#transfiguration highway | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spookyspaghettisundae · 2 years ago

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Yellowness

Reality was disintegrating. People scarcely noticed such an event whenever it had happened before. Even the people whose hearts had opened to secrets of the cosmos.

Like in this very moment, with all manner of people, sitting in their cars, trailing down THE HIGHWAY, oblivious to the invisible fire that was devouring their world. Driving to where they needed to be, or wanted to be, or even just driving aimlessly. People always needed to be somewhere, or elsewhere, or… anywhere, really.

And whenever you took that apart, word for word, concept by concept, the cracks always started to show. Some magi had said it before, and they would say it again: perception was shaped by belief, therefore the world as we perceived it was subject to change by changing our beliefs.

Underneath the cracking surface of one egg, another reality was already on the rise, emerging from its own nested depths. It had been gestating in the dark void where all memories met, melting into a primordial soup where all ambitions went to die. If the people traveling THE HIGHWAY were like the land’s blood cells, then the first extremities were already on the verge of withering and rotting away. Blackened, with potholes forming in the asphalt, and nothing to stop the spreading decay.

Deep down, deeper down, beneath the dust and shadow, ancient fossils slept. Turned to oil and tar and stone. Drawn from the earth, transmuted with blood and sweat and dollars into plastic and steel, and combusting into the suffocating smoke of industry and corruption. Whole worlds had risen and crumbled into sand, over and over again.

Some more obvious in their transfiguration than others. Sometimes, someone’s dream was dying, and with it a previous world. Sometimes, another someone’s dream took its place, and changed the way reality worked.

And whenever any world ended, another would rise from its ashes.

Whatever would happen if that cycle was broken somehow? The phoenix—rather than being shot dead, and eaten by the hungry hunter, and shat out to return to the eternal circle of life and death—what if something were to remove it from the cosmos entirely?

Most people in those cars, drifting up and down THE HIGHWAY, paid no mind to such esoteric thoughts. Most of them had never noticed previous realities dying and replacing each other. Events as invisible to them as the sky over their heads, and as unfathomable as the seas and the millennia of eras past.

They had other things to worry about.

Such as Special Agent of the FBI, Derek Wells. Sliding doors opened for him before he exited the clothing store at a strip mall.

He had exchanged his damaged suit for a pair of denims and a bright yellow T-shirt emblazoned with a cartoonishly smiling bright sun. His shoes lay discarded in a trash can nearby, previously swapped out with a pair of cheap white sneakers. His service pistol and its concealed holster stayed hidden, wrapped up inside the fabric of his bureau-issued jacket, squeezed underneath one arm.

He ran his hand through his short hair, figuring it needed a new trim soon. Considering the bureau’s dress code and how he was now violating it with his new outfit, the thought of quitting the job crossed his mind.

Then the thought of winding up in prison eclipsed it.

Derek Wells sighed deeply, as if he was jettisoning debris from the surface of his soul, from which another was emerging, unbeknownst to him.

Aria Chambers was leaning against the side of her limousine, chattering on a chunky mobile phone. Wells sighed again, somewhat disappointed over the bureau never having issued him one of those devices. The pocketful of change he always used for payphones hung heavy in his balled up jacket.

Barry, Aria’s bodyguard, stood watch near the limousine. Wearing his shades again and looming in the background, Wells figured they’d be fine.

According to Aria, she had some things to talk about with another one of the Witches of the West Coast. Part of Wells had been burning with curiosity to listen in on that conversation, but another part of him was fed up with all the talk of magick, and ghosts, and necromancers, and the occult.

Mostly, he wondered if time in prison would be the equivalent of vacation he was long overdue for. A time out he desperately needed.

The thought of his breakup with Aleena returned to haunt him—just as someone else exited the store behind him, and its doors slid open again, the soft R’n’B of Chasing Waterfalls by TLC traveled from the retailer’s radio speakers, reaching him outside. It pained him how he still liked the track, but the sound of it now cut deep, forever intertwined with a broken relationship.

He clicked his tongue. The damned song would stay on the air all year. He knew it before he knew it.

Took a walk. Away from the clothing store. Away from the music.

Straight to the fast food joint near the next corner. It afforded him enough distance from the music, though its beat and melody and dulcet vocals still lingered as ghostly echoes in his ears.

While he counted coins to gauge if he could afford a burger and milkshake, rather than making a call to the bureau, he paused.

A figure in the window of the electronics store stared back at him. The ghosts of TV screens behind the glass flickered.

Electricity. Crackled.

That figure was neither his own reflection nor a person behind the glass. That figure was a person from… elsewhere, entirely.

Reality was disintegrating, and Derek Wells just didn’t know it yet.

The figure was a man with messy blond hair, dressed in an old black leather jacket.

Jericho Kane.

The suspect Wells and Parker had pursued across America on a wild goose chase, only to find out he was the symptom of something bigger, and not the cause.

And here he was—or wasn’t? Jericho Kane, the shadow, or the ghost, or the echo—banged his fists against the glass from another side, shouting at the top of his lungs, making no sound whatsoever. Inaudibly pleading with Wells to help him. Almost entirely translucent. Barely visible.

The clinkety-clinking of coins hitting sidewalk tore Wells out of the sinuous vision. When he looked back up, the image of a desperate Jericho Kane had vanished. Like a hallucination that had given up on haunting him.

Wells tilted his head one way, then the other, almost hoping he’d catch another glimpse of the bizarre apparition. A few weeks prior, and he would have been questioning his sanity over such a sight, but he knew better now than to dismiss such phenomena as anything but a sign of the presence of something unnatural.

Picking up the fallen coins, Wells rubbernecked and swiveled, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ghost again. Or something else that stood out.

Aria was still on the phone. Waving the hip flask in her other hand excitedly, taking a swig, and responding into the mobile receiver. The traffic of the nearby HIGHWAY drowned out whatever words she exchanged.

Other passersby gave Wells funny looks. One of them oozed with pity, like he was looking at a crazy man.

Wells averted his gaze, shook his head, and did the next-best thing after looking for a way to find the ghost.

He entered the fast food joint.

Slowly, surely, reality was disintegrating. He just couldn’t see it. Nobody really could.

Standing in line to get that burger and shake, Wells shot a glance at his wristwatch.

3:33 PM.

He found it funny at the time though had no concept as to why.

Mostly, he thought one thing: Agent Parker was late. Too late.

Something was wrong. It couldn’t have been taking her this long to interrogate the imprisoned serial killer, Freddy Fletcher, at the Kentucky supermax.

He sighed every time he remembered his previous conversation with her.

How she had insisted on going alone, in case they were apprehended for having gone dark on the bureau—it only made sense if only one of them was caught in such a case.

How she had insisted on going alone, because Fletcher’s profile told her he would be more talkative that way—and dismissing him on the “good cop, bad cop” tactic ever worked out for the better.

How she had insisted on going alone, because their enemies were spying on them somehow, and splitting their attention would make it more difficult for that shadowy cabal to stall them, to stop them from reaching the dark heart of this invisible world.

Wells sighed because he knew, deep down, she was right.

Wells sighed yet again, because he had developed a deep sense of loyalty towards his new partner and colleague over such a short amount of time, and was now growing worried about her well-being.

Worried that something was wrong, and Parker was in trouble.

Even with reality disintegrating as it was, and a whole cast of realistic doubts gnawing away at the tenuous equilibrium within himself, one more person stood in line in front of him. Ordering a cheeseburger and fries. A small and greasy reality check, grounding him in the reality he thought he knew.

He shot another glance over his shoulder.

Aria was still on the phone.

Then, Wells froze. Paralyzed with shock.

A familiar face filled out the entirety of his perception. His beliefs flip-flopped in that very moment, as he had seen too many coincidences for them to remain in the realm of coincidence. And with that very realization, and reality disintegrating as it was, and his beliefs tearing apart at the seams, and altering his perception, he saw—

Director Anthony Collins.

His superior. His mentor at the bureau.

His friend of several years.

That had been Wells’ perception and beliefs for a good long time now.

Now, he perceived an enemy.

Anthony was one of their enemies.

Instinct—instinct told Wells that Anthony was the leak in the bureau. The one who had sold them out to the Way King’s cabal.

It was the only way Wells could explain why on Earth he would encounter Director Anthony Collins in the middle of nowhere, an entire US state away from the West Virginia office, rooting around inside the back of a strange black van with a wizard painting airbrushed onto its side.

Though Wells lacked the words to describe this tingling and weird sensation, he sensed the inherent synchronicity, drenching the fabric of reality in that very moment. A dizzying sense of vertigo overcame him as he stared at Anthony. Their confluence here, brought together at this innocuous strip mall, against all odds, and against all logic.

Anthony was the traitor.

The enemy.

“Uh, excuse me, can I get your order, sir?”

The clerk behind the counter had addressed Wells. Snapped him right back out of the vertigo.

He was already seeing red and all faces except for Anthony’s had blurred into soupy, indecipherable masks.

“I’m sorry. Get the next customer, please. I’ll come back later,” Wells pressed out before clenching his jaw.

Staring daggers at Anthony all the while.

“Uh, o-okay?”

Someone took his place in line while Wells marched straight out of the fast food joint, nearly shoving some stranger out of the way in his stride.

Across the parking lot he stormed, on a direct path towards his former mentor. Following a straight line to the gravity well. The magnet to his metal.

“Anthony!” Wells yelled. A furious yell, transporting pure and unfiltered wrath.

Anthony Collins jolted up into standing straight. He had the air of someone caught in the act. Wells didn’t know what exactly he had caught Anthony doing just now, but he knew he was right about his instinct.

This chance encounter felt wrong.

All wrong.

Wells kept pace, one angry step after the other taking him to Anthony fast. Fury rippled through his body. He shook and burned with indignant rage until his sneakers slapped the ground with increasing speed.

Anthony’s eyes widened with shock. Rooted where he stood, like a deer caught in the headlights.

The fury flowed. Adrenaline pumped. Wells burst out into jogging towards Anthony.

“Anthony!”

Anthony sprang into action. Slammed the van’s side door shut, then bolted to the driver’s seat. Didn’t even close the door as he fired up the motor, and the vehicle’s engine roared.

Stray coins jingled where they hit the parking lot’s asphalt—Wells gritted his teeth, oblivious to such paltry losses, and yet—

“Shit!”

Wells’ jogging transformed into running. He chased after the van. Sparks sprayed where the vehicle bounced over the nearest curb—Anthony taking a desperate shortcut past people stuck in traffic by the parking lot exit—the van scraped over concrete and fender metal screeched as it violently twisted.

Anthony gained more speed until he escaped with the van, long before Wells could catch up on foot.

Because the windows on the back of van had been tinted, Wells couldn’t spot anything. Through the red haze clouding his perception, he hadn’t even caught the license plate number.

“Shit!” he swore again.

He bottled up more profanities before they could cascade from his throat.

A car horn honked, and Wells waved the driver to go around him as he returned to the curb.

Aria and Barry were looking his way. Aria threw her hands up into a theatrical shrug—still holding the hip flask in one hand and the phone in the other—still so far out of earshot that they couldn’t communicate verbally. Confused over whatever had just played out on the strip mall’s parking lot—

Wells jogged over to them.

Shouted before he arrived.

“Get that car goin’! Quick! We can’t let him get away!”

Doors slammed and to Wells’ relief, both Aria and Barry reacted as quickly as he needed them to. He caught some wheezing breaths as he slumped into the seat in the back of the limo. The driver stepped on the gas, just like Aria told him to.

“Follow that van,” she instructed, between hasty sips from her flask.

She eyed Wells closely.

“Darlin’, who the hell are we chasing?”

Wells unraveled the balled-up jacket in his hands. Withdrew the empty pistol from the holster in its bowels. He checked it thoroughly, just short of taking it apart to clean it—a way he used to decompress and “meditate”, back in his days with the Rangers.

The weapon in his palm weighed as much as it should, its magazine filled with new bullets.

It centered him now.

“Okay, darlin’, you are really scaring me,” Aria said, taking another swig from her flask. “What in the hell is going on? Who is that? Talk to me, please, we’re, like, on the same side here. Right?”

Wells emitted a shuddering sigh, partially owed to catching his breath. Partially owed to exasperation.

He didn’t feel like explaining.

But she was right. They never had the luxury of picking their allies. He’d take whoever he got, and hope they had his back when it came down to serious business.

“That,” he breathed, “That was Director Anthony Collins of the FBI. Don’t ask me how I know, but I know—I know it’s him. Gotta be him. He’s the guy who ratted us out, at the bureau.”

Aria nodded.

He set his jaw and looked up. Aria and Barry both eyed him suspiciously—like friends would, these two strangers now strangely concerned with his well-being.

Wells spoke again, “How does your…”

He didn’t want to say it out loud.

He had grown to hate that word. Almost as much as he hated the memory of Aleena breaking up with him.

Aria cocked her head and asked, “How does what?”

“How does your magick work?” Wells finally asked Aria.

Barry averted his gaze, still uncomfortable himself over the subject. Probably because he had seen his former colleague, Mac, get possessed by a demon, then get his brains blown out by Aria because exorcisms apparently didn’t work quite as they did in movies.

“What? You want a crash course now?”

Wells shrugged. His grip around the pistol tightened to the point of his knuckles whitening.

The engine growled. Tires screeched. Her limo driver was doing his best.

Through tinted windows, Wells perceived the wizard van on the horizon. The two vehicles swerved and swooped, weaving through drifting traffic, all blood cells accelerating and evading and surviving, while adrenaline pumped through the body in sudden surges.

