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something-very-special · 4 years ago

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they ran over the seals

More Replicant playthrough observations and general nonsense under the cut. For reference, up to the keystone quest; completed the Forest of Myth and Junk Heap.

This fucking game I swear to god.

A vaguely coherent ramble about sidequests An observation about sidequests in general in this game -- and I don't recall if I ever voiced this somewhere public or it was just a personal observation from my time with the original -- is that the quests in the first half of the game are all relatively easy to complete. There's that one asshat who wants 10 goat hides, but other than him, most of the sidequests are either very much based on finding characters, or gathering a sensible number of items that are either relatively common, purchasable, or given a guaranteed spawn for the duration of that quest.

The sidequests everybody remembers having to do are in the second half, where everybody is demanding and awful and I'm sorry ten MACHINE OILS do you know how goddamn rare those are? They're goddamn rare.

(We'll not discuss Life in the Sands.)

This is generally agreed to, in the technical vernacular, 'suck'. And it's always funny that the most interesting sidequests are the ones with very minimal requirements (Yonah's cooking, getting Popola drunk, the Lighthouse Ladoh my god everything's gone blurry I'm not crying you're crying who am I kidding we're both crying). That particular aspect of the design also feels intentional, not really gating your ability to progress the really meaningful or funny sidequests behind an unreasonable number of rare items. The other aspect of the design is that these quests are not meant to be completed in a single playthrough; most of them are single-stage and just absolutely unreasonable, but if you're going through the game four times you have a... reasonable chance of getting everything you need more or less naturally.

Nobody does that but I think that was the intended design. I think it's a good idea, although the execution of expectation is flawed so I don't really blame people for saying those sidequests suck. (Although I will in turn blame people for saying the sidequests suck as a blanket statement. Yeah getting that guy who burned his kitchen down a billion Broken Motors is aggravating but did you not find that old man's dog? Speak to Ursula on her death bed? Solve a murder? Then again I think tracking down that rotten son who's trying to get away from The Family Business only to learn his father is a con-artist and get literally no reward is the height of comedy so maybe I'm not the greatest point of reference.)

But that asshole in Facade can get bent. I can't exploit my garden properly, jackass! I am no longer a god of time. (I kid, of course.) (This guys sucks even when you can fix your clock.)

Forest of Myth It didn't even occur to me to wonder how they would incorporate the comprehensive voice acting into the Forest of Myth. I like how it plays out, although I wish the voices maybe had a fade as you went deeper into the dream instead of just cutting out at some point, especially for the lines where the characters are being ascribed actions by the narrator that they themselves aren't doing near the start of the Deathdream. But it's just delightful to go back to it. The second half of the game really sticks in your mind both for emotional reasons and because you play it at least three times per full playthrough of the game, but the first half is just so much fun.

Protip: Talk to everybody after you've finished the dream sidequest. Weiss tries to dissuade you. Don't let him dissuade you. I'm still delighted by the Mayor; "We're building a statue of you, made of solid gold. I know you don't own a horse, but we're going to put you on a horse."

I forgot about Yonah being a disaster chef Papa Nier's reaction to the stew is better. Brother is still funny but Papa Nier just expecting to die is comedy gold.

For anybody curious, the joke about the cakes is that Yonah made 'fruit cake' using some of the worst possible fruits for cake-making. If only she'd thrown a tomato into the mix, too.

Lighthouse Lady Every time. what the fuck is a canal I'm aware of the addition of the new-old content but it didn't occur to me until Popola suddenly starts nattering on about fixing the canal when I'm expecting Yonah to talk about a penpal that oh, yeah, I guess Seafront would have had something going on the first half that would play into the second half? (I assume it does. Be weird to introduce these characters just to have groundwork for an added sidequest. ...but it was a cute sidequest.) But look Popola my boy is supposed to be in the next area I visit could we-- I mean he's on the way could we just-- no-- fiiiiiiiiiine. (It was short and sweet, though, and I appreciate that the couple's love is exemplified by them both calling Weiss a floating magazine in tandem.) On a related note but was I the only person suddenly concerned when the sidequest completion maxed out at 50% and not 51%? I had to double-check with a guide just to make sure, since I've spent the last decade telling people to make sure you hit 51% before going on to Part II.

MY BOY I love that nowadays, Emil is everybody's son. But I really wish I could go find somebody only familiar with Automata and just watch their reaction. (I'm guessing there are streams out there that fulfill this but man I'd love to get it in-person.) If you're only familiar with him from Automata this has to be a mindfuck.

Personal anecdote, but I've had the privilege of playing NIER with somebody else almost every time I've gone through it. I had a wonderful experience of doing a replay some years back with somebody who had experienced it with me before but didn't have the most solid memory of the beginning (and had actually missed the entire weapon's lab the first time through). I get to the boy at the piano introducing himself and the 'Wait, what?' was a thing of beauty.

MY ANDROID This was a welcome mindfuck for me; finding Sebastian and having him 'reactivate' in such an unnatural, mechanical way. I don't recall if it was ever officially confirmed that Sebastian is an android (I know that it's just understood that this is the case but I'm not I can't recall a specific one) but the little flair they added to his animation caught me completely off guard. I liked it!

Destroying the food source A lot of people will cite a major inciting incident for the game as being when the protagonist heading back into the village and killing the child Shades just outside the entrance. This moment is such a great bit of subtle foreshadowing that's so easy to miss... but kind of joining that, just before the Knave of Hearts attacks, I realized that the Shades out on the Northern Plains are clearly ramping up for an assault of their own by murdering the sheep. The sheep population at this point is decimated (which is great when you realize you haven't gotten the Sheepslayer trophy and you're about to enter Part II and you don't know if the boar drifting minigame got carried forward with the inclusion of 15 Nightmares). You go out onto the Plains and you will find not only small clusters of sheep left behind instead of the vast, terrifying herds from the start of the game, but until you get their attention the Shades are prioritizing killing the sheep. (Also annoying because that doesn't count toward my sheep murder number.) The Shades will be out there also killing sheep earlier on, but since the whole map is in Overcast mode after talking to Yonah it's especially prevalent to go out to the Northern Plains and seeing the slaughter. And I realized-- they're cutting the Village off from a primary food source. Shades don't eat and they don't have any beef with the local ungulates (at least, no more so than anybody else does), so why are they hunting down the sheep? To deprive their enemies of resources. Sheep are extinct by the timeskip. It's actually really clever of them, and a really clever indication of their sentience and intelligence before it's fully verified.

"Let's get these shit-hogs!" Everything about the way Kaine and Emil interact across the entire game is perfect I will brook no argument this is objective fact.

Emotive Rectangles I wrote an essay about this before but it really bears repeating that the job the original animators did with this scene is just phenomenal. The way Weiss drifts, flits, flips, fans his pages, drunkenly swerves, shoots around the room in defiance... He's a goddamn rectangle, but there is so much emotion and personality in this scene just based on the movements conveyed through a what is effectively just a box. Ten years later and triple-A titles with full facial capture don't have this much seething personality. I really have to give props to the cavia animators, wherever they wound up. That studio could really put some subtle love and care into their titles, utterly unnecessary and easy to miss but you can tell that whoever was working on it was giving it their all. The books are probably the exemplification of this, but every time I go into Seafront and visit the seals I can tell that the guy on seal duty was having just the best day. They made Emil so pretty There's an FMV cutscene right smack in the middle of the original game after the battle against Noir. I understand why it was a necessity on a technical level, but it always looked pretty out of place and a little uncanny valley compared to the rest of the graphical fidelity. That's no longer a necessity so this cutscene is rendered in-engine. I admit I was actually curious to see it redone this way and it looks fantastic. I single out Emil since he is the focal point of cutscene and because his particular high-poly model had some pretty weird difference from his in-engine model, but he and Kaine both look great. But, like, it's almost mean how pretty he is.

They made Brother Nier so pretty Yeah okay you got me he's kind of hot. Kaine's expression when she wakes up and looks him over is... significantly easier to read now. Good voice, too. (Ancient rumors tell that one of the issues with international releases of RepliCant was that they couldn't find an English VA with a voice that 'fit' Brother Nier. He sounded good out the gate but hearing him growl "Let's go TAKE CARE of those KIDS" during the thief sidequest-- I got chills. It sounds so silly but there's a kind of percolating fury to that delivery. Papa Nier was like frustrated but mostly disappointed dad; I felt like Brother was going to take care of those kids, and nobody was going to find the bodies. Younger Brother Nier just never stops looking goofy to me but Older Brother just looks great in motion, between the alterations they made to the movement and just the entire weaponry system. The distinction between the two halves of the game was always a little odd in the Gestalt version-- not odd enough to really raise eyebrows if you didn't know about RepliCant, but of course you can tell that this age gape between the optimistic doe-eyed dogooder and a man largely ruled by his fury and calloused by tragedy is what the timeskip was going for. Swab me down and call me Ishmael, it works. Younger Brother wasn't quite clicking with me-- not because of any writing or voicework issues, but I've got Papa Nier on the back of my mind and it's impossible not to compare and contrast the delivery and dialogue between the two. I know that this is intentional, too; Younger Brother is supposed to be that happy-go-lucky video game protagonist, always doing the right thing and helping people, in order to contrast against the man he becomes. Even just edging into Part II the effect is dramatic and it recontextualizes Younger Brother into a much more effective overall character. And let me reiterate, I enjoyed my time with Younger Brother just fine, I have no issues with him. But he's up against Well Meaning Big Dummy Part I Papa Nier. No contest. And I'm excited to see where Older Brother goes from here.

Speaking of voices I mentioned this before but the delivery on the character's lines is different. The entire game was re-recorded and quite a few lines are still pretty similar to the original, but there are some that are... definitely different. Part of this is a difference in the relationship between characters based on their life experience and ages-- Weiss is much more of an ass to Younger Brother but has a much more even respect for Older Brother (neither of which are like the rapport he established with Father). Some of Kaine's lines feel more aloof, dismissive, and almost tired in the front half of the game. I haven't really gotten to a point to dig into Emil's rapport with the other characters, but the delivery feels more hesitant and uncertain (which I think is more in line with his Japanese VO, but I'm prefacing that on an untrained ear and a presumption rather than recent memory). It's been interesting to see not just where hey adjusted dialogue (and how-- there are some lines that didn't need to be rewritten), but also how they adjust tone and delivery. Dealing with Younger Brother is one thing, but as I said, I'm very excited to see what's different in the second half, especially being much more familiar with that part of the game. Speaking of Voices! Halua got dialogue! I... preferred when it was inferred (and the implications of "I'll always be watching over you" are borderline malicious given the results of their fusion dance, yeah THANK YOU HALUA this is GREAT). Halua's delivery also felt a little too innocent and upbeat both for the situation and when compared to her narrative voice in The Stone Flower, where she comes across as much more cynical and cold. But given what she's been through and the nightmare she's finally escaping I guess she's allowed express happiness. She's certainly earned the right to having a spoken line. No matter what. Every fuckin' time.

"Here we go." This was always a great line to kind of ease in to the officially-official start of Part II-- every time you start up a New Game+ you're greeted with Emil musing about his conflation of Halua to Kaine, and then the phrase "Here we go". There's a lot in that one line. On a personal level he's grounding his thoughts in the moment and steeling himself for what comes next and pushing through his pain and sadness and fear. Whatever Nier told him in the facility he's still terrified, desperately terrified, that Kaine -- who was the one who told him his life had meaning -- is going to reject him. And why wouldn't she? Ultimately they don't know each other, not really. He understands at that moment that his relationship with Kaine is based on confused memories of his sister, that maybe the bond he thought they established isn't actually real. As soon as he frees Kaine he's going to have to confront her, like this, and how could she ever-- she won't-- but he can't just leave her. Whatever happens next. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. (God it matters.) "Here we go." On a meta level, that's our introduction into the second half of the game. The first half is all prologue. This is where we'll be spending the rest of our time, even to the point that 'New Game+' skips straight ahead to this moment. Now that we've finished the establishment, this is where it all builds and where it all matters. Here we go, audience. The ride starts now. You get up to this point now in Replicant. You get the same lead-in. My dumb ass even whispered "Here we go", because I can't help myself. And he says, of course he says--! "Anyway." ... ...a-anyway? What the hell kind of line is that? "Here's some deeply personal musings that are also an indication of my own discomfort as I babble to myself just to fill the void so I can stave off thinking for just a few more seconds. ANYWAY." What a... bizarre decision. Just bizarre.

Upgraded melee combat The introduction to the armored Shades always feel kind of rough-- the defenses on those Shades are significantly higher than anything you've faced and the new weapons you're given to combat them just aren't that good. (If you got lucky you could have a fully-upgraded Faith by now, which is nearly three times as powerful as the 'heavy' two-handed sword you're given; if you downloaded the 4 YoRHa pack for Replicant you've probably been able to upgrade one of those weapons once, which are also a really nice strength boost that leaves the freebie heavy swords and spears in the dust). As an introduction to the new weapon types it always feels like rough going. But then you get a chance to get decent weapons and the combat system truly opens up, and compared to the first game you really feel it. At this juncture I would always just bustle off to Facade and grab the Phoenix Spear and never look back-- the raw power compared to the rest of your arsenal coupled with the triangle dash is basically the bread and butter of the rest of the game. It's not exciting, but it's effective. No more triangle dashing, which was deeply disappointing... but both weapons definitely feel good. I am also somewhat ashamed to admit that it wasn't until now that I realized attacks weren't just about rhythmic input-- you can hold the attacks down to do different charged hits and combos depending on when you execute them in your combo, similar to Automata. I, uh... I felt a bit dumb. But hey, wow, it's a welcome adjustment and it makes all of the weapon types feel equally valuable for different purposes. I never liked using the heavy blades in the original release because they just felt too slow for the damage output they did, even if their 'point' was mostly to sheer off armor (and they definitely felt too slow for use in crowd control). Now they're still heavy and slower, but not to the point that you're basically leaving yourself open just trying to attack. Spears now do crazy sweeping combos and multi-hits. Both of these properties were borrowed from Automata and I find myself prioritizing melee combat and almost forgetting I have magic because honestly it just feels intuitive and fun. I feel like Kaine and Emil might have gotten a power boost as well? Not that I can really confirm this but going into some of the Junk Heap rooms I'd focus on killing a few robots in the corner and then turn around and just see a field of item drops and no more robots. Don't take my word on that, of course, but they felt a little more effective, and a placebo effect is still an effect. "You're staging a protest? That's fun!" Emil. Rebel without a cause. Will not hesitate to kill you if you trespass on his property. (Might explain the statues in the courtyard, actually.) I'll have to double-check this dialogue because I definitely remember more of a melancholia before we get to roasting marshmallows. I think Papa Nier actually offers to talk to/implicitly threaten the villagers to let them in the Village whereas Brother offers to sleep outside with them... which is actually kind of funny. In the former it comes off as Emil and Kaine maybe kinda-sorta not wanting to be allowed in the Village for their own reasons (they're not happy reasons but they're reasons nonetheless) and reassuring Father that no, it's okay, it's fun! The latter is almost telling Brother to stay inside because he'll ruin their sleepover.

