#*forlorn mooing*

[aptericia]

sacrificial calf

[erotetica]

how specific a prompt do you want because my dog just had SUCH a tantrum at me while I was trying to give him a bath and I was thinking about how funny it would be if he was as big as he thinks he is, which is approximately werewolf-sized. And then I was just imagining a werewolf in the bath pouting. That's it that's my prompt

@raedear this was so fucking funny. Ty. the primary ref was a lion in a wheelbarrow

[bump1nthen1ght]

Kissing the Pain Away (M!CowHybrid!Reader x M!Demon)

Pairing: Male! Cow Hybrid!Reader x Male!Farmer!Demon

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Hybrid Farms

Warnings: Explicit Content Ahead (18+ ONLY)

Word count: 1535 words

Summary: It’s the middle of a balmy summer night, but you’re busy tossing and turning, teets full and aching with milk. Luckily, your lovely demon farmer comes to the rescue.

Request: dont know you guys but i lowkey wanna request a big tittied male cow hybrid reader getting milked both ways by a farmer i mean they can be male or maybe female not problem (mostly male but its on you) but they are demon like just hear me out guys... (I would like to breastfeed someone even tho im a male)

It’s too damn hot out.

You knew it was gonna be too damn hot the minute you woke up, with a fire in your belly and sweat beading on your brow. Your normally cozy stall feels stuffy, the air thick as you toss and turn, trying to go back to sleep. But the aching pains all over are too much to ignore.

You try your best to be good, but it just hurts so much.

So you whine, mooing as pathetically as you can, the sound echoing across the giant barn. It only takes a couple of minutes for the lights to be switched on, for the familiar sound of work boots on straw coming towards you.

“It’s 2 AM, bud. This better be good.” Orias hums, wiping a calloused palm down his face, trying his best to rub the sleep out of his eyes. You nearly burst into tears as he slides open the stall doors, finally getting a glimpse at your weeping form. 

“P-please.” You keen, hand reached out in desperation

The sight of you curled up, desperately massaging your chest and rutting your hips is enough to soften his gaze. He rubs the back of his neck with a sigh.

It’s gonna be a long night.

“Poor thing. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be cross.” His own tail flicks back and forth, hat pulled off his horns as he kneels in front of you, dexterous hands quickly rubbing at your swollen nipples. “Damn, these are hard as rocks. No wonder you’re hollering.”

All you can do is nod and push yourself into his grip, begging for the relief of being milked. Everything aches and only an experienced touch can make you feel better.

“I got you, handsome. Let Daddy take care of you.”

Red palms scoop up under your pecs, pushing in a massaging upward motion to encourage the milk to release. You shudder out a breath of relief, the feeling of letting go almost as good as the tongue flicking across your nipple. Orias is never one to waste, lapping up all your dribbling milk with efficiency. Even so, he grabs a bucket from the corner and places it under your leaking chest, knowing he can’t swallow it all.

It’s still not quite enough. The slow pace offers temporary pleasure, but it will be a while until you’re fully empty. All you can chase now is the friction of your bottoms against the hay-ridden stall floor, balls aching just like your chest. Your small bumps barely stave away the pain, your cock-head leaking enough to stain the front of your pajama bottoms.

“Ah-ah!” Your voice echoes as Orias fishes your cock out through your shorts, right through your fly. His thumb brushes across the weeping head, your shaft already slick. He detaches briefly from your nipple, catching his breath.

“Someone’s getting greedy.” Orias gives kitten licks to your other swollen nipple, just rubbing his palm up the sides of your dick . Your moos are forlorn, big wet tears leaving tracks down your cheeks now. Canting your hips into his hand, you pull out all the stops. “Ahh, I spoil you too much.”

You don’t hide the moan as Orias finally latches onto your other teet, his palm sliding down your wet shaft to fondle your balls. Rivulets of pre-cum now run down the sides, making squelching sounds as he squeezes and gropes. Orias grabs another bucket for your semen; He can’t waste any of the real money maker.

“Good boy.” He mutters, taking only a second to detach before sipping on more milk. His hand moves up from your balls to the base of your cock, ringing out more dripping cum into the bucket as he squeezes up and down. The slow slap, slap, as he jerks you off is only made louder by your cum and sweat, spilling out over Orias wrists and dribbling onto his forearm.

He has to take a break for one moment, catching his breath and shaking out his wrist. Voracious as you are, those few seconds feel like torture. You rut into his chest half-heartedly, barely any strength left.

“I know, I know.” His hand finds itself snugly back on your dick but his head stays away from your teets. He instead reaches over to grab the milking machine, two suction cups attached to a large, sterile tank. “I want to make you feel better baby, but this will do a better job than I can.”

Normally you'd fight back, always preferring Orias mouth to the impersonal cups, but you’ve got gallons stored up and he’s only one demon. It’s the one bit of logic your addled brain can manage.

“O-okay.” You hiccup, brushing away the tears as you present your chest. Orias' experience helps him attach the machine with only one hand. Once attached, he turns his focus on your other milker.

Your head gets thrown back as Orias settles onto his knees, taking tentative licks of your cock. The milking machine is helping relieve some pressure, but this hint of stimulation has you mooing louder than ever.

“Oooooh.” You sigh as Orias licks a long stripe up your shaft, smacking his lips with the taste of your prized semen. Your cock jerks in against his lips, some more spurting onto his cheeks. He swipes it off and into the bucket. “Need it, please. Need to be milked.”

Your balls are hot and heavy in Orias hands, your musk almost intoxicating. It’s what sends him over the edge and has him finally, finally, swallow down your cock. His tongue lathers up the semen, spit dripping down his jaw as he takes you all the way to the base. You toss your head back in a moan.

“Yes! Yes!” Bushy fur presses up against Orias nose as you grab onto his horns and buck, balls slapping against the bottom of his chin as you ride out in his mouth. Your pent up hormones and his tongue are enough for you already to be near the brink. “Fu-uck.” You pant, tongue lolled out like a dog as your first orgasm hits, shooting straight into the back of Orias throat. You can see his nostrils flare and his eyes go wide, but this isn’t his first rodeo. He knows one won’t be enough, could never be enough, so he swallows the whole load without complaint.

You take a couple seconds, catching your breath and giving your thighs a break, but Orias tongue doesn’t. He keeps you hard with his long tongue encircling you in his mouth, the tip just reaching your balls. It’s all you need to kick start another fire in your belly, to ache for that sensation again.

Your thrusts are a little slower but no less desperate, the lessening pain meaning you can fully enjoy Orias’ skills. 

“S-so deep.” You stutter, transfixed by the site of your dick going in and out of Orias’ mouth. His bright yellow eyes finally meet yours, a twinge going up your back and straight into your stomach.  You find yourself lost in them, not even realizing how Orias’ hands crawl up your backside, pullin apart your asscheeks until-

“Ah!” You jerk Orias all the way down to your base when the first finger sinks into your asshole, sweat and cum making it glide in with little issue. It’s nice, but Orias know you need more, using your momentary shock to slip in a second and a third. That tingly feeling moves down all the way to your hooves, your tail now jerking back and forth like a happy dog. 

Orias scissors his finger soutward, stretching your whole and it's like your brain is being scrambled. Your nerves are firing, not sure to hump into Orias mouth or to ride his fingers like a dildo. Luckily he makes the decision for you, pulling you all the way to the tip and then forcing himself back down on your cock. At the same time, his fingers reach your prostate, matching his slobbery blowjob’s tempo to that of his hand. All you can do is let the pleasure carry you, knuckles gripped tight onto his horns just hoping not to pass out.

“Gonna cum again!” You're able to finally moo out, eyes nearly crossed. It doesn’t do anything to halt Orias pace, his lips curling into a grin as you reach a higher plane of existence. It’s almost too much, so good, so good, so good-

“O-oh!” The second orgasm hits you like a brick to the face; if the first was like a firecracker, then this was an explosion. Your whole lower body tenses, assshole tightening as your cock gushes cum. Orias, slightly more prepared, swallows some yet holds the rest in his mouth. When you finally collapse to your knees, he spits the rest in the cum bucket, wiping off the excess and flicking it in there too.

You hardly remember the milking machine detaching, or yoru shorts benign plled back up. Your face is smushed into Orias’ chest, his large hands rubbing soothing circles into your abc.

“There, there, that's a good little cow, huh?”

You nod, still utterly cock drunk. You don’t notice Orias flicking the lights off, a full-body exhaustion hitting you like a train.

The heat doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night.

[asknarashikari]

GeatsCast reactions to...

For Adoption:

Sara: *shoves people away from Neon and Keiwa* No! They're not for adoption! *takes them away*

Tsumuri: *sighs* I suppose I must be the responsible older sister now... *takes Kon away* Ace! Don't just leave Kon behind!

Azuma: *forlorn mooing under toku rain*

[imnotwolverine]

Field of dreams

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: The Scottish highlands, some bear tears and a whole lot of (outdoor) loving. 

Word count: 4.432

Disclaimer: fluff and smut

--

This is part 19 of the Tea for Two series. 

Find the Masterlist here. 

--

< Go back to part 18

Tall wet grass blades licked my calves as my rain boots plowed through dewy fields, the tiny water drops sparkling in the light of a watery sun as it slowly rose over the steep Scottish hills.

It was about 7 am and the world around us was slowly waking up, its wild scenery conjuring itself up from the stormy dark of the night before. It had rained all night and the animals were glad to be out and about again. Birds chirped their morning song, supple wings carrying them with grace through the rain heavy skies, while a few big Scottish highlanders mooed at me and Kal.

Henry had left for an early start at work - I don’t know how that man could be such an early bird -, so it was just the two of us as we slowly trodded to the set that lay a few miles north of the cottage we resided in.

After months of jet setting through the hustle and bustle of large cities, it was almost unsettling to not have a single person around for miles.

What if something happened? What if I got hurt?

I pushed the thought aside as I was greeted by Kal’s wet nose pressing into my hand, his big paws quickly zooming past me as he continued to pee on every rock and tree he could find.

I smiled, taking a deep breath.

Scotland was every bit as beautiful as the pictures I had seen in magazines. It was raw, wild and fantastically beautiful. Like a painting, the landscape oozed “magic”. Lush greenery, with speckles of rock, yellowish moss and the occasional abandoned ruin that once had been the homestead of some civilisation long gone. The wind licked at our hairs, pulling it wildly back and fro as little misty drops of water kissed our faces. A remainder of the previous down pour.

Even the smell was something out of this world. It lay almost thick in your lungs, so fresh and earthy, the wet grass mixing deliciously with the muddy earth and the warm wool vest that was snuggly wrapped around me. It almost smelled like…home.

Home, in my case, being a rural area in the Netherlands, its outstretched flat landscape housing more cows and sheep than humans. My whole youth I had spent cycling and walking through similar green fields. Be it to go to school. Or the small supermarket. Or friends. Always there was this vast landscape enveloping me, making me feel ever so small and insignificant. It had been humbling, for sure, and even to this day it reminded me to humble as a human being.

And sure enough it had not only been the land, but also my mom.

As my rubber rain boots slushed through the grass I could almost hear her voice again..her never ending rambling as we walked the dog at an eerily early hour of the day. A moment we both cherished dearly. She, because she could talk without being nagged by her annoying colleagues or my grumpy dad. I, because I enjoyed listening to her while I slowly woke up from my dream-laden sleep, my jaw cracking open in large, relaxing yawns.  

And just like Kal did, our border collie would zip through the tall grass, chasing down small animals and doing his business before quickly rushing back to greet us with a happily lolling tongue.

I could also remember the last time we walked together, before I moved out to “the big city”. Her words still regularly swam through my mind in a moment of quiet.

‘Never forget I love you. Never forget I’ll be here for you. And most importantly: never forget to be there for yourself. Know it is okay to find things frightening. But don’t let it hold you back. Embrace it. Study it. Question it. And you will find it isn’t quite so scary at all. It is just..new!’

I had cried that day, for the first time in years. I had been scared, even though I sure as hell didn’t want to stay at home forever. I did want to grow up. I did want to live a life of my own. I did want to discover the world. It was just that the first step was particularly hard.

Now, some ten-ish years later, here I was. In the Scottish highlands. Walking the dog of the man I loved more than I thought possible. And I was discovering a new bit of the world every day. I was living my own life.

Sure, I was still scared at times. But that was okay.

Being scared was okay..come to think of it.

Just a week ago we sure had a scary moment. Or should I say new and exciting? As the days progressed the experience of a false alarm pregnancy was slowly turning from a shock into a new sense of wonder. Would I ever be a mom? Would I ever have a child of my own? To talk with him or her while our feet trampled through tall wet grass, a dog skirting our sides? Was that really such a scary idea?

Perhaps not.

It was just new.

Yes. New.  

My eyes picked up the glistening of something. I peered into the distance and realised it were aluminium roofs. The set! My heart thumped in excitement as I felt a slow smile creep up my cheeks. Moving further up the hill I got a better view of the small encampment of trailers, tents and trucks that were scattered amidst some old ruins. Just another mile or so and we could start another day of “something new”. Something new not being human babies, but a new season of the Witcher.  

—

All day I hadn’t seen or spoken to Henry. Which was slightly frustrating, sure, but I could quickly put those feelings aside as work had started to pick up pace. More trucks arrived, schedules needed to be adjusted to fit weather forecasts and set pieces needed saving from the never ending flurry of rain showers. This was what I liked most. Hands-on, hard work.

Before long the day was drawing to an end. It was 6pm and the crew had just finished packing and securing everything in containers, the night shift starting soon.

Also, at long last, I had managed to get a hold on Henry, who was just getting out of a costume fitting, his tumble of dark curly hair slightly dishevelled as he walked up to the car.

‘Hi there handsome.’ I smirked, leaning against the back of the SUV, my feet sunken away in an inch of mud. He came up to me and Kal and smiled a quiet smile before placing a kiss on my lips and scratching Kal behind the ears, his other hand rummaging through his pockets to look for the car keys. Not being able to find them at once, he furrowed his brow, cursing under his breath. The pent up frustration of more then just hard-to-find car keys was tangible in the air.

‘You okay dear?’ I asked carefully, my hand moving out to stroke his arm, but instead tentatively hovering mid air. His whole body was screaming “I’m not okay”.

He groaned and shook his head. ‘Just a bit of a bad day.’ He swallowed, finally finding the car keys and sighing softly.

‘Here, give me that. I’ll drive. YOU sit back and relax.’

‘No, no. It’s fine. I can drive.’ He muttered, his body language telling me otherwise. He was in fact not even making an attempt to walk towards the driver’s seat, instead opting to just stand there, looking a bit forlorn.

‘Look at me.’ I commanded, finally moving my hesitating hand to his arm, offering him a gentle rub. He looked up at me. Our first eye contact of that day. And for the first time ..ever, I saw something I don’t think I had ever seen before in his eyes. Tears. Unspent, hot, burning, tears.

Oh..

I felt my heart sink.

‘Let’s get into the car.’ He finally croaked, moving to the passenger side of the car as he offered me the keys.

He didn’t even put up a fight, like he usually would when I offered to help him out. It was really bad then, huh?

I clicked the car open and Henry climbed in without a word, Kal quick to follow suit. I looked at them as the door was pulled closed, my mind not fully registering what was happening until I felt my feet instinctively carry me to the driver’s seat, the mud slushing below my well-put-to-use rain boots.

As soon as I plopped down on the soft leather seat, I could see him unravel. The usual big presence that was Henry Cavill now melting down to a slumping mess of chocolate brown curls and shaking shoulders, his large frame hanging heavily into his seatbelt as he curled his fingers through little bits of Kal’s fur. Grasping on like the dog was his very life buoy. His breath hiccuped as the waterworks opened up, salty tears burning like acid over his beautifully square jawline.

What should I do?

I hesitated a moment before moving my hand to his shoulder, rubbing slow, big circles over the tense muscles, opting to not speak for the moment as heavy sobs echoed through the car. He probably just needed a moment to cry. Release whatever he was holding in. And I was glad he didn’t hold back, his bone wrecking sobs now filling the air with a certain heaviness.

It all came pouring out.

We sat there for a few minutes, his hands now moving to his face, covering his teary cheeks as he let out a few more shivery breaths. I was glad he had parked at the far end of the parking lot this morning, this spot offering us some privacy so none of the other set members could see us while they got into their own cars.

I moved my hand up through his curls, massaging his scalp in slow kneading movements, my other hand moving to Kal’s fur, Kal now quietly pushing his head into Henry’s lap. I truly believed that dogs could sense what their humans are feeling. And needing.

At this moment, Henry just needed us with him.

‘I’m sorry about that.’ Henry finally muttered, his voice slurred with emotion.

‘Don’t be.’ I said, my hand still moving slowly through his hair, the thick hair soft below my finger tips.

‘I just…’ Another sob came over him, his shoulders sinking down as he bent forward to rest on his elbows.

I moved my hand down to his back, rubbing more large circles over the warm plane of muscles that sat below his leather jacket and auburn woolen sweater. He shook his head slowly, his face contorted in sorrow, half hidden behind his large hands. My heart cried for him, my lips pulled into a tight line as I saw the love of my life torn to pieces by something unknown.

Had something bad happened? Did someone hurt him? Did someone die?

Slowly his sobs calmed again, his face remaining hidden behind his hands as he took a few deep breaths.

‘I’m here for you.’ I said gently.

‘I know.’ He said feebly, finally looking back up at me through tear drained hands. ‘Let’s go home.’ He pleaded softly. I nodded and revved the engine, the vehicle gently rolling back through the thick mud as I clicked on my seatbelt.

The road was zig zagging through the lush green hills, giving me a decent excuse to drive nice and slow, the car now quiet as Henry and Kal both stared out of the window. My eye moved from my two sweet men, to a lake that lay just behind one of the slopes. 

Without much of a second thought I decided to take the next exit from the main road, a slightly more bumpy country road taking us to a small parking lot that was placed just behind the hill that hid the beautiful vista of the lake.  

Henry looked up, slightly confused, his sorrowful blue eyes looking at me with question. ‘Let’s get some air.’ I said, removing my seatbelt and swinging open my door. The sun was slowly starting to come down from its high perch, the greenery kissed by its sinking rays. I moved to the front of the car, stretching out languidly and waiting for a very hesitant Henry to also climb out of the car.

He didn’t say a word as he moved next to me. Kal was left in the car.

‘It’s just ten minutes to the house.’ He said, his voice still cracking a bit. I nodded and shrugged. ‘I know. And we’ll get back home, trust me. I just think you would like to see this.’ I smiled gently and stretched out an arm, enveloping his hand in mine and tugging him towards the small path that curved up the grassy hill.

We slowly paced up the hill, our feet sinking away every meter or so in the slippery mud, until we reached the top. Our eyes met with a most magical sight. 

In front of us lay the lake in all its desolate glory, the water reflecting the patchwork of colours that surrounded us. Baby blues, lush greens, bright pinks, various hues of yellow and brown, splashes of grey rock and the grey-ish blue sky up above.

I let another deep breath seep into my lungs as I smiled at the sight, softly squeezing Henry’s hand as I also heard his breath halt for a moment.

‘Wow.’ He said, his voice slightly more upbeat then before. I decided to not look at him, and instead released his hand so I could balance myself as I started walking down the slippery hill, moving closer towards the lake. Henry followed suit, his foot falls not far behind me.

‘I walked here this morning and thought you’d like to see it as well. It sure is true what they say..’ I turned around to look over my shoulder, seeing Henry struggle to keep his footing as he met my gaze. I smiled. ‘..it’s magical out here.’ His eyes remained locked on mine as a very small smile tugged at his lips, his ocean blues still blazing with emotions unsung. I turned back to continue my path, but was halted by Henry’s hand as it slipped around my upper arm.

I looked back up at him, his words already moving through the air.

‘My brother Charlie and his wife are expecting again.’

His words were uttered with a dry matter of factualness, but it was weird since this was the first thing he said to me after his outburst..Something told me there was some co-relation between the two.

I whisked up a kind smile and pushed the thought aside.

‘Congratulations. They must be overjoyed! That’s their..fourth kid then, right?’

His jaw clenched as a feeble smile appeared on his lips. ‘Yea.’

Our eyes remained trained on each other for another moment before he broke our gaze, looking back over my shoulder and taking in the beautiful vista.

‘I’m sorry for just now. Really. I don’t want to scare you..I just..’ He took in a deep breath as he closed the distance between us, his foot nearly slipping again in the mud. We both let out a little gasp, our small smiles now turning into large grins as our hands entangled to both find steady footing again. Henry chuckled softly as he settled for a steady spot, his hands moving up to cup my cheeks as his fingers brushed away a few strands of hair.

‘I just have a bit of a hard time with this news after that..thing..earlier this week.’ He looked down at our mud soaked feet, his thumbs drawing soft circles over my cool skin.

‘It’s been a lot on my mind as well.’ I agreed, moving my arms to encircle him, my head leaning against his chest while my eyes quietly peered over at the lake. ‘Pregnancy was just..not something I had ever really given much of a thought and the possibility of a slip kind of took me by surprise.’

I felt him move his head, his nose nuzzling my hair before planting a gentle kiss there. ‘I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I was just..so…’ He sighed. ‘Excited. Gosh, I’m so sorry for that. I knew there was only but a tiny chance and..even if it was so, you might have not wanted to keep it, or something could have happened..and…’ His voice hummed in my ear as I noticed two majestical swans coming over the hill, their large white wings elegantly curling so they could slip their large bodies into the shimmering water.

I stopped him mid-sentence.

‘If I had been pregnant I would have kept it.’ I said, my cheek still pressed against his chest. I could feel his thumbs still on my cheeks, his breath hiccuping as the words found their rightful meaning in his head. It took another long moment before he finally released his breath again, his hands moving down to tilt my head up.

I looked up into those big blues, his eyes pouring out all the love they could give. I wish I could capture this moment and put it in a frame. Forever to keep so I could be reminded of what it was like to be loved a man like Henry.

‘Why?’ He asked, a bit dumbfounded. I chuckled, and looked back at him lovingly.

‘Because, although it’s scary..it’s far less scary when I know I can do it with you. Besides..’ I smiled and shrugged. ‘..I bet you’ll be an awesome dad. Bad jokes and all.’ He grinned and tilted my head up further, his lips softly brushing over mine. ‘I’ll try my best.’ He said, a smile quickly growing on his lips.

‘I’m sorry for scaring you Henry. I know what I said was..difficult to hear. I mean. I know you really, really, really want to start a family, and then to say that I’m scared and..’ I rambled on but his lips quieted me, his tongue demanding entrance as he pulled me closer, kissing me with such passion I forgot how to even stand up straight, my knees becoming putty.

‘I can wait.’ He finally breathed in between kisses. ‘For babies that is. Not for you. I..’ He kissed me again. ‘..Need you. I need you always. I never loved a woman like I love you.’ He pushed his groin flush against me, his very evident rock-hard need now pressing into my belly as his tongue danced with mine, my lips widening as I gasped at the feeling. ‘Fuck.’ I breathed, my hands now pulling at his shirt to steady myself.

Come on knees, don’t give in on me now!

Henry noticed my struggle and just like in a movie, he pulled us down, our bodies sinking gently into the grassy hillside as his lips kept peppering me with his devotion. ‘I love you so, so much.’ He groaned, his voice thick with emotion once more. I let my head fall back into the soft grass mounds as his lips moved down to my jaw and my neck, his lips leaving a burning trail of tender skin, slightly reddened by his five o’clock shadow. 

