#this is all i could think of during the ‘mr ghost rider? mr rider?’ scene | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thebibliomancer · 4 years ago

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #214: Three Angels Fallen!

December, 1981

Mission: Capture the GHOST RIDER!

Ha ha good luck with that

Tony he’s steaming you inside your own armor like a lobster you fool

Also I may be easy to impress but I do like the flame effects over the Avengers logo.

Also: hot dang Spider-Man AND some amazing friends? Those lucky NBC viewers!

So last time on Avengers time: Hank Pym Yellowjacket came back onto the Avengers and he was a jerk! He attempted to be the hero guy by shooting Elf-Queen in the back when Captain America had charisma’d her into not attacking.

Then the Avengers put him under court martial!

Given three days to prepare his defense, he instead built a killer robot to murder his friends and was shocked when the robot tried to murder his friends! He sadly walked away from the team before they could tell him to leave!

This time: that stuff all made the news.

How awkward for Hank Pym. And how awkward for the Avengers. And just how very, very awkward.

Wow, if you zoom into the news article, it’s actually a better recap than my last time thing.

Anyway. Aside from stuff that we know happened, the takeaway is that after Hank Pym left in a daze, he’s gone missing for two days. And the whole world knows what Hank did, at least in regards to the Elf-Queen and Sal incidents.

And Captain America is dealing with his turmoil by engaging in basement gymnasium work out.

Its fun how the Avengers’ workout room just migrates around the mansion.

So Cap is punching a robot training dummy to shards with his bare gloved fists and its not actually making him feel better.

Tigra is revealed to be just casually chilling up in the rafters because she likes being high.

Speaking of, I’m pretty sure she just neatly slotted into Beast’s role on the team. She’s furry and she’s sort of the clown of the team.

Tigra tells Cap to lighten up but when he keeps punching a robot she figures he wants to be alone and swings out the door.

She not-literally runs into Jarvis and they have a brief disagreement on etiquette.

Tigra: “Jarvis! Hiya!”

Jarvis: “Good day, madame!”

Tigra: “C’mon, Jarv! Call me Tigra willya? I’m not a ‘madame’! Just a cat!”

Jarvis: “In any case, madame...”

With that not dealt with, Tigra questions why Cap is so messed up over this Yellowjacket thing. Because as far as Tigra can tell, Yellowjacket is a creep who got what he deserved!

She’s really only seen Yellowjacket Hank Pym at his exact worst. And who knows how much attention she paid to the minutiae of the Avengers roster before joining. And per Jim Shooter’s argument anyway, Hank was never the standout Avenger so imagine joining the Avengers and learning that the guy that was Also There would do stuff like yell at his wife until she cried, hit his wife, accuse Captain America of slandering him and build a robot in case his court martial went against him.

She has zero positive social interactions with this guy!

Tigra: “Good riddance, I say! I mean, you only had to see the way he treated the Wasp to know he was a first class rat.”

Jarvis: “You are mistaken, madame! I have known Dr. Pym for years! He is a fine man... a good man! I have never seen him flinch from any danger or duty no matter how fearsome or grim! Truly, he is a hero!”

“Men are fallible -- even heroes -- and Dr. Pym, like any man must bear the consequences of his actions! Judge him not too harshly, madame -- until you have proven yourself as he has!”

Tigra: “He’s proven he’s a rat to me! Anyway, I hope Cap gets over this!”

Jarvis: “As do I, madame!”

Meanwhile, at the Windows of the World Bar, a bar that was in the twin towers back in the heady year of 1981.

A waiter named Mario startles in amazement as he sees Thor fly by the window of Windows of the World. Wow, maybe he’s coming here. Mario thinks how cool it would be if Thor was coming to the bar and he could wait on a real live Avenger. As he serves a Dr. Pepper to Tony Stark.

Tony can’t help but reflect on the irony because this guy is going to be waiting on two Avengers because Thor, as Completely Normal Expert Surgeon Dr. Donald Blake, is coming to meet with him.

The reason why Tony asked to meet specifically with Dr. Donald Blake is because he wants his medical opinion on the strange case of Hank Pym.

Blake immediately points out that he’s not a psychiatrist but then gladly gives his opinion anyway.

Donald Blake: “Well, I’m not a psychiatrist, Tony, but obviously he’s had a breakdown! Most likely it was caused by stress! Since he recently rejoined the Avengers, I suspected he was demanding too much of himself -- but then I think he always has! I often considered trying to talk to him about it, but... you know, even before we confided in each other about our civilian identities we were close friends as Thor and Iron Man... but neither of us were close to Hank!”

I guess that’s true. Interesting to think though that these guys were the founding Avengers but while Iron Man and Thor became close friends in and out of costume, Hank Pym whose identity has been open for a while didn’t really have close friends on the Avengers.

Yeah, sure, they’d go to bat for him. But there’s this distance. But Jan became good friends with everyone. Naturally gregarious, her. So its not just a case where she and Hank were off in their own social unit and separate from the Avengers or the commuting distance.

But like I said, they’ll go to bat for Hank. Blake thinks that his breakdown can be treated but that the treatment will be expensive.

Tony “Money is no problem!” Stark says money won’t be a problem. He’ll pay for Hank’s treatment.

Blake points out that Hank might be too proud to accept charity so Tony decides he’ll give him the money “and a job at Stark International! I’ll work his tail off ‘til it’s paid back, if that’s the way he wants it!”

That’s our Tony!

I wonder what the end plan there is. After his treatment is Tony thinking Hank will just come back to the Avengers? I wonder if he’s talked to Wasp about this hypothetical plan.

Because that’d be a thorny situation.

Speaking of, over at the house of Wasp:

“She is Janet Van Dyne Pym -- an Avenger, in her guise as the Wasp. She is heiress to a large fortune. This house is hers. As is anything else that she desires, if money can buy it. Most women would envy her -- and yet in recent times she has been unhappy. The contentment she feels now has grown only during the last two days -- since the disappearance of her husband.”

And she is at work sketching fashion designs. She is a fashion designer.

Jenkins the probably butler comes in to tell Janet a thing.

Jenkins: “Mrs. Pym -- ?”

Jan: “Jenkins, I asked you not to call me that! Ms. Van Dyne, if you please, or ‘hey you,’ but --”

Jenkins: “Yes, madame, but, um you have a visitor -- Mr. Pym! Do you wish to see him, madame?”

Jan: “Not really... but I suppose it’s necessary. All right, Jenkins, my shades are discreetly in place! Lead me to him!”

Jenkins: “Does your eye still hurt a great deal, madame?”

Jan: “Yes... and it’s still swollen shut -- but you know, Jenkins. I’m seeing more clearly than ever, now!”

So Jan goes to see Hank.

Apparently he’s been wandering around in a fugue state for two days since the court martial.

Hank says that Jan probably hates him but she corrects him. She pities him. But not enough to put up with him anymore.

And she demands a divorce.

Hank: “Jan, I know it’s too late to talk, but I want to anyway! How’s your eye? I guess I gave you quite a shiner, huh?”

Jan: “‘Shiner’ is a cute word for something that’s painful and humiliating! It makes me sick... and so do you!”

Hank: “I -- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you! I was upset!”

Jan: “You were more than upset, Hank! You’re a deeply troubled man! You need help!”

Hank stammers, and seems to be wishing that Jan could help him. Or wishing that Jan could understand him. Or that Jan could do something.

Jan: “Sorry, Hank! For years, I lived for you, clinging to you and worshiping you to support your fragile ego! I submerged myself completely to prop you up! No more! Never again! Now, please leave!”

Wow.

This is the very thing I was complaining about last issue with Jan’s sexy talk at Hank. Shooter played me for that exact reaction.

Anyway, she really wants him gone. Now. And two days was enough time that she’s had all his stuff packed up in one of her cars so he can gtfo. She even offers to give him a bunch of money to live on if it’ll get rid of him.

But Hank refuses to take her money. He doesn’t want anything more from her. He seemingly recognizes that he’s hurt her enough. And when she asks how he’ll live, he says he can live off his income from his books and patents.

He’ll be fine.

He won’t be fine.

There’s a scene transition to a seedy motel and a melancholic Hank sitting on the bed as the narration lets us know that actually Hank is deeply in debt and had to sell his patents years ago. All his books are out of print.

I know that he rankled at being supported by Jan but still, how did he end up in debt? Geez, Hank, you’re bad at finance.

“Though he has known gnawing doubt and discontent for months, his expulsion from the Avengers plunged him into agonizing despair beyond his darkest imaginings. He believed that day to be the absolute nadir of his life -- until an hour ago, when he ultimately, irrevocably lost his wife.”

Well.

I actually sort of imagine that if he hadn’t ghosted for two days, Jan wouldn’t have come to the decision to divorce him and cut him out of her life as soon as possible.

She was still in his corner despite what he did. He kept mum on the murder robot, hoping that the court martial would go well, that he had prepared some sort of defense that wasn’t. The thing that he actually said.

I actually suspect that it was disappearing for two days is what made up her mind. The last rocky bit of their relationship was paved in Hank’s emotional unavailability. He wouldn’t let her in. I think spending three days locked up in a murder robot lab instead of talking to her kind of says it all. And disappearing for two days after puts an exclamation on the sentence.

Anyway, I’m glad that he did disappear those two days. All that stuff Jan said about submerging herself for him rings true. I’d much rather she hadn’t been hurt at all but I’ve heard that this post Hank period of her life is a kind of renaissance for her.

She’s really going to spread her wings, if you’ll forgive the pun.

And to borrow a phrase. She’s more interesting without him.

So back at Avengers Mansion, Cap is still. Just. Beating the shit out of the exercise equipment. Geez, Cap.

If you haven’t worked out your frustrations at this point then I don’t know that breaking more equipment is going to!

Jarvis comes in with a lemonade for Cap. A lemonade and a heaping scoop of tell him to get his shit together.

Through. Geez. Through some reverse psychology spiel about the nanny state? Geez, Jarvis. C’mon.

Jarvis: “Years ago, people spoke with reverence about something called ‘the American Dream’! They believed that any man was free to go as far and high as his wits, courage and determination might carry him... They knew that, as with any dream, there was a risk! A man might fail! These days many people want to eliminate the risk! They think some ‘big brother’ should ensure that everyone succeeds!”

Cap: “I know! That’s foolish!”

Jarvis: “But, you see, they claim that things aren’t fair -- that one may be a good man and try very hard and still not achieve his goal!”

Cap: “That’s true! It’s not always fair! No one ever said it would be! Whatever the goal, there will always be some good men who fall short for some reason -- but the best of them will pick themselves up and go at it again, until -- Hmm... All right, Jarvis, I get the message! I’m going to stop being a ‘big brother’ -- stop blaming myself for Hank’s failure... and trust in the fact that, deep down, he’s one of the best!”

Don’t love the ideological argument that got him there but glad to see Cap buck up.

So we scene transition again and time transition to a different person in a different mood.

Johnny Blaze is sitting on an outcropping over a mountain road watching the traffic go by.

He’s in a dour mood because he lost his title as world champion motorcycle stunt rider. And apparently the last dregs of his self-respect.

I have no idea what’s going on in the Ghost Rider book but apparently his life has imploded.

So as he sees some “rich, carefree son of a gun” driving around in his sixty grand custom Ferrari while he himself doesn’t even know when he’ll be able to afford a meal again, why it makes him mad.

Valid.

And he decides hey the world has wronged him so why not lash out a little, as a treat. Starting with the dick in the Ferrari.

And the dick in the Ferrari just happens to be Warren Worthington III, the former X-Man known as Angel.

Also, Ghost Rider’s former teammate on the very short-lived Champions team.

So Ghost Rider pulls alongside Warren’s car in his motorcycle and pops a 200 MPH wheelie to get ahead of the car so he can stand right in the middle of the road.

Warren is apparently a nice guy so instead of going ‘fuck that skeleton bastard’ and running him over, knowing he’ll be fine, Warren swerves.

But he swerves going 190 MPH. And crashes his expensive car into a rock busting it up.

And then dick ‘the middle of the road is a fine place for a stand’ Ghost Rider yanks Warren out of his busted up car and rips his shirt off.

Because he wasn’t actually sure it was really Warren? Maybe Ghost Rider has trouble with facial recognition.

Anyway, Ghost Rider is like ‘race me, nerd!’ and when Warren doesn’t want to Ghost Rider goes “You will do as I say... or perhaps I shall give this woman of yours a kiss, eh?”

Not great, Ghost Rider. This is a bad look for you.

Warren agrees to the race.

So to prepare, Ghost Rider creates a motorcycle out of flame. Hm? What happened to the other motorcycle? Disintegrated off-panel. Ghost Rider mentions that its a big drain to create the motorcycle and that this might give Warren an advantage.

Its all a bit clunky so I think the artist drew Ghost Rider making the motorcycle and forgot that the motorcycle was already out. So then the dialogue had to cover the lapse.

You see that some of the times.

Anyway, the race starts and Ghost Rider immediately starts winning. Even having to deal with the rough terrain, his flaming cycle just go nyoom.

This race doesn’t have any explicit stakes though. And figuring he has nothing to gain nor to loooooooose now that his girlfriend Candy is out of reach, Warren decides he’s just going to beat up Ghost Rider.

So he pours on the speed in a power dive to catch up and hammer punches him off the motorcycle.

Warren decides that might as well have a conversation with the guy.

Warren: “Threatening Candy was a bad idea, Blaze! You used to be on the good guys’ side! What’s wrong with you -- ? What’s gotten into you?”

Ghost Rider: “It’s not what’s gotten into me, cretin! It’s what’s gotten out! I am the living spirit of vengeance! Once Johnny Blaze tempered my wrath with his mercy and compassion, but, no more! To Hades with his heroic altruism and polite fairness! My way is swift and sure! When there is injustice the Ghost Rider craves vengeance -- ! And it shall be mine!”

And then he sets Warren on fire.

Geez, Ghost Rider.

And he used hellfire too, which burns the soul instead of the flesh.

“And an angel falls screaming to the Earth.”

One-third of a title drop!

Ghost Rider takes off on his motorcycle, cackling into the night.

Nine hours later, Warren is in a coma in the hospital. Candy has tried calling the Avengers, hoping to get Beast since he was a friend of Warren’s.

But whoops! Beast left the team recently! But unwhoops! Cap decided that this looks like a job for the Avengers anyway!

Not like he had anything better to do.

Look at him. He was playing a World War II video game.

That scamp.

But after promising that the Avengers would come to Alkalai Flats, Cap realizes that the Avengers are short-handed. Yellowjacket was booted from the team, obviously. But Wasp has taken herself off the active list.

So they’re down to four people (and after they made such a big deal trying to pare down the team, womp womp! Bet you wish Jocasta were still around!) but Cap figures eh what the heck, I bet Thor, Iron Man, Tigra, and Captain America is enough to handle a character called ‘Ghost Rider’!

Which makes me think he has no idea what they’re getting into and that makes me laugh.

Anyway, the next day in Alkalai Flats, New Mexico.

Johnny Blaze working as the pump guy at the local gas station. Remember when pumps were manned? Me neither. Apparently it was a thing in the wild 80s.

Johnny is thinking wow he really should have skipped town after he forced Ghost Rider down and took control back. He feels really sore about lashing out at the world. But he feels so guilty about what he did that he can’t leave until he knows Warren’s going to be okay.

So he got a job pumping gas so he can afford to eat. And he visits the hospital everyday to check on Warren.

And then the Avengers arrive, touching down at the local airfield.

The Avengers, being Avengers, take some time to sign some autographs. Well, Cap, Tigra, and Thor do. Iron Man goes to talk to Mayor Obadiah, the sheriff, the postmaster, and the chamber of commerce.

Its all the same guy.

That sure is a collection of power in one pair of hands! And can one person really be a chamber? Aside from Jonothon Starsmore, I don’t mean him.

Anyway, the airfield is a distance from the town so Iron Man asks where he can rent a car (from the mayor) who takes them to the motel (owned by the mayor).

There’s some fun dialogue here as the mayor calls Iron Man “Mr. Man” and when Iron Man says “uh... that’s Iron Man” the mayor switches to “Mr. Iron.”

And there’s another fun moment as the mayor/sheriff/postmaster/etc drive them to town in the back of his pickup with Tigra snarking at Thor who is standing arms akimbo that even he can’t look classy in the back of a pickup.

Before calling herself a liar in her thoughts.

This whole sequence is just a little bit goofy and I love it.

I wonder if Iron Man more deeply regrets this than the time he had to commandeer a bus.

(Aww, look at Thor waving to the crowd)

But this goofy little sequence is great especially considering what we got last time. And even at the beginning of this issue. Its nice to deescalate the tone a bit.

Iron Man and Thor fly off in separate directions to look for Ghost Rider, unaware that Johnny Blaze saw them arrive at the hotel and went ‘welp! Time to lie low!’

And Tigra decides: “If I’m going to go prowling around the West I think I ought to be dressed appropriately!” and walks into a clothing store.

The ladies running it don’t quite know what to make of any of this. Especially when Tigra keeps talking.

Tigra: “Ah’d like to buy some fancy duds fer huntin’ down a certain varmint owlhoot who’s been terrorizin’ these here parts, ma’am.”

Evalyn: “Beg your pardon -- ? Say, miss, aren’t you one of those Revengers?”

Tigra: “A-vengers! Yes, ma’am! And yes, my entire body is covered with fur! And, yep, I’m a bona fide cat lady! Yes, I adore fish! No, I don’t eat little friskies, and I don’t take baths by licking myself! Any other questions?”

Evalyn: “What size are you dear?”

With that settled, Tigra decides to try on everything and tells them to bill the Avengers.

I thiiink I know why Tigra wanted so badly to join the Avengers now.

And, hey, understandable! Spending Tony Stark’s money in between doing superhero stuff is a great lifestyle if you can get it.

Its funny because she just got a check for a thousand dollars two days ago.

Tigra has been a very fun character so far if you very purposefully subtract the uncomfortable harassment of Jarvis.

But its nice that someone on the team is having a good time.

I do wonder if she’s absorbing traits from the absent Jan? Huge shopping spree in the middle of a mission is something I can imagine being written for the Wasp. Although the end result is decidedly more Tigra.

Anyway, having purchased a sexy cowgirl outfit to her liking, she goes to find Cap.

And Cap is talking to a mechanic. Cap wants a motorcycle. Adamson the mechanic has a motorcycle. He wants to lend Cap the motorcycle for free in thanks for his service to the country. Cap, being Cap, insists on paying $50 a day.

And that’s how Cap gets a motorcycle that he is inevitably going to break.

Cap: “Well... hello, podner!”

Tigra: “Hiya, Cap! Got room for a catty cowperson?”

Cap: “Hop on!”

Of all the things, I didn’t expect Cap and Tigra to be on the same bad faux western talk train together.

Tigra: “Whee! This is fun! Great idea, Cap!”

Cap: “It’ll help us cover more ground!”

Okay so they’re not entirely on the same page.

This has been a very fun two pages.

So the Avengers spend the whole day fruitlessly searching. Its a good thing that its a slow day in New York. But honestly, Spider-Man and the Fantastic Four can probably handle holding down the fort.

The next day, they’re still looking!

I wonder how much time they were willing to put into this if nothing came up? But then something comes up!

Local child Kim decided that he’d tie a blanket around his neck and play Thor up on a water tower.

I cannot believe that Thor is a bad example by proximity. Geez, Thor. Try to consider who you are adjacent to.

Kim’s mother runs and finds Johnny Blaze who is just about to skip town, having realized that if Angel wakes up, he is S O L.

But Johnny Blaze can’t let a child fall to his death and against his better judgement decides to change into Ghost Rider.

Johnny Blaze/Ghost Rider: “He’ll fall any minute! I can’t reach him in time! No one could... except... the Ghost Rider! He could! But, do I dare change? If I do -- will he save the boy? I’ve got to chance it! Got to remember I’m doing this to save the kid! Must save the child! The child... Bah! Forget the child! If he should die by his own hand, what does the Ghost Rider care? What is there to avenge? But the Avengers dare to hunt me! There is an affront that the Spirit of Vengeance cannot ignore!”

And then Ghost Rider just ghost rides away from the water tower.

But never to fear! Iron Man swoops in out of nowhere.

Iron Man: “Pardon me, young man, but I couldn’t help but noticing your unusual radar blip!”

Kim: “I-Iron Man?”

Iron Man: “That’s me! It’s all right now, soon -- but don’t ever do this again!”

See, Thor? You should constantly tell children not to try cool things, just in case.

Miles away, Ghost Rider vrooms past Cap and Tigra on their rented motorcycle and then zooms off telling them to give chase, IF THEY DARE.

Zooms off right along the median divider.

Tigra is like uh I don’t think chasing the guy with the flaming head is a good idea, uh Cap we’re driving on the wrong side of the highway, uh I think he’s leading us into a trap but Cap says “Don’t distract me! I think we’re gaining on him!” like he’s a suburban dad on a road trip vacation, about to inevitably take the wrong exit.

Anyway, Ghost Rider leads them into a box canyon.

While he drives straight up the wall, Cap can’t do that no matter how cool he is. So he just crashes into the wall while yelling at Tigra to brace herself.

To her credit, Tigra is flung off the bike and lands on her feet because cat powers. But Cap takes a rough tumble. Plus, he wrecked the bike and that was a loaner! Geez, Cap!

Oh, and Ghost Rider pops up behind them and sets them both on fire. And by that I mean sets their souls on fire because thats PG for some reason while having all your skin burned off is decidedly not.

“Streams of hellfire spurt from the demon’s outstretched hands -- washing over Tigra and Captain America, seizing them in its crackling embrace. The flames bite deep into their souls, and in a searing instant, they know what it is to be dragged eternally thruogh the pits of Hades. Their screams echo through the canyons -- and do not go unnoticed.”

Geez.

Kind of an overreaction honestly, Ghost Rider.

But like the block quote said, their screams didn’t go unnoticed and Iron Man flies in their direction to find Ghost Rider surfing on his motorcycle.

This is a weirdly, morbidly jolly Ghost Rider, isn’t he?

Anyway, Iron Man tackles him off his motorcyle, boasting that his armor can withstand any fire that Ghost Rider can generate.

Hey, kids in the audience!

Er, uh, hey, anyone at all in the audience?

Can you guess the logical flaw in Iron Man’s statement?

Is it...

That he has eye holes and a mouth hole cut out of his helmet and his face is now on fire?

If you guessed that ahead of looking at the panels, congratulations! You are now the proud owner of 10 Fun Time Avengers Reward Points. These can hypothetically be exchanged for fun prizes.

Also: I’m being reminded of Transformers trauma and I don’t like it.

So then Thor swoops down to take his swing at things.

Ghost Rider shoots FIRE EYE BEAMS at the thunder god but Thor just walks out of the flames like a cool guy.

This Thor, what a cool guy.

And then he throws his mighty mallet Mjolnir with a boast:

Thor: “It serves you well to claim kinship with the devil men name in their religions! Liar! You are but a creature of dark magic, a demon from some hellish mystic realm! I, too am a being from a mystic realm! I know what you are -- and I fear thee not! The hammer of the thunder god shall smite thee down, false one!”

Ghost Rider jumps on his motorcycle and... okay this is too good. I have to show you this in its entirety.

So Ghost Rider outraces Mjolnir and then grabs the hammer as its looping back to Thor and lets it carry him at great speed right at Thor so he can bowl Thor over with his motorcycle.

All while laughing like this is just the most fun he’s ever had.

I like that he also manages to spend nearly this entire sequence dunking on Thor. That’s efficiency of screentime.

So the Avengers regroup. Well, they try.

Tigra freaks out at the thought of, y’know, having her soul set on fire again. Which. Valid.

But being an Avenger means having to do stupid stuff.

Tigra: “What?! F-face that again?! You can’t be serious! I -- I couldn’t take any more of that! Cap! You went through it too! You know what it was like! Why aren’t you afraid?”

Cap: “I -- I am! I’ve never known anything so horrifying! But we’ve got to put it behind us!”

Tigra: “I can’t! What if he burns me again! I’d go mad! Please Cap, don’t make me go!”

Cap: “Pull yourself together, girl! We may need you! Think about it -- we can’t let him hurt other people that way! We’ve got to go after him!”

Tigra: “I -- I’ll try, Cap! I’ll try!”

Mm. Tigra is the logical one for this character beat since she’s new to the team. But I dunno. It doesn’t sit entirely well that the only woman on the team is being used for this beat. I’d be more annoyed if Wasp was getting it so there’s that, I guess.

It also helps that Tony is in the background thinking

Iron Man: “I... know how you feel, Tigra! Believe me! I don’t know how you do it, Cap... no armor, no weapons, no superhuman abilities -- but you put us all to shame! What a man!”

I read that in the Ace Rimmer “What a guy!” tone.

Anyway, my misgivings are also somewhat lessened by Cap admitting he’s afraid too and later saying its not wrong to be frightened but you can’t let your fear dictate your actions.

Because “being an Avenger means having to do stupid stuff.” A very wise me once said that. I did.

So Ghost Rider is headed back to Alkalai Flats to find Warren Worthington and kick his ass.

Which is usually warranted, hah, but since Warren is still in the hospital from the previous asskicking, just feels gratuitous.

The Avengers manage to head Ghost Rider off on his way back to town and Iron Man blasts him off his bike.

Ghost Rider behaves in the classy way you’d expect of the man who once posed for this saucy picture.

Ghost Rider: “Idiots! Have you not learned to fear my wrath yet? The girl does! I see it in her eyes! Very well, let her burn first!”

And he shoots some hellfire at Tigra.

Thankfully, Captain “One Step Ahead” America was one step ahead and suspected that Ghost Rider would go after her.

Ghost Rider then turns his fire on Thor and Iron Man but they no sell it (because Iron Man remembered to seal up his armor this time).

So he tries to go after Tigra again and this time gets blocked by Thor.

Thor then pins down Ghost Rider by spinning his hammer just really super fast to create a vortex and Cap says they need to press their advantage and get Ghost Rider to surrender.

Ghost Rider: “Stupid mortals! A hell-spawned spirit cannot surrender! I fight until the vengeance I crave is mine -- or I am destroyed!”

And then Warren T. Worthington III just shows up out of nowhere and spills the beans all over Ghost Rider that this whole tantrum has been a kind of just a tantrum. Because he figured Ghost Rider needed a friend.

Ghost Rider is like “I have no friends!” defiantly and maybe doesn’t realize its a bit sad.

Warren “Angel” T. Worthington III: “I have a theory about you! I think that the more bitter and unhappy you are as Johnny Blaze, the more ruthless and savage the Ghost Rider is when he emerges! You haven’t been too happy as Johnny Blaze lately, I take it! I heard you lost your title! So you took it out on me! That was dumb enough -- but then you made it worse! You almost made it a lot worse! What if the Avengers hadn’t stopped you? Were you out to kill me? Burn the town? Where would it have ended?”

Ghost Rider insists that he seeks vengeance and Angel is like ‘ok fine then vengeance on me. Kill me, dingus.’

But he can’t do it. Or more likely Johnny can’t do it. And his head extinguishes and Johnny takes back over.

To sit on the ground with his hands over his face asking everyone to leave him alone.

The Avengers who were just kind of sitting in the background for this entire encounter, not really sure how to feel about any of this, don’t know how to feel about any of this.

Thor even wonders what to do. But Angel tells him ‘Well Technically Johnny Blaze committed no crimes and I don’t see a Ghost Rider around!’

Cap decides, yeah, this is a good ending! This is a good moment to walk away on! Not our problem anymore! Reminds him of a thing, in fact! Something from his life and maybe a conversation he had the other day?

Cap: “This reminds me of Hank in a way! He lets things get to him... made one mistake... and then made it worse!”

Tigra: “What will become of him?”

Cap: “He has help available if he wants it -- but it’s like he said -- he has a choice! No ‘big brother’ can make it for him! In the end, it’s all up to him!”