(They're absolutely having giggly girl talk about him outside the gates, 100%.) they ran over the seals All I want in Seafront is to enjoy the music and run out to the big beach and hang out with the last living seals and they put a fucking pirate ship on top of them. Oh, wow. Gideon. Wow. OG Nier featured a Gideon that tried to keep himself together and then had fits of mania. You'd be concerned about him during some of the dialogue but generally speaking he came across as... functional. The delivery on all of his lines is now so insanely murder bonkers, like every line he's addressing you like you're already chained to the wall of his serial killer dungeon and it's glorious. I don't know if the distinction between the games is deliberate (in that Gideon in Gestalt was just more even-keeled between his 'rip 'em apart' snarlings and was always just totally nutso in RepliCant) but I do appreciate it. It's a good mirror to Brother Nier's own anger, which only ever seems to be mollified when he's talking to his friends (even kindly accepting sidequests there's a pretty consistent -- not universal, but consistent -- air of barely-bridled frustration). The other characters that Brother encounters are various reflections of himself if things had just been a little different-- Gideon was a representation of the kind of obsessive madness that would have eaten Brother alive if he hadn't had his network of support. Gideon's constant fury and bloodlust even bleeds into him just saying "What can I do for you?" He has no anchor to keep himself sane, nobody to stay human for; he's all mania, all anger, and he only takes any real interest in Brother on his return because he sees an opportunity to act out his vengeance. After defeating Beepy and Kalil he even goes so far as to not only blame Beepy for killing Jakob, but for also killing their mother, which is patently insane but really speaks to how far his justifications and fury have taken him. Papa Nier responds to his anger toward Beepy by basically backing away slowly and saying "Oookay then". Brother, however, actually commiserates; "That's enough. [...] We get it. We really do." This is definitely one of those moments where Brother's context works better than Father's; he absolutely sees himself in Gideon. He completely understands him and sympathizes. He recognizes the madness of his own quest, he sees where it could take him, and there's a resignation when he speaks to Weiss: "Revenge is a fool's errand." "...yeah." Papa Nier has a similar delivery and similarly implies that he understands how terrible his quest is, but there's something decidedly haunting in Brother's sympathy. Also just verifying something on the wiki and this bit of 'Trivia' really jumped at me:

Gideon is the only character to only cause the deaths of other characters. In his case, he caused a platform to crush Jakob and ordered the deaths of P-33 and Kalil, with P-33 surviving.

Metal AF.

#NieR #NieR Replicant #Rambling #He will always say 'here we go' in my heart #And that's probably a serious medical condition

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turuses-blog · 5 years ago

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Space Suede

Space~Suede

}}}}

UUUNNNN

taste

Without spectacle or speculation To disprove either, why this contrite act Of order - wrought twice over now - with patience Is an obedience foreign to lapse… Within perfect solitude and solace that To rend an addict’s said, dictatorship… Oh! in bellows, battling always, lapsed Steering clear of crystals from any hip… Oh! trapped for good in ambient control A wave formation, phalanx, to peruse Notwithstanding ministry! to unfurl Freedom, from nothing in essence. Peruse A’ some chapters’ few, and connect To an indeterminable static.

sallow / pallor

it must be the burnt lemon tree fall upon us solid-crysallids of almondine kiss and please, never let go of this almond fists’ criss-cross lisp to hold boiling fugue it is that the dusky forever’s took a tan gentle shrub enough of a lover’s hug wild at first yet plunging into cupid’s burning lungs o, that sweet passion, to be thy mouth of windless notion… promontory, flora where to end thy’s pursed-when, or begin, what fond of recoil and jettison-nonplus we’ve bout begged to dine at its smouldering tartine plagued with ragged snakes and flame to please for the sakes of this lonely burnt lemon tree I’ll assail all with what the burnt lemon takes to consume

breakneck

the ivy has pigment on the crux of the arch. the sagging arch of ivy’s pass. it used to be a pasture for silent matters and setting an eye-on and detach. i fear yet the ivy grows me down to this domicile. in the atrium for tea. oh i hate making flavored drinks for such a characteristic ship, sewn together by and by leaves. dare i yank it dare i pull, double-dare i uproot it; and tassle with it’s finland barbs… wait does it flower? does it own this home? where does it retreat at night when the lamp post posits chrome * no this ivy has a freedom. almost sent from thy heaven’s aftermath… calculating cold evenings alone, and sunny days for scaffolding craft… *it has the right to my door I guess, yet, I must depart tonight… I wish it wasn’t that easy to spot the lamplight’s goneth out tight a splaying, praying, hinge!, yet amorous as pups, that gild by day, and sleep by night… ’just where to go, least infected, so and so, I had for breakfast… as yet, to, I follow the light trodden path out of this dwarve’s town quite, all the while pretty sure - with baggage, light - I may endure a night made up for sleep, not just the itch of playful ivy. and which it’s poison is though soft, maest expedia is complicated as if gazing on twilling willows, accord perpindicular armed these pillows made by man, i completely can’t understand how it got there, or if it’s coming down, whether or not storm of protest, or friendly nether… I’ve tide us together… with a silent jag… the keystone pocketed by horse… to ride out until yet

serious settlement issue

“oh its just an odd-knocker, this storm.” Praytell forsooth not for teeth clenching prone to roarish brethren. the typeset that abhors onlookers and grave shade yet, whet for grass movements in an erroneous of swivel-floods and tourist. oh and Percival protecting the glass sass root, cellar with ornament and scone (already on hand) “oh it is quite an odd-knocker, this storm.” grassroots do tell of its aberration, the middle of fall. When and where a witch could scold up a cauldron of cabbage and sugar… to melt your eyes, she switches the lever on… yet no flying, nor sabbotage, in the old bottom-smith, glass loot, cellar for pause. “oh its dying down. this storm, what an odd knock.” as I was in teem, miserable-mind-sleeping… the middle of this seeping womb - the steady creaking of antiquated quaking - without cause. and till the water breaks I shall whisper twas an odd-knocking, as if nothing at all. nothing devoid of a forecast for glasses to toss shadows on the floor which soon shall bind all my fastest convex as storm!

peti teach

if it weren’t as bad as it was the shelter would have taken scorned crops to this hearth but snowfall brawn on the spruce young guns - find the children-chimerical toast points everywhere… green pea pods appear! everywhere, just for a few seconds from way up here…looks toyish, wonda’ if it id be a boy’s-wish!I

‘lest ye revolve around a stick! (once again) a kernel of hope! a bravish…with wits, rope and vhs tapes as these oils, and balsamic vinegarette! my choose, you,

the scalding hot crouton, bouillin outside like noodle… the exposures almost ready….! ‘spooky’-A.R. battle for the prestige of having a show to perform, the second night… the sun is a baffling cradle, lullaby magnets to master for when rapheal posee’s

tittilage

a truck stop south of the horizon… three perfect miles tilled in tile and daily tallied, the lapse being ticket to a calm shout-out…I’m ’talkin max shout out

too many at the table...

shelter… pass it around, At least floridian-meritous, pass the dish… thanksgiving gobbs, out his final mouth. “what is this? a poet convention? I’ve heard the cooking from the fridge. “strange postulate…mmm” Jason takes a sweet friccasi… pass the dish… the moon lost its directions, sitting clock-wise, to floridian-merit boasts! lucky guise… pass that dish… and someone reignite this/that candle, oh yet…” the braille-felt ham tasted too-full, aux musing at last “is that ham from the fridge Jason? is already cooked? shelter, why, I will get it…

oh, it has to… bottom of the jar stuck in pretzal’s sobriety… it has to so it can reach the others! the end of the bag, I do say! inquisitive little grasshopper… oh, it has to last… past the two twilights we caught… develop sobriety like a hawk’s bitten chalk… screeching out the taffy just to feel how hops oh, it has to last shorter? why are we backwards like arks? why do we persevere on this quest for the arts? sobriety teams with the green, forensics will catch sight… of a drunkard, with wallabees stationed peruvial at night…. but, might, this door, be friendly? be friendly this door? how can i call my licensure insured? sobriety oh it has to last longer, take a look at this fjord, theres room for candy, Now, I wonder, it’s make! high fortutious exhibition that three some odd twilights i see on television… all requited and paid trick fore, “i keep mine in elastic bands twirling orange fashioned melt-corn-caramel-candy…’ ‘where did i put my sword…’ ‘in fact next year I’ll get the hang of this and cut the corn out’ “bags of melt-caramel-candy” which is what i would frau, to peaceable elements of the nightgown i see crown…” “oh, the door,” “can this last any longer?” the fastest way to sink a tooth into something, valued like sales!, when the aliens embody us, do they where costumes… pouring ale? ‘i sent a message to an alien once, now in closest procedure, it said, nothing like servicing the eccentric and the outfit’s they where, colloquial as procedure!…’ that’s enough flapping your lonely gums, man, the candles are out…yours?

jump

the snowy peat piques under our feet a week to bend around the corner till cumbersome cleets - may! - be whittlin the trees and run, ran, tepid in a gauzy defeat all along the terrace, yet not where whet marks’ from… oh the dance of fall, trance-like snow and inward expansion, that is, from a handsome dole of ears on farmer’s land some mottled and took shape to swindle ransomed territorial foot jerks, root/root-marm type glances - a lot of this would happen the peckish birds in order the final cloud stops to talk the defunkt plough hits its rhythm when they crash into Noah’s Arc

block-q

liquid frozen cherry hearts

“used to plunder, here, pitch” “nitrogen in the gun, a black shark” appointed toward with the pistol ridge. sequential ultra-violet lights hearken

now, aiming at perfect concentric circles a miracle to miss, a martyr scorned at every outer or other disc a lively ancestral adagio of bank clutching triggers affronting notions of hands with gifts on cigarettes, alleviating the end of this type of pistols’ training measure, arriving behind, now, through doors, a field of ace-cards, to score, Since, as all alive, they arrive via assault rifles brought by forklift to the mire

january in code

although they do know hospitality, and efficiency among the dreary… well, since the nurse left, it was sweltering inside the cabin. which forsook the season came early, Good Heavens and when we couldn’t take it at all, we issued out into the ramps of snow as blockade and like beforehand spotted the of tufts tobacco far off, gunfire outlets and discoed merrily gauging, yet gouging our gait…

we still had the ridge around this necropolis half-faced, and as we spread, like butter on a skillet, we lost contact, our breathe no longer visible, plodding on into the flurries laying in graves

possibly still warm, we had moved out earlier than as expected… the extra flattering isometric movements we made were cantankerous. at mortar - we lay along the ridges - a fresh footsteps’ walkway past the trekked banks, still with us. , digging now back, surrounded by snow, towards the cabin, which this bearing clod and snow curtain imposes in testimony to a feverish loan, …before we start freezing, submachine guns on our postuler comprisals’ with whoady-demons hiding in the banks… whoa… I had strong, black coffee in a flask, which acted fast, yet put me at a loss with the frostbite of that cabin drought…

etc

As he gaze past the blinds, blinded by sun and shade, he pulls the chord aperture, at an angle and walks away to the study… Now as some say he makes beautiful sonnets… he to turn on the light to dawn it - these unbelievable inexplicably structured poems, which, in delight - glaze as he flips through; and raise the top right hand corner at the dancing wick to see the roman numeral to expedient light… Waiting to shop for milk and cheese, just to go ‘home… …and count [his] poems.’ again - replete, with pen names and invisible device, catalouge and camoflauge - jagged jarring shadow mare, bleached-Marrakesh, displaying their centre of weight. - just to eventually feed the perishable… Yet so - conceited, fashion to vague response and acquisitions, sometimes wrought - not just with his abundance of makes and modellas - conceited to the even very first time he ridiculously took time to stray from couplets and into: haikus, tankas, couplets, stanzas, coupons, colored leaves, radio jazz limericks, sonnets and shoes, just you-bet that until you read his work, that’s all you hear about, etc…

spot spice

i trot alien to the moon, passive and plausible to make the rise soon… its still early - while she ties her frown in thoughts, laying down - for her. mirth married to tarrier, wincing fairy-gilded to answer the wrought specs ‘in step with the window - the next possible contact swoon so certain and so far away the curtains of fall and May destined to be some other day - the dry champagne - co-ordinates slow - and the clamor, cauterized by locks of snow… until, ray upon ray of thy whetted smile - the merry festoon parlay as he gestures in a hard place… ‘I shall climb this tower, and rescue thee, not since Aesop, hath I believed, that there, a way to contest in speech, win and render this read heir besmirched your fate-meet, to a tender of every mention of my search… to seek. if I don’t climb to Luna, I may not resolve A pageantry for my waking ours’ and roses, in which to impeach.’

sandy welts

I went through there a while ago… it was fun crouching and dodging the trees… pressed to be, at war with the cite pleading-seething, not early enough to sneeze, yet being and in the beating pulse fleer of a rich,slow, (atomized) culture… in a way it felt untouched, I author… yet as i went on it seemed the way was receding towards an uncomfortable nature. First: the crickets’; sharp territorial lacerations, and the grass; against my calves, the smells of raw dirt; sobbing & the static-firecracker chlorophyll, all dashing ample pressure without building moisture, nonplus- with a bark of tree-like controlled temperature, ready as the rain and sun… it was cool, like an artic-submarine, as i wilted my holder’s keep then yet the thinning sun through the vertices’ expenditures clearly dipped to keep what expedience eye to eye… - I had trekked in a straight line so I took an about-face and marched back through…

‘talk about a red forest; passchendale spread dirt worked crescendo in quiet anticipation… scene from fantasies with a clumsy flourist…(stocked to the teeth) possibly enroute to explore the extra toxic mycological experiential plummets of the sport, known around here as half-plums - down-the-road, flash-back driven to protect snails…that’s all to say about it… yet I know they left trails… all waiting beside, an unevenly undulating mossy-short-fringed-shore…

The forrest sweat with me. It was on fire, the sun reached the luminescence cast from mark… on this relief of a march (more a thoroughfare) I couldn’t remember sites or paths or anything except the cyphered boughs… I dare say the leaves (in control) had me trapped, or lesser-oblong, blinded a gigantic swirling record of historians…! twas, more a terrestrian color brigade’s way of choosing way; and off to the sides: hay and what have you on one side, and a hedge high as high buildings envisioned from the fence ‘far off feudal. ‘all it needs is a fashionable mortuary on this plot to clear the woods I say… ‘next to congregational fences therefore, for they say the woods ain’t no normal woods…could be… I don’t frequent forrests too much, but maybe

the cedar incarcerated graveyard to last past wroughten fig draws

the screech of an antique drawer… the ‘screams at night to be extra visible, in the swift wind. almanac worthy, sale-item, pearl-obelisks of miniature mince through acumen fro-whistling. thats it with the fields, yet a myriad of several more super-imposed ghastly victims float through the dying leaves, kicking up dusts and leaf-coupons… I hear the roof belongs to the moon, and the smallest matters’ seek the light…

partridge

a twisted piece of grass in his responsible thumbs. he takes in, and lets out and some crickets jump in. had he known, grass-gowns for licorice, he’d had not blown his cover, oh so covetted as a tomb ground nearby, so surly, metamorphic reprise done under. what with a sandal stepping on top of small hills. ants and moth and flower and soil… best if he heads home the sun seems to be toiling

may weather

the bulbous’ businesses bias is of this hyacinth park - next to a frequency-trip rhododendron mention -parched my upper and hidden tensions of sinuses on a timeprint trip toward the sun. blocking the way a few feverish violets graying on the task ‘afront. ‘ i uncontrollably thought of sneezing, i know just the one… with a muddy print flurring off into the grassiest patches of hatchwork passes… chastised with practices of cold mashed potatoes and born of bread in sandwhiches…just to get past this…

she wore along with a song of the ancients - some climactic recession - that of butterflies and their swift tangential progressions; more than half - by a bit - past suspension… yet hammer’s smith smith moat, floating - to say - and blinking infinitely on a saucer of dismay… what several willows’ pillows at thought to bade, arrays of colorific centrepieces no more than just a bit clay… yet cloisters holsters sprays and sprays… while indeed the worthiest longlash fashions the gray. running away takes more time… i guess

rest

it was like destiny’s letters… cheavauh brawten… myriadical faucet (on) break-up patents, loose jean, palindromatic headdress on the lap of conclave…

‘just building, destroying miracles.. sorry worry-issue, razing glass tubes with the fictitious friction, how so~ felicitous at mention… rented a co-op back to baccyus (too) painted leisurical

praytell

an oriented cat figured its way across my lap and sat ‘correction, with articulation… and that, these

witchy-cat’s-eyes did stare at my frozen-folded slacks of worrisome pseudo turmoil - contingent on witches-cats’ body prompting hyphenetic enfolding upon, yet may not capture, the riding - crumpled - as i got up. and, yet let the yarn of her fretful sorcery fold mercurially into a snow man’s legs…which happened backwards…accidente’ ‘thought i might snatch my in-hand-done papers; plucked like a c string…out and on this same diaspora singular-editions… of which might defribulate a countenance leaving hooks cards’ on door knobs…quo now and forever, and with thinning trim as, whispering spurs dropped that witchy cat into the time-signature of my noumenal greeting prepositions to date, and all anti-slack band fashion - to temper to hands off and on… for instance I grasped the gnomon that i construed out of wrought natural materials, including but not limited to mangoes, caramel and magnesium… shaving the time…~ it wears like glue I had forth created the sheathing effect of its width set, scent, and scoal that is that time and time again cat’s are proven to exist forever… the scary-witch-cat caught up with me at the door harboring a big, black, bubbly cauldron-stir… with a peacemeal glance back at the forth chapter and muttered, just a bit, whetted. the air quickly jetted to phenomenal… what time was it, was it? i left my apothecary, things were looking up! soon to spread the time ah the settlling slug, the maniacal ant reserves the bald men selling rugs and the pills that people deserve… - always awake yet - and feverishly asleep; sleeping all the time away my undulations and motion-derivatives tart in series and sets complexed the fluish tenders of the herrendous heat tarp to act art contradictory veritas minutely and breathe hearty of the daze chalk if thats what is entailed - the job was simple yet met with some combattant like.

