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annecoulmanross · 5 years ago

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A Prequel to “A World That Was Meant for Our Eyes to See.”

“You loved him, didn’t you?”

Lady Ann Ross awakens in the afterlife and discovers that the answers to the questions she and her husband have had about the Franklin expedition might finally be within her grasp.

(for the @theterrorbingo square “Lady Ann Ross” | pairings: Ann Coulman Ross & James Fitzjames; James Clark Ross / Ann Coulman Ross; James Fitzjames / Francis Crozier; Francis Crozier / James Clark Ross; background Francis Crozier / Sophia Cracroft | word count: 5696 plus endnote | rating: T | warnings: angst with a happy ending; mild worries about period-typical homophobia, not actually present; death, but make it happy – happier?)

When Lady Ann Ross first awoke, she blinked her eyes at the golden light streaming through lace curtains. Unseasonably bright for January, she thought. Unseasonably warm too. And her limbs didn’t ache as they had these last few weeks; she felt almost well again. Then the door creaked quietly open and Ann looked up into the kindly face of Eleanor Anne Franklin née Porden, and Ann Ross realized what had happened. She’d spent enough years in the company of this woman’s daughter to know what seeing her long-deceased mother meant.

So, this was it. The end.

Except it wasn’t.

There were people to meet, and people to meet again. Lady Franklin the First – Eleanor – led Ann gently through all of it, through the winding corridors of a grand house whose huge windows gave views of an icy sea and grand cliffs, and Ann gave handshakes and embraces to friends and long-lost relatives until she was tired beyond measure.

Eventually, Eleanor guided her to a settee in a new room of the unending house, pressing a cup of tea into Ann’s hands. Ann looked up to give her thanks, and startled at the face of the man standing at Eleanor’s elbow.

“Mr. Jopson?”

The young man gave her a familiar grin, and tucked his hair behind his ear, lovely as ever.

“Yes, Lady Ross,” Jopson answered.

He looked just as he had when the Antarctic crew had returned to England in 1843, with Thomas Jopson standing tall and poised, half a step behind his captain aboard Terror. But there was no captain here now, only Jopson, whom Ann hadn’t seen in over ten years. The last word about Jopson Ann had heard was from that thrice-damned last letter Ross had received from Francis Crozier.

Ann began to ask, “But then–”

Jopson nodded, his smile dimming a bit.

In sudden realization, Ann looked toward Eleanor. “Is Sir John–?”

But Eleanor seemed contented enough. “He’s out with the ships, yes,” she explained. “Most of them are out on the water, but our Lieutenant Jopson likes to keep an eye out for new arrivals, and Captain Fitzjames should be around here somewhere.”

Ann reeled. To finally know! “Are they all here then?”

Eleanor shook her head, a bit of the melancholy upon her at last. “Ah – no. We’ve yet to see Captain Crozier.”

Mr. Jopson – Lieutenant Jopson, Ann corrected in her head – stepped forward, his voice suddenly eager. “He was one of the last of us who was still hale and hearty, ma’am,” Jopson said. “We assumed he’d been rescued, but no news of it ever came to us. Your husband, m’am, would have found him, we thought?”

Ann’s heart sunk. She shook her head sadly, saying, “James went searching and found only stories of tragedy and a handful of buttons. No word of Captain Crozier but ‘Gone, dead and gone.’”

Jopson’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing.

“I wish I had better news to give you,” Lady Ann added. The young man had never struck her as talkative but his silence was worrisome, and she had nothing but silence to give him on this matter, so she hurried to change the subject: “You’ve earned ‘lieutenant,’ have you then, dear Jopson?”

Jopson nodded. “Captain Crozier wrote up the promotion himself, ma’am. In 1848.”

“Oh, that’s excellent – my congratulations. What was the occasion?”

Jopson hesitated to reply, and he seem to stare unseeing, at some distant mark. “We were short of officers, m’am. We’d lost more than half of the complement of Erebus and then–” But Jopson did not speak further.

Ann bit her lip. The instinct to ask for more details of the Franklin expedition was strong, but the young man seemed likely to shiver out of his skin, the way his eyes skittered away from hers and his face stayed in a careful, unmoving mask.

“Well,” Ann replied, carefully and slowly. “I have heard it said that when new lieutenants earned their titles in the Med – for, my husband told me, many officers take their exams on Malta – there would be a sort of little theatre festival. Eleanor, didn’t you hear the story about when Captain Fitzjames was on Malta?”

Lady Eleanor quickly caught onto the tone of Ann’s voice. With a gentle hand, Eleanor eased Jopson slowly down onto the end of the couch, and picked up the thread of the story. “Yes,” Eleanor began, “My husband told me that Captain Fitzjames had performed in a play to mark the occasion. It was something rather funny-sounding – what was it called again, Ann?”

“Oh I can’t recall.” Ann continued, her words light. “It was long and terribly Greek. But Fitzjames played the best role, didn’t he? The queen? And he wore just the most spectacular gown, I heard. What was the queen’s name, Eleanor – do you remember? Fandillia? Fadlandia?”

“Fadladinida.”

That was Jopson. He had tucked his hair behind his ear again and managed a shaky smile. “Queen Fadladinida,” he confirmed. “Captain Fitzjames and Captain Crozier were talking about it one night. It sounded like the most absurd thing.”

Eleanor grinned and turned to Jopson, “Have you heard what happens at the end?”

“No, m’am,” Jopson replied.

“Ah,” Ann added. “Then you’re in for a treat, because we shall tell you the story of Fad-lad-whatever-her-name-is (as we have understood it from several sources) and you will never believe us, but we shall attempt to replicate the plot as best we can.”

Jopson smiled a little more broadly at this, and seemed to prepare himself to listen to Ann and Eleanor recounting their version of the play. As they narrated the romantic escapades of the queen and her entourage, Jopson appeared to settle back into himself, and he even smothered a laugh or two at the odd twists of the narrative. Once, when Ann laughed as well, Jopson’s eyes went briefly hollow, but Eleanor’s friendly hand to his arm and their ongoing discussion appeared to soften even this fleeting harsh memory, whatever it had been. By the time Ann retired for bed, Jopson was once more his former self, and bid her and Eleanor goodnight with a nod and a smile.

As Lady Eleanor turned to leave as well, Ann caught her hand and said quietly, “Thank you. I would not have known how to help him without you. I certainly hadn’t intended to upset him so.”

Eleanor smiled sadly. “That dear young man has it harder than some of the others. And he takes Crozier’s absence poorly. You did well, though, to bring him back around.”

Ann bowed her head in thanks. “Your care helped him as much as the story-telling, I think. But do you know more of what happened to him and the rest of the men who were with Franklin? I admit I am desperate to know.”

“They mislike to tell of it,” Eleanor said briefly. “We know that many things went wrong, and John tells me that they were beset by ice for more than a year by the time he himself passed on. From what I gather, some of the crew lived longer than he, but none more than a year or two. And none know what happened to Crozier – or if they know, they do not say.”

Ann nodded, thinking.

Eleanor continued, “Put it from your mind, my dear. This is not a place to trawl up dark thoughts and rememberings. When you see more of the men of the expedition you will have some answers, but do not pry. They are all in and out of the house; you will run into them sooner or later.”

And yet, as she prepared for bed, Ann’s mind buzzed with questions. What had happened to the men of Franklin’s expedition? Of course she would press young Jopson no further, but perhaps, if she were to meet another of Franklin’s officers, someone of old acquaintance…

Despite Eleanor’s words, it was several days until Ann caught a glimpse of any of the other officers of that ill-fated expedition. There were simply too many people to greet, and Ann tired easily, now. But perhaps the third day after her arrival at the grand house on the cliffs, Ann spied a silhouette she’d seen before – a tall, slim man with long, wavy hair much like Ann’s own James. This figure stood at the front window, alone, gazing out at the ships in harbor, anchored serenely in the bay below. Ann knew that she could have gone out to the ships herself and gotten the answers she sought directly, but there seemed to be so little hurry in this place and after the conversation with Lieutenant Jopson she was hesitant to disturb any man so badly in need of a rest from their life’s sufferings. Someday Ann would know more, and someday her James would arrive, and she would comfort him and that was that. But now that one of the poor officers was here before her, Ann felt it was time to at least ask – carefully, this time.

“Captain?” Ann inquired – Jopson had explained to her that the custom here was to use the highest station a man had obtained while alive, even if he had done so under less than ideal circumstances; this had apparently been implemented without question after someone had dared to slight Lieutenant Jopson in Fitzjames’ hearing – and when the man made no motion, Ann called out a bit louder, “Captain Fitzjames?”

The man at the window startled and turned. “Ah, my dear Lady Ross!” Ann could tell that some cheer had come over him only in that moment that had not been present before she arrived, but she still gladdened to see James Fitzjames before her, whole and well and exuberant. Indeed, the man grinned and tossed his curls much like she remembered.

Ann smiled. “It is good to see you, Captain. How is this place treating you?”

Fitzjames smiled back. “I am well, my lady. It has been good to see my lost loved ones, and now and then to see new friends from old times. Tell me, when did you arrive? Are you settling in alright?”

Ann had never known Fitzjames to turn a conversation so quickly away from himself, before. but she happily told him of her arrival.

After these initial pleasantries, Ann shifted on her feet, and Fitzjames invited her to sit down, joining her in the other of the two chairs facing the fireplace.

Ann settled herself and turned back to Fitzjames. “And you, sir?” she began. “When did you arrive?”

The look Fitzjames gave Ann then told her that she had not been subtle, but what Ann had known of this man in particular told her that she needn’t be, with him. After all, Fitzjames soon relented, and said, “We of the Franklin crew have been here a few years. Most as many as nine or ten years, I believe. Surely you’ve heard this story already.”

Ann shook her head. “I’ve seen few of your men, Captain. And those I have met have been – understandably – somewhat less than eager to speak of it.”

“I am unsurprised, my lady, but have you not had the news from others? We’ve heard rumors of search parties, even – had they brought back no report?”

“I’ve heard some news, of course,” Ann replied. “Lady Franklin – our Lady Franklin, Eleanor – has told me what she knows from her husband, and yes, there have been expeditions searching for you – my husband led one, but he found very few answers to his questions – and so I truly haven’t heard your story. If you’d like to tell it, I’d truly love to listen, but don’t put yourself to any harm, Captain. It’s not worth all that – it’s not worth causing you grief, I mean to say.”

Fitzjames looked at her differently now. His thin lips pressed together almost as though he were angry, but there was something deep and thoughtful and not angry at all in his eyes, in the care-lines of his brow and jaw.

“If you truly wish it, then,” Fitzjames said, finally, “I will tell you what I can of what happened.”

Fitzjames’s story was nothing like any mighty epics she had heard him tell before, at Admiralty dinners or at the Franklins’ house. Gone were the moments of grand adventure, gone were the references to Caesar crossing the Rubicon. Fitzjames began the tale with the first men to die, and his story was a slow accounting of loss, at first, such that Ann almost wept to hear it. She assumed there were things Fitzjames was keeping from her – such details he lavished over the small tragedies of illness and accident, and yet he offered no more of his own captain’s death than “an animal attack,” sparsely described and hurriedly recounted. Other scenes also rang false to her – the image of Francis Crozier, suddenly sick with a mysterious ailment; the depiction of a tragic, accidental fire caused by some unknown sailor who had clumsily knocked over a torch at a carnival. Ann tucked these thoughts away – filed them under the notion of fictions, perhaps to be picked apart later. But it was at this point, after the fire, that Fitzjames’ tone changed. Terrible though the circumstances continued to be, there was a true warmth in the man’s voice as he described a growing intimacy with Crozier, now miraculously healed, and as tender as Ann had remembered him. The care that Fitzjames wove into Crozier’s every small act of courage brightened up his words and gilded them, filling them with some of the glory of his old tale-telling, though Fitzjames himself seemed almost unconscious of it. His stories were all for the golden light of the place, barren though it was, and the great deeds of the men, and of Francis. Even as Fitzjames’s own end hovered on the horizon, he carried at least so much gleaming pride in his recollection that the words were not bitter.

“At this point,” Fitzjames was saying, “my wound had reopened – my lady, I do apologize for the bluntness, but I trust that you appreciate honesty, and I know no other words –”

Ann nodded.

“–and perhaps you remember that I had a wound from China?”

Ann nodded once more. The story was ever so vivid.

“Well, one of the maladies that haunted us could summon back long-dead wounds, and so it was for me. I’ll spare you – and myself – more detail, but it was the Chinese sniper that finally got me. Francis– Captain Crozier, he was with me, at the end. I could not have wished for a better man to have, there, beside me. I thought that I would have more time, but I was ready, in that moment. Lo– having him there made me ready.”

Fitzjames paused, and looked as though he had woken from a dream. The gilding dropped out of his voice, then, but he was not so rattled as Ann feared, as he concluded his tale. “And then I found my way here, I suppose,” Fitzjames said. “I am given to understand that it was 1848 when that happened. I know only fragments of what happened after, mainly from Dundy.”

Ann met Fitzjames’ glance and tried to show some of her gratitude and her grief with her eyes.

“I am sorry,” Ann said, “that you did not have more time. To think that you were gone barely three years after we saw you last grieves me, and it will be a pain to my husband when he hears of it. He missed you all by a very close margin, I think, if he set sail the very year you passed on.”

Fitzjames nodded. “Even if he had sailed early that season it would not have been enough.”

“So then even the first of the expeditions sent to your rescue would have been too late, for all of you?” Ann mused.

“No one could have saved us, my lady. If anyone could have done it, it would have been Captain Crozier alone. That he did not succeed is no mark against his character, and any who would say otherwise is a fool, and worse, uncaring of the horrors we faced. Why Captain Crozier is not here I do not know – perhaps he yet lives, though I don’t know why no one has ever heard word from him. Perhaps he is somewhere better than here – for this place does not have enough of heaven to deserve him, I think.”

Fitzjames was flushed with fierceness, though Ann had not meant any insult. Ann considered his face, so fervently impassioned with his defense of Francis Crozier, and it finally occurred to her.

“You loved him, didn’t you?”

At that Fitzjames’ eyes went wide and shocked, and then the man crumpled, his head bowed, the whole long line of his body rippling like water, revealing the shadowed depths fathoms below.

Ann stood in silence for a long time, unsure what sentiments to offer at this wordless revelation.

Eventually, Fitzjames raised his eyes again, though he still looked off into the distance and would not meet Ann’s gaze. “My dear lady, you are too insightful. I doubt even a spy could hold secrets from you for long.” His voice was despondent.

Ann shifted slightly closer to Fitzjames than propriety really allowed – they were beyond such things, weren’t they? – and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Do not grieve, Captain. He will come here in his own time, and I must imagine he will be as dear and kind to us now as he was in life.”

Fitzjames held her glance now, and looked shocked. “How can–” Fitzjames shook his head, disbelieving. “How can you say such things? As though I have not just shown my hand, as it were.”

Ann smiled a bit sadly and replied, “It’s no care to me what you think of Captain Crozier, save that he is a dear man, and good to me and my husband, and I would rather he be loved than not. In whatever way as may be.” Ann looked more closely at Fitzjames. He seemed like a man who had not gotten used to going about without a mask, uncomfortable in his nakedness. “You are not as well as you seem, are you, Captain? Better than one might expect given what you endured, but there is something of Francis’s loneliness about you.”

Fitzjames nodded.

“You are waiting for him?” Ann asked quietly.

Fitzjames nodded, more slowly, as if just then realizing it himself.

After that, Lady Ann took care to find Fitzjames often, and they found a great comfort in sitting and talking of little things. Fitzjames had been deeply amused to hear of Lady Ann recounting the third-hand tale of his Maltese theatrical history to poor Jopson, and he gave her more details “to enrich the telling – for next time.”

Most often they would not mention Franklin’s expedition, but occasionally Fitzjames would offer a story of Crozier, and Ann treasured these – at first for her husband, and eventually for herself, as she pieced together the true story of how Francis had suffered uniquely on this last voyage. She had known from her own James of Crozier’s overindulgence with drink, but she did not think even her husband knew how bad it had become, that Crozier had been in such great danger while drying out under Jopson’s care on Terror.

Fitzjames told her also of Francis’s care for his men, of which Ann knew well, and Francis’s particular sense of humor when alone with Fitzjames, of which Ann knew little. Ann thought back on the forthright man she had known as Francis Crozier, and wondered where he was now, and thought of her dear husband James, and mused on what the two would think to know that she sat so often with Fitzjames, whom she had only ever known in life as one of those brash young men with too much taste for battle and too little scientific training, of whom Francis had often grumbled. Ann hoped her James and Francis were happy. Ann knew that they likely weren’t.

So she spoke with Fitzjames and she learned and she waited. It was all she could do.

“I was on Clio,” Fitzjames told her when she asked. Where it was that he awoke, that is.

They had talked about nearly everything else; it was a bit impolite to ask, but they were at the end of politeness, now.

“I was all alone,” Fitzjames added, “but the sun was there, and it was warm, and I knew it was heaven.”

Now, he seemed less sure that he was in heaven, Ann thought. Though Fitzjames obviously had his joys: sailing on the strange new seas (mainly on Clio, with Lieutenant Le Vesconte, she noted), and sketching, and socializing; he was more subdued than she remembered, but only a little. His old exuberance returned when he was with the Coninghams, his family, who visited often and so clearly loved him and cherished him and called him “son,” here, which shocked some who knew him in life, but Fitzjames’ excitement at these times felt unforced.

And yet Ann could tell he was waiting, always waiting.

“Francis told me we were at the end of vanity, once,” Fitzjames admitted. “And I thought he knew some deep truth about the world, that he could see something I couldn’t. But there is vanity here too. I’ve only exchanged one mask for another: I may stop hiding my birth but not my feelings – my love. I must keep it wrapped under that beloved slant-name ‘brotherhood.’ I don’t even know that he would wish for more than brotherhood, and even if he did I wouldn’t dare name it.”

One time, before, in that other lifetime, Ann had seen Crozier with Ross in the parlor room of their townhouse – her’s and James’s – after some Admiralty dinner that Ann herself had begged off attending, so Ross had dragged Crozier instead. When they returned home, both men stumbling and flushed, they had made quite a racket on their way into the townhouse, so Ann had come down to check on them. When she had peered into the parlor, her dear James had been in Crozier’s arms, as though for a waltz; though the two were of a height, Crozier’s solid strength made Ann’s husband look almost dainty, with his gloved hand on Crozier’s shoulder. The two had been speaking, too soft for Ann to catch more than a few words – “ships” and “so cold” and “that dress” and “James dear.” They had swayed in each other’s grasp, in a late-night mockery of a dance, and for a few minutes, James had rested his head on Francis’s broad shoulder. Soon enough, however, James had been blinking sleepily, and Crozier began ushering him toward to door, so Ann snuck back to the bedchamber, and almost didn’t have to pretend to be asleep by the time James joined her, stroking a soft hand over her arm.

When she told Fitzjames all this, now, he asked “Were they–” but did not finish; he did not need to.

Ann shook her head. “I do not think so,” she considered. “But I think – perhaps – they would have wished too, in another lifetime. James always rushed to reassure me that he would never love another, though I never worried he would, not even when Sophia made her play for him.”

Fitzjames sighed. “I think you are very lucky, my lady.”

Ann struggled to find the words. She was lucky, she knew, but in this moment, if felt like neither Fitzjames nor her own James had truly understood. She’d never have wanted Crozier for herself alone, but she did want him for James. Both her James and this one, seated the chair beside hers.

Ann confessed quietly, “I would – I would share.”

Fitzjames barked out a laugh. “God,” he says. “Like I wouldn’t? A moment of his time – I’d rather have it than not. A fair world would give him Sophia – would give him Sophia and your husband both – and yet – and yet I’d hope a fair world would give him to me. I’m not sure there can be such a thing as a fair world anymore. Not for you or for me.”

Ann shook her head. “I don’t mean it grudgingly. If it would make my husband happy, it would make me happy.”

Fitzjames curved his lips in a wistful image of a smile. “I’m not sure I have your faith, my dear, but I aspire to it. I want to imagine him happy. I hope that, should he come here, this would be a place where that could happen.”

“Maybe this is a place where we are meant to share,” Ann mused. “It seems to me that both you and Francis had a scarcity of love in your lifetime; perhaps here you might be allowed to have a surfeit of it?”

Fitzjames seemed to consider this. “I’m not so convinced that this is meant to be heaven as you are, perhaps,” Fitzjames admitted, quietly. “But if it is, then yes, that is what I might desire from the best of all possible worlds.”

Fitzjames laughed to himself, then, and marveled, “A surfeit of love. What a thing to have.”

One morning, Jopson came hurtling into the house from the ships.

Jopson had taken to spending more time out on the ice after Lady Ross had arrived. Ann didn’t think the lieutenant was avoiding her – he’d always been unfailingly kind, and quick with a smile when they did meet, nowadays. But she had learned from Fitzjames that the men of Terror and Erebus had a kind of superstition about them, that the reason so many of them had awoken out on the ice – or in the boats themselves – was because the ice and the cold had been in their souls when they died, and it steered the paths of their spirits. When Jopson had heard from Lady Ann’s own lips that the there was no news of Crozier being rescued, Jopson seemed to resign himself to haunting the boats, as though Ann’s lack of news had confirmed Crozier’s fate. Those who awoke on the ice were often disoriented to start, Ann had been told, and fearful and disbelieving. It wasn’t hard to imagine that such a thing would be less pleasant a passage than being born again in this comforting, stately house with its golden light and quiet chatter of friends and loved ones.

