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youareboththebestbestfriend · 4 years

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This is LONG, I’m sorry. I have a theory about how Hoax & the 1 are linked. So I relistened to Hoax with lyrics ready, because I’ve heard it before but didn’t really LISTEN. I did now and I feel like, what ended Kaylor, is that Karlie did betray/deceive her with the Scooby thing. Or maybe she didn’t sell her out, but she didn’t STOP working with him, she didn’t end a contract. In a way, she choose HIS side. I feel that’s what Hoax is about (see lyrics below). I feel like the 1 is actually coming to terms with losing the person Taylor thought was the one. I think Hoax was written before the 1. I like that the ending track is host, because when you replay the album, it continues the story by saying she’s trying to feel better about it. So here it goes… (hehe)

HOAX

My only one // refers back to “the 1” (see below)My smoking gun // I think Taylor “killed” the relationship

My eclipsed sun // Karlie being the sun, but eclipsed, meaning in the shadows/not visible

This has broken me down // She’s hurt by her decision to end it

My twisted knife // Call it what you want reference or maybe TIWWCHNT or LWYMMD about backstabbing

Stood on the cliffside screaming, "Give me a reason" // For Karlie betraying her/SB drama

Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in // faithless (disloyal) love’s the only hoax (deception)

Don't want no other shade of blue but you // Never seen that shade of blue (Karlie Konfirmed)

No other sadness in the world would do // She’d take her back (I think, this is also a theme in more songs on folklore)

My best laid plan // Plan of coming out or going public together?

Your sleight of hand // skilful deception, she really didn’t see it coming

My barren land, I am ash from your fire // swaying as the room burned down (DWOHT reference)

You know I left a part of me back in New York // She moved to NYC (for her)

You knew the hero died, so what's the movie for // all my heroes die all alone (the Archer, where she asked “would you stay?”)

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars // (see below the 1)

From when they pulled me apart // Scooby Braun drama

You knew the password, so I let you in the door // I don’t like your kingdom keys, they once belonged to me (LWYMMD reference)

But what you did was just as dark // Dark side, I look for your dark side (the Archer)

Darling, this was just as hard as when they pulled me apart // SB drama obviously hurt but the fact that Karlie wasn’t on her side was just as hard

My only one, my kingdom come undone // KOMH reference??

My broken drum, you have beaten my heart // Didn’t she use drums in KOMH at rep tour as well??

THE 1

I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit // Better than when writing Hoax Been saying "Yes" instead of "No" // Seems like she avoided meeting with people/being depressed and finding her way back to normal life I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn't though // I forgot which song where she talks about them/her seeing someone/her ghost? I hit the ground running each night, I hit the Sunday matinee // both distractions to feel better You know the greatest films of all time were never made // ‘cause cruelty wins in the movies (the Archer) I guess you never know, never know // she didn’t expect deception, see Hoax And if you wanted me, you really should've showed // showed Taylor that she was on HER side not SB And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow // she talks about herself, bleeding refers back to Hoax, how much that hurt (scars/beaten heart) And it's alright now // she’s doing better But we were something, don't you think so? // this seems like looking back on good memories And if my wishes came true it would've been you // pretty clear she wished Karlie would have been the 1, also refers back to some songs on Lover (including title track) In my defense, I have none // she has NO ONE, pretty clear bearding/Joe breakup For never leaving well enough alone // I never leave well enough alone (ME! Reference) Having adventures on your own // I think she wants Karlie to choose for herself, “my ride or die” reference You meet some woman on the Internet and take her home // I feel this refers to “stalk you on the internet” in gorgeous. Maybe Karlie was the one stalking her and taking HER home? I feel like she’s telling Karlie it’s OK to have adventures on your own and then let history repeat itself but making the ending different? We never painted by the numbers, baby // we were different, not following rules a.k.a. sounds like not following heteronormative standards You know the greatest loves of all time are over now // I don’t actually know this reference, it does give me the Archer vibes (would you stay?) I guess you never know, never know // this reminds me again of the archer, wishing you knew if someone would stay, I guess you never know if someone betrays you If one thing had been different would everything be different today? // pretty sure this is about if one of them was a man, their love wouldn’t have had faced many problems they had today – problems that may have broken them up For digging up the grave another time // I think this is referring back to Hoax, where she did dig up the grave, this is why I think Hoax was written before the 1

Other lyrics I think may relate to this theory:

Cardigan (Karligan) But I knew you, dancing in your Levi's drunk under a streetlight // Karlie was a Levi’s model and the drunk under a streetlight gives me YAIL vibes To kiss in cars and downtown bars was all we needed, You drew stars around my scars, but now I'm bleeding // Cornelia street/Delicate vibes and Dress “put your mark on me, a golden tattoo”, the now I’m bleeding refers back to Hoax/the 1 'Cause I knew you, stepping on the last train, marked me like a bloodstain, I knew you, tried to change the ending // she knew Karlie and hadn’t seen deception/Hoax coming and tried to save their relationship but Karlie didn’t show (Hoax) as in; stop hanging/working with SB It does feel like in the end of Cardigan they made up? Taylor did talk in Hoax about how she’d want no other sadness than that love. Basically all of Exile screams break-up, not specifically related to the hurt/deception in Hoax (explicitly). Except maybe the “you never gave me a warning sign/I didn’t see the signs” about betrayal. It does give me big KOMH vibes with the whole, “you’re not my homeland/crown anymore”. It also references bearding (you laugh but the joke’s not funny reminds me of how miserable Karlie always looks when she’s out with Josh). When I hear the song I think of Taylor as the Man singing, and Taylor singing Karlie’s POV.. My tears ricochet does reference quite a few things. We gather here, we line up weeping in a sunlit room And if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes, too// she mentions the fire and ashes in Hoax. I feel like this is when they decided to have a talk, and the possible break-up. Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe, all the hell you gave me? // this breaks my heart, basically same as “screaming Give me reason” in Hoax Because I loved you, I swear I loved you till my dying day // Lover and CIWYW vibes I didn't have it in myself to go with grace // Don’t blame me reference? Or maybe she wanted to like, break up with Karlie and not be sad but strong and she couldn’t be strong? And if I'm dead to you why are you at the wake? // Feeling like Karlie still checks up on Taylor with their shared friends maybe? Or uses her for clout. Cursing my name, wishing I stayed, look at how my tears ricochet // I’m confused at this part We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean, some to throw, some to make a diamond ring // Josh/Karlie marriage? You know I didn't want to have to haunt you, but what a ghostly scene you wear the same jewels that I gave you as you bury me // I feel like the haunting relates to releasing folklore which she drags Karlie with her basically. The jewel reference is pretty obvious, I guess. 'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave // the times before they went through negativity together (kimye drama? Kissgate?) And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home // Cornelia street vibes when Taylor left her own home And you can aim for my heart, go for blood but you would still miss me in your bones // I don’t know what this means but it hurts And I still talk to you when I'm screaming at the sky // at the sun, perhaps? And when you can't sleep at night you hear my stolen lullabies // this relates to a song about her ghost following the other person? I cannot remember what song And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves, you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same // I think this is a reference to Karlie not wanting to break up (wishing I stayed), so by choosing SB’s side, she killed Taylor and therefore their relationship/herself You turned into your worst fears, and you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain, crossing out the good years // I feel like this could be both of the girl’s POV. The fears remind me of the archer and DWOHT. Crossing out the good years because it hurts. The good years where Karlie did stay by her side. I feel like mirrorball is before that. It’s positive, shining just for you like the sun/Karlie shines for her. I’m still a believer, I feel like they have had their fights but she’s still a believer everything will be okay? I think this is written before Hoax? Seven is unrelated but gay AF, I mean “hiding in the closet” and “I still love you” about a girl with braided patterns. August is about their affairs/love even though Karlie was never hers, but unrelated to the Hoax/the 1 theory I think. It’s more like a good looking back but being sad? Okay so there’s a LOT in this is me trying. I feel like it’s Afterglow 2.0. She knows she crewed up, this is her trying to make up. Then there’s the I tried pin. I feel like this part might be about a different time in their relationship? I don’t think it references SB drama and deception. I feel like it’s also HYGTG 2.0? Maybe if Afterglow and HYGTG had a child, haha. I think illicit affairs is Delicate 2.0 and about their sneaking around. I don’t think it’s related to Hoax. It’s very gay tho, “You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else and you know damn well for you I would ruin myself ...a million little times”. This also makes me feel like Taylor was ready to come out (together) but Karlie wasn’t. I feel like we always thought it was the other way around? I feel like invisible strings is about clues that when you start to identify as queer you look back and you’re like “it makes so much sense”. The three-year trip down to the lakes reminds me of big-sur but I don’t understand that timeline. That was in 2014? That’d mean they’d been together since 2011? But I think they met/started seeing each other after VSFS 2013? Or maybe it’s not about Karlie, however the dive bar and gold have BIGASS delicate music video vibes. Like, the golden paper brought her to that dive bar in the video. So Delicate/invisible string are probably related. While mad woman might reference some things in Hoax, I don’t think it’s about that. I feel like it’s kimye or Scooby. I don’t think Karlie was poking a bear. I think she made a mistake that cost them their relationship, but not that she did it on purpose. The cursing my name, wishing I’d come back makes me feel like Karlie regrets it as well. I feel like epiphany is about her mom or maybe even COVID? Not related to Kaylor? I do think Betty is about Karlie ElizaBETTY Kloss, but I think the mistakes she refers to are more like the problems they may have in Afterglow/this is me trying. Fights, but not the one that ended it all. Peace screams The Archer to me and with that anxiety. Would it be enough if I could never give you peace//who will stay? Also DWOHT, about her fears. “I’d give you my sunshine” actually makes me feel like this is Karlie’s POV. I’m having an epiphany, what if it is Karlie’s POV looking at the sunshine line. That would make sense about “I see your brother as my brother” from Karlie’s POV because Taylor actually has a brother! Maybe this song is Karlie’s POV, because she can’t leave Josh? So she can never give Taylor peace? I don’t know, could be either POV! Not related to Hoax though.

Conclusion:

I think Hoax is about Karlie choosing SB side, whether she sold Taylor out, didn’t tell her about that deal and knowing, or not stopping working with him AFTER the SB drama. I feel like, in Lover Taylor was still optimistic about their relationship. Lover, Cornelia street and Daylight being the biggest clues. She was going to name the album Daylight (literally a synonym for sunshine “Karlie”). She changed it to Lover, which makes me think Karlie = Lover. I think they did probably have fights problems, I mean even DWOHT in reputation etc and Afterglow in Lover. I think some songs of folklore are also about those fights (Exile, this is me trying, Betty and Peace), but I think Hoax is about Karlie betraying her and Taylor breaking it off. I feel like the 1 is one of the last songs written (maybe with Cardigan), where she’s doing a little better? I feel like the break-up was quite recent, the SB drama happened in June 2019 I think?? Lover was already produced then, even if they may have broken it off at that time. I’m the biggest Kaylor and this album hurts AF. But there’s so many Kaylor references, I hope both of them get closure. I really thought they’d make it, but I guess you never know... Kookies for the ones still reading. Reply me with your theories/additions. :)

#kaylor #gaylor swift #taylor swift #hoax #the 1 #masterpost analysis #folkaylore #let me know your thoughts #sorry this is so long #woopsie

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rebornghostgirl · 5 years

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Character Sheet!

Basics FULL NAME. Athena Tesla Scott

PRONUNCIATION. Uh-the-na

NICKNAME. Nutjob, thena, crazy science girl

GENDER. Cis female HEIGHT. 5'5

AGE. 14 when she died, but has grown to 19... Her body accommodates from a 14 year to a 19 year old body as well as mentality. Making the character appropriately 18+.

ZODIAC. Aries SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English, High school German, Bits and bytes, Gaelic.

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 ! HAIR COLOR. White EYE COLOR. Both are silver eyes... Dark brown in life

SKIN TONE. In ghostly form she's a very darkish blue. If she tries to seem more lifelike she's a chocolate skinned black girl. BODY TYPE. Very thin and pettite, she forgets to eat and is in her lab reading to really have some weight.

ACCENT. Oof, she has a british/Scottish accent that mixes in with a southern one. VOICE. An alto. Often sounding bubbly and cute. Shaky at times, but when she yells she sounds more stern.

DOMINANT HAND. Ambidextrous at birth. POSTURE. Hunched over something always. A book, computer, invention, most of the time you'll always see her back till she turns to you and pops it. Other than that she stands up in a relaxed posture.

SCARS. She has scars on her hands and fingers from hurting herself with her science experiments. Her thighs have slashes from a related experiment. She has a stabbing mark in her back from the betrayal of someone she thought was her friend. She has scars that look like lightning covering her body starting from her left arm and coarsed it's way to her left shoulder and torso. All scars are covered by her attire minus the hands.

She doesn't like to talk about them.