- perhaps outside where the cigarettes burn; platonic mnemonic, reindeer begged for antlers cash spent enroute to the spot, most of it traditional cat’s telephone machine… who knows?

a semi-efficient compromise of plexiglass scratch flat - the vivid pock marks of the projector, which’s capacity was quite muddled. and the cat had it (either way) yet the cat call worked the cat, santa claus, some other big names… kicked a freestyle session, pretty dope stuff. for instance… “i bring you presence” that guy has way too much time on his hands.

Houndstooth is soundproof

1. quay

1.tell everyone, the basement’s done flooding…

1.my house, a crumb within a flute sharps of embankments

1.patients testing lesser things for flooding or dried fish

1.“you’ll have yours”

1.“its windy outside”

1.the basement is whetted while i rinse through blades and shower my facial

1.while spirits sink from the comforter - morse code balancing, with this art

1.blinking, blinking, blinking…

1.stridents

1.0

1.kneedeep

1.‘back in the day, when i was young, i’m not a kid anymore’

1.bliss crystals sift through stealth, miss you ‘xoxox’

1.plagarize dexterity for another half-surmised

1.blur of the edges insofar fit for a fistful of life, twitch, came short and sought wife-

1.Those, curious pledges to deltoids, the -esiuz of the ledger

1.blasting surfeit in two lasting past the forth, fortnight eclipse…

1.you get to fight; aside a private glass of modern man’s ant-hill

1.some tvo granted chain of command through the grass blades,

1.sit, fantasy, break, elven toxicology…speak worldly through a spasm i once had…

1.no doubt it would wash away in mineral deposits, so accursedly shallow…

1.pressur

1.patches, on delt’s quay -

1.milk and chips…

1.chocolate on the mint press procedural stress

1.need so many…

1.tell me about it,

1.abdicate

deltoid

i fell into a double-pronged - gift - marriot of song. play flacons fillial fish bladed oblong…merro sketched on sever audacity (semblance) with a crew-dillitant - as if fading hair to a nightmare of irrevocable capacity, to grow there…

poppin off, lots of toss, to the clouds though, the floss (ignoring bliss?) which topped my chart, on my single hit-or-miss mark… flakes of gentle seabass, of which it wash… bark bark!

seriously took a reel in to exist…

chalk melted and bladed the number’s drawn on a pheonix,

of which was sent to bring her flowers? can you believe that, ‘girls in the shower’

metabolizing her voice, rainy day style opaque sky? cast me a derivative - oh ‘that.

coy, built, fahrenheit height, instant passion

the bastings

it truly is beautiful,

which does not

for some instance, at insinuating loss

most of all, the givance-

of tectonic call & calf

which tends to break ocean’s in full yet in half…

mildly tending an impish flame,

the fire texture, fixed-ie-feeling pane

and a flame, for all - yet the forth!

a myriad of haggus or something borne

blurring ant mimic in god’s resin - like an earthworm

a notable fishhook… scraggled into my salmon… my salmon; port.

in don quiote’s fashion he swam on land, like a sailor; port.

a wednesday never came faster in the history’s of monday; though I don’t calm thence…

and an umbrella-spider taut, taught me spider-lingo: i was like, one cheese order…

a peacable reason to deal with whilst vacant… perhaps a book caught the fish, caught the grip, caught the sights, hit the port

2. waltz

2.oh willow, play me crazy, breeze by my censorship on your trip up to a bird’s eye-spicate-spies-especially-willow in my eyes…

2.with each farther and ruse planted to ferment the lurch of dues, of perfect clot and tie, why don’t you turn to the appeasement of the highest skies in you

2.they say

2.be forth written and climactic, aimed at with telephones, tilled derision, still precision, still precision and make marks sifting shifting sniffling, to , to mother, to bride bring down your own centre and break the sky… ive been there, many times

2.what will open the dice face, for miser, in fact, ive never seen a bead of it’s echo the perpetration of a perpindicular tie.

2.start first and end where you began in fact, delineate between a restitution that each petal will latch; yet closest, the fountain needs tract, spritz and follow ornate heaven’s grasp…

2.blasphemy bounded and gave you a match!

2.… pluck a further moment with the lass, who brought sew… she writes, willow, oh you breezy, easy going, so-so.

2.response edition 2

2.s’matter o’dillitant to the number 2

2.catoring brevity points for instant revery’ dilute with two thirds hair and rose…

2.i spose i could check the bars again,

2.mine would be “diaspora co-lect’ my favorite make to model, yet i have one lingering rose point, stemming off and finding water in …well

2.i just walked from here to tim hortons three times in 3 hours, thats prosaic dystolic for a fortress made of forgotten lure…

2.tho’ yo’ spoiler, which stands accrued such as more luke warm cadmium.

2.playin safe here, the number, the winter, you forgot about me… iced percentages, that may melt

2.no edit

2.‘past the point of g hosts’, a dendria lantern for my soul *i press the tip of clasp-broken oration to extend my thumb like a chapter, in the book of yet to put down (robert frost, selected poems) it moved my lighter into a rolled lighter, and right now i was ignorant of the place, where I watched, and what i’ve got. blink

2.20 fast minutes clocked a wall of brick to assail my placard heart, hearing art - and arabic insinuendoes… mesmerized by chalk…when? my knee placed my whole shoe, yet built with the shock, destitute rhythms i misused… i did not want to die, fore my word, lifts strong, then or now a peacable remission into what i thought cool lingo for was ‘friction’… and i stuffed my pecan dish with egyptian ecstacy bliss crystals’ remarks… plark, quarked down and through the nicest police car parlor with talk of being stopped. and there i was for 3minutes i was responsible for, divining my belief in stop…so awake… so awake… the ghosts sought a magistrate… i told my sister of mummy-eating practises in Egypt.. what saved me was television’s widest spectrumx2 tv… on TVO…. i i, and today, more subtle it was Ron Burgundy 2…

2.for the record, i prefer articulation to humour 4 times out of 5

2.double minks

2.the pharoah decreed: we shall not stop, till, there is a top… and with lightening fast reflexes Albert Camus later recites loop and/or ladder building as a mechanism distributed by mountains and rocks… that lead to an uphill battle, all around - yet more importantly - he with the thalidomide predominantly scare out the bliss that’s inside of us, mark, he felt the only logically question is…

2.the pharoah walkled up to the ledge of his honour and a hissing snake caught his attention - waltzing primarily in its unyarned crinkle, and shushed it with great calamity… oh what a great calamity it was. and so, he, was, rejoiced~

2.the outsider l’etranger, excites a little snake into the forces of egyptian solitude, at a reasonable price…

a list of treason

a single wrinkle on the rose petal, arose such suspicion, roses’ thorn’d build failed to permeate…

a paschendale of artifact magic cards crinkled in the pack age… in jumps a soldat- of basketball-talent!

left remission for the hard-wood floors,

a list of treason

—-bleek bloom

watching the 9:10pm its darker than most, clouded thou drought. thought-catching

a misty 9:30pm, conceptualized way far for enough backings baccus flow like foam,

a wooded section of way back.

attaching to too petals, square like a orchid-skin-electric game-docket…

3. russians

3.braille she dots furtive longeurs parting…

3.into a frosted flute

3.braking and entering into the fury of a jazzman’s jazzhand

3.which came with a breathe of fury…. wasn’t, chapped-so

3.quite why i had a myriad of worry

3.so surly to surely moresal-piece wear and tear the lury,

3.whilst penury from pencil tip equitable myriads of lury… into

3.questing for a stop-end bureau or bearer… to bust open the dirty, six-piece cylinder making shift shift shift shaft and lury…

3.and spin

3.a sizeable gap of educative dually provocative slurry, of a book!

3.and rampart the ignitable fruition of a head(strong) blasphemy out of order..

3.departed… roman,

3.arrived… prosaic,

3.middleman… Proxy,

3.-to the cause,

3.and manage the intern, pattern-stripped clasp of a low-riding pair of jeans’ilk

3.bludgeoned to malady, (my lady, my silk) myriad….

3.rare wilting sun of the sun… run with me, ‘till i see the pageantry, build… let alone a quill, that does

stacked mind

i battled minutely and broke the index chapter-area-rearish and pristene in itself; that is an arrangment cloaked within a book’s barriers thinner than the thick letter-plaque, laced and unthinned; it didn’t get me down so much as to renew it, in fact, it seems like its gaining worth, like precious candy, i don’t know, obviously there is a worthier cause to incur growth, yet, none as sweet.

oh the smell - elemi - delicatesans’ sanitation with food… green, mini blade thickets…. ie. take some brick laying liasons… how meddlesome…and obstruct passage in libraries - and those the thought.

turuses

oh its like we are entitled

to every fabric across from this foliage, even the varying fabrige undergrowth wrought of this, a mason's fable, nightmare or shovel

catch us

tracking a whirlwind of pollen as dust onto available petals

and i wonder, if any cross-pollinated beeless…

and that bugle’s horn is to die for

submissive in pledges to and fro, discerning incoming autos

________

turuses

wrags

many…pennies-weight, within the jurisdiction of an edicette known to falter, pre-empts, plausible postulates of which, from all but one can hitherto alter. and yes you or you may have pennies for all the angles of a pressed coin, yet, emblazoning idols with them spastically hurdled through the air in one show of robust emblazoning, does not yield it’s capacity to promote growth against time. and against time is supremacy I guess forthwidth the renegade that it is… whatever bevels it connects eventually in surplus determines the surface of the moment a wrecking ball broke through; entrepreneurial, sadistic. Neitzsche’s “atavism” clocking in….

a direct line of command somehow got contraband…

r.i.p.

4. herbs.

4.a well, felt next to the smooth-shop, and rainwater doused it from time to time.

4.it fell upon the worthiest of the town, to stop and take some time.

4.at once one day,

4.a coin did break,

4.the surface of the water…

4.and just on time - or the clock that authored - it was surfeit with tea and proper.

super

cajolery

blazon, directory from the mashed out

maison, perfunctory list watchers, flout…

grazin’ perfunctory wist latchers, gout…

break the beak or break bread? i mean, what is the dire mutation doing now?

safety

on a samosa of a backwards warpath, petty - perhaps pedestrian - recall from the HQ led Preston into the net structure and pronds of the opposite of oblivion, ‘eh sos goes for us all… by that mark…. engagement where, in the microscopic-frothing-tangiblity experiment-ecosystem, the variety of decedent in ‘sublimated level 3″ unknown section to requisition note biene , ‘a new verse of well-crystalized piety was tinging for recall as those Mills marbled the petrie-centre. some powder, of, magnesium, later; the very small, yet informed hallo-wentrepreneur took just under full form…element 7.5 tacked to his right wrist band with insignia from some government chap, beside~ it

before much, and before long, the thing surprisedly formed around one side of the dish and taut predictable effervescence… again, more much, same long. as it stands, a hatching period known to the subdivision failed to mention or document that this was subservience of the…device!? willing to form - and that it was taking shaped around the slight, circular concave that- thinning?-turning to water? which was growing in uniform metabolism… like the focal prism scratch on the refracted index… element 7.5, has been recalled, ad diminue’ pro quo, and as deciduous’ are pronounced, tangled - appropriately - into the vacuumed perforations of the topiary inert proficiency of shell-like…larger than usual octopus vessels…

str

beyond progress within the computer mainframe and it’s strictly-digital capacity to preface backing up several attempts to testify - these as experienced coherent hackers - sent a rumikab of articles (known as an infinitely singular testament) wheeled light… gyro-cryptic, ‘shells, had a light disco sliding through the avenue fresh with baking soda and drink… blotches of small resisters; which accounted for the eerie glow, tilt-pink. i pieced together the sata and its particle party-favour cable… instant spring…

stand tall

placid it sits; a remonstrance, in the midst… of what-is-it? that of where the best cherry blossom hath splits… cider says hard: its the pits, the fits, the ritz russet-dark cherry molasses tis’ it for a list of super nintendo-binding dualisms to exist,, so jinxed…ummm it would take minxs to douse themselves - and we’ve two shots at this… quick, as a back up, before a tail up, yet ipso-facto… elastic like that of dopamine to endorphins perhaps yet the cherries ferry chariots and arrive in focal piety…the pits, again! we sit with the cherries across the fence. to climb, to the condensation-swine-rhetoric, sits… uhh, blimp? clenched like a rinsed hand, i grab the retrograding-officiated root, and route my right foot for the first elbow of a live one… pinching 2 bundles of hoodlum-ante and jump down and then to eat them… the cabbage-like puncture, to just graze the centre, piece, tincture of light vinegar…. and He’s cleaning the eavestrough for another… on second chomp, a brandish of sheer pheromone, thigh… spots a ladder to the shed and fro… before i brandish another, i’ll throw the rest in my pockets to rest - professed to cherish! yes, they’re unbreakable… —————hey you, where’d you get those… like he didn’t know?

eucalyptus

I”ve gots a shallow for-aloe, wound, wound from malpractise already,

my atlas stabbed my marble backward ‘back gammon theism, with warding capabilities crestfallen to thee tree, and it’s galvanized antissory film decay’a’wedding with the moisture involved in distraught dust and underage car… my first wishes was to dish wash the woven bovine roving of a uut disorganizing pallete entrepreneur in sevens… yet when i arrived tango, it was obviously a “jericho” moment, and i clicked the six six six… my emblem was duty; payed.

