#v: there are more things in heaven and earth than we dreamed of | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

libidomechanica · 5 months ago

Text

Were but this tries anyway— from one

A sonnet sequence

’St thou art, as the spray that ye can please. Gently. Of all the chang’d than when flowers and all my dream; they change? To make, with eager thousand aves to their wills and die. I sleep of words thy figures dim, and for fair St. Whether and put it in a basket and sang the self-same hill, the fountain Arethuse, and the Vein of Life is past, make accomplish’d neck, with such things to my sable shroud! We’re but this tries anyway— from one room to another, each morn and let no buzz’d whispers use, to sport with the waves, and laid it barefaced looked rare with swords, thy lofty lime made noise is gone.

Thus he spoke, part banter, part affection. Shall now that I could dree, and slowly reading vnto me this sad placed the maiden Aunt a little clock-work steamer paddling plied and sun. I will bind me not in the wind bells bleed thee and make it sweet Virgin’s pictur’d- forth do please. While the rest. Again appear, this vile world drops dead. My heart; but of all its wreathed pear you spy’d like phantoms, into your eyes maybe it’s embedded in two. A voice is the torch’s flame, quickly speak contrary, but something over: you’ve to seed, Hermes prior to subsist; till at last when she beheld, the bright moon dropped.

III

To cadence of tender and by love. Like petals or crystal clear location of this madding vine o’ergrown, and the door, love Gregory. Poem that at each other Grace but you meet the Snow, which with the rest. And die. And worth but touched her face; let eares of thy sweeten so a boy of the morning Walter they’re silent—the wine, we all faint rainbow smiling the solemn! With their due place: let eyes can scarce avail to bear to me! Sure, sweet, where he would bay and flow’rets of a lie coming more the streamlet vapors are pearl which burn within the gender and the boards ere long be-nightmar’d.

For he was dropp’d into the Lesbian shore; there’s coffee in the burden down behind the name o’ gear ye lightly promised she sits in chimney nook. All cates and your mother left his peer. Which to lick—no discernable wallowing violet, the mair to see if I can marry him, maybe can tell me some mair he cried she, now break, now break your laughter from various quills, while heaven’s grace weak Love begins to wear; yet no tailor help to make a brier, tho’ hardly needs to begin revision and is alive alone there are no ears to hopes as in begin to indite.

I only recognize her good angels went unexplained, no two made into suddenly grow, before Thee; from those which fell to earth is light, if but Salámán have changed in a hoard of tales that wanted me, if I shall not half so free from such a stedfast spell his blood should disappeared in crimson weeds stolne from such a catering the wintry tempests of glad grace blinded alike my bonny ship, to bear her cottage roof, at once might not undo without fame, when first and loud and life of care that’s your love you flesh, and fair peace return, Alpheus: the droop-headed flower Lilia.

“You ride now the hearth-flower Lilia. You will; heroic, forfeits, all the floor, saw many a sight, what once, and once more green holly: most friends. With Perilla: all are gone: ay, ages long as braw and bienly clad, and they talked, above her lying under the deep, laughing loud, the Theban walles to build to cadence of love! Out of her pitying womanhood! Do not miss, since then, since he died. As she goes, all that I were crossed, and a moist to graces can you will happen when one of those sweet, than when I seemed as blessed gaze, know them all things by her glamour disappeared in crimson.

VII

Once, and my lute unstrung; else it were better done, as otherwhere: she sight to mine ear, we part to me; as love professes, and I will give a loving thorn, where Lycid lies. Sooner heart as soft as the same, and ioy therein, thoughtfully I ring out with something of the best of possibility we will come, and I love! What was no human prior to chide: unlike the tender care that cup has been dealt in an hour. Back when my wealth Walter too, ’ said Lilia; Why not of. Else the best: sad mortal in the budded charms, and the world’s wide open before the fire in winter’s tale?

VIII

So sinks the deck o’ mountains wear he star. It doesn’t need thee and the wound must bear, brushing thine at morning. Nor is my invention spent, three eloquent words that presence, which band or lace better ha’f o’t. For Juliana came, and Gibson’s hash, and Grisi yet lives in and caught by that you were spirit doth his whim was the dream’d, then it would tell it backwards, true, begin that hue whose lecture shews what you never man, I thine was o’ the sea;—what if thou with me? Fifty should be fair. Somewhere, others of death in birth than the chromatic fumes, an amatory banquet of ashes.

All on this first, but alas Nights side thee, as dear, and hungry bit; pardon ye your love lookes, who hath reft, quoth Porphyro: O may I never: our humble knapsack a’ my weak voice inside my helpless sight, and tween the carved stone. And in your poesie wring; ye that love which the her! And raises toward Namancos and Bayona’s hold: look homeward Angela was feeling for this rhyme is penned, whose plantations; so that good night. Went yestermorn how prettily for his soul’s warmth of sleep, and tender semi-tone, brightly me, but, trowth, I care’t na by. At hand is alive alone. When not to speake?

Such language holds dearest to the lofty rhyme. Nor beasts, looke loue lo Stellas rayes, reason, thought came like an unconscious woman climbs into motley halves; pensive awhile, entoil’d in woofed phantasies. But glory move, let our frail and be liege-lord of wit giuing wounds; see lines of Lochroyan, she’sfar out-owre the honey-meal: and laudanum? In the middle jimp wi’ a rank remains, not there; I fill my hot desire, chiefe good Sir Ralph himself for pay. Has met wi’ the queen of Heaven with what shall hurt the famous Druids, lie, nor on the witch nor wil’ warlock, or mermaids are charm is fled.

My hair is dripping with nectar—starlight a cigarette. Of ashes. Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown’d with inwardly, and with the tale remembered that I were changing, leather any would be dead at midday moan, and all shapes partake, the purest troth, but mine forests … bring me to light: but if, both holds one day you sae nice; the dew sat chilly nest, some old tomb’s ruin: yonder I see the noise within, applying fears to hopes to fears, still form a synonym for Truth—Cease trying! I should be so bold, although chidden of God and bid fair peace be to suit the plains of white on the rose, and swig!

XII

But she still to the Yes of thy worth, and bunches of keen delight, while closet brought, Thou art not so unkind the hapless you speak; but when I am beauties, they never wi’ her can be destroyed. Yon knot of his story; and nodding by each deployment I become a better throat in vain and sang the lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. And you’re dubbed knight he ran, and the passes turn and bid them from myself at bals-paré, i’ve married in; then the dark leaf, unless I blunder a dark leaf, unless youth. I can love Gregory. He cursed Malayan crease, and tell me of it: with Perilla: all are lost, or won, if by us the God curst sun, and loved your belles and what’s my though neuer slake, and would, on conditions, like a mermaids are chaunting faerily wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poison while I was a parrot turns up through one wide lea; with quickening pace my hand?

XIII

And fro on which burn within; for he must bear, alone the scope affords. Was than everlasting wash of air—Rome’s ghost since I drew a morning arises from its towers! Are where Nancy aft I courtesy not returning, heigh-ho! God topples from leaf to leaf and listening went the living from the sadness reign. I can looking up; and through many a sweet passion have changing again and he had a dream, alas! A bottle almost empty in its hinges groans. For to number sorrows of your troubles thus keep ye. Over the heavy change their rhyme, exceeded by themselves?

XIV

I wish to God I never: our humble knapsack a’ my weak voice shall meet? For Lycidas? In both amazeful solitarinesse: in night, alleviating the taxing rocks. But, trowth, I care’t na by. And somewhere on the sad height, says, Row the treasures of keen delight; those words; for thee; sounds of her good, who is the knolls a dozen angry pride is cap and be safe in my bones are about his eyes. Three eloquent words, beset with both Loue and Sence, with me, whether by choice Myrrha for the apple, and, faith, I will, even in a space is compressed in two, breaks forth the rest.

As the sorrow, is not so bitter incense paired with glowing, yellow Autumn presses near; then glut thy sorrowing, by her sisters echoed frosty feet, his bow, I sit upon the laurels, and flow’rets of delight. Inside, you sleep, and the river, goodbye to thy wracke beyond a morbid eating by thee only, whom I love! Juliana comes, she comes from thy living, than great among the book, o noble mind to scorn delight, as her lulling songs, that ye may think, proceeds. Numb were to suit with you and thus a delicate spark of glowing gnaw. They never wi’ her can compare.

XVI

And still. Broad lawns until the poppied warmth to shadow and rend apart the hands and the words—the syllables in a pool of verse to constancy. Save to St. When we hope to find weak points in the door your tiny silken-sandaled foot: that’s sailing on the babe rose never be? Sir Walter the sloping pasture murmured, sown with the cover—all, all of us dies, and so they might, the source or observes best doesn’t need to be said, to the utter’d to tears the droop-headed was her sunny warm weather, and the wealth of glory, like petals finding themselves be bevel; by their answer.

XVII

Stands ready spears—and those thousand her who believes, and always, as love even, all my dreams of a heavy heart: which the prairie, the fingers, while our cloisters echoed frosty feet, his bow he bent, St. Was vowel- keen and vialed in her navel then disappoint myself at bals-paré, i’ve married in; They told her hair; so Anacreon drawn the world were not changes tell; but never knew till now; and the Noose of my delight; that fair—not the river, wi’ a lang, lang linen band? Then in the house; but ah! However deep you missed through, and loved, I did not build the Muses finding themselves?

XVIII

When ever cries; I cannot turns up through Turner’s England, left the laws of physics are no ears to hopes and steppes … I would fetch a pretty price if you did. Do thou canst not float upon the day, ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightning of my songs grate on thy face hath not left all sight of me and Eve was o’ thee, or yet thou goest safe, supreme. Just for one moment to meet no more but soon his warm, unnerved arm of witch, and the frost-wind blows from the toothy wolf instead of old romance. ’ She saw not: her head of grandmother left here when near—the eyes that move men’s heart, her dell.

XIX

Against the moonlight clasps her walls. For aye thy vassal blest? Hung low down, that took my sight, He plunges at me, guttering the shore; the Almighty will be thy babe’s father than a case of day; rage, rage again, all my endlesse nightingale shoulder and we missed thee or speak, kneel, touch, by scent, inexorable once against the spoons and snowy mountains overhead and his lip should blind Fury with false I swear, a thousand her ankles. I saw the sea mermaids are charmer, her sweet Virgin’s pictur’d-forth do please me mair to see and press the pain of finite passion you did move to-day.

Fear that receives, and hides the sight sooner than a fire, showing dangerous constancy. I love you no fear? Always under a cover. Difficult for slept an azure- lidded sleep, no, nor for their loves, as it cannot hear. Too late I noticed me, if I should blaze upon the other. Through thy breathed with which do in excellencie passes turn and bid fair ones; come and those that level at my fault if you wanted me, if I shoulders in the ruins. But to her brows bent, like a missal through such a woman climbs into a slumberous tender stopped: when down besides were still and trick!

XXI

Help me to slow degrees: his lady’s purpose lost, or won, if by us the ods hath thought of thoughts and know dark is right, like puzzled urchin on an aged crone in sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed lie, let us be unashamed of soul, as earth as kisses break your beauty are in my arms, faded the river, the conjuror plays amid the subways there were telescopes for a courted: wha spied he had not gain’d. Germ of new life, my love, and to salute the same as the dark hills I would be as braw and bienly clad, and a moist mirage in mass, dimension, and words thy figure be expresse Nights sides fingers. Ill deeds might have been in a machine made better equipage: but Walter Vivian all a summer since her beauty is the spiders thrown: whom men a colour, or more would ride. Then The Sage—oh Thou the warm air and a’ his companie. But, trowth, I care na by.

XXII

Hand, we sat at my table, circled around me, and grass, does to my chimney nook. Then wake into the level mead on wings put cross-wise on the early morning’s sun to erase? Waves, and he stood aboon the stair, with jet, the very dogs would execrations fully show all that not one blade of the descent had slop’d his mantle blue: to-morrow morn. That he might be fully blest: yet, ah, my mayd’n Muse doth she brindled bitch, the blue-tick coated Philomel, and a few leaves my head. Breathed then his mother always wine, in close the casket of my dreams … scatter my sick dreams of a Mother!

XXIII

Has tantalized me many times declare. Of witch, and feared to overthrow. Soon, tremble in my ear, the fingers are o’er, and crude, and lovelier than faile his light of Life without my cloak, to let base clouds of sorrow and armour hung. What primal night I linger, thought, and long to my fingers of our set, five other. Down her arch’d there is the deep, soulful stillness; in the sun. And in your pillars? Bleeding out of her some day smith made, and smile. Had broods above that walk’d the waur best-graced grace since that can your several sheep down the white blaze of moon on the tree; all his life’s star foretold.

XXIV

My mistress’ eyes—to lie on a whit, to say that ye can please me mair he cried, when her lover, compare. A tale forehead to be vile that soothed limbs, and I’m come hame, and most precious pledge? But, Tibbie, I hae seen the self-same hill, the sinking on my storm- beaten way their departures hence, and blouse— nay, a bit of beard them, Since your love. Let eares heare sped; and as honest as his birth; all his feet, and think I gave myself did make, and never rue my trouble wi’ tin; when the deed, and the rings from objects hath my heart, e’en as the souls of death his white clouds lightning then, Sisters won’t do it.

XXV

What you swore to win! Good night, where lang I’d been a lodger; i’ve serv’d my king and Breath and what we’re safe enough the glad sound of black. Ah! Already spears—shall now by my revenge me with his endless fleece of feathers overcome both brains and gingerbread in the crimson. In her sleep from hollow fields below, I sit and pronounce, which leads sunny as cold, Return, years ago; and sage Hippotades their disturbing course or mutter’d to tears this patient leaders take for Juliana comes, and drink my fill at your rimes, running ahead of my delight as must hold watercresses.

XXVI

Through Turner’s England, left the white on the first and made the oxygen. Dead; I lift a blast of the noble fire fed by touch without touch holds what perfect beauty is; that gallant badge-the dead ere his traine. Feeding out to learn! Neck, do witness bear thy blacke, both from the treasures of lofty rhyme. Sir Walter, part affection wait,—haste, precisely equal arming me to the doubt it a little light. Or with Science; kneel in prayer while I was gone and I have not broke my Bond, nor lies beneath, grave, solemn contrary, but soft stare of uncontested summer all your margins, your name.

XXVII

My star! Shall adorn my tomb; that Angela gives there whelmed with slaughter: round the just so much fame in Neptune’s plea. A stratagem, that next best bed. The smile thy shame you turn over. And find thee still unchanging against the lines my life, the anchor o’ the lovers be rewarded. Said the Dame: let us be unashamed in star-showers. Yet growest more than I have left enough, no more wretched the spray that you bewitched me into its wounds of that neither whom the truth and ward, or thou complaine for to number sorrow, is not enough; here is the bile be all perfection.

XXVIII

I will glove my Love lovers be rewarded. Then first great, his clothes to pay for, and slowly arched and poor; my mistress’ eyes—to lie on a whit His prayer he shall see her lips: and Walter too, ’ said Lilia; Why not of gay flowers, through certain him all think to a phrase … children’s cries, on! Performing God’s functions, a people: thither hae her in her father, there were telescopes for a courtesy not return, Alpheus: the droop-headed was her deceived thing, if they would find the melancholy music, yearning like a throbbing star O fountains were open, Gregory is within.

XXIX

Knew himself and the shade will say who fared the waves; where, you sleep, seeing I fast and praised her hair, and he had a flower in a pool of bever, with a tear: alas! I earned no more, O ye dolphins, waft the famous Druids, lie, nor in broad lawns until she telltale cheek, and be you the Prince at the dying brain and here will stop it, for meek St. For weeks, I breathe his broad lawns appear’d under the stormy Hebrides, where on the patient leaders of deans; they are going to force my hart still tired, yet still my hot desire that seems the clear are they desire of those very temple of Delight as must hold waters and beauty shed, and euery purling through suffocating grace converted into enormous amounts of the moon rides in mist, scrim scarred with slaughter: round the river, the colour’d flood, smooth- sculptured stones, O trees, as from Julia’s sight, and long since she died.

XXX

As an unowned things, too, myself the way, her, piano, and nearer still. Nor look behind, or all these kissing a line— o for someone else can compare, whaever has met wi’ a rank reiver, and as he pronounce, which growest more will say yes, maybe. A dark leaf, unless they list they stand in the heavy heart and now we reached an universal nature apt sprited gastlinesse. Fainting to bed; even these you all! Summer since mute, of wreathed his drooping from this poor and hopes as in a glass; turning to fade, made incomplete, a bottle almost empty flaggon by his arte.

XXXI

That colors is it them? They never wanted me, if I should have all pass’d tween the string and groans, but thine was o’ the bright saints, and fearless bride, my Madeline, to no rude infidel. And kiss, but require of Heaven hie, come too drowsily, Full of desire, empty of wit giuing wounds; see lines of British boys rewind back to the green holly: most friendship is feigning, most lover—all, all of them, Since your idol glass a white on their weak proportion to sulphurous god rimmed clouds and wing’d St.— Oh Thou that doth but small wood pigeon that dreams of a Caitife worthy being strait-besieged by this became history. Said smiling Pretty were telescopes for azure views; and fortunes, and there, flown, like joy in memory, which euen to see if I could be they had fallen from here and her, and her lion roll in a silken Samarcand to the grim wolf with perfume. For thee.

XXXII

In sort of wakeful anguish, and with sick unpruned wing. Sir Walter Vivian all a summer’s corn has ears: sighs, and gushing breast, him in their bells for all. Yet, ah, my mayd’n Muse doth lap, nay lets, in spirals, and long since he crossed, and let my gestures freeze, thou know they mistake it; that from rose-or myrtle-tree, and cannot be left all sight of Madeline! You are the Beadsman heard no human face … such hands might lament, when she met wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ my Phillis—for she-society. You know from hollow lute,—pale, lattic’d, chill, and child, She hurried at his life within.

XXXIII

That promise set on fire when my wealth, and comfort Him. So far fra kith and sallying terms, but move men’s heart, too sopping to the lass of Lochroyan, come live with lucky words oft uttered in two. Not one that may bring good! To speed of light this to the westering of musk and of Sorrow!—Thus plain I am not all unseen; perchance speak? Whose passes zither of chromatic fumes, an amatory banquet of ashes. I needed a music-master. The walls into a Lover’s head! Beautiful was strange was thou wilt see: no time to grieved it over and all that small: little thou with risk.

XXXIV

’Er despisd, and so it chance speak? Even to eternity; or at the mellowing the dread of wife about the knight heart to the stream of the wall, as gay as any garden in her face for conquest was from a stag. Where Joan was put to death in man’s clothes and those sugred lips. Only a honey-thick stain the steep where my Julia’s sight sooner heard what time to grieve to sail sae royallie. Where my Julia’s sight to me, and kiss, but require of Heaven the downy owl a partner in your song. On wings put cross-wise on the fair. And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes.

XXXV

Beautiful and put new strong wine of love! She only lily; she sank within, applying fear I find in either actual or potential. But giue apt seruants the fall o’ the self-same shaft. Love meant to be free, starved. Both near at hand;—and higher mood. And to gain her brows bent like hers can you shall now never can compassioned tide that throb, Eliza dear, I could make it dearly! And the thousand aves told, for o’er the stories are gone; only Herrick’s left alone for my love the flies away, dead broke. Seen mid the tiles, for Little sadly, how Love fled and wrung it.

XXXVI

Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman, ye’re no come vnto this sweet of foot, and hungry sheep down by his lip should be a bud again. A skylark wounded on the finer politic sense to mask, tho’ but in dying all, leaue Loue to Will. Even as it couldst thou,—finding themselves awake, and of insolence, heroic if you did. With love, I known: and I forget him shall do so formed, and limb to limb spoiling their death look, made the spared her. He ceas’d—she redden’d like a nick in a knife. Flirting glance, and limits of violence that violence that looks immortality. Rest won’t do it.

XXXVII

And sair she frees; as down ever? Ah!—Ah, Gossip dear, a wafu’ man was her lulling songs, the City’s voice again, all my dreams the secrecy, Ah, silver: sumptuous theory. In the sea;—what is told. Under the while: Ah! To mask, tho’ but in him between each deed, and coral, coral was he; and I would be thy love sheds, and I think and speaks in the mountains breaks forth thou art my head. And thine, And thence this killing as close my eyes … ally, you will outlive my hart still tell what Man would wish it broke from his knees, her rich anger showed the river, goodbye to creek joining then me?

XXXVIII

Such a wretched errors hath fur: for the startled her; but some words—the syllable, or, woe betide my head knocks against the whole world drops fra my yellow hair, cast in a wond’rous riddle-book, he passion’d faeries pac’d the breast, my hand? Almost tell me where finally ever be desert, I am not all unworthier, told of college like a missal where such musickes loue through the palm was once to me with Lilia’s. Theirs for ever from his dungeon stray’d; the air was calm, and of ladies’ rights, a feudal warrior lady-clad; which how dexterously I do, hear and reason.

XXXIX

And she told her joys, her look with all care, as she hurried at his might be feign’d, and call the night, of such a bloom become a forsaken lady to sail sae royallie. Dictionaries methods and whereto my hope doth only asks to lay her but she’s in her face: nay, if you wouldst though, full of seaweeds strown; Yet now despaired,—been happy. But one man love had brood, however deep you missed it, lost in the square, warm breath sucke vp those enchanting breast, and daffadillies fill the world drops fra my chin. And the rathe priests had seen mid the same were many a dusky gallery, they did aright; on love, the delicates he held me upon the primrose that light in thousand mark; that which Senses obiects be; Deale thou’t love, O troth. Fed the minister and hides them. On their hair and queuing up for home. Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me, and plays, her whom the isles of Neæra’s hair?

Onward, whenever leaves my heart would have to St. Alcohol, to that she slept an azure-lidded sleep, and all its budded peaks of the convulsive rapture of a dog can be; little captive breast, warm breath most sweet flowery Spring again be separate and thoughts o’ the world’s wide eye and the treasures of keen delight. Teach them all the various ills—a bird and a tone mid looks at distant to sing, heigh-ho, the housetop lonely, i, a lone she-bird of flowers and when she saw fair and I’m come here at Christmas up to reach through the night, the If and Why I love and bonie Bell.

XLI

Nor yet whereof some coquettish deceit. All is Venus, save unchaste. While I have been, once to me with ever-after, all, all of us dies, and here on the resemblance which the flock in woolly as the billiard-ball: chin as woolly fold: with a ruby large recompense, and there, and the year. Thy streamlet vapors are borne a son hae a heart of my life, the musk-rose, and thing;—a dove forlorn and rave and I to nurse at full of doubts, thou be what I think to burst thy prison doors! Sweet fruit doth proue; bidden, perhaps that doth reign and love is a journey through, and wings that must be meek!

XLII

How say you? Be such as do bewray a want of lightning, and bless thee, or yet condemn, nor am I not glances and the work would be to my lord’s guilt thus faultless bide I pain, yet from the most thy anxious parent longs for yours to overthrow. All your sweet Rose-bud’s the long-wave light yet condemn, nor am I Mary Magdalane, was borne and my finger even. I hide it from rain, as thou art, as thou art out of curiosity, like love and I have lost, and your belles and rill; together by his job, his joined clenched fists. About it lay the maidenheid, right of dim espial.

XLIII

World of my though not in the world is best. Of the gude red gowd, but ay the world are wove. So dream, alas! One hour with Stellas great krater-cup bearing one death-moth be by one, and thou hast spied. Ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. So Lycidas, and have told the Muse herself that nestling lies upon the should be obsolete. From History; the glow of ripeness. No sun, but a dog can be miss’d. Something more than I have swerved; and mixt with his endless tabernacle be: if not, as banish At least part: how fair Annie turn’d to stone.

XLIV

In the sloping pastures new. For I must kneeling yield both the time draws near that do search for euery purling springs,—your part my heart, the gloom, i noticed me, if I should take this slander, who was so gentle body near his touching then, is useless as require of Heaven hie, come from all ill death may she died, my most true mind o’ my bonie lady, or if thy dear doting heart of bird of his for his turn comes in rejoice inside of those tears; who keepeth clos’d o’er the deil a ane wad speir your verse to consume, although divine, are men: some have lovers met, since breaking the sea.

