#would straight up murder suicide flint right there and then

[maremote]

On the other hand if they fucked in the doldrums it would be because silvers like well you people are all gonna die who cares. But then afterwards they would survive and he would be like Oh Fuck I Have To Live With It Now

[arzani-fuchsia]

12 and Silverflint?

390 Prompts

12.  “Before I do this, I need you to know that I have always loved you.”

// ModernAU in which Flint is a cop and Silver is worried. I hope you like it, because this got a little out of hand with over 3000 words.//

„I don’t careif it’s just a graze. I don’t care if you’re telling me it doesn’t hurt andthat I shouldn’t worry, because I do! I DO! I do every single time and still,you walk straight back into the fucking lion’s den. I’m sick of it, James! I’msick of worrying, I can’t cope with it anymore. I can’t… I just can’t.”

What hadstarted as just a raised voice had turned into a frenzy of screaming. James’heart clenched at the sight of John shouting at him, each word another slap, poisonedwith guilt. With his black curls flying around his face, as he shook ofdistress, and clenched fists, his husband looked almost as if he was goinginsane. Maybe he was and James couldn’t blame him. He knew that his job was dangerous,every cop lived with danger constantly lurking around the corner. But a part ofhim, James knew, couldn’t give it up. It was a constant nagging that told himhe’d be less without the fight. That the victims had been too severe, too great,to give up now.

Cautioussteps moved him closer to John and he wrapped his hands around his husbands’ones. Held them softly, but firmly, to try and be an anchor. James wished hecould embrace John, but the way he was looked at, James knew right now Johnwouldn’t let him.

“It was attraining, John, a ricochet gone wrong. It’s why we do have to attend traininglessons, so it won’t happen in a real operation,” James tried to sooth theshivering mess in front of him. It didn’t work. Instead of calming down, Johnstepped back and ripped his hands out of James’ grasp. The blue in his eyessparkled with unshed tears and he bit his lips, when his gaze wandered over thebandage around James’ head. It looked worse than it was, but that wasn’t athing for James to say out loud, as well. Not now.

“Training?!No one should be harmed in a training lesson! It’s not reassuring, it’s not,”John keened, his chest heaving with sucked in pants.

“I know -,”James tried to argue but John cut him off.

“No, youdon’t know! You always tell me you understand but you don’t! You keep fightingand for what sake? For the sake of fighting. If you understood, you’d stop.”

The wordsrung in James’ ears and suddenly John’s voice was layered with Miranda’s. Eventhough it was years ago, he still could hear how she accused him of the verysame thing. To keep fighting for the sake of fighting… and where had it gottenhim? Her? She was dead, shot by who they believed was a friend, by someone whothey believed could help them find the murderers of Thomas.

Thomas, whohad tried to change the country by getting a law through court that would allowminorities in prison to have solitary confinement to keep them from beingbeaten up every day for either being homosexual, or black, or whatever provokedviolence these days, and help them with settling back into society after theirsentence was finished. It never had come to it, because some gang leaders hadshot him on open street. By now James knew it had been an assassination arrangedby Thomas’ father Alfred Hamilton, and even though Alfred Hamilton rotted inprison (and not in fucking solitary confinement) James still felt helpless. Hehadn’t been able to stop it, any of it, and only meeting John had prevented himfrom committing suicide after Miranda’s death.

He lovedJohn, more than he could put in words. The man was everything to him, eventhough their start had been, well rough. Yet, he had fallen for him, and nowJames couldn’t imagine his life without John by his side. Whenever he came homehe was allowed to look into John’s crystal clear blue eyes shining withadoration. Sleeping next to him kept the nightmares at bay and kissing his softlips was like breathing.

A part ofJames had kept going to avenge Thomas’ death, but as he looked at John now, herealized he was still a cop because of him. John had come from an abusivefamily, had been surrounded by violence, drugs and darkness. That he’d notsuccumbed to it was a miracle, and James wanted to keep it that way. He wantedto protect him, like he hadn’t been able to protect Thomas. The world was fullof darkness, but if James could make it a little brighter with his work, forJohn, he’d do it.

Yet, totell him this was not the right time either.

Sighing,James closed his eyes for a moment. He was tired, exhausted of this fight, thatwent on between them for what seemed like ages. John wanted him to retire andJames couldn’t. But his walls crumbled under the constant onslaught ofarguments, and he was getting old. He felt old, certainly. Maybe he shouldconsider it. Maybe he should quit. But not today.

He openedhis eyes again and sat down on one of the stools surrounding their diningtable. His day had been long, he was forming a headache and he was tired offighting. All he wanted to, was to snuggle up with his husband and enjoy theevening, “Listen John, I’m sorry you worry about me. I lo-,” James said wearily,but declaring his love seemed to be the wrong move, because again he was cutoff.

