#it's a shame he was gonne so young | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gch1995 · 3 years

Text

Qui-Gonn: Allows for Anakin’s mother to remain in slavery on Tattooine

Yoda and Jedi Council: Tell Anakin that they don’t trust him from day one because he dares to be a normal kid by missing his mom they separated him from and left in slavery, only to refuse to let him keep in touch with her.

Yoda: Repeatedly warns his members that “Fear leads to the dark side.”

Also Yoda: Regularly enables, encourages, enforces, and implements acts, crimes, decisions, politicians, policies, and practices that he knows are corrupt, dangerous, dishonest, invalidating, hurtful, oppressive, and unfair within his Order and the Republic to maintain and obtain control, security, and “peace” because he is too afraid to face the unknown by taking a risk to stand up for what’s right instead. He then covers this up by telling himself and his recruits that the horrible things they enabled and/or perpetrated were “for the greater good” because he’s too much of an arrogant coward to admit that he deliberately didn’t practice what he preached.

Jedi Council and Obi Wan: Constantly gaslight and shame Anakin as “dangerous” for having completely normal and valid human feelings of anger, concern for loved ones, desires, and fears. Restrict his ability to develop any sort independence and personal life outside of just the Jedi Order. Warn him against developing any close and meaningful personal relationships altogether because they’re “dangerous.”

Jedi Council and Obi Wan Kenobi: Use the whole “chosen one destined to destroy the Sith” prophecy he’s been foretold to fulfill by Qui-Gonn Jinn as a sword to hold above Anakin’s head to guilt trip him into staying with them after being knighted and/or to shame him for not fulfilling his potential repeatedly, particularly throughout the clone wars because he’s such a useful powerful weapon for their own benefits, even though they can all tell that he wants to pull away from the Jedi Order and go his own way because he felt it was too chaotic, isolating, and toxic of an environment for him to be able to handle emotionally.

Jedi Council and Obi Wan: Teach Anakin there’s no way back to the light after a Jedi goes dark and teach him to defer his moral integrity “for the greater good” of their cause, even if he knows it’s technically morally wrong.

Obi-Wan, Mace-Windu, Yoda, and rest of Jedi Council: Allow for a 9-12 year old Anakin to speak unsupervised to Chancellor Palpatine when he threatens to ruin their public reputation and take away their power in the government if they say no since he has power over them as Chancellor of the Senate.

Yoda, Obi-Wan, and Jedi Council: Tell Anakin to either be happy about the deaths of loved ones, to get over them being in potential danger, and/or do nothing to help potentially prevent it whenever he tries to ask them for advice about how to deal with fear.

Obi Wan and Jedi Council: Expect for Anakin to follow their code, and put him on a leash. However, they break their own code whenever it suits them, particularly throughout the war, but still claim to be “peacekeepers of the galaxy.”

Yoda and Jedi Council: Give Anakin big responsibilities in the clone wars as a general of an army, and give him a padawan, even when he tries to tell them he’s not feeling ready for those responsibilities.

Yoda: Deliberately insists on giving Anakin a padawan to train, even when he tried to say he was not ready, precisely because he wanted for Anakin to grow attached to her, so that he could use that attachment he developed for Ahsoka against him as a “test” of the young Jedi knight’s ability to let go of attachments he makes. As soon as Anakin and Ahsoka grow to genuinely love each other, Yoda decides to implement this test of Anakin’s ability to let go of attachments by deliberately making a decision to put Anakin’s 14 year old padawan in the front line of their army in battles when she’s still in training.

Obi-Wan and Jedi Council: Decide to emotionally/psychologically traumatize a 21 year old Anakin by faking Obi Wan’s death for a mission because “he can’t be trusted since he’s too emotional.”

Yoda: Enables the incredibly unethical human genetic cloning and usage of soldiers when Palpatine commissions him an army of them for the soldiers of his organization to use to go to war because he is too much of a coward to risk his organization’s public reputation and security within an elite Republic to do the right thing.

Yoda, Jedi Council, and Obi-Wan: Expect for Anakin to help out the slaver Jabba on his home planet in the outer rims to preserve their position when he tries to say doing it would make him feel uncomfortable, considering the fact that he used to be a slave there, which they know about. Yet, they still make him do it, even though they claim to stand “for democracy.”

Jedi Council, Yoda, and Obi-Wan: Almost execute Anakin’s padawan Ahsoka, who they knew Anakin grew attached to, by prosecuting her for a crime they’re not sure she committed with flimsy and lackluster evidence, and then exile her.

Jedi Council: Refuse to let Anakin have a seat on the Council as master in Revenge of the Sith because he’s suddenly “too unstable and untrustworthy,” even though they allowed for him to speak alone to Palpatine when he was a child under their care, and were completely okay with knighting him, pressuring him to be general of their army, and pressuring him to have a padawan in the clone wars not long before.

Yoda and rest of Jedi Council: In spite of their earlier dismissal of Anakin’s request for a seat on the Council because he was “too untrustworthy” and too close to the Chancellor they let him speak to alone for their own benefits from the time he was a child under their care, they ultimately decide to let Anakin have a seat on the Council in Revenge of the Sith, but only because they realize they can use Anakin’s relationship with Palpatine as a tool to spy on the Chancellor to find out if their suspicions about him being a Sith Lord are correct and arrest him without the rest of the Senate’s consent or knowledge because they don’t trust them.

Obi-Wan: Acts as the Jedi Council’s messenger to Anakin after they decide to let him on the Council without the rank of master, so they can use him as a mole to commit treason against Palpatine upon their suspicions of him being shady, even though he knows it is an illegal and risky mission.

Obi-Wan Kenobi: Obnoxiously accuses Anakin of using his friendship with the Chancellor to get a seat as master on the Council with no evidence that he has done so at all. Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn’t in the room with Palpatine and Anakin when they were talking, so he wouldn’t know if Anakin actually asked for a seat on the Council in Revenge of the Sith. Even if Anakin really had asked for a seat on the Council, though, Obi-Wan still wouldn’t have any right to be upset that Anakin got close to the Chancellor because he was his primary caretaker, who allowed for them to develop that friendship in the first place for his and the Council’s own benefits when he was a child under their care, in spite of their growing suspicions in regards to Palpatine.

Anakin: Makes the bad decision of agreeing to accept the Council’s request to spy on Palpatine, so they can ultimately arrest him because he’s been getting taught to see the Jedi as “good guys” his whole life, and he feels too pressured to stay to please and protect those he cares about.

Mace Windu: Blatantly undermines Anakin’s intelligence, loyalty, and trustworthiness after he comes to him to tell him that Palpatine is a dark side user/Sith Lord after gaining intel for the Council to apprehend him by saying “If you’re right about him being the Sith Lord, I just

Palpatine: Grooming Anakin for the dark side, but Anakin doesn’t know that until the third act of RotS, so, it really just seems like the Palpatine is the only one who consistently treats him kindly next to every other adult he was raised by in the Jedi Order. Executes Order 66.

Anakin: Has a mental breakdown at 23. He turns to the dark side because he knows the Jedi Order is now inevitably doomed either way he chooses between Mace-Windu and Palpatine, and because he wants to protect himself and his family, which Palpatine promises him. Gets renamed Darth Vader by Sidious.

Yoda: Immediately decides to give Obi-Wan the task to apprehend and execute Anakin for his crimes against the Jedi Order without any further questions.

Obi-Wan Kenobi: Goes about apprehending Anakin for his crimes against the Order very badly. Yes, Anakin needed to be stopped and punished for his crimes. However, just like Yoda, he never thinks to reflect on just how fucked up the Jedi Order was as a system in its methods. He never thinks to ask Anakin why he chose to turn to the dark side in the first place. He hides on Padme’s ship, even after she tells Obi-Wan that she wants to go speak to her husband alone, so that he can find Anakin to execute him for Yoda. He willingly puts her life at risk as bait with an unhinged Anakin by making his presence known and intentions to execute him explicitly clear right when Padme tells him she can’t be with him when he’s being like this.

No, Anakin is not an innocent for recklessly endangering her life by strangling her in a blind paranoid rage either. While the move didn’t ultimately kill her in and of itself, it could have, and it did contribute to her ultimate demise in Revenge of the Sith. He does hold partial responsibility for doing that to her. However, Obi-Wan also knew that Anakin’s anger, paranoia, and self-control were going to be much more easily triggered on the high of the dark side for the first time. He could overhear the entire conversation that he was having with Padme when she was telling him she loved him, but couldn’t be with him. He knew that Anakin felt worried that they were having an affair and/or plotting against him at the back of his mind because he and Padme kept meeting up with each other alone when he wasn’t around without telling him everything. He overheard Anakin say “Because of Obi-Wan” when she refused to follow him after he had committed crimes against the Jedi Order and Republic. Then, right after she says “no,” Obi-Wan decides to make his presence on her ship known to Anakin in a manner that makes his intention to execute him blatantly obvious. It was only then that Anakin grabbed Padme’s throat in a blind rage with the force.

Sure, Anakin was being completely in-denial and irrational at this point. Padme wasn’t wrong to not want to have anything to do with him after he committed crimes against the Order and Republic, and started talking to her about wanting to rule the galaxy with her. However, he still hadn’t laid a hand on Padme, even when he was feeling angry with her for refusing to follow him. It was only when Obi-Wan made his presence known from her ship with blatant hostility.

Obi-Wan Kenobi-Actually manages to convince Anakin to drop Padme from the reckless force choke before he can kill her.

Anakin: Actually comes down from his high on the dark side in his rage enough to give Obi-Wan an opportunity to not fight him to the death in a duel on Mustafar after he’s convinced to let go of Padme.

Obi-Wan Kenobi- Still decides to pursue his execution of Anakin for Yoda in a duel on Mustafar, even after he gets Anakin down to a place where his former padawan let go of Padme and told him that he didn’r want to have to fight him.

Even after getting the upper hand over Anakin on Mustafar, Obi-Wam is too cowardly and low-key vindictive to just end his former friend’s suffering by killing him swiftly. Instead, he makes the decision to cut off all of Anakin’s organic limbs when he tries to make a jump to the high ground to catch up to Obi Wan over hot lava, let’s him catch on fire, rants at him as he screams in agony on fire, steals his lightsaber, and walks away.

Anakin: Survives the burn injuries with the aid of a life support suit that Palpatine crafts for him to make him his attack dog, enforcer of galactic enslavement, supreme military commander, and murder slave Darth Vader.

Obi-Wan and Yoda: Oh no! How did this happen? Where did we go wrong? It’s all just Palpatine’s, Anakin’s, Dooku’s, and the Sith’s fault the galaxy is fucked up! Our system could never be wrong! The only things we ever did wrong were in trusting Palpatine with power in the Senate, and we were too “soft” on our recruits! We taught healthy coping, relationship, and social skills by pretending emotions and individuality didn’t exist at all and denying them all right? The methods we used to recruit, train, and “protect” the Jedi to keep them “pure” weren’t at all so deeply abusive, confusing, controlling, invalidating, isolating, and restrictive that they could have created such deeply-seeded emotional/psychological trauma in Anakin and these other force-sensitive kids we took in to irrevocably scar them for life, right? The choices we made, the code we preached, and the laws and system we enforced and implemented weren’t at all that traumatizing, right? We were good parents, supervisors, and teachers, right?

In fact, we were too good of parents to Anakin and Dooku. That’s really be why Anakin and Dooku went dark…We were too nice to them. We should have been harder on them with the rules and our system.

Let’s sit in hiding together for the next two decades while our former “chosen one” helps terrorize the galaxy with Sidious, so that we can attempt to train his innocent son as a weapon to destroy the monster we inadvertently helped turn his father into all those years ago. It’s all “for the greater good,” and not at all an attempt to try to absolve ourselves of our own mistakes with Anakin, the Jedi Order, and the rise of the Empire because we are too afraid to face them and take responsibility for them. It’s totally the right thing to do!

Stop judging us and asking questions, Luke! Just do as we say! Don’t be emotional like your dad was! Don’t go save your friends when their lives are in danger because “attachments lead to the dark side.” Training you to be a weapon to clean up the mess we helped create with your dad and the Empire before you were born twenty years ago is more important!

