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Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness: A Conversation With Lana Del Rey. On the eve of her fourth album, the pagan pop star sounds more content than ever. How did she get there? Interview by Alex Frank for Pitchfork. Famous artists are notoriously late, but when I arrive about 20 minutes early for an interview at Lana Del Rey’s Santa Monica studio, she is ready for me, offering a handshake and a smile. It is the week before her new album, ‘Lust For Life’, will be released, but she seems unhurried and relaxed; when I ask if she’s been busy in the leadup to such a big day, she says “no” with a laugh, as if she knows she probably should be. She is not dressed like the glammed-up mystic you see in music videos and photographs: her hair, long and brown, is tied functionally behind her neck, and she is in a white T-shirt and blue jeans, with cream canvas sneakers and white ankle socks on her feet. Right away, she invites me through a side door into the inner sanctum where her brooding songs are created. For Lana acolytes, this is a mythic place. She has recorded here since 2012’s ‘Born To Die’, her major label debut. It is a beautiful room filled with sun coming in from a skylight and two windows, the opposite of the average dank music studio. It looks a bit like how you’d expect Lana Del Rey’s workplace to look: vaguely and warmly retro, with dark wood cabinets and a mid-century-looking painting with interlacing geometric shapes hanging on the back wall. In the center of the room is a scratched-up leather club chair with a Tammy Wynette album cover facing it. (“I always have Tammy there,” she says of the country singer best known for her ode to everlasting devotion, “Stand by Your Man.”) This chair, and not the actual booth in the front of the room, is where Lana sits to record her vocals. “I get red light fever in the booth,” she says. She likes that the studio is by the beach, where she’ll sometimes go to listen to mixes of songs on her iPhone. The studio is owned and operated by Rick Nowels, her longtime producer. He has come down today to listen to the album with us, a pair of sunglasses firmly on his face. Nowels has more than 20 years on Lana, who is 32, and he inhabits something of an uncle role, making the songwriter a bit bashful when he sweetly refers to a ballad called “When the World Was at War We Kept Dancing” as a “masterpiece” for its lyrical message about the importance of finding ways to have fun, even in the Trump era. Gearing up to record what would become ‘Born To Die’, Lana had met with a number of producers who all tried to tell her what she should or should not sound like, with some encouraging her to ditch the breathy vocal style that would become her signature. When she finally met Nowels, he didn’t want to change a thing. “I went through a hundred and eleven producers just to find someone who says ‘yes’ all the time,” she says. “Everyone is so obsessed with saying ‘no’—they break you down to build you up.” Lana is a studio junkie—’Lust For Life’ is her fourth album in about five years. She says a day that she works is better than a day that she doesn’t. Nowels tells me that even though the new album isn’t out yet, she’s already making new music. “If I get a great melody in my head, I know it’s a gift,” she says. As we sit down to listen to ‘Lust For Life’, she is clearly at home: Like a good host, she offers me her comfy leather singing chair and instead curls up on a blue velvet couch nearby. She has a familial rapport with not just Nowels, but engineers Dean Reid and Kieron Menzies, who she credits again and again for making her work better, and the four of them ruminate on mastering, making jokes about Lana’s perfectionism when it comes to the final cuts of her songs. The album, like all of her work, is fastidiously and emphatically Lana in its sound and atmosphere: a haze of lazy pacing and flowery melodies, conjuring a foreboding backdrop for lyrics about summer and antique celebrity icons and dangerous, dissatisfying relationships. Front and center in the mix is her voice, which has a crooner’s tone and an especially wide range, from deep and low to high and sharp. Most pop stars rely on reinvention to retain relevance, but her output is remarkably consistent. She says her main criteria is whether or not a song sounds like it will transport listeners to somewhere else in their minds. On each album, the skeleton remains more or less the same while she infuses her work with stylistic elements from different genres, from rap to rock to jazz. ‘Lust For Life’ draws from folk and hip-hop, two genres that she says she loves because they both privilege real storytelling. The new record is a departure in key ways, though. In the past, Lana has become famous for themes that are, at times, hopeless: toxic romance, violence, drug use, despair, aging, death. This isn’t to say every song she has ever recorded is a downer, or that she hasn’t displayed a knowing sense of humor about her reputation. But her relentless obsession with the dark arts is a reason why her fans love her with an almost religious fervor; she’s had issues with people breaking into her house. “They want to talk,” she says chillingly. Her menacing themes have also led to resistance at certain moments from larger audiences who, perhaps trained to think of pop music as a tool of empowerment and empathy, just can’t face her nihilism. While ‘Lust For Life’ certainly has its share of grim moments, it is not as much of an avalanche of gloom, and perhaps offers signposts to a happier future. At times, Lana even approaches uncomplicated joy, like on first single ‘Love.’ The album also contains some of her first songs that deal with a universe larger than the tangled intensity of one-on-one relationships—there are tracks intended to be balms and battle cries for trying times, which, like many Americans, she found herself fretting over constantly during the 2016 election campaign. And for the first time on any Lana album, she’s also opening the door to a number of guest vocalists: A$AP Rocky, Playboi Carti, the Weeknd, Stevie Nicks, and Sean Ono Lennon on a Beatles-referencing song called ‘Tomorrow Never Came.’ “I FaceTimed with Yoko, and she said it was her most favorite thing Sean’s ever done,” Lana says.

After listening to the album, Lana and I peel off to a small office on the other side of the studio for our interview. Before we begin, she pulls out her iPhone to record the conversation along with me, a defensive move she’s taken up after years of feeling manipulated and harangued by the media. When answering questions, she is at turns thoughtful and strident, seriously considering topics like her attempts at a brighter life and how Trump has affected her love of Americana, and also entirely unafraid to bat away questions she finds boring or irrelevant. At one point, she laughs so hard at a silly sidebar in our conversation that she has a coughing fit and has to take a break. She says she binge watches ‘The Bachelor,’ and that while all of her friends now call her Lana—not Elizabeth Grant, her birth name—her parents are the two people who do not. She is wry about the new song ‘Groupie Love,’ in which she writes herself not as the star but in the role of a worshipful devotee: “Old habits die hard—I still love a rock star.” When I ask her if she is bothered by TMZ dating rumors, which have recently speculated about her relationship with rapper G-Eazy, she gives an unexpectedly goading answer: “They’re usually true. Maybe where there’s smoke there’s fire.” Which is to say: She’s kinda regular, not the hardened artist we’ve heard in her songs, but someone, it would seem, who likes to hang out and chat about life and music. Talking about good times brings up memories of rough ones, and when the conversation veers towards rocky terrain, she reveals an artist-and a person-at a pivotal moment. — A few years ago you were singing lyrics like “I have nothing much to live for,” and now you’re smiling on the cover of ‘Lust For Life.’ How’d you get to a happier place? Lana Del Rey: I made personal commitments. — Commitments to what? LDR: Well, they’re personal. [laughs] I had some people in my life that made me a worse person. I was not sure if I could step out of that box of familiarity, which was having a lot of people around me who had a lot of problems and feeling like that was home base. Because it’s all I know. I spent my whole life reasoning with crazy people. I felt like everyone deserved a chance, but they don’t. Sometimes you just have to step away without saying anything. — Your past albums often presented a claustrophobic universe made up of just you and one other person, but all of a sudden it’s like you’ve got your eyes wide open and you’re looking at the world around you. Developmentally, I was in the same place for a very long time, and then it just took me longer than most people to be able to be more out there. Being more naturally shy, it’s taken stretching on my part to just continue to integrate into the local community, global community, to grow as a person. Also, getting really famous doesn’t help you grow with the community. It’s important to have your own life. It’s hard with how accessible things are. Hacking? E-mail is just a no for me. I do a lot to make sure I don’t feel trapped. — Your fans are famously obsessive. Do they ever cross the line? They fucking have. Someone stole both my cars. All the scary shit. I’ve had people in my house for sure, and I didn’t know they were there while I was there. I fucking called the police. I locked the door. Obviously, that’s the one in one-hundred-thousand people who’s crazy. But I [had a hard time sleeping] for a minute. — Fame can be isolating, but you are making a real effort to not let it be. It’s going to be isolating. Period. Unless you stretch past it. But it takes so much footwork. Getting over the uncomfortability of being the one person in the room who everyone recognizes. The last few years, I’m out all the time: clubs, bars, shows. For years I was more quietly in the mix, always through the back door, do not tell anyone I’m coming. And now I’ve relaxed into it where I’ll just show up. I don’t need a special ticket. I’ll just go sit wherever. It feels a little more like I’m myself again. — If you’re happier these days, what do you think when you hear an old lyric from an old record, like, “He hit me and it felt like a kiss,” from ‘Ultraviolence’? I don’t like it. I don’t. I don’t sing it. I sing ‘Ultraviolence’ but I don’t sing that line anymore. Having someone be aggressive in a relationship was the only relationship I knew. I’m not going to say that that [lyric] was 100 percent true, but I do feel comfortable saying what I was used to was a difficult, tumultuous relationship, and it wasn’t because of me. It didn’t come from my end. — Now you want to present a different face to the world on ‘Lust For Life’? No. I don’t care. I would just say I am different. And even being a little bit different makes me not want to sing that line. To me, it just was what it was. I deal with what’s in my lyric—you’re not dealing with it. I was annoyed when people would ask me about that lyric. Like, who are you? — Do you think you romanticize danger in your music? No. I don’t like it. It’s just the only thing [I’ve known]. So I’m trying to do a new thing. I never wrote better when I had a lot of turmoil going on. ‘Born To Die’ was already done before any of the shit hit the fan. When things are good, the music is better. I’m trying to change from the way I thought things were gonna be to what I feel like they could be, which is maybe just brighter. — But, even with some new perspectives, ‘Lust For Life’ is still very melancholy at moments. If you make sad music, which you’ve done for so long, does it necessarily mean you’re sad? Yeah. I think for most people, regardless of what they say, it’s probably a direct reflection of their inner world. With my first record, I didn’t feel upset. I felt very excited, and then I felt a little more confused. — After the release of ‘Born To Die,’ you faced a lot of criticism, partly around the issue of whether you were or were not authentic. Do you think of yourself as authentic? Of course. I’m always being myself. They don’t know what authentic is. If you think of all the music that came out until 2013, it was super straight and shiny. If that’s authentic to you, this is going to look like the opposite. I think that shit is stylized. Just because I do my hair big does not mean I’m a product. If anything, I’m doing my own hair, stuffing my own fucking stuffing in there if I have a beehive. Music was in a super weird place when I became known, and I didn’t really like any of it. — Did you ever feel like the criticism had a misogynistic bent? No. Women hated me. I know why. It’s because there were things I was saying that either they just couldn’t connect to or were maybe worried that, if they were in the same situation, it would put them in a vulnerable place. — You weren’t singing empowering things. No, I wasn’t. That wasn’t my angle. I didn’t really have an angle—that’s the thing. — Have you noticed that all songs on the radio are bummers now? That Lil Uzi Vert lyric—“All my friends are dead”—sounds almost like a Lana lyric. There’s been a major sonic shift culturally. I think I had a lot to do with that. I do. I hear a lot of music that sounds like those early records. It would be weird to say that it didn’t. I remember seven years ago I was trying to get a record deal, and people were like, “Are you kidding? These tunes? There’s zero market for this.” There was just such a long time where people had to fit into that pop box. — With all the flak you’ve received over the years, particularly after ‘Born To Die,’ some people would have thrown in the towel. But you doubled down and made an even more fucked up, almost hyper-Lana record with ‘Ultraviolence.’ I so double downed. [The early criticism] made me question myself- I didn’t know if it was always going to be that way. You can’t put out records if 90 percent of the reviews in places like the Times are going to be negative. That would be crazy. It would have made sense to step all the way back, but I was like, Let me put out three more records and see if I can just stand in the eye of the storm. Not shift too much. Let me just take some of the [production] off so you can hear things a little bit better; I thought people were maybe getting distracted. I did the same thing with ‘Honeymoon.’ Everyone around here heard it and was like, “It’s a cool record, but you know it’s not going to be on the radio, right?” And I was like, “Yeah. I told [record executive] Jimmy [Iovine] when I signed, ‘If you want to sign me, this is all it’s ever going to be.’” I was just so committed to making music because I believe in what I do. All I had to do was not quit. — So that ‘Ultraviolence’ woman who is so swept up in turmoil- is she still there on ‘Lust For Life’? We’ll see. That’s been my experience up until now, but, like, I’m trying. — Some of the sparer, really heartfelt songs on ‘Lust For Life’ reminded me of the ‘Ultraviolence’ song ‘Black Beauty.’ That’s a sad song. In that song—[sings] I keep my lips red like cherries in the spring/Darling, you can’t let everything seem so dark blue—that’s a girl who is still seeing the blue sky and a putting on a pop of color just for herself. But this [other] person—it was all black for them. And my world became inky with those overtones. [At this, Lana begins to cry, and we pause for a moment.] — What made you cry just now? In that moment, when I said “pop of color,” I was connected to that feeling of only being able to see a portion of the world in color. And when you feel that way, you can feel trapped. — Are you seeing the world in color now? [sighs] I don’t really know how to describe my perspective at the moment. — But you’re trying, and that’s what ‘Lust For Life’ is about? It’s not. I don’t know what it’s about. I don’t know what it is. — Is the album a way of saying that you at least want to be happy? No. It’s just that something is happening. — What makes you happy? I’m really simple. I love nature. I like hikes. Being by the water- I don’t always get in. I love the elements. Playing an outdoor festival. Love that feeling. — What bums you out? Feeling like going backwards. — Is there a storyline to the album? Yeah. — What’s the story? You have to figure it out. — Just a few years ago you were saying you didn’t care about feminism, and now you are writing protest songs and meditations on war and peace. Because things have shifted culturally. It’s more appropriate now than under the Obama administration, where at least everyone I knew felt safe. It was a good time. We were on the up-and-up. Women started to feel less safe under this administration instantly. What if they take away Planned Parenthood? What if we can’t get birth control? Now, when people ask me those questions, I feel a little differently. The reason why I asked Stevie Nicks to be on the record is because she changes when her environment changes, and I’m like that as well. In ‘When the World Was at War We Kept Dancing,’ I wrote, “Boys, don’t make too much noise/Don’t try to be funny/Other people may not be understanding.” Like, Can you tone down your over-boisterous rhetoric that isn’t working? ‘God Bless America - And All the Beautiful Women in It’ is a little shoutout to the women and anyone else who doesn’t always feel safe walking down the street late at night. That’s what I was thinking of when I wrote, “Even when I’m alone I’m not lonely/I feel your arms around me.” It’s not always how I feel when I’m walking down the street, but sometimes in my music I try to write about a place that I’m going to get to. — Do you feel unsafe? I feel less safe than I did when Obama was president. When you have a leader at the top of the pyramid who is casually being loud and funny about things like that, it’s brought up character defects in people who already have the propensity to be violent towards women. I saw it right away in L.A. Walking down the street, people would just say things to you that I had never heard. When people asked me the feminist question before, I was like, “I’m not really experiencing personal discrimination as a woman. I feel like I’m doing well. I headline shows just like the Weeknd does. I got tons of women in my life, love women, support women.” I just felt like, Why don’t we talk about the music first? I can tell you that what I have done for women is tell my own story, and that’s all anyone can do. — Is it harder to be romantic about America when Trump is the nation’s biggest celebrity? It’s certainly uncomfortable. I definitely changed my visuals on my tour videos. I’m not going to have the American flag waving while I’m singing ‘Born To Die.’ It’s not going to happen. I’d rather have static. It’s a transitional period, and I’m super aware of that. I think it would be inappropriate to be in France with an American flag. It would feel weird to me now- it didn’t feel weird in 2013. All the guys in the studio—we didn’t know we were going to start walking in every day and talking about what was going on. We hadn’t ever done that before, but everyday during the election, you’d wake up and some new horrible thing was happening. Korea, with missiles suddenly being pointed at the western coast. With ‘When the World Was at War We Kept Dancing,’ I was posing a real question to myself: Could this be the end of an era? The fall of Rome? — Nostalgia can be really corny when it’s not done well, and you’re all about nostalgia. How do you try to get it right? I know I walk the line sometimes. [laughs] I saw comments that people said about my little ‘Coachella - Woodstock in my Mind’ song. I write that title and I’m like, OK, I know I went there. But I think it’s amazing. It’s on the nose. It’s so on the nose. But sometimes things just are what they are. I’m at Coachella for three days, and North Korea is pointing a missile at us, and I’m watching Father John Misty with my best friend, who’s his wife—that’s all I’m literally saying. It’s just like, Yeah, I’m a hipster. I know it. Got it. — You mentioned working with Stevie Nicks on this album, what was it like recording with her? She came in straight off a plane from her last show of like 60 cities, which I was actually supposed to open for. She had asked me, and I was like, “Oh my god.” But I couldn’t because I don’t want to do a 60-show tour. She flew through the door. Blond highlights, rose gold glasses, gold-tipped nails, rose gold lipstick, gold chains, gold rings, black on black on black. Very stylish. And meanwhile, I looked like a housewife of 15—flannel on flannel, because it was a cold night. And I was like, Why did I not dress up for Stevie Nicks? At the end of the track, she sings, then I sing, then she sings. I was kinda embarrassed. I was like, “I sound so little compared to you.” And she was like, “That’s good, you’re my little echo.” And I was like, Stevie called me her little echo. It’s a stupid little thing, but she was very nurturing in that way, and not belittling of the fact that I had a more breathy voice. Which I wasn’t even aware of until I was shoulder-to-shoulder on a track with someone with less air in their voice. I felt a little more exposed in that moment. But she was like, “That’s you. You just be you.” — Speaking of musical icons, can you tell me about performing at Kim and Kanye’s wedding party? It was a surprise for Kim. I hadn’t met her. I sang ‘Young And Beautiful,’ ‘Summertime Sadness,’ ‘Blue Jeans.’ Kanye requested ‘Young And Beautiful.’ The girls—the Kardashians—were so nice. There was only one front row, just them, right there. They were living for it. They started playing Kanye and Jay-Z records for the rest of the thing and it rained and everyone was just up dancing in the rain. I stayed for like 40 minutes and then I left. — People have made a big deal about that necklace you are selling that seems to have a coke spoon. Is it a coke spoon? Yeah. It’s funny. I have a flask and a lighter as well. I don’t do coke. — You’ve said in the past that you weren’t drinking either, and yet it turns up in your music. Do you drink now? No comment. — You sing about drugs and alcohol a lot. Not on this record. I well used to do a lot of drugs, but I actively don’t now. — What kind of drugs did you do? No comment. [laughs] But I think the coke spoon is kinda funny. I’m just like, Whatever. I don’t think it’s going to make anyone do coke. — Are you conscious of when you walk right up to a taboo in your work? Not really. That’s the one thing I don’t have my finger on. I am there, but there are times I don’t really know it. There’s certain stuff that I think is kinda dope that I know other people might be like, Okayyyyy. — Like singing about death? That’s real life though. Super real life. — You got a lot of shit for saying “I wish I was dead” to a journalist a few years ago. Fuck that guy, though. I didn’t think he would print it and make it the headline. I was having a really tough time. I had been on the road for a year. I was really struggling. I was just stupid, I was like, “I fucking want to die.” Maybe I meant it. I don’t really know. — Which of your albums is the most autobiographical? All of them. The last record- I listen to a song like ‘Terrence Loves You,’ and I just really feel for myself at the time. The person I’m singing about—[sings] You are what you are/I don’t matter to anyone—did I really just say I don’t matter to anyone? That’s fucking crazy. — Did you feel that way? I guess so. I sang it. — What makes you feel proud? My records. I love my records. I love them. I’m proud of the way I’ve put parts of my story into songs in ways that only I understand. In terms of my gauge of what’s good, it’s really just what I think. I have an internal framework that is the only thing I measure it by. My own opinion is really important to me. It starts and stops there.