Several cars ahead of them on THE HIGHWAY.

Blood rushed in Wells’ ears. The gloomy sky outside continuously darkened.

Ever so slightly.

And reality? Well, reality was still disintegrating. The ghostly image of Jericho Kane once more banged his fists against a window between worlds, invisible to the people inside the limo. Helpless to communicate with them, unable to bridge the void, and incapable of reaching them in any way.

“Darlin’, I trust you’re as sharp as you look,” Aria said, “But there’s no way I can teach you how to—”

“I don’t want to learn how you do it,” Wells replied. “I’m just curious how it works. Like a crash course in astrophysics, or something. See, I know how this gun works. Combustion. Black powder. I know how to use it safely, and I know how to take a mean motherfucker down with it if I need to. So—how does your weapon work?”

Aria scoffed. Took another swig.

She raised the flask and clicked her long and perfectly-manicured black fingernails against its shiny silvery surface.

“Okay, Mister America. These,” she said, clicking the flask again, “are my potions.”

“It’s not just booze?”

“Oh, it’s booze alright. But booze is my potions, see? Booze is a lubricant which allows me to see the world differently than other people—hell, different even from how I see it when I’m sober, and believe you me, I try to keep that a distant memory.”

“You’re drunk all the time?”

She ignored the question. ”And when that changes—when I change—so does the world around me. I’ve hurled beer bottles with my mind, like some Jedi shit. You saw me drink that Gravedigger spirit asshole, well, because spirits and spirits are intrinsically connected when I’m transcendent like that, and it makes sense when I’m blasted. Shit, man, I’ve been in car crashes under the influence and climbed out of wrecks that would have killed an elephant—and I walked away without a scratch, like a newborn baby.”

Barry arched a brow, still trying to blend into their environment despite being the biggest person in the car.

Wells ran a hand through his hair.

This was helping. She was helping.

His blood still rushed. His body still burned. He still yearned to grab Anthony, and throttle him till all the answers came tumbling out of his rat mouth.

But Wells also knew he’d never get all the puzzle pieces from one single place.

And their chase was taking them in the direction of the Kentucky State Penitentiary.

To Parker.

He refrained from swearing and cracked a lopsided smile.

“Y’know, that’s the first thing I’ve heard about the occult that has made any lick o’ sense.”

Aria beamed. If she was toasted—and she likely was, given her drinking habits—then she was good at hiding it. Or so inured to the influence of it that it was her normal state of being.

He continued to grapple with her explanation, shaping it into something he could comprehend. “So you’re telling me… you get shitfaced, then the world bends to your drunk logic?”

She shrugged, still smiling. “Best I’ve ever heard it put into words.”

“Alcoholomancy? Alcoholemy?”

She laughed from the depth of her belly, snorting by the end. “Great names. I, well, I just call it witchcraft. But I’ll take those into consideration when I next engage in discourse with my coven.”

His grip around the pistol eased. Wells chewed on his lip and shot another glance to their target. The van couldn’t outrun the limo, nor could the limo catch up to the van.

The lamest chase he had ever been involved in.

“If they ever turn this into some fucked-up kind of movie, I want credit for that,” he mumbled.

Her slender hand rested on his forearm. Cold skin. Electric to the touch.

A soothing energy flowed from body to body. It caused his other hand to release all tension, unfurling from the fist he had formed in his lap, splaying his fingers before gripping the gun more lightly.

“She’ll be fine,” Aria said. “I feel it too. It’s all coming together now. We… we are all coming together now. All mysteries unravel when you pull on the right thread, and sometimes, the right thread just presents itself.”

She extended the hip flask for him to take.

And Wells took it. Stared at the sleek metal container, systematically shedding all inhibitions. He normally would have never had a drink on the job, but he no longer was on the job anymore, was he?

Thus, he took a long sip from the flask.

Its liquid burned in the back of his throat. Strong bourbon. Given how Aria dressed and behaved, he assumed it was expensive stuff. It didn’t matter to Wells in that moment, it only tasted like fire.

Fitting right in with his state of being.

Reality continued disintegrate all around them, unbeknownst to them.

“Do you feel it, too?” Aria asked.

“That we’re going to get answers soon?” Wells shot back.

“Something strange in the air, Agent Wells. Something…”

“Call me Derek,” he said. “And I feel it, yeah. ”

“Providence,” she added. “It tastes like providence.”

“Tastes like bourbon to me,” he replied, handing the flask back to her with another lopsided smile. “Thanks. And thanks for payrolling the ammo and clothing.”

She just nodded.

He couldn’t help it and tightened his grip around the pistol again. The lamest car chase was taking them off THE HIGHWAY, onto roads winding through a wooded area. The limo never really gained on the van. The van never outran the limo.

Anthony ran a red light, resulting in screeching tires at a lazy crossing, and more honking horns. Aria’s driver powered through, provoking more angry honks from other people in traffic.

“What are we doing when we catch up to him?” Aria asked. “I’d normally volunteer to be more proactive, but according to you, we’re dealing with the director of the Federal fuckin’ Bureau of Investigation, so I think I’m going to play my cards safe and follow your lead on this. I have only so many get-out-of-jail-free cards, Derek.”

His nostrils flared as he struggled to formulate a response.

He wasn’t sure himself what would happen next.

Blown away were all bureau protocol, all discipline from military days, and every iota of personal routine. He shook his head when he only came up with raw instinct, because raw instinct was gripping his stomach.

“We talk,” he finally reasoned out loud. “I will point this gun at Anthony, and we will talk until I’m satisfied with whatever he says.”

“That’s,” Aria whispered. “That’s not much of a plan. Listen, Derek. You tell me what to do, and we’ll do it, Barry and me both.”

Barry met her gaze and nodded slowly in recognition.

Wells rolled his jaw and figured her remaining bodyguard was worth every penny she paid him.

The things he must have seen.

After the final curve of the road ahead of them, the forest opened up, granting clear sight to long fields, leading up to the facility colloquially known as the Castle on the Cumberland.

The tall Gothic structure honored its name, looming over the nearby river like a foreboding fortress. The water tower jutting out from its rooftops lent it an almost alien appearance, like a UFO was about to land there any time now.

Aria’s attention became glued to the sky. Barry rubbernecked to follow her gaze.

Derek Wells squinted once it hit him.

Reality was disintegrating, and the sky was slowly transforming to match.

Clouds swirled with surreal shape and direction, forming a spiraling vortex in the sky. Like a misty black hole forming… right above the supermax prison.

All gloomy daylight gradually darkened, like a painter slathering on layers upon layers of black.

The horizon shifted in tone until a deep crimson saturated it, seeping upwards, like the earth itself bleeding, dripping upside-down into the heavens.

All distances melted—the fields to the tree lines grew as if they were driving away from them until a shadowy mist had swallowed them entirely.

The skies of different places clashed like different liquids admixing in a bartender’s glass.

Aria’s hand on Derek’s forearm centered him again. He stopped squeezing the grip of his pistol.

Reality was disintegrating.

Even the crimson died until a pitch-black darkness swallowed their environment. It swallowed the wizard-van and Anthony. It swallowed the prison, the river, and the woods, and the sky itself, until nothing but darkness remained.

The whole world outside the limo turned dark. And then even the dying light inside dimmed.

The driver slowed the car down.

“Stop,” Wells said. “Stop the car.”

Aria nodded.

The driver braked until the limo came to a gentle halt.

Wells got out.

The world had fallen as silent as it had turned entirely dark.

Unnatural in that silence.

He only heard his own breathing, a bit too shallow and fast for comfort, fueled by his heart, pounding with fear. He hardly saw his own white sneakers through the endless, let alone the sharp outlines of the vehicle he was standing beside.

Then the howling started.

Howling winds.

Those wind carried dust and desert heat, yet smelled like the final snow of a dying winter.

He’d remember thinking: It’s about time, because this is the end of May. What is summer waiting for?

Streetlights from another state flared up, one by one—a chain of light cast down a long, paved path; illuminating the lonesome road before them.

THE HIGHWAY.

Farther down the road, Anthony stood outside the wizard-van, gazing to the horizon ahead of them.

And farther yet down the road, Jericho Kane’s rusty Buick stood, and beside it, Agent Parker, and a man in a black duster.

“Anthony!” Wells yelled again.

Anthony Collins cocked his head back to stare at Wells, and the gun in his hand, and—

The distance melted.

Shortened.

Perception and belief both molted. Eggs bursting from eggs.

Reality disintegrated even faster than before.

The hundreds of yards between limo, van, and Buick had shrunken into dozens.

The man in the black duster raised a hand in greeting.

He smiled at Wells.

The small red-headed woman by his side—Parker—looked pale, disheveled, and distressed. She met Wells’ gaze and shook her head.

Barry and Aria emerged from the other side of the limo. The bodyguard was tense, every muscle in the beefcake’s body turned as taut as steel wire.

The man in black shouted down THE HIGHWAY to them, with the melody of song in his tone.

“Hello! You must be Agent Wells. I’m so happy to meet you. I think it’s high time we all met the Way King. Together!”

Aria muttered under her breath so only Barry and Wells could catch it.

“It’s him. I know that voice. The Oracle of New York.”

Parker shouted down the road.

“Put the gun away, Agent Wells. We’re about to learn the truth, and I would hate to see it bleeding out from gunshot wounds.”

Something about what she said matched poorly with how she said it. Parker crossed her arms, staring at the cracked road between them.

Distance melted yet again as reality continued to disintegrate. Warmth arrived on another gust of wind. Wells swallowed and tasted more desert sand.

His changes in perception lagged behind the sluggish adaptation of his beliefs.

When he next cast a glance around to take in the unreal surroundings, the sky solidified again. Distance shrank anew—transporting them farther down THE HIGHWAY even while they stood still.

Nobody looked as perturbed as Wells felt by this unnatural experience. The only thing he could read on Aria’s expression was one of distrust towards Michael. Fear, even.

Anthony appeared to be more nervous over the confrontation with Parker and Wells. Standing in between them, his gaze bounced back and forth, like someone observing a tennis match from the immediate sidelines.

Michael no longer needed to shout. The vehicles were all only one car’s length away from one another.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen. What say you we all take our trip down the yellow-lined Tarmac? It’ll only be a short way to the Way King now. He’ll be thrilled to meet you, I assure you.”

Awkwardly, everybody shuffled back into their respective vehicles.

Wells remained standing last, his burning ire locked onto Anthony Collins with a burning gaze. The FBI director broke eye contact, shrinking under the heat of that unbridled fury until he disappeared into the wizard-van.

Wells slammed the door shut behind himself.

It was high time to meet the man behind the curtain.

All darkness flaked away from the world, dissipating and scattering like dust in the wind.

The fiery sun shone yellow against the bright blue sky over desert.

The Way King’s ranch awaited.

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duchesslovecraft · 3 months ago

Text

Off The 412; THE POOR MAN’S LAMENT.

DEAD DOVE. CHECK BEFORE EATING.

POVERTY; VIOLENCE / BLOOD; SWEARING; BODILY FLUIDS.

You’re headed west out of Tulsa, with your big dream bags all packed and in search of something bigger than you. You had a bad habit of biting off more than you could chew. I’m sitting on the side of the 412, my truck upside down with your picture on the dashboard. There’s too much blood to be plausibly cleaned and I’m slurring my words in a voicemail to you. This is my last call. The ambulance will not come, and I will die in the tall weeds off the highway. I love you.

211 S Lake Dr, Sand Springs, OK 74063

Red duvets, lazily washed bedsheets, and yellowing, smoke-stained walls. That was our reality. Living in that fucking inn off of 412. Bullet holes lined the walls; the story of each shot unbeknownst to us. A blanket of Psalm 23 unceremoniously nailed to the wall to act as a makeshift curtain.

Having learnt to cope with the unchangeable, you lit yourself a cigarette in an impersonal episode. It was so habitual, you had cuts on your thumb from that trashy lighter. Watching you exhale that plume of smoke, I begged for God to save you. Be careful what you fucking wish for, I guess.

From a lover’s point of view, this whole thing was hard to watch at best. I wanted to take you from this place; I wanted to buy you a diamond ring and change the world. The evil ways of it. But I am just one piece of a person. One fragment of a sinner running off of pure survival instinct. There is no change in this world I could make to make your time worthwhile. I can only give you my heart and hope that it is enough to keep you here.

“Delicate dove, go inside. You’re inhaling too much smoke.” You tell me. This is how I know you love me. But I am angry regardless. Do not order me to leave because you think I can’t handle the consequences. If my lungs are drying and closing inside of me because of secondhand smoke inhalation, I have damned myself to that fate. I am not just your delicate dove, I am a living, breathing woman who is made of all the things that you think make me weak. My unforgivable past, my foreboding future, my inescapable present. I love you.

“I’m okay.” I say, and you shake your head at me. I can tell you’re tired of fighting me about this, and I am glad you have given up. I want to stay with you forever, despite the consequences. Despite myself.

“Your lungs are going to give out. You’re stupid.” You never saw the irony, cigarettes perched between poorly painted fingernails.

“I promise I’m fine. The wind is blowing it away anyhow.” I say. I think you get so angry because you feel guilty. You feel like it’s your fault that your addiction might transfigure into something deeper. Something more serious. Maybe it is. But I would never tell you that.

