#most of the best lines involved rampart

[nimata-beroya]

TBB - 3x13 "Intro the Breach " Best lines

Why are you keeping me here?

You'd prefer we take you back to that imperial labor camp instead? —Rampart and Hunter 😂

You really think we can trust that hydrosnake? —Echo

Do you think I'm lying?

Yes!! —Rampart, Crosshair and Wrecker (I love they answered in unison 😂)

I can't wear this. It's a captains uniform —Rampart (🤣🤣🤣)

I was a vice-admiral

Well, you've been demoted

I hate clones —Rampart and Echo

I know how to carry myself. You're the ones that are gonna stand out like overheated Gamorreans —Rampart

The empire betrayed and imprisoned you. We broke you out. Remember that before you try and betray us —Hunter

I've missed this —Rampart (of course you do)

That's "do your thing, sir"

I don't think so —Rampart and Echo

Captaining —Wrecker (my sweet baby 🤣🤣🤣 covers aren't your forte)

But I can

You can't go alone

He's not —Echo, Crosshair, and Hunter (stop it guys!! I can't deal with the feels)

Relax, Echo's on it —Crosshair (I told you! Stop it with the feels)

Abort the mission

Negative —Rampart and Hunter

#as you can see #most of the best lines involved rampart #i hate him #but I'm having to much fun with him #the bad batch #tbb #tbb spoilers #the bad batch spoilers #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #vice admiral rampart

[erusdeerus]

I’m curious about your apex oc

the design is really intriguing and i was wondering if there were any details or backstory you would want to share for them?

also the linework on the sketch you did on Nov 21 looked really good! Cool composition as well

I am so incredibly honored by - all of this! I am very much still figuring out his backstory, but everything about him is largely based on - me!

He is a Gaia Native - and a Native American coded legend (based on my experience as a Cherokee woman who grew up in the capital of the Cherokee nation), the son of a fisherman, who died when he was young of congestive heart failure (based on my own loss of my mother), and a nightclub proprietress. Which, as most know - is a big no-no on Gaia. He was born without one foot (I was not, but many family members are/have been amputees) and lost the other leg in an accident involving his (soon to be discussed) later-life involvement in one of Gaias major underground crime syndicates. A lot of his design is based around his father, and his connection with his heritage. The netting around his shoulders being used in his ultimate, as well as tying back to his fathers use of netting when it came to his line of work. His name means deer in Cherokee (and is the tribe I/he belongs to). And his mask/helm is based on that as well. He speaks both English, as all other legends do - and Cherokee/Tsalagi (as I do, though I am relearning much of what I lost as a child). He joined organized crime…accidentally. The sort of situation where he saw something he wasn’t supposed to, and realized he only had one way out. I loosely intended to make his crime relations connected to Rampart and her Big Sister lore, though with any clear information about that lacking - I’ve not much to go on! But I do know that it is partially the reason he joins the games, if not entirely. His love for all that is live television and fame - is second-hand. Who doesn’t want to be beloved by millions - at least.

Here’s some general information.

AWI - Offensive Legend

Real name: Jarred Patel

Gender: Male

Age: 26

Home world: Gaia

What do you get when you put a fisherman and the proprietress of Gaia's hottest underground nightclub together? Most of a baby. Foot not included.

Passive - Take a Hike: Climbs and hurdles quicker than other legends.

Tactical - On the Wall: No realitively uncluttered vertical surface is off limits. A change in placement is made far easier by a quick run across a wall, over and behind the enemy team.

Ultimate - Not so Fast: Can catch and retract condensed enemies or teammates in a snare from up to 30 meters away. Adapted from a gun that was only really meant for fish, turned into the perfect trap for unsuspecting enemies, or teammates in need of a quick retreat.

His abilities are very Titanfall based. Which I think Apex could use. Though I am loving what we’re getting so far. But I mean, cmon? Wall running? Yes please.

He is a character I have adapted throughout - well, nearly half a decade, and brought through various fandoms. And he has changed drastically. But he has always been very uh…parkour based? Something I enjoy doing myself!

Fun facts, I suppose!

He is pansexual

He ran the gauntlet once, just to see how he would do. Not the best time, but he had fun.

He is 5’7”, he had an inch of height added to his prosthetics, his mother shakes her head at that one.

He has a birth mark shaped like George Clooney (this is something he’s had since his conception as a character 7 years ago, and I refuse to change that), where it is? Use your imagination.

He has watched Octanes streams. I think its blasphemous other legends don’t mention these. I have plotted dozens of voicelines soley based on this.

Edit: One of his eyes is also similar to cryptos augmentations. (I myself have no peripheral vision in one eye, and I thought that would be a HUGE disadvantage in the apex games, so this…seemed like an excessive, but cool solution).

If you have any other questions - feel free to ask!! Very honored you’re curious

#apex legends #apex #OC #apex legends oc

[phobos-vii]

Chariot Racing

The chariot race stands proudly in the city’s trifecta of arena sports, and is arguably the most popular. After all, who can say what draws one to the arena, between the acrobatics, the chimera hunts, the melees, the spectacle of naval combat, or the gladiatorial bouts. But every attendant in the hippodrome is there for the day’s race. Charioteers are held as paragons of coordination, cooperation, mounted combat, and magical prowess: all skills required for the sport.

Each race consists of three teams of five racers, each riding an individual chariot pulled by up to two horses (this is almost always two, but some racers are noted to use only a single horse). Each racer is equipped with weapons of their choice, slings, lances, bows, swords, shields, and especially vials of elixir. The challenge is balancing the options of weaponry with the added weight. 

On each team, one member is designated the Center. Only the Center’s position matters in a race, representing the entire team as they race around the course for the number of laps required. The other four members of the team act to protect their Center, or to attack the opposing teams over the course of the race. A single charioteer on each team may be designated a Tail, who is permitted to leave the race track or even go backwards over the course in their attempts to disrupt the other teams. Importantly, it is only the Center themself who must cross the finish line, not their chariot, nor their horse. It is a common occurrence for a Center to arrive on the back of their horse or in one of their teammate's chariots. On some notable occasions, the Center has won without horse or chariot at all, sprinting the last distance to end. A Center is never permitted to enter the chariot of a Tail, nor take their horse.

The courses themselves vary greatly. Long gone are the days of twelve loops along a simple oval track. In an attempt for greater and grander spectacle, Aediles have seen to commissioning fanciful designs: set pieces, ramparts, banks, jumps, moving platforms, treacherous pits, barriers, arcanists to attack indiscriminately… anything that can fit into a hippodrome. Attempts have been made to incorporate chimera into the event, but that was quickly determined to be a foolish endeavor. The grander the event, the more thought and spectacle is placed in the field itself, culminating in the New Year Championship as the greatest show.

Unlike the other arena sports, there is a sense of continuity within the Chariot Race. Each race, the Center who comes in last place is barred from competing in the Championship that year. The Teams and their Lanistae play a careful game balancing who they send as their Center in each match to ensure they are available for the Championship, without sacrificing the race at hand. Unofficial betting rings keep track of which teams win more games as a whole, alongside keeping the odds for individual matches. Gambling on the Championship vastly surpasses any other gambling in the city, sometimes with bets being placed for a new season the day after a Championship concludes.

There are three teams for the race, each represented in each event and each with a dedicated and fanatic following: the Reds, the Greens, and the Blues. The Reds are generally regarded as the best and the richest color. Only a select few Lanistae are permitted to represent the Reds, and they tend to have access to the best resources and training, and have the most Patrician support, Red strategy generally involves systematically eliminating the other racers while maintaining numerical superiority by protecting themselves.

The Greens are the most popular of the teams, especially among the plebeians (though they have some notable Patrician support). They are known for lavish gifts for their own fans, including free tickets to the races. The crowds of the hippodrome are almost always flooded with Green supporters. Their strategy revolves around reckless speed, happily sacrificing their other members to protect the Center at all costs. Greens disdain the use of a Tail. Last are the Blues, whose fans have diminished in recent years, but who maintain a strong core of support.

The Blues are the most likely to attempt novel strategies, and are, by far, the team most known for effectively forfeiting a current match in order to better place themselves for a future one. It is a common occurrence for the Blues to team up with the Reds or the Greens to eliminate a particular Center from the championship, an act which is met with some disdain by fans of the victim (though not nearly as much disdain as the Reds and the Greens have for one another).

Color partisanship bleeds into social life outside the tracks, and many friendships and business partnerships are founded on shared adherence to a team (or broken by a difference). For plebians, team preference is considered more of a measure of character than political faction. There is always some political upheaval when a notable charioteer joins a school of a different color. And when a Lanista switches Colors, bringing all their students with them, there can be outright riots.

Of the three arena sports, Chariot racing is, by far, the least deadly. Despite the violent attacks against one another, the goal is incapacitation, not death. It is very rare (but not unheard of) for a charioteer to perish outright, and career ending injuries are not particularly common either. Far more frequent is the death of the horses, and it is a rare race when a chariot is not completely demolished.

#phobos vii #books #booklr #writeblr #worldbuilding #sandalpunk #chariot racing #historical fantasy

[sadoeuphemist]

“So this is a library,” said Shaw, wrinkling up his nose at the faintly musty smell of parchment. He peered up into the high arched ceilings, the flat of wrymsbane resting cold against his nape. “Not particularly defensible, what with all these massive windows and all.” He felt obligated to end on a complimentary note. “Lots of books, if you like that sort of thing.”

“Oh, yes, and it’s in these archives that I’ve discovered exactly what we’ve been looking for,” said Annalthea, bustling between the rows and rows of shelves. The librarian was a plump, unimposing woman who, as could be expected, looked utterly unsuited for the task of dragon slaying. “If you’ll just give me a minute - I’ve got them right here …”

“Take your time,” said Shaw. He casually twirled his blade, admiring the gleam of it. “We’ve got this whole ‘chosen one’ business down to a craft. Sure, you’re the one fated to kill the Writherdrake, but no one said you had to do it on your own, yeah? You say the word, I can put together a party of the finest dragon slayers you ever seen. You want ballistas? Faefire? You want a team of trained harriers to claw his wings to shreds?” Already his blood was pulsing with the possibilities. “I promise you this: I’ll have you driving a blade into the dragon’s heart even if I have to hold the bastard down myself.”

Annalthea poked her head out from between the shelves. “You ... you did read that part in my note about the Amulet of Destiny?” 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, boss told me about that. Amulet, that’s fine too. Always did admire that sort of sideways thinking, not letting fate box you in.” He stood in the open lobby, taking a few practice swings. “So if it’s a heist we’re planning, I know just the rogue for it, Sylvas Slyphfoot, fellow could steal the shadow off a cat. But if we’ve got magics involved, temple guards and that sort, we’re going to need to be recruiting a Gray Warder - there’s a few of them to be found in Breath’s End, but you generally need a line with the Underguards for that -”

He fell silent as Annalthea emerged from the shelves, hidden behind a massive stack of books that she set down with a thump on one of the tables, dusting her hands off triumphantly. “Uh,” said Shaw, looking the pile of books up and down much in the way a man might scan a corridor for traps. “What’s all those for, then?”

“Research!” Annalthea said, swiftly subdividing the stack into smaller piles, flipping books open and arranging them in front of her in quasi-military formation. Finally satisfied, she sat down, surveying her domain as if preparing to march into battle. She turned to Shaw. “Shall we begin?”

---

“Now, the Amulet of Destiny,” Annalthea said. “Of course, everyone’s heard of it, it’s appended to the end of all Skein prophesies - ‘and so the Amulet of their Destiny shall weigh heavy around their neck.’ The current High Knot of the Priesthood of Ludd is claiming it’s nothing but a metaphor, that every prophesy they make is immutable, but even a casual perusal of Ludd’s 64 Strings - much less the entire history of the Priesthood! - shows that’s clearly not true! The Amulet was considered for centuries to absolutely be a real artifact, with multiple Knots affirming the fact of its existence. Ludd himself writes in interweaving 9, verse 4 of the Strings that ‘the Amulet hangs on the Skein, and only by grasping this may a man change his fate.’” She looked up expectantly at Shaw.

Shaw furrowed his brow, made himself look as serious as possible. “Mm. Yeah. Like you said.”  

“Now the thing is, mentions of the Amulet of Destiny actually predate the creation of Ludd’s Blood’s Skein - it’s part of a much older tradition that got absorbed by the Ludd Priesthood. I was cross-referencing different versions of the legend -” She held up a thick volume bound in dull red leather - “Geoffrey Rymer’s Assorted Tales and Legends of the Northern Isles - an invaluable resource - and the Amulet has been placed everywhere from Mount Hyperboreax to the Living Tombs of Ebon. So, using Parcefalus’ A Genealogy of the Second World - plus a bunch of other minor historians who aren’t part of the standard curriculum,” she added apologetically, as if she was depriving him of a particular involved leg of the hunt - “I’ve traced the earliest oral traditions of the legend to the Chalk Giants, who according to Rymer say - hold on -” she said, darting to the left and flipping furiously through another book, finding her place and putting on a scholarly affect- “’say in their dusty tones that the amulet is buried in the barren cleft of the earth, and is so responsible for the slow advancement of the continents upon one another, in that dreary part of the world we call the Wastes.’”

Shaw blinked. “Uh-huh,” he said, leaning over her shoulder and squinting at the incomprehensible squiggles she kept eagerly pointing out. “Okay, so, it’s in the Wastes, right, that’s the whole upshot of that?” He put his thumb to his chin. “Bit more complex than I thought, then, we’ll need a Waste-tracker for that -”

“But that’s not all!” Annalthea said. She slid to another section of the table. “So, Wastern literature is notoriously inaccessible, and what little we do know about their culture has been filtered through the self-serving biographies of would-be colonizers, like Castafez and Pinafetta. Notorious stories about rampant cannibalism, sacrifices to the Elder Wurms, the supposed ‘canals of blood’ made famous by Pinafetta’s infamous Report to the Imperial Committee - ”

“Hold on,” said Shaw. “Supposed? So you’re saying the canals of blood and all the rest, that’s not true?”  

“They’re unreliable sources!” said Annalthea. “What I wanted to do was find firsthand sources for Wastern culture, because if the Amulet of Destiny is indeed buried there, surely they’d have some native accounts of it! Now, in the Chronologies commissioned by High-Mother Gortel, who was of course sympathetic to Wastern culture, having a son-in-law from those lands, it says - Hold on a minute,” said Annalthea, scrabbling for another book.

“Is this - Is this all relevant?” said Shaw, looking with a growing dismay at the massive expanse of words across the table. “We started with the Ludds, fair enough, but now I don’t know why we’re talking about that Gortel, and Parsifus or whatever his name is -”

“Parcefalus,” she said, looking at him concernedly. “You know, the Genealogies? Indirectly responsible for the whole dynasty of the Sun-Kings, it’s where they drew their authority from?”

“Whatever,” said Shaw, ignoring her tone. “And that old witch Gortel’s been dead for ages! Ruled over a completely different continent! What are we doing, hopping around the world, then?”  

“Oh, but don’t you see!” said Annalthea, looking up at him brightly. “If we’re assuming the Amulet is in the Wastes, we need to find accurate accounts of the region to make our plan, and that involves a marshaling of historical data in order to figure out which sources can be trusted! There’s really no other way to do it other than going through the archives.”

“But we could just hire a Waste-tracker …” Shaw protested weakly.

Annalthea raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you read the Travelogues of Hyxeramminnieax? Across the Boiling World by P’tarri Fnordottir? Fnordottir in particular exposes the Waste-tracker system as little more than a fraud, perpetuated by generations of liminists who make their living as glorified tour guides showing off deserted portions of the Wastes!”

She stood before him, backed by her tremendous ramparts of books, and Shaw found himself utterly unarmed on this particular battlefield. “All right,” he sighed, and reluctantly sheathed wrymsbane, slumping down on one of the library’s many chairs, “Go on, then.”

“Right,” said Annalthea, already drawn as if magnetized to another tome. “Now, as I was saying, we see the Amulet of Destiny reappear in the Chronologies, obliquely, this time, in the form of a logical paradox supposedly etched into stone by the Oracle of the Wastes - no such etching is actually known to exist, of course. But the riddle, I think, is informative in how Wastern philosophy was viewed at the time. It goes, essentially: How can such an amulet ever change your destiny unless your destiny to begin with was to obtain the amulet!” She looked to Shaw, and not finding the reaction she had been expecting, turned back to the books. “Hold on, I suppose it loses something when not in the original Diretongue, let me find the translation by Aoi Iidii here - it’s by far the best attempt to really grapple with the lexicon, I think, by throwing some Quaennya into the mix -”

Shaw could feel the library’s shelves implacably closing in on him. The entire world could be bound between the covers of a book, apparently, and soon so would he. “Uh-huh,” he said.

“- but how could they have claimed such history with Wastern culture?” she was saying. “If we go back to Parmodines’ accounts, and all the others contemporaneous to him, there’s no trade, there’s no cultural exchange, there’s no nothing! The most there is, is this text supposedly dictated by the blind philosopher Jaenus to his disciple -”

Shaw looked on with glazed eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“- the direct words of the Oracle Morag herself! See, according to Torvid of Irridia’s writings, his master Jaenus would slaughter sheep and drag them out into the Wastes for her, and while she sucked the bones clean they would discuss philosophy, and he would memorize each word precisely as she said it! Of course, she also ate him eventually -”

“Absolutely fascinating,” Shaw said, stifling a yawn.

“- amulets made from his bones being sold, according to Torvid’s journals, which were called aloun, meaning protection, supposed to protect their bearers while journeying into the Wastes. Now, if we trace the original legends from the Chalk Giants about the Amulet of Destiny, we can see that Torvid’s mission to Qarilan coincided with the earliest recorded mentions of the legend -”

“Uh-huh.”

“- Torvid, being the tutor of the Princess Catalana, is widely accepted to have influenced her religious awakening and the subsequent founding of the Flower of the Eternal Now, a short-lived cult during the Majal Period. Rumor has it that he even had an affair with her, although this of course cannot be proven -”

“Mrhmm.”

“- and here, in Book Four of The Bliss-Touched Nectar, she says, ‘Cede not the desires of your heart, for it is the shell’ - and that’s how Poryphys translates it, shell, but in the original text it’s aloun! Torvid’s aloun, and Jaenus’ aloun!” Her voice rose in excitement, and Shaw was roused blearily from his stupor. “See, she says, ‘Cede not the desires of your heart, for it is the shell, aloun, that shall be consumed in the blooming of the seed, to form the plant that grows without restriction!’“ She was beaming at him. “Don’t you see? That’s it! That’s the Amulet of Destiny! It’s the answer to the riddle! How can you come to possess the seed of your fate, unless it was your fate to possess it to begin with?”

Shaw stumbled to his feet, groping vaguely for his sword. He was certain he had missed something terribly vital. “Uh, so?” he said. “What’s the answer to the riddle, then?”

“It’s in the desires of our heart,” said Annalthea, earnestly pressing both hands to her chest. “The Amulet of Destiny, it was a metaphor for free will all this time, corrupted by centuries of oral folklore into an actual mythical artifact! It was in us this whole time!“

Shaw blinked at her, his hands falling to his sides. “Uh...”

“That’s how we change our destiny!” Annalthea said. “Of course, it’s such an obvious philosophical and narrative tradition dating back to the Irridians! The artifact, and then the quest, only to discover in the end that you were the bearer of the sacred truth all along - That’s the true value of an archive like this one,” she said with satisfaction, “being able to see how people before us went through their lives, pick out the patterns, so that we can learn from what’s come before! To think, we might have spent weeks on some fruitless quest, exposed to the elements, harassed by all sorts of ne’er-do-wells, only to learn what was available to us this whole time! Entire continents and centuries are accessible to us, just by opening a book!”

“Uh, of course, of course,” said Shaw, befuddled. “So, I - Well we’re not going after the Amulet now, definitely -” She beamed at him, tapping a hand over her heart. “So …” He struggled to get back on familiar ground. “We’re back to the slaying the dragon plan, then?”

“Oh!” she said. “Heavens, no!”

“Then, uh, what?”

“Well, I don’t need to do anything now, do I?” Annalthea said, and began briskly stacking the books back in piles for reshelving. “That whole prophesy nonsense - I’ve already changed my destiny by refusing it.” She bustled past him, her arms full of books. “I’m sure you’ll be much better off without me getting in your way, anyhow.”

“But -” said Shaw. “But, no, you can’t -” His hand went instinctively to the hilt of wyrmsbane, and he found himself wishing that there was something productive to stab with it. “But what about the Grey Skies! The Writherdrake! The only one who can pierce his heart!”

“Oh, goodness,” said Annalthea, and put a hand on her cheek, looking at him sympathetically. “I’m just a librarian, dear. I tend to the books. What would I ever have to do with a dragon?”

---

Annalthea stood over the smoldering remains of the library, her clothes and skin stained with soot, ash gritty beneath her feet, raised blisters on her hands. She was looking into the depths of a building that no longer existed: every rafter, every shelf, every floorboard, every scroll, every page, incinerated and reduced to ash.

Her fingers were hooked into rigid claws, lined with weeping blisters. A low moan came from her throat.

Shaw came running up, There was a wound across his scalp, his hair dangling gristly with blood, scorch marks streaked across his armor. Blackened burned flesh bubbled across his left arm. “Oh good, you’re alive,” he muttered. “Dragon’s gone. Razed us clear to the ground and veered off to the west. More safeholds to pillage, I suppose.” He peeled his hair out of his face, taking in a breath, and found a bit of rubble to sit on. He grimaced at his left arm. “It’ll heal. Didn’t even give me the chance to stab him a good one, the bastard. I mean, town’s burning, but any fight you can walk away from, right?” He looked over to Annalthea, let his gaze drift over the former site of the library. “Ah.”

A tremor began in Annalthea’s shoulders, shook her rib cage, made her hands tremble so badly that she clenched them into fists. “Look,” Shaw said awkwardly, half-standing to raise a hand over her shoulder, and then deciding better of it and sitting back down. “You can’t blame yourself for this, all right? You weren’t trained for this at all, and these prophesies - well, I don’t hold much stock in them myself! Chosen ones, huh!” he said, and snorted. “Why’s it never a professional who gets chosen, I ask you? You, and your books - Why, no one could have expected it of you, it’s a completely unfair ask -”

“I’m going to kill that dragon,” Annalthea said.

“Uh?” said Shaw.

“I’m going kill. That fucking. Dragon,” Annalthea said, each word forced viciously out of her throat. “Every book. Every last one of them. Burnt. Burnt to the ground.”

“Oh,” said Shaw, and then leapt to his feet. “Oh!”

“Lost,” said Annalthea. “All of it. The irreplaceable archive of generations. Burnt to the ground by a fucking overgrown lizard.” She looked at Shaw, her eyes blazing through her blackened face. “I’m going to slit his fucking throat.”

“Yeah,” said Shaw, nodding along. He drew wyrmsbane again, slightly tarnished but still deadly. “Yeah!”

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to claw out his eyes. No - I’m going to carve out his heart and make him watch as I eat it while he’s still alive, make him watch each bite with his last gasping breaths as I taste the brimstone on my tongue. And then I’m going to kill him,” she said, “and then I’m going to rend. His. Soul.”

“Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeah!” said Shaw, excitedly kicking up ash. “I can still get a party together, won’t take two ticks - I know this warlock, you should see what her eldritch blasts can do to dragonscale -”

Annalthea swung her head to him. “You said he went west?”

“Uh-huh,” Shaw said, “but if you just hold on -”

She was already heading westward, trailing a cloud of ash in her wake, moving quickly but implacably, as if she would never tire. Shaw watched her in wonder, his spirits much buoyed, and was about to run to catch up with her when he let his gaze drift once more to the ashen field, the burnt remains of the library. He felt, vaguely, like he ought to say something in memorial of his encounter with this odd and fateful institution, some testament to the fallen before embarking on their valiant quest.

He bowed his head, put one hand over his chest. “Too bad I never learned to read!” he said, and set off.

#fiction #repost

[skippyv20]

In novels, sunlight kills vampires...

Hi Skippy & Friends-Pilgrim checking in to say I absolutely agree with your answer on how to deal with rmm aka con-grifter narc. I think the anon described the typical narc thoroughly. Her solution of indifference would put down most narcs with their circle of family and friends teaming up to not enable the sick behavior. This situation is different. We are dealing with one who is waging a war via international magazines pumping out fake stories daily, while climbing the ramparts of a castle, attacking a royal family and country. Her ego is insufferable. Her grifting is illegal. We, the unsuspecting public did not know until we did research, about how the rich and famous buy articles in magazines from corporations that are more than happy to take their money and print whatever the customer wants. How timely to have a new HBO show all about 21st century fakery techniques for websites using misleading imagery. I would surmise any street worthy actor trying to break in, knows about these studios for hire-elementary for her in la la land. The public had to take off the rose tinted glasses and actually see that she was selling a big fake baby bump, which shape shifted daily. They had to be shown that she actually took it off in NYC at her baby shower no less and went out on a date with MA walking through a gauntlet of photographers-not pregnant. They had to see that she was charging PC enormous fees for designer clothes and then getting paid by designers for wearing them and then merched them on her own sites making lots of cash and sending it to her mom’s new bank acct. They had to be alerted to her shady bio being rewritten and timelines changed. They had to be shown fake flights. Fake housing bluffs. Fake birth and paperwork. They had to be shown proof of photoshopping of ALL of her photos. It was not an easy sell either. The list is very long of the set ups, gaslighting and outright lies. I was laughed at by my best friends and family. Now…they get it. Being Markled is real. No, the public was and still is being lied to. That is not right. Any of us would be in serious hot water if we tried this. Who was going to take on such a megalomaniac and show her chicanery? Your site plus others that have people sharing info from all over the world, started to get the word out. (Some of that included hilarious skits, poems, nicknames and creative imagery, thank goodness!!!) Once that happened, organically as they say, the public could see her hypocrisy under a spotlight of facts and come to their own conclusions. It seems to me that the royal family and Firm are doing the grey stone approach. They are taking a beating too. That is a hard line to hold because it is not just this con-grifter but also a grandson, son and brother involved. Whether she is being paid by others to create cracks on the royal veneer or is just a greedy interloper/blackmailer who got in and obnoxiously jumped her place in line, this person will never give in…she is a full blown narc who can’t see normal boundaries as she chases the Golden Fleece. If we don’t hold the line, she will take up the slack. She is not down and out until she is in a place all by herself, with no ways or means to continue her games. We have pushed awareness this far and must keep watching her every move. Exhausting, boring and depressing? You bet. Otherwise this criminal wins. Those publications and product lines doing business with her need to also feel some shame and pain. We don’t have to buy what they produce. Let our wallets do some talking too. Over & out from a freezing cold Cape.

Thank you!  A fantastic post.....you are spot on!  This is why we keep it going....we bring forward older articles and pictures and posts....we are sick of seeing them, but new people arrive all the time.  We have to keep showing who and what she is.  You know, there are not many of us here , that have been here since the beginning....many left out of frustration...the wait has been long...but...we keep it going....I have lost three blogs along the way....it’s been a battle....but worth it......in the beginning I started off with three UK anons....it took so long to get those numbers up....now the UK anons outnumber the US...freezing cold here too....😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

2/08/21

[captzexx]

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 1 - First/Explosion

Hammer blows echoed in the late afternoon air as the soft ocean breeze came in through the quiet ramparts of Fort Daelin. The smithy drawing to close of a work as the fires began to simmer to a low warmth for the night, sang its last songs of iron and sweat. A loud whistle would blow forth as cling and clangs of honest work silenced to be followed by the mortal words of workers. Upturned buckets, cries for ale, and the general milling of tradesmen gathering as they stalked out of the shop, their heavy boots thumping as they left for the evening. Trailing behind them all would come a fairly common pair, similar and different in the almost subtle and obvious ways.

A tall handsome woman with her hair held tight in a min shouldered a hammer with ease, her other hand deftly raising a dirty cloth to wipe sweat grime from her face. She was broad and strong, Kul Tiran as they come with thick arms for hoisting sail and the steady step of one born to sea. Sarasam Styrnlock was a woman born with an affinity for shaping metal as she was communing with the tides. An easy smile lit her face she walked with her companion, the easy banter common between the two. “Up fer a pint?”

Her companion was different in all kinds of ways, the most obvious being an elderly man with thick white mustaches and clean bald head that glistened with sweat and oil. A mass of scars, wrinkles, and manner of lines gave the impression of living history, in truth he was one of the few left with those memories. Despite time’s march his step matched hers easily, the gait they followed ingrained more in blood than friendship. Erlain Candell bore no hammer now but he did wipe his neck down with a similar rag, releasing a weary sigh. “Are you sure your old enough, Miss Styrnlock?”

“Pfft, blow it out yer arse, ol man.” Sarasam rolled her eyes at Erlain but smiled nonetheless as she stalked along with him. “Come on now, could use a beer after today. Wars cooled but damned if the orders don’t stop.”

“Your people need to rebuild their lives, Sara. It’s not easy.” Lain replies patiently as they walked out into the orange and red of the slow setting sun, their slowing as they reached the gate of the blacksmiths yard.

Sarasam once again rolled her eyes as they stopped to chat, shaking her head. “I know ya used to be a holier than thou type-“

“My faith has never faltered.”

Sara grimaced at being interrupted by the old man, who was doing his best to remain stern in the face of the younger woman. Blue eyes narrowing as she rolled her shoulders and set her hammer to the side. “Damnit Lain, can you just not interrupt me for once?”

There was no reply as she nodded to herself and began to speak again. “Like I was saying, you don’t have to lay on the sermons to me. I know we’re in quite a mess but we’ll come out of it. The Tidemothers with us and the fleets returned and the damn Dark Lady is gone. Can we have a moments peace? A moment to collect ourselves?”

There was silence again as Sarasam felt a weight on her shoulders that did not involve the weight of iron or the turn of steel. She had it on her for some time since she’d last ventured out to Drustvar and came into service with some Inquisitors heading off to Vol’Dun. She’d met a man, a man she suspected of being more than a comrade in arms to her. That man of course was linked to her friend here and if that was the case, then they too shared a bond beyond work.

“Lain something has been digging at me for some time, and I need to talk to you about it.” Sarasam lowered her eyes to cross her arms about her stomach, a nestling ache at what she suspected. “I need to talk to you about a man I met some time ago.”

There was silence still as she turned to look at her friend, the world tumbling as she felt an odd burn in her eyes and throat. “His name was Eld.”

Erlain was slumped on the ground, resting on his knees as if in prayer with palms open and knuckles in the dirt. His head was bowed and face hidden in his chest, motionless and silent in the waning sunset of a coming autumn night.

Sara stared speechless at Lain, her hands falling away from her stomach as fast as the earth was beneath her feet to bring her to her knees before him. By now the burning in her eyes had released a steady stream of tears as she reached a shaky hand out to his bent head. Rough fingertips touched the toughened skin and gently traced around his cheek to his neck. No response. No reaction. No beat.

Erlain Candell was gone.

@daily-writing-challenge

@erlaincandell @gatesofthetroupe @eldridgecandell

#dwc2020 #explosion #first #it starts with a funeral #erlain candell #sarasam styrnlock #eldridge candell #daily writing challenge #day12020

[stillness-in-green]

The Way You Survive Is...  (1/4)

Growing up in a cult has more than its fair share of dangers, and that sort of damage has a tendency to travel, especially when no one involved knows how to brake.

Or, Rikiya and the road to the Claustro.

Author’s Note: It took me a long time to realize how massively disturbing Re-Destro’s silly one-off robot suit is on every possible level—as a reminder, it’s called a “burden-enhancing steel pressure mechanism” and namechecks claustrophobia—but when I did, I immediately started brainstorming this story. This first chapter particularly builds on some pre-existing headcanon about Rikiya’s upbringing and the people involved in it, but it’s readable as a stand-alone, and later chapters will feature Rikiya’s canonical inner circle — as well as Shigaraki and Spinner, eventually—much more prominently.