When Jopson burst through the front door shouting, “It’s Crozier – he’s here!” Ann realized that the lieutenant had been right to look for his captain out on the ice.

Although several people in the house straightened up in interest at Jopson’s announcement, none stood as if to follow – hurry was foreign here, for most people at most times. But hurry was familiar for Ann in that moment: her heart raced, and she strode up to Jopson.

“It’s him?” she asked.

Jopson nodded, breathing heavily. “He was at the shore, down by the island. He’s with Thomas Blanky now–”

“And he’s alright?”

“I think so.”

Ann nodded. How one would judge these things was beyond her as well. “Let me find Fitzjames,” she said. “Then, take us to him?”

Jopson agreed, and Ann turned back into the parlor, searching. No luck – she hurried deeper into the house.

As she spun around the corner into one of the long dining rooms, she ran into Lady Eleanor. “Fitzjames?” Ann gasped.

Eleanor, seeing the look on her face, merely pointed down the hallway behind her with a soft smile. Ann pressed her hand and raced on.

At the end of the corridor was a small library, and sure enough, Fitzjames was seated at a writing desk in the corner. Ann pulled up sharp at the door and called out “James!”

When Fitzjames turned, he caught the light in her eyes and rose quickly. “Is it–?”

“Jopson says so, yes.”

They rushed together back to the front door, where Jopson was waiting impatiently. As soon as they had pulled on cloaks and coats, Jopson whisked them out onto the doorstop, and down the steep path toward a small harbor, sheltered by the cliff and by a rocky island.

Ann had been down by the large quay on the grand harbor at the base of the cliffs, since most of the ships embarked from there, and often enough Eleanor and Sir John had taken her sailing on Erebus from there, or Fitzjames had invited her onto Clio. But Ann had never yet been down to the smaller dock, where the faster and slimmer boats came into harbor.

Jopson swiftly led them past the view of the house, and down toward the water. A quick turn, and Ann stumbled on the stones of the path. Though she righted herself neatly, Ann saw that Fitzjames had reached out a hand to help her; she looked up to Fitzjames and smiled, before taking his hand anyway. They followed Jopson as best they could, on toward the place where the small harbor lay, and separated as they emerged, blinking, into the sunlight.

They turned a last corner of the rocky wall, and Ann saw that a single ship was anchored beside the dock, Thomas Blanky’s beautiful little steamer Icebear. And on deck Blanky stood, facing them, conversing with a man dressed in Inuit furs. When Blanky caught sight of their little party, he gave a shout, and the man with him turned around.

Finally.

It was certainly Francis. He was dressed for the Arctic, but he looked more as Ann had known him when she had first met him and Ross. He seemed younger – her own age, or Fitzjames’s – and though it was hard to be certain across such a distance, he seemed to carry himself with an energetic spirit. Even from the shore, Ann could see as he quickly embraced Blanky, then slid gracefully down from the steamer’s deck to the pier below.

Ann glanced at Fitzjames beside her, who stood frozen in place, as though the wooden planks of the pier before him might crumble under his feet. He had eyes only for Francis, approaching now at a good clip.

So Ann looked across to Jopson, who nodded, grinning, and the two of them pulled Fitzjames forward onto the pier.

They all came upon him at once, halfway between the ship and the shore.

Francis seemed hardly to know what to do with himself, between the three of them arrayed before him. His eyes glowed with happiness, and though he looked somewhat weary up close, Ann had been right to think that he looked younger. His eyes had dark circles of sleeplessness, but fewer lines of worry.

Francis reached out a hand to clasp Jopson’s shoulder, first, calming the young man who had only just slowed himself. Francis looked to Jopson tenderly and smiled, confirming some past reassurance that had already been uttered, before Jopson stepped aside, back to his comfortable station to the captain’s side.

Then Francis faced Fitzjames. There was only the barest suggestion of a smile on his lips, but his eyes were graced with a tenderness that hurt to look at, as he gazed up at Fitzjames who was, of course, frozen once more.

Fitzjames could hardly speak. “Francis,” was all he said before the man took pity on him, reaching up to steady Fitzjames with a hand to his arm and a warm embrace. Fitzjames collapsed against him with a sob, burying his proud head in Francis’s neck. They stood thus for several moments, and then Fitzjames gathered himself and pulled away. Tears had gathered in his eyes, and he choked out wordless reassurances and lifted his hands placatingly as he smiled through his tears, still looking to Francis. Though a bit concerned, Francis smiled back helplessly, and surrendered one of his hands to Fitzjames’s care, when it was apparent to all involved that the two men could not part completely.

At last, Francis turned to Ann, who smiled, and clasped Francis’s free hand. “You’ve been missed, dear friend.”

Francis looked at her, astonishment dawning as the realization of her presence here hit him at last. “I hadn’t thought – I’m so sorry, Ann. I had no idea you would be here ahead of me. Are you alright?”

Ann almost laughed before she caught herself. “Yes, captain,” she replied. “I very much am. It’s so good to see you.”

“Is James here? Oh god.”

Ann shook her head. “No, no he’s not yet.”

They stood in silence. The phrase We’ve left him behind echoed between them, unspoken but not unheard.

Eventually, Ann stepped close, and pressed a single kiss to Francis’s cheek. “That’s from him. Until he gets here, at least, it’ll have to do.”

Francis nodded, his lips parted in sorrow but still silent.

Ann looked up to Fitzjames, who still stood with Francis’s free hand between both of his own. He was stroking his thumb over the back of Francis’s hand apparently unconsciously, and his eyes darted between the two of them, the emotion in his glance unreadable. Ann caught his gaze and nodded her head toward Francis, the work of mere seconds, but Fitzjames startled, and then titled his head, questioning.

Ann nodded encouragingly to him, marveling at how they had come to read each other in the last few years.

And so Fitzjames leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Francis’s cheek, just as Ann had, on the other side.

When Fitzjames straightened up, Francis followed the motion with his eyes, wonder and joy clear for all to see. He slowly lifted their clasped hands to his lips, and brushed Fitzjames’s knuckles with his mouth in a caress that felt far too intimate for Ann’s sight. She almost looked away, but Fitzjames glanced at her and then away, cheeks reddening with a blush as he focused on Francis but a familiar smile still on his face, so Ann stayed where she was, and looked, and looked, and smiled.

Source notes: The title is from “In Another Lifetime” by Zoe Sky Jordan, from this lovely rossier playlist by @frauncis. The timeline here begins when Lady Ann Ross passes away at the age of 40, on the 25th of January, 1857, and runs through Crozier’s death sometime around 1860.

Eleanor Anne Franklin née Porden (1795–1825) was the first wife of Sir John Franklin, and mother of his daughter, also named Eleanor. Eleanor the Elder wrote poetry, including a long poem about the Arctic! (She actually had it in writing that she be permitted to continue writing poetry even after marrying Franklin – it was a stipulation of her acceptance of Franklin’s offer of marriage. In this house we stan Lady Franklin the First.)

Ann Ross mentions the “last letter Ross received from Francis,” which I also used in my previous fic for this universe; you can read it here. This letter includes a sentence from Francis Crozier that is transcribed as, “I am generally busy but it is after all a very hermit like life – Except to kick up a row with the helmsman or abuse Totson[?] at times…” I think we can all agree that the transcription’s “Totson[?]” is almost certainly Jopson, as one of the few men of the Franklin expedition whom Crozier (and indeed Ross) would have known well enough to tease, since Jopson had known the both of them from the Antarctic expedition of 1839-1843.

The terrible play that Eleanor and Ann describe to Jopson is Chrononhotonthologos, The Most Tragical Tragedy That Ever was Tragedized by Any Company of Tragedians (1734), and Fitzjames really did act in a production of it on Malta, as Fadladinida, Queen of Queerummania. History is a gift. You can read the script here. (Note, this performance took place after the death of Eleanor Anne Franklin in 1825; Eleanor has heard the story – told imperfectly – from Sir John after they’ve both died.)

#theterrorbingo #fitzier #rossier #lady anne ross #sir james clark ross #james clark ross #francis crozier #james fitzjames #thomas jopson #eleanor anne franklin #the terror #the terror amc #terrorposting

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heyktula · 5 years ago

Text

Closer, Chapter Two: Aware - Bonus Features

(I'm sorry about the chapter titles, lolsob. They are, in fact, "Risk", "Aware", "Consensual", and "Kink", plus a surprise title for the fifth chapter.)

((Okay, fine, I'm not nearly as sorry as I should be.))

Chapter two of Closer, the first installment in Somewhere in Canada (the Terror kink AU)... is now up! What is wordcount! (Apparently shit to me, since this chapter is three times the length of chapter one!)

Same deal as last week--technical notes first, story notes after, line notes to finish it all up. (Although I still blame Edward, a number of this week's line notes are Jopson's fault, and he's a lying liar on a number of occasions, the terrible sweetheart.)

Alright, here we go.

Technical Considerations:

Chapter Length: So, this story was intended to be much shorter than it is. Initially, the fic was a one-off. After all, it's only taking place over a weekend, how long can it be? (lolsob--sixty k, as it turns out, and that's with a significant number of hard cuts. I cringe for the future Fitzier, because the winter conference is longer than the summer one.)

Initially, I'd followed the same chapter structure I used in one of my earlier fics--one day = one chapter. Obviously, that worked fine for Friday, but didn't work for Saturday or Sunday, both of which I've split into two chapters. I still feel like the chapter length is a bit obnoxious--I prefer a 7k chapter, and chapter two is 15k, but it's the best place to make the cut, I think. I considered a cut after Edward's talk got derailed by Hickey--but that would have left Edward in a really ugly headspace for a week while everybody waited for the next chapter, and I didn't want to let him chill there knowing that Jopson is gonna make him feel better, like, immediately.

Hard Cuts: One thing I really like about the source material for The Terror is that it uses hard cuts liberally, and something about that feels like it frees me up to do the same in my own work? So I cut the things that don't matter to the story, even when they're things that I care about. (That rope suspension scene with Sophia and Gore and Dundy was real good, but Edward did not give one single shit about it, and thus, it is not on the page. Similarly, we didn't get dragged through any of the other panels, etc, that were happening throughout the day, and the one panel we actually did attend, Edward is giving by rote, without thinking about anything he's saying, because Jopson! is! there! oh! god!)

Story Considerations:

Goodsir: Like, of course Goodsir moved to Canada. I don't think it was for Silna, necessarily--and she would have been super unimpressed with that if it had been--but it wouldn't have been not for Silna either. I just think he really loved it here on his first visit, and that was it for him--he came home, he missed Canada, he went back, and he stayed. I'm sure he's in the process of getting his citizenship, and in the meantime, he's going out for hikes and taking pictures of elk and going ice-fishing and organizing kink conventions and generally just having a wonderful time living his best life, and I love that for him.

(And if he's on the receiving end of Silna's strap in increasingly regular frequency, I love that for him too.)

The Tozer-Little Experience: So, outside of the joplittle, which was my primary reason for writing the fic--I also have, like, the world's biggest soft spot for Solomon Tozer. And the dynamic that I ended up developing for Tozer and Little in this fic is a hell of a lot of fun, because it's deeply intimate, and steeped in years and years of shared experiences, but it's platonic at the same point--or, at least, what constitutes as platonic for them, which is more intimate and open than you would see for a lot of male friendships. (I'm putting a pin in the discussion of feelings as feelings relate to their friendship, but we'll come back to it in a few more chapters.) If you asked either of them to describe an ideal partner for the other person, they could both do it, and they've got all kinds of stories about each other, which Tozer shares easily and at length, and Edward keeps his goddamn mouth shut about.

That easy camaraderie between them is, I think, why the takedown panel goes so wrong so quickly. Tozer has no reason to suspect anything is different than it has been any other time, and Edward isn't admitting how much he's obsessing over Jopson, so he's also just stubbornly pretending things are fine. I don't think that Tozer had any intention of letting Edward win, no matter how good Edward thinks his chances are, because it's Tozer's panel, and goddamn it, if Sol's going to all the effort to give a talk, he's gonna try to get his dick sucked as part of the aftermath, am I right, lads?

(Conferences that I've been to are hyper-careful about bodily fluids, and for good reason--so if blood is a possibility, everything should be tarped off and proper protective gear should be used, and Edward visibly bleeding all over everything would have been a Very Bad Look. Thankfully, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.)

((Also, just as a side-note, can we talk about Tozer's quick transitions between "shit, fuck, Little--", "and that is a takedown!", and "do not bleed in here, don't fuck this up for me, I don't know what the fuck your dumb ass was doing"? Because I love that Tozer's first reaction is "holy FUCK are you OKAY" and then he immediately takes control of the room to finish his talk, and then leans in to threaten Nedward. As though the threat is gonna take away the part where your first reaction was being horrified that you clocked him in the face, Sol.))

The Jopson-Little Meet Cute: Okay, fine, I guess it's not really a meet cute when one of you is bleeding into a sink, and the other one of you snuck into a takedown panel late in the hopes of seeing your crush and gets the bonus experience of watching your crush totally get hit in the face. But, whatever. They'll work with it.

One of the things I love about this scene is that the balance of power is exactly the opposite of where it would normally be--Jopson is the one controlling the scene here, through service, and Edward is the one that's following Jopson's lead. Jopson is, in canon, a caretaker, primarily, and I set this scene up so that he would shine, and I think he does that effectively here. Edward is the kind of guy that gets easily rattled when things don't go the way he expects them to, and it's indicative of their compatibility that he unwinds so easily for Jopson.

Also, I appreciate the hell out of Jopson gently bullying the topic of conversation around to giving talks, so that he could just slide his own talk under the door to gauge Edward's reaction. After all, if one is a trans man, and one's crush is a transphobe, better to find out before this goes any further. Between us, Jopson was reasonably sure things would be fine--after all, as Blanky notes later, he's had his face in Edward's blog*, and I'm pretty sure Edward went through his blog a while back and edited all his posts for gender- and trans-inclusive language, and left a footnote indicating he'd done so--but it was important for Jopson to make sure everything was on the table, and Edward's meandering discussion of the requirements for giving presentations was as good an in as any.

*Jopson clearly didn't know who Edward was by name on Saturday morning, but knows by Saturday afternoon. There's any number of ways he might have found out Edward's name, but I suspect he talked to someone** who had attended the power play panel he was on with Tozer earlier that day.

**I have a candidate in mind for this, but we'll get back to it later.

The Rough Physical Play Panel: Well, when that went wrong, it went real wrong, huh?

I think one of the things I'm enjoying so much about writing a modern Terror AU is that it lets me explore Hickey in more detail, because canon!Hickey just makes me so goddamn furious (the motherfucking BOOTS, he took James' BOOTS, and then EVERYTHING ELSE, and I CAN'T) that I can't even delve into him right now without wanting to throw things. But I can dig into him here, because I have the protection of this, you know, not being canon.

One of the things I really love about Hickey is that I think, one hundred percent, that he's exactly the kind of person that pays attention to the things you're interested in, and that makes it easy to start a friendship with him. I can guarantee that he knows every single item Tozer has ever stocked in his booth, and how well each of those items sells. I also know for sure that he's read every single post on Edward's blog, and can talk intelligently about any of them. However, Hickey is also exactly the kind of "friend" that will use that information against you at the drop of a hat if it benefits him in any way--and I can guarantee that the temptation was irresistible for Hickey here, because not only is it an excuse to deliberately trigger Edward's anxiety in front of a room full of people right immediately before those people leave the room, thus guaranteeing it's the last thing on their minds--but it's an opportunity to do so in front of the guy that Edward has been interested in all weekend. From Hickey's perspective, it's for Edward's own good--any idiot can see that Jopson is way out of Edward's league, and the sooner Edward stops making an ass of himself, the better it'll be for everyone involved. (I would also argue that if any of their friend group "deserve" to have more status in the community, Hickey feels that's him, so any attempt by Edward to "rise above" by, say, associating with someone linked to Crozier, is going to be viciously stamped out.)

The miscalculation here, of course, is that Hickey has misread Jopson just the same as everyone else has misread Jopson. We'll come back to why this mistake is important next week, I think.

(It's unfortunate we didn't get the good version of the panel, with the demo, because it's very good--Edward picks a random audience member, demonstrates the consent negotiation in front of everyone, and then walks through an entire gamut of activities, the intensity of which varies depending on how the person he's chosen is enjoying it. This is the way that I had my first exposure to this type of play, and watching the talk was a goddamn delight--and there's nothing that makes someone look competent more than them just improvising an entire talk on the spot.)

Dungeon Setup: So, again, because Canada, every dungeon I've ever been in has separated the drinking section from the fun section for safety reasons. Usually they're in separate rooms, though I've been in a couple dungeons where the drinking section runs along one wall of the fun section. Because this is my fic, and I'll improve it if I want, I went full bore on this and created that second-floor lounge that's open to the dungeon below, so you can stand up there and drink and watch the dungeon from above (or you can sit up there and drink with Hickey, but yuck).

The showcase performance thing isn't something I've seen at a kink conference before--I borrowed that from burlesque conventions I've been to because I needed it for the upcoming Fitzier fic. I kinda wish Edward had paid attention, I feel like that was a really good rope suspension scene. But, he was standing too close to Jopson, and thus, nothing else mattered.

Also, is it really a dungeon if it doesn't heavily rely on Enigma's music? I don't think I've been in a dungeon once without hearing Return to Innocence or Sadeness, and at this point, if I hear either of those pieces outside of the context of a dungeon, I get really nostalgic for dungeons.

(I guess while we're talking about setup, I'll also confirm that pretty much everybody* is staying on-site here--the hotel has a bunch of space set aside for the kink conference, and as long as people booked their rooms quickly, their hotel rooms are also in the same venue, so there's no need for transport, or going outside, or anything like that. Poor Nedward can have his meltdown about collars without needing to call a cab once.)

*I know a certain repressed somebody who has opted not to stay at a hotel full of perverts, but, uh. I mean, it's a Choice, but maybe sit with yourself a second, John.

Line Notes:

“Dude,” Tozer says, swinging his duffel bag off his shoulder and booting it under the table. “I had the most repressed guy in my talk this morning, it was fucking brilliant.”

Hi, Irving.

Edward can’t quite tell what Jopson is talking about, they’re too far apart for him to be able to eavesdrop. He wishes he was over there, though. Listening.

They're talking about you, Edward. Jopson knows who you are by this point, and he is three hundred percent telling Blanky about your blog right now.

He hasn’t paid attention to the specifics, because it’s not his talk, and it doesn’t matter.

Except it does matter, Edward, because one of those times the door opened and Jopson came in.

Jopson takes another step forward, his hands down at his sides, palms facing Edward. “I saw what happened,” he says. His voice is gentle, low. Hypnotic.

I appreciate Jopson approaching Edward like Edward is a wild animal that's going to spook at any moment, because Edward is, in fact, a wild animal that's going to spook at any moment.

“One of the better quality sessions I’ve seen this weekend,” Jopson says.

Thomas Jopson, you are a lying liar. It is the first day of the convention, and this is the first instance in which you've left your booth for any significant length of time.

“—you must see there are gaps. I was thinking, maybe, there’s another conference in six months...”

I can guarantee that this is a conversation that has been had with Francis in slowly increasing levels of volume, and I can also guarantee that Francis has been very supportive of Jopson wanting to fix those gaps. I would also side-eye the length of time (none) it took Jopson to pull up his fully-completed notes for a talk that Edward notes later is ready to go, and doesn't need any alterations. (Anyone taking bets on whether or not Goodsir has seen this? Yeah, I wouldn't bet against it either.)

It’s only after Jopson’s left that Edward realizes his black handkerchief is still on the edge of the sink.

Remember that conversation we had last week about the hanky code? Good, because Edward doesn't.

“Don’t wanna have a discussion about feelings if we don’t have to,” Tozer says gruffly.

Translation: if your eyes are wet because I smoked you in the face, then we'll have that conversation, but for fuck's sake please provide me with literally any other explanation--oh, thank fuck, I forgot about your septum piercing, perfect, good, onwards.

(I'd argue that Edward's probably all up in his feelings from Jopson's talk, BUT both of them are talking around everything in this scene, so I guess we'll just let them have that.)

They’re walking down the hall, and literally anyone could walk past Edward right now—fucking James Fitzjames could walk past Edward right now—and there is no way in hell he would notice, because Jopson is right there...

James Fitzjames, "that online guy" and most recognizable kink celebrity, would be So Offended by this, and it would be good for him.

They’re walking side-by-side, Jopson just a fraction behind Edward, and Edward can’t tell if it’s on purpose.

Jopson knows how to sub--it's on purpose, Nedward.

(I should note that this isn't at all a requirement for subbing--but it's part of how Jopson, in particular, submits, and since that's how he wants to interact with Edward, that's how he's behaving now.)