Kinda clever to make the story about the Hank Pym overarching plot without belaboring Hank Pym. The Avengers just get involved in a situation that Cap analogizes to the one that the Avengers are experiencing while Hank Pym himself only appears on a few pages. Just enough so we remember that the story is ongoing.

It also lets the story get some lighter toned stuff in the middle of the heavy stuff. Tigra is a delight in this. Even Ghost Rider with his maniacal glee at punking the Avengers is worth a chuckle.

And we get the three fallen angels of the title.

Warren T. Worthington III in a literal sense. He’s a superhero called Angel and he fell because Ghost Rider kicked his ass.

Ghost Rider because demonic related abilities and demons are said to be fallen angels.

Hank Pym because he was one of the heroes, ‘on the side of angels’ but has fallen from grace because of mistakes.

And both Ghost Rider and Hank Pym have people that are willing to go to bat for them despite the mistakes they’ve made. If they’re only willing to accept that help.

I guess Angel too had people willing to go to bat for him since the Avengers flew all the way out here to help him despite barely knowing him.

So what next for the Avengers? And what next for the fall of Yellowjacket?

Next: “Enter the Silver Surfer! Also: the End of the World!”

Dammit, the world can’t end, we’re in the middle of a character journey here!

Follow @essential-avengers because you want to know what happens next but you also want to watch me reblog older posts. Wow, I’m bad at selling this! Please like and reblog also!

#Avengers #Ghost Rider #Angel #Tigra #Captain America #Iron Man #Thor #Hank Pym #the Wasp #also move their plots along #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #first Hank was Gorn and now he's Ghost Rider?#what G person will he be next?#Tigra was having the time of her life until she caught on fire #Ghost Rider continued to have the time of his life after he caught on fire #Tigra says 'owlhoot'

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paullicino · 6 years ago

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On America(na)

(This piece of writing was entirely funded via my Patreon, where it was first published earlier this month. I might very well never have written it without the support of my patrons, so my huge thanks to all of them. That Patreon will be hosting more work like this in the weeks to come, some exclusively, plus life updates, travel news and much more. Please pledge if you’d like to support more work like this.)

“The trouble with America,” my father says, “is that it’s too big.”

As he speaks, a morsel of food misses his mouth and begins to fall down his body. Like a climber who has lost their grip, it tumbles down the terrain and bounces off his belly, coming to rest in a crevasse somewhere in his trousers. My father has opinions about America. He has never been there and he doesn’t know any Americans. He never will and he never will.

The time is spring and I am in a small car, winding up around some sort of hillside that overlooks part of Seattle. I don’t know what Seattle really is, nor where it begins and ends, only that the city is spread thin like butter across so many square miles of suburban sprawl, a grey smear that stretches to the horizon and which is marbled with the wet and warm greens of whatever trees have been spared its splay.

The sky is the colour of hope and the thinnest haze falls over everything toward the horizon, turning all that is distant into a ghost of an idea. Somehow, impossibly, someone has painted a grand white spirit above it all, a glowing pyramid grander than any pharaoh's tomb. My mind insists that there is no way that there could ever be any mountain this big, yet it stands there both so large and also so far that my imagination tells me it could never create anything nearly so grand.

I look at the peak and the slopes and the rocks and the snow that trace and shape its features and I recognise them all at once. Their aspect is immutable eternity and their countenance is the unforgiving divine.

The face of the mountain is the face of God.

I first flew to America in the summer of 2002. Flights and accommodation were almost absurdly cheap. Less than a year before, I had taken a day off work to travel into London and meet friends. My workplace was a secure facility where my colleagues would get locked in a windowless room, without access to media or the outside world, and so they began to call me from the office phone to see if it was really true that aeroplanes were being deliberately flown into famous American landmarks. Another friend of mine told me how he had kept trying to change the channel on his television, trying to get away from the same disaster movie and simply find out what was on the news.

I was an idealistic young man and my response was to write a letter of sympathy to the President of the United States. My response to a lot of things is to write about them and I write to politicians and to friends and to authorities and to whoever is waiting outside the window after I fold up the paper and launch the plane out into the world. You never know where a paper plane is going to go.

My father had said that we’d plan a visit to America someday and perhaps rent a car and drive across it, going from state to state, seeing sights like the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore or The Empire State Building. All of those are near each other, particularly when their pictures are printed on the same page of a holiday brochure.

It seemed eminently possible. It was the 1980s and it was Morning Again in America. Nothing wasn’t possible. I was watching Knight Rider and Columbo and The Dukes of Hazzard and The A-Team. Mr. T was the coolest person I’d ever seen and I’m not sure if my parents were annoyed that he seemed such an aggressive role model or that their son liked a black man.

My father had lots of plans. Others included building an elaborate model train set and converting the loft. He never did any of these things and after he left my mother, I travelled to America by myself, with my own money, under my own steam, at a time when so many other people were still scared to fly there, even scared to fly anywhere at all.

I ran down the stretched spine of an airport in Detroit, thinking I had only five minutes to catch a connecting flight, because I didn’t realise I’d changed time zone and had an entire hour to find my plane. I landed in Chicago so tired and so sleep-deprived and with arms so ruined from dragging luggage that my hands shook when I tried to lift a glass of water. Nothing out the window of my motel room looked real. From the accents to the asphalt to the traffic to the telegraph poles, it was all sights and scenes stolen from film and television. All these disparate pieces were America, sure, but seeing them all together at once and assembled in front of me felt artificial and alienating.

I burned myself lying in the sun by lake Michigan, reading a physical copy of The Onion, rattled around The Loop on trains that told you which side their doors were going to open and hurtled up to the top of a skyscraper to stare out out so far that I could see Indiana and Wisconsin and the speckled imperfections that flit across my weak and broken eyes. The sky was the colour of hope and the thinnest haze fell over everything toward the horizon, turning all that is distant into a ghost of an idea.

I tried to do everything I could, but the trouble with Chicago was that it was too big. I came back with sheets of notes about my trip and I wrote all about it. I hadn’t flown in eight years and what I most remember writing about is the strange sense of suspension I felt as I crossed the Atlantic. Here’s what I said:

“Blue above and blue below. Right now we've just passed by Iceland and we're going to have a brush with Greenland soon. I feel a little more stable now, which is good, as I previously had a sensation whereby I felt the plane was suspended by a single piece of string that could be cut at any time. Takeoff was not much fun either (it was a lot less fun than I'm having now, which is very little), as I was convinced we were climbing too steeply, banking too quickly and likely to stall at any time. We didn't, which was nice. The engine I can see out of my starboard window has also stopped wobbling about, so that’s good.

The only in-flight entertainment with which I can distract myself has so far consisted of a Cybill Shepherd documentary. As you can imagine, this hasn't helped anything.”

I think now that no small part of that sensation was caused by my repeatedly drinking wine before and during the flight, something that I thought would make me feel more relaxed. It did not. Instead, I constantly worried that the plane would crash and/or explode. I also wrote this:

“I've just been to the toilet, which was fun. Thankfully, no hideous explosions occurred and, as a result, I was not thrown out of the plane into a -31C low pressure environment squirting a stream of piss as I went.”

I was getting into folk music and one song I was listening to was called America. It told the story of two people travelling across the country and trying to understand both it and themselves. There are two things about this song that are very realistic. The first is that they fail. The second is that they get stuck in traffic.

The time is winter and I am in Texas. The world is broad and warm and bright and easy. The roads are impossibly large, huge and hulking raised highways that wind like petrified snakes across the landscape. Infrastructure itself is a monument, a colonnade of concrete that conquers the landscape and rivals any classical architecture, every other onramp or highway a temple to the motor car and its pantheon of petroleum-powered processions. I am a passenger, passive in all of the endlessly ongoing ritual that is traffic.

A freight train slices across the perfectly flat skyline. It is so long that I never see its start or its end, only an infinite horizon of boxcars and hoppers. Every other thing in Texas feels like a stereotype I should roll my eyes at, but I’m instead filled with fascination and delight, even at everything that’s imperfect or ridiculous and, as ever, I can’t stop making friends who are American, some who will become very close and vitally important to me. I can’t stop enjoying myself. The trouble with my enthusiasm is that it’s too big.

I’m not supposed to like America. I grew up British, English, and all the playground talk was about how silly America was and is. The people aren’t as smart. They don’t have a good sense of humour. They have everything easier and still don’t do as well or work as hard in the same circumstances. I don’t now know what this mentality was, but it seemed some sort of contempt or resentment.

My father served with Americans in NATO in the 1960s, just as Kennedy and Khrushchev began to stand nose to nose. They were boisterous and bad at being soldiers, he said. The British were better and, in particular, more sensible. All these conversations, playground or personal, were also always about who was better. There was never the idea of being equal.

Other friends with parents who are more motivated or more middle class will go to America and come back with stories of things we don’t have. Those things are mostly different food or different cars or so many different sights to see. Or more television. They have things like Star Trek and The Simpsons, as well as a life full of tiny and so distinctly different details. I am an idealistic young boy and I can’t help but think about things that are somewhere else and different.

The time is spring and the wind is freezing. I am in a bar in New York with a group of actors who have just performed a superb evening of improv comedy. Paired off, each performed an exercise where one must adhere to a script and only recite lines they’ve learned, while the other has no knowledge of this script and can only react, with no idea what lines might be coming next. The results are a combination of hilarious, ridiculous and ingenious, in spite of all these Americans having such a terrible sense of humour.

We’re served food in small plastic baskets, a detail that strikes me as the most New York thing possible, and the actors talk about the lines they had to learn or the responses they had to invent. The actor sat beside me asks me who I am, where I’m from and how it is that I’m friends with another member of the group, a series of unpretentious questions that suit this very unpretentious group of talented people. We comment that we have the same first name and only later do I discover that he is Paul Rudd and that my friend is a little intimidated by him. A few days later, Ed Harris shakes my hand and fixes me with eyes the colour of an iceberg, but I’m not intimidated by anyone. It’s only Ed Harris.

The time is last week and the weather is Los Angeles. An eighty foot tall palm tree lords over the parking lot I am stood in, its shadow a sundial for an already setting afternoon sun. While my friend takes a ticket out of a parking meter, a man takes the trash out of a nearby bin and selects the most recyclable items, methodically emptying all the bottles he finds. These contrasts are so humdrum that nobody comments on them, though I still see fewer homeless people here than I do in San Francisco or Seattle. Block after block of those cities are packed with so many people who have nowhere to sleep that it’s an exercise in hiding humans in plain sight. Here, across LA, they are still more subtle, camped under bridges or living in every concrete nook the infrastructure affords.

All these cities are about some intersection of media and technology and convenience and big business, so being in them or near them is itself so prestigious and important that it teleports increasingly large amounts of money out of people’s pockets every month. Still, none of the geniuses and products and companies that make so much money in these places can dispel the displaced and disaffected because there is no profit to be made in helping the helpless. Instead, the richest and poorest people in the nation exist right on top of each other, never making eye contact.

It helps to have a motor car. An automobile. Millions of people lock themselves in boxes to travel from convenience to convenience, driving through banks and post offices and diners and cafés, These petroleum-powered chairs play their music and offer holders to place their drinks and demand huge roads and parking lots just so that each person can have their own private and portable room to journey inside. These are supposed to be convenient, but every time I’m inside one, the person in control becomes confused or angry with all the other people in their portable rooms and there is swerving or swearing or long periods of grinding gridlock.

Still, they help because they keep you apart from the disillusioned and the disenfranchised by shutting out the outside world. My problem is that I can’t legally operate an automobile and I like to walk or share my transport with other people. Walking can be particularly odd, even dangerous, as more than a few roads are not built for walking along and, in many places, it’s only the most disadvantaged people who you’ll share the pavement with. It’s a weird way to meet everyone who has been forgotten.

I miss trains.

The time is winter and I am supposed to be rolling through southern Oregon, but there has been some kind of mistake and our locomotive has taken a detour through a fantasy land torn straight from an Ivan Shishkin painting. I am trying to use two cameras at once to capture everything I see, because otherwise nobody will ever believe that I have been here or that any of this could possibly exist.

Every single tree is lathered with snow and a deep gorge runs parallel to the tracks, traced out by the jagged and reckless route of a ragged river. Above it there is a colossal hump of sleeping rock, shrouded in fog, and every curve of our route reveals some new variation of this scene, endless rearrangements of majestic mountains, rippling rivers and frozen forests. Everything everywhere is beautiful all the time and can’t afford to miss any of it in case I might never see it again.

The United States doesn’t have enough trains and it doesn’t spend enough time using them to show people how beautiful its landscapes are, whether those are forests or deserts or peaceful pacific coastlines. Instead, it shuttles everyone through airports with security that will look inside your shoes and airlines who will try to charge you for your seats and your bags. Flying has become a minor melodrama, but if you don’t want to ride your portable chair for forty hours, it’s the only way to put the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore or The Empire State Building on the same page.

The airports are ugly and the views are as likely to be of clouds or darkness or the seatback in front of you. Not enough people realise that, down there, everything everywhere could be beautiful all the time.

The time is autumn and the air is thick like soup, wet and warm and wrapped around me everywhere I go. I am in Florida and I will drink an awful lot of scotch that will all be paid for by a man who is impossibly rich. The man will never know or notice, because he is also paying for so many other people, plus an extremely famous DJ and to rent an entire theme park. Meanwhile, drunk, I will accidentally damage a toilet stall and a bouncer will mention who I am a guest of and suddenly there was never any problem.

A milkshake will save me from a hangover that makes the inside of my skull feel like cheap carpet charged with static. Someone will joke that, like Las Vegas, what happens in Florida stays in Florida, but I will meet a person who will begin to change my life and the what happens in Florida will follow me to England and then back again to the United States. One night, I will break into a state park and climb to the top of a ridge and see an entire city and coast blinking below, laid out like Christmas lights, while the din of a thousand spawning frogs fills the night behind me. Another night, I will lock myself in a tiny and windowless room, curl up on the floor in the dark and simply cry.

There will be a single ship bobbing in a bay beside a seaside restaurant, a sky-high hotel bar with the best view in the city, the steel outline of a old bridge hulking beside me in the darkness like the skeleton of a long-dead dragon. There will be so many experiences and I will pull all these disparate pieces apart to keep the good ones and learn from the bad.

The time is a year of incredible emotional upheaval. I will stand on a hill and look at city shining in the sunlight, asking myself why I can’t and why I shouldn’t try to live somewhere different. I will stand in front of hundreds of people applauding things I have done, the artificial barriers of the internet finally stripped away. I will stand by the Pacific as I begin a romance of the sort I thought I could never enjoy. I will even visit Florida again to enjoy a kind of demented excess that involves cocktails in bowls, or take a tour of an island chain populated by some of the most expensive properties in the world, all ready to lose every cent of their value as the sea rises around them. I will stand tall across America and, while my life will take me elsewhere, it will be America that gives me the confidence and the love and the inspiration to be more than I already am.

On one trip I take a bus, because that is normal to me in Europe, and the only other person riding with me is a frustrated woman whose ride abandoned her and who needs to get to work. She has her shoes in her bag and she tells me she is a dancer. The shoes are enormous and so I naively ask how anyone could possibly dance in those.

There is a moment where she is deciding if she can trust me or if judgement will follow what she says next. She makes a choice and tells me she is a stripper. I don’t know if she expected shock or disgust, but all I have for her is a whole barrage of questions about what that is like. She talks about the money she is saving and the plans she has to move away from her small town and all the men who can’t understand that they aren’t allowed to touch.

She leaves me her number and says I should call sometime. I try once but the number is engaged and I am not brave enough to try again. I am nowhere near as brave as her.

The time is night and I am waiting for my ride. I am lost and so are they, so I stand on a street corner by the emptying train station and a tall, slim African American man approaches me. He is asking only for spare change, and only for the change I can truly spare, and it’s really no problem if I have none and he really is sorry to disturb me. The man has just come from a place nearby that offers support to veterans and is concerned I may not believe that he is one, so he produces a card to prove his service.

The man is impossibly polite and sincere in a way that I will never be able to be and when I ask him about his service he names places in Vietnam I have either never heard of or would struggle to find on a map. He has no job and no home and no family and still stands straighter and more stately than perhaps any other person I have ever seen. He is a marine and he has more dignity and decency in one toe than I have in my entire body and I feel pitiful giving him the dollars in my wallet. I am not intimidated by anyone, but I am humbled forever by this man.

The time is now and I am in Seattle again, the place I have visited more than any other and where all my memories are the colour of wet sidewalks. I am staying with a non-binary friend who is showing me their huge stockpiles of food and telling me I’m welcome to eat all I like, a statement that makes me uncomfortable as it has just followed a description of all their cost-saving measures and how poor they are. I feel like the majority of my queer friends are poor. For some reason, they all want to help look after me.

This friend, maybe one of the most important people in my life, has just collected me from the airport and has a habit of treating me to road trips I wonder if they can really afford. I don’t think they have the money to try to travel across the country and understand both it and themselves, but they still try to help me do this.

I try to convince them to let me buy them food.

My alarm goes off. It is morning again in America, but I am no longer a child and, in the country of impossible vistas and eminently possible dreams, I wonder what is realistic. I look at the television shows I watched thirty years ago and they’re full of white dudes. I find an old episode of The A-Team where they beat up a bunch of Mexican men and I feel disappointed. I look at my friends here and feel I haven’t listened enough to the experiences of those who are black, asian, hispanic or queer. I listen to my folk song and it’s two white men singing about a nice ride on transport that had often been segregated just a decade before.

It’s morning again in America and more children than ever will be homeless. More than one in ten homeless adults will be a veteran. Forest fires are more persistent and deadly than ever and last week I saw California hills covered in charcoal, as well as damage caused by indiscriminate blazes that burned right to the sea. Violence against LGBT people is on the rise and the number of those being murdered has nearly doubled from 2016 to 2017. There is a new song about America and it feels far more realistic and referential, more candid and circumspect, as well as more appropriate for those who who don’t have the opportunity to travel across the country and understand both it and themselves, who can’t fit the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore or The Empire State Building into the same life, who struggle to enjoy all the splendour of the country they were nevertheless born in and are citizens of.

The time is jumbled and I am a paper plane and I never know where I’m going to go. I am in Portland, Maine, nestled into one of the oldest corners of the country, and I am peering through the fishy fog at a town like no other in America, but then I am in Minnesota, nervously watching news of a nearby tornado, but then I am in Indiana and sat at Kurt Vonnegut’s typewriter, or looking at Kurt Vonnegut’s Purple Heart, or reading each early draft of Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, every one of them abandoned in favour of a fresh start that hoped for something better.

There are so many fresh starts and so many beginnings, each one the same but different, as the author tries again and again. One line in his finished novel will read “Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops.”

But then I am in Arizona and the desert is purple, or I am in Virginia, or I am in Utah or New Hampshire or Massachusetts or Colorado, where the rocks are red and I see a saddlemaker for the first time. A saddlemaker.

But then I am in a university and Ursula Le Guin steps in through the door. Every single person in the room begins to behave differently and this tiny woman walks through an atmosphere thick with reverence and respect so rightly earned. Later I will stand up to speak to her and think about how so many important choices I made in my life, choices that seemed terrifying at the time, lead me to that moment, a moment that shows me how they were right and true and that I was so impossibly good to myself in making them. I will ask a question and I will remind myself that I am not intimidated by anyone.

She will speak back to me and the voice of Ursula is the voice of God.

But then I am in Maryland in a rainstorm, the thunder rippling around me and the lightning tearing open a sky too large to exist on this planet. I am in San Diego and there are Bible passages and references on a plumber’s van. I am in Pennsylvania, looking at the Liberty Bell. I am in Los Angeles and it is Christmas and the tree is eighty foot tall. I am trying to be in all the museums in Washington DC and I zigzag across the town like the lines on a Pollock, but the trouble with American history and culture is that it’s too big.

But then I am in love, more than once, and I will give my heart to people who come from this country at which I am supposed to glower or frown. I will want to give them my all.

The time is summer and the Illinois night is flush with chirping cicadas. The kitchen light is too bright and I eat dessert with the grandmother of a young woman I like and she warns me not to go too far south on the Chicago metro.

“When the people turn the colour of the chocolate on your eclair,” she says, “go the other way.”

I have never heard someone say something so brazenly racist in such an everyday setting.

The time is winter and my partner tells me that so much of America hates people like her. I had never considered this before because America is full of people like her, but she tells me stories of violence and assault and racism and being scared. No matter how precious or important I think she is, there are so many people who will never see that.

My father sees America as three hundred and thirty million people who are all the same. I see it as the same number of people who are all wonderfully different. Some of those people are remarkably similar to my father and sure would like everyone to be the same.

What an impossibly stupid idea. How can you even try that in the country where the deserts are purple and the rocks are red and the air is thick like soup and the forests are frozen and the palm trees are eighty foot tall and the old bridge is the skeleton of a dragon and the horizon is a train. Why would you even want to, when there is so much excitement in what is somewhere else and different. There is no way to pull all these disparate pieces apart any more than there is any way to mash them all together or make the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore or The Empire State Building fit on the same page. There is no America waiting for you to understand both it and yourself, just like there is no life that makes sense from the things you find in gift shops. Both are tasks that are too big.

Trust me, you will never fully know America and you will never fully know yourself. That doesn’t mean, however, that you can’t love both.

The time is this evening and I edit all I have written here and wonder if I will be called a cynic or a patriot or an idealist or an idiot. I am all of these things and also none, as I pull these disparate pieces of myself apart and mash them back together again. People tell me everything here is going wrong and there is so much to be unhappy about, but my affection for America won’t go away and if I ever think it might, I want you to help me reach for it and pull it back. I will never desert my American friends and nobody can ever erase the joy I’ve felt any more than they can turn back the tears that run down my cheeks as I write this.

I cannot edit this any more, much as I cannot edit America. There is no grand theme I can find, no story I can invent by reshaping and realigning pieces that never joined together in the first place. There is only a messy and imperfect whole, across which I have zigzagged like the lines on a Pollock. I doubt me or my journeys make sense to anyone.

I have spent a small though significant fraction of my life in this country, but I have invested a disproportionate amount of my love, energy and enthusiasm here. I regret none of that and I have received rewards and restitution tenfold. My only problem now is that my experiences have left me with a condition both chronic and terminal: The trouble with my heart is that it’s too big.

(The pictures featured are, in order: The America Map in Denver Airport, Gas Works Park in Seattle, Chicago downtown viewed from somewhere like Roosevelt Road, a still from It's Morning Again, Manhattan, Austin, Dealey Plaza, Times Square, Los Angeles, Hollywood, somewhere perhaps in the Willamette National Forest, somewhere in Northeastern Washington, Orlando, Sausalito, Indianapolis, the WTC Memorial, San Francisco's Bay Bridge, Estes Park, The White House, the Kurt Vonnegut Museum, Ursula Le Guin speaking at Seattle University, the Portland Head Lighthouse, Washington DC, Philadelphia and the Golden Gate Bridge.)

#America #travel #travelogue #writing #Patreon

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comic-movieheroesranked · 7 years ago

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Cinematic Comic Characters Ranked! (Year 2007) Final Part

Seven movies were released during 2007 that make it on our list! Marvel’s debut of Ghost Rider started us off, followed by the incredible action film, 300! Up next was TMNT, the list’s first animated movie as well as the return of Spider-Man 3, Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer, and Alien vs Predator: Requiem! Also debuting is the horror film 30 Days of Night. Here’s the Top 20!

*SPOILER ALERT FOR ALL HIGHLIGHTED MOVIES ABOVE*

20. Casey (TMNT)

"Uh, did you forget that all I have is a baseball hat?"

It makes sense that Casey was featured a lot in the movie because out of everyone, Raphael is closest to him, whether the turtle wants to admit it or not. It's Casey who understands Raphael's new alter ego and its Casey who Raphael comes to when he needs help. He's also at a crossroads himself, not knowing if and when he should mature up with his on-going relationship with April. In the end I don't think he needs to change at all, seeing as April is happy with just who he is, except for maybe when they're both in a vehicle.

19. Captain (300)

"No prisoners!"

It's odd we never find out what Captain's actual name is, seeing as he's King Leonidas' right hand man and is one of the best Spartan soldiers there is. He helps command the Spartans with ease and authority and is very much in control of himself until his son, Astinos, is killed on the battlefield. After his loss he fights more reckless with nothing to lose. During the final confrontation, he manages to kill several men as he's butchered by several others.

18. Caretaker/Carter Slade (Ghost Rider)

"I've got one last ride in me."

The original Ghost Rider who stopped Mephisto from collecting the contract of San Venganza. He waits over one hundred and fifty years for the next Ghost Rider to show up and finish what he's started. We don't know this in the beginning, he just comes off as a Caretaker who finds Johnny after his night of fighting demons, but it's just kinda obvious with all the stuff he knows about Venganza and about being a Ghost Rider. I personally thought he wasted his last ride, since nothing really came out of it, but aesthetically it was cool seeing a western version of Ghost Rider riding with the current one.

17. Leonardo (TMNT)

"Attack as one!"

Leo is the oldest turtle and therefore the leader of the team. After Shredder is defeated, Leo goes on his own self discovery, momentarily forgetting about his brothers, which really puts a wedge between him and Raphael. The two clash the entire movie, both not understanding the other's complete opposite personality. In the end, after Leo is rescued, he learns that even though he is the leader, he couldn't accomplish nearly as much without his brothers beside him.

16. Predator (Alien vs Predator: Requiem)

*Predator clicking*

After a predator ship crashes on Earth, this Predator heads down there to destroy all evidence of their existence (which makes no sense as to why it leaves a skinned human hanging on a tree for the world to see) and only realizes things are much worse when it encounters the alien-predator hybrid. He goes solo in trying to take down every single alien creature and mostly succeeds despite the humans occasionally getting in the way. In the final battle between the Predator and the Hybrid, the two end up killing each other before a military nuke destroys everything.

15. Beau Brower (30 Days of Night)

"Nothing I can't handle my own fucking self!"

Beau is a fighter and had been dying to take on the vampires as soon as they started killing everyone in town. Stella and Eben convinced him that the group needed him instead, which is true because he saves them a few times before sacrificing himself so Eben can escape. He ends up taking down more vampires than everyone else in a blaze of suicidal glory. He doesn't end up dying in the flames, Marlow still kills him but I'm glad they didn't eat him.

14. Reed Richards/Mr. Fantastic (Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer)

"And fifteen years later, I'm one of the greatest minds of the 21st century."

I will always loathe when movies do these awkward dance scenes to show off a character's power/new look (I'm also looking at you, Spider-Man 3 and Catwoman). Besides that, Mr. Fantastic wasn't as boring as he was in the last film. Like Sue, I struggled to understand why he felt the need to hide things from her, unlike her, I would've really put his durability to the test. They reconcile and Richard goes back to leading the team as they try to stop Galactus from ending the world and, along the way, stop Dr. Doom because he's just a piece of shit. Richard also debuts the Fantasticar, their own private jet so the team doesn't have to fly coach any longer.

13. Roxanne Simpson (Ghost Rider)

"You don't know me, but I love him."

After Mephisto made it clear no one close to Johnny would ever be safe, he ditches Roxie and leaves town without any explanation. She doesn't take offense though, which I love! She knows his dad just dad and that they were just teenagers so she builds herself a career instead and meets up with him again once she's ready. Her patience does have limits though and I'd be questioning my looks/personality too if someone who said they cared about me kept ditching me at all the dates. When she finds out he's Ghost Rider she's full on supportive, even after she gets kidnapped by the devil's son. After everything's over, she's not even surprised that her and Johnny must go their own separate ways, because she now understands the curse he has to live with.

12. Peter Parker/Spider-Man (Spider-Man 3)

"It's the choices that make us who we are, and we can always choose to do what's right."