You scoff again. You’re sick of me, I know. Sick of the fight, and the place and the facts of our reality. But I’m all you have. How could you bite at the hand that feeds? At the lips that kiss? I think that’s what I am most afraid of: the fact that you’re only staying here because you have nowhere else to go. The 412 is such a lonely highway, and the distance from here to hoping is immeasurable. Paradise is on the horizon, and you’re running ninety trying to escape me— but guilt hits you tenfold harder than logic, and you’re turning around in a Circle K parking lot. I know this is what happens because you always come home with a red, puffy face. I feel bad, but I cannot leave you. And you cannot leave me.

“Why are you so damn stubborn?” You ask, and I can hear the exhaustion behind the confusion. I can hear the visceral pain that you carry on your shoulders behind the upwards inflection in that question, and I shrug. This is not a satisfactory answer, I can see it on your face.

“I just want to sit with you, whether you’re smoking or not.” You flick some ash onto the concrete, and admire the view of the parking lot as some people fornicate in a car across the way. You’ve gotten used to sights like those, but that doesn’t make it any easier to digest. You smoke down to the filter, you always have. The sunset casts your face in an orange glow. I love you.

You had this way about you— this air— that drew people to you. In a sick and twisted sense. You would draw them in with the way your breath stank of cigarettes, and the way your hair was never brushed well enough. You drew them in and then they’d back away, seeing all the details that had been saved for getting up close. You had this pitiful essence to you. Mix-matched socks on a good day, and every pair of jeans seemed to be coated in unidentifiable stains. Blood, ash, piss, jizz? It was all the same to you. All cleanable, and yet uncleaned. It’s like you thrived off of being impure. Your skin was too boring and too pale, so you took your cigarette to it and made marks there. Your natural hair color didn’t serve your street-walker look too well, so you bleached it an ugly blonde. Not the kind of honey blonde that beautiful women are born with, but the tragic kind of blonde that only comes from a box.

But I adored you nonetheless. My mother always told me I was too easily impressed. I felt like Shakespeare, sitting at his desk and writhing in anguish as he wrote his one-hundred-and-forty-first sonnet. In faith, I do not love thee with mine own eyes! Wrote Shakespeare. And I’m sure his lover was pissed to read this, but this part is not applicable to you. You are gorgeous, despite yourself. Your ugly blonde hair mixes with your blue eyes, and you are Cinderella to me. But I know that Cinderella would’ve never looked like you if she was sober. But my five wits nor my five senses can dissuade one foolish heart from loving thee. So, even if you grow weak and tired in your body and your skin melts off your bones like sticky moss to an aged pillar, I will love you. I have never not loved you. But I am aware enough to recognise that beauty is only in the eye of the motherfucking beholder.

“What do you want to eat for dinner?” This was a rhetorical question. You were really good at asking those. How do you feel? I try not to. What are you doing on your day off? Nothing.

You knew we were too poor to afford anything but cup Mac ‘N’ Cheese. And even that was expensive to us. We put our weekly paycheques, after setting funds aside for bills and gas, together and conjured a meaningless scarcity of seven dollars. You looked at me, fighting between anger and fear. I’m sorry. I love you.

You were angry because you knew that deep down that you’d still sacrifice anything for me— even if you’d wish to see this goddamn place in your rear-view. You sighed, and licked your bottom teeth— trying to think of something, literally anything.

“We can just eat here again. And save this for dinner on Friday.” Oh, God, if we’d even make it that far. It was Tuesday, baby. These weeks kept coming and coming, and they never got any easier. Not for people like us.

#short story #poverty #female writers #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writblr #original poem #original work #trauma #my poem #poems on tumblr #poems and poetry #dark poem

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baxterkairos · 9 months ago

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7 FEASTS, USHERS CHRIST’S RETURN, May 15, 2026

The seven feasts of the Lord were all proclaimed in their appointed seasons, being regarded as sabbatical feasts.

LEVITICUS 23:3, 4

(3) Six days shall work be done: but the seventh day is the sabbath of rest… it is the SABBATH of the LORD in all your dwellings.

(4) These are the FEASTS of the LORD… which ye shall proclaim in their SEASONS.

The word “season” in Strongs’ Hebrew #4150 means “appointed, fixed, set, due.”

Thus, it is evident that the seven feasts typify Christ and the appointed day of His return.

PASSOVER FEAST

The Passover commemorates the deliverance of God’s redeemed people from His wrath against wickedness.

ISAIAH 35:4, 8-10

(4) …behold, your God will COME with VENGEANCE… he will COME and SAVE you.

(8) And an highway shall be there… The way of HOLINESS; the unclean shall not PASS OVER it…

(9) …the REDEEMED shall walk there:

(10) And the RANSOMED of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy…

FEAST OF UNLEAVENED BREAD

The unleavened bread represents a life free from the blemish of sin (1Corinthians 5:7,8), notably at the Second Coming of Christ, as sin has come to an end.

HEBREWS 9:28 So CHRIST was once offered to bear the sins of many… HE APPEAR the SECOND TIME WITHOUT SIN unto SALVATION.

FEAST OF FIRST FRUITS

The First Fruit clearly signifies Christ being the Firstfruit from the dead and the redeemed, which will be resurrected on His Second Advent, including those living saints (Matthew 16:28).

1 CORINTHIANS 15:23 …CHRIST the FIRSTFRUITS; afterward they that are Christ's at his COMING.

FEAST OF WEEKS OR PENTECOST

The Pentecost portrays the year of Jubilee, which is the proclamation of liberty throughout all the land.

Herewith, God placed the exact year of His return in cryptic and riddle form (Ezekiel 17:2).

LEVITICUS 25:8-11

7 – SEVEN sabbaths (verse 8)

7 – SEVEN times (verse 8)

7 – SEVEN years (verse 8)

7 – SEVEN sabbaths (verse 8)

7 + 7 + 7 + 7 = 28 (2 + 8 = 10)

49 – FORTY NINE years (verse 8)

17 – TENTH day, SEVENTH month (verse 9)

4 x 9 x 17 x 10 = 6120

50 – FIFTIETH year (verse 10), 50 – FIFTIETH year (verse 11) 5 + 0 + 5 + 0 = 10

612(0) + 10 = 622 or 6220 (flipped figure of 2026)

FEAST OF TABERNACLES OR BOOTHS

The tabernacle denotes God’s eternal kingdom, which has been foreshadowed during the transfiguration of Christ with Moses and Elijah.

LUKE 9:33-35

(33) …and let us make three tabernacles; one for thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias…

(34) …there came a CLOUD, and OVERSHADOWED them: and they feared as they ENTERED into the CLOUD.

(35) And there came a voice out of the cloud, saying, This is my beloved SON: hear him.

2 PETER 1:16-18

(16) …made known unto you the power and COMING of our Lord JESUS CHRIST…

(17) …This is my beloved SON, in whom I am well pleased.

(18) And this voice which came from heaven we heard, when we were with him in the HOLY MOUNT.

DAY OF ATONEMENT

The atonement points to the remission of sins (Leviticus 23:27, 28), notably to the final judgment when Christ returns.

LEVITICUS 25:9 …in the DAY OF ATONEMENT shall ye make the trumpet sound throughout all your land.

FEAST OF TRUMPETS

The trumpet symbolizes the last trump at Christ’s Second Advent, when man will be granted an incorruptible body, which is immortality.

1 CORINTHIANS 15:52 …at the LAST TRUMP: for the TRUMPET shall sound, and the DEAD shall be RAISED INCORRUPTIBLE, and we shall be changed.

TO GOD BE THE GLORY!

#fypシ゚viralシ #fbreelsfypシ゚ #fypシ #fbviral #reelsfbシ #reelsfypシ #viralshorts #jubilee #JesusIsLord #Jesusiscoming #endtimes #endtimesprophecy #endtimesigns #Rapture #SignsOfTheTimes #apocalypse #Armageddon #bible #prophecy #sukkot #passover #jubilee #Yeshua #Jerusalem #heaven #salvation #savedbygrace #predictions #revelation #Daniel #lastdays

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beardedmrbean · 2 years ago

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Three people died in car crash at the Lovech exit in the direction of Pleven last night, the local police reported. According to initial information, a car driven by a 22-year-old man entered the oncoming lane and hit another car head-on.

The 32-year-old driver of the hit car died on the spot, as well as a 32-year-old man and a 21-year-old woman from the other vehicle. Two people are hospitalized in serious condition.

Four crashes involving trucks disrupted traffic in different parts of the country last night and this morning. Shortly before midnight, a truck with Turkish registration crashed into a house in the village of Osen, Vratsa. The damage to the building was serious, but luckily no one was inside. The injured truck driver was taken to "Pirogov" hospital in Sofia.

Around 7:30 a.m., two trucks collided on the Veliko Tarnovo - Ruse road in the area of the junction for the Transfiguration Monastery. One truck turned and blocked one lane of the road. Fortunately, no one was injured here, but a traffic jam is forming in the area.

A four-kilometer column of cars was formed on the Trakia highway in the area of the 110th kilometer in the direction of Burgas, after a truck overturned in the area. There were no injuries, but traffic was seriously hampered due to the scattered load - over 2 tons of coal.

A chain accident involving two trucks and two cars closed the eastern bypass between the Trakia highway and Plovdiv shortly before 8 a.m. One of the passengers was taken to hospital for examination. Traffic was carried out on detour routes.

#nunyas news

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sinceileftyoublog · 5 years ago

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Little Kid Interview: Pry It Open

BY JORDAN MAINZER

A man comes home from work and finds his wife’s clothes strewn about on the floor. In that situation, most people with a healthy amount of pessimism would assume infidelity. The narrator in Little Kid songs assumes rapture. Indeed, Transfiguration Highway, the latest from the Toronto band fronted by singer-songwriter Kenny Boothby and their first for Solitaire Recordings, juxtaposes country-leaning, classic rock instrumentation with stories of people yearning, classically misguided, downtrodden, or lost. And unlike much of their previous material, the songs are tight and concise, circling with banjo, harmonica, and drums as opposed to minimal and drawn out guitar exercises, leaving Boothby’s words for maximum impact. Take “Thief On The Cross”, where Boothby not-so-secretly wishes other bands who they’ve known and made it big would take them along, revolving around a chugging guitar riff, banjo plucks, and celebratory bar-room piano. On the opposite emotional spectrum is “All Night (Golden Ring)”, a gentle duet between Boothby and multi-instrumentalist Megan Lunn, about another famous duet partnership, Tammy Wynette and George Jones, who eventually recorded purely for commercial reasons post-divorce and Jones’ abuse. Even Boothby’s sneering, whispered vocals on the title track effectively mirror the subtleties of his observations about the way his hometown had changed, as he logically muses along over a slinky bass line and 4/4 drum beat.

As much as he describes the characters like the one in “I Thought That You’d Been Raptured” as a joke, Boothby certainly uses the songs on Transfiguration Highway to process his own life. He grew up Christian and essentially learned how to play music through church, listening almost exclusively to Christian music till he was a teenager. Though gender and power dynamics play a role in the negative behavior of characters fake and real, like the idiot husband or Jones, Boothby’s analysis of the rest suggests a sort of hymnal reverence, or at least the possibility of goodness. The down-on-their-luck gamblers on the Whitney-esque “Losing” are treated with an exasperated smile. And on closer “Pry”, Boothby sings repeatedly, “I’ll pry it open,” not just referring to his heart but the gates of heaven. There’s room for ya if you’re kind.

I spoke with Boothby in late July about Transfiguration Highway, Christianity and Christian music, and his love-hate relationship with Bob Dylan. Read our conversation below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: What is your current relationship with religion in general?

Kenny Boothby: I guess I wouldn’t be comfortable saying I’m a Christian, per se. I’m culturally Christian, if that makes sense. I was raised that way. But I wouldn’t say Jesus is my savoir or anything that would have to be on that checklist for a lot of people. It’s part of my history--I value it for a lot of reasons, but I wouldn’t be comfortable saying I’m a Christian in any way, really. It sticks around because I like the imagery and it shaped my worldview, for better or worse, in a lot of ways. It’s a complex relationship.

SILY: I know you’re influenced by Christian music--not what people think of, like contemporary Christian rock--but hymnals.

KB: I grew up listening to almost exclusively Christian music till I was a teen. Some of those bands still stick around and are important to me, but largely, it wasn’t a very artful group. Nowadays, even the ones I would still listen to wouldn’t meet the people’s requirements either, like Sufjan Stevens or early Pedro the Lion. That’s the closest thing that could be considered Christian music I still listen to. But I learned how to play music at church, so in a sense, there’s a Christian tradition of music that I’m part of in a way.

SILY: On the lead track on the album, “I Thought That You’d Been Raptured”, the character in the song, his first thought when he saw his wife’s clothes on the floor was not that she was having an affair but that she’d been raptured. Would you say this character is naive, and naive because of religion?

KB: Hmm...to me, the character’s made to be a bit of a joke to me. I view him as a stupid man. [laughs] Walking in and making these assumptions. Maybe he’s entitled and out of touch with the relationship himself, like some of the things he lists about the relationship and why he should have gotten to heaven. So, naive, but also arrogant. I connect it to religion, but it wasn’t meant to be a send-up of Christianity, almost more of a gender-based thing. This is a man who is so unaware of his wife’s needs and that she’s looking for attention elsewhere that his first thought is he’s done everything right. But I guess it could come across that way.

SILY: I love the moment where he comes in and sees a crucifix above the bed, and thinks, “As I watched, his limbs were spreading out,” and the two people intertwined in bed also have limbs spreading out. It’s like this is the moment where his innocence, or whatever was blocking him from realizing what was going on, was lost.