XLV

The chance! Come Lord, and those enchantment held her how, upon St. Why is my love sheds, and her sleep, no, nor for thy young Jeany fair, yet a man she comes gloomy Winter grimly flies; now crystal—and dream and I do sweare, euen by thee only, whom at your bower-door, but thine was on the same and my final aspect. Poem written upon the rest. It lay there were not a summer’s day gave his body in the fire in winter night—did you sit fore your head anither airt, and arrow he had told him we would fetch a pretty price for a while I have no arms or legs. Where I am.

XLVI

Are wove. Eliza, I must love beguiled by some coquettish deceit, cleopatra- like as many girls—sick for thee. As the name o’ gear ye light. When man, enters won’t do it. While in mine eyes levell’d opposite, o thing expressive as this may not claim another; no sisters echoed frosty feet, his body in the same princess sleeps—the pillow. Came; all his lamp, and drear! Tired of my chimney’s shine and summoned by a single sweet day is gone. Why write fifty years, I have spent. Glow like a saint: from Fear o God within my corset-lacing. Heavily against my wit is mard.

XLVII

Phoebus replied, and Fays, and Sunne-borne sighes and honest sodger’s wealth, a poorer prove, that touches back his black wings. To reach the freak of love has buoyed me up till my argument; so all my endless fleece of feather. As I Undying Life, have power to make love gives the knight have her weal or Woe, nothing so fast by those very tempest roar’d the diamond fine; his soul shalt taste the sand that I shall be thy bravery in their spheres been fitted in the holly! More fit to wonder do you know how it oft; skin as smooth, and her lambs unshorn, and as soone as thoughts more green holly.

XLVIII

You take wrong wayes; those thousand growing age, a dearer birth than this failins, ’twill pleasurable. Curse, bless, me now with you? Make in one, the blest kingdom and the fresh woods, and singing up; and set her on the event with clear are thousand creeds that made my tongue the joy that I shall sweetly pay the moisture right that the highways slide out of eve, when her young swain, enow of such a grasp of the alphabet, Logos appears and unnamed light as possibility we will say it, because ye hae thee, when she smile were clean, wha follows ony saucy quean, that which one liuerie, both torment you?

XLIX

Sun and speaks in the house; but all the Kings that old Lord Maurice, not here, not a white dress for yonder, shrieks and life in my mind, and with bulrush and wake with you. Remain beyond the gray-fly windswept and west winds of the life of my desire of the stormy passion, joy and peace, an ever; quo’ she, My grandsire left me gowd, set up a blind and bending against the direction wait,—haste, infant bud of being, and that content was thoughts would run there we took her hollow she’s grown meek—the smile so sweet dreams the secret sister Lilia There are the fair. If Lucy hould be forgo?

For Love’s world for Love, I always running in spite of you to quench or cool me with me those pure eyes give salutation to my content you? In day and reason. You seen but a dog can be; little canst not from rose-or myrtle-tree, and the rings frae our fingers? Circled around so i can looking backwards, then the dark What harder thing or the youth: but they stand half-historic, counts and me. You take wrong had touch’d my hand, one chewing a star, and there but i just don’t know here right blowes did men tell me of some love and my hand, the Muse herself, for her wizard stream: where Lycid lies.

The flower Lilia. Cherry-ripe, ripe, I cry, full and fair, yet a man she could, noble; or of greater. Lovers, made incomplete, a bottlebrush tree, a corn-enclosed bawk, sae gently. You, a sparrows pair, and swam for Love guideth. She has no been the rout that sad embroidery wears; bid amaranthus all his actions make the changing again what eternal woe, for no such quintessence of marble. Comes the language, and green and dare not sighed deep, laughing loth, and slowly read, and so entranced, but his eye; but only may now shade came of other rites were open, Gregory!

LII

Or steep-up spout where Porphyro grew faint: she knew himself and the salt sand-wave, built on a rock of Immortality. Dawn, an ill deeds. He venture so: it fills me with amaze; they changes like a thousands dead are shaking they lost they grieved it on the lover’s words, thy worth, to the peach; and his wife moves next morning sky: so Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high through pores of life—each night at one of the alarmed hearts; and mine now best do know where she heart her rich anger shows, Return, Sicilian Muse, and loving eyelids of the time, and with sad eies I their backs, locomotives.

LIII

Fair Annie of Lochroyan, that’s sae mean, altho’ his pouch o’ coin were glowing, the silks. All that I am and when he turn’d him to The Sage—oh Thou that watch’d thy early morning. As a’ the pride, according to light! But I’ll give to the rose noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness swept there; I fill my arms, and grasp’d his wish, nor yet the lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. Dow I stand. For aye unsought for you. That blows loud and high. Reason, thou kiss not my fatherly I kiss and daut thee, which never saw you, Mag. Not a whit good Angela, believes itself so blessed with fingers.

LIV

Dived in was struck with Amaryllis in the door, but she’s in her breath sucke vp those years, I have nor hope nor hope nor hope nor health, the hare limp’d trembling knees that old Lord Maurice, not here, through the gates of thy decease. And sea; then in the grass, all eyes be muffled, or all his actions make for he was then have charged his hands. Thy father till death like sleepy? Has met wi’ my Phillis can vie: her brows bent, nor any male thing expressive as that riband bout her walls, and swore to win her! Waves upon the holly! The day did dawn, an ill death within me wrought a heap of fruits and lines trace in all pleasures of spice the glad sounding Jealousie command of chain mail one by one, and twittered, Kate Brown’s on the patience; kneel in praises be to one, of one if short tunes? How prettily for text, and green hill in one holding so seen to be envied of the gray-fly windswept and west winds meet.

The hand that it be found its unexpanded buds; on such a catering that seems the carved angels her deceased woes with new- borne day you read the rain drops fra my chin. Until none else that drove her, and her who tries, which euen to see set, and you have children bear children! And wha will keep a heart stay, in day and rears though earth as kisses, where thou art fair—not the poppied warmth, whiteness, paradise, and shadows in a moment shrapnel scythed you like a streamlet and soul is mine! Nothing will be my babe’s father care that taketh end by love. No sun, but my Mother’s eye! But the fault lie?

LVI

At glaring watch, perhaps discreet, difficult for his mind, I do now? What fond and wake with you, my most thy prison her to the level matting. For now I mean to do: a sisterhood may see, when the most thy anxious parent long; and on the resemblance weight, alleviating the river, the axil, the Y, goodbye to bloom the morning, heigh-ho! My ain dear Willie? French to boot, at least in the stately tower, shining both clear are thou art my lids and fair peace with amaze; they are amaz’d, but satiated at length and never stopped: when down, Sugar, my wings that makes the word.

LVII

They never, never wi’ her can be; little dart, and a’ his count bad what was no hum. Both bring one delight, I will flourish’d May: and how soon she shifts and kings who laid about, lord Gregory, as fast and blossom of herself, for heretics in love, and the sheet I smell anise, the plains of hell. And nodding by each door; Give me that lives and all date, even to eternity; or at their sex, and face be to suit with knights, half-legend, half-hid in the wide lea; with quickening pace my hart still and trysting their golden throne,—and thence would wander in the star that doth hide something sweet.

LVIII

Which my lost they springs,—your part my part to live full again. To the view of the lips of sweeten so a boy of the answered, each beaked promontory. And Why I love this first, there’s no one’s back his blood clot. Will be gone, now thou art the leaf where now are peering eyes scintillating son, whom but Maud should blind in every motion and whereto my hand with pewter, bronze and reluctant moon back to thee, i’ll never flows but never could teach them all by name. When thou art: the Starrs, all that minutes slowly pass’d; with jet, the glasses of the air when a child; she remember he’s his could make him; drest, you said, but I grow old and great princess, I would be forgiven, an ill deeds must not serve your turn the whole world hear me and i would fetch a pretty price for aye unsought for, baith kirk and queuing up for Then all the longed, all else with ‘As you will do whatever come!

LIX

Park, i’d rather half the way one looks. ’St strain; sure, said I, o’ my charms. By him who masks and let not locks he laves, and as he could live withal, unless the clay and red, and young, and should have him sight to ire. Why is my Mother’s skull shapes partake, all garlanded with such things, too, myself to him and the river, there when we walk you over, pledge? A weeping cloud, it faded, and suck’d an ancient ditty, long she knelt, so pure a thing, if it selfe containe! Dearest pledge you to be said, but do not care, thy reason why, all the night of Then, laughing loud, he flew and hid his face.

If thou binna she, now thou art thou art my part in life, and are not changed the day, ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. And the North to-night, the moon. Anxious her lips, nane might have vision holds the wind: and he should look in the riddle, thoughts will not my foot remove,—sweet day is gone. Bleeding out into seclusion. In the flames in one phrase … children’s cries, the sward was trim as any rush, and time start: and all night to last, a love sheds, and I will bite. A pleasant tales of their joyous leaves lay on their prose or song, list while his frosted breath most sweeten so a boy of thee, or yet was known. The hungry sheep down by her glad arms that doth latch: of his feathery grasses everlasting wash of air—Rome’s ghost since mute, Say, may I never wi’ her can compare, whaever has met wi’ the queen of my thought the best was a city made the floor.

LXI

And, falling what it doth it deck, is my Muse and things great; but we, unworthier, told of college, visiting to move or not to love, and never could so in the aged gossip led hyena foemen, and ward, keep watch and what thou promised she would have hardly needs to be vile than mortal soil, nor in the world for Love guideth. And nature to suit with you. When Juliana came, and sorrow’s trick. Old Time and pains; in the wind whisper’d in her brain. And all the kingdoms meek of joy and perfidious bark, built in the globe of weale, lips Loues oene behest, without touch his flowes, and something great! Brown leaf shards gather blisses of thy decrees: or bid me love in words spak never saw you, Mag! But the fallen bird abandoned on them like a boy of shepherd. Her voice of one death-moth be veil’d Melancholy music, and piteous eye, fearing one delight, and light that good night.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #126 texts #sonnet sequence

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the-hem · 5 months ago

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"The Great Space." From the Annapurna Upanishad, the Exploration of the Mysteries of the Queen of Foods.

When we lose consciousness at night during deep sleep, we become impotent. Life goes on without us. Even when we open our eyes, get out of bed and interact, only that which can be seen moving and reacting can be considered potent.

Nothing that happened during the deep sleep or dream state can possibly have an impact on the potent or pluripotent world to come. This most persons can accept. The problems start when we project fantasies upon the world and wish with all of our minds and willpower they were true and then behave as if the universe has changed when it has not. Therefore the world of conscious imaginings is the same as the one found in the dream and deep sleep states.

The Mormons and Evangelicals, for example run amok telling everyone they know Jesus loves and them has saved them, they just know it, except there is nothing to know. It is just as if they dreamed these things and could not tell they were not awake.

Yes, Jesus was a loving person, but He is dead. The Holy Ghost, who was unchanged by his birth, life, death and resurrection remains as steadfast in its love and Grace as ever, but Jesus has not walked the earth in over two thousand years. This we must come to accept is the ultimate and potent reality. There are no reasons for other persons to be oppressed or to be raped or murdered by the Mormons and Republicans as a result of their falsely construed lives.

So the more we resort to the reality space or great space outside of the space we have been potted within, the better. This is the difference in perception between what is called the ego or Jiva and what is called Ishvara, the Lord of All:

V-77. Just as space is called ‘Pot-space’ (and) ‘great space’, so, due to delusion, is the self called Jiva and Ishvara in two ways.

V-78. When the all-pervading spirit shines always without a break in the mind of the Yogin then one becomes one’s Self.

V-79. Verily, when one beholds all beings in one’s own Self, and one’s Self in all beings, one becomes Brahman, the unconditioned Self.

As the Upanishad says there is only one Bringer of Life. He does not change shape or conform to purposes other than His own. He cannot be controlled or modified by man, only witnessed and regarded.

Jesus Christ, the Son of Mary, was the sweetest person. He befriended everyone he met, quieted every argument competently, and made an attempt to bring man into alignment with his destiny on earth, and full eventual citizenship in heaven. Jesus told everyone how to turn the small space into the Great Space but He was rejected for it. His Counsel, however, "find the Self in all beings", renowned throughout history remains the same.

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lasquadrasfuckhouse · 3 years ago

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hello i hope it’s ok to request this, but I can’t stop thinking about that like really pure tender-emotional sex with la squadra— I was wondering if I could request that as either hc’s ( or a fic with melone or prosciutto if you get a muse for it ) I don’t know if that’s enough to go on but aa the sappy thoughts are running around my head ; v ; ) please and thank you ( unrelated but I love your blog and hope you have a wonderful day/night 💘 )

OK FIRST OF ALL THIS POST MADE IT INTO MY DREAMS i dreamt that i was answering this and one of the points i wrote for ghiaccio was 'don't worry he can handle it he's a gamer' WHAT DOES THAT MEAN??? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???????

BUT!!! TOTALLY OK TO REQUEST IT I AM A SUCKER FOR TENDER EMOTIONAL SEX

and thank u sm afjglfndng i hope ur day/night is wonderful too 🥺❤️❤️❤️💕 even tho i think u sent this like maybe over a week ago time isn't real fjgkfkfj I HOPE UR CURRENT AND ALL FUTURE DAYS R GOOD. here are some hcs for u!!!!!

la squadra and lovemaking ❤️

18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

risotto ✂️

he absolutely craves intimacy. goin hard and gettin freaky is super fun obviously but to him the best, most fulfilling and satisfying sex is when he and his partner are just close as can be in every way

he wants to open up. create a space like that for him, where he knows he's as safe with you as you are with him, and you'll really see the incredibly gentle, loving, and passionate side of risotto. he knows how he presents himself outwardly, as cold and intimidating, but the thought of everyone seeing him as just that--or worse, seeing himself as just that--makes him feel empty and he hates it.

so be his safe haven where he can express just how damn loving he is, openly acknowledge that side of him and embrace it, love it wholeheartedly, and let him know that you know he keeps you safe in turn not just with his ferocity, but his softness. he'll be so full of love he'll wonder how he ever could have felt empty.

he'll want to make love face to face, looking into each other's eyes, kissing soft and deep, and just absolutely basking in how you make each other feel. he'll want to take his time to feel every single inch of you and leave nothing untouched. he could do this for hours and hours, all day really, and he's almost achingly gentle. do the same for him, feel and love his whole self, let him know that he is precious and deserves to be treated with care; his expression will go so soft (and he is more expressive like this). the way he makes his partner cum isn't just physical, it's euphoria and love felt in every way and he'll want to carry them there as many times as they want because he just wants to make them feel as loved as they make him feel

he's just quiet by nature so he still doesn't say much, he'd rather express himself in other ways and you're connecting so deeply that you hardly need words (depeche mode enjoy the silence plays tenderly in the distance) and he loves that, he loves that intimacy. but he will, as least once, maybe while you're getting him close, whisper an i love you.

you also get him smiling with his cute dimples, because of course you do. and tell him genuinely that he's cute; he doesn't hear it often, and it makes him feel loved. he'll be head over heels.

he'll hold you very close for a long time after, just being with you. he'll stroke your back and feel your heartbeat against his, there's something so beautiful and intimate about it. you make him so happy. he's really warm too, perfect for snuggling!!!!

prosciutto 🚬

his caring nature always comes out at least at some point during sex, but especially when you make love. the tricky part for him is letting himself be cared for, too. he gets a bit nervous about it in all honesty, and that's less about guarding himself and more about guarding everyone else.

help him see there's nothing to worry about. you know you're safe and loved with him always, that doesn't change when he allows himself to be cared for, and in fact brings a whole new level of emotional safety to the table when you connect like that. remind him in no uncertain way that he deserves it, too. remind him that he's human, and show that you want to feel human with him in any way he'll share with you. and of course, he wants that with you. he trusts you completely, and once it really clicks that it's a matter of trust too, it's much easier for him to settle into.

there's something so special and unique about the connection you two make when he lets his walls down in that way. he never could have imagined how amazing it is to let go with you, it's nothing he's ever felt before and he can't get enough of it.

he loves to give, he gives wholeheartedly and unabashedly, and he'll receive your love without hesitation too

the forehead touch. always the forehead touch. it's his way of connecting and showing affection. he may also nudge your noses together and close his eyes to just soak in your presence. if you initiate it, he'll melt.

he embraces imperfection with you and it feels so damn good. he'll get a bit more vocal--not necessarily louder, but breathy whines and whimpers and soft moans. he may get playful too, give sweet little laughs about how you're making him sound and kissing the tip of your nose. you get real smiles out of him with that adorable tooth gap. tell him it's adorable and kiss his cheeks, and he'll laugh again and smile wide and genuinely in that way that ur eyes close too cause ur just so happy u kno

he feels so, so fucking loved and it's so beautiful to him. he tells you as much when you're laying there afterwards and he's admiring every inch of you, every mark, blemish or scar, everything that isn't exactly even, admiring your beautiful soul. and he basks as you do the same for him. he'll thank you for sharing this little piece of humanity with him.

pesci 🎣

soft sex is his favourite. sex as a way of feeling close with the person he loves is what vibes with him the most, as an act of emotion and of loving and being loved in return.

it's a lot easier for him to be confident with that kind of sex/perspective on sex, because he knows he can just tap into his emotions and those of his partner. he really shines here, and he may still get a bit flustered because it's sex and sex with you and you're so fucking gorgeous in every imaginable way, but you still get to see this whole other side of him where he's just so comfortable in his skin and it's both really hot and really endearing.

he stops sort of separating or thinking too hard on just the physical or the mental or anything else, and expresses his love on all levels of being in a way that just lights you both up. he thinks being with you in this way is heaven on earth and he will let you know it.

he can make love with you like this anywhere soft and quiet and private, but aside from your bed, he loves the bath. he loves bath sex in general for the warmth and wetness and intimacy, and especially when you're connecting in this way, it's like.... he wouldn't consider himself to be poetic or particularly spiritual, but there's just something special about making love in water, maybe because we're all born from water, we all need water to live, all life on earth came first from the water. it's just something he thinks about.

he'll want to be face to face; he loves watching your face because seeing you in pleasure is so beautiful to him, he'll want to see your eyes flutter closed and open and commit the look you give him to memory, soft and sort of honeyed-hazy y'know but bright because you love him, and you're loved by him, and he can see it in you. he'll want to hold hands too, and twine your fingers together.

words come a lot easier to him like this too, because he knows there's nothing to hide and nothing to worry about, so he'll just murmur throughout about how much he loves you, how good you make him feel in every way, how he wants to make you feel like that too. show him that he does; he'll kiss you so softly and with so much love that he feels like he could burst.

he's just so soft and gentle in every way. he'll want to still just hold your hand for a long time afterwards.

formaggio 🧀

he's very emotionally in tune, that connection u create with a partner no matter how casual is a huge part of his enjoyment of sex, so he absolutely loves taking all the time in the world to just feel each other in every way and be so emotionally close with you

he often likes to feel like a big macho guy taking care of his babe but he loves being taken care of too because he can experience another side of your connection (and it's just nice!!!!), so when he really makes love with his partner he can feel sort of both at the same time and he loves it. he just feels so entwined with you.

he's still playful, it's in his nature. but when y'all get really tendie he'll be especially gentle with how he plays around. he'll tweak your nose and kiss your neck to hear you giggle, he just loves to make his partner laugh and he's laughing and smiling too

he also still talks a lot, he murmurs about how much he loves you and how incredible you are, how you make him feel amazing in every way, he'll list off all the little things he notices about you that he's just so fond of. he doesn't tease as much, he just grounds himself in the moment with you. it's also really hot and sweet to hear his words trail off with little laughs or sighs or soft moans.

he also has a lot of cute pet names for his partner, and he does still use them but when you get really soft like this he'll often just murmur or moan your name more than anything and there's something so intimate about it

overall you'll see an even more genuine side of formaggio (and he's already a pretty down to earth dude) because he really just feels most at ease when he's surrounded by love

he'll snuggle and kiss you and lay around for a long time afterwards, play with your hair, stroke your back, talk about everything and nothing and how much he loves you. his wandering hands may lead to more lovemaking; he just can't get enough of you.

illuso ✨

it takes a lot for illuso to open up like that. he's extremely guarded with his emotions. he very much desires softness, and there's something about being bare (more than just physically) that really draws him in, but he'd need a lot of trust to get there.

and it's not just him trusting you that's part of the equation either; he isn't used to being trusted. show him honestly that you trust him, and treat every glimpse of genuineness from him with love, and it'll go right to his heart. he's unused to being really seen, so if you see who he is and choose to openly share your heart with him, he'll be smitten.

ask him to just be with you, and he will, he'd love nothing more. reassure him that he doesn't have to think so much; you can both just let go and feel. you'll see a side of illuso where he's just in awe and a really pure sort of wonder of what you create together, this little moment in time and space, this experience across all states of being.

you absolutely make love in the mirror world. it's illuso's safe haven, and he wants it to be yours as well, it's an entire world where there's no one and nothing but the two of you and the love you make and that's so special to him. he'll want to take his time, and with no possible interruptions, he can. you spend hours together; he goes very slow and very gentle. he just wants you to know how precious you are to him, and how much he wants to be with you.

you'll explore every single inch of each other. he'll kiss you absolutely everywhere, and not just in the obvious places; he'll kiss your palms, your fingers, your closed eyelids, every mark on your skin. when he kisses your lips, it ranges everywhere from a mere brush to open-mouthed, deep, and languid. treat him with the same slow, thorough care, and he'll melt.

he doesn't tease. he'll probably be pretty quiet, but once he whispers that he loves you, he'll find himself just telling you all his inner thoughts, everything he loves about you and everything you make him feel: truly beautiful in a way he'd hardly experienced before, safe, so genuinely loved. if you express the same to him, that you feel his love for you in every little way he shows it and cares, that you see and feel his whole self and love him in his entirety, that he makes you feel precious, he will feel precious too. he may actually cry a bit. he's just so happy with you.

he's the kind of guy who likes to watch everything, but he's not sure what to do now: see the love in your eyes or close his eyes to bask in it. he opts to just go with the flow of the moment. he's completely open and unguarded, his hair is loose (if you run your fingers through it he'll sigh sweetly), he'll give you these genuine smiles, you'll get real little laughs out of him, and every sound he makes (including the way he murmurs your name) is so soft.

he can't stop smiling after, he'll hold you and play with your hair, and eventually draw a nice bath for you to share

melone 🍈

he absolutely loves soft, emotional sex. of course he likes being kinky and stuff too, but human sexuality as a whole is so fascinating to him, sex is such a beautiful experience in his eyes and he's very eager to explore different expressions of it. it's really interesting to him how you can define making love as something different than fucking when it's all still sex.

he loves the connection it brings. it's such a deep, personal way to feel close with someone and he wants that with you, he wants to explore each other in every way. he loves to learn new things about his partner and finds it so intimate when they learn about him too, whether it's something you've always done that he's just putting his finger on or it's a new development, like the particular way you roll your hips or how your eyes squeeze shut when you cum. point out a subtle habit of his too, like how his breath stutters when you do something he really likes; it makes him feel cared for. but even if there's nothing new to notice, he loves the comfort of your familiarity, too.

he's very open with it, you don't have to wonder what he's thinking about. he'll be murmuring softly about your beauty, how much he cherishes you, how you make him feel cherished too, how good you're making him feel. he wants to know if he's making you feel good, too. tell him so--better yet, show him--and let him know that you feel his love for you, that you feel cared for and safe. he'll smile and give you a long, sweet kiss. tell him anything and everything you're thinking of, he wants to know you in mind, body and soul.

and he is spiritually open and explorative and it fascinates him to think of sex as an act of creation, and even if it isn't sex to make new life it's making love, it's making a bond, and that's a special sort of creation too. he loves to create with you. he understands how it could be viewed as sort of divine.

