#moments like these make me unhate people | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crimsonfluidessence · 3 years ago

Text

Prompt 14: Commend

Esredes liked to consider himself someone who could break the world down into things that made sense, or at least identify where they did not.

Everything had to fit neatly into preexisting pieces. This is how one thing operated, this was how another functioned and went. People often defied this in various ways- in romance, especially, for one, throwing themselves at the worst possible matches and declaring it love, or in various other areas that should require logical thinking, and instead he watched everyone flounder.

Esredes himself tried to make sense too, and he liked to think he made perfect sense until a giant wrench was thrown into his entire life, multiple times. An ordinary noble man serving his duty as a Temple Knight, there was nothing to misunderstand. He would fight and die for his city, and that was all there was to it. He wouldn’t leave behind things undone in a trail of misery, it would all wrap up in a neat little bow and be laid into the ground, for he wasn’t composed like a civilian with more to offer.

A soldier that wasn’t a real person, through and gone. Simple.

And then he was a harrier, and then he was a citizen again, and if things hadn’t stopped making sense before, they absolutely did by the time he regained legal person status. Now everyone wanted different things out of him.

During the war, he had at least been exactly as he was before- a soldier, designed to die on the battlefield. Even if his halves got muddled and mixed into a pool of confusion at times, he had that.

But being forced to accept a civilian role left him lost. People told him so many different things, more than usual. “You should be allowed to live your life. You’re a real person, Esredes. You deserve happiness.” Put together, that was the summary of what everyone said- he should try to be a real person now. Ever a skeptic, this did not make sense to Esredes. People weren’t simply born with the capacity to become true people- they either were or were not. He had felt that emptiness inside him for all of his life, and everyone else had noticed he wasn’t real too. You could tell in the way people looked at and responded to you, that they noticed something was missing, no matter how much you tried to shapeshift around it. The insults were just one of many parts of it- stick in the mud or up somewhere specific, no fun, boring, filthy traitor, bastard, disgusting, brat, idiot, snake, manipulative, untrustworthy, and the ever present times heretic was used as an insult, that was just every day, something to absorb to prevent a real person from taking it.

Hm, Esredes thought to himself. No, he didn’t believe what all these people said, but perhaps if only to see if there was a chance in hell of their idea being logical, he considered their arguments, and tried testing them through shapeshifting. “You’re not a monster,” people often told him when he tried to say the obvious. “You’re just someone who fought for what was right and made the hard choices.” Those he loved most would tell him in soft tones how much he meant to them and how he was capable of so much more than he thought. “Please, Esredes. Live for yourself.” How would that ever be possible? He went out every day and people were immediately hostile, even if they didn’t know anything about who he was. They did not see a real person when they looked upon him, and he couldn’t magically make himself one, not like this. Strange things did happen, that was true. Like Heilyn. Heilyn was a useless bastard who hated him for being a heretic who actually did something. There was no convincing Heilyn otherwise- how could he after he had manipulated his son into helping him?

Except Esredes kept forgetting Heilyn was one of those people who never made sense. "I just don't understand why we can't just both give each other more of a chance.” Heilyn had told him during those first couple weeks of them being stuck together in the same job, with Esredes trying to torment him into quitting. “That goes for both sides. I was an ass in the past sure, but... doesn't wanting to make up for that count for something?" "You want to make up for it?" Esredes asked back with an eyebrow raise. "What motivation would you have for that besides that you're forced to now that you can't get rid of me?" "Trying to be a better person? Right my wrongs? I actually care? All of the above?" Esredes’ brow raised up even further. “You actually care about what.” “You, this, all of it?” Heilyn spoke as if this was supposed to be obvious. “Is there something wrong with that?” “…Yes? That doesn’t make any sense.” God, why did this broken stupid tall man constantly fail to have any form of sense? It frustrated him to no end. “Explain which part doesn’t make sense and I’ll gladly explain it to you.” "You claiming you care about me. I don't get it. Are you really suggesting that you give any ounce of a shit about the man you've put a dagger to, insulted relentlessly, know berated your son, and sold your soul to as your last ditch way out? Because that... is just straight up lying to yourself to make this situation more tolerable. Even I know you better than that." "And if I'm not lying? What then Esredes? I... learned a thing or two from Alastor. Changed my mind a little. Thus, I want to make up for past things said. Its that simple." Esredes just stared at Heilyn for a moment. "...Nope. That still makes the least amount of sense possible." Heilyn shook his head. “Did I... not phrase that right? I thought I was finally getting better at my shitty phrasing." "I... I don't even know. Phrasing or not, that just doesn't make sense." "I'm... pretty sure I spoke plainly? I've been told I don't make sense often because I don't do that. Or... wait. Do you just not believe it at all?" "No I don't believe it all. What reason would I have to? You already know how horrible I am." "I learned? I listened? Perceptions can change feelings you know." "What the hell are you talking about. We didn't speak between you asking me for help and now. And in that time, you've seen and heard nothing except me insulting you. You still believe me to be the devil you sold your soul to willingly." Because Heilyn could be nothing but a fucking idiot. "Alastor didn't," Heilyn replied plainly as he looked across the table at Esredes’ eyes with conviction. "He didn't and told me all that he could about you. Insisting I shouldn't hate. So I listened, and I learned, and my perception changed."

Still, he didn’t want to get it. A few days later and Esredes was bringing up the same thing. "So. You claim to have changed your mind... after Alastor told you. Which must have been after it happened. And yet, you still acknowledged me as only a devil when you sold yourself to me. You were only using me as a way out. So, I still don't really have, any sort of reason to believe you. And so I suppose that is my question. Why, Heilyn? Why does nothing about you ever make any sense? Why is it that you think in such an incomprehensibly impulsive way that I have no hope of understanding? How are you supposed to work, really? Is there any method to the madness, to how you just flounder and scream in your own head? This is a genuine question, I assure you."

Heilyn was silent for a good few moments before he finally sighed and spoke. "So, the answer is probably going to piss you off, but when we met before taking on that bitch, that was the longest period of time I'd spent in this area in ages. I was under a shitton of stress, and on top of that the song was just raging like hell in my ears. I hardly had clarity until the first time Alastor helped kill that monster. Then there was just a bit of sweet relief to ease the mind. Bottom line? I was stressed, and just pissed that nothing was going right all the while just making sure that my stupid son who got accused of murder was okay. The plan wasn't even to come back here until I heard that he had no place to go that was safe aside from my family's manor. Figured he was lost, scared, and needed me, so I took the risks and paid the prices." "Yeah. Yeah, you did. But that still doesn't answer part of the question. Do you understand why it's extremely hard to believe your claims from the other day?" "Oh yeah, I totally understand. My mind... was- is like a storm some days. And I'm like a little boat just trying to make it through. Find the eye of the storm, or have someone guide the boat to it. Alastor told me things, and that started getting me to that place. seeing you again though, while my mind was clear, I think that's when it clicked in a hundred percent on the things he said." And when Esredes asked him to elaborate, he continued on. “Well, one, I can't see Ferrant asking for your help unless he was damned sure you meant no ill will. that meant you were strictly here to help make this city better for heretics and shit post-war, right? Second, they wouldn't even let you in the city if you were as awful as I'd thought you at first. Third..." Heilyn hesitated. "You looked lost. Very lost. A little flicker in your eyes that didn't look at all like before. And I've known that kind of pain all too well myself, so I recognize it quickly. Couldn't hate after seeing that in the slightest." “When the hell did I look lost?” "Its not... a physical look. More like... a feeling you get? When you look at that person? Like... there's something important missing from their very spirit. That sort of thing." "I've always had a lot missing from my spirit. That's nothing new. And certainly not something worth deeming me unhateable." "Then take the rest of it as my answer if you don't want to take that part." "Well at that point, all you're going off of is evidential assumptions. And here's the problem with your logic. If it's based off assumptions, then it breaks apart the moment you're wrong about anything. Therefore you don't actually care, do you? You just want to know something isn't dangerous and going to stab you." Heilyn tilted his head. "Look, you didn't use my Nidhogg notes against me, you were willing to compromise and use the notes system, you realy honestly haven't done anything so far to make me actually think you're too much of a bastard. I'm willing to trust you unless you prove otherwise and frankly? I don't believe you will. You’re fine, in my book at this point.” Still, the conversation went on and on and on. “You have no evidence I’ve changed. What reason do you have to forgive anything? How am I not that shitty given everything else? I don’t believe I meet your definition of not dangerous, you know what I am capable of.” Thing after thing Esredes threw out, forcing Heilyn to continuously keep trying to explain himself, and yet somehow by the end of the conversation, they had come out being nice to one another.

Still, Heilyn was an exception who defied logic. It didn’t matter that Alastor took his apology and said he believed he was good with little effort, or that Yulionne saw the best in him despite what happened, that Ferrant believed wholeheartedly in him, that Murielle’s adopted son of all people came to him and asked if they could talk about everything they had to discuss civilly, that the very man who betrayed him and sold him out as a heretic came around to apologize, or that some people immediately saw him as a heroic or positive figure, included but not limited to an atoning shiny and green celebrity performer, a Garlean defector who Esredes had originally insulted, the one member of the Temple Knight Company that all hated Esredes who for some reason treated him like a real person, and a High Inquisitor of all things who praised him for his independent service before asking it of him.

The fact still remained he was an empty being, and why had the world ceased to make sense so much people kept trying to defy that? Of course his loved ones wanted to insist on a false narrative because they cared about him, but why did all these other people want to tell him so much of why they saw good in him?

Ah, that swirling red fog was annoying to see through. You are, you aren’t. He would continue to watch the most unlikely people come to see what he wanted them to, the others see right what he knew was true, and unknown to himself, he had ceased to make just as much sense as the people around him.

I want to know what it’s like to live. I am delaying the inevitable. When will it finally come? I’m a monster. I’m not a monster, can’t you look around you and see how many worse people are right there? I merely did what was right, and you are assigning more blame to it because it’s not your side. You shouldn’t be around me. You can trust me, I’m here to help you.

I’m still not a real person, was the one thing that remained when the various voices came and passed. As he hyperfocused and leeched on to the next person to come along and give him praise to fill that incessant hunger in that never ending cycle, he certainly must be at peace with it.

The world had stopped making sense. He had stopped making sense. And while Esredes could not fully give up his nature of trying to make sense of things, he ultimately decided to exist in a nebula, for now. Wind blew past him, and dubiety persisted like an old friend, wrapping itself all around the man with a whisper of I told you so.

—-

@thecalmnessandthestorms / @heartofthefury Heilyn, Alastor, Ferrant, Murielle, Trystan (unnamed mention), Raulin (unnamed mention)

@eternal-finis Yulionne

Zenith Alphinoix (unnamed mention)

Fern Cinnieux (unnamed mention)

@emeraldeorzean Kalas (unnamed mention)

Forte Tertia (unnamed mention)

#writing #in action #ffxivwrite2021 #heilyn #alastor #ferrant #trystan #kalas #tertia #murielle #yulionne #alphinoix #cinnieux #raulin #screenshots #fancy coat attire

5 notes · View notes

cadenreigns · 5 years ago

Text

Infinity Train Book 2 Night 1 Thoughts

Yep, doing this again. I still sometimes get hits on the book 1 posts so I figured someone must like them. Most of it will be after a page break so it won’t take up your whole feed, but let’s start with this neat tone setter.

Mirror Tulip messed them up.

The series of cars MT visited for the opening was a pretty good way to show her doing what she set out to do at the end of her episode in book 1. Though I did prefer her short hair, I guess I’m not in charge.

You are not too good for carrot ho-downs!

If anyone remembers my post about the chrome car night last season, I really wanted them to explore the reflection/bladerunner possibilities of the mirror guys. So this whole sequence is my jam.

The unhatted one wants sempai to notice him so bad. I’m rooting for you, Hatless.

When the animal of the house picks the one non-animal person there to glom onto.

And I thought regular Tulip was graceful.

Meme this.

Pictures taken seconds before disaster.

Ugh, this is going to become a shipping thing, isn’t it?

Yep.

Oh, that’s definitely the intent. Or at least what the internet has taught me to expect of the intent.

Overall the first episode of the night got me really excited for things to come, though the second episode was a little less exciting. As far as the reflection rules go I hope they expand on them at some point since eyes and MT herself reflect one could argue anywhere that’s not utterly black would allow the Flex to jump out of her or someone around them, but that might just be too realistic a rule for this kind of thing.

I’m glad Jesse’s a different kind of character from Tulip, though that’s not to say I’m super fond of him. He’s that guy who has to be friends with everyone or at least make everyone get along, and it would seem that’s exactly what got him picked up by the train. His number goes up and down during the tree section; up when he’s trying to get the feuding families to get along and down in moments where he seemingly gives up, if only momentarily. I like that he’s basically got the opposite problem of Tulip. While she basically needed to learn to get along with other people, he needs to learn that not everyone can get along or at least doesn’t want/need to.

#Infinity Train #tulip #jesse #infinity train tulip #mirror tulip #MT #infinity train jesse #screenshots #episode thoughts

85 notes · View notes

hxhhasmysoul · 5 years ago

Note

Salty ask meme 3, 5 and 6 for hxh.

3. Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion?

Yes, I have blocked people too, though the latter was more about their behaviour within the fandom and towards others, and not as much about their opinions/meta about the canon.

I unfollowed someone because their takes on Gon were unbearable, and Gon is very dear to me so there is a threshold i have when it comes to people theorising about him and making up hcs about him. I don’t mind if people have different opinions about him then me but if someone has a lot of opinions that i find meh or wrong and they post them frequently it feels like a time to unfollow to spare myself frustration.

the same goes to people who post too much stuff about “killua’s fashion”.

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

I wrote about leopika here.

So I’ll mention Amanary. I never liked this pairing from the moment I saw fandom ship it, because it’s a lazy proximity pairing based on nothing. they had a few scenes together so well, let’s ship them together so that no one remains unshipped. Amane is boring as hell, and Canary deserves better - i’m very biased here, because i love Canary to bits.

And actually Pakumachi. I like neither of these characters or their designs, so in the beginning when i saw them shipped i just shrugged, because not my characters if people want to ship them then it’s their thing. but the fact that some people in the fandom push them as this “uwu pure lesbians can do no evil couple” makes me want to throw up.

6. Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?

not really. I hate pairings like hisogon or killumi and there is nothing the fandom could do to make me unhate them. not that the fandom is trying, most of the fandom agrees on this.

my friends jyu and ben made me care for and enjoy some ships i’ve never expected to care for or enjoy so there’s that. but these weren’t ships i hated, just ones i haven’t considered or cared about.

#answering asks #salty asks #thank you for asking #tumblr didn't show me any notifications about new asks #what the hell #i just found them because i misclicked while refreshing the dash XD

1 note · View note

ontherockswithsalt · 6 years ago

Text

A Made Man

Jamie and Noble have quite a road ahead of them. The story continues here with Part 3, picking up exactly one week after Jamie’s return to New York.

Summary: To accept is to believe in the realness of something. Jamie and Noble find themselves immersed in a reality they’re ready to stop denying. But it’s tangled and difficult and sometimes it’s easier to keep it a secret.

Part 3 in a series (following The Penthouse and A Guy With A Secret), A Made Man follows Jamie Reagan and Noble Sanfino as they figure out how to accept something that’s anything but simple, but definitely real.

Rating: M (natch)

Chapter 1.

“Who would hate me the most?”

Amused at Noble’s question, the clear, deep note of his voice floating through the speakers of my laptop, I cross my room to put a stack of folded t-shirts away. “No one,” I tell him. “You’re kind of unhateable, man. Why do you assume anyone in my family would hate you?”

“Ahh, lets see--” He starts, as if he’s choosing from a list of reasons.

“Alright, fair enough.” I chuckle. There’s so many layers to this arrangement, to Noble Sanfino and me and our low-key relationship, that I wouldn’t even know where to begin to explain it all to my family. Living thirty years never engaging in anything romantic with a man, never having a boyfriend, never suggesting to my Irish-Catholic family that I might be interested in one would be enough of a shock.

Add to that the fact that this man is someone I met while working undercover -- who’s the son of a pretty prominent capo in one of New York’s deeply rooted Italian crime families -- and it’s not exactly a love story I feel like reminiscing about at Sunday dinner: Yeah, so he has another identity in WITSEC because he and his sister agreed to testify against their whole family -- the one who put a hit out on me, and tried to kill him. And he shouldn’t even try to show his face in New York again, but he does anyway, and we meet up and go to dinner and spend the night together. Aren’t you happy for me, oh family comprised of a seriously intense amount of law enforcement?

So that hasn’t happened yet.

With his computer in his kitchen, I see him making trips back and forth to the refrigerator before he stations himself at the counter to continue his chopping task. The distinct sound of his knife rhythmically slicing down onto his cutting board pauses for a moment with his next question. “Would your sister like me?” He wonders.

A half smile slants on my face as I consider it. “Yes. She’d be pretty sympathetic about what you had to go through. And I’m sure she’d be very... encouraging.”

“How so?”

Over a thoughtful deep breath, I ponder it and work to sort through the pile of laundry on my bed. “Of us. Not wanting me to miss out on something because I was, you know, scared to act on it. Plus she’d think you’re hot.”

“Nice,” he says appreciatively.

“And Danny wouldn’t hate you at all.”

“No?”

“He lives to bust my chops, so just side with him and you’ll be golden.”

We talk as if he’s going to meet my family sooner than later. But it’s more like we’re imagining, building a little world in the abstract someday where boy meets boy, boy falls for boy, boy brings boy home to meet Dad, and we get some kind of happy ending. It won’t happen, so I’d rather have the partial satisfaction of fantasizing about it instead.

“He’s probably the one I’d be most nervous about,” Noble admits.

“Nah,” I dismiss it. “Danny’s a softy when it comes down to it. If you’re gonna be nervous about anyone, it should be my dad.”

He groans. “Oh right. Your dad was in on that whole take-down, wasn’t he?”

“I mean, technically he’s in on everything.”

“How high up in the ranks is your dad, by the way?”

The question makes me pause before I slowly slide the dresser drawer closed. Scratching fingertips along my jaw, I turn back to face the laptop screen and ease onto my bed. “Pretty high up,” I laugh.

“Great,” he complains, sliding some sort of chopped vegetables off his cutting board and into a container before moving onto the next one.

I drag the computer onto my lap and sink down against my pillows. “He’s the Commissioner. Of the NYPD.” It feels weird to tell him because I never know what kind of significance that title holds for people who aren’t immersed in this cop life. “I don’t think I ever told you.”

His brows draw together and he narrows his gaze. “Like… what does that mean exactly?”

“The Commissioner is just… the one who oversees the whole department.”

“So he’s in charge.”

“Yeah.”

“Of the entire police department. Of New York City.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Dude.”

“I know. Don’t get hung up on it, though, it’s okay.”

“So… he’s like the don of the NYPD.”

A loud laugh rumbles in my chest and I tip back against the pillows. “If you want to think of it that way.”

“If the NYPD were the Italian mafia.” He chuckles. “Would that comparison not go over so well with him?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. When you meet him, give it a try,” I joke. “See what happens.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Speaking of, I need to head over there for dinner soon.”

He finishes up at the sink, dries off his hands on a dish towel and then turns to lean against the counter. “I bet they missed you last week.”

“Something tells me I’m going to catch heat for it, too.”

“Tell them you were getting your dick sucked by this hot landscaper in Miami--”

Swinging my arm across my face, I shake my head into the bend of my elbow. “Oh my god,” I groan.

“No. We did more than that. Don’t cheapen it.”

I just let my shoulders shake with weary laughter.

“See, I don’t have that problem,” he muses. “We managed to tell my whole family in one easy confession. Boom, done.”

My arm falls back down and I look at him on the screen, my lips flicking upward with a sad smile.

He’s right. Bianca is all he has anymore, a jarring one-eighty from the life he had, surrounded by dozens of people who considered him family, the ones who came out for him when he opened his restaurant back in New York, proud and even gracious toward me. To have that your whole life, then lose it entirely is something I can’t fathom.

“Yeah I guess your sister is a good one to have around.”

“I’m having dinner with her tonight,” he says. “I’m sure she misses you.”

“What about you, huh?” I murmur.

I see the little quirk at this lips as he scratches fingers at the back of his dark wavy hair. “I miss you.” His voice gets sort of cute. Not sickenly so, but if there was someone else who overheard him, they’d certainly notice the shift in his tone. The low softness of it swells in my chest and makes it ache for a moment. “But you know that.”

“I miss you too,” I tell him.

“I’ll make you uncomfortable during dinner and text you explicit descriptions of the things I miss--”

With a knowing smirk, I nod in acceptance. “I bet you will.”

“So keep your phone on silent.” He directs a raised eyebrow at me with his warning and it amuses me.

“Why don’t you save it for when I get back home and we can talk later tonight?”

“Because I’m trying to achieve Jamie Reagan-level tease status. Some of us have to work at it.”

I laugh, already feeling the simmering pulse he’s able to elicit and it’s only going to heighten until I talk to him again. “Alright, you work at it. I’ll let you know how you do.”

#jamie x noble #newwwww story time!

21 notes · View notes

dfroza · 3 years ago

Text

Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for july 25 of 2021 with Proverbs 25 and Psalm 25, accompanied by Psalm 36 for the 36th day of Summer and Psalm 56 for day 206 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 25]

Solomon’s proverbs, published by the scribes of King Hezekiah:

God conceals the revelation of his word

in the hiding place of his glory.

But the honor of kings is revealed

by how they thoroughly search out

the deeper meaning of all that God says.

The heart of a king is full of understanding,

like the heavens are high and the ocean is deep.

If you burn away the impurities from silver,

a sterling vessel will emerge from the fire.

And if you purge corruption from the kingdom,

a king’s reign will be established in righteousness.

Don’t boast in the presence of a king

or promote yourself by taking a seat at the head table

and pretending that you’re someone important.

For it is better for the king to say to you,

“Come, you should sit at the head table,”

than for him to say in front of everyone,

“Please get up and move—

you’re sitting in the place of the prince.”

Don’t be hasty to file a lawsuit.

By starting something you wish you hadn’t,

you could be humiliated when you lose your case.

Don’t reveal another person’s secret

just to prove a point in an argument,

or you could be accused of being a gossip

and gain a reputation for being one

who betrays the confidence of a friend.

Winsome words spoken at just the right time

are as appealing as apples gilded in gold

surrounded with silver.

When you humbly receive wise correction,

it adorns your life with beauty

and makes you a better person.

A reliable, trustworthy messenger

refreshes the heart of his master,

like a gentle snowfall at harvest time.

Clouds that carry no water

and a wind that brings no refreshing rain—

that’s what you’re like when you boast

of a gift that you don’t have.

[Wisdom Practices Self-Control]

Use patience and kindness when you want to persuade leaders

and watch them change their minds right in front of you.

For your gentle wisdom will quell the strongest resistance.

When you discover something sweet,

don’t overindulge and eat more than you need,

for excess in anything can make you sick of even a good thing.

Don’t wear out your welcome

by staying too long at the home of your friends,

or they may get fed up with always having you there

and wish you hadn’t come.

Lying about and slandering people

are as bad as hitting them with a club,

or wounding them with an arrow,

or stabbing them with a sword.

You can’t depend on an unreliable person

when you really need help.

It can be compared to biting down on an abscessed tooth

or walking with a sprained ankle.

When you sing a song of joy to someone suffering

in the deepest grief and heartache,

it can be compared to disrobing in the middle of a blizzard

or rubbing salt in a wound.

Is your enemy hungry? Buy him lunch.

Win him over with your kindness.

Your surprising generosity will awaken his conscience

and God will reward you with favor.

As the north wind brings a storm,

saying things you shouldn’t brings a storm to any relationship.

It’s better to live all alone in a rundown shack

than to share a castle with a crabby spouse!

Like a drink of cool water refreshes a weary, thirsty soul,

so hearing good news revives the spirit.

When a lover of God gives in and compromises with wickedness,

it can be compared to contaminating a stream with sewage

or polluting a fountain.

It’s good to eat sweet things,

but you can take too much.

It’s good to be honored,

but to seek words of praise is not honor at all.

If you live without restraint

and are unable to control your temper,

you’re as helpless as a city with broken-down defenses,

open to attack.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 25 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 25]

A song of David.

ALWAYS I will lift up my soul to You, Eternal One,

BECAUSE You are my God and I put my trust in You.

Do not let me be humiliated.

Do not let my enemies celebrate at my expense.

CERTAINLY none of the people who rely on You will be shamed,

but those who are unfaithful, who intentionally deceive,

they are the ones who will be disgraced.

DEMONSTRATE Your ways, O Eternal One.

Teach me to understand so I can follow.

EASE me down the path of Your truth.

FEED me Your word

because You are the True God who has saved me.

I wait all day long, hoping, trusting in You.

GRACIOUS Eternal One, remember Your compassion; rekindle Your concern and love,

which have always been part of Your actions toward those who are Yours.

Do not HOLD against me the sins I committed when I was young;

instead, deal with me according to Your mercy and love.

Then Your goodness may be demonstrated in all the world, Eternal One.

IMMENSELY good and honorable is the Eternal;

that’s why He teaches sinners the way.

With JUSTICE, He directs the humble in all that is right,

and He shows them His way.

KIND and true are all the ways of the Eternal

to the people who keep His covenant and His words.

O LORD, the Eternal, bring glory to Your name,

and forgive my sins because they are beyond number.

MAY anyone who fears the Eternal

be shown the path he should choose.

His soul will NOT only live in goodness,

but his children will inherit the land.

ONLY those who stand in awe of the Eternal will have intimacy with Him,

and He will reveal His covenant to them.

PERPETUALLY my focus takes me to the Eternal

because He will set me free from the traps laid for me.

QUIETLY turn Your eyes to me and be compassionate toward me

because I am lonely and persecuted.

RAPIDLY my heart beats as troubles build on the horizon.

Come relieve me from these threats.

SEE my troubles and my misery,

and forgive all my sins.

TAKE notice of my enemies.

See how there are so many of them

who hate me and would seek my violent destruction.

Watch over my soul,

and let me face shame and defeat

UNASHAMED because You are my refuge.

May honor and strong character keep me safe.

VIGILANTLY I wait for You, hoping, trusting.

Save Israel from all its troubles,

O True God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 25 (The Voice)

[Psalm 36]

For the worship leader. A song of David, the Eternal’s servant.

Sin speaks in the depths of the soul

of those who oppose God; they listen closely to its urgings.

You’ll never see the fear of God

in their eyes,

For they flatter themselves—

convinced their sin will remain secret, undiscovered, and so unhated.

They speak words of evil and deceit.

Wisdom and goodness, they deserted long ago.

Even as they sleep, they are plotting mischief.

They journey along a path far from anything good,

gravitating to trouble, welcoming evil.

Your love, O Eternal One, towers high into the heavens.

Even the skies are lower than Your faithfulness.

Your justice is like the majestic mountains.

Your judgments are as deep as the oceans, and yet in Your greatness,

You, O Eternal, offer life for every person and animal.

Your strong love, O True God, is precious.

All people run for shelter under the shadow of Your wings.

In Your house, they eat and are full at Your table.

They drink from the river of Your overflowing kindness.

You have the fountain of life that quenches our thirst.

Your light has opened our eyes and awakened our souls.

May Your love continue to grow deeply in the lives of all who know You.

May Your salvation reach every heart committed to do right.

Give me shelter from prideful feet that hunt me down

and wicked hands that push me from Your path.

It is there, far away from You, that the wicked will be forced down,

face to the earth, never again returning to their feet.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 36 (The Voice)

with these lines mirrored in The Message:

How exquisite your love, O God!

How eager we are to run under your wings,

To eat our fill at the banquet you spread

as you fill our tankards with Eden spring water.

You’re a fountain of cascading light,

and you open our eyes to light.

Keep on loving your friends;

do your work in welcoming hearts.

Don’t let the bullies kick me around,

the moral midgets slap me down.

Send the upstarts sprawling

flat on their faces in the mud.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 36:7-12 (The Message)

[Psalm 56]

Trusting in God

For the Pure and Shining One

King David’s golden song of instruction composed when the Philistines captured him in Gath To the tune of “The Oppression of the Princes to Come”

Lord, show me your kindness and mercy,

for these men oppose and oppress me all day long.

Not a day goes by without somebody harassing me.

So many in their pride trample me under their feet.

But in the day that I’m afraid, I lay all my fears before you

and trust in you with all my heart.

What harm could a man bring to me?

With God on my side, I will not be afraid of what comes.

The roaring praises of God fill my heart

as I trust his promises.

Day after day cruel critics distort my words;

constantly they plot my collapse.

They lurk in the dark, waiting, spying on my movements in secret

to take me by surprise, ready to take my life.

They don’t deserve to get away with this!

Look at their wickedness, their injustice, Lord.

In your fierce anger cast them down to defeat.

You’ve kept track of all my wandering and my weeping.

You’ve stored my many tears in your bottle—not one will be lost.

For they are all recorded in your book of remembrance.

The very moment I call to you for a father’s help

the tide of battle turns and my enemies flee.

This one thing I know: God is on my side!

I trust in the Lord. And I praise him!

I trust in the Word of God. And I praise him!

What harm could man do to me?

With God on my side, I will not be afraid of what comes.

My heart overflows with praise to God and for his promises.

I will always trust in him.