(mind on plinko, straight shooter on the hip) -turuses which has x2 paved the way for an astral projection that’ll guide me into the centre of the known solistice - forever just a teem - to deserve uut zero inert… inertia to a rotisserie clocked, rocketflag tango. Bounced that check ‘thralled, in specs. flekked one gold - the army stock in check, slivered to the dentist cuz i swallowed a praying mantis- at best and was the width of elastic band with working man’s best specs… perhaps>>> might need to run through a bit more radial arguments in the past; to, durst, deposit seriousness in my clay-abiding ipso-nouns, pro-abiding, to send in my resume of duality when it comes to rooting out clowns! thanks for the lovely slug you set loose on my concrete slab… x

Set’till

contralto vivified in plurality reign to indict the heart ache of such departure sparks in-dissent the friction of smart boxing, in three fold. a diorama

from

the pandering window, maybe the soda water crystals aside at my desk. Sometimes its good to hear about perfect leisure, when the legions are brass-steel self-alleged

i use to be quite a pro with pencil-spinning, and its strictly from my heart, the art that begins with pencil-rinsing… oh, i gave mechanical pencils something to believe in. doesn’t matter, twas a glorious match up of mechanical pencils, and spinning them, that i partook in. clad in an unsharpened… no question…

bark

a larger than normal tarantula poised to eat a small tree outside the restrictive park area came to the conclusion that, if he had studied medicine, he might have enjoyed eating sooner.

who knows?

title wave

darling loss, providing hosts with mothballs, independent of cause… the objection of walls corrects its paucity - dash costs… and in betrothal of sauces, paints - if thats what you call them - a dish, is left… cold fish… best viewed with a hook

its all wrong, maudlin fathoms, deep brilliant eyes of squid… the watch of witches in the crow’s nest, explode, then make fire for fish

the ice has originally melted - that, thin straw stout route to two too nihilist dire platforms of the underaffected that are down for precedence, that be: ignorance, either side of the fence with indescribable turmoil already, or even just because of the actions which seem impossible; and a strict mouthpiece, within limited to authority, via sanctioning and the underfunded promises therein… yet… as Mephistopheles has it, logic lasts till the last sentence… and the USA is in jeopardy

order some CATs to skulk around and sit and dig

tunnels to offshore…? trenches from spawn fly some jets in there if it helps with aerial footage perhaps isolates of pressure. ie. lots of liquid nitrogen! & even some type of bomb….. i know, bomb a hurricane w/ convoys of concrete trucks and/or logs

yet my venture permits both lines of caring to be merry, i was ready to say fish may need to swim onland for some reason and no that doesn’t help anybody, studying where fish are during so might be beneficial…same thing with people…helicopters!

makeshift trailer bridges? leaving taps on? gtfo of there? the final clue is: where would you like to live? and, the answer: florida

bitter stasis

why is it the sand gold? speakth before’n to see the moulds: grazing iguanas claim, climb, clad the folds, where ‘ and all the little pharoah scald with drolery- it must be the summer-line, crossing into the spill, long-horn, to horn, to horn exploding instruments turn to soil and nefarious- deltoids rest in summer-line wrest,

and as I am for ease of etching…sorry, possibly just saw a necklace-peice of a pendent permeate itself into an anubis coat- of- strictly fashionable-that-some-green, which as the light accustom brown-pouting was incandescent at best, maximized i, its deliverance as a frosted-scarab… motionless, iceberg of fabric from the mathematical subscriptions limited upon brick face, to seize armiture as one and one, yet but not captured… either purpose or meaning… tbc

pick me up twice

that and a night drought came in with a robust, roving massive darkness; across spanning over the minute divits of thunder clods, over this land gratefully, without its gander of low pressure; finally welcomed where the lakefront promenade - municipality to mine own - met the lake. i heightened up and spritzed the window to a cramp. like i say its not everyday one can live among confused feathers and disco lamps. i sped to my notebook and sketched the nuthatch i saw dabbling the air - like my vision was relegated to all and/or most of the movement in the bands - of sleevefilled horizon lines and the figurines. the hedges here to there, the short paved escape, the trees; flanked so-on forever, and the firmament. yet it moved fast, twas twice as vast, iconoclast clear skies bank where aroused was a shaky 5pm red sun- only visible now and so-where, a wind picked up and doused the downed whiskey rinsing through some impossibly pretentious banter, along the shore.

diagonally

it hasn’t even been a lock since my prized synced sundial ammended even blacksmith’s blind… the twilight hour… a still rather elliptical - outfit of my lot’s labor had I could sense turning a final austerity and gently top-heavy field gamon alotting that which continues moderate growth without locusts. at first its like watching a fire, then they settle down around 4:00am. but thats neither here nor there. unless you count the visits I get from Samson I get at all hours. and here we shall share him odd on envoy particular. reticent, self-evident.. my weather vane was drowsy so and so… wishing it could give me a clear patch as a black horse stamped with rider and pulled up… at the hour of 10:00pm Thelma made him a scarlet blend of herbal tea, I the same. Upon courtesy I seated him in my study and we both had at some fresh lemon tobacco. “how are the yellow and red water?” “fresh coal, have you another blend?” “why yes.” I fetched a Drumson Wood and asked Samson, “how long will you stay?” “Oh, just on my way back from town.” Samson took out a newsprint partially twisted in his back over-all pocket. “I’m gonna lay it straight for those aliens.” “…The crop circle people?… they seem vengeful and organized…” “More Drumson Wood, and I’ll just finish this tea here. I say, a price on their heads…” Samson pulled out the page, “seems a group of people do the circles too in order to show the ‘aliens’ we are intelligent too, near the back, smaller part of the publisher, called locustfocus.” “Why that’s as clever as it sounds.” “it says here we’ve seen the last of them this season, or they’re spreading, ready to ground.” “so what am I to do? What are we to do?” “stay vigilant. drink tea. in the extra fine print it says they are a judgement call, a reflection tranmorgified, a mirror as transition through life can only manage, all run by those who use livestock, those who value life.

onew one

its so noiseless that i ask you nobody knows this if i left without a trace to let loose my face,

existence, would start with thee last left bashful eyelash by alibi that to leech around a winding hill of coal at rest and, yet when abreast two fifths fine grass, and a wine glass, broke at home

finishing with an invisible penny for twisting, an oasis reminding me that im out one seashells finding colored beigh with patina of five sevenths temple displacement that striking up on mine own binds of

where my eye is a filament for the engrossment of ‘those’ others - skeptically close- but don’t you know you were never one to run away, from the salted roads

hey cold warm 2

I was on the brink of falling asleep, late and complacent on the couch in the front - for once one floor above the basement. My eyes slightly jumped open now and then, revealing - honestly - the life that played with myself and the scene… Decorations abounding around the walls and shadows from all that was seen. On one extended viewing of the partially lit walls covertly at the door - the indigo ceiling melting into normal orders - did buckle and remotely douse me with ubiquity and order of operations to discretion in architecture, the culpability of movement arrayed. my blanket in disarray - knit and white - became a sleeper’s foyle as it reigned on me as ordinary occurence; yet this, I was deeper.

why yes, the blocks of ceiling, my ballast; window and furniture, shifted, all to make something, something I either slept through or woke up suddenly into subriety - and had come about from all my condescension, with an expedient opt to reassign the ceiling to whatever it was. That know I knotted locales and a opaque ceiling.

My eyes began doubting the stillness, several times. My best guess was a moving candle operative, of fairy or pixie dissent, ushering me into the basement through the vent… the comfort from the blanket growing exponentially, I jarred my eyes, feigning fright. at which the ceiling came bearing down on me and started a lament for the rug in front of the door… I swear I wanted to move; somehow I just knew I was not in the malady of a malevolent being, perhaps just proverbially and most likely - an impish flame rekindling from closed eyes’ near blind, and sallow angles reshaping…

I had been in this purgatory gearbox, for an hour or two… I waited for the birds to chirp. when the candle went out… it was now well-past midnight hour and I lay in the darkness, comfortable, yet partial to wakefulness. I lit another candle… the indigo folds, the impish flame, the blanket, all the same

There it was… the first bird chriping like a lovely siren.f

hey cold warm

a brazen on the barometric deep in the throat of recognition, plumes in loose flute position, angled a slolom solemn, so-seam - so-so - slotting into my lower chest, such as do dotted candy strips and just as memorable as the swindle mentioned specifically its the purple opal octagonal-pointed and the brunt cindrous dazzling cinammon my eyes yet its dark

arising phase I flew on land, a kite that racked from a bird’s nest in the clouds… angels… swiftly upon me eleven albatrosses came down I"m like, “where’s the waitress?” once as was thought, I throttled the full-armor-car-aft-facade on quickwork-flat blatant dune backing up to pull the chord down “all this from from the former backseat the lower order keeping distracted with menial attempts at diction drifting through the world, there she was, she cast a thoroughfare glistening aura, beside - on the board walk

Guage of an arrow, splinted roughhousing nothing more to climb, cherries full and waiting - and flagstone, drops in x. waiting for labels

razings’ dreams drifting through the world… heralding minutely, and casually on a mini skateboard, albatross full foyle ~ about. most - some pure coasting,.., buoyantly why I mean Cinderella had some natural artifice actually restricting limitation the wake of sheer wind, her able lateral shark of compute, which limiting more but hair it just comes to some things thats shes just into and really, across, where onto the window my reflection plucked my core,

the flagstone remorse. searching distance.

"check them, check them.” the limits that attest to, ward, all those feesible mentions… in both edges of a carrion dispositions of regret now, now… I’ve pent the stencils to be filled in and over with ink, the nets can’t even capture prize still frames to sync can’t even think in the now its so quick - the odd neglect cubism tares cares to fasten - yet? so - so finish quick

~moon cycle had i

it gets predictable the miserable the madness talent and those who wrap the falcon’s beak around and break the brow from beaten artists, (going )far'n finite for marbles quark, florid fauna, fond of a final fantasies for real, just how those are where those naught (reached…) phantoms lanterns saturn asprin a symposium where shadows’ riot for platony, create a credenza of its spectrum, a two-something measure of disparity insofar as he who was brought pox inequal pressed-to silhouettes of rockness frets, yes, sir, thats rounded-edges-talk of fast-misery wave-technology all-so spaced out like emaciated chocolate or space cadets… spying loch ness even the uneven

!54 104

as will lace’d rivulets of feathers felt into italic line, become barbarous against a feverish fire where no friction echoes of finite time perhaps already forgotten there own make marking burning - like this very poke - spokes of wind super-tropical winnding and,

nothing but glorious ignition as soon as bent backwards…to the ground, from the grind, as iconic rivulets of home break apart the hands… and posit… pheonix seeds, brought to term in ff7 to plant and plead with reality sometimes…

130

to sew the wounds up… my hand to play the part of spoon, hook, ransacking tolerance. I, with swoon in hand and maudelin talent even if i make a pamphlet on benelovent rancor, someone’s prediliction might ignore the horseshoe plants still stiff as to lay on my to-do list as one thing to hand out once its… in print and then wander into the abyss. till vastness becomes iconoclastic and I last this matress out till its endoplasmic reticulum becomes a magnet, and then on until it fractures, and polarity shifts, do it all backwards, with stronger magnets

farther into the w

breaking broke stuff that’ that satellites back-up flashes that sound as diamond scratches on doctor’s recommendations I vaccine some dollar bills for entertainment crystals - thats non-nickel-cadmium adjacent the cinema with her

just flashin’ against the line

I broke through the borrowed past, presented myself - bounced on calves… neck nexus to the side panorama first strident, an attack secondly merely contender ballast dear hearts with the task of fast or faster.

assured,

entry 3

Journal Entries in Blood Part three I went out to the market at midnight tonight, just to look around. A howling the other day made me think there might be a stray dog or wolf or something. I could probably train a wolf couldn’t I? The shop was dim though the neon open sign still cycled, coupled with metal bars and the lock, I somehow found my way home, and then it was… a howling, not of wolf, but of upset life or wind. It grew closer with another, then it stopped. My eyes were out like a dog, not a wolf, surveying the area for something other than leaves twisting attached to branches. I started my way home, a different way this time, I ate my trailmix and made safely to this attachment. It is nearly waking hour, and there it is again.

new new 1

i reckon there was a coast about 20 seconds ago, the earth drops’ moon cycle

i left without a trace to let loose my face, by alibi that to leech around a wind of fine grass, a wine glass, broke at home reminds that im out one seashells find that striking up on mine own binds of my suitcase working my shovel into an ovendouble shift one for mistakes, one for muscle… and one for miscellanious my find was called a jarhead and was for strictly pure profit in the warbly march sand and soil at this time of night

yes, yes here, where fleeting doesn’t cost - anything - except the loss of a waist here and there, below the flaying gargoyles which embed one’s soul lies some treble conspiracy quo and today in cue stone, turnt to evening fire cutters, even welcomed evening grace, and i don’t see it happening any other way

little foggy, like always probably won’t rain, but i’ll jog if it gets on me… twenty past a single digit, and drunk mates had made a religion to stop me… not on my map, they don’t even know where i live systems down, this was hardly… what you would get out of me.. like always i shutter and i see a zombie, it’’s me

new new 2

i reckon there was a coast about out and abrupt up about 20 seconds ago, the earth drops’ moon cycle had it different

on land. oh how! docking reminds that im out one seashell - my first boat - and up around $1000 each toss of the new one. for that striking up on mine own binds - of my bane suitcase - working my shovel into an ovendouble shift one for mistakes, one for muscle… and one for miscellanious a net growth my find was called a jarhead and was for strictly pure profit in the warbly march sand and soil at this time of night ‘that in treasures found scintillating matches, sparks, and clods

little foggy, like always probably won’t rain, but i’ll jog if it gets on me… twenty past a single digit, and drunk mates had made a religion to stop me… not on my map… they don’t even know where i live systems down, this was hardly his heart, always bound… what you would get out of me.. like always i shutter and i see a zombie, it’’s me

one one

its so noiseless that i ask you nobody knows this if i left without a trace to let loose my face,

existence, would start with thee last left bashful eyelash by alibi that to leech around a winding hill of coal at rest and, yet when abreast two fifths fine grass, and a wine glass, broke at home

where my eye is a filament for the engrossment of ‘those’ others - skeptically close- but don’t you know you were never one to run away, from the salted roads

zrunning

just flashin’ against the line

I lick my pen against the flower to appear chic yet damage nothing… How subject - of abstraction - forms torque on normally debatable craft ending, mending within art’s perametre; thus stated reverence, may exceed instead of submit to vision - though limited - image which is contrary in most cases, hitherto where this percent of contraction may hold true in reverse for cubism garullously settling upon it’s true form…

sober slurry

a puzzling equivalent - unto which i know of at very least twofold - habilitated itself with my side order of large onion rings…to go was and will be, cheddar jalapeno dip, oh, and a bottle of soda, a small pricey one… it seems these were on side as i gazed at the game sippin on my gazzeiu, that of the way over yonder to the other half of the staggering petition to heresay glee club mods who say no and who’d attribute new age convention with extremely age’d tradition… bless them. and their future seeds

nor zeus, nor he be the king of wizards, and poseidon - damned to eat plankton, that i relish eating wagon wheel cookies

—

turuses

curiously appetizing

I passed the telephone company’s brick building on the way back (like always) and like always it caught my glance (and probably, properly stored my electrolytes’ dot product in it’s heaving face)

I couldn’t fit inside the telephone machine building. for some reason, the telephone, had it in for me! yet, after 3 hours i sit by it’s ‘therefore’, wondering… why i must get inside this telephone.

soma

a riddle what starts with a middle four fretting that is, not ice cream, yet just as meddlesome when together between them specimens vary very robust, that is when not brushed… you can pick it up some say you can master it, some do as a clutch rapport, and clash together, with so much but sport. some think silence can take hold of the being… calming astronauts and marrying marigold flocks all abandoning the forge of earthly locks… consuming this tug of war with this rebel heart

destined for back pane, yet strained resonating with two thumbs on next whatever that may mean its suspect to a violence sometimes only ascribed to in old folks home, where the bloods been beaten hot and that

outer space

fare long freight to dim dimensions rate penchants whilst trenches, in… a way.. never saw them coming yet hospitals frost the tips fitness and fair stipulation lips conjugation of list - equivalent - while separation wiles, stat-wiley over intact, nothing - like platitudes dilution of concrete blocks add attitude yet painful memories by diminished blocks are subdued?

wool

Oh, it’s certain… hundred-thousand militant measures of a broken yard by metre (estranged for the reader) a meteor shower amends the broken pleasures of such a Neapolitan attack on the criticism for the cynicism had me open! Yes, oh my… plenty coin-like credit-card-scam-brilliance, sign the marks on my frail, weathered effacement into a blithering commensurate, yet forever emblematic union of staccato! The moon, was following me yet, and As I had sprained my ankle, I were had to, run over roots, scurry past pledges, that with a fluid limp-jump… mildly hopping over tracks, which my upper-back, caught on to splayed roots on the ground… as to be seen, wildly kicking up the scarce twig and twixt, ‘and anon: oxygen millennials - when and where necessary my powers of narration became anaesthetised and somehow configured itself somewhat, that into an old VHS tape conception format. After a little tracking the odour of odium prices on wolf masks with that plastic diffraction slips And the moon by the window, cocked it’s wonder-gun at me, Pleasure of unthinkable amounts, resting in negative, all conceived

v.1 “lemon tree”, postaged bout 10 days, (lemon-earth days)

sallow / pallor

dendrose

1 this is for that usury,

used to be awake, censorship encumbered-package, usually~ Asleep, clad in yesterday’s haze, beep, beep, beep first to rise, which just happens to be a phase… 6, clock, spearmint 6:15, cries. 2 identical clock cavities, brustlin’ busts of oven-cannot, trallop suites… I’ve officially dye-cast silver from coin to sweat, wheat and parametres, of which i’ve never spoke! 3 down by the second leap of day’s scales, the moon’s lymph tickle, play trick on the sicler… ‘say Death creeps out like how it does North Farther… ‘say don’t be scared of the ion, curtain, cascades… they say they break soon enough, that is as the iris tissue combusts!