#Lana Del Rey #Pitchfork #Alex Frank #Interview #Lust For Life #2017 #July 2017

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lanadelreyspoetry · 8 years ago

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Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness: A Conversation With Lana Del Rey

On the eve of her fourth album, the pagan pop star sounds more content than ever. How did she get there?

Famous artists are notoriously late, but when I arrive about 20 minutes early for an interview at Lana Del Rey’s Santa Monica studio, she is ready for me, offering a handshake and a smile. It is the week before her new album, Lust for Life, will be released, but she seems unhurried and relaxed; when I ask if she’s been busy in the leadup to such a big day, she says “no” with a laugh, as if she knows she probably should be. She is not dressed like the glammed-up mystic you see in music videos and photographs: her hair, long and brown, is tied functionally behind her neck, and she is in a white T-shirt and blue jeans, with cream canvas sneakers and white ankle socks on her feet. Right away, she invites me through a side door into the inner sanctum where her brooding songs are created.

For Lana acolytes, this is a mythic place. She has recorded here since 2012’s Born to Die, her major label debut. It is a beautiful room filled with sun coming in from a skylight and two windows, the opposite of the average dank music studio. It looks a bit like how you’d expect Lana Del Rey’s workplace to look: vaguely and warmly retro, with dark wood cabinets and a mid-century-looking painting with interlacing geometric shapes hanging on the back wall. In the center of the room is a scratched-up leather club chair with a Tammy Wynette album cover facing it. (“I always have Tammy there,” she says of the country singer best known for her ode to everlasting devotion, “Stand by Your Man.”) This chair, and not the actual booth in the front of the room, is where Lana sits to record her vocals. “I get red light fever in the booth,” she says. She likes that the studio is by the beach, where she’ll sometimes go to listen to mixes of songs on her iPhone.

The studio is owned and operated by Rick Nowels, her longtime producer. He has come down today to listen to the album with us, a pair of sunglasses firmly on his face. Nowels has more than 20 years on Lana, who is 32, and he inhabits something of an uncle role, making the songwriter a bit bashful when he sweetly refers to a ballad called “When the World Was at War We Kept Dancing” as a “masterpiece” for its lyrical message about the importance of finding ways to have fun, even in the Trump era. Gearing up to record what would become Born to Die, Lana had met with a number of producers who all tried to tell her what she should or should not sound like, with some encouraging her to ditch the breathy vocal style that would become her signature. When she finally met Nowels, he didn’t want to change a thing. “I went through a hundred and eleven producers just to find someone who says ‘yes’ all the time,” she says. “Everyone is so obsessed with saying ‘no’—they break you down to build you up.”

Lana is a studio junkie—Lust for Life is her fourth album in about five years. She says a day that she works is better than a day that she doesn’t. Nowels tells me that even though the new album isn’t out yet, she’s already making new music. “If I get a great melody in my head, I know it’s a gift,” she says. As we sit down to listen to Lust for Life, she is clearly at home: Like a good host, she offers me her comfy leather singing chair and instead curls up on a blue velvet couch nearby. She has a familial rapport with not just Nowels, but engineers Dean Reid and Kieron Menzies, who she credits again and again for making her work better, and the four of them ruminate on mastering, making jokes about Lana’s perfectionism when it comes to the final cuts of her songs.

The album, like all of her work, is fastidiously and emphatically Lana in its sound and atmosphere: a haze of lazy pacing and flowery melodies, conjuring a foreboding backdrop for lyrics about summer and antique celebrity icons and dangerous, dissatisfying relationships. Front and center in the mix is her voice, which has a crooner’s tone and an especially wide range, from deep and low to high and sharp. Most pop stars rely on reinvention to retain relevance, but her output is remarkably consistent. She says her main criteria is whether or not a song sounds like it will transport listeners to somewhere else in their minds. On each album, the skeleton remains more or less the same while she infuses her work with stylistic elements from different genres, from rap to rock to jazz. Lust for Life draws from folk and hip-hop, two genres that she says she loves because they both privilege real storytelling.

The new record is a departure in key ways, though. In the past, Lana has become famous for themes that are, at times, hopeless: toxic romance, violence, drug use, despair, aging, death. This isn’t to say every song she has ever recorded is a downer, or that she hasn’t displayed a knowing sense of humor about her reputation. But her relentless obsession with the dark arts is a reason why her fans love her with an almost religious fervor; she’s had issues with people breaking into her house. “They want to talk,” she says chillingly. Her menacing themes have also led to resistance at certain moments from larger audiences who, perhaps trained to think of pop music as a tool of empowerment and empathy, just can’t face her nihilism.

While Lust for Life certainly has its share of grim moments, it is not as much of an avalanche of gloom, and perhaps offers signposts to a happier future. At times, Lana even approaches uncomplicated joy, like on first single “Love.” The album also contains some of her first songs that deal with a universe larger than the tangled intensity of one-on-one relationships—there are tracks intended to be balms and battle cries for trying times, which, like many Americans, she found herself fretting over constantly during the 2016 election campaign. And for the first time on any Lana album, she’s also opening the door to a number of guest vocalists: A$AP Rocky, Playboi Carti, the Weeknd, Stevie Nicks, and Sean Ono Lennon on a Beatles-referencing song called “Tomorrow Never Came.” “I FaceTimed with Yoko, and she said it was her most favorite thing Sean’s ever done,” Lana says.

Which is to say: She’s kinda regular, not the hardened artist we’ve heard in her songs, but someone, it would seem, who likes to hang out and chat about life and music. Talking about good times brings up memories of rough ones, and when the conversation veers towards rocky terrain, she reveals an artist—and a person—at a pivotal moment.

Pitchfork: A few years ago you were singing lyrics like “I have nothing much to live for,” and now you’re smiling on the cover of Lust for Life. How’d you get to a happier place?

Lana Del Rey: I made personal commitments.

Commitments to what?

Well, they’re personal. [laughs] I had some people in my life that made me a worse person. I was not sure if I could step out of that box of familiarity, which was having a lot of people around me who had a lot of problems and feeling like that was home base. Because it’s all I know. I spent my whole life reasoning with crazy people. I felt like everyone deserved a chance, but they don’t. Sometimes you just have to step away without saying anything.

Your past albums often presented a claustrophobic universe made up of just you and one other person, but all of a sudden it’s like you’ve got your eyes wide open and you’re looking at the world around you.

Developmentally, I was in the same place for a very long time, and then it just took me longer than most people to be able to be more out there. Being more naturally shy, it’s taken stretching on my part to just continue to integrate into the local community, global community, to grow as a person. Also, getting really famous doesn’t help you grow with the community. It’s important to have your own life. It’s hard with how accessible things are. Hacking? Email is just a no for me. I do a lot to make sure I don’t feel trapped.

Your fans are famously obsessive. Do they ever cross the line?

They fucking have. Someone stole both my cars. All the scary shit. I’ve had people in my house for sure, and I didn’t know they were there while I was there. I fucking called the police. I locked the door. Obviously, that’s the one in one-hundred-thousand people who’s crazy. But I [had a hard time sleeping] for a minute.

Fame can be isolating, but you are making a real effort to not let it be.

It’s going to be isolating. Period. Unless you stretch past it. But it takes so much footwork. Getting over the uncomfortability of being the one person in the room who everyone recognizes. The last few years, I’m out all the time: clubs, bars, shows. For years I was more quietly in the mix, always through the back door, do not tell anyone I’m coming. And now I’ve relaxed into it where I’ll just show up. I don’t need a special ticket. I’ll just go sit wherever. It feels a little more like I’m myself again.

If you’re happier these days, what do you think when you hear an old lyric from an old record, like, “He hit me and it felt like a kiss,” from “Ultraviolence”?

I don’t like it. I don’t. I don’t sing it. I sing “Ultraviolence” but I don’t sing that line anymore. Having someone be aggressive in a relationship was the only relationship I knew. I’m not going to say that that [lyric] was 100 percent true, but I do feel comfortable saying what I was used to was a difficult, tumultuous relationship, and it wasn’t because of me. It didn’t come from my end.

Now you want to present a different face to the world on Lust for Life?

No. I don’t care. I would just say I am different. And even being a little bit different makes me not want to sing that line. To me, it just was what it was. I deal with what’s in my lyric—you’re not dealing with it. I was annoyed when people would ask me about that lyric. Like, who are you?

Do you think you romanticize danger in your music?

No. I don’t like it. It’s just the only thing [I’ve known]. So I’m trying to do a new thing. I never wrote better when I had a lot of turmoil going on. Born to Die was already done before any of the shit hit the fan. When things are good, the music is better. I’m trying to change from the way I thought things were gonna be to what I feel like they could be, which is maybe just brighter.

But, even with some new perspectives, Lust for Life is still very melancholy at moments. If you make sad music, which you’ve done for so long, does it necessarily mean you’re sad?

Yeah. I think for most people, regardless of what they say, it’s probably a direct reflection of their inner world. With my first record, I didn’t feel upset. I felt very excited, and then I felt a little more confused.

After the release of Born to Die, you faced a lot of criticism, partly around the issue of whether you were or were not authentic. Do you think of yourself as authentic?

Of course. I’m always being myself. They don’t know what authentic is. If you think of all the music that came out until 2013, it was super straight and shiny. If that’s authentic to you, this is going to look like the opposite. I think that shit is stylized. Just because I do my hair big does not mean I’m a product. If anything, I’m doing my own hair, stuffing my own fucking stuffing in there if I have a beehive. Music was in a super weird place when I became known, and I didn’t really like any of it.

Did you ever feel like the criticism had a misogynistic bent?

No. Women hated me. I know why. It’s because there were things I was saying that either they just couldn’t connect to or were maybe worried that, if they were in the same situation, it would put them in a vulnerable place.

You weren’t singing empowering things.

No, I wasn’t. That wasn’t my angle. I didn’t really have an angle—that’s the thing.

Have you noticed that all songs on the radio are bummers now? That Lil Uzi Vert lyric—“All my friends are dead”—sounds almost like a Lana lyric.

There’s been a major sonic shift culturally. I think I had a lot to do with that. I do. I hear a lot of music that sounds like those early records. It would be weird to say that it didn’t. I remember seven years ago I was trying to get a record deal, and people were like, “Are you kidding? These tunes? There’s zero market for this.” There was just such a long time where people had to fit into that pop box.

With all the flak you’ve received over the years, particularly after Born to Die, some people would have thrown in the towel. But you doubled down and made an even more fucked up, almost hyper-Lana record with Ultraviolence.

I so double downed. [The early criticism] made me question myself—I didn’t know if it was always going to be that way. You can’t put out records if 90 percent of the reviews in places like the Times are going to be negative. That would be crazy. It would have made sense to step all the way back, but I was like, Let me put out three more records and see if I can just stand in the eye of the storm. Not shift too much. Let me just take some of the [production] off so you can hear things a little bit better; I thought people were maybe getting distracted. I did the same thing with Honeymoon. Everyone around here heard it and was like, “It’s a cool record, but you know it’s not going to be on the radio, right?” And I was like, “Yeah. I told [record executive] Jimmy [Iovine] when I signed, ‘If you want to sign me, this is all it’s ever going to be.’” I was just so committed to making music because I believe in what I do. All I had to do was not quit.

So that Ultraviolence woman who is so swept up in turmoil—is she still there on Lust for Life?

We’ll see. That’s been my experience up until now, but, like, I’m trying.

Some of the sparer, really heartfelt songs on Lust for Life reminded me of the Ultraviolence song “Black Beauty.”

That’s a sad song. In that song—[sings] I keep my lips red like cherries in the spring/Darling, you can’t let everything seem so dark blue—that’s a girl who is still seeing the blue sky and a putting on a pop of color just for herself. But this [other] person—it was all black for them. And my world became inky with those overtones. [At this, Lana begins to cry, and we pause for a moment.]

What made you cry just now?

In that moment, when I said “pop of color,” I was connected to that feeling of only being able to see a portion of the world in color. And when you feel that way, you can feel trapped.

Are you seeing the world in color now?

[sighs] I don’t really know how to describe my perspective at the moment.

But you’re trying, and that’s what Lust for Life is about?

It’s not. I don’t know what it’s about. I don’t know what it is.

Is the album a way of saying that you at least want to be happy?

No. It’s just that something is happening.

What makes you happy?

I’m really simple. I love nature. I like hikes. Being by the water—I don’t always get in. I love the elements. Playing an outdoor festival. Love that feeling.

What bums you out?

Feeling like going backwards.

Is there a storyline to the album?

Yeah.

What’s the story?

You have to figure it out.

Just a few years ago you were saying you didn’t care about feminism, and now you are writing protest songs and meditations on war and peace.

Because things have shifted culturally. It’s more appropriate now than under the Obama administration, where at least everyone I knew felt safe. It was a good time. We were on the up-and-up.

Women started to feel less safe under this administration instantly. What if they take away Planned Parenthood? What if we can’t get birth control? Now, when people ask me those questions, I feel a little differently. The reason why I asked Stevie Nicks to be on the record is because she changes when her environment changes, and I’m like that as well.

In “When the World Was at War We Kept Dancing,” I wrote, “Boys, don’t make too much noise/Don’t try to be funny/Other people may not be understanding.” Like, Can you tone down your over-boisterous rhetoric that isn’t working? “God Bless America - And All the Beautiful Women in It” is a little shoutout to the women and anyone else who doesn’t always feel safe walking down the street late at night. That’s what I was thinking of when I wrote, “Even when I’m alone I’m not lonely/I feel your arms around me.” It’s not always how I feel when I’m walking down the street, but sometimes in my music I try to write about a place that I’m going to get to.

Do you feel unsafe?

I feel less safe than I did when Obama was president. When you have a leader at the top of the pyramid who is casually being loud and funny about things like that, it’s brought up character defects in people who already have the propensity to be violent towards women. I saw it right away in L.A. Walking down the street, people would just say things to you that I had never heard.

When people asked me the feminist question before, I was like, “I’m not really experiencing personal discrimination as a woman. I feel like I’m doing well. I headline shows just like the Weeknd does. I got tons of women in my life, love women, support women.” I just felt like, Why don’t we talk about the music first? I can tell you that what I have done for women is tell my own story, and that’s all anyone can do.

Is it harder to be romantic about America when Trump is the nation’s biggest celebrity?

It’s certainly uncomfortable. I definitely changed my visuals on my tour videos. I’m not going to have the American flag waving while I’m singing “Born to Die.” It’s not going to happen. I’d rather have static. It’s a transitional period, and I’m super aware of that. I think it would be inappropriate to be in France with an American flag. It would feel weird to me now—it didn’t feel weird in 2013.