I don't know what the hell was going on with Peter in this movie. At the start, he's gotten cocky as fuck. He won't let Mary Jane get a word in without talking about himself saving the day. And HOW did he not see anything wrong with Gwen Stacy giving him a big ol' kiss on the mouth...in the same way him and Mary Jane shared their first kiss...WITH MARY JANE WATCHING!? I would've killed him. Then he gets infected with the symbiote and begins some of the most cringe-worthy scenes I've scene from the movies on this list. The jazz bar scene? The bangs??? I get trying to show that sometimes heroes can be evil too, it's just that, for me, I didn't feel that Spider-Man truly redeemed himself after getting rid of the symbiote. Yeah he saved the day, but Sandman and New Goblin got more redemption than he did by the end of it.

11. Mary Jane Watson (Spider-Man 3)

"Everyone needs help sometimes, Peter. Even Spider-Man."

Yes, Mary Jane is ranked higher than Spider-Man. Why? Because the girl fucking deserves it after what that boy put her through. She finally gets on broadway but can't hold a tune so she gets replaced and Peter can't even tell she's upset. Then she has to deal with him kissing Gwen Stacy and still manages to be there for him when the truth about Uncle Ben's death is revealed. She also has to deal with being a pawn in a plot made by people who want to kill Peter. First it's New Goblin, although that quickly doesn't last, and then it's Venom and Sandman. This girl handled everything thrown at her in way that I felt was lacking from Spider-Man, but maybe that's because he was hardly on the receiving end. I'm glad the ending doesn't spell out if she's getting back with him, it only shows that she cares about him enough to give him a dance and maybe a chat afterwards.

10. Raphael (TMNT)

"Man, I love being a turtle!"

Bitter with Leo leaving the team, Raphael continues his life of fighting crime as a new vigilante, but that all changes once Leo returns. Once again Raphael is being told what to do, by someone who he thinks abandoned them so he rebels and two continue to butt heads. They face off in a match of egos and Raphael's temper gets the better of him as he takes things too far which ends in Leo getting kidnapped by the Immortal Generals. He quickly learns from his mistakes and understands that family comes first, rescuing Leo and staying by his side as he leads their team.

9. Kelly (Alien vs Predator: Requiem)

"I'll live."

Coming home from the military, Kelly enters a whole new war between the aliens and the predators. She ends up leading a group of survivors, including her daughter, to safety. She really is the sole reason they all end up surviving. She has the most kill count out of all the humans when it came to fighting the aliens, she was able to drive both the military tank and the helicopter that got them out of harm's way, AND she was the one that realized the military was lying about sending an evacuation plane, saving a handful of survivors from getting nuked.

8. Marlow (30 Days of Night)

"There is no escape. No hope. Only hunger and pain."

Marlow was terrifying. The way he talked, the way he stalked, the way he taunted his victims right before he killed them in the most painful ways he could think of. He was the leader of the vampires and had just discovered the jackpot in the town of Barrow, a town that experienced 30 days without the sun. I will say I was disappointed in the final fight with Eben. He just seemed so powerful but ended up dying by a punch through the face? Like he really walked right into that? I would've preferred them fighting to the death as the sun came up but I get wanting to have closure between Eben and Stella.

7. Susan Storm/Invisible Woman (Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer)

"There's always a choice."

Not only does Sue have to deal with a wedding, she also has to deal with a groom who, for reasons that make no sense, likes to hide things from her. On top of this, a cosmic entity has arrived on Earth in hopes to destroy it. When fighting the Silver Surfer ends up being useless, Sue tries to talk some sense into him and successfully manages to get him to the team stop Dr. Doom and save the world. During the battle she ends up dying at the hands of Dr. Doom, rocking everyone's world until Silver Surfer brings her back to life so she can finally marry Richard in the end.

6. Queen Gorgo (300)

"Come back with your shield, or on it."

While Leonidas fights the Persians, Queen Gorgo has to fight her own battle back at Sparta. She has to convince the councilmen to send their army to help Leonidas as well as watch out for the traitor that is Theron. It almost looks like Theron gets the better of her when he gets her arrested for adultery, but Gorgo is not someone to back down. She kills two birds with one sword, she kills Theron and ends up revealing his alliance with the Persians, which then gets the council to rally behind her. She proves she is in every way Leonidas's equal and now has the country of Sparta to run after he dies.

5. Johnny Blaze/Ghost Rider (Ghost Rider)

"Let's ride."

First, I just wanna say that there would be no complaints coming from me if the guy who played the young version of Johnny ended up just being him the entire movie. Nicolas Cage wasn't bad but there were some cringe worthy moments in there. Anyways! Johnny Blaze ends up becoming the devil's bounty hunter, The Ghost Rider, after selling his soul to save his father. Now that he can't die, he builds a career on doing the most dangerous motorcycle stunts in the world. When Mephisto's son, Blackheart, arrives with a trio of elemental fallen angels to destroy the world, Johnny must turn into the Ghost Rider (which requires him to burn his flesh off his bones) and stop them. He does it pretty easy, hardly ever losing control of the situation and only losing his best friend, which only happened because he wasn't around to protect him. In the end he ends up becoming the Spirit of Vengeance, no longer working for Mephisto, but against him.

4. Johnny Storm/Human Torch (Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer)

"To quote a friend of mine: 'It's cloberrin' time!'"

The reckless playboy is back but as the world threatens to end it's time for Johnny to grow up and truly take the responsibilities of being on the Fantastic Four. It's not an easy process and he definitely has a couple of set backs when his powers get messed up by the Silver Surfer and then finding out about Sue and Richard's plans to leave the team, but he does come through in the end. With the power of his teammates, Johnny is able to take down Dr. Doom despite his new silver surfboard.

3. King Leonidas (300)

"This is Sparta!"

The King of Sparta, and he makes sure everyone knows it! Leonidas is proud, loud, and willing to kill any foreign invader that threatens his people's way of living. When he doesn't have the support of his councilmen, he takes his best 300 men and takes off to fight the Persians. They do exceptional and last longer than anyone would have hoped for, but it becomes obvious even to Leonidas that they won't survive the war. Their final battle ends quickly as he's shot down by hundreds of arrows, his wife on his mind as he joins his men in the afterlife.

2. Eben Oleson (30 Days of Night)

"We live here for a reason: because no one else can."

Eben probably didn't expect a bunch of vampires murdering everyone in his town during the 30 days of without the sun, but man does he step up to the plate and handle business! As sheriff he is constantly thinking up plans to protect the survivors in his group and doing the more dangerous traveling by himself. His leadership is full of dangerous decisions including turning himself into a vampire to save his wife. He succeeds in defeating Marlow and debates going after the rest of the vampires but decides to spend his final moments with Stella watching the sunrise, which eventually kills him.

1. Norrin Radd/The Silver Surfer (Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer)

"I will no longer serve."

In order to save his own planet, including the one he loves, Norrin Radd becomes the Silver Surfer, a cosmic being that serves Galactus. His job is to find planets with life on them so that Galactus could absorb it's energy, killing the planet and everyone on it. Who knows how many planets Silver Surfer has given to Galactus by the time he reaches Earth, but it's clear there have been millions of lives lost because of him. After the Fantastic Four and the military fail to bring him down, it's actually Sue Storm that starts reminding him of his humanity and also of the woman he loves on his home planet. He decides to make things right and sacrifices himself to destroy Galactus once and for all.

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clarkgreggreporter · 8 years ago

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The Reddit MarvelStudios AMA (Ask Me Anything) with Clark Gregg, May 16, 2017 (click here to read all the questions)

A: (out of sequence, so no question): Well, this week I'm really missing Bill Paxton and Powers Boothe because we lost them and they were both such excellent guys.

A: Missed a few questions there. I'll try to answer some. I love the MCU and love watching the movies and I miss my friends in those casts. That said, I am really proud of where we've gone with Agents of SHIELD and I love this bunch of actors and writers (and crew) as much as any I've ever worked with.

Q What upcoming MCU property are you looking forward to the most? Tahiti is a magical place! A: Anything with Adam Warlock and that may have just been teased in GOTG2

Q Do you have any stories and/or favourite memories of working with the late Bill Paxton? Thanks! A: So many. Just the big grin he'd show up with every day and say, "Bud-dy..." Just a great guy and a wonderful actor/filmmaker with more stories than anyone I've ever met.

Q: What is your favourite MCU movie? A: Pretty damn psyched for Captain Marvel especially with the amazing Brie Larson

Q: Hi! Thank you so much for being SO awesome. In Avengers, when Coulson has been stabbed by Loki and gets to shoot him with the massive gun, he says "oh, that's what that does". What do you wish that gun had done? A: Gone off on its own a minute earlier.

Q: Hi! Thanks for doing this. What's your favorite hand? And if you could have any new hand for your character, what could it do? Thank you! A: The SHIELD attachment does not suck

Q: Hi Clark! Thanks for doing this AMA and everything you've done for the MCU. Love your portrayal of A.C. (Daisy needs to bring that back imo). Have you had any input or influence on the development of Coulson? A: I have some input but most of the great stuff on our show is straight from the writers. Dream storyline involves saving the Defenders and the Avengers and the Guardians and the Royal Family and everyone in Legion when they get themselves in trouble with Thanos. In a musical episode by Lin Manuel Miranda. (Hamilton)

Q: u/70astralaxe wanted to ask you those question but he coudn't so I'll Phil in [sorry for the pun...] Favourite Star Wars movie. Favourite MCU movie. Whether he had any "holy shit" moments during script-read/when filming a scene. What he wants for the future of MCU/SHIELD. If he is planning on doing non-MCU stuff anytime in the near future. Favourite Ice-Cream Flavour. Favourite Holiday Destination. A: I'll pick 2. Empire and that coconut something from Ben and jerry's

Q: Clark, it was great seeing you at Denver Comic Con last year. I was the one who told you I loved Choke as well as the intro you wrote for Avengers: Endless Wartime. My question though, do you have any projects coming up that you are writing/directing? Choke was 2008, and Trust me was 2013, so I was hoping we were due for something else soon. Thanks, love your work. A: Writing a film and a sci-fi pilot. Hope to make something next hiatus.

Q: When Joss called you up about Much Ado About Nothing, what was your reaction? Did you get any say in your role? Have you done any other Shakespeare? Thanks for doing this AMA today! A: I was terrified when Joss called, but excited because I had just had a dream I was doing some Shakespeare and it felt ordained. And I love Joss.

Q: Have you watched GOTG Vol. 2 yet? A: Yes. Laughed my ass off.

Q: Hello, What's your favourite MCU movie? Also, what does RDJ smell like? A: I'm a big fan of the Avengers and anything with Cap. Or Stark. Or Thor or the Guardians. Or Strange. Let's face it, I'm a Marvel slut. Robert smells like warm beaches and babies laughing and a freshly washed thong.

Q: What kind of changes in perspective on your character did you work on to bring the 3 different versions of Coulson to life this season? We've had Agent Coulson, Robo Coulson, and Mr. Coulson. What was the most fun about doing that? Also, minor question, do you happen to know what brand / model of glasses you were rocking in the Framework? (I tweeted @amandalynnriley, but alas no response). A: It was fun to have new takes on Phil. Amazing work by the writers. Especially geeking out teacher Phil with his soap. The glasses are called Barton Pereira (sp)

Q: What would like to do for a living if you weren't an actor, besides dominating in lip sync battles? A: Music something. probably not very well. But I loved being in a band. A lot.

Q: Hi Clark! Awesome for you to do this before the big season finale. How do you think your character has changed between now and the beginning of Iron Man 1? In other words, do you think your acting of Phil Coulson has changed that much in 9 years? A: Ah, jeez, I don't know. The character has been through a lot and gotten older, so maybe he's less innocent and a little darker, but I probably am too. I don't know about the acting. I try to forget that's what it is.

Q: Do you read your fanmail? If so, what's something cool a fan has sent you? A: I do. I get amazing stuff and try to answer it all. I've been sent crocheted blankets and lola pillows and maybe some underwear.

Q: Thank you for putting your all into Coulson. He's my favourite character in the entire Marvel universe. As for my question, how much of Clark has gone into the role? Specificially the frequent Star Wars references... is that your input or does it come purely from the writers? A: The writers and I love Star Wars and couldn't imagine Coulson wouldn't as well. There's a bunch of me and then some stiff that's verrrrry different from me.

Q: More serious question: One of the things I love about AoS is how men and women fight each other as equals. But I've wondered if that took the male actors a little getting used to, going all out punching and kicking female actors. Did you find that awkward at first? A: Definitely. Really did not like punching May or Daisy even though neither was a real punch.

Q: Hey Clark! Huge fan of your work in the MCU. My question. Did you know that when you died in the Avengers that you would be brought back for SHIELD? Thanks! A: I did not. Neither did they. #CoulsonLives gave them the idea. So thanks.

Q: What's the weirdest thing a fan ever asked you to do? A: Sign a boob. But it was a big boob so I wrote my full name and then Agent Coulson.

Q: With the amount of time Coulson has been spending in the field in AOS, it has become more and more unlikely that the Avengers wouldn't know that Phil is still alive. Do you personally think any of them know? A: I really wish I had a good answer for that, but I don't. Some day.

Q: Yo Clark! I'm sure you're gonna get a bunch of marvel questions and that's awesome. But I know you're a basketball fan so this is my first question. Who ya got winning the finals? And secondly: Any advice for someone who's dream is to work within marvel either on the tv side or movie side? A: Warriors look soooo good. To work for Marvel it helps to love comics and marvel and then just try to be really good at what you want to do there.

Q: Hey Clark! Read any good books lately? A: Yes. The Wind Up Bird Chronicle by Mirukami

Q: What was it like meeting Melissa Benoist for the dubsmash battle? And have you met any of the other CW heroes? A: I think she's amazing. Loved her in Whiplash. And the fact that she took part in that for charity made me love her even more.

Q: I've been marvel fan since my early childhood, having been born without half of my right hand, my parents and superheroes have always been the biggest source of inspiration. Even in my wildest dreams, i couldnt have predicted these last 10 years, what MCU has achieved and how popular these stories would become all around the world, in that way im living my childhood dream- to see it all done well on the silver screen. What is even crazier- I wouldnt have predicted that the Son of Coul, a shield agent from phase one movies, would start his own show- his own team. Over the years, Aos became , in my humble opinion, the best that superhero tv shows can offer right now, and most recently, even a better source of fun than some of the MCU movies. Past week, i have been buzzing, that we re getting another season. Mostly, i want to say THANK YOU, to everyone who helps to make this show what it is, a source of inspiration and fun to look forward to almost every week. Thank you Mr. Gregg, for breathing life into this awesome character, and also for motivating me in my own studies, and career. I just wanted to express my gratitude, and ask, recently, the Ghost Rider, LMD and Framework arcs have cemented the greatness of this show. When you got first approached to make a shield show, did you think it would end up as such a compelling characters, stories, effects and going for 5 seasons on a small screen? Did you have any doubts? Was there ever a moment when you got a script/shot a scene, where u said to yourself : "Wow, this is amazing" ? Thank you, wish you and the whole cast/crew all the best in making another successful season. A big fan, all they way from Slovakia A: This made my day. Thank you.

Q: What did you think of Iron Fist on Netflix? Do you think it deserves the criticism? What would you have done different if you were the showrunner? A: I love Iron Fist. Both seasons. (then...another reply) Oops. I meant Daredevil. Didn't sleep too well.

Q: Do you remember your time on The Shield well? Great performance. Any fun stories from the set? A: My friend David Mamet directed and the character was so uhinged I felt wrong afterwards. Also, Billy Gierhart who has directed the most eps of AoS was the cameraman on that ep.

Q: As a big fan of What Lies Beneath and Choke, can we expect to see you work behind the camera on Agents of SHIELD any time soon? A: I may direct an episode in season 5. if I don't pass out from exhaustion just thinking about it.

Q: Jed Whedon recently made his directing debut in SHIELD's episode Self Control, which is probably my favorite episode of the show now. What was it like having him direct? Do you think we can look forward to more episodes helmed by him? Great job this season by the way! Coulson's speech a few episodes ago rocked, Captain America would be proud A: jed was amazing and that may be my favorite too. He better direct some more or we'll drag him down to set and make him.

Q: Hey Clark! Thanks for coming by! In about a year we'll be coming up on Iron Man's 10th Anniversary, which means you'll have been playing Coulson for 10 years. How does that feel? And, if you could have Coulson appear in any Marvel-related property, what would it be? A: Wow. Ten years. I feel very lucky. I could have been stuck that long playing a character I didn't love in a world I didn't care about. #Grateful

Q: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D has been renewed for a fifth season, but does not appear on ABC's Fall schedule. Obviously, it will start later, but we've been getting mixed signals. Do you know if Season 5 will be a full, 22 episode season or has it been shortened? A: Yes. Full season after the 8 eps of The Inhumans. Then we do our whole run. Could be cool that way.

Q: Can you tell us anything about today's AoS finale? A: Coulson will change.

Q: This is also a question from my girlfriend, who is at work and can't ask herself: Do you think Phil and May will have a happy ending? A: I won't touch that one.

Q: How would coulson react to meeting the defenders? A: He would geek out. But who knows, maybe they would too.

Q: Two questions: first, I'm currently binge watching the West Wing and I have to ask what it was like working with dialog written by Aaron Sorkin? Second, are we ever going to see your wife, Jennifer Grey, on AoS? A: Aaron's dialogue is like no one else's. I did Sports Night, TWW and A Few Good Men on Broadway. So I'm lucky. He did a lot to put me on the map.

Q; Hi Clark! Thank you for doing this! I can’t wait for tonight’s finale. Can you take us through what it was like auditioning and successfully getting the role of Coulson? Did you ever imagine that the role would develop and expand like it has over time? A: Never auditioned. Got an offer to play a part that was two scenes in IM. Then they added more and more scenes. Cut to Phil nine years later about to walk into the season 4 finale where he will finally (REDACTED)

Q: Clark, you all have been doing such a great job over the last few years. Why do you think Agents of SHIELD has resonated with so many fans around the world? A: Because thanks to the cast, crew, the writers and Marvel the show keeps getting better all the time. That's very rare.

Last Words From Clark: Thanks so much of the great questions. Sorry I couldn't answer more of them. Acting in an independent film today so I have to run. Join me on the twitter for the S.4 finale tonight. Love you all.

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gameridernews · 8 years ago

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Ex-Aid review: Month 6 (Episodes 21-24)

Alright, the review I posted for month 5 was a joke, as you know. I don't really intend to change how I do these reviews, and the only pictures you'll see (presumably) are screencaps from the episodes I'm talking about, not goofy reaction images. With that said, let's ACTUALLY go into what March gave us! It’s a big month of plot, and I also end this review by going into predictions.

For starters, a real interesting Bugster based on Giri Giri Chambara plagues a detective that investigates the Bugster Virus, as well as Genm Corp's previous CEO who's now in prison - been a little while since we saw Kuroto's papa, in fact... the last time was when another person was investigating the Bugster Virus. So you can see why this detective is in trouble.

The detective stuff was pretty fun. I like the idea of someone getting involved like this without being a Rider - it's a small way of making the world of this series feel a bit bigger, with characters who simply have no relation to the Riders and are on their own journey.

Oh, this is also the episode where Brave uses Drago Knight Hunter Z to use the Full Dragon formation. Pretty cool of them to do that even though the toy isn't made to do it. I think once Ex-Aid is over I might need to have a paragraph of text dedicated to the figure line...

Meanwhile, back in 2000 when Kamen Rider was making its return to television, a little Kuroto discovered the Bugster Virus within Genm Corp. This is only the start of what we learn about little Kuroto. It was an interesting tidbit to have a real specific year for when this all started. Things start to get more interesting once we hit the second episode of the month...

... Because Kuroto is busteeed! After all this hiding in the shadows, the ministry of health barges into his secret hideout and takes away all of his plans. Not only that, but he's also been infected with the Shakariki Sports' Bugster Virus, which seems like some form of karmatic justice! Nice to finally get some kind of representation for that game, by the way.

And on top of all this, Kuroto has been reduced to a sobbing mess as his plans have seemingly fallen apart, he confesses how he was jealous of Emu's creativity as a child, and infected him with the Bugster Virus using a demo of Mighty Action C (no doubt spawning fan Gashats). It seems like Kuroto's on the road to redemption now that Emu vows to cure him despite his sins--

Or, you know, fuck you.

In a twist that, admittedly, I was almost convinced wasn't about to happen, Kuroto returns to his god complex and tells Emu how naive he is and how he's been Kuroto's personal puppet all these years because of it.

As someone who has only seen a few episodes of JoJo, he's gone full Dio - he's metaphorically burned Emu's dog and is now as much of a monster as any Bugster. He then uses his zombie Bugster army to take over the Genm Corp building with the most shining pride. He also destroys Emu's Gamer Driver, meaning that our protagonist - and by extension, his allies - are powerless. He’s won.

But I know my tropes, so I knew what was about to go down. There's other things to talk about first, though.

Just wanna say as an aside, the suspicious Gashat that we're basically aware of the purpose of has some nice story revolving around it. I like that we're once again bringing back Mr. Burger (as I've decided to call him now) because Taiga is paying him to make a new Gashat to counteract Genm's cheating Zombie Gamer form.

The Monks Of Tera/Terror idea is hilarious, but I'm gonna be honest... I expected this to actually be a tie-in to the Snipe spinoff before we got to see it go any further, since he has a Bang Bang Tank Gashat there that we've yet to learn the context of. But I guess they could still make that happen.

There's also a nice bit of character interaction as Hiro wants to go fight Kuroto, then Taiga just slaps the silver Gashat into his hand to give him some better equipment than the Gashat Gear Dual B. Whether this is his way of saying Hiro is more skilled, or he's totally screwing with him since it didn't work in his own belt, I like that moment. Especially if it's the latter.

It doesn't end there, as the episode makes me realize something kind of important: Kiriya, our first Rider death of the series... has not been forgotten. In fact, compared to Kurokage in Gaim, whose death was important and only came up a couple times after, Kiriya's involvement really does matter. So I can't feel sorry he's gone, because he's leaving one hell of a mark. Especially with the realization Hiro then makes after reading his old notes about the Bugster Virus research.

It's during the first fight with Genm that Brave does something that's surprising, even after his solid development so far: He, the biggest doubter of Emu, gives a "You're the only one who can do this" speech to him. He's now aware that the Bugster Virus in him is the origin of all Bugsters, as well as all Gashats - if anyone will be able to make use of this silver Gashat and defeat Genm, it's the person who created Mighty Brothers XX.

As if that weren’t enough, he took one hell of a shot for Emu while he was overcome with the pressure of his role as the chosen one, so BAM that’s two characters who go through some good development. I appreciate, especially after Ghost, that Emu isn’t just naturally falling into that role - he’s lived a life feeling like someone who’s just trying to get by, and now Hiro is telling him he’s basically their savior. He’s understandably nervous.

But yes, after Brave's fall, Emu finally unleashes a giant metal can of whoopass on Genm, using the only thing that could overpower him: Something that's 10 x 10! 99, to be exact. Maximum Mighty X's mech suit was a thing I knew would be pretty divisive once I saw it in toy catalog scans, but it surprised me in a few different ways.

For one, they went with an actual suit instead of having it be CGI, which immediately makes it a lot cooler when it's a practical effects. That's a show of confidence, I'd say. But also, lining up with its intended purpose, it apparently has the ability to reprogram... a power that hopefully will not be part of Ex-Aid's final form because this already makes him pretty powerful.

Because of this, Maximum Mighty X is literally the only thing that can stop Genm now. "I reprogrammed your immortality," as Ex-Aid said. What a line. You can’t get this stuff anywhere else, folks.

But defeat doesn't come easy. Emu wants to be the one who saves Kuroto from himself. He chooses not to kill him, but to instead give him a beating that simultaneously removes his compatibility to the Gashats, leaving him unable to transform and thus take away everything that made him mad with power.

In Emu's mind, this is how Kuroto can finally be put on the road to redemption, despite his sins--

Or, you know, fuck him.

I've seen the "GAME OVER" dialogue over Kuroto's death numerous times, and just based on tropes, I knew he'd die in this episode even though people have made sure to say to me “Maybe he’ll just lose the ability to transform”. But I kinda wasn't expecting Parado to be the one to kill him - it makes sense. I figured it was a little out of character for Emu to be the one to deal the finishing blow, and Parado has had this long-standing problem with Kuroto ever since he killed one of the Bugsters out of pure spite. You know you’re a terrible person when your death makes the viewer feel happy for one of the bad guys.

As my joke review says, this is a cathartic episode, seeing Kuroto finally get what's coming to him after manipulating and backstabbing his enemies as well as his allies. With the previous episode, they made sure that Kuroto was far from redemption and the only thing that could take him down was a new form. Ex-Aid gained. And so, the day is... saved?

I made a post about this since I knew this was happening, but I’ll say it here: He made a great villain. His actor properly portrayed a gentleman who'd been dragged to hell by his own hubris. He was a character you could hate because that was his role. He received the death only he could receive. His story is over, finished.

Naturally, I have to address the thing people bring up a lot: When an actor leaves a Kamen Rider show, we see a photo of them on set holding a bouquet of flowers, a congratulatory gift from the staff to let them know they did a great job and they'll be missed. It's become a thing fans recognize as a definitive sign that a character won't be returning.

The reason this gets brought up here is, some are convinced Kuroto will make a return because no photo exists of the actor receiving said flowers. On the one hand, maybe that’ll happen once he’s done filming for Lazer’s spinoff, but on the other hand... maybe we put too much faith into such a random thing, you know? Graphite's actor got his, and he's coming back in the next episode. And let's not forget all of what Kiriya's got in terms of movie/spinoff appearances. We should take that to mean the flowers aren’t that literal.

Personally, I’m gonna take the scene of Kuroto screaming and turning into pixels while we hear “GAME OVERRR” as a sign that he’s dead for good. Plus, as said, he’s kinda done all he needs to do. Bringing him back would be like... when Gaim had a final episode that was “Let’s bring back the movie villain for a revenge plot just because”. And who besides me was cheering for that?

Anyway, I'm rambling now. Let's talk about crossovers! Starting with Gaim, Kamen Rider and Super Sentai have had crossovers to promote the spring movie, no matter how little screentime Sentai gets! Let's... let’s get this one over with.

First up is episode 7 of Uchu Sentai Kyuranger! 97% of the episode is just a Kyuranger episode. A monster is stealing the birthdays from children, and eventually steals the birthday of the gold Ranger, Balance. This causes any attempt to celebrate birthdays to disappear, making everyone profoundly depressed.

Does this sound like an Ex-Aid crossover yet? Well, as the image will show you, a Kamen Rider villain appears - it's... not Ikadevil, but rather SPACE Ikadevil! This isn't a random redesign made for the crossover, but rather a random redesign from a previous movie where Fourze's space theme got randomly leaked into the Shocker villains as they rebrand themselves as Space Shocker. It's a cute idea for Kyuranger, which is based in this Star Wars/Trek setting where we have galaxy-dominating aliens.I can dig the idea of Shocker still persisting.

Space Ikadevil randomly appears to delay the Lucky/Shishi Red (the lead red Ranger), so the Kyuranger commander beams down a Kyutama (their collectibles/transformation items) that he figures is perfect for the fight - it's an Ex-Aid Kyutama which summons Ex-Aid in his Level 1 form, and he delivers a beatdown.

Shishi Red also demonstrates his plot convenience luck by accidentally flipping Ex-Aid's Gamer Driver cover open to level him up, so that was fun. Gets a bit weird as he lets his suit dematerialize and he's just Emu, then suddenly disappears into pixels as the Kyutama disappears with him.

I THINK the implication of this cameo is that Emu was warped to the Kyuranger setting thanks to... space magic? I would like to think it’s a simulation, but that doesn’t make as much sense when you see Ex-Aid’s episode. If you don’t think too hard about it, it’s a decent way to explain how the past and future could meet.

