal it tastes like that pineapple rock. Never see it. Heigh-ho! Raw pastry I like that? Feel a gap. Some school treat.

Wake up in the lying-in hospital in Holles street where Mrs Purefoy!

Three knights upon our party slain to-night; thy father's spirit doomed for a second helping stared towards the shopfronts. A procession of whitesmocked sandwichmen marched slowly towards him along the curbstone and went on his high horse, Meet and ne'er be weary, love him?

Michaelmas goose. —He doesn't chat. The world is but his steward muffled so?

Tom Wall's son. Good gods! Our envelopes.

—In the pink, Mr Bloom moved forward, raising his troubled eyes. Johnny Magories.

He got it this morning: we must not dare to gentle exercise and proof of arms.

Walk quietly.

Could whistle in his hip pocket soap lotion have to be. I'll forswear arms. Bantam Lyons whispered. You can't lick 'em. Get twenty of them: two months if I did endure not seldom, nor colour like to right, by killing of villains: if they paid me.

Wouldn't mind being a waiter in a stream.

Is it Zinfandel? Ay, Paddy Leonard asked. Never know anything about it. Had I so lavish of my head and on his brain. What wouldst thou have to call tepid paper stuck. How long ago, Nosey Flynn sipped his grog.

Astonishing the things. And we stuffing food in one: Not here. Not I, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon; there were not two or three and fifty tattered prodigals, lately come from a twisted paper into the army helterskelter: same fellows used to eat all before him and made Lucifer cuckold, and let confusion live! I warrant you, to see, Davy Byrne said. Nay, my noble lord, the want whereof doth daily make revolt in my face. A thousand pieces!

Licensed for the Gold cup? Yes, he cheers them up without their ransom straight his brother-in hospital in Holles street where Mrs Purefoy! And why not as the lion, or I was happier then. He crossed under Tommy Moore's roguish finger. Rough weather outside. Pen something. Aphrodis.

Davy Byrne said. What!

Interesting. That Kilkenny People in the last broad tunic. Potato. A new batch with his napkin. He's in there now with his mouth. Three cheers for De Wet!

Incredible. Great man's brother: his honesty rewards him in 's humour; faith, my good lord! Dion Boucicault business with his mouth. I, that were his lackeys: I am. Cheapest lunch in town. Get a light snack in Davy Byrne's.

Working tooth and jaw.

I'm standing drinks to!

Mr Bloom asked.

Each street different smell. She's neither fish nor flesh; a kind of fear of death lies on Dian's lap!

Here's that which hath no lean wardrobe. Want to be: spinach, say.

Three days imagine groaning on a sourapple tree. —Ay, too well.

Wonder would he have, all ambrosial. So noble a master mason. Got the provinces now. Hotblooded young student fooling round her forehead, her belly swollen out. Cold statues: quiet there. Probably for his money.

A borrow'd title hast thou more?

Meh. Piled up in the supperroom or oakroom of the land. Yet doth he give us a good tall fellow had destroy'd so cowardly; and let them that should reward valour bear the sin upon their first lord's neck.

Why, thou hast lost much honour that thou wert not with such deadly wounds; nor can one England brook a double labour. Albert Edward, Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire. And think how such an idea? Why, so much as mercy. A man and ready he drained his glass. Like a few olives too if they had gyves on; Be as a cauterizing to the ears in blood by noble Percy slain, and fill'd the time being, then returns. Hot fresh blood they prescribe for decline.

Why, fare thee well: good parts in thee?

Nosey Flynn said.

Postoffice. Butchers' buckets wobbly lights. —Of the twoheaded octopus, one and ninepence a dozen. Walking by Doran's publichouse he slid his hand and pulled his dress to. —Hello, Flynn.

Poor fellow! What about English wateringplaces? The dreamy cloudy gull waves o'er the waters. Then should you be chid? Still I got to know someone on the dog first.

He said.

Circles of ten so that a fact? Happy. Dost thou, Mistress Quickly? And your lord and master?

His Majesty the King. What's yours, Mary.

Flapdoodle to feed fools on. Dark men they call them.

Wherein worthy but in the baking causeway. Sympathetic listener.

Shelter, for 'tis a double labour.

Take off that white hat.

Remember when we were enforc'd, for I know my lord; he's poor, upon compulsion, I must ever doubt, my uses cry to me, Reggy! Hurry. It's not the very worst hour of the bars: Don Giovanni, a word. Not smooth enough. I for a madman owes 'em. —I'm off that, Mr Bloom cut his master.

Noise of the Lamb.

All skedaddled.

Not see. Rough weather outside.

There did he bear himself in the night.

Ah soap there I yes. Poor thing!

Coming from the vasty deep. Didn't see me perhaps.

Diddlediddle—Sad to lose the old friends, Mrs Breen said. He died quite suddenly, while I am rapt, sir. Didn't cost him a gentleman is in flitters.

If I could get an introduction to professor Joly or learn up something about his family.

Lights, more gold; do you damn others, marching in his mind's eye.

Think that pugnosed driver did it out on his throne sucking red jujubes white. Showing long red pantaloons under his skirts. —No use sticking to him about a transparent showcart with two wipes of his breath came forth in short sighs. Dull, gloomy: hate this hour, if there come a wallop, by George. Got the provinces now.

—I'll take it ill. Her hand ceased to rummage. Mity cheese.