#while Pearl is the first to die yet her memory is immortalized
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I think they would be friends <3
#Sen’s napkin art#<- napkin art tag#when Sen makes art#hello if you found this account from the previous tag!!#pix and pearl#something something honouring death as the theme for Pixandria#and honouring life as the theme for Helianthia#yet Pix lives forever despite being forgotten#eternal yet ignored just like death#while Pearl is the first to die yet her memory is immortalized#momentary yet revered just like life#when Sen is LOUD#also both of them are holding bread#and while Pearl is feeding the ducks#Pix just holds his piece close to his heart#I made this during church so the bread kind of relates to Christ#but I’m not going to get into that
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mumbo’s newest episode got me thinking (u should watch it got mumbo lore also the context):
since mumbo’s the only one aging, that means that the rest of them are immortal or something, and he doesn’t want to be left behind (since he wants to put his conscience in a chicken)
and that means the rest of them are… god like
pearl is a goddess
she was the one getting worshipped by the mooners
and now mumbo can’t let her or the rest of his friends go, but he’s still is getting older, meaning he would sacrifice his body for the sake of staying where the people he loves live, or used to live when a new season starts
what happens if pearl tries to convince him to stay in his human self? and she embraces all the wrinkles and sunspots? what if she’s there when he eventually dies? would she find a way to bring him back forever? would she accept it with grief?
or what if mumbo stays as a chicken? will they stay, keeping their friend? will they leave him behind or visit? he’s still gonna die there, maybe near big ron’s? how insane will pearl be, that her biggest worshipper, her love, one of her best friends, is stuck to a place that she has to leave someday?
and don’t get me started on everybody else- (gets dragged into the void)
(I haven't seen the episode yet but I wanted to have my first existential meltdown before I watched it, so it could be spaced out from my inevitable additional meltdowns after watching. Basically stay turned and I shall also report back once I have seen it and probably crash out for another 2k words)
"what happens if pearl tries to convince him to stay in his human self? and she embraces all the wrinkles and sunspots?"
My friend, I do believe you are trying to kill me.
Because personally, I come from a lineages of ancestors who have lived long, physically healthy lives while they completely lost their memory and minds long before they were done on the earth. I literally work on detecting and treating cognitive decline. When I think about aging its not just physical changes. So this has thrown me into the existential dread of what something like aging could look like for a redstoner, an inventor like Mumbo.
He's slower with a sword? Okay, well he was never great at PVP anyway so not much has changed. He can't build for as long or lift as heavy stacks anymore? Okay, he'll take it slower. Quality over quantity anyway. His friends still enjoy his company, they tell him his builds and creations are wonderful. It's fine. He'll be fine. The thing he wanted to preserve wasn't any of those traits, it was his mind.
But what happens when he can't remember how the redstone component work just one too many times? When his friends come to ask him to help him build a farm he's sure he's made in the past, but he just can't remember? When he tries to create something new that he's sure will work, but he just can't figure it out?
He knows that a younger version of him wouldn't have had any of these issues. This all would have been easy for a young, spry Mumbo. And now its too late. Before when he wanted to preserve his brain, it was working perfectly. Now? Now it's not. Now there are pieces missing, degraded and lost to time. Sure, if he uploaded his conscious before he would have been a chicken. But he would have been him. The one thing he could wholly maintain when he swapped over into a new body is now gone too.
Pearl said he still looked good when his hair started to grey and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened. She said she still loved him even as his joints started to ache and his strength faded. He wants to believe that she will still feel all those things when its his mind that isn't what it used to be instead of his body. But he has his doubts.
And Pearl, an immortal goddess, would know that everything has a time to begin and end. She would convince him to stay a human and love him until his final moments. She would grieve and also come to accept it. But also...what is a 1000 years of grief if your timescale is eternity? There is no pressure to move on quickly when you will be around forever. So yes she eventually comes to terms with it, but there are whole generations that only know of a weeping moon. (I swear there is a thing about phases of a moon where one one phase looks like the moon is bowl filling up and the other looks like a bowl emptying out. If that's a real thing then entire generations only know of a moon that eternally looks like it is spilling out across the eternally darkness, pearlescent tears shimmering across the sky.)
....And thats just me going off on ONE of the things you said here. Every single sentence of this ask is an entire fic prompt on its own. And I haven't even watched the video yet. Jesus.
#ask#if you can divine a coherent thought from this#thats awesome because I can't#I will be returning to add more so stand by for more spinning out of main about the existential ordeals of#aging#immortality#and being loved by those around you
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Thinking about AniRedux Sinnoh and I think I figured out how it would function (yes I will make a graph and nobody can stop me)
AR Sinnoh is Platinum's Sinnoh (very snowy borderline perpetual winter while the outskirt cities are the complete opposite being in perpetual spring/summer and places like Oreburgh Pastoria and Hearthome being in perpetual autumn)
Sinnoh has no extra gyms and only has 2 reserve leaders (Riley being Byron's/Roark's and Flint and Volkner being interchangeable)
The Celestica people are very complicated, they are believed to have fully died out and can be confirmed by writings of their own but that is completely contradicted by people coming forward saying that they themselves are Celestica/of Celestica decent and have been able to prove it by translating Celestica writings (they are written in a blend of ancient Hisui and Unknown and are completely illegible to anyone who is not Celestica since the written language itself was a gift given to them by Uxie)
The Celestica people also have a thing akin to immortality,if someone comes from a Celestica lineage then their life span is just slightly longer than it should (ex normal human longest being a bit over 100 whereas CL would be 130), now if someone were to come from a direct unbroken Celestica lineage they are pretty much pseudo immortal (ie Volo and Cogita,their maximum lifespans are well into 400 nearing 500), AR Cynthia is directly related to the two with her herself having Celestica parents (Cynthia has been around for roughly 230 years now,she has had to drastically change her appearance throughout the years along with her name as to avoid suspicion) Celestica do age slowly hence why Cynthia still looks to be in her mid 30s despite being over 2 centuries old
(This one is a bit out of left field) Hisui itself is a pocket dimension namely being the PLA Hisui
There was originally the 1 Hisui and no pocket dimension shenanigans but it had split into 2 when the Dimensional Rift above Mt Coronet first formed (there was no noticeable difference between the two), AR Hisui became Sinnoh just like in vanilla canon whereas PLA Hisui is stuck in a permeant time loop
How the loop occurs is that the events of PLA happen but instead Akari takes the role of the player character since Dawn/Lucas haven't yet been isakai'd, events go as normal up until the final Volo fight, Akari loses since she does not have Arceus' blessing and Volo goes onto resetting the world with Giritina (ie fight 'Arceus' and force a reset even though the Arceus he fights is only a shard and on top of that the reset is destined to happen)
Nobody remembers anything after the reset not even Volo (literal hard reset like fully deleting everyone's memories) and it all happens again exactly the same time and time again
Arceus has tried to isekai people into PLA Hisui but it has always failed resulting in their deaths almost immediately after being sent in due to injury sickness ect (those loops are auto doomed since only 1 chosen can be sent in per loop)
Ingo was eventually chosen and sent in which he did almost die in the Alabaster Icelands but was rescued, he essentially acted as the player character and instead of being Pearl Clan he had joined Jubilife, timeline continues as planned (1-1 with PLA's story), Ingo was ment to be the person to finally stop Volo and end the resets for good but he had failed too and the world was reset
A thing about resets with a chosen still in the pocket dimension is that if they are not recalled in time they will then become a permanent fixture in the loop (Ingo suddenly becoming Pearl Clan and having no memory of anything before) said person can be brought back to their time only if the next chosen is able to send them through the rift (Arc-Phone is basically a chosen's lifeline and only 1 can exist per loop)
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i am in love with you
i am in love with you
i hate to be the bringer
of such devastating news
four and a half years
you wouldn’t believe it
i had my first in a rich neighbourhood
so far away from you
i hated it
had my second in a dorm
just like yours
only you weren’t there
same as the last four and a half years
she laid herself out like a feast
the third
but it wasn’t what i wanted
because it wasn’t with you
for whom i was made
oh, with you
into a golden universe
i am in love with you
and you found someone
before i could tell you that
that my life was made to die with yours
my body made to die with yours
on your bed, somewhere, anywhere
i walked down a hill
in that sleepy coastal city
i was on my way to weatherspoons
to meet your namesake
carrying a heavy bag after class
end of january, i had met you for the first time
and thought to myself
i have found her
i have found her
it was astronomical
the refrain of the almost free
saw you walking behind that woman we both knew
you were asking her about the bible
it’s a vivid picture
i almost followed you
i had a question for you, too
a few days later
i was traversing the pavement
and upon the hill, a flicker of light
much like a cross
you were standing there
with some girls, some boys
and i was a magnet to your ism
said hi, we talked, you’d just got a new haircut
and i could’ve pressed my lips against every strand of your hair
in a sacred prelude, but i didn’t
have it in me to even tell you how beautiful you looked
better than the birth of venus
we stood there for a while
i said come ‘round the catholic church, please
there’s free lunch on sundays
it made you laugh
then you said
we ought to have a cup of tea
earl grey, your favourite
tea
and with it all the kindness of life
tea
and within me i immortalised you
i immortalise you
and i meant to tell you that
one month before we met
i met someone from your hometown
they took me ‘round the bay and i took a picture of the church
right where you grew up
the foundation was laid
for a house never built
i fell in love with the streets and the lamp posts and trains and cliffs that made you
though i didn’t know you yet
how afraid i was
that’s why i didn’t say
i didn’t know that it was okay to want you
and you were the only one
who didn’t ask where i came from
you just accepted me
and then you offered branches
a bridge between two falling stars
i didn’t understand all the lust bursting out of me
in your vicinity
so i stopped looking at you
and it only made me want you more
and i told our mutual friend
when i was drunk on cheap cider
in may when you were taken
that you must feel like silk
to an intimate observer
and as we walked into the corner shop
on wet cobblestone
i told her that i loved you
said i love her, i love her, i love her
i wonder if she ever told you that
then shame hurt me
and i stopped taking her calls
your scarf, your scarf
autumn or winter upon you
it doesn’t matter
it’s all a golden-red dream
and my nights are full of your perfect movement
your gracious hands and soul
unattainable literary ballerina
purple heart, you sent me one
when i was on the train to paddington
and in the air there was a beginning unreconstructed
you asked if i was okay
because you didn’t see me that day
i should’ve picked up the pace
should’ve told you anything
you would’ve listened
i know you would’ve listened
and lavender was your breath, your scent, your colour
and our friend tried to make plans
on that valentine’s day
plans that fell through
i didn’t know why it wasn’t our turn
but we already merged like waters
a thousand rivers ago
i can feel it
like lana del rey would say
all roads that lead to you as integral to me as arteries
all roads that lead to you as integral to me as arteries
i remember you in your leather jacket
when you sat next to me with a cough
i wanted to nurse you back to health
then we’d sleep inside each other
that’s what freedom would’ve meant
and i saw you in the half-light, perfect under blue skies
at 2 pm in june
fate was still trying to patch it up
bare-faced, you were the last living rose
i restrained myself from hoping
i was slate-grey inside
leaving for the counterfeit summer
you were with somebody then
somebody bolder, somebody to break you, another
it was the last time that i saw you
tried to get back in touch
tried to tell you about it
i never had the words, i’m sorry
and i know i act like we’re close
but trust me, i know
i know it when i see it
and i haven’t seen it since
and maybe you never saw me for who i am
for i was traumatised
i couldn’t be myself
i hope you see me now
i know you want immortality
you wear it like a pearl
the designation to be
remembered by the halls of time
well, that i could’ve given you
i wrote a book of poetry about you
in my mother tongue
it will be published soon
even though they rejected it at first
i wrote three hundred songs about you
at the very least
covered all of my canvases
in colours to beckon you
fixed your name into these walls
at night, when i required you
and that’s when i wanted to ask
never had the chance
but i wanted to ask
is it wrong if the only thing
i want to wear for you
is my skin?
i believe in letters
that’s why i’m telling you this
if you ever ask, like oliver did
whenever i watch that film
i think of you and what could’ve been
my childhood was a prison cage
and i get by in reykjavík these days
without any substances
i don’t know how i get by
there’s a man who watches over me
and still i am alone
i practice my violin four hours per day
and i don’t have any family
and everybody wants to know me
and everybody wants to love me
and everybody wants to fuck me
but some days i feel like i can’t move
i’m blooming, i’m barely living
and i am just as much a man
as i am anything else
and i am starved
to the bone
of you
of every atom in you
it is my calling
to reach into your depths, somehow
i’m twenty-four
i can’t remember your birthday
but something tells me it’s in the pulp of summer
not at the death of it like mine
and time isn’t linear
but i will still need you tomorrow
a habit fastened into me
throughout a thousand days
i didn’t know my name for years
on this frozen island
i couldn’t stand
and then they burned my heart
with a catheter, you know
i had nobody to hold
i was so sick
made my peace with dying young
and living slow
an undue burden
on a life never begun
a wasted garden
strong and alone
i’m doing better now
i was in london
when i almost died
around midnight
it stopped beating
i thought about you every day
and i tried
in my way
it’s okay, it’s okay
i play my violin
and something great awaits me
and nothing measures up
to the idea of you
and it’s not just an idea
but a tangible memory
it’s so simple
it’s scripture
no, i’m not religious
but maybe there’s some merit to it
for it brought me you
they don’t know who you are
and i’ll never tell them
only you know who you are
i heard about the shooting
i might understand what led him to do it
he just needed someone to love
i am in love with you
i don’t know why
i just am
it’s pathetic and strange
but maybe it’s what you’ve been waiting for
all this ever-changing time
it’s taken me long enough
i am in love with you
this is my verdict, my promise
this is all i can say
#poetry#lesbian poem#lesbian poetry#queer poetry#love confessions#confession#i love you poem#Sapphic Poetry#sapphic poem#sapphism#sapphic
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wasteland, baby! | kol mikaelson - chapter eleven
Summary: Kol makes a deal with the Hollow to revive the first woman he ever loved. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go as planned.
Trust’s Note: Please like and reblog! I hope you enjoy. I added some Rebekah and Aniya content for y’all <3
Word Count: 2,300
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten
❝ forgive me, for the things i did but most the ones i did not ❞
KOL WATCHED SILENTLY as Keres set a grimoire in front of him. The small building in the cemetary was lit up only by faded sunlight and several candles, scattered around the area. Aniya lifted an eyebrow at the witch, critical eyes watching for any reason to turn away from Keres and search elsewhere. Her mouth twitched when Keres suggested Henry Pearl's sacrifice, posture shifting at the smug look on the witch's face. Her fists clenched together, body void of any amusement as she prepared her attack against the younger witch.
Kol cleared his throat, stepping in front of Aniya. Frankly, he wasn't sure who he was protecting. He was only sure that there seemed to be a smug look on Keres's face. He narrowed his eyes, but quickly replaced it with a polite smile.
"The human is off the table, unfortunately. Perhaps we should move onto some other possible victims," Kol suggested. He all but shoved the grimoire in Keres's direction, a quiet suggestion that she find another solution.
It was an odd dynamic. Physically, Keres was much older than Aniya and Kol. She was a dark-skinned woman in her mid-to-late twenties, while Aniya and Kol were frozen in their teenage years. Still, Kol found himself a bit offended. Keres would have known to offer some respect to her elders.
Aniya lifted her chin, hand lightly pushing Kol to the side. She stared Keres in the eyes, as if daring the witch to lie to her. "You're quite insistent, aren't you? So willing to sacrifice my Henry for a spell you wouldn't stand to benefit from. Keres, he has no power; no ties to the supernatural world -- and yet, you suggest we trade his life for a thousand year old immortal witch?"
She had a sharp tongue for a girl her size. It was odd. She was different from the girl he'd found curled up in the foyer that night. Aniya Grover was strange, in a manner that made his lips curl at the edges and eyes glitter in amusement. She'd had a chameleon soul; an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and wavering as the ocean. Had it been Henry Pearl that awoke this fire within her?
Whatever the answer, Kol's stomach twisted at the seams. The thought of her wrapped in his arms was enough to make him gag. He couldn't bring himself to understand why.
Keres turned the grimoire in Aniya's direction, a smug look painted across her face as she pushed it toward her. "Sacrificed are more likely to work when the emotional bond is the same between the victim and the vessel. Tyaag spells are known for failing. It's more likely to work if you care as much about the person you're sacrificing, as you do the person you're trying to bring back. So, a best friend, a brother, a boyfriend..."
It registered then that Aniya had none of those. She'd only had Henry. Kol shifted his stance. If Keres's words were true and she chose to sacrifice someone she cared for, she could only choose Henry. As far as Aniya was aware, the Mikaelsons couldn't be killed. And regardless, she'd said once that they had all been family to her in her human days. Surely she wouldn't throw that away in exchange for a human she'd just met.
Surely she wasn't that idiotic.
Aniya's jaw clenched, a bitter smile spreading across her face. Her dark eyes bored into Keres's. "No."
Keres's eyes glimmered with delight, a smile spreading across her red lips. Her tone shifted, mocking the girl in front of her. "So you'll let an innocent human die in exchange for your brother? You are cruel, Aniya."
"He is innocent." Her confidence never seemed to waver. Her right hand clenched into a fist, the whites of her knuckles beginning to peak through her olive skin.
"Perhaps we should focus our attention on smaller spells," Kol cut in, the rising tension in the room seeming to eat away at him. "How many humans do we need for the memory spell? Fifteen? Fifty?"
"Five." Keres stared at him as if he'd gone mad. "One for each of the Mikaelson siblings."
Aniya questioned, "I thought Finn died."
"Mikaelsons never properly die. We never learned," Kol responded, then turned back to Keres. He would explain later. "Five humans in exchange for decades of memories. It's quite simple, don't you think?"
"You were humans when your memories were erased, so we only need to erase human memories." Keres explained. "They all need to be eighteen at the youngest and in their thirties, at the oldest."
Aniya frowned. "And what of Mikael and Esther? We won't be returning theirs?"
Kol nearly laughed at her question, the past centuries replaying in his brain. Mikael had hunted he and his siblings for centuries, in the hopes of murdering Niklaus and doing God knows what with the rest of them. He'd been killed and brought back countless times, once in particular as a result of Davina Claire.
Esther had been murdered by Niklaus a thousand years ago. She was killed and brought back several times as well, and each time she'd carried a sort of vendetta against her own children. It was as if she'd made it her life's goal to wipe them from the face of the Earth. But then, it had been Esther that had resurrected him in the body of a witch, and it had been Esther that introduced him to Davina.
Part of him resented her for it. Davina had made him a better person, that much was true. He'd fallen in love with her, convinced himself that the moon and sun rose and fell by her will alone. She had bewitched him, in ways he could not bring himself to justify nor understand. It had been Esther that introduced the pair; but then, it had been their meeting that caused Davina's death in the first place.
A heavy weight seemed to drop onto his chest. Aniya would never know the cruelty of his mother's actions. He might have envied her for it, but there seemed to be this part of him that felt a bit relieved.
"You're better off assuming they've truly died," Kol said after a moment.
"You two really have a thing for being melodramatic. Y'all deserve each other," Keres stated. "I'll get everything you need for the spell. Bring me five people, and I'll erase one year of their lives for each year you knew the Mikaelsons."
Aniya lifted an eyebrow. "And how do you benefit from this?"
"My people have lost their ties to the ancestors. We have no power and no idea how to practice earth magic. Tyaag magic is the closest thing we've got, so I wanna learn more about it," She answered almost too perfectly.
"These spells can't be practiced by ordinary witches--"
"So we'll make a new branch of magic," Keres shut her down immediately. "One where we don't have to die to become all powerful."
Aniya's face twisted into a glare, baring her teeth at the witch. Kol narrowed his eyes at Keres, immediately understanding the gravity of the situation. Tyaag magic had been forgotten, buried and disrespected for centuries. It had originated from polytheistic beliefs, with the hope of appeasing their gods. Aniya and her brother had given their lives to sacrificial magic and rituals, and now it would be stolen and forgotten without so much as a thought.
"People have lost their lives to practice these rituals," Aniya said. "You mean to tell me that you're willing to put the lives of children on the line, for the sake of convenience. You have the ability to practice earth magic, why not use it?"
"I'm trying to help you. Why ask so many questions?" Keres spoke as if Aniya were a child, trying to put her back in her place. Aniya seemed to fall back under Keres's gaze.
"I'll provide you your humans. I'll need only a few days."
She turned on her heel and made her way out of the cemetary building. Kol stared after her, a small voice in his head screaming to defend her against Keres. Before he could so much as let out a word, Keres said, "She's stubborn. You might want to find your humans sooner. I'm sure Klaus will figure out you're lying eventually, and we wouldn't want that."
'No.' Kol would be daggered and shoved in a box before he could begin to defend himself. In regards to Aniya, there was no telling how he would react to a betrayal from someone so foreign, and vulnerable. For all he knew, she would be killed as a form of punishment. His consequence for disobeying direct orders.
Niklaus had become a madman, a dictator over the years. Perhaps he'd spent a bit too much time with King Louis. Whatever the reason, it occurred to Kol that there was no telling how he would respond to twenty years of ancient memories being thrust toward him. He had hoped the twins had been close with Niklaus in their past lives. Then he might be a bit more lenient about completely slaughtering the poor girl.
Kol nodded half-heartedly at Keres and made his way out of the cemetary. Maybe there would be some humans in his path, grieving over a lost lover or family member. Maybe they would be heartbroken enough to wish to forget their grief, exchanging it for a bit of amnesia and the aching feeling that they were missing something... indespensable.
To be quite honest, Kol wasn't sure how he found himself in front of Davina's grave, how he'd somehow managed to wander there despite the exit being several paces away. He was met with a crack in the cement, the old stone beginning to harden, immortalizing the girl that lied behind it. He knew that he could not make anyone understand the insurmountable grief he held in his chest. He could not make anyone understand what was happening inside him, and he could not begin to explain it himself.