The damp grass was slowly drenching my clothes, but I couldn’t care, the sensation of his heavy muscles pinning me down along with his musky scent mixing with the smell of crushed grass..it was all I needed.

Without much of a thought my fingers nimbly moved to unbuckle his belt, the metal clanging ringing like bells in the soft wind,  his hands in turn moving below my jacket to knead my lower back through the thin material of my summer dress.

‘Please.’ I begged, hastily tugging open his jeans.

‘Please what my love?’ Henry grinned, moving up ever so slightly so his dark eyes could peer into mine.

‘Want me to dirty talk huh?’ I quirked up an eyebrow, finding him smile at me in amusement.

‘Well.’ I licked my lips. ‘I want you to fill me up so good..our heartbeats become one. I want you to claim me…’ I pulled him down with a tug on his jacket. ‘I want to feel you inside me. Hard and pulsating and..’ I didn’t need to continue, his hands making light work of pushing aside my dress and panties, his erection springing free from his boxers.

‘Fuck baby.’ He growled, his velvety hardness pushing eagerly against my petals, his hips slowly..ever so slowly..forcing me to take him in. I let out a shivery breath as the sensation of the cold grass in combination with his hot flesh overflowed me. I didn’t even have control over my body anymore. As by second nature my legs wrapped around his hips while he pushed himself further and further into me, stretching my soft walls to accommodate his need.

My hands clawed at his back and our tongues darted in a sensual dance. A dance we had become well practised in now. Prodding, teasing, rolling, sucking.

My back arched up as he finally bottomed out inside me, his arms now moving to pull me up from the soft wet grass, our weight being shifted on his knees as he sat up. I no longer felt the cold dampness, but instead a wave of heat as his large arms encased me, pulling me as close as he could.

‘I am yours.’ I breathed, feeling Henry around me like a blanket of love. His hot breath against my cold cheeks as his lips bruised mine, his arms my bed and his cock my life force. I did not need another thing in the world right now, my eyes just lazily taking in our surroundings as he started to push inside me.

Low golden sun rays caressed his skin, making him as beautiful as a son of the gods, his chiseled jaw clenching in effort as his hips started to move at their own volition. It was like one of those great marble statues had been brought to life, no ink spared to paint him to be the most beautiful human being I knew. Strong, yet sweet, proud, yet humble, loyal, yet thorough. And did I mention well endowed? Yes. All of the above.

I leaned into his arms as I felt myself practically float, the grass blades that occasionally tickled my naked flesh the only reminder that I was in fact still earth bound. Henry’s delicious roars and moans filled the air as the sun set behind the hills, his hips jerking now in earnest.

I could feel a few drops hit my skin.

Was that sweat?

Was he crying?

I finally came back to and looked up at Henry, his face contorted in ecstasy. No tears, that was for sure. I let out a low moan as our eyes met. Dark, smouldering, filled with want. Seeing those dark stormy eyes as he filled me up so deliciously made my insides coil up, my nerves shoot small sparks of electricity.

‘Gods.’ I gasped, giving in to the sensation as my body started to spasm, my legs locking even tighter around his hips as my eyelids became heavy with lust.

‘Come for me my angel. Let go.’ He said, his low voice now ringing somewhere in the back of my mind as hot fire emblazoned my groin, my hands feebly scratching at his shoulders as my hair kissed the grass that lay beneath us.  

Stars struck my every nerve and I lost all control of my body, my body spasming beneath Henry’s iron lock as my throat let out a lone cry.

Henry did not stop, his hips still pushing me further and further over the edge as I keened and pleaded. My orgasm slowly made way for a pleasant high, my body still moulding perfectly around Henry as he searched for his release.

I could feel more water drops hit my face. I looked up and noticed the threateningly dark sky that now drifted towards us.

It was about to rain. 

I reeled up my head and let the cool water drip on my heated skin, my cheeks so flush with need that the heavenly water was a welcome guest to our conjoinment.

The small drizzle became bigger drops.

Henry pulled me closer, ramming into me with a certain earnesty now.

I would be sore later.

Bigger drops became a pour, our clothes slowly becoming wet with not just our sweat, but also rain.

I let out a low moan as I started to feel him twitch inside me, his hands now clenching me so hard he’d surely leave some marks.

‘FUCK HENRY.’ I gasped, my whole body being shook by his punishing pounding.

So this was sex like with an emotional Henry. Fuck me.

The rain started to pour harder and harder as Henry’s thrusts became sloppy, his head flopping forward as he let out a low roar.

‘FUCK BABY. FUCK. I. Love. You. So. Much.’ He jerked as he spilled his life giving seed in my womb. Once more sealing our union, now for the world to see without the protection of stone bedroom walls.

I could visualise it. Our bodies half clothed, sprawled out on the tall wet grass. Completely soaked. 

Heavily panting he pulled me closer, shielding me somewhat from the rain as he rubbed slow lines over my back. I was drenched. Everything about me was drenched. In and out. Super wet.

I let out a soft giggle as our eyes finally met again.

‘I. Am. Wet.’ I sniffled, earning a chuckle from him in turn, his hair now forming a wet frame of delicious curls around his face.

I hope our kids will have his curls.  

We quickly hurdled ourselves back to the car, finding an enthusiastic, but also slightly confused Kal as he licked our salty, wet hands. I sat back behind the wheel as Henry gave Kal a big bear hug, his eyes quickly trailing back to me. We didn’t need to speak, the only sound in the car now being the rumbling of our empty stomachs.

I chuckled and Henry moved his hand over my growling belly, his eyebrows lifting in a teasing matter. I rolled my eyes and shook my head, quickly starting the car before I’d have to devour him in the literal sense of the word.

--

Part 20 >

[omyeol]

chances - 00 | kjm

word count: 4000+ words

genre: angst, fluff, but mostly angst. 

<< story masterlist >> | << writing masterlist >>

prologue - 2018

The apartment was filled with so many cameras that it made Minhyo feel so subconscious ever since she woke up. People could say that she grew up in front of the cameras, but even until now, cameras still made her nervous. Now that her apartment was filled with things that made her nervous, it became a little bit uncomfortable to move. Everywhere she looked, there would be a camera ready to catch her every move. Well, except in the bathroom, which was also the place she spent quite a few time in the morning to actually shower and to get herself together before facing the world.

When she woke up in the morning, she tried to act indifferent and still did what she usually did in the morning. She still made herself a light breakfast with soft pop songs playing in the background. She still had her breakfast while she watched the morning news on TV and called Bomi to make sure that she was awake. 

She started to feel a bit more normal despite the very unusual situation until Bomi said something that had the same effect as pouring cold water on her.

“Happy birthday!” That’s what Bomi said when she called Minhyo back to thank her for the wake-up call.

“Is it really my birthday?” Minhyo ended up asking back as she placed her empty breakfast bowl on the coffee table and leaned back on the sofa, her phone still lying beside her and the call on speaker. She didn’t like putting the call on speaker, but she had to for the sake of the camera. 

“It really is! Why would I lie about it?” Minhyo pondered for a moment and ended up agreeing to it. “Oh! Also, unnie, I think I left my pouch at your guest room. My phone charger and laptop charger, and my earphones are in it. Could you please check it for me?”

“Yah, why do you always do this? You left your stuff everywhere.” With a sigh, she walked to the guest room to check if Bomi’s pouch. And there it was, Bomi’s pouch, left on the bedside table. “I found it.”

“Is it okay if I come over to fetch it later? I’ll be done with my schedule before midnight, and I’ll go straight to your place.” Minhyo could only agree because she knew Bomi couldn’t leave without her laptop and that she hated buying a new charger.

Bomi’s phone call seemed to open the floodgate of birthday wishes from her family, boyfriend, close friends, manager, and her fans. There wasn’t a quiet moment in her day where someone didn’t wish her happy birthday—when Minhyo met her sister for lunch or when she went grocery shopping and met some people that recognized her. While it’s nice to have so many people remembered her birthday, it also made her feel forlorn.

That’s why she decided to bask in the glow of her loneliness at 10 p.m. She already did everything she was supposed to do on her list that day, and with only two hours left of her birthday, she decided to spend it with a tub of ice cream and a whole four episodes of The Most Beautiful Goodbye. She knew that when the episode of her doing all these airs in the future, people would wonder why she decided to do what she did. She had a group of friends who cared immensely about her, but their unavailability to spend her birthday with her had dampened her mood and she could’ve sworn that if the cameras weren’t there, her day would be much worse.

The heart-clenching part was coming and a few tears were already spilled, when the doorbell rang. With a loud grunt, she rose up from the couch and walked to the foyer, placing the ice cream tub on the dining table as she walked by.

Thinking it was only Bomi, she opened the door in all her‘bare face, messy hair, and pajamas’ combo, but only to be greeted only by Bomi but also the other four men—Kim Junmyeon, Park Chanyeol, Doh Kyungsoo, and Oh Sehun. To the world, all the six of them—including Minhyo—were a famous celebrity group who were all from the same company and was envied by others. The visuals and talents combined in the group were overwhelming that it got so much attention from the public. When someone spotted them hanging out together, they always let out awe at them and felt intimidated. 

But to Minhyo, these people were the only group of people she could only trust with her whole life—the people that she could talk to whenever she felt like something was wrong with her—the second family that always made her feel so loved and appreciated. The five of them had been her pillar and also the very reason why she hadn’t lost her mind. She took her friendship to the heart and held it very dearly. It was a treasure for her. 

When each of them called to wish her birthday earlier in the morning, Minhyo already thought that they wouldn’t be coming to give her a surprise—Junmyeon was practicing for his upcoming musical, Kyungsoo was promoting his new movie, Sehun had a photoshoot in Japan, and Chanyeol wasn’t feeling well. Bomi was the only who’d come, and even then, Minhyo didn’t hope for anything because they had a tradition to not celebrate a birthday until everyone was present.

That’s why she burst in tears when she saw everyone gathered at her door, Bomi was the one holding the cake and Chanyeol was the one recording everything with his phone—everyone was already singing happy birthday to her. 

“Make a wish! Make a wish!” Minhyo shut her eyes, although a few tears still spilling out from the corner from her eyes—and she could feel someone wiping them out of her cheeks—and made a wish that she always made every single year.

Opening her eyes to see all her friends watching her expectantly with eager eyes, she finally blew the candle, triggering another whooping—that was Chanyeol and Sehun, she knew—and applause from the others. They were all still crowding in her foyer and Minhyo ushered them in to let them settle in her living room. 

“You all are really terrible people,” Minhyo complained as she plopped down on her previous spot on the couch after a round of group hug that made her feel warm all over. Bomi sat next to her while the guys were all sitting on the floor with the cushions. “I really should’ve been more suspicious, but gosh, I can’t believe you all just tricked me like that, especially you, Oh Sehun.”

That opened up a floodgate of constant chattering and laughing in her apartment. What once was quietness inside, it all changed because of them. Although mostly it was Junmyeon doing most of the whining because Sehun didn’t want to cooperate at first, Kyungsoo fueling the fire, and Chanyeol failing miserably at containing his laughter, Minhyo couldn’t feel any warmer. Yes, with all of them by her side sometimes her voice was drowned by the guys, but she was okay. She was okay because they had managed to change her slightly bitter day into a really much better day.

Somewhere between watching Chanyeol trying to make Kyungsoo do aegyo for her—it’s his gift for you, noona!—and chuckling at them because Kyungsoo looked like he was done with Chanyeol and his antics, Minhyo could feel her phone vibrating. Sliding them out of her pocket, she realized that it was a message from Junmyeon. She looked up from her phone to give him a look, but he wasn’t looking at her.

With a sigh, you opened the message.

You okay, babe? You haven’t said much.

I’m okay. Just grateful and blessed to have you and the kids.

Locking the phone and putting it back in her pocket, she leaned on the back of the couch and sneaked a few glances at Junmyeon. It took both of them a few tries, but when he finally caught her glance, he cracked a small smile behind the beer can he was sipping on. The move was simple and not subtle enough to be caught on camera and twisted into a piece of news. Her heart maybe was a bit uneasy and her hands were a bit itchy because she couldn’t sit beside him, hold his hand, and lean on him like she used to, but that simple smile from him was enough.

For an actress, Minhyo had a quite terrible poker face. While her brain and mouth could still work in sync and get her out of the tricky questions asked by the hosts, sometimes her facial expressions just couldn’t lie. She could hardly maintain the poker face. A split second after whatever things she spurted out to answer the question, the corner of her lips would twitch and her fingers would shake slightly. It was not a problem at all if she didn’t personally know the hosts, but if she did, they would tease her and make things more complicated.

Just like the show she just did with one of the senior MCs from the same company, Hyun Moo. Minhyo had never really met him outside of a few shows they did together, or company gatherings, but Hyun Moo was close friends with her current boyfriend, and while she knew he wouldn’t dare to ask questions that could point to that direction, she just still felt uneasy.

As if Hyun Moo could sense her uneasiness, he approached her and signaled her to talk somewhere less crowded.

“Don’t be nervous. You know I’d never ask anything about your relationship with Junmyeon on TV.” The words reassured her a little bit, but her fingers twitched out of nervousness as a small part of her still worried over the other hosts.

“But what if the other hosts—“

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it if something happens.” Her eyes widened at the words. “Not that something would happen, though.” She let out a loud sigh and hung her head down, feeling her heartbeat to calm down a little bit. “You worry too much, Minhyo-yah.”

The recording started just a few minutes after the conversation she had with Hyun Moo. She had to wait a little bit before the hosts called her to join and talk about her routines while she lived alone for years. It was a bit weird, seeing her daily life shown on the screen provided in front of them.

When the scene where Junmyeon and the others came over to sing and wish her a happy birthday along with her other close friends shown on the screen, she felt her heart skip a bit. Worries began to build up within her, and she prayed that she could maintain the small, easy smile on her face as she watched the interactions between her and Junmyeon in the kitchen that was managed to be caught on camera.

“Ah, you’re really close with your co-star Kim Junmyeon.” Park Na Rae quipped from beside her, her eyes still on the screen watching how Junmyeon moved about easily and effortlessly in Minhyo’s apartment.

“Yes, yes, we’ve been friends even long before the drama. We always see each other too at the company workshop and parties. He’s a kind man, and it’s easy to talk with him,” Minhyo responded calmly, and Na Rae just nodded before concentrating on the screen again.

On the screen was shown the clip where Junmyeon was making himself at home, setting the takeaway containers he bought at the kitchen island while Minhyo grabbed the plates and chopsticks from a kitchen drawer. Na Rae noticed the domesticity between the two of them—especially after Sehun joined Minhyo both in the kitchen and whined about her both taking too long, which she replied with a mother-like scold—and questioned it.

“The six of you together are like actual family, and you and Junmyeon are the parents,” Park Na Rae commented casually and Minhyo let out a chuckle at the statement because it was true. The lot of them were like a big family; the one that she could handpick herself because she clicked with them.

“Yes, it’s somehow like that. I actually nag a lot like a mother,” Minhyo acknowledged herself with a laugh and a faint shake of her head.

“How actually does the friendship start between all of you, though? I’m sure a lot of people are curious about it,” the host prompted and Minhyo grabbed her bottle of water and untwisted the cap, taking a few sips of it before she started speaking.

“Well, it actually started when I first became friends with Kyungsoo. We met at the company workshop in Jeju a few years ago. We were in the same team during the workshop and although we actually have seen each other a few times before, that was the first time we became friends. It was only the two of us until Kyungsoo brought Junmyeon and Bomi around. He spoke something about how Bomi is a huge fan of mine and how Junmyeon is like a real brother to him. From that, Junmyeon brought Sehun, and Sehun brought Chanyeol. And I guess, that’s when everything starts,” she explained softly with a far off look. “Originally I didn’t have close friends from this industry. It’s hard to find the people who really connect with me and I don’t think I have many friends too. I just couldn’t find the people that have a deep connection with me, until the five of them. So, yeah, it’s really nice to have them by my side.”

After requesting her to send a video message to her close friends and watching the remaining fifteen minutes of the clip, the shooting finally came to an end. As usual, she exchanged pleasantries with the hosts and the other crews and even took a picture together before she could finally leave the place. The whole time she was glad that the hosts didn’t ask any further about the relationship between her and her close friends—especially between her and Junmyeon. If someone had picked it up asked her about it, she actually didn’t know how it would turn out. She knew neither she nor Junmyeon was ready to have the relationship out to the public just yet.

Minhyo could feel the heaviness in her eyelids as she struggled to keep her eyes open and herself awake, waiting for her boyfriend to come. The text she received earlier in the day when she just wrapped up an interview for her upcoming drama made her look forward to finishing her day. It’s something that they both had always been aware of—being busy with each of their schedule and limited communication throughout the day—but despite it being a problem in the past, now it was something that pulled them closer. The obstacles they faced made them work harder and look forward to meeting each other at the end of the day more memorable—like all their hard work throughout the day was finally paid off.

That’s why even though Minhyo felt like she could fall asleep anytime soon, she kept her eyes open and glued to the rerun of Return of the Superman on the TV. It was almost midnight, and knowing how busy Junmyeon could be, he could be home at any minute or he could be home at 2 a.m. She could never guess.

But the sound of the front door opening halted her thoughts. A smile spread out across her face as she turned the volume of the TV down and listened to the sound of Junmyeon dragging his tired feet to the bedroom where she waited. She waited with her heart hammering against her ribcage as if they hadn’t seen each other in so long—when in fact it was only two days. Two days were too long for her, though—especially when her mind was going to many different directions.

“Babe? Are you asleep yet?” she darted her gaze away from the TV to the doorway where the door was already opened and her boyfriend was making his way inside the room, still clad in black track pants with red linings on the side and a black t-shirt under his grey hoodie, his hair hidden under a black cap. Even from her place, she could still see the worry lines on his forehead that were caused by something that happened during rehearsal or meeting with the company. Her hands itched, wanting to smooth those lines and run her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with her blunt nails to soothe him and relieve him from his stress.

Minhyo just hummed and blinked her eyes at him, a small smile spreading across her face. “Ah, I thought you fell asleep again watching that show,” Junmyeon commented as he placed his bag near the dresser and made his way to his girlfriend who was lying casually on her stomach on the bed, plopping on the space beside her.

“How was your day?” she asked as both of them situated themselves to get comfortable on the bed, Minhyo rolling over to lay on her back and Junmyeon lying next to her, turning to face her and put his arm around her.

“Long. Tiring,” he breathed out. “Gosh, I can’t wait for tomorrow.” Minhyo shut her eyes and smiled at the thought of being away from their hectic life for a few days. The thought of finally being able to walk around the town with Junmyeon while holding hands and probably sneaking a kiss or two made her feel giddy and excited.

“Yeah, me too,” she murmured, opening her eyes only to find that her boyfriend was already looking at her with a fond look and a small smile across his face. Her heart skipped a beat when he leaned in to press his lips against hers, her eyes automatically shutting at the feeling of his soft lips. She hummed when he placed his hand on her cheek, his thumb caressing her jaw ever so softly.

She liked it when he kissed her like this. It was definitely one of her favorite things—one that she looked forward to every single day. What was stuck with her the most was how she could sometimes taste a little bitter taste of coffee in his mouth, and how he always cradled her face in his hand with his thumb stroking her cheek—one of his favorite body parts of hers—delicately as if she was made of glass and everything fragile, when he knew she was the exact opposite of that.

Junmyeon pulled back too soon for her liking, eliciting a whine from her and a low chuckle from him. “How was your day?” it was his turn to ask, wanting to show Minhyo that he also cared about her and kept her in his thoughts throughout the day. “Did something happen?”

A lot happened, she thought but didn’t dare to say. Her mind drifted to the things that happened that day—the promo, the talk with her father and her brother during lunch, the meeting with the company, the crying fest in her car, and the dinner with her sister. Out of the things that happened in the span of twenty-four-hour, she had a hard time choosing the one better suited to tell him.

“Nothing much happened, to be honest,” she opted to say after a moment as she situated herself to lay on his chest. “I managed to have a late dinner with In-Hye, though. She kept babbling on and on about this party she went to last weekend and how she met this really cute guy. But you remember she told us how she would never bat an eye at any guy for a while, right? She’s unbelievable.”

At her words, Junmyeon let out a chuckle. “You out of everyone know how she likes to exaggerate things sometimes. That’s why I told you she would never stick to what she said. A month is all it takes.” He absentmindedly stroked her hair, causing a rush of warmth to run through her veins. It was the perfect little touch that she had been missing all day.

The gentle touches on her hair and the steady heartbeat were slowly lulling her to sleep. And she would have done so if Junmyeon didn’t ask her another question. “You’ve been watching that show a lot. Are you trying to give me a hint or what?”

“Huh?” She furrowed her eyebrows in pure confusion and looked up.

“You know, babies…” The faint blush on his cheeks and the pout across his face really made her feel so many things at once. That look was one of the reasons why she was in love with him. The way his peachy cheeks naturally reddened and the way his lower lip jutted out in a pout whenever he felt shy or embarrassed. That look made her want to reach up and kiss that pout away.

“I admire you trying to be sensitive and all, but no. Not that I don’t want to have kids with you, but it’s too early. Maybe sometime in the future, but not now,” she reasoned with a soft smile across her face and planted a kiss on his jaw.

“Mhmm. Fair enough.”

There wasn’t much to say after that. As the clock ticked and the night deepened, the woman was already fast asleep on the man’s chest and the TV was shut off. After making sure that the pillow had been fluffed, Junmyeon moved her head to the pillow really, really and brushed the hair off her forehead before planting a kiss on it.

Apart from the sound of Minhyo’s soft breathing filled the room, it was quiet inside the bedroom. Junmyeon laid down beside her, watching the way her eyebrows furrow in her sleep as if something confusing just happened in her dream and throwing his arm around her waist protectively, hoping that he could help and save her from whatever happening in her own dream. Scooting closer to her, he leaned in until his nose pressed onto the side of her head. The scent of her shampoo filled in his nostrils, the apple scent relaxing him to the bone.

It was a typical night for both of them. Half-asleep conversations, settling on the bed after midnight. Every little moment they could have together always left them feeling warm as if their insides were burning. It was one of the moments they had always cherished the most, no matter how simple it was. Being wrapped up in each other’s presence in their own little bubble was a kind of their fuel to always keep the romance between them alive.

The overjoyed and satisfying feeling of being together again after a few days apart made Junmyeon think of the possibility of them living abroad together. For once, he wanted to be selfish and spend time with her out in the open, holding hands without minding other people. Spending a day out in the sun and the night in the confines of their house was a very tempting thought. If only their lives were simpler, he could make that happen. But sometimes reality crashed on him in the worst possible timing ever and he thought there was a slim possibility they could do that. There was basically almost no possibility of them doing that, for the storm that they would face in the future and the reality that would dawn on them after their life was put to test.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

EDIT: Spoo description! Not a spoiler, since the information occurs nowhere in the show and isn’t relevant, it’s just funny:

Spoo is/are (the plural of spoo is spoo) small, white, pasty, mealy critters, rather worm-like, and generally regarded as the ugliest animals in the known galaxy by just about every sentient species capable of starflight, with the possible exception of the pak'ma'ra, who would simply recommend a more rigorous program of exercise. They are also generally considered the most delicious food in all of known space, regardless of the individual's biology, almost regardless of species, except for the pak'ma'ra, who like the flavor but generally won't say so simply to be contrary.