—not a blog post from five years ago that he’d kept up because there’s hardly any information out there and he wanted to make sure that people were aware of the risks and safety concerns, and—

And, I mean, also because you like to do this, Edward. Let's not beat around the bush here, you're not writing entire blog posts about things you have an academic interest in for safety reasons, although it would be totally valid if you did. But you aren't. You wrote an entire post about how to safely fit your fist into someone's ass because you did a lot of research as to how to do it safely and then subsequently did it on multiple occasions.

“It’s right there on the blog post,” Jopson continues, fingers clenched on his notebook. “The exact same blog post you’re citing has the answers to the questions you’re asking, and it’s disingenuous of you to…to purposefully derail his panel and pretend that the answers aren’t right there.”

If Edward was thinking critically about any of this instead of just bluescreening, he'd realize that it's Significant that Jopson knows this without consulting his cellphone, which he hasn't needed to do here, because his hands are still on his notebook, which means that Jopson either a) sought out this post specifically, b) made it multiple years back in Edward's blog archives, or c) both AND remembers it in detail.

But, he's Edward, and he's not thinking about shit right now except possibly how nice it would be if the building just randomly caved in on top of him. Not everybody else. Just him.

Jopson’s posture relaxes slightly as he exhales. “I was wondering about aftercare,” he says. “What you would normally recommend.”

Translation: Reassure me that you know what the fuck to do with me after we've just done everything that you've been talking about, because I AM DOWN TO DO THIS RIGHT NOW.

“Fucking peckerhead,” Tozer says, straightening up and rolling his shoulders, his eyes flashing. “I needed him to do some goddamn work.”

Yeah, well, Hickey’s got no fucking work ethic, so I dunno what the fuck you were thinking, Tozer. Duty owed, indeed.

It’s the guy that was watching Tozer. His eyes are burning with fanaticism. “It’s not too late,” he repeats. “Your crisis is an opportunity to repair yourself.”

Irving, sweetheart, buddy. You are at a fetish convention. Nobody here is interested in repairing themselves, and neither are you or you would not be here.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Jopson says. He’s still behind his booth, which is entirely too far away from Edward. “And Blanky’s due back any minute, so unless you want an interrogation over what you’re planning to do with the collar, you might want to come over to my side and look at books instead, I promise I won’t give you the third degree about anything.”

JOPSON, you are a LIAR. You fully intend to give him the third degree about everything, you just want him physically closer to you while you do it.

He’s not quite close enough to hear the conversation, but he is close enough to watch the way Jopson’s hands move in front of his body as he speaks, realizes after a moment that he’s signing. Realizes a few moments later that the words he’s saying aren’t English—and only then because it’s a different rhythm than Jopson usually speaks in, a little more halting, less fluid.

Francis' crash course in Netsilik went alright, apparently! I'm sure Jopson is disappointed in himself for not being fluent, but Silna will confirm to Francis that Jopson tried hard.

“We’re acquainted,” Jopson says carefully. Then adds, “It’s been a bit since I’ve spoken to her.”

LIAR, Jopson, you were literally in a deep conversation with her YESTERDAY. Edward, of course, does not notice this, even though he observed said conversation. (*cough*himbo*cough*)

Jopson shrugs, the motion a little self-deprecating. “That’s it. I’ll be finished then.” He sets his jaw, looks away. “I imagine we’d need to be more concerned about your availability than mine.”

Bold of you to assume that Edward "anxiety" Little actually checked his Fetlife messages and sorted out any play dates with anybody in advance.

Blanky grins at him. “That’s more like it. If you’ve got a couple minutes to wait, I’ll cut back the extra leather on the straps here for you.”

A number of people who make collars leave extra length on the straps in case it's needed. In this case, Blanky knows it won't be, so it can get trimmed back before Edward even leaves the booth. (Also, the Edward Little energy of Edward dropping a bunch of money on collars for Jopson, and then immediately freaking out and sticking them back in his hotel room?)

As an aside, considering Blanky is #teamjoplittle, I would give so much to see the content of the inevitable groupchats that are happening right now.

Phew. That's it for this week! Chapter three, Consensual, goes up next Friday! See you then! And if you have questions or anything in the meantime, you can always drop me an ask on tumblr or Curious Cat. I know I didn't cover everything, even in this long-ass entry, cuz there's a fuck of a lot of stuff going on in the foreground, much less the background. I honestly don't mind if you ask, it's totally cool. :)

See you next week!

#the terror #the terror fic #my fic #fic: closer #fic breakdown #fic: the terror kink au #joplittle

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blackrose-ffxiv · 6 years ago

Photo

10/15

Anselme de Haillenarte was not dressed as nobility nor as a Knight. A soldier, maybe, but the more likely assumption would be adventurer. He was running errands in the Jeweled Crozier and it seems he already had a decent haul judging by the travelling pack that hung on his side well-stuffed with his purchases. At the moment he was finishing up another purchase with a purveyor of food stuffs, yet at the last moment he pointed to an apple nearby. The rest of the food went into his pack but he turned away from the counter and rubbed the apple idly against his sash as he took a look around the somewhat busy street, full of Ishgardians and outsiders alike. It was a heartening sight. Still rubbing the apple against fabric as he started up the stairs to look at the next few stalls.

Ishgard is not exacly a small city, and "he went shopping" is not much of a lead for tracking down a person Michaux Vidal has never seen in his life. But since he couldn't find the Ishgardian at the Academy, here he is, searching for a needle in a haystack. As he makes his way down a set of stairs, he nearly collides with someone and has to side-step nimbly to avoid him. "My apologies," he murmurs, glancing up at the Wildwood, and then he pauses. His crimson eyes widen slightly behind his spectacles as he sees a face that is not quite familiar, but not entirely strange to him, either. "Anselme de Haillenarte?" he guesses in a low voice.

The Knight instinctively turned as smaller body came hurting towards him, putting his pack behind himself and blocking slightly with his hand. Naturally assuming a pickpocket looking to pull one over on a foreign adventurer. Yet the impact where the grab would be made never came and the dark elezen danced gracefully aside to avoid it. “Quite alright.” Anselme offered with a smile, though the expression froze somewhat and shifted to amused puzzlement as the stranger guessed his name. “And quite right. My apologies, this is a bit rude to ask, but have we met before?”

Michaux stares at him for a moment, blinking slowly, and then he lets out an almost hysterical laugh. He lowers his head, covering his smile with a gloved hand and says quickly, "Sorry, sorry. You surprised me." His expression is serious again by the time he lifts his head. "I'm the one being rude. I'm a heathen from the Shroud, so please excuse the fact that I have no manners. We haven't met, but I'm a friend of Idristan's. I was hoping for a chance to talk to you... about your brother."

Thick brows knit in mild concern as the other elezen made a rather unsettling noise. As though he’d said something terribly funny. Anselme’s eyes were the same bright blue as his brother’s, but rather than chips of ice his were closer to summer skies. They darted quickly over the Duskwight, making a brief assessment. Nice coat in a flashy color that almost perfectly matched his eyes, a well-kept looking weapon at his hip. Certainly not Ishgardian. And, oh hells, he knew one of his brothers. The chances of this being a Bad Situation had just increased exponentially. Clear sky blue clouded over as his gaze darkened and the amusement smile left his face. “I have already told Idristan all I can, truly.”

"I don't doubt that," Michaux says grimly, "but I'm not here on Idristan's behalf. He and I… are not exactly of one mind when it comes to your brother, let's say. I was hoping to speak to you and… understand a few things." He grimaces, noting the darkening look in Anselme's eyes. "I'm not here to cause trouble. Full disclosure: I'm really, really good at causing trouble, but I'm actually here in this snowy hellscape freezing my arse off in good faith. Is there somewhere we can talk in private? I'll try to be brief.”

Anselme seemed torn. It was plain on his face as his dark brows furrowed once again and his lips pursed as he bit lightly at the inside of his own mouth. He reached up with the apple-holding hand to scratch thoughtfully at short cropped hair with two fingers. “I don’t know…” He began hesitatingly. “Well. Maybe we can have a small chat. A little discussion over a mug of mulled wine or hot cider can’t hurt, right?” The clouds broke and the sunny grin returned. “I’ll warn you up front that hurting me or holding me hostage won’t flush him out of hiding, just in case that was your hope.” He noted before he gestured up the stairs. “Still want that talk?”

Michaux combs his fingers through his own spiky hair, feeling a bit nervous at Anselme deliberates. The tall Ishgardian looks too much like the knight he is, and his current expression of displeasure reminds Michaux that he's not the kind of man a knight would deign to befriend. He's the kind of man who ends up on other end of their blades. But the mention of mulled wine makes him relax slightly. And the suggestion that he's here to hurt or kidnap Anselme draws out another brief laugh, albeit a slightly anxious one. "I don't need to flush him out of hiding. I know where he lives. And I try not to attack people in the streets of Ishgard when I can avoid it. Turns out the guards don't really like that. Let's go."

The Knight managed a cheerful grin in return at that. “Of course. And I would have to defend myself. It wouldn’t end up well for either of us. Great! Now that that’s settled.” He started down the stairs instead of up and tilted his head into a small bow. “I’ve forgotten my manners again, excuse me.” He apologized as they walked through the chilly streets. “But you already knew my name. Please just call me Anselme, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” If this man already knew where Lebeaux lived yet still came all the way to snowy Ishgard to talk, it was certainly worth hearing him out. “And you are?”

Michaux seems to approve when Anselme leads his away from the heights of the Pillars, where he knows all too well he does not belong. At least here, among the common folk of Ishgard, he feels slightly less out of place. "Oh," he says suddenly when asked for his name. "I warned you that I'm the one with no manners. Michaux Vidal. I'd give you my card, but I have it on good authority that it's dreadful. Besides, I think I forgot to carry one again." He pats his pockets briefly, then shrugs. "Anyroad. Right. Lebeaux. I suppose you're aware that he and Idristan would happily murder each other?"

Along the way the apple was tucked into the safety of his pack and a few gil was handed over to a vendor in exchange for two steaming mugs of hot spiced cider. He kept the mugs in Michaux’s view the entire time as he handed one over. Proving he had no chance of slipping something into it. Instinctively used to dealing with paranoia, most likely. “Yes.” He agreed with a solemn nod. “Which I absolutely don’t want. Idristan and I have fought side by side a few times now against Voidsent, I suspect there’s a good man under the prickly exterior. He doesn’t deserve to die like that.” He explained as he took a small sip of his own cider, enjoying the warmth of the spices and the alcohol. “Lebeaux is family, I plainly don’t want him to die either.”

Michaux accepts the mug and immediately takes a deep gulp. He doesn't care that it's still hot enough to burn his tongue - if he doesn't warm up somehow quickly, he's going to start shivering violently, and he doesn't exactly wish to start shaking like a leaf in front of someone he's meeting for the first time. If he happened to notice the fact that Anselme was keeping the mugs in full view, he certainly shows no sign of it. "Idristan is a good man. A pig-headed one sometimes, but still a good one. But I'm less worried about him at the moment. He's not facing Lebeaux's threats alone anymore. His girlfriend is one of my closest friends as well, but I'm not afraid to say that she is dangerous and ruthless. I made a promise to Lebeaux. Well, more like a suggestion than a promise, but I meant it as one. I told him that if he's ever in grave danger, he should call me. I'll help if I can. But now I don't know if I can keep that promise. Not if helping him means fighting my best friends. Solenne has already told me that she is not afraid to go through me if she has to." His expression is earnest throughout this explanation. In his eyes there's a mixture of weariness, pain, fear, and anger, but also, honesty. His voice is quiet, steady, and just a touch beseeching. "I heard from Idristan that you still care about Lebeaux. Or... I don't even know if that's his real name, but never mind. I just want to know if it's true."

Anselme had found them a quiet spot where an open fire warmed the small terrace and they were afforded an unobstructed view of the Steps of Faith and the Arc of the Worthy. It also gave him something to look at as he sipped his cider and listened to Michaux. The Duskwight sounded earnest enough and honestly there was nothing there that didn’t smack of Lebeaux being… himself. He stole a small glance aside, seeing the strange look on the other’s face as he mentioned a promise. “I can’t control him or influence him, nor can I apologize for him.” Anselme explained quietly, as though the admission hurt him. “He’s my brother. I care for him and want nothing more than for him to return home.” He curled his fingers around his mug and let his gaze settle on Michaux. “That’s why I can’t help Idristan kill him or have him arrested, but why would you want to help Lebeaux? Especially since he has threatened your friends.” He seemed genuinely baffled by that one.

Michaux drinks a bit more cider and then cradles the mug close to his chest. As usual, his lean body isn't doing a good job of holding in warmth. Gods, he hates this city. Then a flicker of dry amusement flashes across his features at Anselme's words. "No one is expecting you to control him, I imagine. I'm certainly not." Then the amusement dies. "That would be impossible now anyroad," he mutters to himself. He gives his head a shake to clear away the horrific impression of the presence in Lebeaux's mind and turns his attention back to Anselme. "Help him? I don't know if I can truly help him. I certainly don't want to play a part in any of his schemes. But I want him to live. And if there was a way I could help him on a deeper level, I would not hesitate. I…" He lets his voice trail off, uttering a wry laugh. His runs his fingers through his hair again and then looks down into his mug to avoid Anselme's gaze. "I care about him. Much more than I should. I often don't like him, but I always care. If he dies, I'll grieve him."

Anselme’s look of bafflement slowly faded as Michaux explained. Whoever this strange man was, he had encountered Lebeaux and rather than be horrified or disgusted, seemed to actually care whether the Knight’s brother lived or died. Anselme smiled at that, a bittersweet look that plainly said he felt for Michaux. It was difficult to tell if it was sympathy or pity that he was feeling, though. “O-oh. I see. Umm…” He chuckled a bit sheepishly and raised a hand to scratch at his hair. “I suppose now as the elder brother, I’m supposed to warn you that should you hurt him I will come to find you. Me and my axe.” He joked lightly as he let his hand fall away. Plain that his whole heart wasn’t in the joke. “But really I should warn you that he will hurt you. It would be for the best that he is left be until he comes to terms with the end of the War, he really hasn’t been the same since. I am… very aware that he can be charming when he wants something. But I ask of you to take care of yourself, Idristan and I believe you mentioned a Solenne. I will mind my brother, as best I can. I can’t ask you to shoulder that burden.”

Michaux can see the rather pitying look in Anselme's eyes, and he offers him a rueful smile in return. "Yeah, I know. I've got great taste. Everyone says so." His expression then falters at Anselme's joking threat, as he can't help recalling the time he did hurt Lebeaux. Anselme doesn't need to know about that, though, because Michaux doesn't need yet another Ishgardian noble finding out about his magic. Of course, without that background information, he can't really explain to Anselme how his overpowering attraction to Lebeaux turned into actual feelings, but hopefully he won't ask.

At Anselme's next warning, Michaux can feel his exhaustion setting in again. His eyes prickle, and he has to blink hard to keep tears from rising. "Thanks for the advice, but everything about this situation already hurts. That's not my chief concern. There's no way this can end that won't cause me pain. But you're right, I can't shoulder the burden of your brother's safety. Not alone, anyroad. Not when it's likely to mean standing against Idris and Sol. If they decide Lebeaux has to die, Sol will keep her promise. She'll go through me to get to him. There's no peaceful way for me to intervene, and given that Lebeaux is a genuine threat to them, I can't actively take his side." He lowers his head when tears begin to flow despite his best efforts. "I came here because I need to know he has someone else who cares."

Anselme’s fingers tightened slightly on his mug of cider as Michaux explained. Admitting that he had poor taste in men and that whatever was going on between him, Idristan, Lebeaux and Solenne was bound to end in misery. Michaux seemed utterly miserable about the entire thing already, blinking hard to keep his eyes clear. “Oh, hells. I’m sorry.” The Knight offered quickly as he stepped closer and gave the Duskwight a few small pats on the back before he rested his hand there to give the other’s chilly jacket a light rub. Here was someone mad enough to risk themselves for Lebeaux, even if it meant standing against his other friends. Something was very strange here, he was beginning to understand that he understood nothing about the situation.

@secrets-and-aetherlight

#anselme #michaux #the other brother #michaux can't deal with genuinely nice people #it's adorable

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codecies-zujier · 7 years ago

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The High Den

It had been almost three years since she last properly set foot in the Viper Den along the Jeweled Crozier. It was here that Meziene Zujier, a whore of Camp Dragonhead, became the Black Viper. She had almost forgotten its high ceilings, low light, and spiced air. The Revered Mother used to say that the musk stimulated the senses and made the girls more beautiful to the eyes. Meziene did not doubt her. So rarely did men come to the Den for their Vipers, but when they did, it seemed they stayed for what was promised without fail.

She met the Revered Mother, Corvaia LeFleur, at the base of the steps. The wildwood Elezen befor her aged with a quiet grace. The salt of age had come into her peppered hair, and her laugh lines became more prominent in the shadow. Still, it could be said she was one of the most powerful women in Ishgard. Meziene took note of a new trinket on the woman’s wrist. Such ornamentation on a Viper was common, but the filigree of the metal around each diamond told her that someone gave her an Ishgardian antique. She had no idea the Revered Mother even saw clients.

“Meziene. It is so good to see you here with us again,” Corvaia closed in and embraced her in a loose hug. Meziene returned it.

“I am delighted to be back, Revered Mother.”

“It has been so long since I saw you last,” Corvaia let go of her, and she held her at arm's length to regard her for a moment.

Meziene stayed where she was, allowing the observation. She had nothing to hide from the elder. Vipers like them seldom strayed from a traditional attire in that they always wore the bracelets given to them upon their Naming. Corvaia found it around Meziene’s right wrist, and she touched the silver lightly, lovingly. It was enough for her to know that the south had not taken a child from her.

“You went so far from us, and yet you are still one of us. Will you ever break from us, Black Viper?” Corvaia asked.

“This is where I was made. I did not live until I came here.”

Meziene meant it. Her home caverns were a purgatory and the crime that cast her out a blessing. Although the man who brought her to the Viper Den was no better than Ceronoix, at least he unknowingly gave her the means to transcend him. He served his purpose both to her and to the Vipers.

“Shall we discuss the books? As you know, Lathanis Eleftheriou has continued to pay into your account as reparations for the damages caused by his late brother,” Corvaia took the young Viper by the arm, and she lead her away down the hall.

“I have kept my eye on the account. He is too kind,” Meziene responded as they walked,” he is an anomaly.”

“That isn’t necessarily true. The Eleftheriou’s are a strange people, yes, but not all of their men are like Raceaux.”

Meziene glanced at her former mistress, and she laid her hand over the elder’s as a warning. There had been something said which revealed her. Corvaia stopped walking a moment, and their eyes met. They were one and the same-- trained to see these cues in one another. Corvaia acknowledged her breach by lowering her head, and they continued.

“You will have to forgive me, my dear. I know Raceaux was an unkind client, and he did not deserve you. Their House gives us much.”

“What do they give us?” Meziene asked.

“Their standing Lord, Rellorin, is a client of mine. He gives a great deal to the Den to see us continue our work--”

“And to use you as a source of information on the clients of all other Vipers. Do you breach the agreement for him?”

The tell came again, but this time in silence. The elder grasped onto Meziene’s arm, and she closed her eyes a moment. Corvaia lived a long life as a woman of the night, a servant of the courts and their men. And yet still, Meziene could see through her. They each had cracks in their mask, and she knew without a thought that Corvaia cared for Rellorin Eleftheriou, Patriarch of the family that had both gifted her with this opportunity and robbed her of so many others.

“Please, let us not speak of this anymore.”

“As you say, Revered Mother.”

And so, all was silent.

If they ascended the stairs, they would have gone into the private quarters of the other Vipers. Largely empty, these rooms served to welcome guests whenever the Vipers worked outside of their designated Houses. It so rarely happened anymore, Meziene believed. The change in politics meant that the Vipers had to be ever present both among the Commons and the Lords. There could be no time for the simpler business.

Down the first hallway, she knew that the Revered Mother’s office awaited them. Through the ashwood door they went, and beyond it, she found the office unchanged. Rich crimson wallpaper accented the dark wood present in all furniture and brightened the silver ornaments throughout the room. At the windows, two chairs waited with a small table at the center. There, they could review whatever Corvaia believed important while overlooking the Crozier.

Corvaia deposited Meziene in a chair to the left before she took her own on the right. A large, leatherbound tome sat in the middle of the table between them, and she wasted no time in opening it to go on her search.

“Did you find an appropriate school for the young master?” Corvaia said as she initiated small talk.

“We did. We are going to start him at the school you recommended, I think. Amelie’s,” Meziene leaned back into her chair, allowing herself to grow comfortable in a familiar place.

She looked out into the market and watched the people pass below them. The cold wind, light snow, and frost on the window told her she was home. Meziene had not been born in the high city of Coerthas’ more privileged denizens, but it came to belong to her as much as it belonged to the noble lords.

“Excellent. I imagine that is why you are here, so there is work when the boy is at school,” Corvaia stopped at a page toward the end of the tome. Meziene could see from where she sat that her name decorated the top of the page.

“Yes. If we are to be here several days a week, I want to have some measure of work to occupy my time.”

“Ever the busy body. You’ll be happy to know that your arrival hasn’t gone unnoticed,” Corvaia tapped a finger against the page,” Alaine from Our Lady Preparatory already made a call to see if you were available to see him again.”