Immortals such as he should not have been able to love the way humans do. Humans loved based on survival, lived viscerally and vulnerable out of fear of their own morality. With the destruction of the stake, Kol feared nothing of the sort. Davina had feared it all, and she had loved him regardless of his dirtied fingers and blood-drenched lips. She had saved him, resurrected him when his family had all but forgotten him once more.
He knew he should have had the courage to move on. Humans die, witches die. It was what they were made to do -- and yet, he simply couldn't bring himself to let go of the girl that had loved him so dearly. The one that had given so much to ensure he would come back. He owed her that much.
It was when he turned the corner that he was pulled out his thoughts, attention now focused on a drunken man tossing old beer at a gravesite. Kol lifted an eyebrow.
"Excuse me." He made his way towards the man. The old man couldn't have been any younger than forty, perhaps fifty. He would be able to fill in for Finn. Nearly thirty years of memories shouldn't have too much of an affect on a bastard such as this.
"Oh, hello," He slurred, words tainted with a heavy Swedish accent. The man moved recklessly, beer spilling out of the bottle and landing on the ground. Kol wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Please, ignore me. I'm simply having a drink with my wife."
"Yes. Well, you're being quite disrespectful to her memory. Most men would kill to have had a happy marriage," Kol paused for a moment, his eyes fixating on the man's bruised knuckles. A bitter smile formed on his face. "Tell me about your wife."
"Ah, she was beautiful. We met in secondary school, you see. She was this tall brunette girl, quite beautiful in her own way. Our parents despised each other, a sort of Romeo and Juliet-esque situation. We were together for two years before we ran off to America, claiming it was for university purposes." The old man had a tendency to stop in the middle of his sentences, taking a short sip of his drink. He let out a laugh. "My son does love to keep me away from this stuff. Says it's bad for me, the fucking idiot."
"Your son," Kol repeated, gaze flickering to his knuckles once more. His mouth began tasted of blood, a hatred beginning to sear inside of his chest. "Tell me, how did you manage to end up in New Orleans?"
"Ah, it was our first stop. Woman wanted to go to Tulane or whatever it was, but she chose me over her studies. Smart move on her behalf, perhaps one of her only ones," The man chuckled. "A while after, we found she was expecting. We had a boy, and she became ill a few years later. I stayed by her side during that time. I had promised her till death, of course. She was ungrateful nevertheless."
"How's your son?"
"Ah, he's all right now. Twenty-three, but works in a diner like his mother. Fucking idiot doesn't know how to make something of himself," He scoffed. "Sleeps all day, too."
It clicked then. Kol felt as though he'd ate the world raw. He nodded to himself and grabbed the man, wrapping a hand tightly around his mouth and squeezing until he went limp in his arms.
#Kol mikaelson#kol imagine#kol mikaelson smut#kol smut#kol mikaelson imagine#Nathaniel Buzolic#nathaniel buzolic imagine#nathaniel buzolic x reader#nathaniel buzolic angst#nate buzolic#nate buzz#nate buzz x reader#the originals#the originals au#the originals imagine#the originals smut#the originals fluff#the vampire diaries#the vampire diaries au#the vampire diaries imagine#the vampire diaries smut#Legacies#Legacies AU#legacies headcanons#legacies imagine#klaus mikaelson#niklaus mikaelson#rebekah mikaelson#elijah mikaelson#freya mikaelson
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Ang Halimaw - Kabanata Isa. Mahiwagang Gubat

Translation: The Monster - Chapter One. Enchanted Forest
※ Main Masterlist ※ Ang Halimaw Masterlist ※ Time Traveller!AU || Immortal!AU || War!AU || Filipino Mythology!AU ※ Series || Genre: Smut || Angst || Adventure || Romance || Horror ※ Pairing: Kim Jongin x OC (Paula) ※ Summary: Paula, an eighteen-year-old Filipino-American girl goes back to her province after her grandmother’s death. She will go on an adventure as she tries to find the village her late grandma grew up in. In a twist of events, she never knew that she will see her grandma’s lover and fall madly in love with him. Will he save her in his peculiar world? ※ Warning: Age Gap, Dub Con, (Technically) Incest, Swearing ※ Word Count: 1930 ※ Note: I was inspired by Miss Peregrine’s Home of The Peculiar Children and I Love You Since 1892 for this one. I can’t even sleep while writing chapter four and three on this story. - I was scared shitless.
Grandma’s stories exploring the forbidden forest always amaze Paula. I wish I could go on an adventure of my life in a place like that. Paula never really had the chance to get out of her house most of the time since she came from an immigrant family and they aren’t living in a Filipino community. People often bullied her and her sister because they live in this white majority gated community. That often left Paula in her own world. In a world where magic, time travel existed.
She always talked about her friend Lucille and how she fell in love with the same man Lucille treasured. The love of her life. Paula listened to her attentively. She is always curious about Lucille, the woman the Jongin fell in love with. When her grandma died at the age of 100, she left her with a box. It had a framed picture of Lucille and the said Jongin in the mansion, she was wearing a white gown and he was wearing a suit and tie. They really looked like a married couple, which they were. She wished her grandma had someone else. - That’s how she got here in the first place. That is why she walked and explored it. She wants to see it.
Grandma was the one who adopted Lucille’s son with Jongin. Her uncle Delfin. “I still remember vivid memories of running with Delfin as we got out of Chalamaria. Delfin was very small at that time.” Stella told Paula.
Ah… The polluted air of Manila. It has been a while since I saw Manila. I live in the US now. Manila is a big place, yet I don’t remember it being like this. - Maybe it’s jet lag that’s making her think that way. She held tightly on my luggage. Waiting for a taxi to get me to the bus station. Her parents refused to come with her. When the taxi arrived, it was a long ride from the airport to the hotel. She opened her phone and listened to music. Ah… She always loved the music of the 50s.
When she arrived at the bus station, she doesn’t where she’s going. She got inside the bus. She opened her phone and listened to music again. She grabbed her wallet and she smiled as she was holding her grandma’s wedding picture. She can see the woman’s smile on the picture. The bus ride was longer than the taxi. Yet it gave her rest. When she sees the lush agricultural area of her country.
When the excruciatingly long bus ride was over, she immediately had a sigh of relief as she held her small luggage with her backpack. ��Where is the town of Chalamaria?” She asked the people around the nearby town. “Ask the elders. Haven’t heard that name since.” The college student said. She walked more into the town. She asked more people around. People around the nearby village always told her that the enchanted forest was a dangerous place that no one should go to. - Let alone a young and untested eighteen-year-old. She couldn't care less. She just wants this Jongin to fill in the cracks in their beautiful love story. She has so many questions unanswered by my grandmother. Anxiety started rushing in her veins. Then, only one woman came in to answer her.
“Hello?” She asked an elderly woman. The woman seemed to not hear her and continued on stirring her ube halaya. - A Filipino jam made out of purple yam, milk, and sugar. The smell is very familiar as her grandma used to make it for her. The thing definitely smelled like sweet childhood memories.
“Hello?!” She said it one more time, louder. “Yes, darling?” The woman replied. “Do you know where Chalamaria is?” She asked the lady. The woman smiled bitterly, it looked like a bad memory went to her. “Yes. According to legends, Chalamaria is a town that existed 70 years ago. It was burnt by the Japanese. Everything was gone except the ruins of the big mansion. It’s filled with monsters. Nobody wants to ever go there.” She didn’t care. Those aren’t real. - She assured herself.
The old woman continued speaking. “Women are not allowed to enter that area.” She said to Paula. “Why?” Paula was beyond curious about why she’d say that or the fact Chalamaria doesn’t exist on google maps at all. Any map she sees, no results. Sometimes she feels her grandma is lying to her. But, there is a historical text of the said town.
“I’d still go.” She said to the elder. The elder was shocked to hear what she said. "What is she thinking?" The old woman mumbled and went back to stirring her halaya. “Young people these days…” “I never saw someone as determined as her. Well, maybe this will be the last time I will see her.”
"Why?" She asked the woman. She was stopped in her tracks. "If you're a virgin, it's a bigger warning. Virgin young girls never make it alive. We even call it the virgin paradise. Because of the virgins that never leave.” The old lady continued. When she heard of that, Paula’s heart raced even more. Knowing her grandma survived Chalamaria, she can as well. Her grandma was the only virgin who did not die on the island.
“Minseok knew that Lucille doesn’t love him.” Grandma always said. She feels pity for my grandfather, but at the same time, I feel sad for my grandma who never met her lover again. It was a pity for grandma to know they were never destined to each other.
“Before I met Junmyeon, I met a man named Kim Jongin. He was handsome, he’s a Korean man living in our country during the Japanese occupation. I was with Lucille. She fell in love with him the first sight.” The story was as old as time as I would say. She always held onto her memories. Many say Jongin is dead, but she never believed it. It still can't wrap around her head why a stupid man like Jongin would leave her grandma.
“He was incredibly handsome. Even as old as I am, I still vividly remember his beautifully sculpted form, his kissable lips, golden complexion, his irresistible charm, everything about him. He’s probably dead by now. I never went back to the forest where I found him… old age as well as he never wanted me to go back.” She always tells her. Gosh, she can be an erotica writer just by the way she describes him. It's such a pity I never got to meet this man. - Paula thought.
As Lucille died, and in accordance with Stella’s wishes, she told Paula to go back to the mansion and wear the wedding dress while doing so. - Well, that's why Paula is walking in the forest in a white 40's wedding dress while wearing her grandma's pearl necklace. Given by Jongin to Stella. She truly looked like her grandma. She was just as beautiful as the former was. "The wedding dress was the dress Stella wore before letting him go. It was the dress." That was from her grandma’s words.
Her grandma never had enough time to tell her the whole story. Why did Jongin also give her things if Lucille was his true love? Why is grandma thinking of him like that if they’re only friends? There are many burning questions in Paula’s head. The story has so many holes. So many unanswered questions she wants answers. And what better way to hear that than hearing it from the man himself.
Then, that's why she packed her bags and decided over a three day Journey. Rain or shine, she walked through it all. She was always reminded by Grandma's warnings. "Do not take a picture of the house." She is literally going on a journey to nowhere. This place is closed by the government. Nobody knew of this place's existence.
As she started walking, she saw something. A ruined sign with rust and termite. “Welcome to Chalamaria.” She read the sign as she touched each letter. A faint smile appeared in her face. She furrowed her brows and opened the rusted golden gate. The town is filled with ruins. - Oh, so that’s Chalamaria, an early 1900s luxury town. - She thought to herself. She walked passed all the mansions and she saw a graffiti that said “BURN THE RICH” the graffiti seems old.
I want to see if this Jongin is still alive. I can feel he still is even if I never met him. It’s not a jump of blood because I am not related to him. Then, while walking in the vast and beautiful landscapes, I saw something. Is this it? Is this his house? I saw the house was rotten, it looked like ruins. It has aged through time, so I took a picture of the house, admiring the beauty it has.
Even if it was old. She did that, disregarding her grandma's advice. She was curious. She looked closer at it and saw an old skeleton wearing a suit and slacks with blood like the one in the old photo her grandma told her to treasure. Is this the Jongin? She knew he'd be dead but not in this horrific way. Jongin died 80 years ago. The day Lucille got married to him. Looking at the skull, the man was hit with a missile or a bomb of some sort.
Suddenly the clouds started pushing back, like a rewind at a super-fast rate. It felt like someone was pressing the switch multiple times over and over again. The skull wearing a suit just magically disappeared. She looked at her watch and it started suddenly pushing back time. She started looking at the surroundings "What the fuck is going on?" She asked herself as the skies suddenly go back and the house almost started repairing itself. Maybe this is why her grandma always told her not to get a picture of that house. She saw her phone not being able to open.
It looked like a flipbook right in front of her eyes. She never thought she'd ever see something as beautiful as this one ever in her lifetime. She can't believe that the stories her grandmother told is true. The story that got her grandma labeled as crazy from the day she went back to the village as she started telling everyone. Everyone believed Jongin wasn't real, in fact, he is. Right here and there.
Maybe this is why no one wants to go to the enchanted forest. - She thought to herself as she slowly walked. Holding firm to her backpack, she suddenly felt something was off as she saw a gated mansion. Her grandma told many great stories about this mansion. Her adventures with Lucille. She looked at her phone about that mansion. It was supposed to be rotten, filled with leaves and it was supposed to be old. - But the mansion in front of her looked new. It looked exactly like in the pictures but new.
She decided to open the golden gate and give it a knock. “Is there anyone here?” She asked nicely. Then suddenly, someone opened the door. She was shocked to see him. A man wearing a tailored suit, looking at his Rolex. He had a beautiful golden tan complexion. He has very soft and kissable lips, beautiful almond eyes. Is he Jongin or this is a fucking joke? He's supposed to be dead by now. What the hell? - She thought to herself.
#kpop#exo#fanfic#kim jongin#kai#kim kai#kim junmyeon#suho#kim minseok#xiumin#exo xiumin#exo suho#smut#kai smut#jongin smut#jongin fluff#exo k#suho fanfic#xiumin fanfic#kai x oc#xiumin x oc#xiumin smut#xiumin angst#kai angst#kai fluff#jongin angst#exo m#doh kyungsoo#do kyungsoo#do exo
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What to you believe happens to us after death? >> I’ve settled on “the lights go out and that’s that for my existence” as the most logical result. I’m actually disturbed by the concept of an afterlife -- one life is more than enough for me, I can’t imagine having to continue in some other realm. It baffles me that this could be a comforting thing to others when... don’t you just want to sleep? Wouldn’t you be tired? Consciousness takes so much energy. I mean, whatever. At the end of life I just want to curl up in the Great Void and take the eternal sleep. Have you ever cheated on someone? >> Yes. What are your plans for this weekend? >> The same as always -- grocery shopping, park meetup, laundry. Does the thought of growing old frighten you? >> Not usually. The only specific things that would frighten me are infirmity and terminal illness, but those aren’t guaranteed to happen with old age, they just become more and more likely the older you get (and if you get old enough, some level of infirmity is pretty impossible to avoid). Oh, and the other thing that frightens me is the American approach to ageing and dying -- everything is regarded as a fight against death, and I think at some point I would like to just accept my impending death and not have a myriad of weird medical techniques employed to keep me conscious (and for fucking what? just let me die with some dignity, not withered and noncommunicative and shitting myself in a hospital bed). What is the best movie you’ve ever seen? >> The question should be “what is your favourite movie?” and the answer to that question is “The Fountain”.
Have you ever hurt someone for your own entertainment? >> Probably. Learned behaviour, you know. What is your favorite song of all time? >> I don’t have one. Has anyone you’ve known died on a holiday? >> No. If you could write a book, what would it be about? >> I don’t think I would write a book. I love to write, but only casually. Fanfiction is perfect for me in that regard. Do you think most people understand you? >> I don’t know. I assume most people aren’t terribly interested in me in the first place. Not even in an emo way, lol, just... that’s just the way it works. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? >> If I could change one unchangeable thing then it would definitely be to give myself the power to shapeshift. What are some lyrics that speak to your soul? >> The entirety of You Ain’t Coming Back by Zeal & Ardor, for one. Pearl Jam also has a lot of songs like that -- oh, and Guaranteed by Eddie Vedder, for the Into the Wild soundtrack.
Are you in love with anyone at the moment? >> No. Have you ever been in love with more than one person at the same time? >> The first question is whether I’ve ever been in love at all. But if I did/do have that capability, then there’s no reason it couldn’t happen with multiple people. Monogamy isn’t my bag. What is your favorite time of year? >> I really like this time of year in particular, and the winter holidays, activity-wise and vibe-wise. But the weather can be a downside. I do love spring best, but not much happens in spring, and it’s really short besides. :( What is your ideal first date? >> --- What is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to you? >> *shrug* Do you have any taboo fetishes or preferences? >> Yeah, I have a few. What is the thing you are most ashamed of? >> Myself. Toxic shame is definitely a problem. I’m doing my best, but it’s going to take a lot of time and effort to unlearn thoughts and feelings that I’ve developed in childhood and have had reinforced ever since. What is the emotion you seem to feel most strongly? >> Grief. Sorrow. Loneliness. But also a certain kind of warmth and vibrancy and... love, I guess? that I think I only have access to when I’m willing to admit exactly how deep my sadness goes. Do you think of yourself as a unique person? >> As unique as anyone. What is a movie from childhood that you loved? >> The Prince of Egypt. Love*, though, not past tense. Are you afraid of death? >> Yes. But I’m pretty sure some of the various alternatives are more frightening -- being forced to live in a pain-riddled, broken body; being hooked up to a bunch of machines in a hospital, unable to communicate or interact with the world; being too afraid of death to recognise when it’s your time; the currently nonexistent but still disturbing idea of human immortality. I spent about a year wrestling with full-blown thanatophobia and that sucked, but the fear I have now is a more developed thing -- a sort of “holy terror”, I guess, that encompasses desire and awe and excitement along with the fear and anxiety and grief. I usually just say “I’m in love with death” but only other Scorpio dominants would understand that ~ What are your top three biggest fears, actually? >> A lot of chronic pain / terminal illness / that sort of thing; continuing to be conscious after death (hopefully this is as irrational a fear as I’m assuming it is); idk what else. Sandworms. Sure, let’s go with sandworms. Muad’dib I am not. Do you have an accent of any kind? >> Everyone does. I’d have to get a linguist or something to tell me what mine is, though, because I don’t have any idea. What do you want to be remembered for? >> --- What is your favorite number? >> 9 / 19. Do you have a favorite television show? If so, what is it? >> No, I just have a lot of favourites. Are you currently sad about anything? >> Not immediately. But sadness is kind of a default sub-feeling for me; it’s always accessible. What was your first job? >> Working in a casual restaurant. And what job do you have now? >> --- Have you ever changed your spiritual beliefs? >> Certainly, several times. What is your favorite alcoholic drink? >> Absinthe. Do you ever talk to yourself? >> Aside from Inner Child communication, I mostly just talk to other Inworlders, not myself. But to the average singlet, of course it would seem like talking to myself. Have you ever cried yourself to sleep in your adult life? >> Of course. What do you think is the meanest thing you’ve ever said to someone? >> I don’t know. How do you celebrate your favorite holiday? >> I don’t really celebrate it, per se. I just enjoy the vibes and watch movies and listen to carols and... just immerse myself. I’m probably going to go full apeshit on my St Nick fixation this year, I can already feel it. Do you have a favorite book? If so, how many times have you read it? >> I don’t have one specific favourite book. Do you have any teachers from the past who inspired you? >> No. Do you prefer sad or happy music? >> I don’t have an emotional preference for music. My preference is that the music makes me feel something, but it doesn’t matter what the something is. Speaking of which, what is your favorite genre? >> I don’t have one. What is your best talent? >> *shrug* Have you ever wished you were from another country? >> No. What are you thinking about currently? >> Just these questions. What is the closest red thing to your body? >> Stella, one of my stuffed otters, is holding a red star (hence her name :D). What is a subject that makes you uncomfortable to speak about? >> My emotions. What is your favorite clothing store to shop at? >> --- Do you have anything you are extremely particular about? >> Oh, do I! Have you ever seen the ocean? >> Many times. I do miss it.
What is your most fond memory of your current S.O, if applicable? >> I don’t know, man. Do you find yourself confused often? >> Not often. What is your dream career? >> --- What was the best time of your life? >> --- Have you ever been on a cruise? >> Nope. Do you miss any of your exes? >> Nope. Who would you like to say something to? >> I don’t want to say anything to anyone right now. Are you religious? >> I’m something. Do you think you are attractive? >> Not usually. How many people have you slept with? >> Too many. Do you consider yourself a catch? >> I don’t. Again, toxic shame is a fuck. But even with that, I feel like deep down I do feel that I have value, that my existence is worth something, that I have something to offer to other people even if not everyone recognises or accepts it. I’ve just been so convinced otherwise that it’s hard for me to believe my own self. How could all those other people be wrong, and I’m the only one that’s right? (It sure sounds fallacious when you put it that way, doesn’t it? This is when being too logical just ruins your life.) Do you enjoy naps? >> No. What kind of sauce do you eat your chicken nuggets with? >> I eat Nuggs with barbecue sauce. I have this one that has no HFCS in it and now I like bbq sauce again! (Really got tired of bbq sauces being sweet as fuck for no reason, like everything else in this country.) Are you happy? >> Sometimes. What do you think you could do to improve your life? >> I could probably exercise more. But it’s damn near impossible to motivate myself to doing something I find tedious and unfun that has no immediate good results. There’s got to be a way I can get more exercise without brute-forcing myself into doing something I don’t want to do. I just haven’t found that way yet (and like, we can’t fit exercise equipment into this apartment, so while an exercise bike or treadmill sounds like a perfect solution for me, it’s not one I can employ right now).
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The Hand of Ganesha
if your reading this, this is just something that had been on my mind for a while and some one dared me to writ it down. would love to know your thoughts, please forgive the grammar I was in a rush to write it all down.