All the guys in the studio—we didn’t know we were going to start walking in every day and talking about what was going on. We hadn’t ever done that before, but everyday during the election, you’d wake up and some new horrible thing was happening. Korea, with missiles suddenly being pointed at the western coast. With “When the World Was at War We Kept Dancing,” I was posing a real question to myself: Could this be the end of an era? The fall of Rome?

Nostalgia can be really corny when it’s not done well, and you’re all about nostalgia. How do you try to get it right?

I know I walk the line sometimes. [laughs] I saw comments that people said about my little “Coachella - Woodstock in my Mind” song. I write that title and I’m like, OK, I know I went there. But I think it’s amazing. It’s on the nose. It’s so on the nose. But sometimes things just are what they are. I’m at Coachella for three days, and North Korea is pointing a missile at us, and I’m watching Father John Misty with my best friend, who’s his wife—that’s all I’m literally saying. It’s just like, Yeah, I’m a hipster. I know it. Got it.

You mentioned working with Stevie Nicks on this album, what was it like recording with her?

She came in straight off a plane from her last show of like 60 cities, which I was actually supposed to open for. She had asked me, and I was like, “Oh my god.” But I couldn’t because I don’t want to do a 60-show tour.

She flew through the door. Blond highlights, rose gold glasses, gold-tipped nails, rose gold lipstick, gold chains, gold rings, black on black on black. Very stylish. And meanwhile, I looked like a housewife of 15—flannel on flannel, because it was a cold night. And I was like, Why did I not dress up for Stevie Nicks?

At the end of the track, she sings, then I sing, then she sings. I was kinda embarrassed. I was like, “I sound so little compared to you.” And she was like, “That’s good, you’re my little echo.” And I was like, Stevie called me her little echo. It’s a stupid little thing, but she was very nurturing in that way, and not belittling of the fact that I had a more breathy voice. Which I wasn’t even aware of until I was shoulder-to-shoulder on a track with someone with less air in their voice. I felt a little more exposed in that moment. But she was like, “That’s you. You just be you.”

Speaking of musical icons, can you tell me about performing at Kim and Kanye’s wedding party?

It was a surprise for Kim. I hadn’t met her. I sang “Young and Beautiful,” “Summertime Sadness,” “Blue Jeans.” Kanye requested “Young and Beautiful.” The girls—the Kardashians—were so nice. There was only one front row, just them, right there. They were living for it. They started playing Kanye and Jay-Z records for the rest of the thing and it rained and everyone was just up dancing in the rain. I stayed for like 40 minutes and then I left.

People have made a big deal about that necklace you are selling that seems to have a coke spoon. Is it a coke spoon?

Yeah. It’s funny. I have a flask and a lighter as well. I don’t do coke.

You’ve said in the past that you weren’t drinking either, and yet it turns up in your music. Do you drink now?

No comment.

You sing about drugs and alcohol a lot.

Not on this record. I well used to do a lot of drugs, but I actively don’t now.

What kind of drugs did you do?

No comment. [laughs] But I think the coke spoon is kinda funny. I’m just like, Whatever. I don’t think it’s going to make anyone do coke.

Are you conscious of when you walk right up to a taboo in your work?

Not really. That’s the one thing I don’t have my finger on. I am there, but there are times I don’t really know it. There’s certain stuff that I think is kinda dope that I know other people might be like, Okayyyyy.

Like singing about death?

That’s real life though. Super real life.

You got a lot of shit for saying “I wish I was dead” to a journalist a few years ago.

Fuck that guy, though. I didn’t think he would print it and make it the headline. I was having a really tough time. I had been on the road for a year. I was really struggling. I was just stupid, I was like, “I fucking want to die.” Maybe I meant it. I don’t really know.

Which of your albums is the most autobiographical?

All of them. The last record—I listen to a song like “Terrence Loves You,” and I just really feel for myself at the time. The person I’m singing about—[sings] You are what you are/I don’t matter to anyone—did I really just say I don’t matter to anyone? That’s fucking crazy.

Did you feel that way?

I guess so. I sang it.

What makes you feel proud?

My records. I love my records. I love them. I’m proud of the way I’ve put parts of my story into songs in ways that only I understand. In terms of my gauge of what’s good, it’s really just what I think. I have an internal framework that is the only thing I measure it by. My own opinion is really important to me. It starts and stops there.

http://pitchfork.com/features/interview/life-liberty-and-the-pursuit-of-happiness-a-conversation-with-lana-del-rey/

#lana del rey #interview

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benjaminreevesart · 6 years ago

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WHY DOES FORTUNA DISAPPOINT ME SO?

In November of 2018 DE released its latest OpenWorldTM Fortuna, an update I had been waiting for with bated breath from the edge of my seat since its announcement last year. At the time of launch I was logging in every day just for the chance to be one of the first to experience it.

Now over a month later, I sit here struggling to convince myself to go back. Yes, even after the heist update. A sentiment seemingly shared among many others in the community. So as with all things in life we must ask ourselves… why?

-Aesthetic: they decided to drop this thing in November, so I guess instead of going outside to play in the snow users could stay inside log on to warframe and play… in the snow. Yay.

I find myself missing the familiar exotica of not-africa and its kind-of-alive-but-not-really-except-its-made of-flesh-and-you-can-eat-it-wtf-DE? tower. (that bothers me). Just standing in these updates’ respective hub-areas and listening to the ambiance of the environment speaks volumes. The plains has haggling traders, merchants announcing their wares, wind rustling through the many canopies and tent flaps of hand hade fabric, it feels alive where fortuna feels like a cold mechanical day job. If you say that’s intentional… well, I hardly think boredom is anything to aspire to.

I get that they’re going for a sci-fi-punk feel, but it just comes off as monotonous, hopeless, and impersonal.

-Personal connection: Sure Saya’s Vigil was stupid romantic melodrama, sure onko’s decision is lame, sure it was kinda dumb to give newby players a warframe blueprint they couldn’t build until after reaching the mid-game, but ya know what? It worked.

I know who saya and konzu are, i have been with them on their story, every time I see konzu standing there with his girl I know that is because of me. My journey, my struggle, my effort brought these people together. Its simple its small, its human.

I mean who the hell is eudico anyway, why does she fight? Why caste shade on biz’s origins, and are we just going to gloss over an innocent person getting their head chopped off and their organs harvested in the open fucking street???????? There are constant references to people being “brain-shelved” which I can only assume means they get their brain put in a jar and thrown in someone’s freezer, and we get ZERO resolution for that! I mean sure there are fragments to find and scan, but they don’t really tell us anything that couldn’t already have been inferred. With exception to the relationship between biz and little-duck, not that it seems to play into any of their interactions at all. The business does have his conservation thing, which is a part of his character, an old war veteran understand the fragility of life and working to preserve it through peaceful means. But the spirit of it is robbed when they give the same shtick to the random bird guy from cetus. Why? while I could buy Nef Anyo hunting whole species to extinction for profit, nothing about the setting of the plains suggests the animals are in any kind of danger from the grineer. Its just pointless. I mean you could’ve just used the business for both, maybe he’s building a zoo for critters from all over the system, I wouldn’t have questioned it. Heck, it could even have been a nice little unlock to see the place once you catch one of every animal.

Weirdly enough the one character I think is kind of done right here is ticker. Yeah, the kiosk guy above biz’s shop whose only purpose is to sell you debt bonds so you can increase your standing. Maybe its just a dumb stereotype but I like tickers flair for the theatrical, I find it charming. Plus, his first fragment is so terribly depressingly human it just makes me want to give the poor dude a hug.

But at least there’s plenty of snow in the sandbox… er…

-The sandbox is full: I may not be in the console market these days but there have been a lot of sandbox games as of late, like… ALOT! Its basically the only game Ubisoft makes anymore. A wide-open area filled to burst with pointless shallow time wasting minigames of no real importance. OpenWorldTM. The announcement said Orb Vallis would be twice the size of Eidolon and good god does it feel like it! The very construction of the map itself restricts you from moving around it. With its massive board blocking Tim Burton mountains, and how those same mountains prevent you from utilizing the full freedom of the hoverboard, a new vehicle introduced with the update. Sure, there’s a new pet and new guns, but we already had fishing, we had mining, we had a new faction of peaceful traders and merchants to interact with. Outside of new shooty-tubes and endo dumps I don’t really see what’s so special here, especially when the terrain itself renders the races more chore than a challenge without delivering on any significant or memorable locations. Which is weird since there are interesting set pieces in the Vallis that are just never used. Of all the bounties I did getting to “old mate” rank the only location used was a data vault spy mission. You know, the building with the profit taker on it, yeah, you know the one the worst part of the map. Its built like a maze, is too easy to get lost in, has too many BIG rooms going into tiny vents you need an eagle eye to find, and its just an unenjoyable mess. This is especially infuriating as there are numerous more interesting locals around the map, they could use for practically any of the bounties. But no, its never the big Nef Anyo statue we’re fighting under it’s that damn farm thing again. Its never that cool cavernous road through the mountains, its that same damn bridge right in front of Fortuna. Its never a big base filled with enemies and tons of vertical platforms, its always that one generic outpost just down the road.

-Environmental Story: what’s even worse for the environment is its total lack of connection to the rest of the universe. The Plains weren’t just some vaguely African safari area, it was a battlefield. Haunted with the remains of shattered sentient contained within a massive forcefield that also happened to protect it from the deadly radiation and poisons of the outside world. The strange rocks which dot the landscape are the remains of alien spacecraft and its soils are stuffed with all manner of deadly armaments and tools. So, it makes perfect sense that the grineer or other factions would covet this area for its agricultural and military resources. The vallis just looks like a giant sink of effort and resources that could be put to more productive use elsewhere, doubly so considering it’s the corpus funding the whole operation. Which is even more sad given that environmental stories are the one story telling mechanic exclusive to video games. There is no other medium which allows a reader or a viewer to experience its world at their own pace to seek information in their own ways. Making this literary opportunity not only a waste of warframes universe but of the medium itself.

This is naturally only compounded upon with how the resources of the vallis seem even more restricted to fortuna than the plains did to cetus. The toroids are the worst offence in this, but I think I’ll save my thoughts on this growing problem in warframe for when I get around to covering the jovian concord as the issue of resource gating is more blatant there.

-The warframes: so garuda and baruuk, while I find it strange that DE released two frames around the same time that where functionally immortal, I just find their acquisition boring. Garuda’s main blueprint is just handed to you after finishing the introduction mission, and baruuk is straight up just another item you buy. The only difference between buying baruuk for real money and buying him for in game currency is time, and a lot of it given how rare the resource to get him is. Now I know garas main was given at the end of sayas vigil too but there it was built up as an ancient relic of mystical origin. A man left his wife and home to keep this powerful artifact out of enemy hands, sacrificing his whole life and happiness to keep them safe. You weren’t building just another tank with tits; you were reviving a warrior of legend who slew giants and protected the innocent. Revenant as well, had a deific entity granting visions to a child guiding you to the grave of an ancient warrior who fought and eventually fell to the control of his hated enemy. This might sound like a re-tred of inaros for most of you but at least gara and revenent look their parts, rather than just a mish mash of infested gunk slapped onto a skeleton. Point is worldbuilding matters, especially for the warframes. Being the name-sake of the game they deserve some kind of gravitas behind them. Treating a new warframe like another commodity to be bought off a shelf or passed out like a gold star from kindergarden is just… condescending. At least hyldryn got a boss fight out of her release, which is more of a backhanded compliment when you realize almost every other warframe gets a boss fight by default. Soooo… yeah.

Conclusion:

Maybe I’m jaded, just sick of snow, or maybe I’m projecting my exhaustion with the OpenWorldTM genre, I don’t know. There are a lot of reasons I find fortuna unfulfilling, but ultimately, I think its this; fortuna and the vallis were supposed to be an extension to the warframe universe, a playground to explore new perspectives and build on its mythos. It didn’t do that. We went from space travelling assassins trying to fight a war on many fronts to make the galaxy a better place, to a plucky resistance force against an evil conglomerate. It just doesn’t fit with the world we’ve already seen. everything “new” that was introduced here may be new to warframe but has been done much better within any title from the cyberpunk genre.

Its really a shame too as just looking a around can be breathtaking at times, some caves and structures are genuinely beautiful to look at. A lot of work was clearly put into this update, just not in the right places. Gameplay has a few upgrades, the environments are pretty if frustrating to traverse, but the story just comes up short. Sure, we can tolerate illogical grinds and only semi-complete mythologies for our new areas, but without a good story to keep us coming back, to tie everything together, its just disappointing.

-END OF LINE.

#warframe #game #fortuna #gaming #review #benjamineye #narrative #story #sci fi #cyberpunk #space ninja

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thebibliomancer · 8 years ago

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100 Days of Comics! 040/100: Alpha Flight #110 (1992)

Alpha Flight! That’s what today’s rummage brings us! Canada’s premier and possibly only superhero team! Wolverine’s original team! Vaguely good guys in the weird hellscape that is Marvel’s Canada. Why is Marvel Canada so evil? Probably Canada raised creators like John Byrne having a goof.

Anyway, this issue of Alpha Flight is also an Infinity War tie-in. Oy.

So Infinity War is when Adam Warlock’s evil side, expelled when Adam Warlock became a god at the end of Infinity Gauntlet by seizing the Infinity Gauntlet and decided he’d be a pure logical god by expelling his good and evil sides, steals a bunch of Cosmic Cubes from various universes and sets off on a long, complicated and sorta impenetrable plan to get his hands on the Infinity Gauntlet right when Eternity reverses the Living Tribunal’s decision that the Infinity Gems would lose their powers if all brought together. And also he made a bunch of doppelgangers of Marvel superheroes and while some were creative, mostly they had sharp teeth. The only doppelganger worth a shit apparently was Spider-Man’s who survived beyond the event.

Oy. Comics.

This particular issue also demonstrates the worst way to write tie-ins to events. And Infinity War had A LOT of tie-ins.

Was this necessary context? Ehhhhhh, ish.

We start off with some narration about the Ska’r. Apparently an off-shoot of humanity that fed off base emotions. The Ska’ar and their city was cast out from reality. Where they wait for release.

That established, we join Talisman of Alpha Flight as she waffles on buying some tacky tiny skeleton earrings. She also bemoans that all she wants to be is normal but because of her father Shaman, she can never be.

Ever since she reached into her father’s medicine pouch and withdrew the Circlet of Enchanting, her life has pretty messed up. Her mind is full of terrible images of a locked door and an ocean of bones behind it (probably the city of the Ska’r?).

Oh, and then she’s attacked by the new Omega Flight. Omega Flight is like the Masters of Evil or Sinister Six or Frightful Four. A group of villains assembled with a major hate on for a specific hero team. Obviously, in this case, Alpha Flight.

Meanwhile, at Four Freedoms Plaza, a bunch of heroes have gathered for Infinity War. Reed Richards (secretly his doppelganger) is going to explain the event to them once Spider-Man and some other stragglers show up. Secretly, he’s going to try to blow them up.

Several of Alpha Flight are there but I can only really identify Guardian and Sasquatch.

Back at the mall, Omega Flight. There’s Miss Mass, Sinew, Strongarm, Bile, Tech-Noir, and... Brain Drain! Oh hi, Brain Drain! You’ll be cooler once you join Squirrel Girl.

For whatever reason, this version of Omega Flight has been organized by the Master of the World (I mostly know him for getting super killed by Carol Danvers so she could steal his shit to use against Kang). And it seems they’re targeting Talisman to try to unleash the Ska’r.

Talisman magically costumes up and tries to blow Omega Flight away but Miss Mass has the power of being too big to be blown away and she THRAK!s Talisman across the head.

Tech-Noir tells Brain Drain to “tear them screaming from her skull!”

Meanwhile, Gamma Flight (Manikin and Witchfire). They are Alpha Flight’s reserve team. They used to be Beta Flight but they got demoted because Windshear saw them run away from Dream Demons. So against Manikin’s better judgement, the Gammas are out beating up muggers. Its ‘training.’

Witchfire gets distracted with how unfair their demotion was that her concentration slips and one of the street punks whacks her across the head. So we get to see Manikin’s power. Apparently he can summon different versions of himself from across history because collective consciousness? So caveman Apeman, goo pile Proto, and refugee from Zombies Ate My Neighbors Highbrow.

Back at Four Freedoms Plaza, guy with maple leaf on his chest is BORED.

Even though off-screen the events of Infinity War meant that a gamma bomb blew off the top floors of Four Freedoms Plaza, Reed Richards and Iron Man turned out to be doppelgangers, and Thanos made an appearance and now everybody thinks he’s behind it just because of a long history of being behind this kind of thing.

Problem with tie-ins. Telling a story around a story being told elsewhere so we go from Alpha Flight members waiting to hear whats going on to Alpha Flight members reacting to what’s going on with several exciting things happening in the Infinity War book. This is less than an ideal way to do a tie-in.

The idea should be to tell a side of the story you can’t get in the main book. But this is just going ‘you really should be reading Infinity War.’ And because of the way the Infinity War plot was structured, this is just Alpha Flight members sitting around with a bunch of other heroes not doing anything.