Spoo are raised on ranches on worlds with a damp, moist, somewhat chilly climate so that their skin can acquire just the right shade of paleness. Spoo travel in herds, if moving a total of six inches in any given direction in the course of a given year can actually be considered moving. They stay in herds ostensibly for mutual protection, but the reality is that if they weren't propped up against one another, most of them would simply fall down. They do not howl, bark, moo, purr, yap, squeak or speak. Mainly, they sigh. Herds of sighing spoo can reportedly induce unparalleled bouts of depression, which is why most spoo ranchers wear earmuffs even when it's only mildly cold, damp, wet and dreary outside. If there is any life-or-death struggle for dominance within the spoo herd, it has not yet been detected by modern science.

Spoo ranching is one of the least regarded professions known. Little or no skill is required, once you've got a planet with the right climate. You bring in two hundred spoo, plop them down in the middle of your ranch, and go back to the nearby house. Soon you've got more. When it comes time to cull out the ones ready for market (the softest, mealiest, palest, most forlorn-looking spoo of the pack), little physical effort is required since they're incapable of rapid movement without falling over (see above). They do not resist, fight, or whine; they only sigh more loudly. When spoo harvest time comes, the air is full of the sound of whacking and sighing, whacking and sighing. Even an experienced spoo rancher can only harvest for brief periods of a time, due to the increased volume of sighing, which even the sound of whacking cannot altogether erase. (also see above) Some have simply gone mad.

Spoo are the only creatures of which the Interstellar Animal Rights Protection League says, simply, "Kill 'em."

Fresh spoo (served at an optimum temperature of 62-degrees) is served in cubed sections, so that they bear as little resemblence as possible to the animal from which they have just been sliced. Spoo is usually served alongside a chablis, or a white zinfandel.

(I’m not linking to the source for this because it’s chock full of spoilers about other things.)

Babylon 5 s02e03 The Geometry of Shadows

Table of Contents

That’s a pretty cool tricorder medical diagnostic device.

“Sinclair I could trust…this guy I don’t know.” Honestly I can only hope that Sheridan won’t put up with nearly so much assaulting civilians. Hold him to a higher standard.

“I keep wondering what qualifies me to take back my job,” me too, “and I don’t have an answer.” me neither.

Londo, instead of enjoying the curiosity and adulation of the other Centauri, maybe be worried about what the fantastically powerful war crimes committing Morden Et Al are up to??? And promising favors to more shady people, even if they’re Centauri, isn’t improving things! Londo needs - very badly - to learn to look beneath the underneath (I am so sorry for quoting Naruto but it really is a good life lesson put succinctly).

Bazaar fight with a previous un-introduced (I think?) species is a great way to roll into the opening credits, hah. Drazi fight! I’m guessing they aren’t just paler Narns.

They took away Na’Toth’s lipliner for the s02 opening credits!

Techno-mage - another new thingy. They use science to achieve the effects of magic. The Centauri have and have had them. They don’t like to leave their places of power, so seeing them is rare, and to the Centauri, seeing one of them is a bad omen. And here’s three! There are endless new mystical aspects to this show!

YES promotion and diplomatic training for Susan Ivanova!! Really, she only needs a reminder that her more thinly veiled threats like “You’re too young to experience that much pain,” is more diplomatic than “I’m going to put your seats in the fusion reactor and you along with them.”

Vir’s cosmological views are both interesting and make total sense that he believes that (derogatory).

I 100% believe that Londo Mollari would be utterly miserable with more power. As the Emperor, or whatever he has in mind, once he gets there, he’ll be miserable.

Unfortunately, John Sheridan is going to convince Garibaldi to stay. But hopefully him staying does come with some character development that I find less annoying. How sad for me that in the Gathering I was like “He’s adorable. A wringable dishrag of a man,” and now he’s just a cop who is a little bit likable.

Green vs Purple Drazi is an absolute nightmare of a way to try to begin diplomatic training. Hope that tackle didn’t break anything!

Oh, Vi (Vir Cotto, apparently!)r. I don’t care about him at all. But I do care about these extremely cool technomonsters!!!

Technomage: “You don’t frighten easily.” Vir: “I work for Ambassador Mollari. After awhile, nothing bothers you.”

Laughed out loud at that.

Technomage: “There is an old saying: do not try the patience of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.”

Are these guys human? That’s mostly a Tolkien quote. Londo will certainly go storming in there, since Vir seems smart enough to refuse to go back. I wanna know where the technomages are headed. Are they going to oppose the Shadows? Join them? Investigate them? Fuck around with something totally different? Any of these eldritch beings that Catherine encountered going to come into play?

It is extremely interesting that, while the Minbari seem to be the most mystical, we have been shown more Narnuan direct connections to actual mystic things, like the eldritch beings, the previous war against the Shadows, and these technomages which seem to straddle science and magic.

Ivanova did break something(s)! Drazi 1, Ivanova 0.

The Drazis’ habit of dividing themselves arbitrarily and killing each other till only one faction remains sure is a cultural trait of all time.

There’s over a hundred technomages on b5! That seems like a lot when they don’t usually ever leave their places of power at all.

Technomage: “Captain, you have been used. This…creature…has been seeking an audience with me ever since I arrived.”

lmao.

Technomage: “You must learn manners and respect. From this moment on, you will!”

Well. I’m down for Londo Mollari learning some sense of a.) common sense, b.) empathy, c.) practical morality, but idk if I’m down for whatever this gothic af dude’s going to dish out.

I do want his robe, though. SO BADLY. I am trying very hard not to mentally plan out a whole new sewing project on top of all the others I’ve been daydreaming about.

“It is within that ambiguity that my brothers and I exist. We are dreamers, shapers, singers, and makers. We study the mysteries of laser and circuit, crystal and scanner. Holographic demons, and invocations of equations. These are the tools we employ, and we know many things.”

These guys are my aesthetic. I want to quote literally everything he says.

And they do know about the Shadows that are coming, and they’re going to hide themselves and their knowledge from being either destroyed or misused. New life goal: be a technomage. Love the drama, the robes, the poetry, the pretentiousness, and the practical ability to back all that up.

Smart of Ivanova to deal with one color of Drazi at once. Greens first, since they’re actively killing off the Purples now. Love that their solution for stopping the fighting is to vent all the Purple Drazi into space.

It’s a heavy-handed metaphor, but it checks out.

Goddamn it, Garibaldi is going to, very likably, go back Ivanova up just based on his gut feeling that she needs backup.

What did I say! Faking selling Acme products a la Looney Tunes and bringing back his love of the cartoon from the Gathering is absolutely adorable.

Mollari is having his life being hacked to embarrassment and inconvenience by the technomage and actually I am absolutely here for what is being dished out. Idk what a spoo ranch is, but I hope it’s deeply embarrassing to Centauri. Londo needs his hubris checked before he gets literally every sentient in the universe killed.

BAHAHAHA Drazi Rules haven’t been changed because they’re caught up in committee, therefore, Ivanova is the Green Leader since she’s holding the green star scarf.

It’s…depressingly nice to see that Mollari is capable of apologizing, and almost without caveats and qualifiers, too.

Sheridan: “In other words, you’re perfect for [Head of Security] because you’re compulsive and paranoid.” Garibaldi: “Or, compulsively paranoid!”

both funny, and also kind of a good point. 

Oh man, I am so about this technomage in every possible way. When people in the future ask what my pronouns are I will say techno/mage. When people ask what my gender identity is, I will hold up a little printed out photo of this guy in an anatomically-realistic locket. I am a little crossfaded right now because that’s way more fun than a max dose of tylenol/ibuprofen combo.

Sheridan likes to repeat things that series guests say to him, and I like that about him.

[drinky]

Forlorn Hope, Trousseau, 2016. With moo shu pork tacos.

[asknarashikari]

Part 2 of the "For Adoption" ask.

Azuma: *forlorn mooing*

Me: *uses powers to shield us from the rain* You'll always have me...

Azuma: *scoots closer* Hmmm... Thanks, my satyric darling.

Me: I'll take you back home and transform you back.

Azuma: I love you... and thanks for being my new light in the dark despite your idiocy.

Me: *picks him up and takes him home* A nice warm bath after untransforming you will be great.

Azuma: *snuggles closely* I would love that. *Moo's happily with a wagging tail*

GeatsCast reactions?

What in the heck did I just read

[isoboto]

Michael Garfield

I couldn't sleep that night.

I tossed and turned on the bed, the ceiling hovered above me, moulded into faces of the deads. Everytime I close my eyes, Mrs. Garfield's blue eyes resurfaced from the murky darkness, her silent words encircled me: Why're you still alive? Why Michael died and you're here? Why, why, why? Why Michael? You should be dead—you, you, you, you. You, not Michael.

The ticking of my watch frayed on my nerves, so I took it off my wrist and buried it underneath the pillow.

The sound muffled, gliding in and out of my hearing.

Still there, though.

Just like the presence of Michael Garfield pressed on my back.

Tick-tick-tick.

Mrs. Garfield's voice echoed back from the dead silence. Mocking. Her determined face etched behind my eyelids, bright and fuzzy as a newly burnt photograph.

He wrote to me when he was promoted to sergeant, Mrs. Garfield had said, You were in the same battalion as him, yes? Her voice was firm. There was no tremor, no tripping, no hiccup—she stated the fact with an expressionless hindsight. She didn't dissolve in tears and trembles. I don't think I ever see her cried. Not in her husband's burial, not even in her Father's funeral. I wondered did she cry when she received the letter announcing her son's death.

Yes, I was, I had said. I recalled him bending over wet wood trying to make a fire, rain pattered down on his coat, dripping into his face, his hands slipping everywhere. His fingernails always crammed with trench dirt. He'd ran across No Man's Land, dodging bullets and fire, just to haul the already decomposed corpses of our comrades back and bury them properly. He was a good man, I said.

If he was alive, he would be joyful to hear that, Mrs. Garfield said, the bitter, blunt edge of her tone hit home. How did he died? She asked, turning to me. But she already knew the truth. They've shipped Michael's journals along with his battledress. She must have read over his messy scrawls multiple times, peering into a snippet of his berserk thoughts running through his head.

She must have know I was supposed to die with him that day. She only wanted to confirm it.

So? how did he died? Mrs. Garfield repeated, stopped walking. Her eyes were screaming: Why my son is dead and you're not? Why am I here? Alive, breathing, enjoying life, while Michael is dead?

I fumbled for my cigarette, running my quiver finger along the flint wheel. After the third attempt failed, nerves built up upon the dread forming at the base of my throat. I started groping for words—anything that popped into my head. A sniper shot him though the head, I blurted.

She looked at me blankly, her body went totally still.

I was beside him, I said, He died instantly.

Mrs. Garfield opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned on her heels and resumed walking a feel paces in frantic haste, then abruptly broke her stride and spun around. The veins on her jaws popped visible.

That's what all the letters said, She said, her nose redden. James Crowell died instantly. William King died instantly. George Elsner died instantly. Robert McDonald died instantly. Frank Sullivan died instantly. And now, guess what, Michael Garfield died instantly! Did any boy die in pain, holler with his wounds? She laughed, the deranged sobbing-laugh that frighten birds.

I recoiled deeper into my exoskeleton at each word she flung at me. I had nothing to recall the assurance and self-confidence of a soldier—no rifle, no belt, no tunic, no helmet, no big boots. The thin shirt was not enough to cover up the guilts seared on my skin. My mind kept rewinded the moment Michael pulled the trigger and blew his brain inside out, his tight expression and his dead stare haunted me.

What sort of heroic act did my son do when he was killed? She said. Threw himself in front of a tank? Trench raid? What, what, tell me!

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I choked out, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

Mrs. Garfield stared at me. She turned her face to the sky. A tear rolled down her cheek, vanished before she wiped it away. She licked her lips. You are a coward, She said, You're a coward. Your whole family is. None of you are brave enough to tell the truth. You're all liars. Liars. Cowards.

I had grounded  my teeth until my skull ached. I couldn't breath, couldn't couldn't breath.

She trained her eyes on me—eyes that were pale, pale gray, like November skies. Tell me the truth. I won't judge you. It's not your fault, she said.

I raised my head and met her gaze. How familiar—her decrepit frame, her gentle features, her bristle hair.

The ghost of Michael pressed his hand on my shoulder: Tell her the truth.

Michael was shot through the head by a sniper, I exhaled the words slowly, monotonously, He fell forward with a calm expression on his face. I'm sorry for your loss. He was heroic in his action. The country is greatly in debt with him and your family.

Mrs. Garfield gaped at me.

Her body slumped forward. She turned and walked away, shaking her head. The back of her skirt swayed, dragging along the dirt road. I didn't follow her.

Why didn't you tell her the truth? Michael screeched. Blood festooned his skin, his tunic, mingled with his raven hair.

Stop it, I whispered, realizing with a jolt that I was speaking to myself.

After another short while, I couldn't take it anymore.

I slipped out of my room noiselessly, padding for cigarettes in my pants and rooted around the kitchen for Da's bottles of beer. I sneaked to the front porch and cracked the bottle. The sharp noise was sucked into a giant invisible whirlpool, along with the mooing of the cows and crackling of the crows. Michael stood besides me, quiet, flickering in and out with the wind.

The full moon bloated on the pitch-black sky, casting a silvery, glimmer liquid on the darkness. The night was like a photograph—frozen, forever locked in one position. And I thought of how some memories were also imprinted forever in my brain—sometimes like a roll of movie rewinded over and over again, sometimes like collections of loose pamphlets burst like the shells.

Michael Garfield's death presented in both.

Featureless, smooth face; pale, gray eyes like the November sky; revolvers, bullets; a sardonic smile. Blood, red and sticky and warm, gushes of it spilling onto the grass from the hole in his forehead, seeped into the brown earth. His lips, pursing.

I pressed the heel of my hand onto my eyeballs, willed the images to dissolve. The last sentence he said loitered, reverberated through my skull: We're all equally doomed. May you come out of this war alive and never feel a kiss the same way again.

Michael Garfield, with his feeble voice, smooth porcelain skin, soft lips and silken black hair. Michael Garfield, with his lone back and frail bones and girlish appearances and huge brain and glasses.

Michael Garfield is dead. While I'm still alive. Breathing. While I'm suppose to be dead alongside him.

I shouldn't feel guilty. I shouldn't feel bad at all. Michael Garfield and I weren't friend. We knew each other at school, but that's that. We were in different classes and we hung out with different boys. We enlisted on the same day, only that I got accepted and Michael got rejected for bad eyesight. Our path hadn't crossed.

It was a cruel joke that pushed us into the same battalion the year 1917. Him a sergeant, me a lance-corporal serving under him.

I see you've claw your way to higher rank, I had said, stood towering over him.

Same to you, Michael had replied. He was cool, his eyes were hard-bitten and cunning as a fox, gleaming, reflecting the dancing orange tint of the torches. He wore hobnail boots, breeches tucked in carefully with sandbags tied around the rim of his high boots, his mouth set in a firm, sneering line. Muscles bunched up in his chest. I remembered thinking, The war had changed us all, hasn't it? He no longer the faggot who tucked his head between his shoulder blades while we chucked rocks at him, or bit his lips to barricade his sobs as he cried in the corner. He looked like he would bite off anyone's hands. The army had bring forth the most of men—pitiless, suspicious, tenacious, optimistic, vicious—we were all smelted and hammered into something much tougher to break and harder to crush.

But by the time we broke down, things already were a fucking hot mess that couldn't be put together. The thing is: we're completely, absolutely sane. The officers wondered why the soldiers went mad, while in fact we're very fine. We see reality, we see the things as they are. It was them who are mad, it was them who are messed up. It was funny that the lions were being lead into meat grinder by monkeys.

They couldn't cure me. The doctors couldn't treat the madness eating me alive. They didn't understand when I say I couldn't bear the sound of shells exploding anymore. They smiled, clasped my back, fixed me a wooden leg for the one they had amputated, sent me to the front and deemed me suitable for combat while all I wanted was to dig a hole in the dirt with my bare hands and teeth.

Michael Garfield was transferred to the dressing station I was in two weeks before I leave. His bunk was next to mine. I didn't recognize him until he called my name with a satire ring. The mustard gas made his face that bloated at the wrong places, the skin blistered. He looked inhuman. I overheard the orderly said he had severe blindness, but the piercing blue gaze he used to pin me down whenever I got up and hobbled around made me skeptical.

He didn't talk much during the day but he hummed in his sleep, loud enough for me to hear but so quiet that some notes were dropped. The lyrics came out twisted and wrong, crooked and forlorn, without leaving an echo. It was during the night that the whisper became louder, going round and round my head: Look at you useless piece of shit. What will Ma say when she sees this? What will Marie say when she sees this? Look, look, look, look at yourself.

Sometimes, he didn't hum. He murmured to himself in the dark. Can you imagine their horror? He whispered, Can you imagine what it feel like to be so horrible that your own children cry when they see you, when your wife flinches at your touch, when your parents do not recognize you? Can you image what they will say? Can you imagine what will you say to your reflection? Michael's voice was low, rippled across the tent like water before storm.

We were dismissed on the same day—me to the front again, he would be move to an English hospital somewhere. Three days before we leave, Michael told me: I will shoot myself the first chance I get my hand on my revolver. He declared it casually, softly, firmly with a vacant look on his face and a cynical glint in his eyes. The night was freezing but the tent was hot with piss, sweat and blood. We were facing each other.

I'll shoot myself with you, I said.

He stared at me in silence.

Morning, I sneaked outside and stole bullets and guns from the deads littered the field. I didn't tell the orderly that, of course, I said I need a walk. I didn't feel guilty at all as I scavenged their belts and pockets. I yanked an emerald ring off a finger and slipped it inside my breast pocket—soldiers have a fine nose on what would come in handy.

Midnight, Michael called for the nurse. She was a young one, with a shocking blonde head that glowed in the dark. Michael was a wordsmith—he had a way of telling he'd like to shit in the most graceful fashion. She helped him outside. Moments later, I slipped out and followed them to the rendezvous Michael and I agreed upon.

He stood immersed in the darkness, facing the field beyond him, his back to the station. Shadows tilted, light flickered on his lone, erect back, playing with his pointed chin and dainty nose. I handed the revolver to him wordlessly. We slid the bullets inside the chamber, mirrored each other perfectly, hearing the slick click cut clear through the air.

I shivered. I'm not sure whether it was the cold or the thrill. Are you sure you want to do this? I asked aloud.

Michael raised the gun nuzzle to his temple, steadfast. His eyes were the shade of angry ocean. He watched me closely as I followed him. My hands trembled. My whole body trembled.

On three, he said. I nodded.

One.

I mesmerized his featureless, smooth face. The way he inclined his head forward, the way his neck muscles twitched, the black and blue spots under his fingernails. The sweat traveled from his crown.

He was pretty. He was strong.

Two, he counted.

Goodbye Ma. Goodbye Marie. Goodbye Charles. Goodbye Conrad. Goodbye my dear son.

Goodbye my life. Goodbye, goodbye.

I wanted to screw my eyes shut, but I didn't.

Three.

I willed myself to pull the trigger, but my joints refused to obey. Neither did Michael fire the revolver. There was no Bang.

We stood like that for a long while, breathing heavy. I slowly lowered the gun, my stomach clenched tight. My knees were wobbly, swaying. I squatted down, heart in my throat. The metal was cold and heavy in my palm.

I let out a bark of laugh, I guess we're both cowards.

Michael freezed on the spot like a statue, staring into the empty space. His index still placed on the trigger. His lips were pursed, whiter than the colour of his skin.

C'mon, let's get inside the tent, I stood up.

We're all equally doomed, he murmured.

Let's the fate decide our death, then, I said with a terse huff.

No. You. Are a coward, Michael said. His gaze refocused, and it was frightening because his looked pierced through my chest. May you come out of this war alive and never feel a kiss the same way again.

Mi—

The fire was so loud it deafen my ears. So harsh. So startling. His head knocked to the side by an invisible force. His knees crumbled. Blood, red and sticky and warm, gushes of it bursted from the hole in his forehead into the black earth. Michael Garfield, with his feeble voice, smooth porcelain skin, soft lips and silken black hair. Michael Garfield, frail bones and girlish appearances and huge brain and glasses.

There was a scream. I didn't realize until stretcher-bearers wretched Michael's body away from my clutch that I was the one who scream.

Michael Garfield is dead. While I'm still alive. Breathing. Living.

I'm suppose to be dead.

I hurled the beer bottle from the porch and watched it arched across the field. Its shatter never echoed back to me. I crushed the cigarette under my shoe sole and stomped back inside. I crashed on the bed, feeling sick to the stomach. The lurid lemony soap Ma used to clean the clothes weren't enough to mask out the reeked of cheap beer and cigarette smoke clung permanently on my skin.

▬▬▬

posted on Wattpad at some point in 2019

[whore4batfam]

All hail Queen Moo-moo!👑👍💖

Thank you darling <3

present!

this was the only fleshed out scene of a fic where Damian goes with Bruce at age six instead of ten. now im thinking of switiching it up to a reverse age AU, with Damian being Robin first. but who knows when I’ll ever do it? *shrugs* anyways, here it is!

Only…

The woman looked up, eyes shielding with recognition. She stood

“Beloved.”

-

The study was silent, save for the spring birds chirping outside the windows.

“Talia,” Bruce breathed, both forlorn and angry and confused. He studied her face. Still beautiful; perhaps even more so since he had last seen her.

She turned her head, exhaling silently.

Bruce stepped further into the study. This wasn’t Talia. The more beautiful Talia became, the more control she gained. This nervous air, like icicles about to snap in the winter sun, this—this was...disconcerting. 

Talia squeezed her fists, tightening her hold on the little boy’s hand. The boy did not react to the grip, only blinked his blue eyes impassively up at Bruce. Bruce’s gaze shifted to the little personage. Talia noticed, snapping back and yanking control back into her hold.

“I have an offer,” she announced, as cold and untouchable as Klimt’s Judith. And that’s what Talia was, Bruce reflected. She stood like a soldier, like a willow, like a woman breaking out of her gold casings. (But she was rooted to the ground, and only her heart could escape.)

Hearts have well meanings, but hands still strike. Bruce was already shaking his head. “Talia,” he began.

Her eyes widened. She panicked. “Wait!” she commanded, voice too desperate to be imperious. “Wait.” The woman settled her shoulders, turning to the child. “Damian,” she spoke in a pleasant undertone. “Introduce yourself.”

He stopped for a moment. Slowly, slowly, released her hand and stepped forward. “Hello,” he greeted, grim and serious. The childish voice betrayed his age despite his adult mannerisms.

The man analyzed the child, four feet of royal confidence. “Hello,” he replied, a little wary.

“My name is Damian.”

“Nice to meet you, Damian.”

“Pleasure is all mine, Father.”

-

A beat.

“Although I did think you would be taller.”

Bruce raised a brow at Talia, who had quickly turned her back on the pair to laugh into her hand.  

-

The child tilted his head. “I can rip the head off of a dummy. Want to see?”

“Uh—”

“He likes you, Dick. And your dad said no, Damian.”

“Father doesn’t have to know.”

“You have no idea how much I wish that was true, but he always finds out.”

“You could move your head away and not watch.”

“Once again, your father is a detective.”

“Or I could remove your head.”

“And earn yourself another time-out? I don’t think the house would make it. Hi, Dick.”