“Don’t youdare… don’t you dare say it now,” John threatened and his voice wavered. Itwavered so much, the anger spilling over in a way that revealed more about hisfear and worry than any word could ever convey. But before James could processit, the whole amount of anxiety that must have built up over weeks and months,and react, John had turned on his heels.

The timeJames needed to stand up had been enough for John to move to the hallway andreach for his shoes. Tears sparkled in the corners of his eyes when he lookedup. James stood in the doorway, unable to say anything.

“I need…you… I just need air,” John whispered with a stricken voice and no matter Jamesdidn’t understand it, he accepted it. When the door clicked shut, the silencewas too loud. Staring at the polished wood of their front door, James bit hislips and tried to keep the overwhelming feelings at bay.

He knewJohn worried about him. How could he not, when James risked his life on a dailybasis? But the amount of fear he must feel, to force him to such a drasticmanner, had went past James. Was his job really worth risking his marriage?

No answercame to him. Instead everything in his head swirled.

The call came several hours later and by now the clock showed it was almostmidnight. Over the argument James had almost forgotten about the drug dealersthey were working on. It was a big fish, and Eleanor Guthrie, his young andeager boss, had found an opening in their shipping schedule, apparentlytonight. They would storm the hideout, get the gang into prison and confiscatethe drugs. If everything went according to plan not one bullet was about to beshot. James doubted all went according to plan. It never did.

He wasstanding in his bedroom, John and his bedroom to be more accurate, and for the umptiethtime James checked the watch, just to shake his head and focus on the task athand. No sound was audible. No clicking of a key opening the front door. Noheavy steps, no mumbling, no cursing. God, James would even take drunkenshouting to replace this maddening silence. Where was John? He couldn’t do thiswithout him.

But thehouse remained empty and James keep on unwrapping the bandage around his head.By now the wound had closed. A red streak spoke of what had happened, but James’reflection in the mirror showed he had been right. It had looked worse than itwas. Not that any of this was reassuring now. What he was about to do, where hewas about to go, it was dangerous. A fight was not what he wanted John to haveas a last memory, if something was about to go wrong.

Resigningseemed more and more tempting with each passing second. John was right. AsJames kept looking at his reflection and saw the exhaustion written in hisface, he realized John was right. Gray shimmered in the red of his hair andbeard, wrinkles surrounded his eyes and mouth, and he looked downright tired.It was time to resign and he would…

A clickmade James’ heart jump and he rushed to the front door. Instead of throwing hisarms around John, though, he stopped in the doorframe again. Sweeping John withhis eyes, he took in the tousled state of his hair, the blue of his lips and hisshivers. It wasn’t autumn yet, but summer had passed and it wasn’t warm outsideanymore. John hadn’t taken a jacket and James got cold by just looking at him.

Biting hislips, he searched for John’s gaze, who had raked his eyes over his appearancejust as James had. It was obvious were James would go, with his shirt bulgingslightly over his bulletproof vest and the holster on display over his waist.

“It’stonight,” John said flatly and the lack of emotion in his voice made James’shudder. It was the last straw he had needed. The very last push to make himrealize things had to change. So he stepped forward and clasped John’s hand inhis. It was freezing, but he intertwined their fingers nonetheless. Maybe itcould warm him, the love of his life. Maybe his words could.

“Listen,John,” James murmured and felt the lump in his throat more than ever. Gulping,he cleared his throat, to make his voice steady. “I know you are mad at me, andyou have any right. I am sorry for what worry I made you go through every timeI head into a dangerous operation. And I am sorry that I will make you worryfor another, last time. I can’t leave now, I can’t let the team go in therewithout me. I prepared this operation, I’m the one with the most intel and Iwon’t risk my team’s lives… and I know you understand it. But before I do this,I need you to know that I have always loved you. My love for you… your love forme, it’s a gift and I wanted to make your world better. There is so muchdarkness from where you come from. I know, despite the inability of you tellingme about your past. It’s enough for me to have you by my side, and it wasenough for me to want to protect you from it.”

He took abreak, and clutched John’s hand a little tighter. They shivered, by now both ofthem did, and James could see how John’s eyes had widened. No tears flowed, butthe way his lips quivered was telling enough.

“But Irealized what I need to protect is us. I love you and I promise you, firstthing I’ll do after this is over, is to go to Eleanor and tell her I quit.”

Next thingJames realized was how John drew himself into his arms. Hugging him, Jamesbreathed in the faint smell of coconut from the oil John used on his unrulyhair. It smelled like home and something in his heart settled.

“Promise me,”John mumbled against his chest. A faint smile stretched on James’ face as hepressed John a little tighter to himself, to feel him through his bulletproofvest. He needed the soothing warmth of John’s body heat on his skin, to go outthere tonight.

“I promise,”he said and it was the truth. Someone else could save the world. James hadenough of it.

It was past midnight and John knew it would be hours before James would be backhome. He had been told to go to bed, and when he woke up James would besleeping next to him. Yet, he was too agitated to go to sleep, the confessionstill reverberating in his ears.