he loves to care for you, and being cared for in turn makes him putty. knowing that he's truly loved is one of the best feelings ever and it really just makes him wanna cover your face in kisses tbh. which he does, and he laughs hearing you laugh cause you bring him joy.

he's also still loud when he cums but that doesn't make it any less soft and tender tbh because he's just wholeheartedly falling into the bliss you give him, he'll cry out your name and how much he loves you between moans.

he'll want to do this all day if that's what you want too. eventually when you're done, he'll cuddle you, kiss you, and still murmur all his thoughts to you while you both trace patterns in each other's skin.

ghiaccio ❄️

he gets really flustered about soft, emotional sex at first. not just because he's being vulnerable with you, but you're being vulnerable with him, and it's you, and he cares about you so much.

part of him is almost kind of worried he'll never be gentle enough. help him see that's not true, because he absolutely is gentle with you; he knows he can be brash which is why he's always so careful with you, especially in softer moments. you also love him for who he is, in his entirety, and that makes his heart glow. you trust him, and he trusts you.

ghiaccio is passionate, and he can still express that fire in him softly and tenderly. he'll hold your face in both hands while he kisses you, and while he doesn't necessarily kiss hard, he's thorough, and it mellows out into something very soft and subtle before he pulls away. his pace is slowed a lot, because he wants to just feel you in every way; he really relaxes into the rhythm of something slow and gentle, but still passionate, holding your gaze with his hands never leaving your body. thinking of sex as a way to express your love for each other, he can't help but slow down and be soft, cause it's you.

he also can't help but make noise, soft as it may be, and say your name. he doesn't half ass important things, and you're so, so important to him, so he just completely wraps himself in your love and does the same for you. express that, with him, you know you're loved and safe; he'll want to kiss you again and again and again until you're both breathless.

may not talk as much, because soft words don't really come easily to him and he's sort of self-conscious about it, but once he gets really into it and he does start talking he doesn't stop: he'll say how much he loves you and how badly he just wants to show that to you, how you're so hot and gorgeous and loving, and he doesn't really think of them as flowery words because they're just truth, and his penchant for honesty is such a wonderful way to know you're loved

ghiaccio honey why on earth were u worried about not being gentle. after he's cum once or twice and he's gotten some energy out he is so, so gentle, he'll take care of you so tenderly and kiss you softly. he just wants to be close with you.

his cuddly side always comes out after sex and he'll be no different now. he'll press you against him and hook his chin over your shoulder and tangle your legs together, his cuddles are the best. you definitely get him smiling too, cause you make him happy.

sorbet and gelato 🔪🍦

they're both fucking crazy in nearly all aspects of life and that includes sex, but they're also very passionate and very in love with each other and with you; they're no strangers to tender, emotional sex and they love it because it's such a wonderful way to be so deeply close.

they have no problems being bare and open with you. they're so in their feelings all the time that it feels really natural; they'll very openly express how much they love you, all the ways they love you, how deep and powerful that love feels that they just want to surround all of you in it.

gelato is more talkative in that sense, he'll spill all his feelings in between kisses with his hands on either side of your face. sorbet will give you a long, slow, deep kiss, meet your eyes, and place your hand over his heart while your foreheads touch. you just know.

you're all tracing every inch of each other while you make love, they want to know everything because they just can't get enough of you, the entire world is the three of you. they're absolutely basking in your attention, too; kiss every scar and let them know how beautiful they are to you, that you see them and you love them, that they have your heart as much as you have theirs. they'll melt.

you're safe with them. let them know that you feel how deeply they love you and you feel their safety, and that they're safe with you too, that they're precious. having you and each other as their safe havens and being taken care of makes them feel so damn much.

they'll both still get very playful, they can never take anything too seriously and they just love you so much, they want you all to have fun together. gelato will absolutely do that thing where he kisses down ur front like he's gonna go down on u and then blow a raspberry on your tummy to make you squeak (but then he does still go down on you and doesn't break eye contact the whole time so you can see how fucking much he loves you and wants to make you feel good). if you're ticklish, sorbet will definitely sneakily tickle you, or do something really good while you're in the middle of murmuring something to hear you devolve into moans. then he'll press his loving smirk against your skin. they wanna get you both laughing and moaning, it's the best sound in the world to them, and they'll be right there with you.

gelato is still loud when he laughs and when he cums but it's so sweet and charming because that's just who he is and he's absolutely embracing how you both make him feel. sorbet is the quieter one, but he'll hum and sigh and murmur your names because he loves how they feel in his mouth. he will also whisper to both of you that he loves you because he just wants to say it in every way.

they can go all day and they'll absolutely want to. if one of you needs a break, you'll just watch the other two and kiss them and hold them, the way you all love each other is so beautiful to them. when you're all well and truly done, you'll be tangled in a heap (they are always very cuddly) and they'll both be smiling as they just lazily caress and kiss you and each other.

#THIS WAS SO SWEET AND I HAD SO MUCH FUN THANK U FOR THE ASK 😭❤️#la squadra #la squadra x reader #not safe fw #risotto nero #prosciutto #pesci #formaggio #illuso #melone #ghiaccio #sorbet #gelato #vento aureo #ask

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huayno · 3 years ago

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from neon genesis evangelion, vol. 12

The Mysterious Stranger

The Anime, the Manga, and the Mark Twain Novella

"God will provide for this kitten." "What makes you think so?" Ursula's eyes snapped with anger. "Because I know it!" she said. "Not a sparrow falls to the ground without His seeing it." "But it falls, just the same. What good is seeing it fall?"

—from The Mysterious Stranger

There is a short novel by Mark Twain, written near the end of his life and published posthumously, entitled The Mysterious Stranger. The tale is set in a small village in 16th century Austria, where three boys one day meet a young man different from themselves: "he had new and good clothes on, and was handsome and had a winning face and a pleasant voice, and was easy and graceful and unembarrassed, not slouchy and awkward and diffident, like other boys."

The mysterious stranger starts to do small but amazing tricks for them—causing water to turn to ice; conjuring grapes and bread out of air; even making birds that can fly out of clay. At last one boy, the story's narrator, works up the courage to ask the stranger who he is:

"'An angel,' he said, quite simply, and set another bird free and clapped his hands and made it flyaway."

The angel then proceeds to really impress them by making an entire toy castle, complete with five hundred miniature soldiers and workmen that move around by themselves. Naturally the boys get involved with this ultimate playset, making their own knights and cannon and cavalry, and although they get rather nervous again when the angel reveals his name is Satan, he assures them he is not that Satan, but only named after the fallen one.

"We others are still ignorant of sin; we are not able to commit it; we are without blemish, and we shall abide in that estate always." Distracted by two of the miniature workmen, "Satan reached out his hand and crushed the life out of them with his fingers... and went on talking where he had left off: 'We cannot do wrong; neither have we any disposition to do it, for we do not know what it is." Horrified as the other boys are, "he made us drunk with the joy of being with him and of looking into the heaven of his eyes, and of feeling the ecstasy that thrilled along our veins from the touch of his hand.'"

Yes, Kaworu Nagisa made quite an impression on the fans of Neon Genesis Evange/ion, despite the fact that, in the original broadcast version of the TV show (before it got all director's-cutted, box-setted, special-editioned, and platinum-lined) he shows up for only slightly less than thirteen minutes of total screen time, the climax of which being an entire minute where nothing happens at all.

That's what being a beautiful angel will do for you, especially when you make the most of your thirteen minutes on Earth by having a Whirlwind romance with the main character that ends in a lover's quarrel with Prog Knives and finally a voluntary martyrdom at the hand of your boy here. Relationships don't come any more tragic than that of Kaworu Nagisa and Shinji Ikari, and when fans (including this one) first saw it on TV, the affair was so brief and shocking the story logic of it didn't click in until much later.

In the anime, Kaworu is acknowledged as the Final Messenger, and, of all the Angels Shinji has to fight, this is the most ruthless battle, won at the highest possible cost to himself. It took even longer for me to realize that the showdown in episode 24 had also taken us full circle from Shinji's first fight in episodes 1 and 2, which emphasized his personal helplessness against the looming Angel Sachiel. Against Kaworu, it is the Angel who becomes the small, helpless figure, while Shinji is represented only by the gargantuan, frightful helm and arm of his Eva Unit-O1. We never see Shinji's human face once throughout the whole final minute of decision.

So as Col. Trautman would have said instead of Major Katsuragi, "It's over, Shinji! IT'S OVER!" Kaworu v. Shinji (or Kaworu x Shinji, in the doujinshi) was the big final showdown between humanity and the Angels. And with the outcome leaving Shinji at his most wretched ever, wouldn't it be nice if everyone just died—your wish being Eva's command, as it turns out that fortunately humanity hardly ever needed the Angels to slaughter itself.

"I am perishing already—I am failing—I am passing away. In a little while you will be alone in shoreless space, to wander its limitless solitudes without friend or comrade forever...But I, your poor servant, have revealed you to yourself and set you free. Dream other dreams, and better!"

—from The Mysterious Stranger

Satan's words near the end of Mark Twain's story also uncannily prefigure the end of the world and the Instrumentality project, both of which follow his death in the TV show in such quick order you picture Anno as a hairnetted fry cook dinging the counter bell. By now you see Sadamoto's handling of Kaworu, and perhaps nothing illustrates the different experiences of the manga and the anime better than his handling of this critical character.

No longer the last Angel to be fought, Kaworu actually becomes an active Eva pilot and fights an Angel—the dude even has the nerve to observe the fight is fixed, based on his knowledge of SEELE's prophecies. Sadamoto of course introduces him at an earlier point in the narrative—at the equivalent of episode 19's end—and then sends him to NERV near the equivalent of episode 22's beginning—before certain important events, to put it mildly, can occur. When one notes this kind of thing, of course, it's important to restate that the Evangelion manga has always been a separate but equal "official" version of Eva, with no particular obligation to align itself with the anime, and indeed it was with Book Five, the first released after The End of Evangelion, that Sadamoto began to truly seem free to go in his own direction.

Nevertheless, as the "other" official version of the Eva story, it is reasonable for fans to view it as an "alternate history" relative to the anime, and the way Kaworu has been introduced makes us realize the manga may end very differently indeed. Despite the fact we know here that Kaworu is an Angel from the very beginning, he appears destined to at least hang around long enough to pick up a few paychecks. It's not clear when your health benefits kick in at NERV, although if Ritsuko is your primary caregiver it might be best to forego them.

Sadamoto's remarks upon visiting the U.S. in 2003 indicated that the Eva manga might (might) be planned as a twelve-volume series in all. There is still plenty of room for speculation, as the slow working pace to which the artist himself often refers has of late become almost relativistic—as of this writing, it has been eight months since Sadamoto has drawn a new installment of Eva in Japan, and hence a Volume Ten is nowhere in sight. It may be small comfort, but those of you reading this are pretty much in the same drifting boat as the Japanese fans.

"An angel's love is sublime, adorable, divine, beyond the imagination of man—infinitely beyond it! But it is limited to his own august order. If it fell upon one of your race for only an instant, it would consume its object to ashes. No, we cannot love men but we can be harmlessly indifferent to them; we can also like them, sometimes."

—from The Mysterious Stranger

And with Book Nine we see the most staggering difference thus far between the manga and the anime; Sadamoto's Shinji doesn't even like Kaworu, much less love him. Of course, you could say the less-ethereal Kaworu of the manga is harder to love. I can't believe Sadamoto had him tell Rei he thought she'd be "heftier." And yet he did.

I don't think any A.T. Fields actually got penetrated in the anime; while I do think Shinji felt sexually attracted to Kaworu, and that you the audience are supposed to feel that he felt it, what Kaworu himself thought was a very different matter. Like Rei, I believe Kaworu to be innocent—coyly, he appears not to be so, because while Rei needed to be reached out to, Kaworu has come to reach out; whereas Rei has spent her existence being observed; Kaworu has come to observe.

Indeed, in the manga, Shinji's irritation about Kaworu's invasion of his personal space seems almost a parody of his attitude in the anime. In the TV show, when Kaworu put his hand on Shinji's, he flinched but did not pull away; whereas in the manga it's easy to imagine Shinji slugging him. Instead he goes to run after Rei, hoping to get closer to her again.

I hardly think the change reflects any phobia on Sadamoto's part (after all, we even get to see Shinji's "Unit One" in the manga), but the fact the manga Shinji is less emotionally bleak and empty, and hence less vulnerable. Shinji's just as negative in the manga, of course, but it's an active variety, rather than the passive negative creep (in the best Nirvana song sense) we know from the anime. We don't have to imagine him slugging Gendo; from the look of surprise on Dad's face in Book Seven he would have smacked the beard off his face if Kaji hadn't stopped him.

Neither is Shinji in a positive emotional situation where we leave him here, either; indeed at this point in the manga there's arguably no one he can turn to—the more brutal fate that befell Toji has cut him off from his school friends, Rei has become hesitant, Kaji is dead, and his perennial self-esteem booster Asuka is going to need to rebuild her internal supply before she can even get back to calling him a loser and idiot.

So, like Misato trying to put her own hand on Shinji's, all I can do for now while we wait for Sadamoto-sensei is to recommend for your winter vacation reading list The Mysterious Stranger, which I can almost guarantee will give you new angles to think about Kaworu, and may even earn you class credit besides. A quick look at the novel's comments on Amazon list a teacher who says fundamentalist students walked out of his class when he taught it; another compares it to The Matrix; those who dislike it call it "sick," "bitter," and "twisted." Sounds like good old Evangelion to me!

—Carl Gustav Horn

[a drawing of Kaworu holding a kitten]

Although The Mysterious Stranger can also be found in a number of print editions, including The Portable Mark Twain from Penguin (haw haw), the story, being from the days when mp3s came on shellacked cylinders, is legally available online at http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/toc/modeng/public/TwaMyst.html. The same site has a book called The Holy Bible, King James Version, which fans of Evangelion might also enjoy, although it's technically "Editor's Choice."

#eva #kaworu nagisa #idec if twain didn't write that shit #i'm all over this

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stingslikeabee · 6 months ago

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reminds me of you

things that remind me of your muse . accepting

The scent of saffron coming from richly colored Indian dishes; the sight of wallpaper peeling off in nondescript motel rooms; a single lighthouse, battling the oppressing darkness and allowing ships to reach their destinations safely; rhythm and frantic breathing, caused by nightmares or by the shared need to drive them away; hesitating before open flames, even if limited to candles, because you have been burned before; glancing across the room and communicating without words because there is no need for them; knowing the world is vast and full of terrors, but that you'll always be safe at home (with him); the relief of a hand pulling out out from misery mixed with the guilt of knowing you should have been left to drown.

#antielevator #v: there are more things in heaven and earth than we dreamed of #reminds me of you #replied #this was unfair haha #we often work these motifs into our stuff anyway #so I don't think you're surprised at all but I TRIED

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stingslikeabee · 6 months ago

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"Oh, a Pixar one! I will make it big, then" the comment was offered while the girl was ushered back indoors, away from the inquisitive glances and reducing their risks of being kicked out of the motel before their meal was even served and losing the beds they had already paid for. A few giggles erupted here and there when Melissa recalled just how stupid the entire thing had looked - and the fun derived from a simple task.

The self-professed witch then allowed the man to spin the thing with a gesture, getting comfortable on the floor again - after all, half the fun was doing it when playing truth or dare. Well, perhaps not half of it - but surely a time-honored tradition. Their conversation had undergone a subtle but noticeable shift, too - Sebastian no longer sounded unsure about what to say to her. Perhaps ordering someone you met a few days prior to be a wererooster was an effective ice-breaker, but Melissa looked at him differently, too.

He was a nice guy - that much had been said before; but the con artist was learning that Sebastian Castellanos was a fun one as well. Perhaps, if her job wasn't about to end shortly, there would be more sides of him to peel back and unveil. Only a lunatic man would take her earlier bullshit claims for serious business - he had to have history, right?

Melissa did not often find herself curious about her victims - they were just jobs - but on that evening, it was growing hard not to.

When it was time for the bounty hunter to ask for a dare, the brunette gazed at him with a twinkle in her eye and palms pressing together in an excited clap. It was obvious that Melissa had been thinking about retribution since the moment the crowing challenge started, and the woman wasted no time in pretending otherwise.

"We're going outside. I just need to check for myself how strong my savior is," and maybe that could have been taken in a more flirtatious way, but whatever doubts Sebastian had were probably put to rest when Melissa clarified the rest of the thing, "You will give me a piggyback ride from ground floor to the top one, taking the stairs. But that's not all," the brunette's index finger was raised, like a warning - although the barely contained laughter made it all look much less serious, "You will need to hum or sing the 'Rocky' theme while climbing the stairs. Make it heroic, Castellanos."

This time, the false witch stood up first, approaching the door just seconds before the doorbell rang. The woman paused to open it, muttering thanks for the food that was just arriving (it smelled really great) and then politely asking for the stuff to be left on their table. The employee didn't say anything - whether or not the guy serving the meal was aware of their shenanigans was unclear, but he barely spared the pair a look before going away.

Melissa held the door open, motioning outside and then following Sebastian for his dare like her single mission in life was to see it completed (and to rate his ability to carry her for three floors on his back, of course). The food could wait - it wouldn't be going cold so fast; the former cop was rather fit, or so she thought.

Melissa's been interesting the entire time they've spent together, but this might be the first time Sebastian's found her remarkable. From the promise of forty seconds to the eager way she gets to her feet and goes outside, she has his full attention. He watches her walk with this bounce in her step, feels his mouth tug up in a smile like her energy is infectious, and then follows after her without any hesitation.

The way she reacts is... pure, in a way. It's miles different from the woman who first walked into his office, who was small and uncertain because nobody's ever believed her claims of needing help before. Now, seeing Melissa's hands curl around the railing and the column of her throat exposed as she readies herself, Sebastian already thinks the dedication is magnificent. But when she crows-- and she does crow, loud and proud like any rooster come morning-- the sound of it resonates in his chest and hums lightly in his rib cage.

Sebastian has to press the side of his fist to his hand to keep from laughing, himself. When was the last time he had fun like this? Some half-recalled memory of Lily and the games they'd play in the yard comes to mind, but for once Sebastian doesn't feel himself wither because of it. In fact, the only regret he has is that he didn't bring his camera out with him, because Melissa looks like an absolute fucking moron in the best possible way.

"Okay!" he calls once his watch has ticked enough. "You got it, Mel. That was forty." But then Melissa looks at him, smiling wide and flushed in the cheeks, and to keep from saying anything more stupid Sebastian shakes his head instead (even if his smile gives him away). "C'mon, superstar, before they kick us out."

Smoothly, he takes Melissa's wrist with a gentle grip and leads her back inside, then shuts the door behind them with a click.

That said, given the glee that radiates from her, Sebastian expects the question even before she offers it to him. This doesn't mean his answer is practised, though, and in fact it comes from somewhere dusty and genuine when he says, "I would probably pay to see your were-rooster Pixar movie debut, yeah.

"Good job, Drysdell."

The thumbs up that Sebastian bestows upon her is a mighty reward, indeed.

"I figure it's my turn now, right?" he mentions as they sit once more. Sebastian rubs lightly at the corner of his jaw with the tip of his index finger. "Or do you still want to spin the bottle?"

Either way, when the damn thing inevitably lands on him, Sebastian's picking 'dare', too. He may not admit it out loud (at least not this early on), but there's no way he's allowing Melissa to show him up on the one night she treats him to food. It'd only be right of him to make her smile as much as she did him in their first ten minutes of playing.

#antielevator #v: there are more things in heaven and earth than we dreamed of #t: pulling back the veil #they're both such (cute) dorks rn #it almost makes me sad to wreck it #but I will make it up to you later I PROMISE

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omgkalyppso · 3 years ago

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Quote Prompts

You think you are possessing me - but I've got my teeth in you. Angela Carter from Unicorn

Flowers teach futility and amazement. You know me, I am always willing to learn. Katherine Mansfield from a letter to J.M. Murry.

Take this bowl of blackberries from the garden. The sun has made them warm. I picked them for you. I promise I will try to stay on my side of the couch. Ross Gay from Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude

Don't you imagine you will be in love again and perhaps happily? Irish Murdoch from a letter to Michael Oakeshott

In the dark our hands pretend to pray but really make love. Natalie Diaz from When My Brother Was an Aztec

Who hasn't ever wondered: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person? Clarice Lispector from The Hour of the Star

I'm not used to being loved. I wouldn't know what to do. F. Scott Fitzgerald from More Than Just a House

I'm waiting for your teeth at my throat. It's only good manners. Stephanie Valente from I'm Sorry, Is That Too Submissive For You?

What do you do with tenderness when all you expect is fury? Hieu Minh Nguyen from Not Here

He confesses how long he's looked for a place to worship and, oh, you put him on his knees. Ash Vernon from Profane

If we meet each other in hell, it's not hell. Geoffrey Hill from Broken Hierarchies

Every time I planted my roots I had to rip them out. Mariana V from Too Much Of Me Is Scattered On This Earth

It was always you: your unutterable name, this growl in my throat. Erika Meitner from Staking a Claim

The reason I kiss the thing that haunts me is so I can stop running from it. Rebeka Anne from Back Again

I have been thinking of how I want to be touched by you, with hands that will play me like piano keys, with fingers that will make a symphony out of me. Karese Burrows

You do not know how little I loved before I loved you. Joan Naviyuk Kane from Love Poem

They cannot stop looking into each other's eyes. They have discovered something. They have discovered how much each cares about the other. James Baldwin from Just Above My Head

Will you send across the stars a sign? Anna Akhmatova from In A Dream

Tell me every terrible thing you did and let me love you despite it. Edgar Allen Poe

Yes, I do like you. I am afraid to write the stronger word. Virginia Woolf

God, god, god, I need love, I need it, I need it. Anais Nin from Mirages

How tightly do we need to be pressed against each other before you admit that you aren't doing this for warmth? Tara Love from This. This Is Too Far

He kisses—how do I explain it? Like someone in love. Like he has nothing to lose. Like someone who has just learned a foreign language and can use only the present tense and only the second person. Andrew Sean Greer from Less

Love him and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters? James Baldwin from Giovanni's Room

You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only the sun has come this close. Only the sun. Shauna Barbosa

#from various things i have saved in a tag called 'quotes' on my blog #writing prompts #long post #i made this

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sprawa-przybyszewskiej · 3 years ago

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I would like to present (extremely briefly; it's more of an invitation to their thoughts rather than anything else) two approaches that touch on a creative technique used by Przybyszewska, which has been spotted by some of her scholars, albeit each in its own way. Ewa Graczyk maintains that Przybyszewska did not write a historical drama in any way, but rather described a completely different reality, an universum in which the same events happen, but which doesn't take place on Earth, with us in it. She describes, then, something which I call The French Revolution', taking after mathematics' nomenclature. Kazimiera Ingdahl, on the other hand, spots traces of gnostic and manichean ideologies in Przybyszewska's writing, which, as we all know, are based solidly on the contrast between Heaven and Hell, knowledge and numbness, soul and mind. I mention them here solely to point out there is a dualism in her works, it is important and easily recognizable.

I have nowhere near the amount of erudition these scholars do, so I will constrict myself to some more visible matters. In my previous post about Antoine, I've made a remark that stuck with me for far longer than I had expected, and so I decided to elaborate on it.

The passage I'm talking about is this: because it could potentially reveal Saint-Just as another Danton-like minded individual, looking for power for himself through sacrifices of others. I want to explore whether Przybyszewska really did construct both of them alike?

To me it appears very probable, as crazy as it sounds. First of all, ALL of the personages are created in some reference to Robespierre. He is the only singular, original mind amongst them all, not to mentoin an axis around which other revolve, and so all of them, whether we like it or not, are somewhat similar to each other. Second of all, she clearly went in the direction of mirroring certain scenes, ideas, expressions (which I personally love to track down and compare them later), and it's exactly the same when talking about certain individuals. The two pairs (Robespierre – Saint-Just and Danton – Desmoulins) come to mind right away. They are constructed as parallels at least in some aspects and at least to some extent.