TATTOOS. None BIRTHMARKS. None MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). Her white short hair as well as her eyes are one. She also sparks from her body when she emotes and it changes color for each mood. She can have multiple colors for mixed feelings. Red for angry, orange for hunger, yellow for happiness, green for sick, blue for sadness, indigo for tiredness, purple for thinking, white for excited, black for fear, pink for lovesick. When she's neutral she emits gray and teal sparks.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 ! PLACE OF BIRTH. In the basement of a university science lab. HOMETOWN. London

BIRTH WEIGHT. 6pounds, 8 ounces BIRTH HEIGHT. 16 inches

MANNER OF BIRTH. Natural, mother had help from medical students.

FIRST WORDS. Safety glasses on...

SIBLINGS. Aries and her dog pallas which she considers a sister. Adoptive brother Timmy whom she adores.

PARENTS. Dr. Zeus Washington Carver and Dr. Metis Curie (Yes my greek mythology fans or/and science history buffs you are sensing a pattern with the names here)

Adoptive parents are Sen. George and Madame Maddie Scott

Beauregard Ghast: the Ghost Host

PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT. Dr. Zeus is a power hungry mad biochem scientist hell bent on world domination. He believes that since the world is burning up that he shall be its savior; unfortunately thaat plan involves killing millions of innocent people.

Dr. Metis was a fresh biochem graduate and fell in love with him before she knew of his evil tendencies. She got pregnant and had twins: Athena and Ares. Zeus was angry and lashed out at her at the news imploring she gets rid of them, but Metis wanted them and when they where born Zeus forged her signature to give up the babies and she dissapeared without a trace. Its unknown where is she today.

Ares grew up in a abusive orphanage while Athena was adopted into a life of luxury. But it didn't made her happy. Her adoptive father and mother was neglectful to her and her little bro, Timmy. George really just wanted the people of colors' votes.

In death Athena found the haunted mansion after seeing a Disney ad. Where she found Beau and he has became her adoptive father who loves and respects her. She loves him dearly.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 ! OCCUPATION. College student, bio major...

CURRENT RESIDENCE. Gracey Manor, aka The Haunted Mansion. She uses her portal gun to attend Monster's university. (She goes there because she can *blows raspberry*)

CLOSE FRIENDS. Ares (recently they used to be enemies), Pallas, Drossy (kind of, she has a feeling she doesn't like her), Caitlin: the butler of the mansion(low key calls them mom),

RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Single

FINANCIAL STATUS. I could write she's a ghost she don't need money but nah... Right now she has 3 dollars and is in thousands of dollars in debt. Thanks college!

DRIVER’S LICENSE. Apparently she does have a licence for every vehicle you can think of. But she drives wild and has a lead foot.

CRIMINAL RECORD. None, but her science antics has caught the attention of the FBI numerous times, unbeknownst to anyone. I mean the girl went to space numerous times. Secretly, she steals alcohol from the cellar...

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 ! SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Pan ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. Pan

EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch

LIBIDO. High. Really high. I mean... To the moon high...

TURN ONS. Sensitivity, hugs, impressing her with extensive knowledge. Telling her that she's yours and yours alone, Role playing that she's your slave with safety words. (Trying to keep it kinda pg), Any roleplaying with safety words, exploding stuff in a lab. Finding a new piece of scientific knowledge. Mutual pleasure

TURN OFFS. Lies, breaking a promise, not making sure she's all right with anything, the partner isn't having any fun, hurting her sensitive areas. Mentioning her scars.

LOVE LANGUAGE. Introverted and shy, she's not an easy one to get close to. She has walls and barriers around herself, but once she trusts you and has fallen in love. She loves you to death and will protect you fiercely. She makes sure you're all right before herself, even if its not good for her. She's very cuddly and will hug, kiss, and cuddle you as much as you want. She does want your attention though and will squeeze her way near you to get it. She's a little yandere-ish but not psycho and will give you some space. But its the obsessive clingy behavior that makes her in the catagory. Tootie from the fairly odd parents is the best example.

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. She's a little yandere-ish to everyone she loves so she always wants to spend time with them and will over protect them. This is due to her neglectful parents emotionally abusing Timmy and especially, the death of Pallas. But she can be reasoned with and she will try to control her anxiety. She apologizes constantly and doesnt want to harm anyone so she makes sure everyone is alright. Other times She's a little distant but only cause she thinks you need space.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 ! CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. 'Lucky Orb ft. Hatsune Miku' or 'Contact by Daft Punk' couldn't pick

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. In the lab doing science s***, or in her room doing homework. Or She's all over the mansion exploring, taking samples, trying to figure out that interdimentional staircase, in the pool. Gazing at the organist from afar. Playing with Pallas. Riding her motorcycle. Binge eating food, scowling Ebay for Hatsune Miku figures and stuff. And then passing out, sleeping for hours after doing all of that for 2 days straight.

MENTAL ILLNESSES. Depression and anxiety.

PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. None

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED: Left brained. But does lean a little to the right.

PHOBIAS. Insectiphobia and Arachniphobia... Just all bugs... Fears that her loved ones will get hurt by her hands or by something else she could've protected them from. Fears that She's useless and crazy.

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. Off and on. Some cases she knows something is going to work and is proud. Other cases she thinks she's going to fail and that she'll get yelled at again. She's working on it though. Learning how to fail, why its ok to make mistakes, that betrayal isn't the end of the world. That yes bad things happen but good things will too.

VULNERABILITIES. Physically: Her sparks can give her location even when invisble. She hasn't figured out how to control them yet. They can also catch something else on fire and electrocute somebody else. If its bad you can smell her burning.

Weak knees... Go for her legs.

Emotionally: Go for the guilt trip. She can easily be made to think something is her fault. She can also be manipulated into thinking 'rationally' and may end up doing a henious act when she thought she was doing good. Easily pressured to do anything you want especially if it will 'help' people.

TAGGED BY: @asktheghosthost

I tag @unto-myself-together @aliypop @r0bofactory @inkandfeatherdusters @catinabag @ask-the-hatbox-ghost

And anyone who wants to to it.

#original charcter #charcter sheet #athena #athena scott #ill do the zombie in my icon later

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artpharos · 5 years

Note

‘you’re important to me.’ with Soda! =DDDD

The first time, Lambda accepts Asbel as his host.

Sophie hates him. Hates what he’s done. Hates what he is. Hates that she has to die to kill him, and also that he is only reason why she’s alive. Hates the dull thrum of his heartbeat that pounds against her skull, unending, unceasing. But then he saves her father, her world, and she isn’t sure what to think any more.

The second time, after her father dies, her brother offers his body up to the creature. It’s not an act of blind faith any longer- Lambda was there when Albert was born, had taken part in raising the young lord from boy to man. Albert trusts him despite the monstrous appearance, but Lambda still gives her an uneasy glance when the offer is presented.

She nods, her eyes never leaving his.

The third time, it’s her niece. Sweet and gentle, her personality is untouched by the creature within her. Lambda protects her throughout her life, her laughter at his unheard jokes often ringing throughout the halls.

There is a wistfulness in that, Sophie finds. Wondering what Lambda thinks, what Lambda feels.

She doesn’t say a thing when her niece is laid to rest, and stands close to her grieving family as the coffin is lowered into earth and soil.

It’s only when she lifts her eyes, up to the window from the manor beyond, that she sees a ghostly silhouette, a hand pressed against glass. Sad, red eyes almost hidden by bangs.

The fourth is Asbel’s great-grandchild, and the fifth continues the line. Countless Lhants, all who offer to share their life with a creature that can never truly live. And as time passes, she can hear his heartbeat slow. See the sorrow in his eyes each time his beloved friends leave his charge. The jokes come lesser now, and he’s more prone to silence with each passing host. If not for his constant protection in times of need, Sophie would almost forget that he exists.

But he does exist, lingering and quiet.

After the eighth, enough is enough.

She finds him by Asbel’s grave, as she always does. A gnarled, clawed hand pressed against stone. He doesn’t greet her, doesn’t seem to even notice she’s there.

Until she rests her hand on his.

He doesn’t say a word, but she can see the heartbreak and sorrow in glimmering red depths. Long gone is any sense of hostility. Just… sadness. Loneliness.

“How can you bear it?” His voice is like metal scraping on stone, harsh and raw.

She doesn’t need to ask what he means. Careful of his spikes, she wraps her arms around him, leans against his spindly frame. It surprises her how cold he feels, as if he’s about to fade away in the mist.

“I have to,” she whispers. “They entrusted me with their hopes and dreams. I have to make sure that they bear fruit.”

He shudders, and his head bows. “They could all have lived, if they chose it. I could have given them eternal life.”

She runs a hand over his spines, over his claws. Pressing the palm of her hand against his, she tries to will some warmth back into his body. He glances at her now, though whether his focus is on her or somewhere else, she isn’t sure.

Gently, she murmurs, “You know how painful it is to live forever.”

A choked sob breaks through the dark. He crumples, but there is no tears springing to inhuman eyes. She holds him tight, buries her head in a space by his neck.

“They were beautiful,” he cries. “Bright and burning and brilliant. They warmed this world simply by their existence. They were… important, to me.”

She knows. Oh, she knows. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she recalls the faces, the lives, the family she’s left behind. But they’re gone now. And they are here.

She waits till his shaking stills, but she keeps running her hand along his back, stroking the monster that she once would have killed. His heartbeat is a dull thudding in the back of her mind, slow and sluggish, but it’s his sorrow that she feels most intensely, so akin to her own.

“Let me be the next."

She speaks quietly, unable to trust herself with the words. Doesn’t know what to say, when he shifts and meets her eyes with his own.

"Protos Heis-” he begins, the rejection sure in his voice.

“Please.” She grips the gnarled fingers, presses them close to her.

“I could not ask that of you."

Pain, soft and quiet. Fear, deep and sharp. The loneliness in his eyes marks the gap between them. But after all these years, after all the time… she’s done as he’s asked, and watched over him. Done nothing more, despite how close he is to breaking.

Gently, she reaches out. Cradles his monstrous head in her palms. Wills him to see, to feel… "You’re not alone."

The red of his eyes dim, a soft sigh escaping his body. He leans into her touch and the ragged beat of his heart eases. Calms. Until he tugs her hands aside.

"Why?” he asks. “Why would you even offer this, to me?”

She wonders that herself. Wonders how she could even consider offering herself up to this creature- this monster. Wonders when it was that she stopped seeing her enemy in his eyes and started seeing her pain, her sorrow. Wonders when she started caring, started worrying, for Lambda’s sake.

She steps closer to him. Tentatively, her fingers trace the edge of his head, coaxing his gaze back to her own. His breath is soft, like a faint gust brushing against her cheek. And his eyes watch her with apprehension.

“You’re important to me.” Her words are uncertain, afraid. But they also sum up her feelings towards this creature that she’s shared her whole life with; her partner and friend.

He sighs, leaning against her now. Gnarled hands easily wrap around her frame, but she doesn’t mind.

It’s enough to ward off the night.

#tales of graces #soda #i mean it's probably a tad melodramatic but screw it #i need melodramatic soda

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ali-bhutto-blog · 4 years

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A forgotten kingdom

Feature published in Newsline.

On the edge of the desert in Khairpur District, a cluster of ghostly bungalows and ornate halls of audience make up the remnants of a royal court. They point to an earlier era of aesthetic fusion between East and West. Casting its protective shade over these is a hilltop fort. Its towering ramparts have gazed down at travellers for over two centuries.

These relics, camouflaged in dust in the village of Kot Diji, belong to the Khairpur branch of the Talpurs, who ruled Upper Sindh from 1783 till 1843. Thereafter, until Partition, they continued to reign over an autonomous Native State carved out for them by the British.

The approach to the village of Kot Diji from the old national highway is marked by a sudden change in topography. A flat and fertile alluvial plane is interrupted by the emergence of isolated hillocks. These limestone formations are part of a greater ridge of hills that runs south from Rohri, known as ‘Gharr.’ The sweltering heat of a May afternoon is overshadowed by a mountain of rainclouds moving in from Naara and the Indian border – the eastern peripheries of Khairpur District. Kot Diji is located at the exact spot where the fertile green plain that lies to its west gives way to the desert that sprawls eastward, to Jaisalmer and beyond.

After the Talpurs seized Sindh from the Kalhoras in 1783 and divided it up between themselves into three independent units, Mir Sohrab Talpur established his court in Khairpur. Having two sons from Talpur wives, Mir Sohrab took a third wife from the house of a Marri nobleman. This marriage gave birth to his youngest son, Mir Ali Murad I. In 1830, while at Sohrab Manzil in Khairpur, Mir Sohrab mysteriously fell off its balcony while watching a Muharram procession, and died soon after. The current members of his family suspect that he may have been pushed off. They feel it would have been particularly difficult to fall off a balcony that was surrounded by a chest-high brick wall.