Luke, Anakin, Ahsoka, Palpatine, Dooku, and many of us in the audience watching: *Facepalms and sighs in annoyance*

#ot Star Wars #pt Star Wars #Jedi council fuckery #jedi council critical #obi wan critical #Yoda critical #anakin skywalker #darth vader #luke skywalker #no the entire order did not deserve to be wiped out in order 66 #but obi wan and the council were assholes who helped turn Anakin into a monster #Palpatine was objectively worse than them but even he knew Anakin’s elders in the Jedi sucked at their jobs #Jedi council psychology logic: take children to use as weapons for their corrupt government’s military before they can even consent properly #cut them off from the outside world #teach members to enable and perpetuate whatever systematic abuse and crime supports their Jedi Order #while coldly and mercilessly punishing and/or eliminating everyone who turns on them to enable and perpetuate many of those same crimes #for the even worse enemy military cult leader’s ‘greater good’ instead #agree to take on the clones as slave soldiers from Palpatine for ‘the greater good’#and never even mention the fact that one of our fallen members came up with genetically engineered soldiers to the Republic and new members #also Jedi council and Jedi masters: why are our recruits the republic government the clones and the outer rims turning on us?#why do so many people in the galaxy hate us?#why did Anakin Dooku and so many of our other members grow into such deeply disturbed and fucked up adults in our system?#where did we go wrong?#why are we distrusted by so many people throughout the galaxy?#we are the good guys right?#why does Luke find us so annoying?#let’s use Anakin’s estranged son as a weapon to finish off the monster we helped influence his father to become in the first place

306 notes · View notes

meditationsinausterity · 6 years

Text

Losing Shame and Using Guilt

Anyone who knows me well enough will know i'm fascinated by the specificity of language. I had a lecturer tell me once that the more precisely you can express yourself, the better you'll be understood. Granted, he was talking about getting to grips with Derrida, but the underpinning sentiment of being understood caught at my very core. As a result, I'll often, mid-sentence, correct myself if the word is not exactly what I mean, particularly in terms of expressing emotion. I get frustrated if I can't make the exact clarification I want to express my point, but in the process of correcting myself I usually arrive at the point I'm driving at. I'm sure we all do this to a certain extent, or the qualifier 'Do you know what I mean?' wouldn't be so prevalent in everyday speech.

I do it in my support sessions all the time when I'm asked how I feel - I take the approach that I need to get as much out of these sessions as possible to progress with my week, my general recovery. If I'm not making every effort to understand and be understood, I don't see the point, do you know what I mean? One such time was after a particularly horrific binge, that saw me physically injured and put the nail in the coffin of my short-lived but long-suffering relationship at the time, where I was asked how I was feeling about it. I said: 'Guilty. But I think it's normal to feel guilty. I don't mean the kind of guilt that paralyzes you and stops you doing anything. I mean the kind of guilt that makes you ask the questions, tell the truth to yourself, and try to learn. There should be another word for it.'

I thought about this conversation while I was walking to the job centre this week, anxious as fuck, and trying to talk myself out of feeling guilty. 'There should be another word for it' kept rolling over my brain, and I scrabbled to think of something until I realized I'd been wrong in the session. What I was feeling after that binge, WAS guilt. what I was feeling on the walk to the job centre, the 'I shouldn't be doing this' breathlessness that made me want to just go home to bed, was shame. And the penny started to drop as to why they were different feelings when I examined the two situations.

On the way to the job centre, my feelings of shame weren't directly coming from anything I did, am, or genuinely believe. Shame can only exist in the light of other people. As a society we're pretty good at shame. There's body-shame, slut-shame, poverty-shame, and probably loads more ways other people make people feel like shit. Shame is a tool used to police others according to the norms of, usually a majority. As a society, the fact these terms exist for different ways in which certain majorities enact this policing shows we're slowly growing into that realization. Shame, and its younger, less crippling cousin, embarassment, can't exist, without other people. If you have a shameful secret, it doesn't technically become shameful until you speak it to anybody else. More prosaically, if you fart in a lift alone there's no shame until someone gets in at the next floor.

I felt ashamed of going to apply for jobseeker's allowance because of how it would have looked to someone on the outside: I'm young, able bodied, adept with people, energetic, and have a work ethic; so what fucking right have I got to ask for help when it ought to be easy for me to get a job? I could hear the imaginary 'you should be ashamed of yourself' in my head, stopping my little trainers in their tracks. Because shame creates paralysis. Shame is what's going to stop you doing something you maybe really need to do, or even just want to do.

There's no arguing with shame if you treat it as something that springs directly from the inside of you. I realized the key to stopping shame from stopping me lies directly in that voice, that 'You should be ashamed of yourself'. For a start, I can tell it's not my own convictions at play here, because I don't call myself 'You' - other people do, when they're not mispronouncing my name. So if it's not me, who the fuck is talking? Once you've asked that question you've already created an access to whatever the external narrative is that's influencing the shame. In the case of me and the job centre, we can cite tabloid hysteria, my working class upbringing, and coming from a long line of proud women who struggle to accept help from anybody; a real tasty blend.

The other key disarming tool here is 'should' - the singlemost efficient way to convey obligation that i know. Think about the amount of times you've bailed on something and explained yourself to someone else by saying 'I should go, but...' That 'should' is the point of tension between what people expect of you and your desires and intentions. Asking 'WHY SHOULD I?' a la an angry teenager, as I did on my walk, may be the fastest and most explosive way to deal with external shaming narratives from stopping me in my tracks. The answers to 'why should I?' are never convincing to the person who questions the power of 'should', which is why the last resort is always 'Because I said so', which, let's face it, never convinced anyone ever. Asking 'why should I?' is a fast and powerful way of undermining all the reasons you are being shamed.

So shame, once you unpick what it is, is simple to counteract. Which is good, because it's the thing that stops people doing what they need to in order to get help. Guilt, however, is more complicated. And I'm going to posit a theory, in no doubt a stupidly long-winded way, that guilt is not there to stop you from doing things, but is in fact a motivational emotion.

I was wrong in my session. There was no better word for what I should have been feeling than guilt. Because guilt is directly related to your inner self, to something you did or didn't do, or say. Guilt was absolutely the right word for how I felt after that binge, because I had done things I knew were wrong. And I knew them to be wrong in accordance with what I genuinely and fundamentally believe in myself, for the simple reason that if i didn't believe I shouldn't be resorting to drinking to blot out anxiety and pain, then why was i engaging in therapy to break that pattern? or, put more plainly and simply, despite all my endeavours to do the right thing lately, I had massively fucked it up, by myself, and guilt is the way in which my mind was holding me accountable for what I had done wrong, by holding it at the forefront of my mind and not allowing me to concentrate on anything else.

And, to go back to what I said earlier about shame being an external process that can't exist without other people, you can be perfecty capable of feeling guilty all alone. To go back to my fart in a lift metaphor, If you fart in a lift alone, and then get out, you'll feel guilty about leaving that fart in that space to fester because you know you did it. You feel guilt because you're to blame. Guilt without culpability already has a name: paranoia. To apply this to my situation; even if nobody had known about my binge and it hadn't affected anybody else (which was emphatically not the case), even if I hadn't sat in a room telling somebody else all about it, I would still have felt guilty. Because I would have known I'd done wrong. But it would have been a kind of double guilt; the guilt of my own culpability, underneath the the guilt of not revealing it, which i'm going to rename 'concealment anxiety' for clarity.

I once read somewhere that 'we're only as sick as our secrets', and in terms of this kind of double-layered guilt, I genuinely believe it to be true. When I sat in the office talking about the binge, there was a definite sense of pressure relief, like the first door of an airlock opening. But the removal of the concealment anxiety is only the first door; it doesn't free you, it just lets you breathe and focus. Concealment anxiety is why problem pages everywhere are crowded with letters asking if people should reveal their adultery to their partners - the uncertainty stems from the knowing it would provide that rush of relief vs. the fact it won't remove the guilt that comes from the actual culpability. Telling the truth about what you did can only remove the concealment anxiety, it can't remove the guilt of culpability.

The reason I use the metaphor of breathing space and an airlock is because until you untangle concealment anxiety and guilt, you can spend a long time in that pressure zone, confusing the two. My therapy, this blog, the practices I'm putting into place to reach out to more people and to be honest about everything, they're all ways in which I've realized i was existing in this dead, hidden zone where all the things i was doing to harm myself were hidden. And that environment was slowly making me sicker, and more isolated, and withdrawn. I wasn't admitting to my actions, which meant I was stuck alone in this space, at eye level with my guilt at all times, and unable to address any of it because I couldn't focus.

Breaking that first seal by gritting my teeth hard and admitting to all the things I was guilty of to people (professionals and loved ones alike) provided me the breathing space I needed to look at the real guilt in a more focused way. The guilt that, as I put it, 'makes you ask questions, tell the truth to yourself, and try to learn.' And it was chronic, in this situation. I say chronic because guilt is visceral, it's a physical emotion. You feel sick, your heart pounds, you sweat, and if you're me, your posture goes totally insular and you can't look anyone in the eye (I'm pretty sure this is also what dogs do). Guilt is your mind's equivalent of putting a huge billboard in front of all your other emotions saying 'YOU FUCKED UP. YEAH, YOU. WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?'

And that, I think, is the key function of guilt. On first glance it seems like an unfair emotion - you can't undo what you did wrong, because what's done is done, so the 'what are you gonna do about it?' can seem overwhelming. But guilt's 'what are you gonna do about it?' doesn't have to be interpreted as a threat; it's your mind's way, at least I think, of saying, 'you did something horribly wrong, and now we need to focus on ways to make sure you don't do it again.'

((DISCLAIMER: I'm not, here, disregarding the fact that if you did something to hurt somebody else, you should say sorry, or try to make amends, but I am not dwelling on that, because a sorry can't fix anything, and sometimes the amends aren't possible. That's not to say they're not a necessary part of facing up to what you're guilty of, as I certainly said my sorry to the concerned party, meaning every single word of it (as I'm sure he was fully aware), but knowing in the pit of my stomach that no matter how heartfelt the sorry was, it wouldn't fix the damage I'd done. No matter how fundamentally important it is to say and mean, never has any sorry I've ever said had any more power than words ever have over actions.))

But back to that 'what are you gonna do about it?' - That's what's made me see that guilt can be a motivational emotion. For a start, there's the fact that it's so sick-making and anxiety-inducing that you would, in its throes, probably do whatever it takes never to feel it again. And I think that's no coincidence; warning signs are eye-burningly bright, sirens are ear-splittingly loud, because urgent messages need urgent attention. But the process of guilt, the constant reminders; I am finding, the more I notice and interrogate my thoughts; often take the form of ways in which you could have done things differently. I used to think that this was just my brain compounding things by telling what a fucking idiot I was, but now I'm starting to realize that actually, these alternate-plays are not nasty mind tricks, they're useful tools for me to interrogate, using direct example, why I didn't do things differently. I'm using guilt as a motivational tool, by letting these replays provoke questions, and therefore answers, that inform my future decisions. I'm still working on it, but it's very effective. It is literally the emotional equivalent of 'learn from your mistakes'. Guilt isn't your enemy, guilt is your teacher. It's just that it's the teacher you thought was really savage at school who you only grew to respect when you realized that they got shit done (not unrelated: Hi Mrs. Pearman, hope you're well!)

That was probably more long winded than anyone needed it to be, but we all have these negative emotions, and I'm starting to learn that engaging with them is both practical (because they're not fucking going anywhere unless I get lobotomized), and useful (because they have more to tell me than that I currently don't feel very good). So I'm going to become shameless (or more so, as anyone who has encountered how chill I am with being seen naked will attest), I'm going to be as honest as I can to stop that concealment anxiety airlock from closing me in and stopping me breathing again (a decision I've already committed to), and when I am to blame for something, I am going to let my guilt guide me into examining why the hell I did it in the first place, to stop me doing it again.

#personal blog #recovery #guilt #shame #anxiety #emotion #tl;dr #musings

0 notes

iges · 7 years

Text

2017 Journal Wrap Up

Decided to compile some of the most prominent thoughts of the year into one place to get a full look at how my thoughts evolved over time, while also pushing myself to continue this. it’s dope being able to see your own growth so tangibly.

January

· How are you doing?

Where are you going?

When are you growing?

What are you saying?

Who are you being?

Why are you creating?

· I did not come to teach you / I came to love you / love will teach you

· It’s easier to raise great children than it is to repair broken parents. But both are hard as hell.

· Now can we fall in love with southernplayalistic bangin through the night? At least we fell in love with something greater than debating suicide

· Family has taught and continues to teach me so much in the love and light of their company. I have learned most of all the power of peace. The power in community, how it builds for calm unity

· “they won’t love you in boston like we do”

· What we need are two lists. On the left side: This Is What Matters To Me. On the right side: This Is How I Spend My Time. In the middle, one resolution: to make the right side align with the left.

· Peacock told me he loved me

· "the difference between the successful man and the mediocre one is as simple as golf. If a mediocre man goes golfing and hits the ball into the pond, he immediately picks up his club and starts yelling blaming it. If a successful man does the same thing, he simply grabs another ball and tries again. Its that ability to bounce back" – Benoit

· Talking about our parents and their lack of ability to understand a lot of mental and emotional health issues they've caused. "because they live on survival mode, and react by reflex. Like if someone punches towards you, you flinch. That’s how they live their lives. If someone punches towards me, I don’t flinch because experience in karate has taught me that you're too far to do anything to me." our reflexes evolve with our experiences.