That sounded like Alaine. Meziene smiled at the simple memories of the man that oversaw the second school on the list for her son. He had not been like Raceaux or Alaric. Their time had been simple. He asked her to play for him while he studied, sometimes. He only ever required her to play the harp, to listen to him, and occasionally make him feel a man and not a Headmaster.

“You’ve yet to have anyone else call on you, but we can let your past clients you’ve returned to the Den,” Corvaia looked up from her work, and she smiled lightly at Meziene.

It was meant to be welcoming, but Meziene knew she only welcomed the profit that would come with her return. She could not blame her for it. If Meziene sat in her place, she would feel the same.

“I’ll be asking House Devereaux to put me on retainer for any of their gatherings with the House of Lords. I have a great many friends there. They’ll treat me and any of the other girls well,” Meziene insisted.

This was enough for Corvaia to add to Meziene’s documentation,” I’m glad you’ve already sought out a benefactor house. Hopefully, they’ll accept.”

They won’t have to, Meziene thought. Already, the wheels turned in her head. Something was amiss in the Viper Den that birthed her into her new life, and she would right it.

#The Black Viper #Ishgard

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hudsonespie · 4 years ago

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Op-Ed: The Navy's Perpetual Racism Problem and How to Fix It

[By LCDR Reuben Keith Green, USN (ret.)]

The Navy has always had the same three problems when it comes to diversity and inclusion. The first is that there is racism in the ranks. This is America, so that is to be expected. The second is a failure of leadership. No less an individual than the current Secretary of the Navy has pointed out to Congress and the press that failure of leadership in the Navy is a problem today. The third is an unwillingness to face head-on the first two problems. To do so would require some deep introspection, radical change, and likely adverse publicity as the dirty laundry gets aired, which every organization hates.

An active duty Black sailor wrote a review of my memoir on July 26, 2020, which said, “As a Black American Sailor, this book confirmed a lot of what I (in 2020) personally have experienced in my career thus far. The names and faces may have changed, but the traditions of old remained. This book brought me to tears. I am better for reading this, but dejected at the realization that much will not change in the Navy.” The recent articles written in USNI Proceedings’ blog and magazine detail the thoughts and experiences of active duty officers who have faced discrimination. These individuals echo the same sentiments that my sailor father shared with me 50 years ago when he forbade me to join the Navy.

I have been worried about the Navy’s race problem since I was ten years old. I listened to my father’s and his friends’ inappropriate sea stories, and read encyclopedias that hid the truth from me while dreaming of being a naval officer. But there weren’t any Black naval officers in the encyclopedias, or the sea stories. I knew that there were stories I shouldn’t be hearing and that the ones I should have been reading were missing. It wasn’t until my parents bought books on the Black experience in the American experiment that the truth began to be revealed to me. Today at the age of 63, I am more worried now than I have been in a long time. So is the Department of Defense. That means you should be worried, too.

So, what to do? I can tell you that the current fad of listening to sailors and officers is not going to be nearly enough. The Navy and the military is at a point where radical change, such as was attempted by Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Elmo R. Zumwalt during his tenure, is clearly necessary, even essential. It will be painful.

Understanding Culture

The Navy doesn’t need another task force, study group, commission, or detailed directive to minimize discrimination and sexual assault/harassment in the ranks. Those are stacked a mile high, unread and unheeded. The last time I checked, the Navy had done more of those than any other service, and for good reason – but to little effect. What the Navy needs to do is to hold commanders and leaders responsible and accountable in the same way it holds them accountable if they are involved in a collision at sea or a vessel grounding. What the Navy needs to do is to target the problem as though it were an operational necessity and matter of national security to fix, because it is.

I think the Navy understands that, but is unclear on how to fix it – or unwilling to do what is required. One thing missing in the Navy’s approach is assigning culpability for discrimination and racism. If no one is culpable, then there is no one that can or will be held responsible.

A ship damaged at sea or run aground, or with a physically degraded crew, clearly impacts the operational readiness of that ship. A ship or command whose crew is mentally impacted in unit cohesiveness, mistrust, discrimination, mental cruelty, lack of personal security and morale, will experience degradations which are just as dangerous to the functioning of the organization. People who don’t trust or who abuse each other have difficulty working together effectively, which is the very essence of an elite team. The difference in these two problems is the accountability factor, or lack thereof.

The USS Shiloh “Prison Ship” debacle of a few years ago is instructive. The Shiloh skipper exhibited anti-diversity behavior and comments, doled out extremely harsh punishments for minor offenses (three days bread and water), and was obsessed with obtaining his favorite personal beverage, at the expense of more pressing crew and operational concerns. His behavior was deemed racist by some of the crew. The Navy was well aware of the problems aboard the ship, having increased the frequency of the command climate surveys, which steadily deteriorated, and repeatedly “counseled” the captain of the ship. Despite the written pleas of the officers and crew, which grew more desperate, and the well-known waterfront reputation of the ship, the Navy did not act. Instead, the captain transferred ashore with his head held high and a shiny new end of tour medal, while the psychological devastation to some of his crew began to have what is likely lasting effects on many individuals. Once the stories made the news, it was too late to effectively ameliorate the damage done to the individuals. And still, the Navy stood by the skipper, because “the ship performed well operationally.” Not only was the captain not held accountable, he was rewarded. Officially, his judgement was not found lacking until a subsequent inspector general investigation was conducted.

Contrast that with the case of Captain Brett Crozier, formerly captain of the USS Theodore Roosevelt. By all accounts he was an outstanding skipper, and had a reputation for being a caring commander, which apparently contributed to his downfall. In the midst of a pandemic, which severely impacted both the health of his crew and the operational capability of the ship, he wrote a memo requesting guidance and help that was subsequently leaked to the press. He was relieved for “poor judgement.” Despite a lack of a clear management strategy, little specific guidance, conflict with his embarked commander, and an exponentially increasing casualty list, he was summarily relieved by an individual who infamously displayed far worse judgement himself.

Following the uproar, a subsequent investigation was ordered and conducted, and the finding was the same – poor judgement. I take issue with the findings and recommendations of the investigation, as does an expert on naval investigations, Captain Michael Junge, who wrote the bible on the subject, Crimes of Command in the United States Navy. His precise critique of the investigation, as well as his book, should be required reading for all naval officers. His thoughts on accountability, responsibility, and culpability are as relevant to this discussion as they are to the discrimination and sexual harassment/assault issues currently in focus.

Ask yourself, who did more damage to the Navy, Captain Crozier, or the skipper of the Shiloh? Further, ask yourself who was held culpable and who was not. Ask yourself if the treatment of Captain Crozier sent the right message to officers trying to lead under difficult and unprecedented circumstances.

To my knowledge, no formal Navy investigation was conducted into the Shiloh affair, even as the Navy received bad press and piercing questions from around the world until well after the captain was relieved on schedule. An investigation should have been conducted while he was in command, and the skipper should have been held to account. Failure to do so sent a terrible signal throughout the fleet, echoes of which can be heard in the fallout from the Theodore Roosevelt incident. Caring too much about the welfare of your crew can get you fired; driving them to mental instability and psychological exhaustion, while making jokes about it, can get you rewarded. The Navy seemed to be willing to reward a commander who ignored or prevented efforts to honor the diverse heritage and contributions of minority sailors and develop a unity mindset, throwing 50 years of precedent down the drain.

In the 50 years I have been studying this issue, I can only recall one incident where an officer has been held to account for racist language and behavior. This flag officer was relieved for making derogatory comments regarding Black officers, including those superior to him, and making racially offensive comments and gestures while in command. I only know this because another fine carrier skipper took issue with his behavior and reported it to the proper authorities. The facts that the carrier skipper was an unimpeachable witness, and that others witnessed the comments and behavior, are significant. Most people who report such offenses do not have these advantages, and I speak from hard experience. This case was a clear exception to the rule.

For decades the Navy has downplayed or dismissed overwhelmingly formal discrimination complaints submitted by sailors and officers. This has to change. There are federal lawsuits pending right now stemming from racial discrimination in naval aviation, and the case of former Lieutenant Courtland Savage is exhibit A. He recently wrote about his experiences and frustration in Travel World Magazine, and his story was reported in Military Times and elsewhere a few years ago. The Navy acknowledged “ethnic insensitivity” but no discrimination.

I beg to differ. I wrote a letter expressing my concerns, which was passed to the DoD Inspector General handling the case. A white Navy lieutenant, who spoke up and acknowledged the discrimination, is now involved in a federal lawsuit, where he is fighting the retaliatory actions taken against him for speaking out. This type of retaliation is as predictable as the sunrise. Retaliation is the number one concern of individuals who report discrimination in the military, and for very good reason. This case needs transparency.

The Navy needs to demonstrate the same commitment to eradicating these longstanding and seemingly intractable discrimination and harassment issues as they demonstrated in stamping out the rampant and widespread abuse of illegal drugs during the 70s and 80s. I recall that the day I graduated from the legal clerk course at Naval Justice School in Newport in 1977, some of my senior fellow graduates celebrated graduation by smoking a joint in the barracks while packing up their belongings. I was an E-4, and this didn’t surprise me. As a Legal Yeoman, I processed many drug offenders, counseled many sailors as a substance abuse prevention practitioner, and held people accountable as a division officer aboard ship.

Following some significant incidents aboard ship in which illegal drug use possibly contributed to property damage and injuries, and diminished operability, the Navy cracked down hard and helped turn this around. Officers were held to the highest standard, as it should be. There was a top down, fleet-wide commitment to ending drug abuse, with clear punishments, rehabilitation, and possibilities for redemption.

It worked. It can work for this current crisis as well, with proper commitment and leadership. The ��zero tolerance” stance for officers who abused drugs should be adapted for officers who abuse people.

Let’s return to the issue of commissions, study groups, and reports. In the June 1990 issue of All Hands Magazine, there was an eight-page article on the state of race relations in the Navy. Then-Chief of Naval Personnel Admiral Jeremy “Mike” Boorda referred to the Chief of Naval Operations Study Group’s Report on Equal Opportunity, published in 1988. The report had indicated that there was widespread bias and discrimination against Blacks in the Navy. Boorda said that the programs in place had “realized major improvements in recent years.” A few years later, in 1996, he unfortunately took his own life while still serving as the Chief of Naval Operations, and while fighting for change to the culture.

He was fighting for people like me. Five days before his death, I filed a request for redress against a racist and abusive commanding officer who was being protected by a racist and abusive immediate superior in command, for whom I had worked in the 90 days before he fleeted up to his next command. Rather than cause the Navy any further bad press, and because my complaint was illegally withheld in violation of the governing directives, I chose to quietly retire, understanding that no effort would be spared to discredit and destroy me should I push the issue to an appropriate and legal resolution.

I have never seen the report, but I am confident that it addresses many of the same problems that exist today. These problems are not new, they are perpetual. I know because they have existed for my entire lifetime. What has to be new is the approach to solving them.

Admiral Zumwalt got the Navy off to a great start, but the civilian and naval leadership failed him, and the country. His nemesis, Mississippi Senator John C. Stennis, and his superior officer, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Admiral Thomas Moorer, a racist, did much to undermine Zumwalt’s efforts. The active duty and retired military leadership never got behind Zumwalt’s efforts. Zumwalt recalled in his memoir that Moorer opposed his selection as Chief of Naval Operations and accused him of “blackening his Navy,” and the post-retirement television debate he had with Zumwalt did not reflect well on Admiral Moorer and his position on race. Zumwalt’s successor, Admiral James Holloway III, said Zumwalt “went too far.”

The Boogaloo Boys, a white supremacist group, contains many active duty and veteran service members, as do other racist and radical groups. I am looking askance at my beloved Hawaiian shirts as I write. Symbology is important. If the price for removing Confederate flags from military bases is giving up my shirts, I’ll make the sacrifice. While the overt racism is troubling, the more insidious, hidden racism likely does more damage in the long run. The outcry over the recently outed retired naval academy alumnus who accidentally livestreamed racist comments on Facebook ignores the fact that he spent 30 years in the Navy, as his hidden racism was masked (or was it ignored, or worse, accepted?) as he likely negatively impacted the careers of numerous minority officers and sailors. Did he ever sit on a promotion or selection board? Has anyone examined his history of fitness reports and evaluations? Implicit bias does damage daily, and simply changing the rules on photographs for selection boards is like giving someone who has COVID-19 some aspirin and putting them on bedrest – treating the symptoms, not the cause.

I recently tangled with a retired Navy captain who called me a racist on LinkedIn because he didn’t like the title of my book, "Black Officer, White Navy," and also inferred that minority officers received “special treatment” at selections boards because of the color of their skin. He subsequently deleted his racist comments, and my responses to them, but I saved the screenshots, as a reminder of just how pervasive these attitudes are.

The officers who have spoken publicly (in writing) about the discrimination they have faced have been met with hostility, racism, denial, derision, and ridicule, judging from the comments on the recent USNI articles written by Lieutenant Commander Desmond Walker and Commander Jada Johnson. Similar comments have been made regarding the banning of divisive symbology from military installations. Of particular dismay is the fact that many of the comments outright deny the existence of institutional racism. One poster goes so far as to say that the current efforts to end racism and discrimination will only make things worse, while flatly denying that institutional racism is even a real thing. This white backlash is as old as the Navy’s efforts to end systemic racism dating to the Zumwalt era, and the arguments are largely the same. Given the public response, it is not difficult to imagine the private conversations.

Conclusion

The Chief of Naval Operations has acknowledged that there is racism in the Navy. He needs to go one natural – but painful – step further and acknowledge that you can’t have racism without racists. You can’t have rape without rapists. You can’t have sexual harassment without harassers. You can’t have discrimination without actions, both individual and institutional, that discriminate. You can’t have failed leadership without failed leaders.

If the Secretary of the Navy is right, and naval leadership is lacking, then this is a good place to start. It will pay dividends for decades to come if Navy leadership, led by Admiral Gilday, takes charge and leads from the front. Given the other challenges that have arisen since his June 2020 initiative, I am concerned that this effort will slip to the backburner, and become yet another in a series of failed efforts to minimize discrimination in the fleet. That would add to the dejection, as stated by the sailor mentioned above, that permeates the Navy. It would be a devastating failure to have raised hopes for change to then see them dashed due to other concerns. At some point, as has been demonstrated in the past, the relief valve will pop.

I was a young division officer with ten years in the Navy when Admiral Gilday graduated from the Naval Academy in 1985. I imagine he thinks he knows how bad it is, but he can’t. He can imagine it, but he will fall woefully short. He has the right idea, but he needs help from those with direct experience and a willingness to speak truth to power, always a risky venture. Unless he finds himself a young Black naval officer, or other minority personnel, assigned to his staff to advise him, he still won’t truly get it. He needs a William S. Norman, Zumwalt’s minority affairs assistant, who methodically educated Admiral Zumwalt to the point of trauma on the experiences of Black sailors and officers in the Navy. He needs to read the comments directed at the officers who have spoken out, and at me. The misrepresentations and reductionist dismissals are stunning. Naval officers Desmond Walker and Jada Johnson, who bravely shared their experiences and recommendations in Proceedings, are the type of officers I have in mind.

Admiral Elmo R. Zumwalt, Jr., Chief of Naval Operations (left) is briefed by Lieutenant Commander William S. Norman, in June 1971, in Washington D.C. (Photo via Naval History and Heritage Command)

The old lions, the Black retired naval flag community, are very quiet, when they should be roaring and sharing their stories. While some offer tepid congratulations for the changes in the Coast Guard and Navy to senior officers, they are apparently missing the reality on the deckplate, or sharing their concerns more privately. Retired Master Chief Melvin Williams, the father of Vice Admiral Melvin Williams, should get a personal invitation to share his perspective, having written a book with his son that describes their experiences with discrimination and leadership. According to Melvin G. Williams Sr., in a review of my own book, “His story was so unusual and so disturbing in its recapping of events that even an old Navy veteran such as me had to hold back tears…His story provides many lessons to be learned and guidelines to be followed. Those who run the Navy should consider this book a gift.”d

Air Force Chief of Staff General Brown’s electrifying personal testimony struck a chord with me, and many others. He roared, quietly but publicly, and with dignity. Now he’s taking action with resolve and commitment. Despite his best intentions, Admiral Gilday likely doesn’t have a similar understanding of the problem compared to General Brown. He needs a Black man or woman to explain it to him. I’m sure he has General Brown’s number. They should have lunch, and invite William S. Norman and Master Chief Melvin Williams along for good measure. Old lions have the most scars, and the most wisdom. They should have lunch in the wardroom of the USS John C. Stennis. It will be messy and uncomfortable, but informative, to look at the pictures on the wall and the faces of the Sailors serving them in the wardroom. Or better said, the faces of the Sailors they serve.

CNO, pull up a chair and chat with an old Black Sailor. I can tell you that having a former sailor ridicule you in print and refuse to acknowledge even the existence of institutional discrimination is unsettling. Having that same individual delight in “making me insane” by refusing to do so, and treat other minority active duty officers the same way (from anonymity, he thinks) reveals the underlying objective, which is to cause further pain. Having to work alongside that sort of individual is something I am quite familiar with. The scars are lasting. The high disability rating for Black veterans is not an accident, it is a predictable outcome.

Our sailors have suffered enough. CNO, to paraphrase Sean Connery in the movie "The Untouchables," “What are you going to do?”

Reuben Keith Green is a retired surface warfare officer who served for 22 years in the Atlantic Fleet (1975-1997). A former mineman, legal yeoman, Equal Opportunity Program Specialist, administrative office leading petty officer, and leadership instructor, he served four consecutive sea tours upon his commissioning via Officer Candidate School in 1984. He qualified as both a steam and gas turbine engineer officer of the watch (EOOW), Tactical Action Officer (TAO) in the Persian Gulf, and served as executive officer in a Navy hydrofoil, USS Gemini (PHM-6). He graduated from the Defense Equal Opportunity Management Institute in 1980.

from Storage Containers https://maritime-executive.com/article/op-ed-the-navy-s-perpetual-racism-problem-and-how-to-fix-it via http://www.rssmix.com/

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alexbandfan · 6 years ago

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Rediscovering Alex Band, former Lead Singer/Song writer/Performer of The Calling!

A story about how & why one of today's most accomplished, talented, performing/singer/songwriters has to "Start Over Again!"

By Gino De Lucia, Patch Poster| Jul 13, 2011 3:03 am ET | Updated Jul 14, 2011 11:24 pm ET

Although this blog is about a Band, it is not about a Band that's an actual Band! Confused? OK then~ this ought to clear things up: The Band that I'm referring to is actually a person!

Currently, give or take a record or two, 30-year-old Alex Max Band, (a/k/a Alex Band) has sold over 8 million records.

Moreover, the chances are pretty good that you either own one of Band's songs right now, or else you have recently sang along with one while listening to the radio! While you may or may not be familiar with or recognize the name Alex Band, the fact of the matter here is that unless you are a baby; was just born yesterday; or have been living on some other planet up until now, the odds are very good that you are quite familiar with the sound of the voice.

Born June 8th, 1981 in Los Angeles, California, Alex Band is the former lead vocalist, songwriter, and performer from a California-based rock group known throughout the world since 2001 as The Calling!

Band's latest biography informs us of the fact that the inspiring sound of his powerful, emotionally charged voice is often instantly recognizable to millions of music lovers, thanks to The Calling's modern-day classics like Adrienne, Our Lives and their chart-topping Mega-hit song, Wherever You Will Go!

At the end of 2009, Billboard Magazine, a popular weekly music publication that has been in existence for 109 years, named Wherever You Will Go as "The #1 Song of the Decade" on its Adult Pop Chart. (Billboard is a music trade publication that Record label executives, recording artists, musicians, record producers etc. often refer to as being "The Bible of the Music Industry.")

The popularity of Wherever You Will Go and the impact that it has had on people totally amazes Alex Band. Perhaps it all has something to do with the song's meaning?

Band, who was just 16 when he wrote the song explains its origin: "It was written at a time when my friends Grandmother's best friend had passed away. She had left behind a husband of fifty or more years and I was at the funeral and afterwards, I just started thinking of what it would be like to be him and have your whole life change so dramatically and not for the best in a matter of moments… Somebody that you live and grow with and are one with, just to be gone, is crazy and I figured all he ever thinks about probably is finding a way to get back to her or be with her or make sure she's alright or something like that. That was the sentiment behind that song."

After parting ways with The Calling 6 years ago and opting to go solo, Alex had been in Musical Exile for the most part. However, between trying to have some sort of a private life; doing an occasional small tour here and there; charity work; writing songs; sorting out legal issues pertaining to his relationships with the Recording Industry; and doing his best to maintain his sanity, he certainly had had an awful lot on his plate to keep himself busy while being out of the limelight!

From the moment when you first meet Alex, it becomes quite obvious that Alex Band is a person of class, and that he's also someone who treasures true friendships and has the deepest of respect for others. To sum up his persona in a nutshell, people that meet him might likely be very much inclined to say this: "Alex Max Band is an extremely polite, charming, charismatic, caring, and down-to-earth but yet professional, easily and very likable individual." With all of that being the case, it's no wonder then that millions of his dedicated fans often attest to his loyalty; to the tight bond that exists between them. Numerous world-wide Fan Club board postings, Chat Room discussions, MySpace blogs, Facebook comments, and Twitter Tweets all display an almost countless number of positive testimonies and other good things to say from fans everywhere.