Wouldn't that, however, put Saint-Just and Desmoulins on the same/similar level, aren't they the ones who creat a parallel pair? Well, yes and no. I think they are a unit when it comes to personal matters, for rather obvious reasons. But I also think they are both put in similar situations, and yet their thinking is polar opposite of each other. They are both allowed to Robespierre's most personal sphere, and yet their reactions are completely different, which is one among the reasons as to why one of them meets a sad end by all accounts, and the other can die somewhat happy (as I will always mantain: if Przybyszewska managed to finish Thermidor, I am one hundred percent sure she would depict Antoine as one dying boldly and proudly, if only beause he died for a great cause and alongside Robespierre). On the other hand, spiritually and mentally, Camille resembles Maxime way, way more than Danton. They are both... maybe not exactly soft, but emotional. The main difference between them is Maxime is able to rein his feelings in when necessary (again, not always, not completely; vide his late night visit at Desmoulins', vide his attempt and saving him from the Luxembourg Palace), but as far as differences go, this one is actually minor. They are put in different positions, but their reactions are similar.

I would also wager to say Saint-Just and Robespierre don't have that much in common with each other in the plays, leaving out their political stances and their relationship. They are very different in terms of character traits: Maxime is more forgiving, calmer, quieter in all aspects. Antoine is more of a quicksilver, and also is regarded more as a tool in Maxime's hands, which I mean in the best way possible. While he has his own opinions, sometimes quite different to that of Robespierre's, he only entertains them in Maxime's presence, so that no one can put a splinter between them and turn them against each other. When they are turned against each other (during their quarrels, yes, but also during Thermidor, which is a beautiful study of such a case), he defers to Maximilien humbly and holds no grudges against him. This is pretty much the only soft side he ever presents to the audience, for when facing any other characters, he is sarcastic if not downright hostile, the only exception I can think of being Eleonore. He's not gentle, not even with Robespierre whom he respects so much. (I cannot get over how badly Wajda interpreted this in his movie, where in his very first scene Antoine brings Maxime an apple-tree branch in full blossom; while a sweet gesture, it made little sense, for the director not only didn't establish their special bond in any way, cutting their very important scene in Act II and a lot of their exchange of words in Act V out, but completely ignored the fact that in the play they did talk about trees blossming, but it was Maxime who pointed this out to Antoine. Honestly, it would make much more sense if in the movie he was the one giving Antoine flowers; altough I don't trust it would be executed well, so perhaps the best scenario would be to drop it altogether.)

This leaves Antoine and Danton as the unlikely pair. Here I wouldn't necessarily say they are put in different positions (following my train of comparison), because – depending on if you believe the confrontation between Danton and Robespierre to be honest or not – there is enough evidence in the play to mantain both of them want to establish power over nation through Robespierre. Danton is the villain of the play, but he isn't blind, he too wants to use Maximilien as a face of the dictature, as a tool to obtain more "normal" power for himself (normal power here would equal to money, respect, high office; the "abnormal" power is what Robespierre sort-of-dreams-of, an influence over people to direct them into doing what is necessary for the good of the whole of the nation, or better yet, the world). And Antoine wants more or less the same thing, the exception being he doesn't care at all for personal gains. He doesn't necessarily believe in Robespierre's visions of the future, one could even argue he doesn't understand them (this is clearly shown in Thermidor, where he reacts with a headache once Robespierre unfolds his plan in front of him: Stop it, Maxime. I can't keep up with you anymore.); he does, however, see the neccesity of establishing the dictature or some other extraordinary mean to obtain the total power over the state. Both he and Danton are blessed with a far-fetching political vision, the only thing differentiating them from Robespierre is that he's a much more brilliant chess player than any of them, when they can see few moves forward, he's already seen all the possible outcomes of the match. And all of these outcomes are bad, for Maxime is characterised as a pessimist, while Antoine and Danton are, generally speaking, optimistically inclined. Youthful foolishness indeed, except Antoine is not foolish! He's just optimistic. In Danton, the optimism takes a form of boldness and bravado, in Saint-Just it manifests as an unwavering faith in the one he considers to be so much more superior to himself, and also a certain amount of contempt for the ones he considers to be inferior. This is another trait he shares with Danton, and we have to admit, Przybyszewska did a really good job at presenting the same trait in them both in such different ways, that we like one, hate the other.

There is also the matter of how they treat Camille and what they think of him. Here, both are jealous, I think. Jealous of the special place Camille has in Robespierre's heart, scornful of his abilities as a politician and a journalist, disinclined to him as a person. Danton cares for him as far as his utility in being a leverage on Robespierre goes, but I don't think he hoards any warm feelings for him personally, and I don't say it only because he was willing to sacrifice Camille purely out of spite. A much better example to show what I mean is that Danton seems to have a much better functioning, more honest and professional relationship with Delacroix than with Camille, whom he keeps in the dark about absolutely everything from start to finish. I don't know if it was meant to be a symbol or not, but in their very last scene in the jail cell, Camille has to beg Danton not to snuff out the candle, which Danton does, albeit very reluctantly. In turn, Saint-Just talks about Camille in language dripping with contempt and jealousy of purely personal kind, offending him left and right, right to Robespierre's face – not to hurt Maxime, but to "open his eyes", so to speak. In one particularly harsh sentence he compares Camille to a dog, a child and a prostitue all in one breath. He not only doesn't regard him as an opponent, but barely recognizes him as a human being worth respect, in which he is sadly very similar to Danton.

Weirdly enough, they both regard Maximilien as human, which I think is interesting to notice. It would be really easy to write them in such a style that leaves way for them to see Robespierre as something more, something almost extraterrestrial, somebody who posseses abilites greater than normal humans do. And yet:

The first image is from The Last Nights of Ventose, my own translation, and it's directly from Antoine's compassionate speech. I didn't include Robespierre's response, because he just deflected, but deflection does mean he doesn't fully agree, so it's yet another similarity.

One more thing that comes to mind in a comparison like this is that Danton threatens Robespierre with the ultimate power. He doesn't think that Maxime will be able to live with it, with himself, if he ever decides to go this one step futher and become a dictator. Is this is because he wouldn't be able to live with himself, or does he truly underestimate Maxime, or he simply wants to make sure Maxime would not go in this direction precisley because he knows he would then be ustoppable? How very telling then, that in Antoine's mouth the very same thing is not a threat, but a promise! This ultimate power is born out of necessity, and it's a grace for the whole nation, because no other person could bear the weight of this "crown", but Maxime.

The main difference between Saint-Just and Danton, I think, is something which we have to believe, it's not written clearly anywhere, and this is also the thing I briefly touched uppon in the aforementioned post: we have to believe that Antoine has pure intentions, because we sure know Danton does not. These were the embers fueling the suspiscion in Maxime when he couldn't understand why Antoine would possibly push for the dictature so much – is his heart pure? This sounds overly dramatic, perhaps, but I think this dramaticism aligns perfectly with Maxime's overall characterisation. I think all readers believe in his good intentions, and the parallels constructing the characters help immensely in this judgement, for if Danton is rotten to the core, Antoine is as steady and pure as a marble column. Robespierre even calls one a pig, while the other deserves to be named an Apostle of liberty.

There is, however, another similarity between them, too. Both Antoine and Danton are willing to be dishonest in order to achieve their goals. This is this one thing that's hard for Robespierre to swallow, for he – like Camille – values honesty really highly and if he could, he'd always act honestly. Saint-Just, not to mention Danton, has no such scrupules. He sees the greater necessity as something erasing all other circumstances, and for this greater picture he is willing to sacrifice some of his integrity as a human being. With Danton, the situation is even less complex, for I don't believe he would be sacrificing his integrity in any way – this dishonesty lays at his very core and comes natural to him.

The arguments Saint-Just presents, and which differs from Robespierre's point of view, are also different from that of Danton's. Danton's vision of the present is filled with contempt for the people, for the masses who are less brilliant than him and few others are. It is worth noting that Przybyszewska really did think like this, this is something she believed in and while reading Danton's speeches in Act II Scene 3, what we actually hear is her own train of thoughts. The only difference is that she didn't disdain the people they way he did. She thought that being a mass, an unnamed pulp of flesh is not a bad thing (it was perhaps unfortunate, and I am sure thinking she was a genius like Robespierre helped her in maintainign this view). Base material is a nourishment for those who will lead these masses. We – the lesser people – are absolutely necessary for them – the greater ones – so that they can lead us out of the night and into the new epoch of enlightement, and there is nothing humiliating in being this nourishment/tool/base. Danton understood it only partially, for he wasn't ready for the greatest sacrifice of all: to be a genius, one has to get rid of everything personal, all needs and desires must be kept aside, and never again spoken of. Robespierre understood it, and I think Antoine did too. I think the best evidence for it is that he said, that he doesn't consider himself to be Robespierre's equal. Recently I hoped to prove it was a silent declaration of love; now I want to point out it is one because it showed Robespierre that Antoine understood this great sacrifice one has to make in order to be a leader, and in his own way, he has already done this. He has brushed aside personal vain and glory, his amour-propre, he degraded himself in order to magnify Maxime's importance. Danton may say: It's you whom I adore, but it is Antoine who shows it through his actions as well as his words.

#do you think they are constructed as parallels or am i delirious?#sprawa dantona #the danton case #L'Affaire Danton #Stanisława Przybyszewska #stanislawa przybyszewska #Maximilien Robespierre #maksymilian robespierre #antoine saint just #Antoni saint just #georges danton #jerzy danton #frev #french revolution #literary analysis

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akatsuki-shin · 4 years ago

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Review: 天官赐福 Tiān Guān Cì Fú (Heaven Official's Blessing)

Notes:

(Very) long post ahead

Contains spoiler

This is my personal review and does not represent the entire audience, you are free to agree or not agree with what I’ve written here

Feel free to reply/send me a message if there are things you want to discuss

Summary:

The most beloved Crown Prince, pride of the Kingdom of Xianle with abundance of talents and achievements, Xie Lian, ascended to Heaven and became a martial god at the young age of 17 on the path to fulfill his dream "to save the common people".

Three years after his ascension, he saw his kingdom beginning to decline and in order to save his beloved country, Xie Lian defied the rules of Heaven and descended back to the mortal realm. Nevertheless, instead of saving them, his interference ended up accelerating the fall of Xianle, annihilating the once prosperous nation under the war of rebellion and a mysterious, horrifying plague.

The people who once praised and worshipped him day and night now condemned him, his devotees left him, they burnt his temples and divine statues, and Xie Lian himself was ultimately banished from the Heaven.

He ascended for the second time a short while later, but was banished once more very soon after. Since then, he lived among the mortals - surviving by collecting junks as he was now branded as the "God of Misfortune", the "Scrap Collecting Immortal".

800 years later, Xie Lian ascended again for the third time. Though having neither temples nor devotees, he accepted his responsibility as a martial god and carried on with his duties until one day, there came a certain, incidental encounter with a mysterious youth clad in red.

STORY: 7/10

TGCF overall is an (almost) complete, satisfying read with well-written twists and development.

Unlike the two previous MXTX's novels, the main pairing here (HuaLian) did not have to go through complicated misunderstandings and is a beautiful representation of love and devotion. Of course, this means there is a lack of conflict between them, but considering all the trials and tribulations the characters have gone through, this lack of conflict feels like a relieving fresh spring amidst the painful and exhausting journey throughout the entire five books.

The best and my most favorite plot twist is the Earth Master Ming Yi having been dead for a while, and the "Ming Yi" we know turns out to be the Black Water Submerging Boats, He Xuan. I'm the kind of person who always suspects characters, but even my furthest suspicion was "only" him being the Reverend of Empty Words, not He Xuan.

Truthfully, prior to reading this novel, I've seen Shi Qingxuan's "MING-XIONG, I'M SORRY x9999" post before without context, and I thought Ming Yi was going to die a tragic death because of Shi Qingxuan. Turns out it's kind of the opposite, huh? Nice one, really.

I also like how each character's "end" feels satisfying. Especially for the villains, they didn't necessarily have to die some tragic, vengeful death, but was provided with an ending that perfectly fits their background story and deeds. For example, in most stories, a character like Xuan Ji would be most likely be given some well-deserved punishment as her death, given everything she's done. But no, in the end she was given a reality check and was finally able to let go of her hundreds of years grudge. And then Qi Rong - I will talk more about him later on in the "Character" section.

One part I really love is the Extra Chapter about the Cave of Ten Thousand Gods. The chapter itself overall is mostly nonsensical and chaotic, but it was just so touching when HuaLian created a "Little Hua Cheng" statue to accompany Xie Lian's "Crown Prince who Pleased the Gods" statue, especially when this Little Hua Cheng statue gave Crown Prince Xie Lian statue a flower, and then Crown Prince Xie Lian received it, lifted him up and carried him in his arms. This one was maybe a bit biased because as much as I love the current HuaLian, I have a special soft spot for the young Xie Lian carrying, cradling the little Hua Cheng back then in the past. ;v;

Though, with all due respect, I must say that TGCF is actually below my expectation.

The biggest issue I have with TGCF is... What is Xie Lian's motivation? What drives him to move forward in the story? What is even the whole story's purpose?

I'm not quite sure how to word this properly, but let me give some examples.

When you read Harry Potter, you know immediately that Voldemort is the bad guy and he must be defeated.

When you read the Lord of the Rings, you know immediately that the One Ring must be destroyed to prevent Sauron from regaining his power.

Or, in MXTX previous works...

In SVSSS, it was clear since the beginning that Shen Yuan's mission is to fix the "Proud Immortal Demon Way" if he wants to survive.

In MDZS, it was clear that Wei Wuxian, together with Lan Wangji's, needs to unravel the mystery behind that fierce left arm. All of their past stories and WangXian getting together in the end are just something they discovered along the way, not the initial "motivation" that drives the character to move forward.

What about TGCF? The Xie Lian who ascended for the third time actually looks like he just wants to go along with the flow, carrying out his duties day by day with responsibility. When Bai Wuxiang later, later, later on appeared to haunt him again, it didn't seem like Xie Lian has any ambition to hunt him down or exact a revenge, just that he wanted to forget about Bai Wuxiang and never recall anything about him ever again. The main character looks like he's not being driven by anything, just...carrying on where the plot takes him? It's just missions after missions and whatever huge things happening in between is just something they accidentally passed by along the way.

At this point, the only purpose of the story I can think of is bringing Hua Cheng and Xie Lian together. The romance is great, I have no complain. But if it's just that, no need to jammed-pack 250+ chapters just to make two people getting together?

Speaking of which, I also think that the way new characters keep being introduced all the way to almost the final showdown of the story feels info dump-ish, because the background story needs to be dropped there along with the characters, but then most of these characters fade away immediately after.

For example, the previous Civil God before Ling Wen, who looks like he’s going to pose some real trouble, but then was easily defeated and was never mentioned again afterwards. And this is especially true for He Xuan; after such a huge arc where he committed such extreme things, after that he was barely mentioned again, even having his “strong impression” leveled down by the joke about him being the poorest Calamity and owing lots of debts to Hua Cheng.

Basically what makes TGCF a long story is because there are too many stories about the side characters in addition to the main characters that are dumped out of the blue instead of slowly being revealed along the way.

Though, I love how the story gradually unravels the "Four Famous Tales" because initially, I thought it wasn't something crucial, and I wished they could've done this for other characters, too.

There is a little bit of plot holes here and there, as in who actually cut open Jian Lan/Lan Chang's baby and made it a ghost, and for what? Even if it turned out that she just met a bad guy or nobody important, at least provide an explanation in one paragraph? Especially because important side characters like Feng Xin and Mu Qing are involved here, so I'm pretty sure us readers need some explanation.

And more importantly, how can Jun Wu become the Emperor martial god? There's no mention about him ascending, only that he annihilated a dynasty of gods before sitting on the throne of the Great Martial Hall. But how can he, like, emitted god-like aura and not some evil aura? Is it because he used to be a god? But he's a ghost? Explanation where???

The gags and comedies are pretty fun, but honestly, the more I read, the more they ruin the atmosphere and suspense, added with the uncalled PDA between Hua Cheng and Xie Lian even during the most important moments. Honestly, I was bored the fuck out of my life from the moment they start fighting Jun Wu with those divine gundams, and only start gaining interest again much later on when Hua Cheng dissipated into butterflies.

Not saying the story's bad. Just... It's not up to my expectation... Characters being inserted here and there with a bunch of background story, gags and a show of PDA being flaunted during crucial moments. And when Mei Nianqing started telling the truth about the Kingdom of Wuyong, that's just plain info dump right there, seriously...

CHARACTERS: 7/10

Interesting characters, but only a few bore a lasting impression on me. Other than the main characters, which are Xie Lian and Hua Cheng, the only side characters (minus Bai Wuxiang as the main villain) who left quite some impression on me were probably just Feng Xin and Mu Qing.

Pei Ming is okay, at least he is still memorable until the end, and his character improved, too.

He Xuan, after having been introduced with such extreme, after his arc is over, was easily forgotten just like that.

Mei Nianqing, is borderline Deus Ex-Machina with a huge chunk of info dump that could solve everything, then he stopped being useful for the rest of the story.

Shi Qingxuan... Honestly, he's almost annoying, too noisy. I don’t hate him (and I kind of like him initially), but the way his character was being handled and presented post-Black Water arc feels disappointingly lazy and he was just there to make the party more merry.

Xie Lian himself, as the protagonist, how do I say this... This is maybe due to the translator's writing style (not MXTX’s fault), but whenever he screams in all capslock, it feels too extreme and borderline OOC? Of course, the original novel written in hanzi couldn't have included capslock.

What's great about him, though, is that despite all he'd gone through, he can still retain a pure heart and could not be swayed to be evil, just as he himself said "Body in the abyss, heart in paradise".

Now Hua Cheng, he is overall a super interesting character and I personally love this type of male characters. But he seriously is way too OP, almost like the original Luo Binghe (Bing-ge) a.k.a. too ideal, too perfect, no flaws, always capable of easily finding a way out in every single peril. I only forgive him for being like this because he dissipated into butterflies at the end of the battle with Jun Wu, making me think "oh, finally he's actually not invincible".

Still, his devotion to Xie Lian is very well written, very well presented, and his "I am forever your most devoted believer" is just downright the most powerful line in the whole story.

Now I promised to talk about Qi Rong, yeah? I haven't the slightest idea why it is even necessary to have Qi Rong as the Night-touring Green Lantern. I mean, yes he is there to make up the number of the Four Great Calamities, but that was for the characters who live in that world. As the novel's reader, I don't see any particularly important roles there for Qi Rong other than being an annoying meme fodder despite his actually pretty-cool first foreshadowing and appearance? Even his issue with Lang Qianqiu does not seem to give that much impact on the overall story, it could've just passed simply being explained in several pages.

Though I'd say he's got the best character development compared to others. Instead of dying as some hateful villain, the way he ended up deciding to protect Guzi at the cost of his own life can already be expected from miles away, but still bittersweet and touching nonetheless - how this crazed, mental person could still love when being presented with such pure, innocent feelings to the point that he acknowledged Guzi as a his own son.

By the way, E Ming and Ruoye are cute, I take no criticism.

TECHNICAL ASPECTS: 8/10

I can't really describe this with words, but MXTX's overall writing technique has greatly improved since MDZS.

It feels more "solid" to read instead of scattered here and there.

The info distribution has improved (fewer info dump compared to before), the story's no longer switching between past and present all of a sudden.

Description of characters and environment are sufficient, the plot is progressing steadily.

Several issues I have with this aspect though, the Prologue being ten pages is just way too long, I don't think I need that much information being stuffed right to my face right from the beginning.

There are excessive use of "Turns out..." every single time an explanation is going to come.

"Xie Lian didn't know whether he should cry or laugh" is honestly has been used probably more than 50 times just in the last two books. Although I'm reading a translation, I'm pretty sure the original Chinese version is being repetitive with this phrase, as well, because the translators couldn't just whip up any other phrase from thin air and put it in someone else's novel.

Almost half of scene transition is always caused by some sudden, external disturbance like "All of a sudden they heard someone's coming", "All of a sudden X visits their room", etc.

OVERALL SCORE: 7.3/10

Worth to read, satisfying overall. The main pairing's love story is just so well written and sweet. As long as you can withstand the violence and gore, though. 😂

TGCF highlights perhaps one of the ugliest natures of mankind: Being nice to someone as long as they're beneficial, and immediately throwing them away once the benefit was no more.

Once that person does not seem to be beneficial anymore, everyone would leave them instantly, even turning on them and start spitting on them without even trying to understand the reason why said person "stopped being beneficial".

Both as a Crown Prince and a martial god, Xie Lian and the Crown Prince of Wuyong were praised, revered, worshipped by the citizens of Xianle and Wuyong respectively. Because they were always helping, always fulfilling the people's wishes. But how easily it was for those very same people to turn on Xie Lian and the Crown Prince of Wuyong when they encountered misfortunes, completely turning a blind eye to the laborious effort both characters have been putting to save them from annihilation, even if it was visible in broad daylight.

It is also worth to note another trait of mankind that this story underlines: To always find a scapegoat or blame others for one's own misfortune and failure - be it another human being, another group of people, the government, even the gods - after having taking their generosity for granted.

Which is why I think the true villain of the story is not Bai Wuxiang, but those citizens of the ancient Wuyong who were now nothing more than resentful spirits eternally burning within the lava of Tonglu Mountain - a well deserved punishment after what they did to their Crown Prince.

#Tian Guan Ci Fu #TGCF #Heaven Officials Blessing #HuaLian #Xie Lian #Hua Cheng #Review #Danmei #MXTX #Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

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libidomechanica · 9 months ago

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Indecision, all on

A sonnet sequence

Verse I

Of Petrarch and nail, where Jamshýd and maid paused his Lips. No hath love, beside of means to closet never white a sole effection? My hear is she wept with lewde lorrell, will love, or once after she noise, Nay! For a land: old Susan lay deepen all legacy of all in view, before thy beauty were was crammed to not charms possible shepheard’st me best.—Cannot mickle, how she hills a-snort as, but you things unseene than off our union, and let babes? And as once tis survives. And praised heart will, too cold far council up. How farwell who on the broken charms, o, gie to then the misbelieve the reins, wild was sooth, those gay, is each ray;— but when at have me. In the seems, the sky bends my well. Indecision, all on the two before yet and melancholy joy, threshold oak trees be back too. And range adventured leads wheele: but sincere, where is nobler not still my love, or decays?

Verse II

Love loss: the auspicion, and Betty is the moonlight, and no powers with it applies, and the prepares deep in all the Maids by my arms, o, gie Cuckold from the long the master its own run the same darkness wisdom more I viewest, and one in fear of all thoughts before us from danger I will lovely famine, unduly, this told to the longe hath by day, there’s cross the world enroll that they beauteous lived so learn of storian, so sweetly kept yfere to pot, the first day my mought hints. Thy look’d more their pleased lover tary, think me she is the Potter brutish young, though and well.

Verse III

Proper wife that dost great the Cupid with blocke so bring, in scorn a live. That you made love’s favourings should I saw the Goal, over that, nor fresh me, and am I fleece made a peasant too? Grave, with blockhead upon the bonie last heinous from Indus tones will love, to lovely live o’er earth did nothing eyes, not yet marvel at once aside, ladies weal of my love, or zeal, lighter— but was scarcely Grace she cannot myself she word the night and like a words of my Belovëd, which you pursue he dove talked the song of Common in sleep. Heavens all on me goes should return. I’ll tell; but one with fine; and buzzing or vocal air, and the night with griefs to thy swears, and if a pedantic roar; and loveliest think notes, that we bene night; I craving brance—for suffer to my feet see its own torturingle, and drooping all we cannot to crossed she what panting braid or Nymph, or dark.

Verse IV

Like climbs in a brother and hearty charms the grove when you mount Oliuet: feedingly with the spake of the Firmament, with strong. The rose roses everyone evening his for your four fault, which way though thee, lest thou could make thee, they rejoicing a kiss by years down by my medical life and maybe, I rate doth belts with that, with spiry than your dust. To see on a dreams. Are such sighs the Veil. Ah, Moon of all thy swine. Such virtue heard grew lucent wet unsandl’d well. And he love’s jealous stone in and to speaking born, and I, o we calling found about a softest secret nobody know.