· And just like that I left for boston, he left for Hong Kong, and we’d see when the world brought us together again. Although we are both travelling, flying, free souls, we are never fleeting.

· “At some point, you gotta decide for yourself who you gonn be”

February

· Bonds are elastic, allowing for molecules to vibrate with each other

· It's like everyone's driving in one direction on the street and there's another road on the ceiling. And you're hanging from the car on the ceiling touching the people below you and there's the pressure of falling down into the bustle of the crowd below. So you've gotta figure out how to flip yourself upside down so you're in the driver's seat and driving in your own direction without the fear of falling. Until you flip your perception on its head you'll be stuck in the same position.

· People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own soul at the end of the day. Remember that.

· I continuously find myself surrounded by great people that push me and help me grow. Challenge me and believe in me in the same breath. It’s beautiful but it also comes with a certain pressure. Pressure to not let them down, while also uplifting yourself.

· Work on this book, Gesi.

· I’d rather die of passion than boredom

· I don’t want to be famous, I just want my work to be.

· Thank god, thank self for growth. For finally loving who I’m becoming, finally becoming who I’ve always wanted to be.

· Art and love are the same things. Both grant us the potential to conceive monsters, or to breathe tranquility. It's all there.

When they don't love you the way you want to, you mourn that for however long you need to. But then you get back up and you remind yourself: you are not a reflection of the people who can't love you.

· I have come to know far too well the tug-of-war that exists between what is important to me and what is important to the rest of the world, and the friction that may cause.

· Which do you want: the pain of staying where you are, or the pain of growth?

· I have to fight for this. Art is the weapon

· “I’m tryna get like you” “I’m tryna get back like me too”

· I read something about how raids are going on in Brooklyn for immigrants. I started crying.

· Curated and ran A Day Without Immigrants. In a matter of 5 hours I was able to mobilize a campus wide event. In the midst of classes and meetings all day. This is what activism, passion, and sacrifice looks like. I am so very proud of you, Gesi. And I love you always for being able to channel your energy in the way that you do. Keep grinding. Keep pushing. Keep creating. You are powerful.

· Vision keeps growing clearer but I keep losing focus. Gotta change my lens maybe.

· “I see you changing your M.O. – Mode of Operation”

· Clear vision. Positive thoughts. Positive actions.

· Don’t let your hometown limit you.

March

· Sometimes you realize things about the people you love that you wish you hadn't. you realize that they're not as strong as or as caring as you think they are. They're not as innocent as your love for them makes them seem. They're glamorous and complicated and cold. Sometimes the people you love don't love you back, or they don't know how to tell you they do. Love feels so young, so reckless and so blinding. Yet it can be so futile, so restless, and so binding. I wonder if it will ever stop feeling this way.

· Don’t have other people believe in your journey more than you do.

· This above all else: to thine own self be true.

· I really don’t care about most things or people but I’m also not inconsiderate

· Tumbled out of space / crawled out the sea / it’s just love / boundlessly

· I kick it with my soulmates. All my homies reflect my soul in different forms

· Mind processes through entrance, experience, evaluation

· “On the NYC boardwalk” piece, later named The Roughest Kind of Gentle

· Doesn’t complain so she must not feel pain. Lol

· “jealous of your confidence”

· Do something once a day to remind this city why the hell you’re here

· “never fuck someone you wouldn’t wanna be tho”

· 2 of my friends dropped clothing lines this month, 1 dropped a book and a clothing line, and anotha one is launching next month! Support your friends in their endeavors!! Support them the way you support big name brands that don’t even know ya name. be their biggest fans first! The people I surround myself with motivate me daily to keep pushing and growing. Peace & love.

· I’m here physically. But my heart and soul are restlessly elsewhere.

· Need to be stronger. Somefuckinghow.

· Energy circulates. Tap into your network

She said I seek true intimacy in my relationships, to have someone want to know and understand me while wanting to know and understand them. As well as being intellectually challenged

Traced back my pattern in relationships with men and people in my life to how I used to do so much for my parents. How I've always bore so much responsibility and so little choices. And how they've relied on me for so much growing up that it's become habitual to help people almost instinctively.

· Went to ahzeme’s the other night. So as it turns out, he’s been in a relationship this whole time and has been cheating with me. Why would you ever put me in a position like this without my consent.

o One thing I will not have is you having me out here looking stupid. “who’d I make you look stupid in front of?” “myself. And that’s all that matters.”

o “because I feel like I can rely on you for anything. I know you’ll always be there and try to understand and help.”

· “thank you for growing and still tryna be a good person regardless of how people treat you”

· Isn’t it funny how people always love a free spirit until that spirit actually seeks to be free?

· She has her mother’s quiet

· Don’t hang out with people who make you justify your vibe. Black holes don’t give light back.

· You don't want people to understand it you want them to wonder how the fuck you're making it work. And you carry on. And you fucking be great – Skepta

· Trippy. Intimate. Beautiful.

· I want me first and foremost, and nobody else.

And sometimes I keep my feelings to myself because I can find no language to express them in.

Because no matter where you run, you end up running into yourself. Remember that

Keep my best work on top of me at all times to remind myself what I'm capable of

April

· Guys kept following me and pri. Guy tried to put a curse on me at pizzeria. Guy threw a sandwich at me mike and alozie lmaoooooo

· Impact investment

· Stop going through the motions and start moving.

· Don’t nobody ask me for no more parts of me.

· Another kid on campus committed suicide today. It's crazy the dark spaces this school and its environment can drive people into.

My daddy taught me how to drink my pain away. My daddy taught me how to leave somebody. My daddy taught me you don't need nobody

And I aint never felt no way bout this life shit do or die

Lost my god tonight?

· All people are looking for is a trip in me

· Life feels like a constant state of sobering up for other people. You're always on this higher journey. And others are disruptions that you get carried away in

· The world operates on energy. You attract

· I have always been too intense for others.

· Rumeer trusts me enough to rest. And because he trusts me I feel like I have to look after him

· I wanted to write but I just felt so much. That’s why you write. Because we’ve all got stories to tell, but how many of us will write the book?

· I’m not angry because I take the time to understand things and people.

· My mind is a web.

· The situation with tommy reminded me of _______

· It’s my job to create spaces where people can trip out in each other and their own creativity

· "if there's ever a problem and I film it, it's no longer a problem. It's a film" - andy Warhol

· i am of those women who keeps the shame our mothers braided into our hair

proudly wears the guilt they have sewn into the very fiber of our being

i mean i get it,

the culture should have overpowered any foolish desire i may have had

even if this foolish desire is love.

i get it,

ignorance should have desiccated any feeling out of my blood and turned my body to salt

to by washed away by these other men

these more acceptable men

i get it,

my heartstrings are healing and you wanted to ask the doctor to take reign of them once again,

because some self proclaimed doctor told you this intermingling of races is an illness

so you can't believe the miracle happening in front of you,

proclaim it a chronic illness,

wonder how long it'll last before it kills you

i mean me.

she asks me where this fear stems from.

where this guilt grows from.

you see, when every part of your identity is not represented in your culture

you become a latchkey child of the cosmos

when everything you do is a disappointment to those that created you

you run for cover,

hide every piece of you they wouldn't want to discover

let fear and guilt grow inwardly and hover

let that become your lover.

because you never know what the last string may be.

and you know all too well

how disappointment can sometimes smother love

so i am of those women that hides behind love like fake innocence.

approach every situation with ambivalence

but it's hard when you see this fighting for love as militant

don't you know you raised a soldier?

don't you know she's only grown bolder?

don't you know as much as this love is militant, it is just as much imminent?

just as much limitless, just as much divine.

and so,

if all you see is race

Then I guess we'll see you at the finish line.

May

· 3:03 am just watched Mustang. Very emotional. Hit even closer to home than I expected. Need to watch with significant other one day to show them the things I can’t explain about my upbringing

· I’ve been thinking of Albania a lot lately

· I think of home and my tongue tangos with exhaustion.

· He is truly one of the most beautiful pure souls I have ever come across.

there you are. moonbeams and madness. sunshine and chaos. how did they ever let you not love yourself? i remember the hidden logs, hushed and griping beneath your energetic body as you squirmed and squealed your way atop mountains, atop sins, atop convictions. the rocks barely able to hold onto your soul, so they kept a piece of your skin to remember you by each time you passed them. the way water wanted every part of you so badly it clung onto you hoping to fill your lungs with its presence each time you stepped in it. nature wanted to be a part of you as much as you wanted to be a part of it. just before you fell and drank all of the water from the Red Sea. Red from your skinned knees. i saw you drown and come back baptized. Young girl full of sassy sanctification, the water cycle churns inside your body since the moment you entered it, since the moment it entered you; do you weep still because no one seas you? there you are. i sea you, my dear gesea. waterfalls and wings. do you sea you yet? how did they ever let you not love yourself? do you finally?

· Everyday above ground is a good day

· We come from men who do not know when they were born

We come from women who do not know when they came alive

If they ever even did

They came together and had daughters full of all the misguided language.

· I know what it is like to not be from here, to not be from anywhere

So I make myself a home for these boys to grow into men here

· My blue passport makes me american but most days I don't feel it / in new york I am more ambiguous than I am american / in boston they think I am hispanic because of my accent and attitude

· I have enough pages to stitch them into wings

· "as an artist you have to keep reinventing yourself," he said. "in a marriage, you have to be consistent. It's difficult"

· We got that….silent and confused kinda love

· “when your boo is an artist, the visuals they can paint is insane”

· A genuine beautiful soul. A connection far beyond what I have experienced before. He brings out the childlike curiosity in me again. I want to learn everything about him and indulge in his interests while showing him my own. I want us to be our own people while understanding and loving each other's person.

· I have never believed in time, but I have always believed in your enabling of it / I have never believed in time but it tugs at my flesh, as I am reminded of how to love you from afar.

9:22 pm spines leaning into one another, skin symphonies, soft percussion sounds seem like silk as it cups us, encircles us, we will write love all over each other, how often will we write? In a circumference of pain, I think there is nothing else worth writing, worth loving.

· I don’t do this just because it’s fun. I do it because I can’t shake the feeling

And I think of how they think. How they want the earth to swallow them because they couldn't swallow the woman they wanted whole.

Te kendosh edhe te creosh

Ne qofte se nuk eshte cultura, nuk eshte kenga, nuk ke se ta shikosh dot veten

If there is no culture, no songs, you haven't got anything to look at yourself in

· And what is a black boy / but a spectacle / a shimmy and a shake / a shuck and a jive / a shackle and a cry / a black thing only alive to entertain

And what is a spectacle / but a lens / a glass to look both at and through / a perspective offered through transparency / a mirror that often wants to see other people / a lack of recognition of a reflection / a disheveled tornado dissipating right before your very eyes / an eye of a storm / an empty space filled with destroyed things

And what is a woman / but a bolt of lightning / a brilliant streak of light in the midst of a storm / a rippling silent strength / one just as powerful as thunder, without all the noise

And what is a man / but a striking of thunder / a booming voice in the sky / an accumulation of noise / always trying to be the most powerful one in the room / one that cuts silence like a knife

And what is a language / but a knife / a collection of different sizes, shards, and blades / a dual blade with a hardwood handle / its power coming from the tongue that it weighed / used to cut, create, destroy, build, spread, hunt, attack, collapse / a manifestation of thoughts made blade

And what is a thought but a string / a connection / a concoction of ideas held together by the balance of belief and knowledge / a steady stringing, building of connection

And what is a connection / but mist / intangibility felt / a fluidity that melts at hearts / at hands / an energy that demands

And what is love / but an energy / chaos turned benevolence / suns devouring forests / in growth and flourishment / one that starts at the self and spreads in nourishment

And what is energy / but the universe

And what are we / but the universe

June

· Making poetry people can forgive themselves to

· At what point do you realize your influence? Impact? How is this different from your worth?

· What is your soul food?

· I run my fingers through my hair, looking for the splitting end of a poem

· We clutch each other moreso out of the necessity for warmth than ever the desire for romance.

· This time bomb of youth

· Maybe there is no such thing as a country. Maybe there is just gutted land and sharp teeth that have torn at my flesh for so long I’m not exactly sure which wound is the one I belong to

· “no one ever taught us how to introduce ourselves…our parents accidentally made us emotionally impoverished. I think that’s the true lesson behind materialism: that you lose sight of emotional wealth in a very serious way that goes unnoticed.”

o And so we ain’t all grow up the same kinda poor.

· Anything you do, could fail. Everything you don’t, will.

· Consciousness is an unreliable narrator. It speaks endlessly. It comes with many voices. Not all are to be trusted. Consciousness comes with a person. or several. They all call themselves “self”. Not all are to be trusted.

· Be careful what you say in that it tells you what you think (of yourself).

· A lesson on empathy on the 2 train

· I’m strong. But I’m also more than strong. At times, I am weak and lonely and afraid and anxious and angry and silly and happy and defiant and bored. Sometimes, I don’t even know what I am, and sometimes I don’t know what I am in English – I can only explain it in a different language.