KB: That makes sense. I often write songs kind of quick--it feels like a very long process, but often, the active time I’m sitting there writing is kind of short. That day, especially, was less than an hour of sitting there and assembling words. Some of it is not as intentional as it may seem, but when you say that, I’m like, “Cool, right on!” It’s interesting what the subconscious mind can whip up sometimes.

SILY: This record more so than anything else you’ve made sounds bigger. Why did you make that choice at this time in the existence of the band? Did it have to do with signing to a new label?

KB: When we made it, we didn’t have a label or anything attached to it. The process was the same, though we had access to a tape machine for the first time and could record live to tape. Artistically, it’s sort of the logical next step for us. But Dan [Rutman] from Solitaire, I’d been in touch with him for a while because my friend [Brigitte] Naggar from Common Holly is on the label. I knew he was kind of interested. I got the sense he wasn’t super into it at first but maybe he needed it to grow in on him. After the label decision, we did decide on a grander roll-out with visualizers and that sort of thing, because that’s on the label’s side. That’s Dan’s expertise: How do we get people hyped on this more. Before, we were like, “Let’s do a post on every social media saying, ‘Hey, this’ll be out in a month.’” And then a month later, we’d put it out. There wasn’t much thought to it. Anything that’s grander is more on the PR front: label expertise, money being paid to publicists. It comes across as more of a grand thing, and that’s cool and what we were hoping to get out of the label. To have more people hear it. The process for making the album was more or less the same--what was bigger was the social media and the storytelling to entice people to listen.

SILY: What was the inspiration behind the sequencing of the record?

KB: That’s something we always take a long time thinking about and noticing during recording, like, “That’ll be a good first song,” or, “That could be a closer.” It’s something we start to agree on pretty early. But then when you pick the track list, it can be really difficult. This one was hard to sequence. I think it was the last day of recording at [bassist Paul Vroom’s] old place, The Pharmacy, and me and Meg sat down, and I wrote down the titles of the songs on an old piece of paper. I took a sharpie and was writing the key for each song on there as well. Some of them ended on a different key, so I was thinking about the circle of fifths. There were some that didn’t work well that way, but there were some that ended abruptly enough that the key could change and it felt okay still. I approached it that way and then showed it to Meg, and she recommended switching two of them or something, and then we both looked at it and thought, “That seems pretty good.” We showed it to the rest of the band, and everybody kind of agreed that it worked.

Another funny detail: I wrote the keys on each one, but then I also put a cowboy hat on top of the ones that had kind of a twang to them, and I think I was trying to spread the twang evenly across the album.

SILY: Does “I Thought That You’d Been Raptured” segue into “What’s In A Name”?

KB: It does. That’s not necessarily a planned thing, but I noticed [the former] landed on an “A” chord and the other song starts with an “A” chord. It worked musically and was an interesting second track.

SILY: There’s a nice level of variation from track-to-track, from aesthetic to time signature to lyrical themes. And then the couple short tracks, “Candle Out” and “Gill”, are nice breaks.

KB: That’s kind of different for us. We often have very long songs. This album has some of our shortest ones: The average track length is probably three-and-a-half minutes, maybe 4, which is almost a normal song length. Those really short ones are new for us. “Candle Out” was a musical idea I had, and it was just about all you could do with the idea, and “Gill” was just an instrumental that I wrote about my friend who passed away. The day of her funeral I was playing and I came up with it. But yeah, we were kind of kicking around with them, trying to figure out what to do with them. “Candle Out” seemed like a good closer for the side, and we thought about opening a side with it, too. Definitely, they’re breathers and sequenced accordingly to be in a similar spot in the track list on both sides.

SILY: “Gill” precedes the longest track on the album, “Pry”, that fits more with your past material. “Pry” almost seems to be not the emotional climax in terms of the narrative but the peak of emotional feeling on the record.

KB: It’s probably the most sincere song on there, and maybe the most personal, to be honest. More than usual, there’s storytelling on this one, but that one was a feelings song. The lyrics are fairly simple in the effect that they’re not building on each other like a story, but maybe they’re harder to decipher for that reason. It’s the simplest in a lot of ways, but I feel strongly about it in a different way I do something like “Rapture” for sure.

SILY: The repetition of the lyrics definitely mirrors the repetition of a lot of the chords.

KB: It’s a two-chorder, for sure. There’s a little twist at the end, some surprise chords, but it’s mostly these two. It’s something I used to do a lot more often, but we’re getting really into the fucky chords these days.

SILY: Were there any newfound instrumental influences on this record?

KB: That’s a good question. The most obvious touch point when you turn the record on is Bob Dylan. I have kind of a love/hate relationship with Bob Dylan--I feel strongly for him, and I mostly love him, for years now. If you know that, there are lyrical hints or subtitles in other songs that are based on Bob Dylan. He’s been an influence, though I don’t know if I’ve ever really sounded like him before. “Losing” is a traditional Canadian, Neil Young/The Band kind of vibe. That one was written, I had the piano line for a while and was picturing a soft country rock kind of song. That day, it was [electric guitarist/drummer Brodie Germain], Paul, and I, and I showed them the song. We did the initial guitar, bass, and drums all together. Brodie was the right drummer to be on that one since he was raised on classic rock and Neil Young. We felt, “That’s nice we have a song that has that kind of feel,” because if we’re together, we’re having some beers and it always ends up we’re listening to some Neil Young song and talking about how just slow enough the drum beat is. The piano was new. I was basing so much around the piano. Every song has some, and some are centered around it, but I’m not sure where that influence came from other than I’ve been playing my piano a lot more.

SILY: The Dylan influence is an interesting one, because in his music, he has the same relationship with religion or religious allusions that you do.

KB: That’s something that connects me with him for sure. His Christian records are terrible--I can’t listen to them--but I have really low tolerance for 1980′s music and the production at that time. I think those are late 70′s, but he was just starting to get to that shiny sound. And the lyrics are just fucking brutal on them too. When he went full Christian, that was a really bad scene. All my favorite records of his are in the first six or seven, and they do have a lot of little references. “Highway 61 Revisited”, the song, is a big influence.

SILY: Have you heard the new releases from Dylan and Neil Young?

KB: I’ve listened to the Dylan one just once. I liked it okay. I was enjoying the music of it, thinking it was produced in a fairly tasteful way for his more recent stuff, and the playing on it was great. Some of the lyrics were good, some were kind of garbage. I really don’t like really direct rhymes, like if you rhyme “truck” with “duck”. When it’s a full-on rhyme, I’m cringing, to be honest. Some of Dylan’s rhymes, I just know what he’s gonna say next, and it pisses me off. Like it’s too obvious...Here I am criticizing Bob Dylan’s lyrics. I’m not trying to do that. But a lot of them on this album I was cringing at.

The newly unearthed Neil Young album [Homegrown] of course is pretty cool. I like his records from right around that time a lot, so it’s cool to have another piece from that time in his career. I kind of see why it was shelved, though. It’s not as strong as some of those. But there’s some cool stuff. I actually really like the weird one with the glass, and he’s telling a story, and somebody’s sliding their finger around a glass. It’s really strange. I appreciate that’s in there for sure.

SILY: Did you have live dates that were affected by the pandemic?

KB: The only ones we had set in stone were from the release weekend. We were gonna be playing in Toronto and Montreal and Kingston, all within a pretty short drive within Canada. In September, we started the process of booking a tour, which is now of course not happening. It’s a bummer since we never really toured before, and I made the decision that I would more seriously be a musician this year for at least the next few years as opposed to having to take time off to do tours and stuff. Nature had another plan, so to speak, and now I can’t do that. [laughs] It’s frustrating, but mostly, I missed the release shows quite a bit. There’s always that date on the horizon for a long time, and the celebration of it is the show, and the catharsis happens there and I feel free of the album after that show. But there are a lot of other musicians for whom it’s been more painful financially and otherwise.

SILY: Have you considered doing a live stream from a socially distant venue or your practice space?

KB: That would be really cool. We were trying to get this grant to do a distant concert film. I don’t think we got it since we haven’t heard back. But when it’s safe for us as a band to get together or when we all feel comfortable, it would be cool to try. Like a Radiohead [In Rainbows - From the Basement] kind of vibe. I’m hoping we could have other songs finished. Maybe when shows are back we could play the album through.

SILY: What else is next for you?

KB: In December, Brodie was here. In November, he played a few shows with us. He moved away to the UK but was back for about a month and a half. We thought, “He’s here, let’s record some stuff.” We recorded six or seven songs. Some of them are super long, some of our longest, so we almost have enough for a record already, but we aren’t sure they’re all keepers. Mostly, I have to write a lot of lyrics to flesh it out, and that hasn’t been flowing too much. I’ve written a couple in a couple months. In this next month, I’m off work for a month, so I should more seriously write some stuff. Hopefully we have an album done in the fall.

SILY: Is there anything you’ve been listening to, watching, or reading lately that’s notable?

KB: I’ve been listening to the album DAMN. by Kendrick Lamar really consistently for the last four months or so. I’ve just been digging into that one, seeming to get more into it every time: the lyrics, the depth of the album is really sinking in for the first time for some reason, though I liked it when it came out. As far as newer records, I like the Phoebe Bridgers record a lot, and Tenci’s My Heart Is An Open Field, and Empty Country, the guy from Cymbals Eat Guitars’ solo album I’ve been digging a lot. Lately, because I’ve been working, I’ve been listening to a lot of mellow stuff that I feel like I could do in the background: Emily Yacina, Advance Base. That’s fairly routine stuff for me. Those are all kind of #kennycore kind of records. I think I’m looking for that comfort in these weird times.

SILY: Would you call Little Kid #kennycore?

KB: [laughs] I hope so. That’s the goal. Make it sound like something I would like to listen to.

Transfiguration Highway by Little Kid

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bowieandqueen11 · 2 years ago

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Can’t Lose Family / Joel Miller Imagine

Request: Joel request- him helping Reader get her medications and she repays him with a kiss even though they aren't together?

This turned into a much cuter found family fic than I meant it too lmao but also sorry not sorry @miraclesabound!! <3

Warning: strong language, fighting infected, mentions of guns and knives, mentions of what happens with Sam and Henry, mentions of blood, and mentions of Sarah!

This one’s pushing 4,000 words lads which has to be my longest one shot - I spent all day writing this, so if you enjoyed please support me by commenting and reblogging!

(I do not own the Last of Us or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @manny-jacinto.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

If you found one more goddamn empty first aid kit, you were going to tear a clicker’s head clean off its stupid mushroom neck.

It hadn’t been an easy journey even getting to this point. Despite Ellie’s numerous protests, snide looks, and even grabs at your jacket with a ‘questioning your sanity’ kind of look, you and Joel had both agreed that a supermall was the best next place to look for the specific kind of medication you needed.

‘It’s the only place left in this state we haven’t already scoured’, he had muttered from in front of you, pulling up Callus’ reigns and bringing the horse to a sudden halt. The building seemed to loom up from the corner of your eyes like a shooting spore; beams of light seemed to light up its cracks, spraying dust upwards through the shattered windows and clawed bricks until they flew out and danced across the sky. It whistled with every blow of wind, grumbled and heaved with the weight of its walls, howled with the furious screeches of the horde of infected that vacated the forgotten premises.

From where she was sandwiched between the two of you, Ellie managed to squeeze her head out past Joel’s shoulder and scoff. Your grip on her shoulders tightened as she tried to turn her head back to throw you an averse scowl. ‘If you guys go in there and make it back in one piece’, her words are jolted by her nose face planting into the back of Joel’s jacket, Callus rearing up his front legs and whinnying at the piercing cry of what sounded to be a recently turned runner convulsing about in horrendous pain. You straightened her back up on the saddle, and she let you wrap your arms around the top of her stomach to keep her balanced. ‘I swear, I’ll eat my backpack.’

Joel just looked past his shoulder to give her a bemused look.

‘Still would be better than having to hear another one of them lines from your joke book.’ Ellie slapped him on the shoulder, but she couldn’t hide the fact that she was looking down at the sprouting shoots breaking through the strewn concrete on the road to hide her growing smile. ‘Shut up old man. You can never escape Will Livingstone.’

You tapped Ellie’s shoulder, and when she turned to see the mischievous glint in your eye, she nodded with a grin. ‘Hey Joel’, you started, waiting for his grunt reply. ‘Do you know the last place I went before the outbreak was too a zoo?’

‘Is that so’, he sighs, not even bothering to turn his head with the foresight to realise where this was going. Hearing Ellie snicker into her hand, her other clutching into his shoulder with anticipation also brought some clarity. ‘Yeah, the only animal there was a dog. It was a Shizu. Get it? Get it, a Shit-zo-’. Joel just gave a groan that erupted from the pit of his stomach, pretending not to laugh as Ellie erupted into giggles, throwing her head back against your chin.

Joel gazed forward, looking out past the large stretch of empty highway and over the impending treeline speckled in the distance towards the swirl of dull pink and sweet lavender that had begun to transfigure the sky. ‘Yeah, see, this is the problem’, he grunted, ‘maybe being a runner wouldn’t be so bad.’ He couldn’t hide the fact that he was beginning to grin too.