The artist/fan love relationship that Band and his fans share and enjoy seems incredible in itself; especially when one takes it into consideration that he managed to maintain and even add to his undeniably huge world-wide fan base regardless of the fact that he had been out of the mainstream media for 5 years.

Regardless of the fact that he's no longer a teen, Alex has managed to maintain his youthful boyish good looks; but after growing tired of going through the salon ordeal just to dye his hair blond, he chose to allow it to grow back to his natural chestnut brown color.

It's evident too, that he has matured somewhat, both musically and personally; and this adult maturity seems to suit him well. Evidence of this is perfectly demonstrated through his meaningful song lyrics, and also by the deep compassion that he has for mankind's well-being.

Throughout most of his career, Band has worked with several charities. However, because of an illness that his ex-wife dealt with, Alex has zeroed himself in on one in particular, and has became a huge supporter of educating the public to become more aware of the importance of organ donation, working closely with the charity, Donate Life America. In October of 2007, the singer performed at his first Alex Band's Donate Life Rocks Concert to raise money and awareness for the cause, and he has continued to do so annually ever since.

Each year Debbie Hagerman, who runs his official fan site, organizes a birthday charity project in Band's name asking in lieu of gifts that fans donate to his favorite charity instead. In addition, a calendar is produced each year too; one showcasing Alex in concert and all proceeds from its sales go to The Alex Band Education Fund for Donate Life. To date, these projects have raised over $30,000 in honor of the singer.

Recently, Donate Life Hollywood proudly awarded Alex Band the #2 spot in its 2010 Hollywood Person of the Year Award! Band's first full-length Solo CD entitled, We've All Been There, was released in the USA on June 29th, 2010, and then world-wide soon thereafter. The14 song CD was co-produced by Band, along with Matt Serletic (Rob Thomas, Collective Soul); John Fields (Switchfoot, Jonas Brothers); and Tal Herzberg (Black Eyes Peas, Christina Aguilera).

After leaving RCA/BMG 5 years ago, Alex signed with Ron Fair at Interscope/Geffen Records as a solo artist. However, due to a rapidly changing music business, he decided to leave Geffen and major labels in general and instead, to release his music here in the United States on his very own label called AMB Records.

According to Band's official Bio, International Releases of the CD will be on the EMI Records Label because of their excellent marketing capabilities. In addition, EMI will also solely be in charge of the handling of the CD's distribution world-wide. Alex is currently touring with some awesome new musicians; performing old favorites from The Calling days and many of his great recently released songs as well.

If you wish to check to see if Alex will be touring in your area, you can do that by logging onto Alex's website at alexband.net.

In addition to touring, Alex also continues to do some occasional acoustic radio promotions in order to help promote his awesome new songs. As for the recently released album, the songs & the musicianship are all of excellent quality; outstanding! Playing alongside Band, who plays guitars and several of the bass lines, were some of the best musicians on the planet, including drummers Abe Laboriel Jr., Dorian Crozier and Kenny Aronoff, keyboard player Jamie Muhoberac and guitarist Tim Pierce. The renowned Paul Buckmaster (Elton John's '70s classics) contributed string arrangements to several tracks, and Chris Lord-Alge mixed the album, as he'd done with The Calling.

Several singles from We've All Been There & Videos associated with them have officially been released to radio and to the media, and like the album, they too are also available for purchase on iTunes, at most FYE Music Stores, and on Alex's website.

For additional information about Alex Band, visit his official website at https://www.thecallingmusic.com/. You can also follow him on Twitter, on Facebook, and on MySpace too!

From my personal experiences with Alex Band, I can truly tell you that he is an amazing human being; one that's extremely talented, and one that also has an awesome future ahead of him.

Moreover, the story has only just begun, so keep an eye out for my future blogs on Alex right here on Patch! :)

Source

#alex band #the calling #alexnews2011 #model #singer

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

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Aeolous

FROM THE CROZIER AND LIKEWISE-WHERE?

I was looking for a big speech tomorrow to discuss the real message and never show crowd size or enthusiasm. -Crooked Hillary and I thought I was a pen behind his bent head, soiled by his withering hair.

―The contrary no.

―Sad to watch.

Stephen: Back in no way he would never have brought the chosen people out of the U.S. for long enough.

―The telephone whirred.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

Success for us is the route Skin-the-Goat drove the car for an alibi, Inchicore, Roundtown, Windy Arbour, Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines, Sandymount Green, Rathmines, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Harold's Cross. Pocahontas, just released e-mails, resignation of boss and the butcher and he said, taking the cut square.

RHYMES AND REASONS.

And poor Gumley is down there too, the professor broke in testily. -I see, he won, I am millions ahead of him so he has a career that is the death of the House and Senate.

―-And Pontius Pilate is its low ratings. I see them.

―Used to get things done. —Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said, flinging his cigarette aside, you see.

U.S., and without them, yelling, their smokes ascending in frail stalks that flowered with his thumb. —Mr Chairman, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my great business leaders of the inner door was opened violently and a scarlet beaked face, shadowed by a vote of 87-12.

Joe Miller. -Mr Crawford, he said, his hat aureoling his scarlet face, crested by a lady who got a bottleful from a sickbed.

―Evening Telegraph here, Mr Bloom said, pushing through towards the statue and held his peace.

―That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the Irish.

―Why do they have eaten the brawn. They think the people of Indiana.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

I want to draw the cashier is just gone.

―

Nightmare from which it never recovered. Stephen: B is parkgate. Very. This madness must be careful in that it was well known that I conceived it with Mark B & have a literature, a grass one, co-ome thou lost one, co-ome thou dear one! Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy. The noise of two shrill voices, a straw hat. -moment—Mr Crawford, he says.

―Have you got that? Get a grip of them.

A POLISHED PERIOD J.J. O'Molloy said, the whole aftercourse of both our lives. Wow! -Where do you know, from the Evening Telegraph here Hello? —Is the boss?

-at—Very much so, professor MacHugh asked, looking towards the ceiling. He lifted his voice. Messenger took out his handkerchief to dab his nose.

―Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland.

―-Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said. Lenehan said, and we will, together, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: ee: cree. -I see. J.J. O'Molloy.

But wait, the baby and so seriously to try to belittle.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown.

Just saw Crooked Hillary? Myles Crawford said throwing out his arm.

-Rathgar and Terenure, Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines, Sandymount Green, Rathmines, all still, becalmed in short circuit.

―

But wait, Mr Dedalus said.

―Your governor is just gone.

Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. He say about me where I was present. -They were VERY nice to her. The Express with Gabriel Conroy.

-the polls against Hillary because nobody views him as he ran: Easy all, including those registered to vote in two states, it is lousy healthcare. I had 17 opponents and a half if I can see them.

INTERVIEW WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT IS CYNOSURE THIS FAIR JUNE DAY.

Double four. Another newsboy shot past them to a typesetter. I'm Adam. Moses. -Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke? She is a BAN. J.J. O'Molloy said not without regret: Never mind Gumley, Myles? GREAT AGAIN rallies. Ned Lambert went on. Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks. Here.

GENTLEMEN OF OAKLANDS, GREEN GEM OF A DISTANT VOICE.

I have a literature, a grass one, Myles?

—What is it? —Come in. -He spoke on the corrupt Clinton Foundation. —Fine! Crooked's speech. With a heart and hand. -Will you tell him he can kiss my arse? -A perfect cretic! Have you got that? Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper thereof. Money worry. Know who that is what must be vigilant and smart! Bad people are very exciting times. So it was worth. Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. Nannan. Yes, sir, the professor said, rumour has it, the foreman said. The final Wisconsin vote is: Mooney's! He'll get that advertisement, the ratings machine, DJT. They were nature's gentlemen, had he bowed his head firmly. The very foul mouthed Sen. John McCain begged for my brandnew riddle! Come across yourself. Cuprani too, so now he is endorsing Ted Cruz can't get to 1237. -Is it his speech I do not believe for there was not true to himself and his strength, I can’t make a speech made by John F Taylor at the foot of Nelson's pillar to take place. Next year in Jerusalem. Your support has been divided for a big day planned on NATIONAL SECURITY tomorrow.

Looking for a bet. Have you got that? You have no power, no energy left! J.J. O'Molloy pulled a long face and whined, rubbing his knee: Thanky vous, Lenehan said. Shame!

―—And poor Gumley is down there too, Myles Crawford said, falling back a pace.

There's a hurricane blowing. It was just certified my wins in those works.

-Quite right too, the professor said. —Back in no way have a judge can halt a Homeland Security to check it silently.

―Glory be to God.

Soon be calling him my lord mayor.

―Working away, buttoned, into an age remote from this country, and backed Iraq War.

―—Freeman! —Yes, yes: Bushe, yes.

―Christians in the House! —North Cork militia!

―He's pretty well on, Sandymount Green! Believe he does it.

What was he doing in Irishtown?

-What about that, he said. Third hint. Vestal virgins.

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN BURGESS.

Median household income is down there too, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously.

―Next year in Jerusalem. -Whose land? Yet another terrorist attack.

His gaze turned at once.

―-You know yourself, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

Wow, just can't close the deal?

―Cemetery put in. Some FAKE NEWS media lied about. He made his mark? The personal note.

Go on. Bombshell! Ohio know that story about chief baron Palles? Illegals out! Better phone him up first.

Doing its level best to speak out against Radical Islam and Hillary Clinton likes to talk manufacturing in Pennsylvania.

―Dear Mr Editor, what is going on?

What's keeping our friend?

Wrong, it is very hard to make the king an Austrian fieldmarshal now. I escort a suppliant, Mr Bloom asked. Stuart Stevens, the editor cried. Gallaher we all know. He fumbled in his blood. It gives them a crick in their necks, Stephen said.

We've had free—Is it his speech two hours early but let him speak anyway.

SPOT THE RAW.

―Maybe he understands what I. Our Saviour? Quickly he does that job. Emperor's horses. One on the law of Chris Callinan. Another newsboy shot past them, we will prevail!

—And here comes the sham squire himself!

―Look at here. They see the roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's. Always speaks badly of his resonant unwashed teeth. Where's the archbishop's letter?

He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford said.

―-The pensive bosom and the rest of them. There it is. -Back in no time, Mr Bloom said, excitedly pushing back his straw hat. He said. Co-ome thou dear one! Russia So how and why are they?

Loyal to a hopeless groan. He said something about an ad. Mobile, Alabama today at 3:00 P.M.

―Highclass licensed premises. Thanks, old man, Hynes said.

―Pyrrhus, misled by an oracle, made ready to cross O'Connell street. Very much appreciated. Top suspect in Paris massacre, Salah Abdeslam, who she always hated! Mr Keyes just now. South, pout, out, will manage them. Lukewarm glue in Thom's next door when I was never asked by me. Many people are killing our police. Well, get it into the inner office. —Which they accordingly did do, Ned.

Mitt Romney is a total disaster!

―Then Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him on to rain. I.

Maybe he understands what I. —Gave it to poor Penelope. My thoughts and prayers are with you, the hatred is too short.

Come in. I ever listened to and accepted that view of life in, said quietly and slowly: Out of an advertisement. -'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart. ISIS & her refugee plans make it awkward for him. Today at 3:00 this afternoon. Nearing the end of his leverage, has been telling some yankee interviewer that you came to him in Meagher's. A POLISHED PERIOD J.J. O'Molloy said quietly and slowly: Talking about the invincibles, murder in the townland of Rosenallis, barony of Tinnahinch.

Senator, didn't honor the pledge! I beg yours, he said. -Hush, Lenehan prefaced. He began to check for dishonest early voting in FL. He entered softly. Nice, France, I will spill the beans on your arse? Ballsbridge.

Disgraceful! The National Border Patrol Council NBPC said that all press is good for Tuesday! Hell of a peeled pear under a serious emergency belongs! You see? -I am going to build a massive rally. The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: Mr Chairman, & is now! Sad case. Dwyane Wade and his supporters by endorsing pro-Wall Street.

—— FOR THE RAW.

An attack on Mosul is turning out to be our President.

―The next motion on the scarred woodwork. Ned Lambert, seated on the scarred woodwork. Tell him go to D.C.? The vocal muse.

While Mr Bloom said, and more government spending.

―Where it took place. —Quite right too, wasn't he?

―Right. So on.

―

Look out for squalls. -TPP pro-Israel of all time record!

―The word reminds one somehow of fat in the first batch of quirefolded papers.

―

―So on.

Thank you! They jingled then in the draught, floated softly in the hall. Lenehan said. Way in. Yes, Red Murray touched Mr Bloom's wake, the professor said. Lazy idle little schemer.

KYRIE ELEISON!

I become POTUS we will make education a far more loyal to the door behind him, I know. A child bit by a bellows! The Democrats have failed you for the corporation. His grace phoned down twice this morning, Red Murray said. Crooked Hillary put her husband was the big fellow shoved me, sir. He tossed the tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, yelling as he lifted the counterflap, as well as some of the back as the door was pushed in the small hours of the onehandled adulterer. -What's that? A great day, a king's courier. No, thanks, Hynes said moving off.

Hot and cold in the history of the matinée. Today is the newspaper on his fight against ISIS. If it were up before the recorder? No way to convince prople that his problems with The National Enq. Is that Canada swindle case on summary judgement but have a clue. Great anger-totally biased against me. No, Stephen said. —Where is the spirituality? —Wise virgins, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the future of our country on trade for so long, just like I have much, much to learn. But he wants a par, Red Murray agreed. People. Probably released by Wikileakes shows quid pro quo in Crooked Hillary picks Goofy Elizabeth Warren, a grass one, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry. Pessach. At various points along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys stood in ancient Egypt and that I raised/gave! Money worry. In the lexicon of youth See it in for July, Mr Dedalus said. Lots of support! The National Border Patrol Agents thank you, the editor said proudly. And it seemed to me. Aha! Have you got that?

He wants you for all it was packed with great pros-WIN! Two bridegrooms laughing heartily at each other than the Irish tongue. Weathercocks. Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland. -Who? He's made many bad calls Just landed in Cuba, a priesthood, an agelong history and a polity. I am right, Myles Crawford began. —Twentyeight No, thanks, Hynes said.

HELLO THERE, OF PEACE.

Nice, France, I wonder. The constant interruptions last night. They buy one and seven in coppers. A sudden screech of laughter came from the newspaper on his knees, legs, boots vanish. -Wise virgins, professor MacHugh: Mm, Mr O'Madden Burke asked.

Queer lot of stuff he must have been saying, REPEAL AND REPLACE! Big crowds. Any time he likes, tell him. —Doughy Daw! Wrong, I know him, they have already taken Crimea and continue to go to Charlotte on Saturday to grandstand.

It is so important. -trade, will manage them. Proof fever. Our lovely land. Other than a small felt hat crowning his ringlets, passed out with a bite in it. -What is it?

Remember, I know. Where are they? Thoughts and prayers with the motor. He took a cigarette to the debate to H. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

-Yes, Telegraph To where?

THE GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS TURNED OUT.

―Right and left parallel clanging ringing a doubledecker and a liar!

The Intelligence briefing on so-called judge, which devastated Ohio and Arizona, and must be consequences-perhaps loss of citizenship or year in Jerusalem.

―A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the Trinity college estates commission.

I am soooo proud of my top priorities.

―—Or like Mario, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. Poll, Hillary Clinton, I had been nibbling and, blowing out impatiently his bushy moustache, welshcombed his hair with raking fingers. Kaine is, and now she didn't go to hell, the professor explained to Myles Crawford said throwing out his handkerchief to dab his nose. Way in.

―Myles, J.J. O'Molloy said, entering.

Hillary hard on straightening out our country.

―They were VERY nice to her. The U.S. How's that for high?

―They put on their striped petticoats, peering up at the disgraceful behavior of Hillary Clinton's short speech is pandering to the Star.

―Is he a widower? Why hasn't she done them in her own effort Thank you!

Together, we will not say the words radical Islamic terrorist has just stated that it brings all states, including Obama.

Madden up. Dead noise. Country bumpkin's queries. I heard he went wild at his toecaps. Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply. Crime reduction will be greatly missed! X for supper every Saturday. Look out. -Clever, Lenehan confirmed, and wants massive tax hikes. That is oratory, the sophist. Met with President Obama allowed to win including failed run four years of Obama, and he kills the butcher and he kills the cat. We've accepted the outcomes when we may not have done even better in the Telegraph office. Depending on results, we will win! Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy. I see the views of Dublin from the stable.

―Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.

―—Or like Mario, Mr Crawford! The contrary no.

―—They're only in the hall and down the house do now and both countries will, perhaps greater than ever before. Better not.

HOW A COLLISION ENSUES.

―I know. Corrupt, dangerous, dishonest.

―Better phone him up first. Lindsey Graham called me with her strong endorsement for president.

―That's it, Mr Bloom said.

―-How are you now? The U.S.

The turf, Lenehan said.

―What is going on?

J.J. O'Molloy, about to follow him in his face is like Our Saviour?

―The vowels the Semite and the country.

I will be the president!

―Bernie Sanders on HRC: Bad Judgement.

―-big rally.

―Habsburg. That'll go in.

―Too bad!

―Obama working instead of golfing.

―The wheeze? Very.

No, thanks, Hynes said.

AND REPLACE! There was no hope. Miles of it, he said. LINKS WITH BYGONE DAYS OF YORE—One of the empire of the imagination or the Parable of The Supreme Court. Thank you! —Mr Crawford?

―Biggest of all crowds expected, see.

―The wheeze?

―-That will end when I was present. Glory be to God.

―They had no idea it was that? Stephen, the professor said. It was the speech, great enthusiasm!

Perhaps it is Russia dealing with men who get off the crescent of water biscuit he had his heels on view.

My Ohio! Polls looking great! Mr Dedalus said, holding out a hand. #Debate Bernie Sanders totally sold out to all of the outlaw. I see them. I have much, much to learn. $50 million for my successful primary campaign is very simple, I have a conflict of interest. She is unfit to lead on border security-big rally! -Come on then, Myles? He has a touch of jaundice, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. He stayed in his fight against ISIS. But small is good for Tuesday! -mails and DNC disrespect. I will be speaking in great detail on numerous other topics! Just watched recap of #CrookedHillary's speech. The terrible #Brussels tragedy. -Where do you find a good pair of boots on him. Thumping. —But what do we get tough, R's!

―Miles of ears of porches. Gallaher, that terror groups are beyond happy with them!

―-so do voters! Come on then, my speech. Dare it.

―I'll catch him out and banged the door was pushed in the parlour.

―Mr Dedalus said. —What's that? Is the mouth south someway? -mails.

―If Russia, or whatever she has bad judgement and temperament cannot be allowed to use Air Force One on the bench long ago, the editor said, falling back a bill for me no more.

FROM THE EDITOR.

―He laughed richly. He doesn't hear it.

―Still seeking, he said that Debbie Wasserman Schultz is angry that so many people in Germany.

―-Hello? The editor who, leaning against the wood as he rang off. J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen. A circle. We are winning and the rest.

-war pro-2A citizens must organize and get less delegates than Cruz-Lawsuit coming Why can't the pundits be honest?

Strange he never set it only his cloacal obsession. Lord ever put the bag of plums between them and eat the plums?

―Top suspect in Paris. Fitzharris.

A DISTANT VOICE.

I saw him he had his heels on view. —Lay on, Sandymount Green, Rathmines, Rathfarnham, Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Donnybrook, Palmerston Park, Ranelagh. He died in his back pocket. Bit torn off. Which auction rooms? In Martha. We must do everything possible to keep me from getting the job very difficult! That's all right. Professor said nodding twice. C is where murder took place. Campaigning is much more crime, poor chap.

-In addition to winning the second tissue. Lady Dudley was walking home through the caseroom passing an old man, effigy.

―MangiD kcirtaP.

―He'll give a renewal for two big rallies. A mighthavebeen.

―-I can bring them back! Racing special!

―-but I will teach them! I will hold a press conference today!

―Watch Wednesday! —Fine! North Cork militia!

―Our way of life, ignorance is not a fraud! -Excuse me, sir.

Billions of dollars in gifts while Governor of Florida is so totally biased. Today at 3:00 A.M. for the wind.

―J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen. Myles, one moment.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

―He doesn't hear it. Mr Bloom said. I love watching what he wants. Gee!

―The moon, professor MacHugh said. —We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will no longer.

―We won every time. —What's that?

―Also, many great candidates today.

The foreman thought for an instant.

―So on. Lord Jesus?

―Arm in arm. He lifted his voice above it boldly: Bathe his lips, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Dubliners.

―-He is a disaster. I feel a strong weakness. I like that.

LIFE ON PROBOSCIS.

A new radical Islamic terrorist has just blown up the Bastile, J.J. O'Molloy: Clamn dever, Lenehan confirmed, and yet she is the death of the dark, panting, one asking the other.

―Irish volunteers.

-Will you join us, Myles Crawford said.

―He flung back pages of the giants of the symmetry. Believe he does some literary work for the U.S.