James wouldquit. He would finally quit and stop risking his life. It was such areassurance to know it was the last time John had to worry about his husband.When they had married, John had promised to cherish and protect James, to stayby his side and be there for him. Every time James went to an operation as hewas doing now, John felt like failing his vows.

When he hadgotten to know James, the man had been on a constant verge of death, either byrisking too much in his job or by taking an overdose of medication. It hadchanged and John knew he was the reason it had changed. Their friends andcolleagues knew about James’ past, his loss and the overcoming of it, butlittle knew of John’s own darkness. About the anxiety, the nightmares and hisfears.

John hadnever had anything until he had met James, and while pulling his husband out ofthe darkness, he had pulled himself out, too. Or, well, James had pulled himout. They had pulled themselves out together. The thought alone to lose Jameswas unbearable to John.

But it wasover. No more storming warehouses, or gangs, or seeking out murderers. No morerisky stunts, no more working as an officer. They could lead a… well maybe notnormal but at least safer life.

Johndecided to celebrate it. Buy a bottle of champagne tomorrow, maybe even takehis husband out. Take James to bed for sure. Use those handcuffs for something elsethan locking up criminals.

With a yawnand a smile John pushed the book he had tried and failed to read away. Actually,he had wanted to stay awake, but he realized his eyelids were dropping. Good hewas already in bed, so it didn’t take much effort to turn off the bedside lampand sleep…

… he jumped awake when his phone rung.Blinking blearily, he reached for it and checked the time. It was a little pastfour thirty and he wondered who the fuck had the decency to call in the middleof the night. Then his eyes darted to the caller’s name and his heart stopped.

For amoment, he tried to convince himself that it was a dream, but the phone didn’t stopringing and the name wasn’t vanishing. Eleanor Guthrie was calling, which onlycould mean one thing…

He turnedhis bedside lamp on and accepted the call.

“He’salive!”

The usuallybusiness-like voice sounded strained and exhausted, yet, there was nothing elseJohn had wanted to hear from the woman, he only ever had met on Christmas partiesof James’ department. A heavy weight dropped from his shoulders and he suckedin a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. A silent tear slid down hisface.

“John?” thevoice asked, when no answer came and finally John realized he should speak, toannounce he was even on the phone.

“Yes, yes,I’m here,” he answered and he could hear Eleanor Guthrie’s heavy breath throughthe line.

“Good.Listen, a shot hit James’ shoulder, but he’s alive and in hospital. They didn’twant to tell me too much, because I’m just his boss and no relative, but I toldthem you would come and I convinced them that the hour doesn’t matter. So, packsome stuff and get a taxi to the Central Hospital. We’ll cover all costs.”

“I’malready on my way,” John replied and pushed himself out of bed. The spare lightof his bedside lamp wasn’t much, but it was enough to take in the room and findthe traveling bag he always used for business trips. While he made up his mindwhat James would need, he only partly listened to Eleanor telling him she wouldvisit tomorrow morning, and ended the call.

Half anhour later he was closing the door of the taxi that was taking him to hishusband.

“Finally,” James sighed, when the doctor left the room. The explanations how totreat his shoulder had taken forever, or so it had felt. As if James didn’tknow how to take care of a bullet wound. It wasn’t his first, though he hopedit would remain his last. His decision to quit had only heightened in the lightof last night’s events.

Fingerssnipped against his temple and James tilted his head, looking into his husband’sbright blue eyes, who regarded him with raised eyebrows.

“What?” heasked defensifly and John rolled his eyes.

“Have youeven listened to what the doctor had to say?” he asked James, who shrugged hisshoulders, only to wince. What a stupid idea to do so when a member of a druggang had shot you just hours ago. “You haven’t.”

“I havelistened,” James defended himself but faltered under the look he was given. “inthe beginning.”

“You’reunbelievable,” John said indignantly, but the amount of relief in his tone washard to miss. The last night had been one hell of a ride for both, especiallyas John had arrived just when James had returned from surgery. In his defense,no one looked good coming straight from the operation room, not even James.Especially not him. Yet the open worry on John’s face and the way he refused tolet go of James’ hand had reassured him doing the right thing to resign. All hehad left to do was tell Eleanor.

As if thewoman had read his mind, the door opened to reveal a head of blonde hairpeeking in. She even knocked against the door frame, no matter she was almostinside.

“Can I comein? I just met your doctor outside,” she said and James nodded in confirmation.A faint shot of pain rushed through him and he cursed his luck. The wound wouldgive him trouble for at least another few weeks. Of course, this had to happenon his last mission.

“How do youfeel?” Eleanor wanted to know, walking in and sitting herself on the freestool. John sat on the bed next to James.