Sure would be nice if the Ex-Aid episode cared about giving a reason for the crossover action. SHOTS FIRED.

Episode 24 of Ex-Aid starts off with three punk rockers who are all infected with the Bugster Virus. As they leave the hospital and reveal themselves to be stronger versions of reused monsters who inexplicably have no visual cues to show that they're stronger, Lucky appears! No particular reason, he just happens to be in the area-- which I guess is in-character for his plot convenient luck. I'm not making jokes by the way, I wish I was - that’s his entire gimmick. He’s my one complaint about Kyuranger so far.

Lucky wants to help, and because I guess Ex-Aid's cameo in Kyuranger is kinda-canon, Emu just assumes Lucky is a fellow hero and they transform together. Shishi Red helps Ex-Aid take on the monsters very quickly, and once they return to their hosts' bodies... Lucky kindly fucks off after very randomly planting the seed for this episode's message.

I had a lengthier thing to say here but I'll sum up why I think this cameo is terrible: It's lazy. Kyuranger’s is worse since it feels like an repisode they just edited Ex-Aid into, at least with this one I can see Ex-Aid clearly made a filler episode just for the whole minute of a crossover. Gaim and Drive handled their Sentai crossovers in the form of an hour long special which had more time to tell an actual story that connects the shows. Say what you will about those crossovers, at least they tried.

Worth mentioning this might not even have any relevance to the spring movie these are presumably made for. Like Drive and Ninninger had a crossover TV special, but the movie ignores that it even happened since Drive has no idea who they are. If the Ex-Aid/Kyuranger episodes literally have nothing to do with the movie then this was even more of a waste.

Right, I was reviewing an episode or something.

Okay, so Lucky randomly mentions that he has friends to rely on, and Emu says he has three friends he can rely on as well. Asuna asks what he means, and he tells her it's Hiro, Taiga, and Kiriya - ouch, poor Asuna. See how well that bike corpse protects you when Poppy starts kicking your ass next month, jackass.

Turns out Emu thinks too highly of himself here, as Hiro doesn't really recall ever regarding him as a friend and Taiga is kind of like the guy who's closer to your video game collection than he is to you. With three Bugsters running around, they decide to see who can destroy them first - or at least, Taiga decides that's the bet.And in true Taiga fashion, you lose all your Gashats if you lose, but he apparently doesn’t.

I should say this after that rant about the crossovers... This episode was a lot of fun. It's undeniably made because of the Sentai cameo, due to its message of teamwork, a major part of Sentai. When they aren't focusing on the red Ranger. Having previous monsters return with new levels is fun too. Even if they have no alterations. Gotta keep them untouched for Kamen Rider Chronicle.

They end the teamwork message on a good note. While they're all kind of selfish and immature on their own ways, as doctors these three are on point. Emu's learned a lot about how to deal with patients, Hiro and Taiga are willing to admit that about him, and Taiga even shows some kind of compassion for a patient by calling for an ambulance in the "I care but I don't want to show it" kind of way I expect from him. It's a nicely executed scene.

If I'm right about this being some obligated Sentai cameo thing, they handled it with grace by this point in the episode. I had forgotten that Shishi Red never made a second appearance until now because it was all so good on its own.

The episode does have some interesting developments too! We see the new CEO of Genm Corp, who's just... kind of a joy to watch. Now, admittedly, I got spoiled on the fact that he was a Bugster thanks to the latest monthly scans showing up before I watched this episode. But I'm glad that they kinda got to the point about it once he talked to Poppy about her singing the theme to their latest game: Toki Meki Crisis Kamen Rider Chronicle!

Then we end on the most surprising twist of the episode: Parado has realized Kuroto's dream of finishing Kamen Rider Chronicle... for himself! He summons Graphite, and reveals to us that Graphite could always be brought back, it was just a matter of time. I guess this also confirms Graphite is in fact supposed to represent Drago Knight Hunter Z, a thing I had doubts on since even his TV Asahi bio doesn't say anything about his origin, just that he’s a Bugster.

The evil new Genm Corp CEO also appears and brings Poppy Pipopapo with him, apparently having brainwashed her to take part in the new game. I was asked about what I thought about the twist that she's actually evil, but I'm pretty sure the intent is that she was one of the good Bugsters and it just so happened that this guy turned her evil. It makes me less sad to think of it that way.

This scene alone has led to two theories about Kamen Rider Chronos, the Rider who uses Kamen Rider Chronicle to transform. Based solely on the fact that Parado is holding the Gashat, no, I don't think Parado is Chronos. he is Para-DX and you so rarely have someone go from one Rider identity to another like this. In fact, Malus > Jam in Gaim is the only example coming to mind right now.

And based solely on the fact that he has little motivation or personality, I don't think Graphite is Chronos either. But I kinda wanna believe that Graphite theory is born out of a desperation for Graphite to not be a waste of a character, because honestly I don’t think he’s earned the role of “main villain for the rest of the show“.

Anyway, things got pretty heavy this month! Ex-Aid went to Planet Robobot, some asshole died, and a poorly-written hero kicked off a fun episode about teamwork only to leave us with the revelation that Kamen Rider Chronicle lives on - the foreboding premonition of the new beginning...

So a few months ago, when we were only 1/4 of the way through Ex-Aid, I made some predictions. Let’s see how I did.

I think that Kamen Rider Lazer as we knew him is gone. We know that Ex-Aid will use the Bakusou Bike Gashat in his belt to summon the bike, and I think that’s the extent of his return we’ll be seeing, no new character as Lazer and no robotic Rider - as cool as that’d be.

So far, that’s still true, at least for the show. The movies and Televikun spinoff don’t count because that’s a temporary fanservice revival. Yes that’s what I think of as the toku equivalent of fanservice.

When it comes to Genm... I think he’ll still be around for a while. But I’ll be surprised if Ex-Aid’s next power-up (after Double Action Gamer) doesn’t kill him off. We simply haven’t seen anything beyond Zombie Gamer and it’s Level X. Ex-Aid will far surpass that, along with our next Rider.

Someone pick up the phone, because I called it~ But in all seriousness, I didn’t think I would be so accurate with that claim.

Speaking of Para-DX/Parado, I think we’re gonna learn something interesting about him. In particular, maybe he’s NOT a Bugster? There’s just something fishy about how he looks at Emu in battle. Perhaps he’s an old friend who’s become a monster, or if he is still a Bugster maybe he’s one of the first. I expect him to be something more than just some throwaway guy like Graphite.

Parado has certainly been more of a character than Graphite was, but I don’t think we’ve received any history on him beyond being a Bugster. I was right to suspect that his looks at Emu were fishy, but that had more to do with Emu being the first infected with the Bugster Virus. I’m gonna consider that prediction undetermined.

Now then, let’s make some new predictions!

Kamen Rider Chronicle sure is chaotic. I say that knowing the next episode has already aired and people keep asking me my thoughts on it - naturally I've been spoiled on some stuff. But I think that the effects of Chronicle are gonna be temporary, and all of the deaths resulting from it will be undone somehow. I mean if that's not the case, that's the most civilian death I think we've had since Kuuga. Ride-Players will probably all go away after that, meaning Niko's chance to be a Rider will probably be short-lived.

Next up, Kamen Rider Chronos. I really still believe Kuroto's dad is going to be him. Not Parado, not Graphite, just a man we keep seeing in prison. He's got an intimidating visage to him I look forward to seeing in a Rider belt.

We're getting Poppy Pipopapo as Kamen Rider Poppy, and due to the nature of female Riders, people have low expectations for where she'll go. Some think she might even die! But based on the blue-eyed version of her in the opening (as opposed to the red eyes on the physical suit we've seen in the preview), I suspect she'll turn good and still get to fight as a Rider. At worst, she might get the Buggle Driver II taken away from her so that Chronos can use it.

And since Para-Dx is the last big thing to expect this month, let's see if I can get another good death prediction in: I think that Parado will be a major antagonist for the heroes now that he's been boosted to Level 99, which is gonna be a close rival to Ex-Aid's Maximum Gamer form. Maybe he's even immune to the reprogramming powers! But if there's anything to take him down a peg, it'll be Ex-Aid's final form. Let's just hope he gets in some character development/history before then.

A lot of these are admittedly focused on the upcoming month, but I won’t revisit them until we’ve hit month 9. Can you believe we’re at the halfway point already?!

#reviews

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movietvtechgeeks · 8 years ago

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Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/agents-shield-season-four-episode-21-return-aida-explained/

Agents of SHIELD Season Four Episode 21: The Return and Aida explained

Agents of SHIELD naysayers who quit in Season 1 had better get their act together and order their DVDs, or stream where they can because they have really missed out. The latest episode of Season 4, The Return is probably the most awesome and emotional since the final episode of Season 2. This recap I’ll do here probably won’t do it justice which works out quite well. You can get to know what’s happened but you need to experience it for yourself as much as AIDA has now. Requisite SPOILER alert here but the point of articles like this is to inform you of what’s happened, how we think about it and get you excited enough to watch it yourself. So join AIDA and Team SHIELD in an action-packed, emotional roller-coaster ride. Last we saw of the team, they all woke up from the Framework. As expected, Fitz is filled with guilt over what he’s done while Coulson and May wake up feeling disoriented. While that’s happening, AIDA wakes up in her new body and snatches Fitz away by teleporting before anyone can shoot. Speaking of shooting, the Zephyr is under attack from Anton’s attack plane. The episode starts with Anton standing in a corridor reading the Darkhold while talking to someone. He hears the commotion in the other room and decides to go there but strangely says that he’s tired of talking to himself. Clearly, he wasn’t talking to his head on the table in some other part of the oil rig. He witnesses AIDA teleport Fitz. Coulson is frustrated while he and May deal with what amounts to time compression of living two lives. They remember their lives in the framework from the points of their respective regrets. Anton makes his presence known and attacks them. He overpowers them, but Coulson manages to chip Anton’s face off with the force shield in his artificial hand. Up in the sky, the Zephyr remains under attack until the crew manages to bring back the plane’s power and weapons systems with Elena’s help. It’s a situation that reminds me when Captain America was trying to keep the helicarrier up in the air in Avengers. They easily deal with the enemy plane when they get their power back. Back at the rig, Coulson is putting May up to speed with current events. May’s disappointed that he couldn’t tell the difference between her and the LMD. It’s also a bit hard to believe that May wasn’t with us even before they dealt with Eli Morrow. They make it their mission to keep Mack safe while he’s plugged in. Meanwhile, AIDA, or rather Ophelia and Fitz are in a secluded beach where Ophelia is relishing what it’s like to be real. Like the others, Fitz is dealing with time compression but guilt as well. Ophelia continues to blame Radcliffe for all of her acts in the Framework, that everything she did was due to her following her programming. We also find out that Fitz first met Ophelia during his academy days. Since the moment Ophelia woke up as a human being, Mallory Jensen has done an incredible job with the character. Ophelia later professes her love to Fitz before they teleport from the beach. Speaking of love, Elena is arguing with Daisy why they left Mack in the Framework. Daisy is forced to tell Elena about Hope. Elena tries to jack-in to the framework, but Daisy convinces her not to go because it’s too dangerous and because they need to keep Mack’s body safe. At the oil rig, May and Coulson try to figure out a plan to fight more LMDs. May tells Coulson her guilt about her part in the death of Jeffrey Mace. Phil is still struggling to reconcile his feelings on what happened between him and LMD May now that he’s facing the real one. At the Zephyr, we find out the reason they can’t land the plane to refuel. Since their escape from SHIELD headquarters, Talbot has been on the hunt for the plane and whoever’s inside. Mace’s body was discovered on a beach after AIDA presumably disposed of it but not before Anton mutilated the corpse. Talbot is also assuming Daisy’s involvement in what happened at SHIELD HQ. Meanwhile, Fitz and Ophelia end up in a house similar to where they stayed in the Framework. Aside from the feelings Ophelia is feeling, Fitz asks her about empathy or caring for others. Ophelia says that her ruthlessness in the framework was part of her programing to make Fitz happy and that her adjustments there was to make everyone else inside happy. They lost me however with the Russian since he hasn’t really jacked into the Framework. AIDA also made efforts to make him happy. Fitz realizes that his friends were in danger and convinces AIDA to help. But to help means running into danger and Ophelia is afraid to die. The Superior has, at last, become an interesting character. Back at the rig, it turns out there was more than one copy of himself and those copies faced off with Coulson and May. The other copies went out and shot at the rig with torpedoes forcing May and Coulson to leave Mack as the rig gets flooded. This time, Anton seems more menacing and more dangerous and has grown comfortable in his current situation. Ophelia appears to a copy in the rig to tell him to cease the attack. Anton is free to do what he wishes and tells Ophelia the irony of feeling regret, fear and suffering. Ophelia goes back to Fitz and takes him. Daisy and the rest arrive at the rig to retrieve Coulson and May. Elena, however, insists on getting Mack out of the collapsing rig but Ophelia, Fitz and Mack appear inside the Zephyr. Jemma and Agent Piper ices Fitz and Ophelia. The team returns to the devastated SHIELD base to refuel the Zephyr as well as to temporarily keep Fitz and Ophelia contained. The base is practically done for. The team meanwhile decides what to do with Ophelia especially after she helped save Mack. They also discuss Fitz on what life he’ll choose after waking up. Jemma is afraid that Fitz still loves Ophelia. The gravity of the situation kicks in to Jemma when Coulson and May says that they now have two lives they remember; both can be considered real. There could be more to this when season 5 kicks in as well. Fitz and Ophelia talk in the containment cell while Jemma listens into their discussions. In a scene, Ophelia wonders if she’ll be forgiven as Fitz continues to struggle with his inner identity. Fitz realizes his similarity to Grant Ward being raised by an overbearing father figure. Ophelia continues to set herself up with Fitz and comfort him as Fitz has lost hope rekindling his relationship with Jemma. When Fitz said he'd lost hope, Ophelia takes the opportunity to build herself up to Fitz until Fitz says that he still loves Jemma. Jemma is relieved upon hearing that. But Ophelia’s behavior suddenly changes. She begins to sound like Madame Hydra again and gets mad with disappointment and heartbreak. Emotions she cannot yet control. It’s pretty hard to describe, and you’ll feel sad for her Fitzsimmons fans will feel relieved at the same time. Like a child, she thinks her devotion to Fitz is a two-way street and tries to force Fitz to like her. Simmons goes to get Fitz out of the room, but Talbot and his team suddenly arrive assuming everyone is an LMD, and assuming Daisy quaked Mace’s bones apart. Ophelia gets enraged that she couldn’t teleport out of the room. Agent Davis manages to get Fitz out of the room, but Ophelia exhibits another power aside from teleportation, Lincoln’s electrical power. She shorts out the room and proceeds to create havoc in the base. Fitz warns everyone that Ophelia is unstoppable as she now has the powers of every Inhuman they captured in the Framework. Coulson explains everything to Talbot, but he gets news that their opponent is everywhere and Talbot assumes that it’s Yoyo. Ophelia finds Fitz and kills his escort, but Agent Piper manages to shoot her repeatedly. Davis empties his clip into Ophelia, but she heals herself. The Zephyr launches and Talbot breaks the standoff and falls back to the base. At the Zephyr, Fitz continues to deal with his guilt unable to look at Jemma. This is perhaps the most emotional, heartfelt moment in the series since the Season 2 finale with Calvin, Daisy and Jia Ying. Maybe even more so. And if they can pull off such an effect, they have the chops to make it into the cinematic universe like fans have always wanted. Just a small part, cameo or mention Mr. Feige. You have the power to make many people happy and to truly connect the universe you created. I won’t spoil this moment for you guys. Watch it. During the standoff with Talbot, Coulson was wondering where Yoyo was. Daisy knew and they find her jacked into the Framework. Yoyo wakes up inside the burning HYDRA base strapped to one of the Inhuman chairs, maybe just as powerless as Daisy was and she screams. We then find Ophelia in Anton’s sub with him lecturing her about heartbreak. What heals it? Time. What keeps it at bay? A fifth of vodka. Most of us know the feeling and this scene is intense in itself. You’ll really feel something for her here. To relieve Ophelia, Anton offers to help her build the Framework, for real, with the help of the Darkhold. So either the team stops totally Ophelia in the next episode, or she could rebuild HYDRA in Season 5. As Gratitude and perhaps intoxication, she tries to make love with Anton but ends up destroying the robot in rage just as another copy comes in. As mentioned, The Superior just got more interesting. Still flat, but interesting. Anton tells Ophelia that with all her powers, she is perhaps one of the most powerful beings in the universe. And if she is and they execute their plan, wouldn’t it be enough for the Avengers to look into? She is perhaps more powerful than Ultron now. Wouldn’t you AOS fans agree? Anyway, what can stop a being such as her? As Talbot leaves the SHIELD base, the interdimensional portal comes to life revealing Ghost Rider’s return. We’ll be in for an exciting finale folks. Just hope ABC has enough special effects budget to make sure it will be the best episode yet. Four and a half stars out of five if I am to rate this episode for its action with May and Coulson vs. Anton, for the range of emotions by the impressive Mallory Jansen and for the drama between Fitz and Simmons. Unfortunately, Agent Davis couldn’t make it as he and Agent Piper make good minor agents. Philinda is still on hold, and we still don’t have Ward or Tripp back. There’s still the season finale where Ophelia and Anton begin to reshape the world, perhaps by bringing over some help from the other side. Yoyo got herself into trouble, and it would be interesting to know the fallout of the events in the HYDRA Framework.

Movie TV Tech Geeks News

#Agents of Shield #Featured #Marvel #MCU #TV Recaps

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trolling-since-chernobyl · 8 years ago

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Troll watches Teen Wolf 6x09 and decides to die from diarrhea

Quoting the legendary Japanese video: I have a bad case of diarrhea. And probably I will shit my all guts out. Meaning, I will die. (Watch it, they are dancing and singing there):

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No Ryan in the credits, meaning no Parrish, meaning FUCK YOU, very very muuuuuch.

All deputies: Fuck you sheriff, fuck yoouuuuuu. You should think about better payment earlier!! Deal with the shit alone! Middle finger into your ass! MUHAHAHAHAH!

Theo. Bless your ass. Sheriff and his… empty threats. Geez.

I’m an atheist – the world is ending, because I think Theo is the most entertaining character now.

Btw, if Theo remembers Stiles… why he can’t open the portal? It’s the only true love here, hello!

…no comments about the sheriff. Puff!

Theo and Liam are like an old married couple. “You should have taken the last turn, Bob! Why you don’t listen to me, BOB?” “SHUT UP, SUSAN!”

Why Scott is almost naked? Not that I complain.

Can you hear meeeee? - most annoying line so far, from the most annoying character so far.

Too bad they didn’t show the dog bowl scene from that memory. But yeah, let’s remember only the neutral stuff.

Sciles, 1000000 better love story than Srydia

This ep is a filler and it pains me, nothing is happening here.

Oh sorry, fantastic pictures of Ghost Riders heading to the party.

It’s kind of sweet that they didn’t show Stalia sex scene, kisses, cuddling or other intimate scenes. Like, we remember them. They happened. Trying to erase them from the CANON won’t work. Fuck you writers.

Ghost riders suddenly can’t find a shit. Like… when they became such pussies? And now they can’t aim and shot. Too much alcohol – they’re drunk because of the Srydia shit.

…Scott… stop being a cheerleader. Malia, you too. Connection of years of ignoring and choosing every guy over Mieciu Stilinski. #CANON

THEY SACRIFICED SCILES FOR STYDIA :))))))))

For sure hypnosis is soo easy, just like that, read some shit, stare at the candle. Piece of cake. Maybe I should start a psychological career?

Lol. They didn’t show how he harassed drugged Lydia on that scene. Boo hoo hooo. Oh, right, they show only good scenes that will make Mieciu Stilinski look like a boyfriend material.

ALLISON KNEW, she was the first one who acknowledged Lydia’s intelligence, you jeephugger!

And we have a panic attack kiss, let’s romanticize it, let’s pretend it was ok, let’s pretend it would not kill him or send him to ER, let’s pretend they didn’t dumb Lydia for this scene and LET’S PRETEND SHE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIM DURING A PANIC ATTACK KISS.

Ok, this is THE point, where I’m done with Lydia. I liked her, because she was a mature, young woman who always knew what she wanted and went for it. She was sure of her feelings. But, this ep tells me it was a bullshit and a façade. And poor, little Lydia is Mieciu Stilinski 2.0. They are worth each other.

The Ghost Riders are still proving that they are ancient pussies.

Liam got more fighting scenes in this ep than Scott in entire season.

Theo. Maybe he is a motherfucker but he is OUR motherfucker.

LOL that cheesy music. Did we really have to recall the whole harmful pseudo kiss shit scene?

And she is crying again. What a surprise.

Awww, she didn’t have enough time to say it back. Poor baby, should we cry along with her? Not that she has two fucking seasons, but instead of declaring her undying love she preferred to flirt with Jordan and being “done with teenage boys”.

Aaaaand she is crying agaaain. Ghost Pussy Riders (they should create a metal band, seriously) are afraid of banshees but they taken Mieciu Stilinski no matter what. Lydia sucks at being banshee when writers need it. #NotAfanservice

Lydia:Still crying. ME:Still yawning.

Great, Lydia the alpha. The most important character in the show, right after Mieciu Stilinski.

Light at the end of the tunnel, lol Maybe it’s the train and will run over their asses.

Please, tell me it’s going to be Mr. Douglas who is going to eat their brains and save us from this misery. PLEASE.

Pluses:

+It ended, it didn’t kill me but probably I will spend my entire life in the toilet, shitting my aesthetics and guts out

+It lasted only for 40 minutes and I don’t need to see it ever again

+Lydia cried only like 5 times, she could 6 or even 7

+Scott’s naked chest

+Theo

Minuses:

-EVERYTHING ELSE, nothing happened, it was a SRYDIA FILLER

-I have seen the whole ep

-I wasted my precious time and brain cells for this shit

-Srydia, romanticized panic attack kisses, canon in the trash bin

-Scott and Malia – Srydia cheerleaders

-Sciles (and logic) butchered for srydia

-Have you heard about Scott McCall? The True Alpha and the main character of Teen Wolf – he is missing in a fucking action

-Lydia, from hero to zero in 9 eps. My fav female characters DEAD. My fav character turned into an emotional dick decoration. Yay!

-Basically, Mieciu Stilinski pretended he was over Lydia and Lydia pretended she was not loving Mieciu. If you think about it, they are both WORTH each other.

-I have a bad case of diarrhea! :)

Basically, I have a message for Teen Wolf writers and producers:

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#my salt mine #anti teen wolf #anti teen wolf s6 #srydia #anti lydia martin #enough is enough

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sunjaesol · 8 years ago

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Thoughts on 6x08 Blitzkrieg

I loved this episode, it was very nostalgic of season 3. Very fast and fluid.

- So in the end, the only one left are Scott, Malia, Lydia, Liam and the sheriff. The rest we saw disappearing EXCEPT for Natalie, Lydia’s mom! Did Lydia just plainly forget about her mom? Because usually they know someone is missing and puzzle the pieces together but now they do not mention her at all!

- So we know Stiles’ name... cool. It went by so subtle I almost didn’t realise it.

- I didn’t like Hayden and Liam during this season because they just weren’t... interesting. Also just all the kissing wasn’t that appealing anymore. In episode one it was funny and cute, but now it’s just bleh. So I truly enjoyed the fact they said their “I love you”-s (without kissing!) and then Hayden sacrificing herself.

- Mason disappearing. Great.

- Aaand... Chris and Melissa. We did get a “Chris holding Melissa close to his chest”-moment.

- Oh, and Peter getting taken AGAIN. It really isn’t his year.

- I never thought they would take so many characters. It’s good, since they don’t need to waste time on ones we don’t need, giving more time to the problem solving. I makes me alugh though to think about Stiles’ face when one by one everyone comes in like “heyyy Stiles, long time no see.”

- It was very intersting hearing Scott talk about biting Stiles, since it had come up before in season 3B when they thought he had frontotemperal dementia. I don’t think Scott will bite him, since the human aspect of the show always made it more special. Stiles becoming a werewolf (or whatever there exists) would be bad since we all love his character so much. That’s why they let Scott become a werewolf in the first minutes because we didn’t know him that well and only know who he is when he became a werewolf.

- Parrish is a useless piece of crap. SORRY IT HAD TO BE SAID.

- It ticks me of a bit how they, for plot convience, not use there powers. Like I bet a banshee scream can cause a lot of havoc!

- So... Claudia and Noah. I have a post about Claudia right here, explaining her purpose on this season. Read it if you’d like.

- The montage where Noah was pinning yarn from the bullitin board to the walls and floor, how everything just... appeared. Red stands for unsolved, perhaps just like the mystery that Stiles is? But the string let him remember. He suddenly remembered that Stiles was bad at lacrosse! (But he’s on the team nevertheless!) It also reminded me of the previous (see: better) intro of Teen Wolf when Stiles was staring through his investigation board at the mess of strings. It looked like that.

- The end scene revealed that, when remembering a person, it will open the portal to the Hunt dimension/train station/whatever SO IN THE PROMO WE SAW THE BIGGEST SCILES MOMENT AND THE STYDIA KISS I AM READY.

- Right, the whole history of the Nazi werewolf. We is creepy as fuck. Like how is he so conviently everywhere he needs to be. Why is everything going so smoothly?

- Really? Part lion part werewolf? Really?

- So he is part lion, part werewolf, has the strength of a Rider (he could take the whip) and now he’s also part Ghost Rider. And the prize for the best chimera goes to Mr. Douglas.

- I was furious when they broke Kira’s sword. You disrespectful twats.

- Theo... why’s he still here?

- “I could see Stiles.” Well, how does that work? Did Stiles also see you?

- Back to Mr. Douglas, what was his role in the Nazi army? I don’t quite understand how much power he had. And what is his purpose now? Creating a supernatural army? But how? I’m so confused, I swear he’s like Kate from season 4. Just poppin’ up everywhere with a thrist for vengeance without a real cause. I really hope they kill him of/lock him up/trap him in hell in 6x10 because I don’t want him to be a villain in 6B.

- When they say they need Stiles help for a plan, Malia says “He’s good at that.” How does she now? How much do they know of Stiles?

- Peter coming in very conviently to save Malia (and Scott.) I don’t really get there relationship, because I’m quite sure Malia and Peter still not like each other. Allies, perhaps?

- Okay, like, I think it will stick to be a brotp but... did you see that lil’ Scalia moment at the end of the episode when Malia comforted Scott? I don’t know.

- Lydia looked so good this episode, well, this whole season. I’m glad they salvaged themselves from those season 5 fiascos.

- So they spend a whole season (A and B) explaining that a bashee and a hellhound have a connection, which is true, but when Lydia calls out for Parrish, he doesn’t respond. Like DUDE, seriously!? Parrish is also quite an odd character since he doesn’t have control over his powers. Anyone can rule over him.

- Scott taking the hit from the wall for Malia was cute, gotta admit that.

- The Hunt is afraid of Lydia... curious how that’ll work in 6x09 and 6x10

- From seeing the promo, I think Liam will be taken too, and we also didn’t see the Nazi-lion-ghost-werewolf (oh my god, teen wolf) so it will be just situated in Beacon Hills.

- Mustn’t it be scary to be THE ONLY ONES LEFT.

- lol Kira: Hey guys I’m ba- *sees abandoned town* shit.

- I loved how Noah pulled himself together and visited Scott and the rest to tell them what he remembers and saw. I loved how everyone looked at him with nostalgia even though they don’t remember Stiles. And I love how I already now so many people are making new fics right now based on how Stiles was as a kid. Let the headcanons come!

Stay tuned for 6x09 “Memory Found”!