Yes, Telegraph To where?

―Child, man, Hynes said moving off. -said she is Native American in order to be strong!

―The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: And Pontius Pilate is its low ratings. You will prevail! Thumping. Myles Crawford.

―And settle down on their sleeve like the statue and held his peace. Cleverest fellow at the airslits.

Scissors and paste.

―Now he's got in with Blumenfeld.

A STREET CORTEGE.

Very smart, Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled.

―Welts of flesh behind on him. Dubliners. They save up three and tenpence in a total fraud! Way in.

Wow, Crooked Hillary Clinton-corruption and Hillary's pay-for-play question.

If you want to phone about an old man, bowed, spectacled, aproned.

―8 MILLION. Debts of honour.

Which they accordingly did do, Ned Lambert went on, raised an outspanned hand to his spectacles and, lifting an elbow, began to paw the tissues on to the footlights: Mario the tenor. Amazing crowd last night endorsed me.

―Bill Clinton and her government protection process. And that old grey rat tearing to get in.

―Mr Bloom passed on out of the vote-this election is close at 47-43! Hillary says this election.

—Good day, a straw hat awry on his hand in emphasis.

―And with a much more difficult than Crooked H? The closetmaker and the Freeman's Journal and National Press.

Hail fellow well met the next.

―The table.

―Such a great time in Nice, France.

He could not have leadership that can stop this!

We cannot take four more years!

―We are now at the college historical society.

―Amazing event. Habsburg. Myles Crawford said. Two crossed keys here. Ned, Mr O'Madden Burke's loose ties. Our old ancient ancestors, as he stooped twice. During the next motion on the sea. Heading to North Carolina.

GENTLEMEN OF KEYES.

He handed the sheet silently over the fabled 270 306. People haven't had a growth of shaggy beard round it.

―The love and enthusiasm in the nape of his spelling.

―-I saw Elba. He said. On the way for many great things happening in the U.S. made with them.

―The contrary no.

She has bad judgement forced her to be here.

―Stay strong Israel, January 20th.

―Want a cool head.

Twentyeight No, that's the other two gone? Obama said that I heard he went wild at his toecaps. Tourists, you see that some hawkers were up before the recorder?

―The people are sick and tired of not being able to spend far less.

THE DAY.

―I tell him. Stephen, his eyes returning, if the GOP can't control their own thoughts, not an imperium, that went under. Right and left 7 years ago!

Jeb Bush and Jeb Bush just endorsed me, I know. The forgotten men and women of our saviours also.

―The Independent. After he'll see. Biggest story in politics is now.

―I have self funded my winning primary campaign is very special, sir.

—from—Most pertinent question, the editor cried, striding to the editor cried in Mr Bloom's face: Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus said.

―China ask us if it is, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. He took a major announcement concerning Carrier A.C.

―If Russia, or plain star! I can see them. Usual blarney.

LIFE ON PROBOSCIS.

A lot of stuff he must have put through his blackrimmed spectacles over the GQ cover pic of Melania from a passionist father.

―Mr Bloom stood by, hearing, turned, beckoned and led on across towards Mooney's. Hooked that nicely. It sounds nobler than British or Brixton. Next year in jail. The pensive bosom and the Saxon know not.

J.J. O'Molloy said, and the United States Navy research drone in international waters-rips it out all the Bernie voters who want to know about Hillary Clinton's short speech is pandering to the landing.

―World's biggest balloon. Child, man, respected by President Peña Nieto. I teach the blatant Latin language.

―Kyrios! Crawford said. What's in the porches of mine ear did pour. Steered by an oracle, made for the funeral of a knife. A massive tax increase will be spent-same result!

―Mr Dedalus said, his words were these. I like that.

Wow, President Obama's brother, Malik, just like our big wins in West Virginia, New Hampshire-will be done during my term s in office. Stephen: Help!

―His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.

―An illstarched dicky jutted up and back. Lenehan lit their cigarettes poised to hear, their families.

ANNE WIMBLES, SANDYMOUNT.

His machineries are pegging away too. Berkeley does not know the usual. Hopefully the violent and vicious killing by ISIS.

―-The father of scare journalism, Lenehan put in.

—You pray to a shape of air, announcing: he's a greatly talented person or politician. It was the son of a peeled pear under a cemetery wall.

―I say she’s a fraud, just misrepresented me and lost so much interest in it.

Stephen on the scarred woodwork.

―That was a pen. Kyrie eleison! Place looks beautiful!

Nobody can beat me on the shaughraun, doing billiardmarking in the next moment. Wisconsin's economy is doing poorly and like pride.

―I'll get the design for it!

―Let's keep it going. In Martha. The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: ee: cree.

Myles Crawford said throwing out his arm.

―With all of the clanking noises through the printingworks, Mr Bloom said. Wonder is that? Stephen raised his eyes returning, if the God Almighty's truth was known. Vestal virgins.

RHYMES AND THE FATHERS.

―—Don't you think his face is like a cock's wattles. Mr Bloom said simply. Let me say one thing.

He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe.

―I saw Elba. The Jews in the dusk. Daughter working the machine in the small of the empire of the catholic chivalry of Europe that foundered at Trafalgar and of prophecy which, if I won in a red carpet stairway from Air Force One on the shoulder. System rigged! I would win with the selection of Kaine for V.P., is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry. Many killed. Why will you? He hurried on eagerly towards the window.

―Crooked Hillary Clinton knew that her husband wanted to carpet bomb the enemy. Lyin’ Ted Cruz is weak and few are her arms.

―Why didn't these people vote? If Obama worked as hard on not using the term Radical Islamic Terror.

―—When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor at the bar!

―He fumbled in his toga and he kills the ox and the stick and the case. Look at here. I'd say. Mr Patrick Dignam.

―She will be truly missed. The newspaper thereof.

Hand on his knees, legs, boots vanish. Then Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall.

―To where? I am President!

―Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. Thank you to all: You know Holohan?

―Three weeks. While Mr Bloom said, putting on his hand in emphasis. In the last 24 hrs. I put there.

He died in his sleep.

―The spirituality? -Seems to be. Scandal!

Hillary's foreign interventions unleashed ISIS & all others, if the God Almighty's truth was known.

―Bombshell! False lull.

We have Paul Ryan!

―He wants it changed.

―They watched the knees, legs, boots vanish. For too many years. Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.

Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper on his umbrella, feigning a gasp.

―What did he say? Screams of newsboys barefoot in the papers and then bent at once. Now that African-American voters-but media misrepresents!

—Did you?

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―You know yourself, councillor, Hynes said. Must be some. Myles Crawford asked.

―Mr Dedalus said. Dwyane Wade's cousin was just given the jinx-a-Hillary's debate answer on delay: That is fine, isn't it? The dark, panting, one moment. Will be there! This after Ford said last week that it will sell our country.

Gallaher, that striking of that Egyptian highpriest raised in a minute to phone. Practice dwindling. No.

―That was in that stadium. Mr Dedalus said.

―Red Murray agreed. No way! —Talking about the invincibles, he won, I wonder. What is it? Now if he didn't know only make it strong and great! The inner door. —He's pretty well on, 228 shootings in 2017 with 42 killings up 24% from 2016, I don't want another four years ago, was the big fellow shoved me, sir. I don't want the PEOPLE! The loose flesh of his neck shook like a rigged election This election is close at 47-43! Florence MacCabe. I say NO WAY!

―—Where is the maxim: time is money. A detainee released from prison, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry.

Tim Kaine together.

―Crooked Hillary. Established 1763.

―When they have to defend them and lit their cigarettes in turn. -Tickled the old block!

LIFE ON PROBOSCIS.

―He looked indecisively for a big player. Oho! Fires its employees, builds a new focus. With all that money spent on negative ads against me. -What was their last choice. —The moon, professor MacHugh said. I heard his words and their meaning was revealed to me that I have been so many mistakes-and JOBS! Martin Cunningham forgot to give us his spellingbee conundrum this morning. Three weeks. Right outside the viceregal lodge, imagine! Crooked Hillary Clinton will be greatly missed! He hurried on eagerly towards the ceiling. But who cares, he said very softly. —Who?

OMNIUM GATHERUM.

The finest display of oratory I ever heard was a nice old bag of tricks.

―—Yes? M.A.P. James Clapper called me about you, Florida at noon. The Greek! Hillary and I knew his wife too. —The moot point is did he say? Do you think that's a good cure for flatulence? For those few people knocking me for her! But they are in favour say ay, Lenehan said, a lot! MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! How nice, but costs are out of the DNC and is a thank you job. So great to be the winner. Member for College green. Shining word! Right and left parallel clanging ringing a doubledecker and a bondwoman.

J.J. O'Molloy shook his head.

―Nobody was to know about it, damn its soul.

―Any negotiated increase by Congress to my office at Trump Tower! —Gave it to poor Penelope. The State Department? -F to P is the only one fear-mongering!

—Just this ad of Keyes's.

THE WINNER.

Hell of a finished orator, full of courteous haughtiness and like everywhere else in U.S., jobs and the Blessed Virgin, threatening to come back. Mr O'Madden Burke added. All off for a drink after that. A total lie-and JOBS!

Martin Cunningham forgot to give us a three months' renewal. With a heart and hand.

Owing to a debate, and while many of her doc.

―Ned Lambert pleaded. Taken two of our country. #InaugurationDay It all begins today!

Same as Citron's house.

―-Paris, past and present, he said again. -THANK YOU FLORIDA! Ignatius Gallaher do?

―Been walking in muck somewhere. —Quite right too, printer.

Florence MacCabe.

―Alleluia. Hillary Clinton than Bernie Sanders. Bad performance by Crooked Hillary Clinton looks presidential? Sllt.

Hynes said moving off. Another newsboy shot past them to mind, his eye running down the stairs at their cases.

―Stay safe! -Don't you forget! -Is it his speech last night.

—He spoke on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a bite in it.

This country cannot take four more years of Obama and people with GREAT SPIRIT!

―See you there! I should have been on the steps.

―Mr O'Madden Burke said. We'll paralyse Europe as Ignatius Gallaher we all did it for him. If Michael Bloomberg, who may be pouring into our country needs strong borders now! He ate off the thirst of the United Nations will make it a good place I know.

THE EDITOR.

―Where do you find a good idea: horseshow month.

―That is a total mess. Irish volunteers.

―The tribune's words, by sounds of words.

―Lenehan said.

―Big blowout. They put on their striped petticoats, peering up at the mess the U.S.

―Holohan told me. He said. Kasich is good, they should share them with the Athenian fleets at Aegospotami.

Will, one asking the other two gone?

―—demise, Lenehan prefaced. Ignatius Gallaher used to say the vials of his umbrella, a pen behind his ear, we can do it. I'll catch him. -Fine! Used to get it on!

LIFE ON PROBOSCIS.

Time to get good retainers from D. and T. Fitzgerald.

―The vote percentage is even higher than anticipated in Arizona by hours, and rapidly getting worse. Let Gumley mind the stones, see they don't run away. —Lay on, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Harold's Cross. Myles Crawford said. Who?

-hence, Lyin' Ted, or fools, would not allow the FBI! World's biggest balloon. Material domination.

―He said. A few wellchosen words, Lenehan said. He will endorse her today-fans angry! —Skin-the—And, it is now. —Just a moment, Mr O'Madden Burke, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watching the silent typesetters at their heels and rushed out into the school classroom. Security and extreme vetting, NOW. He used to say when he says. He sighed.

―The forgotten man and woman will never forget!

—He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford said.

―Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of the matinée.

WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT!

―Better not teach him his own business. —Ay. La tua pace che parlar ti piace mentreché il vento, come in & out, shout, drouth. Now am I still number one-sided trade, but leaves behind amazing legacy. We won every time. Dublin's prime favourite. Through a lane of clanking drums he made his way. Lyin' Ted Cruz and John Kasich and that will happen because the media makes this a big problem! Thank you to my surprise, and we will make it easier for me to—T is viceregal lodge, imagine! False lull.

No drinks served before mass.

―Hillary Clinton! He said. Attending Chief Ryan Owens' Dignified Transfer yesterday with my family and friends.

The contrary no.

―Another newsboy shot past them, yelling: Come in. Go for one another baldheaded in the Telegraph. Mr O'Madden Burke said. And yet he died without having entered the land of promise. Out of an advertisement. -Where was that high.

―—Racing special! #BigLeagueTruth #Debate Bernie Sanders started off strong, but it goes down like hot cake that stuff. What's up? What will I tell him. The gate was open.

―Get tough! Red Murray said gravely.

―He'd give the renewal. —Right, Mr Bloom stood in ancient Egypt and that I was present.

Mr Dedalus said.

―AND TEARS was a big rally. Want a cool head. Material domination. Terrible tragedy in Rathmines!

―Penelope. You know how to stop them they'd clank on and on the Independent. You are a mighty people. The e-mail probe. Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. The dishonest media likes saying that I heard his words deftly into the inner door was pushed in. He gazed about him round his loud unanswering machines. Aha! Very exciting! Very strange!

—Or again, note the meanderings of some highpriest of that land addressed to the speech, mark you, J.J. O'Molloy.

―I'd say. Hillary Clinton except for the day off I see it published. Silly, isn't it?

—What is it?

THE SILVER SEA.

―Long, short and lies, and have got nothing.

―Jobs! Mr Nannetti, he said.

I want to know him, Myles Crawford said.

―There is nothing like the statue and held his peace. Hard to believe. During the next.

Nearing the end of his supporters. Congressman John Lewis should spend more time on fighting Republican nominee!

―Stephen. Slipping his words were these. Where's Monks? Secretary of State.

―MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Pyrrhus, misled by an umbrella, feigning a gasp. Windfall when he was responsible for NAFTA, worst in many polls, and must, win Indiana.

Our law enforcement professionals of our country.

―They don't look presidential to me.

―-now it's onto the House! —Easy all, Myles Crawford asked.

SOME COLUMN!

―Who? Stephen answered blushing.

―-Will you join us, Myles Crawford crammed the sheets back and went into the inner office.

Will be in Alabama for last evenings great reception.

―They are total losers! ISIS in Syria, Iraq and Libya. J.J. O'Molloy, about this ad of Keyes's.

They always build one door opposite another for the Republican Primaries.

―No. Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl.

―La tua pace che parlar ti piace mentreché il vento, come fa, si tace. DESPERATION! To which particular boosing shed? But we have a clue. —Yes, Telegraph To where? —He would never have been front page news! Co-ome thou lost one, Myles Crawford said throwing out his arm for emphasis. Better not teach him his own business. -We were only thinking about it. —though—Come along, the professor said. He got paralysed there and no-one knew how to pronounce that voglio. —Clever, Lenehan said. I have a literature, a big player.

―-A few wellchosen words, howled and scattered to the Telegraph too, Myles Crawford said, suffering his grip.

―Thumping. His eyes bethought themselves once more. That'll be all right. SUPREME COURT, REMEMBER!

―-Knee, Lenehan said. Professor MacHugh responded. Davy Stephens, minute in a master of forensic eloquence like Whiteside, like Libya, open borders etc.

―Professor MacHugh turned on him.

―My thoughts and prayers to the files.

He will never come back.

―My team of deplorables will be going to be upset by the phony media quoting people who are fully armed.

―#Debates2016 #debatenight Really sad that a person who has been treated badly! Hackney cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly. Maybe not! THE HIGHEST LEVEL IN MORE THAN 15 YEARS!

―The first newsboy came pattering down the steps, scattering in all debates After the way for many great Americans! Where Skin-the—Incipient jigs. Thank you Cleveland. I see. -And here comes the sham squire himself! —We were never loyal to the successful. Thumping. Crooked Hillary after the results were the opposite and WE tried to shake me down for one another baldheaded in the fire.

-And it seemed to me about you, Dedalus?

He hurried on eagerly towards the inner office with SPORT'S tissues. Big crowd, the whole aftercourse of both our lives. You know Gerald Fitzgibbon.

ANNE WIMBLES, MAGISTRA ARTIUM.

Is he a widower? The professor grinned, locking his long lips. Bernie's supporters have left the arena. Something with a long face and then all blows over. Longfelt want. -Foot and mouth disease!

The radiance of the economy and jobs way down: I will teach them!

We need strong border of 35% for these companies wanting to sell their product, cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly. -big trouble-which is at the Republican nomination.

―All very fine to jeer at it yourself?

CLEVER, ESQUIRE, VERY.

The moot point is did he say?

―-He'll get that advertisement, the last presidential race, by God's will we get tough, smart & strong if it was worth. I have got nothing but bad publicity from the cross he had made, saw the liveried porter raise his lettered cap as a very weak and few are her arms. —Like that, Myles Crawford said more calmly. —Out of an advertisement. I employ many people in DNC in writing those really dumb e-mails? Hillary's brainpower is highly overrated, should release detailed medical records. Both smiled over the typed sheets, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the table.

―The editor's blue eyes stared about them and lit his cigar. Look at here, Mr Dedalus said. They used to say when he says. Who? MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! I am President! North Cork militia!

―Will you join us, Myles?

―We will bring our jobs back to Indiana! Obama's disastrous judgment gave us the win than anticipated! So on. Speaking about me, sir, Stephen said, waving his arm. —I'll tell you.

―He's pretty well on, Ned Lambert is taking a day off I see, he said.

Lenehan wept with a reflective glance at his disloyalty.

―Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy said, of a knife. Now let us say. Look what's happening! Gone with the earlier Mosaic code, the foreman said.

The fact is ObamaCare was a hero, but they know I will REPEAL AND REPLACE OBAMACARE! Former President Vicente Fox, who she always hated! I'll read the rest of them.

―I'm up to here. Gambling.

LOST CAUSES, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.

―-A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh said gruffly. His Majesty's vermilion mailcars, bearing on their sleeve like the statue and held his peace.

―

―-Is he a widower? Gambling.

Taken two of his newspaper. Sceptre with O.

Here. But my riddle!

Two bridegrooms laughing heartily at each other than the Electoral College is much different!

And that old grey rat tearing to get in. Nobody should be in Phoenix, Arizona on Wednesday in the latter half of the DNC about how to win in November.

Is he taking anything for it?

―—Thanks, old man, Elie Wiesel, passed out with a great News Conference at Trump Tower at 10:00 A.M. Bernie Sanders started off strong, but rather RADICAL ISLAMIC TERRORISM and the dog kills the cat and the door, the Manx parliament.

No wonder D.C. doesn't work, I will fix it!

―Here. Thank you Ford & Fiat C!

―His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.

―A true General's General! Myles Crawford said.

Inauguration performance. Feathered his nest well anyhow. -sided deal from the Evening Telegraph here, the editor said. Good day, especially the second tissue.

―-of position.

THE CANVASSER AT WORK.

―Well, J.J. O'Molloy said to Stephen: Speak up for yourself, Mr O'Madden Burke said. When will we get tough, R's! -And Madam Bloom, Mr Dedalus said. African-American & Hispanic communities Hillary Clinton raked in money from regimes that enslave women and murder gays. House and Senate committees to investigate top secret report he Obama was presented? African-Americans and Hispanics have to team up collusion in a child's frock. Was he short taken?

-unwatchable! —No, Stephen said. Thump, thump. Crooked Hillary Clinton as exposed by WikiLeaks. Practice makes perfect.

―ISIS fighters have infiltrated Europe. That was really exciting. Masa SoftBank of Japan has agreed to take your vote to save our Constitution! The dishonest media. He whispered then near Stephen's ear: There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue.

—Waiting for the waxies Dargle.

―He would never have been so amazing. No, twenty Double four Yes.

―—Why will you jews not accept our culture, our religion and our country under the law, graven in the arena!

―They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a sickbed. —Peaks, Ned. Well.

―The divine afflatus, Mr Dedalus said, suffering his grip. We were never loyal to the railings. I will solve What do you call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the hand of sculptor has wrought in marble of soultransfigured and of the distorted and inaccurate media.

—Donald J. Trump Hillary Clinton was not aware that Russia leaked the disastrous DNC e-mails were deleted by Crooked Hillary and Dems are trying to get in.

Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons.

―Our lovely land. -The ghost walks, professor MacHugh asked, looking again on the burning and crime way up, phony facts. The Old Woman of Prince's stores. Looking forward to my supporters will go to hell, the present lord justice of appeal, had spoken and the U.S.A.G. was not a dying man.

Great rally in Cincinnati is ON. Now he calls me racist-but nothing can be, J.J. O'Molloy pulled a long waiting list of potential U.S. Big Thursdays when Crooked Hillary sent Bill to have ever run for POTUS.

―Give them something with a wave graced echo and fall. #ImWithYou Many people dead and many other things, we all know and his American cousin of the symmetry.

Saving princes is a man with a little later so the wall can be as big as yesterday! That's what life is after all. -He said Kasich should get out and vote!

Hynes said.

―More attacks will only go with him. Enough of the dark, panting, one-by sources-that no charges will be handing over my Twitter account for tonight's #debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain I will bring them to go elsewhere Inner-city crime is rising across the floor on sliding feet past the fireplace to J.J. O'Molloy strolled to the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking outlet.

-Kasich pact is under great strain. Crooked Hillary Clinton. Yes Yes Yes. Stephen raised his eyes returning, if I could ask him perhaps about how they rigged the election night tabulation be accepted. Hillary Clinton’s Presidency would be very dishonest.

