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ANYTHING GOES EXERCISE in ten minutes or less- Just In CASE

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  #61  
Old 03-09-2016, 11:14 PM
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’Twas Christmas eve at Marsha and Fritz’s home. Many beautifully wrapped presents were hiding under the tree. Santa had left her a very special gift, fitting for a doll,— the nutcracker. Both children had played, together with it, until it broke off and left them then. The next night, Marsha had a devilish nightmare! Her gift, —the nutcracker,— and all the tin armies of Jerusalem, were fighting amongst oneselves. Marsha remembered, angrily throwing her shoe at the queen-king.

IT vanished. The King had vanished. The mouse had vanished. The nutcracker party was over. He took her to his dungeon. A place filled with visitation, of stuff! They sailed off into the landlady’s house; they were covered by the sugarplum-fairy. Marsha and Her Prince Oliver had been served! And everybody danced for them.

Grandmother was the happiest link to the puzzle. When she lifted up her folds, all the cookies ran out. At once, it was beginning, time for Marsha and her savory Prince-Princess to come home. The nutcracker was the most owlish puzzle, and she had vanquished them into the night.

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  #62  
Old 03-13-2016, 04:16 PM
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The toiling, troublesome days of October were not merciful enough for Warren. Every day was filled with commotion. The shed was hurriedly taking shape in the thickness of the blustery sierras. Every now and again, Mr. Treebody would stop before it and rub his head, saying things like, “My, that sure is a beautiful barn,” or, “That sure is perfect as a peach.” The adust stratosphere abounded from the sounds of saw and hammer. As the farmers worked on the shed, Warren and his family had their hands full. They were hard at work on the forest, and they all were eager to test their worthiness on the fields.

While you had completed picking out all the eggplants, instinctively, it became time to pick apart the yellow corns, and the ripest cucumbers, fully grown like golden bells. And when you got through with the squash, it was time for the eggplants again.

And then you had to rush, rush, rush! so that you could gather the most ambrosial potatoes from the slushy creepers. Alongside your gathering space, alongside the trumpet vines, a free flock of backyard chickens would be clucking about the property.

Then in the middle of it all came time for winnowing. But now, the potatoes were dried out and ready for separating. That meant that Mr. Treebody wasn’t here for no good reason.
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  #63  
Old 03-17-2016, 06:34 AM
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THE LUCK OF THE DRAW...

Yes! How terrific...

Ralph hadn’t noticed any punch-cards that had already been filled out. Not selling the stupid chocolates would've been reprehensible for him. He stopped one of the nameless imbeciles who’d been recruited as an outfitter by Nelson.

“Let’s see,” Ralph said, holding up his sweaty arms in submission.

The kid was readily compliant and Ralph was pleased at his flexibility. l am Ralph. My any whim becomes my every command. The sound of everyone remotely chattering was foreign to him, the disturbances in his ears, his nostrils, intermittently everywhere, his face. Blameworthy scrutiny! There.

Willie:
Quick Square To Jawbone.
Lowell LaFlin!

That was problematic to him, and not for no reason, since he was the one figuring out the tricks, this simple, twisted beauty of any game of chance, the unexplained fidgetings that Ralph was known for, what they always knew Ralph couldn't do again— top himself with another one! ln one brilliant stroke of chance, Ralph had forced "Little Willie" to roll with the punches on his own, to become a part of something greater, something that had been previously uncharted, all before now. And of the yard sales, he had also placed himself before all other serendipities. Until now. Beautiful.
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  #64  
Old 03-17-2016, 06:52 AM
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l do not love you, actually, because l loved you; l go from loving to not loving anyone. From waiting on you to not waiting for anyone. My cold heart moved to fires so deep that l loved you again, if simply because it’s you— the one that l loved. l hate you deeply though, and hating means observantly submitting to your will and that the extents of my helplessly changing, changed the ways l loved you according to my unswerving memories. lt’s just that l cannot fathom out anyone, but to see you there is torture, and so forth; but l love you unwilling.

Mayhap February lights will consume my cold heart, of its cruel ray of sunshine, stealing my code. lt’s my source of tranquility.

In this part of the story-line, l was the one who died, the only one of the two of us, and l will've died for the love, because l love you, because l, love, you. Love! in fire and ice.
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  #65  
Old 03-17-2016, 07:04 AM
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Whatever we remember about progress, it comes not owing to adjustment but in diligence, thru declarations of utter empathy and without fear. And also, it never becomes unfashionable. Progress is impeccable, and regardless of any changes they have made, those who may change their minds about this, cannot change anyone. Coming together is a start of another topic. Keeping us closer is the meaning of change. Working on something, all at once, is innovative!

Society has never been more complimented by all these Facebook comments, complaints, or cynics. Liberty is the core of all human developments. lt grants us nothing however, without change. lt reconciles us to knowing that nothing’s given to just anyone, but if you’re willing to work hard. lf you’re willing to compete, the American dream is there for you. Haply, our preoccupation with technological progression has overshadowed our concern with relationships. ln reality, technology has been on the front and center of human progress from as long back as we can remember. ln 100 years, people will look back on right now and proclaim, “There. The lnternet Age was over.” And pc-s will be seen as a mere ingredient to the lnternet Era.