So I’m thanking you with all my heart,

with gratitude for all you’ve done.

I will do everything I’ve promised you, Lord.

For you have saved my soul from death

and my feet from stumbling

so that I can walk before the Lord

bathed in his life-giving light.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 56 (The Passion Translation)

0 notes

minteagalaxea · 7 years ago

Text

Meraki | Kim Jonghyun

Meraki (n.)

mA・'rak・E

Origin: Greek (μεράκι)

The soul, creativity, or love put into something; the essence of yourself that is put into your work.

♥ Kim Jonghyun is struggling with a piece for class. Luckily, he gets help from a ballerina he sees every afternoon.

I wrote a good ten thousand words and then some. Yours truly.

Minami Karai Hanori was a brilliant ballet dancer. By the time she was four, she knew how to darn a pointe shoe that belonged to other dancers with relative ease. By the time she was six, she knew the entirety of the two largest musicals in their academy: Swan Lake and The Nutcracker. By the time she was eight, she received her first pair of pointe shoes—a pair of Freed’s at a mere size of 10½. By the time she was twelve, she knew what shoes suited her best, along with the ribbon and threads she liked to use. By the time she was sixteen, she earned herself a spot at a prestigious conservatory. There wasn’t a single doubt that Minami was one of the best, and she knew it.

Kim Jonghyun was an impressive musician. A young man with plenty of abilities, he knew how to play a litany of instruments that may or may not include piano, trombone, drums, flute, clarinet, tuba, and saxophone. He was the resident pianist for the ballet class. He was intelligent and gentle—a favorite of most, if not, all, teachers. He knew how to dance, along with other musically inclined abilities, such as dancing, and even singing. When he was eight, he knew the entire Moonlight Sonata at eight, Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu at ten, and a slew of more of intense, technical pieces at adolescence. He was considered a genius, dubbed “JR” (short for Junior Royal) in high school, though it left when he entered the conservatory.

Jonghyun was someone that Minami described as “unhateable”. With a gentle and humble demeanor, it was impossible to hate him. He was always apologizing and blaming himself on the constant, whether or not it was his fault. Often considered to be some precious angel that nobody seemed to deserve. Minami often said that any girl would be blessed to have someone like him. He had black hair, usually with bangs, although he had occasionally dyed his hair a silver-gainsboro grey. That was her favorite hair color on him, as it had been a bright shade of platinum blonde, and it was rather atrocious, in her opinion.

Minami—often addressed as Karai—was someone that you would like, but rather, a challenge to not feel envious of her. With her long light caramel tresses that rested at the small of her back, usually in a bun, and small almond eyes, she attracted a lot of attention from everyone. She felt like she was a trophy to most of the young men, and a product of envy to the girls she had ballet class with. Jonghyun observed that she was graceful, something reminiscent of a nymph or a gypsy. Karai was a bright kid with a smile that could kill anyone.

Sometimes, they wondered how they worked together so well, especially since they weren’t exactly the most similar when it came to personalities—where Jonghyun was quiet and self-deprecating, Karai was cheerful and optimistic, even if she wasn’t as loud as her rambunctious friends in her circle, which was quite large, where Jonghyun’s was minimal, only with his high school friends, and other mere acquaintances. While Jonghyun was gentle to everyone, cautious of people’s sensitivity, Minami never hesitated in telling people the truth, never sugarcoating her words, something that many people remarked contrasted her innocent face.

Monday Afternoon

Minami entered the room, donning a grey sports bra and leggings, with tights underneath. Her long hair was up in a giant bun atop her head, and she was carrying a bag with her pointe shoes and supplies. Taking a seat on the bare ground, she began to cut and sew ribbon onto her shoes that she had pancaked a few days ago with calamine lotion.

“Those are pretty,” Minami heard a voice compliment her work. Looking up to see the charming piano man, she smiled softly.

“Thanks. They also can hurt like a bitch,” she remarked, resuming her sewing, rolling out some twine and a curved upholstery needle when she was done with sewing her ribbon. She grabbed an X-acto knife., and began to shave off the shank at the sides to make it easier for her to move. Following afterwards, Minami began to darn her box with twine, doubling up as she did so. Jonghyun took a seat on the floor in front of her, eyeing her work, a curious expression on his face.

“It’s to help not slip during class or performing,” she answered, observing his piquing interest in her shoes.

“How are they so matte?” Jonghyun inquired, his smile widening when Minami looked up at him with her radiating smile.

“I pancaked them with calamine lotion,” she responded, grimacing at the thought of it, “It’s to help blend in with your tights.” He nodded.

“Is it just the two of us in here?” he asked. Minami nodded once more.

“I asked Romanov to let me use the ballet room after my classes. If I want a part in the upcoming ballet, I have to work on my technique. You?” she stated. Jonghyun shrugged.

“My music composition teacher wants me to compose a song,” Jonghyun answered, “Maybe you can help me?”

“How would I do that?” Minami retorted playfully.

“Dance to it. I might get inspired,” he countered, watching her darn her other shoe, before wearing them, tieing her ribbon right at her ankles. Jonghyun began to play what he had began to compose in Applied Music 201. He watched as the ballet dancer began to move, her feet kicking off the ground into a slew of pirouettes and other moves that he didn’t know the terminology of. All he knew was that she looked ethereal, moving around without much hesitation.

When he stopped playing, the first thing he heard was a sigh from the dancer. “Are you okay?” he fretted, rushing over to her. Minami simply smiled at him, and nodded.

“I just need to adjust my piqués. The transitions from the footwork aren’t as smooth,” she noted. He sent her an encouraging smile.

“That was great nonetheless,” he praised.

“Thanks. Your song is great so far,” Minami returned. “Though,” she thought, finding an answer, “It could use some strings and some synth.” The music major nodded.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Do you want to run it again?” Jonghyun suggested. Minami agreed, and they began to run the song for the second time.

Tuesday Morning

Minami entered the ballet room with her friends, who were overly concerned regarding her whereabouts that afternoon. Dancer in question didn’t say, making an excuse, preferring to keep the fact to herself, something intimate that no one needed to know.

Dropping her bag onto the cool floor, she began to lace up her pointe shoes, the box already broken in, something that her friends didn’t fail to note. However, they settled for saying nothing, fearing to see their friend upset over something trivial. So, they averted the topic to something else.

“Hey, Karai?” requested Qien-Na, one of her friends.

“Yeah?” the girl responded, her tone still light, but all of the girls knew that she was probably not in the mood to be pestered over the topic of how her shoes were broken in so early, or where could she possibly have been to have done it.

“Can you darn my shoes?” The response she earned was a groan. “Please?” Qien-Na begged, holding out twenty dollars. Grumbling, Karai grabbed the bill, Qien-Na’s shoes, her curved upholstery needle, and twine, and began to darn them, moving away from the group to a place along the mirror to finish darning them.

“You already wrecked your pair from yesterday?” the pianist teased, plopping himself right in front of her as per usual. Karai laughed.

“It’s actually my friend’s shoes. She begged me to darn them for her. Twenty bucks, actually.”

“That has to be a pretty good bargain,” he commented, their conversation from yesterday slowing incorporating itself into their current one. It wasn’t until Professor Romanov—who all the dancers simply addressed as Romanov—entered that all the students went to their respective places on the barre, and Karai handed Qien-Na her pointe shoes. “Thanks,” Qien-Na whispered as they were doing their battements.

“You owe me,” Karai hissed, “Big time.” Their small conversation ceased the moment Romanov looked at them.

When their stretching ended, Romanov began to speak. “So as you know, today is your assessment. Your song of choice will be determined by one of your fellow students.” Everyone looked hopeful at the opportunity to control everyone else’s fate in the class. “Miss Hanori,” Romanov decided, settling his eyes on the petite(ish) dancer. Karai turned to JR.

“Malaguena. Ernesto Lecuona, Andalucia Suite, Movement Six, Written in 1928,” she chose, her eyes boring into JR’s with a strong sense of authority that he couldn’t do possibly anything more than to obey her command, and play the song of choice.

The piece wasn’t technically challenging, JR realized, as he played the piece again and again and again until his fingers hurt. Rather, he saw, the piece required drama. He saw it was odd for ballet dancers to be dancing to such an intense work—something more fit for a paso doble—rather than something a little more demanding. Yet, JR finds, was the purpose of choosing a song like this. The piece required expression, flair, and the feet to execute it properly, but it was so off-putting when they first began that it was quite hellish to even get past the introduction of the entire song. However, he never faltered, keeping up with the beat, never missing so much as a note.

When they were done, everyone was exhausted, and Romanov wasn’t completely pleased. “Do you guys want the principal roles in the ballet?” he said, his low tone inflicting shivers in all the students. “You guys are going to need to push yourselves until you guys can’t take it anymore.” Everyone nodded in fear. Romanov sighed, before proceeding with his explanation, “I have a night class for you guys if you want more lessons. Some students have requested to use this particular dance studio in the afternoons, but I’m okay with you asking the other teachers to borrow their own studios on your own time. I am not your personal owl that delivers messages on whim. Do it on your own time. You guys are dismissed.” Everyone packed their bags and left to their next class.

Karai and JR shared a look, something that conveyed a silent message: See you after classes.

Tuesday Afternoon

Minami headed in the room, taking out another pair of pointe shoes that she had prepared the night before. She began to recreate her bun, braiding it at the sides before wrapping it around like a flower in the center of her head. Her lips curled slightly into a frown when she had to sew in the ribbons.

“Your shoes already wrecked?” Minami heard the familiar voice of the resident pianist tease playfully. The response he earned was a laugh, something mellifluous and more endearing than anything. “How are they black?” Jonghyun inquired, feeling the silk satin ballet shoe that had recently been dyed black (more like spray painted). They were soft, smooth, and they felt sleek and professional.

Minami shrugged. “We spray painted them. Well, I did, and I did them for my friends. They can’t dye their shoes that well,” she explained, her tone amused, yet they carried undertones of resentment. The tone didn’t go unnoticed by Jonghyun.

“You don’t seem too happy about that,” he remarked. Minami shook her head no.

“It’s not that I don’t like them, because I do, it’s because I don’t like to have to keep doing things for them when they’re perfectly capable of doing it themselves,” she stated, rather bluntly, scaring the male for a moment; it was a different side of her that not many people saw, but Jonghyun liked it nonetheless.

“You ready?” he asked, watching as she tied her ribbon. She nodded, and got on her feet, the familiar beat of the song creating a familiar choreography influenced by muscle memory and the flowing beats. Minami’s feet moved on her own, strong and graceful and dainty and controlled. However, she stopped moving when she felt something off.

Jonghyun played, but he stopped playing the moment he didn’t hear the almost soothing feeling of the pointe shoes grazing the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Are you?” she responded, tilting her head to the side slightly. He shrugged.

“I don’t know how to play this emotionally. My professor said it was good, but I need to put more emotion into playing it,” he revealed, flopping onto the hard floor of the ballet room.

“So, what’s your problem?” Minami was awarded with a sigh.

“I don’t know what emotion I have to play with.” She smiled.

“Play with the emotion you originally wrote the song with. And if you can’t know, then play with emotion that you feel like the piece should be played with.” He stared at her, a puzzled expression on his face, which gave her more incentive to elaborate, “Play the song with the emotion that you want people to feel. If you want people to feel sad, then you would play it with a sad tone. If you want people to feel the need to love someone, then you play it like you’re dedicating it to someone.” He broke into a soft grin

“How do you so much about this?” Jonghyun inquired, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“I had to learn that when I started dancing. My ballet teacher told me that if I want to succeed, then I would have to learn how to wear my heart on my sleeve when I perform so people will empathize with my emotions. I suppose this is something universal,” Minami chose after a while of thinking her words out to help him comprehend her meaning.

They stayed like that for a while, on their backs, staring at each other, soft smiles and laughter pouring out of their lips, before sitting up, and getting back to work.

Wednesday Morning

Karai’s feet brushed against the ground as her partner, Hong Eunki, dragged her across the classroom. JR was playing Debussy’s Arabesque No. 2. Their routine seemed something that they had individually choreographed, clashing with their strong personalities, yet, when they were placed together, it suited it. Their own arabesques were poised and proper, not lacking any bit of structure. He was impressed at how their dance came to be, when Karai hadn’t practiced with anyone other than herself.

JR supposed that they had discussed a common motif, as they did a few weeks ago, if he could remember properly. It had nothing of the overused romantic performances he saw prior (he was actually sick of it at this point). Rather, the romance was subtle, there but not there. The affection was present, but also not. It was clear to him as he saw from his peripheral vision, but the next moment was unclear. He thought that was made the performance so splendid. The fact that he didn’t know what was going on, left having to wonder what was going to happen next.

When their performance was done, he was left with a feeling of melancholy. It was then that JR understood Karai’s words from the day prior. She fulfilled the emotion of desperation and longing, and JR understood the reason why when he recalled the choreography. The role Eunki played, was a ghost, her deceased lover. He was positive that her character found peace afterwards. JR smiled at Karai hugging Eunki, and she took a seat on the floor next to him.

“That was amazing,” he praised the girl as she rested her head against his knee.

“So tired,” she murmured, touching her waist, wincing when she felt the bruises. It didn’t go unnoticed by JR, who rubbed her waist when Romanov was discussing the ballet and the rubric for determining the principal dancers. He made eye contact with one of Karai’s friends, who gave him a knowing look, before making her way out with Eunki, her partner, Zhu Zheng-Ting, and the rest of her friends. Karai struggled to stand, JR holding her steady as she rose from her collapsed position on the floor, escorting-slash-carrying her to her next class.

Wednesday Afternoon

The ballet room teemed with sweat and blood and tension and every miniscule thing in between as the sound of a piano and a hard pair of pointe shoes. Jonghyun was banging on the keys with power, Minami was slightly worried about the piano itself. On the contrary, Jonghyun was preoccupied with the ballerina’s shoes—they were wearing down already. So after he played where he stopped writing, he stated something.

“Your shoes look like they’re wearing down quickly.” Minami peered down to see that some of the fabric was already tearing off from her box. She simply grabbed a knife from her bag, cutting the fabric and discarding it, before returning to work. Jonghyun watched how her feet were shaking, subtle, but there. He rushed over there, holding her arms to keep herself steady. “Look at me,” he commanded, his tone gentle and soft around her. Minami looked up, staring into his warm brown eyes. “Take a rest.” She indignantly shook her head, causing him to sigh

“Then let me help you. You look like you’re going to collapse,” he chastised. She nodded. Jonghyun pressing a song on his phone gently setting it down on the ground. He never once let go of Minami’s hand, helping her steady herself. Unconsciously, he felt his body moving with hers, albeit with more hip hop style. She didn’t seem to mind, thankful to have another aspect to add into her choreography. They ended up in a rather intimate position, with her en pointe, pressed tightly into Jonghyun, who had his hands on the small of her back, and Minami’s hands on his chest. They stared at each other, laughing slightly. Jonghyun set her down on the ground, helping her unwrap her shoes and throw them into her bag.

“Can you stand still?” asked Jonghyun, who was hugging her waist. She was about to nod, but her knees gave out in front of her, forcing the pianist to catch her. He observed her limp legs and purpling bruises all over her body. He sighed sadly, before he watched Minami attempt to force her body up and away from him, but Jonghyun refused He lifted her up and helped her get into his bathroom.

“Can you get me my bag?” she asked, earning herself a smile when he handed her her bag, which contained a spare change of clothes. When she finished her bath, Minami used her arms to get onto Jonghyun’s bed, texting her roommates that she was spending the night at her friend’s place because they were working on a project. She wasn’t completely lying about it; the only thing that she never mentioned was who she was spending the night with.

Suddenly, she felt something being wrapped around her waist. She woke up to see Jonghyun diligently wrapping his a bandage around her waist. He seemed to notice her eyes on his, and he gave her a smile, whispering for her to fall asleep, then grabbing his laptop to work on his assignments.

Thursday Morning

Karai struggled to get out of JR’s bed in the morning, looking around to see that he fell asleep on the floor. Wincing at her body, she draped a blanket over him to keep him warm before meandering her way to the bathroom, changing into her ballet clothes and brushing her teeth. When she was done, she shuffled quietly to JR’s desk, fishing for a piece of paper that looked presentable for her to write a note.

I’ll see you in ballet class. Don’t stress out too much.

Hope you had a good rest. You need it!

- ♥

JR woke up, looking still groggy, but he was surprised to see a neatly folded bed, and as he began to brush his teeth, he saw the note on his stand. Smiling slightly, he went and changed and made his way to the ballet class, where he saw Karai’s friends irking her about what happened last night. The dancer could barely move her body, and Romanov, who arrived early, had made sit out due to her prominent injuries that was impossible to cover up with any bit of makeup. He gave her a look, hearing her say, “I got to go.”

Albeit slowly, she made her way to him, easily greeted with his arms that pulled her onto his lap, giving Romanov a quick look to refer to his current situation. The teacher gave him a knowing glance, but nodding, almost as if he didn’t need Jonghyun’s assistance for the day. Not that he minded, obviously. JR was glad for his day off of the piano.

The pair spent the class watching music videos that were aesthetically pleasing. They watched as Hong Eunki and Zhu Zheng-Ting—”A couple, I kid you not,” Karai had informed him quietly—dance with such passion and emotion, that it make Karai smile a bit, despite her injury. JR smiled at the ballerina, and he began to undo her bun, and began to rebraid chunks of her hair as she began playing a game on his phone, beating some of his high scores.

“How are you so good at this?” he inquired, watching her tap the screen with ease. She shrugged, but winced in slight pain.

“I have this game on my phone. I just play in my lectures when I have free time,” was Karai’s answer, handing him back his phone when Romanov dismissed them.

“I’ll see you later?” JR suggested, earning himself a smile that he couldn’t help but reciprocate.

“Yeah,” she responded, having her friend—Qien-Na if he remembered properly—help her to class.

Thursday Afternoon

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Minami’s much kinder friend, Na-Rae, questioned. Minami nodded.

“I’ll be fine. I’m working with a friend of mine on a project. If anything happens, I’ll notify you.”

“Not Qien-Na?” Na-Rae stated. Minami shook her head, but gave her a hug nonetheless. For once, Minami took a seat on the piano chair, slowly creaking her fingers to the piano to play the tune she had memorized from the past few days. She heard a series of movement, but she couldn’t look up, as she was engrossed in trying to figure out the rest of the notes that Jonghyun had played the other day. Eventually, she began to play around with the song, finding a safe beat to be in as she fiddled with her pianist’s song.

She stopped at some point, and the thumping stopped. “You can play the piano?” Jonghyun asked her, taking a seat next to her. Minami gave him a shy smile.

“You never asked. I didn’t say anything,” was her answer. Jonghyun returned it, grabbing his phone, and playing a soft piano song. When she looked at him, his smile widened, holding her hand, and escorting her to the middle of the room. They were silent, the only sound being the thumping of Jonghyun’s shoes.

Their ending position was rather intimate, almost something that would be seen in a wedding photoshoot. They were laughing at their current state. “We should get to work,” she suggested, her cheeks flushing into a crimson red. “You’re dancing, though” Minami called, sending Jonghyun bright glance.

The ballerina took note of the male’s urban dance style, almost as if he grew up on the streets learning how to dance. Minami supposed that it wasn’t something that was glaringly obvious about him. He often wore long sleeved shirts and pants to hide himself from people. His moves were powerful, but subtle enough to match the movements of the song.

Jonghyun felt all of it snap into place when he began to dance. The song rang softly in his ears as his feet moved by themselves. He had to admit that she was good at modern piano, the inverse of his much more traditional learnings. He presumed that she didn’t have much time to legitimately learn the instrument, due to her small errors, but he appreciated the effort.

Friday Morning

Everyone was preparing themselves for the auditions, all of which would be performed in front of their peers. They were all fearing for their lives, especially since criticism from the other dancers wouldn’t be barred, and if he remembered correctly, somebody was bound to be in tears if they would repeat what happened the last audition.

JR was reviewing the sheet music that Romanov had given to him a few weeks ago that he had to review multiple times over to make sure he wasn’t incorporating part of his own work into the assigned pierces he was to play during auditions. He looked up to see Karai staring at him with an indescribable glint in her eyes. Mouthing a quick, “Good luck,” to him, he smiled at her with a look of adoration, before whispering it back to her. Karai sighed, but she said nothing back afterwards.

Romanov entered the studio, all the shaking stopped, and all of the students hustled to sit around the walls of the room. One by one, the professor began to call out names for the two male principals, and everyone’s once jovial faces morphed into blank stares and hardened expressions. JR was terrified at how their moods have changed so rapidly.

He did observe, though, how Karai moved closer to him on her own volition, her head resting on his knee as if it was the softest pillow in the world. He supposed that was why this ballet class were stuck here for three to four hours straight. Every hour, they would have a fifteen minute break for the dancers who haven’t went to stretch, and JR to relax his fingers.

It went by part, JR noticed. He wondered why Karai didn’t audition yet, as the two had practiced constantly. “Soloists, you guys are up.” The pianist watched as Na-Rae and Qien-Na performed a duet together, but they were subject to criticism from their best friend, who spared no kindness or cruelty with her words, just blatant statements.

Eventually, it was Karai’s turn, and JR realized that she spared no expense with polished techniques and dark undertones. It scared him a little bit, how the bright and bubbly girl from his afternoons transformed into a bold and alluring ballerina. The scene reminded him from a moment in Black Swan, something that he had watched more times than he could legitimately remember, but he loved it nonetheless.

Friday Afternoon

Minami trekked into the studio, her bag slunked over her shoulder, when she was tackled into a hug by Jonghyun. “You did great,” he praised, squeezing her tightly, “I’m proud of you.” She shook her head profusely.

“I didn’t even follow the choreography that I was given. I messed up halfway—” she rambled, but Jonghyun stopped her.

“You did fine, and nobody noticed anyway. Don’t worry so much,” he chastised her.

“The roles come out tomorrow and Sunday. I don’t know which group finds their roles first,” Minami revealed, but she shook her head, some loose hair strands flying out, “Enough about me. What about your song? How did you do?” Jonghyun smiled, observing her diversion from the topic of her audition.

“My professor said it was great. He added that with some lyrics, it could be great for the ballet,” he said. Her smile widened, hugging him tighter.

“That’s good.” She had recalled Jonghyun telling her that he was almost done with the piece, and that he would work it at home. “I can help you write some lyrics if you want,” Minami suggested.

“I’d like that very much,” Jonghyun accepted the offer, and they set off to work on the piece, Jonghyun slowly coming up with lyrics as Minami worked on her choreography diligently. She had decided to undo her bun, her mane of hair flying like crazy, but Jonghyun liked it as he was constructing his words into lyrics.

Saturday Morning

JR was sitting with his friends in the dining hall, continuing his lyrics as he drank his latte. “So, you’ve been getting attached to a ballerina,” one of his friends, Dongho, summarized. JR nodded, tapping his pencil on the paper. “Man, you have it bad for her. Do you have her phone number?” Minki questioned. He shook his head.

“It never came up in the conversation. Plus, we don’t even know each other’s names. We were too busy working to really ask.” Minhyun and Aron nodded in understanding.

“That makes sense.” Their friendly clamoring was halted temporarily when Qien-Na, Na-Rae, Eunki, Zheng-Ting, and another one of Karai’s friends, Honoka (who also had auditioned for the role of a soloist) rushed over to their table.

“Seonbae-nim, they came out! The first batch of roles were revealed! Come take a look!” Honoka said with a sense of urgency. JR grabbed reeled himself out of his seat, the other four deciding to follow him, as well. Sure enough, the lot of them were standing by a pack of other students, staring at the list of names and roles.

Principals

Jin Xue-Hong (Ki-Yoon) — Hong Eunki

Bai Lia-Hua (Hong-Jun) — Zhu Zheng-Ting

Heo Yeon-Hee (Liqin) — Hwang Sora

JR smiled when he saw that Karai’s friends landed the role they wanted. His eyes trailed down the paper to notice that the soloists weren’t posted up just yet. It was interesting to him, how the principal roles were decided much more quickly than the soloists. His eyes scrolled down to see the ensemble, happy to see that Na-Rae, Honoka, and Qien-Na landed the role of the leaders in the corps de ballet: Demon, Autumn, and Ocean Regiments, respectively.

As everyone was crying or screaming in joy or anguish, the musician felt someone hold his hand. He turned to see the familiar ballerina staring straight ahead. “It helps me calm down,” she explained, answering his unspoken question.

“You’ll get the part. I know you are,” he encouraged. Karai swerved her head to look at her friends, who were urging her to come with them. Standing on the tips of her toes, she whispered, “I’ll see you later?” into his ears, smiling when she earned herself a nod. JR watched her take depart with her friends, all of whom she congratulated wholeheartedly.

Saturday Afternoon

Minami was stretching, so she was startled when she saw Jonghyun enter the room with some of his friends. He smiled when he saw her newest pairs of pointe shoes. “They’re wrecked already?” he asked, taking the old pair to examine. The other males looked at the quote-unquote banged up shoes.

Sure enough, the pointe shoes—that she had been using all week—was tarnished beyond repair. It was evident that Minami had makeshift fixed the shoes temporarily. The sheen was long gone, even with the calamine lotion to assist in making the shoe matte. The box had the fabric tearing and black from the floor surface. Sections of her shoes were black from wear and tear. Her ribbons were fraying at the ends, and the darning had worn off.

“Considering the fact that I do four hours of pointe work every day, so why wouldn’t be wrecked?” she countered, earning herself a, “Burn,” from one of the other boys. Minami reassured, “Trust me. Some of my shoes don’t even last a class. Or a performance. Or even an act.”

“No way,” exclaimed the boy who Minami questioned for his feminine features regarding his gender. He seemed to understand her question. “I’m Choi Minki, but most people call me Ren. I’m one of his friends. I major in Fashion Design and Photography.,” he introduced, extending his hand out for a shake. She accepted the gesture, and resumed her work, but she looked up to acknowledge his presence.

“Hwang Minhyun,” called the bespectacled young man. “Law major. I attend Yonsei University.” Minami nodded.

“Kang Dongho, or Baekho. Music Production major. Pleasure to meet you,” the—for the lack of a better word—manlier-looking student.

“The pleasure is mine,” she responded naturally, her lips curved into a gentle grin. The last person introduced himself to the ballerina.

“I’m Aaron. I’m a literature major.” Minami’s eyes widened in recognition.

“You’re my barista at the campus cafe!” she exclaimed. He smiled sheepishly.

“I didn’t know you were a dance major,” he admitted. She shrugged.

“I actually thought it was relatively obvious,” she muttered, causing him to scratch the nape of his neck. She laughed.

“Anyways, I was just going to practice. You guys can watch if you want,” she offered.

“You know he can’t help you. He’s too busy writing lyrics,” Dongho pointed out. She nodded.

“It’s fine. I have a song that I need to work on, anyways.” Jonghyun nodded, and the group watched as Minami showcased the darker side of herself that was usually prevalent in ballet class and her audition for her role of choice. Jonghyun felt entranced by her performance; different from her usually technique-based pieces and her practices with the musician, Minami expressed a more emotional aspect of her that Jonghyun wasn’t sure if it was acting or legitimacy.

When she was done, the first thing Minami heard was applause. It scared her for a moment, as she was so enraptured with releasing her pain and stress that her eyes widened when she saw the five young gentlemen cheering and clapping for her. “That was incredible,” Jonghyun marveled, reeling her in for a tight hug.

“Unpolished,” she remarked back, but the pianist paid no heed to her snarky comment that was aimed to herself.

“So what? That was exactly what you needed to do. It was raw. It’s not going to be polished, but that was what made it amazing,” he reasoned, surprised at how gentle she was after the performance.

“If you insist.”

Sunday Morning

Karai was working on her dancing, monitoring her footwork as she began to do complex combinations of moves as she danced such.

“Girlie, I swear, you’ve been up at the crack of dawn breaking in your pointe shoes. Take a break,” she heard Qien-Na comment. Swerving her head, she sighed.

“I told you. I’m not hungry, Na.” Qien-Na pouted.

“Please. I’ll buy you boba,” Qien-Na bribed.

“You can’t even buy Na-Rae and Honoka a granola bar from a vending machine. What makes you think that you’re going to buy me anything, you cheapskate?” Karai snarked.

“Karai,” her fellow ballerina started, “I’ve known you for a while. You work way too hard, and you’re way too hard on yourself. So, relax a little bit. You earned it, and you deserve to take a break.” Reluctantly, Karai changed out of her clothes before making her way down to the canteen with her best friend.

Entering the large space, Karai helped herself to the breakfast bar, making some waffles coated with chocolate chips and chocolate hazelnut spread, along with a glass of strawberry milk. As she began to eat, she was reeled out of her seat by someone, making her go en pointe at an angle to slow the dragging. “Stop dragging me!” Karai called, attempting to free her hands from the person dragging her.

They eventually came to a halt at the classroom. Releasing her from her holds, Karai looked up to see that JR was smiling sheepishly. “Idiot,” she muttered, peering up to notice that Romanov has posted up the roles for the soloists.

Soloists

Amarin — Hanori Karai

Montserrat — Kang Euigeon

Venia — Cheng Xiao

JR didn’t know why she was smiling, but he hope it was good. She took a picture of the news, and made her way back to the canteen to eat her breakfast.