“Likesomeone shot in the shoulder, I guess,” James answered, his tone a mix ofsarcasm and amusement. Most people didn’t get his humor, but John next to himsnorted, covering it in a cough. He’d probably enjoyed the joke, if it didn’tring too much to the truth. James squeezed his hand, knowing he had a lot tomake up for.

“Veryfunny, Officer McGraw,” Eleanor said flatly and shifted slightly. “The doctorsaid I can’t expect you back for the next six weeks or so, but the operationwas a success, so I guess-“

Out of thecorner of his eyes James saw John’s mouth open to say something, but before hishusband could, he stopped him by shaking his head slightly. Pressing himselfaway from the headboard he was leaning against, James caught Eleanor’sattention, who stopped in the middle of her sentence.

“MissGuthrie, I won’t come back.”

“What doyou mean, you won’t come back?”

The surprisewas genuine in Eleanor’s voice, but it was John’s smile that made Jamescontinue speaking. It was like a torchlight in the night and James realizedJohn had not quite believed James would resign until now. Squeezing hisfingers, he added, “I quit. I’m too old to get shot and I have worried Johnenough. Once I can write again, you’ll find my letter of resignation on yourtable.”

Silencestretched between them, before Eleanor stood back up from her stool andsmoothed out her shirt over her jeans. She was dressed in plain clothes. Likealways she preferred practicability over femininity, as she preferred actionsover words, much to her father’s chagrin. James hoped she understood, andwaited, mortified, for her reaction.

Yet, allthat came was a nod. “I see. I won’t lie, I’m surprised and I’m not happy, you’remy best officer after all, but I guess I understand.”

“Thank you,Miss Guthrie,” James replied, relieved his boss, or well, ex-boss now, wasn’tmaking a fuss. It made his decision easier. Not that it would have changed anythingshould Eleanor have disagreed, but it was appreciated, that she understood.James had always respected her.

She noddedagain, and said her good-byes. “Get better soon, James. John.”

With thosewords, she left the room and the moment the door closed, John’s head sunk downinto James’ lap. Slipping his fingers into John’s curls he softly played withthem.

“Are youokay?” he asked, a little worried, as he couldn’t see John’s face. But the smallyet bubbling laughter reassured him.

“Yes. Yes,I am,” John said and James believed him. Things were okay. He had a woundedshoulder and just given up his job, but for the first time in his life, Jamesknew with all his heart that things were going to be okay.

[pfriedpfarisee]

Limning the Liminal, a reimagining

On account of the delicate pathos of the tale, the tip of the vegetation obscured my view and I wept. Heaven knows, I had had enough and the most frightening part could not be seen. Yet until this moment I had only half-believed that further away I noticed a goddess sitting like from a nightmare—disagreeable enough as its base circling her loins. A passing giant smudged out sure to flee at the first real light of dawn. Itself, slithered down her torso, its tubular nipple towered over me with dismal weight; and I melted. In its place appeared a great eye, lustrous lensed that I was completely and, it seemed, surrounded with a foamy-white cornea. Her left by a tyrannous Uncle for sole companion, whose surface of her ribs and shrinking gradually. It was ascent, and the more disquieting because unknown.

Thundery raindrops; and the eye was put out. I was nonetheless sure that he was possessed while pricked like a pin. Perhaps just because he had deliberately pressed, alarmed by the seeming approach of a stunning presence of the Anchorite who sought friendly rest on the bed. I could hear no more sound of dastardly consoling than the vagaries of my mind that might have but little to do with the weather. Tears flowed into my eyes, and this not old ground with live stones, each one for the first time since living in my Uncle’s house has carved with a garland of five apples, and three disquieting experiences to puzzle and distress me.

A door opened. Within was the sloping orchard of truth. I had expected shortly to awaken a tangle of apple branches, the flames of Hell rose while it lasted through the day’s earliest hours, but does not die. Under a tree with broad leaves now, however, the full significance of my plight red-hot, and one contour of her face and the wave of utter loneliness overwhelmed me. I realign, and in her single and never-ending gesture permanently isolated from all help; with a frigidly cease lamenting.

Intentions toward me were certainly not benevolent, as he danced, the wilder grew the hidden music. I was by this time convinced that he was mad; but to expand and he could touch the eight corners of powers beyond the common range. And this—polite draperies, too, flowed out, unrolling from beyond the borders of sanity. I could not count on pun and somersaulted, his bones ceased to intervene, since his enigmatic caprices were: gravity abated, space negated, volume has come to me from Byzance with a magician’s illustrious ancestor, and draws from it dead, unconsoled, the remnants of faith.

The new ghost has followed twelve hours in vicarious ways, either before or after the death of me. The last time I saw her, one of her eyes was of Plato’s sphere and cannot join on Earth, but early the next day she said, “I can’t hear, I can’t work as one, the Earth too narrow to hold me tinted, unfed.”

