/biz/ - Business & Finance

>>30326470
riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend
of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to
Howth Castle and Environs.
Sir Tristram, violer d'amores, fr'over the short sea, had passen-
core rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy
isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor
had topsawyer's rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse
to Laurens County's gorgios while they went doublin their mumper
all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to
tauftauf thuartpeatrick: not yet, though venissoon after, had a
kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all's fair in
vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a
peck of pa's malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory
end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.
The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner-
ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur-
nuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later
on life down through all christian minstrelsy. The great fall of the
offwall entailed at such short notice the pftjschute of Finnegan,
erse solid man, that the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends
an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes:
and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park
where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since dev-
linsfirst loved livvy.

A year ago I was the center of childish, shy commentary on prom photos , eleven months ago I enjoyed calm silence with you by a lake

Anyone understands that the goal of getting to know someone is feeling their black and oily mechanical core and loving them not in a sweet way like before, but in the sloppiest and most human way one could

Here I lay, not drunk enough to forget all your depths you just told me or to fall asleep so soundly like you have now, but drunk enough to weep so fiercely that I believe this is what praying for someone is like.

I listen to the leaves rustle outside and eventually tire myself out enough to sleep beside you like I hope I can every night.

I feel

the f l e s h

of another person

on my body

I am not me

o r a m i ? ? ?

this flesh feels like not my own

but people tell me it is

I do not believe them though

Beware the primordial sludge.
Twirling tightly in terrific arcs

Nascent paste aches and forms about the lakes.

The thousandth cry in the creaking sky

Falls on befuddled fear worn ears.

Laden with the grave and graven

Souls of the bereft and fallen

A Marble Dharma spills green karma

In succinct and slimy silent lines

And writes our epitaphs in blades of grass.

The shadows,
they follow me,
they scare me

They have come for us
There is nowhere to hide
We cannot run
We are going to die

Sometimes the shadows speak. Sometimes they scream. Sometimes they

Let HER in, for SHE will PURIFY your TAINTED flesh

PRAISE BE UNTO THEE, O SUPREME MOTHER OF THE PERFECT UNCLEAN
STRIP US FROM OUR MORTAL COIL AND PURIFY US SO WE MAY JOIN YOU IN THE DEPTHS OF THE EYELESS DARK
ALL HAIL!

I'm the fear that keeps you awake

I'm the shadows on the wall

I'm the monsters they become

I'm the nightmare in your skull

I'm a dagger in your back

An extra turn on the rack

I'm the quivering of your heart

A stabbing pain, a sudden start

Sometimes, I ask MOTHER when HER night ends. For what is night but the dark? No. No. Night is all that is. And some say that night ends in death. HER night is of bone, while ours is of obsidian. And HER bone is different from our rock. Though dead, it is more alive. SHE is more knowledgeable. I wish SHE would answer.

I know why SHE doesn't.

Our end is HER dawn, and HER dawn our end.

The smoky blue skies.

Our time approaches.

6y
I just saw the children playing, admiring how high they have swung.

But others tell me they're just swaying in the wind where they were hung.

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

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