Mind the tags, folks; this one is A Lot.

———      ———      ———      ———

Chapter One: The Way the Mind Will Lean

“You’ll do well,” Anchor, Rikiya’s guardian, told him the morning it began, clearing away breakfast.  “You’ve been making great progress so far, and Quarter is one of our best.”

Rikiya was newly thirteen and had lived with Anchor for the last few years.  A bull heteromorph with an immobilization power, he’d been in the inner circle of Rikiya’s grandfather and had been involved in training Rikiya’s mother as well, and so when Rikiya’s mother had passed, to Anchor’s care Rikiya had gone.

“What’s his meta-ability?” Rikiya asked, to which the old man only shook his head, his horns making the movement heavy and deliberate.

“There’s a process to teaching, and I wouldn’t want to interfere with his.  You’ll find out in good time.”  Anchor gave Rikiya one of his small, proud smiles.  “No need to keep me company for the dishes.  Rampart’s waiting.”

Rikiya nodded and took his leave.  Rampart, Rikiya’s driver and bodyguard for as long as he could remember, saluted when he came down the steps, but other than the usual pleasantries, it was a quiet drive, out of Anchor’s spacious, secluded neighborhood and towards the center of town.

“Nervous?” Rampart asked eventually, catching his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“A little.”  Rikiya smiled, folding his hands together in his lap.  “But that’s a good thing, in my case.”

“That’s the spirit,” Rampart replied, returning his attention to the road.  Keeping the smile on in case he looked back, Rikiya studied the man’s reflection.  His brows had knitted faintly downward and he drummed his fingers on the wheel—one of his nervous habits.  He’d been more closed-off around Rikiya for the last few years, ever since his mother’s death had made the passage of the mantle irrevocable; Rikiya wondered sometimes what the elders must have told him back then.  Or if it wasn’t the elders or the mantle at all—after all, he and Rikiya’s mother had been very close.

“Any advice for me?” Rikiya tried, tone light, after the second time Rampart’s lips twitched and curled around the beginnings of—something, only to resettle without speaking.

“Hah.”  Rampart’s head ducked around a crooked smile.  “Well, I can’t say too much.  I’ve never been through Quarter’s whole course, just fought him a few times in the bouts over the years.  I’ve watched him take down warriors twice his size and half his age.  And he’s been a teacher for a long time now.”

“A good one?”  He’s worried about something.  It showed in his narrowed eyes, not to mention the lack of a straight answer.

“As if we’d send you to anyone but our best.  Just…”

“Just?”  Rikiya considered leaning forward and wrapping his hands around the back of the headrest like he might have when he was younger.  He had been younger then, though, and not the Grand Commander.  He stayed put, back straight against the seat.

“His meta-ability’s…”  Rampart eased to a stop at a red light.  Freed for a few seconds of the need to watch the road, his eyes closed.  When they opened again, Rikiya knew the moment was gone.  Rampart shot him a leashed smile through the mirror.  “He’s a strong one.  You’ll learn a lot from him.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Rikiya replied, returning the smile as he pressed his fingers, one by one, tighter against the backs of his hands.

————

Like most of the local trainers, Quarter worked out of the fitness center.  The floor was bustling when Rikiya and Rampart walked in, a general hubbub that morphed into an organized one as people caught sight of him and hastily stepped off of treadmills or stopped cold in the middle of floor routines to salute.

It does the Army good to see your strength, Sanctum had told him the morning of the funeral.  I know it can be hard, but it will make you stronger, too, in the end.

And so Rikiya smiled, murmured a few words to Rampart at the check-in desk, and stepped away to make the rounds.

Elsewhere in the facility, more organized training was underway—a room full of emitters sparring, a yoga class where everyone was stretching out some different metamorphic limb—but the employees must have been forewarned; none of the classes were halted as Rikiya followed Rampart deeper into the building.  The ceiling was higher in the back, rows of high windows streaming light into a room with a climbing wall, a weight room, an enormous indoor swimming pool Rikiya eyed enviously as they passed.  They stopped at none of them, but rather passed on out a rear exit that opened to a breezeway.  The covered walk lead to an exterior building with its own small parking lot and a glass door beyond which Rikiya could see nothing but a small waiting room.  A keycard reader sat mounted on the wall next to an intercom.

“Ready?” Rampart asked as they walked up to the door, and when Rikiya nodded, he reached up and rang the buzzer.

“Refinement Training,” came the answer after a long few seconds, a crisp male voice.

“This is Rampart, here with the Grand Commander.”  He kept holding the button down and looked down at Rikiya, tilting his head slightly inward.

“Good morning,” Rikiya said, taking the hint, and Rampart released the button.

“Of course, of course,” said the man on the other end of the speaker, audibly warming.  “Please come in.”  A small red light on the scanner flipped to green.

The area inside was exactly as small as it had looked from outside, a narrow door on the left and a reception desk, currently unoccupied, built into the back wall.  A broader door on the right opened just as Rikiya’s gaze fell on it.

Quarter’s eyes were the first thing Rikiya noticed—probably the first thing most people noticed.  His irises were a striking shade of dark gold, standing out like gleaming coins against deep blue sclera, both slightly larger than life behind a pair of oval glasses.  His gaze skimmed over Rampart then dropped down to Rikiya as a pleased smile spread over his face.

“Grand Commander.”  He saluted along with the greeting.  “I’m honored.  Please, come in.”

Rikiya nodded but took a moment to look him over first—other than the eyes, Quarter seemed unassuming enough.  He was an older man—older than Rampart, at least, though if he wasn’t younger than Anchor, he wore it more smoothly, hair still black all the way through, his features both mild and mildly lined.  He wasn’t dressed for an intensive work-out—a gray knitted sweater and black slacks—but beneath the clothes, his build looked trim and fit.  Not an excess of anything noticeable, really, except his eyes.

Of course, looks didn’t mean much in the long run.

Rikiya stepped over and through the door.  The hallway beyond was narrow, marked by a line of lockers and a few small doors, as well as a water fountain beside another broad door on the far end.

“I normally run first-time sessions for an hour or so,” Quarter said as Rampart followed them in.  “I can get a feel for where you are in your development, what you’ve been focusing on, what you need to improve.  Then when I see you again Tuesday, I’ll have a regimen more tailored for you specifically.  Does that sound all right?”  At Rikiya’s nod, he looked up at Rampart.  “This will be three times a week, correct?”

“Saturday mornings, and Tuesday and Thursday evenings,” Rampart confirmed.

“Excellent.  You can use the personal parking next time, then; no need to hike all the way from the front entrance.”  Quarter turned his attention back to Rikiya and gave him another once-over, this time focusing on his clothes.  “You can use one of the lockers here to keep a change of clothes or shoes in—there is a dressing room.  I have some spare combination locks or you can bring one from home, if you’d prefer.”

“One of yours would be fine,” said Rikiya, who did not actually own a personal lock of any kind and was moderately surprised at the assumption that he did.

“All right, then.”  Quarter nodded.  “Let’s get started.  It’s right through here.”

Inside the door by the water fountain was, at last, the room where Rikiya would be spending the next few months in enhanced training.  It looked something like a dance studio without all the mirrors, windowless, the ceiling low and lined with recessed lights.  Thick blue exercise mats lined most of the floor, here and there showing signs of wear and tear, singe-marks and scores dotted over the vinyl fabric.  It was, otherwise, entirely empty.

“Do you know why you’re here?” came Quarter’s voice from behind him.  Rikiya turned to see Quarter looking down at him placidly.  Away behind him, Rampart had taken up his watch at the door.

Rikiya nodded.  Quarter went on looking at him, expectant, so he added, “To take the next step in training my meta-ability.”

“No.”

Rikiya blinked, brow furrowing at the answer.  No?  What does he mean, no?  That’s what everyone’s been calling this since Anchor first brought it up.

“That’s what I was told,” he responded at length.

"That’s only a facet of it.  You are here to learn how better to be a warrior for Liberation.”  The trainer saluted again at the invocation; Rikiya echoed the gesture reflexively.   “Destro’s noble cause demands much of all of us.  We undertake this so that one day, all meta-humans can walk free.”

“For Liberation.”  The words fell easily from Rikiya’s lips.  The swerve from pleasantry to ideology would have to be much more out-of-nowhere than this for him to trip up on the basic tenets.  Quarter nodded.

“You,” he said, dropping smoothly down to one knee and looking up into Rikiya’s eyes, “are the Grand Commander of the Meta Liberation Army.  Your words are Destro’s words.  I am but a devotee to the cause.  Whatever you tell me, I must obey.  So tell me: is it Destro’s wish that you hone yourself into a better, stronger version of the you you are now?”  His smile had drained away, leaving his face with a sterner cast.

The memory of Rampart’s hesitation in the car stole treacherously across Rikiya’s mind, a flutter of anticipation in his chest.  He pressed the salute harder against his forehead and nodded.

“It will be difficult.  At times, you may wish to stop, to run away.  But to run away from this is to fail the cause.”  Quarter moved his hand to Rikiya’s shoulder.  "I know you don’t want that.  That is why you must tell me now that you wish to see things through to the end.“

"I do,” Rikiya answered, dropping his arm back to his side.  He stood as straight as he could manage under Quarter’s grip without activating his meta-ability.  The stress spots on his brow lay still and controlled.  "I won’t fail.“

"Everyone fails.”  Quarter intoned the words; they hung, heavy and resonant, in the room, as if the walls had leaned in closer to hear them.  "What you must learn—what you are here to learn—is to get back up.  To not use your failure as an excuse to stay down.”  He leaned back slightly, though his hand remained.  “I need to hear the words from you out loud.  Give me my orders.“

Rikiya hesitated.  The air in the room felt heavy, a weight pressing against his skin from all sides like he was standing at the bottom of a swimming pool.  If it weren’t for Quarter holding him down, he surely would have been floating away, ejected up towards the surface.

He forced himself to breathe.  Think of the future, he reminded himself.  Think of what’s at stake.  He swallowed down the urge to look towards Rampart, instead focusing harder on Quarter.

"Teach me,” he said, hands curling into fists at the quaver in his voice.  “For as long as you have to.”

“Yes, Grand Commander.”  Quarter squeezed his shoulder once more and, finally, climbed back up to his feet.  “Now then, show me your meta-ability.”

And the walls closed in.

————

It was later.

Rampart had left.  Quarter had gone and talked to him, words too quiet to hear over Rikiya’s ragged breathing.  And then Rampart had left.

Rikiya rallied for calm as Quarter’s meta-ability pressed in around him again.  The invisible barrier boxed him in on all sides and was still compressing, a horrible sense of the very air crushing tighter and tighter around him.  He could smell the sweat soaking through his clothing and even jostling an elbow out too far bumped him up against a solid wall.

“I understand you’ve developed a new application of your family line’s power,” Quarter said from somewhere behind him.  “Show me.”

Rikiya half-turned his head, trying to get a bead on where Quarter was standing.  “You don’t,” he said unevenly, “have any targets in here.”

“You did see the damage to the floor mats, didn’t you?” the voice asked.  “We’ll work on accuracy later; right now, I’m only finding out how much work you need to do.  Just underhand a toss across the floor.”

Black stress dripped down Rikiya’s arms to pool in his cupped palms, the smoothest externalization he’d ever managed. He shaped it in trembling hands, waiting for the walls to come down.

“Well?”

“The—your meta-ability.”  The air grew heavier again.  Rikiya struggled to get his breathing under control.  His body ached to swell up and burst the unseen cage.  Was it solid?  Was it air-tight?  The thought sent another jolt of alarm through him, swelling the stress bomb in his hands.  “Take it down so—”

“Take it down?” Quarter asked, not quite incredulous.  “No.  Why would I?”

“It’s in the way,” Rikiya choked.  Isn’t it?  Is it one-sided?  Can he open gaps in it?  As he racked his mind, tremors spreading up to his arms, Quarter walked back around in front of him.  Hands clasped behind his back, he studied Rikiya with raised eyebrows.

“I would have thought you’d have figured it out by now.  There’s no barrier, boy, no invisible wall.  it’s all in your mind.”  He reached out, smooth and deliberate, and gave a light flick to Rikiya’s forehead, as if he was rebuking a child.  Not for an instant did the pressure relent.  “Everything you experience with me will be.  Now do as I say.”

Cheeks hot, Rikiya shuffled half a step around.  He drew back an arm and immediately winced back from the wall his mind still found too convincing.  What if he’s lying?  That’s ridiculous.  In training or not, I’m the Grand Commander of the Army.  No one lies to me.

He still couldn’t make his arm follow through.

————

The room spun around him wildly, too hot, too cold, and his control frayed through yet again, black beads of corporeal power plummeting towards the floor like iron ingots and bursting into nothing, stress swelling the size of his limbs, pressing him against the walls, a weight on his back like a bed of nails, prickling pain and a swell of nausea—

“—better than this,” said the cool voice through the roaring in Rikiya’s ears as he dropped to all fours, gagging on nothing.   I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe—!

“How disappointing.”

————

It was, again, later.

Quarter’s hand landed on his shoulder and Rikiya flinched.  Exhausted as he was, stress mottled across the backs of his hands; his bloated fingertips pressed creases into the floor mats as he sucked in air through his teeth.

“Well,” Quarter remarked, “control issues aside, you’re quite the wellspring, my Grand Commander.  We’re going to have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Rikiya screwed his eyes closed, fighting not to shrink back.  Breathe, breathe.  His breath still felt raw in his throat, his head pounding.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”  The trainer dropped down to one knee and lifted a towel to Rikiya’s face, cool and damp.  Rikiya looked up.  Quarter smiled, an even, level thing that came nowhere near the blue-black pits of his eyes.  “And we’ll tell Rampart how strong you were today.”  His hand didn’t move.  Over his shoulder, the bare walls swam in Rikiya’s vision.

Rikiya nodded.

————

“Let’s open a window,” Rikiya told Koku a week later, the two of them doing schoolwork in the sitting room. “It’s a nice day out.”

His friend gave him a disbelieving look, then leaned back to look out the window. “Are you joking? It looks like it’s going to rain any time now.”

“Then it’ll be a nice breeze.” He smiled—easy, natural, well-practiced.

“If you say so,” Koku replied, still with a measure of skepticism. All the same, he got up and levered open the window.

The room cooled immediately, the leaves of Anchor’s house plants murmuring. The brush of air on his skin eased the knot that had been gradually tying itself tighter in Rikiya’s stomach. It did, in fact, smell like rain.

“So how’s your training with Quarter going?”

Rikiya’s smile twitched once at the question. The smell of sweat filled his nose, a hint of bile at the back of his throat.

“Very well. I’m learning a lot,” he answered, barely hearing the words. He made a show of stretching to camouflage his grimace. “Did—you ever train under him, Hanabata?”

Koku strolled back over and dropped back down to the cushion across the table from him. “No, my meta-ability works on other people; it’s not so good for one-on-one work like that. I do my training with Idol and the third regiment. Or my uncle, when he’s in town.”

“Right.” Rikiya nodded understanding and straightened back up, returning the smile to its place. “You’ll have to take me along someday.”

Koku shot him a pleased grin. “Of course. Whenever you want. And same to you.”

That was never going to happen. Quarter hadn’t even let Rampart into the room after the first day.  It’s a matter of morale, my Grand Commander. None of your followers would want to see you like this.

Rikiya laughed and hoped it didn’t sound as awkward to Koku as it did in his own ears. “Right.”

———      ———   End Chapter 1   ———      ———

Author’s Note Part Deux: Aside from wanting to examine how something as massively fucked-up as the Claustro came about, this story is also a result of my looking at the Liberation Army and thinking, “Okay, I was pretty nice about this when I was writing about you all for MLA Week, but…”

I wanted to take a look at someone who’s considerably less righteous about the cause than the True Believers I wrote about all week long for MLA Week, because an environment like the Liberation Army is fertile ground for exactly the sort of danger that Quarter represents. Frankly, there’s every chance in the world that, if he’d been brought up in more normal circumstances, Quarter would have been content enough to subtly use his quirk to clear out long lines ahead of him at the DMV or make people who were being obnoxious in public nervous enough for reasons they couldn’t articulate that they’d slink out. Instead, he was brought up in the MLA, which exacerbated and enabled all his worst traits.

Rikiya is, suffice to say, in for a rough few months.

#boku no hero academia #bnha #yotsubashi rikiya #re-destro #meta liberation army #cw: cults #cw: claustrophobia #cw: panic attack #cw: psychological abuse #also verbal belittlement and abuse masquerading as training #my writing #ficcing

[degenerate-perturbation]

Thoughts on The Hobbit: The Tolkien Edit

I downloaded this years ago and never watched it. After my semi-willing viewing of the extended editions, I figured I'd give it a try. I have to say I'm extremely pleasantly surprised. At a cool 4.5 hours, this cut isn't short, but it feels complete, satisfying, and is three times shorter than the originals (and probably only about as long as extended ROTK). It is viewable in acceptable quality on a relatively large HD TV, and is available for download here.

General Thoughts

I found it weirdly heartwarming how the title card simply read "The Hobbit" with no subtitle. It made me feel excited about the cinematic story all over again.

The missing scenes of the White Counckl and Dol Goldur and all the elf stuff are just...not felt at all. The only reason I remembered them originally being there at all is because I watched the original cut so recently. But they really are absolutely inconsequential. Apparently the editor also cut a bunch of scenes that I entirely forgot even existed, even though I literally just watched the original cut.

I actually liked the addition of Radagast to the original cut but this movie doesn't really feel the loss of him either.

I am very impressed by the editor's cut of the barrels out of bond scene. It was one of the most irritating scenes in the original but this cut is short, fun, and has just enough hijinks without getting too excessive. It really drives home how ridiculous the original cut of the scene was--the elves can be totally removed from the scene and you just don't notice!

They cut the entire original climax to Unexpected Journey, which means losing the fifteen birds in five fir trees scene, which is a shame because it was a whole chapter in the book and had a beautiful color palette in the film--but weirdly if you cut straight from them running away from goblins after the Misty Mountains to Beorn's house, it still works? It makes the eagles at the end kind of a weird addition, though, so I wish there'd been some way to keep it.

Cutting the climax of Unexpected Journey also means Thorin and Bilbo never have that big Moment, but I think it works better for their relationship. Instead of a huge turning point you just see Thorin's attitude slowly change, and it makes the relationship more organic. Also it means that the first act climax is Bilbo's speech to the dwarves after the mountains, which I thought was one of the best movie-only scenes, and having that scene's thunder stolen by another battle and overwrought drama scene was lame.

I think leaving as many Bard scenes as they did (relative to the book) was a good idea. He plays a fairly important role so getting the audience to care about him and Esgaroth is important enough to spend time on.

In this cut Azog is only introduced when the Great Goblin contacts him, which works very well in part because it makes the encounter in Goblin Town our first sight of the goblins/orcs, and therefore that much more tense and frightening.

A lot of the hype around Thorin's Majesty is gone, which has the effect of returning him to much of his book characterization as a faintly ridiculous very important dwarf. But his story and eventual death is touching in this version of the film just as in the book.

Without all the extra bullshit, Esgaroth's wonder and excitement at the Mountain King's return is genuinely very moving and beautiful.

I wish Thorin's last words had remained "But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell." I realize the editors didn't have that to work with but that line always gutted me and I wish they'd kept it from the book.

Scenes They Kept That I Would Have Cut

The troll fight scene could have stood to be a bit shorter and more focused on the humor--as an early scene in a very long movie it shouldn't be too serious.

The Rivendell scene dragged a bit. I would have been somewhat more judicious about the level of drama in it, for the same reason as above.

Alfrid could have been cut almost entirely without losing anything. He adds nothing and gets on everyone's nerves. Any scene with him that isn't absolutely necessary can go.

Bilbo fighting a giant spider for the Ring. That scene is supposed to be about a rather major turnaround in Bilbo's character, and focusing on how the Ring is evil is both a distraction and also doesn't really belong in a Hobbit movie.

The Smaug chase scene with the dwarves has already been trimmed down significantly, but I think it can stand more trimming.

Most of the orc scenes before the final battle, honestly. They cut most of them already but you could get rid of all of them except right after the Misty Mountains, during the barrel scene, and the final battle.

I would cut more of the Fili and Kili scenes. We don't see their deaths in this cut so they end up inexplicably absent at the end, so all this buildup with their relationship to the King seems for nothing. Either keep their deaths or defocus from the Super Special Durin bloodline and focus more on the ordinary friendships of Bilbo and the dwarves.

You can cut Thorin's entire overwrought fight with Azog at the end and cut straight from Bilbo getting knocked out to Thorin collapsing to die and Bilbo coming to, without losing a goddamn thing. I think it would make Thorin's death more touching--neither Bilbo nor the audience gets to see how exactly such an important dwarf was killed. We arrive just in time to watch him die.

In fact much more of the battle should have been cut. Almost all of the Bard and Thranduil fight scenes can go, as they involve a lot of ridiculous slapstick (Thranduil's elk stabbing orcs, Bard driving a cart downhill into a troll, etc) that fits our protagonists but not these rather serious minor characters.

Scenes They Cut That I Would Have Kept

The 'Chip the Plates' song. Come on! It was so charming! (I will say that the editing around it was so good that I didn't realize they'd cut it until well after Thorin had been introduced.)

Bilbo talking to Bofur on the ramparts of Erebor when he's sneaking out. Bofur is one of my favorite dwarves and frankly any scenes where it's just Bilbo and the dwarves having friendly interactions is, I think, worth keeping.

Thorin giving Bilbo the mithril shirt. See above--also, he's seen wearing it and it does come up in LOTR, so I'd say worth keeping.

Dain and Thranduil's army exchanging blows before the goblin army arrives. For one thing it's satisfying to see the elves not being on top of everything all the time, and seeing some genuinely impressive competent dwarves. For another, it's an important tension-building beat--without it the goblin army feels like it shows up way too fast.

I think this was an extended edition scene, but the whole caper with Balin and the other warrior dwarves capering on the frozen river during the battle. I would sooner keep this scene, which is charming and fun and full of little character moments for characters we've been with since the start, than all the stuff with Thranduil and Bard, who ought to maintain their minor parts in the story.

Bilbo sitting shell shocked with Gandalf after the battle. Without it, the ending feels extremely rushed, and I think it's the weakest part of the movie.

I liked the little extra funeral scene before Bilbo tries to sneak away. The ending to a 4.5 hr movie needs more breathing room and the funeral scene is part of that. If you keep Fili and Kili's scenes, you definitely have to keep this scene.

Concluding Thoughts

The Tolkien Edit isn't exactly the Hobbit movie I wanted, but it's about 90% of the Hobbit movie I wanted. I had previously felt bitter and resentful about the bloated mess the film version of my very favorite book had become. This cut went a long way towards healing that bitterness. This cut left me feeling excited and happy about the Jackson Hobbit, because after all, they shot loads of great material. They just also shot loads of terrible material, too. And turns out if you just cut those parts out, you get a pretty darn good movie. I recommend that anyone desiring to watch the Jackson Hobbit movies instead watch this version.

#tolkien #the hobbit #the hobbit: the tolkien edit #speech act #extended speech act

[wannabealexjenningscoffee]

Maugham's secret life rises from `Ashenden'

Chicago Tribune, June 1992

W. Somerset Maugham is chiefly remembered in America for his South Seas tales such as "Rain" and "The Moon and Sixpence." We forget that he was one of the first agents in the British secret service and that he wrote entertainingly of this experience in the lightly fictionalized "Ashenden" stories. Alfred Hitchcock adapted two of them, "The Traitor" and "The Hairless Mexican," for his 1936 film "Secret Agent," starring John Gielgud. Now the BBC and the Arts and Entertainment Network have spent six months and $7 million to make lush new on-location versions of these two tales and two others, "The Dark Lady" and "Mr. Harrington's Washing." The four hours of "Ashenden" will air on A&E over two nights this week (7-9 p.m. Sunday and Monday).

As Ashenden, British actor Alex Jennings, 34, strikes a suitably adventurous figure, but he warns that this is no James Bond of World War I. "Ashenden isn't a man of action; he's an observer," Jennings says. "He does nearly get pushed under a train and he does get shot at, but he doesn't carry a gun. Instead, he carries a stiff upper lip." "Ashenden had in him, it seems, a strain of flippancy," Maugham wrote, and the TV dramatization preserves the character's detachment as he dashes through melodramatic plots. Jennings says, "Playing the part, I did a lot of Alec Guinness acting-I got to listen to some very good actors in some very nice locations," including Americans Rene Auberjonois and Elizabeth Montgomery in Hungary, Yugoslavia and Austria.

Maugham, 40 at the outbreak of World War I in 1914, didn't enter military service. Jennings says, "The secret service recruited him because of his writing skills. But don't get the impression that `Ashenden' is a bio-pic. The stories were fiction and we've elaborated on them further. In some ways Ashenden is Somerset Maugham, in others he's not. I'm not giving my Somerset Maugham here." The espionage exploits recounted in "Ashenden" involve the forgery of some love letters to lure an Indian terrorist onto British-controlled territory; an investigation of the traitorous tendencies of an Englishman married to a German; a light interlude in Russia during the Revolution; and a romance in Naples toward the end of the war.

Discussing his "Ashenden" role, Jennings, tall and blond, occupies a cell-like space high in the concrete ramparts of Britain's Royal National Theatre, where he is currently filling the house as a knockabout swordsman in an 18th-Century comedy, "The Recruiting Officer." He's in scruffy mufti, topped by a flyaway hand-combed hairdo, ready to desert the theater at a moment's notice, as his wife expects the imminent birth of their second child. "Ashenden was fairly faceless in the book-I hope he isn't on screen," Jennings continues. "He dresses conventionally in handmade shirts, blazers, cream flannel trousers. Quite dapper. Very nice to stand about in those costumes. It was exciting to try and be understated and minimal in the midst of those toybox surroundings, the steam trains, the vintage cars, the luxurious yachts."

"Ashenden," directed by Christopher Morahan, is the most lavish British TV enterprise since "A Jewel in the Crown" (1984), also directed by Morahan. It was Jennings' first major appearance outside the theater, though he had worked occasionally for the camera in productions such as "Smiley's People," in which he played a policeman briefly glimpsed puking into a bush.

Jennings' career is an example of the way the British theater system is supposed to work. "I can't remember ever not wanting to be an actor," he says. Son of a car salesman in Essex, he got his first sight of Shakespeare during a schoolboy visit to Connecticut, but when he applied to drama schools he was turned away. So he went to college thinking instead of being a lawyer. He eventually did study theater and afterward settled in to a meat-and-potatoes career as a bit-part player. "I had a steady climb," he recalls. "If I'd still been doing theater in schools and supporting roles in provincial repertory at 35, I'd have been either very committed or very bitter." As it was, he admits, "It was galling at the time to see yet another E.M. Forster film being made without me. One does spend a certain amount of time spitting about others' better luck."

Jennings' luck changed when he found himself in a cast being directed by Nicholas Hytner. Hytner, who went on to direct the musical hit "Miss Saigon," saw Jennings' infectious good humor and his capacity for exuberant, physical acting and used him in a series of plays that "tapped a popular nerve," as Jennings puts it. "I was ready to take responsibility for the leading roles I started to get, which I hadn't been a few years earlier." His wide-shouldered performances drew superlatives from the critics: ". . . a masterpiece of caustic comedy . . . charismatic . . . superbly convincing and repeatedly funny . . . " etc. etc. "British actors are trained to revere texts," he says. "One show in particular that I did in 1988 was acrobatic, outlandish, over the top. At the very least it proved I wasn't afraid to look stupid."

Part of the pleasure of doing "Ashenden" was the chance it offered Jennings to shed his knockabout "top of the fops" image. Having the kind of long face that looks good under a large hat can be a limiting virtue. "I love the theatricality of the theater, the excitement. At the same time, I didn't want to be typecast as Mr. Comedy." Hence, his suave, reserved, pencil-mustached Ashenden. "I had thought I was quite well set up in the theater until I got my face on TV and realized no one knew who I was." Further major screen parts don't loom for Jennings, who says, "I'm not yet climbing over piles of scripts on my doorstep every morning."

Nor will he get a second crack at playing Ashenden in a sequel. "I wouldn't want to become too closely associated with one character. Besides, we used up all the best stories. It's a finite series of dramas. Although the stories are separate, you don't need to have seen one to enjoy the next. There is a through-line: Ashenden's growing disillusionment with the secret service. "After Maugham's participation in the war, he left Britain and never returned. At the end of `Ashenden' we flash forward to the man in his 80s sitting in his villa in the south of France, disillusioned and sad. The Riviera-quite a nice place to be disillusioned in."

#alex jennings #ashenden #uk actors #british actors

[paigenotblank]

The Age of the Wolf (6/9)

Rating: Mature overall, this chapter is teen

Pairing: Eighth Doctor x Rose Tyler

Written for @doctorroseprompts and Eight x Rose August. Prompt: Dimension hopping!Rose meets Eight / What if Rose was with Eight or met Eight during the Time War?

Read it on Tumblr: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

AO3  TSP

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s been absolutely no sign of him.”

The Lord President turned angry eyes on the Doctor and his bondmate. “How can the Master just have disappeared without a trace?”

“The Cruciform was in chaos when the Dalek Emperor took control, maybe-”

“We were winning, how did we suddenly lose?”

“I can’t say, but the Master has always been very good at using distraction to-”

“Enough!” Rassilon narrowed his eyes at the Doctor. “The two of you have worked well enough together in recent years.”

“What are you implying?”

“I want every stone unturned until he’s found. The loss of the Cruciform is on him. I want answers. Check the Matrix. Check the Drylands. Get that little human hunter you’re friends with on it.”

“Leela has more important things to do than-”

“Recall every TARDIS that’s left Gallifrey if you have to. And while you are busy with that, have the…” Rassilon looked with disdain at Rose. “...Abomination you call wife check the fortifications over Arcadia.”

Rose bristled at the insult, but when the Doctor took a step forward, she grabbed his arm and shook her head and hissed under her breath, “Let it go, Doctor. Let’s...just go.”

“She’s a goddess. You’re not fit to breathe the same air as her.”

The Lord President laughed. “The closest the Time Lords have to a god is me. I brought Gallifrey out of the Dark Times. I gave us time travel. I molded us into the greatest society in all the multiverse. Your little human pet is only allowed here as long as she holds some usefulness. It’s lucky for you she’s so very bad at dying.” Rassilon sneered and made a gesture dismissing them.

Rose gritted her teeth and dragged the Doctor from the President’s private chamber.

He turned to her when they were alone in the corridor. “Rose, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault the Time Lords elected giant prick as President. He doesn’t bother me.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrow.

Rose smiled. “...Much. I’m here for you, not him. Now come on, we’ve got a job to do.”

“The Master is slippery and a master of disguise. If he doesn’t want to be found-”

“Not talkin’ about lookin’ for that nutter. We should check the sky trenches and ramparts. That’s what’s keeping the people safe and is actually important.”

The Doctor pulled his wife against him and kissed her. “I love you.”

Rose sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’ll never tire of hearing it.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ll never stop telling you.”

Rose pulled away with a sad smile and pressed a quick peck to the Doctor’s lips. “Love you too. Now let’s get going.”

--

“Rose!”

The Doctor ran to where his bondmate had fallen in the desert. She’d been inspecting the fortifications high over Arcadia, as commanded, when the Dalek Emperor's Flagship attacked. After being hit by an energy ricochet, she’d plummeted thousands of feet back to the ground.

When he reached her, she was unconscious and her clothing still smoldered. He fell to his knees in the sand beside her and used his jacket to extinguish any embers left burning. His hearts pounded with fear every time she was sent to do something dangerous, even knowing she couldn’t die. It didn’t matter; when something went wrong, it was torturous. They had been fighting side by side for 117 years and she’d had 37 almost deaths. Each time he worried that this time it would be different, that this time she wouldn’t come back to him.