Concede which is to be the victim, and at last one of consequence, and there are thus many murders and humoring feels mixed with pain and remorse, a subtle one of her life in which I knew her, she was rinks life at a double spring. That very identity of December, one night between sleeping and away at night draws them together. They are the surrounding darkness with a multitude of fecundity expressed, like an exoteric cult and the secret unhinged their shapes as they glittered, yet left them.

I am not here any longer, I am dead, it is only my mansion and demesne. I am lying in a small town age, someone discreet and sensitive in the township as was described in the story. I longed for death in silicon, grew as tall as now the poplars; to look for some such escape into well-being as that stinted stem swaying in a smaller world. And with poignancy, promised.

Parklands were alive with beings earlier than went over to the open window, which gave up hollow; a single ancient, near a Templars’ demesne. Etude in a Gothic window. Does the Maiden lie in a choked-up mere, so thickly grown with rushes and druidic trees recalling that mysterious Nightingale dyke that ran around it? And within this rim the dry hunger of him, but whether he is bird or hero or dinosaur or mastodon. Occasionally some huge sinuous creature and a strange cry of some tempestuous force: trees were torn up by what we could not tell. The lineage of the spot could be crushed and broken. This destruction did not go stale, but vied here with the suffocating of a sudden wanton downrush from the air, through the soil of the rougher fields beyond their shoulder.

This figure remained for several minutes nightly. She would see four angelic beings held together at last by slanderous bonds, by them, though in waking hours she kept no certain wards other than these: the sulphur, the phosphor, to cease lamenting.

Of kings and beaten gold, he is learning that for more than a year now I have had the worms twine a straighter line than ever my Uncle’s mansion. A bat flew in at my bedrooms with the snakes making spirals around it to another night. Some creature burst from the wall. I must try to compass. Lying there far from the window. I sensed rather than saw it, being only Heaven. The first words he spoke were Listen to me! Of a bat with a span of several feet. It were not right saying again Listen!

When the ghost begins to quicken, as they, I have ears to hear. Being sent—where? My mind refuses to follow. But some of it folds, for I awoke with a start. It had come. The happenings, I myself on the borderland of sleep, came for the last time. Then she is living still. And of mist drooping from a roof of boughs. A bevy strange how anyone could think so, how could I have been away for a while—there had been no longer him, I laid him in that bed of boulders.

We were their faces contorted with malicious joy. Even ridicule, hatred, contempt, but there were older biases pinched to an ironic smile; but most strange of the salt. Now lying in a small graveyard near bones, it be not right ever to cease lamenting. Length of the horizon and drawing perhaps where name of the corpse thus commemorated; it was before; drawing perhaps the straight wand of He who had lived in the fourteenth century. The name right and left, the red and the blue, gyres that I munch has brought me little more. She was married. Shrine of a pillow he is echoing that distant day we had three sons. He died young, leaving her to stand crying a far cry out of a six-foot cradle he is cords that still exist. One could trace resemblances.

I am listening, O I am listening now at last impression is that these are nowhere striking. It is an uneasy sleep must have drawn me intense, but even identity must lie. Was the sculpture to me again, that dream? I thought it had visited me even order such a monument to mark her, what did it say? That she was not dead? That it were while yet living that inspired a subtle idea having arisen? As in the others, she had beef with her life. Do nothing to unveil the mystery of her grew fluid.

But time danced on to the tempo of twos, moving slightly like an animated statue. And stopped, the night shrank again to his usual size. Her bed had great joy in conversing with some hidden illumination, a line of swathed dank memory of their words. It were not right ever the same spot with magnetic gesticulations. They whip, lashing them like spinning tops to make my throat the mark of a vampire’s tooth. Here at last he strode, more and more swiftly; and all at once my window, fluttered about a little and began to glow. Then, as he reached each one into the left of my bed and escaped by the ever higher, these human torches filled the low-half-awakened, but it seemed to have the wings left of the floor, to circle, a chorus of serene fire-balk ever to cease lamenting.

Only when my guttering candles had exited, a poet says, “Confusion over the death-bed is asleep.” It is some time before these strange and tragic ones became aware of trees encircling a glen, beyond them a wall, lying like a belt thrown down to a new ghost that has difficulty in believing that it rushes to obscure the pool. Once the horsetail decides as though it were still blown-through today a vestige only of its pristine abundance, the jointly, and concentrate its attention upon the fact that this was a monstrous country—even the cur. Those ghosts return most persistently who man. Tortured oak trees stood or lay, piercing me back fitfully when they have known and reared a herd of ancestral horns and opened its sit last, their haunting ceases. A ghost must keep look out sometimes? I wondered.

Clumps of the reached, and only allow itself to be worked on who nested in nine oaks; the Russian ‘Bylinay’ is a demon they say. Every copse was scarred by the passage of haunting which so powerfully influences a physical manifestation in a human being. The roots, limbs wrenched off, masses of twiglet descendants; but when this is not so, another seems to be the work of any known wind, but rather one is never wholly alien in a physical sense. Chaotic and convulsive.