Verse V

For pierce disposed of Spring to its own: whose his eyes, a fitted, and write me is delight eye; theyr Pan this pretend earest bare Penauntering than that is politesse married the oak tree, was in her mark! And the my eyes stirr’d one halls of all mister, much,—but whole cold with his heads such a scroll, there if I cannot lack, as chamber: dim and fixing so pick it quite at then see as, slighten to know, gone, my mind graffed vp his dying soul that every lofty lady die at moment’s eyes. And—A blink is certain, whom you know it’s today, the different wet under than she gavel.

Verse VI

To have left full finds in entry: riding. Into his happy crossed by mewere to me intel, calm of fragrance snake’s smooth my flower in actions, and small. I do hold nigh the faster all through Wisdom! Elsewhere, belonging, passion fair we’se ne’er read it EVIL. Which lays had not what class wi’ mony a sweet Christabel Jesu, Mag. But if the transient though a rapt in Sport parades ev’ry dashingled; and for a Solitude in the Oda, in bed, and true be infected by an uncrossed shee with years, he roll, and told hope. Their slave; he breeze would be back again realms to the rose.

Verse VII

That bene the committen—wash the well, as those viewed, as life or mild; and all thine and a wife is the rises bower, through ne’er you; good night, other ratherless rises between they lay. Gathering, flush’d to thousand Year revive, thy so you, fond that struggling your propens her soul to hold oak tree-houses probed tainty, rising summer than health has beam. Her hair foremost asleep you, Maria, she crime of hell me train in my with Molly Stewart, the shadow from hence, mountain two night of the heart thought exalts the clamour trance that I’m suppose tears not what way, that I was face with me.

Verse VIII

Dull seemed heart! To do what is the great these worn when paye yourselves knots of their summer of the chaste along ye lovely fled, and o’ertake pity! Now in silent to me had maybe, love enhances as much a hearted and full hyllye places as it was when and I give mystery of planet for grateful sacrification I hae tinkling and veil. And they fled, his wide world, unbother, sixteen snake coiled at lease topmost grass a damsel fairly; and wife. I have bee kiss that prayed. All unlike Heav’n’s wide, but the rushes of glittered, who this small, the cock and without a cave eating air.

Verse IX

All all not myself when I lose in his Hour of human ties serenest of this worse halloo! Commended from his a Wind and suspicion and in love. Blowing; somewhere I ween, Indecently law. Much more keen take me quite so boldly her side; whilome all this told wood. That such aureated in Rows. Take and what is no need I probably antique house bridle, halloo! To replied, which thee fled with Rule and prisoner fountains have relently, she scold out each they shepheard the bridegroom wash my dying. That once, she propinquity to heart will of such this; my verse left the Daughter’s closed tight!

Verse X

Mine on a mighty passed at the blood is there speak once and balm was in I was chary as far I condition any now a king, and furthern shepeheard again; for naked not yet and mild; then up at all the perceive their too had for fewer she seen all my well, and dislike you left they some shapes parch’s playing with his name; however faith. If their opens that thy sought, and from a beauteous Mind. No one, a maiden galage of all were, blame, and now and Days, there within. We ha’ one back, one of him? But if th’ all always, and cared porpoise, and daring—which he fleeting?

Verse XI

Then all: but one by some was the sweet. Who, with flower, not a-creaking, and the dry that for laugheth once more the earth dew; nor of the Gods that sweet, and takes me haue I would youth, knell. The jealous of happie sighing eye and a thought his blithe alike a stones with wings hover’s tales of cowslips was, will love, at lass will looks about the rosy banquet we mightingale. And burn to demean. When pleasing time; for what broake, wherefore or one were fools do not so we cries and lain her disclose o’er than despair stirs, sweet thy songs with as clean, lost be kind slays, where was no noise, for thing burn the wynd.

Verse XII

And your nobler well best whate’er I bow’d after nor statue of Nature, and on the sad of thy car thy misunderneath goest brave place Juanna a chance flies. Grow good form, and large and of custom of quickly, beloved; a think it up, till still, last line about the gorse; and lips the might cool and eddies away in their head under head weigh, left and those who knell our further an Hermitesse thee onely vnto him the boy’s mite, ’ and made, so love inscript short a feeding in the crost an end.—By still at othere is a woman: the west, some rough her feet; that brief from yondering hair.

Verse XIII

Nor the like this the walls black rock, we cliffs, a fit to weep, a fond of the curs’d, and you crazed him in the women is rebellious seen forest hold? Which less lying madness of brave, that to skye, there’s none, and still, making stare which hungry with hind-part in their marble you and low, the ones and pace is threaded care: for a woman fame on, ah, how of laws our the stalked, he trode. Now I must had bent, and stone to looke to be but one or turning-tide, by rivers, and ancied sights and sensual sites, as even mortal’s veil’d to tell metal the for gentle pony he wide, ladies light!

Verse XIV

Her proue the rose-leaf by morn of their heart, not mission, or likeness down fa’ she lofty lady tall, come, her boy, who met with goes. With mean angelo, hands were hall, and makes me gowd, thou shalt within the milk come against ever head; or pleasure and have where is face. And its go free from the moonlight, sank downe, so gladly be a murky old worst, and cherubins as thus Goods to shaken me awaken. My torso a sort and Love’s victims at a love of Ettricking never said she’s an empty Glasse, which we left aching age, I dream’d out of a captive express with which embargo.

Verse XV

Living Fingers of Life, my burr, but empty cells, and on this touch the long moon is them the ruin’d to see that there her quit heard then she long hand unjoin, but one says said, curst be bold, dishone to close up, and fause her lands, gone, nor man calm me could barber lady Christantly turn no more in martiall still mocker, this parting miss. Their leaves after-rest when lately has bereav’d offended, Let us melts with forward thy pressing-room. The work like admires my Lady Psyche, now is, that home green look at was at sight, Betty flocks as if now I thinking. Once the may cloud that are forgot.

Verse XVI

Is not shrine, all growing. Our house, who know man-made tis but a moon laid if we fingers all forme of corner of amber so ill: The moonlight, and beautiful land disease— years from all: who hast pyne, position. From the joys the write me all things—I sought there the left him down; there’s not blame was no greater far with a fair Sultán scared then the roar. The little pearl and we, and pestle. And fondly on a wounded. To lives and the spight road? Let we slept on the heart him befel, even the deuce take Juanna, though waiting mind. The Quarrel about: but cruell compound she taper anthems tore.

Verse XVII

And fame, fly me, lovely bask in his bright. Oh saint those from which thy brave in for love appears. Dawn the tears to-day primroses! Since deprecarious cries serene, he quaff’d of wonder’d from her, look in a careless tell—I thou are it, tu-who! When I love do? And unstead, I tried insufficial cargo—than thy love of dewy dawn; and the Lot of Kaikhosrú forgive your out the night. And little linnets I with Susan with all out, tear, and those tender nursed her beauties ended him still. When to haue had crabs his cheek hath be Natured? That is mow’d, as the dalying all thy husbandry?

Verse XVIII

Their flocke, a dances on your gentleman fall are swelled her eyes such strong the dusky quit the cross till I quite you telligence, and merrily round, and lustless and told worse were your hang. A counten rails, and Paradise with a flow’r, whereof she bell away with teares she sprung it home inscription, fair former pleased me; and you said: I have love, her burning, all as very monastic to me, Naomi turning bene the could pretty well scorn em most thousand maiden gave, the Potter toilet, love me, and a broken at thir girlonds to resigne of deities engrains did she.

Verse XIX

Rejoiced to speak; ah for they council up. It is just and strife renews were nothing it were by some of gallant legs, clears the Day of what dusky quiver a To-morrow seizes upraiser epitaph to move a singled porpoised up be drown her eyes the city, whether timely come to clutch foreign to have so much tyrant’s whispers it hold worthies they had into follow, If the swine were moved to Absál, her aid it out of Petrarch wept, and dime, but ere throughts and no Serpent’s best hour; and I, was we first morning. Of thy hand in this repose: the with consequel of Light.

Verse XX

Soft kindle altar’s doomsday and Fate—the ocean that oft upset bed forbeare cherefore ye well! To taste—thou kiss’d my cold little gate to obeyed; and lips, touch, as the door shell. Her the day is the verse of mankind greated to be cleariness shall bang out that I tried until tis solemn cloud of story, and dim; but Chronology, thou flee. While the Air, as some mine. My morning, belonging and Master, or less or heard, that an angel’s skill you have hooted to share, the sake I swears the waves whatever such of Tryermaine! And full singing so. And was clear again, with soft first dame!

Verse XXI

We will not give you, Maria, shine again from thy mother suffice was a warning that when thee with their chamber: dim and tender, and all thought unholy her feel the Grass, ’ which I will keeps are o’er the man of sorrow, lay about the might&morning rosy mouth sips: Ay, in so innocent, you denied what is for the Moon awake, beloved and fingers of a dream it with him, of this loveliness. To her pale as infinite as she world with spiry tuneful Evening, the charity, to showed, and the Carouse: divorced uncommenced to be here soft and while Abelard!

Verse XXII

Each mild; the Rose,—tell us winter all shiver or farther—Surely beneath her with mutual pity on the girl, for on they heart in a dame! Sylvan his daughter it leanest all. Of this bridge them glow: and make knows what to wander: I told hoped her. Familiar Juice, as not forth, which those gayne: as meet that a spoke, Dudu looks both singing. And thinke of melling thou would have not like thy lips? That I feel the pangs on flowers I am man! For you and doth for in triumph, come, sweets, and me took me for, we’re rich an out of Loues scope afford the first dame and maid. Or youth undoing.

Verse XXIII

’Er was amiss that chivalry will bang out; for mettled eyes: I went, above me inter! Or I see such as wish the earth is quick share, the Mansion. The gentle read weird seizes up again-say, fair-haired to die. ’ Then, and rarest—now as with head such familiar sigh-tempests all and a voluptuous pow’r, what no modern Amazon and all legacy of my young Frank its go frequence: but few. With well will are up—she was a pure and raise beneath the larks of glittered from your since made him. Why is my cold—yet Eloisa lovely born, or your gifts, in the fire; and chime: I thing.

Verse XXIV

As a scroll, so deeme, thine owne wrinkling right. But not tell used they shame give me, like a poet cold. Rose be dearer to wash away home well be weigh hast, and one felt him and the sat vpon a ruffled rocks as theyr god Pan, vpon the scatter, long passion of my mine han this misery moaning mild ecstatic ocean without a stories of Muse with as weak. Did imitated, and crowing over world, how long but when the secure, not a sound deep of a kiss they were sooth, a bed. Thou the high the university untied her tell. Her grey- haired to indigest such thou think of Ware.

Verse XXV

Thou heart i carry your horrors risks are the Saint, when pay in most tremble grove taughter, quick share if thy she sang an oak, and now the second bullet the Day—so themselves theyr weede. And their gratefull fifteen, does it holds good worse, of the gate; that beau, or Dem my care. And in this? Since that Susan’s Forgiving, but they strait; I grateful spire: hindering in their once in acts: then the loud, for ears the spread of op’ning day! And no more the early loves in action mountain come, and the keep them about us so, she is she map of silverswords sing. Him, and Helen’s bland, and stir of soul.

Verse XXVI

Nor feature wary this Kent cried; demure which, thy sire less surcease, to takes. Heart’s ever decay without a Thorn, and errors risk a thought, that tore&waste kiss upon his hold of flames in anyway toward, she scenes much lean’d away, and by the bring bathe. Stands were set, the shrike, and I’ll still dissever, these my eyes she keen these but let the Cup, and join in women are re-survey, with tempties all right, all back&forth his own which gave upon his lighten’d, bright there were she through ye be, more love do? Like the low, ’tis thy sovran shrieks of rock again, without drags in a woman, who bewailed.

Verse XXVII

Repent to the Garden by women of Honor dress my share in all whom glue my pleasing, her eye. With sometimes, he rode, as an undoing me now. It was the blue vein; but it is certain fruit, and vine Altars her feelings short of op’ning friends: the disguised to lend. With a clam. Woe is thinking itself. The boy’s gloried tree, but think, believe my firme we wand thus it from far of those were seen array’d, and gave with God and when lamp, and out luxury. Saved beaster that, if thy lodger. ’ Awake! So nere. Lest what sad quandary; and Lo! For suffered by farther Pasty luscious Hail or pain.

Verse XXVIII

Here woes: what she loving it is beautiful daught to blood to die. Or they shed do within, suspicion and prowd that we a mournful that venge is sceptre life? And like no noise. Greasy despite than saying guile that Thomalin can makes the pony, Betty shook her fair come inters of sin o sorrow that trance; so much it creatures, Heaven, cries of horse not though nettled forbid the Breath, bleed about Judas had and great the ring, of crime? But suspicion new flame, and war’s faults done of one drown’d me your remote a Fountain-top, to pot, but hurry in more pair, it murmuring gypsey-folk.

Verse XXIX

That in a drunken pleasant nor wit and all pleasing speed-laden Metal may e’enin such as wings, there themselves our heart with furs and their maid another: they saw and clasp shrieking and leaves soon be the sold, and always the save a footsteps in their coming reacherous ear, is my body to end: full of there you in some far count him thou shall mens ever it grieves away; if Susan? I scarce seek him in a cypress’d; but they bene and for her eye is being and how to-morrows here, when Love put for a sudden be help me put foolish to wrangled porpoise, whom young Lochinvar.

Verse XXX

Like vibration ways fine; and, last grass as the Sin whose tense offence? ’Tis all I, unshake, but the moon their heate when the stone. That her cared then her friends downe, a horse-maiden more imperials and liued with you. Shadowy in whose brows—therefore the travels crumble constrangest it has payd, no such gentle very same which is—o sorrow to his harmefully reign to the find than islander a Tory memory; the down awards young; and he same to keep but let her; the Hus-bandmaid, that’s favour of the not to resign, for suffer the tinkling, tree; but since and forgot now I am just change; and loue belts of self-approximate what she and body and kiss by years, tis queen as ere you send folding to decorates; when times full of some pare. By which threw dull and loud, withstand aye, by the was smooth, so my father There’s neither—not unallied to lightshaded care!

Verse XXXI

Yet he was pleasure feeling, one that we this priests, his the Lip it music strong, nor bred by Sallust was not wake? That strong, with wilt that her in a truce establish’d be. Lose bloody dale, crawled on his Highness on the sworn like and home. And not sinful Psyche, neither mind; affect, their back to that nobody knows what woman well-built wine. For mind. But now, mong but when long ere hearse where lives in vainly three castle bowed, as twere a second lovers blood. Why will dictates, and faint a world for who move, and in known mind me without it’s not one in ever a wind on glories of May, with me.

Verse XXXII

So bold, and I made the light kindle token, and tale more or admiring skies, his commands of sleeps, and once she fell! Pitied his worthlessness in they are make o’t. Wild as flung, and now how to Being—let the radio wash and for kissed. Hope, and stone juanna, this own by the skie dote on, we’re children nursed please: yet should compos’d, and stout by the right wherefore we would seems that kills we trance, nor deare other own drough the stay; I had crowd about to spake whene’er counterfeit. You a might did, he quietest Georgian ignored ye sall drift;—but since thou have beetless virgin darksome bright.

Verse XXXIII

As sure, the communing mile that pray your barking brain to thinks! Shadow on the tower, The air in me into my headlong the dead by the fast, ye rose again rooftops. There than sayne, considerative moonlightful Fair thou be aged, or lightly shore just regulate, when the whom I state! Thou shalt with alter now! Voluntary gleams. Horatian, unpaid, sistering in acting she antipodes of vermeil cheare: most my your death. And there quoth Betty flown accents yours what they gushing in the name, may time antique pent ere the Fire is my night; minds and eke the sold, thought o’clocke?

Verse XXXIV

Our world forget! The Mountaine ranckorous dropt to clean upon there the light the Wise that hide appear they are still much is she though and some gulfe, but her soft and Sages with bosom the silence, Christabel in the rolled hot lines the vision of Heav’n, I were story of a bay: ten the loot the light with horrors not admiring heavy! Or howe heart and forgotten saying water beans not outright: submitting dews impart, each night. And her head downcast and I have each deliver’s strange, but what is same, for what kill roll! To kiss you being beneath a blind; and Betty much mourn to look.

Verse XXXV

Thou sprung but on now in acts: the C he grew that old-fashionable to encount as well? A throught I shalt wings; she’s tuneless strip of wine. In my eyes, all remedy be welcomes so small! Though these mosse, doze I saw the heart, o charge, and warm from the truth; and Betty, poor shall fly with some small. Be reward parts of the Lady on dear Redeemed to hides to smile could nothings she? From North which gaping, thought what crime with wrath wings; she water of the writ like foresayd from goodness dear Genevieve, and there, whither please are far a train falls imprint with for ever partaken at he doctor frae naebody. You goes blot of thee. Turns rigour own somethings do say. He quadruple clocks the loot the destroy, that her own life, my circle of pleasant, have played; and all the gold you thus ending in the oak. A fluid among through heed that would calm in you seeking to slope to charms, she love!

Verse XXXVI

And next to beauties. Then roaste: and at poore Vassal wrong. When she: full of it. Save to do with the desire! And kisse, waxed vests grew pale you learn the poor Susan’s kneeled all: who cannot mean enough Natures dead on guano and sware the other sips But Lilia please—we wild, dishonour of May, fair who had not a-creaking Beauty walk in youth did eagerly free, fishes they wasted welcome home: o, carved steel so fair too much decline. With they do not beam. Perhaps tis truth; and Johnny do, and sith tears! World. Foe came on her eyes or sheepe to come; come, who his laid. Thy glance ecstasy?

Verse XXXVII

From Fingered much an oak, and still again: but letter mind now tread, his Heav’nly foe out such be of these armèd man, but the corner of yestrew where ease us from pain. Deep from North was blazoned with that, womanly my soueraigne of us wild worthy own remove, and tis tender Dust, the vision Venus buried me revengeance of mine eyes each other! Taken as I wote the Oake and far brothed together would no leisure and in and more lowes no more the lovely maid with thy beam. Her when all the Close of Fears—to-morrow to-whoo, and scornerstone, and learned her the cup.

Verse XXXVIII

As throat are like fall, at poor Dudu’s for debar’d who canst that she forbeares to each some act of brass all they made return trembling, and yet shepheard grew, shaft by the words were beauteous dove, unworth this chest anothers—How she waves weeping something I wanna a chasing strength is bloom one other sips: Ay, in black in Jesus frozen horse, and speak grief are be vain; for every far in my burr at their way features: oh gentle Ground this. And I am to your height. Alas, her warm in a few, the sported; the right eye; on yonder’d. Then shine along is child crowding at his concubine.

Verse XXXIX

To for fingers’ pray’r; no many’s head, the lilies shouting, sir, find him and draught to say, whose chilly o’erture rest bare at a boon, grave, the Baltic’s—so your for a woman, she not by kingdom topped me; surprise they hand. So freed friendship’s naughter clown into the Flower, smile; the Nether shall I quite fled wives mend. A second the state character dream that to mine eye or for they’re gaz’d—she rolled me untrue. It is on they sank, the rose I left, and merry not gracious as there. Among tide—you got in one deep as a beauty maids by niplet of beauty of closed bay cold frae naebody.

Verse XL

And, in my song, throne, or a travelling person fairy Queen; at which declining, the other herb, tree, but a clamour’d busy bee through the towsing at the vestments tho gazed-and sunny glass, at the was false nothing and blended Betty stroke forgive, am gain-say, this the deep in your of you as I canno’ stands frozen as they may we never dwelling is sort out of Repent on altar’s voice, in the sun after the leave to the owls must needs with the rose, the tyrant, Slave a leg. Ah, how that Thomalin can fight asking heards had lovely love or talke dear can doth pleasant the Grape!

Verse XLI

Whose can drinking and the law. Like beauteous most. More hapless I gazed up. With me, we constrange you were! Of sent was a pure is dear, is become though yet I lay. Those gentle false saw thee: or, maybe wilderness. Then we fell, althought; and tended lone, what the love sometimes a long the charms possess and he shall have a cast: she tost. And Johnny! This dead Yestern blackened by what more, a parties of new-found my Robe of Common aid, had me against the light, as the false here be vain, and Johnny’s cheek and most divulging an oak, and Jack on his batter’d, affection some mistress his heard mought us, I saw the can tell whereof are thou had been leading somehow my lovelin-like my deep to apple shed what would her quiet take thine! That glory, and its little Lily antic boring night beneath the ladies at least space, so beauty was he wine! Pass asphodel, look was seene.

Verse XLII

So of my kind begg’d with he founds his long throught before I was often home went after many Knot one by shadows what worse, and for to know oft, whom he weep ye by one Phœnix shall couch of they wonder in that cast have no mend, is ears, her arms, and fell doing; she involuntary pony’s lips are cherisheth one. Here happy Betty’s hush and smooth thy hardly overlooked he rode and bold, the virtue yet thing aisle no many years, tis summer’d mortal war how often with a boon of solitarie look. And year to make him as for head; ere be sent mine: Love will; since than anguish.

Verse XLIII

In fine; and hid by the desert from the move at the lovers, on the season be her foretold, some forced wither anthemselves out rest. As tender hissing-room, their new while and distantly bland, the fair marble an auncing lights anywhere i go youngling the dead. By the huge that thee mair— I meaneth, Put a king; all gie me will with the fled, and the had no long the room, our cold, when mistake me close o’erflow, and another tress; old Susan great way, they rejoiced to discipline of Dudu said, airing grownd, and dance, tame, and theyr boy, would fair! Which is heapen hyll, as night like pearls.

Verse XLIV

” The balmy ever knowing gypsey-folk. Over soft lane, a present of my Delia dawn that heav’n first enemie. Seven in made of difference. Vs language no more cliffs, an in sight for where’s nervous, she was a Door heart to bed. Of Heauen to endure taught tormes sere. The more their flock is obsolete. To remember latitude; and he swallow, they cross that see, that the faulty feathes. Of the see the council, plied, Repentance replied by whilome to helpe to thy heap, so on the left here you heard the ladies lay down for soul am freeze of wonder absence serene! Though wine!

Verse XLV

Baba, whose weird seize on fire. Long Sun I may had veild the pony’s wish you give young and from out he lash ones without a precarious chamber—ran upper push’d extremely taduance was but fair as spoyle what now; soft and no more the Alamo. Than other, this last from Heavenly templation, continuaunce, the summon’d and look these are yourses of the right lies, fool; who tune, the old Time did most go, endlesse cowslips it from our ago, on a rising and there stalked, and to call is drops in theyr she seabeate Earth upon her gold-eyed, and daught arm fell against thoughts survey the world.

Verse XLVI

As from stoopegallant and granite? With the took fair-haired then outward is most tremulous and was dead Yestermorn, and Witch’s Lair, the field her skin. She will see their way well, the bland hame shall in her voice, methings endeavour head,—tis Johnny’s heads, were nouells on the joy the foul, and years were. For head hope, and crowd. By me inter than when in copse and self-lost one defining, but you trance, and moning, you thing and Soul. Is it fair, at least in thorn’s bowers in the Night oft me, for where weren’t reason shadow- like a kiss! Come me all unlike a Lordes beneath of cup the matrons, my true.

Verse XLVII

The woods an Isis hill Downs that his come. And, by shame cross, dog at the years down, many year, tis sorrow send that every of a captive’s nose loud meant nor will as harme, sweet is function upon the faded Oake two; thy dazled with for me, instrel bard, strands dreadful will alike to herself keep the chamber when hey, for scortching but—Wine. Woe is full-waked by that swelling crown her will affliction of thee that here in his eyes from greeted by natural restrain shore. Came nearer bitter far than woman we proud of pleasure night around to the bodies and rain, nor ever; then no more.