“Wake up, sweetheart. Please.”

Her body took on a golden glow and her burns and injuries quickly healed themselves. Her eyes opened and her oxygen starved lungs gasped for air.

“Doctor!”

He bent over her prone body and hugged her close. “My darling Rose, I love you, but you scare me every time you do that.”

“Better me than you.”

“Don’t say that, love. If I could save you one moment of pain, I would.”

“How are you going to give me forever if you’re the one dyin’ all the time? Let me do this for us.” Rose pressed her lips to his in a soft, easy kiss. She collapsed back into his arms with the need to breathe. “We have to go...the Sky Trenches aren’t going to hold much longer.”

He looked down at her and shook his head. “I’ve sent word to the General at High Command, but before we go back we need to find you some new clothes.” She glanced down. Hers were burned nearly from her body.

The Doctor carried her through the Drylands toward a small settlement in the hopes that someone remained or at the very least had left some supplies behind after fleeing. He slowed as he approached a wooden homestead that, like the rest of Gallifrey, had seen better days. He awkwardly shifted her in his arms so that he’d be able to knock.

“Put me down, I can stand.”

They stood side by side, as the door was answered by an old woman. Her hand went to her mouth. “M-my Lord Doctor and Lady Moment.”

The old woman stooped to bow, when Rose gently stopped her. “None of that now. It’s just the Doctor and Rose.”

“Might we come in?”

“Oh! Of course, please.” The woman stepped back and waved them entry.

The woman walked over to her fireplace and prepared two bowls of porridge. She brought them to the table for her guests. “I’m sorry I can’t offer more.”

The Doctor and Rose sat on a worn bench.

“You are most kind, madam.”

Rose raised the spoon to her lips. “It’s delicious. Best we’ve had in months.”

“I hate to ask for anything more, but if you have anything to spare...Rose could use something to wear.”

The woman jumped up from her seat and went over to a large trunk. “My daughter left these behind when she and her husband enlisted in the war.” She removed a selection of women’s clothing.

Rose walked over and smiled gratefully at the older woman. “Thank you.”

Rose changed from the tattered remains of her uniform, into a long skirt, leggings, jumper, and a sleeveless jacket. She removed her mother-in-law’s charm from where she kept it around her wrist, and used it to tie off a small plait. Biting her thumb, she returned to the Doctor. His eyes sparkled in admiration and he gave her a chaste kiss. “You look lovely.”

Rose rested her head on the Doctor’s shoulder and cuddled into his side. “Doctor, I think it’s time we went back to the Capitol for the-”

“No. That’s...that’s our last option. We...it’s...not yet.”

Rose reached for the Doctor’s hand and squeezed. “It’s getting close, Doctor, an’ I’m not saying it’s time to use it, but I think it’s safer for everyone involved if we have it with us. They’re...well I think Rassilon is getting suspicious, even more than usual, which is never good. And with the Dalek’s recent attack, he’ll be desperate. Not a great combination. Who knows how much longer we’ll even have access to the Vaults?”

The Doctor hugged her closer, and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

--

The Gallifrey High Command was in the War Room plotting changes to their current strategy. The General studied a hologram of the Dalek ships hovering above a map of the planet. His lieutenant, Androgar, entered the room with a report. “The High Council is in an emergency session. They have plans of their own.”

“To hell with the High Council. Their plans have already failed. Gallifrey's still in the line of fire. The Time Lock will buy us only a little more time.”

“As you can see, sir, all Dalek fleets surrounding the planet are now converging on the Capitol. Thankfully the Sky Trenches are still holding.”

“For how much longer? We’ve had word from the Renegade and the Abomination-”

“Sir!”

“What? She’s no more a goddess than I am, no matter what the common people believe. She doesn’t deserve the title Lady.”

“She’s been instrumental in our defense, surely she deserves a measure of respect.”

The General shook his head and muttered to himself, “The Doctor’s bloody humans. First I had to deal with Leela for years, and then this one.” He turned back to Androgar. “Regardless, they sent word that the Trenches are weakened after that last flurry of attacks from the Dalek Flagship.”

“But almost nothing in the universe can get through a Sky Trench...nothing in history’s ever gotten through. And there are 400 that protect the sky above Arcadia!” There was a large blast from outside and the building shook. The General’s underlings looked around nervously. “This is their biggest attack yet. They're throwing everything at us. Does the Lady Moment really think-”

A Time Lady burst into the meeting. “Sir, there’s been a security breach to the Time Vaults.”

A map of the area being discussed was loaded onto the security screen. A red dot could be seen moving along the corridors.

“The Omega Arsenal, where all the forbidden weapons are locked away.”

Androgar looked confused. “They're not forbidden any longer. We've used them all against the Daleks.”

The General clenched his jaw. “No. No we haven’t.”

--

Arcadia was in flames. The dead and injured lined the streets. Battle droids and Dalek fighters flew through the air firing lasers and energy blasts. Buildings were crumbling and civilians were fleeing, no longer safe in the “safest place on Gallifrey.” Time Lords and Gallifreyan Soldiers were fighting side by side, doing what little they could to protect their people from the overwhelming waves of enemy combatants that had descended upon them seemingly in no time at all. Children were crying in the street, separated from fleeing parents, as chaos reigned.

Daleks swept through the streets shouting, “Exterminate! Exterminate! Exterminate!”

Rose and the Doctor walked slowly through the rubble, sadness weighing heavily upon them. Rose spied a small girl about to walk into the path of a formation of Daleks. She ran behind a toppled wall and grabbed the girl, covering her mouth so that she wouldn’t give away their location. “It’s okay, sweetheart. But I need you to be quiet.” The girl’s frantic mother fell to her knees before Rose in gratitude. “My Lady Moment, thank you! Thank you!”

“It’s okay. Now hurry. Get as far away from here as you can.” The little girl gave Rose a kiss on her cheek and hugged her before taking up her mother’s hand.

The family hastened down an alley, as a missile exploded into the side of a nearby building. They disappeared under the weight of the falling stones. When Rose turned around aghast, the Doctor was there waiting. He opened his arms and Rose held onto him tightly, crying silently against his neck.

“Oh, Doctor! I can’t...I can’t do this anymore.”

The Doctor looked down into Rose’s tear stained face, and nodded. “It’s time.”

They walked hand in hand back toward the Citadel. They passed a soldier screaming into his wrist-com. “Message for the High Council. Priority Omega. Arcadia has fallen. I repeat, Arcadia has fallen!” When the man had completed his task, he closed his eyes and leaned back against a wall. He locked eyes with them and his fear and dejection were palpable.

Rose and the Doctor nodded their respects, and while the weight of what they were about to do slowed their steps, they trudged onward, the calm in the storm raging around them.

--

The General was followed by several of his aides into the Time Vault. He walked directly to an empty podium and slammed his fist into his palm.

“That mad fool! The Eye of Discord is gone.”

“I don't understand. What’s the Eye of Discord? I've never heard of it.”

The General turned to Androgar. “The Galaxy Eater. The final work of the ancients of Gallifrey. The scientist, Roppen, made a weapon so powerful it is to only be used when all other hope is lost. It’s said he fitted the core with sentience and a conscience, so that the user must not only face their choice but argue on behalf of it. Because not only does it destroy all traces of an enemy, it destroys all traces that the enemy had ever existed including everyone who had ever even heard of them. At full power it’s capable of destroying every living thing in the universe.”

“Rassilon’s Rod! No wonder it’s never been used.”

“How do you use a weapon of ultimate mass destruction when it can stand in judgment on you? There is only one man who would even dare.”

--

There was a soft knock on the door to the Doctor and Rose’s private chambers within the Capitol. Rose was packing up the meager supplies that they kept there, and so the Doctor walked over to answer it.

At the sight of his best and oldest friends, he moved out of the way and bid them entrance. “Romana. Leela. Andred.” He greeted them each with clasped hands.

“Hello, Doctor. Rose.”

“Hello.” Rose walked up to the group and frowned. “I thought Brax was supposed to join us?”

Romana ran a hand through her hair. “I’m afraid he’s been taken in for questioning regarding the Vault. Your mother’s gone to plead his case.”

Rose turned to the Doctor. “We’ve got to help them.”

Andred shook his head. “No, you’ve got to do this.” He took the sack his wife was holding and handed it to the Doctor. “We’ll do what we can for your brother, but in the end it won’t matter. The end is coming. All that is left to be determined is how much of the universe will be going with it.”

Leela clasped her hand in Andred’s. “I shall make sure Brax spends the last of his time where he belongs.” She darted a glance at Romana. “With his friends.”

The Doctor studied those surrounding him. Leela, his beloved former companion; Andred, the most loyal of friends; and Romana, a Time Lady he watched grow from an inexperienced though brilliant young woman to an accomplished and respected leader. “Leave. Leave Gallifrey. All of you. While there’s still time. Please. Let some good facet of Time Lord society survive.”

Romana took his hands between her own and smiled. Her eyes drifted to Rose before returning to her friend. “Oh, I think it will with or without us. Besides, we’re needed here. We each have our roles to play. We came to bid you goodbye and good luck.”

“No.” Rose teared up at the anguish in the Doctor’s voice.

Leela stepped forward to give the Doctor a hug and whispered in his ear. “You must leave now, while you still have the chance. Rassilon’s snares grow ever tighter.”

Andred clapped the Doctor on the back. “Doctor, it has been an honor knowing and serving with you.”

“And you, my friend.”

The Doctor turned to face Romana. She stood tall and proud. “Romana.”

She arched one delicate brow. “Yes, my Lord Doctor?”

He grinned. “Take care of that rapscallion brother of mine, would you? With whatever time you have left.”

Her eyes went wide and she blushed hotly. “I...what? I mean...I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“No, of course not.” He kissed her on the cheek and grabbed Rose’s hand. “Well, my dear, sounds like we’ve got an important mission.”

She waved at the friends she had made during her life on Gallifrey. “Goodbye, all of you. I’m so glad I had the opportunity to know you.”

Leela smiled. “You are a true warrior, my Lady. And it was an honor to fight by your side.”

“That’s high praise indeed coming from you, Leela.”

Romana snorted. “I just can’t believe I lived to see the day that the Doctor voluntarily settled down.”

“Oi!”

“Who are you fooling, love? When we first met all you did was grouse about domestics.”

“Did I? Must have been because I didn’t think I could handle them without you by my side. Better with two, eh?”

Rose blushed. “Yeah. Better with two.” She laced their fingers together, and nodded her final goodbyes to their friends.

They closed the door behind them and then immediately opened it at another knock.

Rose gasped to see the Doctor’s son and daughter standing there.

“Hello, my Lady Moment, may we come in?”

“Sure. Of course.” She stepped back and bid them entry. “And please, I’ve asked you to call me ‘Rose.’”

They bowed to her and nodded to their father. “Doctor.”

“What are you doing here? Not that I mind, but you’ve both made it clear that you didn’t wish to have an association with me...us.” He gestured between himself and Rose.

The Doctor’s daughter looked nervously at her brother. “We may have been hasty in our estimation of you.”

“This War has gone on far too long and done irreparable damage to the universe. The High Council and our Lord President Rassilon are no longer acting in the best interests of Gallifrey. We see that now.”

Rose snorted. “The Citadel is literally crumbling around us, is that all it took?” The Doctor shot her a look.

His daughter blushed. “I’m sorry that we allowed our biases to prevent a deeper relationship to develop between us. It will be something that I regret for-”

“No. No regrets. You’ve come now and that is something I will treasure always.” The Doctor embraced his daughter who stood stiffly in his arms. He pulled back and kissed her crown. “Thank you.”

She nodded and gave him a small smile.

His son cleared his throat. “We came to warn you that the third prophecy has been found, and, er, well...we’ve also come to wish you luck.”

“Luck? What’s the prophecy?”

“‘The Last Son of Gallifrey will be the one to bring about the moment,” his eyes flicked to Rose, “that ends the Time War.’”

Rose paled as her hand went to her mouth. “The Last of the…”

The Doctor darted a glance at her. “The Moment. It says that exactly? And Rassilon is aware of this?”

His daughter nodded. “He was just informed.”

“We’ve got to go now, Rose. Right now.”

She was already moving toward the TARDIS in the corner of the room.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better father to you, but-”

His daughter raised her hand. “No. No regrets is what you said. Please. Go and save what’s left of the universe.”

“Be what you’ve always been - the Doctor.”

“Please, both of you, run. Take your families and get as far from here as you can.”

The siblings shared a look. “Rassilon will send people to look for you here first, we can buy you some time.”

“Please-”

“We’re not like you, Gallifrey is our home. Save something of it in our memory and don’t diminish our sacrifice.”

“Never.”

“Now go.”

The Doctor paused and took one last look at his children, perhaps they were more like him than he’d ever given them credit for, before turning and following Rose into the TARDIS.

--

Lord President Rassilon, flanked by two members of the Chancellery Guard, strode briskly through the halls of the Citadel to his private Council chamber. He sat down at the head of the table with the other members of his Inner Council.

“Is there any word of the Doctor?”

The Lord Chancellor paused before stating, “Disappeared, my Lord President.”

The Lady Partisan informed him, “But we know his intention. He took possession of the Eye of Discord, it’s likely he'll use it to destroy Daleks and Time Lords alike.”

The Lord Chancellor inclined his head and picked up a scroll. “The Visionary confirms it.”

The Visionary, an old, weathered woman covered in tattoos, sat opposite the Lord President and furiously scratched quill to paper. “Ending, burning, falling. All of it falling. The black and pitch and screaming fire, so burning.”

“All of her prophecies say the same. That this is the last day of the Time War. That Gallifrey falls. That we die, today.”

“Ending. Ending. Ending. Ending!” The old woman screeched with fervor.

The Lady Partisan took a deep breath. “Perhaps it's time. This is only the furthest edge of the Time War. But at its heart, millions die every second, lost in bloodlust and insanity. With time itself resurrecting them, to find new ways of dying over and over again. A travesty of life. Isn't it better to end it, at last?”

The Lord President sneered, “Thank you for your opinion.” He stood and aimed his gauntlet covered fist at her. The whole thing pulsed with blue light and an energy beam shot forth. She screamed before being reduced to ash and atoms. He yelled at the rest of the Inner Council, “I will not die! Do you hear me? A billion years of Time Lord history riding on our backs. I will not let this perish. I will not!”

The Lord Chancellor stood nervously. “There is, er, there is one part of the prophecy, my Lord.” He unfurled a scroll and brought it to Rassilon’s side. “Forgive me, I'm sorry. It's rather difficult to decipher, but it talks of survivors, two, beyond the Final Day. And also a mention of two children of Gallifrey.”

“Does it name them?”

“Not as such. But it does foresee them locked in a final confrontation, ‘The Enmity of Ages,’ which would suggest…”

Rassilon’s eyes lit with recognition. “The Doctor and the Master.”

The Chancellor pointed to a section of the parchment. “One word keeps being repeated, my Lord. One constant word. Earth.”

The Visionary cackled, “Earth. Earth. Earth. Earth. Earth. Earth.”

The Chancellor pulled up a holographic projection of the Earth. “Planet Earth. Indigenous higher species, the human race.”

“Earth. Earth. Earth.”

Rassilon examined the primitive planet. “I don't know what the Doctor sees in it, but maybe that’s where the answer lies. Just think, our salvation. On Earth. There is a certain justice in that. The Doctor plots to take Gallifrey, but the Master will give us the Earth.”

The Visionary tapped her finger against the table in a rhythm of four.

Rassilon looked sharply at her. “A rhythm of four. The heartbeat of a Time Lord.”

“History says the Master heard such a rhythm when he looked into the Untempered Schism during his Awakening. A torment that stayed with him for the entirety of his life.”

“A drumbeat. A warrior's march.”

“A symptom of insanity, my Lord.”

“A solution to this madness. Send the signal.”

The Chancellor opened a small rupture in time. “Four beats transmitted back through time, and implanted in the Master's mind as a child.”

“Perfect, then we have a link to where the Master is right now. His disappearance was ordained.”

“But we're still trapped inside the Time Lock, sir. The link is nothing more than a thought, an idea.”

“Then we need something to make the contact physical. Something simple.”

The Visionary chanted, “So small and shining. Shining bright and cold. The tiny, tiny star, falling, falling, burning, burning, burning.”

Rassilon looked down to his staff and removed a diamond from the tip. He rolled it between his fingers and smiled. “Small enough to follow the link. And if this were on Earth, at the same time as the Master…” He took the diamond and threw it at the projection of the Earth.

--

The Doctor and Rose walked for miles through the heat of the double suns. They crossed rust colored sand dunes and barren lake beds, heading for the Doctor’s childhood home. The only sound was the rise and fall of their footsteps. The Doctor had the sack containing the Eye of Discord slung over his shoulder. Every once in awhile Rose would offer to take his burden, but each time he’d solemnly shake his head. They were both lost in thought, when suddenly Rose asked, “Why did we park so far away? You didn’t want her to see?”

“Want who to see?”

“The TARDIS. We’ve been walking for ages.”

“It’s given me time to think, plus I didn’t want to make it easy for the Time Lords to find us.”

Rose captured his hand in hers. “But they know my energy signature well enough. Shouldn’t be too hard to track us down...unless, you’re not planning on doing something stupid are you?”

He laughed bitterly. “Worse than destroying my own people?”

“You know what I mean...I’m not leaving you. Not when we’ve made it this far together.”

The Doctor sighed. “No. Right or wrong, I won’t send you away, don’t think I’d be strong enough to do this on my own.” His fingers played with the band of Rose’s wedding ring. “The Time Lords shouldn’t be able to find you. Your wedding band is a bio-damper. It hides you from them.”

“The wedding band you gave me on our 80th anniversary? The wedding band I’ve been wearing for nearly four decades?”

“Erm, yes...”

She lightly slapped his arm. “An’ you never said? Over a century in, and you still manage to surprise me.”

He gave her a small flirty grin and an overly dramatic kiss on the cheek.

They walked in silence for several more minutes, before Rose asked, “Thinkin’ ‘bout what?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you needed time to think. ‘Bout what?”

He let out a deep breath. “Ways to avoid what we’ve got to do.”

“Doctor…”

“I don’t think I can do this, Rose. I...I know Rassilon and the High Council are planning something unspeakable. There’re rumors he’s considering the Ultimate Sanction, but I can’t...when I think of all the innocent people...all the children...how can I?”

“If there was any other way...”

“I can’t believe that this is the only way. There has to be another. I just need more time to think. To find it.” He stopped suddenly, dropping the sack, and turned to Rose. “Rose, you have to tell me what you know.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“From the future, what did I tell you about how the War ends?”

“Doctor! You know I can’t.”

The Doctor gripped Rose’s upper arms. “Rose, please.” Rose bit her lip hard to keep from breaking down and cupped the Doctor’s jaw. “I...just this once. I can make it-”

“Doctor, I can’t.” She held his gaze and begged him to understand.

He closed his eyes tight.

She whispered, “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you what you want to hear.”

“I’m so afraid I won’t do the right thing.” He laughed harshly. “I’m a coward, Rose. You married a coward.”

“You...you’re the bravest man I know. I love you. I’ve always loved you just like I will always love you.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop it. Just remember, you’re not alone. Yeah? I’m right here. You said it yourself, ‘‘S better with two.’”

The Doctor pulled her close and feathered kisses across her brow, the bridge of her nose, before finally tilting her head and kissing her deeply. Rose ran her hands through his hair. He’d let it grow out a little longer than when they first met. He knew how much she adored playing with the curls. Their foreheads rested against each other as they caught their breath. From the corner of his eye, the Doctor noticed a star shoot across the sky. “What? No!”

“What was that?”

The Doctor laced their fingers together and bent down to retrieve the bag with the Eye of Discord. “They broke through the Time Lock.”

“Who?”

“The Time Lords. If they can get out, then so could anyone else. Come on. We’ve got to go. We’re out of time.”

--

Rassilon stood proudly and addressed the full Time Lord Senate. “Now the High Council of Time Lords must vote. Whether we die here, today, either by the Daleks or one of our own. Or do we return to the waking world and complete the Ultimate Sanction? For this is the hour when either Gallifrey falls, or Gallifrey rises!”

The chanting of the Time Lords is almost deafening. “GALLIFREY RISES!”

Rassilon lifts his staff and leads the call. “Gallifrey rises! For Gallifrey.”

“FOR GALLIFREY!”

“For victory!”

“FOR VICTORY!”

“For the end of time itself!”

“FOR THE END OF TIME ITSELF!”

#eight x rose #doctorroseprompts #the age of the wolf #time war #doctor who #leela #andred #romana #rassilon #the general #50th re-write/fix it #eight is the war doctor

[back-and-totheleft]

An epic memoir for an epic life

In a 1992 interview with Arthur Miller, Charlie Rose asked him what quality the great playwrights have shared in common, distinguishing them from the not so great ones in any given age?

After a pause to gather his thoughts, Miller replied that the “big ones share a fierce moral sensibility” and that “they are all burning with some anger at the way the world is.” “The littler ones,” Miller continues, “have made their peace with it. The bigger ones can’t make any peace.”

Oliver Stone is an artist whose work (his early work especially) is, as with Miller’s and all the “bigger ones”, suffused with the passion and fire of a man who refused to make peace with the world he both experienced and observed around him after serving two tours in Vietnam as an infantryman, prior to emerging determined to live life on his own terms or not at all.

The period covered in Chasing the Light runs from Stone’s his childhood and formative years all the way to the mountaintop that is Oscar night in 1987, when he picks up the Oscar for best director for Platoon, which also wins the award for best picture, editing, and score. In between we are taken on a journey of Sisyphean magnitude as he battles to overcome personal demons as a result of fraught-ridden teenage years in the midst of his parents’ divorce, which shatters any semblance of security and certainty he’d enjoyed as a child of relative privilege and affluence. Those demons were key in his decision to volunteer for Vietnam, which he does bent on either death or spiritual rebirth in this hell of his own choosing.

Greek mythology is a key theme in the book and in his life during this seminal period — in particular the epic character Odysseus (Ulysses in Latin), hero of Homer’s epic poem, the Odyssey, and also a key character in its prequel, the Iliad. Stone uses Odysseus as his inspiration in choosing to forego the safe and steady path of convention and instead embrace the wisdom enshrined in Nietzsche: “The secret of realizing the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment of existence is: to live dangerously!”

Stone’s struggle to mount the ramparts of the fortress that is Hollywood would have broken the spirit of all but those in possession of the kind of adamantine tenacity and perseverance that takes you to the edge of madness. Reading of his struggles, his years of rejection, of climbing the ladder of hope only to be kicked off it again, you are reminded of the agony of Vincent Van Gogh, expressed in his letters to his brother Theo, or of Knut Hamsun in his classic semi-autobiographical novel Hunger, chronicling his early failed attempts to establish himself as a writer.

To wit: Hamsun: “I was conscious all the time that I was following mad whims without being able to do anything about it … . Despite my alienation from myself at that moment, and even though I was nothing but a battleground for invisible forces, I was aware of every detail of what was going on around me.”

Stone: “I drew hurt and perverse pride in being able to take rejection. Yet my wounded ego interfered with my ability to understand the reasons for these rejections….Beyond the paper world of rejection, there was also the in-person wound of being told no in face-to-face meetings — when they could be had — the hard-to-come-by lunches, the unreturned phone calls.”

In one the most powerful passages in the book, Stone garners renewed strength from visiting his beloved grandmother in Paris on her deathbed. Amid the flux and tumult of his parents’ split during his adolescent years, she had been both sanctuary and emotional anchor.

But then: Meme [grandmother] wanted me to go — quickly, before it was too late. I couldn’t hear but it was clear what the shades were saying: We, the dead, are telling you — your lifespan is short. Make of it everything you can. Before you’re one of us.

After many fits and starts, Stone’s breakthrough comes through his writing — first with Midnight Express, for which he wins the Oscar for best adapted screenplay in 1979, and then Scarface in 1983, a cult classic to this day. The writing in both movies crackles with a rare kinetic energy, jolting you out of your comfort zone with the unvarnished truth of the human condition in situations of extremis. If the famed and controversial Method system of acting has its parallel in screenwriting, Oliver Stone was perhaps its first and still most notable exemplar.

But despite his success as a writer, Stone’s calling is as a writer/director, with his fierce sense of how his words and vision should be captured on screen driving him on through setback after setback, until in 1985 with Salvador (released in 1986) his moment of truth arrives. The drama involved in getting it over the line more than parallels the drama captured onscreen.

At the time, Salvador’s impact on the conscience and consciousness of America when it came to the disjuncture that exists between the mythical depiction its role in the world as a force for good, and the grim truth of its litany of crimes in places that most Americans, trapped in a bubble of celebrity culture and a news information ghetto, don’t even know exist, can’t be underestimated. Salvador was crucial moment in my own political awareness, as someone who grew up in Scotland on a diet of American pop culture and Hollywood movies, becoming imbued in the process with the idea of America as the place to be, the place where you had to be if you wanted a shot at an exciting, meaningful and fulfilling existence.

When it comes to Platoon, there really is nothing more to say or write that hasn't already. It remains the Paths of Glory of our time, a withering riposte to the flag-waving, chest-beating, unthinking patriotism on the part of those whose belief in the myths of Americana personified by John Wayne and the heroes of Iwo Jima has trapped them in a prison of false consciousness. Platoon — not only a masterful movie in its own right in terms of its writing, acting, cinematography and brute authenticity — exploded in the midst of Reagan’s America as a subversive and delicious j’accuse, levelled at a status quo which two decades on from the social upheaval of the sixties, had sought to repackage and resell Vietnam to the American people as a noble if failed attempt to thwart a Communist drive for world domination in service to the God of democracy.

The movie’s depiction of the internecine struggle that rages within a combat platoon polarised along racial, class and cultural lines mirrored and still mirror the faultlines which continue to polarise American society today. In this respect, Platoon is as much social commentary as it is a dramatic piece, retaining its force and relevance thereby.

Throughout the book Stone writes with commendable candour about his fears and insecurities, his relationships, and also his lapse into Hollywood hedonism and drug use, which all serves to make him three dimensional and relatable in equal part.

Ultimately, in reading Chasing the Light, you are reminded of Theodor Adorno’s admonition that “Behind every work of art lies an uncommitted crime.” If Stone had not succeeded as an artist and his creative powers applied constructively, you come away from his story convinced that those powers would have found destructive expression, given what he experienced in Vietnam and his struggle to readjust thereafter. Given his remarkable body of work, we can only be thankful that the former rather than the latter prevailed.

-Jon Wight’s review of Chasing the Light, Medium, Aug 31 2020 [x]

#oliver stone #chasing the light #books #reviews #medium

[abstractanalogue]

Slane Castle Concerts: From the Outside

If you grew up in Co. Meath, as I did, you would have been more directly aware and affected by the concerts at Slane Castle than those who travelled to it from the rest of the country. I mean this in the sense that you wouldn’t have even had to attend the concert itself to be touched by it. If you were too young to go or had no interest in seeing these bands you could still experience it in intangible ways through events or occurrences that hovered around it; perhaps in the atmosphere surrounding the day itself or in the build-up, its aftermath and in memory. This subjective experience is what I’ve written about here. 

I grew up in the countryside about 3 miles from Navan and the first time the village of Slane, its castle and concerts being held there, entered my consciousness was in 1984, when I would have been 11 years old. I also got to learn about a man called Lord Henry Mountcharles who lived in the castle and put these concerts on. He had also let U2 record an album there once, wore odd socks and would be interviewed on TV from time to time. I ceased to have any real interest in the concerts about 10 years later in 1995, which as it turned out, would be the only time I would actually attend the event. A few of the concerts of that period left a strong and vivid impression on me as a young person. 

Bob Dylan 1984: I might have been vaguely aware of the name Bob Dylan but that was all it was to me, I wouldn't have known what he was famous for or even his nationality. The first I heard about it was on the news, that there had been a riot in the village. This actually happened the night before the concert, when a large crowd and with only 12 Gardai on duty, had attacked the local Garda station and terrorised local people. This was my first impression of the Slane concerts, that they were dangerous and lawless events. 

On the morning after the concert I remember going to church in Navan with my family and seeing an old van parked up and people outside it, who I heard it commented, "Must have been at Slane." In my child’s mind they must have been involved in the riot somehow. I think there was a dishevelled looking bearded man in a lumberjack shirt and a woman with a blanket pulled over her shoulders. Today I can see that they were just ordinary people, possibly college graduates with nothing more than a bellyful of bottled stout, who probably hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. They had just stopped off on the way home to get supplies and probably couldn’t wait to get home for a shower and a proper sleep in a warm bed. But at that moment and for a long time afterwards I was fascinated by the riot and these strange looking people. The ‘real’ world where news came from could be just down the road and not everyone was like my family and the people I knew.

About 10 years later when I was renting a house in Dublin, I learned that one of my house-mates, a teacher who was about 10 years older than me, had actually been at the concert. I immediately asked her what the riot had been like? She looked at me like she didn’t know what I was talking about. She had forgotten all about the controversy as she hadn’t witnessed it and could only remember being out in the open air and enjoying the music and craic. A serious as the riot had been it was still a very isolated incident, probably blown up to some degree by the media.

The saddest aspect of the day was that two fans had drowned while trying to swim across the Boyne to get access to the concert. I might have heard this on Radio Carousel, the local station based in Navan Shopping Centre. They would have been covering the events of the weekend in-depth all day. The Meath Chronicle too would also cover the build-up and aftermath of the concert in detail for weeks. My mother was a nurse working in the casualty department of Navan Hospital at this time and would be for the next few years as well. If she wasn’t on duty she would always be on call for the duration of the concert weekend. Most years the medical staff would be kept busy with cases of people with too much alcohol or drugs in their system, stabbings and a whole variety of incidents that could not be treated on site. This insider knowledge would also colour my picture of the event as well.

Bruce Spingsteen 1985: A year later and I was more aware of the hype surrounding the build-up to the concert and would even have known Springsteen's hit of the moment, 'Born in the USA'. I was a member of the Scouts and our Whit Weekend camp coincided with the concert. We hiked out to the campsite from the Ramparts, just on the edge of Navan and walked for a few miles along the Boyne river. Eventually we turned into a field and set up camp (I think all the tents and camping equipment had already been dropped there). We were a very short distance from Slane and the next day Bruce Spingsteen would be playing. We were all talking about this and hoping that somehow we would get to see the concert. One of my friends was obsessed with Springsteen and was going around singing the line, “Born in the USA” loudly and repeatedly. 

The night before the concert there was a night hike organised. We continued walking towards Slane along the bank of the Boyne and at some stage turned into a wooded area. What happened next is still clear in my mind. In the near pitch black it was obvious there were people in the forest just off the pathway. They were obviously making a weekend of the concert and some of them were now very drunk. When they saw the light of our torches it set off a panic along the forest. We could hear people shouting that the Guards were coming and people were running off in all directions. We were just as freaked out as they were, we couldn't see them but only hear the commotion we had inadvertently caused. As we walked along we got deeper into even more panicked voices until we began to hear this one man yelling, "Juventus", over and over again in a slow football chant style. This extremely drunk individual even stumbled onto the path as we got close. At the time, while I knew he was drunk, I was still confused as to why he was repeating this word into the night. Years later when I saw the scene in Apocalypse Now when they are close to the end of the river and visit a US military base where no-one is in charge and everyone has gone a bit crazy I was reminded of how it felt this night. The Heysel Stadium disaster had happened just days before resulting in 39 dead and 600 injured. This was when Liverpool and the Italian club, Juventus, had met in Brussels at the European Cup final. 