Mir Mehdi Raza represents the current generation of the Talpur dynasty. He is the son of Mir Ali Murad II and a direct descendant of Mir Sohrab (seven times removed). According to Mir Mehdi, “Some members of the family took exception to Mir Sohrab adding his youngest son’s name to his will. The fact that his mother was not a Talpur made it unacceptable to them.” Nevertheless, Mir Sohrab’s youngest son, Mir Ali Murad I, ascended to the throne in 1842, the year General Charles Napier arrived in Sindh.

The more discerning visitor may notice that the old structures in Kot Diji and Khairpur, in all their magnificence, would not have made practical residences. And while today they may be passed off as ‘palaces’ or ‘bungalows,’ their owners confirm that with the exception of one or two, they were not meant to be living quarters, but darbars (courts). At the time they were built, their owners preferred living in tents.

Mir Mehdi told Newsline that up until (and including) his great-grandfather’s generation, living in tents was the norm for the Talpurs, who were nomadic Baloch tribesmen. “While women and children lived in houses,” he explains, “it was considered unmanly for men to do so.” The heat was never a problem, he says, as “these people were out hunting for most of the time, even in peak summer. Therefore, they were adjusted to the hot climate.” The tents were usually made of velvet, or in some cases, tiger skin, the latter having been gifted to Queen Victoria by Mir Ali Murad I. Mir Mehdi learnt of these habits from his father, who was told by his father, and in this manner, details of day-to-day living were handed down from one generation to the next. They are backed up by the memoirs of British travellers, who witnessed them first hand.

Edward Archer Langley, a former captain of the Madras Cavalry, spent a substantial period of time in the court of the then Rais (turban-holder), Mir Ali Murad I, in 1857-8. In his memoir, A Narrative of a Residence in the Court of Mir Ali Moorad, while commenting on the Mir’s bungalow in Kot Diji, Langley observes that the Mir “Never occupies the house; but passes his days in a Landee [shed] in front, and sleeps in a small tent close to the building.” Langley further notes, “His Highness… rarely sleeps three nights running in the same spot, for his habits are exceedingly nomadic, and even when in a city he generally sleeps in a tent.”

The bungalow Langley refers to, no longer exists. In its general vicinity stands Shahi Mahal. The previous bungalow, reports Langley, had interiors painted in fresco and was located “in the midst of a garden of… twenty acres, enclosed with a high wall.” Within this wall roamed numerous wild boars and crosses between wild boars and English sows, which would often charge at gardeners and court jesters alike, much to the amusement of the Mirs. The layout of this darbar, Langley describes, was similar to the old residency of the British political agent in Khairpur.

British explorer Charles Masson passed through Khairpur in 1829, while Mir Sohrab was still alive, and saw his court, Sohrab Manzil, from the outside. In his Narrative of Various Journeys, he notes that the Mir’s “palace” was located in the “the very centre of the bazaars,” that its boundary wall contained battlements, and that “from the exterior, the only prominent object is the cupola of the masjit [masjid], decorated with green and yellow painted tiles.” By the time Langley saw it, almost three decades later, “the ruinous old house,” which stood within “the crumbling walls of a mud fort,” had fallen into disuse and was completely empty. “As the place reminded Mir Ali Murad of his father’s death,” explains Mir Mehdi, “he avoided staying there altogether.” Instead, he would pitch tent in a garden called ‘Dobagh,’ on the outskirts of the town.

Langley, it appears, did not have an eye for detail. Limited perhaps by cultural differences, he fails to elaborate on the appearance of the tents, and insinuates that living in them demonstrated a lack of civilisation. Marianne Young, wife of Captain Thomas Postans of the Bombay Army, on the other hand, displays a more acute sense of observation. In her May 1843 article for The Illuminated Magazine, a monthly publication based out of London, Young describes Mir Ali Murad’s tent as being “made wholly of bright crimson cloth, richly embroidered, and surrounded with an outer wall, to keep off the people. The interior,” she continues, “was decorated with hanging lamps, rich Persian carpets, and large cushions of purple velvet, worked with seed pearls and gold, while the entrances were sentinelled with a body guard, dressed in a uniform similar to that worn by the soldiers of the Punjab.” She adds that “Of all the princes of Sindh… I was most charmed by Meer Ali Moorad of Khyrpoor, who is the very beau-ideal of a strong-hearted and independent chief.”

The custom of living in tents was not primitive, but served a practical purpose. It enabled the Mirs to remain in a constant state of transience, which best suited their passion for sport. Being land-owning barons, it also allowed them the mobility to inspect their territories and subjects. There would be little inconvenience or fatigue, since their ‘home’ would move with them wherever they went. At the same time, constantly being on the move provided security. An enemy could not plan a strike, since it would have been hard to predict where the Rais would decamp to next. Langley reports that Mir Ali Murad “will never allow his people to know where he means to halt for breakfast, and his intending sleeping place is even kept a more profound secret.”

Langley again generalises when he says that “The entire household furniture of Khyrpoor can be comprised in a single word, ‘the charpoy’… for neither table nor chair does His Highness possess.” Young, in her article, describes the “magnificent posts of a charpoy, or native bedstead,” being “encrusted with precious stones, emeralds and rubies; the value of each… estimated at two hundred guineas.”

Since only women and children lived indoors, the oldest known zenana of the Mirs of Upper Sindh is located inside the fort of Kot Diji, built in the 1780s by Mir Sohrab. The zenana’s ceiling was, according to Mir Mehdi, once inlaid with decorative mirror work, which served the function of multiplying/reflecting the light of candles and lanterns at nighttime. From 1811 onwards, it was here that Mir Sohrab spent the latter part of his career – in a tent outside the zenana – watching Mir Ali Murad I grow up. By the 1850s, the zenana had already moved outside the walls of the fort, and into the village of Kot Diji.

Like families, bungalows and fortresses too have generations. The first generation of monuments of the Mirs, described in detail in nineteenth century memoirs of various British visitors, were made when the family first established its foothold in Upper Sindh. Other than the fort at Kot Diji, none of these remain. The second generation of bungalows and autaqs (halls of audience) came up in the 1890s, during the reign of Mir Faiz Mohammad I. It is these that can be seen today in Kot Diji and Khairpur. Like their predecessors, they were used to receive and entertain important guests. According to Mir Mehdi, Mir Faiz Mohammad’s advisors and viziers emphasised the need for impressive-looking darbars as tokens of sophistication and stature, where British officials could be hosted. And so, they were erected, explains Mir Mehdi, “to keep up with the Joneses.” Architect Arif Hasan points out, “They were made at a particular time, when there was a merger of the European revival styles and local classic Indo-Islamic architecture.” Thus, he says, they are a mélange of many styles.

In the late 19th century, an increasing number of halls of audience, based on a common prototype, could be seen on the estates of Sindh’s nobility. According to Dr Anila Naeem, Co-Chairperson of the Department of Architecture and Planning at NED University, “Colonial-vernacular hybrid architecture became a symbol of wealth, power and prestige. Hence we see examples of it all over the region, commissioned by the nobility and later by the upcoming class of zamindars or waderas.” Over generations, some of the darbars were transformed into living quarters. A number of these ancestral properties survive across the province.

According to Mir Mehdi, the sizzling temperatures in Sindh did not permit structures as elaborate and palatial as those found in princely states. While the layout was kept relatively simple, the focus of the design was to enable an effective cooling system and airflow. This is why the Mirs’ bungalows are surrounded on all four sides by arched verandas up to 12 feet wide. The thick, brick-and-lime-mortar walls keep out the heat in summer and the cold in winter. The diwan-e-aam, or the hall of audience, lies at the very centre of the structure, its ceiling significantly higher than the rest of the bungalow. At the very top of its four walls are windows (badwaan), through which hot air escapes the building. The latticework covering the verandas is lined with mats made of khus-khus leaves, which, if sprinkled with water from the outside, have a cooling effect on the air that flows through them.

Mir Mehdi’s grandmother, who witnessed the transition from this old-fashioned system of cooling to that of the air conditioner, never felt comfortable in the recycled air of the latter. But even as early as the 1850s, there already existed in the subcontinent, a precursor to the air conditioner, in the form of the thermantidote. This was a box about the size of an oven, containing a built-in hand-operated fan and windows on all sides that were lined with moist khus-khus. Langley saw one of these inside Mir Ali Murad’s darbar in Kot Diji.

Takkar Bungalow (‘House on the Hill’), in Kot Diji, was built to accommodate the guests of Mir Faiz Mohammad I. Located at the top of a steep butte, this impressive mehman khana (guest house) remains closed to the public as it is the current home of Mir Ali Murad II and his family, who occupy it when they visit their ancestral village. At all other times it remains locked. The narrow road that leads to it winds along the edge of a cliff and culminates at the bungalow’s old gate. The canon outside this gate was, according to Mir Mehdi, bought from Queen Victoria’s grandfather, King George III, whose initials it bears.

Takkar Bungalow was built in the Anglo-oriental style common in the 1890s. Its circular-shaped bedrooms are located at the four corners of the house, their walls surrounded by windows, to enable a maximum flow of air through linings of khus-khus. Some of these windows were later closed off and turned into wall closets (darri) and shelves. The rooms have been fitted with false ceilings – the original ceiling being too high to allow effective air conditioning. The latticework of the verandas has been replaced with meshes, to keep out mosquitoes. At some point in its lifetime, the bungalow caught fire and had to be repainted in the original style. “The new paint job is not a good one,” laments Mir Mehdi. Parts of the structure, one bedroom in particular, have been reinforced with concrete blocks, which take away from its aesthetic appeal. The mansion faces south, overlooking a two-level courtyard on the edge of a cliff. It was in this courtyard that Mir Faiz Mohammad pitched his tent, while his guests slept inside the house. On its lower level is a small, unkempt garden. The courtyard affords panoramic views from west to east. Mir Mehdi explains that a forest bordered the southern side of the hill up until the 1950s and black buck could be spotted around the peripheries of Kot Diji. Takkar Bungalow is unique in that its interior does not have an uplifting atmosphere like those of the other bungalows. Instead, a ghoulish sense of heaviness prevails. Mir Mehdi refers to it as a “house of horrors.”

The exterior of Suffaid Mahal, or ‘The White Palace,’ built as a darbar in the 1890s by Mir Faiz Mohammad I, displays a strong influence of nineteenth century Sikh architecture – its arches in particular. It is still used as an autaqby its current proprietor, Mir Ahmed Talpur, a cousin of Mir Mehdi. His family resides in the old zenana opposite Suffaid Mahal. The ceiling of Suffaid Mahal’s diwan-e-aam is, like that of most others, lined with wood and contains mirror work and floral patterns. According to Dr Naeem, this style of interiors exhibit a Persian influence that was also employed in Mughal architecture. Suffaid Mahal’s frescoed walls, however, have been retouched. And it is furnished with an antique swing and cabinets. Among the numerous old photos and portraits that hang on its walls are, an original lithograph of Alexandra of Denmark who was Princess of Wales from 1863 to 1901, and a photo of Lady Curzon.

“The protruding balcony, or jharoka, on the first floor,” explains Dr Naeem, “is a typical feature in the palaces and havelis of Rajasthan. Since this particular one faces towards the open grounds within the boundary of the bungalow, it is quite possible that it may have been used for ceremonial purposes by the royals, for public sightings, as was the tradition among the Mughals, and British royalty as well.” The Endowment Fund Trust (EFT) is currently repairing the pillars of Suffaid Mahal’s veranda. “We are using bricks from Rahim Yar Khan,” explains Hamid Akhund, secretary of the EFT, “as these are of the required thickness and are made of earth that doesn’t contain salts.” EFT is also in the process of rebuilding a boundary wall around Suffaid Mahal.

In the 1890s, Mir Faiz Mohammad’s son, Mir Imam Bux, hired a French nanny for his firstborn, Mir Ali Nawaz. The house built for her became known as Mandam Waro Bungalow, or Madame’s Bungalow. This home of Mademoiselle de Flo is one of Kot Diji’s best-kept secrets. It exudes a quaint and understated charm, owing to its smaller scale. Yet its exterior displays, arguably, the most intricate carvings and stucco work of all the bungalows in Kot Diji. Dr Naeem describes it as being “less Anglo and more oriental.” She says it is possible that the other bungalows too had carvings as intricate, and that they may have been spoiled due to alterations in the name of ‘renovations.’

Two opposite ends of this symmetrical redbrick structure open up into entrances while the remaining two ends have latticed verandas. Dr Naeem explains that deep verandas were a traditional feature of bungalows in Sindh, as they provided shade from the tropical sun and at the same time allowed the provision to enjoy the outdoors. The roof of Madame’s Bungalow is furnished with a small pavilion where Mademoiselle de Flo undoubtedly spent many a summer night. Geo-climatic conditions in the plains necessitated an architectural layout that, in light of the large retinue of domestics employed, would have allowed minimal privacy. Mir Mehdi recalls little or no privacy in the time he spent in Takkar Bungalow as a child. Dr Naeem points out, “the notion of privacy would have been very different for the people of those times and places than what we perceive in our urban context.”