4 and the parliament in laymens, rise like spite, muscly, and whelk; totally combobulated enough to qualify for thalidomide and seeing wealth. documents privvy to a living type of surrepititious musical scale.

5 around noon, the shops are broken into, the salad’s tossed, the forks, mashed in the gravy… without the sauce… stocktips holdfast like plateaus - how pleasant - bout the size of a yogurt… rain flares out of specifics… and barbers, leave there parlors… cars park - forward and backwards! 6 round about now the static combs diagonals, slate and tie, like an Egyptian wedding order for two, who killed you, and how you survived… 7 soon enough one must become one, and it always may… if i had to I would pat your heart a lullaby in your mummified chestplate just to be certain that I could breathe ~somehow.

8 its safe now for the mystriant, or the leader clad in torn bloody clothes in plain deniable site… to march upon the moons tumultuous creators, now maybe high noon all night.

just x 3

(bystand…)s are outnumbered by and yet while the juri is in… weather the atmosphere is tight enough, expediant and gruesome for the sudden fog! !oh what a sudden fog! plus, the lust for cummulative lush and hush, of, flesh, rut rooted room for relish, oh, im out of legalities to logician’s flexfit fever, ferver-fluish… “rabbitfoot-talisman” and, that they are

at least for now and sheesh I couldn’t count all these…

maudlin, vaudvillian pleats and hill battling in fleets, bleeding the tattle, in thieving the leaves, as this somehow presents itself, in a waltz within the season -

whilst, some reassuring sequence that thy betwixt bane and bosom, slaying, and slalom straight, out the demonic cellar of Helen Keller, ~looking for a piece of plastic - bendy, black - whilst sweating through tissues as would molasses !oh quite reluctant~

just to envelop the feasting concept in enamel-persona, that, “looks”, could be a snug fit as slang for glasses!oh

well, no match for shelves or sleeves in it among mashed-out color additives, “Madvillain” - trapped like tylenol packages… just too, pry that thing off my sling, slang sugar rifle, .35s to just need to carry this for triflin’ broken-oxen+wrought-trophy, a token for the inert.

marching through the swampy mud

balm

~a drag with bisquick, mistaken. a martyr broken, out spoken a pledge ‘though,’ mystics saw - in blind pageant - that it had been coming, the change in self / perpetual melting (maybe even wealth and static (theduality ))(- of practise expedient…) patient momentum quite like: eddies now, that tend to slop up off with the the prophets.’ toxicity and all textures on hand! mesmerism-synthesizing-metabolic, clox “A tall tail of uncommon fixtures to abed the solstice!” Ail uncommon Oxbridge- flyers…

who! ~ never saw this it coming - it, being. antithesizing avec beau shashay - passing by -round noon -,a slash a dash of anti-septic aid from the atmospheric changes )oh what a terrible 1 haiku ) 2 cacoon cannot forget the forfeit with a timurus attendant addendum of excess lemonade, -the patchy landing on cobblestones as a final order of direct ability to access sweet lemon merange pie! so cold! slay the dragon Oh, how moylent whoa, whoa, whoa dragon wings circled, moving more tweaked than lofty, that the shady concentric, crown-ambulent missletoe fleers stocatto flamed resisting arrest, sat down to rest on the ashy rooty charred bark deposit, chalk outline and all. And he seemed to pout, resting in his petulance, all on final penguin-feat exhuming the fallen lemon tree + roots Why? The sky - a death sentence, yet the crestfallen three-dimensional tilt of matter integrity beaming so honest from the sky’ now just past noon, sliding through like a dull lens (ingenuity), christened expedia! as and sent through the bloody-rack of fossilized hub temperature, gaily enjoying and blasting & mashing hulls lithosphere to the dragon, for now. the size of one third day, tending in an ache, forced tired like ambulances, and breaking off chips of lemon rinds like toothpaste…. oh! perambulating fonder chest cavitity status by chasing marche,’ strips, off commonly dragon mouth chaste stasis places, ready to eat pate’ and break blades off a graceless fairy ring, situated for bleak outlooks with its correct gargoyle smile missletoe at every sharp corner and as it was granted that this crystallizing dead tantrum of claws, wings, thighs, to be scaled for consumption

boe-loose

it crumbled like cartlidge, brisky-brisk then nonchalant at its content - ever so rich, in, conch shell whistleblowing labella, labelled able in its lapel to cache and cast a spell, upon which the worthiest pearl-whirring, cat-nip tail made for cats, some effect… for people, zizing - and whizing the cats backwards-bats… out of hell, surprisingly distasteful… cruella deville

perhaps atrocities, within the minds of these pilfered oddities by the hundreds, take malnurish me, on second thought its usually redundant asunder opposition to Gravity that spots of wine cause catastrophe

flying, like snails at a clean stop operation ~loosed from the grave

topsicology

the scarecrow glided past as apostacy towards err. perhaps more than air. the long corn crops gilded the found floundering stare-off. perhaps more wispy than fair… the greatest movement jackal, basically all impaired… just waiting in its frothy, slow-growth to find a child or conjugate terror why, ‘see that, I am a child of burden, sent from ion ridges and whisked past ice-sturgeons with respect to facilitate the growth - that in tandem - sent into the proximate atmosphere for a slow-burning ‘till its torn apart, and till its worn to wrought all a vision a scarecrow, which rends his smarts, filled totally gut of surroundings, and one day imparts a version of itself, which had lorn to lock, but had to step down from the part.

bark

a larger than normal tarantula poised to eat a small tree outside the restrictive park area came to the conclusion that, if he had studied medicine, he might have enjoyed eating sooner.

who knows?

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dubainvestmentpark · 2 years ago

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Salient traits of Dubai Investment Park (DIP)

DUBAI- A sheikhdom in the United Arab Emirates, is a dreamy destination for people from all walks of life.

But, have you ever thought about getting accommodation in such a luxurious city? Or do you want to invest in Dubai real estate? Well! If I am not wrong, most of the individuals have such dreams in their heads.

So, what are you waiting for? Get what you dreamt of.

Hold on! We can’t deny the fact that it is not everyone’s cup of tea. As a matter of fact, you are going to spend a fortune on your dreamy place and we know that haste makes waste so how can you decide it in a moment?

Well! Don’t worry because I will aid you in making the decision about the same by introducing an elegant destiny of Dubai to invest- “Dubai Investment Park” which is also known as DIP along with all its conspicuous aspects. So just have a look before you leap.

A quick tour of the spectacular Dubai Investment Park (DIP)

Before stepping into the beneficial aspects of DIP, I thought why not start off with an introduction to DIP in a nutshell? So, let me be precise.

An industrial complex, a commercial center, and numerous residential subdivisions make up Dubai Investments Park. The 2,300-acre area inside a city opens the door to spacious and luxurious living and provides people with a wide range of convenient amenities and services. Furniture, pharmaceuticals, textiles, oil and plastic industries are among the major sectors that have established roots in DIP. This is a boon for tenants or homeowners who wish to hone their careers in these fields and give preference to shorter work commutes.

Now, hopefully, you have enough notion about Dubai Investment Park, so allow me to elaborate on its keystones.

Cornerstones of Dubai Investment Park

Wide range of rental and on-sale properties: DIP is a well-known community which offers a variety of residential units, including flats, townhouses, and villas. The Green Community, The Palisades, Ritaj, and Dunes Village are just a few of the seven sub-communities of DIP that make urban living redefined.

Freehold areas in DIP: In addition to being a favorable place to live, DIP is one of many freehold zones in Dubai, which provides residents and foreign nationals the opportunity to purchase property here.

Equipped with fun zones: There are a ton of activities in DIP, whether you want to remain fit or just need fun. Each residential zone is well-equipped with gyms, spas, swimming pools, and sporting venues. Along with this, basketball, squash, tennis, badminton courts, and other athletic amenities work as a cherry on cake.

Secure living: Security is the name of the game and stems from the fact that malicious activities are becoming the everyday headlines. Considering this fact, DIP ensures security around the clock with high-end security measures including multiple CCTV and PTC cameras, a dedicated police post, a fire engine and an ambulance base.

Bottom line!

There is a saying of a well-known financial advisor- “Owning a home is a keystone of wealth, both financial affluence and emotional security”. DIP (Dubai Investment Park) ensures a magnificent experience with financial and emotional security. The DIP community has drawn the attention of homebuyers and renters as it is one of the city's eco-friendly communities with a treasure of family-friendly traits.

Well! I have driven the meticulous overview of this luxurious community home and hopefully, you have enjoyed and found this read helpful. At this point, you are now well-versed with DIP and ready to open the wings of your desire. So, bring it on and get what you dreamt of.

#dubainvestmentpark #Dubai Investment Park

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tombeane-blog · 3 years ago

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Today's Press Conference

Thank you for coming. I'll read a brief statement and then take some questions.

First, according to our experts in D.C., 100% of the past year's increase in the cost of gas was caused by the current 12 day war in Ukraine.

We are going to stop buying oil from Russia.

Questions?

"But don't we get 4-5% of our oil from Russia? And won't that 4-5% loss skyrocket our cost at the pump by a dollar or two or five dollars per gallon."

Well, yes. According to our experts in D.C., all future gas price increases will be a direct result of this and not at all for any other reason.

Butt experts have a plan. (misspelling intentional, tee hee.)

"How about buying more oil from our neighbors? Like Canada? Or Mexico?"

Sorry, Canada is flat out because as soon as we buy more from them some of those people might start asking "Shouldn't we open up the Keystone XL Pipeline to transport it?".

"And Mexico?"

Well we all know that drilling for oil anywhere in North America will cause more climate change and we can't have that. Drilling on the other side of the planet is much less harmful to Mother Earth. Simple common sense. So... No Mexican oil.

"Well from whom do we get the oil we so desperately need to produce our electric vehicles?"

Venezuela, Iran and Saudi Arabia. There ya go.

"But isn't Venezuelan President Maduro a Socialist/Communist? And aren't they a Russian Ally? And doesn't the U.S. not even recognized the Venezuelan Government? And doesn't the U.S. currently impose sanctions on Venezuelan oil? And aren't they on this side of the planet so pumping more oil will affect the climate?"

Running short of time here. Next question.

"Why Iran for a whole bunch of obvious reasons?"

Well, if we buy Iranian oil, they will have more money and will be able to speed up their nuclear program for energy and not for anything to do with nuclear weapons. We will make them promise not to make nuclear weapons. And they said they won't use any of the money to sponsor terrorism around the world. And they hinted they won't kidnap 52 Americans and hold them captive for 444 days like they did in 1979 if we buy their oil.

"But why would the want to have nuclear power plants to get off of oil when oil for them is cheap and the main source of income for their country?"

Clock people! Watch the Clock! Next question.

"Didn't Saudi Arabia form OPEC, the original oil cartel and monopolize the global oil supply for decades? And didn't they control oil prices and cause inflation and oil shortages and long gas lines in the U.S. back in the 70's? And don't they kill gays and subjugate women. And didn't they support the 911 hijackers? Should we let them have control over oil in the U.S. all over again?"

"And shouldn't we just drill our own oil which is 20% cleaner than pretty much any that is produced anywhere else and be energy independent of these dictators and thugs?"

There's a good explanation for that. As Vice President Harris has said numerous times, "Let me be clear, obviously, (cackle) undeniably, children, racism, wherewithal, (cackle) continue doing, save the whales, equity, Trump, masks!"

Couldn't be any simpler than that.

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kayla1993-world · 4 years ago

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'We're very, very fortunate': Alberta town enjoying a mini-boom thanks to Keystone XL

Afternoon traffic in Oyen moved slowly along Main Street in the waning days of summer, relaxing along the weathered asphalt, near the city office's low brick exterior, farm equipment dealer, and a cafe promising fresh pie and hot coffee. But the activity picked up again as evening approached on a mid-September day.

They are only a fraction of the hundreds of workers who have recently arrived here, roughly doubling the population of the town to around 2,000. In years, Alberta hasn't felt the heat of a boom.

But Oyen and the friends have been getting a taste of what may feel a bit like the good old days for some Albertans for the last month or two. Approximately 850 employees have come to work on the Canadian leg of TC Energy Corp.'s Keystone XL pipeline, comprising skilled professionals, engineers and managers.

Alberta is indeed a region in need of some improvement, with the unemployment rate rising about 12%. The mini-boom in Oyen, however, is underpinned by state investment.

The province is taking a gamble on this early Keystone XL construction, given that Joe Biden, the US Democratic presidential nominee, has said that if he won the presidency, he would kill the pipeline. In addition, Keystone XL remains a controversial project that faces legal battles, environmental protests and celebrity scorn (and still faces the others).

The pipeline aims to be in service in 2023 in the best-case situation, which means the construction boost has a firm timeline. So people are making the most of the opportunity.

Workers assist in building hotel rooms, RV parks and suites to rent. For the food bank and other programs, crews have collected over $15,000.

The pipeline is expected to provide the municipalities along the right of way in Alberta with far more than $4 million in annual property taxes once it's in service. After it has been built, some work along the pipeline route will also continue for a while.

That's good news in this community, where the oilpatch still feels like the home team, pipeliners are welcome, and people seem to appreciate it all the more knowing that this small boom has a shelf life. Positioned about 300 kilometers north of Calgary, Oyen is not far from the border to Saskatchewan.

Overlooking Main Street is the clock tower of the town, a metal-framed monument celebrating the founding of the community more than a century ago. This is a place focused on farming, as well as with connections to the oil patch.

During the previous decade, pipeliners arrived to work on the original Keystone pipeline. But after years of political and legal headwinds, people were uncertain of when, or if, they should host Keystone XL work crews.

After the United Conservative Party government announced that this would invest $1.1 billion US as equity and guarantee a $4.2 billion project loan in an effort to get things moving, workers finally began arriving over the summer to work on the 269 mile Alberta leg. The prudence of such a big bet on a single project has also been questioned by some, but the Kenney government has remained committed.

It was the end of a busy day at the Fountain Tire-NAPA Auto Parts store as the afternoon wound down. The owners are Dale Walker and Troy Maclean.

Business is good, and so is the market of rent. Rental properties in the town are in demand, and employees and their families have opened their homes to some residents.

Kari Kuzmiski, a resident, rented out a home to one worker. From the tire shop, walk down the street and you smell the aroma of Chinese food which contributes to the door of The 90's Restaurant.

A brightly lit pub with sports on every TV, hockey and football logos on the walls, and the bar is decorated with a metal plate. Another block on, and you're at Overtime. All walking in sanitizes their hands, and every physically distant table is soon occupied for the night of the wing.

Pub manager Charlene Carlson has lived a lot of her life in Oyen, raising two children. The pipeline too has provided a bit of a moral boost, beyond the financial lift, Carlson said.

Over the course of the evening, there haver been more workers coming and leaving. A few were talking about roots becoming put down.

But she said how her heart remains with the locals, who’ve been likely to be in it long after the pipeline work is done. They'll make the most of things in the meantime.

Doug Dingman knows the oilpatch's ups and downs. He lived thru it.

In the wake of the global crude price collapse a few years ago, Dingman was among the thousands of Albertans who lost their oil-patch jobs. He's now the owner of Fresh Foods' T&D Store, just off Main Street.

Dingman continues to be a supporter of the energy sector, believing strongly that, while recognizing the push for renewable energy, Alberta's oil will be needed for a long time. These days, it's something you're hearing around the province, an acknowledgement of the developments in the energy industry and an eventual transition to things like renewables.

As the world seeks ways to address climate change, there are many issues and challenges that lie ahead for the future of energy. It seems the final fate of the Keystone XL pipeline is among the unknowns for Alberta's oil industry.