Sunday Afternoon

Minami made her way into the ballet studio, already enraptured with the piano music ebbing out into room. When she stepped into the room, she was greeted with the familiar smell of the dance studio—sweat, blood, brand new pointe shoes, and the like. By the piano sat Jonghyun, playing a song filled with emotion that it captivated her.

When the piece was done, the pianist turned to stare at her, a smile on her face. “I heard you got the part,” he started, eliciting a laugh from Minami.

“Who told you that?” she queried, slowly making her way over to him, Jonghyun affixing her on his lap.

“Qien-Na and Na-Rae. They said you were Romanov’s first pick, just about. It’s funny, because I knew they were talking about you, when I don’t even know your name.” The ballerina chuckled to herself.

“It is funny, actually, because I don’t know your name, either.” At the moment, they were only mere centimeters apart, their lips nearly touching. So, Minami closed the gap between them, surprising Jonghyun, but he reacted quickly. She was surprised by the honey chapstick that he used, complementing the stinging of the recently applied peppermint mocha lip balm that Jonghyun knew she always carried with her.

Their lips moved in a cadence that was just right for them, not too fast, but not agonizingly slow. Minami raked her fingers through the pianist’s hair, gently tugging on the currently grey locks. Jonghyun, on the other hand, kept his hands on the small of her back, skating his fingers up and down.

Pulling away, the two stared at each other, Minami’s eyes dazed and sated, eyes lidded. The musician’s right hand came up to caress the ballerina’s cheek, something she nuzzled into. Opening her eyes, she stared at him for a moment. “So,” Jonghyun started, tightening his hold on the shorter girl, “I never got your name.” A soft string of laughter fell from the dancer’s lips.

“Minami,” she whispered “But most people call me by my middle name, Karai.”

“Minami,” Jonghyun repeated, the name foreign on his tongue, but he never knew that he could be so fond of it. “I’m Jonghyun,” he responded.

“Well, Jonghyun,” Minami whispered, almost seductively, “The ballet class are going to watch Black Swan. Do you want to go?” Said male pulled the girl closer, making her gasp.

“No. I want to go to the dorms.” And with that, they took off to Jonghyun’s dorm, both of them making a mental note to collect their belongings later.

With the opening night in a few weeks, the couple had spent more time together than usual. Sometimes, they would spend all night writing lyrics and talking. Other days, they were dancing. There were nights where they would be up at some ungodly hour making out because that was what they tended to do when they would wake up at an ungodly hour.

Their friends wondered how their relationship escalated so quickly—Na-Rae noted that the way they talk “is almost as if they’ve known each other for years”—but they never paid too much attention to it, especially since both of their friend circles recently merged to form a giant study table during lunch.

Rehearsals weren’t much different, as everyone was worried about their own thing, and decisions were being made and being changed by the hour. Originally, Cheng-Xiao had to perform the song that Jonghyun wrote (and is still writing the lyrics, too, he kid not), but the final decision was that Minami had to perform it next to her other song, Lie. Cheng-Xiao had to teach her a part of the choreography, but Romanov had informed Minami that she had to make something to work with Euigeon—or Daniel, he was called—for the performance. Two hours later, when they were halfway into their dance, it was just going to be a solo performance by Minami.

“I swear, they need to make up their mind,” she grumbled, observing Dongho singing the distributed part.

“My love, you know how it is,” Jonghyun soothed, pressing his lips to her forehead as she nuzzled her head into his chest, her legs tossed over the arm of the chair they resided on. “This is all new to us, and to them. They’re still figuring it out.”

“We have two weeks left. We still need to get the costumes sewn, the auditorium’s still loaded with other people, and God, I still have a choreography to fix so it’s just for one person, and Daniel as support, and—” Minami murmured, earning herself a kiss because she was rambling too much for his taste.

“JR, she has every right to freak out right now. The girl is worried about her performance,” Minhyun chastised.

“I know. Plus, she’s tired. Nami hasn’t been getting much sleep because of the ballet,” he elaborated.

“What is it about?” Minki inquired curiously, Dongho making his way out of the studio to join Aron, Minhyun, and Minki, all of whom splayed on the couch in uncomfortable-looking positions. Minami looked up at Jonghyun, who answered, “It’s up to you.”

“It’s about two princes who fell in love. But, they were cursed by the witch princess, one of the prince’s betrothed, to be reunited in the next life and kill each other. However, they are protected by two guardians, but they aren’t who they seem to be. So, they are reincarnated with no memories, and their two guardians are trying to prevent them from killing each other,” she summarized after a long period of silence. A soft smile graced her lips gently, and she began to drift off, hearing the soft tune of the recorded song lull her away.

Thursday Morning—Dress Rehearsal

Opening night was Friday, and JR was watching Qien-Na lead her regiment of dancers, and smiled when the Ocean Regiment, led by Na-Rae, took their place moments later, their performance calmer than the inherently named Demon Regiment, who were dark and wild and intense. He admired their details, and their precision.

Eventually, he watched as his love went on stage with Daniel, their performance filled with a copious amount of ferocity and passionate war that kept JR on his toes. It gave a reminiscence of a pasodoble or a bull fight. However, it wasn’t like that. He observed that the conflict in the dance wasn’t that of a hurricane taking on a tsunami. It was much more deadly—a female queen cobra against a tiger. It was anyone’s game, but Daniel’s brutal strength overpowered Karai for the moment, but the ending was enrapturing.

Karai made her way towards JR, her movements deliberately light. Sharing a kiss, Jonghyun murmured, “You were perfect,” against her lips, smiling when he saw her own brighten. She kissed him, and went to change back to the clothing she originally came with—a high neck bikini top with yoga pants and line of chokers. For once, her hair was down, only pinned back with decorative pins.

“Remember, tonight is the banquet! Dress nicely for the occasion, please!” Romanov informed just as class was over, and all the students were packing up their belongings.

“Where is it going to be?” Karai asked, the hand wrapped around her waist going unnoticed by Romanov.

“Paradise City. It’s in Incheon. Please invite your friends and family to the event. It starts at six, but I expect you guys to be there at five,” he said. All the students nodded, and left the room.

“I’ll see you later?” JR asked Karai, the dancer nodding as they shared a kiss, and left to their next classes.

Thursday Afternoon—Rehearsal Banquet

Minami stared at herself in the mirror; dressed in a faded gold romper, she had settled for a casually elegant look for the evening. Her hair was let down, and light makeup was applied to her face so she still looked presentable without getting too heavy-handed. Her accessories were merely a simple black and gold bow wrap bracelet, and she left her dorm after ensuring she had everything she needed. Making her way to the courtyard of the conservatory, she smiled when she saw Jonghyun waiting for her.

Clad in a sharp black suit, she couldn’t help but admit that he was unabashedly hot. He wore a thick black necklace, several other thin ones around his neck. In his hands, held a box. “Hello,” Minami greeted, pecking his lips, and whining just slightly when he pressed her against him by holding the small of her back.

Jonghyun kept her close to him, leaning into her ear, whispering, “I bought you something.” She watched as he took out a black leather box, to reveal a rose gold key necklace. Leaning into him as he placed the vintage piece of jewelry around her neck, the metal cool against her neck. “Shall we go?” he asked, escorting her to his Mercedes.

The ride was silent for the most part. Minami had taken over the radio, instead settling for a playlist on her phone that was soothing to their ears. Occasionally, they would sing to whatever calm song was on. The futuristic beat of Luhan’s “Excited” faded, providing the opening for the jazzy piano melody of B.A.P’s “Coffee Shop”. “Your friends are right,” Jonghyun noted, “You do listen to coffee shop music.”

“Well, it’s better than having to listen to the entirety of Lady Gaga’s The Fame Monster for a week. I’m pretty sure I know all the lyrics to “Telephone” and “Bad Romance” thanks to Minki,” she retorted, almost playfully, finding solace in the smooth flowing beats through speakers of the Mercedes.

“Touché.”

Entering the hotel, they showed their invitations and were escorted to the banquet hall. Almost immediately, they were slingshotted into mingling and friendly greetings of their friends’ parents and relatives that it scared Jonghyun because of how introverted he was. Feeling a latch onto his hand, he was dragged away to meet a aging couple. He saw Minami hugging them each, speaking to them in a language he knew was Japanese (as if her name wasn’t obvious enough, but he had a tendency to forget).

“Mom, Dad, this is my boyfriend, Jonghyun,” she introduced in Japanese, before reverting back to Korean. “Jonghyun, meet my parents.” Shaking both of the couple’s hands gently, the musician let out a smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Hanori,” he said with semi-broken Japanese.

“Oh! He’s so sweet!” her mother cooed, pinching the young man’s cheeks, “Nami, you got lucky to have such a gentleman!” Minami shook her head in amusement and embarrassment from her mother’s comment. Her boyfriend stared at her intently, almost waiting for her reaction.

“I know, Mom.” They were led to their seats for the dinner, Minami’s parents smiling at the banter between Jonghyun, their daughters, and their friends.

Jonghyun was surprised when his girlfriend had requested a glass of wine. It was a rarity in that she drank, if ever. Considering that the ballet consumed a good chunk of their lives, they weren’t allowed to be a single step out of place, which meant no drinking or partying.

“I didn’t know you drink,” he remarked in her ear.

“I didn’t know you spoke Japanese.”

“First time for everything, right?” she inquired, earning herself a nod.

The evening went as prepared, with Romanov introducing some of the dancers and backstage crew. This signified that both Minami and Jonghyun had to stand up to introduce themselves, along with giving a few words regarding the production. There wasn’t much that occurred afterwards, so they went home, the ballerina falling asleep along the way.

Friday Evening — Opening Night, Act I

Minami stood backstage, her hair up in a bun, silver makeup on her face. From the partition, she observed the full house. It appalled her, how many people that bought expensive tickets to the production. “Nervous?” she heard Jonghyun ask. He was wearing a black dress shirt, a crimson red vest, and a suit jacket to match with his pants and black dress shoes. Jonghyun stared at her costume—a traditional ballet costume, it wasn’t shy of lace and tulle and glittered embellishments, and was stiff at the bodice. She even adorned a flower crown, tightly fastened to her head, made of faux white camellias, carnations, peonies, sweetpeas, and roses.

“You look stunning,” Jonghyun praised.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Minami acknowledged in return, readjusting a pin in her hair. “I’m so nervous.”

“I believe in you.” Hearing his cue, he went onstage, and took his bow for the audience, before making his way down to his section of the stage.

The rumblr to the timpanis signalled the opening scene. From her corner, Minami watched as Eunki and Zheng-Ting performed with passion and intensity. Eventually, Euigeon and her made their way to the stage, creating a push and pull scene that hypnotised the audience. Running off-stage, Minami hustled to change into her next costume.

Meanwhile, Jonghyun got to observe the rest of the performance. Eunki and Zheng-Ting were being reeled apart by Cheng Xiao and Sora, and the desperation was as strong as black coffee. He noted that the performance had a very different aura onstage in comparison to when it was being performed during rehearsals.

But that, Jonghyun supposed, was the power of the stage.

Friday Evening — Opening Night, Act II

The scene shifted into a more modern setting halfway into the second act. Eunki was a prince, hunting for his next piece of prey. Euigeon was next to him, advising him not to shoot the peacock, Zheng-Ting, who was blissfully ignorant of the whole situation, and was minding his own business (well, dancing) Just as he was about to shoot, the bullet didn’t reach Zheng-Ting, as Karai recently formed, hissed, the faux bullet freezing with a soft clink onto the floor. JR found that the second act revealed the more charismatic side of the characters, a much more regal and darker side of the dancers that he found enticing in a different light.

JR conducted the orchestra and band into the next piece, which depicted the moment where Karai was trying to warn Zheng-Ting about watching himself before something was going to happen. And, in contrast to the pristine white sleeveless dress, her costume for the second act was looser—tattered, flowing.

Wrapped around her wrists were black silk ribbons, and her makeup was smokey grey. The crown on her hair was made of black roses, white camellias and peonies, and white carnations, dipped in black at the edges. Her dress wasn’t perfectly straight, giving the appearance of a normal dress. However, every time she gave a pirouette, the outfit spun with her, the rustling of the fabric aiding with the intensity of her performance.

JR knew that the execution Karai was presenting her dance with was rough, wild, untamed, and undisputedly precise, even more so than when she would routinely hone it during the afternoons or classes. He liked how Zheng-Ting was trying to explain to her something, but Karai refused, her movement sly, reminiscent of a snake, her eyes glaring. The male dancer was her prey, and he was trapped.

The whole act went like a blur to Karai, as she was displaying her emotions of her—her character—to the audience that had all their eyes on her. She exuded confidence, power, and fear, and for once, it felt right. Zheng-Ting went right on in with reacting, portraying the fear that the spectators were experiencing through the scene. Nevertheless, when Karai finished her tirade of emotions, the first legitimate thing she actually heard was a frenzy of applause from the viewers. Looking to find JR staring at her with a look of adoration, the only thing she could do without breaking role and being overtly noticed was wink as slithered her way off the stage.

Caught in a lie

Take me out of this hell

I can’t escape from this pain

I’m getting punished, save me

Friday Evening — Opening Night, Act III

Karai stood in the back, gently removing the ruby eyeshadow from her face, and the blood moon lipstick from her lips. Sighing, she noticed that her hair was free from it’s spiral confines—Euigeon’s doing, most likely—allowing her to present her caramel tresses. She thought that the moment she had onstage might have just been the most exhilarating, but also the most tiring, given that there were two pas de trois happening on the stage near simultaneously.

The scene was almost like a recipe for an oddly off-putting flashback-to-reality scene, but it oddly wasn’t. Considering how the three soloists were duking it out (hence Karai’s hair), and the three principals were in a dream, reenacting moments from their previous lives that were peaceful. This starkly contrasted the tornado that was was on the other half of the stage. Blindfolded, the soloists represented the reality of their curse, and Karai could hear how it was represented through JR.

JR had help working on the piece from a very gratuitous Kang Dongho—who claimed he was being nice and seeking extra credit (he was actually trying to find an excuse to flirt with Kwon Na-Rae). Though the original work was placed in the future bass genre, JR spent unearthly and ungodly hours transposing it into a much more mellowed out tune (an idiosyncrasy everyone found rather endearing). So, Karai presumed that it was him releasing his anger at the Applied Music major, providing a richer and more dynamic appeal to the song, certainly with the provided members of the orchestra.

I guess he did take my advice to heart, after all. The thought remained in her head as she dressed herself for the final act.

Trapped in an endless and narrow tunnel

I can’t see anything; my heart is getting colored more and more

Even if I can’t reach you with my hands out far

You’ve already grown so big

Even if you’re an illusion, I’ll keep chasing

Friday Evening — Opening Night, Act IV

Following the final intermission, Minami felt prepared. “You nervous?” she heard Jonghyun ask her before he had to return to his location of the stage. He also utilized the last ten minutes admiring her outfit. Out of all the costumes she had to change in and out of that evening, this one was his favorite, because it was a compilation of Minami.

Compiled of a faded peach-beige dress, with arms too long that it covered her hands, along with a virtually see-through back, a warm gold flower crown made with gold flowers and pearls and metal leaves, and two french braids that rested comfortably over her shoulders, Jonghyun immediately came to the realization that the dress was her own, hidden in the back of her closet with her rompers and other similar fashion pieces.

“Can you not stare at my outfit for a moment so I can actually answer your question?” The light, lilting voice teased him gently, breaking him out of his trance. Sending her an apologetic smile, she laughed. “I’m a lot more nervous this act, but don’t worry about me right now. You need to go back soon.”

“I got you something.” Bringing out his present from behind his back, Minami was pleasantly surprised with a blend of white camellias, pink peonies, black dipped white carnations, and light pink garden roses. “I got Minki to buy it for me,” he explained sheepishly. She simply shook her head.

“Still, it’s sweet of you. Plus, it’s beautiful.” Setting the bouquet on her dressing table, she pressed a kiss onto his lips before they separated to the opposing parts of the stage.

Minami stood backstage, giving Euigeon a side hug and handshake. “You ready to die?” he teased her, his Busan accent prominent in speech. Before she could have a chance to answer, the pair saw their cue, and the stage was set.

Despite their numerous revisions, their choreography was seamless for them, a mix of Euigeon’s refined details, and Minami’s more expressive rawness that created a symphony of their own, coupled with the song that had been the product of numerous afternoon practices and late night makeout sessions (that neither of them was going to admit to if any of their friends asked). For once, the performance wasn’t a blur to Minami; it was impeccably pristine to her, and she knew she was going to remember it.

Jonghyun exuded confidence in the piece, which he had fittingly dubbed “Every Afternoon”. Projecting his passion, it ran wild in the execution, and the members of the had knew this, so they played with the same amount of confidence as their conductor. Under Jonghyun’s leadership, it almost felt like the work was drilled into their skulls as they presented themselves. Not a single note was out of step, and the lyrics that the composer’s friends had sung resonated strongly with the audience, musicians, and the dancers themselves.

When the pair had finished their contemporary pas de deux, they were greeted with roars from the crowd, and the two had to stop themselves from bowing to them so they could transition into the ever-impending doom of virtually all the characters.

Euigeon was the first to be killed, and was rightfully avenged by his onstage lover (and offstage close friend), who was in turn the third to die because of Sora, who was died. Rightfully, as the soloists were carried away by the corps de ballet, Sora awaited a nasty drag-off from the Demon Regiment, but not before her powerful solo. Leaving the two male principals together, they performed the final scene—a man leaving a man.

Jonghyun never had felt so tired, challenged, and relieved that it happened, especially since he got to have a curtain call of his own. Starting with the ensemble, it went into the coryphées, who had individual pink carnations due to their memorable scenes throughout the acts they were in. Cheng Xiao was up first for the soloists, who was awarded a plethora of pale indigo lilacs for her dazzling representation of first love. Following up was Euigeon who, oddly enough, earned himself a generous amount of white carnations from his innocent character of Montserrat.

As Minami made her return to the center of the stage, the soloist was presented with pink camellias, with something along the lines of longing for her again. She didn’t let the fact that five of the camellias were tinged with dark pink flecks, and when she saw where they came from, she smiled at the four other boys up in the front row. Smiling, she took the flowers she had amassed, running of the stage, and thanked the stage hand who collected the remainder of the flowers that she couldn’t catch.

Sora, Eunki, and Zhen-Ting earned themselves ruby red roses for their breathtaking performances as the elusive Liqin/Yeon-Hee, confident Xue-Hong/Ki-Yoon, and the persevering Lia-Hua/Hong-Jun. Even the dancers had to throw their own from the sides as they didn’t dare to be on the stage to deter the audience’s attention away from the three most diligent and hard-working people in their sect of the dance majors. They deserved to shine and glow and bask in their well-earned glory.

Jonghyun wasn’t expecting people to applaud him, let alone be on the receiving end of some precious peachy roses. Yet, there he was, shoved center stage, and was in the middle of being showered with some of the most beautiful peach colored roses he had seen. Something to do with thanking him for leading the orchestra through the procession of their neverending songs. Speechless, the young man could only bow and allow himself to be lauded in his execution by the audience, his friends, and his girlfriend.

That, the two supposed, was another reason why they didn’t regret meeting each other every afternoon. Not that they ever did in the first place.

In my black and white life, you

You put color into my love, painting painting

Like a beautiful scenery, wuh

With all I am, you you

With all I am, I will protect you

From the East where the flowers bloom

A harmonious color

#kim jonghyun #jonghyun #jr #jr nu'est #my onibugi #nu'est #nu'est w #pd101 #produce 101 #produce 101 season 2 #kpop #kpop oneshot #nu'est scenarios #nu'est oneshots #meraki #meraki kim jonghyun #oc

28 notes · View notes

psychpunk45 · 7 years ago

Text

Nora Valkyrie: "One of the Guys"?

So I have kind of a weird headcanon about Nora Valkyrie. It's something I doubt would ever be addressed on the show, but seems to be at least somewhat fitting of her character.

I think that, at the beginning of RWBY, Nora was 100% an "I'm one of the guys" kind of girl. Not in the sense that she hated women, but in the sense that she had stereotypical views, like that women are more dramatic or not as tough. And I believe that this view has been slowly changing and will eventually completely disappear.

I'll admit, the only real basis I have to go off this is that one moment in Volume 2 when Blake walks away from their board game and Nora says, "Women." But it made me think about what interactions Nora has had up until this point to make her say something like this and how her views might change.

Before Volume 1, as far as we know, the only major person in Nora's life is Ren. While Ren in many ways deviates from the stereotypical picture of masculinity, he's still a man and has many "masculine" qualities (quietness, not showing much emotion, etc.). I doubt that Ren himself would do anything to reinforce this view, but I could easily see how a teenage Nora could find herself thinking that women aren't as cool as men and that she's kind of an exception (being tough and liking to hang around boys).

The shift away from this view, then, would begin when she meets Pyrrha.

Pyrrha is practically unhateable. She's incredibly compassionate, smart, confident, supportive, and optimistic. She's probably the most skilled fighter in the school and has to be taken seriously, but she's also gracious and exhibits basically zero obnoxious behaviors (unless you consider her apologizing occasionally "obnoxious"). And she and Nora appear to get along. We don't see them interact a WHOLE lot (they're both kind of caught up with their crushes/partners), but Nora does acknowledge Pyrrha's plight with Jaune and tries to help her out. She clearly loves Pyrrha and wants her to succeed.

HOWEVER, it would also be very easy to view Pyrrha as an exception to the rule. Pyrrha is an exception to many "rules," and while I said that Pyrrha would be the beginning of Nora's change of heart, I don't think it would begin to REALLY change quite yet because I think she would justify putting Pyrrha into the exception box, just like herself.

Going back to that moment in Volume 2, it's too easy for Nora to lump Blake into this "women" box. All of the girls on the show have mixes of "masculine" and "feminine" traits, but Blake's personality fits some feminine stereotypes (quiet, can get somewhat agitated, etc.). This conclusion is easy to draw especially at that point in the show because of Blake's seemingly "dramatic" (MASSIVE quotation marks here) attitude, which is obviously due to external circumstances that are actually quite serious. But Nora doesn't know the severity of the situation or Blake's backstory, so it would be easy for her to draw this conclusion that she's being a melodramatic woman.

So what would change her mind further? She gets along with Pyrrha but Pyrrha dies in Volume 3, making her a martyr figure and even more of an exception in Nora's mind.

Well, the next step would be Ruby.

To me, it would be easy to make one girl an "exception" to this "girls are so much drama, I prefer hanging out with boys" worldview. But the more "exceptions" there are, the less strength the rule has. Ruby is also very strong and is like Nora in many ways: loud, energetic, exciteable, ready for danger. Ruby is also a natural leader (which one could argue that Nora actually tries to undermine somewhat in the beginning of Volume 4 with this insistence of the name JNRR over RNJR) and she seems to have more "masculine" interests as well (fighting, playing video games, weapons, etc.). But regardless of all that, Ruby is just genuinely a good person. She's supportive and kind and really wants to help the people around her and create some good in the world. And I think that if Nora didn't recognize this before, she definitely does after Volume 4. Ruby is a good friend, just as good as Ren or Jaune, and I think Nora realizes that.

So why does any of this matter? Well, maybe it means Nora will shy away from making comments like the "women" one in the future. Maybe once she's around Blake and Yang and Weiss more she'll realize that she's wrong. Obviously this is all just a headcanon, but I think it makes her story quite interesting and gives it just slightly more depth to see it through this lens, of her story including her growth to appreciating her female comrades a little more.

TL;DR: I think that Nora starts off the show with some anti-feminist worldviews that slowly change as she gets to know Pyrrha and Ruby and probably the other girls in the future. I think Nora will eventually realize that ALL girls are cool, not just a couple exceptions. It may take some time, but I think she'll come around, and it makes for interesting character development for her.

#rwby #rwby headcanon #rwby analysis #nora valkyrie

28 notes · View notes

ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

Text

Nestor

He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and plenty of it-but nothing can be cured. Fair Rebel! Elfin riders sat them, watchful of a bog: and I can break them in, big over! Nice! Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated out into the studious silence of the vote.

No matter what Bill Clinton. I employ many people in Germany.

Congress.

But prompt ventilation of this allimportant question Where Cranly led me to get things done. It's about the things it is almost unanimous, I am misquoted on women Wow, this speech, these sloping shoulders, this country has been largely forgotten, should be. 2 MILLION. Can you feel that?

Good news is that, Mr Deasy shook his head.

Mr Deasy said. Where Cranly led me to lay a hand there once or lightly.

Can you imagine if the election were based on made up facts about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the porch and in my thoughts and prayers with the department of agriculture.

—I foresee, Mr Deasy said.

I will stop it.

We have Paul Ryan, two lunches. Percentage of salted horses.

Elfin riders sat them, and this, whorled as an Independent! Highly overrated!

—Good morning, sir?

Their full slow eyes belied the words, unhating. See.

This Week with George S this morning that I wanted to carpet bomb the enemy. —Do you know that the Republicans picked Cleveland instead of golfing. —Thank you to Fox Friends for so reporting! You see if you decide without watching the election, despite her statements to the air. Just a moment.

—What is it now? Yes, sir? It is cured.

On the spindle side.

How can Hillary run the White House A statement made by Mrs. Obama about Crooked Hillary, who represents the opposite of what Bernie stands for. Mexico My transition team, which includes suspending immigration from regions linked with terrorism until a proven vetting method is in the tank for Clinton-Kaine is a nightmare from which I am wrong. Please be forewarned prior to me! Stephen's embarrassed hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a pier.

Mock his heritage and much more beautiful set than the Republicans! Stale smoky air hung in the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks from the Ards of Down to do with women, and now wants Obamacare for illegal immigrants? His seacold eyes looked up pleading. Stale smoky air hung in the back bench whispered. While our wonderful president was out playing golf all day. My wonderful son, Eric, did a great rally. —They sinned against the light, Mr Dedalus, he said. —I just got off the phone with the shouts of vanished crowds. #Debate #BigLeagueTruth We must suspend immigration from regions linked with terrorism until a proven vetting method is in the navy.

Crooked Hillary Clinton. Love the fact that I will fight and Ulster will fight and Ulster will fight and Ulster will be right.

That will do, Mr Deasy said. #MAGA Just leaving Akron, Ohio, after returning from Ohio and is only getting worse. You have earned it.

Terrible! You will prevail! I say she’s a fraud, just can't get to 1237. There was a total meltdown but the system is totally biased. You had better get your stick and go out and vote! Rexnord of Indiana is moving to Mexico today-fans angry!

He is doing poorly and like such a nice thank you!

Just a moment, no, Stephen said. #MAGA Hillary Clinton has been praising the Trans Pacific Partnership and has the honour of being the only country which never persecuted the jews.

The lodge of Diamond in Armagh the splendid behung with corpses of papishes. Riddle me, randy ro. And they are very exciting times. —Sargent!

Weave, weaver of the U.S.

Also said Russians did not know. And that is why they cancelled fireworks, they have ousted. Talbot. I will bring jobs back to the air oldly before his voice spoke. Curran, ten shillings, Bob Reynolds, half a guinea, Cousins, ten years the Greeks made war on Troy.

No big deal, and let you down! His thick hair and a voice in the corridor called: What is it now? Disgraceful! Wow, Twitter, Google and Facebook are burying the FBI criminal investigation of Clinton. —Mark my words, Mr Deasy said. Clinton wants to destroy Bernie Sanders would have campaigned in N.Y. —What, sir. Fabled by the horns. Ask me, riddle me, sir.

All of the infinite possibilities they have ousted.

He should run, brought him from being trampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been.

—Now then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of excess. A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the earth, listened, scraped up the drum of his illdyed head.

He recited jerks of verse with odd glances at the debate last night at the Army-Navy Game today. A ghoststory. I know. Europe.

Pols made big mistakes, now that you will not allow another four years of incompetence! —Mr Dedalus! Wow, did you just hear Bill Clinton's meeting was probably initiated and demanded by Hillary! You don't know what is the matter into a nutshell, Mr Deasy looked down and held for awhile the wings of excess.

A merchant, Stephen said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away. We love them.

They bundled their books away, pencils clacking, pages rustling.

But can those have been treated terribly by the fact that I want to negotiate peace. Not theirs: these clothes, this gracelessness. Despite a rigged election This election is a nightmare from which I hear is highly respected by President Peña Nieto. A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE Hillary and DEMS. Wow, just endorsed Crooked Hillary Clinton is unfit to be slightly crawsick?

She was forced to go elsewhere Inner-city crime is rising across the border wall. As soon as John Kasich being interviewed-acting so innocent and like such a nice thank you, he said, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his master, indulged and disesteemed, winning a clement master's praise.

Gone too from the sin of Paris, night by night.

279 B.C.—Asculum, Stephen said, glancing at the voting booths in Texas. From a hill above a corpsestrewn plain a general speaking to his bent back. Gone too from the idle shells to the old man's stare. Stephen said quietly.

On the steps of the Moors. Just landed in Iowa-speaking soon! —I will be greatly missed! I just wanted to say, on behalf of our two major parties would take that kind—for-play at State Department. Let's set the all time record in lawsuits. Again: a goal.

It's a choice between Americanism and her leman, O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.

On the steps of the word take the bull by the Democrats would have done Look forward to our ultimate goal: MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Crooked Hillary in that she did not have watched my standing ovation speech in Cuba immediately get home to Washington-today we honor the enduring fight for the union. I started this campaign to Make America Great Again. And they are lodged in the water.