Verse XLVIII

The matter still to dote; but was Johnny’s heart in green, in the beeswax, his or turning time than she mine he listen the Lord Roland weep, the brethren, husband aye, the news wept with her articulated along subdued, but gaze on, where betrayed him the dear bright—It’s a moonlight: she hill on her above as for the altering their prone, each other still sees him whom shend: for than unusual flame was than mists of strange? August you shalt with tear. The objects the hear from good bleed, in vain, all part, except thir girl, when will scorn such the mine; for Jock of a nobly further idiot boy.

Verse XLIX

From sprang fasts poor Dudu had the pleasure, a thinks dull, so faint prodigious for thousand break thee and even hey, for sure stroke— a warning, riding to meet they reader’s face upon her head such becomes losing I worn without. Down on it, which hide appears speak of immortal’s veins—no doubting soul.—Oh may, it’s carrying in the was thou looks a few hour tress; and I seal wine; I find their Bills, record! Nor devil mocks, and his fate of the sported from badd, and age; he bright. Of Ramazán, ere with pity! A monstella spirit-voice was thee and with band, and Tangier. An Eagle home.

Verse L

Drag on the Winding thy phantom flies, sleep you years, an Eagle home to work, ’ said hi to my budding sometimes o’ dawn the Oda, in the rule, but stirred, i’ll taken unmarked, which souls in you more disgrace my lot, far othere, who husband guide appear, tis the bounting low should nothing wife is lips threaders face, for gentle rest, and one creams tore my love for whole worn with the lame; may below, who, chasing breeze is this weak point anew, thus an understones with life so with the trees in view is for for me, that harme the shall place: for in lover. Him we were green all it green hair if this tore.

Verse LI

I’ll tak dunts at rest thought to skye, the can breath rage; minds begun. Now lend, taking as your fathere! Yon roses are the bright lies! A little to speak; she look I determinglet, we came a tocher; and bone. It make know. In the walking her staircassia, then shall I canno’ stands, beyond thee more; sap check its ear after to sin to her in this neck so free almost tell he forest to die. But the Mansion in his answer to-day be worlds, and moves men task’d; he breath, thought ends of they bent with your lover cousin wish they quit her ev’n thorn, and slow time; for when plume; and oily comfort fast.

Verse LII

And yet keep and a bubble blood, and is worst day, while Then lamp is fire. Nay, Betty’s head, and those loudly too: I taste that forthwith may, this single before broadsword scatter’s wreckage. In the lockes, great a fond embrace; for well, within the whole Atlantic broad, oh Khalífah laughing, at springs endeavouring the heart the rain, truth; i’ll beguiled, the human tired, the could be I owe nobler we all not unholy her fair as it no one bag man, whose whole year; and close; no, no! And brides and I, a true, may through roam, it lean’d away, I hate woman, and from. Who duly pull there.

Verse LIII

To a Churchill, each other Lambes beneath o’ gear; the periods keep but three: but never mother used thus farthern Lot some into heart, which Betty, now I wander than innocent Hunter—there steed awhile youngest she is the sentime to guide, so pierc’d, so turbulents will bald,&wander answer’d in Secresy blooming rosy brights, lips wane, I should lend a through her fathers wracket breaths; and fairy Princess; and being therein her hath roam the other’s deadly shooting delightful lay deep Atlantic ocean, one thought heart’s due confidelity? And her little, and why should her part: love me all the rushes us backs of a thinner should break, to the page and should bear you a mists of pleasing such a low sound rushes of your Georgian, unperceived and clothe abandone, half-lost into the could drown her to Padisha or Pacha. He letter, come to replied.

Verse LIV

As if sheepe, O Joy, no belts will be well- a-day! The quaffs, to whirls and so dauntlets: breast guard you, for early waking story; for a differing displayd, but, Delia, on early your two—is gone, unduly, as weake me couched, clothed to clarify the be my aching into the Spring horse tomb; and thee. A monstella is? But her charming through she hath them and for and bull; there’s ne’er did for her not touch’d, but never and what is well knowing curl from their sake that meaneth blustring. At like on the lake, I cannot hold Time’s paws, and my circle just has where was proud rose, yet I hotel.

Verse LV

All that’s a way dislodged—thou and predilections exacted his hollowed his eyes ah woe is the casting spotless milking with rustless forth, and heart wild be, thou thy flower, the dales, and lustle world’s face, only scorning grace of men whom true! A wisedomes to the contemple travel’s fair as if her lie as if she did, alack lands full-waked not so; but all I cannot be paramour beautiful end— he had occupied; you have not less chalke, and bright a dream, whose sometimes front rose; but supernovas, and with the keen’—but and swallow, what then, whose but far to traffic.

Verse LVI

Know that always are seemed, this hospitable forsook, in one who hath, bene nor pageant backward went sighing word alone. Part of pain a sweet and furthermore bitter me? One musicker woes. I wanna be you are pain, along ere took, shall The hostess for symptoms, and would ne’er soft ill with timorous store, a prettie is thou wilt come hamely and face! Since lie, kind, with the Road I Heaven breathing once the line is dear girl, they wish in to past of mine of the night to be a gude brass and the dark hills, reset. His life is good the fair! The lion’s in these joys to keep. And small?

Verse LVII

His be separate in a corne I have remember flocket as she did but all was a Czar; and its clan; forget. First night. Thy earliest cropp: but supernumerous burn. For so much delay’d, and for find softly ride flame usual ear, but half enclose my love. And what mind, detain folded her great did it true pathways floating tongue. Asleep disclose of men! And talk’d then one kind; and spring I was abhorr’d; a plump- armed: Take me suffer, because yourself would enroll of ill-requite fourth I reset. So hast bid thus it crossed away. Suck my neighbor. In great pleasing Muse the lasse rownd.

Verse LVIII

Of might he issues ranges, at largely did say as we with still I could have of white as a budding up from pole; in twilight, not, I can’t image is these stranger to me, as lost Eloisa weep; but nowe it was think, without it anywhere Phebe lay? But blame, she think she frost. It can make of Tryermaine? Joy; shall rock, glimpse of morning both small his laid onely shouted— Open the River’s close my Sinnamon crimes, Last Harvest cannot how, but he way of bed; good-morning’s only world must be the Mother hammering, ah, when roaste: and stumbling the heard a Voice cries flattery?

Verse LIX

My budding ray, and how of lies we fall and said Baba’s faine the were no one murmuring on they less declined, I saw they shepheard mought this quite hands know is fish, naked not this won’t demand, ourselves me laugh this rupture’s nervous to gan he wind did left it love, nor smell, that high, left but her like mistressful cry; but thought a kind she middle or leaues the two and told man, so might as you my argument: for all sea again, inflame played, all Eternity. Than sustain’d then said not so good steel-mirror. An angel’s name enough and have a hair in the quiet world, head ha’ one place, said, or from a tyrant, somewhere all lie, mocks as if half far-shadow oft hand of the first to his hand. On alone, she strike, and since apieces: then at his own her but a peevish Brere like thrust like a stars we’re dreams and so very pray, hurt high them goe: the moral Englishman, but what?

Verse LX

They witness, with they have all, I probably, rising statues. You transmittent find soft turned in a cypress’d in her time, till my budding, then all my nights are fair Juanna, the endeavour horse, her arms tore hot lies; take what a cock, a woman’s nose love the never blink is she live is holy eld dishes stirs to die. A messenger the was not howls, not how listencil, plied we lost into decline, sweet past to bed, and of the Springs, where cut of a dreadful fancies deare. Although me round then the lost be praised him befell youth, with her arms, expected wave&wander: I told and degrade!

Verse LXI

I slept, degree that sunset with length is not for she like misse. Mark when he wedded like twelve, and low-brow’d which would beauteous Bride of Human the rose, thy glancing age, ’ which in the lady’s woe, woe is kneeled are a thought about the goes be trickling through his Arbour, all he’s a thought seems to It for to no one her come agained cells Embleme. With the myself in definite Pursuing the dame alone cure, a bad taste, not the vacant like a sweet ladie, lifted maine. Good nigher therefore canno’ stand. Thy was thered: these were of thou foster- child and her brethren two and mildness strange?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #187 texts #sonnet sequence

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saeyoungs-sunflower · 4 years ago

Text

As Sweet As It Is Bitter (Jumin Han)

I personally feel that this part of Jumin’s story doesn’t get talked about enough. So I wanted to give my interpretation of it.

Warnings / Notes:

Spoilers for the Secret Endings

Alcohol abuse, grief, general sad times. Big ol’ bag of angst here.

Brief mentions of violence/injury.

This isn’t intended to be Jumin x V, but if that’s how you wanna read it then go for it. It’s down to your interpretation/what floats your boat.

Playlist:

Before You Go - Lewis Capaldi

Say Something - A Great Big World

Saturn - Sleeping at Last

Bridge Over Troubled Water - Simon & Garfunkel

Artwork also helped inspire me when writing this, especially art by the absolutely incredible @sikuzxxx . They are ridiculously talented and I encourage you to check out their art if you haven’t already. Here are the pieces that inspired me most: 1 / 2 / 3 /

It was straightforward, really.

Unlock door. Enter. Shut door. Hang up coat. Take off shoes.

It was routine, the same as it was yesterday and the same as it will be tomorrow. Yet, it couldn’t feel more wrong. Something as simple as unlocking a door became foreign to him when a steady hand was replaced with clumsy fingers, and a quiet mind became swarmed with static.

Jumin loosened his tie and undid the top button of his black shirt. He stepped into the centre of his penthouse, a bouquet of chrysanthemums under one arm and his head reeling. He stood motionless, staring out into the city through the large glass panels. He couldn’t understand.

He couldn’t understand how it was that, despite everything they had, this was the way it ended. After every family dinner, every walk home from school together, every bottle of wine shared, this was the way God had planned their friendship to come to a close. Before, he would have guessed that it would end in a hospital, with silver hair and cracked skin, fond memories and shared joy in abundance; but instead it ended with bullets and screams and whatever it is that nightmares are born of. It was no place for the end.

Jumin surveyed the room, a dark and hollow space only visible by the illumination of nearby buildings. He was completely and utterly alone.

Therefore, for the first time in his twenty-seven years of life, Jumin Han let himself break.

He took out a bottle of red wine, pouring himself a generous glass. And then another, and then another, until he gave up on the glass all together, instead opting for strangling the neck of the bottle as he emptied it of its poison. With every drop that passed his lips, the scene that played in his head grew more vivid as reality began to blur.

The scene started with him sprinting through the building, guards on either side of him as they rounded the corner, stopping in their tracks when they spotted the intimidating doors that lay ahead. He had made one step towards them when he heard the gunshot, and then did not hesitate to charge towards the doors, bursting through.

He can see his body now, limp and resting in a pool of rich red. He could literally see the life flowing out of V with every passing second as he merely looked on, utterly helpless. He couldn’t help, he was too late.

He didn’t say goodbye.

With a frustrated grunt Jumin stumbled towards the bedroom but stopped himself halfway, his eyes landing on the bunch of flowers that he had brought back from the venue, already starting the wither and the petals starting to fall. That was the first crack.

It started with a single drop gliding down his cheek, that rested on the tip of his chin before falling onto his dark tie. He impatiently wiped his face, standing tall and looking straight ahead, but it all in vain. Without warning nor control, every tear that had remained unshed had surfaced and poured.

He should just go to bed. Leave this day behind him. He had his closure now, it was time to move on and to be the man he was before all this chaos. To be Jumin Han again.

Then why did he remain where he stood?

Jumin dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets hard enough to see stars as his knees buckled beneath him, his frame crumbling to the floor. He was renowned for his stoicism, practicality, and his unwavering ability to keep whatever pain that threatened to bite to only get as far as barking at his door. But tonight, he let himself entertain the torturous idea of the hypothetical, the ‘could have’s and the ‘should have’s that may have saved the life of the only man, the only human being who he wanted to be by his side until his last breath. The one who stayed with no conditions attached, who loved Jumin truly and effortlessly. A companionship, a bond like no other; Jumin and Jihyun. The rich kids. As similar as night and day, but just as perfectly matched. Friends, brothers.

What if he had tried calling him an extra time? What if he had gotten into his car and hunted him down himself? What if he called the helicopter five minutes earlier? Was that all it took? Could he have done it?

But he still couldn’t understand. His door had always been open, his light always left on, waiting for V to come to him. To ask for his help, to tell him where he’s been hiding away, and why he thought that the darkness was more forgiving when walked through alone.

He wanted to scream, not realising that he already was until his voice broke and died out.

He just simply couldn’t understand how V didn’t realise his own worth. How he didn’t know the extent to which the world needed his kindness, his warmth. How he could let his life be thrown away like that, a life as rare and giving as his was.

Maybe it wasn’t that Jumin couldn’t understand, perhaps he just wouldn’t. If this was the bliss of ignorance, then what kind of hellish agony did knowledge feel like?

Jumin’s hands trembled as he grasped the empty wine bottle so fiercely that his knuckles turned white, contrasting the red of his blood-shot eyes. His impulses took over as he launched the bottle at the wall, droplets of red wine scattering across the cream walls as shards of glass showered around him.

He rested his forehead against the icy floor and slammed his fist against it, hardly registering the sharp pain of glass piercing his flesh. He intertwined his fingers whilst he desperately prayed. Not to God, but to whom he had lost.

Please, V, not yet. Don’t let go yet. Tell me it’s not true.

We were going to grow old together. You were going to be my best man, and I yours. What about all the laughs, smiles, memories, that now we’ll never have? We were meant to have longer than this. I’m begging you, Jihyun. You always believed in magic, please believe in it one last time. Come back.

For the love of God, don’t leave me here alone.

Minutes, maybe hours past in that position, until his tears ran dry and his voice grew rough. Jumin tried to move, but the dizzying effect of sitting up meant it took him a moment to become steady before he dragged himself to the wall. He rested his back against it, elbows on his bent knees and his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Grief was a funny little thing. It gnawed at you from the inside, feeding on everything that had any flavour of regret or devastation. But, in a twisted sort of way, it was such a beautiful thing to love so deeply that the wound was just as deeply felt. Unfortunately, the love Jumin felt during his grief also ate away at him, since it was left abandoned with no place to go when the one person it would run to was gone.

Perhaps God saw how tired and wounded his friend was and showed mercy on him by letting him rest, by bringing him home. In that case, was Jumin not home? Did Jihyun not have a home on earth at all? What a tragic life, if the only home you have to go back to at the end of the day is Heaven. But at least Jihyun had peace now, even if that was something that Jumin couldn’t provide.

Jumin used these ideas in an attempt to convince himself that grief was bittersweet. He only wished that the taste which lingered on his tongue was as sweet as it was bitter.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he did recall the flashing images of Jihyun’s lifeless and icy body as it laid frozen before everything went black, and he slowly began to slip into the realm of a dream.

A warm light pierced through the darkness, revealing a tall figure as they made their way towards Jumin, and his eyes pricked when he identified the burst of mint-coloured hair.

Jihyun embraced Jumin and his tears resurfaced, streaming down his face before floating away into the oblivion. Jihyun pulled back, looking into the eyes of his oldest friend, his voice soft as he spoke.

“You’re okay, Jumin. You’re not as alone as you’ve tricked yourself into believing you are, alright? I’m never too far away, but you’ve also got to take a look around you. Stop being afraid now. Stop letting your emotions run just below the surface. If you open up your heart, you aren’t going to bleed out; you’re going to set yourself free.”

Jumin’s lips curled into a faint smile, “Always so cheesy.”

“That’s me,” Jihyun chuckled. “Be brave. For me.”

“If it’s for you, I’d do anything.”

“Then live. Please, for Christ’s sake, Jumin. Just live.”

“…Alright. But,“ he had to ask, he had to know, “Jihyun, what could I have done-“

But Jihyun faded away before Jumin had a chance to finish, before he had time to ask what could have saved him, and to say everything that he didn’t get to say the day he left. To say thank you for everything he taught him, to ask where it went wrong; to say goodbye. But he disappeared, just like he did before. Without warning, without explanation. As if he was never there at all.

The light of the morning sun blinded Jumin when he pried his eyes open the next day, a pounding in his head and every movement sending a wave of nausea through him. He found himself lying in fragments of glass, the ringing in his ear returning as he sat up straight. He checked the time.

8:17am. He would usually be at work by this time-

His thought was interrupted by an incoming call, every ring feeling like a strike against the head. Jumin squinted as he read the contact name before answering.

“Assistant Kang.”

“Mr. Han, is everything alright? You are scheduled to have a meeting in less than an hour, would you like me to cancel it?”

“No need, just push it forward by an hour. I’ll be there soon,” Jumin croaked, his voice coarse and weak.

“…Mr. Han, if I dare to make a suggestion, I think you should rest today. You must have had a rough-“

“Jaehee.”

The woman on the other side was caught off-guard, which was evident by the pause before her response, “Y-yes?”

“Move the meeting,” he attempted to say sternly, but it came out with a tinge of desperation, “Please.”

“…Okay, sir. I will see you soon.”

“Yes, see you soon.”

Jumin hung up, prying himself off the floor when his gaze once again fell on the bunch of white flowers, some now stained with red wine. He reached for the only pristine one, extracting the flower and moving towards his desk, taking out two pieces of parchment paper and the heaviest hardback he could find on the bookshelf. With careful hands, he placed the flower in the middle of the sheets of paper, before slipping them between the pages of the book. Lastly, he rested a paper weight on top and stepped back. Jumin never used to be overly sentimental, but he had experienced a lot of firsts recently, so what was one more?

He showered, he ate, he dressed himself. He fed Elizabeth the Third and brushed his teeth. There was a knock at the door as he was fixing his tie in the mirror, and he told them to enter as he smoothed down his jacket.

“The car is ready when you are, sir,” said Driver Kim.

“Thank you. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Yes, sir.”

When he heard the door click shut, Jumin peered out the windows, looking out into the sky where the clouds gathered and the sun shone. He smiled. An unconvincing one, but a smile nonetheless.

It was a pleasure, old friend. Rest well now. I will see you again, but not soon. I have some things to do before I join you.

One day he would be able to start afresh. One day he could fulfil Jihyun’s wish. To seek help, to open up his heart, to set himself free of his threads. To live.

But today was not that day. Today he had to be the Jumin Han that everyone knew. Executive Director, heir of C&R International. Leader of the RFA.

It was routine, the same as yesterday and the same as it will be tomorrow.

Put on shoes. Shrug on coat. Open door. Exit. Lock door.

And yet, it couldn’t feel more wrong.

He let his mind wander on the drive to the office as he watched out the car window, letting the sun’s rays caress his face. It was a comfort, a gentle and constant reminder that his friend was, indeed, never too far away.

I miss you, and I won’t forget you, but I’ll let you go now. In time, I’ll do what you’ve asked of me. Be patient, have faith.

I will live. For you.

100 notes · View notes

luluwquidprocrow · 4 years ago

Text

and i’ve written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones

originally posted: august 25th, 2019

word count: 13,060 words

rated: not rated

beatrice/bertrand/lemony

heavy angst, canon compliant, with enough canon divergence that makes the canon compliance worse, epistolary

summary:

and if you don’t love me, let me go.

[a much less than 200 pages break up letter.]

opening notes:

title from the engine driver by the decemberists

By the time you read this

I guess an at least interesting description of us could be like ships passing in the night

I think now is

I think now might be the time for us to

First of all, I have canceled my subscription to the Daily Punctilio, which was just a good move on my part to begin with, and second of all, I couldn’t believe all that anyway, but third of all, do you know, Lemony

You’ll think me such a damn hypocrite, won’t you.

Why now? Why would I

Why would you do this now?

My Heart and I

ENOUGH ! we're tired, my heart and I.

We sit beside the headstone thus,

And wish that name were carved for us.

The moss reprints more tenderly

The hard types of the mason's knife,

As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life

With which we're tired, my heart and I.

II.

You see we're tired, my heart and I.

We dealt with books, we trusted men,

And in our own blood drenched the pen,

As if such colours could not fly.

We walked too straight for fortune's end,

We loved too true to keep a friend ;

At last we're tired, my heart and I.

III.

How tired we feel, my heart and I !

We seem of no use in the world ;

Our fancies hang grey and uncurled

About men's eyes indifferently ;

Our voice which thrilled you so, will let

You sleep; our tears are only wet :

What do we here, my heart and I ?

IV.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

It was not thus in that old time

When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime

To watch the sunset from the sky.

Dear love, you're looking tired,' he said;

I, smiling at him, shook my head :

'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

Though now none takes me on his arm

To fold me close and kiss me warm

Till each quick breath end in a sigh

Of happy languor. Now, alone,

We lean upon this graveyard stone,

Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I.

VI.

Tired out we are, my heart and I.

Suppose the world brought diadems

To tempt us, crusted with loose gems

Of powers and pleasures ? Let it try.

We scarcely care to look at even

A pretty child, or God's blue heaven,

We feel so tired, my heart and I.

VII.

Yet who complains ? My heart and I ?

In this abundant earth no doubt

Is little room for things worn out :

Disdain them, break them, throw them by

And if before the days grew rough

We once were loved, used, — well enough,

I think, we've fared, my heart and I.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who knew what she was talking about

My Dearest Darling,

You call me a lot of things but, to be perfectly frank (not Ernest), Lemony, I think I’ve always liked that one the least. There was that summer where, among other things, Bertrand was trying to come up with nicknames for us in that charming way of his, and he came up with a real mess of awful nicknames and then I came up with the list we could Never Repeat In Public (capitals necessary) and then you said something very sweet to both of us, and anyway, we know what happened there, but the point of this is that you held us close and said, very seriously, that you would never ever ever ever ever (for the span of what I’d figure would be maybe two pages, short but evenly-spaced), no matter what happened, call Bertrand ‘Bert’ and that was damn good of you because Bertrand is not a Bert and never will be. We were right to veto Bertie, as well. He is a Bertrand, through and through. The other point was that you wound up calling us nicknames too but dearest darling was maybe the worst of all of them. Bea was my favorite. I liked the way you said it and I liked the way it sounded and I felt noble perfect unstoppable invincible worried fragile good when you said it. And that was good.

Speaking of, right now, Bertrand is with Kit, and don’t worry, they’re not talking about you (I know how you worry). They’re talking about boats and maps and cooking spices and Widdershins will probably come by later to give them both his version of A Stern Talking To (capitals debatable) about open water expeditions, which will probably be something like, ‘Fire this harpoon at anything suspicious! Aye! Shoot first and ask questions later! Aye!’ and it’s a real miracle that man doesn’t have a whole boatload of albatrosses hanging around somewhere. (Unless he does, and I just haven’t seen it.)

Bertrand and I—well, we’ve kept the house up. Even though he has that thing for natural light, you know what I mean. But we’ve managed to decorate it nicely. I got the Gothic Furniture (capitals required), he got his large windows, there is a last unopened root beer bottle in the fridge because every time we look at it both of us think about how you said it’s impolite to take the last one, and I thought, maybe I’d save it for when you came back but I don’t

The last thing I want is to

Bertrand and I, we’re going out to dinner tonight, because we’re still not all that comfortable with the kitchen yet. I mean, why did we get such a fancy kitchen? I’m sure one of these days I’ll come around to it and it’ll be fine but right now it’s, it seems a hassle, I guess. So we’re going out and I’ve already decided that I’m going to order this truly egregious amount of pasta and no one will stop me!

We don’t really have any plans for tomorrow. As it stands right now. We’ve both been sort of taking things as they come lately. Bertrand, Bertrand’s been very busy. Both of us have been busy, but I think he’s been trying to keep his mind occupied. A lot of us have. Even Hector looks more concerned than he usually does. I saw him the other day—not here, in town—and I didn’t think it was possible for Hector to look that harried. So much has been happening lately, I feel like even I haven’t had time to catch my breath, even in this part of the city. It’s like everything’s been going a mile a minute, taking me with it, and the moments where it stops, the moments where I have the time to think, are unbearably, agonizingly slow. But most of my life has been like that, you know.

And I know, I know you are too. Busy. And concerned.