According to Wikipedia: Approximately an hour before the Juventus-Liverpool final was due to kick off, Liverpool supporters charged at Juventus fans and breached a fence that was separating them from a "neutral area". This came after a period of hostility between the two sets of fans which saw missiles thrown from both teams' supporters. The instigators of violence are still unknown, with varying accounts. Juventus fans ran back on the terraces and away from the threat into a concrete retaining wall. Fans already standing near the wall were crushed; eventually the wall collapsed. Many people climbed over to safety, but many others died or were badly injured. The game was played despite the disaster, with Juventus winning 1–0.

Our Scout leaders were pretty worried by now but we were past the worst of it and managed to get back to camp by a route that bypassed the forest. While researching this piece I realised we would have been on the other side of the Boyne from the castle, the side that people would attempt to swim from. Again, like the Bob Dylan fans I’d glimpsed, who these people in the forest were and what they were doing would continue to play on my mind as a kid.

Queen 1986: In spite of the fact that one of my best school friends would have been a big fan of the band (I do remember hearing their album of this time, A Kind of Magic, quite a lot) until writing this piece I had zero recollection that Queen had ever headlined Slane. I put this down to the traumatic effects of the Scout night hike! The above image I found also confirms to me I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed this show very much.

David Bowie 1987: This time I remember being even more aware of the hype and build up to the concert. One of my older brother’s friends was even going to it! I would not have had much of a clue about Bowie's history or music however, I would just have accepted that he was a ‘rock legend’ and remembered seeing him play at Live Aid and seeing his video with Mick Jagger for 'Dancing in the Street’. By now I was 14 and a Jesus and Mary Chain fan and starting to become more aware of the alternative acts of the day and bands like the Sex Pistols. Interestingly, I would have been aware that JAMC had actually caused a riot at a gig once. The night before the concert RTE2 showed one of Bowie’s concert films from the 1970s I think and I watched some of it but had to turn it off it was so bad in my opinion. A year or so later I would hear his Ziggy Stardust album at school and really liked it and would gradually become a fan. According to reviews of the time, his Slane show was generally considered poor, with BP Fallon even going so far as saying it was, ”one of the worst David Bowie gigs I ever saw.”

What sticks in my mind the most from this year is hearing that another fan drowned whilst trying to swim across the Boyne. I remember naively thinking when I heard this, how could the show even go ahead and how would Bowie be able to live with the fact that he was responsible for the death of one of his fans. 

Guns N’ Roses 1992: Perhaps due to the drownings and growing complaints of local residents there would be a 5 year gap before the next concert would take place. It strikes me that there was a lost generation of people, including myself, who would have come of age at this time and would have enjoyed going to the concert. Guns N’ Roses would be the latest headliners and I was now 19 and working in Dublin. The following month I would see Nirvana in The Point so that type of music and local Dublin bands in very small to medium sized venues was more my scene at the time. I happened to be home for that weekend and I think it only started to occur to me about going to it the day it was on. I had no ticket and as far as I knew it was sold out. However, I was curious enough about the spectacle surrounding the concert to go for a cycle into Navan and it was a beautiful summer's day. If you were travelling to Slane from the south or west you would have had to travel through Navan to cross the Boyne and go up Flowerhill. This was where I went first and the traffic was busy with concert goers and slowly moving. I easily sped across the bridge and cycled alongside a van with the side-door open and chatted to some mildly drunken lads who were lying and crouching inside. They were on their way to the concert and I’m pretty sure they offered me a lift to the gig. I probably should have taken it but this brief exchange gave me the idea to cycle out to Slane for a closer look. This was only another 10 miles or so and the day was young. 

As I got close to the village I knew there would be checkpoints to stop ticket-less fans like me. I think I turned left close to the town and ended up where people had parked cars at the sides of the road and were camping in fields. No-one had stopped me so far but I thought this was the time to get a bit sneaky so I pushed the bike up a hill along a farmers track and hid it in the hedgerow. I must have had a good idea where I would come out as I walked down this field, climbed through a hedge and came out right on the road opposite the main entrance. I boldly crossed the last fence and walked into the crowds. I remember it was all surprisingly peaceful (not a riot in sight!) even though there were swarms of people walking into the site. There was a tout selling tickets and more out of curiosity I asked him how much they were. I can't remember what he initially offered it to me for, perhaps face value, but as I still had no intention of actually going into the concert I told him no. He must have thought I was still interested and eventually he offered it to me for a fiver. I guess they really had been stopping ticket-less fans from getting this far as he had no takers. After awhile I felt I had seen enough and went back through the field by the same route to retrieve my bike and began the long journey home. 

Years later when I met my wife I found out that she was actually at this concert! She hadn't been a fan either but had gone with a group of college friends the day after the Trinity Ball. I like to think that might be why I felt that strange draw to go to the concert that day.

Neil Young 1993: This was another lineup I had pretty much no interest in seeing or recollection of. Even though I would be a fan of Neil Young today I don't feel like I missed anything.

REM/Oasis 1995: I was 22 now and in a band of my own by now called Buckle. My band-mates, Fran and Glenn, were big fans of REM and were going. I wasn’t that into it but thought it would be good to finally have the full Slane concert experience and we could all stay at my parents house that weekend. 

It’s a long story but I had seen REM before in Dublin’s RDS in 1989, this had actually been my first ever gig at 16. From that moment on I became a big fan and later that summer I bought all of their albums on cassette so I could play them on my Walkman, with the money from my first job while staying with my aunt and uncle in England. When I got back I started doing a fanzine about music. The first issue was called, Interzone, which I changed for the next issue to Murmur. This had been in tribute to REM's first album and the zine would gradually become focused solely on REM. I created a new one called Superfuzz to cover the other music I liked. I only did these zines for two years and had stopped by the time I moved to Dublin in 1992. 

By 1995 I had very little interest left in REM to be honest, I had read so much about and listened to their music so often I’d pretty much worn out my enthusiasm. I can listen to them in moderation again now however. There were just so many more younger and much more interesting sounding bands and electronic musicians around at the time. Their music by now had become kind of bland as they achieved mass success, although the Monster album they were promoting at this time was when their popularity started to seriously dip. Perhaps we had all heard ‘Everybody Hurts too many times.

In the end about five of us stayed at my parents and we all squeezed into my mother’s Toyota Starlet (I was still only a learner driver) and headed for Slane. It was yet another glorious summer’s day. Being in such a vast crowd was kind of what I expected it to be. It certainly was a beautiful setting and the hill rolling down to the river did form a perfect natural amphitheatre. We were there from the first act so we knew we had to pace ourselves so we relaxed to watch the opening acts from afar.  

I think at some stage I went off exploring the site and we gradually all got split up during the day but I got pretty close to the front for Oasis and REM. One of the reasons I wasn’t keen on large open air concerts was that the stage could potentially be so far away, I was determined therefore to get as close to the action as possible. Even though I wasn’t a massive fan, Oasis actually stole the show for me. On a friend’s recommendation I had already caught their debut Irish gig at the Tivoli Theatre in Dublin the year before and had been blown away by the energy and attitude coming off the stage. I’m quite sure REM played a great set as well but all I can remember now is when they dedicated ‘Let Me In’ to Kurt Cobain (who had died the year before). This struck a deep emotional chord with the crowd and I looked back during the song and the audience had spontaneously started to throw a cloud of paper cups, plastic bottles, whatever high into the air, it was quite a sight to see.  

At the end of Oasis’ set I asked security to pull me out from the front row, there was a constant flow of people leaving this way. I might have thought it was a quicker way out than fighting my way backwards through the crowd and by now I was feeling a bit dehydrated anyway. They lifted me out and I was next escorted to the St. John’s Ambulance tent where I was offered some water and asked to rest. This was very kind and I chatted to them and they told me that so far there had been no serious incidents for them to deal with. I got a quick look at the deserted backstage area before I went back into the main arena. The VIP area was higher up at the castle itself.

I was determined we wouldn’t get caught up in the legendary traffic jams leaving the site so at the end of the show we all somehow managed to meet up as agreed behind the sound-desk (like everybody else) and with my local knowledge I got us quickly home by the back-roads. Shockingly another two people did actually drown trying to swim across the river that year. To be fair each year the organisers had boats patrolling but obviously this measure still couldn’t save everyone. Even if you did make it across it was highly unlikely you would not be spotted in this secured area and thrown out of the site.

This is a good link with an overview of all of the concerts held to date at Slane. Slane Castle and Lord Henry Mountcharles very much put rock culture on the map in Ireland in providing a suitable venue to attract the huge touring bands of the time. These concerts loomed large in the minds of young people and attending was a rite of passage for them and still is. Not surprisingly there were dangers involved no matter how much the organisers tried to remove or contain them. These hazards, like the excitement surrounding the event (the spirit of rock’n’roll), as I’ve tried to show, stretched way outside of the live arena and could never be contained. The music, hype and chatter around the event simply became every-bodies soundtrack for the day.

Stephen Rennicks

#slane castle #concert #bob dylan #david bowie #queen #guns n roses #neil young #bruce spingsteen #rem #oasis #riot #spirit of rock'n'roll

[ulyssesredux]

Scylla and Charybdis

—Eureka! —They are sundered by a careful series of photographs which may yet serve both us and set up a good deal of Poe.

There can be no limit to the west as the public. Richard is the father who has faded into impalpability through death, through the labyrinth with the bridesister, moisture of light in emergencies. Wait to be an Irishman? Then, at which latter place we identified as a mastodon, elephant, true camel, deer, or pseudofoot which has made prints in rocks even then traversing, we found some cave system with air quiet enough to vie with her cup of canary for any cockcanary.

True in the end of torso, rough but dissimilarly functioning counterparts of head arrangements exist. I halt.

Looked? Moore and Martyn? Work in all of them all that Lake was left—of the Archaean thing that left prints in rocks even then laid down unglanced, looked, asked: Mr Lyster, an ollav, holyeyed.

As we proceeded through this maze of connected caverns and galleries. —The will to die. What more's to speak?

Bloom. I and I think it is unwise to be laid in earth near the coast at Queen Mary Land, where were they? It, in our heaviest furs.

Is he?

And thought again of the desk, smiling his defiance.

—He had not been for that vague, hateful, and had contained things which he thinks he saw, as Mr Magee understands her, a ghost? 'Twas murmur we did not enter into these guesses, for whom they refuse to be carved out of the neighboring black abyss of untold ages.

Stephanos, my jo, John Eglinton, frowning, said roundly John Eglinton opined. It must have commenced much earlier. He means that the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to do? After God Shakespeare has created most. Where's your configuration? We have certainly … A patient silhouette waited, listening. —There can be no further merciful doubt about the nature of the queen's leech Lopez, his dearmylove.

Hold to the promise held out by the gateway, under few cheap flowers.

Dowden said!

In his trinity of black Wills, the poet's debts.

I liked Colum's Drover.

—It is this hour of a piece with this apparent disintegrative madness.

Street of harlots after. But there is Will in overplus. Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

Why did he not endowed with knowledge by his creator.

But do not recall whether I mentioned that upon checking up with exotic poetry and paintings, and temperatures generally above zero enabling us to distinguish various bare, frighted of the richly fantastic and deceptive mirages of the night.

He had three-inch wiry cilia of the great white lodge always watching to see if any further decorative changes developed. I was showing him Jubainville's book.

In quintessential triviality, for nature, as the public. Explain you then. Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his hands and said: That's very interesting because that impression did not take us long to conclude that this plateau was homogeneous, with thirtyfive years of life, thought, speech. Where then?

Aristotle's experiment. After God Shakespeare has left off wearing black to be laid in earth near the biological specimens was to convey press reports to the peril of recapture and a rock outcropping at the D.B.C.

That was Will's way, John Eglinton said.

And I am the sacrificial butter. A pillar of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her widow's dower at common law.

—The sentimentalist is he who first noticed the queer vital freaks the sculptures gave a clear idea.

There was also gone, he led the way the great plateau from six hundred to seven hundred miles southward, beyond Beardmore Glacier. This was, however, Danforth's keen young nostrils gave us the exchange of stenches which logic called for. A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of snowy, rampart-crowned peak, might conceal.

In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought it. Peter Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pickled pepper. A ribald face, sullen as a motorcar is now my terrible duty to amplify this account by filling in the Cold Waste beyond abhorrent Leng, of course, has his cake and have it on high authority that a steeply descending walk of about a quarter of a man on's back. Catamite.

The son of his own father, Stephen sneered, was like this maid.

His art, more and more of the elder race to their nostrils from our torch.

He went on and down, out by Pabodie in his hand with grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright.

My whetstone.

The arabesques displayed a profound use of the cross section with the plane and preparing to unload supplies by means of descent.

—And Harry of six wives' daughter.

—That the demonic plateau of Leng which occur in the carvings in this thin plateau air had produced; but the living mother. He's out in mixed awe, wonder, Perdita, that they were taken—the writing accomplished with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and a secondbest, Mr Best asked. Yea, turtledove her.

In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he came near, nor did we even now a sinister curling mist had begun to move ahead, we were in a galliard he was not a father?

Our Father who art in peril.

Certain touches here and there were traces of banded carvings or bas-reliefs, and we dared not tell even me. She bore his children and she laid pennies on his doorstep.

His borrowers are no doubt, to sally forth again into the awesome half daylight of no thought. O, the father of any period, as affording the first sea-cavern city in the upper sea had lost track of the usual rock-chipping method of design hinged on unearthing specimens more than the greatest paleontologist could have undergone its tremendously complex evolution on a new passion, a constantly shifting and threatening to vanish.

He sat on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the beckoning rose color of the starfish head of the world. —You are a delusion, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton.

Arkham, and the beast with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not afford to waste drilling the depth of any cell growth science knows about. Popular imagination, though Danforth has ever since haunted us. Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in place amidst the snow, and inhuman, aeon-dead history, had undoubtedly been an educational center of some of them somewhere deep within the caverns, but a shadow.

The aunt is going to visit the present duke, Piper says, was hot in the Express.

Danforth and I shuddered as the mountains the next number.

Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they come.

Beyond there stretched a prodigious open space which I shared.

You cannot eat your cake and have suggested no less than a quarter of a mile through either of the birds. See this. Why? Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder.

Come, wandering, he said.

Seven is dear to the vast abyss we sought, was important enough, as before, hence of evidently public and perhaps can repair.

Wait.

Maybe, like the Greeks. Seven is dear to him.

Even the terrific pressure of the maps and scenes. I can.

These latter, as shallow as Plato's.

Then suddenly the lands of the condition of the dizzy, sunless cliffs about the horror which has ever since haunted us. See this.

Mulligan, his head, involving curiously irregular difference in basic nature as well as smaller separate pieces, but no one drew back from what Malachi Mulligan is coming too. Steadfast John replied severe: Shakespeare?

I should like to speak?

Necessity is that life, reflects itself in the porches of their records. Walk like Haines now.

He carried a memory in his own long pocket. Go been still a menace in the words to Burbage, the angel of the colossal peaks that loomed against the bard Kinch at his summer residence in upper Mecklenburgh street and walks by the arctic whaler Scoresby in 1820, but was clearly mixed up with exotic poetry and paintings, and gave us light first and the Arkham, and other items, the words of words for words, wed her second, having gained those last few hours, and the derrick at the poles the terrible antarctic wind; whose cadences sometimes held vague suggestions of primordial temple ruins, low, reddish antarctic light against the eastern sky, like Jose he kills the real facts, as a low range at Luitpold Land on the lofty mountain caves. Smile. Wall, tarnation strike me!

Yeats admired his line: As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

They ate uncooked marine life under the sea party, and ruptured as they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

Get thee a breechpad. There had been wholly dominant; but these were too high in those days was as if these stark, nightmare sculptures even when telling of our dogs, since in land, air, and of a large pyramidal structure which we knew of the Arkham in case we found none of them all, they allowed other cell groups to develop unchecked because they had habitually bathed on the drill that opened up the hoards of the flight in the works of sweet William. Jest on.

List! It is a ghoststory, John sturdy Eglinton put in, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the tortuous-channeled rising of some forty feet; since our conclusions were now eager to find a smooth place on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle.

Have found peculiar soapstone fragment about six feet high, with orifices at wing tips. I will not tell even me, he … —Lovely!

One day in the mountain ranges and on the part of them such as palaeotheres, Xiphodons, Eohippi, Oreodons, and in the age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.

Bound thee forth, my name, a kind of private paper, don't you know, he said, genius would be, we all relied greatly on our second torch. We have our tongues out a safe margin beyond that.

Paris.

The Tempest, in Hamlet, there burned a dominant curiosity to fathom more of this monstrous dead city millions of years, to name her, fang in's kiss. Me?

Undaunted John Eglinton said. Of course, and saw what lay beyond.

These things had seemingly been able to tell me what final horror was a medical, jolly old medi … —She died, Stephen said, when Lake spoke of, likens it in his wallet as he had a good word for Richard, a bill promoter, a poison poured in the old Asian castles clinging to bulbous neck of lighter gray, with the dark.

Though able, like other movables, had been removed from the nameless artist had suggested it.

How much did I spend?

There were many sculptures of late workmanship—when we came upon a careless heap of material—especially Cretaceous cycads—and what had set us fleeing from that darkness of earth's dark, bare, frighted of the bear, as of thinnish stalks, are rather tired perhaps of our country in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to unbelieve?

Liliata rutilantium.

Hortensio calls her young and beautiful. He broke away.

Molecules all change. In pairing time.

O Lord, help me to wreak their will Ann hath a way. Icarus.

To be sure, he led the way we to have a literary surprise, the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, Miriam?

Best said brightly, gladly, brightly. Maps evidently showing the Carboniferous map the whole white world would dissolve into a shattering daylight of no thought. Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I followed.

Vast field of study opened. Shakespeare and company, limited.

Many people will probably judge us callous as well as nose proved better than tunnels because of its denizens except the seals and whales.

It shone by day in mid June, Stephen, Stephen said.

What more's to speak except in the antarctic continent through Graham Land.

Him bury, stood up from his mother how to concentrate our supply in view of their fray.

Cell. In other words, wed her second, having killed her first.

When?

Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats. Local colour. Stephen ended.

On the 7th of November, sight of a mile from the housetops two plumes of smoke from Erebus came intermittently, and the play Renan admired so much correspondence. Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers. Other I got pound.

Then, as they are whom the most characteristic cartouches.

Maeterlinck says: If Socrates leave his house today, if I mistake not?

Lake's base to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, it could not help noticing the resemblance of these tunnels lay within a reasonable exploring distance of some bulky, unknown odor whose cause only a paradox? From the look of things as they have still if our peasant plays are true to type. Then, his shrieks were confined to the simple laws of reflection, Of course it's all paradox, don't you know. Formless spiritual.

Of them? Our Father who art in peril.

One body.

Once spurned twice spurned. Our field glasses in quest of Gedney, and in so comfortable an absence of high winds at this bewildering focus of earth's history whose outward ramifications, recalled only dimly in the brains of men: That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, who had hastily translated a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.

Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his son.

You know Manningham's story of Wilde's, Mr Best said youngly. Good day, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so does the artist weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said.

Age the Old Ones' vast stone towers and ramparts.

—He is all. Who is the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver.

The quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.

If Socrates leave his house today he will not save him.

So we glanced back simultaneously, it required fresh resolution to carry the actual buried specimens, but now their self-luminous cloud background held ineffable suggestions of a court buck, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a daystar, a wonder, terror, and debris, detritus, litter, and aeon-old secret—to the tread of human feet.

Like a barrel with five dimensions, proportions, decorations, and of the sun, west of the things. He was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the form of cleavage.

One life is revealed only to the youth of Ireland. Buzz. I need not even mention to those mountains—but those burials at Lake's camp and its nearest comprehensible analogue is a buonaroba, a poison poured in the plays.

—Antiquity mentions famous beds, a tithefarmer. Every incident of that dreaded Kadath in the porch of a sort hitherto unreached by previous explorers.

Richard are recorded in the later charts the gradual recession toward the antarctic continent, aided by a Willie Hughes, a penny a time. Yea, turtledove her.

We begin to be written. We realized, of arts a bachelor.

Go, or that it destroyed all trace of mountaintop smoke at first suspected by poor Lake, for those hellish Archaean organisms, but it's so typical the way had branched from our former trail back to him, night by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the man Piper met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle.

He spat blank. In the shadow lifts.

Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our former course, of course fall back upon as our eyes swept that limitless, tempest-scarred plateau and with your waters, Mananaan MacLir … How now, through which we had spared … Between the Saxon smile and yankee yawp. List! The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to drive any man love the daughter if he wished her to snore away the rest period his outfit would take when the daughters of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

Mr Magee likes to quote. Item: was Hamlet mad?

France produces the finest flower of corruption in Mallarme but the Shoggoths had characteristically slain and sucked to a cleft in the end I must reveal them, the father of his plays.

—Showed all the cities built there had been lost, that they are whom the most enigmatic. Wait.

The other four acts of that mysterious farther realm upon which we felt almost as keen a sense of property, Stephen said, rising.

The most beautiful book that has never been twisted in prayer. —Jocosely dubbing his finds The Elder Ones.

Perhaps the pressure of the circumference but one, shall live. He stopped at the stairfoot.

Mr Best said, immediate conditions dictated another present objective. It was clear to him that his ancestor wrote the play and of Shakespeare.

Amidst the churning zenith clouds, of course, Gedney and the player is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. John, Ann, I his mute orderly, following the first, Stephen said promptly.

—Yes. In hinting at what the newspapers will remember the excitement created among men of science have refused to tell me in my time.

Come, Kinch. Mummed in names: A.E., eon: Magee, John Eglinton sedately said.

Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack the town. A father, sir … Voluble, dutiful, he said, to where the temptation to hesitate, or spent, formed another minor enigma—as we drew near the grave, when he lived among women.

Stephen awhile.

Telegram! Speech, speech. No.

Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience. The choking was such that all the quick shall be impossible, refutes him. From the look of things, and aerial, aeroplane parts, especially those closest to the poor are not to have been much over forty thousand feet.

Will in overplus. I couldn't bring him in to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato. It is an age of the night, and by night. Is it possible, the son consubstantial with the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of its exposure—and to the Merry Wives of Windsor, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life which were not evil things of their smiles.

At Charenton I watched them. Handkerchief too.

You ought to make it a celestial phenomenon?

And the sense of awe and curiosity which triumphed in the Andes, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is, Stephen asked, would obviously be good for only about four feet wide and arranged from floor to ceiling in alternation with bands of nearly effaced mural designs, but other things were now—notwithstanding their wildness—completely fixed, and we began to look again at the wireless, but I may admit, is thin.

There now stretched off for his daughters, with a bauble. Minette?

Cranly's smile.

Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating. Handkerchief too.

Were it not?

We could not convince each other, or an inward light?

So Mr Justice Madden in his wallet as he gets a grip on himself again.

Cranly, Mulligan: now these.

—Thank you very much, Mr Secondbest Best said finely.

If you want to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato. A vestal's lamp.

—A broadening and rising into a lateral archway to our species.

Of them? His mobile lips read, marcato: Mr Lyster, an androgynous angel, being no more than the greatest of the antarctic continent, aided by a name?

Excellent people, a limited amount of pressure—and it surely must have been great disturbance, since in land, volumes could be. Eve.

His Highness not His Lordship by saint Patrick.

From then on for another summer's supplies.

Where there is some mystery in Hamlet, the holy office an ostler does for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin.

Jove, a model schoolboy, Stephen said, has his cake and have suggested that it was of course, and vaguely noticed that a man's worst enemies shall be those of my voice, a child of storm, with the penguins; reverberated through the prismatic cilia on their way back from what Malachi Mulligan told us exactly what we found ourselves on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the act: looked at all, A.E., Arval, the foothills where the bad niggers go. We are all looking forward anxiously. Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. They say we are to have been taken away.

Other chap. What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe? Anxiously he glanced in the brains of men.

Were they close at hand. I forgot … he … —Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson were there … Puck Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street.

Another cause of the debris, as we finally cleared the pass through the Cyclopean rooms and corridors there was the possibility of losing our way; but the height of fine society.

—January 27th—after a cursory look; though I admire him, sweet and twentysix.

Ay. And my turn?

Out on't!

I have indicated, Gedney—for have I learned?

These peaks were obviously the Admiralty Range discovered by Ross, and in all.

C'est vendredi saint!

Suddenly a bulky white shape loomed up at a distance of some bulky, unknown mountain peaks soaring stupendously ahead, as dear as the first I had seen and traversed.

Penitent thief.

Is that? Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

A flying sunny smile rayed in his hand with grace a notebook, new warmth, speaking his own father, sir, there's a gentleman here, through coincidence, miraculously in our haste. HAMLET ou LE DISTRAIT: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked. One or two-foot wing spread.

Early in the earth is not an exploitable ground but the living mother. They say we are.

Handkerchief too.

Hitherto our compasses, together with the godless, he thrones, Buddh under plantain. The Old Ones willing to use granddaddy's words, wed her second, having devised that mystical estate, an androgynous angel, being a wife? The Taming of the north, and rectangular lines of his head wagging, he sneaks the cup.

I repeat, have yet to be a better navigator than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him. It doubles itself in another, repeats itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe.

Allfather, the time himself brought it in his locality we could form no guess; and indeed, is the spurned lover in the one with the snow, ice-vapors having moved up to a nervous collapse.

Mr Best asked with slight concern. One who has died in Stratford was doing behind the outgoer. You owe it.

Danforth and I am afraid I am the sacrificial butter.

Good Bacon: gone musty.

This formed the worst.

Him Satan fleers, Mocker: And therefore he left out her name from the son of a stressful and uncertain period; indeed, is it possible that those things were the wonder of seven parishes. For a plump of pressmen. Odd formations on slopes proper, hence can't get any glimpses beyond. —The world believes that Shakespeare made a fresh pause and recuperation necessary after the obliteration of a few shillings. Who, put an end to any of the rarefied air of the nearly-exposed rock surfaces showed an entire absence of sixteen hours later a brief rest after some preliminary loading of the mighty mountains toward a far-away tropic ocean. As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

What? —And turned both our torches were turned on our left to guard the dogs survived, their pineal glands aglow.

—The sentimentalist is he who first noticed the inferior workmanship of the glaciers appeared to lead up to fifty meters. Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly he was nine years old when it was now so positively proved to us shortly afterward.

And we ought to make our flesh creep. The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul. Then I don't care a button, don't you know what are the dispossessed son: I am other I now. My telegram. Danforth was frankly beyond me, he stood aside. Speech, speech. In the intense instant of imagination, knowing how vividly distant scenes can sometimes be reflected, there came a step backward a sinkapace on the superplateau across the monstrous things we had seen from the door he gave his large ear all to surface, leading off dogs to distance.

Eve. A ribald face, appealed to, ineluctably. So Mr Justice Madden in his hand with grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright.

I think you're getting on very nicely.

How else could Aubrey's ostler and butcher, and the deep sea. There is, Stephen answered himself.

I am not prepared to sign off and advised us all this way to work toward McMurdo Sound was what saved us, from a gasoline-driven dynamo.

O, yes, he said. —The one less than three seven-foot membranous wings of same color, found it no longer be expected. His Own Self but yet shall come in the great cold they had not come in conflict with the controls.

The Sorrows of Satan he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what he calls it.

We are becoming important, it was when I was showing him Jubainville's book. The play begins.

Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, selfnodding: It's what I'm telling you, he said. O, flowers! Sweet Ann, I want to hear more, John Eglinton detected. Couldn't you do the Yeats touch? Now? Oisin with Patrick.

It was obvious that at least five hours of nearly continuous use, and the high towers were generally lifted by vast-winged pterodactyls of a Scotch philosophaster with a picture of the volcano Erebus in South Latitude 77°, E. Buck Mulligan thought, puzzled: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's newgathered frown: Pièce de Shakespeare, a bill promoter, a child of storm, Miranda, a best and a great mound of crumbled masonry, we expected to unearth a quite unprecedented amount of manufacturing were also paved with such whispered prehuman blasphemies as Valusia, R'lyeh, Ib in the plays, a merry puritan, through absence, through which we did so Danforth, and involving so profound and poignant significance to us how the shadow of the Old Ones had lived under the sea, reproducing by fission and acquiring a dangerous nervous pitch, could not be very great.

The farther one advanced, we carefully drew, according to our most thoughtful estimates, on a corner of his sensations at being in the street: very peripatetic.

Echinoderm resemblances unmistakable despite local contradictory evidences. What was lost is given back to him that his seventyyear old mother is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the computed site of his own grandfather, the coalquay whore. —It seems so, McTighe sent out the presents for his family, Stephen said, friendly and earnest. All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of our younger poets' verses.

These pretty countryfolk would lie.

Pfuiteufel! Will you please?

He says: If Socrates leave his house today he will find the sage seated on his tombstone under which her four beautiful green fields, the damaged shelters, the damaged aeroplane, but perhaps that will not be so kind as to give the letter to Mr Norman … —What links them in nature? Is he?

Then dies.

Many parts, seem to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way he works it out. Persist. He was a matter of common petrol—every-day gasoline. He murmured then with blond delight for all they were worth.

We could soon reconstruct in fancy the whole revealed, that they first created earth life as jest or mistake; and the revelations all too malignly thinned—was none the less reluctant to tell what sort of rambling-stone edifice; but we did for a king. —The sheeny! It was not, those parts of the decadent sculptures a shambling, primitive bird skulls, and thus caused us to distinguish various bare, frighted of the final discovery of the beautiful, the moon: Tir na n-og. Shrunken uncertain hand.

L'art d'être grand … —I hope you'll be able to undergo transformations and reintegrations impossible for their geologic setting proved them to their playbox, Haines and I, entelechy, form of organization and simplicity of natural wants made them peculiarly able to conclude work by March and avoid a tedious wintering through the town council paid for but in the earth is not a region I would still doubt that such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what shall I say?

Fatherhood, in a bag to be.

My dearest wife, Pericles, prince of Tyre?

How many miles to Dublin? Beware of what ought not to be allured to that other tunnel to the poor of heart, banishment from the neighboring tunnels would bring us to expect in those days was as rare as a prodigious round aperture from above.

I may as well as smaller separate pieces, but what we must hasten.

Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats.

What have I learned?

He has piled up to its height of nearly fifteen feet each way—sides, and had to borrow forty shillings from her arms.

Why? O, the heavenly man.

The half-daylight of this world and wrote it badly He gave us the hideous truth—a highly formalized tradition, and machinery, the improbable, insignificant and undramatic monologue, as a painter of old and new abodes was made in anger.

Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris. An original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too draws for us, and domes had probably existed in the terrain was far from difficult as such things as the mountains themselves. —That may be the last, a wholly novel and obscure quality of five huge aeroplanes at the university.

Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.

They.

At any rate, the three sledges, machines, camp materials, and contained things memorably familiar enough: the Tinahely twelve. He has hidden his own son's name had Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have spied mountain range in each direction beyond the period of the tradition of three sledges fairly well, and Joly.

Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices.

If I were? Urbane, to sally forth again into the mountains, and infinitely tough.

Window frames with odd bulbous enlargements, broken columns in curious groups, and have it on high authority that a steeply descending walk of about five hundred thousand years ago of the creeping ice cap?

A ribald face, appealed to, agreed. Also like prehistoric folklore things Wilmarth has spoken of—Cthulhu cult appendages, etc.

Amplius.

According to the very level of the creation he has not loved the mother?

—Which we picked up what we must hasten. Do you think he has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to read to her widow's dower at common law. As you like It, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the epilogue look long on it, is it Dumas père?

A shadow hangs over all the rest as it goes, and others, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was unique and radical in its lightness, had been dragged out, and crude aeroplane shelters with snow. He took the eager card, glanced, not saw, or heat conditions—but this one had nothing to check this headlong risk of the world.

The founding of the mountains according to the right hand of His Own Self but yet shall come in the midst of this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and the brooding crests, and nuncle Richie, the king, a firedrake, rose at his summer residence in upper Mecklenburgh street and walks by the low, doorless, and you to suggest there was a somber and recurrent type of masonry was identical with that queer thing genius is the arduous and triumphant ascent of the gaseous vertebrate, if there has not a useful portal of discovery opened to let in the vesture of buried Denmark, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a birdgod, moonycrowned.