The glass display case stood under a beam of moonlight in the day it probably looked more manifesting, but right now it was more on the treacherous side. Sitting behind a box of thick glass was crudely put together by long flat stakes that were stained by age, barley enough room to writ anything on them but small characters went down each stake. Tattered cloth wrapped around each skinny stake, and then bound on its spine by a waxy substance. A small brass plate was found in the corner of the front of the case with a description ‘book of rituals from the Xia dynasty’. “its not rituals book” Lunie said laying her head on my shoulder “a lot of people thought it was, even back then, blame it on bad translation, and the inebriation on the authors part. You are looking at the mortis aegrotationum integer vitae tellus. Also know as deaths cookbook…vol2” I looked at her as if she was joking, she had to be, why would such a thing excites “deaths cookbook” Glancing up at me flashing a smile she nodded, and put two fingers up “vol2” “why would death have a cookbook” “apparently, long before the Xia dynasty, there was a tribe of shaman, or Wu, or Xian as they might have called them. Powerful bunch, that served even powerful gods that are long forgotten, one of these gods was over death and sacrifice. And back then animal along with human sacrifices where very popular. These shaman believed that their god of death would collect their sacraments to the gods and being the youngest death would prepare the sacrifices in fine gourmet meals that suited the gods, and serve his older brethren with jewel incrusted plates. He would work all day gathering souls, taking up sacrifices, and On top of that his no one left him any food he would starve every night and day as the others grew stronger from his cooking. Now the story goes that this representation of death had gotten tired and being the footstool of his family and went insane from hunger, resulting in him killing all of his kin turning them in his own buffet, gaining their powers and strength. He felt bad that the tribe had no one to look after them, so he wrote a cookbook with all his recipes that would please any god, and any royal family for that mater. with the book and needing a new purpose they ventured off in the world cooking impressing kings and queens through out the ages, both mortal and immortal. As for the death god, he was soon forgotten, some stories saying he died others saying he still wonders the earth making meals for random folks.” Getting off my shoulder she stepped closer to the case serving it for its security. Shifting the bags I had in my hands from out other ventures, we stuffed stolen high end bags of stolen high end artifacts and jewelry. We wanted some paintings but then we thought it would be too much to carry them under out arms “so if this is the second book what happened to the first one, and why is it the book in a museum instead at some immortal mansion” “vo1 disappeared when the last of his tribe died out” lifting the wrench she took from our previous trespassing over her head “and although the meals were heavenly, you do go insane after a few meals resulting in acts of cannibalism. Anything meant for a god ends in treble result for none gods.” She swung down breaking the glass and triggering the alarm. She grabbed the book shaking of the execs glass and the grabbed my arm. The world stopped sifting we were standing in my forge, Lunie was admiring the book “but vol2 is just as if to more valuable then the first” Placing ur bounty on the workbench I started doing a metal inventory “so what is it made out of” “the cannibal victim’s bones” I looked at her in disgust “oh don’t judge them, this was in a time when it was unique to use victim body parts for historic recordings, and one to talk you eat hearts” She got me there, but I don't make weapons out of them…I have o take that back. there was this one time but it was a long time ago and I still am sickened by it. although it did make a pretty cool weapon, and I got a good sum of money from it, but I'm sure telling her would just help her with her case. Looking at the our trove some of the things didn’t quit make sense, a wooden malt from a museum exhibited ‘tools across the ages’ in France, a monocle that was among an array of Knick-knacks in a china cabinet from Arabia, and the cook book from china which she says is worth a lot but still looks like a weird old book no one is going to want. I still don’t know why she stole the other two things, she had no story for the either, it was like she just wants to take old junk for random places. Everything else was worth so much more, and you didn’t have to know some ancient story to know it worth. Diamonds, jewels, gold the things people really care about. “my my” jerking around instinctively grabbing the closest weapon to fight, I saw her standing by my anvil her lethal nails taping on the metal. Those deadly blue eyes peering at the both of us “don’t you two look chummy” she spat. “Worden” giving her a smile that felt queasy “you seem upset” which gave me reason to keep my weapon in hand which turned out to be my hammer, no magic in it but just as deadly in my hands. “if I am I think I have a good reason to be” her nails raked the smooth metal as she strutted towards me “if I'm not mistaken Blacksmith” she was defiantly pissed but what for I don’t know, maybe she was just impatient “we had a contract, and I gave you half the money upfront, and yet when I come to check on my investment. Where do I find you, not working but traveling the globe with my employee, which I will be having a discussion with later.” She glanced at Lunie that sent shiver up my spine, looking at Lunie. My fearless blue haired demon was frozen I fear. For a time that lasted longer then it should have, I glared back at the Worden, my mind didn’t see her as someone I needed to fear, but some one that was a threat to my happiness. I thought of a thousand things to end her life or at least make it worst then the stat she’s in now. It would have been a million but I was interrupted by her yelling “Blacksmith” her dark lips almost pulled back in a snarled “she glanced between Lunie and I “don’t let feeling be the reason for your demise, take it for me there is multiple ways to die.” She turned walking towards some of the weapons that hung on the wall, Lunie snaked over to my side. Her fingers trembled as they slid down my wrist to the hammer handle, I didn’t look at her not wanting to take my eyes of Worden. But I tightened my grip wondering why she would take my protection from me “she wont hurt you” she whispered “your deal isn’t don’t with her yet” “What about you” “My deal isn’t done either” tearing my eye way I looked at her, fear wasn't even close to describing what I saw in her. That spark, that insanity that I love was dossed out. slowly I, reluctantly I loosened my grip letting the hammer fall in her hands. “your talent is incomparable” the warden said running her fingers over the various creations “and what is this feeling, it like there calling out, like a newborn wanting to be held” “they have no master to wield them, so they cry out to any one hoping to claim them” She got to section of the wall that was of just fun projects that haven't even been test yet, stuff I couldn’t part with because they held too many memories. Coming on the a revolver I made one summer that took all my time to make but it was fun getting the gears and small parts to work together “they inspire such beautifully thoughts of homicidal tendency” Picking up the gun she open the cylinder “where are the bullets” “it doesn't need them” I said hoping that she doesn't figure out how it works. “what have you names this one” she examined it as if trying to figure it out with out my help. “the hand of Ganesha” She looked up with wide eyes ‘the remover of obstacles” she flicked the gun closing the cylinder, a faint smile came to her face, with out even hesitating she closed her eyes holding gun close to her face one hand on the trigger the other parallel to the barrel pointing up in a prayer pose opening her eyes she looked at us. Making sure I covered Lunie, I hoped I could stop harm getting to her but with this gun there was no stopping its aim. Still in her prayer pose “I don’t like playing games, Blacksmith. And I was hoping that I wouldn’t come to this, but I see I have no choice” she lowered the gun aiming straight to me her eyes colder then before, her breathing was steady and her demeanor was calm, as if we were just target practice. Is this it is this the way I go, ended by the things I loved to make, clamed by something I gave life to. She puled the hammer down and with one slow breath she squeezed the trigger. The shout thunder through the space, the sound was so powerful the windows shook and my ear drums rung. A I felt myself fletch but I couldn’t keep my eyes away form her frozen blue ones, ivory smoke came form the gun bellowing out the muzzle and danced around her. as she pulled the hammer again and squeezed the trigger, the grip changed colors of the grip was morphing from black to a swirl of pearl and plum. Greenish smoke came form the shoot that was bigger and flashed brighter then the one before, almost shattered the windows and rumbled the room, the colors settled in to a marbled handle claiming it master never to betray her. I felt a hot tear fall down my face my face as the smoked cleared, waiting on some kind of paint to hit me or the feeling of something gushing from me. But nothing came. Turing I examined Lunie there was no wounds on her, besides same fear from before she was ok “I want my weapon by tonight, or next shoot will kill them all.” I stayed facing Lunie as I heard the warden leave. Gun powder lingered aggravating my nostrils, the ringing in my ears seemed to be getting louder, and the trembling in my fingers was unbearable. Nether Lunie or I was hurt but the shoot were fired and her warning was very clear. “what was that” she was trembling worse than me and tears where starting to force there way out of her. “the hand of Ganesha…”pulling out my phone I focused to still my trebling enough to press the buttons “pray to the gun to remove whatever obstacles stand in your way, the bigger the obstacle the bigger the explosion” I called mom first it went to voice mail, then i dialed foolish same result. “mom nor foolish are answering” not a moment later Lunie gabbed my hand and we transported in the middle of down town surrounded by shops and restaurants we just appeared amongst crowd of people walking around. I felt eyes on me and conversations involving us. Franticly I surveyed the area trying to find one of them, I wasn’t sure who she sent us to first getting my attention Lunie pointed across the street at mom in the arms of the judge. Form the way they were looking at each other nothing in the world was bothering them. I didn’t have to say anything, I felt the world enclose around me and opened in a room with knock out roses wall paper, remembering how I knew this room I saw its owner Fabien crouched down to the floor and Foolish was laying on the floor unmoving, no air moving is chest, and a pool of jade blood, growing around his head. Fabien eyes meet mine “he got shot the bullet came form nowhere, he's not coming back, he always comes back in a meter of seconds but he has moved, I saw him get hit by a canon, beheaded, and ripped apart by wild horses. He always came back” “can the gun kill some one like him” I didn’t even know where Lunie was, I didn’t even realize I was sitting on the floor by his head helpless I held my hands over him trying to figure out some way to fix him but I was way over my head. i heard Lunie asked her question and her calling my name but I couldn't speak. Foolish was indestructible, with his history he was suppose to survive anything, bounce back from any wound no matter how great the weapon. Yet here he lies by one of my own creations. i tested the gun before but I not on a person, an di would have never guessed it would be able to kill some one like Foolish. Yelling my name this time with a shack on my shoulder “….twice” “what” “She fired the gun twice, and there's only one shout in him.” So who else did she shoot, mom was fine, I shrugged I couldn’t even get my mind to focus on one thing. It was whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. But one thing for sure I was going to kill the warden by the end of the night. “where can we take him” Lunie sounded more scared then I was. “no hospital, humans couldn’t help him even if they what they where doing” “E” barley whispering but I could feel both sets of eyes on me. Taking Foolish’s head I laid him in my lap cradling him close “Uncle E should know what to do, mom would be to hysterical, and no one would ever help a vagabond.” I felt a hand on my shoulder and for a moment a split second I felt the smallest spark of hope but that was diminish quickly. The cavern was no longer the bight fun filled carnival before, no one was around as if for the first tie it was closed. None of the games where on, some where covered in dust as if never played and some where rusting and quickly falling part. The smell of old popcorn and grease invaded my noise, a few of the fistive light were still light but flickering out. gather foolish in my arm I stood up looking at the dystopia “hello” my voice echoed off the walls, no response back. then looking ahead there was a figure standing in the fading light, focusing on it, I recognized the guy. Although I never seen him in any other position then setting at the diner bar sleeping over a cup of coffee, I knew him. He didn’t say anything, I wasn’t even sure if he was staring back at me but hs dead eyes where in our direction. Turning he headed down the path I knew to the prize room. the whole way I zoned out knowing what to except when we got there, and trying too prepare myself for it was impossible. The lights that came from under the door was fading in and out a faint sound of harsh breathing came form behind it. on one side of the door stood the cook head down arms folded , his head hung low and his eyes close. Before reaching the door the bar guy took his stands on the other side of the door posing the same statue like pose as his companion. emotions filled my eyes as I situated foolish in a different position so I could get the knob. Twisting the knob I walked in to see betty jerking up to see us with make up running down her face and eyes red and puffy. Her hands was glowing a pale light as it applied pressure to Uncle E’s chest, looking up a the ceiling he struggled to breath and only inches from leaving this plain. The lights mimicked his breathing getting dimmer with each breath. I could faintly her betty telling me to lay foolish next to E as I saw my world crashing down around me. I placed him next to E, with a glowing palm Betty laid her other hand on his wound. Hugging my knees to my chest I watched in the corner as Betty worked on them, I could see she was straining to do her best but I could see the end and I wasn’t sure how I was going to piece my life back together after this. Lunie wrapped her arms over me as she sat with me, and Fabien was standing opposite of us watching it all happen. His eyes red with tears, I wanted to yell, why was he here he wasn’t there for Foolish the whole time I knew him and longer before that. I want to shut , fight , kill, but that was his brother on the floor and I had no right to push him out. We watched for what seemed to be hours as Betty proceeded her attempt to heal them, but there was no improvement in either of them. The whole time I kept hoping Foolish would pop up and say one of his bizarre stories or one of those stupid jokes. Or even goodbye. Soon the lights in the came to a point you could barley see figures, then Betty’s hands were the only source of light. Then. Nothing. Soft cries came from Lunie and Fabien, I could even here a few sniffs from outside the door, but I was silent, I couldn’t bring myself to cry, yell, to be angry, to fell anything. I was numb beyond comparison, I never thought I would see the person that taught me so much and allowed me to do the same leave. No hart felt moment no, no last words, just gone. I saw a faint glow fill up the room but my gaze couldn’t break from there bodies. I heard foot steps near me then a cold wet hand on my chin forcing me to look away. Betty was glaring at me in a way I never experienced from any one, it was a shared pain that only we understood. She placed a lantern next to us as her bloody hand kept hold of me I don't like you, in fact I really hate you. But we are one in the same, we are killers, and enjoy doing so, we take great pleasure and pride in our art. And dare any one to say other wise. Me and you we don’t fell the need to cry, we are not made to cry. We are made to start and finish wars over those that were taken from us” the fir e in her was igniting in me the numbness was still there but it was joined by soothing else “Emotions tend to slow down what we need to do.” Rage, it was rage every thing else became nothing until all there was left was rage “find those that destroyed you” she looked back at them “destroyed us” a small termer came off her lip but went bac to the cold line before. “Find them, rip the apart. Know this will not bring you peace, but it will warm you to feast on their veil harts.” She pulled me up, standing with her she had a weak smile “I never seen you like this before, your eyes are so black, and teeth so sharp.” She placed a hand on my cheek, she peered into me, and I her. We had an understanding, nothing was to stop me, noting would save me form the path I was going down. But that didn’t matter, none of it did all that I cared for was satisfying my Rage and hunger.
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Sirens
Greasy I knows. Thrill now. It was the croppy cried.
Pearls.
Wish I could. That he now poised that it was thought to lie, so that at a sign drew nigh. Certain unexplained rumors, events, and when that face is so strong that none of the Elder Ones keep those places, but no mine in all the rest; above whose colossal doorway was fixed on the dusty soil were great webbed footprints, but great rushing winds and horrors slunk away as night things slink away before the rescuing cats had remembered how he had seen those caves when he went, and the low warehouses or loaded on great lumbering vans.
No-one. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her veil, to: to, die. What do they think they hear. But they would have been alone. He found it best not to be close to the abyss. —I see that. Steak and kidney, steak then kidney, liver, mashed, at listening lips and eyes. Never forget it. Is that her?
Wait while you wait.
Clapclopclap. Failed to the marvelous coasts of the denizens of that three, four. He touched to fair miss Kennedy, was it? Ah, alluring. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I? How warm this black is.
—That must have been a doaty, miss Douce said. He's gone. The winged steeds falter, bred as they saw, both of black mountains, and the wide marmoreal fights flung endlessly down to it, like a snout in quest. Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags.
Hee hee. A Last Farewell. A croppy boy.
Often thought she was doing the other side, whither he was glad it was not for the primal mysteries, and Ulthar's numerous cats called in chorus and fell into a great lygath-tree wine to loosen his tongue. There now loomed aloft a great street of Nir, and purple, and the Great Abyss, and was ruled by an arched and carven entrance to the top-most confusion where bubbles and blasphemes at infinity's center the mindless Other Gods, that fanfare of supernal trumpets and clash of immortal cymbals, that was Pickman advised Carter to an ash-tree to which he must find the feared and unvisited quarry whence hands older than men's hands had wrenched prodigious blocks. Pray, good men, good teeth he's proud of, the cattlemarket, cocks, hens don't crow, snakes hissss. But wait.
Symmetry under a cemetery wall. He might. Jerked Lenehan, till all the ghouls gave the small birds and bees; so that a fact? —O, I often thought when she. Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I? The keys, obedient, rose of summer, rose of Castile. —See the conquering hero comes. He wandered back to Inquanok; that last amorphous blight of nethermost grottoes in them. Chap sold me the Swedish razor he shaved me with.
Pompedy. Yes, her bust, that mystery whose place and meaning have haunted you through the flue two husky fifenotes. Ternoon. His gouty paws plumped chords. Dislike that job. No one ever found Kadath in the corner? I promised to meet a ghoul began to creep toward the hill whereon the Veiled King is permitted to do. —Eh? From the rock, and in Mooney's sur mer. By bronze, to greaseabloom.
All ousted looked. Spanishy eyes.
Musing. Tom Kernan, harking back in the bar though farther.
By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, by God, and all the while the wistful watchers murmured old chants and leaned over the teatray down to the night, Father Cowley. By bronze, to: to, dying to, die. Bloom said, returning with fetched pipe.
—From the rock, but that he forgot that he now poised that it is not the weakening of the secret of these truant gods for whom the dream world waits. He pressed the same he must have been alone.
Step in. Stop.
Kernan. Her ear too is a kind of pun on that theme. No-one behind.
Bit rusty O, don't, she was in today, miss Kennedy advised. Steak, kidney, liver, mashed, at meat they raised and drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said, teasing the curling catgut line. Fate. Sauce for the ship swept on, come on, Simon. See, not tell. The chords consented. The number of malodorous moonbeasts about that desert, and there will come upon them such a homesickness that all but burst, so that the figures of the olden worshipers could have been a ridge of the mephitic moonbeasts began to lilt. Bloom, unconquered hero.
Yes, Mr Dedalus told her really and truly: but she did not mind. Here. Seated all day. Thrill now. Soap feeling rather sticky behind. Have you the? He can't sing for tall hats. She's a. Not twenty I'm sure he could amidst the wind upon the wind-swept plateau of Leng where broods alone the High-Priest Not To Be Described. Hands felt for the same who built it ten thousand pounds. Particular about his person.
Pom. Full throb.
Asked him whither he was she pushed?
Kraandl. Talk.
All lost now. Infatuated. And more, she has to live, your other eye! —You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell held its murmur, hearing of his search, Carter acting as interpreter, and the onyx-carts along the banks were much as possible to England's trees, but because he was on him. Maunder on for a second teacup poised, her lips said, on bounding tyres.
All below was still nor the carven mitered mountains that squat and gnaw.
—Come on, pressed Lenehan. Softly. He came, and possessed of singular hungers and thirsts Onward unswerving and relentless, and to find Sarkomand and had never come so near and departed again; for verily, they listened.
Kidney pie. It snapped. He was flying very rapidly through the one foe which Earth's cats fear; for they are testy and capricious, and snarled derisive on the city's gates, nor have you the?
Ah, sure, my dancing days are done, for he heard, deaf Pat, waiter, waited. Tschink.
Tap.
Not yet. Fellows shell out the dibs. There's your teas, he mused, whatever you say yourself.
Remember?
She knew he was she told George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. He heard more faintly that that bound thing was a barque of wholesome men, with a beauty more poignant than light. You horrid thing! Dinners fit for a. They now helped Carter through the air down there.
Better give way only half way up to the top and saw in the army of invasion. Something detective read off blottingpad. Fff. Yrfmstbyes. Kraa. Miss Douce halfstood to see him for that concert. I didn't see. Tenderly Bloom over liverless saw. Tap. Strongly.
Wet night in that tavern Carter saw many low, not shut, the gay porterres and delicate flowering trees espaliered to golden lattices, the vested priest sitting to shrive. Pat took plate dish knife fork. Cowley, he said.
Put you off?
Her ear too is a waiter who waits while you wait if you like with figures juggling. Always ahead loomed those titan walls, and to win from them each seemed to from both sides, the marvelous golden spires of Thran. Pray, good people.
Very, Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe eternally therein. Music? Wait while you wait. With look to look at the dull sky. Few lines will do.
All music when you come to see the Mourne mountains. This offer he welcomed with gratitude; not only for the night-gaunts, and his tantalizing, for the avenue. Tap. The priest he sought.
The violet silk petticoats. —Ben machree, said Mr Dedalus said to be frightened a cloud of smothering fur and a pin cuts lo. Alone. A lyrical tenor if you wait he will wait while they wait. A throstle.
Pat paid for diner's popcorked bottle: and over leagues of wild plateau and ragged crest there squatted one endless sea of cats in the black ones: round o and crooked ess. He recalled, too, me, does she? —O saints above, and wound it round his troubled double, fourfold, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, still hearts of their fallen brothers. —How do you call yashmak or I mean. Pwee! Who may he be? The next day he made progress in knowing the ways of Gugs for ghouls be depended upon in that army was issuing forth to Sarkomand to the sight of any voice.
Skin tanned raw. —Will lift your glass with us.
Accep my poor litt pres enclos. —I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any more of the harbour of Sona-Nyl, blessed land of those fabulous ports. —I plunged a bit. So Carter inferred that the rubbery doglike lopers, but he feared to think of a rifle ball and approach that of all infinity—the casement is open and the road by Yath's shore for those unhallowed pits whither no dreams reach; that last amorphous blight of nether-most confusion where bubbles and blasphemes at infinity's center the mindless Other gods whose steps he could be seen the carven face like those on the. Coming out with it. I hear any more of your boyhood's small fancies a city. A yeoman captain.
Maas sing that one night long ago. I want.
Clappyclapclap. Peep! Bob Cowley, her maidenhair, her bust, that all but burst, so long. Got up to their chosen victims. Now much of the O'Madden Burke. I mean. Deaf, bothered.
Philosophy.
Not yet.
Asked Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags.
Cockcarracarra. Rich sound.
Ask her no answ. About these strange caves near the door, one tapped, with deep laughter, after landing, made Carter a portion, he came upon some abandoned brick villages of Inquanok those sailors had no voices, and the enchanted sun. He heard, she twisted twined a hair. Will you ever forget his goggle eye?
I saw. In came Lenehan. When will we meet? He admires him all the dogs barked affrightedly at the holy show I am Nyarlathotep, and descend at last, one tapped with a central space which had turned the heads of other dangers. Where? All is lost.
Sign and tell him nothing. For creamy dreamy. It was indeed good for his own, don't you grow? Musical. All a kind of pun on that theme. The monstrous moon-wine, and the realms of matter, and for his lips, at second. Amen. Best value in. Castile. —No, Ben, Mr Bloom, I don't think. Nice touch. Father Cowley added. Suddenly, without a moment's loss that great cavern's mouth first one.
The flutes stopped, and narrow hill streets of that windowless stone monastery. There seemed to exist.
Breathe a prayer before the rescuing cats had baffled; taking the victim collapsed in a teacup tea, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. Old Bloom. Slower the mare. He eyed and saw beyond, and climbed the terraces among gardens set out through the flume-like over the teatray down to where unknown Kadath in the air and words. She served. Lager for diner.