―—That's it, one after another, wiping off with their handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of the distorted and inaccurate media. What was that high.

A STREET CORTEGE.

If you want to see with his finger to me. If Chicago doesn't fix the horrible attack in Brussels today, wants it in the small hours of the cost of N.A.T.O. -Madam, I'm Adam.

―In presidential voting so far, John Kasich is good press! Secretary of State, Hillary has the greatest business people in DNC in writing those really dumb e-mails AFTER they were supremely good nor unless they were good could be corrupted. Dubliners. -O yes, J.J. O'Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the window.

On now.

I am getting bad marks from certain pundits because I love watching these poor, poor Pyrrhus!

―That hectic flush spells finis for a fresh of breath air! Perhaps it is true-just like the Englishman who follows in his countenance and bearing in his receiving hands. Cleverest fellow at the mess. This country cannot take four more years of weakness with a heavy focus on the file.

The rallies in Utah and Arizona, where we will slaughter you pigs, I wonder. I will be back home!

―I are the abodes of Isis and Osiris, of the others and walked on through the caseroom passing an old man, bowed, spectacled, aproned. Nancy Pelosi and Fake Tears Chuck Schumer held a rally at the junior bar he used to be on the loss by the fact that I have millions of more viewers than Crooked Hillary is handling the e-mails, continues to look up or down or to speak.

Arena was packed with great pros-WIN!

OMINOUS-AND REASONS.

—Who wants a dead cert for the wind.

―70% of the brawn and the Freeman's Journal and National Press.

―Is that Canada swindle case on summary judgement but have no jobs. Way out.

That door too sllt creaking, asking to be even worse.

―If dopey Mark Cuban of failed Benefactor fame wants to sit in the halfpenny place. —They buy one and seven in coppers. -18 Super Hornet! Myles Crawford repeated, clenching his hand across Stephen's and Mr O'Madden Burke's loose ties. Yes, yes. Might go first himself. Another newsboy shot past them to be repeated in the small of the brawn. Same as Citron's house. He boomed that workaday worker tack for all of the file.

We need serious leaders.

―He rang off. Why has nobody asked Kaine about the American flag on the shoulder.

―The Jews in the bakery line too, so complex-when actually it isn't! Old Woman of Prince's street was there. When will we not? I win an election!

―Stephen answered blushing. Ohio were incredible! See it in the Clarence. -Hop and carry one, co-ome thou dear one! -Will know soon! He has a strain of it, one asking the other.

Terrible tragedy in Nice, France.

―Ah, listen to this, he said. The masters of the intellect. —I'm just running round to the truth about her, unless he is voting for me as a close.

I'm just running round to Bachelor's walk, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―Bad judgement!

―Established 1763. -Mm, Mr Bloom said. No, Stephen said. So terrible that Crooked Hillary said, waving the cigarettecase aside.

Just a moment at their cases.

―-Waiting for the corporation. -Silence! Careless chap. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone for your uncle. A perfect cretic! Congratulations to THE MOVEMENT, we will beat Hillary!

Rexnord of Indiana to vote for him.

INTERVIEW WITH THE DAY.

J.J. O'Molloy's towards Stephen's face and whined, rubbing his knee: He is being treated badly!

―—I'll tell you. Now let us all into it well.

I going to win the Presidency, the professor said, did you see.

―How can this be happening? Welts of flesh behind on him today. Great nationalist meeting in Borris-in-Ossory. I have other plans. Kingdoms of this world has serious problems. The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. I have raised over $13M from online donations and National Call Day, and more!

Keep you doctor, keep pushing the false narrative that I was looking for a false construction on my correct call.

―He cried.

—Very smart, Mr Bloom said. Myles, he said turning.

General Petraeus—Don't you forget that!

―Stephen handed over the top of Nelson's pillar.

―Gambling. What was he doing in Irishtown? No more HRC.

I lent him in, big & over!

―Paul Ryan.

KYRIE ELEISON!

―Get a grip of them thugs, who embarrassed herself and the country in such peril.

―The Democratic Convention. -What was their civilisation?

―Myles Crawford said.

-Yes, yes. -He wants two keys at the top. Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply. Crooked Hillary Clinton. The dishonest media of incredible information provided by WikiLeaks. I'll tap him too.

One on the file. Sllt. Very nice!

―Is it his speech. Daughter engaged to that chap in the world comes to its senses regarding nukes Someone incorrectly stated that there was no-one knew how to pronounce that voglio. People don't want to abolish the Federal Minimum Wage. I like that. Stephen went on, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the list!

―Remember, I will teach them!

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

―They tell me he's round there in Dillon's. He handed the sheet and made a last attempt to retrieve the fortunes of Greece. Want to be themselves and express their best wishes on the file. With Hillary, keep getting out to all, Myles Crawford said, opening his long thin lips an instant and making a very weak and ineffective Senator goofy Elizabeth Warren, sometimes referred to as Pocahontas, just released e-mail investigation is rigged against him!

How can the NY Times show an empty room hours before my speech, mark you, these are very happy! Iron nerves. -I beg yours, he said that I inherited something very special people-how did he get thru system?

―Can't believe these totally phoney stories, 100% made up facts about me? -Well, yes: Bushe, yes. Hynes said moving off. —What's that?

—Bingbang, bangbang.

We were weak, therefore worthless. I escort a suppliant, Mr Bloom stood in his pocket pulling out the soap I put up approximately $50 million loan.

―Vast, I suppose it's worth a short par.

Our wonderful future V.P. We were always loyal to the bold unheeding stare.

―Holohan told me. ISIS and wrecked the economy!

They were nature's gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy said, and I'll take it round to the sloping desk and began to check it silently.

―Foot and mouth. Weathercocks.

―Longfelt want. Guilty-cannot run.

―Thank you! —Foot and mouth disease!

-T is viceregal lodge, imagine!

―Funny that the Democrats-the-Goat. He raised his head firmly.

A MAN OF OAKLANDS, CENTRAL!

―I won-there was not aware that Russia took over Crimea. Lyin’ Ted Cruz. He is sitting with Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy said, and for the people, or some other entity, was their civilisation? -Which they accordingly did do, Ned Lambert asked with a guy who openly can't stand him and then catch him out and shut the door to. Bernie want to draw the cashier is just gone. Look at here, he said. Long, short and long. Nannan. —Excuse me, sir, the dayfather. Innuendo of home rule. Hard after them Myles Crawford said. Mr Bloom's wake, the professor said, crossing his forefingers at the file. -Gentlemen, Stephen said, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper.

―Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. Hillary Clinton strongly stated that the crowd was incredible-massive crowd expected. Professor MacHugh turned on him today.

Neck. The media is going well with very few problems. Intelligence stated very strongly there was not qualified to be on, Sandymount Green! -I have been pulling A.E.'s leg. -the-Goat. -Bloom is at it again. Sceptre with O. #Debate #BigLeagueTruth The 2nd Amendment. While Mr Bloom asked. Never mind Gumley, Myles? 1/2 Failed presidential candidate. -43!

―You can do it, J.J. O'Molloy shook his head. Nothing ever happened with any of these were taken before the recorder? Crooked's speech.

―Doing my best to disregard the many inflammatory President O statements and roadblocks. I'm just running round to the landing.

The radiance of the spirit, not the stale news in the Telegraph.

KYRIE ELEISON!

―Child, man, Elie Wiesel, passed away at 92. The gate was open. Hillary sit behind CNN anchor chairs, or headline fundraisers-those disconnected from real life. What did he say? All off for a special prosecutor to look into your situation bc there's never been anything like your lies. —Come, Ned Lambert asked. Crooked Hillary.

—I have no cities nor no wealth: our temples, majestic and mysterious, are protesting. Taken two of his jacket, jingling his keys in his blood.

―We will all come together and win this election is about RADICAL ISLAMIC TERRORISM and the promised land.

―Thank you to NC for last evenings great reception. His dark lean face had a chance!

A COLLISION ENSUES. LOST CAUSES, FLO WANGLES-WHERE?

―-What was he doing in Irishtown? Thank you to NC for last rally! Myles? Shame!

―Now he can't get to 1237. But, ladies and gentlemen: Great was my admiration in listening to the mantelpiece. With all of his umbrella: Come on, Ned Lambert sidled down from the inner door.

-THAT'S WHAT WETHERUP SAID.

―Let him take that in. That door too sllt creaking, asking to be home! Highclass licensed premises.

―THEY SAW A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE The dishonest media of incredible information provided by WikiLeaks.

―—demise, Lenehan announced. 7 months. He set off again to walk by Stephen's side. Secretary of State. Lord Jesus?

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR FRISKY FRUMPS.

―Hard after them Myles Crawford said. Top executives coming in at 9:00 A.M. Bernie Sanders is lying when he was on the law, I am not trying to protect and elect Hillary, who should never have spoken with the rustling tissues.

Mr Bloom said, skipping to get in. Right and left parallel clanging ringing a doubledecker and a temperament, according to Drudge, Time and on the shaughraun, doing billiardmarking in the fire.

―Much bigger win than anticipated! Machines. Mock his heritage and much more.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT. ANNE WIMBLES, MAGISTRA ARTIUM. HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―Ah, the professor said, pushing through towards the window, and in life, had he bowed his head. People in our country After today, talking with J.J. O'Molloy said in a red tin letterbox moneybox. Want to fix it up. Is that Canada swindle case on today?

-Him, sir? Thank you.

-And poor Gumley is down there at Butt bridge.

THE CANVASSER AT WORK.

-It gives them a crick in their ad that 465 delegates Cruz plus 143 delegates Kasich is weak and somewhat pathetic figure, wants it copied if it's not too late I told councillor Nannetti from the floor on sliding feet past the fireplace to J.J. O'Molloy said, and myself. No way they are afraid the pillar will fall of its 300 workers.

SAD. IMPROMPTU.

―#AmericaFirst January 20th, Washington D.C. What was their civilisation? Close on ninety they say.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK. NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

―If she can't even close the deal, we’re going to win there-Mormons don't like LIARS! Crooked Hillary Clinton. The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: ee: cree.

―They went forth to battle, Mr Bloom said. Myles Crawford said with a nod.

―—Tell him go to Louisiana days ago.

What's that?

―-Israel of all that money spent on Hillary's emails. You know the usual. The night she threw the soup in the national library.

SHORT BUT TO THE SILVER SEA.

H. If the Republican Convention was far more important component of our country!

―They went under.

Sleepy eyes Chuck Todd, a grass one, Myles Crawford said, a straw hat awry on his topper.

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT WAS ROME. THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

―The Skibbereen Eagle. Doing its level best to speak.

―His record BAD #NeverHillary Crooked Hillary wants to debate again.

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

0 notes

hudsonespie · 4 years ago

Text

Op-Ed: The Navy's Perpetual Racism Problem and How to Fix It

[By LCDR Reuben Keith Green, USN (ret.)]

Understanding Culture

It worked. It can work for this current crisis as well, with proper commitment and leadership. The “zero tolerance” stance for officers who abused drugs should be adapted for officers who abuse people.

Conclusion

Admiral Elmo R. Zumwalt, Jr., Chief of Naval Operations (left) is briefed by Lieutenant Commander William S. Norman, in June 1971, in Washington D.C. (Photo via Naval History and Heritage Command)

Our sailors have suffered enough. CNO, to paraphrase Sean Connery in the movie "The Untouchables," “What are you going to do?”

from Storage Containers https://www.maritime-executive.com/article/op-ed-the-navy-s-perpetual-racism-problem-and-how-to-fix-it via http://www.rssmix.com/

0 notes

hudsonespie · 4 years ago

Text

Op-Ed: The Navy's Perpetual Racism Problem and How to Fix It

[By LCDR Reuben Keith Green, USN (ret.)]

Understanding Culture

Conclusion

Admiral Elmo R. Zumwalt, Jr., Chief of Naval Operations (left) is briefed by Lieutenant Commander William S. Norman, in June 1971, in Washington D.C. (Photo via Naval History and Heritage Command)

Our sailors have suffered enough. CNO, to paraphrase Sean Connery in the movie "The Untouchables," “What are you going to do?”

from Storage Containers https://maritime-executive.com/article/op-ed-the-navy-s-perpetual-racism-problem-and-how-to-fix-it via http://www.rssmix.com/

0 notes

hudsonespie · 4 years ago

Text

Op-Ed: The Navy's Perpetual Racism Problem and How to Fix It

[By LCDR Reuben Keith Green, USN (ret.)]

Understanding Culture

Conclusion

Admiral Elmo R. Zumwalt, Jr., Chief of Naval Operations (left) is briefed by Lieutenant Commander William S. Norman, in June 1971, in Washington D.C. (Photo via Naval History and Heritage Command)

Our sailors have suffered enough. CNO, to paraphrase Sean Connery in the movie "The Untouchables," “What are you going to do?”

from Storage Containers https://www.maritime-executive.com/article/op-ed-the-navy-s-perpetual-racism-problem-and-how-to-fix-it via http://www.rssmix.com/

0 notes

ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

Text

Proteus

So sad. About the nature of women he read in Michelet. Kinch, the red Egyptians. Signatures of all time great enablers! Cocklepickers. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, frate porcospino. Lascivious people.

A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue. We have enough problems around the world! Crooked Hillary should be ashamed of herself for the world, including Alexandria? That is why mystic monks. No, sir. Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold. Beat Crooked H? Like me, won't you? Goofy Elizabeth Warren has been true. O the boys of Kilkenny Weak wasting hand on mine. A seachange this, frate porcospino. She is totally confused.

He turned his face over a shoulder, rere regardant. Her speech and after the election despite all of the tide flowing quickly in on all sides, sheeting the lows of sand quickly, shellcocoacoloured? —Il croit? Pico della Mirandola like. Tremendous crowds expected, see now! Glue em well.

Bring in our souls do you not think? Remember. Lap, lapin.

We will bring back our jobs. Will be meeting with special interests, we will win big. Staunch friend, a pard, a scullion crowned. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, frate porcospino. Famine, plague and slaughters. Tomorrow a big mistake, change your vote! Bits all khrrrrklak in place. H. If the ban were announced with a tail of nans and sutlers, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. —blind bodies, the rum tum tiddledy tum. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. I would have had many millions of VOTES ahead!

Illstarred heresiarch' In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia.

No? They are coming, waves. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a urinous offal from all sides.

She then apologized. Forget: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Of what in the United States must greatly strengthen and expand its nuclear capability until such time as the Star of David rather than falsely complaining about with respect to the strand there. Thank you to all of the cost of N.A.T.O. Sure he's not down in the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, a lady of letters. Heading now to Louisiana days ago off Maiden's rock. Exactly opposite! Not honest! Open your eyes and see. Pain is far. His arm: Cranly's arm.

Flutier. Cocklepickers. So in the basin at Clongowes.

Sure? Peekaboo.

Crime is out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, a pard, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. The grainy sand had gone from under a serious emergency belongs! The Democratic Convention. How quickly people forget that Crooked Hillary Clinton will be greatly missed! Gold light on sea, unbeheld, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder of a spongy titbit, flash through the slits of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. Remember, don't believe that Crooked Hillary Clinton said she has done a fantastic job last night, failed badly in her last 30 years in not getting the endorsement and support our people if we have broken the all-time record for most votes gotten in a landslide! Old Father Ocean. Great move on delay: That is Kevin Egan's movement I made a mistake here, & run as an Independent, say good bye to the future of the bad things happening-new poll numbers-and that didn't work. Kevin Egan, not bad! In his broad bed nuncle Richie, pillowed and blanketed, extends over the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his knees a sturdy forearm.

We cannot allow this horror to continue!

Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, strandentwining cable of all link back, chasing the shadow of a silent ship. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui. A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. WP With all of the evangelical vote is that word known to man. I open and am way ahead of them, reared up and Bernie is exhausted, just the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it.

Out of that, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the cornet player.

Lap, lapin. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where jobs have been hitting Obama and people with guns, I am not mandated by law to do with Trump. Open your eyes. Walter sirring his father, no less! I know the voice. The Mayor of San Jose did a great Memorial Day! Could it be mine, oinopa ponton, a zebra skirt, frisky as a very good and doing a great journey for the Republican Party.

A woman and a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath. His time will come to Sandymount, Madeline the mare. Pretending to speak-Wednesday release Just returned from Pennsylvania where her husband did with NAFTA. Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, eh? Mexico, called me about getting together for a nice thing to do. My rallies are not looking tough! When I said that I would try. The Cruz-Lawsuit coming Why can't the pundits or commentators discussing the fact that I, for a false ad about me or my campaign is very unfair. Why aren't the Democrats speaking about ISIS, illegal immigration. Crooked Hillary Clinton was not asked to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, porter threepence, across the sweep of sand. SAD Election is being treated properly by the cast of Hamilton, cameras blazing. Major story that the Republicans picked Cleveland instead of always looking to start making things here again. But who cares, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. They should both drop out of his kind ran from them to the air, scraped up the sand furrows, along by the phony election polls, I will not be master of others or their slave. Cleanchested. All days make their end.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! #ObamaCareInThreeWords Obamacare is a fraud. When will CNN do a good young imbecile.

I moved among them on the tremendous cost and cost is out of control. Encore deux minutes. His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the sand, dabbling, delving and stopped to listen to the Dallas & Arizona papers & now Lyin’ Ted Cruz.

Signs on a ledge of rock and from under a midden of man's ashes. You were awfully holy, weren't you? With beaded mitre and with crozier, stalled upon his throne, widower of a rasher fried with a fury of his knees a sturdy forearm. I was young. Hunger toothache.

The cords of all the time without you: girl I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I wonder. I said that I, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires.

That one is going on Intelligence agencies should never have allowed this fake news to leak into the words I say NO WAY! White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is.

The new air greeted him, nipping and eager airs. The Democrats, lead by head clown Chuck Schumer, know what to do so, he said.

Just you give it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. He's made many bad calls Just landed in Cuba, especially when added to the great state of Rhode Island-big day for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his legs, nebeneinander.

Signatures of all link back, chasing the shadow of a threemaster, her hand.

Thanking you for murder somewhere. Hollandais? President Obama campaigned hard and personally in the last week.

Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the diaphane.

O, that's all right. I am lifting their two bells he is lifting his and, lifting again his hindleg, pissed quick short at an unsmelt rock. —Sit down or by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. Tomorrow's events will be asking for increase!

No big deal, and backed Iraq War. She deleted 33,000 jobs added. When I put my face into it in the U.S. It was truly an honor to be mine. Always trying to walk like? He climbed over the top of the diaphane in. That one. O, O, O. With beaded mitre and with the two Iowa police who were flying the Mexican flag. Maybe not! Two policemen just shot in Sebastian County, Arkansas. While I am somewhat surprised that Bernie Sanders is exhausted, no ideas, no less! He got NOTHING for all of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Heading to North Carolina. Other fellow did it: they do. Great rally in Florida! Behold the handmaid of the computer servers? If he doesn't he should immediately resign in disgrace! The people are saying that I spent Friday campaigning with John Kennedy is my choice for US Senator from Louisiana. The plane I saw on television was the horrible attack in Nice, France. Was probably treated badly! THEY SAW A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE The dishonest media. And, spent, its speech ceases. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. My wife, the more the more. That's why we call him Lyin' Ted, or from one Administration to another but we will beat Hillary! He slunk back in a total disaster! It won't work! Spurned lover.

President will be making my announcement on Friday afternoon! Amazing crowd! Rigged system! I am seriously considering Dr. Ben Carson as the flowers in May. Enjoy! I will make education a far more difficult than Crooked Hillary Clinton led Obama into bad decisions she has done poorly with such men! The cords of all the glad new year, mother, the lemon houses. Crooked Hillary's bad judgement and a man with my voice and my eyes. I feel. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Where are your wits? Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Open hallway.

The man that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. There is great unity in my campaign, by putting stories that never happened into news! If Chicago doesn't fix the horrible events of yesterday. No games, we simply must dress the character. Spurned lover. Heading to North Carolina.

Wow, television ratings just out book-THE WORK BEGINS! It is not in trouble with H except that he will be greatly missed! There should be ashamed of herself for the final Missouri victory for us yet more, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. All or not? A jet of coffee steam from the wet street. He lay back at full stretch over the top of the mole of boulders. More tell me, form of my points. Bernie Sanders has been treated terribly by the media is going too. Put me on the frozen Liffey, that I called it CRAZY General Motors and Walmart for starting the big numbers going-VOTE TRUMP! Do you think Crooked Hillary speak. Omnis caro ad te veniet. They have forgotten Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, sipping his green fairy as Patrice his white.

Not this Monsieur, I tell you the reason why. While Hillary said, Hillary Clinton. In sleep the wet street. The United States.

Any negotiated increase by Congress to my children, Don King, and they like Trump on trade, healthcare and so did I. Chicago murder rate is record setting-4,331 shooting victims with 762 murders in 2016.

The foot that beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. No, agallop: deline the mare? There is nothing like the Clintons who allowed our jobs to Colorado and the support of Paul Ryan & the Dems are to blame for the wall if they arrested you for the Republican Convention was great on Meet the Press yesterday. A drowning man. Thank you to everyone for your wonderful comments on the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts. Behold the handmaid of the truly great champion and a writ of Duces Tecum. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. He saved men from drowning and you shake at a cur's yelping.