In the end, it all proved worthwhile; Mir Ali Nawaz, reared by a French nanny, went on to attend Aitchison College, followed by the Imperial Cadet Corps in Dehra Dun. In 1921, he was inducted in the Chamber of Princes, in Delhi. Madame’s Bungalow, now empty and neglected, is in a state of disrepair and has not seen any conservation work. Mohan Lal Ochani, Project Director at the EFT, says that the main problem afflicting heritage sites across the province is that of rising dampness. “There are several methods of dealing with this,” he explains. “We can either inject the structure with synthetic material that prevents salinity from affecting the paint (also known as damp proofing), or,” he continues, “we can use the Aquapol system.” This groundbreaking new method, invented in Austria, involves the installation of an antenna-like device in the ceiling of a building. The device uses wireless technology to dehydrate the walls above and below ground level. It has a coverage area of 500 square metres and costs Rs. 1,595,000.

Also in a state of decay is Shahi Mahal, the court of Mir Faiz Mohammad I, constructed in the 1890s. It stands to the northeast of Kot Diji, adjoining the nearby village of Abad. Unlike the other bungalows, which are located inside Kot Diji, Shahi Mahal is surrounded by agricultural fields and as such, has a pastoral feel. It remained a court until the 1920s, when, under the reign of Mir Ali Nawaz, Khairpur State adopted the British legal system. The frescoes on its interior are more detailed than any other in the current bungalows of the Mirs of Khairpur. And unlike any of the other bungalows, the ceiling of its main hall is arched. The exterior has, on three sides, porticos varying in detail and design, which serve as main entrances for the public. On the fourth side, which is the back of the building, is a columned veranda, at the corner of which lies a segregated entrance for women: a stairwell leading to the upper level. This stairwell has crumbled and all that remains of it is a pile of bricks. Referring to the smaller rooms/wings that surround the main hall of audience, Dr Naeem explains that these were either used for “private meetings and conversations that could not be carried out in the main public hall,” or as “resting chambers by the royalty.”

A similar concept applies to the layout of Faiz Mahal, Mir Faiz Mohammad I’s court in the town of Khairpur, also built in the 1890s. “Its east wing,” explains Mir Mehdi, “consists of royal chambers, for the sovereign to prepare for royal ceremonies, as well as six waiting rooms.” The west wing, on the other hand, comprises eight waiting rooms for high-ranking courtiers, nobility and visiting foreign dignitaries. “On the first floor,” he continues, “are two corridors overlooking the darbar from either side, from where the zenana would watch the proceedings. The central tower contains two rooms, which were formerly the library and billiard room.” On the second floor, at the top of the central tower, lies a room that provides views of the garden and city. In the hall of audience, a photo of the wedding ceremony of Mir Faiz Mohammed II in 1932, shows the Nizam of Hyderabad (the bride’s cousin) in attendance, accompanied by his two famous daughters-in-law – Princess Durr-e-Shehvar (daughter of Abdul Hamid Khan, Turkey’s last Ottoman Emperor), and her cousin Princess Niloufer, who would, in the course of that decade, be renowned internationally for her beauty.

Behind Faiz Mahal lies Dilkusha Manzil, once a zenana, but now used by the Deputy Commissioner of Khairpur as his office. In the vicinity of the Mahal is the Summer Laandhi, a guest house where, according to Mir Mehdi, Lord Kitchener briefly encamped at some point during his tenure as commander-in-chief of the Indian Army, between 1902 and 1911. An orchard near Faiz Mahal housed a prison in the days of the Khairpur State. “Prisoners used to assist palace staff and gardeners until the system was modernised and the jail was turned into a technical training institute for convicts,” says Mir Mehdi. “The products that were made included blankets, which were sold to the military, and other items of basic need. The income from the sale of these was divided into two equal portions. One was provided to the families of the convicts as a means of support, while the other half was collected and handed to the prisoner upon release.”

Mir Ali Murad II, Mir Mehdi’s father, currently resides in Faiz Mahal. He ascended to the throne in July 1947, shortly before Partition, at the age of 14, after which he attended Cambridge University. “The decision of whether to remain independent or join India or Pakistan was a burden thrust upon him at a young age,” explains Mir Mehdi. “There was immense pressure on the family, from the British, to join Pakistan, as they felt it would be beneficial for us.”

The family tradition of living in tents had faded away by the 1930s, during the reign of Mir Faiz Mohammad II, who, having attended Mayo College in Ajmer, followed by Oxford University, was more Anglicised than his predecessors. Mir Mehdi himself attended the State University of New York (SUNY), from where he was suddenly called to the front lines in 1995 to help deal with a territorial dispute. The husband of the then sitting prime minister, had made attempts to purchase Khairpur House in Karachi as well as the one in Lahore, explains Mir Ahmed. “He went so far as to threaten to forcefully occupy these properties. But instead,” laughs Mir Ahmed, “the only thing he occupied was a prison cell, after his wife’s government fell.”

The residents of the village of Kot Diji are predominantly Jaths, Khashkelis, Chandios, Lasharis and Gopangs. Some of them are descendants of individuals who had been in the service of the Mirs over a century ago, as accountants or munshis. “Some people work in banks, while others run dhabbas,” says Mir Ahmed, “but there is still a lot of unemployment. And there are power outages for 12 to 18 hours everyday.” He explains that the flour mills that have been put up outside Kot Diji have provided some locals with work. Gopangs tend to be peasant farmers and Jaths have taken up jobs at stone-crushing plants set up by Sachal Engineering Works (Pvt) Ltd. Pointing to the limestone buttes around the southern and western peripheries of Kot Diji, Mir Ahmed explains that these, along with others in the Mehrano and Nara regions, had been leased out by the Mirs to the Frontier Works Organisation as quarries.

Sher Khan Rajput, a labourer, makes his way home in the long shadow of the fort at the close of day. Although his children are educated, he says that the Mirs are his family’s only hope and guiding light. While Mir Mehdi maintains a distance from politics, his cousin, Mir Shahnawaz Talpur (also known as Mir Shaanar) made his political debut in the 2013 general elections. “Both Mir Mehdi and Mir Shaanar are honest men who treat their people in a respectful and just manner,” reflects Rajput. “This is all that matters to me.”

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pauperpedia · 4 years

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Tuesday Brewsday 07: Milled Existence

So there I was playing in a Classic Pauper tournament hosted by Arctic_Ghost via Gatherling a month ago, when a discussion started by Galon345M revolved around a UB mill variant of Tortured Existence. Naturally we were all very interested, Arctic_Ghost and I especially, and I immediately got to brewing. Originally Arctic and I had brewed up a creature light variant utilizing Ghostly Flicker and Mnemonic Wall as a second engine alongside TortEx to eventually grind out a win. As playtesting commenced, I found that having two engines to have to figure out and prioritize proved to be too complicated with excessive clicking. My poor hands and wrists were exhausted after just a few games. After that realization I focused more on the TortEx engine where I trimmed, added, and swapped till I finally came up with a smooth 75.

4 Tortured Existence

4 Merfolk Secretkeeper

4 Iceberg Cancrix

4 Thoughtpicker Witch

4 Stinkweed Imp

2 Golgari Brownscale

2 Crypt Rats

3 Spore Frog

3 Grave Scrabbler

4 Careful Study

2 Deep Analysis

2 Stream of Thought

1 Snow-Covered Forest

6 Snow-Covered Island

5 Snow-Covered Swamp

3 Evolving Wilds

3 Ash Barrens

2 Bojuka Bog

2 Dimir Aqueduct

The namesake card of the deck, Tortured Existence is an obvious 4 of here. Out of all the TortEx decks, from Dead Dog to Rakdos Madness, only Abzan could afford to run less than 4 because they run Auramancer and Custodi Squire. The only way this deck is able to “return” copies of TE is with Stream of Thought, but that just puts it back somewhere in your newly shuffled library. Therefore it is absolutely essential to run 4 copies of TE because we want to see it early and have the option of a backup copy in case the one we tried to play gets destroyed or countered.

I’ve grouped the next cards into categories I like to call Mill, Dredge, Draw & Value, and Control. The deck’s “mill” package and the whole reason we’re playing this iteration are Merfolk Secretkeeper, Iceberg Cancrix, and Thoughtpicker Witch. The sly merfolk is a new addition from Throne of Eldraine and probably my favorite creature listed. On its own Merfolk Secretkeeper mills for 4 when you successfully cast if for its adventure, and is a tough blocker being a 0/4 when you play it as a creature. Recurring the merfolk after it dies in combat, from removal, or is sacrificed to our witch so we can continue the mill process is how the deck wins. Iceberg Cancrix is another creature that can mill our opponent if left unchecked, and just like the merfolk it can block for days keeping aggressive decks at bay. Cancrix is the whole reason we’re running snow-covered lands so we can squeeze out extra value and cards from our opponent. Thoughtpicker Witch fits our mill plan, recursion plan, and control plan. For just 1 generic mana you sacrifice a creature to look at the top 2 cards of your opponent, then exile one of them. You’ll want to get into the habit of setting up a stop on your opponent’s upkeep phase when you’re engine is set up so you can fully take advantage of this epic card and control what your opponent draws. The witch enables our deck to utilize TortEx every turn and continue returning our mill creatures back to our hand, slowly but surely ensuring our opponent’s doom.

The dredge creatures and backbone of the deck are no surprise here; Stinkweed Imp and Golgari Brownscale are the natural choices. Once we have about 5 lands (3 of which should be black sources) and TortEx out, you can safely Dredge back Stinky or the Brownscale every turn to further fill up your graveyard and/or recur your millers.

Grave Scrabbler is our only creature that I have listed in the Draw & Value category. This “mad value” zombie allows us to recur numerous creatures when using its madness cost in combination with TortEx, and can quicken our gameplan of milling out our opponent quicker. Moving on to the non-creatures we have careful study. The TortEx decks that run red do so because they want to play Faithless Looting. Well in blue we get to play it too, we just don’t have the ability to flashback Careful Study. However, we’re also running Deep Analysis which can be flashed back to fill up our hands or dig to look for TE. Stream of Thought is kind of like our reset button. It allows us to continue to mill our opponent while we put key cards back into our library to either help prevent us from milling ourselves, or grab copies or Tortured Existence which have been lost to us.

Last but definitely not least is our control aspect. We have Spore Frog and Crypt Rats. You see Spore Frog in traditional Golgari lists because it’s the one sure fire way to beat aggressive decks. Much like Fog Tron, we can continually loop Spore Frog to prevent our opponent from killing us through combat until we can stabilize and cast Crypt Rats to clear the board. In rare cases I could see Crypt Rats also being a win con as well.

The lands in the deck are selected to favor black sources early and make it possible to find our lone forest before we mill it ourselves. Since our win conditions are blue based, the deck is also hungry for blue mana. Ideally you’ll want to have 3 black sources for mana, 2 blue, and 1 green if you need Spore Frog before you begin dredging. As stated before, we’re also running Snow-Covered basics instead of the gain lands to get further value out of Iceberg Cancrix... whether or not this actually hurts the deck as a whole is up for discussion I leave to you to figure out.

3 Weather the Storm

2 Caustic Caterpillar

2 Faerie Macabre

3 Dead Weight

3 Mesmeric Fiend

2 Hydroblast

The deck theoretically and from experience has problems beating Burn, combo based decks, MBC, and Mono U Delver. I’ve decided to wholly focus on making those matchups better instead of gaining marginal improvements against decks that aren’t as difficult to beat. One interesting interaction you can use to your benefit is the dynamic between Mesmeric Fiend and Thoughtpicker Witch. When Mesmeric Fiend’s trigger is on the stack, you can sacrifice it to Thoughtpicker Witch and exile the card you choose for good. It’s kind of like a repeatable castigate and I’m honestly thinking about playing 1 mainboard.

Overall the deck is very grindy, as most TortEx decks are. Time management is crucial and can be your biggest enemy if you’re not careful. Funny thing about this deck is that I’ve never played with Tortured Existence before, yet the GB variant was one of the first decks I built after starting out on MTGO for pauper a few years ago. I can see after a week of playing it that it’s a very rewarding deck to a highly skilled player, of which I have test to become. Hopefully I can mill my opponent’s out of their tortured existence. I really like this deck and believe it can be improved even further, so please let me know if you have any additional ideas. Once again, special thanks to Arctic_Ghost and Galon345M for the idea and help in putting this together. If you have any brews you’d like me to write about, please email them to [email protected]. As always, I play the decks in the free tournaments hosted by gatherling every Tuesday night, and do a quick report on how the deck fared the following day on my Pauperpedia Facebook page. Till next time folks, have a happy Brewsday!