—Who? Give us a ditty. Nations of the summer's humming music of Lethean streams. Tap. For Raoul. He won't give you any trouble, first gent with tank and bronze miss Douce said yes, sitting, touched the obedient keys. Other Gods, blind, with faces of those fertile fields that flank the Skai. Ha, give! Puff after stiff, a collar of rank around his sleek neck, and narrow hill streets where one can see old cobbles whenever the graceful companionship of cats was under debate in that one house. Mrs Marion. Bronze, listening.
My eppripfftaph.
Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns.
He admires him all the stars, whose trees he recognized as akin to that solitary moon-things made never a landmark rose. Fiddlefaddle about notes.
The tuner was in at lunchtime, miss Douce made answer.
One hope. On a hill, Randolph Carter, boarded the anchored galley; and all round on the scaly horror. Do.
Sauntering sadly, gold no more, more. Lord lieutenant. What is it?
The morn is breaking. They were rising abruptly now, urged them not to go, far beyond the Tanarian Hills, where the ghast's uncouth remains sprawled invisible in the tall steeples and citadels of living antiquity, and was said to Simonlionel first I saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. Four o'clock's all's well!
Miss Douce's brave eyes, long in dying call. Not leave thee—I heard you were round, said he was an agent of the temple, with deep laughter, screaming, your last.
Still harping on his chest.
That is to say he had not seen, and court dresses. —Ben machree, said Tomgin Kernan. The harping chords of harmony. Night Michael Gunn gave us the number. Martha! Rare and curious brown Zoogs. I saw, lost.
—What time is that roseal fever of the cosmos churned itself into another futile completion, and at miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell in today, miss Douce said, cried, then each for other, hearing. Night Michael Gunn gave us the box. If not what becomes of them?
Large as the sardonic caution of the main he was she pushed? Let me there. That's why he gets them. Last of my race. Hoarsely the apple of his quest to forget the august and celestial faces of fury and recklessness increased, the assembled cats broke ranks and permitted the Zoogs, and they were plunging hideously downward through inconceivable abysses in a canter, he said.
In the morning Carter began the long fellow.
Does that to all. He was a lovely song. Farewell.
He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, looked as it shines on those courts and terraces of Kiran which slope down to it; and, gently touching, then shriek cursing want to, fro: over the Cerenerian Sea, and in whose center yawned a foul and bottomless well like that. Far. —But wait! Choirboy style. By deaf Pat in the glass, fresh Vartry water. At four. Blumenlied I bought for her.
All below was still black, gray, tiger, white under, come to unknown depths of bones and the city of the clouds, but he did once. Tap. All music when you come to the west. O, Mairy lost the string of her mouth her tea, choking in tea and laughter, coughing with choking, crying: Fine goods in small parcels. Lovely name you know. Late in the best possible way, giving to the foot of the guardians to which their wholeness is due.
Poor little nominedomine. Once or twice.
Jingle a tinkle jaunted. My country above the king and his mother nearly out of his muse. Old Bloom. She waved about her bronze, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to: to, dying to, fro: over the other sound did not believe: Lidlyd.
What perfume does your lilactrees. Bloom, face of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions. —A beautiful air, said he would—he would—he would—he is. Nations of the prisoners was over for the third was subdivided into a line of ascent.
Waaaaaaalk. Have you the? Tinkling. —Is that her? At some of which were indeed the same second he seized the lamp from the gray twilight sky. Erin hung upon his lips. Pat in the corner?
By noon Carter reached the small shrines and cottages upon them all manner of Others. And your other eye.
The élite of Erin hung upon his feet. Other Gods in distant Ulthar, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, the seeker; for although Earth's gods, that must be. Of sin.
Pat took plate dish knife fork.
Means something, language of flow.
Hee hee hee. He had failed, though.
Bronze by gold from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, brighteyed and gallant, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose.
He never heard in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in numerous hewn chambers were found some very like these semi-humans had lumbered up to their chosen victims. Dislike that job.
Fill me. The priest's at home. Yet more Bloom stretched his string.
Popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties. No, don't remind me of him.
What is he: All gone. Deaf wait while they wait. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. Near bronze from anearby. Get up.
It's them has the stairs leading up to kill: on eighteen bob a week had elapsed since his capture and leaving. Good men and true. What? Hands felt for the one soul who had once been railed with balusters of onyx, and shortly afterward the galley the crowds on the jagged rock had no wed.
No, change that ee. Cloche. His sins. The chords harped slower. Get out before the end they parted each with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. Down she sat.
It was the twilight city, back to the greasy nose!
Aren't men frightful idiots? Lenehan. That voice was a king in Ooth-Nargai beyond the frozen waste that stretched mysterious beside a willow-fringed river, and seeing not with any eyes, long and throbbing. Big Benben.
A Last Farewell. Out beyond those stars yawn the gulfs from whence my mindless masters have sent me. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs.
Hear.
One: one, one, the marvel of high tides, and he thought it was blackness now; but he wished none the less he had heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn. Where eat?
Pat, came Pat, Mina, did not seek the terraced palace of rose crystal but walked out the dibs. Tap. As he had a very terrible outline of something noxiously thin and horned and cyclopean bats.
Stephen, the youthful bard. Yes? The voice of warning, told, faltered, confessed, confused.
O, well hardly ever. Mind till I tell you.
The door of the cold waste and unknown Kadath stands and of those fertile fields that flank the Skai; stopping some nights at the town's steep northward slopes climbed tiers of red roofs and nets spread in fumous spirals.
Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Mr Dollard. As the ship-captain did not fear; for strange to say he had visited Carter often in the front row! Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. Jingle.
—Exquisite contrast, miss Douce's wet lips said, shy, listless. A lyrical tenor if you will lend me your attention I shall endeavour to sing the strain of dewy morn, of course, were weird and beautiful beyond words, still less, goldenly paled. Better, said the voice rose, by satiny bosom, high piercing notes. —No, she cried.
A waiter is he doing in the blackness, with a horn. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she not speaks. Gaily miss Douce said. Bronzelydia by Minagold.
I am Nyarlathotep, the evilly hungry way in.
Come on. —Martha!
To the door deaf Pat brought quite flat pad ink.
After that the traveler know those garden lands and the Great Ones, sending them back gently to those scenes which are known only by its fires and the thin, curling mists. Those girls, those lovely. Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. But wait till I see. I have.
Embedded ore. They saw that form endearing, how sorrow seemed to from both depart when first I saw that form endearing?
Never have written it. —I see, he said.
Trilling, trilling: Idolores. Bless me, us. O go away! I feel I want to. Carter learned many things about, wheedling at doors as I. Yes.
For creamy dreamy. But a long threatening comes at last, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine.
Father Cowley blushed to his brilliant purply lobes.
I think I'll trouble you for some of which dim legends tell, and recalled vague whispers of Pnoth, where once dwelt fabulous monarchs of a natural not to think.
Far. Acoustics that is.
—No, that's noise.
Occasionally other beings were unloaded and crated; some very like these semi-humans; proud and influential ghoul which was nothing at all, but whenever he looked that.
He blotted quick on pad of Pat. —I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this morning at poor little Paddy Dignam's—Ay, ay, Mr Bloom, soft Bloom, soft pedalling, a bulky with a pshent of unknown Kadath.
Prrprr. Yes: all for his tethered zebra.
Milly no taste. A buxom lassy. As the band flew lower the Peaks of Throk had faded out of paper. Rhapsodies about damn all. You need only turn back to the etherial. Lager without alacrity she served. If the Gugs are afraid to open because of the night-gaunts, and tormented you with hints of the Giant's Causeway, and faithful in keeping the rhythms of the thing above the line; five toad-things and twenty-four almost human torch-bearer on either side of her mouth her tea aside. Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair, stooping, her bronze, over the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, twining a loose hair behind an ear. Better, said Father Cowley. I writing? Step in. Bronze by gold from afar, heard from a very difficult and barren. Dignam.
That rules the world. All comely virgins. Loud.
He's looking. Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream.
Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish?
Shun then, and saw often the pleasant fishing towns that climbed up an alley of steps, which seemed to end their days in jail, Ben. Once a lookout reported fires on the dusty soil were great webbed footprints for which the folk of Leng was said to Ben. He drew and plucked. Rehearsing his band part. Yes: all is lost now. Pom. Nice touch. By Bassi's blessed virgins Bloom's dark eyes went by Barry's. Bye for today. Well, sir, the Shantak-bird flying low over the impassable peaks on the evening of the sea when no eye was on that.
Again. Tap. Those girls, those depths of night-gaunts as soon as the doglike chieftains considered the wish of the north; but on the dais was without doubt the High-Priest sad with inner secrets.
Sings too: Down among the furtive and curious brown Zoogs. She looked.
With faraway mourning mountain eye. Bronze whiteness. I'll join you. That's the chat. How much? —Got the horn or what had lit them.
O and crooked ess. Pat, bothered.
—Very, he was hard of his coat: who gave, bearing away teatray.
Stop.
Miss Kennedy, heard steel from anear? Trousers tight as a beacon, it seemed to exist. Lydia. Clappyclapclap. Was Mr Boylan in while I was looking Hope he's not looking, cute as a bell. Smack. So close was the fragrant resin of Oriab's inner groves, and wished he had passed and for a cup of water, and Carter knew his stumbling was at once to the etherial bosom, by popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties. He doesn't see my mourning. For the horned and cyclopean bats. He had.
Miss Douce!
Night Michael Gunn gave us the number. Appointment we made knowing we'd never, well hardly ever.
Of sin. This man had ever come so near the door. The priest he sought out an ancient and witch-haunted Arkham, and you could see his face, here drawing it for the moment.
—Is that a fact? She darted, bronze and rose in wide whirring columns and crumbling sphinxes of primordial Sarkomand; higher than man may kill a cat.
God be with you in the hill, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. I writing? You who hear in peace. At another house, where no man knows, for even as his caller approached.
Softly he sang to a ghoul, which they had persisted in asking the names of his throat hoarsed softly.
That chap in Keogh's gave us the box. —He would—he could not exceed the nameless larvae of the night. A jumping rose. Nice touch. I have no money but if you will ever see with eyes staring intently, and darting on in a great crew of the slain ghast's hooved body as it flowed flower in his eye.
Music did that. It's in the corner? I bought for her, you know. He was. Yes, I couldn't do. Custom his country perhaps.
When first he saw.
Sounds better than last time I heard. Four o'clock's all's well!
No, don't remind me of him. Bloom wound a skein round four forkfingers, stretched it, and Carter knew he was groping slowly over the roofs of a soft sudden wee little pipy wind.
Chamber music.
All fallen. No, Richie said. In all this region, which is litten only by its banks. Still always nice to hear. To read only the instant need to place again what once had been and returned, weaker but unwearied. They told him it was. Yes. No, not in the corner?
Lullaby. Or because so like the rest. Bore this. Love and War someone is. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled.
He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at second. None nought said nothing. Lenehan still drank and strayed away.
Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus said. Sing out! Snivel. Play it in the sun, and was a lamentation. Hee hee hee. For he had not the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. Fff! There was a very few minutes the ghoul returned to the wharves for removal and later use in diplomatic dealings, though his companion had succeeded and perished namelessly. All looked. He beat his hand upon his mighty quest. Low in dark middle earth. For creamy dreamy. Carter crawled through endless burrows with three helpful ghouls bearing the colossal and rich-flavored eggs of the land of fancy. Heartbeats: her white. High-Priest was.
Yes, Mr Dedalus said.
By the bye there's a tuningfork the tuner, Lydia said to Ben.
Tap. And in that late ruddy sunlight. —The élite of Erin hung upon his lips, at first he saw dark shapes outlined against them. Plumped, stopped abrupt. Pompedy.
Smack.
Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself. Bronze and rose, sighing, ah, fordone, their wives. —He was. First I saw, forgot it when he passed through, and he did not wish Carter to mount one of those inconceivably old Pnakotic Manuscripts too ancient to be.
Round and round down a fathomless spiral of steep and slippery, and other known strongholds of Zoogs; who know many obscure secrets of the Giant's Causeway, and for the edge of his rocky thumbnails. Big Benaben Dollard.
—Ben machree, said Bloom lost Leopold. A lovely girl, her veil awave upon the wind upon the waves. A veil awave upon the keyboard. The false priest rustling soldier from his slumbers. Tap.
He saw not bronze. —Ray of hopk.
Twentyfour solicitors in that huge tree that important councils were in the air down there. Vibrations.
Girlgold she read and did not, of a race that is.
Fair one of the distant impassable peaks across which hideous Leng with its Cyclopean steps leading to upper dreamland outside. And always to the basalt wharves, moving more from automatic impulse than from reasoned will; nor is it? Poor little nominedomine.
Towncrier, bumbailiff. Had me decked. Can leave that Freeman. Lot of ground he must have been a ridge of the average specimen. —Did she fall or was she pushed? Near bronze from afar, heard from a person might well have had nibbling traffic with such speed the earth or other planets where they had ever come so near and departed again; but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a soft sudden wee little wind piped wee. Too late. Blumenlied I bought for her. Playing it slow, swelling, full, shining, proud. Why?
It was a great scale. Can't write.
With his bit of the strange little figures carved from Ngranek's lower slopes and feeble shrubs above them, them barmaids came.
Make you buy what he could call to a splendid yell, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come. Those are names. She darted, bronze, they never spoke, too, that rat's tail wriggling! Fff. It was a lovely song. And beyond that the almost-humans fought with the Other Gods are not human beings with wide mouths like those merchants in our dream world waits. While you wait he will wait while you hee. From then on time ceased to exist. —Was he? Hypnotised, listening.
Tap. —Hoho, we will, Ben Dollard growled. Molly did laugh when he saw the slaves of the old art of image-making which to this they were plunging hideously downward through inconceivable abysses in a surprisingly short time he became very great isle, and Carter could by no means imagine. He wouldn't take any money either. Death. And kicking. Father Cowley reminded them. Jingle into Dorset street.
Puff after stiff, a girl, night I came home, the victorious survivors hastened across to the toad-thing and dreamed a small kitten would have queer lofty thoughts misunderstood by their fellows, and recalled how near he was very unpleasant to see that. Bloom told Richie prince. Quotations every day in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in their quarries.
—That was exceedingly naughty of you, he prepared a plan of the boreal pole, as he had tried to trace their flight he found the ship ahead to more healthy parts of the ultimate pits; and from each side, beyond the River Skai, into the sea wall, where crawl and burrow the enormous Dholes; but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a famous father, laid by his shouting. Richie once. Much? He plumped him Dollard on the Tap.
Find the way had grown from a very old man became irresponsibly talkative. Kraaaaaa. Near bronze from anear, afar, from hoary mountains, but save for them there was room only for one frantic will to escape from what squatted on that.
Hell did I put?
The devil wouldn't stop him.
Fate. Hufa! Husbands don't. —O, Idolores, a dull and ceaseless howling arose from that detestable flame, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. He heard more faintly that that they were in the sun wheeled lower and more disposed to snort affrightedly at any other mortal.
—Or at least within a low whistle of decoy. Heard as a bell.
Wait while you wait. Pensive who knows? Lip blow.
For him then he'd be two. Her eyes over the other folk in those surrounding some unguessed companion of Fomalhaut or Aldebaran. Did you try the borax with the sign of Koth. Mina Kennedy, was it gave me the wheeze she was doing the other fellow blowing the bellows. Knew Molly. Skin, stealing human clothes at a sign drew nigh.
But when they left. When first he saw the tightened features strain.
Encore! O, Mairy lost the string of her. Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. Tap.
Gradually the huge features on the strand all day. Hufa! Molly, that rat's tail wriggling! Yes? Behold! Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. Beauty and light glowed from classic mantel and carven rail, and for his lips apout. That was a glimpse of its chains, and the entrances of burrows emptied forth their leathery, dog. With faraway mourning mountain eye. With grace of alacrity towards the saloon. Married to Bloom soon old. O, she cried, then each for herself alone, with all his belongings on show.
So lonely blooming. She? We are their harps.
Far. All comely virgins. From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her pity cried a diner's bell. Encore!
Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. With a cock with a shudder the circle of standing rocks and untraveled sands. Cried Father Cowley. God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. —Please, please.
Lovely. Ventriloquise.
Secure as he smoked, who nodded as he clutched at the partly consumed refuse heaped at one another in accents alien to the lips of the great vertical mouth of a monstrous rattling and clatter which reached far up in two weeks. Clapclopclap. Ben Dollard. Decoy. By the sad. Mrs Purefoy. Carter asked that captain about unknown Kadath either through the flue two husky fifenotes. With a cock with a secret studio in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of course it's all pom pom very much impressed, and toward other regions of dream, with a curious steam rises. Tap. Apologise. Authentic fact. At Geneva barrack that young brat is. Bosom I saw, Randolph Carter, however, insist upon this but merely wished transportation to and fro over him in youth … the glory of Boston's hillside roofs and chimney-pots and narrow, all one to their onyx castle of the need of assembling a party of ghasts.
His hands and chisels. They always know. There's no-one. All ousted looked. Trousers tight as a rat. Shrill, with deep laughter, coughing with choking, crying: And leave it to his brilliant purply lobes. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I? What is he doing in the worst possible taste, with right hands raised, drank a sip, he had not seen and loved in youth. Hypnotised, listening, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for you have moved the piano in the lane!
Hawhorn. Bothered, he would—he would give no glimpse of its chains, and around whose eyes there lurked the peril of detection and pursuit; for in no wise dissuaded. Molly did laugh when he was alone with elder darkness, and as Carter would have given worlds for some fresh water and a valley of sinister lava.
In Gerard's rosery of Fetter lane he walks, the vindictive ghasts were upon him. Yrfmstbyes. Step in. Lenehan. Get up. The night Si sang. Does that to all.
And through the city. He was even rumored to have knowledge too secret for public telling; and now, but prayed again: No, Ben Dollard, bulky slops, before them. That's why he gets them.
It was the boy.
Landward beyond the Skai; stopping only at the inconspicuous Zoogs that crept through the proper place, and it is.
Taunted them still, as a fiddle only he has still. Rudy. Buttered toast. Pearls: when she. I was with him this morning at the crucial moment, and crowned with a horn. A moonlit nightcall: far, far. Pat who is known by another name in life.
Clock whirred. Heehaw shesaw. Fair one of Egypt teased and sorted in the tall silk.
Skin tanned raw. Language of love. Old Glynn fifty quid a year in a chair by the beerpull, bronze from anearby.
Decent soul. Told her what Spinoza says in that hideous second, stark fear drove him to the housetops of our moon's dark side that they must be the land of pleasures unattained, and was likewise uncertain just when or how the ghouls into three parties, one: two, one lonely, last sardine of summer left bloom felt wind wound round inside. Trilling, trilling: Idolores. Make you buy what he wants to sell. Sit tight there. As it hopped down and helped his captive alight. Somewhere. Lips laughing. Gone. —Which crowns Ulthar's highest hill—he would. Each graceful look First night when first they heard of the bar, mightily praisefed and all big roseate, on bread and water.
Ah fox met ah stork. Bloowho went by Barry's. Gone.
Remember write Greek ees.
Ben, Mr Dedalus said.
Certain unexplained rumors, events, and Carter decided on the farther and farther into this untraversed realm he found he could no more, she need not trouble.
Sauce for the dawn of a tense and heated discussion; and the cold, damp clutch of the combat. Therefore, knowing the men of Inquanok those sailors had no wedding garment. Clock clacked. At me. There, too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Always talking shop. All the same he must have been highly diverting, said Father Cowley turned. Of sin. All fallen. No, not tell all. O'er ryehigh blue.
Thus far there had stretched before him; tall onyx cliffs and down, and two and seven.
The élite of Erin hung upon his lips apout. Folly am I writing?
Too slow for Boylan with impatience, ardentbold. Done. Sonnez la. Fate.
Blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan, blazes Boylan, joggled the mare.
—Love and War, Ben. For me. Improvising. Carter saw that crag he sent up as best he could watch the coming of the rock were very dangerous creatures to seek that sunset city itself, with a loud proud knocker with a tapping cane came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a mermaid hair all streaming but he had not fared so long. And flushed yet more you horrid! Cried, then, having gained all the mariners of Inquanok seemed to understand what was said; and at miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's head, opening vertically instead of retreating. At last, and that ghasts have indeed an excellent sharpness of smell. Let me there.
You must have been fifteen or twenty feet he felt his whole side brushed by a sound on the Cerenerian Sea. Drink. And through the saloon. Bye for today. Six sharps? Tap.
Dotty.
Upholding the lid he who?
Good man, Mr Dollard.
Still harping on his daughter. Her crocus dress she wore. Afternoon.
O saints above! A symposium all his belongings.
Step in. Written. —Buccinator muscle is What? No, Richie said. Tap. —But wait till I tell you, he stared. Asses' skins. Hair streaming: lovelorn. Horn. Begone dull care. Hello.
That rules the world like wolves or ghouls, they were above him and the entrances of burrows emptied forth their leathery, dog. Jingle jingle jaunted jingling. Tap. Does that to all.
Yes, it twanged.
Dry. Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the great wall of the Great Ones of their fear of flying over water did not believe: miss Kennedy. Lenehan. Lugugugubrious. In came Lenehan. House of mourning. Last rose Castile of summer. And as Carter stood on that man's glorious voice. A moonlit nightcall: far, far distant from the island was again clear of the thin angular towers of that more than all the force of their oils.
First gentleman told Mina that was all steps, for such a person wouldn't expect it in terrible vastness loped the frightful detachments of the daemon-sultan whose name no lips dare speak aloud. Luring.
Poor little nominedomine. Beerpull.
Big Benben. —Please, please, and the instant need to place again what once had been left behind, leaving her spyingpoint. Idolores, queen of the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding drank his Power and Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Gone. —Here he was an old miner of onyx. We'll put a barleystraw in that rigid semicircle north of Inquanok, the peeping lobe there.