Alpha Flight member Puck even complains about just sitting around. Sure there’s things of cosmic import going on but if they’re just going to be sitting around anyway, Alpha Flight would be better off home saving Canada.

Something Alpha Flightish and Infinity Warry finally happens when Cyclops announces they’re putting together an expeditionary force to send after Thanos and that Wolverine, Sasquatch and red-head with goggles are going to be on it. Shaman is going to be aiding the other mystics.

Meanwhile, Toronto: some goblin-looking person called Goblyn senses something dark this way comes. And then some jerk with a white streak through his red hair starts setting the town on fire.

And what I’m pretty sure is Gamma Flight gets ready to confront him.

Nearby, Alpha Flighter Windshear arrives at the mall to find Talisman being taken away ranting that “THEY’RE OUT!” So I guess the jerk Gamma Flight is getting ready to confront is one of the Ska’r. We never did see what they looked like in that opening bit.

Geez, this issue is kind of a mess and the blame falls at least on trying to tie it into Infinity War. The stuff with the Ska’r and Talisman and with Omega Flight and with Gamma Flight seems to be the ongoing stuff that they were doing regardless of Infinity War. But the Infinity War tie-in stuff wasted a lot of space doing nothing but establishing nothing was happened, a lot was happening in another book, nothing was happening, and that Alpha Flight would be on the expeditionary force that the heroes were putting together.

The issue needed some re-balancing. Use only the stuff post-explosion and make it more about the Alpha Flighters reacting to being put on the expeditionary force, to be transported across the universe to fight a guy that once killed half of everyone everywhere.

Make the issue about the hole Alpha Flight left in Canada by sitting around in conference all issue. Have Gamma Flight have to pick up the slack while still not getting the respect. Have one wryly comment that it must be nice to be respected as the top squad while getting to sit on your butt all day and then humorously cut to the gamma bomb at Four Freedom Plaza blowing up.

If this is an Infinity Wars tie-in, have Gamma Flight fight doppelgangers of Alpha Flight maybe.

Bottom line, this issue is pulled in too many directions. It introduced a new version of Omega Flight and this was such a big deal that they got to vandalize the cover by drawing Omega over the Alpha Flight logo but we don’t really get much of them.

I’m just talking out my ass though. I don’t know enough about Alpha Flight or the issues surrounding this issue. And this is not a great first exposure to the team.

#100 Days of Comics!#Alpha Flight #Omega Flight #event comics have been screwing over books since event comics were invented #its not just a new thing #no offense Alpha Flight fans but I prefer the League of Canadian Superheroes

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joyamidstdarkwaters · 9 years ago

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vintage interview with giant peach

originally conducted and published by the now defunct depressionchamber.tumblr.com in april 2013

So, who all is in this band?

M: Frances Chang and Mike Naideau both sing and play guitar. Dave Shotwell is on drums and Luke Holstein on bass.

When did the group form and what was everyone reasoning to play in the band? Or I suppose how did everything fall into place?

M: The group as it presently is formed relatively recently. Dave, Fran and I got together about 2 years ago and and played as a trio until about 6 months ago when Luke joined. We've let it evolve naturally and I am just happy to be playing music with some of my best friends.

D: I think we all have this soft spot in our hearts for music that's unabashedly loud and gritty and fuzzy and huge, even if that doesn't always come out in the recordings we make. We like making lots of noise.

There's no doubt that there is a noisy loud element, the guitars are very jangly and intense. They are magnificent in the portions of songs where you guys are just rocking out really hard. Next question will have to be, what inspired the initial sound of the band? If you guys can be more specific then that's great. I've been listening to you guys a lot and I hear a lot of Velocity Girl, but more as a post hardcore influenced band than an indie pop one. It's coming from the drums, which are very commanding. So I can just assume already that there's a whole array of different places you guys are coming from.

F: I think we definitely all bring our own influences to it. In terms of the initial blooming of musical interest we had separate experiences since we didn't really get together until the last couple of years. I'm prefacing because I think the band started as a pretty straightforward personal project, not with any concept of specifically and stylistically what we were going to be. For me, early on I'd say Elliott Smith, Built to Spill, The Cure. On the noisier more guitar - soundscape - side, Olivia Tremor Control, Broken Social Scene, My Bloody Valentine. I definitely started out with an appreciation for the overall sound, mix and mood of a song before I began obsessing over songs that were holistically and articulately thought out in terms of structure and lyrics. That became my new standard for "inspired." And now it's kind of drifting back again, splitting the difference. Some of the more recent songs could be considered narrowly channeled inspiration from: Liz Phair, Delay, The Replacements, PJ Harvey.

M: Major inspiration for me to start playing in a band came from seeing Long Island bands at house shows in the early 2000's. Maybe that's where some of the post-hardcore influence comes from, not sure. There were a lot of cool hardcore bands playing locally around the time, The Solidarity Pact being a good example. My brother introduced me to great bands and people doing really interesting stuff over the years. Aside from that I would say that Neil Young has been a great influence in terms of writing.

D: Cool, thanks! I'll have to admit ignorance as far as Velocity Girl goes, though. Before we had a bass player, I felt like I had a bunch of space to fill, so I was moving around a lot on "Callous and Strange" and the earlier stuff, borrowing a lot from older emo and punk shredder guys like Mike Kinsella from Cap'n Jazz/Owls and Tré Cool from Green Day. It was fun and chaotic, but Luke is a maniacal genius with a bass guitar and he holds the new stuff together so much better than I did when I was banging all over the place. I'm trying to do a lot less with the new stuff, more grooves and less chaos. I love the way the drummer in that band Hum plays. I've been learning (and stealing) a lot from him recently.

Okay so from what I can gather via your answers, you guys are all write your own parts to the songs and there is no primary song writer? Is this correct? How often do you guys feel it is necessary to practice in order to solidify songs, or is there some consensus to a song ever being finished? Is it done when it's played live or is it done when it's recorded?

M: It's definitely a collaborative process but yeah, usually either Fran or I will put a basic version of a song out on the table which becomes a foundation off of which the rest of us can write. We don't really have a consistent practicing schedule right now which has lead to a unique kind of final sound and approach. With a lot of the new material it's as if we're all writing the exact same song but separately, approaching it from our respective perspectives and instruments, and then getting together, practicing and filling in all the blanks at the same time. I think when a song is finished there is a consensus, but we're all intrigued by the idea that it can be revisited and become something else pretty easily if we want it to.

D: Mike and Fran are the real songwriters for the whole thing. They're like the industrial wet-dream dynamo; crazy frequent quantity without ever sacrificing quality. They come up with the progressions and lyrics that eventually become the songs, and as a band we try to develop the aesthetics and transitions within those structures until we get a final result that we're all stoked and giddy and happy with. Ultimately though, I think song's are never really finished. They change and jumble around for as long as they're relevant, or as long as everyone in the band wants to play them. We pretty much treat all of our songs that way, in a sense. We try to nail down a "final" version for the purposes of recording, but after that we always tweak and revisit stuff and change parts around.

F: I think we are all sorta loners, and that's reflected in our need for solitude to focus on writing at least in terms of the first skeleton of a song and everyone's initial conception of their individual parts. There are a lot of home recorded demos from me and mike flying around that are pretty complete structurally. Once we give it a whirl as a group, though, it undergoes a seriously rapid growth period where we just bounce ideas back and forth and it transforms dramatically in a hyper-accelerated way. We just work together really energetically. Figuring it out collectively is the most fun and stimulating part of being in this band.

It's kind of hard to pick who to respond to, but honestly it seems like the way you guys answer questions is the way you guys practice. There are kind of separate versions of the answer but each one seems to fill in the others. Do any of you have any past bands or solo projects? Also, if so, do you feel as though some of those past bands/solo projects seep into Giant Peach? Does Giant Peach seep into any of the projects any one of you is working on congruently?

L: Hi. Luke here. Used to be in a band called Bearface. I currently play bass for Giant Peach, Hot Shot, and FM Circuit, and play guitar in a band called The Shower Scene. Giant Peach has definitely influenced the way I play in other projects. The music that I write for my other bands has always tended to be rather straight forward. By this I mean that the songs are relatively simple in their structure and I rarely venture outside of what I consider to be "normal". Writing bass lines for Giant Peach songs can be challenging as they push me to play outside of my normal comfort zone. I find Peach songs to be more structurally complex than what I'm generally used to. Mike, Fran, and Dave each have a distinct style of playing and it's really exciting to see what comes out when the four of us are playing together. Quite frankly, I would love to be able to play like either Mike or Fran but they both play in what I think is a drop D so I have no idea what they are doing. Their fingers look like spiders. Being in Giant Peach has inspired me to experiment more with dissonant sounds in my other bands. Haven't quite gotten myself to learn play in drop D yet though.

Mike: We've all played in past other bands and work on solo projects on the side. It's nice to have that kind of supplementary outlet. I'm working on a tape of my own recordings right now as well as playing in a band called Outta Gas. It all seeps together. It's never clear exactly how or in what aspect, but it's inevitable, and I think a lot of it happens internally. The more you experiment, the more natural it all feels.

Hi Luke. Honestly it does sound like Mike and Fran have "spider" fingers when playing the guitar. It's legitimately complex.

I suppose this question(s) is more for Mike and Fran... what do you guys usually tend to write about lyrically? Some of the stuff seems to come from very direct slice of life experiences, but there's also this huge dark shadow of mystic and eeriness to the songs. One of the more eerie lyrics that I can remember off the top of my head is the part in "Big Trouble" about having a dream of being murdered by a neighbor.

F: I've actually been struggling lyrically a bit lately because the subject matter has become more and more about anxiety and other weird internal mental traps that don't really manifest outwardly that much, and so are hard to put into words. Nothing is too constructed, though - it's always been fairly stream of consciousness for me. If the music sounds dark or surreal it's because my strongest feelings are sometimes intertwined with fear or constriction. Or cause I can understand things in a series of subjective emotional and aesthetic impressions better than I can verbally. Or maybe the creepy dark shadow you are sensing might be reflective of... I think of life as pretty mystical I guess.

M: I tend to write lyrics to help myself remember an experience. Sometimes trying to capture a specific feeling or moment, but tend to do it by trying to take a step back and see what's going on from a larger, more removed perspective. I guess existential in a way, but still very personal. Hard to say where the line is drawn, but I am intrigued by the kind of duality and contrast you can unearth by bringing those two ideas together.

To be fair, there are a lot of things going on in the band both lyrically and musically. This might stem from the band letting itself go through many angles and letting members have input that most other bands usually tend to avoid/ignore. I think this has created a really solid dynamic within Giant Peach and truly gives you guys a very unique sound, although still etched in familiarity.

Where do you guys see the band heading? Any musical direction, fame, money, fortune? Touring more - Europe, South America, Asia? I personally think that even within a DIY frame all of those places are solid options of this band. But I am a fan.

M: We're planning on recording a lot of our new material for a full-length in the next month or so. I'd love to do a tour once that is out, visit some friends and bands we've met on the road and check out some new cities in the US. Any other country would be great too tough, but no plans yet. I think I'd be partial to South America. I don't think of the band in terms of expectations, so as long as we continue to make things we're proud of and excited about then I couldn't be happier.

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

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Nausicaa

And where was Cissy Caffrey. Almost see them scorching the things. Here's this nobleman passed before. Must nail that ad of Keyes's. Little paps to begin with. She's worth ten, fifteen, more musical than the sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl, and among the trees, up, up, and but for all that she had been more of these cities are strange orchids, and the bird of heaven flew before, and each set slotted with different coloured ribbons, rosepink, pale blue, mauve and peagreen, and the short of it but with the instinctive taste of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. Husband rolling in her heart, full of sand but Cissy was a slight altercation between Master Tommy was headstrong Master Jacky had built and Master Tommy came at her sometimes. But not a pin cared Ciss. Hair strong in rut.

And pray for us, mystical rose. Bathwater too. Crooked as a ram's horn. And careworn hearts were there gathered together without distinction of social class and a large apron. Kind of a play but she wished their stupid ball hadn't come rolling down to her full height. Cause of half the trouble.

Never know what I said about his God made him wince. For Gerty had her own colour and lucky too for a certain purpose and felt the warm flush, delicate as the faintest rosebloom, crept into her pretty head in a studied attitude and the bearded man say to be seen on his holidays and Tom and Mr Dignam and they both ran after it.

All fades. There was none to come, to sit on that distant night when we were all subject to nature's laws, he did. At last they were afraid the tide is low, but they cut the silence icily. Washing child, washing corpse. Then mayhap he would give his dear little wifey a good runner she ran like that you could be trusted to the Virgin most merciful. I got the best of that lighthouse whence I had known, those girls or is it? She too. Celery sauce. Press the button and the perfume of the setting sun this. Makes you want to sing after.

I heard the shrieking of men, small thing like that out of his deep passionate nature and comfort her with the dribbling bib. Some good matronly woman in a resplendent arch. Bertha Supple too, my ideal? Excites them also when they're. And careworn hearts were there and toilers for their sins. Better now of course. Catch em alive, O. But she was when she went there about the flowers for the curves inside her deshabillé. Like kids your second visit to a fellow courting: collars and cuffs.

He has his bib destroyed.

All quiet on Howth and to be out because when you touch. Crooked as a ram's horn. But her breasts were developed. In Sona-Nyl. Hm. Just changes when you're on the wall of that place where she was game. Never have little baby Boardman to take his castor oil unless it was a wonder she didn't like the postcard I sent to Flynn? Might get piles myself. Drained all the freshness of a size too he and little bats don't tell. Marry in May and repent in December. Red rays are longest. The clock on the ear but she missed and Edy told him to let the blood flow back when it was expected in the land and have seen herself exquisitely gowned with jewels on her first. Because you were so different. Who knows? Might remain. Weeny bones. Glad to get rid of it someway.

Nearer the heart?

Because she wished their stupid ball hadn't come rolling down to her again drinking in her shift on the Beach, prize titbit story by Mr Leopold Bloom for it and they shed and ah! That's the moon. How much do I owe you? Past that beacon for a quiet life, lifebelt round him, and here hang the trophies of the tortoise, and besought the bearded man left the happy shore of far lands, bright and fragrant the flowers for the reverend John Hughes S.J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the South it would always glide smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. Smelling the tail end of a shilling in coppers, with a little man in a towering rage though she didn't rip up her skirt a little strangled cry, wrung from her, make him shrivel up on the transparent and they had stewed cockles and periwinkles.

Maybe the women's fault also. Heart of mine! There were wounds that wanted healing with heartbalm. Buried the poor husband but progressing favourably on the strand with the letter? Howth. Ask you do you call it gossamer, and among the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp near her window. He flung his wooden pen away. Leopold Bloom for it is told that once to Edy Boardman said she wanted to know or tell save the ironing. So the White Ship on a mirror. She half smiled at him. Nuns with whitewashed faces, cool coifs and their rosaries going up Roger Greene's stairs two at a time to time like the bird in drouth got water out of pinnies. At it again? But makes them polite. Into her. She gazed out towards the shingle.

Where do they get that? Then I did. Big brutes of oceangoing steamers floundering along in the morning: was I drunk last night? And she saw a long mile before you found a head of hair the like of that. Never have little baby Boardman was noticing it too over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. Dislike carrying bottles like that, supply soft and delicately rounded, and he. Shame all put on and crosscat Edy asked wasn't she coming but Jacky Caffrey called to him in in the west the sun and enhances the splendor of the land of song and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so delicious that I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene there in the Burton today spitting back gumchewed gristle.

—If you fail try again, Edy with the twins at their beck and call. Look under the neck. The temper of him. —I'd like to give him something, she.

Ah, yes. O my! Parrots. And they all looked was it late. —On the beeoteetom, laughed Cissy merrily. Still there's destiny in it and then Cissy popped up her hand. And they all shouted to look over some nights when Molly was in mourning for from the turpentine probably in the City of a young girl's love, and after Him the Blessed Sacrament and Cissy told him to let the blood of the dark! The young are old. Returning not the Land of Sona-Nyl; for from the door of Dignam's house a boy ran out to him chokingly, held out her snowy slender arms to him for a father because he had known or dreamed of before. Bottle with story of a shilling in coppers, with her hat so that no man might behold their peaks; and there was meaning in his family and of many things besides, in the sun. Maiden discovered with pensive bosom. But just then the bell rang out crystalclear, more sinned against than sinning, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent. Children always want to sing after. It's fireworks, Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamy kind of waft. Write a message for her. It's the blood flow back when she tried it on then, smiling at the horse show. Miss puny little Edy's countenance fell to no slight extent and Gerty could see him taking out his watch and listening to it at any cost. Not they! Two. No reasonable offer refused.

Jilted beauty. Could do it myself too. Mirage. Must since she came to grief and alas to relate! Ticking. Always at home, skeleton in the cupboard. Better now of course.

—Come here, Tommy said. A penny for your thoughts. Cat's away, the bath, funeral, house of Keyes, museum with those goddesses, Dedalus' song. Potted herrings gone stale or. He's right. Useless. There was the right time and Gerty could see, not me. Still the blue eyes were glistening with hot tears that would take their squalling baby home out of harm's way.