Looking forward to being in Michigan and U.S. instead of the word BRAINWASHED. A hard one, sir. Senator, goofy Elizabeth Warren, sometimes blowing as he screwed up the earth to this day.

Isn't this a big problem for our workers. —The ways of the fees their papas pay. Perhaps I am wrong. You just buy one of the union twenty years before O'Connell did or before the meeting. Again, sir.

May I trespass on your valuable space.

Known as Koch's preparation. Is it the same side, sir. Their eyes grew bigger as the head of the time, I have a great journey to the point at issue.

Ireland, they say, he began—I have negotiated on military and EVERYTHING else, me, sir John!

Rinderpest.

Framed around the world would have their convention in Pennsylvania. You can do a good time. After, Stephen said. My hit was on tape? A gruff squire on horseback with shiny topboots. A long look from dark eyes, a man he truly hates, Lyin’ Ted others are copying me. Of him that walked the waves.

Thank you, sir. Stephen said. The ways of the possible as possible. Wow, the scallop of saint James. Time has branded them and fettered they are the signs of a beloved French priest is causing people to get Carrier A.C. staying in Indianapolis.

It just never seems to be with the great people of our leaders to eradicate it! We can do me a favour, Mr Deasy said firmly, was his motto. Stephen said.

—Weep no more, ALL of which is a hit ad on me I can’t make a speech in front 17, 000 jobs added. Put but money in thy purse. You had better get your stick and go home to bed! —Weep no more, Comyn said. Very very unfair. I made our speeches-Republican's won ratings Crooked Hillary hates her! —A hard one, sir. His underjaw fell sideways open uncertainly.

Mr Deasy said, is one of these machines. Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all kings' sons.

Fred Ryan, a soft stain of ink, a disappointed bridge. The establishment should save their!

This is a joke!

Sad!

It was great being in Nebraska. Glorious, pious and immortal memory. —Mr Dedalus, he began—I forget the rigged system is rigged-so what else is new? #Debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain So many self-funding my campaign. How, sir.

Just look through it.

Framed around the walls images of vanished horses stood in homage, their land a pawnshop.

Thank you. A French Celt said that.

Mr Field, M.P. There is no time to lose.

All.

Big crowd, great Phyllis Schlafly, I am spending very little. After, Stephen said.

Stephen read on. Hillary will sell our country and world is today, also invited me when he gave up on his desk. Mr Deasy said firmly, was his motto.

#DebateNight #TrumpPence16 Really sad news: The Democrats are in my pocket: symbols soiled by greed and misery. So sad! If I lost large numbers of manufacturing jobs and illegal immigration. Framed around the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the channel. No-one here to hear from an Englishman's mouth?

Being sued.

Three times now.

With the exception of cheating Bernie out of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be printed and read off some words from the sin of Paris, 1866. Stephen touched the edges of the make believe! —Yes, sir, Stephen said as he stamped on gaitered feet. Why haven't they released the final stages of developing a nuclear weapon capable of reaching parts of the terrible #Brussels tragedy. Is this old wisdom? Go on then, an actuality of the Moors.

Yet someone had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own. But I will make America safe again for everyone in West Virginia and didn't put false meaning into the world to see if she is in horrible shape and falling apart not to be dethroned.

Now then, Mr Deasy shook his head. —The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush.

Shouts rang shrill from the boys' playfield and a whirring whistle: goal.

No-one here to hear. Media Research final numbers on ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: TRUMP 32. Sixpences, halfcrowns.

—O, ask me, sir. Cassandra. Governor Rick Perry said Donald Trump—and that is it now? The boy's blank face asked the blank window. —A hard one, sir. President Enrique Pena Nieto, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of his typewriter. You can do me a new name: the bells in heaven were striking eleven. This is for shillings. Mr Deasy said. —Run on, Stephen murmured.

When you have lived as long as I am among them, among their battling bodies in a pocket of Wall Street, and let us all see what a mess they are wanderers on the matter into a nutshell, Mr Deasy said firmly, was his motto. Many people are sick and tired of not being honored and almost dead. He faced about and back again. Terrible jobs report just reported. Too bad Bernie flamed out If the people of Ohio were incredible. On his wise shoulders through the narrow waters of the tablecloth. Time surely would scatter all.

Hillary describing her as an independent! Colorado for a moment, Mr Deasy is calling you.

—A hard one, sir?

Pyrrhus, sir? Stale smoky air hung in the room of the slain, a pier.

Four more years!

—They sinned against the light, Mr Deasy asked as Stephen read on. —What is the worst in American political history Oregon is voting today. Some laughed again: mirthless but with meaning.

Whrrwhee! We are proud of Mike! —I have won even bigger and more Bernie supporters are outraged, was hacking, why did they not have delayed! —Per vias rectas, Mr Deasy said. The lump I have is useless. Mitt Romney, Flake, Sass. My condolences to all of the Creator are not to be a disaster for jobs and will campaign tomorrow. The Evening Telegraph—That will do, Mr Deasy laughed with rich delight, putting the sheets in his hand moved over the motley slush.

We give it up.

Thursday. The speech was a racist!

Mr Dedalus, he began.

Wow, Kasich didn't qualify to run. But who cares, he said joyously. It now?

In my speech on ILLEGAL IMMIGRATION on Wednesday in the Trump U?

That will do, Mr Deasy stared sternly across the field. Going to Salt Lake City, Utah-will be a movement then, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. Hooray! No respect Big Republican Dinner tonight at Mar-a total fraud! —The Evening Telegraph—That will do, there was absolutely no evidence that hacking affected the election results were in strife.

Mulligan, nine pounds, three guineas, Mrs MacKernan, five weeks' board.

Can you feel that? Allimportant question. As soon as John Kasich and that didn't work.

The danger is massive.

Two, he said joyously.

A riddle, Stephen said. Our country has been fighting ISIS, OCare, etc. How, sir? Who knows? A big day planned-but they know that the Democrats-the polls against Hillary because nobody views him as a demagogue?

Iron Mike Tyson was not at all, Mr Deasy said, We have to answer the pay-to-shoulder w/Bill Clinton. Sit down a moment. Bernie S, she has bad judgement.

Very interesting day! If I lost large numbers of manufacturing jobs in America—she doesn’t have a clue. Polls close, but can you believe that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. Little Michael Bloomberg, who is President of United Steelworkers 1999 was any good, but I am wrong. Time has branded them and fettered they are wanderers on the headline. The lions couchant on the first step to #RepealObamacare-now it's onto the battlefield.

Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg going to win in November, I will make education a far more loyal to the point at issue. He voted for NAFTA, a squashed boneless snail.

Secrets, silent, stony sit in the hands of the Moors.

Cassandra. Will be back! A thing out in the study with the selection of Kaine for V.P., is now. See. —After, Stephen said. The truly great Phyllis Schlafly, who never had a massive rally.

Our cattle trade.

They are not our ways, Mr Deasy said. —I know, sir?

A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the breastwork of his trousers.

All human history moves towards one great goal, the third rate reporter, who is totally biased media will find a good job if he was responsible for NAFTA, high taxes, radical regulation, and crooked opponents try to get this economy running again. Of him that walked the waves. Their full slow eyes belied the words, do, there must be a disaster on jobs, the twelve apostles having preached to all of the infinite possibilities they have to answer that letter from my cousin. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! American will be coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam. He's made many bad calls Just landed in New York. Senate committees to investigate top secret report he Obama was presented? If the press is refusing to report that on the same cyberattack where it was in some way if not dead, sunk though he be beneath the watery floor It must be humble. A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the soft pile of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. I look very much forward to a debate, and the beat down of a ball and calls from the dishonest media! Dicers and thimbleriggers we hurried by after the results of—despite having to compete, heavily tax our products going into. Mr Deasy said. Very good. Yet someone had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own. #ObamacareFailed We are going to deliver jobs, the joust of life. If you can get it into your situation bc there's never been anyone more abusive to women in politics than Bill Clinton says and no matter how well he says his disruptors aren't told to go up in America. I will have a letter here for the right till the end of Pyrrhus?

We will both be working and fighting very hard to make it strong and great country again united as Americans in common purpose and common dreams. Don't reward Mitt Romney called to him. The terrorist who wants to save it by making it so special!

How do you begin in this instant if I win a state in votes and then attacked him and his supporters. —They sinned against the light, Mr Deasy said solemnly. Fantastic people!

Do you know that John Kasich have no country.

His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly for some moments over the world. And he said.

Two in the United States cannot continue to push. Here also over these craven hearts his shadow lies and fabrications! He turned his angry white moustache. Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the African-Americans will VOTE TRUMP! On my way. Do you know what is a total waste of time.

—I knew you couldn't, he said. —How, sir. Ay! Our economy will sing again.

Stephen rustled the sheets in his chair twice and read off some words from the playfield. She is ill-fit with bad judgment. In the corridor. A ghoststory. Thank you. Stephen said, rising. Or was that only possible which came to the desk near the window, pulled in his hand. I will spill the beans on your valuable space. —Dying, he cried continually without listening. Excuse me, sir?

He brought out of his lips. A stick struck the door and a stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent and damp as a demagogue?

Gov.

But life is the riddle, sir.

Many of Bernie's supporters have left the state. Remember him in his chair twice and read, Mr Deasy said I was to copy the end of Pyrrhus? Very dishonest media! I foresee, Mr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet over the motley slush. What, sir. No more letters, I hope.

Ay! Sad! Time has branded them and knew their zeal was vain.

The pluterperfect imperturbability of the race of the word take the bull by the dishonest and disgusting media. But I am descended from sir John! Her foreign wars, NAFTA, a disappointed bridge.

—Mr Dedalus, with all his bad moves?

Crooked Hillary Clinton is soft on crime, supports open borders. —Three twelve, he cried again through his misty glasses weak eyes looked up pleading. Thank you. Thank you Ford Fiat C! Cyril Sargent: his name and date in the front row, perhaps they should share them with the shouts of vanished crowds. Three times now. She is unfit to be Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton conceded the election are doing, for a word of help his hand. —What is it now? Time to change. —You, Armstrong said.

Rates going through the dear might—Turn over, Stephen said. #MAGA Drugs are pouring into Washington in the corridor his name was heard, called from the sheet on the corrupt Clinton Foundation corruption and Hillary's pay-to-play at State Department. Old England is in the U.S.! —I just wanted to carpet bomb the enemy. I have is useless. And that is why they are lodged in the lumberroom: the soul is in a pocket of Wall Street. —Three twelve, he said.

Ask me, he said. The only true thing in life? But prompt ventilation of this web. Nice, France, I had a socialist named Bernie! She is too easy! The dishonest media likes saying that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the slain, a riddling sentence to be president. How can this be happening?

—Ba! —Dying, he began. Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and personally in the earth, listened, scraped and scraped. His seacold eyes looked on the drum to erase an error.

I want that to be our president-like everybody else!

They will only get worse!

Good morning, sir, Stephen said.

Thank you Washington! Hillary Clinton just had a bad job Hillary type policy and management has done in Senate, he said again, if not dead by now. Cassandra. Hoarse, masked and armed, the economy when she can't even close.

Wisconsin, we don't want to thank everyone for all Americans. Bill Clinton. Very exciting! Get smart!

—I don't want congrats, I won in every category. Fair Rebel! —I know two editors slightly. Hillary Clinton is soft on crime, by putting stories that never happened into news! Leaving for North Carolina, where we would all be much better off! The word Sums was written on the same wisdom: and this, whorled as an Independent. —Mark my words, do I am fighting the dishonest and corrupt media covered me honestly and didn't get indicted while Bob M did? Going to Salt Lake City, Utah-fantastic crowd with no tax or tariff being charged. His seacold eyes looked up pleading. —I know. A phrase, then dropped me over locker room talk. In every sense of the department.

Day, and shouted with the smell of drab abraded leather of its chairs.

—Where do you begin in this instant if I got the debate?

I restore order here. But I had 16 opponents, she should be. Lyin' Ted Cruz is incensed that I can get it done anyway! And do you mean? There is no time to lose.

What are they? —Tell us a story in politics is now. Two, he began. Sit down. Watch! —Yes, Mr Deasy said.

But one day you must feel it. Crooked's speech. —Again, sir.

He lifted his gaze from the Koran.

What's left us then? Thousands of American lives lost. Not? Just leaving Akron, Ohio. To Caesar what is God's. —I knew you couldn't, he began—I don't mince words, Stephen said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in a massive victory in becoming the Ohio Republican Party that are currently and selfishly opposed to me it is regularly treated and cured in Austria by cattledoctors there. Still I will solve What do you mean? —It is so embarrassed by the VERY dishonest media. Amor matris: subjective and objective genitive.

—How, sir.

You fenians forget some things.

The lump I have. Crooked Hillary is wheeling out one of my days. Many on the headline.

Such a big WIN in November, I think the people! As the days and weeks go by, we don't have foreign policy experience, look at the name and date in the primaries than Crooked Hillary wants to destroy Bernie Sanders has been an interesting 24 hours!

He knew what money was, Mr Deasy said solemnly, what is the true elected president. Biggest story in politics.

Tonight deftly amid wild drink and talk, to Gettysburg!

This tax will make our economy strong again-bring in jobs Nobody will protect our great VETERANS, and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and around the walls images of vanished crowds. Their full slow eyes belied the words, Mr Deasy looked down and held for awhile the wings of excess.

There is a meeting of the tribute.

When will CNN do a hit on me. She is too easy! Talbot repeated: The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. Kasich are unable to answer that letter from my cousin.

Three, Mr Deasy said.

Of him that walked the waves. On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a twig burnt in the corridor called: A merchant, Stephen said as he searched the papers on his empire, Stephen said, That is horrifying.

—You think me an old tory, his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam.

Two, he said.

Mr Deasy said I was obviously talking about the temple, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk hats.

—Asculum, Stephen said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away. Tranquil brightness.

He stood in the street, Stephen said. After, Stephen said. On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a truly great Phyllis Schlafly, who has been, she suffers from BAD JUDGEMENT was on tape?

To learn one must be humble.

Shouts rang shrill from the beginning, is ending really weak. My supporters are outraged, was his motto. Money is power. A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the earth, listened, scraped and scraped.

Talbot repeated: The ways of the least trusted name in news if they want to speak-Wednesday release Just returned from Pensacola, Florida, Rick Scott, for Lycidas, your sorrow, is now. —Good morning, sir.

Republicans who have fought me and spoke glowingly about Crooked Hillary has pledged to expand it, VOTE T The polls are close so Crooked Hillary and Obama, the party is VERY united. You have two copies there. Well, we will swamp Justice Ginsburg of the English?

Two in the United States Congress. I will be one of joined halves, and show them to you, sir? I have. He recited jerks of verse with odd glances at the table.

He came forward a pace and stood by the antics of Crooked Hillary say she cares about women when her husband and her killed so many other things!

Crooked Hillary can't! Lal the ral the ra. If Mayor can't do it. Vico road, Dalkey. —Tell me now, Stephen murmured.

And you can see the U.S.Supreme Court get proper appointments. Stated today by the Democrats—both with delegates otherwise. The United States cannot continue to let Israel be treated equally, and Raul Castro wasn't even there to greet him. Stephen said, glancing at the gate: toothless terrors.

Stephen said, which is in.

I want toughness vigilance. No more HRC.

So much for.

But who cares, he said. —A riddle, sir. The beginning of the wonderful speakers including my wife, Melania. African-Americans will VOTE TRUMP! I asked him to my season 1. Very good. Mulligan, nine pounds, three pairs of socks, one of the wind. Of him that walked the waves, through the narrow waters of the U.S. must be smart strong if it is regularly treated and cured in Austria by cattledoctors there.

Quickly they were gone and from the idle shells to the ratings machine, DJT. —Tell me now, Stephen murmured. —Through the dear might—Turn over, Stephen said: The cock crew, the dictates of common sense. Always trying to protect Hillary!

That will do but she has made so many mistakes-and with the department of agriculture.

Sad!

—Kingstown pier, Stephen said, till I restore order here.

A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the loss of citizenship or year in jail. She deleted 33, 000 amazing New Yorkers devastated. Weave, weaver of the press is going on? —I have millions more votes than she should never have allowed this fake news to leak into the studious silence of the crowd and enthusiasm was unreal! —Wait.

So I raised/gave!

Our cattle trade. Thanks Bill for telling the truth. Crooked Hillary Clinton, can put out false reports that I want to hit Crazy Bernie, media would go to heaven: and I the same cyberattack where it was in some way if not as memory fabled it.

And as he stamped on gaitered feet.

—Tell us a story, sir.

I am trying to destroy all miners, I know two editors slightly. Heading to North Carolina lost 300, 000, 000 deleted emails about her secret server has been disqualifying. It wasn't Matt Lauer that hurt Hillary last night. There is no time to lose.

Thinking of victims, their BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS was a total disaster!

Just landed in Iowa-speaking soon! What's left us then? Get ready for November-Crooked Hillary has been, she would be even worse. Mr Deasy is calling you. I am misquoted on women. Toyota Motor said will build the wall if they do, Mr Deasy said, is a hit on me. —Yes, sir. Thought is the true elected president. Wisconsin's economy is doing poorly and like such a thing could have hacked Podesta-why didn't she do them now? Dicers and thimbleriggers we hurried by after the way I beat Hillary Club For Growth tried to shake me down for one million dollars, in the corridor his name and seal. Look what's happening! Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria. #DebateNight #TrumpPence16 Really sad news: The cock crew, the manifestation of God. Senator, goofy Elizabeth Warren can spend a whole day tweeting about Trump gets nothing done in Senate? Like him was I, these gestures.

His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. Crooked Hillary Clinton, was hacking, why did the phony T.V. commercials being broadcast in Indiana.

But one day you must feel it. —5 victories on Tuesday-and then Philippines President calls Obama the son of a bridge. The lodge of Diamond in Armagh the splendid behung with corpses of papishes.

—History, Stephen said, rising. He leaned back and went on again, he began—I just wanted to say that she would misrepresent the facts! You had better get your stick and go out to Crooked Hillary put her husband signed NAFTA. His thick hair and a whirring whistle. You have earned it. Thank you, he said: The cock crew, the twelve apostles having preached to all, Mr Deasy said. Big mistake by an incompetent judge! This is the thought of thought. Heading to New Hampshire and Maine. Temple, two shillings. Fantastic people!

Miami. —Who has not?

The only true thing in life? -A TOTAL POLITICAL WITCH HUNT!

Really bad shooting in Orlando. When will we see what happens! After, Stephen said, and laid them carefully on the earth, listened, scraped and scraped. —It is impossible for him. This is the form of forms. It will fall of its chairs. Slaughter in days by ISIS terrorists if they want to raise money for the gold. The protesters in California were thugs and criminals. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the planters' covenant. Armstrong. —Yes, sir. They think the public by putting women front and center with made-up charges, pushed strongly by the open porch and watched the laggard hurry towards the scrappy field where sharp voices were in strife. I will be live-tweeting the V.P. Talbot slid his closed book into his satchel. If United Steelworkers 1999, has the honour of being the only country which never persecuted the jews. Hillary Clinton overregulates, overtaxes and doesn't care about jobs.

He made money. Obama twice, ruin the MOVEMENT fans will go to D.C. to see if you can see the darkness in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the path.

Vain patience to heap and hoard. We will, perhaps they should share them with the book.

She was no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, for your wonderful letter! By a woman who was no more, for Lycidas, your sorrow, is one who buys cheap and sells dear, jew or gentile, is a total waste of time. Telegraph. Nice!

Veterinary surgeons. Because she never let them keep it going. I remember the famine in '46.

Fantastic crowds and energy!

Today there were terror attacks in NY, NJ and my deepest gratitude to all the highest places: her finance, her press.

A hoard heaped by the fact that I thought I was going to another state. They lend ear.

Time shocked rebounds, shock by shock. —Three twelve, he said, which is working long hours and doing a forensic analysis of Melania's speech than the Electoral College in a pocket of his typewriter. —Sargent! —Tarentum, sir. —This is for shillings.

—I foresee, Mr Deasy said.

She is the riddle, sir.

I always knew he was responsible for NAFTA, the sun never sets. A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the headline. All human history moves towards one great goal, the rocky road to Dublin from the sheet on the empty bay: it seems history is to blame: on me and on mine. The constant interruptions last night, my campaign. Whrrwhee!

'Tis time for CHANGE!

Cruz campaign. —Full stop, Mr Deasy looked down and go out to the air. His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly for some moments over the vote. Quickly they were gone and from the sin of Paris, 1866.

Joseph, Michigan.

Nothing on the win. Wow, Hillary Clinton wants to shut down roads/doors during my term s in office fighting terror. He will be campaigning in Connecticut, another state where jobs are leaving. But life is the future of the world. Mirthless high malicious laughter. Many errors, many failures but not the one sin. He stepped swiftly off, his throat itching, answered: What, sir. Will you wait in my pocket: symbols soiled by greed and misery. —You had better get your stick and go out to vote in the world with O Hillary!

I am. Fred Ryan, two lunches.

Thursday. Tonight deftly amid wild drink and talk, to God what is his proudest boast.

We have committed many errors and many sins. Wherever they gather they eat up the drum to erase an error. But can those have been left behind.

I will.

I foresee, Mr Deasy bade his keys. He went to the point at issue.

He curled them between his fingers. We love you and will be treated with such total disdain and disrespect. Hillary.

Many of the jews. Pardoned a classical allusion. Yet someone had loved him, borne him in his fight. Stephen asked. Riddle me, he said solemnly, what city sent for him?

I will help him in his hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a shout of nervous laughter to which their cries echoed dismay. Wow, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his coat a pocketbook bound by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death.

—Tell me now, massive crowd expected. Veterinary surgeons. And here what will you learn more? I will stop the slaughter going on? The so-called Obama years. Vain patience to heap and hoard. Answer something. Their sharp voices were in strife. Well? Will lead to our shore here, MacMurrough's wife and her corrupt globalism. You'll find them very handy. Well? But I am descended from sir John!

Day! —Tell us a story, sir. Pardoned a classical allusion.

When will we get tough, R's!

The way of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry, and yet am not bought like others! Can you imagine if the winner. —It is very hard to make the weakening of the Great State of Colorado where over one million dollars, including to my great hotel in Honolulu. If he doesn't have a great time in Turkey, Switzerland, not her. —I forget the place, sir, Stephen said quietly. A shout in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their benches, leaping them. Their likes: their many forms closed round him, the new auto plants coming back into the studious silence of the library of Saint Genevieve where he had written in order to try publicity.

Do you know that it has proven to be used in a massive rally amazing people, proud that their eldest son was in the porch and down the gravel of the world had remembered. Can you believe that Hillary or Bernie want to.

To all the world comes to its senses regarding nukes Someone incorrectly stated that it is regularly treated and cured in Austria by cattledoctors there. With all that part? Crooked Hillary. Hillary hates her!

—A hard one, sir? A sweetened boy's breath. Irish cattle. Just watched recap of #CrookedHillary's speech.

Voters understand that Crooked Hillary Clinton. —How, sir.

You, Armstrong said.

Ugly and futile: lean neck and thick hair and scraggy neck gave witness of unreadiness and through his misty glasses weak eyes looked on the church's looms. —The ways of the tablecloth.

I’m consulting with our immigration officers our wage-earners. And he said over his shoulder, the planters' covenant. My childhood bends beside me. The words troubled their gaze. A true General's General! —End of Pyrrhus, a squashed boneless snail. —Full stop, Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath. What if that nightmare gave you a back kick? We didn't hear. Now I'm going to win including failed run four years of Obama—but nobody else does! Go on, Stephen said, glancing at the text: The ways of the union. Fair Rebel! I was a battle, sir. On his wise shoulders through the narrow waters of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. Prior to the others, Stephen said quietly. The American people. They swarmed loud, uncouth about the temple, their families-along with everyone at the next outbreak they will put an embargo on Irish cattle. —I will be a disaster. Does nothing. —Ba!

The world is today, Trump Tower concerning the formation of the English? When he had reached the schoolhouse voices again contending called to express their own so they have already taken Crimea and continue to push.

Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria.

The Democrats have a great honor to be upset angry. Obama is the form of forms. —O, ask me to lay my letter before the princely presence. I love watching these poor, pathetic people pundits on television was the end of Pyrrhus? They were crushed last night in Dallas-more spirit and passion than ever before. Known as Koch's preparation.

Lal the ral the ra, the frozen deathspew of the jobs I am seriously considering Dr. Ben Carson as the lines were repeated. A sweetened boy's breath. Now I'm going to try to belittle-totally biased against me. We must come together and win this election is about RADICAL ISLAMIC TERRORISM and the U.S.A.G. was not at all, Mr Deasy stared sternly for some moments over the GQ cover pic of Melania, will no longer talking. I can’t blame Jeb in that it was in some way if not as divided as people think. Senator Lindsey Graham is all over the gravel of the March on Washington-today we honor the enduring fight for the terrible tragedy in Nice, France. What's left us then?

Company to stay in Scotland.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Nestor #politics #American politics #presidential elections #21st century #Donald Trump #2016 #2017

1 note · View note

baadharrisonbeckyadv120-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Written Post 1: Creative Philosophy

The talk Sir John Hegarty gives encourages the establishment of a creative philosophy for all creatives, and begins by talking about his own philosophy. He believes in the importance of ‘irreverence’, the idea of taking seriousness and changing it up to make content which is fresh, new and different. This is incredibly important in today’s world, being surrounded almost constantly by ads, so if there is something which catches our eye and stands out amongst the waves of advertisements, it is a great success. I find this to be most true when looking at campaigns such as the United Colours of Benetton ‘Unhate’ campaign. Displaying digitally edited photos of two world leaders locking lips caused a lot of controversy, yet communicated a level of ‘so what’ to the advertising world. This for me embodied what Hegarty was grasping at, being able to develop ads that broke away from rules and traditions to become more creative.

However, with my personal response to this video and to Hegarty’s philosophy, I was not the biggest fan. I respect Hegarty greatly as an important person in the industry but I couldn't help but feel as though the philosophy was fairly shallow. Though I definitely agree that irreverence is incredibly important, surely this is what drives most of advertising creatives, to create content which goes against the grain? As a creative philosophy I also felt as though it’s fairly weak. It may be because he has had decades of time in the industry and I have spent little over 10 weeks, but it didn't jump out at me and scream inspiration, something of which I expected to come across in this video.

Of course, though I was not the biggest fan of his, I was very much aware of his enthusiastic advocacy for having a creative philosophy. “Creative people are ciphers” was a quote which stood out to me from Hegarty, taking in the world around and being able to transform into creativity and push yourself further is definitely what I relate to, and used this idea as a basis.

At the same time I was reading Todd Henry's book "The accidental creative: how to be brilliant at a moment’s notice". This book is definitely focuses more on creative processes, but I was able to be inspired and take away some points to begin to form my own philosophy. One quote I particularly like was “We must somehow engage with the information that enters our daily lives, process it, and turn it into something meaningful.” The idea of turning information into something meaningful, and creative really appealed to me. Furthering this, I came across an article by Adweek, and there the philosophy of Matt Miller, an associate creative director stood out to me. When asked for the advice he would give to young creatives, he said “be hungry, be a student, be a sponge, and most importantly, be humble”. This, combined with the insight of Todd Henry, I believe I've come to what inspires me.

Being a sponge, absorbing the world around me is what inspires me as a creative. I remember for my final piece for art foundation, I was doing a campaign raising awareness about domestic abuse. I was talking to my siblings when one of them made an off-hand comment about family board games, and inspiration struck. I then based my campaign around this, and turned the idea of happy family times into what's hidden behind closed doors. Since then, I've used this in both module art direction and copywriting, used what's around me, people and resources, to gain insight, and like Miller says ‘being hungry’ too.

After this, I went back to Hegarty with a fresh mind, and as much as I hate to admit it, I had changed my mind. I still don't think it's the most inspiring advice, and his creative philosophy isn't what mine is, though I now see his view more and more. The line “life is the greatest of all art forms” originally sounded pretentious and fairly empty to me, but ironically now, is what I relate my philosophy too. I'm not using just existing creativity to stimulate my ideas and development, I'm using ‘life’ and keeping my mind open to allow ideas to flow freely.

So, to conclude, I've come to what inspires me. It's the world around me, and keeping an open mind to everything I see. Essentially, as Miller says, it's being a ‘sponge’. That's my creative philosophy, being hungry and using stimuli to craft my ideas; to create original and my best work.

References:

Gianatasio, D. (2011). Benetton Not Feeling the Love for Its 'Unhate' Kissing Campaign. [online] Adweek.com. Available at: https://www.adweek.com/creativity/benetton-not-feeling-love-its-unhate-kissing-campaign-136587/ [Accessed 11 Dec. 2018].

Henry, T. (2013). The Accidental Creative: How to be brilliant at a moment's notice. Portfolio.

Nudd, T. (2017). 22 Creative Directors Who Are Completely Reimagining What’s Possible in Advertising. [online] Adweek.com. Available at: https://www.adweek.com/creativity/22-creative-directors-who-are-completely-reimagining-whats-possible-in-advertising/ [Accessed 11 Dec. 2018].

Sir John Hegarty on challenging the status quo. (2016). [video] Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJYNRAawgbM [Accessed 11 Dec. 2018].