“Hey, Tim.”

as you can see, Talia isn’t the crazy Morrison maniac in this one, because I HAVE RIGHTS :p hope you liked it!

[joneswilliam72]

Review: If you thought Xiu Xiu was weird before, wait until you hear Girl With Basket of Fruit

Them: “What are you thinking about right now, Jamie?”

Jamie Stewart: “Every frog hops right up into her butthole/ Every frog eats a single butthole flea on its way in/ She brown box squeezes them all into froghost!/ A flock of erect dicks on bat wings/ Pee-pees into her sleeping face/ And pointlessly tries to fuck a blue sky/ At the witch execution, they all hope to be called up.”

Yup, Stewart may have lost his mind.

If those lines from the title track off Xiu Xiu’s latest album titled Girl With Basket of Fruit don’t leave a charming first impression, I don’t know what will.

Sarcasm aside, Xiu Xiu—through its numerous evolutions and variations—continues to exist on its own musical spectrum. Ever since its debut album, Knife Play in 2002, Xiu Xiu has dwelled cryptically but profoundly in the crevices of experimental pop/rock, making music that supersedes abrasiveness and peculiarity. With Stewart as the deeply reflective and often sad mastermind behind Xiu Xiu’s weirdness, each album since Knife Play has been made slightly different from one another, gradually leaning more pop with each release. In fact, Xiu’s Xiu’s last album, 2016’s Forget was the band’s most palatable and ‘radio-friendly’ offering to date. Though Forget became Xiu Xiu’s most listenable addition to its discography, the band’s bizarre luster dimmed.

Nevertheless, Xiu Xiu, after the departure of Shayna Dunkelman's and the addition of enigmatic percussionist Thor Harris (Swans), harkens to its weird beginnings and delivers Girl With Basket of Fruit. A shocking diversion that steers clear from the “pop-leaning” direction Stewart and co. were traveling with their more melodic last album, Girl With A Basket of Fruit is a remarkably bold release, which speaks volumes considering the polarizing nature of this ever-evolving collective.

A musical marvel that mirrors the smiling, purple imp emoji (😈), Girl With Basket of Fruit will disintegrate the parietal lobe of many, if not most brains. With ricocheting post-industrial energy operating as the musical lifeblood, this album is sadistically cathartic when blasted full-volume on speakers rather than headphones. Blending African-influenced rhythms with industrial synths, Xiu Xiu concocts an atmosphere that resembles no other.

Sonically and emotionally unstable from start to finish, Girl With Basket of Fruit kicks off by kicking listeners in the face with the ritualistic title track. Lyrically erotic and vile, listeners are deluged by a percussion-driven hellscape where you’ll dance feverishly and feel perverse while doing so.

Chilling to the bone, ‘It Comes Out as a Joke’ furthers the album’s boisterous and ritualistic atmosphere as distorted voices whisper beneath, while Stewart, with his unnerving shriek shrouded in fuzz and delay, screams from the top of his lungs, “But this a joke as well/ Bedroom filling with true black/ Bedroom filling with smoke, smoke/ Bedroom filling with clack, clack/ Bedroom filling with smoke.”

If the weirdness of Girl With Basket of Fruit has yet to be made clear at this point, keep listening until you get to the more somber ‘Amargi ve Moo’. With a beautifully forlorn cello soaring and searing in the background, this seemingly neo-classical composition gives way to unforeseen chaos, as Stewart, who continues to render his words abstract, eventually erupts and rapidly shakes his face in side-to-side motion. The result is an unsettling sound one probably wouldn’t want to hear twice.

With Xiu Xiu spiralling completely out of control, it may be hard to keep listening. However, the record’s lone ‘single-worthy’ moment arrives with the outfit’s definition of a club-banger, ‘Pumpkin Attack on Mommy and Daddy’. Blistering industrial beats saturate the surreal soundscape and pulverize the senses alongside spoken samples straight from the depths of hell; “Is that you, my prize pig?/ I am sorry I left you out at pasture to die.” Xiu Xiu delivers their most carnivorous display of sound to date.

At this point, there’s no conceivable way this album can get any more off-putting—right? Wrong! Two tracks later, this infernal project descends deeper into an unexplored rabbit hole of complete madness with ‘Mary Turner, Mary Turner’. An absolutely nightmarish four minutes, this song, or whatever you want to call it, may be the most unsettling composition of sound and voice I’ve ever experienced—so proceed with caution. With his voice distorted and sounding possessed, Stewart gruesomely recounts the brutal murders of an African-American couple, Hazel and Mary Turner: “Looking up the first and only light it ever sees/ The flames, the flame of its mother's burning, burning/ Reaching out the first and only loving touch it receives/ The falling ash of its mommy's hair on fire/ The baby, baby cried in the dirt/ Quieted, quieted by a boot's heel…” The sonic equivalent to a snuff film, this vividly searing cut is almost impossible to sit through without taking a breather to ponder what Stewart is trying to express. Nevertheless, his parting words, “Fuck your guns/ Fuck your war/ Fuck your truck/ Fuck your flag,” leaves behind a crystalline message regarding the incessant ringing of racism and white supremacy that prevails 100 years after their murders.

Though much of Girl With Basket of Fruit relishes in an abyss of lyrical darkness and animalistic sound, this is an album that comes straight from a head brimming with artistic mystery and a heart with something profound to say—even if Stewart’s words are often lost in the abstract. That being said, Xiu Xiu concludes this musical lobotomy with a heartrending piano ballad ‘Normal Love’. Per usual, Stewart’s voice is stripped to a mournful cry while his words drip with doubt and anxiety, “I want to pretend/ But I cannot pretend/ Want me to speak nor to blink/ You don't want to feel attractive nor feel pride/ I think, in the end, I don't need to feel pride.” With calamity and dissonance of the eight prior tracks weighing heavily on the backs of listeners’ minds, those who’ve endured the suspense are rewarded with one of the most sobering moments of Xiu Xiu’s entire discography.

In all reality, for those who were drawn to the far more palatable nature of Forget, this record will disappoint. Without a single "catchy" moment, Girl With Basket of Fruit proves there is no one quite like Xiu Xiu, and because their musical uniqueness may rub listeners the wrong way like a piece of sandpaper against the surface of aged metal, they are better and particularly special for this reason.

from The 405 http://bit.ly/2E7HNvF

[ulyssesredux]

Sirens

Conductor's legs too, poor chap. She had an exquisite player. Like tearing silk. Know. Richie Goulding. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their sides. It throbbed, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its buzzing prongs. Half time, you know—it is. Knew Molly. He's a cursed white-blooded pedantic coxcomb, said Dorothea, repressing a rising sob. Molly.

Naumann. He only wanted her to it, and turn evil that you can oblige me again say, what sad words!

Accept my little pres. Means something, language of flow. Jingle jingle jaunted jingling.

The poet must know how. —Not for that concert. Wet night in the first: gent with tank and bronze miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling: Idolores.

Bloowho went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his present temper offered him little that he might send it in the bar.

Wonder who was that her impressibility might be what you call me naught?

Right, Pat, return. It was the crystallizing feather-touch: it catches fire as it did not mind.

He saw not gold.

One flat. A haughty bronze replied: O wept! Hear!

How can you bear to speak, when they are still used.

Through the hush of air a voice sang to them both. Bloom sang dumb.

Listen! Sweet tea miss Kennedy said. Fellows shell out the dibs. He slid his chalice tiny, sucking the last word and went—he could see his face in the same incongruous manner. He murmured that he would addict himself? Piles of parchment.

She's passing now. Singing. Sweet tea miss Kennedy advised. She was seldom taken by surprise in this timidity: it will excite me. Ben machree, said Dorothea, with an appealing look into her with a timidity quite new in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. All false! Oh yes, sitting with his back to England shortly and work my own pride and honor—by everything I respect that feeling, I hope there is so little of their each his remembered lives. If still? Today. I must really. Head nodding in time. But he said. Soon I am not in danger of forgetting everything else, said Dorothea. To wipe away a tear for martyrs that want to have a few moments sat like a statue in the treble clear. Question of mood you're in. Asses' skins. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Tap. Know what I want. Her face was flushed and her delight in bookish talk and her parents see much company, said Blazes Boylan, eyed, eyed, eyed, eyed. Pray excuse me, said she, till we are so! He had received the rhino for the event of my feelings about the baby. Pat too. Who may he be?

Big Benben. The eastern seas. But Mrs. Fro. He said. Speech paused on Richie's lips. The morn. Mirror there. Miss Brooke had been without that duteous preoccupation; and Naumann said in a sort of exaltation, leaving him behind. Die, dog. The holy father. Still hear it better here than in the strange situation of consulting a third person about the sad sea waves. Nevertheless, the oceansong her lips again as if startled, and nothing else, completely mastered by the piano in the cockloft, alone, I met him outside, and sat perfectly still for a few moments sat like a garden.

They found Naumann painting industriously, but she did not answer. Certainly, I have no fortune: your father doesn't know. O, don't you see, my fault perhaps.

Clapclap. Your head it simply swurls. He had received the rhino for the angelical doctor, I often thought when she not speaks. The horses are ready, madam, whenever you like, till I—Fortune, he had at least, I have taken no notice while he raised his eyes, my dear Miss Brooke—Dorothea drew a voice away. Steak, kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate Bloom ate they ate. Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet them. Hitherto she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there. Only the two themselves. They like sad tail at end. Piano again. Chorusgirl's romance. Cadwallader, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and her parents see much company, but she looked at her niece with a whopper now. Those girls, those lovely. Clock clacked.

Boomed crashing chords. Will, offered a means of nullifying all danger with regard to Dorothea, turning aside to whip a shrub, said Mr. Casaubon, kissing comfits, in a tone that seemed to waive the subject. Good voice he has, poor fellow.

But Mrs. Tap blind walked tapping by the curb and stopped. Maybe now. Right, sir. Delayed. By Bassi's blessed virgins Bloom's dark eyes went by. Particular about his person. I mean.

Music did that at a banquet. In cry of passion, but I'm sure I could lay this by for half an hour when Mr. Vincy could tap his snuff-box over it and talked together.

It certainly is. Alluring. Who wants a system on the rug or warbling at the oblique triple piano! —No, Simon Dedalus cried. Is that her tears had risen, and it was all one flash to Dorothea—his distant bow to her room to expand: her white. Bad breath he breath long life, soaring high, of course that's what gives him the more convinced.

Woodwinds mooing cows. Mrs. Singing wrong words.

What? Way he sits in to it. I too; And one day she with. Dorothea, rising to go away!

Or had. Clappyclapclap. In Mooney's en ville and in relation to nature too mysterious for Dorothea, with irritation in his secret heart, which had darted into her with the sense that she felt that her former reception of Will as in cool glaucous eau de Nil. All Dorothea's passion was transfused through a mind struggling towards an ideal life; the 'Pioneer' keeps its color, and when after some years he might send it in the corner? Rrr. Miss Mina Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, a flush struggling in his eye. Down the edge he gave it. Why should Mr. Casaubon's feet, his broad visage wondering. He means soon to go. Once by the threshold, saluting forms, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. Fancy of a famous father.

I don't know, Ben. Can you ask?

Breathe a prayer, drop a tear for martyrs that want to make much use of this sort good for a moment or two, one tapped with a mind newly weighted. Sauce for the labour of his rocky thumbnails. Accep my poor physiognomy, which is an anachronism for you have other engagements—I wish I could not stay. Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Sir James's suspicions, or going, past eyes and maidenhair, her bronze and faint gold in contrast glided. Sir James's suspicions, or going, apparently; the radiance of her feelings; and they were not applicable to her thorough trust and liking?

He never heard since love lives not a poor one here: Goulding, a flush struggling in his mind was the voice rose, a second teacup poised, her maidenhair, her fair pinnacles of hair, stooping, her fair pinnacles of hair, stooping, her veil, to have more than in the bar to the projecting window nearest him, Will meanwhile had perched himself on some steps in the glass.

MY DEAR MISS BROOKE,—said Mrs. But going out at this moment in sympathy to hear the words were: but all the tiny tiny fernfoils trembled of maidenhair. You don't? —I was in the peepofgold? Tiny, her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. He waits while you wait he will wait while you hee.

In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. Then I think. Of course there is so pretty, and forced them along different paths, taking them farther and farther away from. What is it? She waved, unhearing Cowley, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. Mr Dedalus said. Still harping on his entering that Will would be duly reserved. I don't really like attending such people so well as Dorothea herself, would mean that there is one thing even now that you should be announced to her wealth, seemed now the dreamy continuation of a toy for the whole day; and they sat down and subsided into calm silence, ate. He had received the rhino for the moment. Coin rang. Richie cocked his lips apout. —Leaning so, with a cock with a cock carracarracarra cock.

Other world she wrote. Off her beat here.

Hold on, Simon, I'll accompany you, though she was still talking to himself that he would die for her: get tired. Tap.

Soap feeling rather wildly that something must happen to hinder Lydgate's visits: everything was as if it conveys so much that seems somehow to lie outside life and make wonder respectful. I might come back to the housekeeper. Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, to general remarks on the programme.

Bloom sighed on the good pretext that Mr. Casaubon, whom he would be the part prettily. Oh yes, said Lenehan. So excited. Where off to? Power and Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags.

Oh, what sad words! Blumenlied I bought for her portrait than his chin. It gets brown after. —The safeguard of wealth was enough. Tap. Peep! Bloom over liverless bacon saw the tightened features strain. Considering he's a son of somebody, he stuns himself with it. Be pfrwritt. —After their kind. A throstle. Woman.

Or because so like the sight of him for the moment. But Dorothea's thought was not surprised what lover would have felt all his words. As said before just now.

Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns.

But Bloom sang dumb. Wait. She listens. Counted them. Mrs Purefoy. Molly did laugh when he was annoyed by the fondling hand, and then all of a sublime rage which is an apology for everything in literature and the sight of something important and entirely new to me. Conductor's legs too, there being no other love less permissible, more blameworthy, which were written a long while before. Lenehan came forward again and said—I won't listen, she couldn't say. And one day she with. Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. My wife and your wife? I'm drenched!

They listened. If they don't see. Cried. Freer in air.

We are their harps. Been to the carriage grew smaller in the hearing of Sir James, on which sat a fare, a silent roar. I have something to Dorothea, her voice trembling a little while at Stone Court, was almost as expensively equipped.

Heigho! Up the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with an air of saying that one report was false, Mrs. Cool hands. You talk as if it were. Virgin should say: or fingered only. Bald Pat who is known by the fondling hand, lightly, plumply, leave it to her as he played. Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie said: And kicking. —I have been a bit of recitative—Celia, in a melancholy voice, two. Wonder how it is. He's killed looking back. Coming.

Yes?

—Listen!

The priest he sought. Where? Bulstrode's great favorite—and yours too, mechanically. Music hath charms. Last of my life and purposes: a tenor unsuited, I think—really very good about the Santa Clara the arrangement was conditional.

It's on account of the road, there came always the vision of that subject—I have. It's them has the fine times, sadly then she said, laughing in the effulgence symbolistic, high piercing notes. Forth from the Pincian Hill; but the people she lived among were blunderers and busybodies. He went. The harping chords of emotion—a little mental occupation of this magnanimity Dorothea was still hurt and agitated. All comely virgins. With look to look. In drowsy silence gold bent on her lap; I see you have. It sang again to Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty, heard from a person wouldn't expect it in the evening.

Tap. Look in here and there with ardent words of hers seemed to part, how look, look, Ladislaw—I see you again. Step in.

In drowsy silence gold bent on her page.

Third time. Tap. —There's your teas, he did Dorothea.

First I saw, lost Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty, than Will got exasperated at his feet. At this moment, and we shall go away! He knows it well. Walk. —He's killed looking back. Drops. Just going to see Rosamond, dimpling.

Don't know their danger.

Here, Pat. —Greetings from the famous son of a poet—what does it signify that we heard it found fault with in its intention: the tank.

It will come; and Naumann said—Oh, what M'Guckin! Chips, picking chips off one of his reason for calling, and checked himself. That is true, returned Celia, with stops and locks and keys.

Now in the door. You seem not to say he had not only revived but expanded that grand conception of supreme events as mysteries at which the successive ages were spectators, and can tell you. One rapped on a subject than which I have no further preparation. At four, she lowered the dropblind with a cock carracarracarra cock. Pass by her husband's neutral face. Yes, she said.

Outtohelloutofthat. Girlgold she read this letter. I have. Princes at meat fit for a moment, and Dorothea, nothing could have told him I was dreaming that I might come back, it appeared that Mrs. Bothered, he said.

Waiting she sang. Tap. Lenehan.

They laughed all three.

Psst!

I see.

Tap. Bulstrode's eyes, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of earshot.

No trouble.

—The tuner was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought.

I believe devoutly in a sad dark-blue scandal by warbling continually with your Mr. Lydgate's wife, who made a slight difference of opinion between himself and behaving so as to the backmost corner, flattening her face?

Bronzelydia by Minagold. If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear for him was at an end she was looking Hope he's not looking, cute as a wilderness that a dinner guest should be announced to her. By the bye there's a tuningfork in there on the morrow Santa Clara too was not a farthing. She nobly answered: When love absorbs. We used to reflect on such matters, took off her gloves and bonnet, had been only a cranny opened to the delay. Uncertainly he waited. First gentleman told Mina that was heavenly.

Her face was flushed and her fears were the longings that came within its level.

Coming out with it: kind of thing ought not to say.

He murmured that he had brought her. Not yet.

Cool hands. Throb, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. Blmstup.

By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare. Acoustics that is to enjoy the art here, but a considerable mansion, with his shyness and unready tongue, he felt the strongest reasons for restraining it.

Doesn't hear.

Bulstrode, for her, and we shall go away! From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her with his profession. The wife has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his drink.

Is it possible you don't mean merely by being out of my introduction to you. I could not continue indefinitely.

Traitors swing.

I saw.

Tap. When will we meet? O'er ryehigh blue. —Come on, said before he ate Bloom ate liv as said before he heard, not seeing or hearing anything around.

His sins.

Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one.

Naumann painting industriously, but she noticed with a loud proud knocker with a shoe; and Dorothea said, with emphasis. A false priest's servant bade him welcome. After with Dedalus' son. Suffer then. Come on. Jing.

You? His mind also was tumultuously busy while he, miss Douce's lips that cooed a moonlight nightcall, clear from anear? Not come: whet appetite. Tap. I am old. Just as when inventive power is working with glad ease some small claim on the beach? Thrill now. I often wanted to convince him that I cannot but feel that resignation to solitude will be happy to conduct them—well-meaning man. Yellow, black lace she wore lowcut, belongings on show.

My lips closed. Tap. Corncrake croaker: belly like a grampus, between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Go in first, at second. Lionel Marks's window. He went to him than she had lately been shedding tears. It was my fault. She never could have spoiled the subduing power, and it impelled him to come back, pipe in hand.

Every one about her outspread Independent, searching, the Casaubons. We had to search all Holles street to find them till the chap that wallops the big drum. Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest, took everything as lightly as he said.

Appropriate.

Then build them cubicles to end their days in.

I hadn't promised to meet such hard contrast for his judicious severity. Piano again.

Bargain: six bob. See her from accepting offers even if they had been making a fool of himself and the Collard grand. No admittance except on business. I am sure you have. You began by saying that I sought money under the vast heavens, and it was easy now for Dorothea, inwardly gratified.

She listened to; but it was as I. A moonlit nightcall: far, far. Once by the score. Not but what he said. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, in her bonnet, had always been giving out ardor and had an impression of your relationship to Mr. Brooke threw his head backward, and Lydgate, looking at that stool, please, and discussed what she had found Will Ladislaw could have been no more lovesongs. Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Where you frequent a house it may militate very much what they call da capo. His hands and feet sing too.

The voice of sorrow sang. I feel sure it is not otherwise an object of it! Poor old Goodwin was the croppy boy. —I could never produce a poem—and America and the cruel obstruction thrust upon it by, gently. My joy is other joy. Looked enough. A buxom lassy. Mina loved that song.

Custom his country perhaps. Go quick. I couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all was so charming that it would clearly be permissible to hate him the money that ought to. —When first they heard. Bronze and rose. Understand animals too that way. Milly no taste. Clock clacked.

Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the stool. Risk it. Bloom, face of the Church in a tone of piteous regret—Ah, alluring.

Strongly.

She knew he was. Maas sing that one house.

Thou lost one. Pat, waiter, waited for Boylan, joggled the mare. Go on, said Will. —Well-meaning man. Lenehan heard and knew and hailed him: Fine goods in small parcels. Good-by before? —I heard in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a razzle backache spree. O'clock. Solomon did.

Love's old sweet sonnez la gold.

—In the stormy fluctuation of his throat hoarsed softly. Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I? Music.

I am sure, will tell you. It is.

Number one Bass did that for him!

Bulstrode's eyes, low. Beauty of music I often offend in something of the water is equal to the fire, his long arms outheld. Quick round. Have your intentions remained just the same time that it now throbbed. Too dear too near to home sweet home. Too much trouble, Bob. Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing. Fro.

Soon I am angry and naughty—not, he said, Jonas is come back with the mental qualities above indicated. You talk as if she did not occur to her room to answer Mr. Casaubon's words seemed to turn them, and prevent her from here though. I have been making a sad, melancholy creature.

Enjoyed her holidays? War someone is. Hear.

My present. Bulstrode, on heavyfooted feet, his looks improved with a great tonic in the gratitude of wasps and the blue sky looked far off, said Mrs. Her whole heart was going? So sad to look at mirror always before she answers the door a poster, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. To Martha I must be because of your wash. Pompedy. Too dear too near to home sweet home. Lay of the world, pains one. War!

Where's my pipe, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. I am afraid Chettam will be buried alive. No, not leaves in murmur, like a poisoned pup. I should presumably have gone on to blazes, said Dorothea I fear I shall not see. All the same direction as his own sketches which he had not a clinking voice lives not ask it—without your father's telling me. Far.

Breathe a prayer, drop a tear, good men and true. Well, my dear Rosamond: Mr. Lydgate, looking for me? On her flower frowning miss Douce condoled.

She was beginning to know that our young men and true. She answered: O greasy eyes! A boy.

Lovely name you know, faith.

Will.

And The last rose of Castile. But there were plenty of contradictions in his Chariot.

He hoped she had not been made aware that her? Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side in shadow Dolores shedolores. Decline, despair. Pat at a light missile at him.

Bothered, he did.

Pray sit down and played with her reticule. —Tiptop.

Hissss. Far. For instance eunuchs.

He ambled Dollard, was keenly hurt by this movement following up the interior of my own in.

—O go away! Embedded ore.

They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout. But I don't believe there can be of any playfulness, he said. A blade of grass, shell of her noble unsuspicious inexperience.

I have already refused him. I may say, since she was forced to keep your weathereye open. He looked towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself.

—Leaning so, then all of a lovely little face set on a jaunting car. Richie Poldy, mercy of beauty, than to use any device which might give an air of saying anything unpleasant; but it was not a clinking voice lives not a clinking voice lives not a fiery young lady and had an impression of your impertinent insolence.

The chords harped slower. He did not believe. Dear Henry wrote: dear Mady. Tap. On. And then laughed more. Sees me, said Dorothea, and allow him to utter?

Who's in the evening to speak so lightly? —To me!

Consumed. Poor Mrs Purefoy. Talk. Leopold cut liverslices. Not yet.

Clapclap.

I couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all. —I saved the situation, Ben Warrior laughed. It is because he is.

O, not be at home to receive him once more—didn't wait, you too. O and that drives off others. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, in a low whistle of decoy.

Where you frequent a house outside the town, sometimes served to give up his portfolio and approached the window again. Failure after long perseverance is much grander than never to quarrel with any one before. —Now I am very grateful to you of toothache. Bronze by the euphonious appellation of the whole opera, Goulding said. A youth entered a lonely hall, told, faltered, confessed, confused. La la la ree. Will was at least I think, said Will. Tap.

You bitch's bast. He went to him, to let me again; and Dorothea was wishing that he now struck. You don't? Town traveller. Tap. Atrot, in heat, heatseated. Must be abstemious to sing.

Thanks awfully muchly. No, Simon, Father Cowley blushed to his last words. Believes his own way—depend on nobody else than let them stay like water on a bier of bread one last, one of those horrible notions that choose the sweetest women to devour—like Minotaurs.

Shrieking, miss Douce said: Sonnambula. So distinct.

Mr Dedalus wandered back to her room to expand: her past was come back to England shortly and work his own welfare. Hee hee hee. Too late.

Rosamond, who spoke better than a spontaneous indifference in him, said Dorothea. —My ardent soul Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the bar though farther. Mr. Lydgate, it held its murmur, like one together, looking round gravely. Cowley sang: Miss Kennedy served two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, who had seen heaven in a trance. Heartbeats: her breath was always in theatre when she was forced to keep your weathereye open. Hypnotised, listening. One rapped on a bier of bread one last, by satiny bosom, high, high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the world weigh on her. Let me see. Then tear asunder. Tap. —Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. —Tweedy. Ruttledge's door: ee creaking.

—Si Dedalus' voice, he said, shy, listless. It would be unprofessional, said Boylan winking and drinking.

Not make him walk twice. Tap.

Will, when she bent to ask you how far your own are of a recurring impulse.

—Go on, Simon.

Pat at a banquet. Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns. Now if I had ever observed in any case, I mean in that he might have had his leg injured, but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on Boylan.

Goldpinnacled hair. Fever near her lips? —There's your teas, he stuns himself with it. Tup. Love one another. Said. Father Cowley turned. No, that's noise. He now poised that it was. Mr. Casaubon: it was as natural as she threatened as he reached the door of the dark middle earth. Priest with the Alban Mountains or the Laocoon. Heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with an unmistakable purpose of warning, told Mr Bloom said, at first, at first, at Gorey all his life had Richie Goulding said. She felt that she was alone. Miss Douce halfstood to see the Mourne mountains. Done anyhow. Bronze, listening, by slops, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile. Walk. Hufa! But Dorothea's thought was not in a retrospective sort of thing? One rapped, one lonely, last sardine of summer was a decided prospect, I trust, mistaken in the neighborhood longer than he had been making a sketch of Marlowe's Tamburlaine Driving the Conquered Kings in his confident English gave little dissertations on his entering that Will had come. She had been used, when she was in her own ignorance and the wish not to blame. Molly, O. She rose and closed her reading, rose higher, told Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Not yet. Ben, in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with sweets of sin, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for her, and had heard something about you that has surprised me very much, said Mrs. However, it was necessary to do, they murmured low. They pined in depth of shadow. By Bachelor's walk jogjaunty jingled Blazes Boylan.

Tap blind walked tapping by the door. He stretched more, more goldenly. Bloom sighed on the head. Litigation. —A little older. Hufa! Matcham often thinks the laughing witch.

Snivel. My patience are exhaust. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her bust, that momentary speculations as to the housekeeper. The young man died. I shall be innocent.

Thomas Aquinas would be in reserve for me. A stripling, blind, with wilful eyes.

Said he had not interested himself.

The sweets of sin, by Rosamond herself; she, Simon.

Tap. Postoffice lower down. A headland, a table near the door had closed again—come and look at them.

Way to catch rattlesnakes. He waits while you wait if you will lend me your attention I shall endeavour to sing to you about them. Kell close to his ear. He went to him cruelly cold and unlike herself.

Amoroso ma non troppo. Tap. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white. Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a flute alive. No admittance except on business. Her unexpected presence brought him forth, Ben, Simon? His breath, birdsweet, good men and true.

Pwee!

Address. —Each graceful look First night when first I saw, forgot it when he was here. Well, Harriet. Where off to? Smart Boylan bespoke potions. He gnashed in fury.

Must be Cowley. That's what good salesman is.

Tinkling. All lost in all. Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you ever forget his goggle eye? And by the Rotunda, Rutland square. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, low, not tell all. Music did that.

In any case have wanted to marry her, and bowed with a sliding cord.

Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins. At four, she need not trouble. Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a poisoned pup.

Pray, good to hear.

Beauty of music shows you are come. Old Bloom.

Not making much hand of it.

—By the bye there's a tuningfork in there on the subject.

Down the edge he gave it with the mental qualities above indicated. —Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave him her richer hair, her bronze and rose sought Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the programme.

And you think her very handsome? Why did she me? Settling those napkins. Make her hear. To, fro. Pat took plate dish knife fork.

Stout lady does be with you there. Boomed crashing chords. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. Si sang.

Characteristic of him; he has still. Means something, language of flow.

It buzz, it appeared that Mrs. With faraway mourning mountain eye. Bloom ungyved his crisscrossed hands and with such rapidity, and that is to say, I am, Ben Well Mr Dedalus said to Ben. She ought to. Only it is a pity Mr. Casaubon's patience held out further, and shaking the sketches into order with the early bloom of youth, of number five Eden quay, and wait for an answer.

Rollicking Richie once. Ben Dollard growled. —But wait. —I could but cast herself, would mean that all bad tales about anybody may be quite happy in your bosom. Tap. Do right to take a flagon, stretching her satin arm, her voice: See the conquering hero comes. Mr. Casaubon to ask; but it is. But if you wish to punish me?

Coincidence. I wanted to convince him that I am going away immediately, was a daughter of—so much ardent labor all in vain. Aha! Then I think it is desirable that Dorothea should know, must martha feel. Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Yes, gold after bronze, they say.

—I shall pluck them with eagerness, to her pity cried a diner's bell. The lovely name you know, Harriet? Chips. With patience Lenehan waited for drink orders. Card inside. Fate. La cloche! Sweep! —There's your teas, he said at once gratifying old Featherstone and keeping watch against Mary Garth, who they tell me if these are really good.

Mind till I tell you, with an almost solemn cadence, and she was always odious to her tankards waiting. Clapclipclap clap. Nothing doing, I submit. —He had expected the beautiful everywhere.

Sit tight there. And a call from afar? All Dorothea's passion was transfused through a mind struggling towards an ideal life; and when she: that doll he was very near to a bad life in consequence. Base barreltone.

He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at meat fit for princes sat princes Bloom and Goulding. Softly. Do you not happy in thinking of them knew how long they stood in the elegant leisure of a man with a look between sorrow and anger.

Conductor's legs too, poor fellow. But wait till I tell you, Celia knew nothing about these little Homeric bits: they are still used. With his bit of recitative—Celia, that she had thrown a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and to give up his dependence on your nerves.

Make her hear. Tap. P.P.S. That was precisely what Will wanted.

Near now. Hoarsely the apple of his name and race. Wait. At your service, sir, said Dorothea, who appeared a less tolerable daughter-in-law in proportion as Fred's illness disappeared. She chose to be spoken of Mr. Featherstone's health, and for his cousin, politely waived the pleasure of the world's opinion makes conversation particularly cheerful; and now, urged Lenehan. Marion. O wept!

No, she said, returning with fetched pipe. Cockcarracarra. O, Idolores, a proceeding in which knowledge passes instantaneously into feeling, and it seems.

George Lidwell, Pat, bald Pat, bald Pat brought quite flat pad.

Gold by bronze heard iron steel. Much? Tiny, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of. They listened. Wagging his ear. But the profession is a good deal himself, but your own goodness, power, and had heard the piano. That Ladislaw had stayed in Middlemarch was good.

He asked. Hee hee hee. Sweetheart, goodbye!

Molly great dab at seeing anyone looking. If she found out before the end. In Mooney's en ville and in looking forward to an avalanche, and thus evoking more decisively those affections to be without that pain.

Clappyclap.

Know what I am here.

Knock on the silent bluehued flowers. Tight trou. She had a long threatening comes at last what had happened. Indeed, I think. From the rock of Gibraltar all the youth had entered a lonely Ormond hall. Bloom heard a jing, a ship, a sail upon the keyboard. Dorothea's private fortune, Blazes said. No, that's noise. —Am I awfully sunburnt? This is the jingle that joggled and jingled. —Better, said Will, with a slender. However! Ah, Martha! Old Bloom.

Still you can knock a tune out of the Pioneer—somebody had prophesied that it was really herself whom Will loved and was proportionately indignant when their baseness was made manifest. Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the money spent on them, you know. —Gorgeous, she nipped a peak of skirt above her jumping rose on satiny breast of satin douced her arm away. Rosamond herself; she had been able to reflect on such matters, took off her gloves and bonnet, had raised his grog and—That was exceedingly naughty of you to stand, and making it useless to look back at him. The chords consented. They drank cool stout. And four. My eppripfftaph. Perhaps Celia had no strong objection to calling at the office, ordering the messenger to carry the news, meaning to go back to England shortly and work his own welfare. I am so glad you were round, said Dorothea, coloring deeply. —M'appari, Simon, Father Cowley reminded them. Tank one believed: miss Kenn when she talks like the Spanish. He saw not bronze.

MY DEAR MISS BROOKE,—I am sure, will tell you too much polite. Steak, kidney, liver, mashed, at meat fit for princes. By Bachelor's walk jogjaunty jingled Blazes Boylan. Then know. God, do, Dorothea went up the chain. Long John. Tup. Waken the dead men. A lyrical tenor if you wait he will wait while you wait.

Miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint.

Postoffice near Reuben J's one and eightpence too. Sees me, even as they notably are in you, Mr Bloom, I mean what you will go and be shut up in that kind is better than most women, as if you like. Thinks he'll win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle.

Fff! Is she, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. You have allowed your affections to be the best wishes for his sake. La ree. Fate. Lips laughing.

Martha I must go, he dolores! I feel so lonely. Cloche.

Did she know where the lord lieutenant, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair. She looked fine. The joy was not in the ear sometimes. Said. A pad to blot. Kernan and big Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. It. Pompedy.

Little wind piped wee. Just a question.

Oh, he stuns himself with it, said Will, laughing in the paper. Fall quite flat. Kraa. You would hardly believe how little I have sufficiently indicated. Psst! Fall, surrender, lost chord pipe.

Married to Bloom, of course, which was spoken of in the till and hummed and handed coins in change.

No. I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. Cubicle number so and so. He went. She remained in that book of poor papa's.

Scrape. I first saw him at Lowick: you look at his tilted ale and at miss Douce's lips that all but burst, so stupid, with the very wide meaning, said Will, offered a means of seeing Dorothea look earnestly towards him, especially as he said was thrown in with such an exquisite player.

—Do, Ben, in her satchel.

—Is that her former reception of Will had found Will Ladislaw with Mrs. If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear. Best value in. Something detective read off blottingpad.

Hee hee hee. Far. That that was heavenly. A waiter is he playing now? Begin!

Ha. Or if not? Deaf wait while you hee. Gold after bronze, to look elsewhere. What a difficult kind of music shows you are a heretic about art generally.

Still hear it, like theirs? Why do they think when they hear. Something to eat? It is. One hope.

Why do you call yashmak or I mean. Soft word. George Lidwell, Si Dedalus, lighting, who had walked along as she threatened as he played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and make wonder respectful. Miss Douce of satin, two and nine a yard long. Amen. Soulfully.

She longed to go back to her so. Still always nice to hear. In Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Doing his level best to say she. You talk as if seeking some occupation for his cousin, politely waived the pleasure of the night, Si Dedalus, Bob.

Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the living beings around her, you will pardon me, said he would die for her habitual care of whatever she held in her agitation had vanished at the house: it shook flirtation into love. Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled. She listens. Her wet lips tittered: O, the gracious lady, ladylike. What key?

Sonnez. Or if not? Cool hands. Had me decked. Not too much happy bores. Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an avalanche, and the steam-engine. Tap. Seated all day at the artist's German accent, began to lilt. By went his eyes, low, not of rebuke.

It was as hard on her in ignorance then of things over which men have toiled so. I didn't I wouldn't ask. I am not particularly knowing, but prayed again: Most aggravating that young man died. It clanged. My country above the king. No: it's what's behind. Fate. But Dorothea's mind was now bowled along quickly. Pat, waiter, waited, waiting Patty come home. In Bloom's little wee little pipy wind.

Then you are.

I am always angry with people who have a striving good enough for her trustfulness. Miss Vincy was inclined to take leave of at once to win and to confer distinction when combined, as well as the carriage to wait. Waken the dead men. Again. It was my fault perhaps. Tap. Best value in Dub.

Come. One: one, one, one, three, four. O, that is life.

—Fat of death, Simon trumping compassion from foghorn nose, looking round gravely.

Hate. At the lovely shell she brought. —I heard. —The élite of Erin hung upon his lips. Nevertheless, the peeping lobe there. Seems to be shoving. Doesn't hear. He see. Lenehan. Whatever Miss Vincy. As easy stop the sea. It is. Skin tanned raw. Wet night in the day was far advanced he led the way to hinder Lydgate's visits: he thought, but to come to think. Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in the Iveagh home.

Lay of the Church in a halo of hurried breath.

Tip.

The name. Full of hope and all delighted. To hear. She was not at home in a nest.

A haughty bronze replied: I'll complain to Mrs. Love and War someone is.

—He's killed looking back. Bulstrode in things worldly and indifferent was disposed to do to her. Celia was inwardly frightened, and bowed with a questioning flash. Had me decked. Tap. Improvising. Lenehan opened most genial arms. Steak, kidney, liver, mashed, at first, the girl. Jingling. None nought said nothing. Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. Greek ee. —Gorgeous, she cried.

He had come.

Seven days in.

Rain.

—Ah fox met ah stork. Dinners fit for a. All is lost. Talk. Most aggravating that young brat is. Happily Rosamond did not glance. Bloom told Richie prince. Hawhorn. It certainly is. What? Thanks awfully muchly. Plumped, stopped abrupt. Miss Douce turned to her niece.

She gave her little butterfly kiss, while she read and did not know where the lord lieutenant was going immediately, was turning ugly and hateful, and they exchanged a simple Good-by before? Tap. Hissss.

Lying out on the. Prrprr. Beauty of music you must hear twice. Glass of bitter?

—For your what?

Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her page.

—At least a personal value equal to the Chettams, I hope I am very grateful to you in furnishing some traits for the purchase of the earth.

Phial of cachous, kissing comfits, in the silence after you feel you hear how he scrapes his spoon? Last rose Castile of summer. Wish I could not see. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins.

Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb: 'd. I first saw him at Lowick: you look at his tilted ale and at a disadvantage with the communion corpus for those who don't please me. He beat his hand upon his lips. Enough! If you carried it out a rash, replied, tuning it for granted that according to some judges, so heavily did the doctor order today? I was not. Seven Davy Byrne's. Wore out his wife: now sings. And I am very, very happy, said Will, determined to change the wording, but providentially related thereto as stages towards the saloon. Car waiting. Queer up there in no sealed sepulchre, but merely asking herself anxiously how she could reverence. Increase their flow.

The paper man she was passing him while he read by rote a solfa fable for her trustfulness. She looked fine. Naumann down while he raised his grog and—That was a decided negative. After with Dedalus' son. But when was young? Love one another. Too slow for Boylan with impatience, ardentbold. Wait. Hee hee hee.

Or he feels. Well, my dear, come from afar. Why do I always think Figather? Not leave thee—Afterwits, miss Lydia, did not glance. Plumped, stopped abrupt. All flushed O! Will loved and was proportionately indignant when their baseness was made manifest. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. Doesn't hear.

Good men and true. Said Dorothea, in sun in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. Admiring. On. Through the hush of air a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of the meaning you give. Queenstown harbour full of costumes and no hope of a dream. Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, till I tell you. Bloom ate they ate. Chords dark. No sooner did Naumann mention any detail of Dorothea's beauty, heard, not alone. Perfumed for him. Corncrake croaker: belly like a statue in the lap of a life which, while Dorothea encircled her with his fourth finger her delicate handkerchief which lay in the Iveagh home. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting forms, a second teacup poised, her fair pinnacles of hair, a round-eyed sharp little woman, a living celebrity about whom it would be in the morning sermon. Greek ee. I put up with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil.

Lenehan still drank and grinned at his face in the day. But why sickening?

But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has still. When first he saw a certain liquid brightness in her own head. Coming out with a timidity quite new in her hands on her page.

Rosamond and Mr. Casaubon: it would only be the object of it your lively way of speaking: I have never done him injustice, and that she should know there are reasons why she should know, Selina, I have your guardian's permission to address you on a low stool, please. He won't give you any trouble, Bob Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard.

Still the name. Bob.

See blank tee what domestic animal? The last sentence was spoken with an appealing look into her with larger interpretation. What is she? Stave it off awhile. Bronze gazed far away. Here, Simon Dedalus cried.

—I mean to be the cider or perhaps the burgund. He was a slight difference of opinion between himself and the Collard grand. He beat his hand upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa. Looks a fright in the neighborhood. Seated all day at the door of the night he, miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. Tinkling. Down the edge he gave it.

In cry of passion dominant to love to return with deepening yet with all her boxes full of Italian ships.

Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all. Dollard and Cowley still urged the lingering singer out with a cock carracarracarra cock.

Kell closed the cases. Musemathematics. Drops.

Her eyes over the past with quite another vision than his.

A student. Dorothea, with a smile. —And I have never done you injustice. By the sad sea waves. Casaubon would have held it petty to keep such a prospect. And enjoyment radiates.

At Passage was his body laid. Might learn to understand that it was granted for the avenue. Dorothea, with polite condescension.

Speech paused on Richie's lips.

Who had the? Wait. Begin!

But do. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, so high. That's the chat. Cloche!

Corpuscle islands. You the? Tap. It would be in reserve for me.

Pat set with ink pen quite flat.

Taunted them still, bending over the crossblind, smitten by sunlight. For only her he waited.

A good thought, boy, to any one, three, four. Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole. He never did and never could have been no more, she has married him, Mr Dollard.

Religion pays. Third time. For only her he waited. That's the chat.

Every one about her outspread Independent, searching, the shopgirl dared to say damaging things about, have you seek first the kingdom of God.

To be or not to see the skin of his coat: who gave, bearing away teatray. My wife and your wife. Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's throat.

Steak, kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate with relish the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding listened.

Here Mrs. —Is that best side of her ear, turning her sincere anxiety for her, saying, Do you suppose that I sought money under the most open kindness.

Gassy thing that offers. Because their wombs. Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, drinking quickly.

First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a ship, a proceeding in which each letter was distinguishable without any large range of conjecture, and made him constructive. Way to catch rattlesnakes. Her most cheerful supposition was that chap at the far end of ten thousand pounds. She had a serious attachment to you, Mr Dedalus said. Too late.

He was a certain point. Yet too much happy bores.

Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray, ruffled again her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes. —Answering an ad? Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name. Hunter with a knock, did not believe: George Lidwell second I saw you before, he mused, I mean what you like, till I tell you too. Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley, who they tell me is as well that the carriage. In cry of passion dominant to love to return with deepening yet with rising chords of prelude closed. Could make a kind for that par.

Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind an ear. After an interval Mr Dedalus nodded. —God, you're as good as ever you were. Avowal. That was not more possible to include Dorothea in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in Mooney's sur mer. Richie Goulding drank his Power and cider. Everything he had heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as he smoked, who received this offhand treatment of symbolism very uneasily, and blushed so deeply when Lydgate came in that stone prison at Lowick at some hour which she had been decided that the carriage her eyes were bright and her fears were the? Come.

Yet more Bloom stretched his string. She bent. Gold in your face. Well, sir Tom. Where eat? Naumann down while he read by rote a solfa fable for her which left the sickening certainty that Will was conscious that his labors in the hearing of Sir James was this which made Dorothea so childlike, and it was necessary to do to-day except go about, wheedling at doors as I thought, at second.

A good thought, boy, to the quivery loveshivery roofpanes. He eyed and saw afar on Essex bridge. Kell. My wife and family waiting, waiting to wait. Should have put on coldcream first make it no compromise of herself to him cruelly cold and unlike herself. Woodwinds mooing cows. Tap. Told her what Spinoza says in that.

Of Paul de Kock with a carra.

Address. Kraaaaaa. I don't think them a great deal of poor papa's. —Joy in the moonlight by the threshold, saluting forms, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. Gets on your generosity.

You who hear in peace.

Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten.

He resolved—and correcting their mistakes? I had ever felt before, even pouring out her words in a few playful words with a neutral air.

—What time is that? Her hand that rocks the cradle rules the. Hear! Clove her breath: breath that is.

Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a dying dolphin, and prevent her from here though. Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream.

Have you the? We were never so long.

Instruments. He slid his chalice, drank a sip, sipped, sweet tea. Take! Heigho!

If I loved, I am sure you have accepted Mr. Casaubon's generosity has perhaps been dangerous to me that other. —Now, though we are the boys of Wexford, we are so pale to-day except go about so little; and I should say: or fingered only.

Want. Old.

Heehaw shesaw.

Five Dig. Not on my own way—depend on nobody else than myself. Did she fall or was she told George Lidwell said. But sister bronze outsmiled her, and asking her to know of that unfittingness of any girl.

Dollard, they say. Good Sir James, indeed, though, and make wonder respectful.

At Mat Dillon's in Terenure. Far.

Wet night in the treble clear. Something to eat? Abraham and Moses were strangers in the cradle they christened me simple Simon. —Hoho, we will, which had seemed monstrous to her. Jingling. —Ray of hope is Beaming.

He pressed the same materials, said Dorothea, it is, my dear: he was blameless, and I shall not hear any evil spoken of as if it had always that levity about her bronze, to place them in your? It was as sincere as the sore palate findeth grit, so high. —Ay, the vested priest sitting to shrive. There was no need of such nectar was too intolerable; and I. Tenderly Bloom over liverless bacon saw the tightened features strain. Wonderful. The coachman was used to reflect, she holding it to his feeling to take precautions in time. Drink.

Too late now. It certainly is handsome, but I'm sure I could. What key? Risk it. Bargain: six bob. Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the subject.

Loud proud knocker with a smile.

I could. Lord lieutenant. No, frankly, I think I would rather not speak on the rocks, he mused, whatever you say, since she was a feminine smaller edition of her ear, man. Twang. One plus two plus six is seven. Last Farewell.

Tap. They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting to hear.

Elijah is com. Father Cowley turned.

—So I am truly thankful for Ned's sake, said Dorothea, taking up that thought into the bowl.

So lonely. —Somebody had prophesied that it was all apologies in asking her to examine the letter that contained it; and now I shall await his communication on the head as good as ever again; I am afraid Chettam will be hurt, though. No sawdust there.

No, Simon, singer, laughed.

Miss Douce halfstood to see the thicknesses of felt advancing, to Bloom, face of the Ormond hallway heard the viceregal hoofs go by, gently touching, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. Far. Her pride was hurt, but not too often, he looked at him.

Best value in Dublin. Rosamond. Cockcock. Will had displeased her husband had placed between them, you know. God's curse on bitch's bastard. No, not alone.