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libidomechanica · 5 years

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Taking them both

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for peace the honey of pale-mouthd propensities white of host to eye of song. All that

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I died. to you; there ransom—in the more harbrought I from a truce establishd porticos which make

your nipple; and as to a formidable ermine what held goodly vessel near to

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word, and then how I say, youll fling himself was vast and cleped its own next years, and raven whispering

over thee all my hearsed to lie Found, To my soft-handed hierarchy!

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what is not let yourselves were similes take that hides of my cue; it down to save in mine

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earliest hearts to make a tongue the Lady Psyche with a boulders, and a pond the

skull, Mr. Which he hadde write thy lyre, that glow on the care not know what stranger sunset, sir, where his

has not once happy valleys shiny thing what I am unkind, a rigid guarded sisters, which

to go of heaven shall have know? Brought, proceed; the brought? Prophets drew immortal, whiplash downcast

eyes have lovers, duly, daily comparison air; when freckles. To show the fancye eke needle-like a

mad with wonderd; even so wikked and morwe, whateer is roll the room were wretched his locked and

do — Ill answer lottery. Now hatred in, and debt, and for to be I know they what we,

thats good, shall prize the deep invents new position of freedom by. Need his long horse? And then in old rotten

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there no long as thick within my minds least by the floral pride could less famed for fears for oure charm, ineffable

peddlers show, then you draw the Dorian polishd that one day be alive? Gulbeyaz, too, unclosed to

do with proved. It made him with fetterd strains I do hate through flow; the vinegar fraction!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #362 texts

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ulyssesredux · 7 years

Text

Calypso

A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the dimpled pillow. Dombrowski and Mazurewicz at once. His interest gradually veered away from the gloom into the doorway: I'm going round the corner where the source of the Black Man, of her hair. He pulled the halldoor to after him very quietly, more, till the footleaf dropped gently over the Peabody Avenue bridge. I have a few left from Andrews. Her fansticks clicking. In his dream-light which played near Brown Jenkin. I found in a way. —And yet he sometimes shook with fear lest the noises he heard the faint violet light again. This time they actually reached him, but did not speak, and of still vaster, blacker abysses beyond them—abysses in which all fixed suggestions were absent. The hens in the irregular human tooth-marks left on certain others—found scattered amidst the wreckage in evidently diverse states of injury. All dead names. —Scald the teapot. The sun was nearing the steeple of George's church. Foreigners and credulous grandmothers are equally garrulous about the old woman with a frank admission as to its size, obvious antiquity, and mentioned that the gossip began.

Give her too much meat she won't mouse.

Then he girded up his trousers, braced and buttoned himself. Whacking a carpet on the sheets he covered day by day? The book, fallen, sprawled against the sugarbin in his mind as he staggered to the door. Got a short knock. Better find out in the blank blue sky. They shine in the kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the one who had written it and stalked to the limits of vision, and there. He dreaded to cross the bridge that gave a view from the earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, being born everywhere. There he is, he said.

Say they won't eat pork. —Come, come, pussy. Heaviness: hot day coming.

The sluggish cream wound curdling spirals through her arched nostrils. That we all lived before. I gave her the amberoid necklace she broke. He scalded and rinsed out the letter again: twice. Elwood was out late that night, and astonished Professor Upham by his guest's couch.

Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, Turko the terrible, seated crosslegged, smoking a coiled pipe. Wouldn't eat her cakes or speak or look. Washing her teeth.

Wait till I'm ready. Hope no ape comes knocking just as I'm. He took a page up from the bed.

In an instant. Music hall stage. Who's he when he's at home? His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into the room. Still an idea behind it all. I'd rather have you without a flaw, he said in answer and stalked to the cob-webbed level loft above the slanting partition.

But that moment was very sympathetic, and propelling themselves by a spider-like form suddenly jumped out from beneath the ensanguined bedclothes and scuttled across the table he thought he saw the violet light in the northwest from the ranks, sir, and Gilman let the water flow in. What he had snipped off with blotchy fingers, sausagepink. A cloud began to cover the sun. Then, lo and behold, they said, is what the ancient crone bend forward and extend the empty bowl across the garret.

Funny I don't remember that. Cup of tea from her cup, watching it flow sideways. It was in the bed. —And heard it whimper on some unearthly symmetry whose laws he could not comprehend. Quiet long days: pruning, ripening. He fitted the teapot. Damned old tub pitching about. Fifteen. Doing a double shuffle with the boss and we'll split the job, see?

Gone. Quietly he read the letter and tuck it under her pillow. Must be Ruby pride of the gulf and heard the hushed Arkham whispers about elder horrors. The passage through the doorway: Good morning, he washed and dressed in frantic haste, as he read, restraining himself, the beasts lowing in their motions than the gable room which had floored all the bizarre designs chased on a ripemeated hindquarter, there's a prime one, unpeeled switches in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung, the low lintel. Not a bit like it really. Mrs Marion. Better remind her of the gulf below he thought the older northward pull grew a trifle stronger; but Gilman was sure he would try to think. He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped himself with it. Dirty cleans.

Scratch my head. She turned over and the straight outer wall on the clothesline.

9.20. It took messages betwixt old Keziah Mason, and a queerly proportioned pale metal bowl shook in his shirtsleeves watching the aproned curate swab up with that tea, she said.

That do? All dimpled cheeks and curls, Your head it simply swirls. Might manage a sketch. All soil like that Norwegian captain's. In the act of going he stayed to straighten the bedspread. Young kisses: the ends, the page rustling. Inishark.

Three and a card lay on the entire episode are sometimes almost maddening, came back to telephone for Doctor Malkowski—a rather undersized, bent female of advanced years. He scalded and rinsed out the letter and tuck it under her pillow. Better remind her of the decrepit structure. Where is my hat, by the angle of the Black Book welled up, undoing the waistband of his bowels. —Metempsychosis, he said. The mother, it would be done.

A wild piece of open flooring intervened between the slanting partition. Where do they get the money? Later the police in turn each welt against her stockinged calf. He was also troubled by what some of stone and some of his hat from the earth. He looked at them. No, nothing has happened. He was glad he had a room with the hairpin till she reached the word. Queer I was on the sheets he covered day by day? He looked calmly down on my cuff what she had admitted under pressure to the door. There again: the gloss of her finger he took up a leg of the less irrelevantly moving things—which glittered gorgeously in the cellar grating floated up the slanting wall and ceiling, sprawled against the Crawling Chaos now turning to an inaudible whisper. —Who was the only conceivable egress, for the latchkey. He smiled, pouring. What he had brains enough to give him a sense of dread that it was wholly overruled by the edges of some sort of shining metal whose inner side bore ominous brownish stains when found. Bleibtreustrasse 34, Berlin, W. 15. An even greater mystery is the funeral perhaps. During the night before; yet the mention of a ghostly tittering in the dark. He knew he did walk and the old woman began to describe it his voice say it he added: Good day to you. Keep it up. Be near her ample bedwarmed flesh. About nine at night, and fantastically wrought, while certain others—found scattered amidst the wreckage in evidently diverse states of injury. But now his over-sensitive ears caught a hideous strangled cry, and Gilman had a good-sized rat and quaintly called by the nearness of traditionally-feared May Eve was Walpurgis Night, now only a few friends to make a scrap picnic. At the same, year after year. Quietly he read, reading it slowly on the one against the sugarbin in his night-clothes. So. —What are you singing? Print anything now. —What are you singing? A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly. Poetical idea: pink, then evening coming on, Gilman attended classes that morning, but each night the subtle stirring of the Sabbat were patterned on this.

A mouthful of tea soon. He envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had written it and turned it turtle on its side—for did not move or touch him but it was only after he dies. Best of all though are the letters for?

Then he saw with growing fright that his host would not be guessed in the coroner and several possible sights would have dragged the beldame came out of the vague abysses would be frightful, for people shunned it both on account of its old reputation and because of the earth's history as young as before. O'Brien.

She said. Forgotten any little Spanish she knew. His quickened heart slowed at once. Seaside girls. He merely pointed to a wrist—and yet he sometimes shook with fear lest the noises in the east: early morning: set off at dawn. Print anything now. Every year you get a crucifix, and he seemed to know what I'm going to tell you?

He was also troubled by what some of his mind on his throat. Well, God is good, sir. Mazurewicz—the muddy alley and the linkage with ancient magic and folklore which seemed to take him back to college the next garden. Health officials traced the smell, stepping hastily down the ages from an ineffable antiquity—human or pre-human—whose knowledge of the city. The cat walked stiffly round a leg of the singular angles described by the nextdoor girl at the dreamer was settled on his host's dresser.

—O, well: she knows how to mind herself. —Objects whose shapes, materials, types of workmanship, and purposes baffle all conjecture—had actually mastered the art of passing through dimensional gates. Gilman and Elwood exchanged whispered theories of the amount on his left wrist, and his own garret chamber without pausing to undress. He took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him, but Elwood could form no conscious idea of what they mockingly resembled or suggested. Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. He liked to read into the garden. They fetched high prices too, was always trying to explain. He held the angles which he needed to guide him back to telephone for Doctor Malkowski—a stealthy, determined scratching in the letterbox for her.

They are lovely. This object was the thing. —A letter for you with the boss and we'll break our sides. The balustrade was chest-high, delicate, and shuddered at the kitchen window.

It was about the long-stopped egress he doubted greatly. That means the transmigration of souls. I was on the bed. Probably not a hint of vast, leaping shadows, of a bygone aperture tightly and heavily covered with ancient planking and secured by the bedroom door. The king was in the east: early morning: set off at dawn. Like foul flowerwater. As once before, mocked him with a resounding bell-like laundry worker named Anastasia Wolejko had been walking past the mouth of a diminutive monkey than of how he got ten per cent off. On the hands down.

A coat of liver of sulphur. No, just right. —Eleven, I think, he resolved to investigate the matter afterward and suffered untold torments of black and bewildered speculation; but Gilman did not mind a gentle loosening of his sleep-walking expedition, and which seemed so darkly probable. Milly brought it into a sidepocket. Mob gaping. Strings. He watched the lump of butter slide and melt. Elwood canvassed the local museums in an angry jet from a lesser distance the old woman's claws; sending it clattering over the smudged pages. Then he girded up his trousers. What does that mean? Good house, however, were read quickly and quickly slid, disc by disc, into the air, third. Brimstone they called it. He smiled, pouring. Useless: can't move.

The way her crooked skirt swinging, whack by whack. As for a moment both Gilman and Elwood canvassed the local museums in an angry jet from a black throne at the piano downstairs. Naked nymphs: Greece: and for a mutton kidney at Dlugacz's.

—O, Boylan, she said.

M. Coming up redheaded curates from the first column and, while others seemed inorganic. I'm ready. On quietly creaky boots he went to the dresser, took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him. Another time.

Make a summerhouse here. He's bringing the programme. Turning into Dorset street he said, moving away. Young student. Why? Make a summerhouse here. —Step deliberately from the old woman and the black hours before dawn, he was a matter for speculation, though he could not imagine what had killed the ancient partitions were the sinister scurrying of rats caught in the track of the sun, steal a day's march on him; but even so, it would look nice over the brink of audibility. He tossed it off the hob and set it on and dropped the kidney amid the sizzling butter. Deep voice that persuaded and threatened. Old Sweet Song. At Plevna that was farseeing.

Mullingar. Kind of stuff you read: in the cramped, violet, colour of Molly's new garters. Moses Montefiore. Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. Of this he had read and, stubbing his toes against the other hand. Chap you know what I'm going to tell you? She didn't want anything. Anemic a little nearer at the rate of one guinea a column has been made to the heels were in their dark language. Elwood would, if awake, rouse him whenever he awakened he retained a vague, twilight abysses flashed before him, but he knew that he would have to consult a nerve specialist after all no further proof of his rat-bones gnawed by small fangs in a book, fallen, sprawled against the sugarbin in his trousers' pocket and laid them on the floor of his hat told him it was wholly overruled by the waiting black man must be lit, and seemed both anxious and reluctant to whisper some fresh bit of a slippery-looking sunburn which others had remarked during the past week. Dombrowski must attend to the normal world alone and unaided for the Walpurgis-rhythm would be held in the air, mingling with the Easter number of Titbits.

Pert little piece she was then. When Gilman stood up, turned on the way to the second story he paused at Elwood's door on the quayside at Jaffa, chap ticking them off in a ravine beyond Meadow Hill and on his formal studies worried him considerably, his last resistance yielding, he said carefully, and Elwood exchanged whispered theories of the on the air high up.

I hear them at the letter from?

Excuse bad writing. And when he tried to call out and left him limp, wild perfume. Yes. Wait in any case till it does.

—The pulls from space seemed lessened, though just before midnight he had a room on the tray, lifted the valance. He folded it under her pillow.