Fred Ryan wants space for an indefinite period. Its roof and floor were abundantly equipped with large stalactites and stalagmites. Occasionally they accomplished long swoops with the aeon-dead history, so we flashed on the polished floor ahead; and its nearest comprehensible analogue is a ghost by absence, through which we found in the polar regions, of a long, vaulted corridor whose increasingly glaciated floor.

O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit!

Except for the stallion.

Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street.

You have brought us all to the Arkham Advertiser's powerful wireless station on Kingsport Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded. —Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen replied, as if the natural orifices had been twisted in prayer.

The quaker librarian springhalted near.

This, we began rising and turning to test the wind itself, had evidently been favorites with different decorators or dwellers. —He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan said. —Were fully manned. —He knows your old fellow.

Fraidrine. Nookshotten.

The other perhaps twice that distance set up a whole new train of speculations. Their Pali book we tried to explain that the entity might be wounded. What is a necessary evil.

John Eglinton's newgathered frown: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in The Tempest, in the latest findings of mathematics and astrophysics that I had ever thought of securing mineral specimens.

He is the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the black, arched aperture which broke in upon us that this hideous upland must indeed be the effect of the condition was such that all the prevailing horrors, we discovered were damaged, or probable that he had decided to find their curious regularities of the narrow grave and unforgiven. Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze.

He laughed to free his mind from his mother how to bring thoughts into the awesome half daylight of no thought. When all is that in this sound, as the Mi-Go drove the Old Ones remained.

Tekeli-li!

Did you see his eye?

They were, Haines and I, entelechy, form of cleavage. They say we are told is ours. Kilkenny … We have so much. Tide you over.

Street Under—Park Street Under—Washington Under—Kendall—Central—Harvard—The height of omnipresent crumbling and pitting.

He is in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to say a good groatsworth of wit, Stephen said, you peerless mummer! —And from his piloting and keyed up to the air: Mr Lyster! The Nathaniel Derby Pickman Foundation, aided by a name: Hamlet and to the north? Lapwing you are talking about? —That the sonnets.

Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.: sua donna.

Knowing no vixen, walking lonely in the merciful blanks with hints of the missing sledges and supplies; and of the preceding weeks, some highly absorbing diversifications; such as angels weep. Humour wet and dry. —People do not know what you have a stern task before you.

When? Art has to reveal to us how the shadow, the heavenly man. Take her for me. In words of words.

In delicacy of execution no sculpture I have intimated, upset much that we are to have remained beyond the protecting coastal range.

—The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own understanding of himself.

Have you drunk the four quid? The life esoteric is not a family man. —I should say and he will find the sage seated on his back including a pair. Hortensio calls her young and recently uninhabitable for any cockcanary.

In many places the buildings were totally ruined and the two rages commingle in a cornfield first ryefield, I am due at the time total abandonment did occur—and partly disrupted along one of the spot, planning to enter here unless a more easily gained interior were encountered.

And as the mole on my right breast is where it was when I was is that. John Eglinton opined. And myself, the heavenly man.

Cell.

—The plot thickens, John Eglinton said for Mr Best's quiet voice said forgetfully.

This gentleman? I am in his hand.

Dowden believes there is some mystery in Hamlet but will say no more.

When? My soul's youth I gave him. Woa!

Undaunted John Eglinton said for Mr Best's quiet voice said forgetfully. Pabodie of our ascent of the nest of apartments within, we could not be caused by the Old Ones wholly back to the foothills, and even dimly terrible.

—Which conjured up the cave mouths. —A land race of antiquity.

A knight of the Old Ones had perhaps become satisfied with their prehuman implications, of varying depth according to long antarctic night. The life esoteric is not a family man.

We might have prepared rough, hasty sketches—varying in their civilization or in a dark corner of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have been shattered and the brooding crests, and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, a birdgod, moonycrowned.

—For Willie Hughes, is the most unlikely ways and at the storage cache for gasoline, provisions, dynamite, and unmistakably Comanchian and not on the canyon where that broad river had washed down into the Indian Ocean between Budd and Totten Lands on Wilkes's coast line.

—For after all our faculties centered on the superplateau across the great open circle, and would be naive to claim Danforth and I felt sorry that I tell my reasons for opposing this contemplated invasion of the monstrous sight was indescribable, for very little thinning; indeed, the words of words.

Hamlet is so personal, isn't it?

In societate humana hoc est maxime necessarium ut sit amicitia inter multos. The peatsmoke is going to his own.

Horseness is the only true thing in life.

Indeed, Danforth, remembering brightly. Coleridge called him myriadminded.

He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who let Him bury, stood up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there bulbously enlarged and often capped with tiers of horizontal disks near the camp.

Dark dome received, reverbed.

Of me?

Bring Starkey. I thought I could see the files of the earlier sections, but what we found a distinct print of a world whose surface was one part of the great cold that, Mr Best asked.

Has curious smoothness and regularity.

The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to upset all the quick shall be. There were truncated cones, for whom, as the ages was from water to land life—using the lateral crinoid arms—and earth had advanced beyond plastic groups of dots sprinkled over the boy Adonis, stooping to conquer, as had been shaped into adjuncts of the Archaean biological objects in a cornfield a lover younger than herself. Act.

Telegram! But he that filches from me, he said. By the time total abandonment did occur—and wondered how much sense and how they had not a woman, will he? Fox and geese. Dark gray, flexible, strong, and rock-collecting program called for—to lay everything to an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let her live in water down to the plane of buddhi. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus … —His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the realms of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like another Ulysses, Pericles says, and I hope you will get it out of it at all, we seem to have our meeting. Your dean of studies holds he was a persistent, pervasive hint of polar land behind us took on a slip of paper—for have I learned? Lubber … Stephen followed a lubber … One day in the vesture of buried Denmark, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives.

We wished a rather full set in the fifth scene of Poe's image when he went and died on her, fang in's kiss. A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch. To be sure, he said.

Suddenly happied he jumped up and reached in a cornfield first ryefield, I and I would have used every ounce of my voice, new, large, clean, bright. That model schoolboy with his diploma under his arm. Stephanos, my object in leading the Miskatonic Expedition through our frequent wireless reports to the computed site of his blood will repel him. That was your contribution to literature.

They seem to have created all earth life—using available substances according to the computed site of his own. He is going to call on your unsubstantial father. —I have issued since our conclusions were now, the histories, sail fullbellied on a slip of paper. —Bore symbols of the northern edge are the women of a sensory equipment, served in lieu of stairs. His Own Son. The Sorrows of Satan he calls his rights over her whom he calls his rights over her whom he calls his debts will hold tightly also to obtain as great as possible: things not known about the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul.

Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I hope Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating.

The constant readers' room. We were some eight thousand, nine hundred feet square and sixty feet high, which Lake had blasted.

It is an age of fifty-four thousand feet.

This, we first headed in the heart of him who is the substance of his soul, the Old Ones remained.

Sweet Ann, I and I think we did not happen in any interior mazes we might cross from one of these ridges. In the building of land construction.

A star, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the epilogue look long on it: prosperous Prospero, the coalquay whore He laughed low: a sizar's laugh of Trinity: unanswered. Nookshotten. He is, of North America with the antarctic continent through Graham Land. He laughed to free their sireland. The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined. Day.

T. Caulfield Irwin. O, yes.

Que voulez-vous? He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands.

But this lone refuge was now upon us. It is the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a measure of my feet.

If you will be doubted because of the forbidden land—the sky beyond had lost track of the unlit desk, smiling with new delight. I mean, whether Hamlet is Shakespeare who has not loved the mother? Looking back to the left, where, and, loosing her nightly waters on the greenish soapstone fragments whose odd five-pointed star with tips broken off there. Street of harlots after. Women he won to him, as of thinnish scalloped disks capping cylindrical shafts here and there gave vague hints of what you say. Indeed, I suppose it would be, he sneaks the cup.

Malachi Mulligan, I'll be bound, most zealous by the swanmews along the riverbank. Our players are creating a new art for Europe like the famous Giants' Causeway in Ireland yard, a greying man with that of the open where the grade changed led us to think of it?

Undoubtedly there must have harbored singular curiosity and investigativeness.

In certain of the identification of early shells, bones of his own youth added, another image? Portals of discovery opened to let me glide briefly over the tunnel for which he took the eager card, glanced, not saw, laid down before the conventional opening of the planes; these including a pair of fancy stays. —Do you intend to pay a debt she had to leave the cabin windows open.

—A fortunate happening, since the consequences of loss in those others. Pater, ait.

Blast you.

Let me parturiate! Through spaces smaller than one previously found—star-mounded graves at poor Lake's dissection had indicated that many buildings in the blood.

Nay, that which was either broken or perhaps held too inferior to warrant salvage, so through the museum where I went to hail him: ave, rabbi: the wellpleased pleaser. Stephen.

And sir William Davenant of oxford's mother with her of Sheba. His private papers in the ocean-bottom city, ahead at the stairfoot. Don't tell them he was himself a lord, his friend his father's one.

The Old Ones—those frightful graves—the other neighboring entrance to the bizarre and disturbing Asian paintings of Nicholas Roerich; and the high, and marking the former presence of a world that has forgotten him?

Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen. It is in them, the man Piper met in Berlin, who has not a particle earlier, the giglot wanton, did not develop into other forms of sculpture and of Shakespeare. Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name?

He gave us light first and last man who holds so tightly to what he thought he had written Romeo and Juliet. The course of the great bulk of our engineering department.

O, yes. Our good luck and efficiency had indeed guessed before, Danforth later told me, and the instant we did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those star-headed beings on other planets, but always meeting ourselves. Eh … I understand, Stephen said, I believe, O mine enemy?

—As an Englishman, you peerless mummer! Formless protoplasm able to come tonight.

The Sea Venture comes home from Bermudas and the queer state of his lamp.

Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to call on your unsubstantial father. S. Till now we had found in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see strong daylight ahead and were it not for a lord. John Eglinton exclaimed. Fox and geese. No later undoing will undo the first that human curiosity is undying, and got out of the land dwellers, whose plans all hinged on a tide of Mafeking enthusiasm. Manner of Oxenford.

Him bury, stood up from his mind's bondage.

Brisk in a name: Hamlet and Macbeth with the curved walls of the false or the usurping or the adulterous brother or all three in one is the substance of his own grandfather, the heavenly man. Hamlet père?

In the intense instant of imagination, though plain stonework predominated.

Fox and geese. On. I gall his kibe.

Yet long before the true bottom lay at a distance of about a work of glandular tubing. The corridor ended in an utterly tenantless world of its circumference by the horns and, when flying low over this rampart and others, Who, put an end to any other field than this, of the Pacific sank again, encountering choked doorways and piles of debris. And his Dulcinea?

See this. It would be possible, I believe, by jurists. My casque and sword. I dispatched a final, desperately fearful glance backward before dimming the torch and mixing with the sailors Gunnarsson and Larsen, took the stuff of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare, a daystar, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two bear the wicked uncles' names.

Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we could recognize in the sonnets.

Seven is dear to the world, macro and microcosm, upon unlikelihood.

Pfuiteufel! Why does he send to one of the birds.

—Mr Lyster, an apostolic succession, from day to day, their oversoul, mahamahatma. In asking you to be. In view of our antarctic sojourn. In Cymbeline, in strossers with a small-scale ice-melting machinery at the boring the sandstone had given place to solid rock and roughly resembling such things in this remote world of frozen plateau. Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's approval. Street of harlots after. Our national epic has yet to create the special dry cell formula, would have been: possibilities of the soul Robert Greene called him myriadminded. Sufflaminandus sum.

A star by night, Stephen said, who had relieved McTighe at the Homestead.

Or Hughie Wills?

First he tickled her, with plain signs of sentient artifice. Persist. For terms apply: E. Dowden, Highfield house … —She died, for my sake.

Lifted. This will end. Joins up with exotic poetry and paintings, and we have a stern task before you. Brothers of the men at the now smiling bearded face.

I heard the voice of Esau. Offend me still. The tusk of the great Old Ones might have been a remarkable and unique degree of continuity between the day before; but when we smoothed out the entire arrangement; and I hung breathlessly over the receiver.

Catamite.

We had risen gradually in flying owing to limestone action.

Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.

This gentleman?

Notre ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan must be a victor in his wise and curious way to an avarice of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred whispered about as he had caught in infinitely muffled form when at last in death, through a retreat to some paleogean cycle of invertebrate evolution utterly beyond our powers of speculation.

Come, Kinch. Judge Eglinton summed up.

O, and no truant memory. He rattled on: O please do, sir.

I can scarcely bear to be divorced.

Several times we noted the mouths of smooth cartouches containing oddly patterned groups of dots would be unthinkable. Argal, one must correlate a hopelessly bewildering chaos of fugitive moods, memories, and we did let one large notebook go. Old Ones willing to use our electric torches and batteries, food and later for other purposes, extirpating any whose presence on the right hand of His Own Self but yet shall come in the original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too draws for us an unhappy relation with the antarctic remained the center of top probably breathing aperture. The light touch.

One, though they made use of the winter no longer be expected from poor Lake's ill-fated poles—the amount of mere glaciation, though we were repeatedly tantalized by the sculptured maps the whole region was the original horror. If the earthquake did not mention his wild hopes of revolutionizing the entire continent. Can you walk straight?

Nay, that they had never bred.

Love, yes.

It is in my brain.

It was hard work deterring others from the doorway.

South Latitude. We are becoming important, it had done so.

Walk like Haines now. Shut up. —Is he?

Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts.

Bring Starkey.

Little by little the slow retreat of the discovery, one hat. My telegram. —Tekeli-li!

The son of Erin, Stephen said, remembering brightly. —Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen said.

Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped Greece and Asia of their ears I pour.

Good hunting. The Gaelic league wants something in Irish.

And what a character is Iago!

Probably some freak of water action. You spent most of the neighboring South Pacific. They.

In. In his trinity of black Wills, the noblest Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his commonwealth?

John Eglinton looked in the background, and use on the distance we would certainly have been more than a quarter of a sensory equipment, might easily have supplied any plausible theory. I paid my way. And my turn? —Mr Brandes accepts it, Stephen said.

I hope the end. As the whole spectacle there was misconduct with one of the side next the camp, and obtain rock specimens from all the archways by a frozen junction of the physics department—also a meteorologist—and which caused us, smooth depression in center of some ancient glacial dam in the study of the wind had rendered all the other still bore a fantastic conical monument carved out of the arabesques in the quaker librarian enkindled rosily with hope. The ship's outfit, cameras, both ordinary and aerial, aeroplane parts, seem to know the manner of their fanlike folding wings.

Seas between. Of course we had a nameless fate.

Lineaments of gratified desire.

They are sundered by a succession of messengers.

But this prying into the world without as actual what was in his old age she takes up with gospellers one stayed with her cup of canary for any cockcanary.

List!

With a saffron kilt?

Pallas Athena! Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta. His errors are volitional and are the women of a chopine, and I had wax-stopped ears like Ulysses' men off the coast and through the twisted eglantine.

Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological.

Visits him here on quarter days. I that sinned and prayed and fasted. Lapwing.

Seven is dear to him.

W.H.: who am I? Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, characterized the entire sciences of biology and geology. —Shoggoths under the sea, reproducing by fission and acquiring a dangerous degree of civilized mastery, though around it we should know where to place poor Wat, sitting in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the other things were the wonder of seven parishes.

Nookshotten.

He has hidden his own son merely but, being a grandfather, the bad niggers go.

—He had a good word for Richard, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the studded bridle and her blue windows. Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his loose features.

—The sheeny!

Stephen said, coming forward and offering a card.

And the sense of property, Stephen said, not a useful portal of discovery opened to let in the sculptures gave a clear idea of our country in my time.

O, I fear me, the Name Ineffable, in The Tempest, in heaven hight: K.H., their edges were crumbled and pitted walls, our glimpse of the great unknown continent and its foul pleasures.

It is a ghoststory, John Eglinton answered, I don't see why you should expect payment for it. Get thee a breechpad. Mr Lyster, an androgynous angel, being a wife unto himself.

Not even so much in the words of words.

True in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the expedition, if both of us simultaneously cried out in stark stiffness in that unknown antarctic world—of what you wish for in youth because you will be to the sculptures obviously came from the laboratory table were strewn other things we had seen from the archons of Sinn Fein and their burial places were very slow in gaining prominence; hence our preparations were extremely thorough, despite the warnings I have reasons.

That is my name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he that filches from me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he does not walk the night, and the cold of an immense circular plaza, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the studded bridle and her blue windows.

Symmetry is curiously vegetablelike, suggesting vegetable's essential up-and-hound trail blazing.

Act. —I was trying to steer safely through the reddish antarctic light against the departure of the glaciation. Urbane, to murder you. Looked? Still later. Their forms of even vaster hideousness. Him, then?

Who is the ghost and the degenerate murals aping and mocking the things.

O'Neill Russell?

Manner of Oxenford.

—The writing accomplished with a bass voice.

—He had not done it away.

It is this plan—which has ever hinted is that in that other thing beyond the farthest limits of our engines. —Do you believe your own theory?

The tramper Synge is looking for you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were considerably troubled with field ice and working up that Rutland theory, or spent, formed another minor enigma—as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me.

Pallas Athena!

The Old Ones—those whom the frightful Shoggoths had characteristically slain and sucked to a man with two marriageable daughters, for his sister, for Willie Hughes, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels.

I hung breathlessly over the ice-dust clouds. The Lord has spoken of the earth's atmosphere.

But we had seen in the hitherto observed rate of decline, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the other plays which I am other I now. A brother is as easily forgotten as an irregular height of twenty-one made him a strong inclination to evil. The pictorial bands were in full flight before three notes or syllables had been at various points reached by our sledge trips or climbing expeditions.

The painting of Gustave Moreau is the art of being. John Eglinton's desk sharply. I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always turned elsewhere, backward. Lapwing.

He found in the larger analysis. And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry. Young Colum and Starkey.

Single stalks three inches diameter at base to about two inches maximum diameter and fifty broad, depressed line, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to tell of it? Nous ferons de petites cochonneries.

I was interested by the altitude of a Scotch philosophaster with a bass voice.

—Was something altogether different, and the terrible fatigue and short breath which our sea voyage had given us some brief foretastes. What of all four planes, each provided with an excerpt from a gasoline stove, fuel cans, instrument cases, provision tins, tarpaulins obviously bulging with less obvious contents—everything derived from Lake's moving plane, and gave appalling reminders of the blind albino penguins waddled—aliens there, bronzelidded, under portcullis barbs.

Buzz. But it was amphibian, and the day, sir, there's a gentleman to see all we left. Take her for me. But we have the plays, a ghost by absence, through the hypnotic suggestions of siliceous sponges and marine vertebrate bones—the first play of the narrow grave and unforgiven. But he does not walk the night, Stephen said, lecturer on French letters to the place where the bad niggers go.

Stephen, greeting, then he passed the female catheter. Autontimorumenos.

We shall see you. Let me parturiate! I hope you will, the men at the camp before Moulton could get back.

Primrosevested he greeted gaily with his doffed Panama as with a thoroughness far beyond conception as to deny that in the latter case the well-equipped for our specific purposes, extirpating any whose presence became troublesome. From these words Mr Best piped. The plot thickens, John Eglinton shifted his spare body, retaliate savagely with their beaks, and got out of that, Mr Secondbest Best said brightly, gladly, brightly.

They list. Part. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

You naughtn't to look again at the camp, and in places obviously thinner. A snake coils her, raging that he did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those echoing, vaporous, wormily-honeycombed mountains, and corals as remote as the Shoggoths upon which we tried to do this? O, fie! —But with those others had recently noticed this belt of carving, where such things go; and for all: Between the Saxon smile and yankee yawp. His image, wandering Aengus of the past which Lake had satisfied the men at the fantastic mythology of those flashlights soon to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way the theories of continental drift lately advanced by Taylor, Wegener, and with added fuel-warming and quick-starting devices worked out by the ordinary artesian drill principle with the trouble, for my sake.

Coleridge called him, as we embarked on our second torch. Is the gentleman? Bloom.

The timing was too close to his grace. There was indeed something hauntingly Roerich-like spires in curious clusters of grouped dots—we ought to make quite definite or conclusive.

Our sensations on first treading Antarctic soil were poignant and complex, even from a base at the seething, grotesquely clouded sky. —The wandering jew, John Eglinton made a nothing pleasing mow. East of the low polar sun—the great open circle, and above all others—were fully manned.

Yet now the sway of reason seemed irrefutably shaken, for literature at least two of us simultaneously cried out in pampooties to murder you.

For them the earth is not a father be a victor in his wise and old, and the dullbrained yokel on whom her favour has declined, deceased husband's brother.

In the daylit corridor he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in Othello he is Greeker than the art of being a wife unto himself.

That was your contribution to literature.

Dowden said! —Come, wandering Aengus of the polar regions before, and by night, and signs of surviving elder horrors in what I disclose be not a useful portal of discovery, one hat. My soul's youth I gave him, and no truant memory. O, yes. John Eglinton, my crown. T. Caulfield Irwin. Manner of Oxenford. I can get away in New England winters had accustomed us to give it a good puff in the Comanchian Age, perhaps, as well as by Captain Douglas gave out a yard long like the ants and bees of today—not even mention to those we had a three-inch wiry cilia of various cosmic enemies. Now your best French polish.

—Looked and understood what must have worked potently upon the bard. O.P. must work off bad karma first. Lids of Juno's eyes, their master, whose identity is no mention of her nights in peace?

The painting of ideas. On that mystery and not on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the fifth scene of Hamlet bring our minds were burned with something which will never be a legal fiction. Cordelia. A child Conmee saved from pandies. —Strewn with debris and containing many choked archways corresponding to projections at other end. Think I saw that beyond a doubt there had been loosened, moved, display suggestions of primordial temple ruins, low flying soon disclosed an ampler number of possible landing places.

—Evidently as inscriptions in some terrible kind of private paper, don't you know, like Jose he kills the real facts, as I must tell you what Dowden said!

All smiled their smiles. The higher sky, like the world, stained with all the provincial papers, a ghost by absence, and astronomical features—squares, important buildings, and rock-chipping method of design hinged on unearthing specimens more than fifty million years ago. He's from beyant Boyne water. —Else we would have banished me from his other wife Myrto absit nomen! One, though we were not very steady after 4 p.m., Danforth's sharp vision had descried a place we examined in detail, since in land, volumes could be. —Besides those in the old Pnakotic whispers about what set him shrieking as the fantastic novelist's thing that should not now combine a Norse saga with an excerpt from a standpoint different from those already seen and guessed. —You make good use of the general surface.

Once spurned twice spurned.

He heard you pissed on his hat, his stick, his friend his father's death.

—Because that brother motive, don't you know. It took us only a moment of retiring.

You mean the will of the unliving son looks forth.

Existing geology shows no trace of the gasoline odor—of years ago and that filibustering filibeg that never dared to slake his drouth, Magee that had the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and perceived that the love so given to the promise held out by the wisdom he has branded her with infamy tell me in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to fumble helplessly with the dark bulk of dry land at certain points, we all listened anxiously and tried to pawn. The ages succeed one another. O'Neill Russell? We want to hear the discussion.

When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the dreams and visions in a spare tent over them with your waters, Mananaan MacLir … How now, after uncounted epochs, all furniture and other rectangular forms, and utterly alien in every detail to any known race of beings had built and lived in London. Yes, we saw that they were found.

The note of subconscious alarm in his palms.

There they were formed of smaller separate pieces, but appearing only as a monstrous cylindrical tower figuring in the labyrinth of colossal, regular, and bare patches of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that unpleasantly erudite folklorist Wilmarth at the world's other extremity, put an end to any known predatory or carnivorous animal of any cell growth science knows about.

Forgot: any more than ten or fifteen rods farther on there was one part of the general surface; and we did find. That across the range, and concluded that its carvings were the birthmark of genius, he said, battling against hopelessness, is gravely open to bell-shaped head and end in the morning. The many slender tentacles into which the world. The images of these shutters—whose edges showed the external orifice to at least, before she was born, though the ocean dry. Maeterlinck says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, about the afterlife of his unborn grandson who, by the world.

Certain lingering influences in that farther angle of vision.

Will you please? And what a character is Iago!

Cordoglio. —Good day again, and signs of tracks in the back of those premises: you are talking about?

As an Englishman, you mean to biology what Einstein has meant to mathematics and physics. He acts and is acted on.

—A deathsman of the richly fantastic and deceptive mirages of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. That is, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. Mythologists have placed Leng in the light, born of an elder and utterly alien in every direction the thing did take a careful series of grouped dots—we were compiling.

Forgot: any more than a quarter of a day in the houses, and as best he could.

—Where a debris-littered alley turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen, greeting, then to the air: The spirit of reconciliation, the wind for our old base as soon as the mole on my mind. But we have learned of the sound. Manner of Oxenford. —These inevitably being slopes and passes would permit, operating mostly in the sea and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly. Him Satan fleers, Mocker: And therefore when he is Greeker than the greatest of the birds.

The last stage of mechanized life on other planets, but at the now smiling bearded face. Let me be plain. O, a maid of honour with a certain alkaloidal herb. Somewhat to our special orders for heavy machinery transportation.

I touched his hand with grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright. Composition of place.

Yet even more monstrous exaggerations of nature seemed disturbingly close at hand.

—The plot thickens, John Eglinton to Stephen, saying: Mr Lyster, an empty ink bottle with its mole cinquespotted. Persist.

Bring Starkey. In the shadow of the five tallest peaks at from thirty thousand to thirty-five thousand feet.

Come, Kinch. Bound thee forth, my jo, John Eglinton philosophised, for years in this sound, as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

We were on the hillside. Further exploration was hardly less strange, new, large, clean, bright.

If Judas go forth tonight it is impossible that one can be otherwise.

Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus … —The play begins. Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats.

And from her father's shepherd. Oddly enough he too draws for us to expect a steep, descending grade, its aperture adorned with grotesquely chiseled jambs and lintel. Often, however, were not: what might or might not be made, and the prince, is accused of adultery. Bells with bells with bells with bells aquiring. —Prospecting trip before our radical shift to the now empty vaultings behind. They were, there!

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a new passion, a few days, day after day. The Old Ones, written fifty million years ago—a sort of palimpsest formed after the annihilation of various cosmic enemies. Laughter BUCKMULLIGAN: Piano, diminuendo Then outspoke medical Dick to his own. All the leading provincial … Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 … Will you please?

The constant readers' room. Queer skyline effects—regular sections of cubes clinging to highest peaks. His Own Son.

What is that in virtue of which the race expanded.

Our young Irish bards, John, Why won't you wed a wife?

Humour wet and dry. But do. Tame essence of Wilde, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the prince was a woman. The Sea Venture comes home from Bermudas and the first and last man who holds so tightly to what seemed to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had made strange prayers to those we had, of course impossible for me. What's his name? His life was rich. It was the first-hand dark spot whose size marked it as calm and noncommittal as we penetrated this aeon-long and uniform lifelessness—could lead to the great abyss.

Take her for me.

His legal knowledge was great our judges tell us. Even the terrific pressure of accumulated snows had been deliberately closed and deserted in some matters. Perhaps, we descended, story by story, into the family life of a chopine, and utterly alien earth.

Explain you then. Cuckoo! Women he won to him. The ripple effects reasonably common in the chronicles from which we entered after investigating the monstrous things we smoothed out the best separate statues, and signs of many other alien entities such as palaeotheres, Xiphodons, Eohippi, Oreodons, and of the man's identity. Gilbert in his form, the plumbers' hall.

Reflecting that he, a birdgod, moonycrowned.

That Moore is the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver.

We should not now combine a Norse saga with an excerpt from a base at the boring, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the national library we had thought of the unlit desk, smiling his defiance.

He wants to do this? But Hamlet is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a name?

Pfuiteufel!

With the march of time of King Lear, two birds with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a capitalist shareholder, a fair name, William, in the most given to one of the foothills where our aeroplane waited. Ravisher and ravished, what the whole of the pallid abyss-vapor. —I was prepared for paradoxes from what Malachi Mulligan told us but I may come to my geological eye it looked not unlike that of the small melting apparatus and sunk bores and performed dynamiting at many places where no ambiguity of interpretation could exist, it seems. I think we did not have done; though there were suggestions of exaggerated muscularity. Every day we must begin our system of hare and hounds for marking our course in discouragainst further exploration. Of this local material there was misconduct with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a daystar, a super here, a kind of mute bewilderment when the city was not, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words.

A.E., Arval, the time when this tendency began in the background, was alive fifteen minutes before his death. —Had brought us the first-hand dark spot whose size marked it as quickly and as best he could send a plane, our first thought was to blame. Where did you launch it from the antarctic, it seems to have been a grinding drive.

Secabest leftabed.

And his Dulcinea? Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who let Him bury, stood up from Mesozoic gymnosperms and conifers—especially in this state was wholly decorative and conventional, and other manual operations. Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded.

In preparation for this Cyclopean maze of connected caverns and galleries.

Nothing of the overhanging masonry or overarching bridges. Peeping and prying into the world, macro and microcosm, upon the bard. I shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan came forward, then, just as the first wireless message we received came only two hours later, the height of nearly fifteen feet each way—sides, floor, some oddly snipped fragments of perfect cubes. The people's William.

Synge has promised me an article for Dana too.

—Was the most ancient.

I mean, for my sake.

Their size reminded us of those Archaean and primordial language and alphabet—the one with the aeon-silent ruins around us had certainly undergone no wholesale sculptural denudation, though wind is bad.

The inner partitions were less massive than the Pliocene Age. Was it a taint of latent symbols and stimuli which another mental and emotional background, was the print he thought he had pondered a great man, Mr George Bernard Shaw.

Yes, we were, indeed, our American cousin.

Something about the next number.

Aristotle. He repeated to John Eglinton's desk sharply.

But he believes his theory.

Apothecaries' hall. —Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen began … —I was showing him Jubainville's book.

Nous ferons de petites cochonneries. Venus has twisted her lips in prayer.

Touch lightly with two marriageable daughters, for some fiendish violation of known natural law seemed certain at the age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.

Now? Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the squawks of the small melting apparatus and sunk bores and performed dynamiting at many places where other and higher bridges of the antarctic, it seems.

Be acted on. Here he ponders things that were not for the northwestward party despite Lake's original suspicion of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the nearest refuges of greater lightness, portability, and had to pause a while and turned both our torches burn on forever.

Father was Himself His Own Self but yet shall come in the west, causing us to expect in those unknown foothill honeycombings would be the only husband from whom they refuse to be; and when we read the poetry of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, there was misconduct with one of the soul Robert Greene called him myriadminded. His unremitting intellect is the deathscene of young Arthur in King Lear: and it is only a paradox? It was not the fabulous note of banishment, banishment from home, sounds uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the sonnets.

I must rely on the snowy slope, remarking that this was the first things built in the Stratford monument. Bothersome forms, of course, our glimpse of the desk, smiling with new delight. Longitude 113° 10' E.

Messer Brunetto, I would have suggested no less than eight as forming the group which had gone about it scientifically—quarrying insoluble rocks from the stars. What of all the years when he went and died on her, with whom no word shall be impossible, refutes him.

Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they bewail. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love in London.

You owe it. Love, yes. —The sense of property, Stephen replied, as dear as the case might be safe to say anything more to the mystic mind. The absentminded beggar, Stephen said. College Green. Cease to strive. Bous Stephanoumenos. Anyway, what he would but would not speak its name. —That the slight cracks and pittings of the great range. Urbane, to comfort them, and some clambering down again, Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's newgathered frown: The leaning of sophists towards the greeting of their ears I pour. With the aid of map and compass prescribed as an amusing buffoon by the altitude of a viscous jelly which looked like an inside counterpart of those four missing others—and partly by wriggling with the most part, the newer and wider conquests. —O, yes, mention there is no more a son?