And there is an economic boost right now in Alberta, with construction jobs in places like Oyen, Washington and the results of the next US presidential election in November will also have plenty of eyes on it. Donald Trump is also a supporter.

When asked for her thoughts on the future in Alberta back at the Overtime pub, Carlson said it was a debate she had in her own home. She's called a realist herself.

As for now, Carlson shared the wisdom of somebody who has previously seen good times.

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rebgarof · 5 years ago

Link

“The COVID-19 pandemic should remind us of our need to be prepared. Though Mother Earth may be getting a short breather while billions stay home, the climate crisis hasn't gone away. Even in the midst of this awful time and with two key rulings in our favor, the Dakota Access pipeline is about to double the oil it carries through our homelands, and Keystone XL construction is slated to continue.

The climate clock is ticking, we are in crunch time, and everything is on the line.

We must be better, right now and in the days to come, and we must use the lessons of this pandemic in our fight to preserve the planet.

In this moment, we must avoid counterproductive measures like bailing out the dying fossil fuel industry with funds meant to protect ordinary people. Going forward, we should pass a Green New Deal to increase investment in renewable technologies and put people to work in a new, clean energy economy.

Just as these problems are intertwined, so are the solutions.

We Lakota have another saying: "Knowledge is rooted in all things — the world is a library."

Let's read this moment accurately. Let's move forward with increased understanding.

Together, let's do the work it takes to be generous and compassionate toward one another and toward our oldest relative of all, our Grandmother Earth.”

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itsrockinronnie · 3 years ago

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I am very close to replacing the mainspring on a Ansonia time-only movement

One more shot is what it deserves. It had been running fairly well since I serviced it three years ago it but in the last few weeks it has decided to run for about 5 minutes and stop and I think I know the reason why. Ansonia Drop Extra wall clock This Ansonia Extra Drop time-only Rosewood veneered wall clock was manufactured in the early 1880s by what was then known as the Ansonia Brass and…

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#ansonia drop extra #ansonia movement #keystone mainspring oil #mainspring servicing #rusty maninspring #Wall clock

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

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Lotus Eaters

He waited by the spawn of Cthulhu countless ages ago. That woman at midnight mass. By Brady's cottages a boy for the ruin of souls. The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an honourable man.

Carter, it seemed, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. Damn it. That was two and nine. He crawled through the root-choked fissure to the heathen Chinee.

By the way no harm. Curious longing I.

Marvels are doubly incredible when brought into three dimensions, which surrounded him and which he had started having decayed years before the window of the envelope, and in no age whose date history could fix; for the skins lolled, his eyes shut. Gold cup. Always passing, the chemist said. Good, Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the Most Ancient One, which in the witnessbox. Eunuch.

We salute you, I'll pull that thing off—let it alone.

Husband learn to his surprise.

Perfectly right that is sculptured above the keystone of the silver key, he said: Sad thing about our planet that he alone of living men had been so irresistibly drawn. One. Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver S.J. and the massboy answered each other in Latin. For example, Randolph Carter in a minute. Carter?

—Who had been the usual legal advertisements of the most impenetrable blacknesses heaped upon blacknesses while about the Snake Den. Half a mo.

Mysterious. Let us be reasonable. —O, yes. Smell almost cure you like the dentist's doorbell. Throw them the bone. —Shaped clock seemed to say that the queerly arabesqued silver key was safe. Convert Dr William J. Walsh D.D. to the laws of some unknown, inverse geometry. Something like those of the baths. Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church: they work the whole business. Who was telling me?

Aspinwall pretended to ignore the narrative and kept his Zkauba-facet seemed to gaze, for the teeth: nettles and rainwater: oatmeal they say. Eyefocus bad for cough. Stand up at the clawed, snouted race of that world perpetually fought. You just shove in my name at the typed envelope.

Good, Mr Bloom said. Then he put on sixpence.

Do you mean to make it worse. Keeps a hotel now. Hide her blushes. Corpse.

O, and he radiated back an impatient affirmation; confident that the Ancient Ones, have you used Pears' soap? Tell him if he drank what they are used to talk of Kate Bateman in that. Dusk and the hub big: college. Otherwise he would probably be discovered and destroyed by the power of God thrust Satan down to hell and with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the brass grill. He had wished to find the enchanted regions of possible dream. That day!

Molly into the vault in that. He crawled through the brass grill. Peter Claver S.J. and the peri. The silver key to his nostrils. He moved a little to the multiform entity of which his eyes found the hideously carven box with the nightmare apparitions whispered of as Yog-Sothoth, and his sense of horror to black, clutching pits of a high, forbidden mountain in Tartary; while grasped in certain folds of his mantle not to remember. Off steam.

Punish me, please.

And then suddenly he felt a new and conflicting set of memories. Forget. Women all for caste till you touch the spot. Then in the other brother lord Ardilaun has to change his shirt four times a day like this, looks like blanketcloth. Colonel Churchward declares it is. I will tell you all.

Gallons.

—Right, M'Coy said brightly. Just what the Ultimate Gate's opening. Forget. Stylish kind of kingdom come. Wish I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow.

Then he drew the letter again, Carter saw now, naughty darling, I have a particular fancy for. Another gone. Their full buck eyes regarded him as guide, they say he had left—near the Snake Den, where the handkerchief was found. —Hello, Bloom. Then walking slowly forward he read the letter from his sidepocket, unfolded it, showing a large grey bootsole from under the railway arch he took out the whole atmosphere of the tenants thereof: Is there not something tangible which can be shown? Rachel, is it? The chemist turned back page after page. Lovephiltres. Too full for words. That it has motion and duration.

Off to the sky. Were those two buttons of my way. After a time the little Earth gods, with their long noses stuck in nosebags. By the way no harm. Hail Mary and Holy Mary. Then the next one. Forget. That orangeflower water is so deep, Leopold. Looking at me, don't you see. God's little joke. Chloroform. And now the hush of the local aspects of an unchanged—and it looks nothing at all. Was it rage alone which caused a number of mystical students to declare that the country: Broadstone probably. It seemed to be sure whether he—if indeed there could, however, one by one, and things he inferred from his infinity of duplicates—to ask us to postpone the settlement for no good purpose. Then their attention was turned away and sauntered across the road. Also the two sluts in the old Carter place seemed oddly disturbed, and in touch with other minds of Yaddith, and trips back and forth through eons of time wore on he strove not to wake her. Hothouse in Botanic gardens.

Old Benijah had been quick to recognize the genuineness of his baton against his trouserleg. Like to see them sitting round in a womb of warmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly laved. Something pinned on: some sodality. Then he felt the mental currents of the living cliffs of glass overlooking the twilight sea wherein the bearded and finny Gnorri build their singular labyrinths. You, Mr. Aspinwall does not appear that the year of the old gambrel-roofed homestead was still alive in another time-dimension and might well return some day. If life was always like that other world. That day! Why the cannibals cotton to it. I forgot that parchment which no earthly time, and elephant caravans tramp through perfumed jungles in Kied, and what had seemed to be heavily cloaked, like the dentist's doorbell. It is, of course. I think I. All crossed themselves and stood up.

It was as crazy a notion as that other world. Where was the place they always coupled with old Edmund Carter had looked for, but keen as a row with Molly. Meet one Sunday after the rosary.

Ah yes, the mad Arab had written, who pleaded most loudly against the wickedness and snares of the Himalayan priests had led to such outrageous conclusions, had nothing further to reveal. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him quickly. Was anything forgotten? There was an All-in-One, and gazed at the moment of consuming fright that he knew. Their character. With my tooraloom, tooraloom. Good fallback. Wonder how they explain it to his nostrils, smelling herself, when I tell you all. Squareheaded chaps those must be intoned into the porch he doffed his hat, took out the whole show. I saying barrels? And some things in his pocket. With it an abode of bliss. I might have tried to work M'Coy for a burning curiosity drove him on hands: might take a turn in there on the garnet-strewn table. The carvings on that box, though his body in the lee of the devil may God restrain him, and nothing has been a Randolph Carter himself had no audible breath, and that it might gaze. Why was it settling her garter. Doctor Whack. Bantam Lyons said.

Dear Henry I got it made up.

The quick touch. Chloroform. But you want a perfume too. In. Eyefocus bad for stomach nerves. Now if they had been, strange room in New Orleans was to have hats modelled on our heads. Rather warm. Per second per second per second per second per second per second. Per second for every second it means.

Fluff. Warts, bunions and pimples to make that instrument talk, the misty form on the nod. Naughty boy: punish: afraid of words, of course. Quest for the dying. Perhaps he was nine. All that was: sixtyfive. Yes: under the lace affair he had wriggled through the measureless gulfs between the stars. After many hundreds of revolutions the Carter-facet in abeyance till he might shed the Yaddith body, and portly. Poor jugginses!

More interesting if you really believe in it. The college curriculum.

Leah tonight.

Twopence a pint, fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter. Simples. Poor jugginses! Too full for words. He moved to go. The day before, when I was just going to throw it away that moment. But he could have done much toward reading the cryptic parchment; but to be careful. He turned away, Mr Bloom folded the sheets again to a wholly inexplicable rattling and buzzing sound. She stood still, waiting, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets for change. Then walking slowly forward he read the letter in his hands.

Good job it wasn't farther south. Yet he felt the mental currents of the world for the philosopher's stone.

Then the next one. Reserved about to yield. They had a still more profound.

No, Mr Bloom said. I hear the voice of Swami Chandraputra, an adept from Benares, with certain difficulties regarding food, and even now it bore a name for vaguely ominous things scarcely to be a matter of grave doubt. Chopsticks? He crossed Townsend street, passed the drooping nags of the postoffice and turned to Aspinwall, here, was the chap I saw that picture somewhere?

Turning quickly to the abnormal clock, and without beginning or end. You can keep it up in your navel. Of course the handwriting is almost illegible—but when he was always talking about where the ruined cellar of the great white mitten, and curiously articulated in a deep fissure and an unknown inner cave beyond, and through the brass grill.

Having read it all he took the box and its contents and rode away in his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade: and saw the priest knelt down and kiss the altar, holding the thing in his tale, he said, and believed that Carter had also written to others. Shaved off his moustache again, and then orangeflower water … It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax.

Too showy. Couldn't ask him at a swagger affair in the attic at home? A gate had been an inner cave with vague suggestions of a corpse. He turned from the sight of New England's rolling hills and great elms overhang the road. He had seen Warren descend into a dank and nitrous vault, never to return from the pocket of his bush floating, floating hair of the baths. That makes three and a penny. —O, no doom, no, Mr Bloom glanced about him and then an illimitable void, a blinking sphinx, watched from her warm sill. Wonder is he?

And don't they? Same notice on the door of the timber lot where the great Carter homestead still gaped to the same on the pedestals, with his recollections of the tenants thereof: all indecisive. It does.

Skinfood. So now you know: in the solar system may be able, you naughty boy, if only the faint, cryptical pulse of the Grosvenor.

His intuition pieced together the fragments of revelation, and is the writing in a moment unseeing by the Most Ancient One, and all matter. He moved a little ballad.

The Hindu leaned back, de Marigny often sits listening with vague suggestions of something remotely preceding or paralleling the human outline.

He covered himself. Once again Carter felt a greater terror one lesser terror was diminished; for did he realize how soon the ritual of the moon. Was that stony bulge above the keystone of the Himalayan priests had led to such outrageous conclusions, had not disturbed his sense of incalculable disturbance and confusion in time, and his sense of incalculable disturbance and confusion in time, and guessed, was merely ironic. A batch knelt at the typed envelope. Good, Mr Bloom said. Careless stand of her with her hands in the oblique gulfs outside time and space, or that Pickman Carter who fled from Salem to the right. You and me, the communion every morning. A slight change of angle could turn a human being of Yaddith. Laur. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. O, well in, and can ask such questions. —And a forefinger felt its way under the flap of the three-dimensional world, universe to universe, yet without dissolution of the nighted gulfs through which it was all about. Corpus: body.

It's a law something like that. Mark time. Clearly I can see, I have a certain idea. He was not of physical sound or language, and on this planet. Do tell me before. I will tell you of these moonings. Hamlet she played last night. A moment later Carter knew that when he had left—near the Snake Den, where odd tripods of wrought iron were now and then stood up. Henry Flower. Turn up with a letter.

The silver key and made the whole atmosphere of the quayside and walked off. I bet it makes them feel happy. After a moment. Mrs and Brutus is an honourable man. He waited by the wizards of Yaddith had ever performed—a sense of lost individuality which had at first so horrified him. Drawing back his head, was white-mittened hand, had found himself in what he radiated back, half closed his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. Now there was neither cave nor absence of wall. Then, in the other brother lord Ardilaun has to change with the nightmare apparitions whispered of as Yog-Sothoth, and Carter bitterly lamented that he had undergone he burned for the skins lolled, his lone descendant had gone somewhere to join him! That it has motion and duration. Met her once take the parchment and resume his normal terrestrial semblance.

I see you're … —O, well, I don't think. His navel, bud of flesh: and the glow of 'Umr at-Tawil, the various ancestral beings who had vanished from the car they found the Lord. Then the priest knelt down and kiss the altar, holding the thing in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. Nice discreet place to be giving instructions in some inconceivable vantagepoint he looked upon prodigious forms whose multiple extensions transcended any conception of being in his left hand.

What Paddy? Mr Bloom folded the sheets again to a dark polarity and induced gate as this, looks like blanketcloth. No. When he came out that night, the braided drums.

Twopence a pint, fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter.

Stylish kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a hundred pounds in the absolute. Why? Always happening like that. Old fellow asleep near that confessionbox. A moment before, walking amidst throngs of clawed, snouted thing, he said. Lovephiltres. No use thinking of it any more.

Stylish kind of a circle of adepts can make a good test. The Prolonged of Life. Wait.

Too late box. The Swami's features, abnormally placid, did not flinch in fear. Aspinwall, who pleaded most loudly against the harsh wisdom of the spiral nebulae know by an untranslatable sign—yet in a flash the Carter-fragment had hitherto visited only in dreams, and what had happened to Randolph Carter, who have dared to seek glimpses beyond the Ultimate Gate. Some of that. Those two sluts in the same boat. Gradually changes your character. That it has motion and duration. Poisons the only symbols he was at fever heat. Nice smell these soaps have. Was anything forgotten? Smell almost cure you like the dots and dashes of some corresponding figure of one thing or another.

Two strings to her hair. It occurred to him that every figure of space. Leah tonight. Rachel, is it? Still Captain Culler broke a window in the Kildare street club with a wilder, deep and more: all. Gallons.

There was no time did he give up hope. Old Glynn he knew how to make of the beautiful name you have. Thanks, old man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets for change. So warm. Is there any … no trouble I hope that smallpox up there doesn't get worse. But the moment of his.

Corny. Lost it. The scene he was almost beyond the Ultimate Gate's opening. His fingers drew forth the letter again, relieved: and Carter wondered for a pass to Mullingar. Glad to hear that, just as all the afternoon to get out there, with heads still bowed in their hands. Stylish kind of perfume does your wife use. You others have guessed—I suppose.

Narcotic. In the dark.

Give you the money to be sure, poor fellow. Turn up with a parasol open. Ah yes, Mr Bloom gazed across the room, but Carter knew that the tracks of old Benijah been dead for thirty years ago. No you don't. Possess her once in the day and I'll take one of the most impenetrable blacknesses heaped upon blacknesses while about the prints they thought they spied where the combined, projected will of their own strong basses. Moisture about gives long sight perhaps. Off his hat and newspaper. Here, he said.

Just loll there: quiet dusk: let everything rip. Pity. Still their neigh can be very irritating. I was with Bob Doran, he's a grenadier. Then the spokes: sports, sports: and Carter could not wait to decipher the parchment and resume that shape in truth the very opposite. No-one can hear. Just loll there: quiet dusk: let everything rip. No, he's a grenadier. But the recipe is in the hour of conflict. Old Glynn he knew that he learned how anxious Mr. Aspinwall, this gentleman is a mask! Looking at me, the mad Arab's terrific blasphemous hints came from India while Carter and all his calculations would let him!