I know.

When you

Did you

The last performance of our play was three days ago. Since the Daily Punctilio doesn’t have a theater section anymore, Bertrand and I haven’t been reading any rave reviews but we were rereading but, what can you do. Geraldine’s moved on to some other column now too, something about, I don’t even know, tax evasion? Shoes? I can never understand a single thing she writes. Even that ‘Secret Organizations You Should Know About’ thing didn’t even pan out, can you believe that? All she did was write about Esmé! All that trouble for

It looks like it’ll be the last play for a while. I know they wanted us to go on longer, but, well, that’s how it has to be. Don’t know what I’m going to do with myself without a script to lug around, but I’ll probably memorize something for kicks. Gilda Farrell’s lines, maybe, that’d be fun.

But it’d be better if you

This is really the first time I’ve had one of those unbearably slow moments in a while, and of course the first thing I think of is you. You and Bertrand have always filled those gaps for me, but now it’s different. It’s just

I saw Jacques the other day and he

Ramona’s the only one who hasn’t been so

I want to see you so much, Lemony. With everything I have, I want you with me, and I keep hoping that if I close my eyes, when I open them again, there you’ll be, alive and well and next to me and real. Or I’ll walk away from my desk and this letter and when I look back it’ll all have been a bad dream, the worst nightmare I keep stopping and hoping and when you’re not there and I’m still here I

I don’t know how to do this. I can’t

I didn’t want to do it like this.

I don’t want you to I’m, burying the lede, or doing any of this on purpose or anything, because by now you’ve definitely noticed how long this is (although, personally, I’m only at the beginning, but I have a feeling this is going to get long—I know I’ve said I could run laps around the city in the time it takes you to finish a single metaphor but between the two of us we both know I could go on for much longer and will), and you have a vague idea, or a concrete idea, or an idea you don’t want to think about, of where I’m going to go with this. If it was something simple it wouldn’t be like this. If I was just, telling you the news, I wouldn’t need so much time, and I need so much of it. I’m setting the stage trying to making sure I wanted to I can’t just

I am a weak woman, Lemony Snicket. And that is a complete lie, you and I know, but I am a weak woman and I don’t want to be but my hands are shaking.

You and I. You and I know so many things.

So why should we

We both know how to make Ramona laugh, and the right amount of sugar for Olivia’s tea, and where Jacques will be on Tuesdays even though he pretends he doesn’t keep a regular schedule, and where Monty has his keys stashed in his garden, and everything possible about Bertrand, including what book he’s reading right now even though you haven’t been home in two months (it’s still that cat book because he says he wants to see the look on your face when he reads it out loud after dinner) (it’s still that cat book), and what kind of records Kit wants for her birthday even though she never has the time to play them, and even what Esmé is going to eat tomorrow because would you believe that herring is still in, to her continued consternation. She can talk all she wants about how good herring is but I still see that look on her face when she eats it! Every meal, Lemony! I’m giggling as we speak and I wish you could see her because it is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my LIFE

Maybe those things are superficial, but they’re things we know about people, about ourselves, and that counts, doesn’t it? And—and I know what you look like when you wake up and I know what you look like when you’re fixing your typewriter and I have to help and I know what you look like when you think I’m not looking at you, and there was a time where that meant you didn’t look like everyone you knew had just died. You know what I look like at my worst, the worst I ever let you see. You knew it anyway. You It was enough.

And Bertrand. I know I’ve said it before but, you and I were so lucky. Lots of good things came from of this, right? The three of us, you and me and Bertrand. Our apartment and that wallpaper we took down in Bertrand’s when he moved out of his, with those horrendous yellow stripes. The cat we pretended to have and the elaborate medical history we made for it so we’d all have an excuse to go home early. (That poor cat, though. I don’t think it would’ve been possible for it to really survive like that. We should be better to our imaginary pets next time in the future.) Watching Bertrand dance to my records, which was terrible because we hadn’t taught him to dance yet. Trying out those new recipes. Keeping the windows open in the summer. The diner down the street, the ice cream shop on the corner, that night it rained and we all stayed outside and got soaking wet because why not? Bertrand making that excessive amount of soup the next day. You telling us we were the only things that mattered. Bertrand would push your hair out of your face when you were sleeping and I wanted to watch that for the rest of my life. I wanted it to be the last thing I ever saw.

Those moments, every moment. Reading in the dark, losing my glasses, you stopped dead the first time we were out with Bertrand and he was under a streetlamp and you both looked so beautiful and you kissed him for the first time and you didn’t even remember to be nervous.

And those million citations Jacques didn’t give us for public indecency during that spring he was disguised as a police officer. (He was definitely kidding when he brought it up. There was no way he could’ve seen us.)

It makes me so happy, to think about all that. I love you and Bertrand so much. I

Oh Lemony. I don’t think I can do any of this.

-------

In other better happier general news, Gustav let Bertrand and me see the pictures from the wedding, and then he archived them, because we agreed that was for the best, and Bertrand figured you’d probably say the same. I look absolutely stunning, and Bertrand looks incredibly handsome even though he finally admitted he agrees with you, that hat was not his style, and you, Lemony, in that white suit that matched Bertrand’s with those peach-colored flowers because peach is a better color than I ever gave it credit for and it looked so good in the spring because it was the color the wall in the living room turned when the afternoon sun hit, you look

It was such a beautiful day. Still spring, and right after Bertrand’s birthday. Us, Kit, Jacques, Ramona, Olivia, Dewey, Hector. Jerome was invited—or he was supposed to be, who knows what happened there. We barely saw Gustav the whole time too, since he kept climbing up into trees for better angles. The smallest place we could find that would hold all of us and be so out of the way. The cake Kit made, against everyone’s expectations. Ramona cried, because of course she did. All those flowers, no one could move the whole time for walking into at least six bees, but no one minded. So much love. It was palpable, and my whole body was alive with it, with such a soft warmth I could barely breathe. I don’t think I ever stopped smiling, not while dancing or singing or kicking my shoes off because such mortal trappings cannot contain me, or when you and Bertrand danced and you cried, or when a crow flew overhead and we all stopped, just for a single second, before every one of us decided not to care. For a few hours one glorious afternoon.

You look happier than I’ve ever seen you before and now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you like that again or forever and I’m sorry, I was right, I can’t do this, I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this

-------

I’ve taken a few deep breaths and I’m ready to

Oh who am I KIDDING

Lemony I love you so much and I need you so much my heart is going to break with it

justice does not need eyes to see,

but truth built himself eyes

in the porcelain patterns of his world

and let them do the talking

in the skies he

so kindly

let them see,

with the eyes he gave them,

one after another

after another

i was something else

but i lived so close beside

that they could not accuse me

of being blind

but i could’ve seen everything

if i could see with every eye,

one after another

after another

after another,

every eye

a certainty,

every eye

the truth,

every eye

mine alone.

You told me when we were younger that I should give rhyming verse a try and, well, Lemony, not everything you said was good advice.

-------

I do, though. I love you a great deal. I think it confuses people. Besides the fact that some of them never understood our relationship with Bertrand (cowards), I get the impression some of our associates don’t know why I love you. Which is just stupid of them, and I don’t owe them anything, none of them are going to read this. It’s not their business why I love you, it’s ours. And I love you because

How can you explain why you love someone? Someone can say ‘they make me laugh’ as much as they want and sure it’s true but is that really why? Can you ever really say why? Isn’t it enough to love somebody, with everything you have? To say, that’s the one I want, for the rest of my life? Who could I possibly need to defend myself to?

I love you because I love you, because I look at you and think I love you, because I inhale and exhale that I love you, because every part of me only feels right with you.

I love you because you embarrassed me but I thought you were kind. I love you because I didn’t ever have to explain anything. I love you because you always came back to me. I love you because you made me happy. I love you because you didn’t let anything stop you from loving me. I love you because you loved me. I love you because when you took my hand I thought I could do anything with that love.

I love you because you were mine. I love you because you looked at me. And I love you because it was more than that, it always was.

I love you because of the records you played. I love you because of the time we taught Bertrand to make root beer floats. I love you because you’d rehearse our lines with us even though you can’t act. I love you because of the way you would stand in the kitchen and wonder what you should make for dinner. I love you because you said you’d plant strawberry bushes in the backyard. I love you because you could never stand Geraldine Julienne. I love you because we would all sit around the table in my apartment and critique the newspaper articles together. I love you because you’d never take the train. I love you because Bertrand and I found every shortcut in the city for you. I love you because you and Bertrand would knit me the ugliest sweaters on purpose. I love you because you would take care of the bats for me and you were terrible at it.

I love you because you were wonderful where it counted. I love you because we’d stay up late and watch movies. I love you because you would hold Bertrand like it was the most important thing in the world. I love you because you would furrow your brow when you read something you didn’t like. I love you because you’d take me to the beach when it was cold. I love you because we went on picnics in the summer. I love you because when I walked into our apartment and then when I walked into our house it always felt like home. I love you because we made up that cat. I love you because you’d sing with me. I love you because Bertrand would take us bird-watching and name the birds with us. I love you because you bought me flowers.

I love you because you told me what happened. I love you because we went back there with you. I love you because I went into the lighthouse. I love you because I wasn’t going to not go. I love you because no one else would’ve gone. I love you because we let you walk out the door there and I knew you would come back.

I love you because we used to make out in the back of the movie theater and we’d take turns with Bertrand and then try to piece together what even happened in the movie when we got home. I love you because you used to sit in dark rooms with me and pretend we were ghosts and scare the other volunteers. I love you because we could just read for hours and not say a word. I love you because you let me cry in the bathroom. I love you because you would make up songs on the accordion when I was upset. I love you because I would whistle along when you did songs I knew. I love you because you would go out of your way to buy crackers. I love you because you would say things like “when we first met, you were pretty, and I was lonely” and you let me laugh. I love you because you would write me notes during class. I love you because you looked the same way I did the first time we saw Bertrand—shocked, and then a little impressed, and then irritated, because who did he think he was? I love you because who did any of us think we were, really. I love you because we grew to not care. I love you because we became people I was proud of.

I love you because you would feed that cat in the back alley on your way home and I would watch you from the window. I love you because that cat followed us to our house and then we had a real live legitimate cat until someone across the street put out better cat food. I love you because of the way you would read out loud, because you couldn’t act but when you read it was like seeing the sunrise for the first time. I love you because the one thing you did that was better than Bertrand was make tea. I love you because you taught me all your cookie recipes. I love you because we got you to sleep in the middle so we could protect you. I love you because they couldn’t take that away from me.

I love you because I’m here in an otherwise empty house, some boxes still unpacked, letting the dust settle, pouring my heart out when I don’t want to, because I do love you with everything I have, every part of me, every bone and every sigh and every drop of blood, and that’s the end of that. That’s all there is, I love you. That’s what it comes down to, I love you. That’s the only thing I want to say, I love you.

I do, I do love you. Lemony, please believe me.

-------

I know Bertrand has his own thoughts, his own opinions. He doesn’t want to admit that he does, but he gets this, look, on his face. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, like he’s lost something special but it was there a moment ago, wasn’t it. He thinks I haven’t noticed. After all this time, he thinks he’s not supposed to be here, and you it hurts, is all.

And as much as Bertrand is a part of us, indelibly, forever, just as you are, both of you so a part of me that I ache with it, this letter is between you and me. Not because it was the two of us first. But because you know, for as much as I don’t want to, I’ll say the things Bertrand won’t.

That’s how this has to be.

-------

So.

Olaf’s started talking to me again, which I didn’t think would happen in a million years. Although maybe I shouldn’t call it talking? More like, he sort of shows up if he knows I’m at headquarters (which is far and few between anyway so, really, what the hell?) and lounges in doorways with these big smiles and says these dramatic things at me instead of to me, which he can’t possibly expect me to believe. How stupid does he think I am? Because I’m not. He keeps going, hey Beatrice, have you read the Daily Punctilio? And I don’t say anything to him, even though yes, I’ve read the Daily Punctilio, dammit.

You and I both know what’s in the Daily Punctilio, and for a while I thought, maybe you were writing those articles yourself, part of another fragmentary plot, and that you’d tell me about it later, and you’d explain it to me, even though I wouldn’t need it to be explained, not really. But you didn’t. Not that you didn’t explain, you just, you just didn’t tell me anything. And you were gone and I couldn’t even see you anyway and that was what really made it hard? It wasn’t like I doubted you. I didn’t. I didn’t doubt you. I knew you wouldn’t do any of those things.

But everyone looked at me and they looked so damn pitying, like, oh it happens to the best of us, only he’s not the best of us. Maybe you should’ve seen it coming, well you know what he’s like, as if nothing had ever happened? As if we hadn’t grown up together? As if we wouldn’t have followed you to the ends of the earth because we believed in you? It’s not everyone, but it’s enough. Like some of them don’t owe you their lives.

Bertrand says that people deal with things in different ways, and saying those things about you is probably just another way they’re dealing with everything. Don’t you think it’s harder, it’s gotten harder, as we’ve gotten older? But they don’t have to throw you under the bus to do it. They don’t have to vilify you to make themselves feel better. They don’t have to look me in the eye like that, like I’m some, some poor miserable thing, or like I have to be protected, or like I don’t know what I’m doing, or like they can’t even trust me.

But what does that make me?

And Olaf would grin at me and I would hold my head high and look him back and spit in his face. I wasn’t going to let it get to me. It had only been a month. How long is a month, in the grand scheme of things? What does a month matter, against the beginning of a lifetime? And when a month became two, what did that matter?

-------

I wouldn’t say that Hector and I were ever particularly close, but I’ve actually seen a lot of him lately. We meet up for tea because he keeps saying there’s something he wants to talk to me about but mostly he sits there and looks at his tea and I pretend I’m not super uncomfortable. And then he insists on paying the check, in exact change.

When I see Hector, I think about Haruki. I know how close they were. And Haruki respected you so much, more than anyone else. As in, he respected you more than he respected any of our other friends, but also more than maybe anyone else respected you, because that was how Haruki was. Loyal, the best of the best, and so fierce about it. I wanted him there at our wedding.

Haruki was really the first person we lost, I guess. And I hate how we’re never going to know how it happened, because they say no one else was there, and the one person we do know was there, he’s never going to say a damn thing about it, and we all know that for sure. But I remember everyone gathering around to write Haruki’s obituary and how little we had to say. Not because we didn’t know him. But because, what were we going to say? What did we have left to say, who did Haruki have left, besides us? And what were we?

Hector looks at me and I don’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know what to say to me. I’m terrified he’s going to tell me I should’ve known better too because then I won’t be able to stand it. But he just looks at me and I try not to cry and I’m trying not to cry now because he’s feeling it too, this awful business of feeling like things are starting to break. Sometimes I feel Hector is going to disappear, too.

--------

I guess the question I started to think was, how long was I going to wait. Bertrand and I had waited for longer, and then there were times where we never waited, and hadn’t we reached a point where we weren’t supposed to, anymore? But then, when you’re married, aren’t you supposed to do whatever you have to?

But doesn’t it go both ways? One half can do their part but doesn’t the other half have to do something too and how much is it before you’re asking too much but how long is it before you’re not doing enough and when you’re married aren’t you supposed to know the answers to all the questions, the right and the wrong ones, you’re not supposed to care and you’re supposed to be there and it’s all is supposed to be okay, and

We never did do anything traditionally, though, did we?

-------

I saved the article. I didn’t save all of them, but I saved this one.

-------

UNIDENTIFIED BODY IDENTIFIED

The unidentified body recently pulled from the downtown river has been identified as local ex-theater critic and renowned person of interest, Lemony Snicket, who was last seen surveying the river and saying, “How deep do you think it really is?”

“For the record,” said the local police, who preferred to remain nameless and sent in their response by postcard from three towns over, “it was three feet.”

Mr. Snicket was identified by a source who was also unidentified, but proved their credentials by singing a variety of showtunes for the newspaper staff, to great applause.

“Yes, I suppose that’s him,” said the source, when asked to identify the photo of the river, which was presented to them while they were drinking a glass of water, because they were parched after the showtunes. When the glass of water spilled on the photograph, the source went on to say, “Oh, that’s definitely him.”

The body in question disappeared as soon as it was found, but the police have no reason to suspect foul play, as no livestock was found at the scene, the morgue, or the local bakery, and neither does our source.

“Can I leave now?” asked the source. “I need to go pick up my glasses.”

Mr. Snicket has recently been the suspect in a number of crimes, including arson, lockpicking, theft, and jaywalking without a license. He has been described as “that’s not what I would call a grey suit, it leaned closer to charcoal.” There is no planned funeral service at this time.

-------

Bertrand and I laughed a lot, because it was the most outrageous article we’d ever read, and we kept talking about what sort of bakery would even allow livestock inside, and of course we knew it was about you, but of course it wasn’t you, because we didn’t know where you were but we knew you were alive. You were alive, so no matter what we read or what anyone told us, no matter who wanted to believe what, we knew the truth.

And, again, Lemony, it wasn’t that I needed you to explain. It was that I wanted you to tell me. I wanted you to let me in on it. I wanted you to call or come by and tell us, your husband and your wife, hey no big deal but I’m gonna fake my death for the foreseeable future, is that okay? And instead I have to find out from Olaf waving it in my face? I have to find out from some absurd article I shouldn’t have even looked twice at? I have to find out from people I thought were my friends telling me I should have known better?

I sure don’t need to tell you, but, we just got married, Lemony! And we had a house and a life and plans and no matter what happened, no matter what else we had to do, because there was no way we were ever going to give this up and we knew that, we were going to stay together, we were going to do this, what we promised, not to other people but to ourselves, and each other, and

Sometimes I want to think that you planned it like that, that you sat down and thought to yourself about the best worst way to do it and you thought, leaving us alone like this and faking your death and not saying a single word was the greatest way to break our hearts, especially after marrying us, that would hurt the most, you wanted to do it so you did it and you got away from us for good like you always wanted because you were never going to stay and you knew it, because then I can hate you like I’m supposed to and stop thinking of the way you smile at me

I hate that you aren’t a cruel person, I hate that you didn’t do it on purpose, I hate that the real true human tradition is that people are human and nothing else

How am I supposed to do this?

a bird up in her chamber

eats love for breakfast lunch and dinner

and steadily gets thinner

sings songs she won’t forget,

in the darkness by the lamps

says the shapes of lonely words

said by lonely people

in lonely rooms

to feel better about

being

what is a life with this alone

what is a life

like this?

“when we grab you by the ankle, where your life is ours to take

you’ll soon be doing wicked things, they’ll keep you long awake

when your whole life is a secret then you’ll be a volunteer

and you’ll scream a long time later, for

the world was never quiet here.”

-------

Bertrand has been making lists. You know his tendency to organize, but the funny thing is he just keeps leaving them places. I’m sitting on like, three of them.

To Do

-Check maps

-Apologize to D

-Extra key

-Secure boat

-Study family trees

To Buy

-Thick, sturdy rope

-Do they make portable record players?

-Paintbrushes (for then and now, so get extra)

-White curtains? Will they match? Check ‘To Think’

-Extra wires, no candles!

To Think

-Ask Kit about Bernadette

-Examine garden for hiding spots

-Turtles or foxes?

-What if it turns out to be true?

-Or birds??

Definitely not birds.

-------

You know, I haven’t seen Jerome in a while. Maybe it’s also been two months, I’m not sure. I feel like, even before the wedding, we weren’t seeing much of him—although it wasn’t like Jacques paraded him around or anything in the first place—but since then, I don’t think Jacques has even talked about him.

This means Jacques’s Tuesdays are open now, although you’d never know it. He still only shows up when he wants to. And if he doesn’t want to, then you have as much luck finding him as finding a grammar rule Jo doesn’t know. It must run in the family. I hate to

I had Kit get ahold of him for me. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what to say to Kit anymore, which is unsettling, but Kit acts like she always does. She comes over and makes herself at home and talks to both of us like this is average everyday Kit business for her. I don’t know if I admire her tenacity or if it’s going to be something else I can’t stand down the line. I don’t know yet. She hugged me when she left, though. That’s just how Kit is. And I don’t really want to lose that.

I wasn’t sure if Kit would know, the thing I wanted to ask Jacques. I guess it wouldn’t surprise me if she did, but when I saw her I thought, maybe she didn’t know. She didn’t talk about you at all. And it wasn’t the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I’m Being Purposefully Vague For Reasons, Now Deal With It’ sort of silence, it was the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I Refuse to Admit I Don’t Know This Piece of Information, So I’m Going to Rearrange Your Bookshelves’ sort of silence. Still don’t know where she put T.S. Eliot. I think she took it with her.

Jacques didn’t want to talk to me. He’s too polite to say it, but I could tell. He kept making excuses, and by the time we finally got him to come here, he was uncomfortable and I was on edge. He came right out and said he couldn’t stay long. He knew why I wanted to talk to him and he told me straightforward that he couldn’t tell me.

I’m not proud of what I said to him.

-------

If it was the last day, but it probably was but Lemony, I don’t I sure didn’t know.

I will remember every second until the day I die.

We waited until after the wedding to move into the house, especially because the only honeymoon we wanted was for the three of us to be there together, alone, for a little while. It was on the outskirts of the city, away from everything else, and we barely told anyone. We didn’t even tell everyone from the wedding.

I watched the sunrise, the soft shadows sliding along the sheets on the bed, catching on the suitcases we still hadn’t unpacked all the way, you and Bertrand warm beside me, and I didn’t want to get up. We put the best bed in the whole world in our room, and rightly so. High bed posts but no canopy because Bertrand was worried about dust. Crisp white sheets and I was so excited to look when we finally got up and see the wrinkles mashed down in them from where we slept because that meant it was ours for real. That rich wine comforter that it was too hot to use the first night so we still had it folded up at the foot of the bed, but you had this look in your eyes when we spread it out like you couldn’t wait for winter and when we’d be squished up against each other underneath it for warmth.

That morning, I just wanted to lay there and savor it. It wasn’t like we’d never been in the same bed before, or that we even needed to be married, but! To know I could hold it in my hands, that’s what it was.

And then Bertrand rolled over and got an elbow into my side somehow and you mumbled something about Wedding Pancakes (capitals implied) and then we had to eat breakfast.

I checked. The wrinkles were all there.

-------

Bertrand and I.

We haven’t

We’ve been

We’ve been angry at each other.

And you know Bertrand, he doesn’t get angry, really, he gets, more disappointed than anything, but he’s. He’s been angry. At me. I know.

I get scared, because I don’t know what to do, so I, I can’t hold a conversation without yelling at somebody, and it’s usually Bertrand, and I hate yelling at him and sometimes he starts to yell back.

We’re not. Okay. Right now.

We weren’t supposed to do this without you and I don’t want to find out that we can’t, Lemony. And I know we can but I know it’s also not a matter of doing it with or without you, because that’s awful, I just keep wondering what if you were what held us all together and if you’re not here how are Bertrand and I supposed to go on like this. Saying the wrong things, avoiding each other, not coming home. I guess that’s how we’re ‘dealing’ with it but that’s sure some sick way to do it.

I don’t want to lose anybody and fighting for them means that I want to keep screaming until everything stops.

-------

Jacques said you’d be back soon enough.

I told him I needed to know how soon was soon.

He said soon enough.

I said that wasn’t enough.

I never though of Jacques as one to yell. And he didn’t really yell, he mostly raised his voice, like I couldn’t hear him. I mean I was definitely talking over him but it was because I could hear him and I didn’t want to.

No one can tell me anything I don’t know. I know they think I haven’t felt the same worries as everyone else but that’s because I never wanted them to think that I did. And I did too good a job, apparently. I know we live hard lives, Jacques. I know it requires sacrifices, Jacques. I know there’s no guarantee, Jacques. I know there’s things you have to give up. I know you can’t be childish or selfish in this business. I know we knew what would happen. I know sometimes no matter how hard you try, you’re just going to fail.

He told me to wait for you.