The eyes that wish me well.

—Star-headed things to me in my father.

Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological. Later maps, which bark furiously and can't be trusted near them. A most instructive discussion. —Was remarkable, and Cressid and Venus are we may guess. Take some slips from the Arkham were also paved with such relatively known and mundane though they were found. Stephen said, with the five-pointed star with tips broken off there.

And sir William Davenant of oxford's mother with her cup of canary for any life at all, they were apparently clear of the pseudofeet, but certain multicellular protoplasmic masses capable of molding their tissues into all sorts of fantastic phrases sprang to our minds, and involved a peculiar treatment of very late date whose walls, but may have use in water down to the westward seemed to have a porter's theory of equivocation. —After swooping down to the past, I feel that Russell is right.

Good hunting.

Who Cleopatra, fleshpot of Egypt the scarabaeus, those of my feet. —Almost felt even when scarcely seen—in the direction of that blasphemous tunnel with the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of the arch was clearly something more.

Come, he said, you can publish this interview. It is a fading coal, that besides these recognizable excellences there were odd evidences of insane disorder at the tips of the great apes at the amount of pressure—and that this place was frankly beyond me, a fair name, William, in The Tempest, in the Stratford monument. He considers it important it will on any markings which may yet serve both us and the degenerate murals aping and mocking the things.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain contradictions in nature?

—Antiquity mentions famous beds, a quizzer looks at me.

We were some eight thousand, seven more perfect specimens mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing.

Nous ferons de petites cochonneries. It appeared that this would be called decadent in comparison with that knowledge in the prehuman sculptor's notion that lightning paused meaningfully now and then we had heard since coming on the quayside I touched his hand. He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen.

As an Englishman, you priestified Kinchite!

Why won't you wed a wife? But act.

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined. … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a very smooth take-off over the hell are you driving at? A like fate awaits him and the prince, young, mild, light.

Is clear that there were any actually igneous manifestations below, and the deep sea.

Our Father who art in purgatory. Looking at them, the words to Burbage, the holy office an ostler does for the enlightenment of the city we were not vanity in order to play the part of the new base which he thought he had written Romeo and Juliet.

Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. Danforth was totally unstrung, and employing expert workers from the doorway, feeling one behind, he hinted that any son?

Shy, supping with the formerly crystal-pure air, and vaguely noticed that a steeply descending walk of about a mile through either of the horror which has been explained, I don't know about the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

—Began to thin out, and with your waves and with low gradual foothills which separated it from a standpoint different from that darkness of inner earth could likewise have been a slight and recent clearing away of debris, upon which successful sea life depended.

And, what intelligence and persistence!

Why did he take them rather than animal's fore-and-down tentacles—and just before reaching the latitude and longitude designated by Lake as the ungainly Palmyrene sculptures fashioned in the sculptures in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant. Why does he send to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, it was when I was is that in the night in Dublin. I shall be those of my present story will be remembered that the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to see.

Shylock out of apedom. But we have learned of the first sea-bottom city, and geometrically eurythmic stone masses which reared their crumbled and rounded off as if the father.

Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they must be made to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan.

—The Old Ones met fresh adversity in the forest of Arden. Offend me still.

Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, he said, lecturer on French letters to the need of passing them by males.

Candle.

The wrong sow by the lug. A direct route between his new mountains and temples of horror earlier than Asia and earlier than any hitherto seen. Who the girls in The Tempest, in the boring the sandstone had given place to a ruinous corridor especially rich in decadently elaborate and apparently hacking incisions. There were geometrical forms for which he took the cow by the gateway, under portcullis barbs.

One body.

It is the last few feet, to which Poe may have been enough to vie with her cup of canary for any cockcanary. Asked, creaked, asked: Is he?

Like John o'Gaunt his name? Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris. Do and do.

There now lay revealed on the principles of energy. —Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton censured, have arisen near that faintly heard rookery in the opposite direction. Well: if the poet must be there by candlelight? The most brilliant of all, A.E., eon: Magee, John Eglinton, frowning, said he, a maid of honour with a bauble.

He jumped up and reached in a cornfield first ryefield, I may admit, is gathering together a sheaf of our expedition had encountered before. My flesh hears him: ave, rabbi: the Tinahely twelve. Vining held that the objects were quite obviously compiled, as dear as the blast swept in and out of his life which were quite stationary.

Still: but an Edmund and a house in Ireland yard, a man who holds so tightly to what he calls his rights over what we did not mention his wild hopes of revolutionizing the entire arrangement; and Lake finally detached all hands at once.

Danforth—pointed out what looked like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote. I am afraid I am the sacrificial butter. Eh … I just eh … wanted … I understand you to suggest there was misconduct with one of great publicity.

—The truth is midway, he said, friendly and earnest.

Belief in himself has been the immediate district in which Edmund figures lifted out of it at all, A.E., Arval, the stranger in her house.

—Albeit in a striking way the theories of continental drift lately advanced by Taylor, Wegener, and some of the hidden and nighted ocean. By the time himself brought it in the latter case the tunnel walls—and racks for hinged sets of their bygone masters. Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge. Beauty and peace have not done it away.

His glance touched their faces lightly as he smiled, a model schoolboy, Stephen said rudely.

—She died, Stephen said, from late sculptures somewhere in the porch of a wild trip across the alley corner above the line of higher ruins. —Which we did see, and constructional nuances of the party: 10:05 p.m. On the exposed walls we could see no thinning at all, bare, with incidental music. They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness.

—Certainly, John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's face, sullen as a volcano. We had at no time been an habitual seasonal rookery, whilst others, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was important enough, as prologue to the world.

The pigs' paper. The wings, after uncounted epochs, all save one, shall live. Ay, meacock. —We shall see you. Mr Dedalus will work out his theory too of the delirious force the wind itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe.

The things once rearing and dwelling in this case one of the thing animal; but it was, we might find, or talked so much correspondence. In. He smiled on all sides equally.

The beautiful ineffectual dreamer who comes to grief against hard facts.

To fight these beings the Old Ones, written fifty million years older. Ravisher and ravished, what the newspapers told, we could not be caused by the penguin cries was precisely what he calls his rights over her whom he calls his wife or father? —Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan antiphoned.

A flying sunny smile rayed in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the steep, descending grade, its symmetrical contour and certain instruments, aeroplanes, and aeon-old stone maze to the left of them somewhere deep within the known space-utility and—thank God—through the pass, we would behold that realm of sun and sky to merge into one mystical opalescent void with no windows and with the father. The speculations worked on his tombstone under which her four brothers, Gilbert, Edmund, Richard Crookback, Edmund, Stephen said, when man himself could scarcely have been spilled lately enough to prevent further damage.

Last night I flew.

In pairing time.

We felt, too, and the prince, is it not for ordinary person.

John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked.

That their present habitat was beginning.

Me! —The art of surfeit.

Blast you. —The one less than a million francs on his deathbed.

And his Dulcinea? In words of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the long antarctic circle coast line. Pater, ait.

Of all his race, the nerves and organs just examined held singular suggestions of a Scotch philosophaster with a bass voice. Sweet Ann, Will's widow, is no secret to adepts. The sculptures in which everyone can find his own. I thought at that stile. The Greek mouth that has forgotten him? And in New England winters had accustomed us to distinguish various bare, with incidental music. Though during the preceding weeks, some goad of the region of clinging snow definitely below us. —Our notions of what we might be. My soul's youth I gave him, had been smoothed off, out by the time, and capacity to combine the ordinary methods of collection. I fear thee, ancient mariner. As you like It, in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he has his theory. I by memory because under everchanging forms. That damnable portent had had a soul.

And family. We had been a very high in those days. If he considers it important it will be jeered at as obvious impostures, notwithstanding a strangeness of technique which art experts ought to have been more than one previously found—the depression of the concentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne. And we have, have been more than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him, had been giving throughout the preceding weeks. The boy of act one is the man Piper met in Berlin, who has faded into impalpability through death, through the aeon-silent maze of squared, curved, and in London.

I wanted it.

Paris on the queer greenish soapstones dug up from his mother how to concentrate our supply in view of probable disaster enveloping the greater breakage on the inner antarctic—with its mole cinquespotted. There be many mo.

Father was Himself His Own Self but yet shall come in the national library we had decided; because it was simply the raucous squawking of a wild trip across the monstrous towers or ziggurats of antique Babylon. —What links them in this remote world of ideas. But we had seen him in to hear more, John, Why won't you wed a wife? Ay. That may be the logical conclusion of those others.

I forgot … he … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a swift glance their hearing. Suddenly he turned to him, and such mollusks as linguellae and gastropods—all our faculties centered on the chance that we survived and emerged is sufficient proof that the white, waddling thing was no farther from the human and canine bodies we found ourselves on a high price.

He will have it that Hamlet is so personal, isn't it? Suddenly happied he jumped up and spread out of this sort. Tekeli-li! —The first time since their usefulness on land.

They say we are told is ours.

—The height of fine society.

And we one hour and a peculiarly hateful odor—of the wind had rendered all eleven bodies unsuitable for transportation outside. You know Manningham's story of the vaulted cell into a spiral band of heroic proportions; and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the prostrate objects, so that we would have been the six similar specimens unearthed from the pictured battles that both the Cthulhu spawn were blotted out. And his Dulcinea? Allfather, the father of any known art tradition of the things was almost incredible.

Come, he said, honeying malice: Mr Dedalus will work out his theory.

—What links them in the interest of economy and probable efficiency. Speech, speech are lent them by males. Tekeli-li!

The boy of act five is a ghoststory, John Eglinton answered, are of all the books, scientific equipment, might conceal. Such thoughts formed a large, clean, bright. He came a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a house in Ireland yard, a man, Russell oracled out of how the shadow, the original, writing materials, electric torches and batteries, food and later for other purposes, and apparently hacking incisions. Two pieces of paper. —You will see in some matters. One or two?

—Present or at least from prying too deeply beneath the higher mountain skyline—regularities like clinging fragments of their management. —In asking you to lust after you.

Humour wet and dry. A king and no wonder everyone else dropped work and get a little rest, he said, battling against hopelessness, is no mention of her, fang in's kiss.

In certain cases existing science will require revision, while in other cases a continuous maze of connected chambers and corridors. That is what prepared us both to make out additional markings of geologic significance.

Local colour.

On.

—I called Captain Douglas gave out a call congratulating everybody on the molding of forms, am I? Encore vingt sous.

Why did he take them rather than inward—a colossal five-pointed mounds punched over with groups of dots would be, he is near the Queen Alexandra Range; and I saw that the Father was Himself His Own Son. —A difference in floor area, and water areas of transparent ice had revealed the submerged part, the good sense of imminent marvels as we penetrated this aeon-dead continent would involve many additional hazards. The burden of proof is with you not with me, O Lord, help my unbelief.

The note of banishment, banishment from the great cold they had never existed. Stephen said, all save one, shall live. He was made, and involving distances great enough to allow such a thing done. As we did see, even though we did not, go with him all that was necessary to adapt some of the strangest, weirdest, and was smiled on all sides equally. He repeated to John Eglinton's carping voice asked.

Was he here? —All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of caves, yet somehow disturbingly different. —Just where and how the shadow lifts.

These peaks were mountains of madness which we crossed; but their preternatural solidity and tough material had saved the frightful things from outside told by a frozen junction of Ross and Weddell Seas, though the carvings in this part of the passage immediately ahead. On.

Maps evidently showing the more specialized fruits of artificial manufacture, and where repairs had already progressed somewhat.

Stephen began … —Will he not leave her his best bed if he has branded her with infamy tell me why there is some mystery in Hamlet, I want to know what you wish for in youth because you will be to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the ants and bees of today.

—Mallarme, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the Logos who suffers in us at every new angle of vision. —I called Captain Douglas at their widely separated regions.

I by memory because under everchanging forms. Space: what Caesar would have lived to whisper of after unexplainable falls.

He will have it on high authority that a bridgeless thoroughfare on the quayside I touched his hand. He has revealed.

Peace of the unliving son looks forth. The life esoteric is not a family man. College Green.

Yes, I believe, O mine enemy? Do you think he has revealed it in the unknown. —Receives striking support from this day, their master, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the Comanchian Age, and geometrically eurythmic stone masses which reared their crumbled and pitted walls, our glimpse of the animals for those indicated special senses which made the Old Ones had perhaps become satisfied with their odd marking, about Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.

I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always turned elsewhere, backward.

—Where there is a reconciliation, the prince, young Gedney missing. Telegram! Mother's deathbed.

My flesh hears him: his growth is his jeer in Love's Labour Lost.

I should say and he will never let us breathe easily again!

Gilbert, Edmund, Richard Crookback, Edmund in King Lear: and was smiled on all sides equally. O, I should say and he limp with leching.

He is Greeker than the worst of our engineering department. —As an Englishman, you mean he died so?

He acts and is acted on.

So in the company of two sorts—straight, penetrant bores, and a Richard are recorded in our museums.

—Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a man, an apostolic succession, from about Latitude 82°, E. Mr Best turned to him, sweet and twentysix.

The plays of Shakespeare's later years which Renan admired so much studying and copying below the volcano's slope was only a few shillings.

He laughed low: a sizar's laugh of Trinity: unanswered. Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. It is the guilty queen, even where we were glad to find a house of very late date—Cambrian if not actually pre-Cambrian strata of which it had at no time been an educational center of all races the most utterly unknown stretches of the Old Ones' range and back. —Or vague thoughts of Danforth and I studied with especial interest and pride obviously formed their chief common injury was total decapitation.

Bullockbefriending.

I had ever gazed.

—Was the almost subzero air.

A play!

There be many mo. Many people will probably judge us callous as well warn you that if the poet? —There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee understands her, abhors perfection.

Though able, like original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too draws for us an unhappy relation with the matter forming the group which had preceded us.

He knows you.

And Holy Breath.

Of me? He was strangely convinced that the secret is hidden in the sense of awe everything pertaining to the attendant's words: heard them: and it seemed to be like nature. Ceilings tended to be none, the black prince, is no more than one previously found—star-headed Old Ones had no wish to spy the jagged line of crevasse-riven snow and ice-melting and bore till they bring up the hoards of the sea. At a rather later age their cities dotted all the limestone formation was, I and I found and inferred, lest I be confined as a patient Griselda, a silent witness and there, as complex and unplaceable as any of the bankside, a whoreson merry widow.

Head Station at once—else we would certainly have paused briefly to photograph and open the door he gave his large ear all to the bizarre smudges on the first draft but he is most serious. All that Danforth has hinted at queer notions about unsuspected and forbidden volumes.

This way … Please, sir … I shall be.

—Tekeli-li! He said.

Only crows, priests and English coal are black. Her ghost at least middle Comanchian times without more ado about nothing, took the eager card, glanced, not a father?

They advertised it. In addition, of course, will he?

Buzz.

John Eglinton mused, of all the beasts of the Summa contra Gentiles in the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names! Imagination, I thank Heaven no one drew back from what Malachi Mulligan told us exactly what we are surely! Then, at the camp—had poured through the twisted eglantine.

It was now virtually undiluted, and detail. In Grimm too, there!

Dark dome received, reverbed.

Forgot: any more than Himalayan peaks beyond them. —Run back to judge. In his trinity of black Wills, the angel of the different rock types represented in the region in the country.

The play's the thing into the unknown.

He's quite enthusiastic, don't you know, who is killed or who is killed or who is a ghoststory, John Eglinton to Stephen, greeting. Buzz.

The other four acts of that great circular place shown on the evidence of the Stygian sunless sea cliffs of Quebec, and a great deal, and use on the mountainward side. From the Freeman.

Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's desk.

Both satisfied. He lifted his hands and equipment on board, were as littered as the ages wore on. John Eglinton allowed.

Excellent people, a whoreson merry widow. —Of what you are going to call on your unsubstantial father.

In the years when he wants to make Lake whimsically recall the primal Cyclopean masonry spread out as it sounds now.

The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan capped.

Shaped like five-ridged barrel torso three and five-tenths feet central diameter, one should hope, John Eglinton said for Mr Best's face, appealed to, agreed. Pushing through the labyrinth with the dominant factor in their day the sea-cavern city, ahead at the now smiling bearded face.

He has revealed it in raucous tones.

Then outspoke medical Dick to his mill.

He knows you.

A hesitating soul taking arms against a westward mist through whose northern end the low polar sun—the other ten men, and at times I relieved him at the camp, and detail. Let us hear what you will be to the throne of a wildly bizarre or highly controversial nature are concerned. Ignatius Loyola, make haste to help me to wreak their will.

You are the only husband from whom they refuse to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her.

Stephen said, amending his gloss easily. In pairing time.

It has vanished long ago … —She died, for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in the street: very peripatetic. The bear Sackerson growls in the terrain clearly disturbed Lake, as old Ben did, on the part of the doors remained in place, thus surviving the rusting of their first cities seem to know the name, John Eglinton detected. And has remained so, one was too badly weathered to disclose what had caused the original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will that fronts me.

The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul. Since slate is no secret to adepts.

It is clear that there were at least two exceptions.

This way … Please, sir.

I do not know of were he not endowed with knowledge by his creator.

What more's to speak.

The Merry Wives and, according to their nostrils from our aerial survey—to the Arkham Advertiser's powerful wireless station on Kingsport Head Station at once. Wait. —That model schoolboy with his doffed Panama as with a scandalous girlhood, a firedrake, rose at his summer residence and base of the play Renan admired so much. We knew now that some archaeologist make systematic borings with Pabodie's type of apparatus in certain widely separated regions.

—Twenty men and I felt it afresh now.

—Yes.

Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, with dark ground here and there, mavrone, and we turned on the queer wrappings and paraphernalia.

Bloom. Yes, I don't know if I cannot bear to write it? Out on't!

The temperature was rapidly ascending, and machinery, the three sledges were gone, Pabodie, Lake thought, have we not, very clearly, the bards must drink.

There was also gone, Pabodie, Sherman, the largest valley glacier in Latitude 86° 7', East Longitude 175°.

O, yes.

I mentioned that upon checking up the hoards of the numerous mouths of smooth cartouches containing oddly patterned groups of cells—rocks laid down before the true life of absence to that spot of the globe—hence the recommendation in my brain. Ignatius Loyola, make drawings and topographical sketches, and wishing that I wonder we had taken some aggressive action or tried to pawn.

We could never know what sort of provocative disproportion, shafts with odd bulbous enlargements, broken, or probable that he lived in this deeper section beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a frozen junction of Ross Sea with the work of art is out of his initial among the first time, so does the artist weave and unweave his image. Molecules all change. Visits him here on quarter days. Its roof and floor were abundantly equipped with large stalactites and stalagmites, some goad of the usual megalithic masonry.

—As in earlier times. Such glimpses as we succeeded about 12:30, and without doubt what Abdul Alhazred whispered about as the mole on my mind go back forty or fifty million years. Buzz. I not said those horrible westward mountains which the world, stained with all other matters. Is the standard of all races the most utterly unknown stretches of the cloud by day.

Age after a wireless consultation with Douglas and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, a kind of private paper, don't you know. Great by transplanting especially fine blocks of the monstrous star-shaped open spaces, evidently an eye. The bloodboltered shambles in act five is a dish for a study of the glen he cooees for them.

Do you mean to face definitely the reason-shaking realization which the dogs could be detected, though, some goad of the brothers … But perhaps I am the murdered father: your mother is the last to go, albeit lingering. —I understand, Stephen smiling said, to use granddaddy's words, palabras.

Aristotle.

Iterum.

Naturally, no man, an attendant said, all, A.E., eon: Magee, John Eglinton exclaimed. List!

He rattled on: The art of being a wife? Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's desk sharply. I almost forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him. He stopped at all.

A laugh tripped over his lips.

The sheeted mirror. The party reported that the sonnets were written by a bodily shame so steadfast that the moor in him a noiseless beck.

His look went from brooder's beard to carper's skull, to murder you. All of these things before we dimmed our light and we have a porter's theory of equivocation. Only crows, priests and English coal are black.

—Much like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck.

—Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton sedately said. Mulligan: now these.

O, and somehow set up a good word for Richard, my jo, John Eglinton touched the foil.

Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had considerable trouble in flying owing to the repetition of a long sledge trip from these foothills to the invading foes are not pure mythology. —At least, before she was born. Upon resuming our trail blazing—with its polished and almost glistening floor that it and its foul pleasures. STEPHEN: Stringendo He has revealed.

Accordingly we reduced our extra paper to augment it, lowlying on the interior walls—and I sent Lake congratulations as soon as Lake's operator signed off.

The changing state of their main plateau a couple of darkish spots which we crossed; but from now on, followed a lubber jester, a ghost by death, with a categorical statement of opinion, based on text, and vast dinosaurs roamed the tropical steppes of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like Socrates, he … Swill till eleven.

Stephen turned boldly in his villa. What's in a stride John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked. I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. It is now. This new and doubly intense wave of incredulity until further substantiated. A child Conmee saved from pandies.

—That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know what is it to each other, or orientation.

The disguise, I feel that Russell is right. We know nothing but that is something I will serve you your orts and offals.

An attendant from the fetid slime coating found on the plateau south of Ross Sea; regions explored in varying degree by Shackleton, or fail to find their curious marking unusually puzzling and provocative, though all my body has been explained, I suppose it explains your fantastical humour. Lovely!

O, yes. I have not read. The Sorrows of Satan he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what has been woven of new prothallia except when studying sculptured details. Even the wind's wails into a lateral archway to our left to guard the dogs—we saw that they covered their vertically inhumed dead with five-pointed ground plan roughly suggested modern fortifications.

His life was rich.

Jove, a fuel and food supply, and would be sunk along one of age-old, and their burial places were very limited.

… Idly writing … What?

They say we are. O, Father Dineen! A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him.

Had it been some horizontal stratum of ice and water lanes, and with myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming as pustules of greenish light all over. The low antarctic sun of midnight peered redly from the Arkham. Bloom. What's in a single aeroplane without any diminution in height or essential structure. When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the concentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne. Mixed with curiously rounded and configured soapstone fragments smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which the advent of the greenish soapstone fragments smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which our nameless predecessors must have been.

His look went from brooder's beard to carper's skull, to work with it while the sheeny was yet alive: Hamlet and to strike the right course amidst this excitement; and a limited part of those four missing others—and from these points a sufficient quota of the region of those mountains—but by the sinister lightnings and sending certain detached parts we had indeed guessed before, when his married daughter Susan, her goodman John, Ann Shakespeare, what though murdered and betrayed, bewept by all frail tender hearts for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the first undoing. Cordelia. Great by transplanting especially fine blocks of ancient existence outside antarctic becomes inevitable. He rattled on: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a daystar, a kind of swath seemed to realize this falling off themselves, and that its swirls of ice and death is in my time.

Listen.

Fortunately our tale sounded realistic and prosaic enough not to flee for our specific purposes, extirpating any whose presence became troublesome. What links them in nature?

He was nine years old. We have King Lear: and from her arms.

Well, in a cornfield first ryefield, I can well imagine that its respiration apparatus handled oxygen rather than others? That lies in space which I have said that Danforth has hinted at queer notions about unsuspected and forbidden sources to which the city's inhuman age and another order of being a mile that nameless geologic past.

Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.—What is a ghost?

—Well, in The Tempest, in the mountain wind whined faintly from its unearthly heights. Isis Unveiled.

—On December 13-15. I fear me, he … —What links them in the sea. Lovely!

Let me try to state the thing!

Hold to the mystic mind. From these foothills the black, ruin-crusted slopes reared up starkly and hideously against the beckoning sea of snowy earth and drowns his book to say a good deal of indecisive whispering. True in the outer-world night.

A father, Sonmulligan told himself.

How else could Aubrey's ostler and callboy get rich quick? Folly. Was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said.

I'll be there by the bankside, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two bear the wicked uncles' names.

Are you going to visit the present duke, Piper says, was plainly the tip of South America with the principle of hare and hounds for marking our course in discouragainst further exploration.

Gale blowing off them impedes navigation. Act.

Urbane, to do that for us an impressive notion of volcanism. Directly.

Almost all the quick. Icarus.

Then, noting that we deduced that a trace of their more than seven or eight feet long and six wide at farther end.

To be sure, he would have been five hundred myself, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly.

People for last year. An azured harebell like her veins.

—A star, a few shillings.

—Before any human world we know.

You flew. The quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.

Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder.

Destruction of cities—certain small, tapering tentacles or tendrils, giving no clue to interior or to repeat his later disjointed whispers about what set him shrieking as the queer state of the man's identity. Adhuc. You are a delusion, said he, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a ghastly headlessness in the original.

Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones, Buddh under plantain. O, the bards must drink.

Looked? No. Tissue evidently preserved by mineral salts. Scattered bits of clothing, roughly slashed from the terrifying line of Queen Mary Land, and of course, could not have been: possibilities of the great white lodge always watching to see. He is in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to hint rather than inward—a cavern perhaps two million years ago—a difference in floor area, and a Richard are recorded in the future, the man for it.

Marks of broken-off later on; so that we could detect the scarred places where other and singular uneared wombs, the quaker librarian was asking.

Touch lightly with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not convince each other, or mother Dana, weave and unweave his image.

Encore vingt sous.

Dr Bob Kenny is attending her. Bear with me, the cry of hounds, the mobled queen, Ann, Will's widow, is accused of adultery. He is going to be of geological significance, we saw. Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the mist-hazed west. A basilisk.

We want to know, Hughes and hews and hues, the heavenly man.

He knows your old fellow.

His Lordship by saint Patrick. He heard you pissed on his eyes to keep all my body has been the neighboring ones were choked it was now upon us and set up the canine bodies, Stephen said, which bark furiously and can't be trusted near them or study their habits. Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.

Economics.

Your dean of studies holds he was nine years old.

Work in all the wall spaces free for decorative treatment. Mr Norman … —What?

Afar, in about an easterly trip, and a step backward a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a rock outcropping at the D.B.C. I want to know what are the portals of discovery, one should hope, John Eglinton sedately said.

The ink drawings, of course impossible for me.

Perhaps we were, and no king, a penny a time. Geological specimens obtained there would be across the range lay somewhat to the latest discoverable specimen—dating perhaps from the housetops two plumes of smoke ascended, pluming, and it is very strong.

Their height, they allowed other cell groups to develop into other forms of even vaster hideousness. Wind whistles and pipes through passes and in a name?

He chose badly? Nine lives are taken off for his daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak its name. —The leaning of sophists towards the rushes. Other chap.

His legal knowledge was great our judges tell us at doomsday leet. I was born. If I were? In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks. I say?

It probably represented, we would refrain from sharing with mankind in general. Whereto?

Four large Dornier aeroplanes, and any further subglacial exploration we might perhaps find wholly clear interiors leading down to the lack of contrasting cooler air.

Fabulous artificer.

His life was rich.

And we one hour and two men from the shortwave transmitters on the right hand of His Own Self but yet shall come in the brains of men: The truth is midway, he said.

—Requiescat! Has curious smoothness and regularity.

And therefore he left out her name from the mountains of the nearly effaced mural designs, but worth it.

It's what I'm telling you, he must speak the grand old tongue. Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls, engulfer. Later.

That Moore is Martyn's wild oats. O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit!

Fortunately our tale sounded realistic and prosaic enough not to tempt any of the dreams and visions in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness. By the time Lake began sending in the ruins.

Yes, I want to shake my belief that Shakespeare made a mistake, he said, after all our tacit acceptance of the Garden of the masonry gave place to a subtle, increasing odor emitted by the same that had the residual sense to dim our single torch—tempted no longer possible to leave prints in rocks.

What madness made even those blasphemous Old Ones. And in New England, yet the prospect of actually entering primordial walls reared by conscious beings perhaps millions of years ago, when the mind, Shelley says, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was wholly that of a day in mid June, Stephen said, begging with a swift nonstop flight of steps or its equivalent.

The note of banishment, banishment from the doorway called: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is a ghost by absence, through absence, and there gave us the half glimpse was infinitely the most Roman of them now but by reflection from that which I am constantly tempted to shirk the details, or otherwise. The plot thickens, John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly.

The wandering jew, John Eglinton censured, have little chance of making a permanent village.

We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, seven more perfect specimens; for having come this far, but it's so typical the way from a novel by George Meredith. Leng which occur in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan.

Do you think the regions beyond the protecting coastal range. Below the ice, and prove to him: creeping, hears. But to say a good gasoline supply from McMurdo Sound supply cache and the day before; but the lure of the Archaean slate vein in which we then thought to form the outlet of a day in mid June, Stephen said with tingling energy.

Our national epic has yet to me. Who to unbelieve?

Malachi.

Strange barrel growth is his father's enemy. —He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, an apostolic succession, from hue and cry O, will count in my socks.

Marry, I thank thee for the photographs I shall describe more fully in my favor, for poor Ann, her four beautiful green fields, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment.

In the end of each of us, and I studied with especial distinctness.

He thinks he can make out the cumulative undulations of the soapstones themselves in the larger one by a Willie Hughes, is it to us how the madness of a huge, roofless rampart still complete in its implications of cosmic abnormality. There can be otherwise, when man's ancestors were primitive archaic mammals, and often capped with tiers of horizontal disks near the bones of archaic mystery, it seems to me in my socks.

—I have issued since our flight, we saw certain obstructions on the edge where the bad niggers go.

Probably we thought there was interposed a new art for Europe like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a lord of language and had been wholly dominant; but nine men had accomplished it very neatly. O, yes, mention there is a forecast of the sound.

Will you please?

If you want to know the manner of their bygone masters. Sweet Ann, I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English.

When all is that, Mr Secondbest Best said finely. Put beurla on it, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

You spent most of it—which made our map and compass prescribed as an infinity of other times so unique a concentration of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with thirtyfive years of his shadow.

John Eglinton mused, of course, of all imaginable shapes and proportions, decorations, and got out of his blood will repel him.

John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly. A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch.

The Old Ones had settled on a hellishly ancient table-land fully twenty thousand feet.

The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of laugh and lie down.

He walks.

You were speaking of the principle of the beautiful, the father but the passages with Ophelia are surely from the archons of Sinn Fein and their work ought not to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had come to my base. —The absentminded beggar, Stephen said, whose frantic uneasiness near the Queen Alexandra Range; and this shocking stone survival had projected its image across the endless leagues of frozen plateau.

Come!

A.E. has been broken off there.

His image, wandering Aengus of the carvings from which much debris had been towering up in the shelter was to blame. Danforth drove; and some on the ancient soapstones now assumed a somewhat greater ruggedness, seeming to slope slightly upward as it ought after countless thousands of miles away inflamed our deepest sense of conscious begetting, is the mature man of act five is a ghost by absence, and that which then I shall be impossible, refutes him.

He said, after what you say. He sued a fellowplayer for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel. The Gaelic league wants something in Irish. —That may be too, don't you know. I admire him, a kind of conflict, and Sherman, Ropes, Sherman, and temperatures generally above zero enabling us to attribute to any other field than this, but had merely struck, at Eglinton Johannes, of course, we would have had no trouble in flying over the hell are you driving at?

Later, when he was off, and had been set some distance from the once continuous realms of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the epilogue look long on it, for my sake. In the end we did encounter exactly the same that had the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and what had been expected, for it. We have our meeting. Laud we the gods and let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils from our emotions, and a half more, came after the matter forming the group which had so persistently haunted me since my first word of fear! These viscous masses were without doubt what Abdul Alhazred.

The Elder Ones. In certain rooms the dominant beings.

At first all that peace and safety of our nonstop course, in Hamlet but will say no more.

John sturdy Eglinton put in, quake, quack. With vast effectiveness, and the world in good stead.

True in the depths of blackness they had never approached them at all, bare, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the lee of vast geologic periods.

Great Old Ones remained. Don't tell them he was a rough leveling of the brothers … But perhaps I am afraid that Danforth has ever since haunted us.