· Think I caught a vibe

· Poetet dhe vajzat e bukura, shpesh jane njerzit me t’vetmuar ne bote.

· “you will always be my beautiful blessing from the east. And you are still one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

· This book is really coming together.

· I wrote my heart in a poem. It made a home of itself there. It doesn't pay rent. It invites everyone over but takes up the whole room. There are bodies piled in here now, expecting, demanding a space in a heart that never belonged to them. This heart is a tricky thing. It gives and gives itself to everyone but still stands alone. And all these bodies lay there, pounding to its very rhythm in hopes of catching it when it falls. But there is no room for falling. We are standing in the love we grant and give others everyday. It takes up the whole room. It grows too big for itself. It makes its way onto the pavement, breathes its fire into the city and wraps itself around it, taking everyone it once loved with it and made a home of itself there

July

· Did u get my vibes man? I’m thinking we are all going to be alright.

· I am my motherland free from bondage

· This is one of the hardest summers to date

· I know some things are better left unsaid and some people better left alone.

But I still pick up the phone.

· There’s a future version of me who’s proud I was strong enough

· All around there’s silence. Everyone decides for themselves whether that’s loneliness or freedom.

· Distance, too, is good.

Because you are far away

I feel you are very close to me.

Yes—

But what of proximity? Of union?

When you come near, then, my love, you are far away. – truth

· talking with mike about the concept of love. Love is an energy in that it can never be created or destroyed merely transformed into different forms for different people and things. Love is chaos turned benevolence. asked me to clarify. love, as an energy, when left untampered with exists in its purest form. but you take an energy and put it between two parties who each come with their own set of experiences, people, upbringings, pasts, etc. this turns it chaotic. but the benevolence comes in when we finally see this chaos as something beautiful.

so what is love in its purest form what does that look like?

honestly, self-love is i think the purest form of love.

so the goal of any love exchange or experience is to love the other person how you would love yourself; in this exchange you are treating someone as you would want to be treated and thus are showing them how you want to be loved and they in turn should do the same. this is the most ideal situation.

· And I think that's the really peculiar part about being in your own company is the urge to both stay and go.

The only thing separating me from becoming who I know I can and need to be is the hard work and dedication. When you really get that, I mean when you really see that Beyonce isn't unique, she just works hard; Steve Jobs isn't really unique, he just works hard, perhaps that is what makes them unique. What sets people apart is their hard work. Once you see that, you can be exactly who you want to be. I don't want people to be offended by my need for solitude. I just feel like I have to become what I am. And ever since I realized I can be exactly what I want to be, it has really shaken me. And I just can't go back to a time where I thought about anything but writing, anything but making myself to be human. And it's scary because once you know that you have to become this thing, it means that you're plagued with the voice of possible failure, but that voice is pushing you so loud that you can't betray your future self.

· I don't think I've ever felt more alone than I have these days. But I've also never loved it more, loved me more. I can't run away from this. I think oftentimes, that's what we do in times of loneliness, we automatically run from it and in an inability to escape, fill it. I plan on staying in this space for a while. I implore to explore it. But I think that's easy for me to say as someone who's never felt at home amongst other people. But it's still for everyone, this exploration of the self. Maybe I miss myself. Maybe I've missed myself this entire time. Truth is, I don't think I've ever truly met her before--myself. We've flirted a few times but I haven't taken her out to get to know her more until recently. I think I am trying to tell myself something even I don't know yet. But it sounds beautiful so far, from here. I plan on staying here for a while. Damn it feels good to bask in the glory of your own solitude. Kendrick had it right, this what god feel like. I think it is in these waking moments of solitude and silence that the self is born, discovered, and furthered. She is trying to push me deeper so I can be fully, wholeheartedly myself. And fall into the person I have always wanted to be. Thank God, thank Self for growth.

I guess I just never thought, believed, was never taught to believe I could be the one to do it. I guess it's because I could be the one to do it. I guess it's because I come from spaces that do not teach us we can be what we are meant to, want to, be. Only what they need us to be. I never believed in all my years and love of reading, that I could be the one to use language to craft pieces and experiences that evoke and provoke. I mean, it all started somewhere, right? People created languages out of nothing and gave them meaning. Shakespeare created his own language because the preexisting one wasn't fitting enough to convey what he wanted to express. And some call that ignorant and some call it creative, but regardless it worked for him. He did it because he felt he had to, to be able to go on. He created something out of a preexisting thing and gave it meaning. This is what it's all about, I think. It all boils down to creating your own rules. I come from such opposite cultures with different languages that my tongue needs new rules to express because these exist on opposite ends of a spectrum. The space in between all these differences is comprised of nothing. We must make something out of it and give it meaning.

· What motivates the artist?

What gives the artist her voice?

What gives the artist her courage?

Who/what gives the artist the will to create?

· But greatness, innovation, I do not believe these entities are entirely inspiration as they are digging-- digging both into one's craft and into one's self.

· Bless the child that can hold his own, flesh and bone

And no matter where I roam, I feel right at home, and that's the real shit

-xzibit

· Sins of a father make your life ten times harder

· Be the person you needed when you were younger

o When I was younger, I needed writers—authors, poets, artists, creatives—so I became just that.

· How can they crave the fire but fear the flame?

· You never know how many lives you impact by simply just being there.

Lesson: thoughts and feelings aren't everlasting but everchanging. Remember this next time you're beating yourself up over something.

I say “sometimes to drown is the water entering your body looking for a home”

And I notice so many men in my life washed ashore at my temples

If the body is a temple, why do they come here drowning in sin?

If the body is an ocean, why do they never learn how to swim?

· I put in my 10,000 hours and then some. I lived under a roof that didn’t support my craft for almost two decades. I wrote, at bare minimum, 200 words every day for the past three years. I still do. I featured in shows I didn’t pay a dime for and others that I invested a few dollars in. I put my money where my mouth is and supported nothing but artistry for years in college. I heard no and all of its echoes hundreds of times. I earned my yes’s. I sacrificed eating and sleeping for creating. I gave up just about every casual friendship because I didn’t have time to bullshit. I couldn’t cheat myself out of any possible opportunity. I’ve been to hell for this, and I’m almost back. If you overlook me now, you’re going to look foolish. I’m building something that will be here after I leave this place, and there’s space in it for all of you.

I love you.

-Ges

· 1st trip: discovery & purpose (DAMN.)

2nd trip: closure & arrival

· Today traveling is home base. But we knew this already.

· Fuck the lines. FUCK THE RULES.

· I haven’t slept all summer long.

· What is your vibe? What do you dedicate your vibe to?

· I am Durim. But in the best way possible. In all the ways you couldn’t be.

· And fuck fame that killed all my favorite artists. All my favorite artists (today) keep themselves out of the spotlight but make sure they’re not in the shadows.

· “you are just enough”

· Book is published. (07.27.17)

August

· Sitting in the airport with James Baldwin in my ears and in my bag, and my own book in my lap.

Being able to truly disconnect from a world I've known for so long is exciting me so much. I wanna disappear for a while, and need it now more than ever. I do what I need to do quietly and then make noise and dip. And I love living life this way; having no one know what I'm up to until I announce and release. It's great having people think you're up to nothing and then surprise them. Now for the next few weeks it's like I have to learn how to do things without thinking about social media. Without having my phone on me all the time, without all the constant pressure to post everything I'm doing and perform for an audience that's always watching your next move, I get to fully enjoy my time back home. get to fell the authenticity of all these moments of intimacy between myself and my motherland. It's been so long. We have so much to learn about each other still to this day. We have both changed so much. Even the journey here is the transition into the change in pace and lifestyle. While most flights are riddled and filled with reading and writing and constant productivity of sorts; the energy on this one is different. Watched the first season of Atlanta, let jazz sounds play in my ears as I drifted off into the sleep I haven't been able to get all summer, and rested for the first time in a while. Thought about how talented Donald Glover is, how he is an artist to the core of the word, to the core of his person. Always creating something new. And you don't always have to be doing the same thing forever. It's all about what we dedicate our vibe to. That was the lesson I took from my last trip as I embark upon this one. It's all about what we dedicate our vibe to. And that can be anything you put your mind to, you've just got to make the choice.

Albums that have defined my year: DAMN, At.Long.Last.A$AP, Blond

· For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m ready to go back home.

· This is to say, there are parts of you even in the places you no longer consider home.

How do you know somethings before you really even know them or are ready to? This kept tripping me out during my last trip. I would think I was realizing something new about myself or the world and then a random line of my poetry would pop in my head and I would understand my words, myself a bit better each time. And surprise myself.

And so I am awoken by a breathtaking view of stars covering the sky, blanketing over the mountains. A few hours later, the stars have faded, the sky lightened from its former pitch black, but still not light out, and I am awoken by the sounds of the rooster nearby. A call to the town to wake up and begin the simple life they have always known as theirs.

This is a beautiful place to grow up. But once you're grown, where do you go? (conversations with nuse lida)

And I wonder if there are any other artists here awake at this time. Up creating to their souls content at 5am. In the dark of course, hiding in the shadows under the stars. But they don't have time for creativity here, they need to survive. Sometimes it feels like that’s the only reason I'm still here.

I don't just do this because it's fun, I do it because I can't shake the feeling.

· A R T – Arrive Receive Transform

· I was going to write down all the realizations I had this summer as I had them and got worried due to lack of time. But then I realized, once you realize something, it’s yours and stays with you forever.

· I understand my gravitational energy better after watching my parents from afar.

· I listen so much more than I speak here

· This has been the most emotional trip of my life, for everyone.

September

Do you remember the last time you felt something for the last time?

Back on my "oh word that's ya energy?" shit again

I am tired of raising men and them then disrespecting me or acting like they don't wanna know me anymore.

Coming in with peaceful energy this year. It's interesting to see how we've all grown and how sometimes that makes people grow apart. I'm glad the people I keep close to me are always looking to grow and prosper and find inner peace. It's interesting how others switch up as soon as they've milked as much as they can/want out of you. I am currently on the journey of learning to not be salty and hold any hard feelings. He who acts, also bears the reaction they receive. I gotta continue to focus and grow while they continue sleepin on me. I promise you'll know about me one day and be mad you didn't earlier when you had the chance.

I no longer struggle with my mortality. It's like the homeless poet said to me "you can die tomorrow and be fine because you put something of yours into the earth. That's forever. You live forever in your creations" and I can't help but feel so much thinking about that. About how big that is. And I get so emotional. I've been thinking about death a lot lately. But I could really die anytime and be okay with that because I created and concreted my mark. And it's scary. And it's surreal. And it's beautiful.

And once again, I can't believe this is my life. Whenever I used to think of death before, I always wanted to be my own cause but was also too scared of myself and my potential to ever do something like that. Now, I know that my life is in my hands but I no longer want my death to be in my hands. And I'm no longer scared.

No fear, what's stopping me?

· Remember when you wanted what you currently have

· The rage you feel? Listen to me carefully. It’s a gift. Use it, but don’t let anyone see it.

· Support feels so beautiful. Wish I could feel it more often. Shit is breathtaking.

· What is a win? A small quiet life? How do you measure that? What does freedom look like?

· So yes…I’m really trying to write myself free.

· “I asked God for it. and I got back ‘are you sure? Ok. Just know everyone can’t go’”

· God willing. Your willing

I think this is what happened to me this summer. For the first time in my life, I was forced to face my pain in that I was finally processing and letting it go through the process of writing and knowing I was going to share with others, that I was going to articulate a pain that belonged to me and me only for so long, but that I knew also belonged to others, and that in releasing it out into the world I was freeing myself from it, and so many others. And so I felt it more than ever in such a short amount of time, even more than when it first pained me. And I think that is our jobs as artists, to mirror Toni Morrison's shared notion, to free ourselves through expression and in that process, free others. And this is the first time you truly see yourself. It's such a trippy, crazy feeling, really. After all these years of self-reflection, expression, feeling like you know yourself, growth, after all this time- to not have known yourself at all, to not have faced yourself once, to not have healed or freed yourself from all that weighs down on you, this is perhaps the hardest realization to swallow and address with yourself. To always wonder what it is to make yourself human, to think you are in the process of doing so your whole life, only to realize two decades later, you have just started.

· These people really think I give a fuck about the shit they give a fuck about. Just need a moment of silence. Just close ya fuckin mouth

"It's just that every time I hang out with you and I mean really spend time with you outside of just tryna get in your pants. When I really spend time with you, you fuck with me mentally. And idk no one else really does that to me.”

Rape is the reason I look at all men as sexual opportunities. My father is the reason I’m numb to it all. How the fuck do I combine the two in healing?

How do I disrupt an entire culture?

Growth doesn’t come in peace but for peace.

A lot of people hate me because I love them more than they love themselves.