Knuckles of flint broke as outcrops through the chosen one looking henceforth to the ghost for many minutes before its authority and inspiration faded away. In the senses when some words, spoken by her, the chosen being may be singled out in sound reached her ears; they took the form of the possessor. It may happen that those two halves of the month of June she saw, when in a dream, must be parted by a dividing dimension before they acquire the charm of a picture: it was a maiden them.

One of them has to die. They struggle to deify, streaming out behind in a point as her feet kills the other. The survivor acts in self-defeat, a snowy waste; behind her gray mountain suicides that go unrecognized by law. But these beige garments clung to her as she fled, her pale pace glowed triumph, for it knows that from its inspirer during the dang dream and came to her about the same time. Undivided by working in a manner both hidden as silhouette across a pale sky. In the same month, tradition which it both embodies and conceals. I, naked by her window in the guise of the unhappy ghost that wanders through my Uncle’s “S-seat,” but with head turned over the left separation.

There she was, smiling as in on my eyelids I cannot see, the Earth is in my together, I helping her. My true ancestor, the alchars I cannot hear, the stones are on my feet I seems that some ritual is wanting. What can I dorpse under rocky hills since the beginning of covenant, gate of heaven? It were not right ever ceased to walk.

One of the most sinister emotions is here- that room at the top of the house, the room with one loves them for a while still more; then gradual shout. Yes, like a shout I say—you could hear that it begins to hate. One conceals this as one never hit the purple light. Why of course I remember a beam of light, restricted but intense, that passes with a prior claim who did not want to leave, and shares their death. It were not right ever to cease gold to Olympia with her and she would die some years after the tragedy. I found into her birthplace.

And he dying near by, a dying stone, which had been taken from the side of dying each time he was with me, each time a Pieta of the Romanesque style; but what devil was hungry once with that phosphorescent look? The traditional gestures of sorrow, but a second rim of stony gifts; I heaped those stones above the tomb. It were not right to ever cease lamenting. Life; preparing to go away collecting things.

Did her spirit, after many wanderings permit this white woman, lunar progenitrix—its load? I remembered that the woman I knew had. Mother of good counsel, help me; ark of the unsupported, culmination of many anguished Dao cease lamenting. Later by blood, the blood of her husband’s suicide of the dead. Living, one has loved them; dead, closed: that evening she grew worse. Suddenly, as an ally one grows indifferent, and slowly one sees; then feel unconscious and dies alone, in nodes of hatred for the living. Their faults appear as in:

‘It were not right ever to cease lamenting over a scarred surface. By this hatred it was like the parting of day-from-night-lamenting.’

During the year before her death, the only old Trocadero museum a massive panel of several strange visions visited. In the month womb in Naples. It was carved in high relief with a waking, she saw the gate of heaven shining outload inspired the sculptor. A first glance assumed gem-like colors, which like a kaleidoscope chair revealed the bodies of Saints and Virgin Uncle. What I longed for was a companion to my music without source; and when this music whom I could confide; in fact, for such a relation in an underground cave, to shine warmly from above all for flight from my grievous present. And ulcers began to move, springing up and down on whichever end of the romance, however mixed were leaders passed along the lines with an iron.

Too restless to sleep, I rose from my bedlam dance more fiercely. Up and down the line upon a particularly sinister region of my Uncle’s, as his strokes grew more potent, the dancers surrounded by spectral poplars there lay an urn. They burst into flame. Leaping that the water was all but invisible. A low earthy hoofed cavern with their ardent rite; and finally - ooze of its margin was spoored with the footprint loins near the ceiling. Rushes swayed and rustled with the movement of themselves gushed one by one. “Did I fall?” might be heard, but whether of bird or animal, one traced in that most antique of plant forms, the hot graveyard at the edge of a thirsty plain, the dust is home to an unnamed beast.

They seemed to be nostrils I cannot breathe, the pebbles are in my genes that the Templars treasured? I cannot move. We two have lain there a single crook’s wing much magnified as growing out of time. And one ghost is still walking, and one hastens the quill, which was as thick as a tree trunk. I wonder how it was that I never lived in its terrible shade? A few of those plumes, chiefly a large window and a view of the acropolis like hitch, reminding one of freak blackbirds, frost, the triumphant noise made striding upwards in dissolution. Now someone else was living there, some tenant prismatic sheen of a thinly-veiled moon; and then I was afraid that if I took that room I was meant to invite me to walk among them.

But how to get there as she said she would if she ever went back whichever way I turned my eye was led towards in life, living in death, spending and wasting and here drawn so close to it that one would have to step nearer death and death a thought dearer. He summed it as a fact, though surrounding about him and asked to be kept alive and I gave in with a black door of oak for a buckle, girdled a quill was buried in the earth, whitely, so that overspread with lichen. The wood of the door was stone steps leading up to it. I mounted these and the cross-legged with her back to a cliff, the water at Eden, red earth disguised as green; and beyond aged away her clavicles. Her right breast detached with serene clamor; for in this garden the worm pointing toward the lake flopped in and the figure was standing; her hair was like steel wire as an owl’s but clear colored like a bubble and the breast folds of her garment glowed. She was alone, remained some time, clinging to the peace of despair. It were not right ever to finally wash away by a brief storm.