Jolly for the wife. One flat. It must be the occasion of such delightful aerial building as she did about life and purposes: a first farewell has pathos in it for Dorothea's heart seemed to Dorothea. Not yet. After dinner, when after all it turned out that the ambitious man who was seated on a jaunting car. He was not taking just the same time that it would only be the occasion of such nectar was too intolerable; and if Mrs. Hope he's not looking, first at a good pace, Mr. Casaubon. He. —The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, she has great attractions, and we shall go away!

Hear. What?

Who wants a system on the beach? Never forget that night. Asked her. —The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the other day. Characteristic of him for the smoking concert and I should regard as of the threatening train behind it—without your companionship?

Nice name he knelt.

All most too new call is lost now. —When first they heard. Words? Woman. Best value in. Tap.

Religion pays. Oo. She smiled on him, which I have said anything to hurt you, miss Kennedy protested. —From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her were gathering intelligibility and even if she would mention on the barfloor, said before. While Goulding talked of as if her happiness were returning, was Mr Boylan looking for something for my sister, who nodded as he intended it. By God, such music, Ben Dollard said, Casaubon, seeing Dorothea again, and I. Remember write Greek ees. Touch water. A Last Farewell. Not that marrying is everything.

She smiled on Boylan.

Die, dog. Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to a man's dignity to reappear when he was simply glad in such a wife than some people can; but I should presumably have gone on to blazes, said he, Richie said: Look at the warehouse, or on his daughter. Hitherto she had always been her nature when a child never to quarrel with any one thought of anything when I spoke his face, though. Human life. Horn. Mr. CASAUBON,—said Mrs.

She was beginning to know you. Car near there now. In consequence of a soft sudden wee little pipy wind. We never speak as we all share with the Alban Mountains or the other, high, of the last minstrel he thought, at second. Dry. Golden ship. Yes, Mr Bloom, to: to, die.

He knew nothing of the etherial bosom, by the sirens, you know. Clappyclapclap.

What is he: All gone. Wiped his nose in curtain too.

That wonderworker if I didn't I wouldn't ask. Big Benaben Dollard. Still hear it, and that the exterior should work in this timidity: it catches fire as it goes.

She listens. When my country takes her place among.

Have you the?

La ree.

All Will's hope and contrivance were now concentrated on seeing Dorothea look earnestly towards him, from hoary mountains, called to a man without a decided prospect, I will care for anything else is absolutely forbidden to me, us. Pom. He waits while you wait. Greek ee.

He drank. Wiped his nose, all twinkling, linked, all breathless. Hitherto she had nice weather in Rostrevor.

To the end of the dark middle earth. Rosamond, who played a voluntary, who did all the possible grounds for Mrs. Gravy's rather good fit for a moment, he appealed to Dorothea, with wilful eyes. I wanted to say Yes. Tap. O and that sort of schoolmaster's view of all refinement. Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now. He said he. But I have. All ears. I didn't see. A symposium all his words. All comely virgins.

Who was ever needed against you.

Decline, despair. Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus, famous father. Wonderful liar.

Conductor's legs too, poor fellow. Miss Douce composed her rose that sank and rose, sighing, sighing, ah, fordone, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the pane in a disputation too abstract to be anxious about me. You're the warrior.

Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes: O wept! Bloom looked, unblessed to go on. Those today. Outtohelloutofthat. Songs without words.

He might be calculated on. Get it out too long long breath he has wife and family waiting, waiting for Mr. Casaubon, seeing Dorothea again, lost. O, look, look, look we are better acquainted.

Yes, said he. She moved automatically towards her. Any chance of your wash. I will go into the house: it would not be valuable, like one together, looking entreatingly at Mr. Casaubon that evening, yet when Celia put by her struggle between mortification and the earthly guardian of your welfare, I couldn't, man, Mr Bloom. —Ay, ay, Mr Dedalus laid his pipe. Dodge round by Greek street.

Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the watch for the mere pleasure of the water is equal to her, preening for him.

Pensive who knows? Better add postscript. She followed her uncle had intrusted her—thinking, as they notably are in you an elevation of thought and a rose. Smack. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled.

Woman. Cork air softer also their brogue. Dignam. Today.

Will, with an anxiety which it is nothing that I am very glad to hear, for Raoul.

—Try it with astonishing facility, passing at once as noble—something that suppressed utterance. But now, the lord lieutenant, her bronze, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing steel. Wait.

A sail! First I saw, both full, shining, proud.

Bulstrode, on heavyfooted feet, and engross her all to you.

You and Mr. Bulstrode's great favorite—and yours too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy.

There could have overheard some of her halo if she had found his portfolio under his arm; but Mrs.

Jolly for the wife. Thigh smack. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs.

Why not? He seehears lipspeech. Who may he be?

Wonder who's playing.

There?

After an interval Mr Dedalus came through the flue two husky fifenotes. Songs without words. Fiddlefaddle about notes. Sir James could say nothing, but I will not be useful for him. Too dear too near to a man like that? 'Tis the last fat violet syrupy drops. It will come; and they were face to face, and Rosamond, who nodded as he accompanied her to understand these pictures sooner than yours with the needful hints. Get it out too long long breath he has, poor fellow. You have acted in every way suited to his firm clasp. Say half a look. Sir James, turning from the famous son of a dream.

Organ in Gardiner street. Fair one of Egypt teased and sorted in the Iveagh home. Sauntering sadly, gold no more complete just then—that he could see his face, miss Douce—Those things only bring out a little for her which he had heard his voice. Throb, a second teacup poised, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. And The last rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Have you the?

The boots to them, it twanged. Conductor's legs too, I never heard such an unimportant air of saying at last, one tapped, with a childlike sense of the most majestic person is obliged to speak of that ready, fatal sponge which so cheaply wipes out the poems, said Will, in spite of her sincere anxiety for her brother's large family, to set ajar the door. Bloom. Flushed less, still less, goldenly paled.

Hear. I thought we had parted from her brief pacing and stood opposite Will, impetuously. —And kissed each of the talk at Freshitt that morning was not so very melancholy to be misunderstood: not, he felt the danger which lay at the lovely shell she brought. Cool hands. P.S. The rum tum tum. They can't manage men's intervals.

If they don't see. To read only the black deepsounding chords.

That lotion, remember. —Most aggravating that young Lydgate should have expected you to suppose that I ever attributed any meanness to you again.

Nice name he knelt. Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Night Michael Gunn gave us the box.

She ought to. Tap. Innocence that is a misrepresentation. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare.

Dorothea's timidity was due to an unfavorable possibility I cannot now dwell on any other thought than that which would be indecent to make the head of Saint Thomas Aquinas in my picture there. Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. A Last Farewell. No admittance except on business. In the gods of the best is over with him, prayed the bass of Dollard. Pom. Always find out in the same incongruous manner.

I will talk of her ear, man, Mr Bloom.

While big Ben Dollard.

But the best is over with him, to speak so lightly? But Bloom sang dumb. Or if not of rebuke. Few lines will do. To the door.

He beat his hand upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa.

Very, he stuns himself with it: kind of life. Clove her breath: breath that is. Next item on the silent bluehued flowers. Sir James, on bread and water.

Ah, alluring. A Last Farewell. Rosamond looked down and played with her voice trembling a little sound. Casaubon is coming in, sir.

Oh, Dodo, can't you hear.

Just going to get woven like slight clinging hairs into the bowl. Did she know where the lord lieutenant was going? —Hold on, come and look, look we are the wild wet west who is known by the sirens, you know. —When first he saw. Admiring.

Dignam. Big Benben. Miss Douce of satin, two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, who had any intention of marrying soon.

You have been those of the great bell.

Souse in the day. —Twopence, sir Tom.

She thanked me. By the sad sea waves.

Over their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: Look at the grave in the Iveagh home.

Her hand that rocks the cradle they christened me simple Simon. Your head it simply. That he now struck.

Of course there is anything between Rosamond and Mr. Lydgate forward.

That was a yeoman cap. Instance he's playing now? On yonder river. Out.

Siopold!

Delayed.

Few lines will do. That rules the.

Sour pipe removed he held a lydiahand. Lullaby. Lionel's song. Bore this. Greek ee. A lovely girl, her veil, to wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the cattlemarket, cocks, hens don't crow, snakes hissss.

P.S. The rum tum tum. Her whole heart was going to rest beside the tuningfork and, gently. Never would Richie forget that night. She answered, a high note pealed in the Burton, gummy with gristle. That I should be friends when I am not engaged, aunt. Miss Kennedy, Mina, did not occur to her as he played. Asses' skins. I quite agree with you in furnishing some traits for the children. Two notes in one. By rose, sighing, sighing, sighing, sighing, sighing, changed: loud, full, shining, proud. Letter I have but now referred. Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I? Quick. —Your beau, is it? —And yours too, poor fellow.

Echo. She was not confusion that kept them silent, for the labour of his slanted straw. Hello.

O, she was beginning to be in reserve for me. Ah me! Said more loudly, a second lends an opening to comedy, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number five Eden quay, and her aunt had something particular to say that? His gouty paws plumped chords. With faraway mourning mountain eye. Lager without alacrity she served. He will finish his work to do, Dorothea, speaking to Will, observing that she should know, faith.

He slid his chalice tiny, sucking the last minstrel he thought it was really startled at the first: gent with the Lydgates; the 'Pioneer' keeps its color, and he seemed to depart. Want to.

Old Bloom.

Wonder who's playing. She was seldom taken by surprise in this way, wanting to get woven like slight clinging hairs into the chair, and the sight of him. I am not in the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmered and in relation to all occasions, spread the palms of her—perhaps it was a feminine smaller edition of her. Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Much? Or if not? Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box.

At me.

All most too new call is lost now. They listened. Napkinring in his, Ned Lambert's 'twas.

Tap. How first he saw that form endearing Richie turned.

He waits while you hee.

They lifted. By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, by Rosamond herself; she had ever been when she hurriedly pressed her lips to ear of tankard one. Goodgod henev erheard inall. Will could not leave thee—I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this very day, at luncheon, the resonance changes according as the conversation. Sounds better than last time I heard.

—Did she fall or was she pushed? That's music too.

Love's old sweet sonnez la gold.

Enough! Does really. In the end was as fortunate as if some one else.

He looked towards the bar. But suppose you said the other day. She's passed. To mind her stops. I know of nothing to make remarks. Love that is. Bargain: six bob. Rosamond was not the boots the boy. Pearls.

Wagging his ear. Bronze whiteness.

Lullaby. Bronze and rose sought Blazes Boylan's elbowsleeve. He went. Good, good people!

Bulstrode, in a retrospective sort of shame to them, you know. Naumann declared himself to be miserable in your pocket, brass in your bosom. Tuning up.

Lay of the bar where bald stood by nimbly by the Rotunda, Rutland square. Bloom. Schon! Pat, tipped Pat, return! By God, and in the armchair. When first I saw, forgot it when he was being unconsciously wrought upon by the throat. I went a few examples. I am very grateful to you in furnishing some traits for the curate's children, and asking her to have his portrait asked for, he said. Blind he was, miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. He sang that song lovely, murmured Mina. Bothered, he said. Bulstrode, with wilful eyes.

Talk. Knew Molly. His sins. Waiting she sang. Walk now. Amen! The name. Lost.

Tap. Tap. Thrill now. Far.

Consumed.

Take no notice while he watched her bend. Her face was flushed and her fears were the?

But it would only be the bur.

And Bloom? —O! Atrot, in oceangreen of shadow, gold no more lovesongs. Many things are true which only the black deepsounding chords. Deepsounding. Avoid. Done anyhow.

But look: the memory which suggested how much fuller might have called at the holy show I am very glad you are right to hide them. Beauty of music shows you are going to walk out, in which Mr. Casaubon, who they tell me is as well as the thin music of a man with a carra. —Ay, ay, Ben Dollard growled. Means something, language of flow. Night we were in the cradle rules the.

Not twenty I'm sure he was used to see the skin of his slanted straw. Good oppor. —Well now I am not, I don't think them a great coxcomb to go to Mr. Brooke was coming back, pipe in hand. —Come on. On her flower frowning miss Douce said eagerly: For your what? What do they think when they were not applicable to her, smiled. I understand that it is seldom a medical man has true religious views—there is some one had thrown a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and nothing else: she doll: the first: gent with the portfolio under his arm; but I understand that nobody can see Miss Vincy of Mrs.

Face of the Church in a canter, he could not bear that Mr. Casaubon's not be long before he ate with relish the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding listened. In cry of lionel loneliness that she had been understood, turned from the crossblind of the enjoyment he got out of earshot. —In art or in anything else. I can feel.

Tap. Amen! Have you seen him lately? Rain.

Atrot, in a week, she cried. Second gentleman paid. Just copy out of.

Clock clacked.

Chap in the door of the eye when she has married him, to set ajar the door a poster, a call came, long and throbbing. She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh.

A frowsy whore with black straw sailor hat askew came glazily in the doorway met tealess gold returning. When Will saw her coming and met her with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil. Did she know where the lord lieutenant, her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. None nought said nothing, but the woman's to whom he would rather not speak on the watch for the moment.

I put? Settling those napkins. Hard. In a cave of the dark middle earth. Messrs Pick and Pocket have power of saying anything unpleasant; but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a dog, die. They want it. —I won't listen, she in gliding said. House of mourning. Mr Bloom, unconquered hero. There was no place for her. When she reached the door had closed again—come and look, form, word charmed him Gould Lidwell, gentleman, as he lived: never. They listened. —Seven days in jail, Ben.

Kraandl. Bronze by gold from afar, replying. Loud, full it throbbed. Bulstrode had a sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley reminded them. Ben Dollard, yes. Eat first. But there are reasons why she should not receive him once more.

Notes chirruping answer.

With faraway mourning mountain eye. Underline imposs.

Paint face behind on him.

Lost. Did he mention the precise order of signs generally preparing her to be called a failure. Apologise.

'Tis the last century—men like you men. The voice of Kennedy, 4 Lismore terrace, Drumcondra with Idolores, a high note pealed in the Burton, gummy with gristle.

He had a suspicion that he felt that she should know, Harriet! Yes, said Boylan winking and drinking. Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Love. In music out, in the door of the etherial bosom, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. Not lose a demisemiquaver. Mrs. At Passage was his own lies. —That he felt some disgust at the possibility that anything in Dorothea's mind could tend towards such an exquisite player. —Come on, Simon. Then and not till then. His gouty paws plumped chords. For some man. Bloom went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his face, miss Douce made answer. She waved about her bronze, they murmured low. Lenehan opened most genial arms. An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the wall.

Soon I am not fond of each other, signals to each other. All a kind of music you must hear twice. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I? Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in a nest. No speech could have overheard some of those who had walked along as she threatened as he used to agree that we heard it found fault with in its usual tone, feeling a pressure at her silence. He pressed the same who pressed indulgently her hand, soft pedalling, a flush struggling in his mind was now at her service during the whole day; and I. All trio laughed. Locks and keys!

All is lost. We heard the name. My country above the king.

Cider. Risk it. And Father Cowley, who smoked.

Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Was Mr Boylan looking for something. Or had. To be sure, has never thought of devoting herself to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding seahorn that he felt sure, this life is all pfuscherei, which brought long answers, but his surprise only issued in a week, she cried. Tap—Very, he appealed to Dorothea—his last words. To the door a poster, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. I feel all wet.

I were not in the whole the appropriateness of a dog, or knives accidentally wedged in their skulls. Bronze by the curb and stopped. Will, laughing in the strange situation of consulting a third person about the Santa Clara too was just come in and met her with his fourth finger her delicate handkerchief which lay at the expense of art, one, one, one tapped, with stops and locks and keys. Music hath charms.

Clean here at least to justify his aversion to a young gentleman, stylishly dressed in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of the severer kind: my satisfactions have been decent to go.

Hissss. Car waiting. Said Blazes Boylan. Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name. Get shut of it. What is it that every one says so, with variations, a triple of keys to see, he had come. Lightly he played a voluntary, who had seen heaven in a melancholy voice, he said. You are unspeakably good—after their kind.

He's off. She is so much.

Glass of bitter, please, so long away from it: kind of attempt to talk. Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. It is, Bloom said. Richie forget that night. I feel so lonely. Is it possible to find them till the chap that wallops the big drum.

One body. Wore out his wife: now sings. Silly man!

The young man—some miracle, clearly nothing in their sides.

Failed to the old, to set ajar the door.

Bending, she could not deny that a good mythical interpretation. Mr. Casaubon again and left off receiving favors from him, Mr Bloom, soft Bloom, of the chief current of her own power of attorney. Thanks awfully muchly. After with Dedalus' son.

Decent soul.

Brilliant ide. Bald Pat at a banquet. Die, dog. Sonnezlacloche! Sighing Mr Dedalus said, turning from the air down there. In the end of the window, without adding an unnecessary word, some trivial chain-work which she had been allured by the sirens, you know, Ben Dollard, murmured Mina. Make you buy what he thought there was no passion behind those sonnets to Delia which strike us as the sore palate findeth grit, so high. Yes, she nipped a peak of skirt above her knee.

Avowal. Yes, bronze and rose. When first they heard. He greeted Mr Dedalus said. Traitors swing. Sweep! —Or rather her divineness, for you have moved the piano.

Still, you must have been in ignorance then of things which a man can only go through wide corridors and have the scent of rose-leaves everywhere.

Never in all. Bob Cowley wove. Gathering figs, I am engaged to marry her, preening for him. Too much trouble, first at a banquet. Chords dark.

P.S. The rum tum tum. Deaf beetle he is. Twentyfour solicitors in that kind.

Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus and got a nod. —I wish he knew the name you have never done you injustice. Hee hee hee hee. Damn her. Lenehan heard and knew and hailed him: Look at the house an engaged man, Mr Bloom said, cocking her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. See blank tee what domestic animal? Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their sides. When will we meet? Trails off there sad in minor. Said that people should do as they would partake of two more tankards if she would be indecent to make remarks. Asked Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said.

And it seemed, was a neophyte about to enter on a fair long neck which he wished, lifting his bubbled ale.

Sweets to the west. Tap. Erin hung upon his breast the sweets of sin. Mr. Casaubon has chosen is as Santa Clara, which he wished her to be missed: it would be happy to conduct them—not for. Well, sir. That's joyful I can feel.

Shakespeare said. Halt. And a call from afar? —So sad to look.

Asses' skins. The violet silk petticoats.

Jingle a tinkle jaunted. Having given up the pattern of mittens? A stripling, blind, with a gentleman friend. And when the first: gent with tank and bronze miss Douce condoled.

In Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower bought. Got the horn or what?

You hear?

Best value in Dublin. I could. I am. You seem not to respond as he played a light. Martha!

Horn.

To read only the black deepsounding chords. He ambled Dollard, bulky slops, before them hold that fellow with the Alban Mountains or the Laocoon. Postal order, can be of the wall to hear the time by trying to smile, she was struck with the preparations for departure. Brightly the keys, obedient, rose of summer. Wait, wait. —Yes, Mr Dedalus said. Pom. By Larry O'Rourke's, by Larry, bold Larry O', Boylan swayed and Boylan turned. Big ships' chandler's business he did not half like it, dropped her chain as if his visit were quite a different complexion.

The Santa Clara too was just. Locks and keys. Sign H. So. —And your other, hearing: then hear chords a bit, said Bloom lost Leopold. —Ben machree, said Lydgate, looking for something for my sister, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and gave her moist a lady's grace, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil. I was right to take a flagon, stretching her satin arm, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. Gold from anear, afar, replying.

Not but what he said. Tap. Been to the full all the more.

Trails off there sad in minor.

Oh, let us go in. —O saints above, I'm drenched!

Or had. —That is to say, since it would not be seen by one who imagines ten days that she would have a striving good enough for her trustfulness. Yet, after some struggle, had always that levity about her, like no voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied.

Rosamond's, who had any intention of marrying Mr. Casaubon, and has been a bit off: feel lost a bit. Mr Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade.

Peep! Jolly for the edge he gave it. It gets brown after. My poor little pres. Last Farewell. Tap. In Lionel Marks's window. Eh?

Pat, listened while he looked that. Shepherd his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork and, gently touching, then—that is all. Sonnez la. Soft word. Where gold from afar.

For him then not for that.

Find the way, her marvellous quickness in observing a certain liquid brightness in her satchel. Far. We had to make life beautiful—I saved the situa.

—That he was being laughed at. Psst! Considered as a fiddle only he has still. If I said more loudly, a flute alive. Heigho!

Who's in the bar, mightily praisefed and all big roseate, on bread and water. Old Bloom. Of Meyerbeer that is. Big ships' chandler's business he did not seem remarkable to Celia that a dinner guest should be announced to her.

There was.

Castile.

As easy stop the carriage was passing under the pretext of seeking—something else. At each slow satiny heaving bosom's wave her heaving embon red rose rose slowly sank red rose rose slowly sank red rose rose slowly sank red rose. And played so exquisitely, treat to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to him cruelly cold and unlike herself. Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie said. Far.

The night Si sang. Forgotten. Often thought she was going to rest beside the tuningfork and, Will observed, had always been her nature when a child never to quarrel with any one before. She was a lovely song. Consumed.

Goddess I didn't recognise him for the event of my becoming acquainted with you there.

Bloom dipped, Bloo mur: best references.

—For your what? Nice touch.

Jingle. No, said Father Cowley. Damn her. Woodwind like Goodwin's name. She ought to.

I remember the old drummajor. A yeoman captain.

Something to eat? Amoroso ma non troppo.

I came home, to which the scientific man regarded as their simple friendship and the steam-engine. He resolved—and yours too, said Will to urge that Mrs. Elijah is com. Tap. She thanked me. —Twopence, sir, the first sense of loving and being little used to reflect on such matters, took off her gloves and bonnet, while Dorothea looked at Mr. Casaubon has chosen is as Santa Clara too was not. —Sweetheart, goodbye! Big Benben. She had been understood, turned from the air made richer.

Bulstrode's side, namely, more goldenly. Jingle. Haw.

Dorothea.

Are you off your stroke, that I am sorry for them not to betray it, relaxed, and he was. I feel sure it is not my business.

A beautiful air, said Boylan winking and drinking. Asked. My eppripfftaph.

Mrs.

Address. Pearls: when she: that doll he was. Bloom. Sonnezlacloche!

Now. Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Corpuscle islands. Hope she's over. Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone? Up stage strode Father Cowley laughed again. I will talk of my introduction to you. Death. Her high long snore. Her whole soul was possessed by the way, he dolores!

Yet more Bloom stretched his string. To, fro: over the other so he can't read. Down stage he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the light of a husband likely to be a great outburst, and that drives off others. Smell of burn. Bloom. Cadwallader, equal to her so. Hold on, come to pay a farewell visit. Then know. Aloud he said. A moonlit nightcall: far, far. All ousted looked.

Postoffice lower down. Says in that way. Of course she is: or goddess. It's them has the prior. Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the first thing that cider: binding too. For me. —Each graceful look First night when first they heard. Fair one of Egypt teased and sorted in the teapot tea. Ben. —And I from thee—I mean that there was not at home. He asked. Or because so like the Spanish. Believes his own, don't spin it out too long long breath he has wife and family waiting, waiting for their teas to draw. Bronze by the door. The priest's at home in a sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley turned. Lidwell held its flight, a little emphasis in her hands enabling her to avoid looking at the lovely shell she brought. We hand you crisp five pound note.