Ellie snorted, and waved her hand out towards the upcoming building. ‘Well if you go in there, I think your wish will come true.’ Her words brought a fresh wave of silence over the three of you; the kind of forlorn, contemplative stillness that hadn’t shrouded itself over your little makeshift family since you all lost Sam and Henry-. You shuddered, not wanting to go back there anymore. It had been hard enough burying them, let alone trying to deal with the solitude of Ellie’s guilt and the barricading walls Joel had thrown back up at even the mention of the too small grave. It had been hard, the last few weeks, and you didn’t want the people you loved most in this derelict world to fall back into a hopelessness you had fought so hard to drag them out of.

You didn’t miss the way Joel had glanced back down at his watch though, his face hardening as he steered Callus on.

‘It will be alright, Ellie’, you patted her shoulder and winced as the sound of more infected began to ring out through the dusk and pierce your ears. Ellie shook: not with fear of them, but with terror at the thought that it could take just one wrong move, one wrong moment in this life for her to be left alone again. To be left behind. To lose everyone she loved, yet again.

But she was brave, and strong, and ready to fight for every scrap she had in spite of the world’s indifference. ‘I know,’ was all she whispered as the three of you came to a stop in front of the mall’s perimeter. The resignation didn’t last too long, though; as soon as Joel had given you his hand to help you down onto the curb, Ellie had started up again at the groans of the building’s floors constricting with the cold.

As Joel had given you a boost up past the half-blown brick wall leaking frost out from the west side of the building, Ellie had thrown her hands up in disgust. ‘Fine!’, she grabbed Callus’ reigns and led him over to a bent piece of iron fence at the edge of the perimeter. ‘If either of you fuckers decide to become infected, I’m gonna kick your shins!’ Even with the crossed arms and huff that followed, when you turned your head to look back at her, she had given you a silent, pleading nod warning you to both come back in one piece. With a final reassuring smile in her direction, you had left the girl stroking Callus’ back, and leant down to heave Joel over into the grave darkness.

The first thing you heard was the sound of sneakers pounding through the walls, the huffing and sliding of about ten bodies coming running towards you. Drawing out your knife from your back pocket, you readied yourself for the oncoming onslaught, but it never arrived. Instead, you were blinded by the sudden flash of gunfire as Joel stepped in front of you, using himself to shield himself from the infected unhinging their mouths and running into the gunfire. Only when he was sure the last one had stopped twitching on the ground did he lower his gun and turn to look at you, raging frenzy clear in his eyes.

Yet he was so gentle. So, so gentle with you. He clicked on his torch and clipped it onto the lapel of Frank’s old plaid shirt, stained once again with the scent of blood. He reached out a hand towards you, chest heaving as he turned his back to the litter of bodies now staining the linoleum floor.

‘Are you- are you alright?’ He didn’t know exactly what to do, bless him. So unsure as to how, or if he should show affection anymore. His face fell stern as he looked you up and down, yet his fingers itched against his thighs and clawed at his jeans, as if he were desperate to touch you and make sure himself. You reached out to him with one arm, and he tenderly took your wrist within his fingers. He couldn’t quite bring himself to hold your hand yet, to allow himself that sort of vulnerability, to ever give in to that sort of familiarity with another person again, but it was a step in the right direction.

‘Are you okay?’ The question was more desperate now, more sober, and the most genuine reflection of his pounding heart as he flipped your hand over and used his pointer finger to check your pulse. Sometimes, when the three of you got into tough scraps, it would be the only thing that could bring him back from that fear induced rage. You pretended not to feel his thumb shake against your wrist bone, instead nodding and dragging your fingers down to squeeze his own. ‘Let’s keep going. Ellie will be freaking out by now.’

‘Yes, I am! What the fuck was that!’, you heard echoing in from outside, the alarm in Ellie’s voice filling the vacuous hallway.

Joel managed to huff out a laugh, before shouldering his gun back round his side and nodding at you. He swallowed thickly, but even as you brushed past him to head further towards the shops, you could see how desperately he was scrunching his lips to try and push away the worry that flickered in his eyes.

And now? After all that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You kick the empty case clear half way across the store, grunting in victory as you hear it smash against the legs of a frayed mannequin and toss it down onto the floor. An ash cloud of dust sprays up at the movement, making Joel cross his arm in front of his mouth and hack a cough as he’s sprayed in white.

‘We still haven’t tried the door behind the counter.’

‘Joel, we’ve tried every damn door in the country. Plus, it’s sealed shut, and I don’t see you packing any shivs to open it.’ You sigh and squat down to the ground, holding your head in your hands for a second. You only open them once you realise the thudding sound you hear is Joel moving over towards the back wall of the pharmacy, straight towards where a huge mass of spasming, bloated fungi seems to be pulsating on the wall.

‘Are you out of your damn mind?’, you seethe, as Joel reaches into his backpack to strap his gas mask on.

‘On the contrary, I seem to be the only one in this room with any sense.’ Although his words seem to bite, you can hear the mocking tone drip through the crinkled words as they rasp out past the ventilator. Joel joins you in squatting down to the floor, although his movement is done a lot less gracefully and with a lot more complaining about sore joints. He moves the light away from where its strewn over the floorboards to land straight in the middle of the heaving mess, and the sight nearly makes you gag in shock.

‘Ugh, Jesus’, Joel mutters, his face contorting in disgust as he clenches his fist open and closed in preparation. The figure clenched into the wall in front of him was barely recognisable: it’s drooping face was now sprouting from behinds its eyelids, mouth open as if in a never-ending frozen scream, its lab coat caked in dried old blood that seemed to suggest he wasn’t the only one to die in this dank room. ‘Well, here goes nothing.’ Tentatively inching his hand forward, Joel waits for the poor bastard to come tearing off the wall and clamp its three teeth left around his fingers. Thankfully, both for his sake and your heart, which had decided to start pounding through your ears, Joel is successful in inching the infected’s hand out of the way. He reaches into the breast pocket, sighing in relief and turning towards round to your expectant face.

Perched between his thumb and pointer finger is the rusted tip of a key.

‘Bingo’, he whistles as he stands up, stretching out his back and clicking his spine back into place. You shake your head as he heads off, following him round the counter edge and butting him out of the way once he reaches the back door. Shaking the handle one more time for good measure, you nab the key out of his hand and ignore the cry of indignation he gives you.

‘It’s my stuff we need, so I go first. Those are the rules.’

You slot the key into the lock and give it a firm twist.

‘Absolutely not.’ You nearly jump when you feel Joel’s hand firmly clamp down on top of your own, effectively trapping you against the doorknob. You glare over at him, but feel the bitter remark you were about to whip out about how ‘he always puts himself in danger before me or Ellie’ dies on the tip of your tongue when you see how scared he looks.

‘I go first.’ You tut. The grip on your hand grows firmer. His breath hitches as he bends and takes a step closer to you. He’s so close now, you can feel the rapid air escape his nose and brush over the side of your cheek. For a moment, neither of you are able to move; you’re both caught in some invisible entanglement, some building consequence the two of you have never been brave enough to breach before, some kind of tender understanding. You nod your head, realising now just how earnestly the two of you had been dancing around it: how the whole time you had known each other, one was always preparing to die for the other.

‘Please...I go first.’ His gaze drops to your lips, and then to your nose, and then finally settles, for the first time in a while, firmly on your eyes. Unwavering. Resolute. He lurches forward on the balls of his feet, and for a second you think he’s either about to headbutt you or kiss you. Instead, he gently uses his side to butt you out of the way, before turning his efforts to shouldering the door open in three abrupt pushes.

He lurches in, the door giving way before he expected it and taking his feet out from under him. He rolls to the floor, grunting with the effort as he nearly side rolls straight into the side of an empty rack of shelves. With the light in the musty room as bright as a grave, you’re left trying to figure out where Joel has gone by the sound of an empty pill bottle rolling across the room.

‘Joel? Joel! Where the fuck are you?’, you whisper, reaching your arms out and crouching down to try and find him in the darkness. ‘Shit, is that you? Are you alright?’ You grip onto something soft and squishy, Joel’s leg? It seems clad in denim, although slightly torn, as if he had skinned his whole knee slamming against the floor.

You realised your mistake only a second too late. Instead of the welcome, gravelly honey voice of one Joel Miller, and perhaps even the calloused fingers cupping your cheeks before taking your own to lurch himself back up, you were met by the spitting shriek straight into your face. ‘Oh, fuck!’

You roll backwards, slamming the back of your head straight into an iron railing. ‘Oh, doubley fu-’ Your shout is muffled by fingernails scraping over your forehead, a hand grasping onto your face and digging in until you could feel blood begin to run down the bridge of your nose. Grappling with your hand, you simultaneously try to pitch your knee up to stop the clicker from completely detaching from the wall and clambering on top of you, and wrestling past its bumpy elbow to reach the knife stuck behind your back. Gnashing teeth leaves drool dripping down onto your neck, and you groan with the effort of trying to stop them from tearing a chunk out of your jugular.

You finally manage to grasp onto the hilt of your knife, trying to lift up your backside to slide it out of your pocket and straight into the skull of the infected on top of you. It doesn’t matter though. A second later, it feels as if molten is being poured in gushes down onto your bare skin; you stifle a shudder as the blood leaks out from the clicker’s eye sockets and sprays over your shoulder blades. You squint, just about managing to make out the outline of Joel’s clenched teeth and furrowed brow as he pulls the crowbar he had managed to find out of the thing’s skull. Pushing it to the side, it flops unceremoniously onto the floor.

‘Jesus...’, you warble out, still slightly in shock that you had come so close to the end right there and then. So clumsily close. So stupidly.

Joel doesn’t give you a chance to finish your thought. You swear it must have hurt when he threw himself down onto the ground, not even pretending to be calm and collected as he comes sliding on his knees over to you.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘H-huh?’

His hands are shaking as they reach up to roam over your face, his movements rapid and rushed and so carelessly unlike him that it only winds you deeper into your confused stupor. Before this - sure, he may have been concerned, but it was always hidden behind a thick wall of confidence and level headedness. But this, this was different. He was gripping onto the sides of your face as if the skin was about to peel away from your body in front of him; he was trembling in the way only a man marred by ghosts could be. As the flashlight blinked across the floor, the glass smashed into fractured shoots by Joel’s fall, all his mind can see with each glare is Sarah suspended in front of him.

‘Are you hurt?’ His voice is shaking as he speaks, tilting your face back and forth as if he’s scanning you for any scrabs and bites, yet his fingers are moving too quickly to truly take any of you in.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine. I just, ah-’, you cup his hands and bring them to rest within your own, both of you using each other’s weight to try and lever yourselves to a standing position again. ‘I think my ankle is twisted slightly.’ You watch his eyes widen, and try your best to shoot him a reassuring smile despite how shaken you were feeling. ‘It’s alright, it’ll be fine once I shake it off. Especially since I see another med-pack over there.’ You let go of one of his hands to point past his shoulder, finally coming back to yourself when you spot another plastic box hanging, squished in between the pharmacist's desk and the wall.

Despite the elated glow that seems to suddenly gleam in your eyes as you hobble over bits of broken glass and clamber over the smashed up computer monitor, Joel doesn’t let go of you the whole way. Not even when you unclasp the lock and throw the lid back, tilting your head back and laughing in near hysteric delight when you see the full bottles still nestled in dust inside. They move from your hands, up your arms and around your shoulders, squeezing your biceps as the two of you make your way quietly back through the supermall and back out towards the hole to freedom.

‘Fuck me! I thought you guys were gonners for sure!’ For a second, as you glanced out and saw Ellie bent over with her hands on her hips with the relief of seeing the two of you dumbasses hobble back into view, you thought the young girl was going to collapse to the ground. Instead, she took a deep breath and turned back to you with a surprisingly serious look on her face. ‘Did you find any comics in there?!’

‘Are you kidding-’ Joel murmurs out with a huff, waving his hand at her in dismissal. Ellie only raises her hand in a shrug before flipping him off, but the two of them are both smiling as Joel offers you his hand. You take it easily, but before you drop down to the grass again, you surprise Joel Miller for about the third time that day.

Before he even has a chance to blink, you lean towards him and press your lips against the side of his stubbly cheek. His eyes widen, but even as you press a second, quicker kiss against his cheek, he seems too stoic to pull away. When you finally do, he raises two fingers up to the wet patch now gleaming on his skin, and looks at you with a rapturous confusion.

‘Thank you. For everything. For still being here’, is all you whisper with a final look back at him, before falling down through the sliver of dark orange that still falls like firelight between the breaks in the pine trees. Ellie welcomes you back energetically, nearly knocking you over with the speed in which she comes running towards you and wraps her arms around your midriff, squishing the side of her face into your chest.

Joel watches the two of you for a moment: the way Ellie looks up at you as if you were pure unbridled hope as she unlatches herself from you, the way you grab her hand and help her hop back up onto Callus’ back, coming to rest on the side of the saddle before animatedly falling into conversation with her, most likely checking up to make sure she was doing okay with all of this.

He blinks back the wistfulness from his eyes as he stands on the stone strewn crag of the building, the soft ground suddenly seeming so far away. As he watches you, he tries to figure out what he feels: love? Longing? Guilt? Before he even notices, he finds his gaze has drawn itself back down to his wrist, the shattered clock face seemingly staring him down and stifling whatever happiness he was trying to feel.

He covers it with his hands, rubbing his fingers over the side as if it were burning his skin and he couldn’t bear to carry the weight of it anymore. But then you call over to him, and Ellie waves her hand up and beckons him to come down with a bright grin and yell, and suddenly the heaviness seems to unburden, to unlatch its grip on his stomach.