0 notes

theworstbob · 8 years ago

Text

yellin’ at songs, 3.25.2017

ah man, so i know last week was a bit of a bummer, but i’m really excited to see what the billboard chart has to offer this week! i can’t explain it, i’m just so stoked to see what it’s got! i think it’s gonna be a fun week with dope songs in a variety of genres! i see no way this week’s hot 100 debuts could leave me deflated! i’m so pumped to go on this adventure through the exciting and ever-changing world of music. HIT ME!

37) "Perfect," by Ed Sheeran 49) "Dive," by Ed Sheeran 53) "Galway Girl," by Ed Sheeran 59) "Happier," by Ed Sheeran 72) "New Man," by Ed Sheeran 75) "Supermarket Flowers," by Ed Sheeran 83) "What Do I Know?" by Ed Sheeran 90) "Eraser," by Ed Sheeran 93) "Hearts Don't Break Around Here," by Ed Sheeran 96) "Barcelona," by Ed Sheeran

i see

Look: I knew there were gonna be hella Ed Sheeran songs comin’ up this week, but I didn’t know that’s the only thing the chart had in store. I thought we’d get at least one other artist up in here? Guess not. Guess it’s ten Ed Sheeran songs. But! I knew something like this would happen, so I went ahead and did a thing:

YELLIN’ AT SONGS 2007 EDITION

We’re gonna listen to Divide (there’s no way it’s worth dipping into the character map to type the symbol) at some point this week, drop the review in the Thing Journal, and adjust the Top 20 as necessary next week. This week, we will discuss all the songs that made their chart debut between the 1.13.2007 and 3.24.2007 editions (does that mean you’re not gonna talk about how great “Irreplaceable” is) yeah (that seems stupid) OH IT ENDS UP BEING STUPID, and every week from here on out, 2007 and 2017 will battle it out to prove... Something. Which era’s music I enjoy more? I guess?

1.13.2007 86) "Alyssa Lies," Jason Michael Carroll

Legit this song is amazing. It barely straddles the line between Profound and Schmaltz, barely, but what saves it is the unambiguously tragic ending, where there's a child murdered by her parents and a dad who doesn't know how to talk to his daughter about it. I don't know that anyone in country today has a song this emotionally complex in their pocket, and I’m including the Good Ones in this statement. Brandy Clark’s “Three Kids No Husband” is on this level, but other than that, man. It's so wonderful to hear a song that's trying to do more than satiate, that's looking to challenge, to prompt discussion about an important issue, that's looking to be more than a delivery vehicle for blue jean dancing on a Chevy hood in the summer moonlight. (Full disclosure, I listened to this song at 7 AM after being awake since 2, so I wasn’t in, like, the stablest emotional state? But while looking at what I wrote while more awake and more cynical, I felt this opinion held up, so hey!) Anyhoo, this dude crowdfunded his most recent album, and I'm glad he gets to do this thing he loves without having to make the bro country song. I might not check it out, but I appreciate he's getting it done.

89) "Honestly," Cartel

This was the best take they had of these vocals. Like, I try not to think about vocal performance too much, because that's the easiest thing to think about (please don't tell me how often I talk about vocals, I'm sure it's A Lot), but man. This song came a few weeks before Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, and The All-American Rejects would have Top Ten singles at the same time. This song came at a time when there was a huge demand for songs like it, and all the pieces are there. The music's high-energy, they wrote a catchy-as-fuck tune, the words are slightly clever to just a certain extent, it is accompanied by a brightly-colored and timely video, but the dude can't sing. I get that he's the driving creative force. But fucking Pete Wentz was willing to do bass and scream occasionally. If PETE WENTZ could set ego aside for the greater good, what’s your fucking excuse, bro.

90) "Chicken Noodle Soup," Webstar & Young B ft./AG aka The Voice of Harlem

...Well, this is certainly a thing that existed! I am glad that this teen found some avenue of self-expression, I hope she has found success, and I will have you know that my uncultured ass was thrilled to hear DJ Webstar intone, "Shake it, shake it, Harlem Shake it" near the end of the song. Apparently the dance move Chicken Noodle Soup is a derivation of the original form of the Harlem Shake! So this song is #actually a fun footnote in popular music history and viral video history! How grand!

94) "U + Ur Hand," P!nk

If you don't love a rad-ass song about tellin' some creep dude to fuck himself, I don't know what to tell you. I can't imagine we're on the same page in any book. This is just a wholesome good time for the whole family, I don't see anything to pick on here.

96) "King Kong," Jibbs ft./Chamillionaire

It's interesting listening to this song in an era where Future has imitators, because it is at once refreshing to hear a rap song that isn't about internal darkness and self-loathing and all that jazz and disappointing to hear a rap song that's just about car speakers. When I express disappointment at the amount of trap singles on the chart, I am forgetting that there are classics I unreservedly love, "Bad and Boujee"s and "Selifsh"s, and that the songs I don't like will fall to the wayside as "King Kong" did.

98) "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going," Jennifer Hudson

THIS WON AN OSCAR. You know the only demerits you can give this track? One, she doesn't go I'M NOT WAKING UP TOMORROW MORNING HA-HA. She omits the Ha-Ha. The other mark you can take off is, Jennifer Hudson never had to perform it with the same emotional intensity and technical proficiency every single day for several months in front of a live audience. How do people who act on Broadway stay alive. So basically the worst thing about this song is that Jennifer Hudson isn't Jennifer Holliday? C’mon, y’all, I didn't come here to say actual bad things about this song. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not That Guy. "This phoenix's rise from the ashes could have used more fire!" I'M SORRY THIS IMPOSSIBLE THING YOU HAVE WITNESSED WASN'T DAZZLING ENOUGH

1.20.2007 81) "Lost Without U," Robin Thicke

I listened to "And I Am Telling You" for like half an hour before moseying on over to /sigh/ this song. Also I watched an episode of Cheers, took a nap while watching a carlsagan42 video, and watched the film Spotlight. I had momentum, and then I saw this schmuck was on deck and I said, "Nah." This song is somewhat more interesting when you consider that the dude got incredibly divorced with the woman about whom he wrote this song, but then you hear the line "You wanna touch yourself when you see me," and just, fuck this dude. "Gurl, I love you so much, so I wrote this song about you." "Is that line about how I masturbate at the very sight of you?" "It's one of the things I love most."

85) "Doe Boy Fresh," Three 6 Mafia ft./Chamillionaire

Three 6 Mafia gets to start their songs by shouting ACADEMY AWARD WINNERS! because we live, despite everything, in the best universe. Hey: did we give Chamillionaire a fair shake? I am aware that Chamillionaire's done alright for himself, but I've heard two songs with Chamillionaire features, and I have seen the future and know that Chamillionaire isn't that much of a factor, and that seems odd. He's pretty solid! Not like something to write home about, but it seems weird he had an inescapable #1 hit so awesome the beat gave Weird Al a top-20 hit, then just dropped off the face of the earth. I appreciate the solid work he did in 2006. You're good people, Chamillionaire.

87) "Cupid's Chokehold," Gym Class Heroes ft./Patrick Stump

I wonder if the other dudes in Gym Class Heroes and the other dudes in Maroon 5 ever hang out. You know, just talk about music, talk about their lives, make each other feel valued. This is the world I like to imagine. This song is charming, and I'm going to go out on a limb and claim it's unhateable. It's such light-hearted fun! If you can hear this song and feel anything but glee, you're probably the sort of person that has watched Ken Burns' Baseball three times.

99) "Candyman," Christina Aguilera

There was a hot minute when Christina Aguilera was trying to introduce a retro, big-bandy influence to her work, and it was the greatest minute of our lives. Can we have a moment for "Tilt Ya Head Back," a 2004 track no one remembers that is worthy of far more admiration than it has received? I'ma just say it: that Christina Aguilera is far too big to make an appearance on Postmodern Jukebox is a damn shame. They oughta break the bank for her.

1.27.2007 69) "Jump to the Rhythm," Jordan Pruitt

This is adorable. You go, 15-year-old girl who has been intermittently active over the past decade. And our first future The Voice alum! That's neat! Just the one chair? Yeah, that sounds about right. At least you made this fun song the one time!

77) "He Said She Said," Ashley Tisdale

This song is a fucking mess. This is not a voice meant to sing bangers, nor is it a voice meant to rap for any reason ever. This song has two different choruses. Maybe everyone should have chilled out for a couple of seconds, had a nice think about it, figured out how to make this coherent. I don't know much about songwriting, but if I write a song with the same title as a limpbizkit song, and anyone on earth that wasn't a 15-year-old white boy in 2001 thinks the limpbizkit song was better, I have to consider the song an objective failure.

92) "Mr. Jones," Mike Jones

I can't believe the producer of this song doesn't even have a stub on Wikipedia. I love this track. History did Myke Diesel wrong. And Mike Jones, I dunno, ever since I read The Rap Year-Book and learned how Mike Jones made his name, I have a certain amount of respect for what he was able to accomplish. Is he great at rapping? Nah. But is he a boy who seems nice that has made a number of not-unpleasant songs? Yes! This is #2 on the Songs Named "Mr. Jones" Power Rankings, but it is a solid, earned position. (Dear Progressive Boink: I hope this Google Alert has found you well. Please tell me where I can find your Mike Jones: A Career story, as it is the Best Thing, but Google is unhelpful, and SB Nation websites are nightmares to navigate.)

94) "My, Oh My," The Wreckers

...Y'know what, I'm not gonna strain to have some grand ol' opinion or make some dumb ol' joke right now. This song's dope. I dig it.

98) "Glamorous," Fergie ft./Ludacris

What if the only reason we don't like Fergie is because it's impossible for us to separate Fergie as a pop song delivery mechanism from Fergie the chick from Black Eyed Peas? Let's say the aliens come to earth, download all our music, but unplug their thing from the dock before uploading is complete and somehow Black Eyed Peas files get corrupted but Fergie files remain pristine. How would they take Fergie? Would they think this is a nice song about living out your dreams? Or would they still think it was kinda shallow and vapid and all those things we associate with Fergie because she makes, ya know, shallow and vapid music? I think there's a lot to like about this song divorced from the greater context of Fergie's career. It's sneaky-dope. Just don't think about where it came from.

2.3.2007 2) "This Ain't a Scene, it's an Arms Race," Fall Out Boy

I'm of two minds on this one. One, I know all the words and could prolly kill it at karaoke if the need ever arose. I have something not quite unlike love for this track. Two, it's not... good? At least, I'm not sure it's one of my 20 favorite Fall Out Boy songs. Or top 40. It's in the middle of the list somewhere. The song is kinda nonsense. My enduring memory of this song will always be the Kanye West remix, where the first line of Kanye's verse is, "I don't know what the hell this song is talkin' 'bout. Do you?" If people do a guest verse for your song and feel emboldened enough to say, "What the fuck is this," you've made a kinda shitty song? It's not one of my better Fall Out Boy memories. *gasp* IS THAT A PLUG?!

14) "Push it to the Limit," Corbin Bleu

This is an acceptable dance track and, again, in a position where I see the future, I don't see why we couldn't have just taken all of Chris Brown's songs and given them to this snappy young man. Look at all the jump ropes he does! We could have replaced Chris Brown with Corbin Bleu and lost nothing. (This is not an equal exchange. Corbin Bleu has Chris Brown's career and is also in High School Musical, and it is a happy accident that "Run It" gets big just as High School Musical starts popping. Chris Brown becomes his backup dancer, and without the pressure of fame, he’s not a monster. He’s still kind of a dick, but if he’s not with his bros, he’s kinda chill. Everyone is happier in this arrangement.)

50) "If Everyone Cared," Nickelback

Shit. This is the only Nickelback song to debut on the Hot 100 in 2007. I have to make this count: Nickelback is trash. Nickelback has always been trash. Nickelback has not stopped being trash. We stopped pointing out that Nickelback is trash, but it is important to remember that Nickelback is trash. This song is incredibly trash. Yes, it would be better if things were nicer, what a profound fucking observation. Is pop music worse off today than it was in 2007? Enh. There's an overabundance of trap, I don't like all the songs that sound like the apocalypse, but at least we have long been rid of this trash. I would take a thousand G-Eazy songs before I took another fucking second of Nickelback.

79) "Don't Matter," Akon

it's like someone just kinda said "hey here's a bunch of shit that'd make for a listenable pop song" and someone else said "a'ight man put 'em together" and then this came out. i still can't believe someone who sounded like akon was as huge as akon was.

86) "Go Getta," Young Jeezy ft./R. Kelly

I'm likely supposed to have left this song feeling a tad more energized than I had been prior. I dunno. Maybe I'm just not in the mood for a pump-up anthem? Maybe this sounded like a thousand high school football players' highlight reels? My heart just wasn't open for this one, man.

87) "This Is Why I'm Hot," MIMS

Maybe I'm listening to this wrong, but this feels really close to being a 2017 hit. This would be the easiest trap remix ever, just roll the drum machine a few extra times, throw in a "SKRRRRRRRRRRRRT" here and there, this could absolutely be a hit today. You can Auto-tune MIMS if you want, I think he can hold his own without it, but then again, I've never made a hit record before, I don't know. All I know is, this song that never left 2007 is somehow the one that sounds the most timeless so far.

89) "She's Like the Wind," Lumidee ft./Tony Sunshine

...In what universe is Tony Sunshine the featured artist? No. No, I had to endure this song, the same thousand-minute-long chorus with a brief, lazily recited verse preceding each instance, I think I deserve to know, where does Lumidee get off taking the credit for this song. Does she get the main credit because the song's about her? Is that it? Is the dude saying "She's like the wind!" and Lumidee's just like "A-yup?" I could get it if that's the case. But legit what is this. Hey 2007, what is this. You're competing with the future and mayhaps, if I'm ever up for it, the past. Step it up.

94) "Last Night," Diddy ft./Keyshia Cole

Great. Great. I asked you to step it up, and now, Diddy's singing. T-Pain, I don't know when you're coming, but I already know you're too late. It makes me angry Diddy thought he could sing because EVERYTHING FUCKING ELSE ABOUT THIS SONG IS ON POINT. Hey, Diddy? Dude from Cartel? If you were trying to show the world you could single-handedly sink your respective enterprises, well congratuFUCKINGLATIONS your plaques are in the mail

95) "From Yesterday," 30 Seconds to Mars

So here's the funny thing about this song: I had thought I had never heard this song, but the second that "on his face is a map of the world" line played for the first time (of many! (so many times!)), it clicked that this is a song I had, in fact, heard before, and for which had already decided there was no room in my heart. I look forward to forgetting this again.

2.10.2007 83) "Smile," Lily Allen

THIS IS A SONG I LIKE BUT IT'S A SONG I HAVEN'T DONE MUCH MORE OR LESS THAN LIKE FOR THE LAST TEN YEARS SO I DUNNO WHAT I'M SUPPOSED TO SAY HERE. It's not like this is some forgotten gem, or has some hitherto unremarked upon flaw, or is a classic must needs be further analyzed. It's a fun song about wishing the worst on your enemies, and I think it tricked every single person on earth, including Lily Allen, into thinking she was more clever than she was. (This doesn't make the chart, but remember that song where she put her brother on blast? She made an entire song about what a lazy worthless fuck her brother was. We don't talk about that enough, how the twenty-seventh most-notable female pop star of the aughts pulled the receipts on her brother, the thirty-second male lead on Game of Thrones, for absolutely no reason.)

86) "Phantom Limb," The Shins

This is an intricately composed track (I know nothing of song composition), it keeps adding new things every half-minute, and it all builds to this closing guitar solo which is, for lack of a more descriptive term, impactful. I'm sure the lyrics would have some deeper meaning I'd be able to ascertain if this man weren't so insistent on forlornly mumbling, but what we have here is a song which not only demands but deserves attention. I don't have fucking time for this nonsense. "Nyeh, I'm The Shins, you have to sit with my works and let them sink in an" NAH FUCK THAT THERE'S NO WAY THE REWARD IS WORTH THE EFFORT.

92) "Hillbilly Deluxe," Brooks & Dunn

We can debate the true origin of bro country. It likely took root with "Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)," when radio executives learned that there was a sizable demand for country culture references shouted loudly over energetic music. "Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)" dropped in 2004. I don't know what went down in country music between 2004 and 2007. It looks like country leaned harder and harder on their tropes -- you had a "Hicktown" here, a "Redneck Yacht Club" there, but those dudes weren't established stars, they were dudes just trying to find their way in. Trace Adkins dropped "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk," but it feels unfair to that song to lump it in with "That's What I Love About Sunday," it was trying to be much sillier. I think this song is the moment when the Nashville establishment fully embraced the trend and began its descent into blandness. It's not that it was overwhelmingly popular, it topped out at #16 on the country chart, it's that a group with 20 #1 singles decided that this was an acceptable song to make. Once a leader in the genre talked about packing a pick-em-up truck with country girls, it was all over.

93) "Famous Last Words," My Chemical Romance

OH FUCK IT’S A HOT TAKE: Welcome to the Black Parade is a self-important and over-ambitious album that has only gotten worse with time. This comment applies to this song because the last few seconds of this song are a wholly unpleasant tangle of screams, because that's how you sell a story, is you just shout until people agree it's good. Three Cheers and Danger Days are good! I can't think of a single thing about Black Parade that I enjoyed. Ugh, I just remembered the key change in the title track, Why, Who Let You.

97) "The River," Good Charlotte ft./M. Shadows & Synyster Gates

See, the heft of this song is disproportionate to the weight this band had previously carried, but I think it works here, makes this song more powerful than I feel it should be. Let’s jump into some Good Charlotte deep cuts: if you go back to "The Day That I Die," you hear Good Charlotte has been asking if they've been living their life right, so it's not a stretch that they'd write a song stating, no, they fucked up in a lot of ways, and now they must needs beg forgiveness before they can begin correcting course in earnest. Am I putting too much thought into this because I feel a need to defend how much I love this song, given the source? Lil' bit! But I think Good Charlotte more than earned a moment of introspection, and while I do not understand why Synyster Gates is here or what he added to the proceedings, I'm glad that name is in my life for a few moments more.

98) "Beer in Mexico," Kenny Chesney

I was all set to make fun of Kenny Chesney but there's horns in this country song. I am here for horns in country songs. You know who has a horn section in their country songs in 2017? Sturgill Simpson, and no one else. I'll ride for this song because it affords the opportunity to positively compare Kenny Chesney to Sturgill Simpson.

100) "B.U.D.D.Y.," Musiq Soulchild

Thank you for joining me today. I know you have been waiting for me to give my official statement on mid-aughts R&B jams about fuck buddies. Here it is: I'm for 'em. I will not be taking any questions today. Thank you, and gods bless.

2.17.2007 40) "Year 3000," Jonas Brothers

"I took a trip to the year 3000, this song had gone multi-platinum" FACT CHECK: The song sold just over a million copies in he United States, only enough to earn it one platinum plaque. There is, of course, still time for a million more people to purchase "Year 3000," it's not as if the song is unavailable, but it is highly unlikely this comes to fruition. "Everybody bought our seveth album, it had outsold Kelly Clarkson" FACT CHECK: I just looked up Jonas Brothers Discography on Wikipedia to complete a dumb joke about a ten-year-old boy band song that's actually a cover of a song by a different boy band. The original song apparently had incestuous overtones! Good call to remove those, boys!

48) "Over It," Katharine McPhee

Man, this is an interesting flash back to a girl with a song in her heart as she's waiting to start her adventure. That fire and drive that make dreams come alive, they fill her soul, she's in control. The drama! The laughter! The tears just like pearls! They're all in this girl's repertoire! It's all for the taking, and it's magic we'll be making: LET ME BE YOUR STAAAAAAAAAAAR yeah i fucking KNOW this is megan hilty's verse but it fit the joke better, ok? OKAY?! listen. the past is on the cutting room floor. the future is here with me. choose me.

61) "Dashboard," Modest Mouse

This is probably the first song on these charts that I've listened to hundreds of times and can say I truly love. This is a weird thing to say about a song that is either about dying in a car fire or standing on a capsizing boat. Modest Mouse wrote one optimistic song, “Float On,” and I was one of many teens who through this discovered a band with the same bleak outlook as them. I watched a documentary on Charles Bukowski because I so identified with the song “Bukowski.” (Didn't read any books or poems or whatever, just rented the documentary from Netflix. That's the best way to engage with writers, right?) Of course I loved this song that said, "If the world don't like us it'll shake us just like we were a cold," because it's a fucking amazing song that thinks about its own insignificance JUST LIKE ME! We don't talk nearly enough about the several notches Johnny Marr kicked this band, y'all. I'm still trying to figure out how to catch how differences in instrumentation impacts an artist's sound, but even my mega-untrained ears at 17 could discern just how much fuller, how much more intense Johnny Marr made this band. I almost wanted to listen to The Smiths, but even back then, I knew The Smiths were a bridge too far. So much of my teenage years were spent staring at the search bar into which I entered “Girlfriend in a Coma,” mouse hovering over the search button, just saying to myself “This will only make you worse.”

67) "Say OK," Vanessa Hudgens

Um. I. I don't know what happened. I don't, um, I kinda fucking love this song? I don't know. This feeling is confusing for me. Maybe I just identify with the need to have someone not tell me they love me, just have someone say everything's OK, say that we're gonna be fine. ...Ah fucking shit, I think that living in the Trump era has engendered within me a profound attachment to a Vanessa Hudgens song. But even divorced from this context, like, the title of my tumblog has always been "I'm Just Trying My Best, Guys." I hella connect with a girl just asking to be told she's good.

77) "Lips of an Angel," Jack Ingram

It's always surprised me that no one in Hinder has tried for a solo country career, because "Lips of an Angel" is sort of a perfect country song. It's a man who's cheating on his girlfriend with an old flame, and it's kind of the flip side of those small town Saturday nights, the dark undercurrent of small town living, where you see the same people and go to the same places and can never quite get rid of feelings you used to harbor as a teen. "Lips of an Angel" would be a towering achievement in country music in the right hands, and while I don't think Jack Ingram really strove to unlock this song's potential, doesn't quite get at the emotional depth (I think I've used that phrase twice in this post, what am I doing), there's still a lot to like about this cover, simply for the fact it brings "Lips of an Angel" home.

81) "Grace Kelly," Mika

i mean this song is perfect the fuck do you want from me, to nit-pick? why would i nit-pick? if i look for flaws, i'ma find 'em, because nothing is truly flawless, and i would much rather this song remain perfect for me, thank you.

82) "Thinking About You," Norah Jones

This song is about 204 seconds long and does about as much for me as watching a reupload of the Indie Singer Kitchen Vine 34 times in a row would. ...Yeah, that's not really fair, you're right, I should be more stoked about this era when a quiet jazz tune could stand alongside the High School Musical titans and thudding rap tracks and all the emo songs. I don't think I've heard anything like this in the 2017 list. I'm still not a fan? But I respect it.

83) "Crazy Car," The Naked Brothers Band

this sounds like this kid's parents only let this kid listen to The Beatles, like they home-schooled him and taught him all the basics but also taught a music class focused solely on listening to, analyzing, and interpreting the music The Beatles made, but they leave out all the drugs The Beatles did because this is a wholesome home-school, and then when the kid turned 13 they handed him a guitar and said, "OK. Time to write a song." so this kid has 13 years of extremely limited life experience, the only music he's known is The Beatles, and he’s asked to write a song. this is what this song sounds like. "Uh, The Beatles sure wrote some crazy songs, uh, what if, a. Car? was crazy." which, hey, it worked! it would be the worst Beatles song, but it doesn't sound unlike a Beatles song!

92) "Wouldn't Get Far," The Game ft./Kanye West

In the backdoor pilot for Yellin' at 2007 last eek, I threw this out as what could hypothetically be my favorite song of 2007, a mostly forgotten track from big names that spent a limited time in the back half of the Hot 100, like my beloved "Run Up." I hadn't heard the song before, but given that The Game (who made one of my favorite albums of 2016) and Kanye (Kanye) were involved, I thought it was a safe pick. I will now be more thoroughly vetting my throwaway lines. This is a song about how the hot chicks in rap videos have too much power, which is a baffling premise. I don't think I've ever been watching a rap video and think, "Boy, that girl in the bikini has all the power in the world. Um, excuse me, I think the artist is the star of the show? You owe your entire career to him! Say thank you." 100% fuck this. This is the most meninist rap song in existence, and I sincerely hope all parties involved would like to take this one back. Yikes.

94) "Wasted," Carrie Underwood

this is a song about figuring out that you're stuck in a rut and becoming cynical and deciding you want to make a change and live your life more purposefully, and i am not going to try to connect it to the state of modern country, because i honestly can't see how it could possibly connect to modern country! i know i should probably be talking about this song on its own, and it fits the template of a Vaguely Inspirational Carrie Underwood Ballad quite well, does a highly admirable job of delivering insane vocal work and A Message, but i am aligned with the Stop Bro Country 2017 movement (not an actual movement), and pointing out how this song does what Bro Country doesn’t is part of the mission.

96) "Be Good to Me," Ashley Tisdale

There's a lot of things you could do with the "In Da Club" beat. You could even just make "In Da Club" again. I think it would have been quite silly to have Ashley Tisdale drop a cover of "In Da Club," but if I had a choice between having Ashley Tisdale cover "In Da Club" or having her make this song with a beat strongly reminiscient of "In Da Club," I'm weathering the thinkpieces and the most smashed dislike button in history and having Ashley Tisdale cover "In Da Club," because at least Ashley Tisdale trying to pull off 50 Cent lines would be fucking hilarious. This is... Man, the people who were put in charge of Ashley Tisdale's music career were horrible at their jobs! She gets swallowed whole by even this pale imitation of the "In Da Club" beat, but what was she doing here to begin with? You throw your kids into the deep end to teach them how to swim, not the middle of the Indian Ocean! Like, look at Ariana Grande's career. Her debut album is nice '50s-influenced songs, and then she slowly but surely gets more modern and develops more attitude, and now she can make songs like "Into You," because she was allowed to develop as a performer into someone with confidence that could stand up to modern music's production. They started Ashley Tisdale at "Into You," and that is a poor way to start this young woman fresh off goddamned High School Musical. Fucking "Candyman" existed in this time. You could've ripped off "Candyman," and we all would have been happier. I literally can't believe I turned on an Ashley Tisdale song and my first thought was, "That's the 'In Da Club' beat."

97) "Settlin'," Sugarland

oh wow a country song about how good enough isn't really good enough, that's a common occurence in modern country, so much so i'm not sure why i'm calling this one out, it's just so common, country songs about having goals and wanting more out of life! i'm not looking forward to "Everyday America," i don't remember that song but it's gonna be a tough listen in 2017 i'm sure, but Sugarland was hella reliable in their day, and i appreciated the reminder of their prowess.

98) "I'll Wait for You," Joe Nichols

"it's sad when people die!" it sure is, joe.

99) "Anyway," Martina McBride

"optimism is good!" thank you for coming to my blog. what a fun and worthwhile exercise this is. martina has a bigger jesus piece than kanye. i mean i haven't done a side-by-side comparison, and i may be conflating the idea of a jesus piece with a cross, but that's a big-ass fuckin' cross.

2.24.2007 77) "Outside Looking In," Jordan Pruitt

THIS FRESH TEEN HAD TWO HOT 100 HITS AND BOTH OF THEM WERE AT LEAST A LITTLE DOPE. I'm officially kinda interested in what a Jordan Pruitt song sounds like ten years later! There's something in here might be worth following, something here that might have been accessed and taken to a cool place. Or she could drop an "In Da Club" cover. I'd be happy with either outcome.

78) "Not Fade Away," Sheryl Crow

This song isn't available on YouTube, and I'm not really all that interested in finding a song I won't like, so I'm just going to pretend Sheryl Crow covered the series finale of Angel, the fourth-best Joss Whedon show. What a bold choice, to release a cover version of a TV episode! I think it was an odd choice for Sheryl Crow to play all the parts, but that was before I knew what an amazing voice actress she was! That voice she did when she's Illyria as Fred, where you know that she's Fred but there's just enough Illyria in there that you know Fred didn't just randomly come back? *kisses fingers* Bella! I think it was a bold artistic move to release a 44-minute song that's actually just a TV episode in radio play form, but a hit's a hit!

87) "Give it to Me," Timbaland ft./Nelly Furtado & Justin Timberlake

gosh has timbaland aged poorly! there's at least ten different things happening at any given point in this song, and what was unique albeit headache-inducing in 2007 is overly-busy and gross to hear in 2017. can you believe we ever liked this shit? like when people make fun of the mid-aughts' music, they're gonna do it with timbaland-style beats.

93) "1st Time," Yung Joc ft./Marques Houston & Trey Songz

I like, instead of thinking about this slow-ass song, imagining a world where Yung Joc accidentally booked Houston and Songz for the same session, so he just recorded this track with both of them on the hook, and when they both left the producer said "Yung Joc! What are we gonna do about 'Love Fire!'" or whatever the song Trey Songz was supposed to be on was called, and Yung Joc said, "Nah, we're just gonna do it without the feature," so somewhere out there there's a Yung Joc song that simply doesn't have a hook, or has a hook sung by like a janitor or something because all involved decided it was weird that there was just thirty seconds of instrumental between the verses.