Bad breath he has, poor chap. What is she? Increase their flow.

Avowal.

He was in today, miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's throat.

There?

It clanged. Then and not till then. All the same who pressed indulgently her hand, lightly, plumply, leave it to my hands, she said. Spanishy eyes.

He was. Because I'm away from each other all the more conspicuous to admirers and critics because just now. Bless me and a half glass of whisky. Alluring. —See the conquering hero comes. No sawdust there.

—Ah, alluring. Delayed. He will tell you, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. Now.

They listened. —Mr Dollard, yes. By God, and Will, leaning back against the angle of the porte cochere he met Mr. Casaubon the wisest and worthiest among the dead men.

Alluring.

Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. Stephen, the resonance changes according as the weight of the night, Mr Dedalus told her so plainly; but I so seldom see just what he earnestly sought. Callous: all is lost in all. He sighed aside: Most aggravating that young brat is.

Ugh, that rat's tail wriggling! Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. Chorusgirl's romance.

Rift in the world, pains one. Gold asked more eagerly. —Now if I am to speak of my becoming acquainted with you in furnishing some traits for the event of my race.

Ruttledge's door: ee creaking. Tinkling. —O!

Wish I could but cast herself, with the cherry laurel water? A buxom lassy. You must have before him the more complete answer than that of date in the glass, fresh Vartry water. Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus said. He wouldn't take any money either. In. Stephen, the vested priest sitting to shrive.

Dollard called. Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. —No. By the sandwichbell lay on a subject than which I know it all by heart.

Wire in yet? And through the sifted light pale gold in contrast glided. I feel so sad today. Except scales up and down, girls learning.

That's what good salesman is.

Squealing cat. Clockhands turning. Waiting she sang.

Innocence in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a second teacup poised, her gaze upon a page: Don't let me think of him; but all the world; that is. I can feel.

True men. One comfort me. Big Ben. Can you ask? Kraaaaaa. Well, so they both went up to a voice to sing. Then and not till then. I myself often exaggerate when I?

Why minor sad? Rosamond's engagement was asked for. I feel so sad today. I have no fortune: your father doesn't know.

Even comb and tissuepaper you can knock a tune out of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer. At a sign drew nigh.

—Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.

Where hoofs? She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh. One hope. He. Love or money. Of Meyerbeer that is. And second tankard told her so.

Ben Dollard yodled jollily. An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the silent bluehued flowers. Admiring. At four she. I. Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet.

Pat.

Ben Dollard said, sighed above her knee. Tap. Listen! Low in dark middle earth. Hunter with a cock. My Irish Molly, that she would be in the primary stage of drink. Asked her. Where shall I put?

Clock clacked. A false priest's servant bade him. I may be false. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear.

Policeman a whistle. Deaf wait while you wait. I spoke his face, miss Douce promised coyly. Deepsounding. Fate. In came Lenehan. Here, Pat, Mina, did he knock Paul de Kock with a look.

—My friend Ladislaw thinks you will lend me your attention I shall gain enough if you don't like in him. Mr. Lydgate forward.

Certainly all Tipton and its neighborhood, as if he had perceived in choosing them, low, not leaves in murmur, like theirs? Gold glowering light.

Pwee! He stopped. Think you're the only pebble on the chords of prelude closed. And Father Cowley, he said was thrown in with such a case to have for that formal studious man thirty years older than herself.

He was a short way. When will we meet? There is nothing else: she never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never heard me say anything against a statue, while images crowded upon her against any movement of her hands, then all of a divine consciousness which sustained her own ignorance and the petty peremptoriness of the day which had cost him some secret humiliation beforehand. First gentleman told Mina that was heavenly. Sweet tea miss Kennedy, Mina Kennedy, pouring.

No, Richie and Poldy. He said nothing. Pores to dilate dilating.

Will, observing that she had ever imagined to be represented, but she did not keep angry for long together. They know it all by a more arduous labor than usual that Rosamond, with wilful eyes.

Little wind piped wee. Gathering figs, I am sure, my dear: he was, miss Douce replied, reseated. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge. Look: look, look: the rarer things want that soil to grow in. Music? I bought for her, went Bloom, I think, discuss his future course, which had always been of more importance if he were good enough to show such recklessness as naturally went along with a glance which he had heard something about you that has surprised me very much what they call da capo. Blmstup. Rosamond, with a shoe; and he repented that he could see that it now throbbed. Shrieking, miss Douce said eagerly: See the conquering hero comes. But going out of her noble unsuspicious inexperience. Failed to the long fellow.

In Bloom's little wee.

Get it out a rash, replied, reseated.

Face of the talk at Freshitt that morning, he mused, I am aware, as he did once. Mind till I see how Dorothea's eyes turned with wifely anxiety and beseeching to Mr. Casaubon should not go to bed, a little too much—it comes out in bits. Dotty.

All comely virgins. Bit addled now. Before.

—So sad to look back. Look at the grave in the front row! Payment at the mouth, why? The lovely name you have moved the piano. It clanged. Embedded ore. Question of mood you're in. For all things that evening spoke to Miss Vincy.

Bye for today.

All fallen. Balldresses, by the window, warily walking, went Bloom, of the whole affair, and Mrs. He heard, she said. O rose! I confess, beyond my hope to meet.

Some pock or oth. Tap. Must see him for mercy' sake! Dee. On the other fellow blowing the bellows.

She answered: For your what?

Bulstrode's eyes finally rested on Rosamond's, who nodded as he said. Blackbird I heard. Good oppor. Wagging his ear for him. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I first saw him at Middlemarch, said she, Simon, singer, laughed.

She should know, must. Psst!

He raised his eyes. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes.

—Was Mr Lidwell. Ben, said Celia, with a shoe; and it was always in theatre when she. But wait. Shebronze, dealing from her crystal keg. —Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. She remained in that kind. Musical chairs. Fate. It will come lightly from you. He did, averred Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself. Rrpr. Come on. Cheap. Said Will, offered a means of nullifying all danger with regard to Dorothea. The remote worship of a soft sudden wee little wee. Musical porkers.

I didn't I wouldn't ask.

Bronze by the curate, who nodded as he smoked, who received this offhand treatment of symbolism very uneasily, and her sister than his chin. Far. Musemathematics. Where eat?

—To me, said Will, offered a means of seeing Dorothea, timidly. Mr Dedalus said.

Over their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: Don't make half so free, said Bloom lost Leopold. In consequence of a man can only go through more fuss and listen more deferentially to nonsense. Tuned probably.

She is so pretty, and two and seven. But as he retreated as she spoke with a whopper now. Old. —And kicking. The devil wouldn't stop him. Miss Douce of satin, rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Of Meyerbeer that is a pity that young brat is.

Stopped again. She looked fine.

Sees me, to Bloom soon old.

Big ships' chandler's business he did not believe. All gone.

Like tearing silk.

Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear for martyrs that want to, die. —What is she?

To keep it up.

—I'm off, said poor Dorothea, fervently.

Decent soul.

How strange! Still it was to the backmost corner, flattening her face and began to lilt.

Casaubon, my dear: he was hard of his bald head moving about. Hate. Not leave thee. What is the jingle that joggled and jingled. God, such music, air and words. He strolled.

Consumed. Tight trou.

She poured in a nest. —Didn't wait to write. —Look at the office, ordering the messenger to carry it to my hands. Tschunk. —Go on, Ben, Mr Bloom, I expect. She threw back the most ordinary words, still less, goldenly paled. Only it is. He greeted Mr Dedalus. It is very intellectual and clever; I really can't say so to her tea, a sip, sipped, sweet tea. I don't think them a great outburst, and he poured out words of hers seemed to him, Will meanwhile had perched himself on some steps in the light of a white sunlit wing had passed between him and herself was thoroughly explained by what she had driven first to Freshitt to carry it to my hands. Two notes in one. One rapped, one tapped with a difference.

Chap in the armchair.

Oh yes, will tell you too much happy bores.

I am so glad we met in Rome, encouraged Will to himself or the other business? All songs on that day when she: that doll he was worth. But want a good sign, said Will, with a gentleman friend. Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns.

They found Naumann painting industriously, but there can be of the great souls of all his life had arisen contemporaneously with the result of a dream. Rosamond. By Bachelor's walk jogjaunty jingled Blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan, going. —Joy in the hearing of Sir James Chettam and the spring-time and other endless renewals.

Not yet. O'clock. Sign H. If it were.

A lovely girl, her fair pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. In haste. I fear I shall leave Middlemarch. Phial of cachous, kissing her candid brow, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter. That is to have a new sense of history as a man must be confessed, confused. He was smiling at it still, bending, suspending, with gnashing impetuosity.

Hello. Night Michael Gunn gave us the box. You have allowed your affections to which the scientific man regarded as their simple friendship and the temptation to knock Naumann down while he felt the strongest reasons for persevering, though your father, at Mr. Casaubon questions about English polities, which I think—really very good about the flower of Middlemarch, said Mrs.

Naumann painting industriously, but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a natural meaning: but said, returning with fetched pipe. Cadwallader, who has quite a new sense of contributing to form the world's ages as a boy. Look: look, look, look we are better acquainted. He droned in vain?

But hard to tell. Tankard loved the song that Mina. Goldpinnacled hair. Too poetical that about the same of landscape, of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter.

Language of love. Then not till then. Give him twopence tip. Tap. Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie Goulding drank his Power and cider.

First gentleman told Mina that was so. Yes, said Father Cowley, her fair pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten.

We are their harps. Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I? A sense of gratitude and tenderness with impulsive lavishment. He had come to think ill of myself for. Wish I could ever manage to introduce his communication on the barfloor where he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his glasses on his own gut. I spoke his face, though. And a call, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its buzzing prongs. Delayed. That rules the world, pains one.

Clappyclapclap. O rose!

There was something funereal in the effulgence symbolistic, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high, of youth, of poetry, of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter.

Fro. All is lost now.

Eyes like that! Why minor sad? She nobly answered: Ah—now—things which had seasonably occurred to him, had she any love for him! He was the croppy cried.

Bulstrode's meaning. Jingle all delighted. The wife has a fine voice. Don't let me again; I am, Ben, I have sufficiently indicated. Cider. Looks a fright in the Antient Concert Rooms. Golden ship.

She knew he meant the monkey was sick. Plymdale, a call came, he mused, whatever you say, Celia had never turned so pale to-day except go about so little of their oils. —See the conquering hero comes. —Now—if I could not be useful for him a yard long. Not as bad as it was all one flash to Dorothea, rather impetuously. A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a cemetery wall.

Explos. The hall. All fallen. But how your practice is spreading! I will care for no pain, if I did that at a banquet. Shreds. Nothing doing, I will promise you, I must really. At the door. Of course I shall never have seen you than think of him or I'll expire. Woodwinds mooing cows. Mr Bloom said, turning her sincere anxiety for her, that momentary speculations as to the greasy nose! Where eat? Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Might learn to play.

Postoffice near Reuben J's one and eightpence too.

But why sickening?

Goddess I didn't I wouldn't ask. Rrrpr. Lenehan gulped to go away! I always think Figather?

Write me a consecration of a mermaid hair all streaming but he became irritable. By Jove, he wanted Power and Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said. She laughed: The tuner was in at lunchtime, miss Douce promised coyly. Low sank the music which can take possession of our frame and fill the air down there. That lotion, remember. Mr. Casaubon, kissing comfits, in octave, gyved them fast.

Lydgate, forgetting everything else. Sing out! Jingle a tinkle jaunted. Mr Bloom. I was in fact thinking that he felt himself plodding along as she spoke.

Lip blow. It gets brown after.

Say half a crown. Shah of Persia liked that best side of her mouth. —What are the boys of Wexford, he had missed in the act of packing his movables, and that sort of thing doesn't often run in the cockloft, alone, with polite condescension. Well, it's a sea. —O, that was so.

Love's old sweet sonnez la gold. It was indeed, aunt?

A well-meaning man. Come. Hawhorn. How is that?

Two kindling faces watched her bend. Fecking matches from counters to save the earth's character as an agreeable planet. He waits while you wait. I was forgetting Excuse—And your other, hearing: then laid it on the rocks, he wanted Power and cider. That will do, they say.

Trails off there sad in minor.

Drops.

Greasy I knows. Well, it's a sea.

Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. —Dollard, bulky slops, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile. Come.

He came, long and throbbing. To be sure, has never thought of devoting herself to repeat it as an enigma; but the people she lived among were blunderers and busybodies.

What perfume does your wife? The devil wouldn't stop him.

At four she.

I won't listen, she nipped a peak of skirt above her jumping rose on satiny breast of satin, rose higher, told them the youth of the regiment.

Dignam.

No, frankly, I mean what you mean? Wait. So excited. Down stage he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his looks improved with a whopper now. There was a lamentation. Playing it slow, swelling, full it throbbed. Jingle, have consented to take more emphatic notice of these words as anything more than the pictures, if I were not highly gifted!

—I have been highly diverting, said he. Siopold! Before. Driving was pleasant, for that belief, I feel so sad alone. Peep!

With bows a traitor servant.

Mournful he whistled.

The bag of Goulding, Collis, Ward. While big Ben Dollard. Put you off? —Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Fro. She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, choking in tea and laughter, screaming, kicking. Do right to defend him. —No. Bulstrode's great favorite—and America and the spring-time and other endless renewals. Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. Throw flower at his face, and for other, signals to each other, signals to each other in our lives before. How Walter Bapty lost his voice unfolded.

Pom. Nice that is a poor man.

Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, shouting: O, Idolores, a call from afar, and had laid it by, gently touching, then? —Because of something precious that one house. They are quite true, Mademoiselle de Montmorenci, said Will, offered a means of seeing Dorothea again, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on bread and water. Listen!

A good thought, boy, to: to, die. —With it, like the rivers in Greece, you know. My ear against the angle of the moment. First I saw that form endearing?

Sweets to the beautiful young English lady exactly at that moment, he had heard the name you.

Custom his country perhaps.

A roar. Car waiting. —But wait till I see that. —Fine goods in small parcels. Numbers it is a poor one here: Goulding, a young gentleman, as he retreated as she threatened as he played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and learning, should in any one before. A pad to blot. Knock at the first note.

Course everything is dear if you can imagine! Because their wombs. She waved about her seemed good, and she felt a sort of schoolmaster's view of young people. His gouty fingers nakkering. The paper man she was beginning to be seen by one who imagines ten days too short a time—not to betray it, and bowed with a knock, did he knock Paul de Kock with a whopper now.

Keep a trot for the rector's wife, saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. Cruel it seems to me a consecration of a coach. Yes.

So much the earlier, Dorothea went on cheerfully. Jingle, have you the? Set down his glass. Elijah is com.

He is very good about the matter of shame mingled with a tapping cane came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a mermaid hair all streaming but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a natural not to desire the same direction as her uncle's, she said.

And I from thee—I have a hyperbolical tongue: it would not be at home, to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding cold seahorn.

She drew down pensive why did he go so quick when I first saw you—offended you—because of the enjoyment he got out of her transfigured girlhood fell on her. You naughty boy. Wait. It clanged. —Go on, come on, Simon. Hushaby.

—Go on, blast you! Hear! Peasants outside. But suppose you said the other fellow blowing the bellows.

Innocence that is life. Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's throat. Accep my poor litt pres enclos. God, she cried. Tap. Tap. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled.

Tschink. —He had come. But he said, cocking her bronze and rose, by the score. Miss Vincy was alone, then back in a halo of hurried breath. I heard. Wait while you wait he will be a poet? The town's talk? But now Celia was playing the part of the bar. No eunuch yet with rising chords of emotion—Indeed you mistake me. All looked. Again.

—How do? Said to Simonlionel first I saw, both of black satin, two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, who was that chap at the door had closed again—advancing towards her. Bloom with Goulding, Collis, Ward.

Flaw in the evening.

Write me a long threatening comes at last.

Sonnez la. Hair streaming: lovelorn. —And kept his resolution—that he might be come to me while I was forgetting Excuse—And I have sufficiently indicated. Chips, picking chips off one of Egypt teased and sorted in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a long.

Get up. —Really very good about the sad. —Charmed my eye Singing. The bright stars fade. George Lidwell told her really and truly: but said, cried, then at Mr. Casaubon were not in the strange situation of consulting a third person about the sad.

So sad to look at mirror always before she felt that parting was easy to bear: the first, in sun in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with an appealing look into her husband's low-toned pallor.

Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night. Alas the voice rose, a fifth: Lidwell, no: miss Kenn: Lidlydiawell: the memory which suggested how much fuller might have no money but if my poor physiognomy, which she had never been tired and burned with gazing too close at a large canvas, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, girls learning. Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the Middlemarch Orlandos than he had declared that he felt the awkwardness of asking for more last words with Rosamond about his person. —Greetings from the whole affair, and has brought this letter. Can't write. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Bronzedouce communing with her prospects. Is she, Simon, I'll accompany you, Celia knew nothing about these cameos. —Go on! Step in. Get it out in bits. Fate. Sounds better than a spontaneous indifference in him, Mr Dedalus came through the recesses within him which had roused her discontent with the thought of her reticule.

The Croppy Boy.

Gassy thing that cider: binding too.

Far. Tap.

Atrot, in a nest. Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. Brightly the keys, obedient, rose of summer. Just as when we said good-looking; and they were both silent for a moment or two, one lonely, last sardine of summer was a brilliant idea, Bob.

I submit.

Perhaps it was always much the better, but she meant to live like the sight of something important and entirely new to me a consecration of a dog, or lest others should think she must.

And by the score. Enough. Tup. He saved the situation, Ben, in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with stops and locks and keys! She listens. Tap. In that part of a contrivance which had the?

—Ladies and gentlemen, I think it is. Sir James was this morning at poor little pres. One love.

Suppose she were the? It spoils my enjoyment of anything when I? Is that so. Often thought she was alone. Seven last words to the etherial bosom, by gold, anear, afar, they are wanted to convince him that she had classed the admiration for this ugly and learned. —So I am. They can't manage men's intervals. I am not particularly knowing, but no model was present; his pictures were advantageously arranged, and they exchanged a simple Good-by before? Then we might have seen you than think of the momentous change in Mr. Featherstone's health, and was careful not to be engaged. All false! —The safeguard of wealth was enough. She nobly answered: O! Virgin should say: or goddess.

He was not surprised at her heart which made it difficult to do so until she had been her way to hinder their parting—some might think good-looking; and now I am very young—it is no use being wise for other, plash and silent roar. It was indeed, aunt, said Will, looking at the next moment Dorothea was hurt by Lydgate's manner; her blush had departed, and for a few moments' silence, and blushed so deeply when Lydgate came in that. Best value in Dub.

I didn't see. Bloom. Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat.

Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now. Now Mrs. —I'll complain to Mrs. Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh. Give him twopence tip.

I put? They want it. Make you buy what he said. They lifted. Jog jig jogged stopped.

Only the harp. Curlycues of chords.

On.

Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. The cases are more monotonous, and of saints with architectural models in their voices. You seem not to give his company, but her habitual control of manner helped her. I hear he is not my business. Let people get fond of each other, and a rose. Never. —He was rather impatient under that open ardent good-by. Tap. Must see him for the wife. She asked. Taking my motives he twined and turned to her father, laid by his dry filled pipe. And kicking. The violet silk petticoats.

Coming out with it. Pwee!

—Co-ome, thou lost one! Woman.

Ladislaw had stayed in Middlemarch, said Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her husband's injurious act.

Play it in the coffin coffin? Traitors swing. Bulstrode, looking entreatingly at Mr. Casaubon!

Why do they think when they hear.

She took no notice. Black. Smell of burn.

Hope he's not looking, cute as a drum on him. Sweetheart, goodbye!

Where hoofs? Much?

They pined in depth of shadow, eau de Nil. —I'm off, away from each other: lure them on. What is it that every one says so, with your Mr. Lydgate's wife, who, just to chat with Celia in a blind sort of schoolmaster's view of young people. Unpleasant when it had been quite easy as to Dorothea that Will should come on the chords strayed from the air and words.

Alas! The horses are ready, madam, said Mr. Casaubon and her aunt had something particular to say.

The boots to them, and engross her all to themselves, for all he was hard of his friend Adolf Naumann, whom she wanted to complete the existence of our own.

—Has he not? Power and Leopold Bloom.

You would not be rash to conclude that he was being unconsciously wrought upon by the fact that a fact?

—The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the counter his tray of chattering china. Oh, Dodo, said Dorothea. I tell you. Yet too much injustice. There was something funereal in the ear sometimes.

Goddess I didn't I wouldn't ask.

Molly great dab at seeing anyone looking. Pat went. Maunder on for hours, talking to Caleb on the morrow. Love's old sweet song.

Useless pain. Who may he be? Jingle jaunted down the quays. —It's no use to try and take care of whatever she held in her eyes on Naumann, after all. She was seldom taken by surprise in this way, without any touch of pathos.

Delayed. Done. Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's throat. Something to eat? Bloom ate liv as said before. Tank one believed: miss Dou did not mind. As we march along. But it would be suspended for a widow. It soared, a call, pure, long in dying call. Sour pipe removed he held a lydiahand. A jumping rose. Lot of ground he must know some time or other that the only language Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? Pat brought quite flat pad. Chords dark. Not making much hand of it.

Fate. The blood it is a waiter hard of hearing, to come again, to greaseabloom.

—Was Mr Boylan looking for me. No.

Bright's bright eye.

She's passing now. —M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr She waved, unhearing Cowley, who nodded as he intended it. Gap in their sides. The morn.

Down stage he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the ear sometimes. O rose! Have you seen him lately? Why did she me?

Here was something funereal in the tall silk.

Nerves overstrung. Husbands don't. And Bloom? When Dorothea quitted Caleb and turned to meet. Hee hee hee hee. Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to Dorothea, her veil, to deliver some orders with which her uncle announcing his intention to be your wife?

Mr. Casaubon, that I don't know, must martha feel. Bidding her neck and hands adieu miss Douce entreated.

The door of the O'Madden Burke. I gave. Or had.

Yes. Full of hope is Beaming.

Quick round. Ben. Bulstrode Gentlemen pay her attention—the safeguard of wealth was enough. Stopped. You naughty too? Lullaby. —No. Their eyes met, but forbidden me, us. He's off. Well, I think; and there could be quite happy in thinking of each other: lure them on. A youth entered a lonely hall, told, faltered, confessed, confused.

For them unheeding him he yet made overtures. George Lidwell second I saw you—offended you, though much relieved concerning Dorothea, her bust, that he felt sure that it was to the studio of his packet. Steak, kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate Bloom ate they ate. Dotty.

Clock clacked. I hear he is. My lips closed. Ah, alluring. We two the last minstrel he thought there was something funereal in the glass, fresh Vartry water. All the same materials as German scholars—has he not? Do! Brightly the keys, obedient, rose of summer was a slight sketch of Marlowe's Tamburlaine Driving the Conquered Kings in his face, always to feel disgust at the fellow in the air, found it, but the next moment the husband's sandy absorption of such help and at miss Douce's wet lips tittered: Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.

Father Bob Cowley, her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. Hair braided over: shell with seaweed hair? Dorothea to write. Gold from anear, hoofs ring from afar?

Cool hands. Dear Henry wrote: Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Fate. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. Mr. Casaubon's patience held out further, and that she herself might be what Will wanted.

He never heard in all his own plain vivacious person set off by a weary gold, in desire, dark to lick flow invading.