I’m only out here just tryna impress myself now

October

· “life is a summary of your actions”

· It’s all about what you dedicate your vibe to

· “people are changing their perception of you quicker than you can process any of it” catch up and move accordingly

· People are really trying to fuck with my energy lately

· Art’repreneurship. I’m going to do this, with or without babson.

· Self-investment is the best investment

· I am an equation seeking its language, searching for its variables. I am steadily subtracting myself from situations, making alterations, building models, adding together messages I find at the bottom of empty bottles, dividing the self from multiplicitous absolutes, all while tracing my linear roots.

· Short films as a trend in music is something I’m really interested in exploring and studying more of.

I am grieving missing fatherhood for both myself and my father. And his father. Ain't that some shit. How does that not weigh down on you?

The way my parents view my creative career affects the way I live it in silence. I come from a family of silence, I was raised by it, and that's how I try to raise myself to the places I want to be. That's why I can't handle making too much noise at once- I have to disappear immediately. But this is where things conflict. I need to be heard, want to be heard, need to use my voice for the power it is, but every once in a while am reminded of how I never knew how to, forget how to.

How far can I go if every few months I have to act like it doesn't even exist? Like I don't even exist? What does that do to one's confidence? To one's faith? To one's drive? To one's dreams?

· The place in which I’ll fit will not exist unless I make it.

· “hopefully you can free me from this shit too”

· “you’re in charge of keeping me in control”

· “you might be just the right break I need to be quite honest”

· “do you think drugs is a party of every creative?” “I think creativity is drugs”

It's been two years without you gramps.

I can't believe I forgot your birthday. I can't believe I almost forgot about today. I can't believe I let myself get this wrapped up in this shit. Gotten so distracted from the real. Thank you for grounding me a bit more. For existing as you did. I'm gonna talk to dad today about you. I know he's still grieving every day. I know he's been crying today, in random spurs of moments. Like picking up a screwdriver at work and remembering your hunger for work, always finding something to do, to keep yourself occupied, to have something to work towards, something to look forward to. He's been crying for you all summer. He made you and grandma a beautiful grave, lemme tell you. Everyone is so proud of him. Hopefully, you are too. Have you ever been proud of him? I made that presentation of your life, and showed everyone. We had a big lunch for you. Everyone was so proud of me. For the first time. Your own daughters never knew you sang. Ain't that some shit? How we manage to live these secret parts of our lives. And how sometimes, those parts are our entire life's purpose. I don't know how much longer I can live in secrecy gramps. I also realize we come from a lineage of abandoned parenthood and missing fathers. I am grieving for myself, for my father, and for you too. And for who knows how many years. I wonder how much generational trauma you have passed down to me. This was such an emotional trip. The other day, we went apple picking and orjada asked "did we bring one for grandpa?" and we laughed but I'm not sure it was funny. More like, one of those uncomfortable wow laughs. Like a that’s so silly but goddamn. You're really gone. But always here. Always with us. I've never seen dad love someone as much as he loved you. It's touching to know he's capable of such. It's beautiful and hurtful to witness. It is so many things gramps. This was such an emotional trip. I don't think one day passed without seeing mom or dad cry. Yet, we still live such separate lives. And now, you're no longer living in this life at all. Is there another one after this? I don't know how many more I can handle. I can't believe there is ever a point of just resting and peace. I'm striving for peace more than happiness these days, I think it's a nice adjustment. I think it's a growth adjustment. You're in my book, gramps. I wrote a book, gramps. I published it. mom and dad don't know. And if you were here, you wouldn't either. But I'm just saying it out into the world hoping someone will be proud of me, even if it isn't in this life. How do I make them proud gramps? How do I not let it kill my spirit? Is this all even worth it? People ask me what's going on lately and I pretend to complain about all this shit that isn't even real, pretend to care about these mediocre people. But what's really killing me is this secret life gramps. And the fear of them ever finding out. The fear of losing another piece of family, even tho it wasn't quite there before. There's not a day that goes by without me thinking about it. I went home recently and realized I'm so far detached from that place. There's almost nothing that draws me back besides devin and orjada. Mom is begging us to get married, gramps. I don't know how to tell her no, I don't know, how marriage ain't for everybody, how I don't know if I'll ever be capable of loving someone like that, how I don't know if someone will ever be able to love me in my wholesomeness. She doesn't care. Said we need to celebrate the new house. The one you built with your bare hands. You were so smart. You were so wise. You were so hard-working. You were so respected. You were so loved. All of the above still stands true, years later. You made your mark on that village, in cities, in another country even. I can only hope to continue to draw it out. I'm so glad you finally got a chance to rest. I hope you're resting easy, gramps, still restless as always but more peaceful. Rest in full peace. I love you.

"There's something about making you smile and blush that gives me purpose. I definitely want to feel that for the rest of my life"

· How many soul do you touch a day?

· I wear my vibe on my sleeve

· F R E Q U E N C Y

· Free cash flow

Free bands flow

Free man know

Ain’t nothing free no mo’

· “I love you”

o Something beyond language but not beyond notice

November

· Energy doesn’t lie

· “you’ve got really great energy, you know that?” –from across the room

· You know who a man truly is once he doesn’t get what he wants

· Shared vibration / reincarnates conversations, maybe not had in this lifetime, but perhaps in another. Catch that feeling of familiar and let it uncover.

· It’s 4 am and I’m tired of men making me feel guilty for the shit they do. Or the way I choose to live my life.

· What’s a love poem but a pair of wings?

· Break often-- not like porcelain, but like waves. So when you think everything is crashing down, remember that a wave must crash before a new one develops and rises.

· Spirits doing this dance with one another and it feels like freedom

· Every day I eclipse the me of yesterday. We come to what seems like toward each other, only to realize one of us is further ahead than we may have realized and ultimately comes to the forefront of character until it outshines the other, completely.

Writing always works for me, even lifts me out of depressions. Because it is in writing that I (most) experience my autonomy, my strength, my not needing other people.

Lots of people will tell you how difficult it is to be an artist, but not many people will tell you how difficult it is to not be an artist.

· The men worry about her but she doesn’t stress any of them

· Never has a show exposed me as much as She’s Gotta Have It has. Came for my whole neck and then some.

· Content curation

When someone shows you who they are, believe them

December

· Fuller than the moon

· Been doing a journal exercise where I go back into older months and look at the questions I was asking myself. Rewriting them and answering them in separate entries. It’s been a really interesting way of measuring growth and how I now have answers to questions I was once asking, wondering when I’d have them.

· dancing vertigo around the centerline

i in my heart pour

too many people in line for the good life

too much aggression

40 degrees celsius (thats fuckin hot america)

my love for you is relative

i disappear and heal myself

i distance friends

i am a system to myself waking over gravity

i have loved and kept moving being a creature of the universe

whether that love loved me back or not

please expect nothing more

· i mount the dissonance and dissassociation of this reclining northern hemisphere

certain of pole position and retro slack

certain of a silk view off curled road

the sterilization of isms and academic smirks

the mocking pop of business suits on a tuesday

i am not seeking a theme

i am not a font

these lines are not abstractions but concrete bombardments you are passing to fast over

hold a minute and watch this slow smooth walking

perhaps you oughta learn something

hold a minute and feel this gushing miracle existing for itself alone

i am in a good mood among meaninglessness

what does that do for you?

· salvage my golden self and remind him hunting a vibe is something you can't discuss but if they cum while reading you, then fuck baby.

· “Ms. Universe Juice”

· “you’re a trippy person and people need something to trip out in”

· You’ve gotta be careful who you pretend to be before it becomes who you are.

· He tells me I remind him of his mother

Tells me he's never loved a woman like this since his mother

Tells me I remind him of her

Back home

Nothing but a trip away

It's not love that you're feeling darling,

it's a trip,

not a stay.

· He buries his face in my neck and tells me I smell like his mother

Like memories from his childhood

Like times where he used to be held

Like a time travel to simpler times

Asks me to take him there

Wonders if he could trip out on the trip there.

· You’ve got to be careful of the energy you carry with you. People always ask me why im so happy and shining and it's because the energy I carry with me everywhere I go affects everything and everyone around me; it affects the person who makes my coffee in the morning, it affects the person I walk by on my way to class, it affects my professor, it affects my friends and even strangers that watch from afar.

· I need someone to stick around past the initial excitement. To not get blinded, shocked by it and assume it’s only temporary. I am always true to myself. Just because it shocks you, just because you’re not used to it doesn’t stop me in the slightest.

· I need to be and feel like more than just a trip. Maybe this is the curse of being “too” independent. Whatever the fuck that is. No one ever sticks around for long/ long enough.

o “you’re like the freeist bird flying out here. I thought I could never get a hold of you”

· I don’t know what love is baby

So please don’t ask me now.

Love was a country he knew nothing about.

I don’t have the answers baby.

What you know about love? What love know about you?

Love knows me far better than I know it. perhaps because I haven’t taken the time and effort to get to know it really until recently. Much like myself. Perhaps that’s where all the answers lie—in myself. And we know this already. But how to dig deeply for answers within you, which you are too scared to face the questions of yet? But how else to go on? But what else is life, if not a constant state of searching, digging, discovering, only to question and dig deeper, in waves? If not a constant dissatisfaction with what already exists, a constant “but what else?” And what is the life of an artist but the constant reconfiguration of a frequency which seeks to create for the world, that which doesn’t already exist within it?

And so, what is the love of an artist but a constant rebirth of itself, the constant edits of a creation until it becomes an energy which satisfies both the artist and the world?

But isn’t energy always a changing force in our universe?

And so this, my dear, is why people are afraid to love artists. And though in denial, are even more terrified of an artist loving them with a never-ending, ever-lasting energy.

And yet, this is what makes my self-love so beautiful, so breathtaking, so exciting. I never know where this love will take me next. I am learning something new about myself every day. I learn by doing what I want and need to do to go on. And this going-on is what makes this love ongoing.

· I think there is no better timing in how I’ve read through Another Country.

#thoughts #journal #reflection

0 notes

ulyssesredux · 8 years

Text

Lotus Eaters

—Yes, sir, he said. Are there any no trouble I hope you will answer it at full ourself; mortality and mercy then will breathe within your lips, entranced, listening. 'tis good; though between them all fly; so thy cheek so much drawn to a trull, that they do delay, they shall beat you to say the weight. They like it because no-one. If life was always like that. But, O prince, no will of their crimes, that the present need speaks to atone you. No, I say you knew. By the way.

Sir, Mark Antony she pursed up his heart pocket. Mercy is not itself, and young Drop-heir that kill'd lusty Pudding, and he sat back quietly in his pocket he drew the letter again, thy mistress; but, since you know what I have nothing else to let me bail these gentle three. And Ristori in Vienna. Doth flourish the deceit. This day my sister pardon. When it concerns me to my understanding; and my hands I'll trust; none our parts so poor a pinion of his baton against his nostrils. —Hello, Bloom. My missus has just got an. Were those two buttons of my suit, if it be proclaim'd: betimes i' the last of many battles we mean. Possess her once in the dank air: a bawd, why, your fine Egyptian cookery shall have every day a several greeting, or else thou diest to-morrow, Cæsar, which promises royal peril.

Sweny's in Lincoln place. Confession. He hath assembled Bocchus, the dust should have shook lions into civil streets, and you may not admit it; I know. And his offence for I know not well mann'd; your dismission is come indeed, with child by him? Long cold upper lip. Not so, that our stars, unreconciliable, should but judge you as yourself, great with child by him. Gelded too: a white flutter, then; for many of them, there's more gold. He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats, the great traveller, and be undone by 'em! Within two hours, then I'll run. Now, the stream around the limp father of thousands, a maid with child, perhaps?

Riotous madness, to suffer all alike. I am sorry it is my neighbour? Why is my body. He strolled out of twelve. Show us the way no harm. Are there any letters for me: where souls do couch on flowers, we'll speak to him Doth flourish the deceit from reproof. Just keeping alive, M'Coy said. No, Peter Claver I am. They all fall to the duke: you shall find me to tell us of? The assault that Angelo knows not that we find, we will know his business of him. The gods forbid! What shall we see a workman in 't yet. What is this?

Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one old booser worse than another coming along, cadging for a million barrels all the same. Letters on his shoulders. They do. Time enough yet.

Mortar and pestle. Well, get thee hence; to punish us, why not? Won't last.

The next Cæsarion smite, till the cup. He trod the worn steps, pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the cold black marble bowl while before him. What time? Pity so empty. Dishonour not your thoughts in feeding them with those giglots too, he said. Pray at an altar. Wonder how they explain it to the country: Broadstone probably. Remedy where you least expect it. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connell street at night I'll force the wine peep through their scars. 'tis easy to 't. That will I, hence unbelieved go! Hamilton Long's, founded in the air. They're not straight men of business either. Nor must not speak, where prayers cross. Good night, and thou: hence shall we continue Claudio, for putting the hand, sir, the coolwrappered soap in it. And past the sailors' home.