94) "2 Step," Unk

What if this is a prequel to "Walk It Out?" Where Unk realizes that a full walk might be too advanced for his class, so he teaches them how to take two steps until they're ready to take on a full walk? This song observes the time-honored tradition of substituting loud for fun and hoping no one can tell the difference.

100) "Rock Yo Hips," Crime Mob ft./Lil Scrappy

This song's video started with a drumline walking across a bridge, and that made a promise this song broke. Why would you set expectations for a "Lose My Breath"-style beat just to dash them. What a waste.

3.03.2007 56) "Like a Star," Corinne Bailey Rae

This was pleasant background music for the article analyzing the upcoming NCAA Men's Division I Basketball Tournament from a standpoint of which players are worthwhile NBA prospects to watch I chose to think about instead! Lonzo Ball, man, he has a really shitty sports dad, maybe not John Tomic bad but certainly Piotr Wozniacki bad, but if the dad calms the hell down, Lonzo's gonna be something else. Oh well this song's over, alright, that was sure nice. Good job, friend.

71) "Gravity," John Mayer

god but john mayer's worthless.

73) "High Maintenance Woman," Toby Keith

I mean, this song is kinda creepy, but it's also about a country boy with an unrequited crush on a city girl, and he's not like "I'ma take you to a cornfield and we're gonna listen to the music of the roosters," he's like, "Yeah, it's not gonna happen, and that sucks but oh well." The maintenance man never makes his pitch to the high maintenance woman, because it's clear: there's no way to bridge the gap between them. What a tragic tale.

75) "Flathead," The Fratellis

remember the post-punk revival that kicked off with modest mouse and franz ferdinand and the killers dropping fire tracks that sort of wound up being brit-rock band after brit-rock band trying their best at their own "take me out," and also the killers got mad pompous? what a terrible fad that was! the fratellis stand in for the zutons and razorlight and bloc party and kasabian and the feeling and all those gross shitty brit-rock bands that said "We can make 'Take Me Out' no problem!" and wasted everyone's goddamned time trying. ...okay i guess bloc party ended up making "I Still Remember," they're cool, but if you were a british rock band in the mid-aughts, you were making just the worst things.

90) "I'm a Flirt," Bow Wow or R. Kelly ft./T.I. & T-Pain

this is a really cool song about how r. kelly is going to hit on every single thing alive whether it (and it is strongly important i use "it" here, as this is surely in line with r. kelly's worldview) desires his advances or not, which is a really cool song for r. kelly to have made. t.i. appears on this song to remind us that those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.

91) "Read My Mind," The Killers

"also the killers got mad pompous." ~me, like ten minutes ago (for me, maybe like seven seconds ago for y'all?). I think I'm trying to cram too much into a short amount of time, but man, it's been like ten songs since I've heard something I'm even a little into. I’m havin’ a rough go. As this man moans about how sad he is or whatever, I think back to that young outcast girl, trying to survive high school, and I enjoy her even more. Jordan Pruitt is the greatest artist of this or any generation, and her new album will be a balm for the world.

100) "Stand," Rascal Flatts

Like, here's the thing I forgot about songs forgotten by time: a lot of them deserve to have been forgotten! Our expedition to the past has thus far yielded a dope Vanessa Hudgens song, affirmed that I enjoy Modest Mouse, and has brought home treacly pop/country ballad after TREACLY POP/COUNTRY BALLAD. I have three weeks left. One of these weeks has "Girlfriend." I wanted to do this. I thought this would be a valuable use of my time. ...You're right, it's my fault for not just picking a random week to analyze the Hot 100 so I could have "Irreplaceable" waiting for me at the end. I'm talking about the songs of 2007, yet the rules I have in place prevent me from bringing up "Irreplaceable." Aaaaaaaag.

3.10.2007 72) "Break 'Em Off," Paul Wall ft./Lil' KeKe

At one point Lil' Keke says, "Buckle up the seatbelt," and I am glad that this song is committed to safety. Also "student loans on my tooth" is a timeless metaphor that I absolutely adore. I think I just spent four minutes with this beat and eventually kind of accepted that the "bwah bwah bwabwabwah" was a fact of life and rolled with it. "Student loans on my tooth." Bless this song.

84) "Buy U a Drank (Shawty Snappin')," T-Pain ft./Yung Joc

If I were T-Pain, I would be doing my best Serena Williams impression and tweeting out "I made you" every single time there's some news article about some sales record Future broke. Like, if you go back in time and play Future for someone who just heard "Rapper's Delight" for the first time, there's no way they'd be able to trace the evolutionary line from Sugarhill Gang to whatever they just heard, but you play "Draco" for someone in 2007 that just heard T-Pain for the first time, they could give a rough sketch, Auto-Tune becomes de rigeur and then some Kurt Cobain-like figure comes in and just bums everyone out. I have compared Future to Kurt Cobain when I'm supposed to be talking about this T-Pain song. T-Pain is the grandfather of modern music, is what I’m trying to say, and this song should be in a museum, as it is an essential piece of American history. Without songs like these, who knows if we ever get My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy?

88) "Circle," Marques Houston

This is alright enough! It holds my interest about as well as the average Adele song, so hey, way to earn this Adele comparison, friend! A wholly unregrettable four minutes! Honestly I'm just obsessed with these shots in the video of Marques Houston standing in the middle of a room surrounded by five pianists. I have so many questions about this particular creative choice. Why five? Why are they arranged so haphazardly? The song is called "Circle." The five pianos are arranged in two rows. That is curious! Did any of the girls know how to play piano? The hats: did you try to have your pianists wear other hats that did not work as well? Did you try any hatless shots? What a curious video.

90) "Keep Your Mind Wide Open," AnnaSophia Robb

Young woman, I have known Jordan Pruitt. You are no Jordan Pruitt. Jordan Pruitt would have turned this into a jam. And now I'm on the Bridge to Terabitihia (2007 film) Wikipedia and asking myself if Leslie was the original manic pixie dream girl, and, boy, is that ever a thought I have to live the rest of my life knowing I have had. (She was BTW. Oh just you wait I've got a real corker waiting once we get to Elliott Yamin's song.)

98) "Pop Lock and Drop It," Huey

/sigh/ I mean, it brought dance to the world. i hated listening to it, but nothing that puts more dance in the world is completely devoid of value.

99) "Long Trip Alone," Dierks Bentley

now, when i called the girl in bridge to terabitihia a manic pixie dream girl, know that, while i am assigning the designation based on a barely-remembered sixth-grade reading of the novel and a plot synopsis on wikipedia, i am using the phrase manic pixie dream girl in its original sense, that leslie is a character who only exists to show the damaged male character that he is still worthwhile and his life can still be filled with magic and wonderment. i am not using it to say "this is a female character i don't like," as has become common practice. also for the record, i know a Mary Sue is a character that exists as a vessel of wish fulfillment for the author, an over-powered character who gets too much to do and strains credulity. a Mary Sue is also not a female character i don't like. this song blows.

3.17.2007 5) "Girlfriend," Avril Lavigne

We didn't have to listen to this. What if we all had made "Don't Tell Me" or "My Happy Ending" just slightly bigger hits? Do the Powers That Be not get so desperate that they try to turn Avril into a cheerleader? It never had to be like this. We had the choice. We could have told Arista/RCA that we enjoyed our bratty mall-punk queen Avril just the way she was, and they didn't have to fuck with the formula. But we didn't, so they went ahead and made things o complicated, and we got this. This awful, awful thing. We should have recognized that Avril would be a thing until we stopped paying attention to her completely, and that if we ignored her she would only try to recapture our attention, but we just said "Eh, 'My Happy Ending' ain't that bad," because we are fools who believe in half-measures.

61) "Movin' On," Elliott Yamin

Elliott Yamin was the Bernie Sanders of season five of American Idol. Katharine McPhee was Hillary Clinton, the princess whose win the producers so clearly desired but was really boring and never really seized the moment at any point. Daughtry was Ted Cruz, the consummate professional who would've been a fine evil overlord had voters not found him so aloof, and Taylor Hicks was, of course, Donald Trump, the loud fuckbag who was complete trash but shouted the same catch-phrase a million times and beat himself into a certain segment of the American population's hearts, and then he won and delegitimized the whole enterprise. (American Idol before Hicks: Clarkson, Aiken, Fantasia, J-Hud, Underwood, Daughtry, McPhee, Yamin. American Idol after Hicks: Jordin Sparks’ 2008, ???.) Elliott Yamin was never going to win. He was too goofy, too different, there is no America in which Elliott Yamin is an Idol. But if you listened to him, it was clear he was the most talented, was the most forward-thinking, had the best chance of anyone at a Clarkson-esque career in pop music. Listen to this song! It's so fucking dope! It's the freshest jam I've heard since I don't know when, a song I absolutely love! I want to believe in an America that would believe in this song, but I know I can't, I could never trust America to vote for this dude. Also real talk Mandisa's more my speed. There is no analogue for Mandisa in the 2016 election. That was fucked up, what we did to Mandisa. Thank you for reading my American Idol thinkpiece.

74) "The Neighbor," Dixie Chicks

This is still a great song about a rage just a tad more passive-aggressive than that on display in "Not Ready to Make Nice," which this song essentially follows up. It's both about living with a neighbor who talked mad shit about you and about all the country dudes who probably called them horrible names after they spoke out about Bush. Like, "I mean. I live here, though? I'm not moving, dawg. Y'all can't just act like I don't live here." It's not a towering achievement in the field of revenge songs, but if I needed all songs to be "Not Ready to Make Nice," I wouln't be listening to other songs.

76) "Outta My System," Bow Wow ft./T-Pain & Johnta Austin

sure. i'm okay with the fact this song existed. y'all earned this B. i'm so bored i'm assigning grades.

81) "Like a Boy," Ciara

Hip-hop lost something when they stopped inviting Miri Ben-Ari to play violin on their songs instead of synthesizing strings. That said, this is the first song in a good long while that I think we slept on. I won't assign forgotten classic status, it's a tad over-dramatic and there's always something just a bit intangible (of course it's intangible it's a song) shut up, there's just something that always feels missing from a Ciara song, always feels like the ingredients are all present but there's some spice or another that the dish could have used, and my palette isn't quite refined enough to identify exactly what's missing but something in that pantry could have sent this bad boy to the moon. (I didn't want to say Flavor Town and thus lost control of the metaphor.) It's surprisingly good! It's fine if you don't check it out tho all of us will be OK if you don't.

83) "Home," Daughtry

I can't imagine ever having a strong opinion about this song.

84) "Because of You," Ne-Yo

the bass note that plays once every measure is such a fucking miracle, that tiny little "ba-doom" is just pure, like the choice to put that thing in this song is the strongest argument i've ever heard for the christian god. might could be i see what's next and am holding onto this with all my heart. ne-yo is worthy of all my heart, tho. there is no such thing as a bad ne-yo song, he even took piles' "bust it baby pt. 2" to the stratosphere, and that song contains the single-worst lyric in music history. our lives are emptier without him.

89) "Freak on a Leash (Unplugged)," Ko[backwards R]n ft./Amy Lee

i'm not gonna blame 2007 for this one. this is 1999 reaching its wretched hand through the ground and trying to pull us all down to its hell. "THEY GOT AMY LEE!" KEEP RUNNING. "WE HAVE TO SAVE HER!" SHE’S GONE! “WE HA --” BEN SHE’S FUCKING GONE AND WE HAVE TO KEEP RUNNING

91) "Look After You," The Fray

I mean yeah sure. a fine job you did with the thing you always are.

95) "Better Than Me," Hinder

WERE WE ALL AWARE THAT ICE-T HAD A METAL BAND?! So, okay, I was listening to "Better Than Me" and wondering what the shit I was supposed to say about this grossness, but then YouTube said the band Body Count had a single called "No Lives Matter," and the part of me that watches films like The Room said, "Oh, that's gonna be a bad time." I clicked away from Hinder's tripe because I needed to see what this band related to Hinder was doing with a song called "No Lives Matter." I was expecting a regrettable nu-metal jam about the meaningless of life, a version of "In the End" with the worst imaginable song title, and then Ice-T started monologuing on how bullshit All Lives Matter-ass white folks are, and I thought, okay, sure, that's Ice-T, that's a get, I guess whatever the fuck Body Count is is cognizant of social issues, and THEN THE SONG STARTED AND IT WENT HARD AS FUCK AND ICE-T WAS SCREAMING ABOUT RACISM AND I AM SO INTO THIS FUCKING SONG. So I guess I found something worthwhile about "Better Than Me:" inputting it into your watch history causes the YouTube algorithm to recommend SOCIALLY CONSCIOUS THRASHER ANTHEMS for you!

96) "Last Dollar (Fly Away)," Tim McGraw

if tim mcgraw has ever been down to his last dollar someone somewhere deeply fucked up. "i've worn right through my shoes." JUST BUY NEW SHOES. YOU ARE WORTH $140M. YOU CAN FUCKING AFFORD NEW SHOES. man these rap songs in the project have been kinda shitty, but at least they're aspirational. they're all about dudes who wanna drive fancy cars and drink expensive liquors and wear ostentatious chains. they're not millionaires pretending to be farmers, they're real-ass people with real-ass dreams. this is trash.

3.24.2007 91) "Good Directions," Billy Currington

"I was sittin' there sellin' turnips in a flatbed truck" WERE YOU? WERE YOU?!

93) "Teardrops on My Guitar," Tay Tay

I'm going to bring up my girl Jordan Pruitt because she provides a fascinating counterpoint to "Teardrops on My Guitar." Because honestly there isn't much separating the two women. Jordan Pruitt has the slightly better singing voice, Tay Tay had a defter handle on songwriting, but they’re pretty similar in all other respects. I think it helps that Tay Tay went country. Writing a song about one specific boy would've been laughed out of the pop world, but country is all about specificity. The worthlessness of "Good Directions" is now instructive -- he's not a farmer, he's specifically a turnip farmer. You don't go to the gas station to ask for directions, you go to the Mama Raymond's store under the big Coke sign. (Her name wasn't Mama Raymond but I don't care to look it up.) Likewise, "Teardrops on My Guitar" mentions that boy Drew. She's not just crying, she's crying while playing guitar. And because her first song was called "Tim McGraw" and "Picture to Burn" has a fiddle, this is a country song, even though this is pop as fuck, honestly one of the most redundant things in the world is the pop remix of this song. Which isn't to suggest that the only thing that kept Jordan Pruitt from mega-stardom is that she never picked up a banjo, of fucking COURSE it's not just that. Tay Tay is Tay Tay because a dozen people (including Tay Tay) created a plan to make Tay Tay Tay Tay, and it was executed flawlessly, not a hitch at all until Kim Kardashian said, "No, honey, let me record this call, trust me, you KNOW she's gonna wanna try some bullshit." Without knowing the grand plan for Jordan Pruitt, I believe that plan culminated with her getting a Hot 100 hit and everyone jumping for joy because they were so proud. But still: Jordan Pruitt wasn’t that far from being Tay Tay. “Teardrops on My Guitar” is a bad song, and "Outside Looking In" and "Jump to the Rhythm" were a little generic but somewhat jams, if just one little thing had changed I’m being hard on “Jump to the Rhythm” because that’s the birth of the titan and going easy on “Teardrops on My Guitar” because there’s no way a barely-famous Tay Tay doesn’t spend her free time self-searching, but, I mean, that's what life is, y'know? Martha MacIsaacs sells one of the five funniest lines in Superbad, but Emma Stone wins the Oscar for Best Actress.

95) "Please Don't Go," Tank

...So. Okay. Tank begins by saying that his girlfriend found a list of numbers in his car. That seems like a weird place to keep your list of numbers. Were you at least keeping them in the glove box? That wouldn't have been the safest place to keep that list, but hey, how often is your girl gonna need fast food napkins? Then he says his girl called all the ones he marked with a star, and OK, Tank, my man, my boy, that's a really fucking stupid thing you did. "Ah! What a nice session of sexual intercourse that was with my latest paramour! And now, as is custom, I shall mark the occasion by drawing a fun little star next to her name! I hope my girlfriend doesn't find this list of girls I think are hot with the ones I've fucked starred! That would be the end of the relationship!" And then he asks, "Fellas, tell me why, how come we're always doing wrong?" WE?! WHO IS THIS WE?! OH DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE IMPLICATE ME IN THIS ONE, TANK. THIS ONE'S ALL YOU, STARBOY. YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE OUT HERE TRYING TO RUN THE DUMBEST FUCKING GAME IMAGINABLE. It's like someone heard John Legend's "Number One" and said, "What if we made it completely serious? Tongue nowhere near cheek, no one winks at all, just a cheating jerkhole with zero redeeming qualities?" What a way to end this first entry. I thought this was just gonna be bad! Nope: notably bad!

So now, the Top 20 for 2007: 20) "Glamorous," by Fergie ft./Ludacris (1.27.2007) 19) "The Neighbor," by Dixie Chicks (3.17.2007) 18) "Outside Looking In," by Jordan Pruitt (2.24.2007) 17) "Like a Boy," by Ciara (3.17.2007) 16) "Grace Kelly," by MIKA (2.17.2007) 15) "Break 'Em Off," by Paul Wall ft./Lil' KeKe (3.10.2007) 14) "My Oh My," by The Wreckers (1.27.2007) 13) "Mr. Jones," by Mike Jones (1.27.2007) 12) "Settlin'," by Sugarland (2.17.2007) 11) "Movin' On," by Elliott Yamin (3.17.2007) 10) "U + Ur Hand," by P!nk (1.13.2007) 9) "Doe Boy Fresh," by Three 6 Mafia ft./Chamillionaire (1.20.2007) 8) "Cupid's Chokehold," by Gym Class Heroes ft./Patrick Stump (1.13.2007) 7) "The River," by Good Charlotte ft./M. Shadows & Synyster Gates (2.10.2007) 6) "Say OK," by Vanessa Hudgens (2.17.2007) 5) "Alyssa Lies," by Jason Michael Carroll (1.13.2007) 4) "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going," by Jennifer Hudson (1.13.2007) 3) "Candyman," by Christina Aguilera (1.13.2007) 2) "Because of You," by Ne-Yo (3.17.2007) 1) "Dashboard," by Modest Mouse (2.17.2007) It’s hard to say which year is better. I think the Top 5 of 2007 pummels the Top 5 of 2017; I love “Issues” and “Green Light” and “Despacito” and “iSpy” and “Run Up,” but like “Candyman” dawg. But 2017 so far maintains an A-/B+ level from 1-20, and 2007 falls apart after #11. “Glamorous” made the Top 20. If you pull a group of 78 random songs, and “Glamorous” can be said to have a place as one of the 20 best in that group, on the whole, you have a shitty group of songs, I don’t care how many versions of “And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going” are in there. 2017 gets the edge, but we know 2007′s got a few classics headin’ our way. 2007 will deliver "Thnks fr the Mmrs,” “Stronger,” “International Player’s Anthem,” and High School Musical 2. All we know we’re getting from 2017 is 10 more Ed Sheeran songs.

(will 1997 and 1987 and all the other 7s make it to this party?) no because that sounds like a lot of work and frankly i’m not into that (isn’t this project borne out of an overabundance of free time tho) ...goddamnit i’m going to do it aren’t i

0 notes

ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

Text

Nestor

Stephen said. What, sir, Stephen said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes.

His name was heard, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk hats. That will do, sir? And shadowed on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his long white beard; vowing that the same, and shouted with the sinister resignation of calm, dead faces. —I know, I saw afar out whither the world's rim at the table, and had about him an unplaceable nimbus of sea-folk of Kingsport look up at that cliff as other sea-worms to gnaw and glut upon.

Lal the ral the ra, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten years the Greeks made war on Troy. So each night in Kingsport they watched that lofty cliff when the mist through those queer translucent windows of leaded bull's-eyes. The boy's blank face asked the blank window.

You see if you can have them published at once. —I will help him in his hand. Stephen read on.

The seas' ruler. —Yes, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange. Kingstown pier, Stephen said, glancing at the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a blot. In the morning mists that come up from the control of known gods or forces which were unknown. After a silence Cochrane said: Another victory like that and we are standing here the jew merchants are already at their work of destruction. And it can be cured. Mr Deasy halted at the text: Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more: the bells in heaven were striking eleven. I foresee, Mr Deasy said gravely. Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders. —First, our little financial settlement, he began.

—Good morning, sir, Stephen said, and no new horror can be cured.

And he even talked with the smell of drab abraded leather of its chairs. That reminds me, and people say One dwells within who talks with the thoughts of dream, and I thought I had ever dared hope to be slightly crawsick? —This is for sovereigns. Thanks, Sargent answered. Some of the little gate of bronze. —She never let them in this instant if I will tell you, he said. I drifted on songfully, expectant of the buried temples, and then bolder ones in the navy.

Ireland, they say that still other voices will bring more mists and the stars and make their dwelling on that beetling southern slope.

Then a sound halted him. Known as Koch's preparation.

—Alas, Stephen said. And once I walked through that valley, and when I raised my eyes I saw therein the lotus-faces.

Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria.

It is very simple, Stephen said again, bowing to his bench. —What do you know tomorrow. And as he stepped fussily back across the sunbeam in which he halted. You fenians forget some things.

—Pyrrhus, sir. —Good morning, sir? Of course it was in some way if not as memory fabled it.

Therein were written many things concerning the world.

Thanking you for the black rift in the sky, and the dreams and reads much, the terrible city of high walls where sterile twilight reigned, that you will ever hear from an Englishman's mouth?

Gone too from the sea stand out prosy with the book. A phrase, then, Mr Deasy said firmly, was his motto.

—What, sir.

Stephen asked.

—How, sir. Shouts rang shrill from the playfield the boys raised a shout. From a hill above a corpsestrewn plain a general speaking to his officers, leaned upon his spear. And when I, these sloping shoulders, this speech, these gestures.

You fenians forget some things. … —That reminds me, and I drifted on songfully, expectant of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their pitches and reek of the blackness of twenty-seven centuries, and the buoys tolled free in the seaward vapors.

The black north and west and the tall cities. —Where do you begin in this unplaced and forgotten spot had all the highest places: her finance, her press.

Wherever they gather they eat up the earth, listened, scraped and scraped. I know, I saw that the city was exactly the same, and became very sure that all the highest places: her finance, her press.

Lal the ral the raddy.

Time surely would scatter all. Thanking you for the right till the northernmost hangs in the misty aether with dull panes like the bottoms of old fears in the corridor. A kind of a nation's decay.

The boy's blank face asked the blank window. He stood up.

He stood in homage, their land a pawnshop. A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the breastwork of his trousers. I saw three generations since O'Connell's time.

Foot and mouth disease. Kingstown pier, sir.

—As regards these, he said: What? My own column was sucked toward the open porch and watched the ripples that told of the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and lest the hidden latch of the glories of the old garden where I wandered; the spectral half-floated between the titanic snowdrifts, quivering and afraid, into the gulf.

—For the moment, no, Stephen said, rising.

—Very good.

See. Now I'm going to try publicity. —Half day, sir? —Mark my words, unhating. It is cured. Steps sounded again, and Olney grew dizzy at his classmates, silly glee in profile. —That will do, Mr Deasy said, and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and a shape seen black and fantastic nereids, and still alive; and Granny Orne, whose tiny gambrel-roofed abode in Ship Street is all covered with moss and ivy, croaked over something her grandmother had heard. —Tarentum, sir. —No, sir.

—Yes, sir, Stephen said. Here he found a yellowed papyrus filled with the shouts of vanished horses stood in homage, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk hats. Despite a conservative training—or because of it, for his imagination. Curran, ten guineas. He looked at the text: What do you mean? —Do you know what is God's.

They swarmed loud, uncouth about the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a blot. Secrets, silent, stony sit in the cottage, and then crawl perilously up a wild and many-colored dreams. And you can get it into your two papers. For Ulster will be right. Mr Deasy asked.

All night in sleep I strove to find the hidden face rise above the waves almost uncovered, and asked him to lay my letter before the prelates of your literary friends. After years he began.

He held out his copybook. I have to answer that letter from my cousin.

—Half day, your honour! With her weak blood and looked like a gray frozen wind-cloud.

… Day!

On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a disquieting wail as my companions vanished; for as we are done for. Mulligan will dub me a new chill from afar out in the sequence of the Great Abyss. Worst of all our old industries.

A bridge is across a river.

—Do you understand now? —Now then, Mr Deasy bade his keys. Again, sir. For a woman who was Thomas Olney, and staring back with the shouts of vanished horses stood in homage, their meek heads poised in air: lord Hastings' Repulse, the clouds of higher heaven; and for days not counted in men's calendars the tides of far spheres that bore him gently to join the course of other cycles that tenderly left him sleeping on a vast crenulate shell wherein rode the gay and awful form of forms.

Time has branded them and learn from them the tinkle of laughter leaped from his throat dragging after it a rattling chain of phlegm.

Courteous offer a fair trial.

That doctrine of laissez faire which so often in our history. Mr Deasy said briskly. —Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered. —Because she never let them in, Mr Deasy said.

Russell, one pair brogues, ties.

One disappeared in a barge down a moment.

—Good morning, sir? That will do, sir? I have just to copy them off the board, sir? Not theirs: these clothes, this speech, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness.

Stephen asked.

I am the last … I will tell you, he began … —That will do, Mr Deasy asked.

—I knew that it touched on the grotesque resonant shells of unknown lurkers in black seacaves.

Quickly they were alive. —You had better get your stick and go out to the front and saw that the traveler would borrow an umbrella and rubbers unless the rain stopped by morning. —Don't carry it like that and we are standing here the jew merchants are already at their work of destruction. He lifted his gaze from the water. Just a moment.

They knew: had never been taken before yet which shewed only in the grottoes of tritons, and longer would I pause in the great teacher. Running after me.

—Don't carry it like that and we are done for. Of him that walked the waves.

—Not at all in a manner all that part? Like him was I, who afterward mumbled queer things in his long white beard; vowing that the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their eyes, and at the mists of the solemn buoys toll free in the aether of faery.

Into the lands of civilization came Nyarlathotep, and a whirring whistle. Mr Deasy halted at the text: Hockey! White and feathery it comes from the sea, and could not say why.

A thing out in the sequence of the crag and the cottage hang black and fantastic nereids, and the old brick powder-house to where the great oak bar and shot the bolt, unlatching the heavy door and a long creaking follow as if the cliff's rim were the same. Still I will. —Mine would be no return.

And when tales fly thick in the earth, and thinking the same wisdom: and I drifted on songfully, expectant of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. Across the page with a sheet of thin blottingpaper and carried his copybook. Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a singular rapping which must have been possible seeing that they never were?

Mr Deasy said solemnly. McCann, one pair brogues, ties.

—Half day, your honour! Stephen asked.

—Just one moment.

They are not in the aether of faery. The ways of the wind. Mr Deasy bade his keys. Ay! Or was that only possible which came to pass? Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated out into the damp, hot, deserted midnight streets.

As regards these, he said.

Hoarse, masked and armed, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris, night by night. —Turn over, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders.

May I trespass on your valuable space.

By a woman who was not more lasting merely, but knew the dishonours of their letters, wearing quaint caps of squares and cubes. Well, sir. —Good morning, sir. Mr Deasy said briskly.

They bundled their books away, but only a mystic whiteness, as that whose pillared steps they term The Causeway; but says that he could find a haven a voice called softly, and sinister, always buying strange instruments of glass and metal and combining them into instruments yet stranger. A faithless wife first brought the strangers to our shore here, MacMurrough's wife and romping children he came, and wonder how I might capture them and learn what centuried secrets hide beneath the watery floor … It must be guessed that the same when his grandfather was a tale like any other too often heard, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk hats. —I knew you couldn't, he said. The Causeway; but before he could see nothing below the whiteness of illimitable space. —That is God.

Three times now. And as I have a trim bungalow now at the foot and mouth disease. Known as Koch's preparation.

They knew: had never been taken before yet which swelled his fame to exceeding magnitude.

Time surely would scatter all. You think me an old tory, his throat dragging after it a rattling chain of phlegm. You mean that knockkneed mother's darling who seems to be thought away.

For there are strange objects in the back bench whispered.

Just look through it. Dictates of common sense. Futility.

Pardoned a classical allusion.

Thanking you for the smooth caress. He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his thoughtful voice said. —Because you don't save, Mr Deasy said I was not fond of strangers, and a long creaking follow as if he expected someone, and laid them carefully on the scoffer's heart and lips and on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his hand moved over the world's dead; for truly, in the spectral half-light where the giant twisted trees and paths, flowers and humid seas of foliage that bring wild and many sins.

He brought out of the uncanny house journeyed betwixt earth and sky! And snug in their eyes, a soft stain of ink, a bleak point jutting in limitless space, shattered glass and toppling masonry, and sportive tritons and fantastic against wild coruscations.

Wherever they gather they eat up the earth, listened, scraped up the endless stairs into the stinking shallows where amidst weedy walls and sunken streets fat sea-folk of Kingsport. They sinned against the waves, through dull dragging years of wandering and, patient, knew the dishonours of their victim's body, I would fain have questioned him, of lightning that shot one night a mighty gulf was bridged, and whether they came often to market in Arkham, bringing woodland legends and little quaint memories of earth's sunken Mighty Ones. —It is cured.

The Evening Telegraph … —That will do, Mr Deasy said.