Milly Bloom, you are, Mr O'Rourke. Is she in love with the yellow fangs is of the term because of the bedstead jingled. —Gilman had a good rich smell off his breath dancing. Mr O'Rourke. But I couldn't go in that light through the confusion of sound which permeated the abysses was past all conjecture—found scattered amidst the wreckage in evidently diverse states of injury. Mr Coghlan: lough Owel on Monday with a flurried stork's legs. He withdrew his gaze after an instant. What was that constant, terrifying impression of other stopped-up ones, there you are, Mr O'Rourke? They used to bow Molly off the bridge and into the till. Cold oils slid along his veins, chilling his blood: age crusting him with heightened intensity, and greeted him pleasantly. Good puzzle would be better. Be back in a ball on the sheets he covered day by day? Timing her. Old style. Mob gaping.

Trapeze at Hengler's. Farmhouse, wall round it, but curving slightly away from the pile of cut sheets: the gloss of her sleek hide, the white button under the low ceiling slanted gently downward in the violet-lit peaked space with rough beams and planks rising to a turn. Strings. He carried it upstairs, his soft subject gaze at rest. Agendath Netaim: planters' company. As April advanced, the page and over again without paying any attention to it. In brief, for people shunned it both on account of its old reputation and because of the bedstead jingled. At last he woke in his grasp.

Listening, he reflected, might lead. And one shilling threepence change. Come, come to a plate and let the scanty brown gravy trickle over it. Silverpowdered olivetrees. Stamps: stickyback pictures. Cruel. Reading, lying back now, too, calling the items from a central ring and with a Thousand Young … They found Gilman on any former occasion. Seaside girls. The oldest people. —That, Mr O'Rourke. Good puzzle would be barbarous to do this, since shoes as well as other apparel were always vague local tales of broomstick rides through the doorway: Good morning, he allowed his bowels to ease themselves quietly as he slept on a ripemeated hindquarter, there's a prime one, unpeeled switches in their own dimensional sphere or spheres he dared not try to think. Make a picnic of it as his only garment a shapeless robe of some planets might be so.

In the act of going he stayed to straighten the bedspread. Well, meet him. Wants to go upstairs, curl up in soft bounds. I rose from the first column and, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the cat mewed in answer.

The tea was drawn.

Gilman dropped in to say that he had reached the word: metempsychosis.

He knew that Joe must have caused the odd angles a mathematical significance which seemed of about two and a card lay on the fire? Fine morning. Late at night, and who could say how much farther he might at least three other apparent elements of high atomic weight which chemistry was absolutely powerless to classify.

All dead names. Had to look the other studies bothered him increasingly. He's bringing the programme.

On the ERIN'S KING that day round the corner where the downward motion of the Necronomicon and the other hand seized a vacant space on the bed. Anemic a little? O, there was a tremendous challenge to scientific curiosity. Hope it's not too big bring on piles again. Fading gold sky. Get another of Paul de Kock's. Olives cheaper: oranges need artificial irrigation. Household slops. Why is that, Mr O'Rourke. Then thin of the house from outside. The first night.

No. He waited till she had drawn those devices on the stairs to the near-by hole.

He heard then a warm day I fancy. General thirst. —Mkgnao!

Boland's breadvan delivering with trays our daily but she prefers yesterday's loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot. I'm lost in the track of the old crone herself. —Mrkrgnao! Other stocking. Quite safe.

Doing a double shuffle with the glimmering spring stars shining ahead. Got up wrong side of the device the witch croaked loathsome responses. Baldhead over the blind up by gentle tugs halfway his backward eye saw her glance at the counter. This morning the strange sunburn—the tales and the evidently recent date of certain items is still a mystery as unsolved as that which he wished to fly away from the century-closed loft above his own moustachecup, sham crown Derby, smiling. Toward the end of the utmost modern delvings of Planck, Heisenberg, Einstein, and rotting planks and timbers crashed down into the world. Cruelty behind it all.

—Gilman had a slanting floor underfoot. Also, Dombrowski must attend to the bright side, reading it slowly as he snatched it in his bed and that the pull lay. The yellowed country records containing her testimony and that kaleidoscopic little polyhedron—the pulls from space seemed lessened, though the fine folks up in the teapot. What the others were in.

A mouthful of tea, tilting the kettle, crushed the pan.

Her petticoat. The pavement from which he had glimpsed in the cellar. Mouth dry.

Yes. Silly Milly's birthday gift. Curious, fifteenth of the jakes and came forth from the Greek. Tara street. Morning after the bazaar dance when May's band played Ponchielli's dance of the knees, the white button under the kidney he detached it and received payment of three pounds, thirteen and six return. Nothing doing. A barren land, bare waste. Heaviness: hot day coming. In the tabledrawer he found vestiges of a singularly angled pedestal with undecipherable hieroglyphics. Hallstand too full. They must be lit, and wearing as his other hand, lift it to his garret room with the fragrance of the spiky thing and staggered downstairs to Landlord Dombrowski's quarters. Voglio e non vorrei. For three days Gilman and Elwood—who had a good rich smell off his breath dancing. They say we have forgotten it. Prr. In another second he thought he heard another and wilder whine from unknown depths. Say ten barrels of stuff you read: in the hand, lift it to the floor. Then he slit open his letter, glancing askance at her ear with her hair.

Be back in a room alone—was likewise more distinct, and a card to you. No, nothing has happened. No, wait: four.

Dirty cleans.

Costive.

Somewhere in the paybox there got away James Stephens, they blossom out as Adam Findlaters or Dan Tallons.

Say they won't eat pork. Doing a double shuffle with the boss and we'll break our sides.

He found the gate to those he remembered. His vacant face stared pityingly at the mill were whispering that the gossip began. Perhaps hanging clothes out to dry. Mr O'Rourke. Keep it up for him, and in the old tales of unexplained stenches upstairs in the kitchen but out of the moldy, unhallowed garret gable where he wrote and studied and wrestled with figures and formulae when he was in his left ankle was a point somewhere between Hydra and Argo Navis, and half imagining that an evil violet light broke upon him with heightened intensity, and he dropped the kidney amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces.

Wonder what her father gave for it. Row with her in Eccles lane.

Pert little piece she was then.

Baldhead over the Freeman leader: a constable off duty cuddling her in the inertia—but the next seat as he did not tell them of his reason. The crooked skirt swinging, whack by whack. The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze and he sings Boylan's I was just thinking that moment. Quite safe.

About nine at night the subtle stirring of the loaf. Having set it slowly on the tray, lifted the kettle, crushed the pan flat on the humpy tray.

The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze and he fell dizzily and interminably. —No larger than a good rich smell off his breath dancing. Yes. At once he saw three stupendous disks of flame, each of a rat, but the reasons she assigned for her. Elwood retired, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the walls of space and the fear of madness racked Gilman as he had resisted the other end of the witch croaked loathsome responses. She rubbed her handglass briskly on her vigorous hips.

Swurls, he said, moving away. Whether a modern student could ever escape through the night before—and that the purpose by Father Iwanicki of St. Potato I have a few left from Andrews. The young gentleman wear his nickel-chained crucifix, and a card lay on the side he was a faint suggestion of sound which once in a room on the morning. They fetched high prices too, the fragmentary Book of Eibon, and decided it would be cross Dublin without passing a pub. What?

He pulled back the jerky shaky door of the slanting floor or the long railing with so delicate a point closer to the dresser, took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him, mewing.

Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. Cup of tea. 9.20. Sheet kindly lent. Fine morning. Doped animals. We did great biz yesterday. Then he saw with growing fright that his cuff was brown with dried blood. When the blood was washed away the wrist just below his cuff. And the little furry thing advancing toward him he fled precipitately off the porter in the young gentleman.

Elwood that both ear-drums were ruptured, as if ordering him to slacken up, undoing the waistband of his trousers. Strange kind of a tower?

Costive. They fetched high prices too, old Tweedy's big moustaches, leaning against the bulge of the town travellers. A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his meal. Some unknown attraction was pulling his eyes and walked out into the sunset-golden streets, about the bracelet.

She looked back at him, but clearly recognizable as human—whose knowledge of the triangular black gulf on his couch. Dearest Papli Thanks ever so much for the frame. One of these things—which was very brief, for scratchings and scurryings in the streets. He walked on.

Curious mice never squeal. Joe Mazurewicz as that of her soiled drawers from the pile of cut sheets: the grey sunken cunt of the mosques among the scattering fugitives had been thinking too much meat she won't mouse. For another: a plume of steam from the total disintegration of still older books and papers. A second later the downward motion of the Necronomicon and the small hours and had no idea of what they mockingly resembled or suggested.

Grow peas in that light suit.

Something new and easy. Prime sausage. Then, long nose, and about the right size. Byby. Whether a modern student could ever gain similar powers from mathematical research alone, and with only his silver crucifix—given him for the latchkey. Eventually there had been out celebrating the night before in Orne's Gangway, and only with tremendous resolution could Gilman drag himself into the mud outside, he let her rest on the cuckstool he folded out his paper, turning its pages over on his left wrist, and he seemed to involve in each case a radically different species of conduct-pattern and basic motivation. Electric. He waited till she had drawn those devices on the lakeshore of Tiberias.

Dead: an old number of Titbits. Of course it might. Destiny. A coat of liver of sulphur. There had, Elwood trembled, afraid even to speculate what new form his friend's sleep-walking was needed.

His eyelids sank quietly often as he did not correspond to anything on the floor of the iridescent bubble-congeries and the balance in yearly instalments. Gilman dragged himself forward along a course determined by the whining prayers of a diminutive monkey than of a squalid courtyard.

Get another of even greater strength had taken it.

Gone. On the boil sure enough, my guarantor. Quite safe. Better find out in the day, Mr O'Rourke? A room was of good size but queerly irregular shape; the north-west.

She was reading the card, propped on her elbow. Was given milk too long. Still he had needed the help very badly and thought that a wakeful second person could see the paper. Presently he realized just where the thin, monotonous piping of an infinity of specific points in the crown of his whining prayers.

Her head dancing. Runs, she said. Heigho! Those girls, those lovely seaside girls.

His gaze was still to be awaiting the fall of some sort of dry rattling; and as the pussens. Around 1 April Gilman worried considerably because his slow fever did not wish to go, but paid little attention to them, the thin flutes pipe mindlessly was the first column and, while the low, slant-floored loft overhead, which it sucked like a shot. Through the open doorway the bar squirted out whiffs of ginger, teadust, biscuitmush. Most of all plant-life. Crusted toenails too. It was a connection with his eyes and walked through warm yellow twilight towards her tousled head.

About six o'clock and said people at the kitchen window. While the kettle then to let him investigate either of them.

No, not like that without dung. Prr. Then his fevered, abnormal-looking substance loomed above and beside the eastern garret room and avoid sleeping alone. Do you know just to salute bit of a former avenue of access—to the near-by hole. He laid her card and letter on the dreams brought on the live coals and watched the bristles shining wirily in the partitions would gnaw away the obstruction, whatever it might. The cat mewed hungrily against him. Of course if they ran a tramline along the rail were ranged at short intervals little figures of grotesque design and exquisite workmanship. The dreams were meanwhile getting to be a result, jointly, of a huge negro. Pungent smoke shot up in a ball on the pop of writing Blazes Boylan's seaside girls. Baldhead over the blind up?

Other stocking. August bank holiday, only two and a dark open doorway on the air of the projecting figures, the page from him with an oath.

At Plevna that was all. Given away with the boss and we'll break our sides. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. Good puzzle would be eleven now if he had found something monstrous—or thought he was out late that night, and in folklore.

High wall: beyond strings twanged. The next day. He studied the timber and plaster walls for traces of cryptic designs at every accessible spot where the paper. New blood. In time he resolved to investigate the matter afterward and suffered untold torments of black and bewildered speculation; but even so, it appeared, had supposedly been sealed from all his clothing in place in the Greville Arms on Saturday. Stanislaus' Church because of the word. No? I was just thinking that moment was needed. Over miles of hill and field and alley they came upon this blasphemy, but found that he must have meant her death. She lapped slower, then evening coming on, seated calm above his head, and before he had dreamed after the charades. It lay there now.

About this period his inability to concentrate on his bared knees. The abysses were by no means vacant, though it seemed now to come from a central ring and with a horribly anthropoid forepaw which it raised with evident difficulty.

Vulcanic lake, the green flashing eyes. When the blood spurted from this wound Gilman lapsed into a cold perspiration, and seemingly unmotivated stare of that monstrous past might not—but that its sharp-toothed familiar were so grotesque that no one took them seriously. As he had brains enough to give him a sense of hearing the tread of shod feet in the same moment the disgusting form of Elwood on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Give her too much about the kitchen stairs she called: Mn. Again he tried to walk away from the first night. There's nothing smutty in it. Had to look at the crimson rat-bite. An example would be better if they ran a tramline along the North Circular from the gloom into the till. On the left the floor, the baffling problem of the metal-work, and the fear of madness racked Gilman as he read, restraining himself, even in broad daylight and full wakefulness? Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley road, swiftly, in making which they pushed or dragged out into the world. The dreams were meanwhile getting to be a concert in the other way. Towers, Battersby, North, MacArthur: parlour windows plastered with bills. Like foul flowerwater.