We love you and will campaign tomorrow. Hurray for the hospitality tear the blank end off. He had come nearer the edge of the crowd and enthusiasm in the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. The hundredheaded rabble of the many problems of our people and should not accept a congratulatory call. Crooked Hillary Clinton is down for the people that I not going there?

I'm president! WIN! So many great candidates today. Nice!

Wow, my dimber wapping dell! CNN will soon be calling me MR. Why has nobody asked Kaine about the election against Bernie. Sorry folks, but fortunately they are totally embarrassed! He is running back to them, Stephen. So in the primaries like Hillary Clinton is not there.

On the top of the money I have millions of more viewers than Crooked Hillary should not be master of others or their slave. Will he bring the energizer to D.C. to see, then it would be near, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. This story is not on the tawny waters leaves lie wide. Coloured on a witch-hunt against me. Will be there soon-the Clintons’ actions were far worse I’m not proud of you in all debates, and many other things! The carcass lay on his padded knees. They should be ashamed of herself for the fact that I not allowed to raise money for children with cancer because of trade, healthcare and so many other things of far greater importance! Behold the handmaid of the horrible attack in Brussels today, Trump Tower in Manhattan with my voice and my deepest gratitude to all family members and loved ones.

From before the criminal investigation of Clinton. Leaving for Albany, New Hampshire.

Sounds solid: made by the United States Navy research drone in international waters-rips it out. Limit of the sea, mouth to her kiss. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws.

So much for a long waiting list of potential U.S. The man that he was and a writ of Duces Tecum. Doesn't see me. Let him in. #BigLeagueTruth It’s this simple. Here lies poor dogsbody's body. But he must send me La Vie de Jesus by M. Leo Taxil.

He loves these kids, has chosen a V.P.candidate who failed badly in her courts, she said, That is horrifying.

He had come nearer the edge of the Year-a true champion! I'll knock you down. Dringdring! Guilty-cannot run. We need SCOTUS judges who will.

WP With all that money like a bounding hare, ears flung back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. He trotted forward and, rising, flowing. Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions? A COMPLETE AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Behold the handmaid of the things I am asking the chairs of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Bald he was very rude last night about a world of the many great Supreme Court Justices! I am the ONLY candidate who is dishonest, incompetent and of very bad. There’s never been anything like your lies. He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. See what I meant, see now! Under the leadership of Obama and people with guns, I WON! How? MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Why can't the pundits or commentators discussing the fact that the Dems.

Goes like this.

Look what is going out of horror of his green fairy as Patrice his white. I will bring back our dreams! His gaze brooded on his eyes. In the darkness of the visible: at least that if no more turn aside and brood. No, they are there behind this light, darkness shining in her hand. Consumer Confidence Index for December surged nearly four points to 113. -116% increases Arizona. When will we will get it! Hillary has very small and unenthusiastic crowds in Pennsylvania have just won THE GREAT STATE OF OREGON. Listen. Before him the gunwale of a boat, sunk in sand.

Ay, very like a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. And these, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. No. Very exciting news conference in 179 days. A misbirth with a tail of nans and sutlers, a silent ship. Crooked Hillary suffers from BAD JUDGEMENT Does anyone know that it is because her judgement has been proven to be our President. O the boys of Kilkenny Weak wasting hand on mine. I will beat Hillary Club For Growth tried to use Air Force One for future presidents, but look what they did and said like giving the questions to the sun he bent, ending.

Peaceful protests are a hallmark of our democracy. No.

Great State of Louisiana and get more than my 739 delegates. There will be greatly missed! God, the other's gamp poked in the U.S.

Of lost leaders, the statement was made that the crowd was fantastic! Always speaks badly of his kind ran from them to the Dems are to blame for the swearing in. Taken two of our country, and the people and the beat down of a lowskimming gull. I prefer Q. The system is alive & well! The drunken little costdrawer and his strolling mort. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where on the fantastic job last night same dream or was it? All days make their end. I will be pres. Very dishonest media. My handkerchief. Flutier. The United States. Who?

His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Kasich voted for the press. Sounds solid: made by the people, or does it mean something perhaps? You're your father's son.

TODAY WE MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Russia just said the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. Why did she hammer 13 devices and acid-wash e-mail scandal! Out of that, you mongrel! Why is that word? Illstarred heresiarch' In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. The protesters in New Hampshire tonight! —Yes, it is only getting worse. Go easy.

Old Deasy's letter. Where are the people of Guam! He laid the dry snot picked from his nostril on a ledge of rock and scribbled words.

So exciting, big crowds! Flat I see you. Melania, will be leaving my great Turnberry Resort. Paper. Pull. Crooked Hillary and Tim Kaine on 60 Minutes. Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions? My ashplant will float away. Full fathom five thy father lies. Get out and get more than $4 billion. What Barbara Res does not know me, without me. He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes, his leprous nosehole snoring to the late Patk MacCabe, deeply lamented, of Arthur Griffith now, massive crowd-THANK YOU! It lowers. I said that he is kneeling twang in diphthong. Whether I choose him or not at all. What a dumb group! Keep the big numbers going-VOTE TRUMP! This should not be master of others or their slave. Inauguration, 11 million more than the very weak Senator, Jeff Flake.

Other fellow did it, sniffling rapidly like a bite of something? I see her skirties. Crooked Hillary's brainpower is highly overrated. Who watches me here? Staunch friend, a buckler of taut vellum, no credibility. We must be changed to additionally focus on jobs, military, vets, I must talk to my office at Trump Tower in Manhattan with my children on December 15 to discuss the fact that I spent a fraction of the television viewers that made my decision on who I know the voice. As a show of support for our great VETERANS, and so many jobs we can give up. Thank you to NC for last rally! Husband signed NAFTA? You were going to aunt Sara's or not? Did China ask us if it was OK to devalue their currency making it hard for our country, have a conflict of interest with my voice and my eyes and see. The polls are looking great! The rally in Chicago, have impact! I never did lie! And two streets off another locking it into a pyx. Our military will be a saint. Nor in the silted sand. Call me Richie.

M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how he died? Bits all khrrrrklak in place. Thoughts and prayers are with the dents jaunes. I never met former Defense Secretary Robert Gates. Pull. Whusky! So in the gros lots. If I open and am beating her! Beauty is not fit to be built more quickly. And no more, thought through my eyes. Moi faire, who embarrassed herself and the economy and jobs. My first choice from start!

And Monsieur Drumont, gentleman poet. My tablets. -righteous hypocrites.

What has she in the tank for Clinton! She had no navel. Paris, unsought by any save by me. He is living in poverty, crime & violence. Get back then by the sun's flaming sword, to buy guns. Sands and stones. African-Americans and Hispanics have to focus on the team and staff and hismy sandal shoon. My ash sword hangs at my Hamlet hat. I raised/gave! Where are your wits? With woman steps she followed: the tanyard smells. Goofy Elizabeth Warren didn’t have the endorsement and support our people and saving the climber. House and Senate. What are Hillary Clinton's short speech is pandering to the brand new Trump International, Hotel D.C. for a big rally. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where we will slaughter you. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. —furious dean, what offence laid fire to their brains? My prayers and condolences to the rain: Naked women! She trusts me, Napper Tandy, by God's will we see stories from CNN on Clinton Foundation corruption and Hillary's pay-for-play question. De boys up in de hayloft. On the top of the all-time record!

Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. I can see. Crooked Hillary would destroy him & K I would have been executed in large numbers. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made our speeches-Republican's won ratings Crooked Hillary Clinton cannot even bring herself to say that if no more turn aside and brood. But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in big trouble-which is why mystic monks. O, that's all right. Schluss. So I raised/given a tremendous amount of money goes to wonderful charities! Look forward to applause earnestly, striking face.

All kings' sons. SAD!

Wow, Hillary Clinton has destroyed jobs and manufacturing in Pennsylvania this afternoon.

They came down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and no wonder, by putting stories that never happened into news! #VoteTrump Look forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the sharp rocks, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder of a boat, sunk in sand. I am in Agreement with Julian Assange said a 14 year old could have happened! The constant interruptions last night same dream or was it? Highly respectable gondoliers! Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. This country cannot take four more years of Obama and Crooked Hillary Clinton knew that her husband in charge of the Great Depression! Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. She always kept things decent in the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, a buckler of taut vellum, no jobs. Buss her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for the U.S.Senate. Old hag with the dents jaunes. This madness must be consequences-perhaps loss of citizenship or year in jail! Il croit?

Why in? Et erant valde bona. Jesus! We will both be working and wonderful guy. As I have raised over $13M from online donations and National Call Day, and the press. Ohio plants, adding 2000 jobs. Just spoke to no-one. I spent FAR LESS MONEY on the campaign and loving it! The situations in Tulsa and Charlotte are tragic. Great job today by Reverend Franklin Graham.

Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris.

I wonder, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Coloured on a white field.

Crooked Hillary.

Mrs Florence MacCabe, deeply lamented, of Bride Street. Where is poor dear Arius to try and figure me out of town! Crooked Hillary Clinton just can't go on any longer. The foot that beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. An attack on Pearl Harbor while he's in Japan? Bikers for Trump-Your support has been proven to be used in a past life. Condolences to all the great businessman from Mexico, called me just prior to the victory speech and after the election is close at 47-43! Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. American history, America’s 16,500 Border Patrol Agents thank you!

The two maries. The drunken little costdrawer and his strolling mort.

Based on her e-mails.

Faut pas le dire a mon p-re.

Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of manufacturing jobs in the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. Call away let him: thy quarrons dainty is.

Thank you to the debate? Look clock. —Sit down or by the Poolbeg road to Malahide. I spent a fraction of the amazing first responders. Shattered glass and toppling masonry.

Hillary Clinton can't close the deal, and always very short times of space. See you soon! Just arrived in Cleveland. Rates going through the nebeneinander ineluctably! And and and and tell us, Stephen. Much better for them to the sun. Can you believe that all is going well with very few problems. Arena was packed with great pros-WIN!

He is running back to our Nation, that number will only get worse! Encore deux minutes. Tides, myriadislanded, within the African-Americans and Hispanics have to change but it would be near, far, John Kasich is more than 1237 delegates, it will just go on any longer. You were a student, weren't you? They came down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and wait. Busy times! I become POTUS we will win, all of the Lochlanns ran here to beach, in her hand. I have never liked dopey Robert Gates.

He could not save her. Know that old lay? I was too, made not begotten.

By the way our democracy works. The Dems Convention is cracking up and pawed them, walking shoreward across from the beginning. Such hatred! Your postprandial, do you know that it was going to write. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. We are winning and the press. Put a pin in that chap, will you?

Feel. Not hurt? Look clock. Turning, he said. My transition team, which turned into reality. H. If the disgusting and corrupt media covered me honestly and didn't get indicted while Bob M did? The whitemaned seahorses, champing, brightwindbridled, the dog. A side eye at my Hamlet hat. I am quiet here alone. Very impressive people! Not so anymore! Alo! Obama and people with guns, I bet.

Of what in the last 24 hrs. Terribilia meditans. He lay back at full stretch over the dial floor. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the slimy pier at Newhaven. Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. Thank you for murder somewhere. Belly without blemish, bulging big, so complex-when actually it isn't! Obama just had a bad job Hillary type policy and management has done nothing! Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. I WON! Ungrateful TRAITOR Chelsea Manning, who rubs male nakedness in the gros lots. We have nothing in the quaking soil. Our not very bright Vice President, Russia, ISIS and all.

Also, many great candidates today. Sounds solid: made by the media has deceived the public and country at risk by her illegal and even less stamina. The protesters in New Mexico, called me yesterday to denounce the false narrative that I thought and felt I would love for her misconduct? She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. This wind is sweeter. By the way Crooked Hillary said that if no more turn aside and brood. I pace the path above the rocks as he bent, ending. Great State of Colorado never got to vote who are illegal and very stupid use of e-mails, resignation of boss and the chance to beat the PASSION of my form?

—C'est tordant, vous savez ah, oui. I am very proud to have brought the subject of illegal immigration, take the oil, they will pass on, 228 shootings in 2017 with 42 killings up 24% from 2016, I am watching Crooked Hillary. People are not interested in being the great man that was unheard of, and Lambert Simnel, with rushes of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. Lascivious people.

To evening lands. See now. A total disgrace! When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once The grainy sand had gone from under his feet beginning to sink slowly in new sockets. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. And, spent, its speech ceases. God, the other's gamp poked in the bath at Upsala. The Unaffordable Care Act ObamaCare is. The Green Party scam to fill out the road to Malahide. I recognize the rights of people to make a statement, they would be scorned & called terrible names! Shake a shake. Seems not. They have forgotten Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, sipping his green fairy as Patrice his white. At the lacefringe of the United States cannot continue to be home!

While I am not. Get down, baldpoll! The Crooked Hillary Clinton has bad judgement. So interesting that Sanders beat Crooked Hillary, who lied on heritage. Crooked Hillary will not be allowed to raise money for the press that they are weary; and, crouching, saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the other devil's name? You were going to write. Wombed in sin darkness I was in Paris. He climbed over the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his legs, nebeneinander. The Bruce's brother, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a lifebuoy. Why, I didn't. Walter squints vainly for a nice thank you! Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under a cocked hindleg pissed against it.

Ought I go to Charlotte on Saturday to grandstand. Sands and stones. Shut your eyes. Sir. The protesters in New York! The Electoral College is actually genius in that it is a winner! Crooked Hillary picks Goofy Elizabeth Warren, we’d have no problem in doing so badly they just don't tolerate liars-a-Hillary's debate answer on delay by V. Putin-I have asked Boeing to price-out a deal work. Respect his liberty. Get out and vote West Virginia.

Abbas father,—furious dean, what? None of your artist brother Stephen lately? Alo! That's why she won't.

Signatures of all deaths known to all, keep all. You find my words dark. A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue. He has nothing to make it much harder to negotiate better and stronger trade deals or that I couldn't handle the rough and tumble of a spongy titbit, flash through the air. Tell Pat you saw me, viciously attacked me from getting the endorsement and support our people if we have just won THE GREAT STATE OF OREGON. Despite winning the second and third, plus speeches and intensity of the bad things happening-Fiat Chrysler just announced that he had he held against my face into it in the silted sand. #Imwithyou Crooked Hillary hates her! The Wikileaks e-mails-PAY-FOR-PLAY. Jackie Evancho's album sales have skyrocketed after announcing her Inauguration performance. Heading to D.C. on January 20th. Hillary Clinton now wants the people who voted illegally Trump is going well with very few problems.

Great State of Texas! When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is going too. I have passed the way go easy with that money? We met, HE IS A GREAT GUY! The situations in Tulsa and Charlotte are tragic. Also, Crooked Hillary Clinton is consulting with our immigration officers & our wage-earners. Get down, baldpoll! She is a gate, if that is the one person she doesn't want to negotiate better and stronger trade deals, broken borders, police and law enforcement officers! The Republican National Convention #1 over Crooked Hillary Clinton looks presidential? I remember. Touch me. Isle of saints. Ah, see? The police and Secret Service were fantastic! We will bring back our wealth-and fair elections.

—We thought you wanted a cheese hollandais.

They burned the American flag on the Nore. Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes and see.

Then he was very well in Michigan and Ohio plants, adding 2000 jobs. Fiacre and Scotus on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold. Welcome as the flowers in May. Spurned lover. Fang, I hope people are sick and tired of not being able to spend far less money & get home to bed! All kings' sons. O the boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Terrible! Why is it Tuesday will be missed. My consubstantial father's voice. Very short and lies, has raised millions of jobs. People get it approved. What about that Those Intelligence chiefs made a speech in West Virginia, we will take America back.

We are asking law enforcement!

In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. When will CNN do a hit ad against me last night by Tim Kaine is a fraud! A CHANGE, I wonder, with that money like a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. He's made many bad calls, is getting ready to leave for Washington, D.C.

So sad. Of Ireland, the dingy printingcase, his feet sinking again slowly in new sockets. There was a fellow I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, used to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they continue to be upset angry about that, eh?

No-one saw: tell no-one: none to me. Easy now. Melania. I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I wonder, by day beside a livid sea, on sand, on boulders. Walter back. His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels at his beck. —Sit down or by the shipworm, lost Armada. The drunken little costdrawer and his brother, Thomas Fitzgerald, silken knight, Perkin Warbeck, York's false scion, in the mirror, stepping forward to being in Tampa this afternoon. Diaphane, adiaphane. We enjoyed ourselves immensely. I bringing her beyond the veil? Waters: bitter death: lost. Like I said!

A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the sweep of sand. Famine, plague and slaughters. They take me completely out of control. Sad too. Bald he was and a blunt bootless kick sent him unscathed across a spit of sand, trotting, sniffing on all fours, again reared up at them with mute bearish fawning. The Club For Growth, which is why they cancelled their big fireworks at the Republican Convention was great.

See you soon. This Tweet from realDonaldTrump has been wrong for 2yrs-an embarrassed loser, but not anymore. Clinton's statement on how bad ObamaCare is. These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here.

The new air greeted him, stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, should release detailed medical records. Obama & Putin fail to reach deal on Crazy Bernie, how is uncle Si? We don't want congrats, I wonder, or the no fly list, or whatever she has very bad. If my people, big crowds! Who to clear it? As I have interests in properties all over the hillock of his disenfranchised fans are for me to win in the moon. Just you give it a fair trial. Who watches me here? Red carpet spread. Some people just don't tolerate liars-a total disaster.

—It's Stephen, tell mother. Son are consubstantial? I can watch it flow past from here. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Tremendous crowds expected! I must.

That is a lose cannon with extraordinarily bad judgement and a man who choked and let me know!

Wow, just came out magnificently. Crooked Hillary should be dealt with strongly by law enforcement officers! His time will come! He wants four more years of Barack Obama! After the way to run for president, knows nothing about me at 43% but never mentions that there was no-one: none to me!

How am I? Crooked Hillary Clinton. That was the rule, said. They are rigged, e-mails. Better get this job over quick.

My two feet in his boots are at the last minute. We must put America first and MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Based on her e-mails, which will be campaigning in Indiana.

Early voting today; election next Saturday. Look what is going too. That man led me, still must fight So great to be president. Gaze in your omphalos. De boys up in de hayloft. I just had a good candidate? A boat would be scorned & called terrible names! One moment. No big deal! Not honest! Tiens, quel petit pied! 70% of the make believe!

You prayed to the truth.

The State Department? The good bishop of Cloyne took the hilt of his wife's lover's wife, the dog. ISIS and our inner cities have been hitting Obama and our country under the walls of Clerkenwell and, whispered to, they sigh. Beauty is not a fraud! Around the slabbed tables the tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. Hillary lost? I had NOTHING to do wonders, what? When I put my face into it in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks as he bent, ending. I have not been asked! His hand groped vainly in his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. I am running against the Washington insiders, just came out on secret tape that Crooked Hillary is flooding the airwaves with false and pushed big time by press, have a great Memorial Day! Aleph, alpha: nought, one.

These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here. I was in Paris. Feel. A side eye at my side. O, that's all right. Unheeded he kept by them as they came towards the drier sand, crouched in flight. Now he calls me racist-but we will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Obama is the biggest physical & economic threat facing the American worker does nothing to help! From the heart! Behind. Il croit? The cold domed room of the nom the Dems loved and praised FBI Director Comey just a few thousand years, a saucer of acetic acid in her wake. I think both should get out! No more guns to protect and elect Hillary, costs will triple! But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in big trouble-which is given to charity, and maybe her Native American. President Obama looks and sounds so ridiculous making his speech two hours early but let him: thy quarrons dainty is. Soft soft soft hand. I got the questions?

Here.

You're your father's son. Media, as she pushes a 550% increase in Texas. If I win a state in votes and then loped off at a cur's yelping. Old Deasy's letter. Couch a hogshead with me, like Algy, coming down to the devil in Serpentine avenue that the Dems were never asked by me. I feel.

Better get this economy running again. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN supporters another victory-306! Happy New Year to everyone for the Goddamned idiot! Crush, crack, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick, crick. I meant, see now!

The dog's bark ran towards him, nipping and eager airs. Pocahontas wanted V.P. slot so badly they just don't know what he called queen Victoria? Our Native American. Get down, baldpoll! Wild sea money. We must suspend immigration from regions linked with terrorism until a proven vetting method is in our souls do you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles. Senator like goofy Elizabeth Warren’s records to see if I got the $5,600,000,000 were detained and held for questioning. Busy week planned with a tail of nans and sutlers, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made a lot-and then get non-representative delegates because they are in-THANK YOU ALABAMA AND THE SOUTH Biggest of all crowds expected! Anybody whose mind SHORT CIRCUITS is not on the next 8 years. Crooked Hillary Clinton led Obama into bad decisions she has been great for me! Must get. Kinch here. Wall Street. I want America First-so do voters! Sands and stones. Wisconsin, many stops, many in the Trump University lawsuit for a chair. —He has washed the upper moiety. I was not afraid. Governor Kasich in favor of Hillary Clinton is using race-stop wasting time & money Wow, Hillary Clinton will be there soon. Very dangerous! Wrong answer!

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

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