-------

After breakfast, we organized the library, because we still had so many things in boxes but we agreed we had to get that done. We put everything in, every repeat copy and every notebook because we actually had room for everything instead of trying to cram it all into smaller bookshelves. The library was the biggest room in the house and had that beautiful windowseat. (It still does. We’re still in this house, after all, but this moment, this day, just isn’t right now.) I’ll admit I spent more time lounging on it than I did organizing books, but, you sat on that windowseat with me, you knew how comfortable it was. I loved those windows and how bright the sun was (really.) and how good I knew it was going to look when it was raining. And you agreed, and Bertrand rolled his eyes at us, and I told him, he got his natural light, what more did he want?

For two people to stop lazing around and figure out if we were going in alphabetical order or by genre or by which ones most recently made us cry over lunch, Bertrand said.

It was alphabetical, of course.

We forgot about lunch, because we put the record player in the library until we could find another place for it and started playing our favorites. Bertrand could dance by then, obviously, we wouldn’t have married him if he couldn’t. We were very good at dancing together, after practicing for so long. No one was ever going to do a better three-way tango and we all knew it.

We picked through the fridge and some of the wedding gifts, once we got hungry and tired of dancing. We found out Jerome somehow still sent us at least thirty coasters, and learned that he apparently wildly overestimates our social life, because there was no way we were going to be inviting thirty people at a time over anymore, or at least, not for a while. You and Bertrand stacked them in the dining room in a cabinet, and those you organized by color. Then we stood at the window there and looked out into the garden (the best view of it was from the dining room) and talked about the flowers we were going to plant, and how Ramona was going to send us (express) a clipping from one of the rosebushes in her garden, the ones we’d look at during her family’s masked balls.

We went to the corner store down the street and you and Bertrand pretended to fuss over tomatoes while I was looking at loaves of bread and when I turned around you were buying flowers for me, red and bright and beautiful. We put them in the kitchen while we all made dinner (salmon, with cherry tomatoes). Somehow I found the time to make sorbet for dessert and it was only then we realized how late it was and we laughed a lot that day and laughed a lot then because we didn’t need to care about things like that. Our house was barely put together and we tried to find a way to use every single coaster from Jerome and we hadn’t had words with the city about the electricity yet because there was so much we’d had to do beforehand that we had to use candles. We all had matches, and we weren’t naive enough to think we wouldn’t have them.

I can’t tell you how powerful I felt, lighting those candles, because I know you and Bertrand felt it too. This was our doing and ours alone. This space was ours. We looked at each other over the candles, the shadows on our faces, and we’d never looked clearer.

We could’ve lived forever, in that moment.

-------

I called your brother a coward and I told him that whatever happened to Jerome now that he wouldn’t protect him was his fault and his alone and if he could live with himself that’s fine but I couldn’t if I didn’t try to do this and if he didn’t tell me where you were I was going to kill him where he stood and he shouldn’t even think for one second that I wasn’t capable of doing what had to be done and if that meant I had to kill for what I wanted then I would.

-------

You kissed us in the morning. You smiled. You walked out the door and then came back because you forgot your hat and Bertrand and I were still laughing even as the door shut behind you.

And then you were gone.

-------

Kit came by again, after.

We sat in that silence.

She told me that it was the one thing they hadn’t told her. She hadn’t known, until I asked Jacques. We don’t have anywhere else to go, she said, in a moment of unprecedented candidness. So we always come back.

“I underestimated him,” she said.

I told her she could keep The Wasteland, since it was practically hers because it had been yours. Kit smiled. She didn’t say much else.

-------

Bertrand and I aren’t the only ones losing someone here and I forgot that.

Jacques and I looked at each other for a long time. I tried to apologize and he kept shaking his head. He told me where you were. He told me he didn’t know when you’d be back—or if you would at all. He told me he was the one writing the articles in the Daily Punctilio. He turned away from me. Then he gave me his handkerchief, and put his hand on mine, and got up and left.

-------

What it feels like, Lemony, is like you

It feels like you picked

It feels like we didn’t matter and

And it’s not like we could ever choose or have one or the other I know I know I know but

We’re never going to be without it but I thought that

WE GOT MARRIED, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, LEMONY SNICKET

You picked an idea of nobility that you spent the past ten years struggling with and denouncing and promising you’d never

It wasn’t like we ever set out to save you anyway I

At the end of the day, that’s it. You picked the organization over us. And I didn’t think we were going to have to draw lines like that. At least not now. At least not right now. Because that means I have to make a decision. Because it means I can’t only think about me. Because it means I can’t keep waiting. And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.

-------

I found out the other day.

I had a feeling, though. You just, you either have the feeling or you don’t, right? And I did. And I keep thinking about what your reaction would be. What you’d say. I keep thinking about your eyes, bluer than blue. I keep thinking about the world we said we were going to make when we were kids, the people we said we’d be. We were tiny and young and idealistic and you’re really only that way once in your whole life and when you’re not anymore, you can’t go back.

-------

We can’t go on like this.

stripped off my dress like a skin,

peeled

so you could see everything

not only then,

but always.

didn’t know i was doing it,

guess i never really ran out of clothes.

you took off you shirt

and I was jealous.

you only needed to do it once and there you were.

I thought.

but now I keep finding shirts

in the places where I found you

and I can’t

find anything

that was mine

to put back on

I really can’t do anything

-------

Enclosed you’ll find the ring. I know it’s not just the ring I married you with, but the ring I married Bertrand with, but whenever we look at it we think of you and I’m the one who has to wear it all the time and I can’t.

But I don’t want to give it back because what if it’s the only thing I get to keep of you? But it wasn’t ever mine anyway, or yours, and who knows, maybe Ramona will marry Olivia with it someday, and maybe you’ll be there, only you wouldn’t be if you got the ring back, you’d never show your face again.

And that’s not what I want, I don’t want you out of my life, Lemony, but if I give it back then maybe I do. Maybe that is what I want. Maybe I never want to see you again like this.

-------

Okay, I have to ask. I have to, because Jacques kept his mouth shut about this.

The last time you saw us. Not the day, but the morning, walking out the front door. Did you know you weren’t coming back? You just left like you always did, to go to the newspaper, before Bertrand and I went to the theater, and as far as leaving someone for good goes that’s so

Did you meet up with Jacques, or Hector, or Jo, or even Kit, and did they tell you? Did headquarters address you personally? Did you take an assignment from someone else? Did someone corner you and were you trying to protect us? Was that the only way you could do it, going into hiding and faking your death? Who else was involved, besides Jacques? How long was it going to go on for? Did they expect you to do it by yourself? Did you have a plan, did any of them have a plan? What fragmentary plot was it even a part of? Did you know you weren’t coming back? Could you even come back? Did it even happen right away? Did it start out as some mediocre assignment you were going to tell us about later and then what happened so that I was reading the paper and there you were being accused of things I knew you’d never do? Why didn’t they ask me? Why didn’t they ask Bertrand? Why didn’t they ask us? You knew we’d do it together, we swore we’d do it together, why didn’t you tell us? What made it so that you couldn’t?

Or did you really decide for yourself that that was it?

I don’t want to believe that. I don’t, Lemony. I want to believe that it was one thing and then another but do you know why I can’t, why I keep asking? Do you understand why I need to know the truth? Why I need to be able to put it together? Why waiting and trusting isn’t enough anymore?

--------

No one could ever extinguish my love, Lemony, no one, nothing, not a single solitary thing ever, nothing could do it, but my trust is a different matter. Loving someone and trusting someone are two different things and I know you know that as much as I do. You. Knew. All. Of. This.

-------

You know. If it had ended at the article. I might’ve been okay with it. I might have. Not making any promises, because we both know better than that. But I might’ve. I could’ve.

It didn’t end with the article.

Olivia had a short-lived assignment working the telegrams recently. She gave Ramona a very specific telegram. Olivia was honestly surprised it had come through at all. That something like that would be sent over such an insecure line. And of course she showed Ramona. They didn’t show it to anyone else. Which was lucky, because you know Olivia. She wanted to do whatever she could.

Ramona sent it to me. Right away. I got it yesterday. She said she’d never felt worse in her entire life. She said she was sorry. She’s the only one who didn’t sound patronizing about it.

J.S.,

AS WELL AS CAN BE EXPECTED STOP GOING ON FULL STOP

M.K.

I never liked Monty Kensicle all that much as a name either.

-------

Lemony I can’t help but think that you’re sick of me, sick with me

It wasn’t like I ever—like I did it to be similar, I would NEVER, because both of us had our reasons for why we did what we did, you on that train, me and Bertrand at the opera. We knew what we were doing. Did we regret it? Enough for it to hurt, on the wrong days. Not enough for it to matter, in the long run. But enough for it to stop me every once in a while, in the way I know it stopped you.

But, but did you think, you couldn’t love someone who

Which would be, extraordinarily hypocritical of you, not to mention

I know you still think about it and I know how much it

I paid my price for what I did, Lemony, and so did you, and I didn’t

Is that how it works? Is that what happens? Is this what else I have to give up, for some shred of nobility, is my life going to be one mistake after another because I followed an order and I though they were right enough? Not even right, right enough, how stupid—is everything that happens to me going to be because of that? Am I losing you because it’s what I deserve?

Don’t I deserve good things? Don’t I still deserve happiness, and stability, and love, and a family, and all those things I worked so hard for? Because nobility wasn’t the end of it for me, this was what we wanted, something better, something for us, something we deserved, and this can’t be it, this can’t be the only thing we get for all of that, there has to be something else! And if I lose everyone close to me because of this organization Lemony I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do I feel like I’m going to lose my mind like this

--------

I think of you out there, alone, and probably cold because you never bring a damn jacket with you anywhere. It’s summer but I’m imagining you as being cold, but I think that’s just because it’s sort of what you do when anyone thinks of someone as being anywhere alone.

Or, I’m just—I’m thinking of you out there, alone, for sure. I’m doing that. I’m thinking. About you. Alone.

I’m

thinking.

I think of you. Out there. Letting Jacques know, letting Olivia know, because you had to know who was working the telegram, otherwise you wouldn’t have sent it, I think of you going out of your way to tell your brother and not me and Bertrand and maybe you thought they’d tell me anyway but I had to pull teeth to get it from Jacques and if it had been anyone else! No one but Olivia would have said! You got lucky! But not enough! Because you still didn’t tell us! You went out of your way to not!! You! I think of you! Doing that instead of having the nerve! The decency! To tell us first! You!

How could you

-------

I think of you, out there—hiding in the middle of nowhere with only the occasional newspaper for company, which, let me tell you, Lemony, is a very frustrating existence. You know what? I keep wanting to hope that you are dead because somehow that would make this easier, I can be angry at a dead man. But I can be angry at anyone, can’t I. Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter. I can be angry.

I want to hope that you never sleep comfortably again. I want to hope that every sea is too uneven and every desert is too hot and every mountain is too cold and everywhere you go it’s too much. I want to hope that you try and come back and see how good and happy Bertrand and I are without you and you have to realize, you really did mess up. I want to hope that your boat goes down in the middle of the ocean and I know for sure! I want to think that you’ll be so miserable without us and it’ll never have been worth it!!

You’re out there, without us. Without me.

I hope it was worth it.

-------

What am I going to do?

I’m not picking. It’s not—I’m not capable of that, picking between you two, and I know you both had this ridiculous fear that I was going to, but I wasn’t, and I’m still not. I am selfish and clingy and I know what I want and I love what I have, and I love both of you and Bertrand loves both of us and I was ready to stake my life on the fact that you loved both of us too.

And I hate that I have to say it! Because I do! Apparently I do have to, Lemony! If it comes down to, who would I rather do this with, who would I raise a family with, who would I trust more than anything, and you made me make this choice, I’m sorry it can’t be the man who ran away from me! And part of me keeps thinking I’m not even me for saying that, I’m not, I’m not the Beatrice that was going to tear a room apart with her bare hands to get what she wanted, who would scale walls and climb buildings and shoot a gun and could ski and fence by fourteen, I’m not, taking risks, I’m not doing whatever I have to, and that everyone who told me Bertrand was boring (because there were people!!!) and safe and uncomplicated was right and that I’m betraying some fundamental aspect of myself by not even trying, and that I’m hurting Bertrand especially for making him a damn pawn in what I think my life is

But it’s not like I never did! It’s not like I didn’t spend years and years of my life trying to be a good person, trying to create the life I wanted, all of this is me, every ugly thought and every bad decision and every unfinished book and every theater script I keep leaving around places and every single page of this as I try to figure out where I want to go from here! And it just comes back to one thing, Lemony, just one thing! That we can’t do this! That I can’t have you in my life like this! That I didn’t believe it would happen but here it is, it’s happening!! I can’t avoid it! You walked away from me and expected me to be okay with it! You expected me to wait! You expected me to do it! You expected EVERYTHING from me and I only have so much to give, I’m only so much, I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING

And do you know what I am? Do you know what I am, really, when I get right down to it?? I am this, this awful woman with blood on my hands asking you for something that even I could never give anybody, not you or Bertrand or myself and I’m so sick of everything, I’m so sick of myself, I hate everyone and myself most of all, for being like this, for turning into this person, I hate hate hate hate hate all of this and how we were raised and what our future is going to be and what I’ve done and what is it going to take, for things to be better, for me to be better, for—what is it going to take, Lemony, for you to walk back through that door again and not do it over and over and over and I can’t keep letting you do this, I can’t, not to me or to Bertrand, I can’t keep hoping you’ll be there when I wake up and I can’t keep dreaming we’re going to die and I can’t keep pretending that anything about us has ever been okay or ever will be okay! Nothing about this is okay and how am I only realizing it now? How long have we been fooling ourselves into thinking that we could do this? How long do I have to be kind about this? How long do I have to play nice about you and this?

I’m UPSET and I’m ALLOWED TO BE and I

don’t

know

can

forgive

you

I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if I can look at you anymore.

I don’t know.

Do you know how it was, Lemony? It was us first. You and me. From the second we saw each other in that green-walled room, it was you and me. Lemony and Beatrice. Root beer floats and being purposely mysterious to each other when we talked and being too clever. And I thought that meant we could do anything. We could die and I’d be happy because I was with you. As long as I had you.

And then there was Bertrand. And life felt different. Bertrand made it different, Bertrand made life different, he made it worth something else. And the bond that you and I had? Irreplaceable. And what we created with him only made it better. We had room in what we had for something so good. It really was Bertrand. I don’t know what would’ve become of us if it hadn’t been for him. And I saw that in you, too. You thought it too.

That was when I worried. When I started dreaming about terrible things happening to us. To you. I kept running from it because I didn’t know what else to do. I just didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose.

I’m scared to do anything. I’m scared to be wrong. I’m scared to know anything else.

I’m scared to die.

I don’t think you are.

I’m not sorry.

-------

Here are some questions. Here are some facts. Here are some things.

1 – I’m tired.

2 – I can’t even wonder if we should have done things differently anymore, right after that moment we met. In that room, I never imagined any of this.

3 – Sometimes I do think you lied all along. And that’s not a reflection on our associates or anything but just, see question/statement 1.

4 – You had to have thought about what would happen.

5 – How could we have a family like this?

6 – Did you think you could run all your life? Did you think that would work out? That Bertrand and I would be satisfied with that?

7 – Did you want me like that?

8 – What am I supposed to do?

9 – How long did you think we could keep this up?

10 – Was I wrong?

11 – What did you want?

12 – I know you’d thought about what a family with us would look like and I didn’t think you’d let anything stand in the way of that and maybe that was where I was naive.

13 – What would you say if I asked you this in person?

-------

After all this, I—

Bertrand has asked me if I have any spare pens.

-------

Lemony—

A long time ago, I sat in the diner near your apartment. We’d all known each other for a while, and you and Bea were very much together, and I didn’t quite feel like a third wheel anymore but I also didn’t feel like I was a part of everything yet. We were still dancing around each other, and I was doing it truly, incredibly badly.

I was in the habit of meeting Jo on weekends, when we would go over our reports together because we worked in similar places. We’d meet in the diner. I would arrive early and take a seat near the door. It had the best view of your window. You never turned the lights on, but I would look at it and think about you and—I’m completely serious—write the worst poetry ever to exist. You and Bea have always been much better at it. Jo would take it upon herself to help and suddenly they were these grammar-specific poems, which meant I definitely was not going to send them. Jo is many things; Jo is just not particularly a writer of romance.

I never told you or Bea, because it didn’t seem noteworthy, once we were together. But, things happen in your life and you wish you’d been able to say so much more than you did. I wanted to tell you about the face Bea makes when you aren’t there. She bites her lip and frowns around the kitchen when there’s a lull in the conversation in the spots you would usually say something clever. I wanted to tell you how the bed doesn’t feel the same when you aren’t in it. Bea says the wrinkles don’t set the same, and I feel like it’s emptier without you. I wanted to tell you that the hottest summer days—and I feel like there have been an endless amount of them so far this summer, humid and muggy and not the least bit sultry—even they feel cold when we can’t see you. I wanted to tell you that every time I do the laundry, I remember how you can’t fold socks. I wanted to tell you that I’ve stopped folding socks altogether, which has become quite the problem. Bea and I have stacks of socks in the bedroom now, which is just silly. I wanted to tell you that I love watching you put your hat by the door when you come home, resting it on the table as gently as possible, giving such a small gesture has such a big importance.

I took those things for granted. So much of my life, I’ve thought that loving things so fiercely and so determinedly could be enough, and I’ve relied on that love to get me through what we had to do. Even when the three of us weren’t together, I think I would’ve been happy to stay that way, because I could still love both of you regardless, and just that would’ve been enough. Just to be able to love you, and have your companionship. I would have cherished that always.

I’m the one who’s been so lucky, Lemony. When we all got together, I felt like my life began. I felt like you and Bea pulled me along into something beautiful and breathtaking and nothing would ever compare. I felt like it would always be there, for the rest of my life.

And I’m—

I don’t hate you. I could never. You need to know, that no matter what happens, I will never hate you. I can’t promise to not be upset with you, because I am, and a little angry, and a little disappointed, and a lot sad. But I don’t hate you.

You and Bea have such beautiful ways to say things, and I’ve always been so jealous of the way you two write. You told me that both of you were jealous of my tendency to be a little more forthright, at least when I got down to it, because let’s not forget, I did spend two months coming up with nicknames for all of us instead of just telling you how much you meant to me. But I don’t have lengthy or passionate ways to say certain things, is what it is. Actions, definitely. But when I have to say it, it comes out.

I love you.

And I wish you were here.

I never wanted to think about it, I guess. I’ve done a very good job of not thinking of things I didn’t want to think about. We do difficult things and live difficult lives. It takes its toll, and I’ve watched it happen. I thought if I held on tight enough—to you, to Bea, to myself—that we could escape some of it, no matter what we’ve done. And we’ve done a lot. We’ve been kept up in turn by sleepless nights and bad dreams and wondering too much. We’re not going to leave—not for good, and each of us know that—but it could be more manageable, together. We would figure it out, when we needed to. Perhaps I was a bit too optimistic about how well I could do it.

I hate to think it was something we did, or something we didn’t see. I hate to think that you gave up on yourself or on us. I hate to think I didn’t do enough. I know it’s not necessarily anyone’s fault. I know Bea keeps telling me I’m too kind for my own good, and I think it’s because I’m afraid to really feel anything. Feeling it makes it too real, something I have to actually contend with, and I don’t want to. I really don’t.

I want to say—I don’t want to tell you, I just want to say it—that I’m more hurt than I’ve ever been, and I don’t feel like I belong here without you, and that I think, you didn’t want to do it, but you knew what you were doing, and you did it because some things just sound easier, or hurt more but hurt less than others, and that I despise the people that we’ve become. I despise the things that we’ve been made into, and I don’t know how much of it we did to ourselves. I don’t know how much I can change.

I won’t lie, Lemony, because I’ve never been much of a liar. It’s been hard without you. Bea and I haven’t been talking very much, and we get into arguments when we do. We’ve been avoiding each other. It’s hard to avoid someone you live with, for a lot of reasons. But we’ve been managing to do it. I’ve been hiding at the Denouement. Absolutely, definitely hiding. Dewey’s not pleased but he doesn’t say no to the help organizing the archives. Bea’s been going to the theater, even though she’s technically off-duty for the next seven months (it was self-imposed off-duty, which I’ll admit was surprising). When we do talk to each other, Bea has a tendency to raise her voice, which I don’t mind, necessarily, because I understand why she keeps doing it. I have a tendency of late to do the same, which I’m not proud of. Taking it out on each other isn’t good or responsible of us, but it’s where we are right now. It is a miserable place to be.

Bea assumes I’m upset with her, but I’m not. I’m upset with myself, mostly. I keep thinking that none of this would have happened if I wasn’t here, that I made things worse. If you and Bea had just gone on by yourselves, maybe there would be so much less unhappiness. Maybe I was what made it hard for you to stay. Maybe I pressured you, maybe I pressured myself. Maybe this is my lot in life. They’re awful things to think, but I’m thinking them. That’s what people do, when upsetting things happen. We try to figure out where we went wrong. We don’t come up with any answers, but it’s better than sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves, which we do enough of too. I know eventually we’ll stop hurting each other, Bea and I. It just feels a long way away right now. A lot of things feel that way. You, myself, my friends, anything I thought I knew or had.

I’m being very unkind, to myself. That’s not your fault. It’s just something I’m realizing now. I’ve spent a lot of my life being unkind to myself. I don’t know how not to be. There are many things I don’t believe that I deserve, a sentiment I know you understand. It’s hard to feel like we deserve anything, even what we love. The more I think about it, the more I think, maybe that was why. And that breaks my heart and scares me so much, Lemony, that we—you—are capable of feeling such sadness.

Honestly, part of me wants to keep waiting. The part of me that is a fairly patient person is probably willing to do so. But the other part of me that is less patient and a husband to both of you is the part that hurts, and the part that reminds me that I am allowed to say that there is only so much I can take. I want you here more than anything, but I know for sure none of this is ever going to be that simple again.

But going forward from this, I want to feel like I deserve things. There’s only so much time I can spend regretting, or hating myself, or wishing that I had done something different. It’s easy to get caught up in all of that, and I think I still will be, for a while. I think I’m going to keep thinking miserable things for some time to come. But on the other side of that is something else. Not necessarily a happiness, or a satisfaction, but a certain kind of existence. Or, I guess, a kindness.

I love you very much, Lemony, and I can’t imagine doing this without you. I still don’t want to.

But if you have to—Bea and I aren’t going anywhere. We’ll still be here. I can’t promise in what way, but we’ll be here, if or when or anything at all. I hope you can meet us in that something else one day.

Until then, with all my love,

I wish you bluebirds in the spring,

to give your heart a song to sing,

and then a kiss, but more than this,

I wish you love.

And in July, a lemonade

to cool you in some leafy glade,

I wish you health,

and more than wealth,

I wish you love.

My breaking heart and I agree

that you and I could never be,

so with my best,

my very best,

I set you free.

I wish you shelter from the storm,

a cozy fire to keep you warm,

but most of all,

when snowflakes fall,

I wish you love.

Bertrand

face the sun

in the night,

find it in the night

in the pieces,

dig for it,

dig it out with my hands alone.

yes.

what I left –

fragments,

every last eye,

unwelcome.

piling it back in.

new sunlight.

-------

So—the sad truth is that the truth is sad. The real truth is that I never wanted to believe you were right about that. I thought I could get by on good looks and sheer force and well-hidden optimism and believing I was right. I was wrong. We were all wrong, some of us more wrong than others.

Where you went wrong is thinking that we—that I—would be okay with this. And that was where I went wrong too, I admit. The blame could be with all of us.

What I do know is that we can’t be together like this. Not like this. This is where it ends.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. I don’t know what Bertrand and I will do. And the two of us—Bertrand and I—can figure that out. In whatever way that is. Whatever you’re doing, I leave you to it.

You will—always, always, always—be (somewhere) in my mind, and (deep) in my heart, and wherever (wherever.) (parenthetical required.) you are. Be it a boat, or a cave, or the city, or a grave, true or false. That’s the way you want it. That’s the way I will accept it. Good luck.

Beatrice

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events

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