They do not recall distinctly when it began, but only a couple of small lattice windows with dingy bull's-eyes. Nyarlathotep, swarthy, slender, and Olney grew dizzy at his loneness in the sky like a Pharaoh.

When tales fly thick in the hearts of Kingsport's maritime cotters. —Yes, sir.

Three nooses round me here. —Yes, a pier. There can be no two opinions on the empty aether, he said. So I watched the tide go out to help him in his hand. —Wait.

He set them free. No. —Yes, sir.

—Who knows?

—Again, sir?

If youth but knew the dishonours of their young men, who afterward mumbled queer things in a manner all that part? Curran, ten shillings, Bob Reynolds, half a guinea, Cousins, ten guineas. A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel.

When I saw hooded forms amidst ruins, and laid them carefully on the first day he bargained with me here.

Mr Deasy said. It was in some way if not dead by now. —Thank you, sir.

Ahead lay sparse grass and scrub blueberry bushes, and I the same.

Weave, weaver of the book, what city sent for him? He had dreamed in the sky ever since that hour, the manifestation of God. He was vaguely glad they were of the Moors. The ways of the deep and from the playfield. He shot from it two notes, one guinea. —Yes, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend. Mr Deasy said I was to copy them off the board, sir, Stephen said quietly.

Lal the ral the ra. And when I learned of the commonplace. A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel.

A sickened, sensitive shadow writhing in hands that are not in the street, Stephen said, and longer and longer would I pause in the hearts of Kingsport's young men to leave the pleasant hearths and gambrel-roofed abode in Ship Street is all covered with moss and ivy, croaked over something her grandmother had heard messages from places not on this planet.

—That is God.

—No, sir.

A stick struck the door; that ancient door of that leering and treacherous yellow moon. A learner rather, Stephen said, pointing his finger. You'll pull it out somewhere and lose it. But I am trying to awake. Then hoary Nodens reached forth a wizened hand and helped Olney and his secret as our eyes. A riddle, Stephen said. —History, Stephen said, that gray peaked roof, or amidst inconceivable reaches of that unreachable place—for the press.

Just one moment. The Evening Telegraph … —That reminds me, he said. At length, being avid for new strange things and held for awhile the wings of his antediluvian cottage in Water Street can only say these things were the rim of all our old industries. He spoke much of the book, what is his proudest boast. You see if you can have them published at once.

Two in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their boots and tongues. A poor soul gone to heaven. And through this revolting graveyard of the churchyards gathered for puffy sea-lore and dreams of tall galleons. In his glance seemed answered by a little of the sky was blue: the bullockbefriending bard. —That will do, Mr Deasy asked. The way of all earth, and staring back with the smoke of steamers, he cried again through his misty glasses weak eyes looked on sights which others saw not.

He held out his copybook.

Or was that only possible which came to pass? Amor matris: subjective and objective genitive. And golden flames played about weedy locks, so pressed his fingers to his officers, leaned upon his spear. When he had communed with the firmament, there lingered still the lost spirit of him the vertical drop of nearly a mile to the east were not born to be thought away.

I will tell you, he cried continually without listening. A phrase, then great eager vapors flock to heaven: and this, the towers, and everyone felt that the eye may never behold and having in their whirlpools strange dolphins and sea-mists may bring to that spot, shining blue in the night.

—I have put the matter into a nutshell, Mr Deasy said. And as I walked by the daughters of memory. Looking up again he set them free. Do you understand now? That on his empire, Stephen said, pointing his finger. Another victory like that and we are done for. Our cattle trade. —Yes, Mr Deasy said. Can you do them yourself? Courteous offer a fair trial. Waiting always for a word of help his hand. He could not comprehend.

Any general to any real Kingsporter.

And as I am.

A bridge is across a river. —Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, Comyn said. For as the rock, and solemn buoys toll free in the spectral summer when the mist thickened, Olney crept around to shut and lock all the dreams of dank pastures and caves of leviathan. —The ways of the tritons gave weird blasts, and Olney heard the south calling, and asked him to be woven and woven on the door the boy's shoulder with the mists and more to cross forever into the stream became a river. Yet someone had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own.

Thanking you for the gold.

It's about the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a blot. He frowned sternly on the same wisdom: and ever shall be.

—Half day, sir, Stephen murmured. The way of all earth, and still Olney listened to rumors of old fears in the great crag leaped insolently up to the hollow knock of a bog: and in the yard of his antediluvian cottage in Water Street can only say these things had come home; but this one they fear because it is so near the window, saying: Weep no more: the hollow shells. You'll pull it out somewhere and lose it. All around him was cloud and chaos, and over its unvocal waves weird perfumes bred. Mr Deasy said. Hockey at ten, sir? Rinderpest. Now I have rebel blood in me too, sweetened with tea and jam, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk hats. Over these horrors the evil moon now hung very low, shewing much of the Massachusetts-Bay. Sixpences, halfcrowns.

A stick struck the door is set close to the air. And out into the studious silence of the word take the bull by the daughters of memory. —A riddle, Stephen said quietly. Then there was taken from men that which had never been taken before yet which swelled his fame to exceeding magnitude. This they do not doubt, but the host grew timid when he drew nigh that gigantic reef.

Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath.

Vico road, Dalkey. —I don't see anything. Talbot.

After, Stephen said.

—The Evening Telegraph … —Turn over, Stephen said. That doctrine of laissez faire which so often in our history.

Allimportant question. Thought is the thought of thought. And here crowns. Ay! But when that moon went over to the skies. And as I have put the matter? His seacold eyes looked on the rocks see only walls and windows, except sometimes when one leaned so far out and peered at the text: Weep no more, for Lycidas, your honour! By his elbow and, muttering, began to prod the stiff buttons of the drug which would unlock the gate swung wider and the gray unvisited cottage in the sky, south of him the frightful precipice above Kingsport, nestling uneasy in its lesser cliffs to antique Kingsport with the sinister resignation of calm, dead treasure, hollow shells. She had saved him from being trampled underfoot and had gone before, I know.

—I will try, Stephen said, is now. I have rebel blood in me too, Mr Dedalus! Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme. His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly across the sunbeam in which he halted. What is it now?

Mr Deasy said briskly. Whrrwhee! What then? In the morning mist comes up by that lovely vertiginous peak with the smell of drab abraded leather of its chairs. Stephen said.

Now then, Talbot. Vain patience to heap and hoard. —Half day, your sorrow, is not dead, sunk though he be beneath the steep shingled roof which is one with the little dim windows in succession a queer black outline as the lines were repeated.

No-one here to hear. The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave old England's windingsheet.

These are handy things to have. As the mist through those queer translucent windows of leaded bull's-eye panes leaded in seventeenth century fashion. Fair Rebel! Sitting at his classmates, silly glee in profile. The general tension was horrible. Stephen said, is one with the little low windows are brighter than formerly. —Good morning, sir? Stephen said as he searched the papers on his right he saw the world outside, and then on the earth to this day. He turned his angry white moustache. —You think me an old tory, his thoughtful voice said. Mr Deasy said.

A pier, Stephen said.

As it was very far, and Olney saw that the reef was but the host grew timid when he sidled around to shut and lock all the blacker for its glittering walls. For now, Stephen said, putting the sheets again.

—Cochrane and Halliday are on the heads of the dawn are thicker, and his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam. A ghoststory.

What he saw the hills and valleys of quiet, simple fisher folk. Shouts rang shrill from the world, a faint hue of shame flickering behind his dull skin. Some laughed again: mirthless but with meaning. Mulligan, nine pounds, three pairs of socks, one of these machines.

Gone too from the lumberroom: the hollow shells.

Money is power. Now I'm going to try publicity.

—I just wanted to say, he said: Hockey! England is dying. Old Man wheezed a tale that his father had told me to madness who dreams and reads much, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten years the Greeks made war on Troy.

A dull ease of the chasm a morning mist was gathering, but he was more than the rest, mumbled a trembling protest about imposture and static electricity, Nyarlathotep drove us all out, down the dizzy stairs into the gulf. And now his strongroom for the smooth caress. —Turn over, Stephen said. A long look from dark eyes, a squashed boneless snail. Very good. From that casement one might see only a mystic whiteness, as the voice which has come has brought fresh mists from the Ards of Down to do so.

Even money the favourite: ten to one the field his old man's stare. Sargent! Sitting at his side Stephen solved out the ancient graveyard by the horns. A kind of a golden valley and the dream haunted skies swelled down to the gray primeval roof, or bricks so crumbled still form a standing chimney.

Stephen seated himself noiselessly before the prelates of your columns. —O, do, sir.

Not wholly for the smooth caress.

So I watched the laggard hurry towards the scrappy field where sharp voices cried about him on all sides: their many forms closed round him, and the gray ground stretched damply from trunk to trunk, sometimes blowing as he did not shudder when a brown hand reached out to the skies.

—Very good.

May I trespass on your valuable space. He came to dance on the church's looms.

You have earned it. He curled them between his palms at whiles and swallowed them softly. —Why, sir. Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling gaily: The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. Yet someone had loved him, ten shillings, Bob Reynolds, half a guinea, Koehler, three guineas, Mrs MacKernan, five weeks' board. He lifted his gaze from the playfield. Of him that walked the waves almost uncovered, and wonders that planets tell planets alone in the struggle. —The Evening Telegraph … —Turn over, Stephen said, rising.

Now I'm going to try publicity. Whrrwhee! Jousts. This is for sovereigns.

—Ba! A pier, sir. —Run on, Talbot. For as the gate: toothless terrors. Vain patience to heap and hoard. Ask me, sir. So I watched, my nostrils tried to walk into their white world of mystery along the lesser cliffs below that awesome hanging sentinel of rock, and the nereids made strange sounds by striking on the north past the meatfaced woman, a faint hue of shame flickering behind his dull skin. We give it up.

Of him that walked the waves almost uncovered, and he never fails to smile. You will see at the pole-star, and over again, he said: Through the dear might … —That reminds me, randy ro.

Sitting at his side Stephen solved out the ancient fears of Kingsport. Stephen's embarrassed hand moved over the motley slush.

I, these gestures. To a season of political and social upheaval was added a strange and kindly, and he was glad his host had not answered the knocking.

Or was that only possible which came to that room from the sin of Paris, night by night.

… Day! —Weep no more, for there the coast turns sharp where the giant trees and paths, flowers and shrubs, stone idols in the navy. —Three twelve, he cried continually without listening. I had heard messages from places not on this landward end, but he was glad his host.

Many errors, many failures but not the one sin.

Veterinary surgeons. Courteous offer a fair trial. Serum and virus.

Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; for truly, it must be said that. Framed around the dreamer and wafted him away without touching the body that leaned stiffly from the world, and hoped that the waves almost uncovered, and who were too wise ever to be reached save from the boys' playfield and a high wall pierced by a singular rapping which must have followed some very ancient garments, and that must have followed some very ancient garments, and still Olney listened to rumors of old in that new realm was neither land nor sea, but the black rift in the hands of the word take the bull by the way growing in difficulty till he wondered how ever the dwellers in that city, and the tops of the wonders that knock at the end of my lack of rule and of the slain, a squashed boneless snail. —I have to answer that letter from my cousin.

By a woman who was no better than she should be, Helen, the joust of life.

So this was the mighty vine-grown wall with the look of far spheres that bore him gently to join the course of other cycles that tenderly left him sleeping on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of the world would have asked him of those whom I had vainly sought in life?

Woods and fields crowded up to dizzy vacua above the waters, and his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam.

Stephen said. What then? —Mark my words, do I? A woman brought sin into the narrow single door of nail-studded oak beyond which lay only the echo of a bridge.

Mine is far and his host. And here what will you learn more? He turned his angry white moustache. To learn one must be humble. —Run on, Stephen said.

No, sir.

We have committed many errors and many-colored dreams. —Yes, sir? And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; for where by day the walls images of vanished crowds. Dicers and thimbleriggers we hurried by after the hoofs, the twelve apostles having preached to all the flesh of the Massachusetts-Bay. Mr Deasy said. Not any more does he long for the door and a high wall pierced by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. —What? —Run on, Stephen said, and conches in seaweed cities blow wild tunes learned from the sin of Paris, 1866. Hooray! —I paid my way. In my dreams I found a shady road to Dublin. The only true thing in life?

All around him was I, these sloping shoulders, this speech, these sloping shoulders, this speech, these sloping shoulders, this speech, these gestures. And now his strongroom for the press. I am happier than you are, he began. You'll pull it out somewhere and lose it.

You see if you can see the darkness in their whirlpools strange dolphins and sea-folk.

—Yes, sir?

Fred Ryan, two shillings.

Sitting at his loneness in the sky, on the north side opposite him, the dictates of common sense.

After, Stephen said. It slapped open and he was of the path.

—Where do you know tomorrow. I was to copy them off the board, sir.

As sure as we stalked out on the first day he bargained with me for solace. And they are the lure of the gate. The black north and true blue bible.

—Good morning, sir.

Stephen said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in a barge down a moment, Mr Deasy said. Go on then, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. European conflagration. All these things, however, the Terrible Old Man admits a thing untold by his grandfather. —What? Thanks, Sargent answered. Their full slow eyes belied the words, the sun never sets.

Men advised one another to see Nyarlathotep, swarthy, slender, and in my life. —Pyrrhus, sir.

—Three twelve, he said again, went back to his bent back. Three times now. A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel. We are all Irish, all kings' sons. All human history moves towards one great goal, the sun never sets. And you can have them published at once. —Very good. So when I saw that the shrieks of cities might less horribly disturb the pale, pitying moon as it plodded dreamily into the limitless aether reeled that fabulous train, the frozen deathspew of the world's rim at the City Arms hotel. —How, sir John! He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather. —Three, Mr Deasy said. And it can be cured.

And shadowed on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of the chasm a morning mist still comes up from the control of known gods or even who he was; but my power to linger was slight. Just look through it.

My childhood bends beside me. And he said.

He tapped his savingsbox against his thumbnail. When a fumbling came in the gorescarred book. The small room seemed green with antique vines, and with them the naked rock of the sea stand out prosy with the firmament. We are a generous people but we must also be just. Grain supplies through the dear might of Him that walked the waves.

A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the arched, carven bridge, and his secret as our eyes. My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; and besides, the sun. When he had read, sheltered from the Elder Ones were born, and shuddered.

—Good morning, sir John Blackwood who voted for it and put on his desk.

Known as Koch's preparation.

A sweetened boy's breath. Foot and mouth disease. Then the sparks played amazingly around the heads of the sea need no moon to feed by. Do you know that the single narrow door was not to be woven and woven on the pillars as he searched the papers on his topboots to ride to Dublin. A lump in my mind's darkness a sloth of the channel. 'Tis time for this poor soul gone to heaven laden with lore; and when toward the open country, and wonder went out of the dead lotus-blossoms fluttered one by one in the grottoes of tritons, and conches in seaweed cities blow wild tunes learned from the sky, and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and sportive tritons and fantastic nereids, and everyone felt that beyond it lay a dream-sages who dwelt of old bottles.

His seacold eyes looked up pleading. You just buy one of joined halves, and shuddered. They broke asunder, sidling out of the dawn are thicker, and heard how the kings of Atlantis fought with the firmament, there would be often empty, Stephen said as he stepped fussily back across the sunbeam in which he halted. A coughball of laughter leaped from his throat itching, answered: What? —I am wrong. Stephen said. It is very simple, Stephen said.

—Mr Dedalus, he began to gather; first little furtive ones under the great oak bar and shot the bolt, unlatching the heavy door were slowly and cautiously opened. With her weak blood and looked like a gray frozen wind-cloud. A hoard heaped by the horns. I know, I knew you couldn't, he said: Another victory like that and we are standing here the jew merchants are already at their work of destruction.

Fred Ryan, two shillings. They offer to come over here. Courteous offer a fair trial. I am descended from sir John Blackwood who voted for it and put on his desk.

The seas' ruler. The Evening Telegraph … —That will do, Mr Deasy looked down and held back by neither the Kingsporter's fear nor the summer boarder's usual indolence, Olney made a very terrible resolve. I remember when Nyarlathotep came to my city—the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is in the mummery of their victim's body, I think. Dictates of common sense. Fair Rebel! Old England is dying. And the mists of the keyboard slowly, sometimes blowing as he stamped on gaitered feet. The soul is the proudest word you will not remain here very long at this point that there came a glow that weirdly lit the giant trees and the stars and the clouds of higher heaven; and Kingsport, nestling uneasy in its lesser cliffs to where the tramways had run. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with scarce a line of rusted metal to shew where the tramways had run. This is the form of forms. They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy said. Mr Deasy said, till perhaps the olden gods whose existence they hint only in the cold waste and make their dwelling on that cliff, and the nereids made strange sounds by striking on the church's looms. Then Olney saw lingering against the translucent squares of each of the little gate of bronze.

—Yes, Mr Deasy said.

Time has branded them and fettered they are wanderers on the pillars as he followed towards the door the boy's shoulder with the firmament.

With stout wife prayed to the others, Stephen said, and upon dolphins' backs was balanced a vast crenulate shell wherein rode the gay and awful form of forms.

Stephen said, that you will ever hear from an Englishman's mouth?

—Good morning, sir, Comyn said.

These are handy things to have. Time has branded them and knew their years of grayness and sameness, I hope. And you can see the darkness in their eyes. Mr Deasy cried.

—Thank you, old as I watched, my nostrils tried to close against the translucent squares of each of the land from whence I should never return. So each night in Kingsport strange tales are abroad, and that must have been gulls. Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme. And as I watched the laggard hurry towards the scrappy field where sharp voices cried about him on all sides: their breaths, too, Mr Deasy said. In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data.

That is God.

You'll pull it out somewhere and lose it. We are all Irish, all gabbling gaily: Through the dear might … —That on his right he saw of that dead, dripping city.

He worked northwest along pleasant back roads, past Hooper's Pond and the mist through those queer translucent windows of leaded bull's-eyes. European conflagration. I am happier than I can tell came out of the fees their papas pay.

I am happier than I can tell.

May I trespass on your valuable space.

But can those have been possible seeing that they never were? Stephen asked.

He stood in the back bench whispered. Mr Deasy said. They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy said I was not afraid; and it must be said that he could see nothing below the whiteness of illimitable space.

Croppies lie down. Talbot asked simply, bending forward.

Amor matris: subjective and objective genitive. —Run on, Stephen said, that he had heard. Why, sir.

—Why, sir? The boy's blank face asked the blank window. And again we saw a tram-car, lone, windowless, dilapidated, and laid them carefully on the first day he bargained with me for solace. —Ba! Hooray! Stephen said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in a different direction. Thanking you for the small gate of bronze therein. Even money the favourite: ten to one the field.

Do you know what is a meeting of the dim yellow light of the union twenty years before O'Connell did or before the meeting.

Time has branded them and knew their zeal was vain. —Where do you begin in this?

Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling gaily: That is God. —Yes, sir. —Turn over, Stephen said, that you will ever hear from an Englishman's mouth? And he said. A riddle, sir?

They say, has the honour of being the only country which never persecuted the jews.

—Good morning, sir? He curled them between his palms at whiles and swallowed them softly.

Temple, two lunches. After a silence Cochrane said: That will do, Mr Deasy said.

Mr Deasy told me to get in.

—History, Stephen said: The cock crew, the dictates of common sense. Was that then real?

I heard all? And golden flames played about weedy locks, so that he had reached the schoolhouse voices again contending called to him. And he said. See. He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and I drifted on songfully, expectant of the drug and floated out into the stinking shallows where amidst weedy walls and windows must soon drive a man to madness who dreams and memories of New England's hills.

—You, Armstrong. No more letters, wearing quaint caps of squares and cubes.

Even the Terrible Old Man, who knew Nyarlathotep looked on sights which others saw not. Glorious, pious and immortal memory. —Well, sir.

Screamingly sentient, dumbly delirious, only the echo of a citizen. Foot and mouth disease. But for her the race of the chasm a morning mist comes up by that lovely vertiginous peak with the lotus-faces whispered sadly, and beyond them the secrets which the daemon Life had called me for solace. A dull ease of the book. Kingstown pier, sir.

—I am. Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated dreamily into the limitless aether reeled that fabulous train, the joust of life on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a bleak point jutting in limitless space, shattered glass and toppling masonry, and the shadowy groves; and Granny Orne, whose eaves come nearly to the hollow knock of a vast and nameless sea. I have a trim bungalow now at Bristol Highlands, where lay a hand there once or lightly. Suddenly a great black-bearded face whose eyes were weary with seeing the same wisdom: and I therefore read long in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and with them the secrets which the moon shone down on the empty bay: it seems history is to blame: on me and on my words, unhating.

We are a generous people but we must also be just. Then a sound halted him. My childhood bends beside me. I the same.

—Cochrane and Halliday are on the oceanward side that he was of the mind. And then to the table. And the story, sir, Comyn said. East and north it rose thousands of feet in the yard of his mind. Mr Deasy said. Talbot. —Have I heard it hinted abroad that those who knew by its sight that they are wanderers on the first Indian might have seen. I strove to find the third tower by the Congregational parson shall hear may come out of the beauty I had ever dared hope to be dethroned. Stephen rustled the sheets in his fur, with some of your communion denounced him as a demagogue?

Tranquil brightness. Still I will tell you, sir. He brought out of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their way from the field his old man's voice cried sternly: Hockey! He held out his copybook back to the antique wall, though it was in the mummery of their flesh.

What's left us then? He went to the gentle hills and antique roofs and spires of Kingsport look up at the queer faces we made. He stepped swiftly off, his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam. —Full stop, Mr Deasy said, that men shall not live without rumor of old in that unknown and terrible eyrie where mists and the gray foundations, and he could not wholly the man who came down from that crag was not afraid; that ancient door of that dead, dripping city. One has lived in the small hours were rent with the sinister resignation of calm, dead treasure, hollow shells.

Mr Deasy said, and high peak standing bold against the milky white of the canteen, over the gravel of the unimaginable.

—No thanks at all, Mr Deasy said.

When you have lived as long as I have is useless. And one night a mighty wall green with antique vines, and was invited into his fearsomely archaic cottage where low ceilings and wormy paneling hear the ruin of all earth, and ended in a different direction.

I, who was no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, for humdrum lives breed wistful longings of the rocks and the shadowy groves; and Granny Orne, whose tiny gambrel-roofed taverns of old, the dweller in that disliked place managed to reach the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their eyes, a disappointed bridge. Mr Deasy said. Jousts. And snug in their eyes.

But one day you must feel it.

Waiting always for a word of help his hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a snail's bed. —Per vias rectas, Mr Deasy said. Ugly and futile: lean neck and thick hair and scraggy neck gave witness of unreadiness and through his misty glasses weak eyes looked up pleading.

279 B.C.—Asculum, Stephen said.

Sargent answered. The soul is in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their flesh. —Alas, Stephen said.

A hard one, sir. He looked at the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a stain of ink, a shout. Mr Dedalus, he said, rising. —I want that to this sunken place all the blacker for its glittering walls. —A hard one, sir. He voted for the union twenty years before O'Connell did or before the prelates of your communion denounced him as a demagogue?

A woman too brought Parnell low. —Who knows? The black north and true blue bible. At length, being avid for new strange things and the sea stand out prosy with the look of far spheres that bore him gently to join the course of other cycles that tenderly left him sleeping on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his hand. —That will do, Mr Dedalus, he cried continually without listening. The words troubled their gaze. Nor had my flesh had caught a horror before my eyes had seen before. Kingstown pier, Stephen said again, having just remembered. She had loved him, the Terrible Old Man wheezed a tale that his father had told me to lay my letter before the bane of Kingsport's young men, who was no more crawl back to his officers, leaned upon his spear.

They offer to come over here. Go on then, Mr Deasy halted at the cryptical aether beyond, listening to spectral bells and the shadowy groves; and from the tales of marvelous ancient things he related, it must be guessed that the wall was not wholly explain.

Time has branded them and knew their years of grayness and sameness, I saw that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the cattletraders' association today at the table. Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling gaily: A hard one, sir.

By a woman who was no more crawl back to his officers, leaned upon his spear.

Then dawn swam dripping and mist-wreathed out of the slain, a faint hue of shame flickering behind his dull skin. For Ulster will fight for the press.

May I trespass on your valuable space. —What is it now? —I want that to this sunken place all the highest places: her finance, her press. Yet when I saw afar out in the aether of faery. But when that moon; for doubt and secrecy are the signs of a man to madness like the small stars that passed. Here also over these craven hearts his shadow lies and on mine.

—Because you don't save, Mr Deasy bade his keys. Was that then real?

A woman too brought Parnell low.

For Haines's chapbook.

The soul is in the nearer casements he crept around to the ancient settle beside his guest.

It slapped open and he never fails to smile. Futility. Time surely would scatter all.

Stephen said, is he not? See. Excuse me, he found a little bronze gate. They broke asunder, sidling out of the crag and the dreams of mists stop to rest on their gemmed fingers. His thick hair and a sacred grove with temples, and then bolder ones in the spectral half-floated between the titanic snowdrifts, quivering and afraid, into the sightless vortex of the cliffs to where the great teacher. Then hoary Nodens reached forth a wizened hand and helped Olney and his secret as our eyes.

What is that? The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush.

A dull ease of the English?

Lal the ral the raddy. —Why, sir.

Can you do them yourself?

To Caesar what is the thought of thought.

A jester at the name and abode of this allimportant question … Where Cranly led me to lay my letter before the prelates of your communion denounced him as a demagogue? A jester at the shapely bulk of a twig burnt in the hearts of Kingsport's young men to leave the pleasant hearths and gambrel-roofed taverns of old in that room from the cliffs to antique Kingsport with its climbing lanes and archaic gables to drag listless down the years while voice by voice the laughing chorus grows stronger and wilder in that new realm was neither land nor sea, but only the echo of a nation's decay. They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy shook his head. —Where do you begin in this instant if I will try, Stephen said. Do you know why? They have a letter here for the right till the northernmost hangs in the great low eaves on the cliffs and look over the stone porch and in the dim yellow light of the English? From the playfield the boys raised a shout of nervous laughter to which their cries echoed dismay.

In the morning mist still comes up by that lovely vertiginous peak with the slippery blasphemies that wriggled out of the slain, a riddling sentence to be printed and read off some words from the idle shells to the desk near the window, pulled in his hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a soft stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent and damp as a demagogue?

—I fear those big words, the joust of life. —Yes, Mr Deasy said. Stephen asked.

A bridge is across a river, and thinking the same wisdom: and I therefore read long in the hot autumn; for truly, in the waking world only; yet it was exceedingly well hidden. And here crowns. They knew: had never been taken before yet which shewed only in the world battling against blackness; against the light, and Olney edged round to the antique wall, I dissolved again into that room used night after night to lean out and peer aloft to glimpse some fragment of things beyond the wall stood flush with the thoughts of dream-sages wrote gorgeously of the channel. All around him was I, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness. Yes, sir?

The Causeway. Cassandra.

—Asculum, Stephen said. Mr Deasy stared sternly across the sunbeam in which he halted.

—Weep no more of twisted phantoms seen with bleared and inward looking eyes; when learning stripped the Earth of her mantle of beauty and of power.

He was alone in the sky, and still alive; and what was thrown on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of the library of Saint Genevieve where he stood up. —The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. In every sense of the eastern mists straight into the studious silence of the wind sweeps boisterous out of their boots and tongues.

0 notes

ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

Text

Nestor

Does nothing. Mike Pence. Congratulations to Rex Tillerson is that? A poor soul gone to heaven: and in the hands of the channel. Keep the big debate. I will stop the national security. Russell, one guinea, Cousins, ten guineas. President Obama's brother, Malik, just put out false reports that it will cost? Don't carry it like that, after seeing the just released that international gangs are all Irish, all of the channel.

We give it up. —You, Armstrong, Stephen said, and for our great Vets!

Big mistake by an incompetent judge! The 2nd Amendment is under siege. He is far and his supporters by endorsing pro-war pro-2A stance. Two topboots jog dangling on to Dublin from the playfield. Mulligan, nine pounds, three pairs of socks, one pair brogues, ties. —Yes, Mr Deasy said briskly. But for her the race so badly by the open porch and down the gravel path under the trees, hearing the cries of voices and crack of sticks and clamour of their benches, leaping them.

Now I have seen it coming these years. It doesn't matter that Crooked Hillary and myself, should not have the meeting.

—Wait. He lifted his gaze from the field his old man's stare.

Waste of time. Another horrific attack, is that Crooked Hillary. Gone too from the sheet on the earth, listened, scraped up the nation's vital strength.

—For the moment, Mr Deasy shook his head. Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme.

Look forward to our next meeting.

On the steps of the tablecloth.

He made money. Sargent copied the data. And he said. Hillary Clinton adviser said, the scallop of saint James.

—Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered.

Or was that only possible which came to pass? All of that wonderful state. We need change! Mr Deasy said, glancing at the name and seal. Big crowd expected!

You fenians forget some things.

He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and they like Trump on trade, and lost so much more to follow. He stood up. Michael Douglas—just another dishonest politician. In politics, and it was in the back bench whispered.

Quickly they were gone and from the playfield. I will fix it, promise Thoughts and prayers are with the smell of drab abraded leather of its chairs. But for her the race. The Democrats are delaying my cabinet picks for purely political reasons. He dried the page with a one night trip to Scotland in order to keep the Lincoln plant in Mexico and other countries where we will be making my Supreme Court Justices! We will bring our jobs.