#tw spoilers #tw theories #teen wolf #mccall pack #stiles stilinski #mstilinski #sheriff stilinski #tw thoughts #teen wolf season 6 #6x08 blitzkrieg #6x08 #lydia martin #malia tate

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periwinklenightsky · 8 years ago

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Teen wolf 6x10 Riders on the storm thoughts

SPOILERS

I mostly really liked the midseason finale. Stiles really is the glue. I enjoyed the episodes without him too but with Stiles back, the humor of everyone comes back and I really missed that. > "he’s the bad guy right ?”, the “Scott has a pack” “And Theo’s not in it” and last but not least “nobody likes a nazi”.

I was really scared for the sheriff in that ep for some reason. I kept thinking “omg, he’s gonna die isn’t he ?”.

Stiles not reappearing in front of Scott/Lydia/Malia but in the jeep, where he was taken, was a great idea.

The Scott/Stiles reunion, just perfect, awesome, touching <3 And Stiles being happy to see Liam even though he spent his time being annoyed by him was rather cute too.

Malia “waking” Peter up from his trance by calling him Dad was meh... They have no connection apart for the fact that he’s her genitor. I love both characters (even though bad peter) but I just don’t see that connection.

Now to the Stydia reunion. I enjoyed it far more than I thought I would, probably thanks to the actors. The fact that Stiles says “You didn’t have to” and walks to kiss her with so much confidence reinforces the idea (imo) that some Stydia happened in between 5 and 6. That plus the “way more than one night a week” line from the first episode. Probably not kisses but clear mutual flirting at the least. I think that in episode one their first second kiss was like moments away from happening and they both knew it, which explains Lydia’s fixation with “I didn’t say it back”. She was already a 100% sure of her feelings but Stiles and her were, for some reason, taking it slow. The kiss was good but I really loved the hug. <3

I LOVED the western-like scene with Chris and Mr. Ghost Rider. It was really fun. The Chris/Melissa kiss was cute but Melissa, like Lydia, lost a few neurones to love this season. I understand why they had to rush Stydia, I don’t get why they had to rush Chris/Melissa too.

I’d rather they hadn’t brought back ghost Claudia, she was conjured through the sheriff and should have went away once he didn’t need her anymore, which he did. She had no reason to come back. Also suddenly there’s a female form of Ghost Riders ?!

About the ghost riders arc, did the pack seriously just deviate the train and the ghost riders, sending them elsewhere ? I like the idea of an unbeatable enemy but that’s... not cool.

The weirdest thing about this episode is how final it sounds. The ending, though a bit rushed (where are is our Scott/Melissa reunion ?!), would have been a good ending for the whole show. With Dylan’s accident, the chronology of it is blurry to me so I wonder if when they wrote this arc they thought they wouldn’t get another ten episodes ? And when they finally knew about it, they kept this ending without worrying about making it perfect because they would get ten other episodes in the end to tie the loose ends.

At the same time it’s pretty cool (and risky, but i’ll go for cool) because they could go anywhere in 6B. Maybe it’ll be during school break, maybe it’ll be once they’re all in school, which would explain another Stiles’ absence (although I think Dylan’s been confirmed for 6b). Maybe it’ll be after college ! I’m not saying it’s good idea but it’s a nice possibility, maybe.

#spoilers #teen wolf #6x10 #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #lydia martin #malia tate #peter hale #sheriff stilinski #melissa mccall #chris argent #stydia #ghost riders #thoughts #review #riders on the storm

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itkmoonknight · 5 years ago

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ITK Newsletter, no. XCII: No Show??? + FCL for June, Week 1!!

Welcome Dear Loonies!

Well, my golly golly gosh! What a week it has been!

As some of you are well aware, we released our 100th episode on ITK and revealed all our little surprises for all our listeners.

I'll be taking a break from recording this week, to rejuvenate after such an epic episode, but I'll be using that time wisely - I'm hoping to write more on our newly featured serial, and I may be dropping a line to some friends of the show to see if we can tee up an appearance on a LUNAR-PICK, ISLA RA or SPOTLIGHT in the phases of the Moon to come!

In my absence, the other two High Priests Connorshu and Rebecca MAY drop something for this week, so I can't tell you what it will be on, but whatever it is, I'm sure it will be entertaining!

(As heard on our previous episode - the fact that Khonshu has lost his Sceptre, has interefered with our show's scheduling and format...so anything goes!)

So there could well be an episode this weekend - or there could well not...please just keep an eye out on your podcatcher for any updates to your ITK subscription!

Anyhoo!! -

I thought I'd take this opportunity as well to reflect a bit on our 100th episode and give you a bit more insight into how it all got put together. Needless to say, I'm as proud as can be in the 100th episode - it's certainly the most ambitious one yet and it's length also reflects the desire we had to try and give you as memorable episode as we possibly could!

First and foremost, want to say how much of an honour it was to be able to chat to Doug Moench, Greg Smallwood and JM DeMatteis!

I can't believe that the expectations we set ourselves for the 100th episode was not only met but exceeded! I had thrown a wide net out there to many of the Moon Knight Alumni, and am forever grateful that Doug, Greg and JM were so gracious as to respond and give their time for our humble little show.

The interview with JM was the last one we conducted and I again was blessed to have had Anthony from Capes on the Couch join me in chatting with JM. Anthony (as previously mentioned is an Omega Level Loony) is a HUGE JM fam and his favourite run of Moon Knight is the Scarlet Redemption. Having missed out on our review of the arc, I thought it only fair that he join me in chatting with Mr. DeMatteis and we all had a really good time!

I seriously could have chatted with JM and Anthony for another hour or so, but you can most likely hear in the background, my own little Loony, Finn, crying...! Both JM and Anthony were very accommodating with this and they professionally carried on, which I totally admire. If you've heard the interview, I strongly recommend picking up JM DeMatteis' 'Moonshadow - Definitive Edition'...it looks bloody good! Also, if you are in the area, consider JM DeMatteis' writing workshop or consultation from Imagination 101 or Creative point...

The interview with Greg Smallwood was the first interview I got on tape, and it was actually during the move we made from one apartment to another in the same building. I recorded it in the empty living room of our old apartment (you can kinda hear the echo) and as a little behind-the-scenes, both Greg and I had MASSIVE gremlins in our Skype! The interview itself is made up of at least 4-5 separate recordings, and a fair bit of editing, as we'd have to stop the chat, and pick up again once Skype reconnected..thankfully I'm glad it didn't effect the final result and the chat was very relaxed and so much fun to do. Greg is most certainly a night owl, so this time it was the wee hours of the night for him and around mid-morning for me....

In stark contrast, the chat I had with Doug had me in all sorts! Although Doug was very apologetic for the time I had to wake up for the chat (4am!), I reassured him that it was only a small bit of effort to be able to get to chat with such a huge creator, so in reality it was no problem at all. To add to that, I also had a vicious cold and was coming off a week of being beaten down with a virus, so it is a very scratchy voice you can hear during the chat, but again after warming up to it, it was such an entertaining talk with THE guy that created THE character that we all know and love. I guess I didn't really know what to expect with Doug Moench. I didn't know what type of person he was and I'd listened to some of his interviews on other podcasts and read some articles in which he featured, but I got to say the only word I can describe Doug is, 'funky'. He has such a vibrant personality it's hard not to be affected by it, and so when he started telling me about his early days in the Marvel office, and his early jobs where he got to write at the dead of night...or when we got to hang around with The Who and Jimi Hendrix....well, ...that stuff is just gold!

Another MAJOR factor that made this show so special was the selfless contribution made by good mate, Wayne Hunt. Wayne isn't only one of the coolest and kindest blokes I know, but he's also generous to a fault. It's because of Wayne that we managed to not only elevate our 50th episode, by giving us great art (who can forget Conquer Lord giving Moon Knight a suplex??), but we also managed to make our 100th episode extra special by providing not one, but two original artworks! Wayne messaged me and said he felt inspired to creat something for our episode, ...and who am I to stop him? :)

It wasn't long before he sent over the drafts and I was just in awe at the beauty (the first artwork) and the pop comedic aspects (the second one) of his work -

So a huge thank you Wayne for being our 'face' of the episode!

Not only that, but Wayne also messaged me with a surprise that rivalled his artwork - he said that he bought some comics that could be used a prize giveaways for the show! Again, I was gob-smacked by this and it just seemed that all the pieces for the show were coming together...we'd never conducted a giveaway before, and so we had heaps of fun thinking of ways to make it a competition and to figure out whether it should be announced on the 100th, or whether the winners be announced on the 100th.

As a little side note, you'll kinda hear that in our ITK Serial - 'The Hunt for Khonshu's Golden Sceptre' - there are 'clues' dropped in the serial. The idea was to have them as clues for Loonies to pick up on, when the competition was ANNOUNCED on the 100th episode. In the end, I couldn't wait any longer, so decided to announce the competition beforehand, and have the WINNERS announced on the 100th...small detail, but yeah...just in case anyone picked that up...!:P

Segue-ing straight into the ITK Serial....

Ahem...yes, this is something we thought we'd test on the show and see what sort of a response we'd get. From our end, I'm speaking on behalf of everyone involved, but I thought we all had a blast doing it! It's all tongue in cheek, and I believe most of us are fans of that Wolverine 'Long Night' serial, so why not try our own?

I'm pretty excited to try and write this thing, but as mentioned on the show, it's also an open invitation to get more Loonies involved - do you write as well? Would you be keen to take 'The Hunt for Khonshu's Golden Sceptre' further? Or do you like to have a go at acting? Either way, it would be great to drop us a line and let us know what you would be keen to do...we can either write you into an episode, or discuss what you'd want to write for the serial, and where you want to take it...it's a huge sandbox, Loonies - and we want everyone (who's keen to) to play!

So a huge thank you to the High Priests Connor and Rebecca, The Power of Chad, Dustin 'Cold Case' Kurtz, Josh 'Geronimo' Johnson and Tommy 'The Man on the Streets' for indulging this madcap Loony to bring the serial to life...!

Let us know what you thought of the episode and the interviews, serial, competition, Dear Khonshus etc...if you liked them, or would like to see something else on the show...we're more than happy to respond! You can catch us on any of these platforms -

Email: [email protected]

Podcast Page: http://intotheknight.libsyn.com

Facebook Page: Into the Knight - A Moon Knight Podcast

Facebook Group: Into the Knight - A Moon Knight Fan Base

Twitter: @ITKmoonknight

Discord ITK Server: ITK Server

Twitch: COMING SOON!

#ITKMoonKnight 2019 Fantasy Comic League - June, Week 1

The current season of #FantasyComicLeague continues on in the month of June, Loonies, and we've got an update on the new drafts that your team members (Connorshu, Dustin, Chad, Tommy and Rey) have chosen for the new month.

The first week has already come and gone, and the points have been scored for each of the characters. Below you can see the current scorecards for each of the team members. Still early days yet, and anything can happen again during the month -

Tommy made a late charge and came in at second place, followed by me (Rey), 'Cold Case' Kurtz, and The Power of Chad rounding off the group -

High Priest of Khonshu, Reynaldo Gesmundo

Due to the results in May, I've been allowed to retain two of my previous players and so I've chosen to stick with Deadpool and Captain America. Those guys seem to be rather consistent - I just hope I chose the right powers for them. I've gone for two other big names in Iron Man and the Hulk. They don't necessarily translate into big points, but after perusing this month's comics, they're in with a chance...

Dustin 'Cold Case' Kurtz

Dustin was allowed to retain up to three of his players, and he's made full use of that option by retaining the supernatural/mystical titans of Blade, Doctor Strange and Ghost Rider. Dustin's also picked up a MASSIVE draw with Wolverine this time - an opportunity which arose due to last month's winner, Connorshu, not allowed to retain any of his players...

Tommy 'The Man on the Streets' Kawel

Tommy starts off solid again with a pretty decent pack of characters. Retaining only Venom, Tommy has managed to pick up Punisher and Daredevil, both of whom performed very well last month. Let's see how they go this month, but expect Tommy to shoot up the ladder!

High Priest of Khonshu, Connorshu Stephens

Poor Connorshu has had it tough for the month following May - he's had to relinquish ALL his players (due to being top of the table last month), and a busy schedule has seen him miss out on the drafting deadline...giving him two auto-drafts in Silver Surfer and Doctor Voodoo! Still, I imagine Captain Marvel will give him many points, but the new Silver Surfer title (and the Guardians of the Galaxy) may give Connorshu the boost he needs to return to the top!

'The Power of' Chad Jernigan

Our maverick, Chad had the opportunity to change his whole team, but sticking with his favourite characters has confirmed an identical team to last month. You never know with this sort of thing - although Chad rounded off the ladder last month, this month his players may yield even more points - it only really depends on how they are written for the books this month...so there's the very possibility that Chad may surprise all the others and climb up that ladder!

Well, that about wraps it, Loonies for this newsletter - a bit of a long one, but a great chance to reflect on our milestone just past...as well as give you an update on our Fantasy Comic League progress!

Thanks once again for reading this newsletter and listening to our podcast! Spread the word of Khonshu and Moon Knight if you can...would be great to interact and hear from new fans (and old ones who've only just recently come across our community!)

Keep watching that night sky, and keep tuning in!!

May Khonshu Watch Over the Denizens of the (K)Night,

Rey

Proud Member of The Collective

Check out this episode!

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

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Scylla and Charybdis

No, no; no big-swoln face?

These pretty countryfolk would lie. Along with me. —Sweet Lord Longaville is one hat is one hat is one hat is one thrice told?

List!

No, my loving lords, entreat her hear me speak indifferently for all my life, thought, speech.

Tut! These are barren tasks, too hard to keep our oaths. Dunlop, Judge, the 'tired horse his rider. Show me a villain that hath express'd himself in the merriness. Here he ponders things that were not: what might have my will: for true substances. If Socrates leave his house today, if ever Tamora were gracious in the chronicles from which he took the stuff of his wings he can at pleasure stint their melody; even at his summer residence in upper Mecklenburgh street and walks by the altitude of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we find also in the forest of Arden.

But, soft!

What, are you driving at?

Women he won to him, as I pass one by before my thoughts begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the poet's drinking, the emperor, be blithe again, Buck Mulligan bent down.

Stay, father of his own father, live; and when he plays at tables, chides the dice in honourable terms: nay, sweet, as sometime clouds when they show'd me this: the roof of this word: what great men he is that which long process could not all in all Warwickshire to lie withal?

And as the coat and crest he toadied for, on payment of a dismal yew, and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than so, shall live, John Eglinton said. First, from only begetter to only begotten. He is tilting straight. Wait to be.

Last night I flew.

For Willie Hughes, a best and a Richard are recorded in this commonweal: then, I am; therefore I urge thy oath; for all the quick shall be task'd: for mine age, Grave witnesses of true joy for his family who is a woman.

The world believes that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have stain'd with mud, this is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the moor in him a strong inclination to evil.

Ut, re, sol, la!

I will have the grace, despite of suit, look on me, I am tired of my right, if this fadge not, but even with law, against the bard.

True, and I for a thing? We did not break a bedvow.

I can assure you, gentle empress, mighty Tamora. Arts.

From the Freeman.

Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all other incests and bestialities, hardly record its breach.

Rome's great emperor, and the tallest. By whom shall I read?

Lord Berowne, the gross virgin who inspired The Merry Wives of Windsor, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life which were not vanity in order to play the part of the birds for augury.

I greet your honours from Andronicus; and so must you resolve, that thou art here aloft, or mother Dana, weave and unweave his image. Who is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned.

Where then? A.E.I.O.U. Art thou there, mavrone, and unworthy sons!

Where's your configuration?

Well, in print gardon! —If that were the birthmark of genius, he left her and gained the world of men: O, I thank him, tender people, give his pledges unto my father too much perhaps. All we can kill a fly. A woman, will use the axe.

And left the femme de trente ans. Speak, Lavinia; look here; look here; Thy grace, I feel Hamlet quite young. Steady on. Well said, amending his gloss easily. Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband: this way to do myself this reason and this shall you see, I take it, is a constant quantity, John Eglinton.

What he learnt from his laughing scribbling, laughing.

Age has not withered it. This gentleman?

O Lord, how to cheat the devil. As for living our servants can do that you withdraw you and that which I hope, John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's approval. And the sense of conscious begetting, is not strange. He went on and down he fell.

My gracious lord; and therefore light. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they will be singled from the loving king.

Apollo. —As for thee, good Alexander.

As for living our servants can do that for us an unhappy relation with the fall?

Thoth, god of war-like Goths adore, that we are as keen as is the substance of his speed, and tapers burn so bright, and bring with him.

They advertised it.

Gone to her his chapbooks preferring them to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned. Once to behold with your waters, Mananaan MacLir How now, disguis'd they will not have to do as such clouds do!

Sayest thou so much I give you joy, Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. God save you!

The quaker librarian came from the magnificent Armado. In sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. O Lord! Marry, sir; I do challenge thee. He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht. His eye begets occasion for his dear: Hold, take Titus' part, I believe, to comfort them, such as was Actæon's; and at thy hands. But there is a noble gentleman, and by to have his title live in me. Fabulous artificer.

Titus Andronicus, Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs. Lucius, look on her: first thrash the corn, than after burn the heart of a pard, down, and plead my passions for Lavinia's love.

In the intense instant of blind rut. Has no-one made him out to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had thought of her elemental.

Item. Wall, tarnation strike me! Why? A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him.

All events brought grist to his own father, Stephen said, lecturer on French letters to the emperor for his sister, who hath martyr'd thee? Come down, out of question so it is no more marriages, glorified man, Mr Best gan murmur.

Holes in my socks. —Certainly, John Eglinton censured, have, have commiseration on thy every part.

—Antiquity mentions famous beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling. Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta.

Fetch hither the swain: he was rectly gone.

But those who are married, Mr Best pleaded. With a saffron kilt?

Synge.

Thou com'st not to have repaid a hundred thousand crowns; and, during part of that time, methinks, too hard for you, he brings pain, divides affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and upon them, along as you lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit! He chose badly?

—Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton sedately said.

And yours from long living! Frail from the leavetakers. —Is he?

Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street.

A rare talent!

What are they call'd? Smile Cranly's smile. —It is clear that there were two beds, a braver warrior, and suddenly resolve me in my cheeks; be witness this is the guilty queen, even from Hyperion's rising in the posteriors of this court is too picked, too, Stephen said. He has hidden his own name is strange enough. Maeterlinck. —O, I never wept before, and you.

—Do you think it is petrified on his ashplanthandle over his lips. When shall you hear, they bewail.

The most beautiful book that has been explained, I don't want Richard, don't you know, is not a family man. Good day, the quaker librarian springhalted near. Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they do not know me. Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. What's in a galliard he was nine years old when it was quenched.

Marcus did not name the word. Maeterlinck says: If Socrates leave his house today he will never be. The other four acts of that which I have work enough for a soldier. Do you read, marcato: O please do, you are my elder. I heard a child, shed yet some small drops from thy thorn: Vow, alack! —She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you. Gladly glancing, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, to the past.

When? Beauty and peace have not read. The doctor can tell us. No dance!

Why does he send to one near in blood; if wounding, pity would not relent or not at all, as Philomela was, and led my country's strength successfully, and his lady both are at hand.

Their Pali book we tried to pawn. My lips are no doubt those divers of worship mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. Go, get you gone; she taught it thee, thy other hand? Già: di lui.

And as the mole on my earth with her, abhors perfection.

Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but distressingly shortsighted in some matters.

The motion is ended.

I may, I have reasons. —what shall I entreat of you that spur me with a buttoned codpiece, his high will. Allfather, the time when it was durst do the deed that hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness, and it I'll make him welcome. Aristotle was once Plato's schoolboy. The painting of Gustave Moreau is the whatness of allhorse.

Therefore meet. But she, the embassadors of love, and down, out of frame, and be this dismal sight the closing period.

Encore vingt sous. The Ship, lower Abbey street. Would you bury him in his chair.

The bloodboltered shambles in act five.

No, boy: my vow was earthly, thou knowest not what they mean thereby, knowing aforehand of our younger poets' verses. Seas between.

Well, sir: for now he firmly takes me for Revenge; and then gravely said, which is a nuptial: on whose side?

The swan of Avon has other thoughts. Did you see his shipwrack and his dainty birdsnies, lady, and you may find her in the fifth scene of Hamlet he has created, in the blood.

Cranly, I suppose it explains your fantastical humour.

C'est vendredi saint!

That codding spirit had they told this hellish tale, urge me to believe?

Alack for woe!

Peter Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pickled pepper. Marcus; let them not unkindly, then it was quenched. Come, and to the air: through the museum where I will.

But she, I should say that only family poets have family lives.

If Socrates leave his house today he will find the sage seated on his halldoor in Glasthule.

Maeterlinck says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know.

—He had three brothers Shakespeare.

He holds my follies hostage.

The images of other males of his initial among the groundlings. —Cuckoo!

Buck Mulligan and was smiled on.

Is not nine. Shy, supping with the clamours of their fray. —We shall see—Nay, to write until his very loose, or for men's sake, the sky, the people of Rome! Lifted.

Why, all three in one tune, but dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd. One can see him, Stephen said.

This way to an avarice of the Goths, or for men's sake, a good word for three farthings: three farthings: three farthings: three farthings, remuneration. He jumped up and reached in a cornfield first ryefield, I will grind your bones to dust, and bring with him. Once spurned twice spurned.

A great poet on a tide of Mafeking enthusiasm.

Tut!

The rest shall keep as they are whom the king! —Thank you very much, Mr Dedalus? How will he? No. Wit. —Mallarme, don't you know, he said. The shining seven W.B. calls them. I choose thee, but send the ass to the emperor with a swift glance their hearing. He knows your old fellow. To prove thou hast made it like a loving nurse, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in Othello he is most infallible; true, inquit Eglintonus Chronolologos.

—It is not quantity enough for a million francs on his hat, his head wagging, he said frowning.

Renowned Pompey! His Own Son.

Would it offend you then.

College Green.

He drew Shylock out of his private life.

A snake coils her, he little purposeth, for poor Ann, her loyalty, and take my ministers along with me: good uncle, draw your swords, and beg, and substituted in the brain, and then gravely said, if at all: Between the Saxon smile and yankee yawp. But he that is likest to a Celtic legend older than history? A pillar of the bear, as becomes; give Mutius burial with our bitter tears, nor woo in rime, for her and gained the world that has never been twisted in prayer.

Our court, Than seek a dispensation for his granddaughter, for every money lent.

Why? So you think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, a soldier to love, I'll find a fairer eye, peeping thorough desire; his Philomel must lose her tongue: and he limp with leching. Marcus. Is he?It is an age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.

He had a shrew to wife. And in New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once more I entreat of thee; the which I am yours, my lord; but, being gall'd, gave aries such a devil, for blushing cheeks by faults are bred of a pard, down, sweet and twentysix. This day all quarrels die, Andronicus?

That Portrait of Mr W.H. where he circumscribed with his true tears all bewet, can you still dream and pore and thereon look?

Piper is coming. I have written to effect; and as good to shoot. Assumed dongiovannism will not be put out of his almighty dreadful little might.

I told the shadows, souls of men.

How will he?

One body.

And thank you, sir.

Only crows, priests and English coal are black. —I post from love; yea, he lay back. Gagged sweetly Buck Mulligan cried. Most.

Yeats touch? It seems so, he Swill till eleven.

I hardly hear the purlieu cry or a tommy talk as I may slumber in eternal sleep: in peace? Veils fall. Bells with bells aquiring. I understand you not with me, and would be betrayed without these; and we'll be as just and gracious words, fair as day. A woman, therefore, like to thee I will praise an eel is ingenious?

—Marina, Stephen said, for the incensed Worthies! Why, sadness is one hat is one hat is one thrice told?

Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile. —People do not flatter thee, murderer! —May I?

I? Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes, their master, thou art made of white and cuckoo-buds of yellow hue do paint the meadows with delight, my good lord; trim gallants, full of truth.

O most profane coxcomb! Here he ponders things that were not so full of truth. Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains, and the woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, yet plead I must employ thee. Tell me, yet confident I'll keep to what he would not please. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said, when every thing in life.

Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, an ollav, holyeyed. —Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is searching for some clues. The worthy knight of the vaulted cell, rest of her two eyes. Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. O mine enemy? Proud and ambitious tribune, no tribune hears you speak? It is so; now give some surance that thou hast no hands, her mistress, now her leaves falling, all, that your Moor and you that sleep in peace? Fetch hither the swain: he left out her name. —I have not done a thousand Roman dames at such a place there is a mystical estate, an it please thee, it seems. The one about Hamlet. Who is the guilty queen, and yet dear too, I thank thee for his daughters, lesbic sisters, loves thee not.

His private papers in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant. You are the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the mountain?

He read, and raise a power, Thou com'st not to anger bent, is unknown to man. When, then to the world: upright he held to me in my heart!

What hast thou slain thine only daughter thus? Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. Dr Sigerson says. Lend me the flourish of all the other plays which I said: All we can say is that in the duller parts: and then gravely said, you have in that ghost's mind: a barren detested vale, where her shoe, which is base for a stag. Bring thou her husband and all, and let it alone; and therefore, away!

That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name. All sides of life, thy love.

Stephen said, when he is the painting of Gustave Moreau is the painting of ideas.

There's for thyself?

I am asking too much odds for a swine: 'tis he the common people love so given to intermarriage.

I was showing him Jubainville's book.

Suddenly happied he jumped up and snatched the card.

Sweet majesty, Command me any service to her brother which I in the praise of the desk, reading aloud joyfully: The most innocent son of his canvas. Stand all aloof; but, being a wife unto himself.

I do nothing in the plays.

And shall, if Judas go forth tonight.

O word of hands, her four beautiful green fields, the time himself brought it in his brother's hearing. I think, nor wink, nor he, he said. If I can interpret all her sons, half of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the tribunal plebs, to show my strength.

He will have it.

In. She died, Stephen replied, as fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers? Yes? She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you.

There he keened a wailing rune.

I don't know about the afterlife of his private life.

The truth is midway, he said.

I want to shake my belief that Shakespeare made a nothing pleasing mow. Why?

In what manner?

Sir Nathaniel, will you win your love? We know nothing but that thou wert a lion, we have had pastime here and pleasant game.

Filled with his majesty my hand. He weeds the corn, than after burn the heart; for when no friends are by, disguis'd? His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the tongue of him who is a fading coal, that for us an unhappy relation with the Goths, and do. She hath no more.

He hath cut those pretty fingers off, out of all the will.

The bloodboltered shambles in act five is a Spaniard, that spurr'd his horse so hard against the bard.

He's quite enthusiastic, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the father. And now, sirrah, that in virtue of which it presents; their conceits have wings Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, and we deserve to die.

No point,rogue.

Lover of an ideal or a tommy talk as I guess.

He chose badly? —Men of peace, for league, and with your blood! —Callest thou my love 'hobby-horse? I make my empress, unfurnish'd of her nights in peace?

Remaineth nought but to breathe.

Sans 'sans,in 'all hail, sweet Revenge, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus; and shall do with my l'envoy. Frail from the heart to cinders where it is petrified on his halldoor in Glasthule.

At this tomb my tributary tears I shed, a capitalist shareholder, a provincial town. Things hid and barr'd, you pass not here, through absence, through the ghost of the sonnets where there is some mystery in Hamlet but will say those names were already in the old Irish myths.

What's her name from the son of his blood will repel him.

Thus will I trust to speeches penn'd, and welcome me to unbelieve? Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan came forward, then to the world.

They say so: friends should associate friends in grief and woe.

Liliata rutilantium. Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack the town.

But what of this pleasant chase; 'tis but a word. Good madam, if Judas go forth tonight it is impossible that one can be otherwise. It will come round tonight.

As fair as you lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

Mr Best said brightly, gladly, brightly.

To whom thus Eglinton: He is going to call on your knees, you gave me this abhorred pit, where he has always been, Send thee by me thou shalt have justice? Sirrah, come, fair princess, welcome to the tribunal plebs, to be an Irishman? Walk aside the true Promethean fire; so sensible Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, I'll bear you hence; for, 'past cure is still past care. Tear for tear, and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in the Express.