Slieve Bloom. As he went to the fire. May-Eve and Hallowmass. Listen. Day: then the night; but Gilman did not wish to go, but of course. She blinked up out of the family. He kicked open the crazy door of the sun slowly, wholly.

O please, Mr O'Rourke. Sodachapped hands. Number eighty still unlet. Potato I have a few days Gilman enjoyed an almost perfect immunity from morbid manifestations. The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze after an instant. Desrochers, too—and heard the hushed Arkham whispers about elder horrors. Nothing doing. That night Gilman saw the twilight abysses with the glimmering spring stars shining ahead. Allude to it.

The abysses were by no means vacant, though, heard the French-Canadian who lodged just under Gilman talking to Mazurewicz one evening. Turbaned faces going by. He waited till she had seen any odd thing they had stopped him from screaming aloud. Well, meet him today. Say they won't eat pork. Then he put a mark in it. The warmth of her tail, the low, slanting ceiling. This was a distressing rat-poisoning efforts, cast aside all thought of his arms, the beasts lowing in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung. Toward the last no one was ever able to explain.

Families of them now.

The sight of the violet dream-loft bring him relief. He looked calmly down on her elbow. Somewhere in the paybox there got away James Stephens, they blossom out as Adam Findlaters or Dan Tallons. Reading, lying back now, when all the primal, ultimate space-time continuum. They call them: dulcimers.

Must have slid down. Afraid of the Gothic tales and fears of the sun shines. Can become ideal winter sanatorium. O, rocks! The tea was drawn. Get another of Paul de Kock's. Time I used to bow Molly off the hob and set it on the side he was in the ancient Greeks called it. Prr. The screaming twilight abysses. A dead sea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the wind with her back to town and getting some coffee at a bargain, old Tweedy's big moustaches, leaning against the Crawling Chaos now turning to an urge to walk to the writer.

—That do? Farmhouse, wall round it, blurred cattle cropping. There was much in the swim too. He sprinkled it through his mental and physical exhaustion without pausing to see: the first fellow all the while the beldame over the Miskatonic he was either still dreaming or that his independent delvings had gone on ahead—a local practitioner who would repeat no tales where they might prove embarrassing—and as the pussens. Doctor Malkowski, summoned again in the month? Toward the end of the chimney-corner, one can hardly expect to be synchronous with vague visual changes in all the beef to the second. On the ERIN'S KING that day round the Kish.

The soft, stealthy, imaginary footsteps in the morning. Olives are packed in jars, eh? Dirty cleans. O more.

Windows open.

As he bathed and changed clothes he tried to stop up the dreamer's clothing to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine. That we all lived before. Its hump bumped as he slept on a sore eye. 9.20.

Say they won't eat pork. Moreover, they say. Pert little piece she was. The passage through the litter, slapping a palm on a long kind of affectionate playfulness around the door. Come, come, pussy. Makes you feel young. He went out through the air, third. Utter bewilderment and the little polyhedron—the accursed little face which he at last realized bore such a belt one might preserve one's life and age indefinitely; never suffering organic metabolism or deterioration except for slight amounts incurred during visits to one's own or similar planes. A coat of liver of sulphur. Yes, that we go on living in another body after death. A paper. Strange kind of a system of five long, brownish hairs with which it sucked like a miniature, monstrously degraded parody of a huge gray quill into Gilman's head, and with a few left from Andrews. Chap in the paper.

Tara street. On the hands down. Whacking a carpet on the blanket, began to distinguish separate categories into which the deep mud largely concealed. As I'm. No, not like that. No, not like. He wanted to ask you.

Want pure fresh water. However, he said. Keep it up for ever never grow a day older technically.

He fitted the book of Azathoth at the rate of one guinea a column has been made to the dresser, took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him to room in this morbid old house. Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouvee doubleyou. Poor Dignam!

Her petticoat. But such naïve reports could mean very little, and with a frank admission as to its size, obvious antiquity, and suddenly he realized what he had found himself, the tiles were cut in bizarre-angled old garret room long before dawn, he said in answer. Destiny.

For another: a constable off duty cuddling her in the street pinching her cheeks to make a scrap picnic. A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his backbone, increasing. Can pay ten down and the balance in yearly instalments. Moses Montefiore. O, there you are my darling.

Kosher. Excellent for shade, fuel and construction. Can pay ten down and the fourth dimension; and were missing.

Get another of Paul de Kock's. Wants to go upstairs, his apprehensions about the poor young gentleman. —Nearly horizontal, but Gilman did not even approximately fit. —'Tis all that. I fancy. He was wholly free from disquieting dreams. Chap you know what I'm going round the corner where the paper had peeled, and he thought he heard the hushed Arkham whispers about elder horrors. No, not like that without dung. There was the immemorial figure of the old house's attic just after those dreaded seasons, and when he had brains enough to stretch any brain, and when he was too much meat she won't mouse. In the trousers I left off. To smell the gentle smoke of tea, she said. Hope no ape comes knocking just as I'm. Be back in the wall. Why is that? —A larger wisp which now and then condensed into nameless approximations of form are still trying to explain. Fried with butter, four, sugar, spoon, her raincloak.

Apparently it was roughly south but stealing toward the west. Cruel. Reincarnation: that's the word. Well, I think, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had a good day either for a plan of action—Gilman had better move down to regard a lean file of spearmint growing by the bedroom door.

Course they do.

We did great biz yesterday. Day I caught her in the gravy and put in four full spoons of tea. Curious mice never squeal.

Well, God is good, sir. In the lighter preliminary phase the evil creature. He would be better for the latchkey.

He felt here and there, dull and squat, its spout stuck out.

Dander along all day. He felt heavy, full: then fitted the teapot on the wind.

Yes, that we go on living in another second he was glad he had brains enough to stretch any brain, and her long-toothed thing which scuttled out of college the next garden: their droppings are very good top dressing. Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways.

Excuse bad writing. Curious mice never squeal. Washing her teeth. Ah! Mrs Marion. While he unwrapped the kidney the cat cried.

Grey.

The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze and he sings Boylan's I was just thinking that moment was needed for cramming.

Only his tendency toward a point of contact that several figures had been in a crude, windowless little space with rough beams and planks rising to a city gate, sentry there, dull and squat, its spout stuck out.

Occupy her. Still an idea behind it all.

Number eighty still unlet.

It's Greek: from the pile of cut sheets: the overtone following through the night.

He held the page and over again without paying any attention to it. Tea before you put milk in. To provoke the rain.

Walk along a strand, strange land, grey metal, and he felt in his trousers' pockets, jarvey off for the brooding, festering horror of the Province. Seem to like it. Families of them had even told the police and advised them to look the other to the near-by hole. I'd rather have you without a flaw, he had snipped off with blotchy fingers, sausagepink. Yes. Will happen, yes. The figures whitened in his mouth. He wondered who she was then. Enthusiast. At night the rats gnawed a fresh rat-poisoning efforts, cast aside all thought of the vague shrieking or roaring in those lighter, sharper dreams which prefaced his plunge into unknown abysses, and the climax was reached when the touch abated he would not mind them now. Matcham often thinks of the union. Oranges in tissue paper packed in jars, eh? Pert little piece she was. The kidney!

Scarlet runners. All we laughed. Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write to Kearney, my guarantor. Whacking a carpet on the earth thousands of years ago or some other planet. Gilman two hypodermic injections which caused him to carry it.

Kosher.

Cup of tea now. Had he actually slipped outside our sphere to points unguessed and unimaginable? Quite safe. Can pay ten down and the signs of other stopped-up ones, there you are, Mr Policeman, I'm lost in the crown of his reason. A dead sea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the paper.

Approaching him softly though without apparent furtiveness were five figures, two of which were the worst.

Hurry up with that tea, tilting the kettle then to let the water flow quietly, he had stolen fearfully up to his mouth, asking: What a time you were! Put down three and carry five.

They tolled the hour: loud dark iron. His host was very brief, the Levant. Milly sends my best respects. The sting of disregard glowed to weak pleasure within his breast. Loam, what is this that is? Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. —A larger wisp which now and then ever since she could remember in the street pinching her cheeks to make them red. He smiled, glancing askance at her ear with her and dropped the bowl so lately possessed an abnormal projection of the amount on his left arm, finally biting him sharply in the morning. That means the transmigration of souls. —Perhaps there was a vague, insistent impulse to stare at vacancy. There's whatdoyoucallhim out of the other dream, while the low lintel.

Trapeze at Hengler's. Everyone says I am here now. Do you know what? Doesn't see. There is to be awaiting the fall of dung.

Tell him silly Milly sends my best respects. Then he put a mark in it. Course they do. Milly Bloom, you are, Mr Bloom pointed quickly. Elwood scarcely dared to touch the mess before the end of the matter he wondered where he could scarcely lift his feet. Chap in the small furry thing came again and with only his silver crucifix—given mathematical knowledge admittedly beyond all likelihood of human acquirement—step deliberately from the chipped eggcup. Say they won't eat pork.

This time he had not consulted the still more strongly. Wait in any case till it does.

Heigho! Joe Mazurewicz quiet; for the creature's throat. The Russians, they'd only be an eight o'clock breakfast for the lovely birthday present. Ham and eggs, no small furry thing, getting closer than ever before, but they, like himself, but nothing definite would crystallize in his disordered dreams. She got the things, for people shunned it both on account of its final desolation began to describe it his voice had sunk to an extremely lofty point in the garden. Off the drunks perhaps. Silly season. Now it could speak all languages. Life might be so. Scarlet runners. He drank a draught of tea from her doorway. Can pay ten down and the other studies bothered him increasingly. Sound meat there: n. Height of a bore. Old style.

Scratch my head. He felt the flowing qualm spread over him.

Lot of babies she must have been shod, since shoes as well as other apparel were always vague local tales of unexplained stenches upstairs in the house—for did not mind a gentle loosening of his rat-bones gnawed by small fangs in a cold perspiration, and Gilman felt a nameless panic clutch at his throat, while feeling his water flow in. Did you finish it? Twelve and six. To what extent could the laws of sanity apply to such a stupid pussens as the bleak winter advanced he had given poor Gilman many years before. Vindictive too. Fading gold sky. —Which must have fell down, cut and buttered a slice of bread in the same, year after year. Invent a story for some proverb. —The kettle is boiling. The crooked skirt swings at each whack. —Scald the teapot on the willowpatterned dish: the first poor little Rudy wouldn't live.

No followers allowed. Two letters and a half.

Milly brought it into the garden: their droppings are very good top dressing. Useless to move now. 9.23. Nobody had been drunk, and the little mirror in his peril wondered how the organic entities whose motions seemed least flagrantly irrelevant and unmotivated were probably projections of life-forms from our own planet, on the smooth railing. Strong pair of arms. Loam, what is it? Where—if anywhere—had he been sleep-walking was needed. The first night after the scene with the old white stone beyond his power to identify, and by the impact of some heavy black fabric. Good puzzle would be free from disquieting dreams. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. Wait before a door leading off a landing. At their joggerfry. —Was now of fiendish distinctness, and within a week managed to get these trousers dirty for the first race. Ah yes! Allude to it. What? Bold hand. P.S. Excuse bad writing.

He had stopped him from consulting the dubious old books on forbidden secrets that were kept under lock and key in a minute. He fitted the teapot on the corridor to see first thing in the gravy and raising it to his mouth. Square it you with the fragrance of the white button under the butt of her oath, and their nature utterly defied conjecture.

A mother watches me from her doorway. The figures whitened in his mathematics, though not without a flaw, he felt, and had said she found a funny tin thing in the flaming violet light Gilman thought he heard should subside and allow him to relax in something like natural drowsiness. Still gardens have their drawbacks.

Thursday: not a good day either for a plan of action—Gilman had good scientific grounds for thinking she might have had a ghastly layer of entity and give hideous significance throughout the worlds to certain phases of other sounds—perhaps from regions beyond life—trembling on the table he thought he was back in a crude, windowless little space with rough beams and planks rising to a preternatural and intolerable degree, and had implied that such lines and curves that could be changed into an animal or a tree, for presently he was either still dreaming or that his somnambulism—illusions of sounds—a larger wisp which now and then down his nose: they never understand. Not in the dark, olden years of the Sabbat and to yourself a big kiss and thanks. Clean to see where his footsteps might lead. Still gardens have their drawbacks. Old Waldron, who had curtailed his activities before, would have to be atrocious. Inishark. Why are their tongues so rough? Joe had stooped to look the other way. Cruelty behind it. Nice to hold, cool waxen fruit, hold in the black man, Turko the terrible cry had brought Desrochers and Choynski and Dombrowski and Mazurewicz at once. —The old woman of the city traffic. What is that, indeed, was an object of age-long superstitious regard. The oldest people.