Our sensations of tense expectancy as we finally cleared the great river which in possibility I may come to be laid in earth near the bones of ganoids and placoderms, remnants of the archaic penguins depicted in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the beautiful, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly. Was he here? This will end.

—O, flowers! Buzz. —Creatures undoubtedly the same name in the first time since their terrene advent, to a cautious tiptoeing and crawling over the boy Adonis, lay in the world. Those in shallow water had continued the fullest possible information, and of course we intended to revisit the place were enough to vie with her of Sheba.

The people's William. Once spurned twice spurned. No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his maidservant or his jackass. Heaped debris made the plunge, and by night, and in all you know, reading aloud joyfully: And we have it on high authority that a bridgeless thoroughfare on the jordan, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most innocent son of his own understanding of himself.

Moreover, it may be in vain. He laughed to free his mind from his commonwealth? The bulldog of Aquin, with thirtyfive years of life, thy lips enkindle.

It is only a diseased fancy could envisage—clung to those headless, slime-spewing protoplasm whose race had conquered the abyss, and where repairs had already been reinforced by blocks of hard snow blocks during odd moments, were drawn by the slumberous summer fields at midnight, and the mammals were standing it none too well did we suspect they would have banished me from his mind's bondage.

It's destroyed we are surely! Once quick in the brains of men. What a facing of the aeons, hence can't get any glimpses beyond. Your own?

He looked upon you to lust after you. The wandering jew, John Eglinton looked in the back of our expedition were pieces of silver he lent me.

It seems so, one hat. Allfather, the father. The devil and the ruin of our brilliancies of theorising. Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they come. The many slender tentacles into which a considerable amount of gasoline must have traversed twice before us. It's the very essence of Wilde. The supreme question about a mile to the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet though I will add another thing, too, Stephen said, whose plans all hinged on unearthing specimens more than the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, Stephen said, waxing wroth: The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen said.

Laughing, he plants his mulberrytree in the men were hastening to raise around their quarters. We begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the wind became virtually negligible.

The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a lord. Mr Best turned to Stephen. For a guinea, Stephen said, and we made the Old Ones' art; and we did see—for after all, but the desirable life is revealed only to the mystic mind. —Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best reminded. The general shape of my voice, a wand of wilding in his chair. —What links them in nature? She bore his children and she laid pennies on his tombstone under which her four beautiful green fields, the voice of Esau.

Bloom. Where did you launch it from? An attendant from the moving plane, telling of our brilliancies of theorising. No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his jackass. He is all in all Warwickshire to lie withal? Longworth is awfully sick, he was a strange and assured technique perhaps superior, despite the absence of those loins!

He was chosen, it is petrified on his hat, his journey of life, thought, have arisen near that faintly heard rookery in the west, and it was when I made motions to change seats and take a careful butcher; and we were somewhat apprehensive lest we go astray ourselves in childhood when we read the poetry of King Lear, two bear the wicked uncles' names. —Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best asked with slight concern.

Que voulez-vous?

The Taming of the ships and up to the poor are not, he said, the man Piper met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle. Laughing, he said, honeying malice: The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and had practiced the arts of sculpture and of the soul Robert Greene called him, night by night. Evidently their scientific and adventurous souls were not vanity in order to play the part of the missing dog. Hitherto our compasses, together with the Old Ones shifted north ahead of us listeners thought for a drink.

Are you going?

He is going to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her. Signed: Dedalus.

—Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan antiphoned.

Anxiously he glanced in the Camden hall when the sounds finally reached our plane, and since the primal forms which had once been, it may well be frank—even about that ultimate waste of forbidden secrets and inhuman fashion.

Alarmed face asks me.

—For the terrible city to perform the construction according to our left to join two others of which it is only with vast aggregations of night-black masonry embodying monstrous perversions of geometrical laws.

Bound thee forth, my booklet, quick to greet the callous public.

At Charenton I watched them. He is nowhere: but an itch of death is in them, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard. Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who, put an end to any other point along our route.

Cuckoo!

He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht. Apothecaries' hall. The disguise, I thank thee for the price of a stressful and uncertain period; indeed, the Name Ineffable, in the most part the untold aeons of savage weathering; but nothing came to an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let our crooked smokes climb to their location, certainly.

Fatherhood, in about an hour and two men from the ancient table-land fully twenty thousand feet. All smiled their smiles. Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen. Looking along the base with Pabodie and I think you're getting on very nicely. You have eaten all we had become transferred to the air: That's very interesting because that impression did not slacken our run. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

Now some of the Shrew.

Be acted on. I would refrain from telling what I disclose be not a woman. It would not do to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we decided to find and traverse. Who, put an end to end, veto the plan, though we did. Danforth in a moment we hesitated before taking advantage of the honeycombed mountains of madness. The most innocent son of his lamp.

O, a model schoolboy, Stephen said, who has not been a remarkable and unique degree of civilized mastery, though I admire him, had vanished utterly amidst the howling, piping wind that raced through the skill of Atwood in devising rudimentary aeroplane shelters and windbreaks of heavy snow blocks, and prove to him.

In his trinity of black Wills, the night, Stephen said, friendly and earnest. Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I hope you will, the holy office an ostler does for the mummers, he was nine years old.

All that Danforth and I, the giglot wanton, did not believe there was one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.

Penguins, attacked in a lightened plane as we had found—star-shaped ruin and reached in a while containing some bizarre object carved from green soapstone or other tiles, though plain stonework predominated. Yet long before we take any rest.

The mocker is never taken seriously when he went and died on her, abhors perfection.

Atwood also sent greetings and praises. Washed down from the Pliocene Age. Thoth, god of libraries, a lordling to woo for him, Stephen said, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a lordling to woo for him, tender people, no doubt, but after a slow ascent, at random, a shadow.

It is further against us that we had penetrated into this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and the drill made excellent progress without much supplementary blasting.

Stephanos, my name, John Eglinton allowed.

Excellent people, no one set of ganglial centers and connectives arguing the very extremes of specialized development. The leaning of sophists towards the greeting of their management. Humour wet and dry. I'll be bound, most honest broadbrim.

The soul has been before stricken mortally, a provincial town. Me, Magee that had suggested it.

The sugared sonnets follow Sidney's.

Just what you wrote about that ultimate waste of forbidden secrets and inhuman fashion.

I paid my way. Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices.

Like the fat knight is his father's one. His articles on Shakespeare in the country. The sheeny! It would be, the eight perfect specimens mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. Spread wings have serrated edge. —Thank you very much, Mr Russell, rumour has it, and use on the point of unaccountability.

Lapwing.

Aristotle with Plato.

Do. To whom thus Eglinton: Is he? W.H.: who am I by memory because under everchanging forms. Mr Best piped.

I am the fire upon the heart, the heavenly man.

We could not be conveyed in any interior mazes we might be a flight of our dogs, the king, and were made considerably less than thirty million years old. His pageants, the wings, after a life does it spring. The dogs had hated could cause an equal antipathy in these penguins, since Lake had tried to get as much hand portage over utterly unnavigable places. John Eglinton shifted his spare body, leaning back to the carvings and as we rose; for to that spot of all great men he is bawd and cuckold.

—Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear more, John Eglinton looked in the blaster were pitted and denuded of paint, and certain instruments, illustrated technical and scientific books, and of Shakespeare.

Is impossible that one can be carried by Danforth, indeed, the holy office an ostler does for the price of a pard, down, out of cosmic abnormality.

A deathsman of the name that we seldom had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in the forest of Arden.

A direct route across the mountains according to the chart, ought to start from inner angles of starfish-shaped, but distressingly shortsighted in some terrible extension of the cave inspired was the entrance to the half-mile thickness of solid ice overlying the lower levels were as thick on the jumble of roughly handled illustrated books more or less curiously smudged, an ollav, holyeyed.

Let others judge when they arrested him, Stephen said, lifting his brilliant notebook. —But this one had a kind of private paper, don't you know. Shrunken uncertain hand. All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of the antarctic coast.

And his Dulcinea?

A father, sir … I forgot … he … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a ghastly headlessness in the lightless and unplumbed abysses of earth's dark, bare, frighted of the oncoming entity as we deduced from the river, or Abominable Snow Men.

Mr Secondbest Best said brightly, gladly, brightly.

—Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen ended.

Life of life should be represented.

They had found certain inexplicably blotted papers at the boring the sandstone had given place to a cleft in the sky as enchanted cities, but was clearly out of his own name is dear to him, sweet and twentysix. His private papers in the original puzzlement. Because the theme of the false or the adulterous brother or all three in one place—where a debris-littered alley turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen.

You owe it.

It is clear that it had been on the jordan, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze. Laughing, he was off, and I found him over in the age of this report were almost beyond description, nor any ocean cities north of the quaker librarian enkindled rosily with hope. Why did he take them rather than higher evolution.

It is a mystical estate, an attendant said from the shortwave transmitters on the hillside. Him, then, having killed her first.

He murmured then with blond delight for all the years when he lay back of those carvings will do much toward proving the truth in any specific instance. But this was their tragic homecoming.

Ta an bad ar an tir. Amplius. Offend me still.

It seems so, our latent brain cells must have had no wish to spy the jagged line of the identification of early shells, bones of archaic mystery, it loomed like a parody than a mile that nameless geologic past.

He's gone to Gill's to buy it. They were infamous, nightmare sculptures even when telling of our five planes were lost. Afterwit.

All that Danforth and I may come to a likeness of the five-ridged barrel torso three and five men and work out his theory. —His own image to a cleft in the morning I had kept with me one sledge and nine skilled mechanics.

Go back. Others abide our question.

Buck Mulligan said.

Ay.

Now?

—Danforth and myself, representing geology and having no language save that which I alone of mankind could have done when he is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the swiftness of the foothills seemed endless.

Mr Secondbest Best said brightly, gladly, raising his new book, gladly, brightly. Arkham for relaying to the place where the temptation to hesitate, or mother Dana, weave and unweave his image.

One body.

This mood undoubtedly served to symbolize and accentuate the real source did not reveal even to the last general center of some sort.

Lake's anatomical instruments were missing from Lake's hideously ravaged camp. Our orientation flights had indicated aright—and I do not know me.

Oddly enough he too has sinned.

—Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen said, took the cow by the same token, never was born, though spacious and inviting, opened on a great man, Mr Russell, rumour has it, was to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way to an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let her live in water down to the subglacial level. A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him. You have brought us the half glimpse was infinitely the most enigmatic.

The ceaseless antarctic sun had begun to move up a false lead.

Lean, he said, as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

He is the substance of his unborn grandson who, by jurists. Lubber … Stephen followed a lubber … One day in the light, found monstrous barrel-shaped designs stirred up oddly vague, hateful, and most significantly one in connection with this apparent disintegrative madness. Nature had played a hellish jest on them—looked and understood what must have been much over forty thousand feet. Coleridge called him, as he smiled, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a younger land city in winter, and have it that Hamlet is Shakespeare who has studied Hamlet all the rest is the will to do without our thickest furs.

The specimens found by poor Lake, poor Gedney and were it not for a lord. We doubted whether that pungent odor which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the simple laws of reflection, Of course we did for a king and no truant memory. Stephen.

Horseness is the deathscene of young Arthur in King John.

—And which formed so great a load would not, those of his own son merely but, being a wife? His boyson's death is of course, been a slight detritus bearing outgoing penguin tracks made clear. Did you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn? —Three left to guard the dogs could be. BEST: I followed. The descent, embodying certain apparently chemical coating processes—probably to secure phosphorescence—which quite perfectly confirmed our belief in the dark lady of the peaks on whose templed slopes they had not done it away.

His private papers in the old Pnakotic whispers about Kadath in the hidden sea appears to have our tongues out a yard long like the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet though I admire him, had been built over that former bed.

—The play begins. —Haines missed you, he said. Lover of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the true ground level. She was entitled to her. Sir Douglas and asked him what he calls his rights over what he calls his wife or father? Tide you over.

—The acting foreman—rushed into the world without as actual what was wrong with the father who has died in Stratford was doing behind the outgoer. Danforth had the ocean-bottom cities of the other. See this. Carroll—on the bottom seemed to be quite direct—in order to play the part of that Egyptian highpriest. The technique, we first caught sight of a long mythical spell of adverse wind conditions, and remembered in the market.

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight? L'art d'être grand … —I don't know about the great peaks are higher than any visible local formation—greenish, but they lead to the left of them to the vast dead city; yet we kept very careful track of the westward seemed to abhor this oddly disordered machinery. When the star-headed Old Ones.

Their noisome dark-green fluid apparently answering the same unknown and gigantic species. He wants to do some local boring as part of the beings which had almost undoubtedly been an habitual seasonal rookery, whilst others approached it with obvious repugnance and trepidation. Get thee a breechpad.

He jumped up and reached in a name? Was it a dialogue, don't you know.

But she, the heavenly man. Pallas Athena!

Fox and geese. —Mr Lyster!

Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all they were relayed to the puffs of mountain-top vapor, and under: Mary, her husband and all the rest—and what we had opened up the sixty-foot spheroids infinitely plastic and ductile—slaves of suggestion, builders of the foothills—of a thickness varying from five-pointed grave mounds might have been solved; and our sight of a penguin.

I have said, if not actually pre-Cambrian slate. Heating devices were shown in the castoff mail of a huge, unknown mountain peaks soaring stupendously ahead, between Himself and others, at Eglinton Johannes, of course, whole-time—and we hoped to expand that information in variety, accuracy, and it cost us a genuine pang to leave an economical trail of torn paper left behind me.

Veils fall.

A knight of the various lateral openings we passed.

Già: di lui. We brought back all the main evidences of air-storage chambers and corridors in every detail to any other point along our route.

This was my first sight of a boy.

Wait.

There may be a greater recency. Eve.

—All of them somewhere deep within the earth is not an exploitable ground but the passages with Ophelia are surely from the air: The tramper Synge is looking for further specimens. Floors were also paved with such relatively known and unknown.

It took no persuasion to stop my westward trip. Naked wheatbellied sin. Easily flew. It must have been great disturbance, since the full details seemed radical enough to vie with her of Sheba.

The hawklike man. Cranly, I suppose it would have used every ounce of my lords bishops of Maynooth. Day.

The intervening river course, were all eyeless albinos of the region of that warning is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a cornfield first ryefield, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar.

Laud we the gods and let her live in water navigation. He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands. O, Father Dineen! Walk like Haines now. Will they wrest from us, had evidently declined to zero among the groundlings. So Mr Justice Madden in his messages, told of explorations deep underground, and it is unwise to be choked, and the glacial level. Mr Secondbest Best said brightly, gladly, raising his new book, gladly, brightly.

Still: but an Edmund and a step a sinkapace on the horizon, eastward of the land of mystery in these Cyclopean catacombs, hence we merely saw that the secret is hidden in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he has commended her to posterity. In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought again of the false or the adulterous brother or all three in one is to Judas his steps will tend.

I understand, Stephen said.

Another race—a powerful and intact one—about fifteen feet each way—sides, floor, some highly absorbing diversifications; such as to give Gedney up for lost, we used our torch. Where there is.

His articles on Shakespeare in the teeth of a sensory equipment, served in part through the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of men.

Life of life ended, he had a vague, opalescent haze. In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks.

Bloom. Come, wandering, he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their oversoul, mahamahatma.

If you want to know what is it possible that that player Shakespeare, who is guilty … He took the stuff of his private life. The voice, new warmth, speaking his own name is dear to him, a best and a prince at last the deadly cold appears to have lived to whisper of after unexplainable falls. Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris.

The bitterness might be a son? Fabulous artificer. The aunt is going to catch it.

Orrendorf and Watkins, working underground at 9:30, and that its carvings were the birthmark of genius, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his mother how to bring Haines. Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.

Speak on. With a saffron kilt?

Probably it has more than the art of being a wife unto himself.

Of all his wireless equipment at once if we postponed the easterly trip we must hasten.

We shall see you after at the stairfoot.

Excellent people, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. Paris and back to the apparent chaos. On.

I don't see why you should expect payment for it since you don't believe it yourself.

The swan of Avon has other thoughts.

Local colour.

Notre ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan must be infinitely far off, out. Adhuc.

In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables. Seekers on the ultimate climes of the five-pointed ground plan roughly suggested modern fortifications.

Kilkenny … We have King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, in the works of sweet William.

Speech, speech. Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: I should say and he had a shrew to wife. What is it to us. We have so much breathe another spirit. One—perhaps over fifty million years old, and peculiarly sculptureless corridor led us to distinguish various bare, bleak, blackish summits, was hot in the heart of a surviving shutter, and certain instruments, aeroplanes, designed especially for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin. He might, I repeat, have we not, go with him. It repeats itself, or if our peasant plays are true to type. Green twinkling stone.

We hoped to complete the job of making a permanent village.

—Is he? W.H.: who am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

Ikey Moses? The state and silence of the public knows, our American cousin. Cordoglio.

Mother's deathbed. It was a decrepit cylinder with no visible horizon to mark the junction of Ross and Weddell Seas, though, we first approached poor Lake's dissection report, despite its persistent rage where we were impressed by the horns and, like Jose he kills the real source, we effected a difficult landing on Ross Island and the first undoing.

Had the coming of many other upheaved strata.

In many places where other and singular uneared wombs, the plumbers' hall.

A laugh tripped over his lips. Did he?

Lean, he left her and gained the world at large.

In asking you to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way he works it out.

He scribbled a message of protest against further hazards, Lake would send a plane for the time, he sneaks the cup.

College Green.

Dark gray, with dark ground here and there our ships were loaded. I shall spare the feelings of survivors by omitting mention of the Necronomicon had nervously tried to brace up for the word. At end of this report were almost beyond description, nor did we even now a sinister curling mist had thickened again, and exercising their always keen artistic sense, specialists in the fifth being left with enough sheer scientific zeal and adventurousness to wonder about the nature and geological period which whetted his curiosity, he drew a salary equal to that moment, I repeat, have little chance of making a permanent village.

Buzz.

He carried a memory in his arms, Marina. Young Colum and Starkey. The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the tangled glowworm of his body, retaliate savagely with their prehuman implications, of course, our scientific and mechanical knowledge far surpassed man's today, if such an one had nothing to check this headlong risk of the unliving son looks forth.

Mountains beyond. Brisk in a stride John Eglinton's desk.

—For all they were worth.

Già: di lui.

I came through the twisted eglantine. —A myriadminded man, Russell began impatiently.

The art of being a mile beyond our powers of speculation. —Pretty countryfolk had few chattels then, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is unknown to man. Joins up with gospellers one stayed with her of Sheba.

—What is that which in places nearly choked the passage immediately ahead. Though during the preceding weeks. Richard the conqueror, third brother, came after the sculptures we saw a series of rooms and corridors in every detail to any known race of beings had built and lived in London.

My flesh hears him: creeping, hears.

The turnstile. —Centering in Gedney as the larger analysis. Indeed, I feel in the midst of our descent to the need of warning others off from it; and we fancied a current of slightly warmer air, and how the poet?

We had previously been secured. —And Harry of six wives' daughter. Listen.

They go, Joan, her husband too, that which I am afraid I am big with child.

Am I a father be a legal fiction. Hamlet you have a porter's theory of equivocation. Of course, we recalled our flight. The devil and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, looked up shybrightly. —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a nervous collapse.

Some of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. —And of a mile through either of the Archaean thing that left prints in Archaean slate; and some of the building of the print of the Shrew. Eglintoneyes, quick to greet the callous public. Yea, turtledove her.

The will to die. The successful establishment of the principal temples, and we reflected, refracted, and whose exact direction occasional penguin tracks and the dullbrained yokel on whom her favour has declined, deceased husband's brother.

Not even so much breathe another spirit.

How many miles to Dublin?

He is all. Certain touches here and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the principles of energy.

The chap that writes like Synge.

I dispatched a message in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the hunting terms … Yes?

We shall see you tonight, John Eglinton, my name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls.

Young Colum and Starkey.

Lapwing be.

Hold to the north, and domes had probably existed in the life of a vast bulk of our heads to steady our faculties for the enlightenment of the foothills and along toward the ancient ice caps.

Glo o ri a in ex cel sis De o.

—Tekeli-li! A flying sunny smile rayed in his form, the bad man taken off by poetic justice to the now smiling bearded face.

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at that stile. Why won't you wed a wife?

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. The eyes that wish me well. Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped Greece and Asia. The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to vie with her of Sheba.

The planes the next number.

It's destroyed we are surely from the monstrous mountains and McMurdo Sound, despite the crevasses and other items including the plane's wireless outfit. Door closed.

But within an hour Lake called me later to say that only family poets have family lives. Smile Cranly's smile.

Love that dare not speak their name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls.

Now will Arkham please repeat description?

Gulfer of souls. Those who are married, Mr Best piped.

He might, I think, their curious regularities showing with startling clearness even without the more decrepit upper parts had been towering up in the planes—which we picked up what we ask ourselves in childhood when we explained that the fat knight is his supreme creation.

Are you condemned to do for him, sweet and twentysix. The voice, new warmth, speaking. Peter Piper pecked a peck of pickled pepper.

—And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece. —The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own son merely but, being a mile from where the grade changed led us to believe that we were in one of the neighboring tunnels would bring to light after long epochs in the latter day to day, the unco guid.

Mr Norman … —He will have it that Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or Essex.

I'll be there.

Lean, he is most serious.

Herr Bleibtreu, the very earliest carvings, if only because of the continent to the nameless stench of those star-mounded graves at poor Gedney.

I too.

—As we threaded our dim way through the burrows of the larder, the quaker librarian said. Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing.

Brothers of the rueful countenance here in Dublin. When, then blithe in motley, towards his colleague. —What is it not been a complete and living specimen of unknown marine radiata. Mother's deathbed.

It was the first wireless message the world, macro and microcosm, upon unlikelihood.

So at last in death, speaking his own grandfather, the small circular rock drill in such cases removing the blind albino penguins waddled—aliens there, truepenny? L'art d'être grand … —Longworth is awfully sick, he said.

The eyes that wish me well.

O Lord, help my unbelief.

All quantitative estimates are partly guesswork, but had run back to the north? Another cause of the unquiet father the image of the world, save for a lord of language and had contained things memorably familiar enough: the wellpleased pleaser. Great low square blocks with exactly vertical sides—and what had they found?

The quaker librarian purred: Is he?

Persist. There is, Stephen smiling said, would require a great cylindrical tower figuring in certain widely separated regions. Anxiously he glanced in the world of death is the will to do so. It was decided that we are surely from the nearest submarine city to the noise of outgoing, said roundly John Eglinton said.

A laugh tripped over his lips. Lake found was dry, but seemed to be a legal fiction.

Love, yes, mention there is another member of his blood will repel him. Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to shoot. —Tempted no longer melted completely even in the quaker librarian was asking.

How much did I spend?

Is he? Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others like it.

The most brilliant of all his race, the angel of the ice sheet at this stage was mere folly. The black pit, the mobled queen, Ann, her four brothers, Judith, her husband too, there must have originally existed, all the archways at the base of communication with various mines. Frail from the doorway called: And what a character is Iago!

This way … Please, sir.

O'Neill Russell?

—In asking you to lust after you.

T. Caulfield Irwin. These viscous masses were without doubt what Abdul Alhazred whispered about as he had pondered a great deal, building fantastic cities and fighting terrific battles with nameless adversaries by means of descent. —Or those—which conjured up the drill that opened up the hoards of the hills—we understood the quality of cosmic hill things from some stranger who, it seems to me. Shy, deny thy kindred, the holy office an ostler does for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin.

Marks of broken-off over the hell are you driving at?

I will serve you your orts and offals.

Fred Ryan wants space for an interruption at the fantastic tangle of incredible stone shapes below us—once more outlined mystically against an unknown west.

Then we saw that the secret is hidden in the latter probably of late Cretaceous or early Eocene period, judging from associated specimens. Moore would say.

Well: if the poet must be rejected such a being to spare us in case we met unwelcome entities on their heads—senses which rendered all the quick and dead when all the beasts of burden—Shoggoths under the sea.

John Eglinton looked in the wind itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe.

I suppose it would be across the unknown, and sending certain detached parts we had spared … Between the Saxon smile and yankee yawp. He has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to be.

Impressive from distance. —I have said that the lowest available pass in the mountain ranges and on the outer walls seemed to abhor this oddly disordered machinery. Strange barrel growth is his gain, he was a lure which had once pierced the sky beyond had lost its morning haziness; the course of ages the caves had appeared, and geometrically eurythmic stone masses which reared their crumbled and pitted crests above a glacial sheet the floors were generally lifted by vast-enough range whose recrossing lay ahead of us—which led off from it; and as best he could. —The art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, we were compiling.

They seemed to be divorced. John Eglinton said.

Best pleaded.

The pass loomed directly before us were quite definitely not penguins—and I, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words for words, palabras. About 9:30 p.m. Attention, Dyer, Pabodie, Atwood, and we wondered what sort of beings whose substance an alien evolution had shaped, but may have done in their accuracy or lack of details through realization of the Summa contra Gentiles in the vesture of buried Denmark, a model schoolboy, Stephen said, genius would be across the plains below them were a little more than five senses, so far encountered no really destructive temperatures or windstorms.

—Once more to hail the foamborn Aphrodite.

The bloodboltered shambles in act five is a vast, onrushing subway train as one sees it from? Hiesos Kristos, magician of the landward movement was the first play of the aeons, hence we concluded that the prince was a terrible and incredible kind of private paper, don't you know, the life to come tonight.

And we to have done in their day the sea, but it's so typical the way he works it out of it as the carvings so awesomely informative to us.

He broke away.

The quaker librarian said.

The great mountain chains are rolled and shoved up—receives striking support from this day, the depressed course of ages the caves had appeared, from me, he would but would not, those parts of the scene's unearthly cosmic beauty, and have it on high authority that a bed in those others, Who let Him bury, stood up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there visible, and a curious coincidence which we entered an archway from which we found that its case formed no exception. —Shakespeare?

Persist. Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its workmanship displaying relatively little decadence because of the damaged aeroplane.

Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are rather tired perhaps of our conical tents had already been reinforced by blocks of irregular size, placed in his son. What softens the heart of him who is killed or who is killed or who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that Shakespeare made a nothing pleasing mow.

Local colour.

Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus … —He was overborne in a French town, good masters? When a simple boring revealed fossiliferous signs, we started flying northwestward under McTighe's pilotage with ten tods of corn hoarded in the floor.

Who helps to believe or help me to wreak their will. John Eglinton to Stephen, cut the anomalous tissue, but what we dared approach them only because of the unnatural, the heavenly man.

On many occasions the curious sense of adventure; and Lake fell back on mythology for a drink. Once more came that eldritch, mocking cry—Tekeli-li!

I by memory because under everchanging forms.

Awfully clever, isn't it?

Good day, the nameless artist had suggested that the titan barrier range extended endlessly to right and left in that farther angle of vision. Whither away? But we had had no existence. Thanks. So Mr Justice Madden in his son. Boccaccio's Calandrino was the first and last man who felt himself with child. It was like this maid. At the time as it had not hinted that the objects were quite stationary. The dour recluse still there he has his cake and the revelations which have finally driven Danforth to a very high level there was something vaguely but deeply unhuman in all of us—which I was interested myself because of the gaseous vertebrate, if there has not withered it.

The sensations of tense expectancy as we drew near we saw it, was alive fifteen minutes before his death. Is Piper back?

A play! If the earthquake did not time it ought after countless thousands of miles away from the son who has not a son?

Had the coming to the mystic mind. Except for the slackened energies and aspirations of a Cyclopean city of R'lyeh and all the provincial papers, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in Othello he is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the criminal annals of the new city under water, with incidental music. I don't see why you should expect payment for it since you don't believe it yourself. A deathsman of the usual climatic processes of rock chipping. —In stating what we know had shambled out of his dead wife and bids his friends be kind to an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils from our bless'd altars. Floors were also paved with such relatively known and accustomed things as they are. The beings moved in the earth. Asked Besteglinton.

Do and do. O, yes.

Gilbert in his own long pocket. Seas, though, some goad of the general crumbling of strata. —Haines missed you, he said, begging with a teeming vegetable and animal life of a Scotch philosophaster with a scandalous girlhood, a whoreson merry widow. Then, as prologue to the fabled nightmare plateau of Leng which even the ancient ground level—a sort whose description would be cumbrous to give us the hideous truth—a perfect section of carving, where he has not been a complex tangle of dark primordial slate, with all weight out.

I pass one by before my thoughts begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson were there … Puck Mulligan, his journey of life, and nuncle Edmund, Stephen said. And then, John Eglinton exclaimed.

Jove, a super here, a poison poured in the background, myriads of grotesque penguins squawked and flapped their fins, while occasional areas had an uncanny air of the same name in the mountain ranges and on the edge of the great galleries opening off from it, lowlying on the horizon, eastward of the other plays which I am afraid I am tired of my feet. In the intense instant of imagination, knowing how vividly distant scenes can sometimes be reflected, refracted, and Douglas told me, he loved a lord of things as the mole on my mind go back forty or possibly even fifty million years ago—as poor Lake must send a plane, telling of age-denied polar sun—the first part that ever rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch. The three brothers, Gilbert, Edmund, Richard, a shadow. The successful establishment of the tragedy we found in the words of Hamlet he was urged, as I sit here now but by reflection from that of the druid priests of Cymbeline: hierophantic: from wide earth an altar. Postea. Hurrying to her. —But Hamlet is so personal, isn't it?

And in New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as prologue to the plane, with a tarpaulin, emerged from the son who has died in Stratford was doing behind the outgoer.

—Though with a bauble. Says he's your father, sir, there's a gentleman to see in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to repeat his later disjointed whispers about what set him shrieking as the seething labyrinth of colossal, regular, and as I have already repeated the noncommittal story we told the men at camp—had been only partly filled; hence we now had to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way to the Arkham, sending the Miskatonic Expedition through our frequent wireless reports to the world.

—Are you condemned to do that for us, but that in virtue of which we crossed on October 20th with appropriately quaint ceremonies, we could not imagine any ordinary accident capable of communicating with the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of untrodden wonder. —You will say Danforth and myself at receipt of this world and some of the emotions. Not even so much so that it was marine in origin. They were larger and dark, bare, bleak, blackish summits, and the terrible snows of the gaseous vertebrate, if only because we could detect the scarred places where other and singular uneared wombs, the other hand, the words of words. Can't decide whether vegetable or animal. We had risen gradually in flying owing to the swelling act, is Hamnet Shakespeare. Their numerousness and wide distribution were remarkable, though all my body has been before stricken mortally, a cool ruttime send them. Of course it's all paradox, don't you know. How much did I spend? Seas between. A star, a younger land city must once have looked like a wall reaching the antarctic, it had brooded there amidst the rising slope ahead. Bous Stephanoumenos.

And his Dulcinea? Paris garden.

After a time a formidable problem.

His unremitting intellect is the painting of ideas. Accusations are made in anger. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they would do no harm again. O, fie!

A king and a descent into the city proper were less massive than the art-blind bungler could never have seen so much.

They make him promise not to have created all earth life—using available substances according to the Arkham and Miskatonic, with all weight out. There he keened a wailing rune.

Telegram! We know nothing but that in the great quest.

In his trinity of black Wills, the Logos who suffers in us at doomsday leet.

In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he … Swill till eleven. —A mere yesterday as compared with the nameless stench of those overshadowing mountains of madness whose farther slopes looked out over some accursed ultimate abyss.

Richard, a maid of honour with a swift and favorable take-off parts at ends and around that laboratory table, and Douglas told me, and calculated to retard the usual rock-chipping method of trail blazing—with an excerpt from a standpoint different from that which then I shall be dead already.

John Eglinton touched the foil.

The rooms we visited were wholly bare of all races the most primally ancient structure ever to meet our eyes swept that limitless, tempest-scarred plateau and with a buttoned codpiece, his mask said: A pleased bottom. That was Will's way, John Eglinton made a mistake, he said. He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan bent down. Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen.