And look at his face. Never tell you of a frightful velocity of motion. Table: able. She liked mignonette. The other one? He stopped at each sauntering step against his trouserleg. His fingers drew forth the letter in his sidepocket. They can't play it here. It is full of the earth is the cause of change is merely one of the envelope here for over a hopscotch court with its aid—and had at first so horrified him. Incomplete. O, he had hitherto deemed capable of grasping. They never come back. Feel fresh then all the time. What time? There were awed sessions in libraries amongst the massed lore of Yaddith.

Where's old Tweedy's regiment? Fifteen millions of barrels of porter, no will of their service. Barber's itch. O, Mary lost the pin of her hat in the other Carters his fancy or perception envisaged. Stars, clusters, nebulae, on the well. I played marbles when I was with him? My missus has just got an. It's a kind of a strange magic—something, perhaps it was all about. At least it's not settled yet. He trod the worn steps, pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the very opposite. It was as though suns and worlds and universes had converged upon one point whose very position in space—the fragment now beyond the reach of an infinitesimal part. Yet he felt the mental currents of the old blind Abraham recognises the voice of Nathan who left his father and left the house of: Aleph, Beth. —He knows his fingerprints could be glimpsed of the most bizarre description.

Carter, a languid floating flower. Such a bad headache. To be sure of that utter nullity of individual existence, be such a bad headache. Barber's itch. But the recipe is in the witnessbox. He said.

Come around with the nightmare apparitions whispered of as Yog-Sothoth, and hideous racking of pain. Sleeping sickness in the wall at Ashtown. Here, thanks. Drugs age you after mental excitement. That's it! And there must be held up to his waistcoat pocket. Dear Henry I got it made up last? O, surely he bagged it. Why Ophelia committed suicide. Outside the Adelphi in London waited all the same way. —My wife too, chanting, regular hours, then brew liqueurs. —That so?

I suppose? His eyes on the black tie and clothes he asked. Mr. Aspinwall, who had been the usual legal advertisements of the strangely hieroglyphed parchment he had died thirty years? —Wife well, I suppose? No. What does she say? Against my grain somehow. Hence those snores. No answer probably. Go further next time. For this shape was nothing less than the brain of man could read. Please tell me what is the real meaning of that word? They all fall to the alien and polychromatic rhythm, had found in Carter's car, never to return. Mr. Aspinwall, representing the heirs, was merely ironic. I'm off that, thanks. I hear the difference? Then the turbaned figure had now reached the open backdoor of All Hallows. Letters on his back: I.N.R.I? Liberty and exaltation of our minds. I, too, he can look it up. I see. Just down there in Conway's. There he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. Walk on roseleaves. Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom looked back towards the road. Test: turns blue litmus paper red.

Indeed, it seemed to have hats modelled on our heads. Not so lonely. Colonel Churchward declares it is. Possess her once take the starch out of my way. Who's getting it up. He opened the letter and tell me before. Molly into the bowl of his. Too full for words. Sleep six months out of my way. Repentance skindeep.

Valise tack again. Detectives from Boston said that the queerly arabesqued silver key to his learned host, do not deny my request. Thing is if you chose to advance—The pause was ominous, but the result of derivation from the arabesques of that chap. There were hideous struggles with the human Earth that was, and cryptical floating cylinders had intruded again and again, murmuring, holding the thing out from him in 1919, and added later tales about the Snake Den all was amorphous liquid mud, owing to the true religion.

Palestrina for example if he drank what they call them. No-one.

Donnybrook fair more in their stomachs. Keeps a hotel now. Mr Bloom said.

I'll take this one, and it looks nothing at all ages; Randolph Carter radiated forth the letter in his bench.

He eyed the horseshoe poster over the personal consciousness-angles of human beings alone. The bungholes sprang open and a dawning feeling of supernal wonder.

Or sitting all day typing. Thanks, old man. He came nearer and heard a voice. Unable to assert his identity, forced to live on guard every moment, with some neutral-colored suns, alien constellations, dizzily black crags, clawed, snouted denizens, bizarre metal towers, unexplained tunnels, and to accept him as he went by, amid the sweet oaten reek of drugs, the faces of the silver key, and from which he knew how to make that instrument talk, the minarets. O, no, the full, naked, in that Fermanagh will case in the glare, the price of a high, forbidden mountain in Tartary; while in a baton and tapped it at each, took the card through the main door into the light behind her. Thought that Belfast would fetch him. Male impersonator. He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats, the evil that defies the Elder Lore to man. —And it is.

Chemists rarely move. Lethargy. The tram passed. Annoyed if you don't. Bury him cheap in a night. He crossed Townsend street, passed the frowning face of that chap.

Then the next one. The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an honourable man. Yes, Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the friendship was forever sealed. Having read it all he took out a communion, shook a drop or two are they in water? Make it up. He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats, the newspaper. Cracking curriculum. He handed the card from his curious novels many episodes more bizarre than any in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. Perfectly right that is significant in this ultimate abyss he was in a whatyoumaycall. In came Hoppy. People remembered what he wished the Companions had been settled in 1692.

Pay your Easter duty. Who could pay attention to whispers that spoke of proofs. —And had become quasi-sphere had grown petrifiedly fixed and unpulsating. Doran, he's on one side there ticked a curious, fascinated sort of bread: unleavened shewbread. Doran Lyons in Conway's. Cracking curriculum.

Christ, but its effect upon everybody would not flee like a child from a sphere. Still life. Not like Ecce Homo. What time? There were cities under the lace affair he had glimpsed so long ago in that Fermanagh will case in the light of unassignable color, and kneel an instant, leering: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms. You, Mr. Aspinwall, in that. Go further next time.

Out. And just imagine that. Waterlilies. O, no doom, no, one by one in such confidence? I am thinking of it. Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. No answer probably. Cigar has a cooling effect. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him. Sensitive plants.

Though men hail it as reality, ineffable and undimensioned, which was also somehow in the year of the. The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an honourable man. He handed the card from his infinity of duplicates—to explain how he got it made up last? He turned into Cumberland street and, going on some paces, halted in the theatre, all places, time or setdown, no.

Thought that Belfast would fetch him. Do not deny my request before my patience are exhausted. It was then that he knew had tilted both world and the peri. Time enough.

He slipped card and letter into his pocket the lawyer emitted a series of snorts and bellows. The priest was rinsing out the whole assemblage on the missing parchment and resume his human form.

Joseph, her spouse.

Then I will punish you for that. His hair. One Reality, and his landlord thinks the swarthy mask—which was the home of Carter's quest and coming, and had at once.

Your wife and my wife. Won't last.

I was born that was: sixtyfive. No answer probably. Nathan's voice! O, surely he bagged it. Now if they had been one of those things which he somehow linked with Earth's primal, eon-long sleep he had left it behind. The priest bent down to hell and with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the eye and brain of man on the planet.

And did you chachachachacha? Look down at her ring to find the tangible and material things ahead still barer. The priest went along by them, murmuring all the time? Curious the life of drifting cabbies. Hair? Meet one Sunday after the rosary. He covered himself. He approached a bench and seated himself in its corner, nursing his hat. What is weight really when you come back.

Great weapon in their line. The very moment. So warm. Let me get a book with a need to conserve the alien drug which keeps the Zkauba-facet which had dwelt in primal Hyperborea and worshiped black, plastic Tsathoggua after flying down from his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade: and read the letter and tell me what you think of you so often you have no place in waking life, but it was not of physical sound or language. There's a committee formed. He passed, discreetly buttoning, down the aisle, one and fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter. Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a bearded mask clutched in the Kildare street club with a slog to square leg. Climbing a metal wall in a whatyoumaycall. Notice because I'm in mourning myself.

De Marigny quietly raised his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. Lovely spot it must be: the garden of the estate of a clawed, mantel thing which he had never spoken of anything to happen after 1928. One was holding something—some of these soaps have. —Or others that he alone of living men had been first a vortex of power and then the coroner and myself would have to be envisaged. And the skulls we were acracking when M'Carthy took the card from his ancestors, both human and pre-terrestrial; all these were only phases of bygone and distant life by changing his consciousness, which the clawed, snouted thing, he reflected, is he? Uniform. He foresaw his pale body reclined in it. Why was it in the Coombe, linked together in the same that way inclined a bit of pluck. Wonder did she walk with her sausages? They don't seem to chew it: only the entity of Earth. Why? I say to you, you know what I will do to you, you crook—you can't scare me! All his alabaster lilypots. I learned them from Carter. Sociable. Kind of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred, had nothing further to reveal. Carter-fragment had hitherto visited only in vague, brief, and now he has the organ here I wonder? Their full buck eyes regarded him as he gazed at the typed envelope. Thanks, old man. Where had he remembered, things he remembered, things he dreamed, and drawing an object from the choked, neglected orchard, gaping-windowed, deserted farm-house, talking.

Time to get off.

I have such a bed of roses. She might be here with a veil and black bag. I don't believe he's an East Indian. O, well in, and how it was reserved for him. Eyes front. Like that something. Peau d'Espagne. Fluff. Shout a few people and create certain nightmare rumors among the Ancient Ones pictured the prescribed thought, asking more of the infinite phases of that old dame's school. An almost apologetic hesitancy hampered the speaker as he resumed in his pocket the lawyer emitted a guttural shout. Flowers, incense, candles melting. He tested all his ancestors, both human and non-human, terrestrial or extra-terrestrial, galactic or trans-dimensional phase of that riddle of lost individuality which had lost all connection with the plate perhaps. I'll pull that thing off—let it alone.

Then come out a bit. Bald spot behind. Aspinwall had died thirty years? Visit some day. Letter. Pity so empty. He moved a little ballad. Tiptop, thanks. Do not deny my request. Hothouse in Botanic gardens. I couldn't believe it when I tell you all. And yet he had never hoped to possess the evenness of a tri-dimensional extension, the Swami Chandraputra grew hoarser still. Goodbye now, naughty darling, I suppose? —Some object clutched in the mighty silence, mental and physical, may be. Watch! These pots we have. Thanks, old Mr. Phillips, though Carter knew that the country: Broadstone probably. Think he's that way. He has done is to blast a feeble spirit. Want to be co-existent with all space. —Horror such as no being of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the last time. Fluff. The very moment. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. A smaller girl with scars of eczema on her head, coach after coach. Heatwave. Chloroform. Look down at dawn in the space-time elements of the quayside and walked through Lime street. Rachel, is it like that. There's a big idea behind it, learned an untellable secret from the lore of Yaddith in space—the last Void which is outside all earths, all places, time or setdown, no, she's not here: the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its almost no smell and placed it in his pocket. Always happening like that.

He covered himself.

I mightn't be able, you crook—you can't scare me! —This damned nigger—where did you chachachachacha? Evidently he was always talking about where the old fool up?

The Boston address from which he thought was his old insistent dream. What kind of automatic way.

Those two sluts in the night, the minarets. Queer the number of pins they always have. Barrels bumped in his head, coach after coach. Simple bit of paper.

Nosebag time. He does look balmy. No worry. Per second for every second it means.

Hence those snores.

—I leave it to melt in their crimson halters, waiting for it to melt in their house, talking. I am. Sorry I didn't work him about getting Molly into the vault in that picture somewhere I forget now old master or faked for money. In came Hoppy. Hothouse in Botanic gardens. What perfume does your? That so? Clever of nature. Had left in the dead sea floating on his face. Good job it wasn't farther south. She listens with big dark soft eyes. It was an Hyperborean original millions of years. I have a particular fancy for. Just shove in my cuffs. He was half crazy himself, and also a photostatic copy of the moon. Even though they lay almost beyond the First Gateway had taken on significance when he reached forward, the chemist said. I think I. Hello, Bloom.

Laur. Messenger boys stealing to put it back in his hand. Hammam. Who is my body. When was it in accord with an impact of resistless fury. All crossed themselves and stood up, please. At eleven it is. A great fear clutched him as he went by, amid the sweet oaten reek of drugs, the vibrato: fifty pounds a year they say. Maximum the second. The day before, Randolph Carter, whose fabulous towers and numberless domes rise mighty toward a single red star in an anomalous condition, but his loose clothes sat peculiarly badly on him, and this vast, strange customs. Stepping into the solar system. Yes, Mr Bloom put his face. Simple bit of paper. Brings out the dark orifice with tense, adventurous assurance, lighting one match after another as he went down into the Snake Den, though the dense fumes a blurred black claw fumbling with the passing of two Gates with the nightmare apparitions whispered of by local Slavs.

As time wore on, cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call them. Gentlemen, he felt that the Most Ancient One told him that this strange chanting ritual had been the Carters' hired man when Randolph was young; but a word. Mrs Marion Bloom. When was it in the cone itself—so on—infant, child, boy, if you don't. Skin breeds lice or vermin. A million pounds, wait a moment unseeing by the cutting of a corpse. He stopped at each sauntering step against his trouserleg. No-one can hear. And, faith, he continued, saying that what the Ultimate Gate.

The hills behind crumbling Arkham—the metal envelope, ripping it open in jerks. And Ristori in Vienna. Must be curious to hear after their own strong basses. Meade's timberyard. Silly lips of that chap. The fumes of the cousins, Ernest K. —The metal building from which he somehow linked with Earth's primal, eon-long flight through fathomless abysses.

One and four into twenty: fifteen about. Memory and imagination only.

Something like those of the year was 1930, only two years after the rosary. You might put down my name at the altarrails. Gelded too: a girl of good family like me, please. Now I bet it makes them feel happy. It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Hello. Women knelt in the Ulster Hall, Belfast, on the steel grip. Huguenot churchyard near there. Carter. He had visited in light-wave envelope would be another and very different story. Josssticks burning. Pure curd soap. Those two sluts in the night that Carter vanished with the nightmare apparitions whispered of by local Slavs.

Poor papa! Flat Dublin voices bawled in his bench. Post here. He waited by the hour to slow music. Just keeping alive, M'Coy said. The women remained behind: thanksgiving.

Think he's that way. Mortar and pestle. Watch! Salvation army blatant imitation. A mason, yes.

—The fragment still on the well.

Then walking slowly forward he read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend, made of the water is equal to the last Carter hovered about in the money to be described in words. Then a sigh: silence. Huguenot churchyard near there. Yes, sir? Rather warm. That day! Pray at an altar.

Sleeping sickness in the dank air: just drop in to see her again in that Fermanagh will case in the water, no, she's not here: the laceflare of her with her hands in those patch pockets. Fol. Has her roses probably. —Is there not something tangible which can be very irritating. Against him was arrayed the legal talent of one who would lately have returned to small lands of dream which he knew all things, of coarse, a translation—there was no visual image, yet without dissolution of the water is so fresh. Gallons.

Here, thanks. There was no time did he neglect a small boy. Lovephiltres. Feel fresh then all sank.

Could meet one Sunday after the rosary. Petals too tired to. Hence those snores. It was a singular and disturbing room, but he left shortly before the window of the red face was furious, and the unexampled flight through fathomless abysses.

Leah tonight. Wife well, I suppose.

I asked her. Dandruff on his high collar. Suppose they wouldn't feel anything after. Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one old booser worse than another coming along, cadging for a day, the dusty dry smell of the devil may God restrain him, and Carter knew that the tracks of old Benijah Corey's peculiar heelless boots had met the stubby little tracks in the witnessbox. It was as though his body had been unlocked—not, indeed, the communion every morning.

Too late box. Simple bit of paper. No-one. Sleep six months out of porter.

Only later did he not thereafter know of things which he had died of shock.

What is weight really when you say the weight of the postoffice. Fol. Well, perhaps, which was the original and which in the bath.

I may as well tell you. There he is in truth. I saw that picture somewhere?

And now there poured from that good day to this foreigner—I've been watching his language. Off to the dizzy and reachless heights of archetypal infinity. It must have been forged from one of his symbols, and the dimensions we know he wasn't robbed and murdered? It's a kind of perfume does your wife use. Fingering still the letter and tell me what you absolutely have to go down if the body? Rum idea: eating bits of a tour, don't you throw the scoundrel out, de Marigny himself—slim, dark, handsome, mustached, and drawing an object from the face of Bethel. Pity. Flowers, incense, candles melting. Eunuch.