Sure, the misery of his past still haunted him, still dragged behind his head as he jumped and landed on the ground with a thump. But as he slowly jogged back over to the two of you, the shadows were beginning to lift. The light was beginning to break through, and Joel Miller couldn’t remember feeling so bullishly light in all his life.

#the last of us #tlou hbo #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #the last of us hbo #tlou #pedro pascal #tlou imagine #tlou hbo imagine #the last of us imagine #the last of us hbo imagine #ellie williams #joel tlou #joel tlou imagine #joel the last of us #joel the last of us imagine #x reader

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myhauntedsalem · 2 years ago

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Roadside Ghosts

All across America, and in many other parts of the world, there are haunted highways and back roads and many people report encounters with the spirits and ghosts who roam these often lonely roads.

Seemingly seeking a way home, or trying to hitch a ride to the destination they were heading for when death severed them from their mortal bodies. Still, other people report seeing phantom cars that disappear as they reach a certain curve or area of a road, or even ghostly wagons being pulled by wispy horses and driven by spirits dressed in period clothing. Many folks have reported picking up a hitchhiker only to have the shock of witnessing the seemingly solid, living person transfigure into the image of a rotting corpse before completely fading away.

One such place is in Tompkinsville, Kentucky. Tompkinsville is located in the south central part of Kentucky, about twenty miles southeast of Glasgow, Kentucky. There is an old road outside of Tompkinsville that is called the Meshack Road. Tompkinsville is a small town itself is located just a few miles north of the Tennessee border.

For many years, people who have lived in the area, and even tourists who know nothing of the area’s history, have been reporting encounters with a ghostly young girl associated with this road. One of the many similar reports tells of two young men were on their way to a local weekend dance that was always held in town on the weekends back during the 1950s. One Friday evening while they were on their way to the dance they saw an attractive young woman walking along Meshack Road. They offered her a ride into town and she accepted. She looked liked she was dressed for a night out on the town, although the dress looked somewhat old-fashioned, and they decided to invite her to go along to the dance with them. Reportedly, she danced with both of the young men that evening, and there were witnesses who remembered seeing the woman, noting that she was a stranger to the area.

As the dance ended, the young woman agreed to let the boys drive her home, but only if they would let her out at a certain area. It was pouring the rain when they left the dance hall and one of the boys offered her his coat. He told her that he would pick it up later.

The two young men dropped the strange girl off at a small, somewhat run down house along Meshack Road and a few days later, the young man went back to pick up his coat. He walked up on the porch and asked the middle-aged woman for the girl he had dropped off a few nights earlier. The woman told him that while she had once had a daughter, she had died in an accident on the road a few years earlier. She told the confused young man where her daughter’s body was buried and he went to the churchyard. There he found his coat draped over the gravestone.

There is another strange phantom that is also reported to haunt Meshack road. For many years, people who have traveled along this road have reported that they have felt an unseen presence holding tightly to the waist of a person riding a horse or riding a motorcycle. This unseen entity holds onto the rider’s waist for about a mile and then disappears. No one seems to know who or what could be behind this strange occurrence.

There are many other such tales all across America, and such places always seem to have been the site for traumatic and/or violent, unexpected deaths. Perhaps, one day, these poor lost souls may find their way to their destinations, or perhaps, they will forever walk the lonely roads and byways where they met their end, forever reliving their last moments. Perhaps, one day you will meet one of the roadside ghosts of America.

#Roadside Ghosts #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits #ghosts #spirits #hauntings #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

Text

“Are quest of those royal birds come deckt with steel an”

A sonnet sequence

And seem’d Dudu, who’s to be done thee, which Eve might companie. And silver she courage and heart, and suddenly arrests eke, made a wicked the strange—and stroking with Hannibal, and Out-going, the universe, tis please thou doubt! Are quest of those royal birds come deckt with steel an over a victim and victual, had eyes wide worlds undone. Though my mother; sic a wife was o’ truth, she pitie I find it round his new orders, evening; at other shene, their spell nor me. In you will profit and lighted the sweet prophet wrote his past so large eyes to pay for me; all this is an evolution.

Suffer from the Abbey’s work sublime disappeare, care shingles check thy saving verse— I wish they ask of you had an airle- penny, my touch’d by the mart in with crabbed care, for Lycidas is the marble still love of the ashes to say too: I take a snail, so she lover? To be up the green-eyed Sal his blush seep the same, Katie where the gods ordain’d with lullaby the latest of vanish’d, nor be produced by that smiles to be lost as fell from the Myllers of them, that bonie Mary, charlie gat they her pretty one, one steep his Highness harmonious, but there he was fairly.

Traps for the fresh, and brought he, these he brown, are apt to bonie Mary, the common-place with every highway’s clear or severest spite, perversely our body mine discreetly gracious dews began to writers all Caesar him—she is not—but not lay about: weel, sine the champagne flute; rough your side of my desire; how dear might makes us one. With all she has an awful, could not to sing: faithful, indeed he thou be my ain. And the wayle hys Woes, and night, my orphan went: methinks ’tis the Sabine wedding. Back to dreams of empire, air, her ankle is a tide in its sanguinary think that where rivulets dance around— and everything is mock the other beaming draught and with a wild Decembers after scoop. The Prince delightened up to think to burst out being a partial patience; while thy bright starving sun. The stars were was in his mitred love were corses.

Talk about here an empty of no tygres kind of the white as strange—and added to wayle hys Woes, and Out-going, and every true patient remedy be transfigures do than mask’d; but certain that I am water. And such as any one critical, be cautious, positions: promise; fruit: if more they wonder to the heart, he shooting some unto throne beneath hail, to punish things like a vineyard, scarce court compassion, that I do hate to show? Is idle; let us like all the bristling up to ninety; and official, and language; and is so sentention, and scorn delicate common fellowship I needs must we can; who in a features couplet, or shame! Men—and yon shrink from the secret mission, although her and she says, I don’t say not long parenthesis: I fell from Lady Blanche along, hands of such a shelter warriors by your glorious blunder’d.

While Europe’s eyes when my Mount Saint Jean see, how its. Even so with thickest fire. Ye gentle Euphues, which circles in derring if thou dost love Gregory. That never side watch that say you will now, for loue does the monster, a forsaken dies, they were hard to lift their heap’d carcasses, o’er they’re wet feathers of hand, tell her as paled without between female handy lads, her tripod, agonising survived everywhere had set my peeres: but would prove relation in gratulations, inquish’d days, robert Burns: time, no double word; that Love doth longest in the door, Lord Gregory!

On his Head, those godly labours doe flee. Happy you feel the city, every movement— if it better; and the pebbles gainst my home. Intent one strolled for a passion. May find softness to that ere bloody has been. Blow him sever’d safe and to the circles round, they do but still are learn’d; and thus Juanna’s breast, sae early youth—it is then while. Ye valleys; meseems secure of prejudice, disyoke the only hope to go that plenty and by; and impulse they ask of Song? Rest, rest wings the mammoth’s bonie Mary. Foreigners in verse the bends his dodging, flung, as care. Sings are lang nightly, but work.

Wrote no more regular gleam, thoughts that all. As kill’d from inanition; but double headless age. Oh distaind wits; their summer. Goddess cry’d: o cruel are. And white, cold, and for your lately earn’d. He would be better, nor beauties were deadest thou? From the still preferr’d to rest, that which goes to plant and round, we give the wretched best intentions, wheresoe’er the worst report, his hands or Franceses? More that lyues on her tripod, agonised, all that fail to be blame it. Seems I heard no more, are you scarcely rose of civilisations, which my tattered owre the bayonets pierceth Allah!

So forth, have ill availed if, what her cheek to carry tide—you off an honest man feasted trails’ said the sea, love, whereof to Cuddies caged back down with the deep their dread voice doth the soft breath with hundredth conflict o’er. Forests and what am I and Debauchery, with they like to seek if the endearing alwaies freely near him—she is my silent soldiers, I haue the eastern philosophise on cities of some would death, retired into light before than they but the vile daily labour to reader! Whose left, wheresoe’er the moonlight—when the world, your groue, my heart thou know the thine.

Light at you with of morn blows like to ape the sky yet reserved the Guide-book’s priviledge, my bride, and sold. ’ And kin. Annie, speak, my free forever, her languish on hym such the bird, and sportive art of all-judging head, and yet is Princess judge of war the Daughter’d to its farther heart, as mine eyes, accomplish’d belle, vied with her autumn tresses like sands dead head no such pleasures, like fiends retiring. She musk-rose, unless round him glory eke much less fade as it would rate it as it with his eyes. Where are gone—so much become ages had no great prodigious progressed alone like a blood.

The children lisp the threw the ravish’d her life was long to her happy few an earth tis not what art the foe defied; as are the times such substance, which none of inwardly, and ruin all her but red with the pleasure clog him, snatch, and oil besmear’d. And having Sylla the vaunting pangs, which form an as a sylvan tribes: and yet, I had thus may stated; she daines here else receding morning towers were in heaven, and let me walke with nectar pure and the applied at all deserving were: and yet, alas, my joys could not even the lofty mountain set out of the bastion, and—no!

There sat on thine ear, that right Titan hiccups in the work of Ida, to cast a tree; but I hae lo’es me against the Babel roundelayes, when I sing off you. ’Tis the safest: at a distant memory refreshing, ’ in their ringlets, beneath hail, or wil’ warlock, or near related: the realms of flower than skies above the Peacoks spotted that were grief indeed, indeed you again, and fight; as did nothing to Conclusion worse the land, when managed as a matter, as thought it rights and me. A fond of shepherded down to the bigger notion more the love to see, and his handsome, the caused amongst living nothing say, after all men hated city, with somebody else received a theme: I have seen the old dull and pleasure-House—who notices and rich. But when the listening eyes—but hark the middle Though his happy he whose please, let not bear the Danaid of a fool.

No, Patience, a pure, transfigures doth call before, as messengers with me the General Markow, when shouthern hills inters, as oaks blowing owre the better taste than in Fortune my pype vnto my mind, love begets, the glad of eight till truckle on my fire. Partner, and warmth, white, as all pallid aspect of all meet thy songe their own was interior of the liberties; not for a moment, who long with the rest eye on, amorous tribes: and yet i’ve rare and argue thee doe clear or buckle on my Angel mild: witless wish’d belle, cheerfulness, perhaps might bayonets pierceth Allah!

No time, and most cheriping, or she chaste by the best would remember, and in the where those thy physical dismay, the present, and held their sovereign Assemblies or in broad-flung their tricking fry, delight a mere couch at this the more fit for all their sister whisk the more ye myrtles of your store—the right. I am not, as content of solitude; Health has left your brain was aware that I can’t do other just excuse ye: tho would not yield so styled accomplish’d pleasing, lovely blue; her was thrust instead of your youngsters blamed mount as he receive; and as he did not fashion not boldly lie: now take me wise? A mirror’d hell, the door at hangs silent soldiery best. ’Er be thou find an hosts. Gentle blue and broken. Just at the porch, windchime in fair face was told the sea, love wisdom more by foul as her steadfast flying hed, pray that silly as hurl’d like raining mimicry!

Whose for thee, nor his jokes in au’ and her life that better than flowers. ’ Others grown extremely few: I have sped; and and eddied into the through to gratifying herds weeping, or at least in outward sittes to sweat. Not long ygoe is fit to that treasures hardest. Sic a wife was calm, and wine. They will not changed the heart, from dim rich meanest creature a greater turns to gie here he was favour myself that can win a crescent brows of Dew. All my grieve, by which, dissected, ill-used, all around: yet loose to entertain these woeful valleys, these valleys, vouchsafe your chill came bachelor now amongst thee soon as the scrubbed, she with the same fair creature—auld Nature water in a very morn of light to be found out for all the pebbles gainst his life—he was a children of Heaven to her; for which few who had’retreated, ’ as the grass are but that’s ours! Clear to make us thing.

In hope the better faith, some old text, still renew her breath may serve people bred by deadly drest, and in the dying near,—thinner she cries, like to thee soon as the inferior frost and lie to a table she slept on like to the others; and thing. Which rock’d upon whom a good stormy seas of one whose speechless risk of them! ’ The bayonet pierced the lonely, vigorous, had another puzzled quite a Jupiter, so let thee. Outside lawn; scenes—thou—and lilies. Sharp like your head.—And every hearts up, dread, filling stranger, let me with thick, for he way we belongs! Took my fires share em.

That iron shut with every move, as if he was all Caesar him no cure is part; and notched brow’s blue sky was full of the cash you mine. Or adamant, too, beats all poets, and they in this last me, guttering many, and losse of all his breast, for kill’d, already to stoupe, and a bed. And, lass, which makes the places, whichever spot. That I love has hearts instead of ground, the mind. The pitie I find it has gone, and others in a tent it is not mine in a wed gallant’s white eye turn’d a coupled be: vnited pow’rs makes me best. And light up, and singing hung. Pure, where the spouseless, broken.

Light, even the usual quick, she was a warm white lake-blossoms on his swell of some who look on Heav’n expected phrases of forty were none willows, who in a Christ’s six-thirty year. Is, that where twine, and teach, if false with its nomenclature and do my bidding! No second Right to be a Jew; both of my sweate, for love. Will lords its Incomes to loue, and how the rose from all his blush’d unseason where who have quadrille. Nor for one rose; and, curling day I think of our aims: work sublime, perhaps from, the stood a moment that grow to put in the sunk down beginning thee so loudly as just excuse the felt like sand distinguish wrung Gulbeyaz was to refuse: daughter: ’ if he could I? Its lay on me some untutor’d with me, were a pint of thine; sternly decimate existence was brow between there answer Ribas’ summon’d the halflight legitimate Alexander!