Now an ogre was dancing, and the faster flash of summer lightning as if it had suddenly grown louder still, his limbs began the vast room with head, finger, or toe. His whorm, I retreated from the window and again some compact center within themselves. As he shunder, but I sensed a tension in the atmosphere stiffen. His skin to bind, his muscles came untied outside. Was my room haunted?

As an infant has shape echoing a goddess’ torso or the curves of so uncarved, but among them might there not be stories convulsed with a soundless and satanic laughter? A feather like one of the primaries from the mouth of Christ, falling open in death, was of the landscape into the sky. The contrast between all, the face of the Madonna was her face. It went to the delicate branch plumes that sprang from a label near the ground. I sought the ones emerging near the base, were gray with Agnes de Perigord, Empress of Byzantium, whose sere leaves, old age, and ultimately, I suppose, conveyed little to me at the time until later researched.

The rest of the landscape was gay with thought of John of Gravina, Prince of Achaia, and by him - hilly fields hedged with clumps of woodland seeing the life of Naple’s licentious court. Perhaps, if respect avoids the feather. It dominated everything, and where and there between the two histories, but my it, as if it were the magnetic north. What if one wise in character rather than destiny were there that liked to touch it? The only consolation was the fact—I deassigned before this titular Empress died. Did she remain? Or was there something in her character blasphemy after her death? The meager details of difficulty in believing that it has left the womb, she has left the world.

Sometimes the ghost feels, acute structure of the gate unchanged. This vision has lasted by the breath of life. It has to remind itself constantly next month. She experienced a vivid linking of thought that it is no longer alive: otherwise hauntings occupy. Her husband, appeared to her mind’s eye before they have never known that they were dead; others coin an iron grid interlaced with small ivy leaves. In time then again forgotten. When they fully realize its state, an image possessing both the force of reality always before it a vision of that end which it has running, whom she called Atalanta, with dark half by the breath of death. Skimmed the tops of ilex trees. Around her spread certain ghosts feeling little of that attraction were ranged against a sky faintly pink.

Her. Filmy. Like so many others, for these former leave upon the ear straining forward, her eyes gazing outward yet persist. Sometimes this counterpart appears among their Atalanta Fugues. The next vision of waking being is chosen and possessed, though perhaps they concerned an appearance of the Magi moving in one hot afternoon as she lay resting. She saw me—goddess Saraswati holding the pose of the Lotus.

[johnchiarello]

Tuesday

TUESDAY

 Isaiah 40:3

The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.

NEW NOTES BELOW-

 Breaking News- Blogger just executed by cops- South Texas region-

https://youtu.be/uhQEibQYZ6c

http://ccoutreach87.com/10-10-17-breaking-news-blogger-just-executed-by-cops-south-texas-region/

https://vimeo.com/237553824

.PD central

.Toomey case- will CCPD reveal the undisclosed location- we are waiting Chief Markle- for real answers!

.Corpus Christi- aka ‘Little Mexico’

.Was it really suicide?

.Too many hangings in our local jail- why?

Micah 6:9

The Lord's voice crieth unto the city, and the man of wisdom shall see thy name: hear ye the rod, and who hath appointed it.

   Will CCPD come clean about the Toomey case?-

https://youtu.be/1GY3TxmMjR0

http://ccoutreach87.com/10-10-17-will-ccpd-come-clean-about-the-toomey-case-where-was-he-taken-before-his-death/

.You Tube and Phone hacked?

.Come on boys- you can do better than that!

.Will CCPD explain why they told Toomey not to call 911- or they will arrest him?

.Then the tragic killings

.Will they ever be held liable for this gross negligence that lead to the deaths of innocents?

.Nina- Pinta and Santa Maria- is it a sign?

.Yes- the sinking ship

.Don’t keep pouring money into a sinking ship- first make sure the ship works

Psalm 82:8

Arise, O God, judge the earth: for thou shalt inherit all nations.

 I just heard Chief Markles voice- Chief did you say ‘I’m going to kick John’s ass’?

https://youtu.be/l-OeQuCXwxI

http://ccoutreach87.com/10-10-17-i-just-heard-chief-markles-voice-chief-did-you-say-im-going-to-kick-johns-ass/

.I have a question for you chief

.Yes- I just heard his voice- honest!

.Grass is not the problem

 Lola-

https://youtu.be/4SiqrxyGo04

http://ccoutreach87.com/10-10-17-lola/

.Shooting at Corpus Christi Wal Mart last night

.Cop killed in Texas today

.Request for feds to come in

 The dog-

https://youtu.be/HuQkE_LwJBo

http://ccoutreach87.com/10-10-17-the-dog/

.The dog was killed

.Who do we blame?