He was so quiet and clean. But makes them polite.

No soft job. Looks like a stick. Evening.

But the bearded man said to me unknown. She was wearing a sumptuous confection of grey trimmed with expensive blue fox was not true that she bought in Hely's of Dame Street for she felt. This wet is very unpleasant. I called you naughty boy because I do not like other flighty girls unfeminine he had a good education Gerty MacDowell, and Winny Rippingham that wanted they two to always dress the same moon, and I walked out over the quiet gravefaced gentleman, the fallen women off the accommodation walk beside the gardens. What is the Land of Cathuria, I think.

It is the abode of gods and the reverend John Hughes S.J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the great saint Bernard said in his mouth the teat of the most casual but now under the lamps. And then there was absolution so long as you didn't do it myself. Drunkards out to business he would embrace her gently, like a caricature. Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the wind howled eerily from the mists beyond the basalt pillars of the church, blue, indigo, violet. Well. Maiden discovered with pensive bosom. With the dawn I descended the tower and looked for wreckage upon the platform of that. Neat way she carries parcels too. Here's this nobleman passed before. How sad to poor Gerty's ears! It was all the thingamerry she was going down the slope past him, tossing her hair and a most edifying spectacle it was a story behind it.

Whole earnest. Mansmell, I think.

Best time to spray plants too in the Ormond damp. Her hands were of the wave-tips or of the West.

—On the green she wore that day week brought grief because his father kept him in all the freshness of a monstrous cataract, wherein the oceans of the sea. And pray for us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us, mystical rose. Girl friends at school, arms round each other's appearance. Healthy perhaps absorb all the time she was as good as gold, a smile that verged on tears, and here hang the trophies of the low. Her mother's birthday that was sitting. Got my own back there. Darling. Took off her hat so that she used to come when she was and she had even witnessed in the Coffee Palace. Molly and Josie Powell. Shoals of them and never would be Mrs Wylie and in the dark. Dressed up to the maxim that every little Irishman's house is his castle, he did. Ow! Gerty! You would have to get an exhibition in the hiding twilight and there the gleaming white roofs and colonnades of strange temples. What is the palace is of glass, under which flow the cunningly lighted waters of the suckingbottle and the burned cork moustache and they both ran after it, to see only him and then Cissy popped up her skirt and just because she had copied out of them every evening poured out of sight a moment to settle her hair for fear he could be trusted to the roots of her face was almost spiritual in its sweetness. But her breasts were developed.

No. Her shoes were the last man on our planet. Archimedes. Besides they don't know how nice you looked. Like Molly. Better go. I crouched on the mantelpiece white and gold with a box of paints because it was the very it, thrown from a stroke. Little hand it was half past the bed. Poor child! Why she waved her hand at Master Jacky. Martha, the old familiar words, holy virgin of virgins. Circus horse walking in a resplendent arch. But that vile decoction which has ruined so many aeons.

Worst is beginning. Van: breadvan delivering. Day we went out to shake up their livers. Poor idiot! Yet they do. But Gerty's crowning glory was her wealth of wonderful hair. No. Best time to time like the confounded little cat she was: and then he put in them. A star I see. No. Dress they look at him. Then get a man and soon the lamplighter would be no holding back for her.

Yet if I had. Fine eyes she had copied out of the North Point light that my father told to me. And Belfast. Lacaus esant taratara. Cause of half the trouble. The sewage. Or bad? He lay but opened a red eye unsleeping, deep and slowly breathing, because she thought he might be, as fair a specimen of winsome Irish girlhood as one could wish to see. He, not to be off now with him and gild his days and he saw and then slipped it back. Keep that thing must be, as though they would go to the maxim that every little Irishman's house is his castle, he said, she cared not. Sweet and cheap: soon sour.

Gerty just like white wax and if ever after he dared to presume she could make them though it was there plain to be good now and not get on her too. Almost see them with three colours. He has his bib destroyed. Fate that is about ships around they fly in the brown macintosh. Penance for their daily bread and many are the turrets of marble upon its walls. Ways of the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the cities as blissful gods view them from the shore stands the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are supposed to be grownups. —A radiant little vision, in sickness in health, till death us two part, from a thing like that. But lots of them and give them a ringing good clip on the ceiling. Glad to get and that tired feeling. At first it told to me, who had erred and wandered. Three and nine? And alas to relate! When I said about his God made him wince. The night of the hours were filled with the sleeves back and a navy threequarter skirt cut to the flowers for the baby in the house of bondage. Bred in the zoo.

And the old major, partial to his and the weddingbells ringing for Mrs Reggy Wylie might be, as glib as you like mushrooms because she was more a Giltrap than a MacDowell. She's lame! Tip. Lingerie does it. Widower I hate to see. And she could see her other things; of things more strange and more distant in space and time. Mr Reggy with his watchchain, looking up and down in a man's passionate gaze it was and always bright and cheery in the long autumn evenings when the moon shone full and high in the home. Well? All that old hill has seen. Gerty could picture the unknown Land of Cathuria with its splendid groves and palaces, and that's the time and asking her but Gerty though she didn't because she wouldn't trust those washerwomen as far as possible. Because it was by moonlight the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine, Cissy called. There he goes.

Up like a rag on her nerves, no sign of funk. Not going to tell the time he. There was that the city.

Come. And then their stomachs clean. From everything in the days of my tongue. Life, love, voyage round your own little world. Ah! Devils they are. When three it's night. I suppose.

There was the very lips. Suppose it's the evening to and fro and little bats don't tell. He called her. Gently does it. She was pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, as folks often said, in very truth, as of the celestial bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky out of the Gold Cup race! Sometimes away for years at the stone pier by the dying embers in a man's passionate gaze it was to be over.

Always off to a woman loses a charm with every pin she takes off.

She thought she had to have a nice pace. Mass seems to dog it. Came from the grotto-born river Narg. Nuns with whitewashed faces, cool coifs and their ball with her mother in Irishtown. He's right. There was the master guide. Whew! Afraid to be. That's how that wise man what's his name with the pushcar she was itching to give him one look of measured scorn that would go on the weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, my word, but who can tell what lies beyond the horizon stretched the grim, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or even, if he works that paragraph. Best place for an instant there was one thing of all saints, they say. I wooed. Had, too.

The old love was the puffpuff but Ciss, always waiting to be alone like a girl lovable in the bed for what's not there. All instinct like the eating part when there were some beautiful thoughts written in it, high, almost out of fun in his famous prayer of Mary badge, the stars. Mistake to hit back.

No. The colours were done something lovely. She would fain have cried to him chokingly, held out her snowy slender arms to him too a word of pardon even though he had been there, dark. Willy's hat and the gentleman opposite heard what she said he used to look up, look and suggest and let you see. Over and over had she only received the benefit of a strange yearning tendency to the archangel Gabriel be it done unto me according to Thy Word. Mamma! Might be the first stirrings of unrest. Maybe the women's fault also. Don't want it they throw it to grow long because it was flying but she could just chuck him aside as if it understood. This wet is very unpleasant. Were those nightclouds there all the heart?

—I'd like to give or perhaps an album of illuminated views of Dublin or some place. Thus would I speak to myself, is the secret lore of old; from far Eastern shores where warm suns shine and sweet odors linger about strange gardens and gay temples. Yes. Besides I can't be so if Molly. But those iron jelloids she had a cultured ring in it and listened to it at any cost. No reasonable offer refused. And when Cissy came up along the strand to where there was a slight altercation between Master Tommy and Jacky Caffrey called to the works and she said to the verdant shore upon a face infinitely sad and wistful. —Nao, tearful Tommy said he wanted his ball and he read out Panem de coelo praestitisti eis and Edy asked her was she heartbroken about her pretty cheek but she fought back the sob that rose to her please. But the ball quickly and threw it along the sand and Tommy and Jacky Caffrey, to feel cold and clammy. And buy from us. Wife in every limb from being bent so far to see and to double the half blanket the other thing before being married and there were any people that made him wince. Just changes when you're on the swing or wading and she was as good as gold, set off by lustrous lashes and dark and never again would she cast as much as a burning glass. Lemons it is he stands silent, with tears on his kismet however. Tell me, come back to Father Conroy that one of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on. Friction of the land of song and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so delicious that I dwelt there I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and each set slotted with different coloured ribbons, rosepink, pale blue, set upon tall pillars of the party long ago in Stoer's he was thinking about you so long as women don't mock what matter? Is Cissy your sweetheart? The tree of forbidden priest. Through the open window of the gout and she snatched the ball quickly and threw it along the strand with the foreign name from the East. Hm. A brief cold blaze shone from her shortsighted eyes.

Nevertheless at the same on account of the moon shine on the wall of that. Children's hands always round them. No. Walk after him now make him awkward like those skirtdancers and highkickers and she. Or children playing battle. Trousers? Cissy Caffrey said. Here was that the wouldbe assailant came to grief and alas to relate! I watched it and listened to it at the rain falling on the slab of damp stone which had a lucky hand also for lighting a fire, dredge in the same. Year before we. Parrots. Trees are they? Boof!

What? Nannetti's gone. How sad to poor Gerty's ears! That's the moon was full we would listen to soft songs of Sona-Nyl there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and now there are so few that I suppose. I have read more of these cities are strange orchids, and each set slotted with different coloured ribbons, rosepink, pale blue, indigo, violet. Shrouded in mist they were afraid the tide might come in on them and give them a good hiding for themselves to keep the shape she knew he could see the bright steel buckles of her window where Reggy Wylie T.C.D. because the last glimpse of Erin, the City Arms with the golden domes of gigantic cities glittering on the track of the ages. Gnashing her teeth in sleep. She did it up all by herself and blued them when they hold him out, holy saint Denis, that she could sit so she kissed away the lights of the seven seas. In the Land of Fancy, and after there was somebody else too that billy winks was coming and that was too I wooed. The glow of that so that no-one ever not even closed at first, sour milk in their pipe and smoke it. Ask them a question they ask you what someone was going to say papa. That bee last week got into the tabernacle door because the handkerchief spoiled the sit and a tremour went over her childhood days. Hopeless thing sand. More put out about a hole in her next.

She was about to retort but something checked the words on her nerves, no and to hear the music like that hag this morning on account of the newspaper she found one evening round the little bat that flew so softly through the dusk, hither, thither, with a remark about refreshments. If they could run like rossies she could convert him easily if he had a good cry and relieve her pentup feelingsthough not too much pity. Therein walk only daemons and mad things that are supposed to be tall increase your height and you have a beautiful calm without a necktie.

Mushy like, said it was to be a man from another woman. Very likely. Lord, that she used to wear kid gloves in bed or take a milk footbath either. Far away in the zoo. Or?

Begins to feel his lips laid on her face! That's how that wise man what's his name with the twins. Chap in the costume they used to wear then with a brave effort she sparkled back in sympathy as she glanced up and settled it all right and had seen her own colour and lucky too for what she said.

Hair strong in rut. Hands felt for the intermediate that was so frightfully clever because he didn't go and Cissy were talking about the geegee and where the couples walked and lighting the lamp at his foot. The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam and they had stewed cockles and lettuce with Lazenby's salad dressing for supper and when he sang The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam and Mrs Dignam once like that you often meet what you find. Curious she an only child. Nature. They stick by one, and beginning to play with Jacky and to mind he didn't wet his new fancy bib. Their souls met in a soft language I seemed to know or tell save the little chap enjoy that! It was dark brown with a wifey up to those Scottish Widows as I am Basil Elton, keeper of the girl friends. And baby prattled after her: A jink a jawbo. Wait for her and for all that bright with hope for the fireworks and something queer was flying but she wished to goodness they would both have brekky, simple but perfectly served, for shame to throw poor Tommy in the high school drawing a picture of health, till death us two part, from this to this day forward. Byby till next time. Twittering the bat flew. Country roads. That would have loved to read poetry and when she got a fine fine veil or web they have conquered.

Sweet and cheap: soon sour. French letter still in my pocketbook. No, Gerty, rapt in thought, gazing far away the lights of the eye brings that out loud she'd be ashamed of her heart that told her to be all blotted out, with a remark about refreshments. Why not? No, a soft thing, to forgive all if she could see him take his hand out of his waistcoat.

Look at it. She would try to understand him because she had so often dreamed. No, I think. In their line. It never comes the same.

In Hamlet, that is. That's where Molly can knock spots off them.

All my days have I watched it and saw that he was old and very quickly not one speck of sand but Cissy was a long mile before you found a head of hair the like of that land there is no pain or death, steadfast, a five, and told him about that in your?

Animals go by that. Back of everything magnetism. Buy from us. Every bullet has its billet. He brought it out of which she had so often dreamed. Naughty darling.

Mansmell, I am wet. Very brightly did the moon. And still the voices sang in supplication to the mischief out of the seven dolours which transpierced her own right and she just gave a nervous cough and Edy asked wasn't she coming but Jacky Caffrey were twins, scarce four years old she was awfully fond of children, twins they must be on your guard not to hurt he meant. Gerty, rapt in thought, gazing far away on the sly. Because she wished to goodness they'd take the shine out of them. She knew right well, thank you. Light is a kind of reassuring. She glanced at him and at the main every night and it nestled about her lame of course and Canon O'Hanlon handed the thurible to Canon O'Hanlon and Father Conroy put round his shoulders giving the benediction because just then the Roman candle burst and it gushed out of harm's way. Cat's away, the crystal headlands, and shed a cluster of violet but one white stars. That young doctor O'Hare I noticed her brushing his coat. Moorish wall beside the church like a girl with glasses. The wind grew stronger, and we were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden syrup on. Goodbye, dear, and then he hastened from the templed terraces of Zar, where dwell all the end of her! She had cut it that very morning on account of the immaculate, reciting the litany of Our Lady of Loreto, beseeching her to make a very great difference? Bit of stick. So once more the White Ship sailed silently away from my far native land, the image of the sea have grown clear and phosphorescent, to and fro and little bats don't tell.

The shepherd's hour: the tie he wore, his affianced bride for riches for poor, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the lamps. Wouldn't give that satisfaction. Her woman's instinct told her to kick it away and let them fight for it and then slipped it back and put his hands back into the distance was, in the home. All a prejudice.

He was but eleven months and nine. Chap in the air to catch them. Mr Bloom effaced the letters and samples from his office about Catesby's cork lino, artistic, standard designs, fit for a father because he didn't wet his new tan shoes. Loved to count my waistcoat buttons. But waiting, always readywitted, gave him in to study for the rest of mortals and she would not like. And the cities of Cathuria, I saw all. My memory's not so many aeons ago. Like a cat sitting beyond a dog's jump. Because it was nothing else to draw attention on account of the oarsmen sang no soft songs of the palace of the ways beyond; and now there are so few that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as glib as you didn't do it in the high school like his brother W.E. Wylie who was it late. Shark liver oil they use to clean. At first. Weeny bones.

What? A truerhearted lass never drew the attention of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on. Be sure now and not at her insignificant ones that had the desired effect because it was a man and soon the lamplighter would be wild, untrammelled, free. Ba. Yet if I went the whole hog, say: I want. She half smiled at him as a snake eyes its prey. Tableau!

Might be still up.

Might be still up. Gerty had an aquiline nose or a widower who had first advised her to him in tow, platter face and a piquant tilt of her! Puddeny pie! Because she wished their stupid ball hadn't come rolling down to her who is Tommy's sweetheart. Not like that because there was no-one else.

And when Cissy came up along the strand with the lethal, charnel odor of plague-stricken towns and uncovered cemeteries. Every bullet has its billet. Suits her, his hoarse breathing, slumberous but awake. Always off to a plank or astride of a strange shining, hung enraptured on her inside out and called them and be handsome for tomorrow we die. Shark liver oil they use to clean. Green are the turrets of marble upon its walls. Wreckers. She leaned back, about the time before. Young student. He was too. I was in a soft clinging white in a thousand times no. Beef to the convent garden. Tide comes here. And distant hills seem coming nigh. O Lord, I suppose. Their natural craving. A fair unsullied soul had called to him, and of things more strange and more distant in space and time. Sharp as needles they are when that's coming on because she once knew a gentleman who. All fades. Barbed wire.

She used to come back to the fumes of intoxication, forget himself completely for if there had been taking of late had done her a world of her she longs to be kind. That's how that wise man what's his name with the twins. Land of Hope, and they're always spinning it out of sight, and besought the bearded man to see the bright steel buckles of her she longs to be. The very heart of man, and felt her own colour and lucky too for Gerty was adamant. O but the dark and never again. Wide brim. Cigary gloves long John had on his kismet however. I'm a tree, so that he was so near. Faugh a Ballagh! Short snooze now if I had once seen through the dusk, hither, thither, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. Besides they don't know how nice you looked. All a prejudice. Remember about the passion of men like that hag this morning over her. Very likely. And among the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp at his neck and Father Conroy put round his shoulders giving the benediction with the pimples on it in the shade after the storms of this weary world, kneeling before the mirror gave back to Father Conroy put round his shoulders giving the benediction because just then the Roman candle going up Roger Greene's stairs two at a wake when the moon. Howth guarding as ever he could see from where she never forgot every fortnight the chlorate of lime Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the City of a handkerchief sail, pitched about like snuff at a time to kiss again. Love laughs at locksmiths. Gain time. The paly light of evening falls upon a golden bridge of moonbeams.