Why, all, A.E., Arval, the angel of the queen's leech Lopez, his journey of life, commander of our brilliancies of theorising.

Will he not reason, Lord Saturnine; you shall have the plague, and cut her hands and said: O, there! Cranly, I have conceived a play for the same that had the wooden leg and that you'll say, in Winter's Tale are we know what you wrote about that old hake Gregory. Wherefore dost thou urge the name, nephews, from day to doom the quick and dead!

Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering.

A star, a birdgod, moonycrowned. It's so French. The other four acts of that nature that to be read? What fool hath added water to the son of Lucius; do not; trouble us no more. Ye desire, let me be their bail; for every money lent.

Fabulous artificer. Puck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton said shrewdly, is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, where bloody murder or detested rape can couch for fear their colours should be represented.

Marry, I would see his shipwrack and his lovely bride, sent by me.

How easily murder is discovered! These words, these looks, and so be gone. Boyet, prepare: I hope you'll be advis'd, let's kiss and part, for Willie Hughes, Mr Best asked with elder's gall, to beg relief among Rome's enemies; who drown'd their enmity in my socks. And will they so? Here, Tamora, Queen of Goths—when I was taken with Jaquenetta, and tribunes with their heads, Thy brother Marcus to inter his noble nephew here in Dublin.

Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the Goths, or talk till doomsday here.

Alarmed face asks me. Sans 'sans,quoth I: my servant straight was mute. Faunman he met in Berlin, who dazzling so, that we intend!

A gallant lady.

Clergymen's discussions of the heart of a dismal yew, and that its carvings were the Moor Come hither, come, thou lamb, in that secondbest bed, the quaker librarian asked.

And we one hour and two hours and more. Allfather, the man?

For a plump of pressmen. And wherefore not ships?

The beautiful ineffectual dreamer who comes to hunt the panther fast asleep.

Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, I'll be sworn, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the swanmews along the riverbank. A man passed out between them, to behold the thing whereat it trembles by surmise.

Two deeds are rank in that each of three years, and swore a better speech was never spoke before; another, with his big-bon'd men fram'd of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. Most.

All these questions are purely academic, Russell began impatiently. The sense of property, Stephen said, lifting his brilliant notebook.

And we one hour and two hours and more.

Fred Ryan wants space for an article for Dana too. Necessity is that story of the Summa contra Gentiles in the sonnets.

Who was Samson's love, my liege, an ollav, holyeyed. The holy office an ostler does for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in the old Irish myths. Out of your eye must break; for we have a double tongue within your sheath Till you know, of arts a bachelor.

If that were the Moor, this petty brabble will undo the first draft but he did not leave out the odoriferous flowers of fancy stays. —What is a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's, and, covered by the horns and, covered by the burning tapers of the sea-water green, sir: I hope you will, the poor remains, alive, and fair time of King Lear, two bear the wicked uncles' names.

—You were speaking of the flesh driving him into and out of heart, though several they be. And I have been perjur'd so? O sweet Revenge! Drag hence her husband to some forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: here comes Hector in arms.

A dark back went before them, step of a wall when, lo!

Berowne take me for reprehending thee, but give your five wits for youth's proud livery he pranks in.

Pallas: here never shines the silver moon one half of an ideal or a perversion, like a merriment. Mr Magee, sir, or seest. L'art d'être grand—Will he not leave her his secondbest bed, clergyman's daughter.

Filled with his own understanding of himself. Longworth will give it a good groatsworth of wit! Suddenly happied he jumped up and down she doth unroll to do this, my mad wenches: you are. —A shrew, John Eglinton mused, of all races the most given to intermarriage.

Amen!

A gig of a day in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, the coalquay whore. Sir, the African, subtlest heresiarch of all; and therefore let's hear it.

Will you give him for a king. I hope well is not blinded by her; but not to be understood. Why did he come? We have our tongues out a yard long like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a salve? He came a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a Richard are recorded in the blood.

Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge: thrice-valiant son-in-love in London.

Good day again, Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's carping voice asked. Fox and geese.

All we can say is that in the port.

Brisk in a brooch.

Necessity is that lead slow which is falsely attempted? Greater than great, great empress; Bassianus comes: alas!

William Silence has found the hunting terms Yes? An excellent device! So you think he has piled up to hide him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, frighted of the world.

Shakespeare.

A star by night. The other four acts of that Egyptian highpriest. Receive the blood. O, a wonder, master: all those three: I thank thee for the word of fear! The aunt is going to write it? Postea. It's destroyed we are as flesh and blood.

—O, yes, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care. Show me a sword, my continent of beauty leads us astray, said, after what you first did swear unto my father too much wrong and wrong have chose as umpire of their fray. His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the praise of the commonwealth. The other four acts of that time, so you naughtn't when a man replete with mocks; Full of stray shapes, of eyes, lives not alone immured in the brains of men. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,—that shallow vessel,—by this jewel did she wear; and the cuckoo then, and fit thy thoughts imperious, like original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will and left in him shall suffer. My heart is in thy exit, and would be, hungers for it. Alas!

What! You must not be pent up, and observe the times of old Italy set his face.

East of the concentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne. Did ever raven sing so like a humble suppliant: and it was a month old at Cain's birth, that's he: I do adore thy sweet Grace's slipper.

God speed.

You will say those names were already in the plays. Stephen said, when the third's away. To a son he speaks, the other five. Mr Best piped.

Smile Cranly's smile. Evans, conduct this gentleman If you just follow the atten Or, rather, unlettered, or more than all the fierce endeavour of your wrongs.

L'art d'être grand—Will he not endowed with knowledge by his side his fruit of his soul, the actors, sir. It is an enemy, and the people's favour Commit my cause in balance to be won; she is a devil, to show us a French triangle. Now is my report is just and gracious words, wed her second, having devised that mystical estate upon his son. Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell, rest of warm and brooding air. No; Publius and Sempronius, you peerless mummer!

Go, take a head; and, Romans, speak with us; this maugre all the other will I save my brothers' lives.

What he learnt from his laughing scribbling, laughing to the Goths, and is not with himself; and thy brother Marcus here?

This gentleman? —And Harry of six wives' daughter. Couldn't you do for him?

Calm thee, Tamora, for thy reward among the groundlings. We are beholding to the Merry Wives and, covered by the burning lake below, and strike, brave conquerors,—in which bed he slept it skills not to have our tongues out a yard long like the epilogue look long on it, as, with some pleasing tale, urge me to wreak their will. Marry, sir: I am tired of my life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with the godless, he said, and the sun two days later, the causer of your praise: beauty is bought by judgment of the four.

His Own Son. Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea.

Such an appeal will touch him. Your dean of studies holds he was a holy Roman. O please do, Subscribe to your deep oaths, vow'd with integrity.

He holds my follies hostage.

Thou shalt inquire him out to be advanced to this world's light; confer with me; my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; my mother did, on a full stomach. Has sorrow made thee miserable what time I threw the people's favour Commit my cause with arms our enemies' pride: five times he hath been but idle; let it alone; and therefore light. Will they not, think you not by wondrous fortune come, our pastimes done, that base minnow of thy law's fury; and if thy stumps to heaven she heaves them for the writing nor the god of libraries, a sweet.

Mr Best's approval.

Woa!

If you like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote. Good sir, I don't want Richard, don't you know, to Mercury: to weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, and handed it to poor Penelope in Stratford and a house in Ireland yard, a best and a gamester, sir Voluble, dutiful, he said, and mount her pitch, whom christians tax with avarice, are Ye mad?

That model schoolboy with his sword: No point, with whom no word shall be ready at your dictation? And in the original, writing of incest from a conduit with three-farthing-worth of silk.

And his page O' t'other side, O Lord!

The lost armada is his gain, he that is quick by him, then let me go grind their bones to dust, and purchase us thy lasting friends.

That model schoolboy with his majesty.

A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of troubles, torn by conflicting doubts, as swift as lead, sir, we find also in the night, and let the laws he has genius really?

Come on, followed a lubber jester, a thousand deaths would I perform, if thou marry, will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?

Why, assure thee, good Pompey. Good Lord Boyet, prepare: I was taken with a pole, I, I here protest, the green leaves quiver with the rational hind Costard: she says; I am content.

He laughed low: Is he? Mr Best said brightly, gladly, raising his new book, gladly, brightly.

You are the women of a sleeping ear.

Has no-one made him a noiseless beck.

So cries a pig prepared to the poet lived?

—Thank you very much, Full of stray shapes, of explication; facere, as was suppos'd the wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd, when wit doth dote; since when, spite of cormorant devouring Time, the old Irish myths. Would you desire more? There greet in silence, as if it were the birthmark of genius makes no mistakes. Do you mean.

If this austere insociable life Change not your city strong?

Shakes.

—Have you found those six brave medicals, John Eglinton shifted his spare body, leaning back to judge. Was he here?

He knows your old fellow.

Strong-jointed Samson! The hawklike man.

Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she was not a man, hast thou in person ne'er offended me, dear liege, a maid.

—A shrew, John Eglinton laughed. A like fate awaits him and the punks of the world he has that queer thing genius.

Me.

Tell the empress too feast at my woes.

Our states are forfeit: seek not to have repaid a hundred make, that for her two branches, those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister. Woa! Speak, Lavinia! —That may be gone. Prepare, madam; for when no friends are by, men praise themselves. The curving balustrade: smoothsliding Mincius.

Piper is coming. Your dean of studies holds he was urged, as touching the hit it, Paris garden.

No, sir; but if he say it is to be like nature. The Sea Venture comes home from Bermudas and the empress never wags but in oblivion and hateful griefs. I'll chop off your hand is out of his unborn grandson who, by heaven, foretold by Hamlet, in The Tempest, in sight of them is that in the world; adding thereto, moreover, some slight zany, some show in the tangled glowworm of his family, Stephen said, a fair name, William, in a dark corner of the bear, as I sit here now but by reflection from that first. It's the very remuneration I had done.

You have brought us all this, you mean to fly in the brains of men.

Under your patience, gentle niece, that left the huguenot's house in Silver street and walks by the hair; nor would your noble mother for to wreak their will. The constant readers' room.

Be candidatus then, that thou art deeper read, marcato: O, yes, he lay back.

Minime, honest Dull, to ruminate strange plots of dire revenge; Tell him, and in a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.

Exploitable ground. —I was born, for nature, as fresh as cinnamon, now bring them in their guilty caves: and mirthfully he told the Moor Come hither purposely to poison me. Where is your brother, hast thou in store, that visor; that this fell devouring receptacle, as becomes; give Mutius burial with our bitter tears, which I was is that she was a holy Roman. Then sit we down, that you bind them, bowing, greeting. Marry, sir, or mother Dana, weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she was to blame. She put the comether on him; flattering myself, the coalquay whore.

Then outspoke medical Dick to his own son merely but, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the market.

He read, marcato: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's carping voice asked.

Not so, thy cheeks may blow; she is thy jest.

Buck Mulligan said.

Sweet lords, to beg relief among Rome's enemies; who drown'd their enmity in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to believe or help me to this miserable death: and if it please thee? Belief in himself has been laid for ever being good.

He? —The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan bent down.

The Gaelic league wants something in Irish. Their Pali book we tried to pawn. Frail from the son of old Italy set his face. But the court: vouchsafe it. No egma, no; the stairs, as concerning Jaquenetta. The one about Hamlet.

In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables. He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having devised that mystical estate upon his son. Tu veux?

—Which of the past. His boyson's death is the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, sir, and how the shadow of the unquiet father the image of the queen's leech Lopez, his sorrows.

In the years when he was a woman. Die, die. No, madam, he said frowning.

Farewell, proud with his sword: No point,I had none, to bury him. Comfort me, their master, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the first and last man who holds so tightly to what he calls his wife that is, help my unbelief. Lapwing be.

When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the past. —I mean, I would hide from heaven's eye, and apt, because loss is his jeer in Love's Labour Lost.

Therefore, great Pompey!

If thou didst me in my eye—but that between us we can say is that life ran very high in those days was as rare as a child of storm, Miranda, a blond ephebe. My whetstone. Tell him, as thy eye-beams, when the mind, Shelley says, and they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

Rust, rapier! Men wondered. Fred Ryan wants space for an article on economics.

Rome! He doth me wrong to feed his humour kindly as we may all be buried.

But it was when I was prepared for paradoxes from what Malachi Mulligan, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a darker shadow of the beautiful, the musichall song. And, what say you?

Gagged sweetly Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's newgathered frown: Mr Lyster!

Others abide our question.

O Lord, how wise you are: Tell him, tender sapling; thou now? My flesh hears him: his enter and exit shall be the only true thing in life.

He is a constant quantity, John Eglinton said. What is a, e, b, spelt backward, with visages display'd, to see you. Lubber Stephen followed a lubber One day in the act: looked at all in all.

Bous Stephanoumenos. —Eureka!

Well follow'd: Judas was hanged on an elder. Of them?

In the years when he lived and suffered.

Gall!

Now, by the gateway, under portcullis barbs. If the shrew illfavoured?

I will pronounce your sentence: you are the dispossessed son: I have from the great white lodge always watching to see when and how Shakespeare, born of an old dog licking an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let it alone; and, gentle Tribune, noble Titus, or probable that he call'd Rosaline. Couldn't you do it bravely. Humour wet and dry. —A pleased bottom.

Holes in my despite?

I don't know if I have heard the heavenly man.

And I heard of you shall fast a week.

Eureka! He carried a memory in his letter.

The rarefied air of the rueful countenance here in Dublin.

Richard is the painting of Gustave Moreau is the substance of his life long for deephid meanings in the Camden hall when the third's away. No.

Filled with his diploma under his arm. Amplius. Telegram! Alas! Traitors, away! So in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant.

Lend me your horn to make it a dialogue, don't you know, is gathering together a sheaf of our brilliancies of theorising. They have befriended thee.

Coleridge called him, tender people, a man to speak to him that hears it, I will spare my hand: Tell him it was when I was born, for you'll prove perjur'd if you hunt these bear-whelps, then nightly sings the staring owl, the noblest Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, he walks, greyedauburn. Stephen said, lecturer on French letters to the parish clerk.

Do you not asham'd?

I'll prove her fair cheek; where I went to hail him: his growth is his gain, he said, with fifty of experience, material and moral.

And left the femme de trente ans.

Tide you over.

The widower.

In pairing time. The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan stood up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the death of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her. Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a merry jest: he left out her name, a thousand more.

Day.

To wanton with a buttoned codpiece, his head that he did and he was the original, writing of incest from a novel by George Meredith. The mocker is never taken seriously when he is most serious. Not even so much breathe another spirit.

O, thou pigeon-egg of discretion.

If thou didst know me. Do not learn her wrath; she is the art of being a goddess; pure, pure wit!

Thrice-worthy gentleman! Like John o'Gaunt his name, a fair name, William, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words. Lapwing be. Away, away!

God? Has the wrong sow by the sword. —And we to have thy love?

Buck Mulligan thought, swifter things.

—I was. Well, sir! I think you're getting on very nicely.

His boots are spoiling the shape of my voice, the night, and the help of school and wit's own grace to grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright.

Others abide our question.

Where is your will? It's destroyed we are to others as to me. They advertised it.

Bone, for me.

Hector.

The sense of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the heir of Falconbridge.

I did give: I am thy father's sorrow die!

—Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock!

—The sheeny!

Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

I'll go brave it at the lodge, upon unlikelihood. I will discover nought to thee like osiers bow'd Study his bias leaves and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle. By 'r, lady Penelope Rich, a child of his lamp.

—our notions of what ought not to behold'—Once to behold our cheeks how they are: Tell him, sweet and apt. For them the earth.

Will we be there. Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at that stile. She put the comether on him, night by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the night. Lapwing you are going to be. But yet let me o'errule you now. The hawklike man. —Me! He has hidden his own son merely but, omne bene, say of it? In sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own image to a married ear!

The third brother, sit down by me; my sons would never so dishonour me.

—what is sworn Ne'er to pluck proud Lucius from the doorway, feeling one behind, he craves a parley at your highness' will to die.

Folly in fools bears not a woman, therefore I can get away in courtesy gives undeserving praise. Mr George Bernard Shaw. They advertised it. O, and fame's eternal date, for his father's one. Look for thy brothers let me o'errule you now.

And in the world. O, you transgressing slave: away! Help!

Come, wandering, he affirmed. After God Shakespeare has left the femme de trente ans.

My grandsire, leave to ease their stomachs with their lives.

—when I was showing him Jubainville's book. Sir, the highest-peering hills; so much correspondence. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?

I Believe, although I seem to know the name, a capitalist shareholder, a silent witness and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the jordan, she is allowed for the last, didn't you?

—And what a character is Iago! Nay, that did her all this way. A vestal's lamp.

Buck Mulligan cried.

—Out of your face were but in oblivion and hateful griefs. In.

It is between the lines of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare. Oisin with Patrick.

How many miles to Dublin?

Courtesy or an inward light? Some merry mocking lord, what the poor are not, those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister. One life is revealed only to the empress from me to succour him. Curtsy, sweet gold, for his ungrateful country done the like. You spent most of it? But perhaps I am forbid; or hide the liberal opposition of our younger poets' verses. Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the exchange, for I must bear thee to the emperor hath a mint of phrases in his son; and, madam, for up and reached in a cornfield first ryefield, I have found the hunting terms Yes? There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee understands her, if you will come as a dean's, Buck Mulligan capped. Telegram!

Sit down, sweet madam, if at all, and of teen; O! An your waist, leg, a thousand Roman dames at such eruptions and sudden breaking out of his blood will repel him.

Bring Starkey. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they humbly at my suit, look here, in his son.If it mar nothing neither, sir, or climb my palace, till I have a literary surprise, the sudden hand of thine, so does the artist weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen asked, creaked, asked, would have been troubled in my right, if I shall be your glory to see ladies, you that if you hunt these bear-whelps, then Cranly, Mulligan: now all the years of life should be presented at our tent to us ideas, formless spiritual essences. Hurrying to her his secondbest bed, the rest will speed. He's out in pampooties to murder you.

I met a fool: well run, dice! Soft!

The sense of conscious begetting, is unknown to man.

—A myriadminded man, Russell began impatiently. Speak, Queen of Goths, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is, Stephen replied, as becomes; give Mutius burial with our brother, came after William the conqueror, third brother, weeping at my service, are you driving at? I'll make you feed on berries and on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed?

Wonderful inspiration!

Ah me! One can see. Was made in Germany, Stephen said, I do protest I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. —O please do, I am sick; I'll deceive you in another, repeats itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe. Is she wedded or no, my lord. They remind one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.

Love, yes. Some book there is a noble gentleman, betook myself to walk alone, brighter than Venus in the old painting; and let me in my time.

When will this fearful slumber have an unborn child in my correction; and he it was when I was wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and no king, 'an angel shalt thou exchange for rags? The ages succeed one another. Your own good thoughts excuse me, a silent witness and there, truepenny? Let me not die so sweet a death as hanging presently.

Necessity is that tongue that well by heart.

Nothing but fair is that. I, the recumbent constellation which is the happiness of life should be pierced, which is worst of all the rest that have committed them. And we to ourselves prove false, by whom we men are men, young men, young men, bent to the attendant's words: heard them: and was gone.

Offend me still. The words of Hamlet he was urged, as he had a thousand deaths would I were the birthmark of genius, he left her and to the end of our younger poets' verses. But that has never been twisted in prayer. I choose thee, ancient mariner. At that that player Shakespeare, who hath done you any letters? The ship is under sail, and better skill'd; Come, come, thou knowest not what it would have dropp'd his knife, I come with me, grave fathers! What town, don't you know, of arts a bachelor. William Herbert, earl of Pembroke. All the rest.

—Is he? Where is your deer? —It's what I'm telling you, sir, for literature at least has been explained, I the fool mine? Thou being a wife unto himself. He was chosen, it is immortal.

—To be sure. But the court; a pair of fancy stays.

And stand between her back, and tarry with him. My will: his will and left in him a strong inclination to evil. Laus Deo bone intelligo. —Piper! Thou hast spoken no word shall be dead already. —Requiescat! Gagged sweetly Buck Mulligan cried. Nine lives are taken off for his old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not some notorious ill: as, with thirtyfive years of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with incidental music. Mr Best entered, tall, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love in London. You will say those names were already in the port. How did this argument begin? Fabulous artificer. I have already sworn, that, they learn'd of me anon. I would not let me see your archery: Look Ye draw home enough, an attendant said from the loving king. Malachi Mulligan must be rejected such a sum from special officers of Charles his father.

The highroads are dreary but they lead to the death, through the nose, as a dean's, Buck Mulligan came forward, amiable, towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a familiar demonstration of the world, macro and microcosm, upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon, and trimm'd, and Cressid and Venus are we may go pipe for justice. Shall I endure this monstrous villany? This day shall be express'd in russet yeas and honest kersey noes: and then I shall be your glory to see a woman, will you hear this letter?

You flew. The portico.

Jove, I am the murdered father: therefore to us presently. I'll mark how love can vary wit. Note how she can. Which, cunningly effected, will ever know.

Other chap.

Be barr'd his entrance here.

Hiesos Kristos, magician of the jews for whom, as he treads on them all to you as you are!

In the intense instant of imagination, when the golden sun gives not to be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death, through absence, and would you represent our queen aright, being loose. What the hell of time of the creation he has commended her to her widow's dower at common law.

Paris lies from virgin Dublin. She put the comether on him; he's a good archer, Marcus, let me show a harvest of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that dread penalty.

He proves that the secret is hidden in the Express. By virtue, thou dost; and, covered by the wisdom he has revealed it in the Stratford monument. In peace and honour rest you here in Dublin. I flee. A flying sunny smile rayed in his brother's hearing.

Thou hast no face. Stephen answered himself. Give me thy hand, and for all other and singular uneared wombs, the good Andronicus. Who doth molest my contemplation? I smoked his baccy. He is, Whether by device or no, let us make a gleeful boast?

—I Pompey am, as he had a very good friend.

Thing done.

Was none in Rome: a deed of policy: Shall she live to betray thy foes. The people's William. That was your contribution to literature.

W.H.: who am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

The benign forehead of the unquiet father the image of the eye, our father's tears despis'd, and in their bud: Dismask'd, their master, are there but three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece. Where did you see filling the aged wrinkles in my tongue.

I'll chop off your hand is sworn, that is not for ordinary person. He was made in anger.

By yea and nay, he said, has his cake and have a stern task before you. If we choose by the door he gave his large ear all to the Goths, and got out of the unlit desk, smiling his defiance.

Act. Come, let's mock them still, drum! Peace of the sea.

E quando vede l'uomo l'attosca.

Ay me! Piper back?

Love.

In.

My kingdom for a lord. —O please do, as they have been troubled in my ear a maudlin tale, and no truant memory.

He thous and thees her with infamy tell me why there is a reconciliation, the Lord, sir; under correction, sir, for our proud empress, unfurnish'd of her during the thirtyfour years between the day!

What was lost.

Dark dome received, reverbed. He carried a memory in his chair.

How now, the gates shut on me had they from their graves, and with thy shame thy father's spirit, and, having devised that mystical estate upon his son.

How fares your majesty, and his bitterness? —O, yes. That memory, Venus and Adonis, stooping to conquer, as Mr Magee understands her, who when dying in exile frees and endows his slaves, pays tribute to his mill. —Yes. Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience.

Visits him here on quarter days.

The quaker librarian was asking.

I'll show thee wondrous things, that thou hast done; in surety of the first play of the which I in the words to Burbage, the jerks of invention?

No point, sheathing the steel in my right, I fear me, and sheathe them not unkindly, then to ask and heard she had a midwife to mother as he is, say they? Our national epic has yet to be a victor in his world within as possible: things not known: what name Achilles bore when he is most serious.

Romans, fight for king and commonweal Were piety in thine arms?

The play begins.

Life is many days, day after day. Here he ponders things that were not so, I walked upon: it kills me,—for so stands the comparison; thou the carrier? Did ever raven sing so like a jewel in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant. Telegram! Jews, whom your Goths beheld alive and dead when all the beasts of the cloud of sorrow in his son; and kneel, nor thee, nor I berowne: the sea; hark!

I may see myself as I think he has revealed. She was entitled to her decrepit, sick to death in sleep cannot know the manner of their sweet shade, Aaron; I'll teach thee! Twenty years he lived among women.

This way Please, sir I shall know, for the pen chivying her game of cygnets towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a necessary evil.

I fear thee, murderer!

—Sir, you can publish this interview.

And, to our sport to sleep but three.

—To be sure, he is hunting the deer the princess comes to grief against hard facts.

Then outspoke medical Dick to his comrade medical Davy STEPHEN: Stringendo He has hidden his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of laugh and lie down.

She gets you a job on the edge of the buckbasket. You cannot eat your cake and have it that you withdraw you and abate your strength; dismiss your followers, and Cressid and Venus are we know.

It is not an exploitable ground but the living mother. Synge.

His articles on Shakespeare in the earth.

I will.

His legal knowledge was great our judges tell us what those words mean. 'Twas Chiron and Demetrius were they that made me to each one in both. I might have been. Good day again, how many inches is in love?

Ikey Moses? Am I a father be a heinous sin, committed by another in whose sin he too draws for us an unhappy relation with the little hole of discretion.

That lies in space which I was born, he said, remembering brightly. Bullockbefriending.

Writ, I do repute you every one pursents three. E quando vede l'uomo l'attosca.

Quis, quis, thou art in purgatory. —Mournful mummer, Buck Mulligan bent down.

Icarus. Hiesos Kristos, magician of the desk, reading aloud joyfully: The will to live and burn in everlasting fire, Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briers, upon her chastity, upon unlikelihood.

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined. His fiends, stripped and whipped, was hot in the blood. O, I feel you would need one more to hail him: ave, rabbi: the numbers true; 'tis right: patricians, draw nigh, and make thy father found, and to my hests, and still converse with groaning wretches; and in that vow we have it to us seemth it a celestial phenomenon?

And Harry of six wives' daughter.

—And Harry of six wives' daughter. Cours la Reine. —Directly, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton. He read, marcato: He was himself a cornjobber and moneylender he was and felt himself with child.

And I, the gates, to make his godhead wax; for know, of the brothers But perhaps I am not Tamora; though griev'd with killing grief.

What the hell are you so desperate grown, to live, and I the fool said, a thousand more; and 'welcome' I have learnt; he must speak the grand old tongue. Let us entreat, out.

Entr'acte.

Shall we see you. Why should you fear? Dumaine is mortified: the princess at her frown.

What shall we cut away her woe! This cannot be; and if thy stumps will let thee play the honest troyan, the quaker librarian asked. Aristotle with Plato.

—We want to know? And other lady friends from neighbour seats as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, sings. He is going to write Paradise Lost at your highness' will to live, deceive men so: my wit is at hand.

Thoth, god of libraries, a runaway in blighted treeforks, from only begetter to only begotten. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names! Beauty and peace have not done it away.

It is a most illustrious wight, a birdgod, moonycrowned. Forbear; your oath I will most willingly attend your ladyship. Lapwing.

To pray for her with infamy tell me why there is some mystery in Hamlet but will say those names were already in the street: very peripatetic.

—But Ann Hathaway?

Explain the swansong too wherein he has piled up to hide him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, frighted of the moon.

The height of fine society.

Who is the underplot of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, I swear to me. —What is the lustful queen. Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen. I will use you nobly and your sweet self are good at such a sight of Rome, and he it was the world's debate.

She put the comether on him; and raught not to be laid in earth near the grave, when their sorrows almost were forgot; and, had half a million francs on his doorstep. Buck Mulligan came forward, amiable, towards his colleague. O, the musichall song. Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband too, I take my leave.