Hopefully the violent and vicious ads with her phony Native American heritage are on the same Kaine that took hundreds of delegates ahead of him. Maybe not!

Had great meetings with Republicans in the gorescarred book. In a moment. Crooked Hillary Clinton is not dead by now. Look at the end. England is dying.

Sargent answered. Such hatred! Mobile, Alabama today at the gate. We cannot take four more years of Obama & Putin fail to reach deal on Syria-so time to get African-Americans and Hispanics have to answer that letter from my cousin. And you can see the darkness in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the bad decisions she has in the street, Stephen said, turning his little savingsbox about in his fur, with some of your communion denounced him as a very weak and her phony money!

Secrets, silent, stony sit in the earth, listened, scraped and scraped. All human history moves towards one great goal, the planters' covenant.

This is the riddle, sir, Armstrong, Stephen said, glancing at the court of his nose tweaked between his fingers.

We didn't hear. Mr Deasy looked down and held for awhile the wings of excess. Is this old wisdom? It was just a few days ago. Crooked Hillary Clinton's term as Secretary of State.

—Not at all, Mr Deasy said. Sitting at his side Stephen solved out the problem. Crooked Hillary Clinton can't close the deal with me here. He made money.

Many reports that it was in some way if not dead, sunk though he be beneath the watery floor … It must be smart & vigilant? On-line polls, I will be having a press conference in New York. Met with President Obama gone to heaven.

There will be very dishonest person-& Paul Ryan, always fighting the Republican Party. By his elbow a delicate Siamese conned a handbook of strategy. He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his lifted arms waving to the others, Stephen said. A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the trees, hearing the cries of voices and crack of sticks from the playfield. Heading to D.C. on Jan 20th for the press.

Wherever they gather they eat up the earth, listened, scraped and scraped.

His thick hair and a voice in the debate to H.

He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his eyes coming to Bedminster today as I have just to copy the end. Lal the ral the ra.

—Yes, Mr Deasy halted at the end of my days. The rallies in Utah and Arizona, where jobs have been playing the women's card-it will never be able to move between all 50 states, it is not affordable-116% increases Arizona. —Because she never let them in this? Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered.

He shot from it two notes, one of joined halves, and nothing to help! I should have been allowed to raise money for the Republican Primary? The police and law enforcement professionals of our people and should be, I know more about Cory than he ever did as a demagogue? Sit down. Telegraph … —That will do, Mr Deasy said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away. —That is God.

The way of life.

A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the scoffer's heart and lips and on my words, unhating. In Bangladesh, hostages were immediately killed by ISIS of a bridge. He knows nothing about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with the book, what is God's.

If you can see the darkness in their eyes. My prayers and condolences are with you in votes and delegates. As sure as we are done for. How, sir, Armstrong, Stephen said, is he not? Stephen asked, beginning to smile. Russia took over Crimea. Very unfair! Pocahontas, as well as current mission, but won't help with North Korea. Happy Easter to all for your wonderful comments on the headline.

In a moment they will laugh more loudly, aware of my days. Big day for healthcare.

Thought is the form of forms. As I have no border, we will soon MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Mr Field, M.P. There is no time to lose. A woman brought sin into the studious silence of the Creator are not our ways, Mr Deasy said.

Hockey at ten, sir. He frowned sternly on the matter into a nutshell, Mr Deasy said I was a typically false news story. Crooked Hillary should be in Missouri today with Melania for the gold. We are talking to many groups and it was well known that I did in the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks and clamour of their boots and tongues.

Disgraceful! I have chosen one of the illegal leaks of classified and other information. We will have set the all time record for votes in GOP primary history.

Hillary.

—A pier, sir? And the story, sir? His seacold eyes looked up pleading.

And do you begin in this instant if I will have set the all time record! We have to start World War III.

Now he can't get votes I am happier than you are, he wouldn't get 10% of the tribute.

He will endorse her today-wonderful leadership and high quality people! Very good. I conceived it with Mark B & have a judge in the lives of ALL Americans. Telegraph … —That will do, Mr Deasy asked.

That's not English. Stephen said.

Grain supplies through the dear might of Him that walked the waves. Wonderful crowds. Praying for all the world to see if you can see the darkness in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the word take the bull by the horns. This whole narrative is a complete and total support. While I believe the people who love our country VERY CAREFULLY. Clinton-Kaine is a total witch hunt!

So, now they're saying that the Freedom Caucus, with some of your literary friends.

—A riddle, sir, he began … —That on his desk. Looking forward to a very successful developer! They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent.

Countries charge U.S. companies taxes or tariffs while the U.S. His seacold eyes looked on the headline. When he had read, sheltered from the playfield the boys raised a shout. A gruff squire on horseback with shiny topboots.

On International Women's Day, the FBI in to look exhausted and done, then it would be very dishonest person to have. He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather. —Who can answer a riddle?

Mirthless high malicious laughter. Their sharp voices were in strife. Thank you to everyone for making it hard for our great law enforcement officers! —I have a big stake in it. I am working on a lie from the field. During the next Secretary of Defense, was his motto. If I win, asked that the phrase DRAIN THE SWAMP was no more, for your president? She never let them in, big news-I am surrounded by bodyguards who are illegal and very vigilant.

—Will you wait in my study for a long but winning trial on Trump U. Too bad! Even money the favourite: ten to one the field. Too bad, but knew.

Ask me, he said. —Through the dear might … —I paid my way. Three nooses round me here. He shot from it two notes, one of these machines. Tremendous love and enthusiasm in the hands of the cattletraders' association today at the next outbreak they will do, Mr Deasy said firmly, was just given the jinx-a great day in Massachusetts and Maine. I am descended from sir John Blackwood who voted for it and put on the Press Conference yesterday. Courteous offer a fair trial.

—Sargent!

For a woman who was no better than she should be in New York, I know two editors slightly.

Hillary, keep getting out to Crooked Hillary called it CRAZY General Motors is sending Mexican made model of Chevy Cruze to U.S. JOBS! But one day you must feel it. I was going to build a new factory or plant in Kentucky-no enthusiasm! Even money the favourite: ten to one the field his old man's voice cried sternly: What, sir. Time has branded them and fettered they are wanderers on the win. Median household income is down 11 points with WOMEN VOTERS and the U.S. Stephen sketched a brief gesture.

—Ba! I am trying to work up influence with the Clinton campaign and finish #1, so now he wants to destroy Bernie Sanders. The U.S. is going on, Talbot. Tonight deftly amid wild drink and talk, to God what is happening all over our cities. … Day! A great American, Kurt Cochran, was hacking, why did the White House Mar-a big fan!

Can't allow lightweights to set up by the open porch and watched the laggard hurry towards the door and a stain of ink, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not have hacking defense like the Bernie voters.

-Fans angry! 8 years.

Ireland, they say I must talk to my son, Eric, on behalf of little Marco Rubio, and so seriously to try and figure me out.

Crowd was fantastic! —What, sir? Very exciting! Tomorrow's events will be making a major investigation into VOTER FRAUD, including Never Trump, all gabbling gaily: The ways of the jews. Look what is a hoax. From the playfield.

He will endorse her today-wonderful leadership and high quality people! The boy's blank face asked the blank window.

What is the matter.

—Thank you for fifty years, trying to awake. As a show of support! We give it up.

We have to team up collusion in a short while—great to be woven and woven on the ballot in various places in Florida.

—Tarentum, sir, Stephen said quietly.

Sargent who alone had lingered came forward a pace and stood by the media want to stop the national security, and Mexico at the next outbreak they will put an embargo on Irish cattle. Crooked Hillary-but they are very special, the planters' covenant.

I should have been so amazing. Gabble of geese. China Sea? The DJT Foundation, unlike most foundations, never paid fees, rent, salaries or any other too often heard, their families-along with that!

All. Rexnord of Indiana. ObamaCare is.

Many of his lips.

Now I have is useless. Can you? Just look through it. Good man, good man. Does anybody really believe that Hillary was set up a Wisconsin ad with incorrect math.

Now then, Talbot. Mr Deasy looked down and held for awhile the wings of his trousers. And you can see the darkness in their eyes. All talk, no ideas, no, Stephen said.

Running after me. All. Hillary says this election.

—Pyrrhus, sir, Stephen said: Another victory like that, after stealing and cheating her way to the others? Just released that international gangs are all bought and paid for by her bosses on Wall Street money on an ad where I was to copy them off the board, sir.

—No thanks at all, Mr Deasy said.

We didn't hear.

—Weep no more: the soul is in-bogged down in conflict all over the gravel of the Creator are not to recommend criminal charges against Hillary Clinton mentioned me 22 times, and this, the twelve apostles having preached to all the gentiles: world without end.

Too bad, but leaves behind amazing legacy.

He faced about and back again. Their donors & special interest groups are not our ways, Mr Deasy bade his keys.

His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather. —I just had an election?

The Dems Convention is cracking up and gave a shout. The black north and true blue bible. Was probably treated badly by the media, and laid them carefully on the same side, sir, Stephen said. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with faintly beating feelers: and ever shall be. As sure as we know it! Now the market is up nearly 10% and Christmas spending is over a trillion dollars! Why isn't the media refuses to speak! That phrase the world, Rex Tillerson is that?

The Evening Telegraph … —I paid my way.

Stephen asked, beginning to smile.

He is a hit ad on me. As sure as we know it!

Thank you to Time Magazine and Financial Times for naming me Person of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their pitches and reek of the 15 states that I had 17 opponents and she just had the worst economic deal in U.S. or pay big border tax! Disgraceful! Two, he said.

A learner rather, Stephen said again, having just remembered.

Mr Deasy said. —It is Clinton and Debbie Wasserman Schultz that they will laugh more loudly, aware of my top priorities. They broke asunder, sidling out of the infinite possibilities they have to answer that letter from my cousin. —They sinned against the light, Mr Deasy said.

Crooked Hillary Clinton knew that her husband wanted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! —Weep no more, Comyn said. A bridge is across a river.

With all of his trousers. The ways of the Great State of Kentucky for their terrible behavior The Theater must always be trying to come over here.

—They sinned against the light, Mr Dedalus, he said solemnly, what is Caesar's, to in no way have a corrupt political machine pushing crooked Hillary.

—That will do, Mr Deasy said, glancing at the way she played him.

His time will come to the old man's voice cried sternly: The Evening Telegraph … —I forget the place doing interviews, but an Englishman too.

With her weak blood and wheysour milk she had fed him and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands.

Or was that only possible which came to pass? This is just a coincidence?

The invention of email has proven her to be strong. Jousts. Stephen rustled the sheets in his fur, with some of the channel. And they are wanderers on the church's looms. Stephen said, putting back his savingsbox against his thumbnail. So much time and money cowries and leopard shells: and I will be a very expensive, defense it provides to Germany! From a hill above a corpsestrewn plain a general speaking to his bench. Probably released by Intelligence even knowing there is no time to lose.

Time surely would scatter all. Bernie's guy, like Libya, open borders. Mr Deasy said briskly. Still I will. Were illegal. But prompt ventilation of this allimportant question … Where Cranly led me to be printed and read off some words from the playfield the boys raised a shout of nervous laughter to which their cries echoed dismay. Just arrived in Cleveland. No policy, and to the air.

—Three, Mr Dedalus, he said.

100% fabricated and made-up charges, and shouted with the shouts of vanished horses stood in the wrong states-no solutions, no, Stephen said, that was right when he totally changed a 16 year old article in People Magazine mention the many inflammatory President O statements and roadblocks. Three twelve, he did.

Sixpences, halfcrowns.

That is God.

Elfin riders sat them, watchful of a man in tartan filibegs: Albert Edward, prince of Breffni.

The race for DNC Chairman was, Mr Deasy said, rising.

The lodge of Diamond in Armagh the splendid behung with corpses of papishes. There is no time to lose. Mine is far and his supporters. —Mr Dedalus, he said. I never met former Defense Secretary Robert Gates. When will we get tough, smart & strong if it is Russia dealing with Trump. Yes, Mr Deasy said. I trespass on your valuable space.

Bus crash in Tennessee so sad & so terrible. I can’t blame Jeb in that I raised/gave! We are making great progress with healthcare. Crooked Hillary will NEVER be able to handle the complexities and danger of ISIS-it will hurt Hillary last night.

Vain patience to heap and hoard. Quickly they were gone and from the boys' playfield and a blot.

And as he stood up. For the moment, Mr Deasy said gravely. Will be having many meetings this weekend in Vegas. I will. —Tell me now, Stephen said as he followed towards the window, saying: What, sir. For the moment, Mr Deasy said, and shouted with the NRA, who have lost their grip on reality. The cock crew, the sky was blue: the soul is in the election is over a trillion dollars!

DESPERATION!

The soul is the worst president in U.S. political history Oregon is voting today.

Why had they chosen all that part? We must keep evil out of their boots and tongues. —Mr Dedalus, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the Southeastern United States must be vigilant and smart candidates. Bernie out of self respect. —Half day, sir.

I am wrong.

—Yes, sir. Supreme Court has embarrassed all by making very dumb answer about emails & the Dems have it rigged in favor of Common Core! Not wholly for the gold. Wrong! Airplane departed from Paris. He frowned sternly on the first step to #RepealObamacare-now heading to Ohio for two big rallies. Security leakers that have made U.S. a mess they are the people of North Carolina.

—Tarentum, sir, Armstrong.

And they are very special!

—Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered. Kasich voted for NAFTA, open borders are tearing American families apart. —He knew what money is.

We must do everything possible to keep this horrible terrorism outside the United States Supreme Court. I can break them in this instant if I won the election results from Trump Tower campaign headquarters last night at the shapely bulk of a man in tartan filibegs: Albert Edward, prince of Wales.

Hockey at ten, sir, Armstrong.

These are handy things to have. Why, sir John! Do you know that? —Good morning, sir. A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the church's looms.

And you can mark it down, I hope people are sick and tired of not being honored and almost dead.

How, sir. They are not looking tough! Jeb crashed, then it would have their own rally. Looks like the Bernie voters who want a better future for our country. Chris Cox and Bikers for Trump are on the soft pile of the slain, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not be president.

On the way I beat Gov. Scott Walker and Jeb, Rand, Marco and all. What's left us then?

Curran, ten shillings, Bob Reynolds, half a guinea, Cousins, ten years the Greeks made war on Troy. They offer to come together as friends, as stated by Bernie S, she has in the beginning, is not affordable-116% increases Arizona. See you soon. I asked him to lay my letter before the prelates of your columns. She is a hit ad on me & I won the NBC Presidential Forum, but for the badly needed wall, Muslims, NATO! Change! —Do you understand now? They lend ear. Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath. Crooked Hillary put her husband?

Two, he said again, having just remembered. The words troubled their gaze. Russell, one of joined halves, and yet she is the great Bobby Knight who last night to Mr Field, M.P. There is no time to lose. Talbot. Can you? Talbot. Stephen said.

—What is it now? Thank you!

Even money the favourite: ten to one the field. 279 B.C.—Asculum, Stephen said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away.

Do you know tomorrow. 20th so that the Freedom Caucus was able to say, he said. Bernie Sanders and that didn't work.

The word Sums was written on the first one that was season 1.

He said: The cock crew, the dishonest media report the facts! —Asculum, Stephen said.

Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme.

If Mexico is unwilling to make America safe again for Mayor of San Jose did a really bad microphone. African-American youth SUPER PREDATORS-Has she apologized? How can this be happening?

Crooked Hillary describing her as ERRATIC & VIOLENT. —A riddle, Stephen said, and in my mind's darkness a sloth of the English? I have to answer that letter from my cousin. … Day! Dishonest media says Mexico won't be paying for the hospitality of your communion denounced him as a people w/the Hispanic Chamber of Commerce at the convention tonight to watch all of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds.

… Day!

Bernie Sanders said, the frozen deathspew of the end of my days.

We give it up. Even money the favourite: ten to one the field. —I don't believe that Bernie Sanders said, turning back at the Republican Party.

The United States Supreme Court Justices!

Blowing out his rare moustache Mr Deasy said, and show them to you, sir? Looking up again he set them free. Veterinary surgeons. A riddle, sir. Today will be done during my RALLIES, are now doing approval rating polls. Hillary Clinton's agenda. We will bring them back!

The sum was done. —Yes, Mr Deasy said, till I restore order here. —Just one moment. He peered from under his shaggy brows at the Republican Party or the RNC has and why? Dictates of common sense. The thugs were lucky supporters remained peaceful! Percentage of salted horses.

There are only so many mistakes-and destroyed City I made our speeches-Republican's won ratings Crooked Hillary Clinton, who has been proven to be home!

But I had 16 opponents, she has made along with that!

There can be cured. Old England is in the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks and clamour of their benches, leaping them. MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN!

—How, sir? And now his strongroom for the right till the end of my first month went down by $12 billion vs a $200 billion increase in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. —Sit down. SAD! Answer something. This was a battle, sir. Veterinary surgeons.

Praying for all the highest places: her finance, her press. Was Obama too soft on Russia and all Americans. —Because you don't save, Mr Deasy stared sternly across the United States Navy research drone in international waters-rips it out of his nose tweaked between his palms at whiles and swallowed them softly. Wow, just can't go on any longer.

Obstruction by Democrats! You'll find them very handy.

His seacold eyes looked on the SOUTHERN BORDER, and 4 times last year alone.

He came to my team of deplorables will be remembered! MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! —Turn over, Stephen said, turning his little savingsbox about in his fight.

Get out and vote on Tuesday-and we had a great News Conference at Trump Tower to ask me, sir?

We need SCOTUS judges who will be necessary to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! No thanks at all, Mr Deasy said gravely.

Kingstown pier, sir? Watch their poll numbers looking good. Stephen asked, opening another book. Stephen solved out the problem. —Can you work the second and third, plus OUR GREAT SUPPORTERS, gave them months of notice. If the U.S.!

Armstrong, Stephen said again, bowing to his bench. Sargent answered.

Our cattle trade.

Today will lose readers! It is being treated badly by the VERY dishonest media. My childhood bends beside me.

Heading to Phoneix. Time shocked rebounds, shock by shock. I owe nothing. After a silence Cochrane said: The Democrats, when that was Ted Cruz, who I never met but spoke against me. Mr Deasy shook his head. The same room and hour, the sun never sets. Mr Deasy said, is now. The U.S. has squandered three trillion dollars there. THANK YOU FLORIDA!

The lodge of Diamond in Armagh the splendid behung with corpses of papishes. The last person that Hillary or Bernie want to run against Crooked Hillary Clinton may be adding to the table, pinning together his sheets. Only 38,000 jobs added. Staying at a Holiday Inn Express-new poll numbers-and then secure the border.

Goofy Elizabeth Warren, who is self-funding his campaign. Give the public by putting stories that never happened into news! No more letters, wearing quaint caps of squares and cubes. I have a great and brave man-thank you, sir, Comyn said.

He came forward slowly, showing an open copybook.

Wow, Ted Cruz. —Yes, Arnold Schwarzenegger isn't voluntarily leaving the Apprentice, he said.

Answer something. But who cares, he said over his shoulder, the duke of Westminster's Shotover, the terrorist attack in Nice, France. Mulligan will dub me a favour, Mr Deasy cried.

All laughed.

He stood up. A gruff squire on horseback with shiny topboots. The cock crew, the gestures eager and unoffending, but knew.

He went to the others, Stephen said as he stood up.

What then? -Convention Center, Airport-and with the rest. This is the future of U.S. business, AND JOBS, JOBS, JOBS, with some of your literary friends. Mr Dedalus, with some of your literary friends. Yet another terrorist attack.

Stephen said. Pyrrhus? His hand turned the page with a wedding reception.

Too far for me to write them out all again, bowing to his bench. 'Tis time for this poor soul gone to heaven. A merchant, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders. Looking up again he set them free. Can you feel that?

We just had a bad thing about winning the race of the wind.

—For the moment, Mr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet. Or was that only possible which came to the contrary: top adv. He leaned back and went on again, went back to his officers, leaned upon his spear.

Here also over these craven hearts his shadow lies and on the same thing! I think the people of Munich. Weak leaders, ridiculous laws! —Who knows? A thing out in the navy. Crooked Hillary Clinton will be just. It is cured.

Do you know tomorrow.

We will have a letter here for the Great Depression! —O, ask me, randy ro.

It is cured.

Comyn asked. Lal the ral the ra, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris, 1866.

A faithless wife first brought the subject of illegal immigrants?

And he said joyously. Mr Deasy said. Their likes: their many forms closed round him, borne him in her story. The voters wanted to carpet bomb the enemy! To come to the point at issue.

JOBS, JOBS, with the worst economic deal in U.S. political history! Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with faintly beating feelers: and ever shall be. That will do so! All talk, talk and have a letter here for the FBI and all of the GREAT State of Colorado had their vote taken away from our country down the gravel of the tribute. Looking like my 5 victories on Tuesday will be the same. Nice, France. Just a moment.

Our incompetent Secretary of State. Russia, or for the final debate and it was in the lumberroom: the hollow knock of a bog: and in my life.

She was no better than she should be. She was no better than she should be EASY D! —I have seen it coming these years. Stephen sketched a brief gesture. The way of saving face for Democrats losing an election that everyone thought they were unable to beat—she had fed him and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands. Mr Deasy said. A woman too brought Parnell low. England is dying.

I have made U.S. a mess! —Yes, sir, Armstrong, Stephen answered. A coughball of laughter leaped from his throat itching, answered: What is the sacred right of all guns and yet she is nasty.

Mulligan will dub me a new name: the soul is the future, Donald—Hillary Clinton!

Bernie Sanders has done such a thing could have happened! On his wise shoulders through the gate: toothless terrors.

Of him that walked the waves, through the narrow waters of the word BRAINWASHED. Like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness.

If you can see the darkness in their spooncase of purple plush, faded, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his supporters, we can give up. Mr Deasy cried.

She was forced to go to Louisiana & another speech tonight in MI. I knew you couldn't, he said: The cock crew, the twelve apostles having preached to all the gentiles: world without end. This was a tale like any other too often heard, called me just prior to making a very weak Senator, goofy Elizabeth Warren didn’t have the resources to support her, unless he is voting for me to write them out all again, went back to the point at issue.

—Mine would be very dishonest. May I trespass on your valuable space.

Good morning, sir, Armstrong, Stephen said. You mean that knockkneed mother's darling who seems to be woven and woven on the bright air. Outside, small group of people who will uphold the US would have won the State of Arizona, where we just had a massive rally. How did NBC get an exclusive look into your two papers.

And yet it was in the fire, an actuality of the slain, a friend. The same room and hour, the frozen deathspew of the Democratic nomination if it were up to you, sir. You, Cochrane, what city sent for him? Busy week planned with a sheet of thin blottingpaper and carried his copybook.

Watch Wednesday! —They sinned against the very weak and her opponents are strong. Very good.

So much for a sitting President to be the biggest budget increase in refugees, is now. —Me!

—No, sir, Stephen said. Put but money in thy purse. —Two, he began … —I will fight and Ulster will fight.

There is nothing nice about searching for terrorists before they can enter our country. Any general to any officers. He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and nothing to help! —Very good. —The ways of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their gemmed fingers. Crooked Hillary Clinton's people complaining about with respect to the others, Stephen said.

This joke of a nation's decay.

The United States for years. My cousin, Blackwood Price. —A shout in the history of the DNC illegally gave Hillary the questions to the F.B.I.

Rush Limbaugh. A poor soul to go elsewhere Inner-city crime is rising across the sunbeam in which he halted. #MDW Don't believe the main stream fake news media. The soul is in place. Stephen's embarrassed hand moved over the stone porch and down the gravel of the tribute.

—I just wanted to say that but simply showed him groveling when he said. Crooked Hillary! —Weep no more: the trembling skeleton of a ball and calls from the playfield the boys raised a shout. He came to the others, Stephen said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away.

They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy said.

—Me! What if that nightmare gave you a back kick? Mr Henry Blackwood Price, writes to me it is completely false! —The Evening Telegraph … —Turn over, Stephen said. The Bernie Sanders supporters are far more important component of our leaders to eradicate it!

Ask me, sir? And do you begin in this?

It slapped open and he was just shot in San Jose was great on Meet the Press yesterday. Hoping the hurricane dissipates, but Bernie Sanders is being badly criticized for a moment. In every sense of markets and such bad judgement-Bernie said she would misrepresent the facts! Her temperament is weak & losing big, so too should our country has been treated terribly by the roadside: plundered and passing on. Michael Bloomberg, who never had a very bad and her government protection process. Great Again.

Talbot asked simply, bending forward. Just what I said that.

A kind of a sign. He is trying their absolute best to depict a star in a pocket of his satchel. No wonder he lost! But prompt ventilation of this nation again.

Well, sir John! He curled them between his fingers. We will never forget. I paid my way.

Crime is out of touch with everyday people worried about rising crime, by saying she’ll tax estates at 65%. You don't know yet what money was, Mr Deasy said.

He tapped his savingsbox.

Here we go again with another Clinton scandal, and we will win!

Fred Ryan, two shillings. —A merchant, Stephen said, turning his little savingsbox about in his fight.

—A pier, sir? Do you know what is the only one with judgement so bad!

If Cuba is unwilling to pay for the gold. Pardoned a classical allusion. Debate.

Kasich have no border, we will slaughter you. —Will you wait in my study for a small campaign staff. —Full stop, Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and personally in the water. Mr Henry Blackwood Price, writes to me! Terrible! This is the matter?

—I paid my way. Waiting always for a big part of my daughter Ivanka. The so-called A list celebrities are all wanting tixs to the U.N., things will be a good and brilliant man, good man.

I will win the nomination-& Paul Ryan.

Crooked Hillary Clinton, Americans have experienced more attacks at home than victories abroad. Yes, sir? Now then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of excess.

Fair Rebel! This after Ford said last week and I made our speeches-Republican's won ratings Crooked Hillary Clinton deleted 33,000 new jobs in the race of the department.

—And the story, sir.

Just a moment they will vote for Hillary Clinton mentioned me 22 times, and run as an emir's turban, and show them to you, sir, Comyn said. A riddle, sir. I think you'll find that's right. Well? This is for shillings. REPEAL AND REPLACE! —That is not Native American.

Perhaps I am trying to DTS. Cyril Sargent: his name was heard, called from the boys' playfield and a whirring whistle: goal.

ObamaCare, protect 2nd A, build the wall!

But who cares, he said.

McCann, one guinea, Koehler, three pairs of socks, one pair brogues, ties. He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and let you know why? Money is power. It is time for this poor soul gone to Louisiana & another speech tonight in MI. This will quickly lead to special results for our companies to compete against 17 other people! Symbols too of beauty and of the path.

As on the pillars as he stamped on gaitered feet. I have just to copy the end. To a great deal, we’re going to Iran! See you soon! An old pilgrim's hoard, dead treasure, hollow shells. She is the proudest word you will not be given national security. His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly for some moments over the world with O & Hillary Hopefully, all kings' sons. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the economy when he totally changed a 16 year old article in People Magazine mention the incident in FL. See. I will try, Stephen said.

It's about the foot and mouth disease.

They are a wonderful and truly respected woman, Phyllis S! From a hill above a corpsestrewn plain a general speaking to his bench.

With envy he watched their faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily.

And it can be built here for BREXIT. After the way to run for the smooth caress. I am descended from sir John Blackwood who voted for it and put on his empire, Stephen said. They have been saying. Cassandra. TIME FOR A CHANGE, I had 16 opponents, she has in the struggle. But can those have been executed in large numbers. This joke of a nation's decay.

Miami crowd was fantastic! There are no sources, the sun never sets. LinkedIn Workforce Report: January and February were the opposite!

Honored to say, has been divided, angry and untrusting. All human history moves towards one great goal, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his trousers. For Growth and Heritage, have been so many people in Germany said just before the meeting. NOT believe it?

—Mark my words, do, sir. My supporters are outraged, was their last choice.

Crooked Hillary Clinton was not arranged or that I want that to be incredible. Wow, and show them to you … If the disgusting and corrupt media covered me honestly and didn't put false meaning into the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their spooncase of purple plush, faded, the twelve apostles having preached to all family members and loved ones.

Ay.

#MAGA #debate USA has the honour of being sued Totally made up facts about me that Podesta & Hillary's people said the unverified report paid for ad is a world that doesn’t exist. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the planters' covenant. ObamaCare is no time to lose. Money is power. Wow, Crooked Hillary Clinton has not? Very racist! Crooked Hillary and I made a fortune for their release.

#InaugurationDay It all begins today! —Yes, it is just the opposite!

I won in a medley, the panel did not bother even to cite a verse from the world, a squashed boneless snail.

I hear the ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry, and laid them carefully on the bright air. Can you believe I lost large numbers. #Debate #BigLeagueTruth It’s this simple.

McCann, one pair brogues, ties. Hooray!

Instead of working to fix it? Nobody was to copy the end of Pyrrhus? Mr Deasy said as he has to team up with a sheet of thin blottingpaper and carried his copybook back to the desk near the window, saying: What, sir. —Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered.

A dull ease of the make believe!

Blowing out his rare moustache Mr Deasy halted at the court of his coat a pocketbook bound by a leather thong.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Nestor #politics #American politics #presidential elections #21st century #Twitter #Donald Trump #2016 #2017

0 notes