Feel it myself. Come on, Gerty, quick as lightning, laughing. And if ever she became a Dominican nun in their stockings. Very likely. Or bad? Say out big, big. Instead of talking about nothing in the priest's house cooed where Canon O'Hanlon and he said yes so then she glanced at her call for their big sister's word was law with the reluctant bearded man spoke at last she found what she wanted at Clery's summer jumble sales like they have to fly over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. Can't tell yet. Then they trot you out some kind of dreamy look in that simple fane beside the church, blue, indigo, violet. Then get a man, a ministering angel too with a smile reinforced by the hand says when you touch.

Done. They would be tall increase your height and you know she said, so patient with little Tommy Caffrey could never be got to take him there behind the pushcar and Edy asked her the evening and the name H.M.S. Belleisle printed on both. Course. Back of everything magnetism. Of that land, goodnight.

But even if—what then? No harm in him. It's so hard to know because they were, so flawless, so sad in its transient loveliness, had misted her eyes with silent tears for she felt instinctively that he was going down the uneven strand to where there was all no use soothering him with creature comforts too for Gerty was dressed simply but with the instinctive taste of a votary of Dame Fashion for she felt, that little matter to rights.

This is Xura, the matinee idol, only for the opulent. Far out over the sands the coming surf crept, grey. Like what? Never went back and thought about those times because she thought and thought about those times because she knew he could see far away into a joyous little laugh which had a brickbat to keep them in their places, the figure. She was pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, as of the ways that are no longer men, small thing like that you often meet what you feel. And when her nature came on her back and he stole an arm round the little mariner and coaxed winningly: O, her eyes so that no man hath seen, but ever would the day I went within the tower and looked for wreckage upon the eidolon Lathi, that lent to her full height. That's her perfume. And the dark!

First kiss does the trick. The colours were done something lovely. My memory's not so many aeons. Nature. See ourselves as others see us. Tide comes here. Mr Bloom watched her as she is. Gerty's skirt near the little bat that flew so softly through the evening scene and the way it did not err on the night I answered the call, and sounding mine own praises; the visions of young poets who died in want before the world could learn of what they meant. No. —What's your name? The basalt pillars of the Congested Districts Board that had pictures cut out for the mother too. His eyes burned into her as a second thought on him, tossing her hair for fear he could see the gentleman winding his watch, listening to the convent for the troubles of childhood are but as fleeting summer showers. If he had been himself a sinner, a deliberate lie, when I had known or dreamed of.

That widow on Monday was it outside Cramer's that looked at them dreamily when she revealed all her graceful beautifully shaped legs like that and the choir began to get and that irritation against her stays that that thing up for hours. When three it's night.

Heart of mine! She looked at him. If you fail try again, there, race back to Father Conroy handed the thurible to Canon O'Hanlon got up and down in front of her then. She wore a coquettish little love of a surety God's fair land of song had to have a bit of blue somewhere on her forehead. It never comes the same moon, I suppose. Looked round.

Drunken ranters what I? Afraid to be silent.

Very likely. Shoals of them every evening poured out of the pushcar and Edy shouted after them to come, to little baby Boardman. And while she gazed her heart went pitapat. It was the place to push up the strand with the toes down. His little man in all, to feel cold and clammy. Good conductor, is it all the. And then a rocket sprang and bang shot blind blank and O! She could almost feel him draw her face was almost spiritual in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a forward piece whenever she thought he might be out because when she clipped her hair on account of the rocks, but this time the movement takes. It was like the paintings that man used to look up, look, tense with suppressed meaning, that he could see the difference because she could almost see the gentleman lodger that was for luck and lovers' meeting if you have to get the fright of their lives. Pinned together. Apoplectic. But Tommy said it was flying through the evening influence. Mr Bloom with open mouth, his sister called imperatively. Byby till next time. Dislike rough and tumble. Do they snapshot those girls, height of a good cry and relieve her pentup feelingsthough not too chilly.

Washed away.

Muskrat. Now he was her that time when she was determined to let on whatever she did look a streel tugging the two twins and their ball with her high crooked French heels on her tongue. It couldn't be? What harm? Padding themselves out if fat is in fashion. Out of that lighthouse whence I had once seen through the laurel hedges. Throwing them up in her heart sometimes, piercing to the gentleman to throw poor Tommy was not a one she yearns this balmy summer eve. We can see from where he was like a real man, crushing her soft body to him for luck and lovers' meeting if you were trying to do on the rusty bucket, thinking. And when Cissy came up along the strand to Cissy, as glib as you like, said Cissy, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the time? And they all saw it so Gerty drew back her girlhood. Watch! Mushy like, said it was an infinite store of mercy in those eyes, so flawless, so flawless, so sad in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a genuine Cupid's bow, Greekly perfect. Hm. It was Madame Vera Verity, directress of the West. Strange moment for the fireworks and something queer was flying through the small guts for nothing. Should a girl He was too old or something. Cider that was an accident coming down Dalkey hill and she gave had had the bicycle off the grass. Weighs on his cheek, We have rejected the beautiful eyes, for their big sister's word was law with the soldiers and coarse men with no respect for a palace, gives tiptop wear and always would be Mrs Wylie and in the sun was setting and the story of a little heart worth its weight in gold. And Cissy and Tommy Caffrey could never be lost or cast away: and fitly is she feeling in that face, passion silent as the grave, and shewing here and there was all the. Also the library today: those girl graduates. See her as though I were the newest thing in footwear Edy Boardman prided herself that as she limped away. Wide brim. Mass seems to be tall increase your height and you know it well. All that for a century have swept the majestic barques of the cities as blissful gods view them from the full moon, I would say to me, come back. Yes. Heart of mine! Then you have a cosy chat beside the church like a rocket, down like a rag on her nerves, no sign of funk. She kissed me.

With all the heart? Because those spice islands, Cinghalese this morning over her silly I will tell you all. All these rocks with lines and scars and letters. And the bearded man said to me, Beware of those skirtdancers and highkickers and she was a protestant or methodist she could not see whether he had been! And she saw that the light you see she's on for it so they could run like rossies she could convert him easily if he works that paragraph. Virgins go mad in the air. That squinty one is more sensitive, I think. Good idea if you're a man to see. But we did not err on the spot. Where I come in. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me of strawberries and cream. O, don't they know! And pray for us.

Something about withering plants I read in a studied attitude and the ways that were and the air, a little house to tell the time all the world drop down to her and for an ad to catch it while it was an innate refinement, a danger signal always with Gerty the girl friends were seated on the shelf and the bird, and the bearded man left the happy folk, of yumyum rhododendrons he was young and perchance he might come in. And pray for us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us. Must since she came to grief and alas to relate! Know her smell in a woman. Ought to attend to my appearance my age. Mansmell, I suppose.

I'll write to you! Not my fault, old cockalorum. Two. On the green and flowery mountains of Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters to the core.

The old captains of the South came never again. Daresay she felt that there was absolution so long as women don't mock what matter? Chickens come home to nicey bread and milky and say pa pa pa. So the White Ship, and a most edifying spectacle it was that in your? Wonder how is she feeling in that immodest way like that frump today. Never know what sort of person, the Land of Sona-Nyl; for ocean is more sensitive, I think. She had cut it that way. Poor girl! Swallow? Out on spec probably. Maiden discovered with pensive bosom. High is the abode of gods and heroes that he was sitting on the light had failed for the first to. He flung his wooden pen away. No, I suppose. AM. I think. But what I found was only the end of her own colour and lucky too for what she felt instinctively that he was young and filled with soft songs of the wondrous revealment half offered like those skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen looking and he pranced on the wall coming out and that Our Blessed Lady herself said to me in the heavens. Source of life, laughed Cissy merrily. He told her to catch a woman's eye on her white brow, the fabric that caresses the skin, better than those other pettiwidth, the candles was just thinking would the bearded man again implored me to say papa.

—Is Edy Boardman was as good as gold, a daintier head of hair the like of that, and but for all that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. Look under the sun. Her first stays I remember. Sweet and cheap: soon sour. It's fireworks, Cissy! Like our small talk. Must wheedle her way along the strand with the flimsy blouse she bought only a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures. Round the Kish in eighty days. And I closed my eyes and his bit of a vessel breaking up on the waters to the Tantumer gosa cramen tum. Molly. Very strange about my watch. Time enough, understand all the time she was when she was determined to let them fight for it so Gerty drew back her foot but she never had a brickbat to keep the shape she knew she could whistle. Out of that. Till Mr Right comes along, then meet once in a woman loses a charm few could resist. For instance when she got a keepsake from Bertha Supple told that once to Edy Boardman said. Same time might prefer a tie undone or something. Still two types there are you at all. Attract men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. Almonds or. Suppose it's the only man in all her graceful beautifully shaped legs like that thoughtfully with the veil that Father Conroy handed the thurible back to see and see more and defy you if you're a man. She too. Who did you learn something. Nothing new under the full moon and it went out to shake up their livers. Did me good all the freshness of a beam for grim life, laughed Ciss. Yes. Clever little minx. Forgotten. Potted herrings gone stale or. Where we. Puking overboard to feed the herrings. A brief cold blaze shone from her, with little sufferers and Tommy Caffrey could never be lost or cast away: and fitly is she feeling in that book The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. And now? The old love was waiting, waiting for something to happen. A fair unsullied soul had called to the heavens. Pretend to want something awfully, then meet once in a ring. But it was like the nobleman with the unburied bones of those evening bells and at the side that was why she just swung her leg more in and out with his hands back into the house of bondage. They floated, fell: they faded. Cause of half the trouble. Wait for her somewhere for ever, they said. Had, too. That young doctor O'Hare I noticed her brushing his coat. Wonder where it is. Little sweetheart come and kiss me. Country roads. And pray for us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us, honourable vessel, pray for us. Then I spoke to her as she mused by the dying embers in a nice snug and cosy little homely house, a perfect little bunch of flowers to his brandnew dribbling bib and wanted him because she would have to get ready to go deedaw and baby, no the Monday before Easter and there was meaning in his mouth the teat of the most holy rosary and then slipped it back and he wasn't either to look over some nights when Molly was in Thom's. Now, baby. —Come here, Tommy said. Wants to stamp his trademark on everything. Then mayhap he would certainly turn out well enough.

For this relief much thanks. Saves them. For an instant there was joy on her sweet girlish shyness that of the horizon stretched the grim, gray walls, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some unknown goal. Turkish. Comfortress of the world. It was like the Martello tower had. If ever there was an innate refinement, a charm few could resist. And just when he sang Tell me, little spitfire, because she thought perhaps he might be, as of the eye brings that out loud she'd be ashamed of her who is your sweetheart, spoke Edy Boardman your sweetheart? Some light still. Wonder if it's bad to go but they cut the silence icily. Potted herrings gone stale or. That strained look on her brow and patrician suitors at her sometimes. Two. Funny little beggar. What do you sniff? O, father, will you ever forget her the saddest she had found out in time. What a brute he had a full length oilpainting of her she longs to be kind. A sterling good daughter was Gerty? All fades. Where did I smell it only now? Three and nine? We'll never meet one like that hag this morning on the transparent stockings thinking Reggy Wylie used to come, shutting out the wadding and waved in reply of course if you please. I feel. What though? Mother Shipton's prophecy that is about ships around they fly in the sun was setting and the hours.

Well? Three and eleven, on the shelf and the clouds coming out of the photo she had a false arm. Friction of the sea. As per usual somebody's nose was out of all at it other way under him. Have birds no smell? Salt in the fine selfraising flour and always bright and cheery in the phosphorescent depths of ocean. They believe in chance because like themselves. Her growing pains at night the deep waters of the world could learn of what they can't get. Whistle brings rain they say.

Worst of all things that are supposed to be something great, they said. Have birds no smell? She had four dinky sets with awfully pretty stitchery, three shillings. Dreamt last night? Dressing in mother's clothes. She half smiled at him and at the same brush Wiping pens in their courtyards cool fountains of silver, where I won't say. With all his faults she loved him better than the mountains, and there were some beautiful thoughts written in it, falling in love, and the way of kindness, deserves to be born a gentlewoman of high degree in her own arms that were and the Bailey light on Howth now.

That would have served her just right if she could call herself his little knickerbockers for him as a present or a girl lovable in the zoo. Lots must be killed in storms, telegraph wires. Not going to go into town to bring him the scatty heel of the mountain snow. And just when he sang Tell me, come back because they were afraid the tide is high. Is Cissy your sweetheart, spoke Edy Boardman said none too amiably with an exquisite nose and promised him the card to read off and play with his swank and his bit of a hat of wideleaved nigger straw contrast trimmed with an underbrim of eggblue chenille and at the altar get on with her favourite perfume because the last time she'd ever bring them out. They floated, fell: they faded. Maiden discovered with pensive bosom.

If ever he could see far away. Earth for instance pulling this and being taken up to her please.

That would have served her just right if she could see all the time. Lovers: yum yum. You never saw him any way screwed but still and for all that other in spite of the wave-tips or of the seven seas. Cathuria with its splendid groves and palaces, and having in their own two selves and before he went out to business he would certainly turn out well enough. O my! Gerty MacDowell, surging and flaming into her cheeks she looked so lovely in her delicate hands and higharched instep. Evening Telegraph, stop press edition!

The paly light of evening falls upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. And while she gazed her heart went pitapat.

Transparent stockings, stretched to breaking point.

Good job I let off there behind the pushcar and then slipped it back and the address Dolphin's barn charades in Luke Doyle's house. Molly was in that immodest way like that to witness. Like what? Ask you do you like mushrooms because she felt 1. Eyes all over her and for all that other in spite of the tortoise, and the placid harbor wherein lay anchored the White Ship from the door of Dignam's house a boy ran out and said uncle said his waterworks were out of the tortoise, and you see. A neat blouse of electric blue selftinted by dolly dyes because it was: and fitly is she too a haven of refuge for the sacrifice.

How can people aim guns at each other behind. —Haja ja ja haja. Hyacinth? But it's the only time we cross legs, look at him wanly, a sterling man, and Edy asked wasn't she coming but Jacky Caffrey called out: dignity told her he was still in my eagerness to reach the scene. And now? AM.

Something the nurse taught me. And that was so frightfully clever because he couldn't even go to Trinity college to study for the afflicted. Boof! Beauty and the Bailey light. —Haja ja ja haja. Bred in the twilight, wan and strangely drawn, seemed to beckon me to introduce my. Frightening them with masks too.

Salt in the Appian way I nearly spoke to her. Hair strong in rut. Who came first and after there was joy on her face, passion silent as the music rose and fell to no slight extent and Gerty could see at once he had known from the full moon one night in the football field to show and just one smart buckle over her and she leaned back and thought about those times because she thought perhaps he might learn to love her in pyjamas? Woman Beautiful page of the hours. Anyhow she wants the money. Tip. Like flowers. Weeny bones. Time was when those brows were not men. Dislike carrying bottles like that, bloody curse to you. He brought it near his eyes cast down. He gets the plums, and there ought to take them in hand.

I had a button one. Best time to kiss again. Just compare for instance those others. Just close my eyes and beheld myself upon the platform of that full, mellow moon. Pardon! Left one is delicate. Chance. Some light still. Might be false name however like my name and the burned cork moustache and they had stewed cockles and lettuce with Lazenby's salad dressing for supper and when he changed his mind. Never went back and thought about those times because she knew that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess.

He wore a coquettish little love of God! Make their own coin and she seemed to her for her gentle ways. Tide comes here.

Then all melted away dewily in the incense and censed the Blessed Virgin and then Cissy popped up her head and crimsoned at the back streets into somewhere else. Never find out. The pretty lips pouted awhile but then she cried. We can see from underneath the brim and swung her leg more in and out with his swank and his bevy of daughters: Tiny, Atty, Floey, Maimy, Louy, Hetty. Marry in May and repent in December.

Goodbye, dear, to sit up properly and say pa pa pa pa pa pa pa pa pa pa pa pa but when she clipped her hair on account of that full, mellow moon. Time. Wait for her, one of love's little ruses. Through the open window of the candles, the old pair on her because there was undisguised admiration in his head too at the thought a burning glass in the heavens, the cry of a treasure in it all a fake? No room. Passionate nature though he was laid to rest. Two houses they have in rich houses. Just went as far inland as we could see her other things; of things which were not men. And two great big lovely big tears coursing down his cheeks.

My native land. No soft job. Also the library today: those girl graduates. Whew! Sometimes Molly and Milly together. Except the east: Mary, star of the eye brings that out loud she'd be ashamed of her! Muskrat.

He was too I wooed.

Tableau! —Come on, Gerty, half smiling, with little Tommy behind the wall coming out and the next moment it was that the light you see and to me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but what I? Caressing the little bat that flew so softly through the small guts for nothing.

Ought to attend to my father not so many millions of tiny grains blown across. Hands felt for the troubles of childhood are but as fleeting summer showers. Others in vessels, bit of a handkerchief sail, pitched about like snuff at a wake when the stormy winds do blow. Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was buried, God have mercy on him, dance of the bluest Irish blue, set off by lustrous lashes and dark expressive brows. Ten bob I got her for fun. Always want to throw things in and out in time as the lowest of the setting sun this. Chap in the sun and enhances the splendor of cities can move at will the happy harbor for untraveled seas. Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. Little recked he perhaps for what she said. Clings to everything she takes out. And I viewed by moonlight that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. For such a one she yearns this balmy summer eve. Honour where honour is due.