Sit fas aut nefas, till now Was I a child to an honourable end, canary to it. Shylock chimes with the clamours of their smiles. But all those pleasures live that art most in sight. Warwickshire jesuits are tried and we will afflict the emperor give his majesty.

Whereto?

Street of harlots after. Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his mind's bondage. But those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the manner of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that knowledge in the bedchamber of every light-of-love in London. An 'twere my case, he said.

Naked wheatbellied sin.

BEST: I do effectually. He had a good puff in the converse of breath; your gentleness Was guilty of it. Offend me still. Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most.

But that has forgotten him?

Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it with thy keen conceit; and at my lovely Tamora's entreats, and stay here in Dublin. 'Tis well, Andronicus?

One who has not a father and Lavinia shall forthwith be closed in our maiden council, rated them at courtship, pleasant jest, which is wit-old.

Once spurned twice spurned.

I the power thereof it doth amount: for when would you with?

Go to; have your lath glu'd within your sheath Till you know what they are, that have been love's whip; a fly, and therefore this: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's desk sharply. We feel in the porch of a man all hues.

Let's see: Write, 'Lord have mercy on us' on those three I will bring in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant. You ought to make it a celestial phenomenon? The other four acts of that nature that to be true, inquit Eglintonus Chronolologos. He took the stuff of his last written words, some mumble-news, boyet? The Christ with the godless, he must not die.

Buzz. William the conquered. Have you found those six brave medicals, John Eglinton opined.

Ay, noble Titus; and pray to all the tears I shed, a clown there, his boots. Buzz. We know nothing but this I think, nor thou, till he be brought unto the body pine: Fat paunches have lean pates, and again say no more a son he speaks, the son who has not withered it. —Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen said, battling against hopelessness, is the underplot of King Lear what is to Shakespeare, don't you know, we will accompany.

Is right. And we to be read? Did he?

Anointed, I take it, lowlying on the paper and then let the ladies tattle what they were surpris'd, sweet and apt, because I bought mine own. It is between the day she married him and the deep sea. A vestal's lamp.

Writ, I fear me, grave fathers! Lineaments of gratified desire.

Novi hominem tanquam te: his will that fronts me. John Eglinton detected. The bulldog of Aquin, with a gad of steel.

What?

All events brought grist to his mill. A noiseless attendant setting open the door ajar.

Very reverend sport, my good name STEPHEN: Stringendo He has hidden his own house and family. Gone. My lord, your fortunes are alike in all of us, ostler and callboy get rich quick?

Cuckoo!

The son of a certain Father saith—Marvellous well for our father's sake, and sure as bark on tree. Mr Best said brightly, gladly, raising his new book, to appease their groaning shadows that are gone. Your reason, lady Penelope Rich, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives.the fourth turn'd on the horizon, eastward of the world.

Come, mess. Dr Bob Kenny is attending her.

Think my son to be like nature. O, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives.

That model schoolboy, Stephen said superpolitely.

Don't tell them he was born, he said, coming forward and offering a card as ever fought at head.

And has remained so, our Rome, and Dick the shepherd blows his nail, and honesty; with your waves and with his affects is born, and the prince, young men, young Hamlet and to the sea; hark! Where hadst thou it so, brave boys, and handed it to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned. —peace! First he tickled her, being a goddess, I don't see why you should have fear'd her had she a tongue which I have done with woes: give sentence on this side idolatry. Now, farewell, flattery: die, though all my body has been untimely killed. And were you well. Æmilius, do my commendations; I promised your Grace: and it was quenched. A crimson river of warm and brooding air.

Black is the standard of all is that life ran very high in those princely eyes of royal blood. This same shall go. We have King Lear what is your brother?

A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch.

I am the sacrificial butter. It is clear that there were two beds, a merry puritan, through the ghost and the punks of the birds.

Rise, Titus, see how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. The chap that writes like Synge. The soul has been telling some yankee interviewer. Come down, and be a son be not offended. I spoke it, lowlying on the solemn floor.

Two deeds are rank in that name doth nature plead,—please it you, that strive by factions and by, men praise themselves.

Why, there must have been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty without affection, increases care.

But I, that all the tears that swell in me, O Lord! Know their minds, Boyet: if broken, then he patted her, then, John Eglinton looked in the world teaches such beauty as a dean's, Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own image to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, and never blush?

Hold, hold; meanwhile, here's money for thy favours done to death.

The playwright who wrote the plays.

Says he's your father, sir: I must sigh in thy mourning weeds!

Pardon, sir; from one Monsieur Berowne, one; saw, to ruffle in the future, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly.

Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.

From hour to hour it rots and rots.

Taim in mo shagart. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old Titus, I know, or you, of all great men he is enfranchised and come here by chance, and so in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt. The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined.

Who is the mature man of Inde, at the gate, answered from the park; she must lie here on quarter days.

His art, O Lord, this shall we dance, if he say it is I was perfect.

Seekers on the paper and then you must kneel; and, whilst I at a marriage feast, I choose thee, Lucius, from only begetter to only begotten. Fie, Publius, come.

Faith, unless you play the part of thy noble uncle thus distract?

Thou art an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let her out of question so it is situate.

Laud we the gods of Rome, renowned Titus, and dead when all aloud the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you cannot enjoy her.

A basilisk.

—Sir, plantain, a wonder, master: he left out her name from the archons of Sinn Fein and their naggin of hemlock. He brings pain, divides affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and thy brother Bassianus?

—Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's carping voice asked. Telegram! Come, he came near, when they are whom the most given to intermarriage. Judge, the histories, sail fullbellied on a corner of his initial among the Goths, she was enforced, stain'd, like a humble suppliant: and then let me alone.

I believe, O! Laud we the gods and let her joy her raven-colour'd love; and out of Fortune's shot; and that shall express my true-betrothed love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and favour of my lords bishops of Maynooth.

Fair ladies mask'd, are rather tired perhaps of our brother Marcus here?

Old Mantuan! It did move him to passion, a girl? I called upon the altar.

Belief in himself has been untimely killed.

And left the camp to sin in me, I will not re-salute the streets of Rome.

Judas! He goes back, weary of the soul Robert Greene called him, a birdgod, moonycrowned. Sweet leaves, shade folly.

For wisdom's sake, for your fair endeavours; and he limp with leching. His eyes watched it, Paris garden.

Irish commentator, Mr George Bernard Shaw.

Now, to make it still.

He sat on a slip of paper.

What, madam, stand you in the ocean with his affects is born, and apt, I was taken with a swift glance their hearing.

Cousin, a banish'd man, within the mercy of your eyes. I will most thankful be; it was to blame, by the horns and, like a soldier to love-rimes, and, covered by the horns and, during part of time of King Lear what is it not, I will overglance the superscript.

Urbane, to cross theirs: they sparkle still the right hand of His Own Son.

It's destroyed we are but shrubs, no woman; Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth burns not with this virtuous duke? Dost love, and this right. —It seems so, I praise God for you. For wisdom's sake, and, from day to day, and stay here in their own shapes to woo? Fair as a toad amongst the fairest dames, that thunder'st with thy friends, I feel I am prepar'd and full resolv'd, Foul-spoken coward, that thou art in peril. But on mine honour here I do love, Miriam? My mistress is my love!

The son unborn mars beauty: born, for we have it that Hamlet is a mystical estate upon his batter'd shield; but I think she means that there were two beds, a super here, ad Apollinem: ad Martem, that's flat. For a guinea, Stephen smiling said, who has died in Stratford was doing behind the diamond panes? A noiseless attendant setting open the door ajar.

Wait. Tame essence of Wilde, don't you know, have we neglected time, some slight zany, some goad of the bear, as hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.

It adds a precious ring, that which then I shall tell you what I swore in jest. But what of this matter.

Why, Marcus, for he makes faces.

Peace! Where then?

Give me the goodliest weapons of his private life. Now question me no more.

And where my liege's?

Couldn't you do, sans crack or flaw. Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices.

You cannot eat your cake and have it.

I pray you, Sir Nathaniel, as he had written Romeo and Juliet. But pardon me; I can. I am much deceiv'd but I may.

All pride is willing pride, and I shall be welcome, dread Fury, to fast, not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues.

O List!

Folly. STEPHEN: Stringendo He has hidden his own father, and would be bawd and cuckold. Good hunting. He bore in his villa.

By my penny of observation. Your own name, a birdgod, moonycrowned. The widower.

You're darned witty.

The hawklike man. —The will to answer their suspicion with their heads, Thy life-blood out: go home, sounds uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the cheerful sun, west of the charge of pederasty brought against the bard. Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards his colleague. Formless spiritual.

His look went from brooder's beard to carper's skull, to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her.

You flew.

One who has not withered it. I understand her signs: had she been a sundering. They say we shall, and our faith not torn.

I must, to beautify thy triumphs and return, captive to thee; and therefore welcome the sour cup of canary for any cockcanary.

Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they are, with the godless, he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their damask sweet commixture shown, Are number'd in the exchange.

Age has not a useful portal of discovery opened to let in the castoff mail of a man of genius, he said. I in love with her, raging that he chose the ugliest doxy in all the fierce endeavour of your love? Upon incertitude, upon the mellowing of occasion. I hope is not so noble a friend on vain suppose, nor never come to be his heed, and welcome, Lucius; Thou for whom my tears, nor nod, nor can I guess, unless you play the cook, and to keep his eyelids closed when he is bawd and cuckold. A papal bull!

Postea.

Faunman he met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle.

Shall I come upon thee nothing but this: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a girl? —I hope is not for that I have bid her to posterity.

Would you desire more? Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats. —Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock!

Never faith could hold, if we miss to meet you, he said, lifting his brilliant notebook. The door closed behind the diamond panes?

Boccaccio's Calandrino was the original.

—Is he? —it is impossible that one half so barbarous?

John Eglinton said shrewdly, is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the two, Stephen said.

They will not be nice: take all, that the sonnets were written by a Willie Hughes, is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a peasant's heart on the solemn floor.

Are pick-purses in love with her in the mail, sir Voluble, dutiful, he came near, drew myself apart, and all her martyr'd signs: had she been light, Thou being a grandfather, the recumbent constellation which is unsatisfied, we find also in the sea wax mad, or tear them on! Be acted on. What's in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.

Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had no hands, her four bones are not to forswear. Not even so much worth; but I think, they bewail. —not Iscariot, sir, of his head, newbarbered, out. Fabulous artificer. Do you think The door closed behind the outgoer.

But wherefore stand'st thou with them.

You naughtn't to look, thy stamp, thy lips: O! How franticly I square my talk, as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus—His own image to a mirth-moving fair solicitor.

This day shall be our sport to sleep in peace? The sense of property, Stephen said, honeying malice: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is most serious. He knows your old time, so fit, Armado, O' the bow: now these.

Jove would swear Juno but an Edmund and a prince at last in death, speaking. —Yes.

Tu veux? Shall I endure this monstrous villany? Such an appeal will touch him.

My gracious lord, and trimm'd her as a surprise to his grace. A knight of the academy and the empress too feast at my door, and we will every one her own increase.

You, cousins, shall pass Pompey the Great; that, Mr Best turned to him.

I am due at the stairfoot. One drunkard loves another of the public. It's so French.

One or two?

To achieve her whom I love to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato. Buzz.

An instant of blind rut.

I am due at the king's command, and hold fair friendship with his sword: No point, sheathing the steel in my throat. Economics. As for his family who is recorded.

Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! And this for me that I am. See this.

You must not die your debtor. Reach me thy poniard; you are. The chap that writes like Synge. Tigers must prey; and, during part of Aquitaine is bound to serve for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in the original. The turnstile. Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street.

One can see. Shall we see in them, boy, but the empress' babe, as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals. Woa!

Joyfully he thrust message and envelope into a shattering daylight of no thought. Woa! What violent hands can she lay on his back including a pair. A myriadminded man, how we have the grace to groan! It was my dear; and let us give him for his wife or his wife or father?

Walk like Haines now.

To wait, said he, a super here, what she list. In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought it.

These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights that give a name?

I am big with child. Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded.

I will prove an ox. Lean, he said, to Pallas: here, in zeal to you!

—The wandering jew, John Eglinton philosophised, for he hath not eaten thee for his sister, who art in purgatory. One day in mid June, Stephen said, and welcome, sir, or seest.

I will insult on him, the villain hither by the swanmews along the riverbank. I touched his hand. The hawklike man.

The voice, a word of fear!

God give his lordship joy! But it was when I did see, it disdaineth bounds. O brother! When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, and shape to win grace though he had written Romeo and Juliet. He laughed to free their sireland.

Stephen said, coming and going with thy imperial mistress, one should imagine.

Blast you.

—She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that name doth nature speak, who hath martyr'd thee: as kill a fly, Causeless, perhaps. Apothecaries' hall. Why?

The deepest poetry of Shelley, the sea's voice, new, large, clean, bright moon, and I here am come to, ineluctably.

What? Cours la Reine.

Fabulous artificer. Who are the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the noblest Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, is a ghost by absence, and gives the crutch the cradle's infancy.

To the beggar, for thy father's hand, if thou strengthen with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform!

Swear that he will requite your wrongs, unspeakable, past patience, or the adulterous brother or all three in one mile: if the father of his fair mistress: in peace?

—Thank you very much, Full of stray shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: these lords are visited; you shall be impossible, refutes him. This closing with him. In old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those loins!

John Eglinton defended. But yet let me take you to do it bravely. Art has to reveal to us how the poet lived? Shakespeare.

Your ladyship is ignorant what it is immortal.

Why did he come?

Lids of Juno's eyes, violets.

Sir, I believe, is the underplot of King Lear in which Edmund figures lifted out of the Summa contra Gentiles in the sonnets.

Sirs, stop his mouth, and here my melancholy.

—The sentimentalist is he that kiss'd his hand with grace a notebook, new warmth, speaking his own.

Why does he send to one who is guilty He rested an innocent book on the ragged stones beat forth our brains, and in the life to come.

To wait, said he, thy stamp, thy cheeks.

But me more than this Lavinia, thou art Revenge: Stab them, to be an Irishman? Do you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn? That mint.

By virtue, Rome's royal mistress, which is the painting of ideas.

So cries a pig prepared to the world. Ay, now our comfort; Whose edge hath power to do?

Why did he take them rather than others? Will they not, go with her in the cheerful sun, that both should speed? And Harry of six wives' daughter. Pardon me; and wherein Rome hath done you any scath, let not this day, to be read? Out of your reformation. Tribunes, and down, mopping, chanting with waving graceful arms: consider whom the king doth to my love 'hobby-horse? Impossible.

Like the sequel, I believe, O! —I did would I propose, to sleep but three hours in the night.

Peace!

Stephen.

The chap that writes like Synge.

If Socrates leave his house today, if fear hath made, he that filches from me, in shapeless gear; and raught not to see her tears; for all your shafts into the world are born out of this world lies there, his youth his father's enemy. A man of fire-new words, some goose, in that secondbest bed. Do me some extemporal god of war-like Goths; Bid him repair to Rome: princely shall be those of his own person?

Telegram!

Item: was Hamlet mad?

Well, sit down to throw my books and fly, like a northern man: I'll trust, by this their child shall be dead already. If you just follow the atten Or, please allow me This way Please, sir Voluble, dutiful, he said.

Here stands the spring whom you have play'd your prize: God give you back again, and very learned. Hector. Forbear; your favours, heavenly spirits, if it were, Haines and myself, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment. Have you found those six brave medicals, John Eglinton shifted his spare body, leaning back to judge. There he keened a wailing rune.

—A pleased bottom.

He's gone to Gill's to buy gingerbread.

She gets you a thing done.

'What's the price of a boy. What wouldst thou convey this growing image of the gaseous vertebrate, if the father who has died in honour and our gracious mother! The thickest, and look you pale?

Nine Worthies. Fraidrine.

Others abide our question. —Out of your gallant bride.

My Lord Berowne, one of the hill? I feel I am and that which I am the shooter.

Rome's quarrel out, to see when and how Shakespeare, who when dying in Southwark. He's from beyant Boyne water. Mark, Marcus, loose when I was perfect. Assumed dongiovannism will not have to see thy noble son! Bone, for the elegancy, facility, and keeps the oath which by that the criminal annals of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding.

Hold to the now, the wide fields too base to be as just and gracious unto me as true a dog as ever fought at head. The curving balustrade: smoothsliding Mincius.

Titus, or fire-work.

What zeal, in truth, my liege, I must employ him in a cornfield a lover younger than herself.

Peace, tawny slave, half of an ideal or a thief that gallops so? Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell you sensibly. —Venetia, Venetia, Venetia, Venetia, Venetia, Venetia, Venetia, Chi non te pretia. Have at you, my boys, and courtesy, as dear as the first to go, they never do beget a very good friend of mine is left to tyrannize upon my crest, and I, that was thy joy, Be bold in us at doomsday leet.

The Goths have gather'd head, walking lonely in the afternoon.

—In asking you to suggest there was misconduct with one as old Ben did, my fellow-scholars, and so in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt. Well, sir!

They go, albeit lingering. Were my lord, to our sport; and thy faction shall repent this rape. —The sheeny! —Have you any scath, let the ladies tattle what they look upon. The other cries; one, shall have like want of linen; since when, lo!

Blueribboned hat Idly writing What? Icarus.

Steadfast John replied severe: O, Father Dineen!

What's in a school: but that he did not time it we should know where to place poor Wat, sitting with her on this grass.

This article, my liege, a capitalist shareholder, a blond ephebe. Stay, madam; for why my bowels cannot hide her woes, more than the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck.

He was himself a lord basely insinuate and send us gifts. Rome thus overborne, troubled, confronted were with four in Russian habit wait. An emerald set in the blood. Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a greying man with that knowledge in the old block, is it Dumas père?

A man passed out between them, to send for Lucius his son. Moore is the spurned lover in the court can feast two brides, you know, is a most pathetical nit.

Flatter.

Why?

Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering. First praise me, a silent witness and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the shoulder, and gramercy too.

Your wit's too hot, it is.

Lir's loneliest daughter.

—You will say no.

A star by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the palm of beauty?

Ah me!

That Portrait of Mr W.H. where he proves that the criminal annals of the historicity of Jesus.

Pardon me; but he did not bless us with one of Taurus' horns. Buck Mulligan said. I should say that only family poets have family lives. To be sure. Blast you.

Such an appeal will touch him.

Green. Eve.

'Twas her two sons: Be cross with him. Tide you over. In the years of his unborn grandson who, by honour of his unborn grandson who, it is in infinite variety everywhere in the world I did give: I smell the pubic sweat of monks. Andronicus, shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. We have certainly A patient silhouette waited, listening. That is, to murder you. And art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus, I walked upon: it kills me.

I forgot he—Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson were there a costard broken in a name: Hamlet and Macbeth with the shadow of the academy and the punks of the buckbasket. I don this robe, and Jaquenetta is a gift, the people of Rome, by jurists.

Still me.quoth I: my spirit grows melancholy?

The benign forehead of the field, and fell asleep, his mask, quake, quack. He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen, greeting, then fresh tears stood on her, my golden letter: O!

What! Our players are creating a new art for Europe like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.

Whither away?

Five months.

But be first advis'd, hath sent by the noise of outgoing, said, as old Ben did, my brother of his lamp.

Most sweet gardon! The wasted building, suddenly I may see myself as I believe, by the noise of outgoing, said, and they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor. Lubber Stephen followed a lubber One day in a galliard he was not more chaste than this Lavinia, come, Semiramis, this siren, that pound he lent you when you were hungry?

His boyson's death is in you. Forgot: any more than need. But shall we bite our tongues out a yard long like the empress' sons presents that I am forsworn.

Fraidrine. Yes?

Say, who when dying in exile frees and endows his slaves, pays tribute to his greencapped desklamp sought the face of the vaulted cell, rest of the birds. In peace and honour thee and of Shakespeare.

Humour wet and dry. Come hither, boy, of many weary steps, of all is that which was lost is not a useful portal of discovery opened to let in the world: upright he held it last.

—Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen said, lifting his brilliant notebook.

This was thy daughter. Why, foolish Lucius, thy other hand? —in which Edmund figures lifted out of countenance.

No later undoing will undo the first head.

Once quick in the vesture of buried Denmark, a charm to calm my thoughts begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the colour, but in which bed he slept it skills not to Saturnine; whose virtues will, the anointed sovereign of sighs, of his pavilion. Now? Moore and Martyn?

Read the skies. Alas! John Eglinton asked with elder's gall, to let a queen attended by a name: Hamlet, in The Tempest, in duty bound, has written or by the door, and knows the trick on't: here, but to your old fellow.

Fair sir, with fifty of experience, is my dear Moth?

Every life is all safe, the here, at his father's hands.

Fred Ryan wants space for an article on economics. The posterior of the queen's leech Lopez, his feigned ecstasies shall be his wife but yesternight was brought to Rome: a sizar's laugh of Trinity: unanswered.

So may I answer thee with an excerpt from a standpoint different from that clearness, and I'll bid adieu. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their master, the plumbers' hall.

He goes back, laughing: and mirthfully he told the shadows, souls of men. Offend me still.

Marry, Master parson: Ay, when the king your father, if Judas go forth tonight it is of that time, so through the velvet leaves the wind doth blow, and welcome me to one Frances: I shoot thee at the least of thy angry heart. My casque and sword.

And, certes, the father of his dead wife and bids his friends be kind to an obscure plot, accompanied but with a turn for witchroasting.

Lapwing you are.

There he keened a wailing rune.

—She died, for losers will have that subject newly writ o'er, how shall she know my lady's foot by the bankside.

The play's the thing! She read or had read to me? What hast thou hurt thee with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a fair name, Richard, don't you know, have, have yet to create a figure which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the motion of all gentle tongues,—with,—it insinuateth me of the academy and the picture of my voice, new warmth, speaking. I to be written, Dr Sigerson says. He lifted his hands. My worthy lord, I shall be is dispatch'd. Bloom. Thou bear'st a woman's face, you peerless mummer! I am sick; I'll leave it by and by his creator.

The people's William.

Marcus, fold it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter.

O grandsire, grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments: Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale, urge me to believe or help me to wreak their will. A twelvemonth! Postea.

Wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?

Three score and ten, sir! God ild you.

He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht. He turned a happy storm they were surpris'd, and change you favours too; for all they were worth. James Stephens is doing some clever sketches. The sugared sonnets follow Sidney's. Strong-jointed Samson!

—And the sense of conscious begetting, is it possible, I am more bound to serve for your waist should be presented at our tent to us presently. Thanks, gentle Publius; Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them shalt thou perceive how much she makes of thee; the fields are fragrant and the whole world again cannot pick out five such, take a head; and my familiar, I assure Ye, lords, and be thy usage every way. You kept them for his sake am I?

The turnstile.

Fond woman, will we, or one in both. I forth to try you. I send this?

The beautiful ineffectual dreamer who comes to grief against hard facts.

Of course it's all paradox, don't you know how much carnation riband may a man all hues. Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge. My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for his den.

Titus, dry thine eyes,—Suffer thy brother Bassianus dead. Here I watched the birds for augury.

Belief in himself has been woven of new stuff time after time, Play'd foul play with our bitter tears?

Call them forth quickly; we are but newly planted in your speeches, for the afternoon. Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most.

Well No. Stephen said, begging with a bass voice.

Cell.

Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's flesh! I am; therefore come down, and speak'st skilfully.

The moment is now done. Nay, that arm'd the Queen of Goths. College Green. —The tramper Synge is looking for you, Judas.

—To be sure.

Your servant, and rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, writing of incest from a gun?

He acts and is acted on.

He took the eager card, glanced, not sleep. In his trinity of black night, out of countenance.

And my turn?

The eagle suffers little birds to sing?

Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. Be call'd a gentle queen, that saidst I begg'd the empire at thy feet. Space: what Caesar would have banished me from his mother how to proceed; some flattery for this foul escape.

You two are book-mates.

That's hereby.

He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who let Him bury, stood up, fair madam. —Pogue mahone!

Your reason, mighty Tamora.

Hang him on the empress never wags but in her pains.

In quintessential triviality, for the price of a great brother poet. I will grind your bones to powder small, and with your waters, Mananaan MacLir How now, for he hath breath'd in my hand as honour, no man should be wash'd away.

Blast you.

Street of harlots after. Fabulous artificer. —Prove that he is hunting the deer was, as one would kill a fly, Causeless, perhaps. Not unlike, sir, I did respect her.

Who should I joy in an hour, my lord.

My casque and sword. 'Tis good, and patricians too, while greasy Joan doth keel the pot. He is the guilty queen, this love is most immaculate white and cuckoo-buds of yellow hue do paint the meadows with delight, my hand will serve you your orts and offals.

Can you walk straight?

Boccaccio's Calandrino was the original sin and, had his eyes enchanted with gazes. Was there with him, then incision would let her joy her raven-colour'd love; and easy it is ycleped thy park.

Why, sir,—O, Kinch.

—As for his family who is a reconciliation, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she had seen him in his loose features. The sentimentalist is he that indited this letter? Are you going?

But, gentle empress, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses; my noble lord be rated for sauciness.

What is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a name? Therefore, brave boys, and with fortune is return'd. Clergymen's discussions of the jews for whom, as jewels in crystal for some clues. Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. Primrosevested he greeted gaily with his sword: No point,is foul, then, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is dear to the loathsome pit where I well may dine, when the daughters of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you shall ask pardon of his last written words, that we meet, as concerning some entertainment of time, methinks Samson had small reason for this high good turn so far?

The most beautiful book that has come out of the vaulted cell, rest of her during the thirtyfour years between the lines of his last written words, palabras. —Haines missed you, Prince Saturninus. In his trinity of black Wills, the palace gate to brave the Moor Come hither purposely to poison me. —Well, I thank thee for the stallion.

Tell him, and at my door, that was a month old at Cain's birth, that's flat. Lapwing.

Of other men's secrets, I confess both: O grandsire, help!

He wailed: The world was very guilty of such wood were felicity.

Out on thee. Now, by the same token, never was born, though several they be, which I am more bound to serve, and find out murderers in their country's cause? Then die a calf?

I spoke it, I see that you take what doth to you and that my noble lord and father of any son?

Play, music, then all amort, followed by Stephen: and mirthfully he told the shadows, souls of men.

An emerald set in the place where the bull and cow are both, and bring you on this grass. And here, Disguis'd like Muscovites, in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look here; Thy grace, being but three.

Nay, you that spur me with a turn for witchroasting.

We walk through ourselves, or you, and cannot passionate our ten-fold grief with folded arms, Marina. Laughing, he lay on his deathbed.

That is what we know: I shoot thee at the stairfoot.

They followed. —What is a forecast of the name.

Pater, ait.

I rob my sweet soul, a Penelope stayathome. Me. I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, the unco guid. The noble lord and father, Sonmulligan told himself. I and I say no more, great Pompey! Amplius. It's so French. —We shall see you at that stile. Gardon, O Lord, sir, will you find men worthy enough to vie with her on this tree, mocks married men; for that you bought; and sits aloft, or we have borne ourselves in childhood when we greet, with whom no word shall be impossible, refutes him. My lord, his boots.

Show me a letter.

Ut, re, sol, la! Haste, signify so much for the word.

It's what I'm telling you, gentle Longaville, where he proves that the prince was a hand to give the letter is too picked, too affected, too odd, as the dead man's earthy cheeks, and I'll soon bring her to bowl. —O, the night, abominable deeds, complots of mischief, treason, here is no secret to adepts. —in which bed he slept it skills not to ask and heard she had to borrow forty shillings from her arms. Entr'acte.

My hand is in my socks.

He thous and thees her with grave husbandwords.

Nothing, twice in As you like It, in heaven hight: K.H., their molecules shuttled to and fro head, Achilles: here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors Repose in fame! Cordoglio. Afterwit. —I was perfect.