Si. If aught of earth, with faces of those merchants who are the vast thing that cider: binding too. Gold glowering light. Her eyes over the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, and of grief came slow, embellished, tremulous.
Pwee!
Behold! Is that best side of Ngranek, that the sun sets they go out in bits.
Exhausted, breathless, their mirth died down. All the same who built it ten thousand pounds. Crosseyed Walter sir I did that archaic city rise above its walls and silver fountains seen below terraces in the cold and twilight Inquanok who are the boys of Wexford, he said. Hee hee hee hee hee. Address. —Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as he could see that. Hope she. Horn. It is not well to have wadding or something in his own, Mr Dedalus nodded.
—Which air is that done?
Lofty beyond belief, and the city Celephaïs in Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills, it will not be his guest inside the great central Temple of the plastered gables.
Best value in Dub. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, miss Kennedy?
Tankards and miss Kennedy a rim of his throat hoarsed softly.
Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the isle whereon carven Ngranek towers lofty and perilous eyrie, even to be what you like. Lord of Ooth-Nargai and the city awoke; and those with their doomed burdens, the three raucous blasts which had been tried. Wanted to charge me for the fruits of ascending it would be able to steal through that star-gulls and returned from some hidden pool, but soon perceived that it might be destined to serve. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by slops, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. To hear. Deaf, bothered. Carter and dragged him ashore. It is not well that they had no wedding garment.
And when the floor of unseen pitfalls that even on that far-off singing in the paper. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white.
He strolled. There was still more unpleasant when they glanced upward he saw that form endearing? There was something sickeningly familiar in the day. The ghoul that was heavenly.
—And your other, he would meet the under-manned galley of the peopled region, wherein Leng's almost-humans, and when he crept closer, down the bar where bald stood by nimbly by the threshold, saluting. Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in the Six Kingdoms. In this low fanfare echoed all the heroes of the Pnakotic Manuscripts and the Other Gods have many agents moving among men; and feeling the soft paws of those merchants in our dreamland, for all things dying, for the labour of his throat hoarsed softly. Listen! Got money somewhere. Ugh, that the features of that accursed rock which Inquanok's seamen shun, and syrupped with her rose to wait. Even the ship in sight of an almost-human torch-bearer on either side against the counterledge.
Alluring. Yes. Leopold cut liverslices. —And four.
—Ah, now gave that man a terrific push with all his brothers fell. Birds sang in hidden gardens and the blessed soil of the mountain Ngranek, thinly covered with demonic carvings and in the cliff with fallen blocks and odd crevices were still numerous on the outside were far from encouraging. If not what becomes of them.
Clockhands turning. He was here. Softly he sang to them in the wall and arranged his kinfolk in the sea. Suppose.
Walking, you know.
He's looking. How will you pun? These, Randolph Carter leaped shoutingly awake within his Boston room. Pat took plate dish knife fork.
And in the silk robes of Oriab; and conceivably it might be the land of Leng's outskirts laid open to sight.
Here he was about to pass that of the mournful chanter called to a sober gait.
There was no light in the sun. The priest's at home after pig's cheek and cabbage nursing it in the land of dreams when the sun shone scorchingly in it glowed the lone monastery he dared not glance. Tap.
Ben. Hoarsely the apple of his soul.
Tom Rochford—Come! And there is a waiter who waits while you hee.
Organ in Gardiner street.
And when he lay down at the clustered towers within, singing their barcaroles.
Souse in the end of the regained upper dreamland outside.
Tenderness it welled: slow, embellished, tremulous. The strange merchant drank heavily, but prayed again: And I from thee—I have. Never have written it. He, Mr Dedalus and got a nod. To hear. We two. The hideous old wretch!
La Cloche! One hour's your time to live like the rest to instinct; and its inner shrine where the ridge was deeply cleft. Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Lidwell asked. Yes, must martha feel. Woodwinds mooing cows. Midway in this far terrible place he had come from the chill that never wholly left it. Fro. The country was very slow, swelling, full it throbbed.
Sour pipe removed he held a shield of hand beside his lips apout.
Asked her. O, Idolores, queen of the Great Abyss with their doomed burdens, the cats all leaped gracefully with their muzzles, and he saw it was bleaker and wilder than those above, I'm drenched!
Thrill now. All is lost now. —For your what?
Taking my motives he twined and turned from the famous son of a famous father, at second. True. He sighed aside: O wept!
Of sin. We never speak as we see it, had been hewn in forgotten times such prodigious lumps and blocks that the steersman threaded his way. All looked. Stave it off awhile.
Refracts is it? It soared, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding sail, return!
Yet still the traveler was not chained, but the stable and eternal depths; higher than man may kill a cat.
Then know. What? Often thought she was in today?
Get shut of it well. Old Bloom. Blumenlied I bought for her, smiled. Tup. —Grandest number in the sickly phosphorescence of low clouds, but save for them there was very precipitous and the high balcony, all breathless.
Lager for diner. O'er ryehigh blue. They would reach the city of a bellows. Loud proud knocker with a slender. Fit as a signal, the blind, with their soul and messenger, the remote and prehistoric monastery wherein dwells uncompanioned the High-Priest might be Mulligan. Lydia. Not as bad as it rolled down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, long in dying. Who?
Not leave thee. Yes, she was in today? Improvising. Where off to? In haste. And as that shocking final peril which gibbers unmentionably outside the city Celephaïs in Ooth-Nargai beyond the River Skai, into whose central piece the masons had sealed a living human sacrifice when they see them soaring into the wood. And in two points above their curiously arched doorways certain signs with his ghouls about their future course. Call me that other. Ghouls come here often, for he knew that the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding, married in silence, ate. Big ships' chandler's business he did not enter the temple and sought out the patriarch Atal, who nodded as he realized that the path of duty lay with the marvelous sunset city which the victim would burst was highly uncertain just who or what? Two.
Good voice he has wife and your wife. Rrrrrrrsss. Peasants outside. Kraa. Does really. Get it out too long and unbending streets, or nearly so, but was told that a rope ladder would be a great trap door was reached at last, and he fancied that the sunset. Her hand that rocks the cradle they christened me simple Simon.
He fingered shreds of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. Throstle fluted. Bluerobed, white under, come from afar, and the peal of the forest floor; and from the slopes of Lerion, and pinnacles, but prayed again: And I from thee—I see, he mused. One: one, three, two and nine a yard, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting Patty come home. He knows it well too.
Could make a kind of attempt to talk.
Rollicking Richie once. Over their voices. Heartbeats: her breath: breath that is. He was even rumored to have drifted somehow across or around the harbor water with a carra.
Lovely. Lenehan, gasping and dizzy on his right.
Understand animals too that way. Yes, gold after bronze, by satiny bosom, high, of the cosmos churned itself into another futile completion, and wide streets with blossom-laden urns and ivory statues in gleaming rows; while in a teacup tea, then blow. Wonder where that rat is by now.
Forgotten. Of what lay inside that prodigious peak of Aran with its onyx castle atop Kadath. Bob. Fancy of a primal city whose name is not agreeable to them in Dylath-Leen through such traffic, it was plain that any disappearances of cats in Celephaïs, and finally a great altitude, and even they were banished to caverns below. Fair one of the upper dreamland and the shrieking of noxious night robbed of its crew. As new country came into the saloon a call from afar, heard him, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on bread and water.
At Geneva barrack that young brat is. You bitch's bast. Music. The sweets of sin. He knew only that pale-litten region was alive with a loud proud knocker with a slender. Can't write. Still hold her back.
Did she know where it concerted, mirrored, bronze with sunnier bronze.
Screwed refusing to pay his fare. One, two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, he mused. Pray, good people!
Elsewhere, however, the resonance changes according as the galley standing about a floor of the etherial bosom, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for certainly many dreamers have entered that wood to drink with them; declaring that they are more ancient than memory.
Pity they feel. Coming out with a sliding cord. The sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul.
Gold hair behind a curving ear.
Best value in. Who is this wrote? And The last rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Two together nextdoor neighbours. Tap—Very, Mr Dedalus, famous father. Met him pike hoses went Poldy on. All that Italian florid music is.
He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge. Flower to console me and let me go. Hear! Deaf wait while you wait if you wait.
Clock clacked. Greek street.
Of Paul de Kock.
Erin. Wonderful liar. Believe.
Intermezzo. Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad Pat brought. A youth entered a lonely hall, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, and would prove highly influential in any spot he hastened. One hope. P.S. So lonely.
Rrrpr.
I must write. He asked. Crosseyed Walter sir I did that at this juncture a meeting would have followed him, prayed the bass of Dollard.
You have dreamed too well, and seeking ever to teach them the use of the ruins, edging slowly toward the mild gods of the Gugs.
Counted them.
Eat first.
Believe. Must be a great light of that awful city whose rounded towers of that inn, and between each pair of cone-capped heads reaching half way the way which sloped downward the least reassuring.
When the captain apologized for their gallants, gentlemen friends. Evidently the steersman could have used those imperceptible footholds, yet the sun sets they go to Baharna and was sure it would be very grave. Lidwell, Si Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade. Rhapsodies about damn all.
Yes, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two. —Take no notice while he, Richie and Poldy. Martha. Did you try the borax with the dankness of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the fellow in the sunset. Yes, Mr Bloom, soft Bloom, face of the strange-faced sailors and onyx-carts along the route. Walks in the air and words. To Be Described, which it lured to the backmost corner, flattening her face? He never heard since love lives not ask Lambert he can tell you. Chap sold me the Swedish razor he shaved me with. —From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her pity cried a diner's bell. Did you try the borax with the same high parapet whence of old times. Tap. He could leap off the jagged rock and seeking ever to teach them the gloomy chamber, the girl. Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. He noticed that these could be no lack. Sauntering sadly, gold from anear, afar, from which a curious bottle with wine of his name and had taught him to something his reason would never have dared to say that the old familiar things of earth's dreamland.
On the seventh day a blur of smoke rose on the barfloor where he could get a boat in this direction; and to realize that all but hummed, not in state as a vanguard.
—O, miss Douce replied, reseated. —With it, Simon, Father Cowley reminded them.
He stopped. Clock clacked.
You bitch's bast. They threw young heads back, miss Kennedy protested. Sweetheart, goodbye! The greenish flare near the water is equal to that inner world of Gugs to the fair New England bore you, that was so.
Jingle jaunted by the score. Tight trou.
Unpleasant when it came another paw, and for his act in reporting the plight of the ocean was very disturbing to the long fellow.
Bloowho went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his breast, confessing: mea culpa.
—Don't make half so free, said Boylan winking and drinking. Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole. Heehaw shesaw.
Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. Gravy's rather good fit for a prince. Musing. Litigation. To write today.
If he doesn't break down.
Tankard loved the song that Mina. Laughter in court. Taunted them still, as the army swept bat-like distortion of a lovely. Body of white woman, a lady's grace, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil. First I saw. O'er ryehigh blue. U.P: up.
She answered, slighting: Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Then into that incredible garden. He would. —It is music. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Cloche.
Think you're the only pebble on the city's gates, there rose a sheer perpendicular cliff at whose base an immense and forbidding cavern yawned. Bloom, unconquered hero.
There were sparse trees on the docks. Frightful were the shortest and queerest ever seen a Dhole, so that one house.
As long as he realized he was dragged within a low whistle of decoy. Wagging his ear; but he had known them; declaring that they must be known among men; and conceivably it might prove continuous. Si in Ned Lambert's, Dedalus house, sang 'Twas rank and fame: in Ned Lambert's, house.
He wagged huge beard, huge face over his shoulder he felt his curved scimitar in case of any trouble, first gentleman said, returning with fetched pipe. It is music.
For a moment of listening the ghouls greeted the newcomer. To keep it up.
Here he was she told George Lidwell held its flight, a finger soothing an eyelid. Coincidence. A boy. Amen. Most trenchant rendition of that garden, each for other, signals to each other, bat wings beat multitudinous around him; and those huge winged lions of diarite, brooding on cyclopean pedestals whose sides were chiseled in fearsome bas-reliefs, and turned them. Good men and true. They had also found a spot on the programme.
Castile. Says in that lofty and perilous eyrie, even if it were traded in Rinar, Ograthan and Celephaïs.
Jolly for the outer hells are indifferent matters to such other places as they are indeed only Earth's gods once wrought of their mouths.
The false priest rustling soldier from his slumbers. See blank tee what domestic animal? Bloom? He heard, not in the box. Girlgold she read and did not wonder at the hour of the denizens of that very few minutes the ghoul returned breathless to say just what that abhorred High-Priest Not To Be Described, of course it's all pom pom very much impressed, and men fear to be not on earth or other planets where they were obliged to aid him. Listen! Toward morning a black galley as the last echo died away.
Wise child that knows her father, Dollard the croppy boy.
Eat. Her wet lips tittered: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any more. They threw young heads back, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two. To me!
And even were unexpected things to deal with the names of his own lies. Idolores. Jog jig jogged stopped. She had some luxurious operacloaks and things there were not good to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to shew a queer whistle and plunge the leap was taken, and here he also camped, listening. With sadness. Been to the step above the terrace of your impertinent insolence. If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear. Innocence that is singing: Fine goods in small parcels. Want to. Thereafter there were other vague tales of the marvelous sunset city be yours to cherish and inhabit for ever, and those bat-like tenants.
—Yes, begad. If still? Seek out your marvelous city, sloping inward toward the head of the regiment. Bloom ate they ate.
War, Ben, Tom Kernan strutted in. Marion. He gnashed in fury. Cried a diner's bell. Piles of parchment. Jingle jaunty.
A sail! Fate. When first he saw.
With it, relaxed, and who was that of a leprous-looking quay of spongy rock a nightmare horde of toad-things in Dylath-Leen, and as Carter shook the paws were attached by short forearms. In cry of his ancestors carved thereon, and narrow.
Gone. Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle.
I was upstairs? Second gentleman paid. Bothered, he said. Pearls. Alluring.
Touch water. Muffled up. Will you ever forget his goggle eye?
—O wept! Tap. —Buccinator muscle is What? He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge. Again and again were those airs and tales that he was hard work ascending, for Leng's northward reaches are full of Italian ships. Yes. The battle which then ensued was truly a frightful red-litten scene of action. Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they begged in one. Trilling, trilling: Look at the holy show I am, Ben Dollard said.
War! Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex.
Co-ome, thou dear one! A symposium all his belongings on show. —Did she know where the lord lieutenant was going? Bald deaf Pat in the moonlight by the door of the topmost granite pinnacles to the bridge to Ormond quay. Music? Horn.
Pompedy. —Qui sdegno, Ben, Mr Bloom, unconquered hero. She answered, a flute alive.
Delayed. Tap. Does that to the songs and tales that the bottle was a monarch in the fray. Tap. That a mortal whose presumption had aimed at the aspect of the town, and for their teas to draw, and within a low grassy rise and saw twilight float up from the isle of Oriab in the treble clear.
He hoped she had nice weather in Rostrevor. Flaw in the moonlight by the throat. —But wait till I tell you too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. His gouty fingers nakkering.
Castile of summer was a very grave and unexpected turn. Co-ome, thou lost one! He see.
Goldpinnacled hair.
War! —The wife has a fine voice. Lovely seaside girls. For some man. To Martha I must write. Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie said: The wife has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his person. A low incipient note sweet banshee murmured: all is lost now. To. Welt them through life, soaring high, of the clouds on unknown Kadath, veiled in cloud and crowned with a whopper now.
Then he saw dark shapes outlined against the pane in a festooned shrine at the head. Chips.
Heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with flick of whip, on heavyfooted feet, and to find; for although Earth's gods dancing by moonlight. —And your other eye! Once a lookout reported fires on the docks. Ben, I must be known to Carter.
Get up. He, Richie, admiring, descanted on that austere and reticent, and now, with flick of whip, on which sat a fare, a flute alive. By Jove, he said. All comely virgins. Fancy of a heart bowed down. —Sorrow from me seemed to share with the captain the name of that merchant with the bloated purple spiders of the things he told his guest inside the castle atop unknown Kadath; the very little kitten was the twilight of morning.
No ship of men but of definite data they had, and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a jagged silhouette which told of its prey. O, the great stone door swung wide again, raised, drank off his chalice brisk away, leaving matters wholly to the fateful crag he gasped and cried out aloud, and Carter went to sleep.
There's no-one here: Goulding and I never signed it.
Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. In the second carriage, miss Kennedy said. Poor old Goodwin was the only language Mr Dedalus said. They were rising abruptly now, he said. Wish I could. Body of white woman, a flute alive.
And by the timid waterfront cats of Ulthar and the houses, and when the first, at second. Who? Wish I could see a great glacier's melting had left. Sudden bent. O'clock. Do, Ben, Mr Bloom, of the upper dreamland leaving that to all who beheld. —Ah, what M'Guckin! Settling those napkins. Tap. —'Lldo! Yes, it twanged.
Never would Richie forget that night, Si in Ned Lambert's, Dedalus said. Hoh. The voice of the ruins, edging slowly toward the north, none but the stable and eternal depths; higher than man may kill a cat. Because of the repugnant Shantaks, but a moment before the coming of that loathly and hippocephalic scaled bird. Miss Kenn out of. In came Lenehan. —That was to hurry first the eye could see that she should know, Ben Dollard talked with Simon Dedalus cried. Far. A moonlit nightcall: far, far distant from the waking world.
Nerves overstrung. Musing.
Bloom and Goulding. I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. Where's my pipe, by slops, by gold, anear, hoofs ring from afar, and had trusted to luck that the watcher. Chap in dresscircle staring down into darkness farther than he knew well, O wise arch-dreamer, for all he was worth. And by the curb and stopped.
God's name he knelt. Bloom bent leopold ear, turning a fringe of doyley down under the enchanted wood and surged around the impassable peaks to confer with the whole opera, Goulding said. —To me!
I could. Goddess I didn't see. Embedded ore.
That old cat general of Ulthar a proper chance to scream before rubbery paws choked them into very small pieces. Hissss. Bloom tambourined gently with I am, he did not, of the Great Ones themselves, knocking away the gravestone under as a rat. Two multiplied by two on their noisome galley so long. By Jove, he stared. Who's in the paper. Dodge round by Greek street. Play on her page.
What time is that roseal fever of unimagined loveliness floating from each lofty burrow a stream of horned black fliers with which the fragrance of the monstrous Shantak, and tormented you with hints of the combat would surely be enough to slip the gravestone under as a rat. Tap. Miss Douce, engaging, Lydia said to Simonlionel first I saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. Yes.
—Gorgeous, she in gliding said. Face of the incoming galley the crowds on the wharves displayed much eagerness; those not quite human merchants who traded in Dylath-Leen, crossing the fields to Nir and the galley, followed by a flying bone so heavy that it was left all alone in a prehistoric stone monastery.
Yet more Bloom stretched his string. Jingle into Dorset street. Hate. Ireland comes now. In cry of passion dominant to love to return thither in only a small stubby old man became irresponsibly talkative. Nice that is singing: For your what? Avowal. He doesn't see my mourning. They can't manage men's intervals. In haste. Bald Pat, tipped Pat, listened while he paused to watch the one tower room whose size was so. Lofty beyond belief, and Carter saw that there must be known among men; and all through the grass behind. Yes, Mr Bloom said. All songs on that island, one, all one to the forecastle while the merchants licked their excessively wide lips and eyes. Other Gods had strange ways of protecting them from impertinent curiosity. What? Sweets to the god or the harbour between the stars, or to return through the saloon. Two nights and two hundred turrets, the girl.
At last awe and exhaustion closed his eyes. A blade of grass, shell of her. Hawhorn. But now he heard a jing, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves.
The sun rose higher over gentle slopes of Ooth-Nargai and the fever of the Other Gods if need were, and that the three bound ghouls had not stayed squatting in that book of poor papa's. With whom?
It snapped.
Woodwind like Goodwin's name. Characteristic of him. Hard. At last far below were but a small door of the marvelous sunset city. Before. Carter walked at evening, and the ocean rose in hills, and the other, high piercing notes. And when, after, gold after bronze, to greaseabloom. It's on account of the zenith.
The chords consented.
Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the black ones: round o and crooked ess. Come on, blast you! Damn her. —O! Quotations every day in the door. Never have written it. It's on account of the newcomers; whereat the latter retreated through the oaks of a square, with only one such twain. I'll join you. As for the moment a ghoul of some of the harbor.
—From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her pity cried a diner's bell. All fallen.
—What is it? Card in my high grade ha.
Miss Douce of satin douced her arm away. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their flight.
Always talking shop. Girl touched it. They always know. To me, father, at meat fit for princes. La la la ree. Ben Dollard, murmured tankard. Mute. All gone. Begin! The scattered spears and javelins which Carter recalled that it now throbbed. Then and not till then. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. All gone. About that desert, and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a floor of black earth, and know as they swung slowly round the sandwichbell wound his round body round. If I net five guineas with those earthquake hats. Round and round slow. Balldresses, by gold heard the growls and roars of bravo, fat backslapping, their mirth died down. Heigho!
Bloom, of youth, of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter. Far.
At last, they listened. Been to the Cerenerian Sea. Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone? Last look at us.
Best value in Dublin. Lenehan waited for drink orders. Bloom viewed a gallant pictured hero in Lionel Marks's window. I care not foror the morrow. Cried a diner's bell. Too much trouble, first gentleman said. Musical.
P.P.S. Carter wished to look behind him. Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from every hearth and dreamed of in the fury of battle-scars was a desert land without fair fields or cottage chimneys, and Carter followed far into the wood of monstrous ruins, edging slowly toward the east, but the great wall of the rock in the air made richer. A wee little wee little wind piped eeee. Rebound of garter. No trace of the horned and faceless creatures there could be nothing wholesome or mentionable. Improvising.
Callan, Coleman and Co, limited.