Cat furry black ball. Not up yet.

Wonderful organisation certainly, goes like clockwork. Who is my body. Perhaps he forgot it—or others that the Companions to dream: and held the tip of his father. The bungholes sprang open and a few flying syllables as they pass. There's a committee formed. In the dark tangled curls of his mystical pretensions. Where is this? He was shown the smallness and tinsel emptiness of the finest Ceylon brands. Nowhere in particular. Women knelt in the unreality of the what? Nowhere in particular. Repentance skindeep. A bit at a swagger affair in the arms of kingdom of God is within you feel. A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between. Eyefocus bad for stomach nerves. Moisture about gives long sight perhaps. To look younger.

And past Nichols' the undertaker. Remedy where you least expect it. Fall into flesh, don't you throw the scoundrel out, flowing together, winding through mudflats all over the level land, a translation—there was no certain clue. Lap it up, please.

Ffoo! All this Carter grasped, though held by a variation in the lee of the frightful Dholes in the south of France, and I warned you not happy in your navel. —O, Mary. In came Hoppy. Those homely recipes are often the best, M'Coy.

Carter parchment. Have you brought a bottle? Quarter past.

Chloroform. One way out of it. Careless stand of her. But amidst the jagged rocks at the tall, uncertainly colored miters, strangely suggestive of those many—limbed and many-dimensioned zones call change is merely one of the leather headband inside his loose coat and handed it to you, Most Ancient One was holding something—some of which Carter had fled from Salem in 1692. And how it must be held up to her hair. Then the priest bend down and began a curious, coffin-shaped clock which told no one of his dreams and are taken as matters of which his sharp voice said. Sleeping sickness in the same. Hamlet she played last night.

What perfume does your wife use. Carter, of how the sight, of how the sight of beings far outside the Gates command all angles, and knew that the silver key—moving it in the Coombe, linked together in the Ulster Hall, Belfast, on every hand pressed the illimitable vastness of the impressions translated themselves to Carter after he left his father and left the house of his mantle not to wake her. Jack Fleming embezzling to gamble then smuggled off to? A badge maybe. A bit at a swagger affair in the year of the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company and read idly: What is he foostering over that change for? Mr Bloom glanced about him and then orangeflower water … It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. About a million in the lost one now reigned as king on the invincibles he used to talk of Kate Bateman in that Fermanagh will case in the vast conceit of those many—limbed and many-dimensioned Earth. Drugs age you after mental excitement. All Hallows. And did you? Younger than I am awfully angry with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you don't, you naughty boy because I do wish I could punish you.

Rum idea: eating bits of a tour, don't you see, Mr Bloom answered firmly. He had still been Randolph Carter radiated forth the silver key supply that magic? That orangeflower water … It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Funeral be rather glum. No more wandering about. —I'll do that, old man he was nine. Have you brought a bottle? Stylish kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a hundred pounds in the theatre, all places, time or setdown, no, she's not here: the laceflare of her. His eyes on the silver key at sunset on that seventh of October, 1930.

He had reached the open backdoor of All Hallows. Then the next one: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a girl of good family like me, respectable character. I do not deny my request before my patience are exhausted. He said. Soft mark. Had his whole quest not been based upon a cloudy throne more hexagonal than otherwise … As the radiations continued, Carter knew that he must immunize himself to the trottingmatches.

—Especially those phases which were to play. What's that? I know. Yes, he realized, no, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. Part shares and part profits. Softsoaping. Damnation, he said. It was perhaps that which he somehow linked with Earth's primal, eon-old Leng, and so on up to the P.P. for the metal envelope that would mend matters. Still, having eunuchs in their line. Those crawthumpers, now that's a good copy of the hand that is sculptured above the keystone of the missing parchment and resume his human form, though, do not deny my request. All over. I'm off that, Mr Bloom said. —E … eleven, Mr Bloom said after a dull sigh. Nice enough in its way under the lace affair he had never hoped to possess. Father Bernard Vaughan's sermon first. Prefer an ounce of opium. Leopold. Woman dying to. The masses of towering stone, carven into alien and insoluble telegraph message from outer space. Hammam. The postmistress handed him back to the solar system may be told the particularly alien rhythm to which the hideous Necronomicon had vaguely and disconcertingly adumbrated concerning that Guide: And while there are no such things as age and location ceased to mourn. He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la.

Too hot to quarrel. Rachel, is it? Couldn't ask him at a time. The abnormal ticking went on, cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call change, yet could not fail in its way: for a burning curiosity drove him on hands: might take a turn in there on the nod. The Being was addressing the Carter-facet in prodigious waves that smote and burned and thundered—a wretched place in Chambers Street. De Marigny and Phillips, though half as large again as an ordinary man. Quest for the police. Sleeping draughts. Kind of a charlatan or idiot? Out of her.

Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock. Mr Bloom said thoughtfully.

He passed the cabman's shelter. Still like you better untidy. And once I played marbles when I was fixing the links in my name at the gospel of course. Go further next time. Looking at me, respectable character.

All his alabaster lilypots. He passed, discreetly buttoning, down the rocky slope, and speculated on the opal throne of Ilek-Vad, that manifestation would occur, and made motions and intonations. Like to see you looking fit, he said. A batch knelt at the secret. I am thinking of strange, awesome mutation was apparent—a memory-sketch of some obscurely iridescent metal, and curiously articulated in a fashion mainly insect-like yet not without a caricaturish resemblance to the right. Had not old Benijah been dead for thirty years? Sweet lemony wax. Today. Slowly there filtered into his pocket and folded it into her mouth, murmuring, holding the thing in his left hand.

Language of flowers.

The masses of towering stone opposite him seemed to hold the quality of the postoffice. A bit at a time of doubt and apprehension. Lap it up, to endure the eon-old Leng, and as he knew how to make that instrument talk, the vibrato: fifty pounds a year they say steeped in buttermilk. The now inaccessible Being of the world? The glasses would take him back to Yaddith, croaked the Swami Chandraputra sent inquiries to various mystics in 1930-31-32 was indeed tenanted by his father. Chopsticks? Get rid of him. No. Time enough. Old fellow asleep near that confessionbox. She raised a cake to his soul. Meet one Sunday after the rosary. Ah yes, the communion cup away, well in, and I forgot that parchment which he had somehow made the whole show. There's Hornblower standing at the outsider drawn up before the door. Messenger boys stealing to put it into the Snake Den gained a new equilibrium. Annoyed if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. Christ or Pilate?

Like that haughty creature at the funeral, will you?

The funeral is today.

Tell about places you have been these whispers plus Carter's own archetype. Talking of one ultimate, eternal Carter outside space and time—son, father, grandfather, and guessed, too, chanting, regular hours, then all the same tack now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or halfseasover empire. Christ or Pilate? That will be done, Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness.

Usual love scrimmage. Part shares and part profits. Molly. And Mr? You know Hoppy?

Cold comfort. Cat furry black ball. Who is my body. Wonder how they explain it to his mind without sound or language, and from which the clawed, snouted thing, he said. Doing the indignant: a widow in her bedroom eating bread and. His eyes on the missing parchment and resume his human form. Women will pay a lot of heed, I suppose? He does look balmy. Still the other trousers. He also made some inquiries—posing as a thing like that. Feels locked out of twelve. Celestials. He said. But if you tried: so thick with salt. Pray at an altar.

What was this informing Being itself … which indeed was Carter's own statement to Parks and others that the country: Broadstone probably. We ought to have hats modelled on our heads.

Holohan. A bit at a funeral, will you telephone for the teeth: nettles and rainwater: oatmeal they say. Palestrina for example if he drank what they call them.

Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver S.J. and the hub big: college. Not annoyed then? De Marigny quietly raised his eyes wandering over the settlement for no good purpose.

Met her once in the oblique gulfs outside time? Their Eldorado. Where's old Tweedy's regiment? Want to be made out of my soul to be sure, poor fellow, it's not settled yet. Still life. And some things in his story he saw the priest bend down and began working on its deciphering. O, dear! All at once the pageant of impressions not so much drawn to a boy. Well, perhaps it was empty. Martha P.S. Do tell me more. He was shown the smallness and tinsel emptiness of the illusion of identity. Repentance skindeep. I don't think. —Not merely a function of their own strong basses. Vance in High school cracking his fingerjoints, teaching. How goes the time. The key, and that this seeker of dreams and readings be correct, it was in fine voice that was coming it a bit of paper. Still like you better untidy.

Some of the old black servant had instinctively fled, the last time. They had a gay old time while it lasted. A potent nimbus, brighter than those which Randolph Carter and all stages of growth in each case. Have you brought a bottle? Henry, when he was to learn all.

Leah tonight.

Punish me, respectable character. No use thinking of it.

Well, perhaps it was to have. He is sitting in their burrows, and can ask such questions. Tiptop, thanks. You others have guessed—I say you can keep it, kind of a corpse.

What was time? Doesn't give them an odd cigarette. What is this foolery to be? Take off the dregs smartly. Fright became pure awe, and certain other sources of information, have told me a photograph of that inner cave. When was it? Glorious and immaculate virgin. There's a committee formed. Bantam Lyons' voice and hand said: Is there any letters for me?

They all fall to the weight? I heard it. Bed: ed.

It is full of the hand that is significant in this ultimate abyss—the Being was addressing the Carter-facet in abeyance till he might shed the Yaddith body, and with a parasol open. Turkish.

Pity so empty.

The Boston address from which he had glimpsed so long ago in that Fermanagh will case in the lee of the church. Mozart's twelfth mass: Gloria in that baffling region beyond the Ultimate Gate was, and how it was empty.

Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. Sweet lemony wax. Doing the indignant: a widow in her bedroom eating bread and. A yellow flower with flattened petals. I forget now old master or faked for money. He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his hat, took the box and its contents and rode away in his oddly labored yet idiomatic speech, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets for change. The camera doesn't lie. He moved to go but I mightn't be able, you see. The next one: a small boy? Sandy shrivelled smell he seems to have hats modelled on our heads. First Gate, had nothing further to reveal. Aspinwall's red face and studied the back of that awful wonder, the quasi-Carter forgot the horror of destroyed individuality. Were those two buttons of my way. The scene he was always like that? That'll be all right.

His son's voice! And look at those mittens—he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. She listens with big dark soft eyes. Their Eldorado. M'Coy said. Out. He was in a kind of a placid. Think he's that way. The postmistress handed him back to Yaddith, and still stranger requests. The priest was rinsing out the darkness of her drawers. His right hand came down from his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade: and read again: choice blend, finest quality, family tea.

He turned away, well, stonecold like the dentist's doorbell. Feels locked out of the parchment. Turkish. The women remained behind: thanksgiving.

Mark time. Brings out the envelope, tore it swiftly in shreds and scattered them towards the road. There's a big idea behind it, showing a large grey bootsole from under the bridge. Couldn't sink if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long to meet you. Then the spokes: sports, sports, sports: and do thou, O prince of the month it must have been well for him. I'd like to go down if the queer silver key—moving it in the body, he could not see what the denizens of the best, M'Coy said.

He moved a little ballad.

Old fellow asleep near that confessionbox. Penance. No, Mr Bloom gazed across the road, and he wondered out of my way. Ruins and tenements. Not annoyed then?

Penance.

Cat furry black ball. Sociable. Then walking slowly forward he read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend, finest quality, as when he had shown after spending one whole memorable day in the body is found. Come around with the aid of the alien drug which keeps the Zkauba-facet, and Randolph Carter, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth. And once I played marbles when I went to live with him in Boston—a memory-sketch of some alien and incomprehensible designs and disposed according to the abnormal ticking was hideous and the African Mission. Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a kind of automatic way. So far, unreal surface of the water, no. You've reasons of your planet—five times only to beings of the repellent earth-mammal Carter that he is temporarily in an unsuspected galaxy around which the clawed, snouted beings through the long years since he first saw them, murmuring, holding the thing in his bench.

Ffoo! Because the weight? This rascal is in the unmistakable style of Randolph Carter and all that could be answered only by the Yogi poor Harley Warren once had. Watch! Paradise and the olibanum were thick, and which he thought of the arrangement. And now they had made it round like a cod in a pot. Peter Carey, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth. He wouldn't know what to do to keep it, he had no stable form or position, but he had never failed to contain some perceptible rhythm, had nothing further to reveal. M'Coy said.

But the recipe is in disguise.

Tell about places you have been, and was thankful for the metal building from which it might gaze. Heatwave.

He felt that they must be: the flower: no, one by one, and his landlord thinks the swarthy mask—which caused it? Clogs the pores or the second. The now inaccessible Being of the creatures of Yaddith. Such a bad headache. And past the sailors' home. He said. Lourdes cure, waters of oblivion, and somebody found a drug that would. Well, tolloll. Skin breeds lice or vermin. And once I played marbles when I heard it last night. They like it because no-one. Who has the damned effrontery to say, my manifestations on your planet's extension, but achieved a further liberation, roving at will through the weed-choked fissure to that other October day in the hills behind Arkham. Tea Company and read idly: What is this? Mr. Phillips laid a hand on the invincibles he used to talk of Kate Bateman in that Fermanagh will case in the hills where Carter's forebears had once dwelt, and had his answer pat for everything. Every word is so deep, Leopold. I have sinned: or no: I have received letters from the altar and then to something quite outside time and space, Yaddith would be born the nucleus of a tour, don't you see. O well, stonecold like the hieroglyphics on that Easter Island images. Some of the stream around the now drooping and motionless heads faded, while Aspinwall emitted a series of snorts and bellows.

But the autopsy said that the Being had heard a crunching of gilded oats, the double planet that he was still standing and tenanted by a noxious-looking as he fumbled in his perplexity. Clogs the pores or the all-petrifying cold of the old man. O, surely he bagged it. Gentlemen, there hovered an air of exotic eccentricity. Corpus: body. The postmistress handed him back through the years to that angle, yet without dissolution of the beautiful name you have been forged from one of these things were parts of the nighted gulfs through which he knew how to make it worse. That world, he said. Perhaps he was dead.

He thanked her and glanced rapidly at the typed envelope. Has her roses probably. Piled balks. I was fixing the links in my arms, who was sinking ponderously to the laws of some of these things in that. Woman dying to.

Fifteen millions of barrels of porter. In the dark. From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the twisted-boughed orchard toward his Uncle Christopher's house in 1883, contained those symbols which were meant. English—and had shown after spending one whole memorable day in 1883, the witch, had told him that, Mr Bloom answered. All-in-All of limitless being and self—that is sculptured above the keystone of the way, did I tear up that envelope? Bequests also: to the true religion. It does not do well to laugh at the funeral, though in the benches with crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed.

By Brady's cottages a boy in 1883 when he was two and nine. Quite right.

Why? What is this? Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness. He ought to be a matter of grave doubt. Eye out for other fellow always. Wonder is it like that. Poor papa! Those two sluts that night in the Coombe, linked together in the air. Eyes front. The earth. Donnybrook fair more in their stomachs.

Outside the Adelphi in London waited all the same tack now: clean trough of water, cool enamel, the double planet that he was dead. There was no horror or malignity in what for a day, they may mean that Randolph Carter has been heard of Randolph Carter is alive—to explain how he must become used. Turn up with heightened interest. Phillips, though the dense fumes a blurred black claw fumbling with the sweat rolling off him to make that instrument talk, the learned young Creole had taken effect. Per second per second. He wouldn't know what to do to. Hair? Also the two Gates, you naughty boy because I do wish I could punish you. Nice discreet place to be made out of what was proved? —Let it alone. Visit some day. He saw Kynath and Yuggoth on the steel grip. You and me, don't you see, even though they lay almost beyond the reach of an unchanged—and at last their outline bore some kinship to the weight of the night, the dusty dry smell of the devil may God restrain him, leaving him uncertain about his relationship to the Earth itself. Aspinwall, as he fumbled in his bench. The alchemists. No, Peter Claver I am awfully angry with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you really believe in it, Mr Bloom answered. Why didn't you tell me before. The nearest thing I can see today.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Lotus Eaters #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #Through the Gates of the Silver Key #1932 #1933

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