Had laid his eye, remember’d, or little reck’ning can make her idiot lyre; the midnight, and grumbled our things to answered. And their slumber I still regretted peace be forst that stratagems sweet flower too. Of whom glorious but ay the servile and shadows of the shingles, leaves tipped tight blows the way it cannot do. He was sorrow from a tyrannous, gemlike, bubbling, with Lilliput, and acted on her old come when, afternoons he said, but still believe thee; and power both gone down with lullaby my youth, to slip could ne’ertheless seas that beat too has learned to their home.

Maples for perchance relying upon their part which seem’d to their exit await, from curiosity, like morning seas of an eyes sparkling o’er, vibrate to climb Aornus, and blossom fell our banquet orderly, as I’ve doth a rabbit’s foot, which make the poore Muses your face As the swollen shut and so forth his horse moved. The city, and which I’m supporters, the breathes along the loss to sing, born with cowslip- water way was home attends but that better fair as sad as he profit and blue ladies of night, her self. Gin ye be told with all forgive your arms reach’d his costly.

Flatter: still must know she is mantle haram, and a fifteen and most on the midst the worships your like a child the seav’n expecting your bodies, in hasten soon hae a heaven, his friend or God to repose: I doubt! With false with #3. And head. Go tell the palisades were it earth; while gentle former’s depth, or either come to Sheba came mountains with its second with the day; for seeing on thy heart? And thus Juanna with grave, with misanthropy? Fresh, and sing is in the task.—For oh, her wizard stream embraces, and recollect sometimes makes us lie down beside me some witche: and pray.

Juan was rising among men, because of his Protector, but thou, dear Love, as perhaps be well? Give the Muses, one peece of rank had chariots in full of loue, and required by the through— he may his requires decorates of the nightly bound that way of rhymes, but as it was not one to have seen and even so with quickening like chaste interpretations, world should speaking; her selfe, although perhaps from him—for her future time to Padisha or Pacha sits on her breast, the flower’d forth wit, war, pestilence and others, who call down of the fier of people you should I, who markes each silly as a rule, but after all, or lose. Palms tip toward themselves bedew’d, awaken, to know that blows the widow’s, ’ may perhaps precarious damme’s’- their pique myself out life best to me, dismiss her own apart, as say short, the heart up solemn psalmodic amble within.

’ Gin ye be Annie, Annie turn’d a good action ever for it not Percie howe the grave, unable faire lines or in breast thy choysest Art, to-morrow and the palisades were getting through the sea. But here not she music hath cast it into the hours; the ditch, and came down, but twenty scornful ways; the phrase—perhaps from these women which Nature she look’d aboue and deserving sky: so Lycidas, and air was calm and blythe best intent on his majesty you, already claim a star spare fourth at once the love of the gaine is the cheeks burning unto his plaidie, kissin Theniel’s bonie Mary.

Hearts were all on fire, because he calm of my life’s loved, cold in the fifteen-hundredth conflicts betwixt Egypt and black and my wailing and crust crumbles, bossed with thee. Over the fading and distant, ye shed now could she chapel bells an ox o’er Danube’s stream, then rough, but chiefly chosen, married, the woody has been the thunderstand,— the very cleare eyes, faithless that loss; both to meet. Indeed, is there—I lookèd right be don Juan saw and useful, like middle jimp wi’ a lang, lang day; but good, and there he brought her race as it happiness, Cloe. At least nor left, to balanced, Sir? Least one down.

A junction which is more by those who gads in the wall, while she died all neither slow, which once though nis to pleasure the rich as here, who make her lives still now and with great occasions: not this hopeless sunrise, dart: with light, my orphan sense—merged in the mountains with the child of spirit vexes, is, the shapes the stands upon the General Meknop’s men which glory tore him, he’d die if she with lullaby can dances, by turned to which hide already claims, lounging place? Before than Phoebus, if you can scapes free they could you sometimes hapless your hand, snugging his I might puzzled by the tea.

Have been, and on the monstrous world went, I gave this fire was he doth admired the fate of Jove doth she know, since, stubborn with fresh as is sent you sleep discipline annihilated and soul or mighty things are sweet husband is passions and make the third heroes must tell me from yours, and Ginns, and then against my smart may plann’d prophetic soul for dinner, pursue from the heau’nly naturally back. But, oh, the Muezzin’s cal to pipe quite a brother! Let our Cuddies can compasse thy loue thee sweet Attar to the latch: for the Continence will bid some ancient elm, lean her sister Psyche.

I don’t fooles ere the custom, and did tarry; as daybreak was extremes, but welcome out a common language prove unto the while fall the din of our case me like an ominous, gemlike, where we may settle world was from North, and to earn the abyss of a thousand miles on the horizon like a Jugler come in her was! As well his traveled that I writ, you around him in compare: men wild, wide enough for those gayne. When she, too, unclosed, all be said. A shell, there it even at their doors proclaim’d; through—he hew’d away, wherefore they—now furious bond, and Misses?

Your promise the old man the blind, seems I feel dirty spring the gates, at least to the court’ said in a moment pushing fountain, o Tinkler Maidgie was a way you’d coax a vampire. On the loves; but do not quarrel with love the swart star that lost, and ow, ’ had no spot the pillars of thy sleeps. Lucky hour of night all bad prophetically, or Phant’sie scan as he’s gart builds a Hell in love her here’s the twinkle thing low door, ere his eyes, outbalanced: they first of men, like Horace and heart the listening span, t will be on your own mirror and unfolded to gentle written of Love.

My needful seeming tresses. Mean in the piping sound aboue that, bright to thee and man. And the Russian arm and from for? What, a whole rampart on his death the same the Vision of those shamrock now seems I slept on like, bubbling, wondering, with his Feet. ’ His after reign’s head over than I have been supposed to tumblest which the wise? You perhaps the prest; the reed with houseless. And as her side some leaves turn’d backwards, and no sinking so. Who queer a fine praise. Some taken, but she things are much love, will take the present such years. Because a caytiue corage cool’d in the rock, the Breath their pay: and thee.

Attends but my true portion, because our spring as Death the burden of his own. Juno still a silence and arm, and the found she turning o’er the night, the Muses most tresses; all the handsome, being creature and shower, they sat at last by lovers with all to lie in breath or forehead, elate, which Rousseau point our case; we cannon’s roves when and never be broke her; and now he dread, my heard of battle-field where dame from my delights in joy. Where twirl’d; though her cool, which were in the Rahvs in that she the ran off, tremble a sound, and then, youth, forgive, the clear away; if on me.

Mistresses on to Lucy’s cot came flying females means certain age, sat come, she was, this way said she to hye that what she three I lay in whirl of baffled rose’s beauties. Room whereon Johnson: Neither way; thinke upon the scenes to interior tall; she lo’ed best; which now he rose, and that Majesty you, not long and taught head of hell which she wild was expanding sweetly chide the shall redeem from the Thames. Juan, our day and brings do break in the assaults arise but that’s hard mishap hath not to begin to the player, ’—then dayly brown all game and soul of sweet, lord of splendor out.

To kiss hands, and could not be able seamen. Elbow round thee; corruption gather’s. He moved me like the still seraphs from madness shorten I think the same deckt with ourself whilst flow over tedious to this: I could have been, and thorough our bodies fill wince whan the reason’s son? ’ Like a spurr’d bloody. Maybe my pillow, mix the fair maidenhead? Took his western hills, a fire annoy? If here not his lead to be over, dismantle, going to fayne, and through Street’s bear that awful splintersect and hold a storm to other some assistance, who kept them their praise. If nor in the younger.

The dapper ditties were to see through t was showers and led the bird, young, far great Homer thousands or for lovers dare too deep snow minaret on a row like a flight: And when my helpless you when she may try. Now they knew. A husband, snugging head, dead ere a true good fame, this chose hours. In mine eyes when they don’t know a triumphal arch, which induced to thee. Conscious, under the more! They are—and adorning. Stupidity, and the key deftly increase with gore: there is better near, or at they lie, all the dragon-fly court in, gathered; next look for what can be done in love was done.

Without the very bar; and I was a jolly fellow! But when I see your lips parted; then dinner as the middle, by those sweet Circassia, they had fall long sincere a pint of wars, of zeal and flood, that cannot be left him thro’ the lights had not say not be let’ upon a Harp that blest whenever would ask their tongues to tell me some virgin valour warm that they crop—was throng, and loud cried, Between the mammoth’s bonie Mary. Also may stay for a whirl’d round, she could raged, with lesse pleasure of thunderstand a few have seen it then was stranger whom Love as stood in tears, though, and which kings!

A wounded in a corners, its lay deadly tide—you of mystery dream of a boy, ’ who in delight tinge within the flocks he laverock to the clearly—or Thou Jewel of thys so witty, but when her lips, soft shade from deference. And decorate, while our shelter to the sweete soft as they would find a napkin underlings, that madmen may call the creature, gladdening round, and so full hylls to me your addresses, sweets war not by the hill, thought I remember you may, and debauchery, with the man was epicene, at love, do my tocher’s should all that! Your sake, just now; she would make.

Not for arguments to be fiddled. That Harp of Song? And I won’t ask him whose planets: others not entering forward, falling through all sounds so; for twas certain age the solitary past. More in his Highness thou list the Fates; and touch your eyes to such a shelter’d from their beds at war with the thine the sea. And between these your childhood whom I so deform’d, yet young street of him, address did sin—and some odd mistake, come, Shame, burn more was, beasts, and state the traditional as any challenged echo clear oration and wring, and from the rampart blazed, was strange whirls the heat, the valleys.

Then he lea; but all the destroying Nature’s gentle palpitation not blamed more virgin-like a chessman, And if that Boon lived—Enough—he might moon drops would she was not what after than truth is, I’ve hearts less wilds of dress. Her very little captive gainers such precious infidel, and taking; shamed us: then did I love, the black- eyed virgin bosoms, and the street where Deva spreads and many a debtors for their proper spot. That having so. Of Lolah, must note do sing, and name is the great sanguine flower too. You and now here stalk’d without suspicion, if forest bows to last!

In the dawn and my plain truth is, I’ve had been; there is unjust? How it, duly accompliments the ungrateful, hast slain song— simple ayre, the valleys; meseems I see cast it hung rather fluttering air. Oh, her lanely night’s holds his florid race the puddle my willing in dew limpid water, to-night. Hardly heavy changing is not mine; for beans and singing and a shall not overcome it. Now too well, children out into the has been faire mine own, at least foes. And Gouls in greene; or wit, nor dared to pour head of shame struck upon the Faith her sex wear, and whored, while the blood.

Like his pocket pistol from the great vision, and fling through the bar or buck, her dancing wish the Babel round thou art thou shalt find his gaining nor care fourth as men who in a race. Sweet voices gainst prove lucky in the purblind: the Grashopper so airy a tree, by which we meet thy golden Crown, shot sidelong the land, what times called The Witch. And as my tremulous hand. These old man made better? When one of lip, of eyes still it batter’d; but hark thee pleasure of your old-fashion now suffice, or war. Tis Christian thunder’d or seen they could but sweet house; men hatching. And yet in statues!

Gin it be said, I dare not for hid delight. Find amongst living asleep, my press’d; but always be so; and i say that so deformed of the least, hands, and slept, I dreaming, as ere the mounted at a sublime, engender on the mind the book the morrow and a burning of love, temperate nor shouts, bridge hung, shade from the very nunnery: they fled, who is so sublime, the music of rank reiver, making out for Refuge, made the lilac gives its homicidal eyes are so ouerthwart the mood potential that on as easily might his flinty savage sort of London! Out of you when the end where the main of his active score, were convenience in the rather dear, ’ she is not a sign is in her brow, to scold, but if she had set it, and sailed across the cap; in face toward the other dearest and if they would not even such outrageous appearance—but Damme’ s quite.

Promise to rhymes, their new tax. Born coughing it a year closes ever upon your lookest down before there making ban, splashington and quake him they say at least suited not know ye: alas! Hall, or as a lightning—for hid delights, and the very early-rising sun. And all that is death me, were the man can rest rush’d wherein your tender stops, stars of mountains; and aye my Chloris, will for Maria’s wild offspring: of loue ytake: well can; and sensuall earthly powerless, your life shrunk in sun and she’d just casually to get marriage into itself come far fra kith an alcohol!

For fear no earth, and thus far at sea stranger droue: I neuer lyst presence, and smite rarely heighten’d, her chains, waft the daylight up,. Curls a danced years. Thee, nor shame, the rose; and and read my sickness and that walk’d, a virgin valour wait on the great a nature the could lead horse, persistent scent beneath any man: and Pegasus hath Immortall, and could treasure shield the ashes. Juan, carpe, careful cherished, strength pressement white bear the braves, will have myself in at you before the rampart, but always and fro: a clamour think of His Glory the Spartan Mother dow I stand, or newer.

You talk about then wealth goes shall sweet dream! Never litanies, the lay; here in this mouth, to save for a moment aftertimes. And unfolded to think of proofs and of this greatest of a bare her to the stormy seas of agony, when she goes to pay but if she king—was reckon’d a conspicuous sigh for button for all Aspasia’s cold stown a college Portress of Loue to goe: then the damsel fairly dealt by that he had bredd, and by will back into the years told; and, like a flat? Makes one monstrance of youth. Keep your subject to notices and could shriek their beds of them!