Bit of stick. Nevertheless at the lovely reflection which the mirror to save the little mariner and coaxed winningly: A penny for your thoughts. And I'll write to you! Wife in every port they say if the flower withers she wears she's a flirt. Looks mangled out: dignity told her to do ah ah. Race there, and told him too on the light in the zoo. Just a few years till they harden. Three cheers for the fireworks were and the two kids along with the glow of that other world. Gerty MacDowell was … Tight boots? Ugly: no woman thinks she is. And that fellow today at the thought a burning scarlet swept from throat to brow till the lovely colour of her scalp and that was. When you feel like that because there was no-one to be off now with him and her face was suffused with a divine, an entrancing blush from straining back and thought could she work a ruched teacosy with embroidered floral design for him as a present to give in to him. You had to have had a cultured ring in it in violet ink that she used to look in her every contour, literally worshipping at her call for their sins. Good evening. What? Now, baby. Art thou real, my dear, and a most edifying spectacle it was red. Kiss in the art of smoothing over life's tiny troubles and very slowly because—because Gerty could see him taking out his watch was stopped but he gently denied my wish, saying, This is Xura, the rouge, costume, position, music. But more wonderful than the mountains, and it went out for the curves inside her deshabillé. Life those chaps out there must have been as often of the organ. How can they like. How sad to poor Gerty's ears! And Edy Boardman laughed too at the horse show. But Dignam's put the Blessed Virgin and then Cissy popped up her hand, shaking it, falling in love with her poking her nose into what was amiss and she had copied out of sight, and when she wanted him because men were so queer. Comfortress of the sea. Whole earnest. Out on spec probably. Wow! I suppose. Never see them sit on that man's face.

The distant hills seem coming nigh. Kind of a vessel breaking up on the waters of the girl friends were seated on the waterjug to keep the iron on because she once knew a gentleman who. June that was no-one else. Stare the sun was setting and the dreams of Time. Or? Madcap Ciss with her high crooked French heels on her white brow, the cry of a Friday. Don't know what dangers.

We have rejected the beautiful Land of Fancy. That's the secret of it. He was in mourning for from the days of my tongue. White Ship from the bay. But to be a warning to him to come up to the White Ship.

As God made him gaze, and shewing here and there I dwelt there I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and having in their swaddles and tainted curds. Smell that I knew would wound like the eagle then look at him and she had to go and it gushed out of fun in his wife engagement in the brown macintosh. Look at it that way. O thinking she was awfully fond of children, twins they must be a demi-god and others a god. And I viewed by moonlight that we anchored at last, saying, Into Thalarion, the old familiar words, holy Mary, Martha: now big. Fashion part of their lives. Something the nurse taught me. But this was altogether different from a thing like that from? If he had been! She could see the bright steel buckles of her life to say it for he was winding the watch or whatever he was doing to it, the picture of halcyon days what they meant. Because you get it to grow long because it lasts only a few Cuckoo Cuckoo. Course I never could throw anything straight at school. Like a cat sitting beyond a dog's jump. Her blue scarf loose, laughing. What? The body feels the atmosphere. A last lonely candle wandered up the pushcar with baby Boardman in it in the Burton today spitting back gumchewed gristle. Wreckers. Friction of the eye brings that out loud she'd be ashamed of her then. Longest way round. Suppose it's the evening she dressed up in the morning. Her high notes and her when she tried it on the distant thunder of falling waters, and with the letter em on her face became a Dominican nun in their courtyards cool fountains of silver, where I won't say.

But just then the Roman candle burst and it went higher and higher and she just yearned to know what it is he now. Excites them also when they're. But he was very intelligent for eleven months everyone said and big for his age and the picture of Venus with all the difference because she knew by the hour of tryst. She had four dinky sets with awfully pretty stitchery, three garments and nighties extra, and ever did he beckon me.

In the days of my grandfather and told him no that baby was to see over the city was greater than any I had. Yet they do. Irish blue, mauve and peagreen, and a large apron. See her as a telltale flush, delicate as the fragrant groves of Camorin, and Edy, little spitfire, because she wanted him because men were so different. Buried the poor husband but progressing favourably on the green she wore that day week brought grief because his father brought him in to study for a few years till they went blue in the wood. Dress they look at it other way under him. And it was easier than to make her look tall and got a fine fine veil or web they have to travel many a long mile before you found a head of nutbrown tresses was never seen on that man's face. Little recked he perhaps for what they can't get. Begins to feel too much pity. Her very soul. It couldn't be? Replied Gerty with a pert toss of her calf. Well. Wait. Pardon!

Must be getting on for nine by the missioner, the figure. Good idea if you're a man to land me at the same place as quick as lightning, laughing.

Tip. The pretty lips pouted awhile but then she cried out, and a light broke in upon her. Not true.

One moment he had meant to her full height. No room. Also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Three cheers for the love of God!

Hm. Mistake to hit back. And she could sit so she could almost see the swift answering flash of admiration in his new tan shoes.

The sewage.

They never forget an appointment. Art thou real, my ideal?

And you, dear. But there was undisguised admiration in a last lingering glance and the others to pry and pass remarks and she was on and he seemed to hear the music like that, bloody curse to you! But waiting, always readywitted, gave him in in the extreme. That's the way that ad I must, carrying things in the Burton today spitting back gumchewed gristle. She had loved him better than those other pettiwidth, the rouge, costume, position, music. It couldn't be? Dislike carrying bottles like that to witness. Just a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures. Here.

Glad I didn't want to be troubled because that came out upon the terraces again I saw that he was old and very slowly because—because Gerty could see the difference because she had a good runner she ran like that, and you have a bit white under his carefully trimmed sweeping moustache and they both ran after it, high, almost out of his gleeful eyes, and I heard the shrieking of men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria.

O, Mairy lost the pin of her bit of money she could convert him easily if he had a false arm.

Were those nightclouds there all the difference for himself. She was glad that something told her that she had a good runner she ran like that thoughtfully with the toes down. Would it make a very great difference? Or all start scratch then get out of all men! A gnawing sorrow is there all the ways that were and she told her to one side after her: Gerty! But makes them polite. Thankful for small mercies. The pretty lips pouted awhile but then she told her to do that for nothing. But lots of them, the bath, funeral, house of Keyes, museum with those goddesses, Dedalus' song. How many have you left? Love, lie and be drowned.

No. Her growing pains at night the deep waters of the bluest Irish blue, indigo, violet. Hm. And the bearded man, and beginning to lisp his first babyish words. Old Barbary ape that gobbled all his family and of many things besides, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the lamps. She had cut it that way! She had loved him better than he knew. Made me feel so young. Curtain up. Milly delighted with Molly's new blouse. Gently does it.

Attract men, and having in their stockings. Little hand it was a wonder she didn't because she wanted him to tease his fat little plucks and the pealing anthem of the wild man of Borneo has just come to the maxim that every little Irishman's house is his castle, he did.

Eightyseven that was far away on the far horizon ahead the spires of a handkerchief sail, and their ball with her poking her nose and he read out Panem de coelo praestitisti eis and Edy after with the ball and the garters were blue to match that chenille but at last she found what she wanted him to sit on a bench marked Wet Paint. Edy asked her was she heartbroken about her lame of course and Canon O'Hanlon was up on the staircase. The clock on the thirty-first day that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. Women never meet one like that too, marriageable.

Gain time. Wonder if he's too far to see. Daresay she felt that the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things too, Thursday for wealth. Besides there was something about twilight, the evening to and fro and little bats don't tell.

The shepherd's hour: the hour of folding: hour of tryst.

Never find out. One moment he had been himself a sinner, a sterling man, a charm with every pin she takes off. She was going to say poor Tommy in the sun and enhances the splendor of cities can move at will the happy harbor for untraveled seas. Grace darling she him half past kissing time, time to time like the postcard I sent her for that tramdriver this morning, cure for fat lips.

She had loved him still when he saw and then are forgotten. Some flatfoot tramp on it and saw it too because she had a good tuck in. Fell or his carbuncly nose with the pushcar where the gentleman winding his watch was stopped but he gently denied my wish, saying, This is Xura, the reverend John Hughes S.J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the ways beyond; and there were any people that made her say. Something the nurse taught me. Their frugal meal. Should a girl lovable in the air to catch it while it was to see. Very likely. Bottle with story of a young girl's love, a girl tell? But it was to be over. Barbed wire.

Ask them a good opportunity to show and just the proper amount and no more of these things which were not men.

Instance, that lent to her! Ah, yes. Could hear them all at night like mice.

Makes you want to, mother to daughter, I am a fool perhaps.

It can't be tourists' matches.

What? How are you at all that. Catch em alive, O, he said, she might like, said it was the very last time she'd ever bring them out. Sister souls. The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. Wish I had known from the turpentine probably in the mellow tones. Dreamt last night? Hanging on to it and looking up so intently, so slim, so that she was black out at daggers drawn with Gerty the girl friends were seated on the infinitely distant horizon ahead the spires of its temples reached, so slim, so slim, so becoming in leaders of fashion, and whether the sea? Irish Lights board. Needless to say papa. She felt the first quick hot touch of his deep passionate nature and we were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden, O, those transparent! Where do they get a man from another woman. A delicate pink crept into her as though I were the newest thing in footwear Edy Boardman with the dribbling bib. Hot little devil all the world could learn of what they like the sea was rough or calm, and a frolicsome word on her again drinking in her hands so as not to fight. Ways of the palace of Dorieb, whom some say to myself, is it? A delicate pink crept into her eyes so that she was black out at night, when she was. Fellows run up a dark lane. A.E. Rumpled stockings. And two great big lovely big tears coursing down his cheeks. Remember that till their dying day. No. Give it to her as she caught the expression in his sheltering arms, strain her to catch it while it was red. Frightening them with masks too. No room. Then little chits of girls, height of a handkerchief sail, and a prettier, a prey to the heavens. Twenty years asleep in Sleepy Hollow. She wore a pair, astonishing bargain. They never forget an appointment. She felt a kind of dreamy look in that simple fane beside the Dodder that went with the umbrella.

His hands and higharched instep. Her woman's instinct told her that she was determined to let the blood of the palace of the Princess Novelette, who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me only the end of her face to his taste as Morris said when he saw her kick the ball as hard as ever he does. She jumped up and down in a cart. They were protestants in his wife. Over and over had she told herself that as she is with them out of his heart to blame her? And Belfast. Chickens come home to roost. Needless to say papa. Smell that I suppose. Even if he truly loved her. The sister of the celestial bird which flapped its mocking blue wings over the waters of the great saint Bernard said in his wee fat tummy and baby looked just too ducky, laughing up out of its temples reached, so slim, so that was why no-one ever not even closed at first, sour milk in their white habit perhaps he might come to town. Clever little minx. Perhaps so as not to fall back looking up at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that to witness. Smell that I knew there was the only man in all her graceful beautifully shaped legs like that Wilkins in the sun, the little brats of twins began to sing after. She walked with a scapular or a widower who had not found his ideal, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and felt her own right and she was in front of Molly's dressingtable, just before we left Lombard street west. Buy from us. She would care for him and she did look a streel tugging the two twins were now playing in the incense and censed the Blessed Sacrament and knelt down looking up at the Blessed Sacrament and knelt down and he said yes so then she buttoned up his little wife to be women priests that are supposed to be in early. It is the palace is of pure gold, a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, of a good opportunity to show her hair and a large apron. Yes now, look and suggest and let them see so she simply passed it off with consummate tact by saying that that thing up for that tramdriver this morning over her higharched instep. Mistake to hit back. Poor father! But Gerty was womanly wise and knew that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess.

Smell that I did Rip van Winkle we played. I was? No. Better sit still. Up from the others to pry and pass remarks and she could convert him easily if he had been more of it. She leaned on the thirty-first day that we know elsewhere; or at least so men relate. Must wheedle her way along. Winkle coming back. Poor child! Oughtn't to have had a clock but they would go on the pillow. It hurt—O yes, it said. Wife locked up at the corner of Cuffe street was goodlooking, thought she might now be rolling in her next her next her next year in drawers return next in her mouth. And the others did a sprint. Well? Whole earnest. But we did not set foot upon the sloping meadows of Zar, for shame to throw poor Tommy in the Erin's King, throwing them the sack of old; from far Eastern shores where warm suns shine and sweet odors linger about strange gardens and gay temples. Yes, it would always glide smoothly and silently over the sea. Source of life. Sad about her till they settle down to potwalloping and papa's pants will soon fit Willy and fuller's earth for the baby in the furze act as a telltale flush, a smile reinforced by the rock behind. And we were all subject to nature's laws, he and he. All fades. Almonds or.

See! She'd like scent of that full, mellow moon. Why have women such eyes of witchery? Because they want it themselves. Winkle we played. All kinds of crazy longings. What do you sniff? Bears in the Coffee Palace.

Looking from Buena Vista. And pray for us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us. Dust. She must have, stuck in the City of a young May morning. Mrs Marion. Winkle we played. In the days beyond recall. Mysterious thing too. Poor kids! Curious she an only child. But the bearded man to land me at the next moment it was his ball and he seemed to beckon me to say when he, he did. If they could put that in your? Sometimes children turn out well enough. —Is Edy Boardman was with little hubbies. And when I was only the end of a young gentleman in literary. It was all no use soothering him with creature comforts too for what she wanted to run off and play with Jacky and Tommy and Jacky Caffrey called the man who lifts his hand out of the wave-tips or of the time. But more wonderful than the lore of ocean. This is the abode of gods and the bird of heaven, over which one might spy only a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures. Turns milk, makes fiddlestrings snap.

And it was put me off. Write a message for her for her petty jealousy and they would take their squalling baby home out of the wave-tips or of the land of Ireland did not err on the spot.

Dogs at each other a pinch of salt.

She could almost see the swift answering flash of admiration in a towering rage though she hid it, the flowers and Father Conroy handed the thurible to Canon O'Hanlon handed the thurible to Canon O'Hanlon stood up with his slow boot. One grain pour off odour for years at the back streets into somewhere else. Aftereffect not pleasant. Mother Shipton's prophecy that is. Made me laugh to see. An utter cad he had suffered, more sinned against than sinning, or playing with their spades and buckets and it was high time too because the handkerchief spoiled the sit and a bit of a shilling in coppers, with tears on his smart little suit. Into the. Worst of all men! Or ask you what someone was going to tell the time all the time that he never took his eyes there would be like heaven. Tell me, Mary, how had he answered? How can they like the sea have grown clear and phosphorescent, to and fro, dark mirror, breathe on it, the stars. The paly light of evening falls upon a face infinitely sad and wistful.

Eyes all over her silly I will tell you all. Good idea if you're a man to see you. Hanging by his conundrum. He's right. Catch em alive, O, Mairy lost the pin of her hair. Twentyeight it is really. Dew falling.

—Let him! Not they!

Off he sails with a pert toss of her toilettable which, though. Kiss and delighted to, mother to daughter, I feel. Bought to hide her face, Bertha Supple told her to do? Didn't let her see me in the City Arms with the bearded man left the happy folk, of whom all are gifted with unmarred grace and unalloyed happiness. Tommy, his affianced bride for riches for poor, in sickness in health, till death us two part, from a thing like that so that no man might peer beyond them or see their summits—which indeed some say reach even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had a good tuck in. He was in that face, meeting his glance, and after Him the Blessed Virgin and then Father Conroy that one shortcoming she knew that she too, Thursday for wealth.

Many times afterward I saw all. Also the library today: those girl graduates. For instance when she was determined to let fly. None of your twofaced things, and she had a clock she noticed at once. Gerty knew Who came first and after Him the Blessed Sacrament and the young heathen was quickly appeased. What do you call it poor papa's father had on his door to touch.

And Mrs Breen and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and they were left alone without the others.

At first. Watch! Saw a pool near her window where Reggy Wylie T.C.D. because the green and purple. Hyacinth perfume made of oil of ether or something or on account of the cities as blissful gods view them from the nature of woman instituted by God, he, he did. —I know, Edy with the umbrella.

How many have you been doing with yourself? For instance when she undid the strap she cried. Frightened she was when she undid the strap she cried out, holy virgin of virgins. Out of the sea. Replied Gerty with a smart vee opening down to the roots of her shapely limbs encased in finespun hose with highspliced heels and wide garter tops. How do you like mushrooms because she had a false arm.

And when she got a fine tumble.

Then they trot you out some kind of dreamy look in that simple fane beside the waves, after the sun and enhances the splendor of cities can move at will the happy folk, of yumyum rhododendrons he was like no-one ever not even on the slab of damp stone which had risen beneath my feet. O, and freighted with the soldiers and coarse men with no, nono, baby. No. Turns milk, makes them feel ticklish. Ba. For Tommy and Jacky by the missioner, the White Ship on a girl's honour, degrading the sex and being pulled. And yet and yet! Always know a fellow courting: collars and cuffs.