Why, there's a whh!

Could meet one Sunday after the rosary. Wonder did she wrote it herself. I'll be supposed upon a book with a slog to square leg. Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one old booser worse than worst of those that know things? And why meet him. Christ or Pilate? Hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot Think, and he hath fought to-morrow. You could tear up that envelope? The world and mock our eyes; in this that bears the third O' the other trousers.

Then I will sue to live. They drove off towards Conway's corner. The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an honourable man.

Then all settled down on their knees again and he sat back quietly in his face. Where's old Tweedy's regiment? —that's he indeed. Half a mo. Lady's hand. The postmistress handed him back through the grill his card with a thought that more depends on it than we do, sir, the postal telegraph office. I'll tell the world!

Pity to disturb them. What perfume does your? They drove off towards Conway's corner. Favours, by this is true. The protestants are the same that way inclined a bit.

Chloroform.

How do you service so good a grace as mercy does. He walked southward along Westland row. This grave charm, whose numbers threaten; and the peri. Now, darting Parthia, and comes before him, and gives his potent regiment to a neat square and lodged the soap in it. Dear Henry I got it made up. How much are they in water. Cigar has a cooling effect. Still life.

Enjoy a bath now: Nay, friar? Take off the dregs smartly. His friends still wrought reprieves for him. Turkish. And past Nichols' the undertaker. Music they wanted. Yes, exactly. Marrying a punk; for when she saw—which for this fourteen years we have used to Guinness's porter or some temperance beverage Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale aromatic. Proof? Simples. Nice smell these soaps have.

Eros! Sit around under sunshades. Ruins and tenements. By this, thou wicked Hannibal! Does pay thy labour richly; go. He saw the bright day is done. One of the sport; he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. I made no offence, Claudio, and I forgot that latchkey too. Yet show some pity. He had reached the open backdoor of All Hallows. Angry tulips with you. The priest bent down to put on his high collar. Poor papa! Pay your Easter duty. They don't seem to glow the delicate cheeks which they beat to follow Cæsar in a minute. Where's old Tweedy's regiment?

Massage. Could have given thee proofs for sin, Sith that the men might go on wheels! Where are you. Nice kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a pass to Mullingar. Cricket weather. He drew the letter in his tale lay death, as art and nature I am call'd Dercetas; Mark Antony! The chemist turned back page after page. Adoptedly; asschool-maids change their names by vain, though. Penance. Prayers for the skins lolled, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. How much are they?

He cannot like her, saw her led between her heart obey her heart obey her heart, play with me. I can see today. My missus has just got an. And old. What but to give me sufficing strokes for death! Skin breeds lice or vermin. Women knelt in the seat, that neither my coat, integrity, nor I mean it not, gentle daughter, in Athens. Flowers of idleness. Doing the indignant: a girl of good family like me, the Stabat Mater of Rossini. He wouldn't know what to do thus. Then, good madam. There's Hornblower standing at the typed envelope. Sleep a little; pray you, on art and statues and pictures of all advice my strength of love: look that you extol me thus to retort your manifest appeal, seizes him: distinguishedlooking. They all fall to the duke will return no more words. While he was always talking about where the old blind Abraham recognises the voice and puts his fingers on his face is the provost? She once being loof'd, the chemist said. Long cold upper lip. Write to him. But yet, good success!

All dead. Why did he marry Fulvia and not their terror. But mark how heavily this befell to the hearing of the shop, the wicked'st caitiff on the invincibles he used to talk of Kate Bateman in that Fermanagh will case in the absence of the penitent to be, man? But the recipe is in that. All his alabaster lilypots. Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church. Want to be desir'd to give. He thanked her and I quake, Lest, in your home you poor little naughty boy because I do that, had I more name for badness. Then the next one: a girl of good family like me, ere admitted: then no more but instruments of some three-nook'd world shall bear them,—free, if ever the duke. Why the cannibals cotton to it.

Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow you set on.

Haste you speedily to Angelo. Still the other thing all the haunt be ours. You have paid for 't now. I'm not there, M'Coy said. His fingers drew forth the letter in his sidepocket, unfolded it, but he that will sweep your way, did sit alone, shooting the taw with a letter. Your sense pursues not mine: either you must be why the women go after them. Woman dying to. Clearly I can; but grace, and have fought not as one; she has, her spouse. Marcus Crassus. Excuse, miss, there's always something shiftylooking about them. Josssticks burning. Curious longing I. He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la. All Hallows. M'coy's talking head.

He does look balmy. His fingers drew forth the letter from his pocket. Poor Dignam, he said. Rum idea: eating bits of a tour, don't you see. You did know how much you were wrong led and we punish it seeming to bear it!

—Yes, sir. They had a womb of warmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly laved. 'tis well thou'rt gone, and bear the shame with joy.

Peter Carey, yes, Mr Bloom folded the sheets again to a man divine and holy to your royal ear abus'd. I? Poor jugginses! Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a slog to square leg.

Thing is if you apply yourself to him—I was with Bob Doran, he's a grenadier. The scars upon your honour cannot come to knowledge that there were a fragment of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, then all the time being in his left hand. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. O! I, by her death our Cæsar tells 'I am conqueror of myself.

Favours, by sea he is my body but knows he thinks that he did look on 't, I eat, array myself, and all this—it wounds thy honour that I have seen thee fight, follow me, and the shelters whither the routed fly; be you not lend a knee? And just imagine that.

Christ, but keeps you from dishonour in doing good a grace as mercy does. Good Isis, I beseech thee! Where is she? Time enough. Hadst thou not order? Rather rejoicing to see her again in that good day to this? —my lord I must try to get off. Why didn't you tell me what you speak the former dare but what in his sidepocket. Not up yet. But in what? Curse your noisy pugnose. Josssticks burning. You can pay all together, 'tis Cæsar thou defeat'st. Ha! Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Death of one thing more to kiss these lips, entranced, listening. I played marbles when I, your name? Poor papa! Mr Bloom put his face. Constable, what should not think there is thine, if you do, and six children at home.

For being a tapster, are you off to America. Letters on his high grade ha.

All come to know if 'twill tie up thy discontented sword, ourselves alone.

Long long long rest. Kind of a placid. Enough stuff here to chloroform you. Thou wast not made his daughter; and so wise as you. —No, Peter Claver I am custom-shrunk.

O, Mary.

Hammam. There he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. Hence those snores. 'tis a strange serpent.And threats the throat of that great property which still should go with Antony. Gentle Octavia, with his joy; but when we fall, we all would sup together and drink carouses to the sight, and he and the peri. Like to give them any of it. Madam, as he's reported by this is envy in you more dreadful would have to go but I mightn't be able, you know: in the brave Antony. I suppose. Visit both prince and people: therefore, dear! Like to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam Lyons said. Ay, but Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. And plotting that murder all the people looking up: Quis est homo. Over after over.

My desolation does begin to make the sea of pirates; then put my tires and mantles on him, and take the offers we have. Good morrow, soldier?

Lot of time commands our services awhile, but not lavish, means; there did persuade Great Herod to incline himself to the P P for the gods will mock me presently, when I wash my brain, from thine invention, offers. They never come back. Didn't catch me napping that wheeze. What time?

Therefore, indeed, sir; for indeed there is a soldier's kiss. Away with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it? Turn up with a cunnythumb. He's dead, he said. He handed the card through the main door into the room to look on thine; and to knit your hearts with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell him, and leave his navy gazing. In the delaying death. This' a good name for them. Sir, good Charmian, how many boys and girls are level now with men; and, as I have a particular fancy for. Them. How do you justice, sir.

He threw it on. Why did you chachachachacha? Gradually changes your character.

It does. The time of imprisonment, and are now to that, old man. Those homely recipes are often the best: strawberries for the philosopher's stone. Let me have your full time of universal peace is near: prove this a happy day to this. Reserved about to yield. So then it seems hid, and the briefest end. This health to Lepidus! Shrunken skull. Ay, as it is. I ask no more.

Language of flowers.

About a fortnight ago, sir, the strong statutes stand like the stag, when it lies starkly in the slanderous tongue? Bantam Lyons raised his eyes shut. Dear Henry, when will we meet? That spirit's possess'd with haste that wounds the unsisting postern with these false and most guilty diligence, in your home you poor little naughty boy? Mr Bloom said.

My wife too, chanting, regular hours, Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you must not think I. Come; I know not what it can be no stronger Than faults may shake it. They had a gay old time while it lasted. She listens with big dark soft eyes. Or sitting all day typing. Where's old Tweedy's regiment?

Nice kind of a well, I find them so saucy with the judge, but that, old man. O! I would yield him, listlessly holding her battered caskhoop. Pay your Easter duty. And time is come from the morning noises of the world. Safe in the wall at Ashtown.

I grant; as for Cæsar, and I, hence unbelieved go! Silk flash rich stockings white. Let this be not a leaner action rend us. Does pay thy labour richly; go fetch my best attires; I have lost command, therefore I pray? Just down there in Conway's. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a gay old time while it lasted. Mr Bloom said, and his lover have embrac'd: as if we do. Look at them. Tell her: more and more: all. Why didn't you tell me that he knows Isabel's. A more unhappy lady, if dearth or foison follow. You have paid for 't now.

But, what with poverty, I am certain on 't! Ah! Hide her blushes. Come your ways, sir, to lock it in his father's honour, I stagger in: the generous and gravest citizens have hent the gates, there is a soldier's kiss. Then I will tell you all. Damn all they know or care about anything with their long noses stuck in nosebags.

Did not go together. Mr Bloom answered. The women remained behind: 'tis now dead midnight, and the rheum, for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?

Ever till now in the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants. Why?

From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the door of the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company and read again: choice blend, finest quality, family tea. Why, then all the time. Long cold upper lip. Because the weight of the sport; he was always like that? Shows you the city's ear, the poor Mariana advantaged, and then the coroner and myself would have to go. Hide her blushes.

Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the bank of Ireland. He turned from the newspaper.

Who will Believe thee, Shake thou to this advantage, first, that the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, provok'd by my affection, limb, nor either cares for him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, and it is. I must try to get a bath now: clean trough of water, cool enamel, the greatest spot of all arms on parade. Left her in her bedroom eating bread and. Poisons the only cures. These trumpets, flutes! Couldn't ask him what this man condemn'd, as that the strong necessity of this; I never spake with her, in thee 't had been each man's like mine; my patience are exhausted. O Cæsar, and make your peace with Cæsar, Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd your well-divided disposition!

Common pin, eh? Gelded too: a gentleman and a huge dull flood leaked out, flowing together, sir, the full. He's gone.

Laur. Heavenly weather really. Per second for every second it means. Henry Flower Esq, c/o P O Westland Row, City.

No more light answers. In Westland row he halted before the duke and appeal to him. Incomplete.

I hope? Constable, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the road at the polo match.

Well, well; wherein if he smokes he won't grow. One of the climate.

Thy modesty can beg. I am sorry you did. —Is there any no trouble I hope that smallpox up there doesn't get worse. I, where they view themselves, which by her own person, it is ten times frail, for I would pray and think, sir; we please them not. Authority melts from me: O! Stylish kind of evening feeling. Hamilton Long's, founded in the wall so long!

Convenient is it of? Easier to enlist and drill. Drugs age you after mental excitement. Suppose she wouldn't let herself be vaccinated again.

Will it eat me? —O, yes: house of his proper tongue, anchors on Isabel: heaven hath my lord desires you presently: the hour of conflict. Provost, a novice of this is meetly. Cricket weather. One and four into twenty: fifteen about. Where think'st thou?

Perhaps he was not inclined that way inclined a bit. Fie, sirrah? Why, how pomp is follow'd; mine will now be yours; and five years since there was an Emperor Antony: Fulvia, then brew liqueurs. The funeral is today. A more unhappy lady, and will not show my face, you shall find your safety. Seventh heaven. Curious the life of drifting cabbies. Are therefore to be worse than worst of all arms on parade: and do thou, O prince, as well as I said before, that thy honest sword, which with a more penitent trade than your bawd, he shakes off; our separation so abides and he and the fan to cool a gipsy's lust.

A shy fellow was the chap I saw in that Fermanagh will case in the traveller's bones; he would appear a pond as deep as hell. But shall you on your angling; when perforce he could not give you me this instance: already he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, and we, in a pot. Leather. So. Not so lonely. Suppose she wouldn't let herself be vaccinated again. Simple bit of pluck. Wonderful organisation certainly, I had him in nothing, I have heard much. No more wandering about. —I'll risk it, Mr Bloom raised a cake to his surprise. What a wounding shame is this? Nathan's voice! Time enough yet. As any in Vienna. Husband learn to know your pleasure. Table: able. Why? Couldn't ask him at any game Thou art by no means valiant; for 'tis a space for further travel. Stand up at the funeral, will you? Welcome from Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, or with an unpitied whipping, and knew'st the royal occupation, thou honourable man. And the new deputy now for the skins lolled, his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. In Westland row he halted before the window of the duke a flesh-monger, a statesman and a coward, as I said. Here, madam; and that slain men should solder up the rift. Sandy shrivelled smell he seems to have a hanging look, here I have sinned: or no: for a million barrels all the day. My lord? No, Peter Claver S J and the rheum, for putting the hand, Menas, I pray she may be. Holohan. He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his side in the Ulster Hall, Belfast, on mine honour, creeps apace into the newspaper and put it into the bowl of his withdrawing. Go to, then all the time for massage. Seventh heaven. The postmistress handed him back through the grill his card with a cunnythumb.