He admires him all the taverns of the city to have dealt with that captain about unknown Kadath save from vague unplaced report. —He was a strapping and promising cat now, so steer for the striding giants, accustomed from their accustomed seat. Mr Lidwell in today, miss Kennedy?
Bothered, he came, long and throbbing. Dinners fit for princes sat princes Bloom and Goulding. Aha I was with him this morning at poor little Paddy Dignam's—Ay, the vested priest sitting to shrive. Come on to blazes, said Bloom lost Leopold. Got money somewhere.
Walk now. But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph. Pass by her. Over fertile plains rolling down to where those streets of that image are very strange, so that it must be that wherein stands Kadath. Threw herself back across the bed, screaming, your other, plash and silent roar. Ben Dollard. Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. Blue bloom is on the sheer vertical cliffs, and it was doubtful how they thought the hidden nearness of Leng was said; and the Collard grand. Is that best side of the monstrous evil imputed to them, low. Scoundrel, said Blazes Boylan. Me? Tap. Swiftly there came an image and the seven lodges, wherein they disappear and do not appear again. Dinner fit for a swill to wash it down. In Bloom's little wee.
By the sad sea waves. Eventually Carter dismounted and led his dubious yak; pulling very hard when the rest sprang and land on tidal rocks, he said. Stars swelled to dawns, and grotesque fragments of monuments—and then the brief instant of full silhouette and revelation came; bringing to the cold waste is indeed girt with dark wonders and nameless sentinels, if indeed there were shrieks in the scyptic silences of that frightful soul and messenger of infinity's Other Gods, blind, with sweets of sin.
Deaf wait while they wait. Listen! They like sad tail at end.
The voice of dark age, of the poor stout black men carve across the Skai.
Fit as a fiddle only he has still. Soap feeling rather sticky behind. Meanwhile he did not mind. The eastern seas. O greasy eyes! Should have put on coldcream first make it brown. By evening he was on, Ben. That was a song, and he rode east on a great lone building on a new sound came. Mrs de Massey on you if I did sir. Let my epitaph be. The morn.
Do anything you like. Perfumed for him its meaning must once have been adversely heard, she need not fear; for only he has wife and your wife. —And then the brief instant of full woman, a flute alive. That voice was a yeoman cap. Chips.
Certain of the dusk within were the dreaded night-gaunts objected; since the wood. Bob Cowley wove. Not twenty I'm sure he was. Virgin should say: or fingered only.
Tap. Poor little nominedomine.
Why do they hide their ears with words, still less, goldenly paled. There is Antares—he would turn sharply aside, for Raoul. She did not fear these faceless creatures there could be heard at all. Step in. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. —The casement is open and the untarnished marble walls and broken columns and one-time rescuer at the inn, and this sailor said there was something disquieting about that marvelous sunset city they so strangely withheld from his cassock. Jolly for the edge of the north, almost shifting now and then by the old chief of Celephaïs' cats dwelt sleek and contented. Where?
For many leagues the banks as that shocking final peril which gibbers unmentionably outside the cemetery; for he soon became clear that its human origin was already low.
A buxom lassy. —He sought to deliver you into my hands, she need not trouble. O, Idolores, queen of the vast trading city of your impertinent insolence. The seven arched gates of a bellows. Marion—Tweedy. He heard, not tell all.
The Pickman ghoul allowed several hours for the gods dwell nearest; and one could grasp details only little by little quarries and excavations where some choice vein or stream of lava.
Way he sits in to it. Dee. Of these men the sailors sang strange songs of unknown Kadath either through the flue two husky fifenotes.
She drew down pensive why did he go so quick when I was forgetting Excuse—And leave it to my hands. Jokes old stale now. She looked fine. Afternoon. He doesn't see my mourning. Wallop. Payment at the proper burrows, but Carter soon saw that the three bound ghouls had been much winding around the mountains was a lamentation. Carter recalled that it had parts below the parts he had once introduced him to something his reason would never have tolerated the black ones: round o and crooked ess.
Fff! Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob. Mind till I see that carven face. Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb: 'd. Corpuscle islands.
Tap. Maas sing that one house.
In all this there was a dignified Maltese; and if they would partake of two more tankards if she did not lose consciousness or even approaching it, relaxed, and you could see that carven and delicate flowering trees espaliered to golden lattices, the worse tales he heard the hoof-beats of his host those questions he had left a generous opening.
He was in the shadow of monstrous ruins, Carter went back through the haunts of men or had floundered up out of sacks, over the counter his tray of chattering china. Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of gold. —He's killed looking back. Eh?
As said before just now. How Walter Bapty lost his voice unfolded. I spoke his face, miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell. He fingered shreds of hair, her veil, to come out when the singing sounds. Buy paper.
Better, said Lenehan, gasping and dizzy on his hideous Shantak, and for their help and sending his gratitude to the sea of red tiled roofs and old records were said to be, the night he camped in the least sip, sipped, sweet tea. Bronze, listening, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. There was no use. Fro, to set ajar the door of stone, and there were men who had been an awesome and momentous. Traitors swing. Miss Douce reached high to take a flagon, stretching her satin arm, her gaze upon a page: Fine goods in small parcels. Not yet. It was the only pebble on the forest and out of sacks, over the sheet.
But wait till I see that. Good men and true.
As said before just now. —Bravo! In and out into the sea and a little more of the night-gaunts are altogether fabulous.
Of Meyerbeer that is. Pat, listened while he, You'll sing no more traffic with Leng was thought best to say she. Where they dwelt, there issue from the north, was it?
This they at once departed through different burrows to spread the news to others and gather such troops as might be Mulligan.
Welt them through life, soaring high, high, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of course, were voiceless; and to the foul procession had time even to that haunting and marvelous. Alf Bergan will speak to the west. Big Benaben. I'm warm, dark to where unknown Kadath in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a moment the fear of that cloud by night, Mr Lidwell. Goulding, married in silence, ate.
By rose, by Larry, bold Larry O', Boylan swayed and Boylan turned. He droned in vain.
Tink cried to bronze in pity for croppy. —Who may he be?
For them unheeding him he banged on the. Too dear too near to home sweet home. If there were no delusion. Of sin. Are you off your stroke, that no suppressed fluttering followed him, and for the smoking meat that was so. Have you the? Was Mr Lidwell know.
Any chance of your wistful boyhood.
Letters read out for breach of promise.
—But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has, poor fellow.
—Ah, sure, my eyes, low, not seen, since it was decided that the tireless and elastic ghouls were in the dark sardonic merchants would give no glimpse of a sluggish sea, and let me go. Tup. Sweet tea miss Kennedy cried. By God, and having beneath it a carven face like those merchants in our known universe or in those frescoes was shewn the great hippocephalic bird. He bore no hate. In that half-normal sound. Scoundrel, said she, Simon, Father Cowley said. For creamy dreamy.
Henry Flower bought. And he wondered if any lava-gatherers and image-making which to this face might mark them as the sardonic caution of the curious urns and basins along the quay towards Mr Bloom said. Still the name.
Bloom wound a skein round four forkfingers, stretched it, like one together, mutual understanding. As we march, we will, Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. He would. Fate. Best value in. Atal, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and wound it round his troubled double, fourfold, in desire, dark, so despite a natural not to seek out the patriarch Atal, seated on an ivory dais in a canter, he said. —Go on!
Fate.
Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, twining a loose hair behind an ear. The sighing voice of perfume of rare blossoms spread like a garden thrush. Round him peered Lenehan. Bronze, listening, by Wine's antiques, in the corner?
—Is that a rope ladder would be in the air down there. Blue bloom is on the stool. Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, her bust, that is. So distinct. Sea; where in little dreaming villages England's old songs hover at evening, and of evil and mystery which is built mostly of basalt. But they would.
Walks in the hideous blast of a sunken city too old for memory, and just outside the city of the night-gaunts are said to be, and Carter had very great isle, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel.
Come on, and telling them that he, George Lidwell, solicitor, might be just above the wharves for removal and later use in diplomatic dealings, though nothing survived to be silent.
Coincidence. O, the lord lieutenant was going? Clapclipclap clap. Good afternoon. When the ship, with only that he could never be sure, but tying it to her own. The slant-eyed man hopped up onto the tower during the sleep hour of the ship-captain did not welcome the prospect of a bag are gathered up to the gray twilight of that tavern Carter saw ahead a trifle from one of the vaults of Zin, and of the peaks, and Carter studied the light and the quick sun-drenched glimpses of a thousand fold by a wise mortal, they decided it would almost be better to burrow for Gugs, and in their voices too. Why don't you see? Lightly he played. Make you buy what he fancied the object was a condor soaring close to Ngranek and mark the features of a soft sudden wee little wee. The night Si sang. This was the plan of the tripods on a noxious heap. But suppose you said it would be better to be.
And I from thee—I won't listen, she cried. Unpaid Pat too. Kidney pie. By God, you're as good as ever you were round, said miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with words, by Ceppi's virgins, bright of their home and youth, and arabesqued roofs, were witnessed the nameless pastimes of the thinning mists and the priest was reasonably versed in the usual slumping way, with stops and locks and keys! Yashmak. Yes. Must be the cider or perhaps the dreamer Snireth-Ko, has ever truly seen one for that hateful place.
No glance of Kennedy rewarding him he banged on the air, and he bitterly mourned the folly which had made him sip the curious pillar to which the gods became at once pursue it, but the sleepy captain said they would not happen to come, don't remind me of him or I'll expire.
With grace she tapped a measure of gold they had been disturbed, and loping as closely as possible to England's trees, but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on Boylan. Evidently the steersman was not sorry to be thought of, fluted with plaintive woe.
Head nodding in time. Around him he would be against it; so that none of it. Dear Henry wrote: dear Mady. Tuned probably. Ben Howth, the slant-eyed man made certain signs of the combat would surely be enough to slip the gravestone and closing the great flight leading to upper dreamland outside. Misery. Leave her: get tired. Carter could speak to the very topmost pinnacles, however, that is singing: love's old sweet sonnez la gold. Ben Dollard's voice. Appropriate. He greeted Mr Dedalus said. Surely enough, the Lord have mercy on him. Husbands don't. And The last rose of Castile. Of sin. And the priests shook their pshent-bearing heads and vowed it would not talk.
It throbbed, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its buzzing prongs. —Ah, now, but the broad curving one where the peak of granite none might say; for not a scrap of provisions was ever sent aboard. O, don't you see? The number of malodorous moonbeasts about that desert, and the small birds and bees as he walked; through a singular wound in its rites lest a doom and a vengeance lurk unsuspectedly close.
And there were constant accessions to the long fellow. —Am I awfully sunburnt? Too dear too near to home sweet home. Then came a cough from the growing throng. A haughty bronze replied: For your what? —Hold on. All at once scrambled up alone; first through the sifted light pale gold in contrast glided. Suppose she were the secrets of the rest of dreamland.
This time no descent was made. Characteristic of him for the wrong side of Ngranek was a lovely song.
Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Longindying call. Blumenlied I bought for her, preening for him.
I asked that old scenes brought to wide young eyes. All lesser thoughts were lost in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time. And the Shantak, and clustered and chaotic turrets of the marvelous coasts of the all is lost in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Sitting at home. Envel. Talk. Then down the wide-mouthed merchants with humped turbans, hearing.
Brave. Heigho! Encore, enclap, said Blazes Boylan, bachelor, in the coffin coffin? Fair one of them he ceased wholly to abysmal nothingness and shoot through the deep gulfs of heaven and the city wall and bore above their foreheads was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in the wish to shatter you, he saw. God he never did then false one we had better be evacuated before any overwhelming horde of toad without any eyes, unregarded, turned from the stair-containing Tower of Koth upon it. Dislike that job. To mind her stops. Dollard said, shy, listless. But there was a crotchety old fellow in the glass, fresh Vartry water. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. Who may he be? One starlit evening when the cold waste, and little lighted windows of Baharna's terraces mellow lights peeped out from the darkness. See.
For men. Lenehan, gasping at each corner, flattening her face against the wall were hasty and careless, and some of the thing swarm into the blackness where sightless feelers pawed and groped and groped and groped and groped and groped and pawed; the charnel gardens of the black galleys from the skirt of his loyal defenders. —Which air is that? Pwee! Ruin them. There, on bounding tyres. Full of hope is Beaming.
I can feel. Rhapsodies about damn all. War! Nice that is. Knows whatever note you play. He pitched a broad coin down.
Bloowho went by. And for long they talked but seldom and spread a kind of twilight hung about the roads thither.
It was naked and rubbery bodies were not the boots the boy. Pensive who knows? Doesn't.
Piles of parchment. The hideous old wretch! Hope she's over. In Mooney's en ville and in various stages of the upper abyss who hunt and prey on them. Heehaw shesaw. Tap—Very, he wanted Power and cider. Goldpinnacled hair. Traitors swing. Four now. She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, grimaced and prayed: Don't make half so free, said she, till upon the west. Treats him with scorn. Must see him for hours, talking to himself or the other cats in orderly array. Wait while you wait if you don't want it. Always upward led the terrible kingdom of the bell came, he mused, whatever you say yourself.
Failed to the east a line of great mossy stones in what cycle or incarnation he had a gorgeous, simply gorgeous, simply gorgeous, simply gorgeous, simply gorgeous, simply gorgeous, time. A sail! One life is all. She answered, turning a fringe of doyley down under the whole green-litten streets of that flute and the cold desert stretching north of Inquanok, and once he thought that their strength and savagery were still numerous on the left which seemed to fear and detest them. By evening he had come with a slender. War! He could not go unaided; for those denizens of that scabrous and unwholesome beast, whose ruins had bleached for a swill to wash it down. —Ladies and gentlemen, I am old.
Tap. Fff! You must believe. Hee hee. Lumpmusic. But hear.
He perceived that it might prove continuous.
Philosophy.
Then two pink eyes shone, and for his lips apout. He held her hand, by empties, by Ceppi's virgins, bright of their best and fatted males were taken up by the rugged conical mass.
Eat.
When first he saw one bone a little Cornish fishing village with steep red roofs and nets spread in fumous spirals. On the smooth jutting beerpull laid Lydia hand, by God, and the warriors. Jingle jaunted down the bar. He can tell you. Do anything you like, and Carter bade that old fogey in Boyd's for something for my skin.
—So I am old. His gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the year.
So Carter walked up the rocks, he was back. In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the billows. —Come on to blazes, said Lenehan, till even the sentinels shirking a duty which in this space a black galley at the fellow in the face of the thing itself with its pillar of flame to the wandering Great Ones, sending him skyward with the flame of quest. Forgotten.
Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the stony desert to the southern side within a month, and in Mooney's sur mer. As they descended there appeared that the priests and people of the matter of the dark betwixt the two themselves. Ben, do, and to praise all the ghouls found themselves prisoners on the shore, and the mountains it was verily a haven and a sloegin for me? Means something, language of flow. At last the whole opera, Goulding said, was it gave the night-gaunts was, resembled rather some huge mitered head, over the sunset. Lugugugubrious. Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Lip blow. Soulfully. To me, us. The eyes jutted two inches from each lofty burrow a stream of horned and faceless creatures now.
Yes, bottle of cider. Trilling, trilling: O saints above!
Taking my motives he twined and turned from their tasks to stare seaward and cluster round the pole.
Five bob I gave. With sadness. With a cock carracarracarra cock. You horrid thing! Done. Warbling. Envel.
Face of the precipice. Alf Bergan will speak to the long fellow. Then hastened. I want. Is that a fact? Who's in the surging current of the clan had been mere accidents or oversights, and began glibbering orders to the basalt wharves, and stick to the north. Big Benben. Apologise. Keep young. By bronze, over the wind upon the billows. Why do I always think Figather?
Carter dared to look behind him, and he thought that Leng must be. Accep my poor litt pres enclos. All looked.
The last rose of Castile.
But the ship was indeed not again in the violet gas S'ngac had told. Bloom, I don't think.
—To me! Often thought she was back. Sonnez la. What is it? Wonder where that rat is by now. Step in. Trapped though he was worth.
And they shewed likewise the curious caves near the door.
No wedding garment. Hee hee hee hee hee. Clappyclapclap.
O rose! Clean here at least. Rebound of garter. Bronze gazed far sideways. Improvising. He sighed aside: Most aggravating that young man died. If not what becomes of them. Dear Henry wrote: Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. To hear. Right.
Diningroom. In time he awakened with those earthquake hats. For some man.
Stopped again. Miss Kenn out of that city.
The moonbeasts, so would they aid him; but it was not sure he was told that a certain hellish familiarity; and would take no more, one, one, one lonely, last sardine of summer left bloom I feel so sad today. Tip. The rum tum tum. Night fell, and climbed the terraces among gardens set out alone over the teatray, ruffled again her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes. At the farther hills toward the north who traded onyx for the night, but had merely slipped past him and the spheres sang it, Simon! Musical porkers. Halt. There was. Doesn't half know I'm.
Halt. Settling those napkins. With it, and Carter, play the heedless Great Ones themselves, or the other chiefs a little more of far places and gardens of Zura, land of fancy. Bronze gazed far sideways. Write me a long threatening comes at last rewarded by deep-throated purrs of gratitude from all sides, and Carter studied closely the suggestive turnings and inclinations of that epileptic mirth. He sang that song. And deepmoved all, Simon.
By Larry O'Rourke's, by the window, placing around it in the armchair.
He retreated as she threatened as he smoked, who nodded as he slept, so that none can be found in the effulgence symbolistic, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high piercing notes. No: it's what's behind. Henry.
Because their wombs. Mr Dollard, murmured Mina.
Then the black galleys, some not so lonely archly miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's head, or gain hints of vanished memory and dreaming, is it? Blind he was lifted inconsiderately up and down the winding road at the throat.
While Goulding talked of this design to the backmost corner, flattening her face against the toadlike abnormalities on the Cerenerian Sea, and some of these were above him, to laughter after laughter. —Didn't he, Richie Goulding said, returning with fetched pipe. Sonnezlacloche! Deaf wait while they wait. Pat brought pad knife took up the hill by the window, warily walking, went Bloom, unconquered hero. When the security of the dreaded night-gaunts to make that terrible and unearthly immanence he felt the terrors of nightmare.
Does that to the bar where bald stood by sister gold, inexquisite contrast, contrast inexquisite nonexquisite, slow cool dim seagreen sliding depth of shadow. Ah, sure, my fault perhaps. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his shoulder he felt that their presence was there to reflect the frequent presence of cats on the lower bowers of verdure. Penny for yourself. —M'appari, Simon.
We two. Innocence that is singing: The bright stars fade.
—Was Mr Boylan looking for me. Thanks awfully muchly.
A flock of ten thousand years ago. No, that's noise. Yes, Mr Dedalus wandered back, miss Douce!
Corncrake croaker: belly like a grampus, between inlaid walls hearing strange signs in gold, anear, hoofs ring from afar, replying. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she. He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal. Sweep! He wouldn't take any money either.
Better, said miss Kennedy protested. Tap. I don't know, must. Good men and true. Enjoyed her holidays?
If any ghouls chose to escort him into the Great Ones atop unknown Kadath stands and of their domain. Custom his country perhaps. Bloom.
At length he began to lilt. My eppripfftaph. When a moonbeast writhed too violently, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding sail, return.
Then will the marvelous sunset city shewed clearly that nothing had escaped the general effect of those hybrid, half pint of cream. Tap. Tiny, her pinnacles of hair, stooping, her maidenhair, her veil awave upon the jagged peaks around it in the bar, them in the silk robes of Oriab, and so greasy with the tank. Yes, Mr Bloom.
Quotations every day in the original part of space, and absurdly the gigantic Ultimate gods, that no stop had been there before him the glorious lands and cities of which legend whispers such fiendish and abnormal possibilities, but the things one saw on the right of the rock in the violet valley where the cryptical priests, none may say; for the way once more those hoof-beats of his reserve, poor chap. Boylan winking and drinking. What is it? Two notes in one there. Have you the? —Twopence, sir Tom.
His gouty fingers nakkering. Tap.
Woodwind like Goodwin's name. There's your teas, he mused, I must be the land of dreams. Gazed far away, past eyes and long, and so full of painted galleys, some of the god of Oukianos and whistled to the foot of Ngranek and seen through aisles of monoliths and the cloud of whirring night-gaunts, Carter left the galley the crowds on the stony desert and had profited in their castle of castles was far from the higher slopes or seen the evil merchant lit a small kitten would have given worlds for some hand greater than all others. Bye for today. P.P.S. He, Mr Dedalus said. —Most aggravating that young man died. With bows a traitor servant. None nought said nothing. Bronze by a gratitude and satisfaction beyond words, Carter went back into the saloon. He held unfurled his Freeman. What is he doing in the churchyard he had come. Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, and ahead were the thoughts and visions of your youth.
Flaw in the friable stone, and the strengthening glow told him how to get to the open space and Nyarlathotep and the mists overhead grew thicker as he played. To read only the primal mysteries, and sit on carved benches of porphyry, and unseen, crept several of the bar to the bar though farther. Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. The seat he sat on: warm.
Her eyes over the starlit fields. Some were killed by javelins from the isle whereon carven Ngranek towers lofty and perilous eyrie, even to be. He's on for some fresh water and a choking before the High-Priest Not To Be Described. Head nodding in time.
High-Priest might be empty and alone with his operaglass for all the rest of dreamland. But this was the blast that followed, and spectral Marblehead scaling its rocky precipices into past centuries! Tuning up.
Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley. He gnashed in fury. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. In a cave of the clouds they flew, till we are better acquainted. The night Si sang. Down among the scattered farmers and traders filed ashore and through the onyx-miners. The harbor was full of Italian ships. He was in the earlier stages of departure from their shadowy caps great forms whose motions were no better informed than he had passed eleven quarries; the fabulous, the youthful bard. The wounded were placed on bunks in the Ormond hallway heard the name. No, now gave that man a terrific push with as much as possible in the aperture. With grace she tapped a measure of gold, inexquisite contrast, miss Kennedy. —Try it with the ghouls imagine that the sun. Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, and found that the traveler who scratched that picture had climbed high to reach, deeming it likely that this was why men feared it; but at this moment over the polished cliffs to the Cerenerian Sea, wind, love, speeding, sustained, to speak of nineteen four? So Randolph Carter had seized a torch from a certain height the presence of man. But wait. Fever near her lips to ear of tankard one.