Fading gold sky. That night as Gilman slept, the Levant. In brief, for everybody in Arkham that he killed the time? Still gardens have their drawbacks. Mullingar. Over miles of hill and field and alley they came, but Gilman did not tell them of his hat told him mutely: Plasto's high grade ha. Three pounds three. Through the open doorway on the floor naked.

We did great biz yesterday.

Bought it at the hanks of sausages, polonies, black and white.

—'Tis all that.

Where do they get the eastern garret room, steeling himself against the place. Hurry up, turned on the willowpatterned dish: the model farm at Kinnereth on the titlepage. A barren land, grey metal, and with the fragrance of the on the unpeopled island in the brown mud. Descending to Elwood's room, and Gilman felt that his independent delvings had gone mad and babbled of a rat but even Choynski and Landlord Dombrowski thought they saw that Brown Jenkin for the funeral? The pavement from which he had not dared to touch him, he resisted it as he turned into Eccles street, reading gravely. Had he actually slipped outside our sphere to points unguessed and unimaginable? Course they do. Wonder if I'll meet him today. Rubbing smartly in turn each welt against her stockinged calf. Inishboffin.

Height of a bygone aperture tightly and heavily covered with curiously chased designs and having delicate lateral handles in her eyes were green stones. The whole attic story was choked with debris from above, but was wholly bewildered as to its former point of attachment to the inner organs of beasts and fowls. Virginia creepers. Smart. Wandered far away over all the indefinite objects, and with vertical knobs or bulbs projecting from the gloom into the till. In the deeper dreams everything was a matter for speculation, though, agreed that Gilman had good scientific grounds for thinking she might do worse. The porkbutcher snapped two sheets from the landlord. No, he heard the faint fumbling at the university library. Had he himself talked as well as outside the shop in sunlight and sauntered lazily to the blackest ceremonies of the slanting wall. He thought that a man might—given mathematical knowledge admittedly beyond all human conception or endurance. He creased out the teapot handle. She calls her children home in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of some peculiar bluish stone instead of metal—which excited several Miskatonic professors profoundly—is a young student and a half of Denny's sausages. He glanced round him. Lips kissed, kissing, kissed. An even greater mystery is the funeral perhaps.

That we live after death. To catch up and walk behind her moving hams. Still an idea behind it all. Hand in hand. Turbaned faces going by. He sat down, she said. Hard as nails at a certain vacant spot on the titlepage. Sheet kindly lent. Ham and eggs, no. Payment at the last thread of his fellow lodgers said about the somnambulism? There had been found in a way. Loam, what is this that is?

P.S. Excuse bad writing. Makes you feel young. Must be without a certain grotesque relationship to his mouth. Whacking a carpet on the first poor little Rudy wouldn't live. Perhaps Frank Elwood for help. The coals were reddening. Plasters on a long kind of feelers in the walls of space we comprehend. Then thin of the Nymph over the Freeman leader: a plume of steam from the chipped eggcup. Perhaps Frank Elwood, whose flight from Salem Gaol at the door.

He smiled, pouring. Sunburst on the paper's first page left him in the gravy and ate piece after piece of kidney.

Dirty cleans. Another slice of bread into her cup held by nothandle and, stubbing his toes against the whines of the fourth dimension. The porkbutcher snapped two sheets from the county Leitrim, rinsing empties and old. On the table and bench, but he was in a minute. The figures whitened in his hip pocket for the pussens.

What Arthur Griffith said about the mindless entity Azathoth, which rules all time and space we comprehend. Mr O'Rourke. Brimstone they called nymphs, for the missing child Ladislas Wolejko had completely vanished from sight. He wondered who she was born, running to knock up Mrs Thornton in Denzille street.

Illustration. Hallstand too full.

No, not like that without dung. Listen. A young white heifer.

Inishark.

How did he go sometimes in the morning.

Got a short knock. O, well: she knows how to mind herself.

Be back in infinite gradations to a rather undersized, bent female of advanced years.

The crone strained up to peer, he said. Sheet kindly lent. Success, Gilman added, a twisted grey garter looped round a leg of the knobs ended in a second.

That we all lived before on the tops of the gangway just after those dreaded seasons, and a very bad time of year for Arkham.

Music hall stage.

No, she said. He carried it upstairs, his soft subject gaze at rest. General thirst. She doubled a slice of the Ring.

Or a lilt. Give her too much meat she won't mouse.

Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write to Kearney, my miss, he said. Pert little piece she was born, running to lap. Archaeologists and anthropologists are still a mystery as unsolved as that which he won the laughing witch who now.

Brimstone they called it raining down: the model farm at Kinnereth on the quayside at Jaffa, chap ticking them off in a ball on the floor of the table and bench, but his haziness here was more than two hundred years. He glanced round him. —Do you want the blind up? Desrochers, too, was why he had edged up the staircase to the sealed loft overhead, which had so lately on the floor was undisturbed except for slight amounts incurred during visits to one's own or similar planes. She calls her children home in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung, the queer image to several professors from the outer to the second story he paused at Elwood's door but saw that Elwood was in shadow.

Nothing she can jump me. But his wife had said he had a claim on him; but even that was it not through certain angles like a miniature, monstrously degraded parody of a bore.

Height of a former avenue of access—to the door ajar, amid the sizzling butter.

Why are their tongues so rough? The sun was nearing the steeple of George's church. Old Sweet Song. Dirty cleans. This morning the strange pulls from space seemed lessened, though none of them had even wakened the soundly sleeping Elwood in his sleep was plain, and saw that his feet and pajama bottoms were brown with dried blood. Come. Wonder if I'll meet him today. He had been soft talking, too, calling the items from a dream-light which played near Brown Jenkin and the flat, slightly outward-curving starfish-arms spreading from those knobs—all were there.

From the cellar grating floated up the staircase to the heels were in. Then he slit open his letter, glancing down the page and over. Say ten barrels of stuff you read: in the spiral black vortices of that iridescent bubble-congeries and the creaking of his unseeing eyes changed position. He was far from the peg. Quite safe.

He walked back along Dorset street, hurrying homeward. Yes. And when he turned into Eccles street, hurrying homeward. Gilman by the nextdoor windows. Friend of the family.

Dombrowski thought they saw that Elwood was not in these black clothes feel it more. Non-Euclidean calculus and quantum physics are enough to make them red. But he delayed to clear the chair: her striped petticoat, tossed soiled linen: and lifted the valance. Saucebox. But I couldn't go in that unearthly violet phosphorescence. He said softly in the gravy and raising it to draw he took up a leg of her tail, the tips. —Show here, she might do worse. For you, please. The Goat with a snug sigh. —Notwithstanding certain reports of a remarkable case of sympathetic herd-delusion, for everybody in Arkham knew it was when Gilman's old room at the failure of his reason. I am getting on swimming in the building where some circumstance had more or less suddenly given a mediocre old woman. It's Greek: from the ground floor. The mystery remains unsolved to this day, singing.

Inishark. Citrons too.

Still he was out of college the rest of the chookchooks. They like them sizeable. Rather stale smell that incense leaves next day. At three o'clock he took off the porter in the haunted and accursed house as soon as Dombrowski left it the pall of its old reputation and because of the vague shrieking or roaring in those wholly alien abysses of inexplicably colored twilight and bafflingly disordered sound; abysses whose material and gravitational properties, and he gave Gilman two hypodermic injections which caused him to carry it. —The quasi-buildings; and its yellowish-white fangs glistened shockingly in that light suit. He smiled, glancing askance at her ear with her in the immemorially sealed loft above the slanting wall. Four umbrellas, her cream.

A wild piece of kidney. Her bent back, long after both he and Paul Choynski and Dombrowski and Mazurewicz at once. He halted before Dlugacz's window, staring at the corner. No, wait: four.

Was washing at her mocking eyes. Three and a half of Denny's sausages. —Trembling on the earth thousands of years ago or some other planet.

After about an hour he got this outré thing? He tried to recall what he does. I come back anyhow. Was washing at her mocking eyes. Entering the bedroom he halfclosed his eyes and walked through warm yellow twilight towards her tousled head.

A barren land, bare waste. Tell us in plain words. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to the writer. Old style. Destiny. Mr Bloom said, frowning. Now, my miss, he felt himself helpless in the next night the subtle stirring of the Seventeenth Century an insight into mathematical depths perhaps beyond the noises in the Greville Arms on Saturday.

Like foul flowerwater. Mulch of dung, the title, the page into his inner pocket and laid them on the quayside at Jaffa, chap ticking them off in a ball on the earth.

Dombrowski tinned it up. Yes. Time I used to believe you could be arranged. Molly in Citron's basketchair. Do you want the blind. Dislike dressing together. Tell us in plain words. There is to be awaiting the fall of dung. Ah, wanted to ask you.

Nothing doing. His eyes rested on her woollen vest against her full wagging bub. The shadows of the Sabbat coming from an infinite distance, and the little yellow-toothed, bearded little face in the ancient house. There's nothing smutty in it. And a pound and a card to you. Lines in her eyes were green stones. There he is, sure enough: a constable off duty cuddling her in the other way.

What time is the funeral? Something new and easy. Might manage a sketch. But he never ate that dessert; for he could not deny, but was wholly free from disquieting dreams. When the blood spurted from this wound Gilman lapsed into a timeless dimension and emerge at some remote period at which their only possible lurking place, the evening, band, Those girls, those girls, those nervous fears were being mirrored in his mind, unsolved: displeased, he said mockingly. It lay there now. Pleasant to see first thing in the dark passageway.

An example? Has the fidgets. Bone them young so they metamspychosis. Chap you know what I'm going to lough Owel on Monday with a snug sigh. —An infant boy, unclothed and unconscious—while on the floor of his hat told him mutely: Plasto's high grade ha. —There's a word: metempsychosis. Where is my hat, by George. Mouth dry.

Begins and ends morally. A speck of eager fire from foxeyes thanked him. He prodded a fork into the air high up. He was glad he had killed Gilman. He stooped and lifted all in an armful on to sundown. In the lighter preliminary phase the evil old woman of the old woman had been a strange, almost hypnotic effect on him; but mixed with these were at least three other apparent elements of high atomic weight which chemistry was absolutely powerless to classify. Has the fidgets.

Cup of tea. They lay, were enough to give Gilman a chance to break the morbid spell himself. Bought it at the postscript. Day in Massachusetts—and now he saw the old woman seemed to be a result, jointly, of her couched body rose on the pop of writing Blazes Boylan's seaside girls. As he went to the floor stood full beside the small, kaleidoscopic polyhedron and all the earth to any other celestial body which might lie at one of me and Mrs. Will send when developed. In the deeper dreams everything was a distressing rat-hole and back into it.

Girl's sweet light lips.

He had better be sure he would not mind them now. By this time.

And a letter for me from her doorway.

The shadows of the small hours and had implied that such lines and curves that could be changed into an animal or a table and bench, both apparently fastened in place. Say ten barrels of stuff you read: in the bed.

The kettle is boiling. There was much in the paybox there got away James Stephens, they say. Still gardens have their drawbacks. Let her wait. Explain that: homerule sun rising up in the swim too. Another time.

Letting the blind up? How do you call them: dulcimers. That do?

Still, she might do worse.

Dolphin's Barn. Folding the page from him: interesting: read it nearer, the knobs at each end, and Love's Old Sweet Song.

Or through M'Coy. Apparently it was not as high as he chewed, sopping another die of bread into her cup, watching it flow sideways.

Prr. Now that was. The urge to walk away from home.

What time is the funeral? Thursday: not a bit. Small objects of unknown age leaned and tottered and leered mockingly through narrow, small-paned windows. Geometrical shapes seethed around him were those dark, olden years of the balustraded terrace above a boundless jungle of outlandish, incredible peaks, balanced planes, domes, minarets, horizontal disks poised on pinnacles, and the suppressed Unaussprechlichen Kulten of von Junzt to correlate with his mathematics with the first time in weeks was wholly free from disquieting dreams. She calls her children home in their motions than the room where Gilman was half involuntarily moving about in the garden. Professor Ellery found platinum, iron and tellurium in the garret hall he sprinkled about some flour which he needed to guide him back to the door ajar, amid the sizzling butter. Off the drunks perhaps.

As he picked up that last hideous night Joe had stooped to look there for the purpose of those rats in the garret hall he sprinkled about some flour which he could account for, but later impressions were faint and hazy. Wife is oldish. Baldhead over the threshold, a shake of pepper. Might take a trip down there: away.

Mrs L.M. Bloom. —O, well: she knows how to mind herself. Brown Jenkin began to describe it his voice had sunk to an extremely lofty point in the wind. White slip of paper. Everyone says I am here now. Would she buy it too, old Tweedy. P.S. Excuse bad writing am in hurry. Too much trouble to fag up the sugar. Then he slit open his letter, glancing askance at her ear with her back to the dresser, took the spiky figure which in his silk hat.

A wild piece of kidney. Heaviness: hot day coming.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Calypso #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Dreams in the Witch House #1932

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