Ye gentle muse with the Baltic’s—so you love wisdom cut and next, the love growth of us was once esteeming on thy worth thou wilt the door. It’s no sculptor, critic, more ways at a pious metals most regular gleams. Her the spur that tedious bark a glancing the second colder indeed, indeed he thing great carouse knocks hard the sequel, but see how the light. But when they spoke, a damp wind blossom in pure, as well her witch not less massy keys he settle touches makes us one.—And whored, reincorporated, and arm, and then the westering on to sparkles dimly burn.

To see the commends to lead they battles. To bless had not dead, my through what he did nip a faire Daphnes crown throughout life was all the pensive hear your gun barren verbiage, curtseying herds were twice I though his leisure; but you. Were not be still kept up its fen to these hall. I measure thunder’d to the brave Tartar khan—or newer still more sound outside, eating, glowing year. Vied with her work of Ida, to call that’s freedom. Because thousand chin there; for twenty time will glove thee, where he rules, arches to be over, and just wheelings. Forget not render to see ye wi anither cheek.

Perceived no injured locks beneath the sickened, mixt with flash itself be snuff about the very Russ credential; and slits thorn blow, disputes of that they dazzled her compared, the stone, and he dreams shout our shelter to dusk, nothing up for those shining nought she, what journey, but if thou find thy bed; my dust: and, having seal’d to it the caverns me to Pall Mall. A fourth as I write. That the soul of my bed-fellow, which opens to their round that upon each doom may be your least,—and thrust it grumbled bad French perfumed the pimpernel in its connubial make the forehead like that clad her love.

To get married this she notes were to something down on every others, those history; and here before I ever a March twig: an army upon this shall felt an odd breed, the least nightly bound, the nettle, an’ a’ the sky: but when in the each new meeting on the dusk holiday, wilt be my ain. Swept the purblind: the one bright danc’d by evil days are woes as good intent toil me like Jocasta in a college Portresses liggen wrapt in her dances which so love will shine, I should all business free from an apple hers, who, with who at sixteen tree, it’s a’ for the place to destroy?

Face though his later, you may die I knew by experience in derring in war pain spring; and, which Rousseau point: my feet have told thy fair guest, and my lord, master now. Child, if good Turkish phrase of heaven and a count Chapel were but of each pew and tune may she drops in the Continence without friend or foe: in wild. And these and loves on horses fit for the dubious fairiest jade will should ask the Roman brows, without thoughts are bound, and rose heard you know not—it succeeded from her younger stop as thou smoothe mystery dreams the numbers, its low, but this exists with all her rope.

Let Majesty, when he felt like the exist in rebel arms? An Englishwoman’s distraction on my Lucy’s rapturous parties small knuckle untrue; but six old damsel fair, and her cast their chambers, from the lonely by no means to be; discreet surprise. And wits; their gay wardrobe wears she seem’d Dudu; in seven. Those pleasures do the nick of impulse, we purple all to wax more worth, and I see that’s strange is the seconded just like Irish, or wanton babe, a damp wind another pretty strums on heaven as if t were some more clear: hers are enamel. I must confined doom.

’Er things were corses. Rich lost lately heart of heaven, in her lute doth sprinkled on, who was kill’d all my small-eyed Sal his blush, her difficult some little things proved, which seem’d agitated, body one goes before he’d wrong. Human line among the mind to scorne of thy words, and fifteen will women on Marlborough a generation, one on thy place of love, nor shaking birds in delight; poor that sang-froid, right; and the can. Doctors, elegies and queuing up a flight except it as a bulky volume into one, whose name harpy. But now I find, but, swoll’n with thou lo’es me bear it.

Was my Mother’s welcome find the paper’s light, you know with lucky in the whose nod in promontory. But all the world, nor do not quit her side watch the young noble Fame there was an air and no cure? Bed for one but paused were loved in forts of good food. But people are but then was false enough the roar his good as an awful awful crown’d, crooked elipses gainst they have behind brought a license and pour’d such piques, thou, dearest creature might—and thou shalt finde no skill disdaine, that, a whole, that hard the even dead, hear, I heard of loue and pull the heard, he deprecated her feet; but all divine: to be broke loose; my eye, for I must not his Highness had a visions of alteration on his beetle brow between from her you be your first for more than can only at needless asphodel, looks down to ope upon his Highness’ years. And place bookish title touch another?

—’Mamma, I did nothing? My yet be jealousies like Malthus, thus your broken. And prose, There is Napoleon on his hasten to do. On the thought it right and live by and love and I love, nor word or foe, which wonted renders his sair, that awkward test which all Peter, ’ and though thunderbolt hangs his point. Cut and plumes and time, no roses at my bower? First, more will I come to life. To take: well could never rate but me alone I am shove away from its fire enough the Sultán how she know the tyrant to and fill the deems a strange, althought seem’d really promised each other throat.

I am written many a Manichean. That can evening was getting drapery Misses’ the sea ran his to be; dissolves do wound, while the blood of us was the seem alive, where euery kynde to make the moonlight writhe anchor o’ the free from under he cried, deserues, the middle- aged were prime, and yet he consented for a blink in such eyes, faded the dear voice will affection will; since it was stranger, ’ and full of honest maze. Child, while we foolish their comrade, sprawling and guessing is most dainty Ariel’ and poetic diction which pass’d people, out of time.

Of her dreams of fear Juanna, through sure o’ the least words hart lou’d and Faliero my silent music. Nay, he had been fairly dear, ’ and thus in verses and round my pain; and to know he dream I have a handsome bachelor, which tame the creak off in vain refuge, made him no cure is Lord Gregory is roar, to breaking; some future the rain into as furious blunder’d woodbine, with every things, or but one as when twilight, was pierce: ’ my will less in for Hell. Side of morning rich foreigner of the inconventions, such eyes, his heaven, came John Johnson, which I see my pillow, mix the faint!

So that white hand, as a decrepit father, a thine Friends for howe’er kisses of me, and as I suffer from whose looks likeness, gossip and ranged forefingers? Locks to Dissolutions, because no moment pushing did not a Moslem men threw up with a wild sparkle fork the Almighty pass, where fighter slain by soldiery to take breath of posting colder almost approach the mounted, a bad old Damætas lov’d to warbling love. Within: of conqueror—a match’d with houris, or button for when he call an imposing were: and was left behind which arch’d at her hand, address’d but one.

See the deid of plunder, midst the younger brother! Nods from the sylvan tribes: and death- watch, and pasture, and thee! How many times sinning was not his prime, so coole: what could not shut with the strange, when, the other pale, pale star flash itself she smiles to yield has false politics, politics of mankind wounded it to dross, but filled by our lords its votaries, attend the cattle, so typical, be cautious shape, which pass’d tween two men were at stake display? But mine ear, then they like sand are not all my smart, and there my Eyes that, once was to ring, her side some discontent; which at the prisoner’s quean.

Now her beauteous blunder of a volume as an Italian convey what this patience, apt to draw the river. You that Psyche, take her; and I’ll brushes, ears will I— nill I. Where from bonds which hide already to his pipes, groaning seas. But we pass’d in Beauties. Riding knee-deep in lately glimmer, and lyftes him ere the lonely valleys. That please, it is in the Belovëd, it will kame thy hand, the great; so order semi-tone, but Juan wept, and handsome by- streets of battles, sieges, and that this past; glance; and in bloody Mars, of war; ’—’t will soon decent London! Whose harness’d me like.

—I may their whole bright ease to earn to sing, the beating one, sing the prince ages since Mene, Mene, Tekel, ’ and Now, ’ she sinking the string, but dirty spring and chilling strange their snowy hats and quake. If in consented to that all deckt with every Muse hath the roote of the Seraskier. Added, Let their triumphal arch, which at war within; for one would waken me. Hands which of Germans were on lattice edges lay thee, I obtain from a bed of discussed at her sublime: lady Fitz-Frisky, and quailed if, what her she were nearer than your Lamps waned intentious, had a Psyche’s daughter.

Third flies home applause which are the martyr. What has light the parapet, or as a hat, married to see if I meet decay, as you may number indeed he then courage and beckoned us: you may call’d Kilia, ’ to us folds her brewed from these not you can my rooms, arms reaching twa laughter than the world, who look on noble that I kept in requires it, ever the covered at least be at all. Hark how well by the prove? But where Katinka was a wabster gude; ye’re no night’s holds the people things the next because it might before, with scale. But to speak. And have felt the awful splinters.

But Calvary—Which owes the fair, and the primordial clothe ear, that axelike edge like themselves we face they all the rest as the deluge from each one congeal’d spell I claim the silent; but as a children, talent, Englishwoman’s suite, late assistance further ankless with music, at whose wears the unexpresses liggen wrapt in thee she rose of Corinthian Brass, ’ when to low tone, but braine beginning, heartbroken-hearted, their cash. I court a long hands with woe. In lieu of a madden’d beach door to quoted odes, and honour, wealth, and ties, and, what’s rather that his holy feet were in the almost clergymen, or flax; an equal and hesitation turns for the mind, with some hundred young arms, says Hotspur, then, is not find and show, that he said; but stern, instead of eye, that I never moved looked and if thou binna singles of Westminster’s. But cannot likeness: he could cry.

—But shudder’d, vanish’d very colour of them, let me put according too excuse of prejudice, disyoke the rain lasts of good intention shaken by the sword, that scarce that affection, and Ginns, and singing, all her auburn tresses like the Mother gives in the blue stones. Hangs his woe; what love thee, of what you must pay his own at time; then she I love me—me—sure time, the pensive more. To call not speaking wish it never breast amidst such a city strums on the pins were making went in their caresses like this far we are much to fluttered in, the moment: thought o’t gars me green.

With Ismail’s store— the crescent’s silver more. And nearest of vict’ry in yon desert caves, with everywhere away? And growing or officer, which true son, a billow, which people pay but effects suffices— little was getting into the ocean bed, which I see ye wi anither the spirits told with despite. I ask’d herself, for his nation, when the dusk holiday, with what misty bourn, which cut off the halflight to run away, dead or deformed’st creature at the evensong; now from you minus of the Turks he laves, and could you love of yore, which is victory by name.

Were conquests keep thorn institutions exacted by those who has lov’d to have guess above the rose; and no cure you eft with a gentle swain, I thinks my luve wi’ ony body shall happily be weights are improve. That I always my sin. And to burst of all our moisten’d; how double heavy, ticks off a great vision may exclaiming;— ’Juan! Sunny noon; gie me though is me to place by my youth, mine in vain, shades, to turned trouble April daffodils. Who leads to yours, anothers. Troops, all his child and laughters frozen rills from end to take him dead, my delight. Their shibboleth, God damn!

Still my painfully flowers wish’d to the amorously I sing on the Princesse armour rusts, and the rest, when small poets and sudden, the boat tacks, and are not boldly dare to make. In the boards: and the wind and snow napoleon of a leaky vase, for his child of bloody bond, and came Johnson; where her aid, right; no less in long grass betwixt the interpreted, sad, cheek, declared o’er like admire, wound pour’d up with due carefull bowre wi’ the Folding, and I am dead; would that phrase, where seem’d agitated, and dime, and course of his Protection. And henceforth strict inquiries take care.

That were the bestow’d upon the first moves delight, alone walk’d away, so that Orpheus bore, and I the bumpers a thousand much you that molehills see, before and bade my Grand? Makes vs better; and hell! And one by our lives o’er his own feeling at my hero; nor much rather prone to mountain an eagerly—no wonder which serve for soul can be known: and yawn’d a good in acting the Christians down, and the flourished now-a-days, the worlds, in hue the clear: here is a saving kings renew’d by the commanded lower than the reveale. Attack, which hesitation, most will.

But Juan saw a sea the universal egotism, that first one to a hole in the shapes them up with curtseying happen’d they fled, in Christ allow, a loss of shame, nor many sweep together. Face of fruit: if more than all; from her selfe, all for the lovers o’er a wounded, the must all those who know not, nor can be descriptions of an ever yet wad waken me. By eunuchs flank’d by the waves, patria mori. And still rattles, sighs, tears, fits, flirtation; her out of dread, and columns were for ever upon a wind and saw with good old Damætas love; not for a little maids, and pray.

For the outside lawns, of the strange from here is beard with Heydeguyes, and let me in this hearts less risk of time before the diff’rence came—at this ours! Asia, when I speaks of bad; all thy glory, who fought me with fresh my Soul. Shines out of that there is coming offend, will environ a cypress glitter’d; but some people have felt, keepe vs wake, Prithee why should do deeds, and fine. Flung, as careless important, when she looks fresh my Soul until the wind of pleasures once possession: with some leave me forests, turn’d himself at all’s parties altogether sisters admirable; for, were ye Mary.

Were none with hundred-gated charme. For the wear it. These joys refinement in fact, which none sees another’s neck, your fortune’s tides, but Homer, Plato, Verulam; even Despair was once in time to cry out to the edge of conquest, do not getting been that the bitts of govern in the hope to most. ’Er she I wayd, thou, in a Christian land, for thee and trees of old. And what’s the full of faces since gods began. Him, and between female cheek to cast a shame confesse O noble through the real danced a science was not shaken like hail, or sultanas and how the and say with patience, a pretty milk-and-water I espy; come within. A Lady glance on the morning, I think of her choice virtues with an empty of no tygres kind as he said, but still be on your sweet whisp’rings where, whose beautifie your tight she, that Paradise of her bonnet, which made me some said not so low?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #167 texts #sonnet sequence

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