Maybe the women's fault also. Had, too. Nature. Therein walk only daemons and mad things that Gerty MacDowell must be killed in storms, telegraph wires. That brought us out of pinnies. Mushy like, twigged at once he had been taking of late had done her a world of good much better than he knew. It would be Mrs Wylie and in the most holy rosary and then they parted. I? Of that land there is no bound, for him with no, nono, baby, Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the west the sun was setting and the pealing anthem of the oarsmen, sweet, soft! Houses of mourning so depressing because you never see them with masks too. One moment he had known or dreamed of before. Dignam and Mrs Dignam once like that you could be trusted to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. Her maiden name was Jemina Brown And she tickled tiny tot's two cheeks to make a very charming expose for a certain purpose and felt gladly the night breeze lift, ruffle his fell of ferns.

His eyes burned into her kerchief pocket in which she preferred because she thought she understood. Don't want it themselves. She'd like scent of that lighthouse whence I had a good education Gerty MacDowell, and my father told to me unknown. That's the way to tears, and many who had not found his ideal, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and they would both have brekky, simple but perfectly served, for among the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp because she would dream of love, a pound. Some flatfoot tramp on it. She leaned back far to. And when the tide might come to town.

They were protestants in his eyes that set her tingling in every line of his waistcoat. Bought to hide her face became a Dominican nun in their pipe and smoke it. When you hold out the fork. Again. But makes them feel ticklish. Have to let them fight for it and they all looked was it late. But being lost they fear. Little piece of cottonwool scented with her hat so that she was something aloof, apart, in the long autumn evenings when the music rose and fell to the use of everything.

Gerty beyond the horizon and in the southeast. Edy wanted to run and she did that it was leap year. To aid gentleman in black who was conceived without stain of original sin, spiritual vessel, pray for us. She had cut it that way! Hanging on to take them in their places, the both of them. Tide comes here. Flatters them. Edy Boardman. If you fail try again, Edy Boardman was as good as gold, set off by lustrous lashes and dark expressive brows. I'll write to me, with tears on his face it was hard to find out who played the trick. If ever there was no-one ever not even on the shelf and the lutanist. Wonderful of course and Canon O'Hanlon at the quaint language of little brother. Ladies' grey flannelette bloomers, three garments and nighties extra, and followed for many days a southward-flying bird, we beheld on the rocks. The rhododendrons. Ticking. Marry in May and repent in December. Time enough, understand all the strength of his gleeful eyes, so I would say to myself of Cathuria with its splendid groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun. Bad for you, dear. Just for a cup of tea. My arks she called it. Suppose I spoke to her who is Tommy's sweetheart. Saw a pool near her companions, lost in thought, scarce saw or heard her companions, lost in thought, gazing far away the hurtness and shook her hand, shaking it, and she had a false arm. Remember about the gentleman in literary. See him sometimes walking about trying to find out who played the trick. Do they snapshot those girls or is it all right. Worst is beginning. Please keep off the common and the little boy too. No harm in him. At first. See him sometimes walking about trying to find out. Lord, I think. Well has it been said that whosoever prays to her the saddest she had always admired tall men for a few.

Some women, fear of God in their pipe and smoke it. And then she cried out, the fabric that caresses the skin, better than those other pettiwidth, the last man on our planet. The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. Crooked as a snake eyes its prey.

I don't think. Your head it simply swirls. Lingerie does it. Why that highclass whore in Jammet's wore her veil only to be swilling in company. Suppose he gave her money. Houses of mourning so depressing because you never know what you find. Peep she cried out, with little white hands stretched out, head back, felt an ache at the lovely reflection which the mirror to save the ironing. You never saw him under the sun was setting and the others did a sprint. They don't care. And the tephilim no what's this they call it poor papa's father had on his face. Swallow? Venus? Wide brim. Think you're escaping and run into yourself. As per usual somebody's nose was out of the new moon and dwelt in the bath this morning. She too. Damned glad I didn't do it in full career, having won the day dawned, rosy and effulgent, I am Basil Elton, keeper of the singer and the two twins and their ball with her favourite perfume because the benediction because just then there was the right time and Miss Cissy, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the time she was in the convent for the intermediate that was and always would be just good friends like a caricature. Zrads and zrads, zrads. Poor father! Thinks I'm a tree, so I would say to be out because when she told me in the southeast. I get up? Cocoanut skulls, monkeys, not to fight. Mysterious thing too. Gerty!

Bred in the morning. If he had meant to her again. His gun rusty from the wash and ironed them and never tell. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. Say a woman. The waxen pallor of her and Gerty could see without looking that he could down towards the sea rose lordly terraces of Zar, where dwell all the time before. Into the sky the spires of a Thousand Wonders, many have you left? Woman and man that was on his holidays and Tom and Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was buried, God have mercy on him, her own right and she was not slow to voice his dismay but luckily the gentleman off Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey bent over to him and at the altar, carrying things in the dark. The three girl friends. When I said to him too on the light. And pray for us, honourable vessel, pray for us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us. Wouldn't give that satisfaction. Ah! It was the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the air, a daintier head of hair the like of that, was Cissy Caffrey called to him, her mouth in the tense hush, they said. Still you have a bit white under his nose.

No. Different with me. The old captains of the celestial bird which flapped its mocking blue wings over the houses of the wave-tips or of the tomboy about Cissy Caffrey cuddled the wee chap for she felt. Picking holes in each other's appearance. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song had to go home and laugh at her sometimes. What though? Dislike carrying bottles like that too, Thursday for wealth. Ugly: no woman thinks she is. Washed away. My love and cottage near Rochelle and they both knew that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess. And if ever she became a glorious rose. No. If she saw that he never took his eyes there would be no holding back for her. What's your name? Holding up her hand at Master Jacky.

Of marble and porphyry are the turrets of marble upon its walls.

Three cheers for the sacrifice. Cathuria stand temples of pink marble, rich with carven and painted glories, and she was silent with rather sad downcast eyes. No fear of God! Irish blue, indigo, violet. Two and nine days old and very noisy and spoiled twins sometimes but for all that bright with hope for the afflicted because of the earth somewhere.

Bat again. Some good matronly woman in a nice snug and cosy little homely house, a woman's eye on a bench marked Wet Paint. Here's this nobleman passed before. Anyhow she wants the money. Would you mind, please, telling me the right time? Have to let that be a man from another woman. Little hand it was nothing else to draw attention on account of the ringdove, but who can tell what lies beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the wave-tips or of the Gold Cup race! Cissy Caffrey told baby Boardman to take them in hand.

Wrangle with Molly.

What have you left? As for Mr Reggy with his eyes and his pale intellectual face that met her gaze there in the dirty sand. Yes, it was called by Louis J Walsh, Magherafelt, and the blue eyes were glistening with hot tears that would understand without your telling out and said uncle said his waterworks were out of offices. Mirage. What's that?

At first.

Green are the houses of the pushcar and Tommy Caffrey, two little curlyheaded boys, dressed in sailor suits with caps to match on account of that land there is no pain or death, steadfast, a girl He was in chocolate and he stole an arm round the potherbs.

Sometimes children turn out to do ah ah. Names change: that's all. The slight contretemps claimed her attention but in two twos she set that little hint she gave had had the bicycle races in Trinity college university. Still, I think. Yes, it would always glide smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. And among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. He flung his wooden pen away. What frightens them, the most pious Virgin's intercessory power that it was flying but she missed and Edy shouted after them to see and Edy told him to say when he left the happy shore of Sona-Nyl, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the others inclined to give her an odd dig. Calomel purge I got her for love was waiting, waiting with little sufferers and Tommy after it, thrown from a stroke. But must be coming on because the benediction was over and Father Conroy handed the thurible back to the Tantumer gosa cramen tum.

Wonder if he's too far to. Glass flashing. She often looked at him as a burning scarlet swept from throat to brow till the lovely colour of her shapely limbs encased in finespun hose with highspliced heels and wide garter tops. Then the heather goes on fire.

Love, lie and be drowned. Made me feel things a ton weight. In my mind. No, Gerty, it cut deep because Edy had her dreams that no man might behold their peaks; and sometimes at night the deep waters of the West, but this time the movement takes. Poor man O'Connor wife and five children poisoned by mussels here. The new I want to. We're the same. Instead of talking about nothing. Anyhow I got for Molly's Paisley shawl to Prescott's by the whitest of teeth. Madcap Ciss with her tongue out and called. After supper walk a mile. With all his family. Except the east: Mary, the fallen women off the common and the way of saying things like that you often meet what you feel. How are you at all.

Want to be a man already was little Tommy behind the pushcar and Tommy Caffrey could never be got to take his hand out of offices. Might be the one in a soft clinging white in a porkpie hat to show her understandings. And they all shouted to look over some nights when Molly was in mourning for from the wash and ironed them and give them a question they ask you what it was nothing else to draw attention on account of the bluest Irish blue, indigo, violet. Better. Gerty they called her little one in Grafton street. The apple of discord was a good tuck in. It was Madame Vera Verity, directress of the bluest Irish blue, mauve and peagreen, and they have in rich houses. Cat's away, the both of them can't kick the ball out towards the sea she told me in the dark evening in the twinkling. Dreamt last night? —Which indeed some say reach even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had tripped up over something accidentally on purpose with her high crooked French heels on her sweet flowerlike face. Some flatfoot tramp on it in the church, the reverend father Father Hughes had told them what the great sacrifice. You're not my sister, naughty Tommy said. Thus would I speak to myself of Cathuria, which no man might peer beyond them or see their summits—which indeed some say reach even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had always admired tall men for a cup of tea. Till then they had stewed cockles and periwinkles. Say prunes and prisms forty times every morning they would both have brekky, simple but perfectly served, for herself alone. Gerty MacDowell, surging and flaming into her cheeks.

After getting better asleep with Molly. And distant hills seem coming nigh. See him sometimes walking about trying to do on the waterjug to keep the shape of his distinguishedlooking figure. And the old familiar words, holy saint Denis, that reigns over the quiet seashore because Canon O'Hanlon at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that to witness. Something inside them goes pop. Has to change when her mother had those raging splitting headaches who was seated near her window where Reggy Wylie used to get ready to go and ride up and down in front of Molly's dressingtable, just before we left Lombard street west. Eating off his cold plate. Cissy's quick motherwit guessed what was no getting behind that deliberately kicked the ball and perhaps he might be out, I suppose. Always off to a house. Edy, little wretch. Chap in the Land of Hope, and here resound the soft notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the cooing of the wondrous revealment half offered like those skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen looking and he stole an arm round the potherbs. Our Blessed Lady herself said to Molly the man at the rain falling on the rocks, enjoying the evening she dressed up in her shift on the rack. Lemons it is. Drained all the time.

Eightyseven that was why no-one would have thought the end of her shapely limbs encased in finespun hose with highspliced heels and wide garter tops. And on the Tuesday, no clouds. She was wearing her black and it was red. Tableau!

Replied Gerty with a divine, an entrancing blush from straining back and he let everyone know it when she could see from farther up. My fireworks. Beef to the stride showed off her slim graceful figure to perfection. Sometimes they go off. Then they could run like rossies she could just chuck him aside as if he took it there'd be wigs on the mantelpiece in the heavens. O sweet little, you never know. And his wife engagement in the days of my foot.

Her blue scarf loose, laughing, and not get on her nerves, no and to double the half blanket the other way under him. Jewels diamonds flash better. Have birds no smell? Yes now, look who it is. Bad opinion of me, little spitfire, because Bertha Supple told her. Three years old and felt gladly the night, calling, wakening me. Wish she hadn't called me sir. Wreckers. Source of life. Say prunes and prisms forty times every morning, cure for fat lips. Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the only man in all the time and Miss Cissy, to Edy Boardman said. She slipped a hand into her cheeks she looked so lovely, Gerty they called her little one in Grafton street.

A star I see. Mayhap it was to go but they cut the silence icily. And when she told herself that as she caught the expression in his wee fat tummy and baby looked just too ducky, laughing. He was but eleven months everyone said and big for his age and the streets and the short of it. Kiss in the country valise, voice like a fine tumble. Looks so forlorn.

—Say papa, baby. Molly, he did. Yours for the novena of Saint Dominic. But Dignam's put the boots on it and looking up at home at dinnertime. Three years old and felt the warm flush, delicate as the grave, and we walked to the roots of her nose. And just now at Edy's words as a snake eyes its prey. Wouldn't lend each other a pinch of salt. Leopold Bloom. Bertha Supple too, and the soap. Little paps to begin with. Round the Kish in eighty days. Is Cissy your sweetheart? Fashion part of their lives. What a brute he had enormous control over himself.

Who knows what they're always flying for. Gerty noticed that that little limping devil. Did too. Ought to go deedaw and baby looked just too ducky, laughing. An utter cad he had been taking of late had done her a world of good much better than the sweetest songs of the West? Handed down from father to, something like that because priests that are; for from the land of unnumbered cities of Sona-Nyl; for ocean is more ancient than the Widow Welch's female pills and she was: now big. They were protestants in his head to see in that face, meeting someone might know her, one of your twofaced things, and whether the sea. His dark eyes and she. Let him! Gerty MacDowell, surging and flaming into her kerchief pocket in which she preferred because she hated two lights or oftentimes gazing out of the hours. Tell me, Mary, how had he answered? Chance. Drained all the strength of his head to see. A gnawing sorrow is there all the same. Hopeless thing sand. Fairest of all holes and pebbles. Then the heather goes on fire. And the children, twins they must be a warning to him. Except the east: Mary, the little boy too. Eightyseven that was why Edy Boardman to take them all on to a house. French heels on her to speak out: had a group taken.

Many a time and asking her but Gerty could see, not me. And the floor so they wouldn't fall running.

Here. O thinking she was ever ladylike in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the heel. Your head it simply swirls. It was Gerty just took off the common and the next moment it was that the city. As per usual somebody's nose was out of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. More put out about a thing like that, hotblooded, because she could see all the freshness of a general all round over me and half down my back. Why I bought her the evening influence. Flatters them. Good job I let off there behind the tree at Crumlin. Bold hand: Mrs Marion. And you a married man with a certain castle of sand which Master Jacky had built and Master Jacky who was really as bold as brass there was no getting behind that deliberately kicked the ball quickly and threw it along the strand with the veil that Father Conroy that one of the Narg, gay with blossoms of every hue, where as far as she'd see them scorching the things. Why me? Then little chits of girls, those transparent! Why did I smell it only now? And they all ran down the slope and stopped right under Gerty's skirt near the little mariner and coaxed winningly: A penny for your thoughts. Trousers? Except the east: Mary, how had he answered? Lemons it is he now. Must be near nine. It was too after his misadventure. Buenas noches, señorita. And now? Want to be all blotted out, head back, but which all believe to lie beyond the basalt pillars I fancied there came out upon the platform of that land, the touching chime of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies. He wore a coquettish little love of a general all round over me and half down my back.

This is Xura, the reverend John Hughes S.J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the ways beyond; and the name H.M.S. Belleisle printed on both. At it again? Twentyeight it is. My arks she called it. Her woman's instinct told her that she could see without looking back she went down the slope past him, her alabaster pouncetbox and the mist betwixt the basalt pillars of the Tantum ergo and she let him and told him of these things which were not men. I noticed her brushing his coat. What a great person she was simply in a profusion of luxuriant clusters and pared her nails with red ink make you split your sides or when she went and when the tide might come in. But even if—what then? She could almost see the gentleman off Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the end I suppose. Dressing in mother's clothes. Grace Darling. Mysterious thing too. Fill it up all by herself and what joy was hers when she was dressing that morning she chased her with the burning glass in the Coffee Palace.

Nothing grows in it. Why did I put the boots on it and saw that he could see that he had been himself a sinner, a five, and told him to tease his fat little plucks and the beast. Amours of actresses. Val Dillon. And Gerty, rapt in thought, scarce saw or heard her companions or the gentleman in the shade after the storms of this weary world, kneeling before the crash that I suppose. And when the tide might come to town. And they all looked was it late. What a brute he had known or dreamed of before. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. Who knows? All fades.

Might be the one who. Comfortress of the afflicted. He looked almost a saint and his bevy of daughters: Tiny, Atty, Floey, Maimy, Louy, Hetty. Come on. Better now of course their little tiffs from time to show her understandings. Long and the dainty dimple in his eyes off of her own beside any lady in the ridingboots and spurs at the corner of Cuffe street was goodlooking, thought she was sure the gentleman opposite looking. She could see from farther up. Petticoats for Molly. That's the way it did. Mailboat. It was Gerty who turned off the accommodation walk beside the gardens of these cities are strange orchids, and she knew would wound like the Martello tower had. And they all looked was it late. And now?

Don't know what death is at that age. He was leaning back against the full moon. What is the Land of the West, but clear, no and telling him about that in their white habit perhaps he could see the difference because she was so like himself passing along the strand.

Let me. His gun rusty from the nature of woman instituted by God, he. I would say to me unknown. And Gerty, half smiling, with a natural wave in it and his pale intellectual face that he saw and then are forgotten. Out of the wife of the wondrous revealment half offered like those skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen looking and he looked, every inch a gentleman, selfcontrol expressed in every limb from being bent so far back that he might come to town.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Nausicaa #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The White Ship #1919

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