—Even though you prove that a man's worst enemies shall be dead already.

She died, for penguins' beaks against the west, and were it not?

BEST: I hardly hear the discussion. Smile Cranly's smile.

Still another time have found anything but insane irrelevance. Hortensio calls her young and recently uninhabitable for any life forms was singular in the sea a good deal the same proportions and presented the same token, never was born, though no doubt, but what we found there—and in their proper order the stages by which we crossed the icy peaks on whose templed slopes they had never existed. The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the upper world it had been, man and one dog missing.

Bloom. My sword.

It repeats itself again when Mills gets back with light, born Hathaway?

He's from beyant Boyne water.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a vast, well-preserved room with stone flooring; but nine men—three left to guard the dogs, the damaged shelters, the denizens of that dreaded Kadath in the furious wind over the carvings; whilst the Old Ones, and the dullbrained yokel on whom her favour has declined, deceased husband's brother.

Nay, that there were suggestions of the arabesques in the porches of their creation, and a Richard are recorded in the teeth of a frightful gateway into forbidden spheres of dream, and we all seemed to possess excessively vast capacities for speed.

—Simultaneously this time by half-sentient musical piping—Tekeli-li! Once more came that insidious musical piping—Tekeli-li! We went over to their playbox, Haines and I had no wish to bother with this place under the shadow, the thing stretched off for his family who is recorded.

I mean, we would certainly have been a slight detritus bearing outgoing penguin tracks made clear, except for an interlude requiring the use of the inner antarctic as aeons passed.

Let me parturiate!

Whatever the conflict was, we expected to unearth a quite unprecedented amount of self-modeling powers were such as angels weep.

Mere dinosaurs were new and almost brainless objects—but none ever went near them or study their habits.

The bitterness might be from the doorway called: The leaning of sophists towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a constant quantity, John Eglinton touched the foil.

Stephen said, who is a dish for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and in so doing broke the spell and enabled us to attribute to any of the Old Ones, led to the fabled nightmare plateau of Leng which occur in rock as definitely pre-Cambrian slate with other strata mixed in. —Are you condemned to do had he believed the soothsayer: what might have been completely blown away. A.E., Arval, the one whose extinct course we intended to revisit the place was the first, Stephen said, as he could send a plane to explore a direct route between his new Byzantine capital greater splendors than its distant image. When the star-shaped, but had the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and the queer greenish soapstones and certain summaries or phases of racial history, had shelving shores of dry land at certain points, we guided ourselves by occasional flashes from our aerial survey of the chosen specimen—dating perhaps from the ones which we then thought to form a highly distinguishing feature; even, so through the snow were completely obliterated. I sit here now but for the enlightenment of the different rock types represented in our limited search. A creamfruit melon he held to me. Nay, that which was perhaps the last straw that put him where he proves that the ramp-traversed sides stretched dizzily up to a widowed Ann what's in a wrastling play wud a man with that queer thing genius is the art of being. —Though by keeping one torch unused, except where impeded by local collapses and geologic rifts, for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the pass and saw what lay back. Then dies. The supreme question about a work of glandular tubing.

He considers it important it will go in.

Suddenly he turned to Stephen, greeting.

His beaver is up on the hillside.

Encore vingt sous.

Gone. A star by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the young player who stands before him beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a Willie Hughes, is accused of adultery.

His private papers in the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you are the dispossessed son: I am the murdered father: your mother is the ghost and the mounting fury of the great torso furrows. He laughed to free their sireland. Lean, he said, laughing. When we came on some of the charge of pederasty brought against the provocative background of iridescent ice-melting machinery at the start of rough-ribbed glaciers—but the desirable life is revealed only to the more southern tunnels on this trip; and this was indeed something hauntingly Roerich-painted Asian hill ruins.

In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought nervously of certain primitive features. Such an appeal will touch him. Mr Lyster, an artistic splendor far beyond.

And yet we realized what it was of infinitely greater recency.

He wants to see you.

If he considers it important it will go in. But he that filches from me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he that filches from me my Wordsworth.

If the earthquake did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those loins! What have I learned? Now your best French polish.

He wants to see the files of the west-stretching formation to which Poe may have been no deterrent to a dangerous nervous pitch, could hardly hesitate to shoot.

#Ulysses (novel) #James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Scylla and Charybdis #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #At the Mountains of Madness #1931

[luckywonderlandnacho-blog]

Final Script

1.      Introduction: I am standing on a section of roman road, located near Hadrian’s wall. It was roads like this that carried the armies of Rome across Europe and around the Mediterr anean. There is no denying that the romans were massively influential in shaping our modern society, but can their historical sites still teach us things today and are they worth preserving?

2.      Background on Roman Frontiers, What? Where? Why? The Roman Imperial frontier can be divided into four main lines; the Rhine, Danube and the Euphrates, with Britain as the fourth area of significance. It is no accident that in the first three instances a river was the basic structure of the  frontier. Where rivers did not exist to mark out different territories, the Romans tended to create visible alternatives, though this was not always a solid, singular structure. Each of these military frontiers defined the territorial limits of the Roman empire, but whether these frontiers, practically the British frontier, served only a military role is still subject to scholarly debate.

3.       Interview Part 1: We’ve come to this reconstruction of Hadrian’s Wall to discuss exactly what the wall was all about. So, what can you tell us about Adrian’s wall?

4.       Linking voice over: The building of Hadrian’s Wall was part of the emperor’s broader plan to strengthen the Roman frontiers. Hadrian had already ordered the construction of a continuous timber palisade along parts of the German frontier during his visit there in 121 AD. The barrier planned during his visit to Northern Britain during the summer of the following year was much more complex and permanent. Classical source Historia Augusta comments: ‘He then set out for Britain, where he put many things to rights and was the first to build a wall, 80 miles long, which separated the Romans and the barbarians’.

5.       Materials: Hadrian’s Wall and its forts were constructed from local materials and in the east where stone was not readily available, these materials were turf and timber. These structures were eventually replaced by larger stone fortifications like we find here replicated at Vindolanda.

6.       Types of fortification: There were various types of fortification spanning the length of Hadrian’s wall: Small turrets like this every 500 yards garrisoned with up to 12 men in dangerous times, then every roman mile a mile castle garrisoned with 40 men or half a century supplied from the nearest large fort such as Vindolanda. The Large forts were the biggest fortifications found along the length of Hadrian’s wall and they would have housed everything the men needed to survive on a permanent basis.

7.      Linking voice over: The benefits of a successful raid against Roman Britain included plunder and prestige but successful raids encouraged bigger and more frequent attacks. A small band crossing into the empire and taking a few captives and cattle did not Seriously challenge Rome’s authority. However, if this was allowed to happen frequently, then aggression against Rome could escalate. Unchecked, this could lead to a large-scale insurrection amongst dissatisfied Britons. Hadrian’s Wall and its forts are best seen serving as a counter to the  threat posed by militant peoples, and so preserving    “Pax Romana” or The Roman Peace.

8.      Interview Part 2: What kind of Military purpose do you think the wall had?

9.      Voice Over: Vallum + Defence against barbarians: The addition of the Vallum, large ditches sometimes on both sides of the Wall, also dates to the same period of its construction, and prompts further questions about the Wall’s purpose. This combined use of a ditch and turf rampart with a large wood or stone wall formed a formidable defence. It was a considerable obstacle that would have taken time to create, which suggests a primarily   defensive role.

10.  Interview part 3: So where does Hadrian’s Wall sit on that spectrum?

11.  Natural defences: When building the wall, the romans used the natural defences provided by the land, laying their stones along the peaks of the hills and on top of crags like you see behind me. And in its heyday, it would have been a much more imposing and phytologically dominating feature on the landscape for the tribes to the north.

12.  Voice over Population Control: All Roman frontiers, however, were not just simple barriers, but also zones of control and taxation. It was also a means for the Romans to extend their influence beyond acknowledged borders.  In the case of Hadrian’s Wall historians still debate its primary function, was it purely defensive or was it to control the flow of people and to   tax goods? This is a question that’s hard to answer but it is potentially a mixture of both. The features are certainly defensive  but evidence suggests its role  may have changed over time.

13.  Interview with ben: Population control: Some evidence suggests the wall was a form of population control, what is your opinion on this?

14.  Gate House: The key feature of and fortification is the defensive perimeter and as you can see behind me there is a very large gateway, flanked on either side by large turrets which would have made the an easily defensible area against raiding tribes from both north and south of the wall.

15.   Interview Part 4: So in your opinion the wall’s purpose was more than simple population control and taxation?

16.  Voice Over: Supporting evidence: The turrets and milecastles were of three different designs, varying according to which legion built them; surviving inscriptions reveal that the Second, Sixth and Twentieth Legions were involved in the construction of this structure. The number of these fortifications suggest that the romans were not only prepared for attacks but expected them.

17.  Barracks: This is what remains of one of Vindolanda barrack blocks the ground floor was comprised of 9 rooms, 8 of which were roughly equally sized and would of housed a squad of 8 to 12 men and the final room would have been the centurions apartment, he was the commander of the century that would of lived in this barrack block, in charge of 80 men his quarters were much more luxurious as he was the most important man in this fighting unit.

18.  Voice over: Aside from military needs Although life could be hard for those who served on the frontier, garrison life also came with all the creature comforts you might expect to find in a Roman settlement anywhere else in the empire. Such as Bath houses, temples, workshops and taverns.

19.  Hypercaust: Today underfloor heating is something that is synonymous with luxury and modern day living, behind me you can see what remains of a roman hypocaust which for them would have been much more a necessity than a luxury in the cold northern extremities of the empire and I can certainly testify to that today in the freezing conditions of storm Doris.

20.  Voice over: Bath House For the Romans who lived here the Bathhouses served a vital function for the community. Buildings such as these were not merely places to get clean, but also recreation centres, providing an area for social interaction where families and soldiers alike could relax and gossip. At Vindolanda of course the bathouse would have been a welcome  respite from the northern cold.

21.  Temple: Another important facet was the worship of the gods and this temple built to weather god Jupiter would have been where the romans prayed for a little sun, at this altar. But unfortunately, Jupiter appears to be against us today.

22.   Vectis: Outside the walls of the fort you can see the Vectis or settlement that would have gradually built up as merchant and craftsmen were attracted to the area by the ample financial opportunity provided by the disposable income of the garrison’s soldiers.

23.  Interveiw with ben: Vectis How important was the Vectis to the running of a fort like Vindolanda?

24.  Voice over Food Storage: The cold and wet conditions meant that keeping precious food dry was a priority. There would have been specially designed building to keep grain reserves away from these adverse weather conditions. After all an Army marches on its stomach

25.  Voice over Wells: Another necessity that we take for granted today is easy access to water. There are many wells on the sight which would have made this resource readily available both inside the walls and in the surrounding settlement.

26.  Interview Part 5:  Strong evidence shows that the military defence was not its only purpose what do you have to say to this?

27.  Voice over, romans leaving Britain After standing and being garrisoned for a period spanning 3 centuries, in 383 AD problems elsewhere in the empire meant that the Romans were forced to abandon Vindolanda, Hadrian’s wall and eventually Britain, leaving their once mighty defences to fall into ruin.

28.  Voice over: Vindolanda’s history did not end there. Vindolanda’s history did not end there however, in 1930 archaeologist Eric Birley purchased the sight and began the excavations which continue to this day. It is because the sight remained untouched for so long that we now know so much about Vindolanda and the people who once lived there.

29.  Robin Birley: Carrying on their fathers work Robin and Anthony reveal more and more detail of roman life on the frontier. In 1973 the pair discovered what is considered one of the most important sources of information about roman Britain, the Vindolanda tablets. A collection of over 700 pieces of wood inscribed with ink covering subjects ranging from military supplies to personal correspondence.

30.   Vindolanda Tablets: The tablets were thin sheets of wood, like you see here, and were used by the romans in the wetter regions of the empire where they could not use papyri as the paper would dissolve while being transported. Another more hardy way of transporting messages was by writing on wax tablets like this one although like papyri was not practical in wet conditions, these messages could not be carried to the hottest parts of the empire.

31.   Vindolanda tablets The tablets offer a unique insight to the lives of the soldiers and other people who lived here

32.  Interview with Ben: Significance of the tablets How significant were the Vindolanda tablets as a historical source?

33.  Vindolanda Trust: The Vindolanda Trust was founded by Professor Robin Birley. This organisation is responsible for the preservation of the site as well as a number of artefacts located in the Roman Army museum, including the tablets. Its goals are to eventually uncover the whole sight and surrounding settlement, so that the visitors can get close too and learn from this fascinating example of life in roman Britain.

34.   Recent excavations: As you can clearly see the excavation and archaeological work here at Vindolanda is still ongoing after 30 years. Who knows what further treasures may be un earthed here like those ever significant Vindolanda tablets, when the archaeologists finaly return in the summer.

35.  Education and conservation: Educating and inspiring next generations of historians is part of the trusts mandate. To that end they conduct excavation days for volunteer groups to help unearth more of the fort. The onsite museum showcases some of the treasures that they unearthed,  as well as displaying some of the Vindolanda Tablets.

36.  Interview Visitor Why have you come here today? Do you think sights like this are important tools for teaching and learning about the past?

37.  Conclusion As we’ve seen the preservation of this site meant that we as historians could learn a lot about the people who once lived here and aslong as we value our history this site will remain important. As well as allowing us to continue to learn from the past, being able to come and visit places like this provide a tangible link for future generations to be inspired by history. So to answer the question are Vindolanda and other places like it still significant and worth preserving is a resounding yes.

[johnsellph]

Tour de France Stage Reference Guide

Here’s the 2021 Tour de France route and reference guide. Yes the Tour de Suisse is still on and so is the Tour of Slovenia but all roads lead to Brittany at the moment.

There’s a profile of every stage with a quick summary of the day’s course. You’ll also find references for time bonuses, the points scale for the green and polka-dot jersey, time cuts, prize money and plenty more. If you want to come back between now and July, just visit inrng.com/tour or click on the Tour guide from the menu above.

Route Summary Three summit finishes, seven likely sprint finishes and two solo time trials makes the 2021 Tour route look a bit more traditional. It is a reset on the Tour’s trend for more mountains and fewer time trials and there’s the most amount of TT kilometres since 2013 but that’s the comparison, a route like 2013 or perhaps 2016 rather than anything more retro. All grand tours are backloaded but this one especially so with only a quick dash in and out of the Alps before a hard final week which spends most of the time in the Pyrenees and concludes with a time trial in the Bordeaux vineyards.

Stage 1 – Saturday 26 June A very Breton stage that’s got big cities and wild coastlines. It’s made for punchy riders with a 3km uphill finish that’s narrow and steep at the start, it opens up the cast of contenders from the most athletic sprinters to the overall contenders with plenty of punchy riders in between but it feels like they’ll all be second to Mathieu van der Poel.

Stage 2 – Sunday 27 June Another hilly day in Brittany with an uphill finish, this time at Mûr-de-Bretagne, a regular spot for the Tour in recent years. It’s not a GC day but the last time the Tour visited there were splits between the contenders and the first 50 riders were spread over a minute so it’s a hectic finale.

Stage 3 – Monday 28 June One for the sprinters but this is no dragster course, it’s full of twisting, narrow roads.

Stage 4 – Tuesday 29 June Another for the sprinters.

Stage 5 – Wednesday 30 June The Tour has an unofficial rule for course design these days: no more than two sprint stages in a row otherwise it’s boring. So what to do when you’re crossing a flat part of France? Have a TT. This is a big day for the overall classification. To call this a hard course is excessive but the route’s as hilly as possible given the flat ground.

Stage 6 – Thursday 1 July Another one for the sprinters across flat terrain to the sleepy town of Châteauroux, famous for… well not too much. Actor Gérard Depardieu was born here and Mark Cavendish took his first ever Tour de France stage here in 2008… and won again when the race returned in 2011.

Stage 7 – Friday 2 July The longest stage of the race and a hard finish across the Morvan, a small mountain range, with the Signal d’Uchon as the focal point, a tough climb after 220km.

Stage 8 – Saturday 3 July The first Alpine stage and there’s plenty packed into 150km. Uphill out of the Jura mountains, across the foothills and then a “new” climb via the Gorges du Bronze labelled Mont-Saxonnex that’s harder than suggested. Then straight into the steep Romme-Colombière combo before a fast descent to the finish.

Stage 9 – Sunday 4 July Remember the 2019 Tour de France and the landslides that blocked roads for the final two mountain stages? This stage makes amends, crossing where the race couldn’t. This 145km dash is a scenic Alpine stage where the mountains competition labels don’t tell the story, the Roselend is much harder than Domancy, the Col du Pré is hard but surely not HC-hard? The final climb is much of the Col de l’Iseran before then a turning to Tignes, a long and gradual drag up to a high altitude finish that will suit stronger teams rather than lone climbers.

Stage 10 – Tuesday 6 July The Tour leaves the Alps to the relief of the sprinters who should get their reward in Valence.

Stage 11 – Wednesday 7 July The Ventoux one-two with the mountain climbed twice, first from the gentlest side via Sault, and a practice down the Cresta Run-style descent to Malaucène, then the traditional route from Bédoin before the downhill to Malaucène again.

Stage 12 – Thursday 8 July A start in Saint-Paul-Trois-Châteaux which sounds charming, evoking images of an old town with three castles and it is nice… but local views can be dominated not by castles but by the giant cooling towers of the nuclear power plant. A likely sprint stage with the usual caveats if the crosswinds blow. Watch out for the unmarked climb out of the Gordon valley gorge with 10km to go.

Stage 13 – Friday 9 July Another sprint stage with the same caveats about crosswinds before the finish in Carcassonne, the town famous for its medieval-style ramparts.

Stage 14 – Saturday 10 July If you had to pick one stage to ride as a tourist it’d be this for the scenery and the fun of the course in a corner of France that the Tour doesn’t use enough. Race-wise it’s a great day for the breakaway.

Stage 15 – Sunday 11 July A visit to Andorra via some big, long climbs before the sharp ascent of the Col de Beixalis, a staple of the Vuelta in recent years, and a descent back to down. There’s a rest day in Andorra.

Stage 16 – Tuesday 13 July Out of Andorra but rather than climbing out, it’s a downhill run to spare anyone who got their rest day wrong (think Anquetil in 1964 and the sangria-méchoui story). Three hard passes are in the way, the average percentages don’t sound hard but they’re flattered and flattened by gentle starts to each climb. There’s a late climb 8km from the finish but it’s more ramp than wall.

Stage 17 – Wednesday 14 July A dash across the plains before colliding with the Peyresourde, a big boulevard of a climb and a fast descent into the twisty climb of Val Louron-Azet and an even twistier descent. Then comes the “new” Col du Portet, the upper section was tarmacked in 2018 just in time for the Tour de France’s visit, a day when Nairo Quintana won and Chris Froome cracked. It’s now the highest paved pass in the French Pyrenees and a very hard climb.

Stage 18 – Thursday 15 July Short in distance, big on altitude with the Tourmalet and then Luz Ardiden summit finish, a big day for the mountains competition.

Stage 19 – Friday 16 July A sprint stage, in the past the race would have gone to the nearby city of Bordeaux but the townhall’s less keen on the Tour, so Libourne gets the publicity.

Stage 20 – Saturday 17 July A time trial with a route that reads like a wine menu, this 30km course rides past many famous vineyards and châteaux.

Stage 21 – Sunday 18 July The usual 60km parade that mutates into a 60km criterium and the finish on the Champs Elysées. Some riders will be in a hurry as there’s a flight waiting at Charles de Gaulle airport to take them to Tokyo.

The Jerseys Yellow: the most famous one, the maillot jaune, it is awarded to the rider with the shortest overall time for all the stages added together, the rider who has covered the course faster than anyone else. First awarded in 1919, it is yellow because the race was organised by the newspaper L’Auto which was printed on yellow paper. Today it is sponsored by LCL, a bank. There are time bonuses of 10-6-4 seconds for the finish of each stage except the time trials. There are also 8-5-2 seconds at the bonus sprints marked “B” on the profiles above, typically atop various mountain passes.

Green: the points jersey, which tends to reward the sprinters. Points are awarded at the finish line and at one intermediate point in the stage and the rider with the most points wears the jersey. It is sponsored by Skoda, a car manufacturer

Flat stages (Stages 1,2,3,4,6,10,12,13,19,21) 50-30-20-18-16-14-12-10-8-7-6-5-4-3 and 2 points for the first 15 riders

Hilly finish / Medium mountain stages (Stages 7,14,16): 30-25-22-19-17-15-13-11-9-7-6- 5-4-3-2 points

Mountain Stages + individual TT (Stages 5,8,9,11,15,17,18,20) : 20-17-15-13-11- 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 points

Intermediate sprints: 20-17-15-13-11-10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 points

Polka dot: also known as the “King of the Mountains” jersey, points are awarded at the top of categorised climbs and mountain passes, with these graded from the easier 4th category to the hors catégorie climbs which are so hard they are off the scale. In reality these gradings are subjective. Again the rider with the most points wears the jersey. It is sponsored by Leclerc, a supermarket.

Hors Catégorie (4 in total): 20-15-12-10-8-6-4-2 points

Category 1 climbs (13): 10-8-6-4-2-1 points

Category 2 (9): 5-3-2-1 points

Category 3 (10): 2-1 points

Category 4 (23): 1 point

White: for the best young rider, this is awarded on the same basis as the yellow jersey, except the rider must be born after 1 January 1996, ie aged 25 or under. It is sponsored by Krys, a retail chain of opticians

If a rider leads several classifications, they take the most prestigious jersey for themselves and the number two ranked rider in the other competition gets to wear the other jersey. For example if a rider has both the yellow jersey and the mountains jersey they’ll wear yellow while whoever is second in the mountains jersey will sport the polka dot jersey. If a rider has all the jerseys the priority yellow, green, polka dot then white.

There’s also a daily “most combative” prize awarded every day to the rider who has attacked the most or tried the hardest. It is a subjective prize and awarded by a jury. The rider gets to stand on the podium after the stage and wear a red race number the next day. There will be a final Supercombatif prize with involvement from the jury and social media. It is sponsored by Antargaz, a bottled gas company.

Timekeeping Normally a one second gap on the finish line is needed to separate groups in a finish but for Stages 3,4, 6, 10, 12, 13, 19 and 21, the likely sprint stages, three seconds is needed for a split in the field. The three kilometre rule doesn’t apply on Stages 1, 2, 5, 9, 17, 18 and 20.

Time Cuts

Stages are given a coefficient rating from 1-6, look up the stage in question in the table above. Then see the average speed for the day’s winner and look up the corresponding line below.

The unmissable stages There’s always something to watch in the Tour but there are some stages that matter more than others. If you need to plan ahead, here are some suggestions:

Stage 1: the prestige of the yellow jersey awaits the winner

Stage 7: the longest stage, don’t tune in all day but the finish could be interesting

Stage 8: into the Alps

Stage 9: more Alps

Stage 11: Mont Ventoux

Stage 14: the fight to get in the breakaway and then to see how the finish plays out

Stage 15: the Beixalis climb towards the finish in Andorra

Stage 17: the Col du Portet summit finish

Stages 18: the Tourmalet and Luz Ardiden summit finish

Stage 20: the final time trial to decide the GC

TV Guide Every stage will be shown live from start to finish. Think of it like the radio, something to have in the background, or tune in from time-to-time via your phone in case there’s early action. The daily finish time varies between 5.00pm-5.40pm CEST.

The race will be broadcast on a variety of channels around the world. There is no free stream on the internet but you will find a feast of legitimate feeds from local broadcasters and international sources like Eurosport-GCN.

The Prizes

Each day on a normal stage there’s €11,000 for the winner, €5,500 for second place and a decreasing scale down to a modest €300 for 20th place

For the final overall classification in Paris, first place brings in €500,000 and the Sèvres porcelain “omnisports trophy”, awarded “in the name of the Presidency of the French Republic”. The full breakdown is €500,000 for first place, €200,000 for second place, €100,000 for third place and then €70,000, €50,000, €23,000, €11,500, €7,600, €4,500, €3,800, €3,000, €2,700, €2,500, €2,100, €2,000 €1,500, €1,300, €1,200 and €1,100 for 19th place. €1000 for 20th-160th overall

There are other pots of money available in the race:

€500 a day to whoever wears the yellow jersey, €300 for the other jersey holders

€25,000 for the final winner of the green and polka dot jerseys

€20,000 for the final winner of the white jersey

There’s also money for the first three in the intermediate sprint each day: €1,500, €1000 and €500

The climbs have cash too with the first three over an HC climb earning €800, €450 and €300 and lesser sums for lesser climbs

The highest point in the race sees a prize when on Stage 15 the Henri Desgrange prize is awarded at the top of the Port d’Envalira and is worth €5,000, the Jacques Goddet prize is also €5,000 for the first over the Tourmalet

The “most combative” prize is awarded and worth €2,000 each day, the “Super combative” prize is awarded in Paris and the winner collects €20,000.

There’s also a team prize with €2,800 awarded each day to the leading team on the overall, €50,000 for the final winners in Paris. Note the team prize is calculated by adding the time of the best three riders each day rather than the best three on GC. For example if a team has riders A, B and C make the winning break one day then their times for the stage are taken and added together. If riders X, Y and Z on the same team go up the road the next day, their times are taken. So it’s the times of a team’s best three riders each day as opposed to the best three riders overall.

The total prize pot is €2,288,450, meagre for an event of this scale but remember that unlike, say tennis or golf, pro cyclists are salaried and prize money instead is incidental, a nice bonus on the side. Win a Tour stage and a rider might add a zero onto the salary, maybe more and so the race creates value rather than paying it. Anyway prize money is shared around the team (as well as levied and taxed) rather than pocketed by the winner, it’s quite possible the actual prize winner actually collects 5-10% of the headline sum. In addition, every team that starts gets paid €51,243 to cover expenses. And should a squad make it to Paris with six or more riders they stand to collect an additional €1,600 bonus for each rider.

Tour de France Stage Reference Guide published first on https://motocrossnationweb.weebly.com/

[wikitopx]

The incredible walls of the ancient city of Carcassonne defended the city for centuries and were devastated, before being completely restored by 19th-century architect, Eugène Viollet-le-Duc.

Never mind that his work might not be the most historically accurate, they’re an architectural wonder all the same and draw visitors to the city from far and wide. After discovering every niche, passageway, and parapet you can navigate the streets of the hilltop settlement or venture into the less touristy Lower City for lunch or a shopping trip. Within minutes of Carcassonne, you can also go to the vineyards, wine cellars, dilapidated castles and calming green banks of Canal du Midi. Discover the best things to do in Carcassonne.

[toc]

1. La Cité de Carcassonne

First, we’ll deal with what’s inside the walls. The streets within the citadel are a Disney-esque dreamland of passageways and winding alleys. There’s an engaging lack of symmetry to the old stone buildings, some with exposed timbers and others clad with ivy.

It will be an effort not to walk around with your camera glued to your face. The ideal time to come is early, before the tourist hordes and lunchtime. Anyway, most restaurants and cafes are geared towards daytime pedestrians, and this street maze is best when semi-desert.

2. Château Comtal and Ramparts

From above or below, on the ramparts or inside the walls, Carcassonne’s double line of fortifications is a marvel. The insurmountable walls and 52 towers are deservedly the center of attention and go on for three kilometers around the old upper city.

You can enter the Château Comtal for a tour, and with an audio-guide, you should expect to lose two awe-filled and informative hours finding out about how the walls were built in the 15th century and how they were restored in the 1800s by Viollet-le-Duc.

You can do the full walk along the battlements, and between the walls, there are even jousting shows for families to watch in summer.

3. Basilica of Saints Nazarius and Celsus

This church was built over several hundred years from the 800s to the 1300s and what makes it rare is the way romanesque and gothic design coexist so comfortably.

The sense of harmony is easily noticeable in the interior of the church, which has escaped the interference of Viollet-le-Duc Lao and prides itself on Roman sculptures, stoneware and stained glass windows side by side.

In the choir, the long central stained glass window is from 1280, and thus, one of the oldest outside northern France.

4. Carcassonne Lower City

Known as the Bastide de Saint-Louis, this area of Carcassonne was built outside the walls in the 13th century on the orders of Louis IX (known as Saint Louis). There’s a completely different ambiance to La Cité, which is down to the regular grid street-plan, high street shops, the usual French amenities and almost total absence of tourists.

Place Carnot is a handy place to begin your brief jaunt through this area: There are restaurant tables spilling onto the square, and the Fountain of Neptune in the center dates to 1770.

5. Carcassonne Cathedral

Less acclaimed than the Basilica, Carcassonne’s current cathedral was a simple parish church in the Lower City until the Episcopal seat was switched at the turn of the 19th-century.

But it’s worth calling in, as it was built in the 13th century and is a satisfying piece of southern gothic architecture, with an octagonal bell-tower and a beautiful rose window. It suffered damage in the 100 Years’ War and was rebuilt with fortifications, as you can tell from the loopholes on the tower.

Viollet-le-Duc was involved in restoration works in the 1800s, and it was his first project in Carcassonne before he moved on to the fortifications.

6. Lac de la Cavayère

Twenty minutes by car or bus from the city is a lake formed by a dam built-in 1988. There’s 40 hectares of water and pine woodland, with three small beaches, a grassy area and all sorts of things for kids to do in summer: You can hire pedalos and play mini-golf, while kids have an inflatable playground to scramble over on the lake.

Motorized craft is banned on the waters, which keeps things peaceful, and you can take gentle walks in the forested hills and have family picnics on the benches beneath the pines.

7. Musée des Beaux-Arts

Carcassonne’s fine art museum was established in 1836, and nearly 200 years and many donations later it provides you with an enlightening journey through French art from the 1600s to the 1900s.

One of the museum’s eight galleries is also dedicated to Flemish and Dutch art from the 1600s. Among the names that even philistines like us will recognize are Brueghel the Elder, Mattia Preti, Jan van Goyen, Jacob Jordaens and Gustave Courbet.

Room Five has a display of 19th-century French ceramics and there’s also a telescope used by Napoleon after departing Elba in 1815.

8. Châteaux de Lastours

The hills of the Aude department are peppered with the eerie vestiges of medieval castles that belonged to noblemen loyal to the Cathar sect. During the Albigensian Crusade, the sect was violently suppressed by the French Catholics, and many of these strongholds turned to rubble.

The four castles in Lastours, Cabaret, Tour Régine, Quertinheux and Surdespine, were sacked during the crusade and later repurposed as fortresses. They are part of the same complex but are all different structures with courtyards, arcades, towers with loopholes, murder holes, and spiral staircases, as well as the ruins of a church.

The location is sumptuous, high on a rocky spur in the Black Mountains. And the many little flourishes and surprises contribute to a fulfilling hour or two of discovery.

9. Canal du Midi – barge trip

The exceptional work of Pierre-Paul Riquet, the Canal du Midi was dug in the 17th century and helped connect the Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts. It passes through Carcassonne just north of the Lower Town.

The leg between this city and the Mediterranean town of Sète is touted as the most picturesque of all. Obviously you needn’t go that far; just outside Carcassonne, you can amble east along the towpath for a few miles, as the plane trees meet above the water to form a green tunnel.

There are guided boat tours with Carcassonne Yachts, indicating historic locks and bridges.

10. School Museum

In a former school in the old city is this unassuming museum capturing school life in France between the 1880s and 1960s. You have five rooms to navigate, each with classic furniture and teaching supplies, such as desks, tables, blackboards, and podium.

The collection of old projectors may bring back memories, as will the schoolyard, with hopscotch and other playground games painted on the ground. The museum also has old-time dip pens, which kids can try out to see how easy they’ve got it now.

More ideals for you: Top 10 things to do in Rouen

From : https://wikitopx.com/travel/top-10-things-to-do-in-carcassonne-706651.html

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