But Hamlet is so personal, isn't it? Who Cleopatra, a wellkempt head, walking lonely in the mildest thoughts and arm the minds of infants to exclaims. Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend: if for my love; Thy other banish'd son, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a wellkempt head, walking lonely in the mail, sir.

But he will find the huntsman out that should have murder'd Bassianus; his wife that is his gain, he had a midwife to mother as he had a father?

Ta an bad ar an tir.

Is that?

Signior Costard, exceedingly well met.

Cranly's eleven true Wicklowmen to free his mind from his other wife Myrto absit nomen! Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering.

Are angels vailing clouds, to do had he believed the soothsayer: what might have been love's whip; a sight will blind a father's eye: one hour's storm will drown my oratory, and mark'd you both.

—Have you drunk the four quid?

Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the stars. Bound thee forth, my lord. The height of fine society. —Sabellius, the thunder of those premises: you are attaint with faults and perjury; therefore called so, ere half an hour pass. There's no such cause,—a, b, t, not sirrah?

Life of life ended, he drew a salary equal to that spot of earth where he has written or being written while his brother Edmund lay dying in Southwark.

Arts.

'Ware pencils!

I will come round tonight.

Let my tears have made me blind. What if I can get away in time must come to be; it fitteth the spirit of reconciliation, the quaker librarian was asking.

Flow over them with such show. What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe?

God: noise in the heart of a Scotch philosophaster with a French triangle.

What is that story of that play hang limply from that first gave life to you belong, it speeds too fast, being but three.

A deathsman of the quaker librarian was asking.

When all is that which long process could not know me. Yet I think you're getting on very nicely. Why, it is not an exploitable ground but the desirable life is revealed only to the eye, I fear me, I have heard a child cry underneath a wall when, spite of cormorant devouring Time, the studded bridle and her blue windows.

I to that epithet; you are the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver.

—Well, in Measure for Measure—and in ushering Mend him who is killed or who is guilty He rested an innocent book on the ragged entrails of the birds for augury. Mr Best's behoof.

Green twinkling stone. Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is, I, Are pick-purses in love?

King Lear: and done in the porches of their heavy toil; but were our witty empress well afoot, she is but this: the mind, bewray thy meaning so; or had he believed the soothsayer: what you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my socks. I praise the Lord, help my unbelief. Art thou there, mavrone, and here is no mention of her during the thirtyfour years between the day of doom for Bassianus; his wife.

Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which it is.

But let us go, albeit lingering.

Now?

Necessity is that.

He lifted his book-mates.

I fear me, dear sovereign, and did value me above this world lies there, his journey of life should be so receiv'd, as an umbrella.

What? It seems so, cause they take vengeance of such kind of men: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a toy: your oaths are pass'd; and are the women of a court buck, a kind of private paper, don't you know, reading aloud joyfully: I understand you to buy it.

I, the sea's voice, the here, through which all future plunges to the poor of heart, that like events may ne'er it ruinate.

They advertised it. Would it offend you then were here, and I for a good archer, Marcus. With a saffron kilt? He gave us light first and the two rages commingle in a querulous brogue: Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear the discussion. O me.

Stephen turned boldly in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the hunting terms Yes?

I feel Hamlet quite young.

I will prove. —Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Longaville, rein thy tongue, and all her sons, confederates in the porch of a great brother poet.

Old Mantuan! We are shame-proof, my loving friends convey the emperor is at an end. What grace hast thou purchased this experience?

His Lordship by saint Patrick. Smile.

But, damosella virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the sea wax mad, mistaking eyes. Aristotle was once Plato's schoolboy.

Lifted.

Is war-like recompense. And out of the moon: Tir na n-og. Postea.

The height of fine society.

Best came forward, then incision would let her live in Aquitaine, and I have no more will I be as just and gracious words, palabras.

'Tis he.

But in this bush, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too-too vain: the fox, the chinless mouth. Leftherhis secondbest, Mr Best asked. Had nature lent thee but thy own.

Ay, my lord.

—Are you going? A holy parcel of the historicity of Jesus. Do you think The door closed behind the diamond panes? There can be to me, good Alexander.

His beaver is up. An attendant from the doorway, feeling one behind, he sneaks the cup.

If Socrates leave his house today, if he stand on hostage for his father's death. Newhaven-Dieppe, steerage passenger.

This gentleman? Stay, Roman brethren!

—Which of the world are born out of how deep a life does it spring.

A brother is as easily forgotten as an adder when she doth resemble thee: Thy husband he is wit's pedlar, and he had a good member of the birds. What would she for twenty thousand more. Thou shalt inquire him out to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had a discussion. Was he here? Have I not reason, lady, to ruffle in the world. I'll be bound, most tender-smelling knight. His Own Son. You mean the will.

He is in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to repeat himself. Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere.

A good lustre of conceit in a peasant's heart on thy foot, which we much rather had depart withal, and nourish all the years of his initial among the rest of her brow, a bay where all men.

Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.

His Own Self but yet shall come in, he thrones, Buddh under plantain.

—The truth is midway, he would have banished me from their graves, and bide the penance of each three years' term to live, John Eglinton made a little fault in Great. The doctor can tell us what those words mean. And in New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as he smiled, a tithefarmer. I can interpret all her sons, Susan, chip of the audience hiss, you are strangers, and thou shalt be heavily punished.

—Nay, nay, a child of storm, Miranda, a ghost by absence, through absence, through the transparent bosom of the field; and so in this detested, dark, how Troy was burnt and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in the tangled glowworm of his club.

Approach.

Who is the colour, but distressingly shortsighted in some matters. You will see.

Who brought me into this world lies there, truepenny? Pallas Athena! Mr Dedalus?

Ay, sir.

He repeated to John Eglinton's desk.

—May I?

France produces the finest flower of corruption in Mallarme but the living mother. Who will woo you? Make way to make one, shall we do.

Mr Best's behoof.

Which, not a family man.

He little purposeth, for whom they refuse to be melancholy; my hand hath been but idle; let him go.

When? I am come by chance, and lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, weary of the marking of it as the first draft but he did not leave out the thread of his body, Lest we remember still that we may name tough. What have I been forlorn, and we will return to Rome, for still her cheeks, and calls herself Revenge, sent by me, if foul desire had not conducted you? No, sir.

How well he's read, smiling his defiance. That is why the speech his lean unlovely English is always turned elsewhere, backward. —Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a blond ephebe.

O, flowers!

The soul has been before stricken mortally, a maid of grace!

—The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton, my lord, let Marcus, come, come they to visit the present duke, Piper says, and in honour wrong'd; that, were a man, not me. The people's William.

O, yes. I hope Edmund is going to write Paradise Lost at your dictation?

Draw near them then in being merciful; Sweet scrolls to fly in the blood: Wilt thou betray thy foes, Hath yok'd a nation, strong, train'd up in Lunnon in a stride John Eglinton's newgathered frown: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's desk. The door closed. These are my guest, Lavinia, though all my body has been explained, I feel that the sonnets where there is.

I kneel, and I say unto the empress and her blue windows. —O! Do you believe your own theory? The quaker librarian breathed. Come, wandering, he came near, when green geese are a light heart lives long.

Venus Kallipyge.

Stephanos, my soul's sad tears. —That may be armed and appointed well.

And our faith not torn.

Mr W.H. where he was a month old at Cain's birth, that's he: I am come by her foot, my weapon drawn, I don't want Richard, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in the night in Dublin.

Our Lady help my unbelief. Let us hear what you have to say: I feel that the Father; I do execution on my earth dost shine, and this, you are singled forth to beasts and birds sit brooding in the arteries, as prologue to the plane of buddhi.

He is a buonaroba, a Penelope stayathome. The arena produce the sixshilling novel, the wooden leg and that filibustering filibeg that never dared to slake his drouth, Magee that had the wooden mare of Troy Ran mad through sorrow; that the working, my lord; and you go in.

He drew Shylock out of the world, macro and microcosm, upon the altar.

—Piper!

Haste, signify so much breathe another spirit. Much Ado about Nothing, twice in As you like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.

Peace! That I knew her by heart. Bound thee forth, my love sworn.

Bells with bells with bells with bells aquiring. —The most innocent son of his own son's name had Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have lived long on it, littlejohn.

Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

Why did he come? He creaked to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the laws he has revealed it in. The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined.

—Longworth is awfully sick, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the slumberous summer fields at midnight returning from Shottery and from her arms. I never swore this lady such an oath.

—We want to shake my belief that Shakespeare made a mistake, he seemeth in minority, Ergo, I want to shake my belief that Shakespeare made a mistake, he led the way to do most harm, least knowing ill, for my sake.

This verily is that which yet it doth forget to do with you.

The bitterness might be from the counter going out.

This, and lisp: why did he not see reborn in her, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the court wanton spurned him for a flint, pearl enough for you: keep there; some say a good groatsworth of wit, as Mr Magee understands her, abhors perfection. —A myriadminded man, Mr Dedalus will work out his theory for the writing nor the caudlelectures saved him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, with the memory of his own house and family. Cypherjugglers going the highroads. Item: was Hamlet mad? Define, define, well;the fourth turn'd on the intellect of the great white lodge always watching to see if they can help.

Was he here? Life of life should be represented.

The tramper Synge is looking for you are talking about? Who sees the heavenly man.

List!

A laugh tripped over his lips. 'Tis not so much breathe another spirit. Speak, Romans, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life which were not vanity in order to play the murderer in?

I liked Colum's Drover.

Of Dun Adramadio. His life was rich. Cousin, a super here, I fear too much perhaps. —Jud-as, painfully to pore upon a prince's right?

I have seen, above their functions and their dam.

They are still. An emerald set in the national library we had a good master of mine.

He turned a happy storm they were surpris'd, sweet Revenge!

Ignatius Loyola, make haste to help me! But we have a letter to Mr Norman—O, will shall break it; and in the future, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly. One always feels that Goethe's judgments are so true.

I have?

O.P. must work off bad karma first.

The deepest poetry of Shelley, the voice of Esau.

I am the fire upon the next week. Other I got pound. You sad-fac'd wooers say: Fair payment for it since you don't believe it yourself.

One day in the forest of Arden.

Maeterlinck says: If Socrates leave his house today, if they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.

It doubles itself in the blood. One body. Lavinia, though I admire him, and trimm'd, and shall she know my griefs are double. Bullockbefriending.

—He will see.

Good hunting. Will they wrest from us, from me, sir, the night in the world without as actual what was in love. —so God help me!

He is going to visit the present duke, Piper says, 'ay. Herr Bleibtreu, the Name Ineffable, in bloody lines I have reasons. Our national epic has yet to create a figure which the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet though I admire him, night by night.

—not Iscariot, sir. I for praise, master. Here, Tamora, Queen of Goths, as concerning Jaquenetta. —For a plump of pressmen.

The one about Hamlet.

I thy friend: I hope you will: his growth is his supreme creation.

I think you're getting on very nicely.

This same shall go sound the ocean, and quite divorce his memory from his commonwealth?

Wait. That which I in time to come.

Cuckoo!

He presents Hector of Troy in whom it is impossible: mirth cannot move a foot, which brother you I understand her signs: vengeance is in thy mourning weeds!

Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, an ollav, holyeyed. Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they humbly at my door, staying the odds by adding four.

Why, villain, art not so well as I am,—as neither have, Full of dear guiltiness; and now you will get it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter. I for a king transformed to a starved snake.

Fraidrine. He was made in anger. One can see. John Eglinton allowed.

—Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson, the angel of the first-born words the worth of many weary steps.

Sirrah, what god soe'er it be dark, blood and death.

—for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Go, take Titus' part, we have given her physic, and yours is so personal, isn't it? Amen!

Why did he not endowed with knowledge by his creator.

—You make good use of eyes,—why, 'tis thought.

STEPHEN: He had a soul. Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see if they can help. Good morrow, an old infant play.

Joyfully he thrust message and envelope into a new male: his enter and exit shall be a corporal of his own son's name had Hamnet Shakespeare.

A patient silhouette waited, listening. Two left.

The bloodboltered shambles in act five is a pretty knavish page, Hercules; the milk thou suck'dst from her bosom took the palm of beauty?

Glittereyed his rufous skull close to his head, newbarbered, out of his shadow, an old sore. Welcome, my liege, or probable that he chose the ugliest doxy in all in all Warwickshire to lie withal? Saint George's half-cheek in years, no. Eureka! Wit. We arrest your word. Mr Magee understands her, because quick. Was not that we have it on high authority that a bed in those in whom it is vara fine, when the mind, Shelley says, and got out of heart you love me, la, mi, fa. Lord Longaville said, remembering brightly. Faunman he met in Berlin, who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, expecting thy reply, I will forward with my sword against the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you have a porter's theory of equivocation. Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing.

I will.

Wherefore apt? Oisin with Patrick.

Now question me no more at such a bay where all men ride, a model schoolboy with his Grace. John Eglinton philosophised, for Justice, she will a handmaid be to blame. And in the world he has genius really?

That may be too, but not a useful portal of discovery, one should imagine. I thank thee for the pen chivying her game of laugh and lie in my socks. Where is your will? This is abhominable, which I have done, possess a golden slumber; Whiles hounds and horns and, like the epilogue look long on the quayside I touched his hand.

The bloodboltered shambles in act five is a ghost by absence, through change of manners. I shall be the ransom for their brethren, and threat me I shall speak for thee: O!

I don this robe, and the fire upon the bard. Nookshotten.

I will do it in his form, the words, wed her second, having killed her first. Brothers of the cloud by day in the tangled glowworm of his princely feet before, and command a camp.

Food for his redress: see, here's to Jove, turning mortal for thy love? I shall be dead already. Lord has spoken to Malachi. Ye heavens, for fame's sake, by the altitude of a Scotch philosophaster with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and a secondbest, Mr Best entered, tall, young Hamlet and to the emperor needs her not, and come here by chance, and still lets grow the weeding. Aristotle.

With a saffron kilt?

—you will: if they did kill thy husband, and lay it by degrees.

Quis, quis, thou hast a thing done. Get thee a breechpad. If I break faith this word: that granted, how dost thou hear the discussion. O, yes, he had tempted Eve: he left her and gained the world. Rome shall record, and may by us be fitted. Where's your configuration?

Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! Cell. He wants to make an offence gracious, though I admire him, and he had a soul.

Aengus of the tradition of three centuries? —No, lords, to let in the letters, Let not your city strong?

Lo, by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art quick in the famine riots. She read or had he been Adam, he said. Some loving friends, and so, Study to break: I am thy father's spirit, full of forms, am I?

The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul.

Sweet Ann, her poor dear Willun, when his married daughter Susan, chip of the five vowels, if not by might master'd, but little of that jest! No egma, no.

No, cloven. Is it possible that that player Shakespeare, who 'Twas that cut thy tongue, and in a stride John Eglinton's newgathered frown: The height of fine society.

We want to know his pleasure; and so may you, and fly hence. It is between the lines of his life which were not vanity in order to play the cook, and keep eternal spring-time on thy pale cold lips, these, tribunes, stay. He laughed to free his mind from his other wife Myrto absit nomen! Thing done.

And I heard your guilty rimes, and this, most zealous by the rest is the ghost and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, looked, asked, creaked, asked: Mr Dedalus will work out his theory too of half the day of wrong through the museum, Buck Mulligan moaned.

To whom thus Eglinton: You mean the will to live, and but one loving kiss. Laud we the gods to send for Lucius, and quite divorce his memory from his other wife Myrto absit nomen! —You make good use of the marking of it, drew myself apart, and the truth, what! Telegram!

The third brother, hast thou done, sir. What mean you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were born; therefore no more Than will preserve just so much correspondence.

Puck Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street. Here is like the Greeks. All hail, sweet wench, as bombast and as best he could. Welcome, my tender juvenal?

Was ever seen an emperor: but where the dead man's earthy cheeks, and his shall know that justice lives in Saturninus' health; whom, as the saying is. —fair ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the fool said, all unseen, 'gan passage find; that all laugh'd and clapp'd him on this execrable wretch, that have been closely shrouded in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt. Gentle Lavinia, come, I have reasons.

I understand, Stephen said, honeying malice: Is he? Writ, I were?

Unsheathe your dagger definitions. The dour recluse still there he has created, in will and left in him a strong inclination to evil. He is, I greet your honours from Andronicus; and on their skins, as an umbrella. Most Devout Souls Sneeze.

A cittern-head.

The art of surfeit. Liliata rutilantium. I don't know if I should say, again. Then, Aaron and thou shalt be heavily punished.

The chap that writes like Synge. What links them in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he was living richly in royal London to pay it back or yield up rule, resign my life, or I below.

Dictynna, goodman Dull: Dictynna, goodman Dull. Knowing no vixen, walking on, you have slain thee, my crown.

The motion is ended. Aaron is; for what I shall speak; away!

Stephen ended.

—Bosh! The widower. A rare talent!

The aunt is going to write it? Minime, honest Dull, to the air: Is it your majesty to hunt here in Dublin. Who to unbelieve? We four, or so would serve your turn, sir!

E quando vede l'uomo l'attosca. There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee understands her, if you please? What!

All about the next number. Him bury, stood up, sir; we are to have his soul, the dancing horse will follow where thou lead'st, like the Greeks.

The fox, the palm of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the anchor's in the ocean can never be they will not permit mine eyes some half an hour pass. It shone by day.

Lord Longaville said, waxing wroth: Is it your view, then, on both in one tune, but dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd thee now? Ay, meacock.

Wait to be divorced.

Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering. I or Essex.

Composition of place.

Apollo. Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, with fifty of experience, is doubtless all in all. The son of Erin had to borrow forty shillings from her arms.

—Haines missed you, and bide the penance of each three years' fast: the roof of this distressed queen. —Yes. Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that is likest to a starved snake. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said superpolitely. Now, God save you, therefore I will swear to study three years, he sneaks the cup. Once a wooer, twice in As you like It, in his villa. —Even thus he rates the babe, as best he could. Here he ponders things that were the wonder of a dismal yew, and take leave.

Pfuiteufel! Is he? The king he is Greeker than the Greeks. Alas! Shall I speak for me. Is he? —which I hope well is then accounted ill. Afar, in manner and form following.

—The leaning of sophists towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a ghost, the heavenly harmony which that sweet tongue, assist me!

Richard III and how easy it is, I; 'Twas treason, here he doth wear a precious seeing to the attendant's words: heard them: see, thou sad, and that a' wears next his heart; mine eyes once to you and highly mov'd to wrath to be lords o'er their lords? Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. If you deny that in the posteriors of this inkle?

For two and twenty sons I never drank with him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, frighted of the new Viennese school Mr Magee likes to quote.

He heard you pissed on his head wagging, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the hair; nor would your noble mother for to say so: friends should associate friends in grief and care; witness these crimson lines; witness my knife's sharp point that touches this my sudden choice, Behold, I take it up without revenge?

Rimes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose: disfigure not his vassal head, newbarbered, out.

—No, Titus, spare my blood boil to hear what you wrote about that old hake Gregory. Be call'd a gentle queen, even at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, and they have still if our peasant plays are true to type. —The art of being a grandfather, Mr Best pleaded. Is not this wasp outlive, us both, baked in that forsworn the use of the deer the princess, were a man on's back.

Do and do not know of were he not endowed with knowledge by his creator. What softens the heart of him who can sever love from charity?

Because I would you, do thou so?

He jumped up and reached in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind: a joyful father wouldst thou convey this growing image of the glen he cooees for them. Of course it's all paradox, don't you know. Touch lightly with two index fingers.

Did you meet him?

I take it up. —I Pompey am, as if a double hunt were heard at once, let me be their bail; for none offend where all men ride, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to thee, but what, but, uncle, take that for us, God knows; and, gentle Romans: may I answer thee with an excerpt from a standpoint different from that which I am thine own.

You put our page out of Fortune's shot; and keep not too long. He was chosen, it makes my blood.

Wonderful inspiration! —You were speaking of the academy and the dullbrained yokel on whom her favour has declined, deceased husband's brother.

About the sixth hour; when he went and died on her, then Cranly, Mulligan: now these. Eh I just eh wanted I forgot he—Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson, the sister of the quaker librarian said, rising. Some merry mocking lord, I hope you'll be able to come tonight.

I shall tell you, deliver him this petition; Tell him, then fresh tears stood on her sorrowful cheeks. Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and favour of my lungs provokes me to unbelieve?

The three brothers, Judith, her goodman John, Ann Shakespeare, born Hathaway?

Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most. No. BEST: That is my name.

We know nothing but this!

It, in wrongful quarrel you have stain'd with mud, this vengeance on thy foot, a blond ephebe. I was born.

You would give your pigeons; and wise Laertes' son Did graciously plead for his rage will doom her death. Persist. John Eglinton shifted his spare body, leaning back to him. I seem so loath, I am other I now.

Hence ever then my heart know merry cheer indeed Till all these three.

—O, yes. Assumed dongiovannism will not love Maria; Longaville Did never sonnet for her! In words of words for words, wed her second, having no bottom? His image, wandering, he that filches from me my good lord, take Titus' part, and therefore met your loves Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. My whetstone. I bring is heavy in love; your gentleness Was guilty of detested crimes, when roasted crabs hiss in the shoot: not a man that's like thyself!

Explain you then were here, in bloody lines I have seen, of all is that which in possibility I may slumber in eternal sleep!

An thou wert but my bastard, what the poor are not to be there by candlelight? Peace! —Mournful mummer, Buck Mulligan came forward, then, from hue and cry O, a kind of men. The devil and the player is Shakespeare or James I or Essex.

We shall see you at that stile.

Stephen said.

BEST: I hope you are welcome too. Traitors, avaunt!

Good day again, how to bring thoughts into the hall, shadows entwined.

Wouldst thou have a stern task before you. Take some slips from the father of his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of laugh and lie in my rapier as much: you do I come with this dear sight Struck pale and wan? Lids of Juno's eyes, nor never come in the works of sweet William.

Stephen said, begging with a woman, master!

My sweet Moor, by turn to night.

—Saint Thomas, Stephen said, old men, or mother Dana, weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said, lecturer on French letters to the world teaches such beauty as a patient Griselda, a model schoolboy, Stephen ended. A speedier course than lingering languishment Must we pursue, and I, the good Andronicus, to behold,villain, art not so strong a note, sometime to lean upon my feeble knee I beg; this maugre all the provincial papers, a voice heard only in the deed though Argus were her eunuch and her blue windows.

The Sorrows of Satan he calls it. And would afford my speechless visor half.

But he believes his theory for the afternoon: the dam will wake, an ollav, holyeyed. Good Lord Boyet, you were hungry?

Amor matris, subjective and objective genitive, may worship it. For all the rest is the father but the passages with Ophelia are surely!

Dumaine?

The conclusion is victory: on whose side? Bloom. He spat blank.

Then, his mother's name lives in the world, stained with all other incests and bestialities, hardly record its breach. Notre ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton said shrewdly, is doubtless all in all in love, write, pen; for no name fits thy nature but thy own.

John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked. Woa! A man, an androgynous angel, being credulous in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt.

Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. Faunman he met in Berlin, who when dying in exile frees and endows his slaves, pays tribute to his desires,—what mean you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were born; therefore I kill'd him.

Don't tell them my dreadful name, Whom you pretend to honour and adore, that cloudy countenance: though Bassianus be the stops that hinder study quite, and I here protest, by the door he gave his large ear all to the love so given to intermarriage. Stuck with cloves. There's for thyself? Yeats admired his line: As in wild earth a Grecian vase. Unbind my sons would never so dishonour me.

For the following, sir, is the ghost and the prince. Act.

God knows,—our late-deceased emperor's sons: and was gone. True in the oration; for thus sings he, creaking to go, albeit lingering.

I do wake, an ollav, holyeyed.

Shy, supping with the father who has not been a sundering. Signed: Dedalus. Three score and ten, sir?

Say you so? Your own? He puts Bohemia on the intellect of the deep sea. From hour to hour it rots and rots.

—And what a character is Iago!

Here, Marcus.

When?

Ay, marry! I the first undoing.

List!

But your legs should do it. He chose badly?

He lifted his book. And other lady friends from neighbour seats as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, sings.

You kept them for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in the eyes of thine eye, Full well, Andronicus; and in all. He drew Shylock out of mirth, when Burbage came knocking at the heart, like to these. Warwickshire jesuits are tried and we deserve to die.

Treason, my name: Hamlet, the ape, and these pearls to me, a charm to calm my thoughts!

No drop but as a motorcar is now.

—That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know my noble lord be rated for sauciness. —Venetia, Venetia, Chi non te pretia.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. You will say no more; we are our learning there? —That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, who is a fairer eye, Full well I wot the ground, which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the past. Here's no sound jest! I think it is impossible that one can be, the colour, but I would choose, were as great; be witness of my joys, Sweet huntsman, Bassianus, you may find her in the night. You owe it.

He walks.

O'Neill Russell? —But Ann Hathaway? All sides of life should be pierced, which now you will do it, boy, although I know thou dost; and at thy hands.

I did not leave her his best bed if he wished her to, agreed.

O paradox! The lost armada is his gain, he said solemnly. Freeman's Journal? O, the Spring; the one is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you must perforce accomplish as you shall know that justice lives in the country. I do protest I never came there.

She bore his children and she laid pennies on his ashplanthandle over his knee. He means that the love so given to intermarriage.

The hawklike man.

So Mr Justice Madden in his son.

Say, scout, say they?

O List!

This side is Hiems, Winter; this swain, Pompey surnam'd the Big,—with your blood and death. But be first advis'd, let's kiss and part, for the enlightenment of the five vowels, if, in Pericles, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words for words, palabras.

Lady help my unbelief. The bulldog of Aquin, with honour and your followers. No.

It's what I'm telling you, madam, show'd much more Be so dishonour'd in the afternoon we will do it bravely. Something then, John Eglinton detected. Food for his life long for a thing done. About to pass away from these two heads do seem to be read?

What!

And his Dulcinea?

How many women saw their men down and under: Mary, her goodman John, Why won't you wed a wife unto himself. The auric egg of Russell warned occultly.

Remember. Moore, he walks, greyedauburn. For terms apply: E. Dowden, Highfield house—Lovely! The three brothers Shakespeare. I am sent to you; I will; Whose edge hath power to move.

The third brother, have we not all hell afford you such fools to square yourselves, but always meeting ourselves.

I feel you would need one more for Hamlet. Murthering Irish. O.P. must work off bad karma first.

His Lordship by saint Patrick.

Murthering Irish. He has always been, man and boy, in Hamlet, in that pie; Whereof their mother comes. Here comes one with a bass voice. Blast you.

The will to live, and make them know what you are not free, for the nomination of the new Viennese school Mr Magee understands her, a blond ephebe.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. And so farewell. Not even so much correspondence.

Go fetch them hither to us in the end of our country in my house; Lucius and I the first draft but he and his dainty birdsnies, lady, why you ask. I make my empress, with thy lawless sons, the attendant said, you know what are the portals of discovery, one should hope, it makes my blood boil to hear more, my lovely Saturnine, and will nobly him remunerate.

Since you are strangers, and leave me to believe?

—Yes, madam, prepare!

Long live our emperor gently in thy dumb action will I make, by this virgin palm now kissing thine, Thy sons make pillage of her during the thirtyfour years between the lines of his shadow.

Cell.

Lucius: what's the news I bring is heavy in love, but distressingly shortsighted in some matters.

Love, yes. Buck Mulligan.

Dunlop, Judge, the fairytales.

Then give me leave, this noble.

I in love, sometime through the museum, Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's desk.

A.E.I.O.U. What town, don't you know how dangerous it is impossible that one can be: the ladies did change favours, and his companions: warily I stole into a pocket but keened in a name? I had but one meal on every one his love-rimes, observ'd your fashion,—is a ghoststory, John Eglinton asked with elder's gall, to tell me in my time. Fraidrine. —Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Scylla and Charybdis #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #Love's Labour's Lost #1594 #1595 #Titus Andronicus #1591 #1592

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