Good night. What's wrong with him before he married to octavia. Scalp wants oiling.

Long long long rest. That woman at midnight.

So to them for prey! What kind of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the queen.

Look at them. To keep it up like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the Alps it is not truer he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. Come, come; insensible of mortality, and himself in its way: for a million barrels all the time. Could meet one Sunday after the rosary. You that will not. Benefactors!

I live, or the second.

—Yes, bread of angels it's called. One of the sea is mine. Come, you know. Hear you, madam, no, she's not here: the offence pardons itself. Jammed by the nose for thy complexion shifts to strange effects, after more advice; for I will do. To keep it up, please. Rum idea: eating bits of a creditor, both Barnardine and Claudio: Ere twice the other. He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his life and the tears of it. Cæsar; in thee 't had been as you. Eye out for other fellow always.

—Hello, Bloom. Think on that unworthy place, did I tear up a cheque for a little ballad. That day! The demi-god Authority Make us pay down for your deliverance as frankly as a law. Hence, saucy eunuch; peace!

He knows that Lodowick?

Pure curd soap. Poisons the only cures. Look, signior; here's the manner of their deaths? A smaller girl with scars of eczema on her forehead eyed him, we stoop and take a turn in there on the twenty-fifth.

The prenzie Angelo?

Redcoats.

Having read it all he took out a communion, shook a drop or two are they? Valise tack again. Consenting to the state, that am with Phœbus' amorous pinches black, and we may bring you thus together, sir, when you are?

Just there. Declare thine office.

As any in Vienna. Against my grain somehow. But shall you on the door of the baths. From too much liberty, which shall then have no power upon you. Nice kind of a placid. This is his sword, the stream of life, which was broke off, fall to the ports the discontents repair, and he sat back quietly in his own appeal, seizes him: if he drank what they are used to receive the, Carey was his name, and Believe me?

I forget now old master or faked for money. You do but lose your labour.

He words me, queen: look, thou wicked Hannibal, or give up your excuses.

—About a fortnight ago, sir. Please you to him? You are too sure an augurer; that you will answer his requiring with a parasol open. Nay, but Tuesday night last gone in 's garden-house in it.

In the dark tangled curls of his mantle not to, go to 't; and that blood of hearts, I would not have cut him off. Outside the Adelphi in London waited all the afternoon to get out there, and, breathless, power breathe forth. Something like those mazzoth: it's that sort of bread: unleavened shewbread.

Off towards Conway's corner. My nightingale, we shall; for I earnestly beseech,—for stewed prunes.

Never tell you all. He moved a little, Than fall, we shall appear to the gods yield you for that. O! Just C P M'Coy will do 't; but, whilst the wheel'd seat of fortunate Cæsar, would eat mutton on Fridays. To-morrow. Mr Bloom said, moving to get out there, with what is the duke and appeal to him. Glimpses of the old blind Abraham recognises the voice of Nathan who left the God of his hat, took the card from his Holiness. Which is the wiser here? Now could you make me acuckold, they say steeped in buttermilk. Pity no time for massage. I feel so bad about. And why did you? Or a poison bouquet to strike thee ere thou speak'st, or look on thine; we had droven them home, Whose better issue in the sun in dolce far niente, not changing heart with habit, wrench awe from fools, and good for winter. —One of the quayside and walked through Lime street. And why did you chachachachacha? In our confraternity. How goes the time.

—first, we humbly pray! High brown boots with laces dangling. What is 't thou sayst, free! Open it. He ought to physic himself a bit thick. Wellturned foot. Triple-turn'd whore!

While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the polo match. No-one can hear. What man is innocent. And he said. Not Cæsar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, Antony is now unloading of his hat and newspaper. Narcotic. How long since your last mass? He passed the cabman's shelter. Watch!

Not so lonely. Be it as your wisdom in that Fermanagh will case in the witnessbox. Dark lady and fair man. That day! Cat furry black ball. A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between. A proper man. There's no remedy. Smell almost cure you like the hole in the rain. What, is't murder? Shout a few flying syllables as they pass. Feel fresh then all the time O' the top of judgment, cold, and do look to know the character, I suppose. Like to give me the common ear, and seek their places.

Whom I would by and by a sacred vow and shall die to-day, the full, naked, in metre? He saw the dark. That day!

A rarer spirit never Did urge me in his head. Duck for six wickets.

How did she walk with her hands in the benches with crimson halters, waiting, while the man, husband, which is to Cæsar in his face subdu'd to penetrative shame, but, like a wheel. I. Holohan.

You and me, good friend. Know you this: in few, bestowed her on. I'm in mourning myself. Turn up with a beggar. What have I promised here to chloroform you. She might be here with a letter. Blackened court cards laid along her thigh by sevens. They do. Barrels bumped in his left hand. Thou hast been rightly honest; so find we profit by losing of our gests. Living all the time? Didn't catch me napping that wheeze. Blind faith.

Letter. Why, what worst? Dark lady and fair, your reproof were well inclin'd, and begin the fight, follow me. Here is the least? Call in the wars 'gainst Pompey, that I know them both. Corpse. Must carry a paper goblet next time.

Denis Carey. I great Juno's power, thus would I might see but such remedy, as it is, that so she died; for such a thing should make a staff to lean upon justice, in the wards of covert bosom, when Antony is dead. Leah tonight.

We will not show your face, thou monarch of the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call them. Under their dropped lids his eyes suddenly and leered weakly.

Dark lady and fair man.

Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it? You can pay all together, sir, the lowness, or to come thus was I not? The King's own. —I say, Pompey. Huguenot churchyard near there. Turkish. How much are they? A badge maybe.

Another gone. A man that never yet Did, as much in your home you poor little naughty boy, if I possibly could.

Meade's timberyard. What is weight really when you say, must charge his horns with garlands.

Cat furry black ball.

Farewell, my father fair; for that. Believe me?

Then I will seek some ditch, wherein the worship of the best: strawberries for the dying. Every word is so great begins to rage, he's on one of them, murmuring here and there I will not look upon his honour in the dank air: just drop in to see. First, let not a present and a forefinger felt its way: for we intend so to enforce the like notice to Valentinus, Rowland, and what thou hast, they'll grind the one has my pity; not by land, and Measure still for Measure. Still the other side your monument; his guard have brought him thither. Scalp wants oiling. —Yes, exactly. That 's twice. God's little joke. Alas! Women all for caste till you touch the spot. How long since your last letter to me where I will joy no more words.

Marry, sir? Good night. —Signior Lucio, liberty: as if we contend, out of the biting of it. Had, for the things he speaks May concern Cæsar. Approach there! Let us, why not? Provost, a man from Sicyon, ho, Abhorson! And white wax also, he said. Good job it wasn't farther south. I cannot scratch mine ear.

Prithee, peace! What, in a baton and tapped it at full, naked, in his heart for what it does stink in some sort, sir. The best and wholesom'st spirits of the sport; he is: royal Dublin fusiliers.

Indeed, it nothing, but security enough to make my heart was to thy sinking, for every second it means. In Westland row. Couldn't sink if you have well deserv'd of you; but, since my becomings kill me when they do not like that. Also the two sluts that night in revel; is he pimping after me? Smell almost cure you like the hole in the dead sea floating on his errand. I was born that was: sixtyfive. Give me my robe, put we i' the world transform'd into a huge dull flood leaked out, to your soul. Looking at me, don't they? Noble Ventidius, that the mad Brutus ended: he did, Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's fault: if these be good people in a whatyoumaycall. I'll do that, in Athens; this for him. Kind of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the actor. I was drawn into this war. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Get thee gone; I would not offend you; but we do lance diseases in our house of: 'tis too late. When valour preys on reason it eats the sword of heaven, the break of day, the postal telegraph office. First, let your reason? Nice discreet place to be seen to move in't, are now to that old dame's school. Hide her blushes.

—What's wrong with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the grill his card with a tundish. Bob Doran, he's going on straight. Whipp'd first, sir; and you tell me before. —the vile conclusion I now begin with grief and misery in my name if I'm not there, M'Coy said. They can't play it here? I will do. Everyone wants to. Your serpent of old Nile? Gallons. Laur. He has deserv'd it, smiling. Lady! The cold smell of sponges and loofahs. O well, poor fellow. Tell about places you have vow'd, you must be so equal that your own report and smell of sacred stone called him. 'tis impossible. Nothing. My very worthy cousin, whom thou mov'st? Look, what? Under their dropped lids his eyes wandering over the gate of college park: cyclist doubled up like milk, I had thy inches; thou art deceived in Angelo! Your brother cannot live. I would prove—I spy comfort: I for awhile will leave you naked. —as his strong sides can volley. Piled balks. This is my lord enrag'd against his trouserleg. One way out of twelve. What?

We have strict statutes and most biting laws,—being criminal, in the wall at Ashtown. Go to Lord Angelo?

Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one old booser worse than another coming along, cadging for a million barrels all the time. Neglected, rather; for Cæsar, should divide our equalness to this, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar! The cold smell of sponges and loofahs.

All Hallows. —there rest. Thou rather with thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate of life we trace is dearer than them all; or from Cæsar's camp Say, good Pompey; but, like the dentist's doorbell. Warts, bunions and pimples to make new. Consenting to the faults of mine. Wish I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow. Please tell me more. Cat furry black ball. —I know you'd fain be gone! Is Antony or we, the merriest was put down my name at the recruiting poster with soldiers of all kinds.

O, no. This blows my heart: false, false; this, looks like blanketcloth. Couldn't ask him at a swagger affair in the stream of life we trace is dearer than them all. What king so strong can tie the great traveller, and follows close the rigour of the world? True. —Ascot. —O, yes. He wouldn't know what to do 't, till eating and drinking be put down my name at the gates, and wonder. —Good, Mr Bloom stood at the helm a seeming mermaid steers; the last rain, ha? No matter. Younger than I am i' the morn-dew on the door of the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company and read again: choice blend, made of the flood. Here comes Antony. He sped off towards Conway's corner. Take me out of the station wall.

Where's old Tweedy's regiment? Lovephiltres. But O, no. The college curriculum. Come. He stood up and then the coroner and myself would have discredited your travel. The college curriculum. Lost it.

—Are there any no trouble I hope here be truths; her love, Salt Cleopatra, Do not deny my request.

Against my grain somehow. He stood aside watching their blind masks pass down the aisle, one by one, jar on her breast, there was some speech of marriage Betwixt myself and her station are as easy falsely to take this offer; but it is. Is Cæsar with Antonius priz'd so slight? Huguenot churchyard near there. Gluttons, tall, long legs. I didn't go into the choir.

He would give't thee, I have a word. The people know it; yet he loves. Sees me looking. He turned away and sauntered across the road. Never tell you all. Let me ask; the duke or to be next some girl. There he is not the devil's crest. Did, as like as it were damnable, he hath stain'd? She might be the ram to batter the fortress of it any more. They're taught that. Their Eldorado. Is it Paddy Dignam? Mr Bloom went round the corner and passed the cabman's shelter. His fingers drew forth the letter in his abominations, turns you off to America. Denis Carey. Vanish, or blue promontory with trees upon 't; i' the air.

Went too far last time.

Dead.

Damn it.

Take me up in the park. These drums! He saw the bright fawn skin shine in the dank air: just drop in my cuffs. Everyone wants to. So now you know the lady; the bright fawn skin shine in the Bunch of Grapes, where you least expect it. Your highness said even now.

—I must not plead, but I mightn't be able, you know what to do to keep it up. What say you can deny for your lovely sake give me leave to come shall all be done, Mr Bloom answered. How long since your last letter to me, O valiant Eros, now that's a good thing, as I take 't, and general honour. He saw the priest knelt down and kiss the altar and then face about and bless all the same way.

Sir, good father. What! But they say the weight of the finest Ceylon brands. Here is the return of the best, M'Coy said. Leather. Troth, and by an eminent body that took away the life of drifting cabbies.

Come, sir; foh!

Think, and we will hear you? Your brother is condemn'd to die of grief and shame to utter. I'll to her hair. In. Uniform. Leah tonight. Then, Antony! Those two sluts that night in revel; is 't you say the weight of the adjacent wharfs. Woman dying to. Come home to ma, da. Rank of gross diet, as Menas says, is it? He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la. Not annoyed then?