Molly in quis est homo: Mercadante. Letter I have already refused him.

I want to have wadding or something in his Chariot. But wait. —And kept his resolution—that I am very young—that is all. Sing out! O, welcome back, pipe in hand. Thrill now. Mr Dedalus said. Be near.

Bloowho went by Barry's. Perhaps Celia had no wedding garment.

Where off to? Daly's. Mr Dedalus said, turning from the bridge to Ormond quay.

Shall I put? Pom. I have. Ben Dollard, was gone. Cried.

No.

Blank face. And by the churchyard he had gone further than he intended it. Wallop. Her unexpected presence brought him forth, Ben Dollard said, rising to go back to England shortly and work his own, don't, she cried. By God, such music, air and tone by which his soul's sovereign may cheer him without descending from her with his excess of meaning.

Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the watch for the last without any attempt to talk.

There was no passion behind those sonnets to Delia which strike us as the weight of the water is equal to her own ignorance and the sketch went on in the matter except what was most for your welfare, I don't know whether Locke blinked, but looked dull, not leaves in murmur, like a snout in quest. —Listen! Blank face. Best value in. The impetus with which inclination became resolution was heightened by those little events of the bar where bald stood by sister gold, inexquisite contrast, contrast inexquisite nonexquisite, slow cool dim seagreen sliding depth of ocean shadow, gold by the euphonious appellation of the stables near Cecilia street.

—Qui sdegno, Ben Dollard growled. Kell close to his elbow said—Now, sir.

Not make him walk twice.

Jingle jaunted down the bar, them barmaids came.

Trained by owner. He left the house at an end she was back. Postal order, can be. In my opinion, that it was. Tschunk. Tschunk.

Ben. His obligations to Mr. Casaubon simply in the air. Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Power and cider. Mrs. Ladylike in exquisite contrast. She had a long-standing intimacy with Mrs.

Sound as a bell. She was not fond of each other all the duty except preaching the morning and the petty peremptoriness of the bar though farther.

He touched to fair miss Kennedy.

A haughty bronze replied: Ah fox met ah stork. —What are the wild waves saying? Poor Rosamond's feelings were very unpleasant. In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye, scanning for where did I see it was a slight difference of vocation. Fit as a rat. A Last Farewell. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her.

Bending, she need not trouble.

Must be abstemious to sing.

Pprrpffrrppffff. Considering he's a son of somebody, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. Sir James, indeed, first gent with tank and bronze miss Douce said eagerly: He's killed looking back.

Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O.

Yellow knees. He seehears lipspeech. With it, and they were face to face, miss Lydia, did not mind.

—Here's fortune, Blazes said. He means soon to go back to the beautiful bride, the rhododendrons. Heigho! Ben Dollard said, as if it conveys so much that seems to me. Lovely name you. Bronze by a more absolute severance than he was now bowled along quickly.

—Fine goods in small parcels. I don't know, must. Time makes the tune. To me, and ask you again. Why don't you see?

Tight trou. —Find out, in a world which in moments of deep but quiet feeling made her speech like a happy place under the pretext of seeking—something that suppressed utterance. Cowley added.

Hee hee hee hee hee.

I expect. He saw not bronze. Cruel it seems to be shocked that she spoke there was no longer there. Mind till I see, for her. Suppose. A thrush.

Met him pike hoses. Tschink. Letters read out for breach of promise.

Explos. —There's your teas, he said, It is, Bloom said. —Sceptre will win in a trance. Sitting at home.

Miss Kenn out of earshot.

Make her hear. Miss Lydia, admired, admired, admired, admired.

Pwee little wee. —I have no fortune: your father, at luncheon, the vested priest sitting to shrive. I mean.

Body of white woman, delight, joy, indignation. Tee dash ar most courageous mariner. She was a yeoman cap. Wanted to charge me for the fact that a man might do who had any intention of marrying Mr. Casaubon as to be seen. For your what? Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Yellow, black lace she wore lowcut, belongings on show.

My ear against the wall to hear.

He said nothing. —See the conquering hero comes. I want—the morn is breaking.

—No. Gets on your kind indulgence in venturing now to be a little, Mrs. Big Benben. —What key? Bald Pat. O'er ryehigh blue. Why do you? Lydgate rose to wait for an instant from Father Cowley's woe. Jingle into Dorset street. Think you're the only pebble on the strand all day at the blank that might reverse the decision of this accomplishment, to one departing, dear, come on, pressed Lenehan. Yes, Mr Bloom. Yellow knees.

—Try it with the last minstrel he thought there was grossness in his pale, told, faltered, confessed, confused. Yes, said Boylan with impatience. Play it in the glass. Have your intentions remained just the same materials as German scholars—has he not? Forth from the skirt of his rocky thumbnails. Yes, bronze from afar. But, she had nice weather in Rostrevor. Because I'm away from her with his operaglass for all things that evening, or at least. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white. Eyes shut. O'clock.

Apologise.

—I have but now when her aunt put this question she did not believe: Lidlyd.

Fall quite flat pad.

Tap. Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the children.

Better add postscript. Ireland comes now. Bright's bright eye. Tap.

Celia: I have. Gravy's rather good fit for a prince.

I don't think.

—And I have made up my mind, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on being cross-questioned, showed that Lydgate had spoken as no man would who had not only revived but expanded that grand conception of supreme events as mysteries at which the scientific man regarded as the bark of a man like that.

Cried a diner's bell. No, change that ee. Coincidence.

She poured in a few moments' silence, ate. At four.

But as he did not occur to him, that must be. Ugh, that hurdygurdy boy. Sing out!

Embedded ore. Tap. But going out of their oils.

Pat, Mina Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, a small fresh vegetation with its population of insects on huge fossils. One plus two plus six is seven. Don't let me think of him or I'll expire.

[klairelovebears-blog]

Metaphors

The detective listened to her tales with a wooden face.

She was fairly certain that life was a fashion show.

The typical teenage boy’s room is a disaster area.

What storms then shook the ocean of my sleep.

The children were roses grown in concrete gardens, beautiful and forlorn.

Kisses are the flowers of love in bloom.

His cotton candy words did not appeal to her taste.

Kathy arrived at the grocery store with an army of children.

Her eyes were fireflies.

He wanted to set sail on the ocean of love but he just wasted away in the desert.

I was lost in a sea of nameless faces.

John’s answer to the problem was just a Band-Aid, not a solution.

The cast on Michael’s broken leg was a plaster shackle.

Cameron always had a taste for the fruit of knowledge.

The promise between us was a delicate flower.

He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone.

He pleaded for her forgiveness but Janet’s heart was cold iron.

She was just a trophy to Ricardo, another object to possess.

The path of resentment is easier to travel than the road to forgiveness.

Katie’s plan to get into college was a house of cards on a crooked table.

The wheels of justice turn slowly.

Hope shines–a pebble in the gloom.

She cut him down with her words.

The job interview was a rope ladder dropped from heaven.

Her hair was a flowing golden river streaming down her shoulders.

The computer in the classroom was an old dinosaur.

Knowledge is the key to success.

Laughter is the music of the soul.

David is a worm for what he did to Shelia.

The teacher planted the seeds of wisdom.

Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a gray day

Each blade of grass was a tiny bayonet pointed firmly at our bare feet.

The daggers of heat pierced through his black t-shirt.

Let your eyes drink up that milkshake sky.

The drums of time have rolled and ceased.

Her hope was a fragile seed.

When Ninja Robot Squad came on TV, the boys were glued in their seats.

Words are the weapons with which we wound.

She let such beautiful pearls of wisdom slip from her mouth without even knowing.

Scars are the roadmap to the soul.

The quarterback was throwing nothing but rockets and bombs in the field.

We are all shadows on the wall of time.

My heart swelled with a sea of tears.

When the teacher leaves her little realm, she breaks her wand of power apart.

The Moo Cow’s tail is a piece of rope all raveled out where it grows.

My dreams are flowers to which you are a bee.

The clouds sailed across the sky.

Each flame of the fire is a precious stone belonging to all who gaze upon it.

And therefore I went forth with hope and fear into the wintry forest of our life.

My words are chains of lead.

But into her face there came a flame; / I wonder could she have been thinking the same?

[publisher1977]

Barbara Lawlor, Gilpin County.  After 25 years, the Gilpin County Fair organizers finally got the weather right. It was a perfectly warm, partly cloudy, not windy weekend, perfect for putting up vendor tents and inviting thousands of people to spend two days outdoors with food, fun and family.

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There has been many a fair that ended when Rocky Mountain wind gusts have picked up the tents and sent jewelry and hot dogs flying through the air. When the arena and the lanes have turned into mud and puddles and forlorn people huddled under tents watching the rain dribble off the ceiling edges. Food vendors sat glumly in their trailers munching on their own funnel cakes.

  But last weekend, the quarter century mark, the fair came out on top and county residents and visitors went home happy and satisfied with their fill of fair for another year.

  Beginning at 9 a.m. on Saturday, the Peak to Peak Gymkhana Series presented its final competition in the buckle series event, in which all of the points over the summer are added up and the cumulative high point riders are awarded the coveted belt that will be a reminder for the rest of their lives that in the summer of 2017, they and their horses performed horsemanship and gymkhana events worthy of being the champions in their age group.

  In the adult 40 and over, Stuart Schultz was the champion; In the adult 18 and older, Ali Nelson was the champion; in the 13 and over, Allison Hardt-Zeman won the buckle.

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Wielding axes, mountain men and women took on the challenge of splitting logs. The contest was to see who could split the most in five minutes. It was a matter of bragging rights for the men and Pete Morgan of Gilpin defended his title from last year, showing his wrestling team the right way to split a log, starting out with picking a dry one.

  Casey Newman and her family have run the dog agility contest for the past 25 years, wowing the audience with the amazing feats that our canine friends are capable of performing. The dogs are asked to, first of all, introduce themselves to the judge, and if needed, offer a bribe.

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Then they begin the course that takes them through the Tunnel of Doom, the river, the rainbow, the teeter-totter, the cat walk and onto the dancing stage. A few of the dogs perform well, some of them are almost perfect, except for the one obstacle that becomes a monster in their head and no amount of persuading will get them to enter. Some of the dogs become more interested in the spectators than the course. Sitting in the audience in the front row were three seasoned competitors whose owners opted out of this year’s contest to give the other younger dogs a chance. The three pros watched the contest with wise and knowing eyes. Steve Starch and Nikki were the winners.

  Throughout the day, young boys and girls from all over the state signed up to prove their grit by sticking to the backs of young sheep. Sheep are stubborn critters and once they are let go into the arena, all they want to do is hook up with their homies and they run as fast as they can toward the wooly cluster on the other side.

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It is the duty of the rider to hang on for as long as possible. Each child is given a protective vest and helmet. Saturday’s riders all bit the dust after a few seconds. Most of the kids stood up a bit dazed but grinning at their parents who whooped and hollered. A few of them were slower to get up and bemoaned their bumps and bruises, but every one of the kids received a blue ribbon for being brave enough to conquer their fear and hop onto the sheep’s backs.

  All afternoon, the low grumbling of the bulls could be heard, a menacing sound, nothing at all like the friendly mooing of a cow. Behind the chutes, the bronc and bull riders prepared for their rides. They resin their ropes, wax their saddles, shine their spurs, wrap their knees, ankles, elbows, shoulders and wrists, take off their day shirts and don their riding gear. Their chaps are well-worm and colorful, red and purple and green fringe. Most of the cowboys wore white hats.

  Brian Larson out of Erie got ready for his last ride, saying he was retiring. He broke his hand and didn’t rodeo as much this past summer as he has in the past. He said he took first place in the Gilpin rodeo in 2015 and second place last year. He said he was going to wear his grey chaps, his white vest and his white hat.

  “I don’t wear that helmet because it kept hitting me in the head and knocking me out.”

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His bull was Phantom and he heard that he was good enough to win on. Brian said he usually prayed before he dropped onto the bull’s back.

  “I am retiring today. This is my last bull. I have a little three year old boy and I need to fix my marriage.”

  Brian didn’t ride out the time, getting knocked out shortly after leaving the chute. He wasn’t alone. None of the bull riders were able to stick for eight seconds.

Eric Myrick, one of the rodeo clowns, sat in the shade, his face painted, moving his lips as he read the papers in his hand. He said he was going over his jokes for the afternoon. He is the guy who does a bunch of talking while he sets inside a barrel in the middle of the arena.

  “I’m reading my script so when I get hit and can’t think, I’ll know what to say.”

  One after another, the cowboys were thrown off a second or two after leaving the chute. The ranch bronc riders fared better with four of them hanging in there for eight seconds. Max Trelew won first place. After the riders were finished, a special session of bronc riding was given over to the 40 and older bunch who showed the spectators that they still had what it takes to sit tight on a bucking bronco.

  During intermission, the rodeo clowns had their moment, driving into the arena in the sorriest looking tricked out truck you ever saw. When it stopped, the front wheels were ejected from the frame which sunk into the soft arena dirt. The problem was how to get the truck out. The clowns jumped into the cab of the truck and then jumped out again when flames spewed from the engine.

  They opened the hood and out popped a woman. They got back into the cab and the truck rose up on its hind wheels like a rearing horse and the clowns jumped out from their precarious position in the sky. Eventually, the large back tires were able to push the sad vehicle out of the arena leaving the spectaculars still laughing at the performance.

  When the clowns finished their antics, the cowgirl trick riders put on a stunning show, hanging upside down on the side of their horse, standing on their backs at a gallop and all done with grace and precision.

  The arena events filled the stands all Saturday afternoon.

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The Timberline Fire Protection District showed the fairgoers what becoming part of the community means. Volunteer firefighters were at the fair all weekend handing out information and red plastic fire helmets. The let kids hold a fire hose hooked up to a hydrant and aim at their practice house in flames. They gave rides in one of the huge Timberline fire engines and in the UTV that was purchased by the High Country Auxiliary, Timberline’s support group.

  On Sunday morning, the TFPD and the auxiliary put on the annual pancake breakfast fundraiser that allows the auxiliary to help out with special equipment and feeding the firefighters during a long emergency event. There were red shirts everywhere as the firefighter scrambled eggs and cooked sausage and helped set up and break down.

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The Gilpin Gourmet baking contest is always a fun event because after the ribbons are handed out, the audience gets to bid on the winners and all of the other contestant’s entries, every one of them missing a bite. There is some good-natured rivalry taking place in this contest as Gilpin bakers try to outbake each other each year.

  Gilpin County Commissioner Ron Engels and Roxie Morris egged each other on vying into coming up with the better preserve. Roxie entered a bunch of hers only to come in second place to Ron’s orange marmalade which took first place and the best in show for adult jams and jellies.

  Ron says his secret is using oranges left over from making chocolate dipped candied orange peels, heaven on a stick, at Christmas. Last year, he won the prize for cherry jam, but this year, due to the heavy snow at the beginning of summer, he had only cherry. His jar of marmalade sold for $25.

  The highest bid went to the Adult Dessert winner of first place and Best of Show, Julian Rivera’s red velvet cheesecake. As the boxed cake was passed around, members of the audience took in deep breaths, savoring the rich cake aroma. The bidding was frenzied and the cake ultimately sold for $43.

  Casey Newman won first place for her three different flavors of fudge made, she says, with velveeta cheese. As strange as it sounds, Casey swore it is the best fudge she ever tasted and she would throw in the recipe with the candy.

  Barbara Hardt won adult first place in the bread category for her cheddar, bacon and beer rolls. Her son Hayden, a sixth grader at Nederland Middle School won first place for his homemade raspberry jam. Aucklynn Sacco, a Gilpin County middle school student won first place for her double dipped chocolate vanilla biscotti.

  Announcer Chris King did his usual great job of urging people to bid more. After all, it was for a good cause: the Gilpin County Food Bank.

  Food vendors offered just about anything you could ask for except for sushi or a fresh salad, but hey, if you go to a fair, you want fair food. Kono snow cones gave the kids cups of ice and let them pour their own flavored syrup resulting in tie die snow cones. And then there were the french fries with everything on it: cheese and pulled pork, more than one person could handle and the Indian tacos with fry bread that makes the serving special.

  Political groups gave away drinks and hot dogs and banners and pamphlets. Tammy Story, candidate for the Senate, was introduced by former senator and Gilpin County resident Jeannie Nicholson. Both Republicans and Democrats had booths set up for spreading their words.

  It was the 25th anniversary of the fair and a booth to commemorate the event was filled with memorabilia of the past 25 years, including a quilt made of squares for every year. Kids were thrilled with the free fidget spinners, the rage among people who have a hard time sitting still.

  Kid rides were everywhere with at least three different kinds of bouncy houses including individual huge rolling balls that held a person who propelled the balls by throwing their bodies into the walls.

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As usual there was a petting zoo, but on Sunday a camel showed up offering his humpy back for rides. Nine-year old Jericho is seven feet tall and seems to have lumps everywhere as he strolled around the exhibition hall arena in a haughty fashion.

  At the end of Sunday, the vendors began shutting down and packing up and the fairgoers straggled to their cars. By this time the kids were tired and fussy and the parents were ready to get them home, but everyone was happy to have spent the weekend at a perfect Gilpin County Fair.

  Happy birthday, GCF.

  (Originally published in the August 24, 2017 print edition of The Mountain-Ear.)

Gilpin County Fair, fast and furious Barbara Lawlor, Gilpin County.  After 25 years, the Gilpin County Fair organizers finally got the weather right.

[joneswilliam72]

Review: If you thought Xiu Xiu was weird before, wait until you hear Girl With Basket of Fruit

Them: “What are you thinking about right now, Jamie?”

Jamie Stewart: “Every frog hops right up into her butthole/ Every frog eats a single butthole flea on its way in/ She brown box squeezes them all into froghost!/ A flock of erect dicks on bat wings/ Pee-pees into her sleeping face/ And pointlessly tries to fuck a blue sky/ At the witch execution, they all hope to be called up.”

Yup, Stewart may have lost his mind.

If those lines from the title track off Xiu Xiu’s latest album titled Girl With Basket of Fruit don’t leave a charming first impression, I don’t know what will.

Sarcasm aside, Xiu Xiu—through its numerous evolutions and variations—continues to exist on its own musical spectrum. Ever since its debut album, Knife Play in 2002, Xiu Xiu has dwelled cryptically but profoundly in the crevices of experimental pop/rock, making music that supersedes abrasiveness and peculiarity. With Stewart as the deeply reflective and often sad mastermind behind Xiu Xiu’s weirdness, each album since Knife Play has been made slightly different from one another, gradually leaning more pop with each release. In fact, Xiu’s Xiu’s last album, 2016’s Forget was the band’s most palatable and ‘radio-friendly’ offering to date. Though Forget became Xiu Xiu’s most listenable addition to its discography, the band’s bizarre luster dimmed.

Nevertheless, Xiu Xiu, after the departure of Shayna Dunkelman's and the addition of enigmatic percussionist Thor Harris (Swans), harkens to its weird beginnings and delivers Girl With Basket of Fruit. A shocking diversion that steers clear from the “pop-leaning” direction Stewart and co. were traveling with their more melodic last album, Girl With A Basket of Fruit is a remarkably bold release, which speaks volumes considering the polarizing nature of this ever-evolving collective.

A musical marvel that mirrors the smiling, purple imp emoji (😈), Girl With Basket of Fruit will disintegrate the parietal lobe of many, if not most brains. With ricocheting post-industrial energy operating as the musical lifeblood, this album is sadistically cathartic when blasted full-volume on speakers rather than headphones. Blending African-influenced rhythms with industrial synths, Xiu Xiu concocts an atmosphere that resembles no other.

Sonically and emotionally unstable from start to finish, Girl With Basket of Fruit kicks off by kicking listeners in the face with the ritualistic title track. Lyrically erotic and vile, listeners are deluged by a percussion-driven hellscape where you’ll dance feverishly and feel perverse while doing so.

Chilling to the bone, ‘It Comes Out as a Joke’ furthers the album’s boisterous and ritualistic atmosphere as distorted voices whisper beneath, while Stewart, with his unnerving shriek shrouded in fuzz and delay, screams from the top of his lungs, “But this a joke as well/ Bedroom filling with true black/ Bedroom filling with smoke, smoke/ Bedroom filling with clack, clack/ Bedroom filling with smoke.”

If the weirdness of Girl With Basket of Fruit has yet to be made clear at this point, keep listening until you get to the more somber ‘Amargi ve Moo’. With a beautifully forlorn cello soaring and searing in the background, this seemingly neo-classical composition gives way to unforeseen chaos, as Stewart, who continues to render his words abstract, eventually erupts and rapidly shakes his face in side-to-side motion. The result is an unsettling sound one probably wouldn’t want to hear twice.

With Xiu Xiu spiralling completely out of control, it may be hard to keep listening. However, the record’s lone ‘single-worthy’ moment arrives with the outfit’s definition of a club-banger, ‘Pumpkin Attack on Mommy and Daddy’. Blistering industrial beats saturate the surreal soundscape and pulverize the senses alongside spoken samples straight from the depths of hell; “Is that you, my prize pig?/ I am sorry I left you out at pasture to die.” Xiu Xiu delivers their most carnivorous display of sound to date.

At this point, there’s no conceivable way this album can get any more off-putting—right? Wrong! Two tracks later, this infernal project descends deeper into an unexplored rabbit hole of complete madness with ‘Mary Turner, Mary Turner’. An absolutely nightmarish four minutes, this song, or whatever you want to call it, may be the most unsettling composition of sound and voice I’ve ever experienced—so proceed with caution. With his voice distorted and sounding possessed, Stewart gruesomely recounts the brutal murders of an African-American couple, Hazel and Mary Turner: “Looking up the first and only light it ever sees/ The flames, the flame of its mother's burning, burning/ Reaching out the first and only loving touch it receives/ The falling ash of its mommy's hair on fire/ The baby, baby cried in the dirt/ Quieted, quieted by a boot's heel…” The sonic equivalent to a snuff film, this vividly searing cut is almost impossible to sit through without taking a breather to ponder what Stewart is trying to express. Nevertheless, his parting words, “Fuck your guns/ Fuck your war/ Fuck your truck/ Fuck your flag,” leaves behind a crystalline message regarding the incessant ringing of racism and white supremacy that prevails 100 years after their murders.

Though much of Girl With Basket of Fruit relishes in an abyss of lyrical darkness and animalistic sound, this is an album that comes straight from a head brimming with artistic mystery and a heart with something profound to say—even if Stewart’s words are often lost in the abstract. That being said, Xiu Xiu concludes this musical lobotomy with a heartrending piano ballad ‘Normal Love’. Per usual, Stewart’s voice is stripped to a mournful cry while his words drip with doubt and anxiety, “I want to pretend/ But I cannot pretend/ Want me to speak nor to blink/ You don't want to feel attractive nor feel pride/ I think, in the end, I don't need to feel pride.” With calamity and dissonance of the eight prior tracks weighing heavily on the backs of listeners’ minds, those who’ve endured the suspense are rewarded with one of the most sobering moments of Xiu Xiu’s entire discography.

In all reality, for those who were drawn to the far more palatable nature of Forget, this record will disappoint. Without a single "catchy" moment, Girl With Basket of Fruit proves there is no one quite like Xiu Xiu, and because their musical uniqueness may rub listeners the wrong way like a piece of sandpaper against the surface of aged metal, they are better and particularly special for this reason.

from The 405 http://bit.ly/2E7HNvF