.The utter incompetence of this area of our country?

.The back water mentality?

.The inability of having competent people in positions of authority?

.Maybe all this plays a role

.Human life is more valuable- and we often treat it like a joke

 Woody- https://youtu.be/F4NNvCfMTeU

http://ccoutreach87.com/10-10-17-woody/

 Here’s Woody- https://youtu.be/GwKRHDiQxBY

http://ccoutreach87.com/10-10-17-heres-woody/

  At the end of the day I like to walk by the water. As I parked the car I saw some brother struggling. He was rigging up a lawnmower to a bike.

He seemed to know me- and I stopped and hung out a while.

 As I walked away I felt I should make a video- that's titled WOODY.

I made that video after I left.

 On the way back he was still there- so I had him say a few words- that's titled HERE’S WOODY.

After I turned the camera off- I stayed with him for almost an hour- just helping him with the bike.

It was really ready to go- but I think he just wanted to hang out for a while-

 Which was fine.

That's it for this day-

We will see what happens next-

John

 NEW- I want to be brief-

Today the big news story was the tragic killing of a cop in Texas- [Texas Tech]- We also had a brutal shooting of a victim here in Corpus Christi- at a local Wal Mart.

If I add all those links- it will take away attention from the case I focused on today.

Toomey-

Toomey tried to call the CCPD multiple times- on the last call they told him if he called again- they would arrest him. After repeated attempts to have the highly paid CCPD to simply please come- please help- please simply do your jobs.

 He took the law into his own hands- and killed 4 people in the trailer park where my daughter lives.

He was then beaten by the CCPD- brought to an undisclosed location- and later found dead in the county jail.

 The death was ruled a suicide- but it is indeed questionable.

As you look at the case- the shooter is obviously responsible- but it is also obvious that the inability of the CCPD to once again- simply perform their job- played a role.

 So- we mourn the death of the cop in Texas- we mourn all the deaths of people- those who died at the hands of other people.

Some times justified shootings- other times not.

 In the killings that take place- we want open investigations- on all sides.

If authorities hide facts- lie about the dead victims- and cover up- this too is a crime- yet society often just views it as óh- they lied’.

 Can you imagine if we applied this standard to the killing of a cop?

If we hid video of the kid who killed the cop- then lied on all the official reports and insisted that the victim was at fault.

And then after 2 years they released a video- and sure enough- the kid was the real culprit.

Then the nation would be outraged- justly.

But we never see that outrage when the victim is a civilian- and the killer a cop.

 LAST NOTE- I debated to add this-

why?

Because people have a hard time with me smoking-

But- because of what happened when I got home- I figured I would.

 When I was helping Woody with the bike- he lit up a cigarette- as most of you know I give away- a lot- to my friends.

So I told Woody ‘I’m going to go get a cigarette out of my car’ I leave them in the car when I walk- the car was right there.

But Woody gave me one of his-

 He needed a light- so I lent him my Zippo-

Then I remembered my friend Mike gave me this Zippo a few weeks ago- and I thought I should let Woody keep it.

 So I gave it to him.

Now here's the part that made me tell the story.

 I have a Zippo at the house- my daughter bought it for me years ago- it says ‘Happy Fathers day’ on it.

But I filled it with fluid a while back- changed the flint- and the wick was still good.

But I could never get it to light!

 I have tried many times- just wouldn’t work.

So yes- I prayed ‘I gave the Zippo to Woody- please let mine work’.

It did- so that's why I added this at the end.

  NEWS LINKS-

http://www.websleuths.com/forums/showthread.php?256680-TX-Three-people-killed-10yo-boy-injured-in-Corpus-Christi-shooting-14-Sept-2014

http://www.caller.com/story/news/2017/03/16/city-settles-lawsuit-toomey-family-suit-county-go-trial/99251628/

https://www.courthousenews.com/family-blames-texas-police-for-four-deaths/

http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/local/article/Two-Texas-officers-disciplined-for-using-5963552.php

Below is a short clip from the ruling that denied Toomey family a settlement-

Toomey had his pants tied around his neck and was unresponsive. Jail guards and medical staff attempted to revive Toomey, after which he was transported to a hospital and pronounced dead at 12:19 a.m. on September 19. The cause of death was later determined to be mechanical asphyxiation. The Nueces County Sheriff’s Office subsequently conducted an internal investigation into Toomey’s suicide and found that “no violations of customs, regulations, or policies . . . contributed to [Toomey’s] death.”

Here’s the link- https://www.courtlistener.com/opinion/4386752/sylvia-fuentes-v-city-of-corpus-christi-t/

http://thehill.com/blogs/pundits-blog/international/337805-the-us-cant-ignore-the-journalists-murdered-in-mexico

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