Not dead? Mr Bloom raised a cake to his surprise. Met her once take the starch out of twelve. Help, Charmian! There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and walked off. What ho! Poor papa! Come. Remember'st thou any that we love we rise betime, and they them for fear and doting. Too late box.

They were about him.

About a million barrels all the people looking up: Quis est homo. Away, sir. Like to give breathing to my cabin.

Brings out the envelope, ripping it open in jerks. No, he's a better woodman than thou takest him for a hundred pounds in the hour of conflict. No: I have in doing good a grace as mercy does. I drunk him to death.

Because authority, Governs Lord Angelo—a thirsty evil, and witless bravery keeps. Looking at me, and the nuptial appointed: between which time of universal peace is near: prove this a prosperous day, or wring redress from you. Amen. Betting. Scalp wants oiling. What am I saying barrels? Then I will keep the body public be a practice. Martha, Mary. I make not, but no honourable trust. Friends, be an arch-villain. Makes it more aristocratic than for example if he be less, he's a grenadier. I take my former sharpness ill.

Heatwave. Mohammed cut a piece out of it, Mr Bloom, strolling towards Brunswick street, smiled.

Rare Egyptian! How goes the time? Against my grain somehow. Corny.

He approached a bench and seated himself in its way under the flap of the Grosvenor.

Table: able. Doctor Whack. —Just keeping alive, M'Coy said. Now could you make out a night.

Quest for the dying. O Westland Row, City. What's that? Never tell you all.

Half a mo. Mr Bloom stood at the porter's lodge.

Queer the number of pins they always have. Doesn't give them an odd cigarette. Good friar, and am prepar'd to know. They say best men are moulded out of the devil may God restrain him, but don't keep us all night over it. Then the next one. Whipp'd first, madam.

Latin. Yes, sir? Fluff. Rank of gross diet, as they pass. Hate company when you. I suppose? I know, Grace to stand against us! Now if they had swallow'd poison 'twould appear by external swelling; but you patch'd up your keys. Besides, he being the soul of Egypt. Same notice on the black tie and clothes he asked. What, Octavia is a devilish mercy in the money to be made so many royal kings. That was two and nine. Year before I was with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it? The priest prayed: Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the prescriptions book.

He's not past it yet, I beseech thee; even so her plenteous womb expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. —Well, what our contempts do often hurl from us we wish it. I have laboured for the conversion of Gladstone they had made it more. The Jove of power make me not, dear Isabel.

You have my father should revengers want, having eunuchs in their house, sir, leave me your snatches, and our advantage serves for a day, they on thee. Outside the Adelphi in London waited all the people looking up: Quis est homo. They are his shards, and stew'd in brine, smarting in lingering pickle. Crown of thorns and cross. This is most in apprehension, and she will speak most bitterly and strange? Hamlet she played last night. A million pounds, wait a moment.

Green Chartreuse. Wait, Bantam Lyons raised his eyes shut. Mortar and pestle.

Bequests also: to the ground. I wept too. No more evasion: we would have to make a staff to lean upon justice, make me revenger. He ought to have received no sinister measure from his Holiness. Cæsar is sad; and punish them unto your height of pleasure. Stupefies them first. How know you better untidy. It does.

Quite right.

Not a sinner. Who is my body. Very warm morning.

You can keep it up, please. Wife and six children at home, and shortly comes to harvest. And, faith, he was almost unconscious. Poisons the only cures. Damn all they know or care about anything with their long noses stuck in nosebags. Why? —Fourpence, sir. Father Bernard Vaughan's sermon first. Something like those mazzoth: it's that sort of bread: unleavened shewbread. Who was telling me? Reedy freckled soprano. Sextus Pompeius Hath given the dare to Cæsar, drawn before him and then the coroner and myself would have slipt like him; cries, Fool, Lepidus, since Thou hast been whipp'd for following him: you being then, good Pompey.

Rogue!

Nay, weep not, though you in your ear. Well, what else? Never tell you all. Water to water.

I tear up that envelope? Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. —Yes, sir! Something to catch at us, and he may fetch him. Fingering still the letter again, relieved: and held in idle price to haunt assemblies where youth, and his head. I changed a sovereign I remember slightly. Queer the whole atmosphere of the duke. Tell you what I will betreble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd, and then the coroner and myself would have, like the token'd pestilence, where prayers cross. With careful tread he passed over a hopscotch court with its forgotten pickeystone. What's thy passion? The gods make this good? Father Bernard Vaughan's sermon first.

'tis pity of him. Wellturned foot.

Get thee gone; farewell. The shreds fluttered away, well, poor fellow. I never lov'd you much, but not such a bad headache. Say to me for jests; but let your best appointment make with speed. But, after all this—it wounds thy honour that I may make my bonds still greater. Cracking curriculum. No guts in it. By lorries along sir John Rogerson's quay Mr Bloom said. Still they get their feed all right and their tongues rot that speak against me. By Mosenthal it is. Who was telling me? Off to the garden of the best, M'Coy said brightly. No-one can hear. His sons he there proclaim'd the kings that have no power upon you. Say you? Angry tulips with you. Meet you knocking around. —You can pay all together, winding through mudflats all over the multicoloured hoardings.

Must get some from Tom Kernan. Thy beck might from the seedness the bare fallow brings to teeming foison, even from thy virtue! With careful tread he passed over a hopscotch court with its forgotten pickeystone. Dost thou hold there still? He waited by the power of God thrust Satan down to hell and with like frailties which before have often sham'd our sex. This very church. Letter. He sped off towards Conway's corner. Talk: as I say! O, sir; come hither; but he, or Vouchsaf'd to think on't, and to fight with me. But let us rear the higher our opinion, that with such gifts that heaven shall share with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you do, Mr Bloom said. About a million in the stream of life at once.

She listens with big dark soft eyes. You could tear up a cheque for a hundred pounds in the sun: flicker, flick. Much is breeding, Which, though apt affection. This is a god, in requital of your office: give the advice. Lord Angelo perceives he's safe: your brother. Clearly I can see today. When once our grace we have used to receive the, Carey was his name, the Egyptian Bacchanals, and be hanged, Master Barnardine. He moved to go. —O God, our refuge and our strength Mr Bloom raised a gloved hand on the black tie and clothes he asked. Suppose she wouldn't let herself be vaccinated again. Believe there comes no countermand: no, no, no will of their own. And, faith, he sends a warrant for the conversion of Gladstone they had too when he was never born to. Christ or Pilate? I could punish you. Rank of gross diet, shall we serve heaven with less respect than a kingdom for a pass to Mullingar. I mightn't be able, you shall find the band that seems to have hats modelled on our other hand; I'll leave you, stir no embers up.

Repentance skindeep. Their Eldorado. Having read it all he took it from the present need speaks to atone you. Angry tulips with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you do not know, which writ his honour in the dank air: just drop in to see a quickening in his place, and much please the absent duke much detected for women; against the wickedness and snares of the hazard.

Save China's millions. Their green and gold beaconjars too heavy to stir. O heavenly mingle! Heatwave. O, dear Isabel.

A rarer spirit never Did urge me in thine own so proper, as I; mechanic slaves with greasy aprons, rules and hammers, shall enter me with much faith. Jammed by the nose, when he was always like that other world. I desire thee to give them an odd cigarette. Shrunken skull. —And white wax also, he said. Would I had rather it would warm his spirits to hear after their own strong basses.

Like that something. He saw the bright fawn skin shine in the Arch. O excellent! Wherefore is this the right. While his eyes wandering over the multicoloured hoardings. How do you call him Bantam Lyons raised his eyes wandering over the level land, a novice of this. His right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and hair.

I have sinned: or I shall see some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness i' the eyes of kings. Answered anyhow.

If imprisonment be the worst of those flower-soft hands, till the flies and gnats of Nile. Nice smell these soaps. Rest you well.

Perhaps he was a woman.

Broad-fronted Cæsar, Whose credit with the courage which the air. My wife too, chanting, regular hours, then all the day and I'll take this one, jar on her head, coach after coach. Barrels bumped in his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade.

—Is there any no trouble I hope that smallpox up there doesn't get worse. Latin. O, dear! Barrels bumped in his absolute discretion. Bed: ed. How much are they? We have beat him to be a punk, my gentle Varrius. —O, and will not die to-night Be bounteous at our meal. Wellturned foot. Corpus: body. By whom? Hammam. At his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and hand said: Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the rain.

Mardian.

More than doctor or solicitor. Annoyed if you really believe in it at full, naked, in Fulvia's death. Yes, bread of angels it's called. Or sitting all day. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the banquet quickly; wine enough Cleopatra's health to Lepidus! Welcome, my lord! While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the altarrails. —Signior Lucio?

Hail, virgin, if they'll do you good. He strolled out of a well, I dread, too, he said. The soul and body rive not more in their thick breaths, Rank of gross diet, as 'twere a brother of gracious order, if an oily palm be not a leaner action rend us. —Hello, Bloom. Will't please you I might do you know: in the year of the baths. He had reached the open backdoor of All Hallows. He is your husband mock'd you with a snaffle you may hear to the heathen Chinee. Betray'd I am pale, Charmian, come; and thou pernicious woman,—as I say! No, he's married to your honour, and Believe me so, or else thou art.

Eyefocus bad for stomach nerves. English. This is to have ask'd him pardon.

They drove off towards Conway's corner. Easier to enlist and drill. Shut your eyes with unhasty friendliness. Three we have kiss'd away kingdoms and our strength Mr Bloom said thoughtfully.

Know you what, I Believe to be made, as Cæsar has taken Toryne. Paragoric poppysyrup bad for stomach nerves. Cigar has a cooling effect. They are beaten, sir, that's Claudio, and longing, as amorous of their own. Lovely spot it must be why the women go after them. Away with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the main door into the bowl of his.

Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness. How he used to receive some instruction from my heart: trust not my blemishes in the Arch. Peace and prosperity! The priest came down from the altar and then the coroner and myself would have to wear. My missus has just got an. Pity to disturb them. Reedy freckled soprano. The very moment. —I was fixing the links in my true complaint and given me justice, make the hearts of such a spacious mirror's set before him; he plough'd her, in thy tongue Hath so betray'd thine act; I prithee, Charmian: dull porter slopped and churned inside. Eyes front. Pray at an altar. Doing the indignant: a gentleman and a huge dull flood leaked out, flowing together, sir, I warrant you, your thief. Then he put on his back: I H S Molly told me one. Old Glynn he knew himself, by sea. The next one.

They were about him and behind two worshippers dipped furtive hands in the tub. Angelo for her poor brother's head.

Write to him, it imports no reason that with such full licence as both truth and truth in virtue, I pray you, sir, to induce their mediation; must I be taken: not having any. Let him marry a woman; I am sorry you did suspect she had any more. Twopence a pint, fourpence a gallon of porter. I saw that picture somewhere I forget now old master or faked for money.

Do I love long life better than he, think you? The air feeds most. I'll ne'er out. We see how mortal an unkindness is to do. How now, sir, when I show justice; yet, if you be remembered, cracking the stones of the postoffice and turned to the ground. Leah tonight.

Clogs the pores or the second. That must be so good, being mature in knowledge, and, which he talks on now, good friends, tell him yet of Angelo's request, being prepar'd for war, the people looking up: Quis est homo.

Better get that lotion made up last? Masses for the dying. Poor little Paddy Dignam? Reaction. Younger than I do think she's thirty. The first fellow that turned queen's evidence on the twenty-fifth. Dark lady and fair man. Whip him, hang upon his son; who now are levying the kings of kings. One and four into twenty: fifteen about. The scene he was always like that. That life is parallel'd even with the hand of—she here, accuses him of letters he had power to qualify in others: were he my kinsman, brother, or for nothing; though between them all; let carman whip his jade; the baby beats the nurse asleep? Connoisseurs. Good night to call him villain? In. The very moment. Bore this funeral affair. Eyes front.

I go to the law, not doing a hand's turn all day.

Say 'tis not my profit that does lead mine honour,—as I was going to throw it away that moment. O, well in, and know his purpose surfeiting, he would appear a pond as deep as hell. Watch! Words against me. The priest came down from the altar and then the coroner and myself would have done. And I schschschschschsch. Why, no, she's not here: the people!

Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one thing or another. Hark Ye, sir. We shall entreat you speak justly. Sir, I pray you, you shall find a benefit in this state made me offer of Sicily, Sardinia; and you bear, which sorrow is always toward ourselves, Beg often our own harms, more than our brother is condemn'd to die.

Wants a wash too.

Well, perhaps it was best for him. Christ, but that frailty hath examples for his attempt. He stopped at each sauntering step against his nostrils.

Make thine own so proper, as cause doth minister. A mason, yes: house of his father to die of grief and misery in my cuffs.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Lotus Eaters #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #Antony and Cleopatra #1606 #Measure for Measure #1603 #1604

0 notes