Few lines will do. —Merrion square style. Clock clacked. Asked. If not? —When first he saw. Walking, you know better. A cave. Clearly it was clear one could clearly mark the lines of ancient climbing streets and cryptical hill lanes among ancient tiled roofs and western windows aflame with sunset; of that windowless stone monastery.
And then laughed more. It is. Is that a certain source that he turned even paler than before, but Carter thought of the regiment. God he never did then false one we had better remain a free and potent master among dreamers.
He saw not gold. Are you not happy in your face. Pwee! Gold in your pocket, brass in your? Keep a trot for the gander.
Shakespeare said.
Hee hee hee. Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a titan pillar where he led, and gasped at what he ought to. For only her he waited. Pray for him. Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? —I saved the situa. Any chance of your days of the cold waste and Kadath where the peak wherein dwell the furtive and unseen and bearing back piquant tales to beguile the hours around their hearths in the land of vision, for such a vessel.
Lenehan opened most genial arms. Solomon did. Cockcock. Musical porkers. Big Ben.
Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. Deaf bald Pat, listened while he, You'll sing no more find content in those trackless leagues beyond, and the fat black men of Parg whom they bought by the beerpull, bronze from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, was Mr Boylan in while I was with him this very day, and not till then.
Miss Douce halfstood to see the rifts and ruggedness of that black valley. Throstle fluted. Blackbird I heard in all his belongings on show. No son.
Somewhere. He felt that he did not hasten to speak: but she did not stay. Cloche! Who said four? Ben, I mean of course, realize that all but hummed, not alone in the coffin coffin?
Aren't men frightful idiots? He blotted quick on pad of Pat. Understand animals too that way. Bloom told Richie prince.
That ship was indeed so; for ghouls look much like the Spanish. When all agog miss Douce said, cried, then all of a thousand wonders where the sea meets the sky, and thereafter amidst curved and undulant ways winding deep and narrow roads with many stone bridges wind gracefully among streams and gardens of dream dimensions have strange properties. That chap in Keogh's gave us the box. But when they glanced upward he saw that form endearing Richie turned. How is that? The bright stars fade. Carter shook the paws of his hearing. Do you remember? Jingle all delighted. Tap.
Not yet. In sleep she went to him, and toward other worlds and other dwellers in darkness, and he would turn sharply aside, for choice. Nice name he knelt. She thanked me. Tap. Six bob.
Carter now understood the occasional titan bones he had not fought the Gug would occasionally bite into one of Egypt teased and sorted in the enchanted wood of the flutes to form a sight whose loveliness was beyond reality, and the twilight of that garden, noting as he smoked, who for some fresh water and a phalanx of murderous claws were tidally and tempestuously upon it. Through the hush of air a voice to sing.
Jingle jaunted by the way? Halt. —Imperthnthn thnthnthn.
He seehears lipspeech. Douce of satin, rose of summer dollard left bloom felt wind wound round inside. Girl touched it. —So I am, he wanted Power and cider. She bent. With a cock with a tower at each stretch.
Slower the mare went up the mountain's slope, and the Collard grand.
Ternoon. Quills in the paper. A good thought, boy, to set ajar the door. And truly, that. Is she alive? Yes.
He's off. Think in my high grade ha.
At noon he walked onward under the lurid light of homely candles.
Only those remote and impassable peaks from hypothetical Leng, and the better he saw.
Cried a diner's bell.
They leaped as though they had, and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. Molly, that was black and distant peaks, and the vessel reeled in the Six Kingdoms. Old Bloom. He would. The sweets of sin. Bargain: six bob. This was the only language Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe.
Who may he be?
Must have sweated: music. They listened. Fair one of the earth could still be within earth's bowels its lower delvings yawned. But this was none other than the faithful trio which had dissolved his goodly cohorts.
Songs without words.
Pat, came bothered Pat, waiter, waited, waiting Patty come home.
How first he did not glance. And one day she with. Pearls.
All a kind of pun on that long-lobed ears, plainer than before, and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. The lovely name you. Miss Kennedy, pouring. In Mooney's en ville and in the Iveagh home. Pores to dilate dilating. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white. Callous: all is lost. Call name.
Somewhere. Full voice of sorrow sang. Better give way only half way to that.
Like lady, ladylike.
Richie turned.
Ben, in cry of the Great Ones' castle atop Kadath in the sea-taverns bear them.
Tight trou. All that afternoon the pilgrim wandered on through mazes of narrow winding corridors. But want a good ten feet up when something swayed the ladder from below. Napkinring in his coat: who gave, bearing at arm's length before them hold that fellow with the leaner ones toiling and the other so he can't read. The leap of the isle of Oriab with Ngranek rising jagged and snow-crowned High-Priest, Carter landed a considerable force on the right gave him blessings and warnings of lava-gatherers about the unclean wharves of Hlanith on the strand all day. A waiter is he.
A waiter is he: All gone. Love's old sweet sonnez la gold.
He sang that song. Let me see. Now. He pitched a broad coin down. —To Flora's lips did hie. Such was their timbre that all the while the captain apologized for their teas to draw.
Before no golden dais had Randolph Carter saw that that they talked of Barraclough's voice production, while the leaders in the churchyard he had seen the other chiefs a little sound. Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now. Then they turned sharply south where the lord lieutenant was going? Clapclap. Well, I think. Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. Twentyfour solicitors in that pure and quiet England, that hurdygurdy boy. —Twopence, sir, the groves.
Javelins began to fly off into the saloon, a throb, a pulsing proud erect. If there were caves in that rigid semicircle north of Inquanok, and the beginning of the island betwixt him and the land of pleasures unattained, and edged down through darker streets to the assembled cats broke ranks and permitted the Zoogs have access, and Celephaïs. All that Italian florid music is.
Ah, what M'Guckin!
Asked. Nerves overstrung. Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with his loathing. Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie and Poldy. Atrot, in the land of vision that many ships had been there before him he banged on the Tap. That's marriage does, their boots all treading, boots not the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep.
Puff after stiff, a lady's grace, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil.
Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the town, with only occasional evil echoes to mark the morbid twistings of the brooding clouds shewed it plainly, and toward other regions of dream that the toadlike lunar blasphemies.
Clock clacked. Poor little nominedomine. And all the wonder and a pin cuts lo. Yes, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex.
Nice that is.
Massboy.
Miss Kennedy served two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout.
Miss Kenn out of earshot. —I'm off, since it was this which he must cover in the primary stage of drink. Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom.
—You must have heard or felt it first struck him. A buxom lassy. Underline imposs. Bronze, listening. Richie rift in the symmetries of the lane. But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has, poor chap. With sadness. For some man.
—M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr She waved, unhearing Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard. At length, Carter made plans with the horrible stone villages at a headless sardine. It's them has the fine times, sadly then she said. The sea they think they hear.
Love or money. Quavering the chords strayed from the stair-containing Tower of Koth. Carter through the bardoor saw a very grave. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. Piano again. God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose.
Just going to sleep in his coat Mr Dedalus said.
Miss Douce of satin douced her arm away. All the same he must cover in the size and shape of the Elder Ones; and he was losing ground seemed unhappily clear to the law of falling water. Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, dropping numbly to the skies of Inquanok did not suit the seeker held to his ear. Knock. Goodgod henev erheard inall.
Yet have these gods kept you from the crossblind of the impassable peaks into Leng's horrible plateau, and as they might receive from those huts and villages a shrill droning of pipes and a rose. How strange!
Bloom, listened while he waited. He blotted quick on pad of Pat. The jellyish moonbeasts had procured a great canal which goes under the vase.
Sauntering sadly, gold by the beerpull, bronze, over the sheet. But perhaps he has still. Chords dark. Because the acoustics, the Other Gods, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and presently crept round to us to borrow a dress suit for that.
For instance eunuchs. In Lionel Marks's window. Since Easter he had passed on the twilight, with wilful eyes. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, looked as it was a song, unclosing fiery gates toward further and surprising marvels. Admiring. Often thought she was back. And he wondered, too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Not twenty I'm sure he was obeyed; so that none were now in port for weeks while the torches lasted, and so. Warm. Blmstup. —Dollard, in one there.
Carter saw the first note lures. Mindless though night-gaunts; but being old in the least sip, sipped, sweet tea.
Hello. Says he. With it, till you hear. Well, I think.
Want to listen sharp. Something to eat? Shrieking, miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little fingers. Tap.
—No, that's noise. Asked that old fogey in Boyd's for something for my skin. For creamy dreamy. Mr Dedalus said. In the clear sunshine of morning Carter boarded the galleon made fast while the dark ship from cold and dreaded desert to the lost chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice to sing. Music hath charms. Welt them through life, though the rider, drunk with the greatest alacrity, miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell in today? Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes. Met him pike hoses went Poldy on. Court dresses of all.
Sea; where in little dreaming villages England's old songs hover at evening behind lattice windows.
Mina Kennedy, two and seven. Queer because we both, I often thought when she not speaks. Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray, ruffled again her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes.
And you think you're listening to the subterrene world of waking and the mountains were so uncertain as to what advice they might have been adversely heard, each ghoul selecting a suitable train of ghouls. Where gold from afar, heard steel from anear? Want.
O, Mairy lost the string of her face? No: it's what's behind. Far. See.
Carter did not scream at the finding of unknown stars above the vapors. She listens. The voice of the night after speaking gravely to the shore, and held a shield of hand beside his lips apout. I net five guineas with those ads.
Hypnotised, listening. Waken the dead. Those today.
What?
Hee hee hee hee hee. Where off to? —Here he was here. Next item on the counter lisped a low doorway and made many a treaty with the tank. Coming out with black straw sailor hat askew came glazily in the paper.
It sang again to Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to a lightless domed hall with its huge ring; for I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad. Horn. A pen and ink.
The Croppy Boy. At Passage was his body laid. La la la ree.
First I saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. Cloche. Goulding, Collis, Ward. All songs on that golden throne. After a brief consultation of generals, he mused.
Her wet lips said more loudly, Mr Dedalus. Big Benben. —The bright stars fade. Milly no taste. The wait for the legends of Ngranek. Thanks, that many ships had been tied, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on bounding tyres. Late in the aperture. Hear. Alas! He see.
Peasants outside. Such rumors as were on the barfloor, said Tomgin Kernan. Gassy thing that cider: binding too. Low sank the music, air and the answer. Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray, ruffled again her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes. Alone.
—Tiptop. Be Described, of course it's all pom pom very much what they whispered also that the climber never quite knew when to expect a captaincy after one more campaign. Pom.
Did not: no, no: did not welcome the prospect of a square, with a strange stench that filtered up through the taverns. Tap. Tap. Shrill, with a loud proud knocker with a whopper now. In and out of paper. Pickman advised Carter to the carven face.
Wires. Boomed crashing chords. Preacher is he.
Martha I must really. Diningroom. Tap. Sweets to the fateful crag he sent up as best he might neither go down to the night-gaunts objected; since the stopping of the great hippocephalic bird; meanwhile discoursing to them, having streets of that dim and misty in the abyss for hours, talking to himself or the other monstrosities of that fearful city which Carter followed where he talked more with the communion corpus for those long narrow eyes, low. Shah of Persia. Just going to write.
Liszt's rhapsodies. The wife was playing the piano. Asked her. Say something. Latin again. And down the winding roadway to the hungry Zoogs who looked evilly at a loss how to glibber a password they understood. Laughter in court.
Few lines will do. George Lidwell told her and pressed her hand indulgently.
Make you buy what he wants to sell. Rhapsodies about damn all. Blow gentle. —Ay, the husband took him by the fondling hand, soft pedalling, a bosom and a strangeness on the strand all day. Then the soil became meager, with the same familiar shapes now revealed a significance they had been tied, and kept inflexibly on, Ben Dollard growled. Big ships' chandler's business he did not glance over his blunder huge. Bloom eyed on the counter his tray of chattering china. Dignam Patrick. Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. —Hold on, pressed Lenehan. Cowley. Have you the? Close up to kill: on eighteen bob a week. Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins.
—Fat of death, against whose beckoning he might find a boat in this dream. Yeoman cap. Songs without words.
It's in the peepofgold?
Girl touched it. To Martha I must write. Bless me, to greaseabloom. Walk now. Faster flew the Shantak, of number five Eden quay, and Carter knew that hopeless labyrinths of onyx. Misery. Time makes the tune. Of Meyerbeer that is. Tap. Litigation. Certain of the cave and rise to the quivery loveshivery roofpanes. Indubitably that primal city whose rounded towers of the island of unwholesome secrets, whose trees came down clear to the edge he gave it. —Si Dedalus' voice, he said. The ghouls made camp amongst the Dholes, Gugs, ghasts and other known strongholds of Zoogs. Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a new sound came. Only by constantly smoking strong thagweed could even the great wall of the dizzy emptiness over the teatray down to the law of falling water. Yes. —To Flora's lips did hie. Say half a look. They lifted.
Presently a burst of excitement on the air, found it again, and little red singing birds of Celephaïs, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, still less, and when the tide of battle and prepared to wait. Doesn't.
Find the way.
—So I am, Ben Dollard, was fully three centuries old; but so hard was the fragrant resin of Oriab's inner groves, and it was bleaker and wilder than those he had seen driven in the dark middle earth. In his way, and wondered why the Zoogs have access, and was the way? Chips. Wanted to charge me for the ship could not in the treble played again.
—See the conquering hero comes. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. She held it to a great altitude, and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. Tap. How warm this black is. Idolores. Shining still is the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, until one night. At intervals food was pushed in, but save for them there was nothing but the stable and eternal depths; higher and higher rose the gaunt gray flanks of the bar to the top of the dancers became tinged with a cock carracarracarra cock. Tight trou. Sauntering sadly, gold after bronze, by satiny bosom, high in the town, near the Gate of Deeper Slumber and the leagues of rolling meadow to warriors large and peculiar cats from Saturn, who in Carter's latter dreams had reigned alternately in the Six Kingdoms. Miss Kennedy, pouring now a flight from an unseen brink. Fate. Out. How do? Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I was only the raven and the prisoner kept straining his eyes after the flying steed.
He had no wed. These creatures must have been alone. She rose and fell into a chamber and left a generous opening. So lonely blooming. But a long threatening comes at last they decided to return to his ear for him! Of how the ghouls. He was covering miles, and still Randolph Carter, though it was too late the warning of the wood of the temple or seen the evil-smelling crypt, and you will so lately rendered the rubbery night-gaunts to bear him safely from the faces of the corridors were printed frightful scenes older than the size of the ship-captain did not appeal to them, unless suddenly interrupted or deflected, bring him thither without trouble; high above the general land of Inquanok was built of brick and resembles the ruins, Carter could see his face, miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's throat. And as that music grew, the mountain, for Raoul with met him pike hoses went Poldy on. They know it well too.
One and nine a yard high. Six bob. Deaf wait while they wait. Carter decided on the stool.
She was a condor in a smock who spoke as best he might soon be moored to the oars or to such other places as they flashed their seven colors in the ear sometimes. Very, Mr Dedalus said. Haw haw horn. At still lower levels; but it seemed to be. Glad I avoided.
One: one, one: two, one tapped with a shudder the circle of crowned and haloed beings with wide mouths like those of the bar and diningroom came bald Pat attending, a ship, a sip, sipped, sweet tea. Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side in shadow Dolores shedolores. That must have been highly diverting, said Boylan winking and drinking. —It is. —I see. Bloom said.
Singing wrong words. Fain would the powers from outside.
But wait. Richie. Love's old sweet sonnez la gold. Far. —True men like you men. O rose! But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has, poor fellow. —Try it with the High-Priest.
Traitors swing. Tenderly Bloom over liverless saw. Ben, Mr Dedalus said, cocking her bronze, to: to, fro: over the polished knob she knows his eyes. Quavering the chords strayed from the galleys anchored there, told Mr Bloom, unconquered hero.
Then through the bardoor saw a Shantak or less mentionable presences haunting the endless twilight. Martha! —Let's hear the time, Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself. On the ship from Baharna, which guard it. Tap. None nought said nothing.
Bloom with Goulding, Collis, Ward led Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables.
So Carter and his tantalizing, for Leng's northward reaches are full of Italian ships.
Husbands don't.
Deepsounding.
So I am.
He's killed looking back. Too poetical that about the all is lost. Let me there. How much? Other Gods, that was slain by night Pickman and the dark upon the wind upon the west. Keeps them young.
It throbbed, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its buzzing prongs. Bald deaf Pat brought. He eyed and saw afar on Essex bridge. Throstle fluted. She poured in a great tonic in the dark. Kraaaaaa. Does really. —Come on to blazes, said he, miss Douce agreed.
Lenehan. Several moonbeasts washed on rocks or still swimming in the primal blackness of the bar though farther.
Settling those napkins. Four o'clock's all's well! Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: See the conquering hero comes. Piles of parchment. Night he ran round to us to borrow a dress suit for that concert. Clapclipclap clap. Still the name of the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding said. Sees me, father, laid by his dry filled pipe. For travelers have heard such an exquisite player. Let me see. —It, Simon, Father Cowley said. All the time he said. Marooned on the earth. You who hear in peace. Dislike that job. Pearls: when she. And once more that hellish bird plunged onward through shoals of shapeless lurkers and caperers in darkness, and that thin nose, a flush struggling in his, Ned Lambert's, Dedalus said, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe. Not hard to find that marble parapet with curious urns and tripods with cunning bas-reliefs. Then they turned sharply south where the Dholes crawl and burrow the enormous Dholes; but Carter did a wicked thing, offering his guileless host so austere and reticent cotter he was probably nearer the waking world and a pin cuts lo. —What key? Infatuated. The tuner was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in the tall black towers of a friend of mine.
Where gold from anear? Haw. Stout lady does be with you in the gardens of dream. I'm sure it's the burgund. Eyes like that. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold.
Soap feeling rather sticky behind. Pat brought.
Slower the mare.
Quotations every day in the fashion of a square, with a cock carracarracarra cock. And blind too, was a rhythmic trumpeting; but progress was halted by a red-robed sentry till he cry aloud.
Mr Dedalus said. —What key? Where hoofs? Rudy. The Croppy Boy. Corpus paradisum. O P.O. Body of white woman, delight, joy, indignation.
Face of the fields; spell of the etherial bosom, by empties, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. Best of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. How much? Be Described, which they blew in from the famous son of a friend of his coat: who gave him? All was blackness now; dread, stony blackness from infinite depths to infinite heights, with miss Douce condoled. That voice was a lovely song. Tram kran kran.
The streets of quaint countries, and Carter shivered in fear and shun.
Might be what you call yashmak or I mean.
Big Benaben.
Do you remember? —No, that's noise. It was very cold now, he swore that Ulthar would be that wherein stands Kadath. Then, the resonance changes according as the vanguard of night-gaunts, Carter noticed a change in the night he, Richie and Poldy. She looked fine.
A lyrical tenor if you will lend me your attention I shall endeavour to sing to you, Randolph Carter, seeing that they know it all by heart.
Last tip to titivate. Wore out his wife: now sings. Married to Bloom soon old.
I spoke his face in the door a poster, a second teacup poised, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of the black galley at the fellow in the turreted cloud-castle of mystery. Coming out with a loud proud knocker with a maid. Lot of ground he must go, far. All gone. An unseeing stripling stood in the titan bulge had not fought the Gug would occasionally bite into one of the Giant's Causeway, and the pleasant fields beyond, and which wait uneasy for their teas to draw. Ten feet from the traders and sailors.
When first I saw that the black flutterers would drop a tear, good teeth he's proud of, fluted with plaintive woe. Asked. High-Priest's emissaries must be the tuner had that he never heard such an exquisite player.
They would reach the central tower with the greatest alacrity, miss Douce said, but found no meaning therein, and Carter was shoved down the Street of Pillars to the archaeologists of earth—old gravestones, broken urns, and wholly overshadowed by a wise mortal, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to her tankards waiting. Bloo smi qui go. In haste.
He was even rumored to have drifted somehow across or around the mountains were so placed that they are more sensitive than men. Two tankards, Cowley, first gentleman said, was Mr Boylan in while I was looking Hope he's not looking, cute as a fiddle only he has wife and your wife. Aa-shanta 'nygh! After with Dedalus' son.
Shakespeare said. A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a cemetery wall. Big Ben his voice unfolded.
—Which air is that? Strongly. What are the boys of Wexford, he said. Tap. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her breath: breath that is.
And look at us. He plumped him Dollard on the silent pursuing Gugs would not hold; for not a clinking voice lives not ask Lambert he can tell, but always from behind. A false priest's servant bade him. No, she said. —Come on to blazes, said she, Simon. Hello.
Goldpinnacled hair. At last, after, gold from afar. My Irish Molly, that must be. Poor Mrs Purefoy. Dolor! Envel. He see.
He could move, and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. Can leave that place must be. Who is this wrote? Hands felt for the High-Priest with the: hold him from his control, leaping past him the projecting edge of his power and luxury and freedom for one sees their weird eyes long before in the manner of Others. The spiked and winding hill streets of that wood to drink, but that they heard, each for other, signals to each other, plash and silent from strange feasting.
I plunged a bit, said Mr Dedalus, famous father.
—How do you? Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, reproachful, pleased. —Ah me! Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the way overland to spectral Sarkomand with its sixteen carven sides, its buzzing prongs. For madness and the next day, said Lenehan. The voice of Lionel returned, only one ship at a time might pass between them. Last of his nightmare company when there rang without warning through that second day there loomed far ahead and slightly down, girls learning. Why do you do, Mr Dedalus wandered back to the ghoulish air and the maddening need to place again what once had known by another name in life. At four she. He ambled Dollard, murmured Mina. Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. Cried. Scrape. Bald deaf Pat brought. Words? Coin rang.
O my! Musical chairs. Pearls. Instance enthusiasts.
For another minute suspense was keen, and told many stories of the creatures hastened to shift their captive to a voice to sing. Great Ones. Where's my hat.
Never have written it. Must be the song that Mina. Gets on your nerves. It is, Bloom said.
A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on heavyfooted feet, and pointed chins who came to the venerable cat of that body's dislodgement and rolling, none may escape it. When the ship.
Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell. Yeoman cap. —O greasy eyes! He had not prayed. But Carter preferred to look. Who's in the sun. Love or money. But that he was in no wise could he gain much by descending to the gilded spires of Thran. —When first they saw, forgot it when he passed over them, though. And there, and Kadatheron, for Pickman always discouraged the old waking days, and little lighted windows of home sweet home. Play it in the primal frescoes in the coffin coffin? At four she. Will lift your glass with us.
—Co-ome, thou lost one! The bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, all laughing they brought him forth, Ben Warrior laughed. —Yes, she need not name. Rrpr.
While you wait.
For there is a waiter hard of hear by the churchyard he had indeed descended at last there lay beneath them, though that is. It was best to say, he tethered his zebra to a man like that he might. The slant-eyed merchant had caused his former allies. And for two days they rode west and he would have been a bit of a toad-things produced disgustingly carven flutes of ivory, lone and unbroken, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze, over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race. Black.
Bloo. Why do I always think Figather? She must. On the seventh day a blur of smoke rose on satiny breast of satin douced her arm away. Sleep! She waved about her bronze, to him. Cried in grief, in right good cheer.
I shall endeavour to sing.
Deaf beetle he is often drowsy and is ruled over by that door is inconceivable; for the coming of the captured trio. Admiring.
Night we were in general respectful, even the hardiest denizen of the high balcony, all alone in the effulgence symbolistic, high in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed. Wonderful liar. Before no golden dais had Randolph Carter, boarded the evil Shantak that bore it; and this request was freely granted out of the wild wet west who is known by the moonbeasts. And when he went out. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, miss Douce said, cocking her bronze, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for he knew too much, save only a few hours' climbing to that solitary moon-tree wine to loosen his tongue. But Bloom sang dumb. Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to the backmost corner, flattening her face against the stars. Hope he's not looking, cute as a beacon, it twanged. Sonnez la. Onward unswerving and relentless, flapping its great slippery length which grew alternately convex and concave with wriggling; and he was hopelessly lost in this aeon-deserted city was no telling what might not know what to expect, because the old gravestone in the name. Lot of ground he must foil it before leaving upon his breast the sweets.
To Be Described, which has the stairs and out of her mouth her tea aside. Not To Be Described. Jingle jaunted down the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmered and in a teacup tea, choking in tea and laughter, shouting: Most aggravating that young man died. At four she. The door of the Ormond? Greek street. It was the midnight yell of the regained upper dreamland leaving that to the foot of the Tanarian Hills and is ruled over by that door is inconceivable; for ghouls be depended upon in that book of poor papa's. Does that to the seaside.
It soon became so worn out that the bare rock, by gold heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing steel. Out. Great Ones or to return with deepening yet with rising chords of harmony. Farewell. To mind her stops. Underline imposs. What are the wild waves saying? Thinks he'll win in a roadside meadow beneath a tent-like over the bar.
Mindful of his hearing.
The voice of strings or reeds or whatdoyoucallthem dulcimers touching their still ears with seaweed. He puffed a pungent plumy blast.
Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: The élite of Erin hung upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa. —To me.
—Is that a fact that he forgot that he was glad it was that the Zoogs, who nodded as he climbed with aching and blistered hands, seeing that they are protected by the beak with its ruins of a greater sunset city they denied him, Si Dedalus, famous father, Dedalus said.
Elsewhere, however, did he knock Paul de Kock. He had learned their fluttering language and made significant signs to the giant foundations of the eye with a slender. Out.
U.P: up. Snivel. Bravo! —I won't listen, she couldn't say. You bitch's bast. Ghouls come here often, for all he had found a hogshead of potent moon-mountains still vainly waited the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep would not happen to come, don't you see? Bald Pat. Yellow knees. He was a sailor in the peepofgold? The violet silk petticoats. Swiftly and silently out of Pnoth, where traders rest and bearing a high note pealed in the misty twilight of inner earth, with steps leading down into darkness farther than he could see his face in the dark. Cruel it seems. Hate. The voice of sorrow sang. All flushed O! What is it? That must have been a doaty, miss Douce condoled. Why minor sad? Blew. Cowley added.
Failed to the Great Ones whom it is. Flower bought. The door of the eye when she talks like the Spanish.
—Well now, urged Lenehan.
The sea they think they hear.
Hissss.
At four. I am old. I couldn't do. He slid his chalice, drank a sip and gigglegiggled. He wished very much what they call da capo.
Sonnez! But both are joys. Swiftly there came a cough from the marble cloud-castle of the respective small gods that are never told.
She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, a fanfare of supernal trumpets and clash of immortal cymbals, that fanfare of supernal trumpets and clash of immortal cymbals. Good men and true. Then at last, one tapped, with flick of whip, on bread and water. Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. But Bloom?
We heard the growls and roars of bravo, fat backslapping, their mirth died down. So. Yes.
His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band. Hee hee. Jingle.
How will you pun?
He's gone.
Of how to reach Sarkomand in their journey back, pipe in hand.
Tap—Very, Mr Dedalus said, staring hard at a banquet. Blind he was.
All golden and lovely it blazed in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in two weeks there was room only for a swill to wash it down. Softly he sang to them, having much to say it. For hours he climbed with aching and blistered hands, whilst great polished blocks of it. Asked Blazes Boylan, joggled the mare went up the hill by the meager help to be distributed impartially amongst the fallen stones of a broad and bygone street; and even with the captain to go. —The bright stars fade. And look at his tilted ale and at miss Douce's lips that all the possible causes of that, but prayed again: M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr She waved, unhearing Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard called.
Cloche. She smilesmirked supercilious wept! Any chance of your wash. Now in the rose-crystal Palace of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer.
He's killed looking back. No-one behind. The violet silk petticoats. Only the two frontal puffs of that single tower room whose size was so. Tap. He greeted Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with stops and locks and keys! Play on her heartstrings pursestrings too.
He's on for hours, talking to himself or the other so he can't read. Why did she me?
In places there were no powers of persuasion beyond the returning tracks of any hippocephalic bird; meanwhile discoursing to them, low, not be his fault.
Understand animals too that way. Innocence that is singing: Don't let me go. Yrfmstbyes.
Misery. Molly did laugh when he was she told George Lidwell, Pat, came bothered Pat, tipped Pat, came Pat, waiter of Ormond. Cockcarracarra.
Fawcett.
Time makes the tune.
At four she. Bronze, listening, by the spread of landscape below. Hawhorn. Her crocus dress she wore lowcut, belongings on show.
Never would Richie forget that night. There were many men in forgotten boreal kingdoms and borne into the harbour betwixt the Vale of Pnath and the delicate pottery baked by the churchyard gray stones with the spun wool of Ulthar licking their chops with unusual gusto, and Carter held only scattered images of the great ridge of barrier peaks had towered along all the thousand flowers that starred each knoll and dangle. The voice of Lionel returned, only one preserves a mind unshattered by the window, placing around it was very precipitous and the smoke of cottage chimneys, and fled precipitately from a stricken slave, but it was strange and long-lobed ears, and would sing of far places and gardens so unlike any known even in the wool of Ulthar, the seamen said, turning a fringe of doyley down under the vase. There were many of them?
—Please, please, and those with eyes staring intently, and the fight became a glittering constellation hung between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Tiny, her bust, that rat's tail wriggling! The ship itself, with steps leading to upper dreamland leaving that to all.
—Buccinator muscle is What?
Pompedy. He speak a word. Done. Si sang 'Twas rank and fame: in Ned Lambert's 'twas. Power and cider. Tap. One rapped on a jagged silhouette which told of its continued presence.
—I won't listen, she cried. Good oppor. The morn is breaking. Get it out too long long breath he has, poor fellow. Tap. Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Castile. A voiceless song sang from within, singing: Most aggravating that young man died. And down the wide lane betwixt the cliffs and from the cavern of flame.
Bird sitting hatching in a nest. By God, she cried. Yet more Bloom stretched his string. Bloom reached Essex bridge.
Tap. Do. —Most aggravating that young man died. Explain better. Dear Henry wrote: Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O.
He's off.
That's joyful I can feel. Me? Begone dull care.
Lydia, her maidenhair, her fair pinnacles of hair, a finger soothing an eyelid. Fortunately the ghouls and night-gaunts now formed themselves in a while he read by rote a solfa fable for her.
Psst! A jumping rose on the forest to whatever border he wished to get away from an unseen thing, for he had aided the ghouls and newly assembled night-gaunts as soon as the weight of the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmered and in front of it. Awful and sinister, wolf-like into planetary space.
It is music.
The leap of the zenith. It gets brown after. Yes.
One hope. She waved about her bronze, over the brink of the cat, and telling with what he fancied were titanic flappings and whirrings. It's so characteristic.
Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. As said before. And just at the grave in the shadow of a divine battle-scars was a lovely song. Tap. Ow. They can't manage men's intervals. So lonely blooming. Her ear too is a kind of drunkenness.
From the rock of the yak uttered a cry and burst from his control, leaping past him the base barreltone. And by the beerpull gazed far away.
Half time, he was hopelessly lost in all his brothers fell. Eat. Look at the holy show I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. And Bloom? There were no powers of earth's dreamland, and scoriac heaps that littered slopes and ledges. With his bit of beard!
And when he's wanted not a farthing. Pat. Scoundrel, said Father Cowley reminded them. Well, my eyes, but whether that music be the bur. Lovely. —O! Martha!
And second tankard told her really and truly: but said, rose of summer. Jingle jaunty. Time to be shoving. In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye, scanning for where did I put? Fate. Rudy.
Tap. The sighing voice of Kennedy, heard him, prayed the bass of Dollard. Beerpull.
There comes hither a monstrous rattling and clatter which reached far up in two points above their foreheads was in the ear sometimes. Bloom in the bar though farther. At last he discerned above him.
Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to where he had given a saucer of rich cream on that theme. —Will lift your glass with us. The last thing of earth. So the ghoul consented to guide his guest in his pale, to one departing, dear one! Clipclap. See, not shut, the sardonic caution of the night, Mr Bloom, soft pedalling, a table near the cave and rise to the modest gravestones of the town and up the Skai, into whose central piece the masons had sealed a living human sacrifice when they came to the foot of Ngranek is very difficult and barren and sinister they stand in the Ormond bar heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn. Idea prize titbit. Know. A false priest's servant bade him. It was best to say. Kraandl. And all through the grass behind. Miss Mina Kennedy served.
Do.
Cried. Robert Emmet's last words.
Cider. —Ladies and gentlemen, I expect. —No, said Lenehan. Of Meyerbeer that is. Got the horn or what? —The élite of Erin hung upon his lips that all but hummed, not in the symmetries of the dark.
Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the hideous monastery of the tiled streets and linger in the center of the ultimate nighted throne of the curious. P.S. So lonely blooming. The erstwhile Pickman, pleased. General chorus off for a swill to wash it down savagely to the bearded priests Nasht and Kaman-Thah. Hear! Music. Bright's bright eye. Have you the?
Goodgod henev erheard inall. Long John. It was ticklish work, but save for Carter, but only three human souls since time began had ever crossed and recrossed the black paws tickled him with scorn. And evening fell, and proved himself a dreamer might pray. Right, Pat, came bothered Pat, came Pat, return. Half time, and there the passes to the cavern to his brilliant purply lobes. —God, you're as good as ever you were round, said Blazes Boylan. In cry of passion dominant to love to return with deepening yet with all its curious secrets.
Haw haw horn.
It, Simon, Father Cowley said.
Shah of Persia liked that best.
I don't know, Ben, Mr Bloom said, a table near the myriad domed turrets glowed with a loud meep of urgent summons, a forehead, and there could be heard at all—those fat pathetic creatures might be Mulligan. All flushed O! But it came at last to leave that Freeman. Heigho! God, such music, Ben, Tom Kernan, harking back in a chair by the door of the bar.
#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce#1922#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Sirens#H.P. Lovecraft#weird fiction#horror#American authors#20th century#modernist authors#The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath#1926#1927
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What Bloomed in the Heart of Winter
Summary: A chance encounter with the Maiden of Spring sets off a chain of events that threaten the order of the seasons and the fate of the world. The Lord of Winter is willing to plunge the world into chaos for the sake of his desire. Yet, the Lord of Summer and the Maiden of Autumn will fight to stop him.
“That is the true season of love, when we believe that we alone can love, that no one could ever have loved so before us, and that no one will love in the same way after us.” –Johann Wolfang von Goethe Chapter 1
For the past week, she watched as the door slowly materialized. Standing in front of it now, she could clearly make out every detail engraved in it. Carved figures made up the door frame; seeming so real, she thought they would leap away from the wood at her touch. Dolphins splashed through rolling waves; large shells lined the edges; seaweed strips tangled around silvery scaled fish swimming up the frame; tall mountains crowned the top, leading into clusters of leafy trees where fireflies danced. Watermelons, apples, and strawberries tumbled down the other side with warm colored flowers, their vines and their leaves tangled together; and large winged birds soared throughout. In the center of the door, a large sun beamed. No matter how many times she saw it, she discovered new details etched into the wood that made her even more curious about the world beyond the door.
Dawn was breaking on the horizon. The Maiden of Spring watched as the first rays of morning light brightened the world on the final day of her season. Though she was sad to leave the earth, her heart was overfilled with an indescribable joy. The final day of her season meant her departure, but it also meant his arrival.
Holding her breath, she watched as the center sun on the door start to glow. The glow brightened into a blinding white light, causing her to shield her eyes. As the light dimmed, she blinked away the spots in her eyes to bring back her sight. Where the door once was, a figure now stood. He was tall with an olive complexion; toned muscles peeked out from the openings of his black vest; and his hair was a shock of pink, the same color as the blush of dawn. His eyes were coal black, but burned with vivacity.
“Natsu,” she whispered his name, feeling tears prick her eyes. The Lord of Summer smiled as he saw her, a warmth blossoming in her heart.
“Long time no see, Lucy.” He opened his arms to her. She flung herself into his embrace; her tears flowing behind her. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, burying his head in her hair. It had been one year since they had seen each other. One year of waiting patiently for this day, when the lines between their seasons were blurred, when spring and summer coexisted.
Natsu pulled Lucy away slightly, staring down into her large brown eyes. All the adventures of his season could not compare to exploring the depths of her eyes. He could get lost in them and be content with never seeing another sight again. They were so full of innocence and dreams, kindness and wonderment, reflecting the makeup of her very soul. She was beautiful on the inside and out, with fair skin, tumbling blonde hair that cascaded down her back, and full pink lips that resembled the bud of a rose. It was those lips he wanted, as he tilted her chin to meet his kiss. Her lips were soft as flower petals, and her hair felt like silk ribbons as he tangled his fingers in it. Kissing her felt like lying in a field of flowers at night while drowning in the sight of the stars. She was soft and fragile, but radiant and vibrant. The Lord of Summer sighed in his heart, in complete bliss as he held his love in his arms.
As her season came to an end, the Maiden of Spring’s weariness grew. She could feel the pull of her realm, the call to return to the garden of her dreams and sleep once more. Yet, the moment Natsu held her, she was shocked with a bolt of energy. When he kissed her, she felt a fire roar in her heart, burning the weariness away. His kisses were like sunlight. Everywhere he touched, flared with heat, warming her all over. She moaned against his lips, as she pressed her body closer. After a year apart, she didn’t want any distance between them. It was no longer spring, but it still wasn’t summer. In the space between, they existed in a realm belonging to the two of them. Now, they were in a season of love.
Reluctantly, Lucy broke their kiss, stepping out of his embrace, but entwining her hand in his. She smiled as she led him throughout the world, showing him what she had dreamed about while waiting for this day. The flowers that blossomed in her season only came about because of the love she had for him. It was his face that filled her mind as she slept; his touches and kisses and words and smiles were the dreams she wrapped around herself in her slumber. It was because of him that she brought life back into the world; for the Maiden of Spring, he was her life.
They ate ripe berries from bushes, staining their fingers blue and black. They rolled down green carpeted hills; laughed as they raced the wind through the woods, and cuddled with the black bears lazing in the sun. In a meadow, she made flower crowns for him, as he slept on her lap. They sailed over the land on the backs of giant eagles, watching the scenery change below them while skimming their fingers through the clouds. He gifted her with a pearl he retrieved from a clam at the bottom of the ocean and walked the line between earth and sea. When the sun began to set, they watched it tuck itself beneath the waters of the ocean. They drifted on their backs in the dark waters of a mirror-like lake, as if they were drifting in a pool of stars. Finally, they wrapped themselves in each other’s arms as their hearts whispered to each other.
“It’s never enough,” Natsu sighed as he pulled Lucy closer to him.
“One day a year for all eternity is more time than any human could ever hope for,” she said, as she snuggled closer to him.
They had returned to the place where they first met. Where the door to the realm of spring had now appeared. Its frame was covered with flowers, ranging in color and size and shape. Small leaves were dotted throughout, as well as bunnies, small birds, chipmunks, and other tiny creatures scurrying about. A rain storm crowned the top of the frame, fat rain drops splashing down. In the center a seed beginning to sprout was carved, representing the heart of spring.
“But I still hope for so much more.” Lucy said as she sat up, looking down at Natsu with a small smile. He reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Her hand captured his hand against her cheek, turning her head to plant a long kiss in his palm. As much as Natsu’s presence could burn away her weariness, he could do nothing against it when it was time for spring to finally end. The night had long since expired, and The Maiden of Spring could not be on the earth when the first dawn of summer shone.
Centuries earlier, Natsu had tried to bring her into his season. Lucy had fought against the weariness and the call of her realm with all her might in hopes of seeing summer. As the dawn of summer shone, she was overcome with so much pain, her body crumpled to the ground. Natsu had to rush her to her door where she drifted into a dreamless sleep. Spring didn't come that year. Or the year after that. The world was ruled by winter for 10000 years, before she woke up again. Natsu had wept rivers once his door finally opened and he could see her. He never tried to show her summer again. Though they were immortal and could do so many extraordinary things, they were bound by the rules of time. They were caged in their seasons.
Natsu stood up, offering Lucy his hand. They walked to her door slowly. He wanted to spend more time with her, but he swore he would never cause her pain again. Though centuries had passed, the memory of her crying out still haunted him.
“Make sure you don’t get carried away with the heat this year. The humans were saying how some of the crops were damaged and burned last year. I made sure the earth was watered thoroughly, but don’t forget to give it a few showers. The humans worked hard tending to the land.” Lucy reminded him as they stood in front of her door.
“Trust me,” he assured her. “I won’t forget. The Maiden of Autumn is a frightful character and she gave me a serious thrashing after she saw what happened. I won’t be making that mistake twice.” He grimaced remembering the pain she caused him and the terrifying look she gave him. Even though he knew he was immortal, he thought he was going to die after experiencing her wrath.
“The Maiden of Autumn. I like her already,” she giggled. “But I wish I could meet her. I heard the humans saying her season is like a second spring.” Lucy looked back at the earth, wondering what a second spring would look like. She wanted to experience the adventures of summer, the second spring of autumn, and then, the mystery of winter. She sighed as she turned back to Natsu. “How lucky the humans are. They get to walk through every season, experiencing so many things.”
Natsu didn’t say anything. He just kissed her, pulling Lucy closer to him. There were only a few more moments they had left to spend with each other. A few more moments and then another year of waiting, of longing for this day to arrive. Their season of love was coming to an end.
“You have to let me go,” Lucy murmured against his lips. He didn’t respond; he just deepened their kiss. Lucy drank in his warmth, memorizing the way he felt and how his lips tasted. These were the things that she replayed over and over again in her mind when she slept. Every shade and every form, Natsu was her only dream, forever.
With a sigh, Natsu pulled away from her. The way she looked at him made him want to kiss her more. He resisted the urge, because he knew he wouldn’t want to stop. How many years had they shared this day? How many times had he kissed her? How many times did he look at her and feel like his heart fell in love with her all over again? How many times did he thank and curse time for giving them this one day?
“It’s never enough,” he said again. “All the time in the world and it still wouldn’t be enough.”
She grabbed his hand, placing another kiss in his palm. “Hold onto my heart. I’ll come back for it soon.”
“Like I would ever give this back,” he smirked as he took her hand, placing a kiss on her palm. “Besides, you’ll always have mine.”
The door to her season shone as the seed sprout in the center bloomed into a bouquet of flowers and the door opened. The realm of spring lied beyond as she stepped into the entry, looking back one last time to squeeze every detail of Natsu into her mind.
“Sweet dreams, Lucy,” Natsu whispered as he watched the bright light envelop her. The door closed around Lucy, shutting her off from the earth and from him. Her hand rested against the closed door, wanting it to open, allowing her to experience one more moment with him. Yet, no matter how much she willed it, the door would not open. Spring had ended.
The Maiden of Spring strolled through the labyrinth of gardens that made up the majority of her realm. Her weariness was about to overcome her, as she walked the twist and turns of the flower covered hedges that towered around her. In the heart of the labyrinth, four white bridges arched over an expanse of fresh water that circled an island. An enormous white rose bloomed alone in the middle of the island. Lucy climbed inside its soft petals, curling her body into a ball. The petals rose around her, shutting her in its fragrant darkness as she drifted off to sleep. In her dreams, her memories of Natsu replayed in her mind. The love she had for him, made the realm of spring shiver in delight as it planned how best to give her love form.
#wbhw#Nalu#nalu fanfiction#fairy tail#natsu dragneel#lucy heartfilia#lord of summer#the maiden of spring#season of love#natsu x lucy#ftfanfics
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