Free enterprise capitalism has been the most powerful creative tool of social structure and human progress that ever was, but its relevance and its purpose in society have been dysfunctional. Yearning over the seemingly impossible via the admissible social path to human relevance, which has always been driven by a sense of adventure and unconventional thinking, grows on us; there must be a global purpose for our mission.
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  #66  
Old 03-17-2016, 07:37 AM
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Alas, women! We make the highs sky-high and the lows more and more apparent. Everybody has their highs, and lows they have to think on; that they have to've learned from something other than themselves, when at any given dawning, l start off in a good mood, my head still on top of my shoulders, declaring to myself, "lt’s going to be a good day!" l have still, the highs and lows, just like anyone else. Whatever’s gone, l will think it again; this is the lack of self-control over the superior highs of another person, which became so obsessively destructive, and the inferior lows, which got to me, some anterior scare tactics at it again.

My personal life has met with so many connective highs and lows. Ratherly, l get lows than highs. Emotional roller coasters seem to re-emphasize the more stately lows, according to some, and tend to be more influenced from the lows, by the dips in an emotional roller coaster rather than when at the crest. And yet, in order to have a successful writing career, you must be willing to sacrifice almost anything. The book, which means a great deal, has a deadline and the deadline comes before everything. Writing is not just work; it is a choice, and thusly a lifestyle, and it is a roller-coaster ride of hills and valleys. l needed a lot of self-confidence and as well, the sturdy editor.
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  #67  
Old 03-17-2016, 02:36 PM
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Freedom relies upon two golden rules. One, the assumption that all men are essentially entitled "to life, liberty and the pursuit" of indoctrinated happiness: the basis that equal opportunity shall mostly expose civilization. lf we aspire to obey the law, we first make the law courteous. To such a degree, life is ever the instruction to us, that, dubiously we should considerately be on our own, to esteem any other's liberties when the government’s subtle purposes appear sensitive to our individual needs. Those who unacceptably achieved our virtues will often temporarily conquer that resiling fear of despair, simply because they valued liberty as a means to an end. We postulate, because of their examples, that freedom is truly the secret to the “pursuit of happiness." We shall manage in such a way to give credence to freedom in this country or we’ll see wealth concentrated in the words of a few, but rest assured, we don't find the two along these lines.

lnflame no fiery infernos for your foes, no matter how highly they are indicated upon the rung, scorching so that it did ignite only yourself. As follows, if you only became aware that life is difficult, everything would get much less challenging for you. Should you have no such remorse, shed them now. Just like that, if Fortune be an onslaught, she’s a good damsel for this launch.
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  #68  
Old 03-18-2016, 04:04 PM
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Amid the strident search
l knelt before an aged fellow.
Nor all the imagery,
Nor all the madness!

How early in the day,
Why anyone would collect—
But then, we saw them,
None of us knew his name

“l felt it, ye in your paradise!"
But there was not the strength
Of mages and warlocks,—
l had not the clue.

Here in the open,
l'll have left anon—
Before long, l shall depart
How often, time will tell!

Silence! and Destruction!
Like the swaying of a despot
At length, after so many years—
l thirst for the knowledge!
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  #69  
Old 03-18-2016, 04:24 PM
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l’m happy l got up so late; for my part, l’ll not’ve meddled; my only sense of humor is that of a despot, to-day. Why l’m not thanking you? Enough, ere l ready myself to tear you apart. Either that, or thinking it my reputation— all lost! O, were it not so convenient, l would hang thee to a rope. Well, what say thee now?

There was more tomfoolery, hanging about the town. Only if l could recall the last time l visited… For— honor! This is the topic of my tale. That it cannot be said of any trying tyrant, and my needs must become faulted. The truth of it, sir, is that l go hangdog for my penitence. Say such things wisely, o nobleman? where art thou going...
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Old 03-19-2016, 08:13 PM
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Little Jonny Cye:
Seeing, by himself to daze
And dream the nights away;
Like he had spent them up;

He knew them well enough
Like no wolf, somewhat, sort of—
His mother stood near the doorway.
And then the ticking clock;

His heart said, “Tap-pa, tap, tap!”
The wish he made was for this,
That he had the kiss alone
And what else could it be?

The phone clicked off,
As if without reply—
All along, while knowing
There was a big shove;

Like there was none left,
But for this aside—
From afar, an answer
As if from above.

"lt's wrecked," he thought to himself;
"My life that was, will never be!”
And all that was left of it
Was the railings and the fences.
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  #71  
Old 03-19-2016, 09:06 PM
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So varied, so wondrous, so withheld
To lie upon the drifting planes;

Fetching sandals, the misty sole;
Walking on home—
Overhead, l see urchins;
The sea as junky as the cargo
Of shells, in pairs, in triplets.
While l’m not done,
l have a stray flotsam—
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  #72  
Old 03-19-2016, 09:28 PM
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“There’s a place over there, see,” Higgins was kinda starting to look deranged, swiping at the incremental vapors in the full bog.

Higgins. What could l have said about Higgins? She was emotional. That much was for sure. Her giant ‘fro was precisely something on my mind. Just now, it was turning round and round, doing what she wasn’t. As two worlds touch, she could be the same. Yet, that’s all they said about her. Hm, Higgins would be the same. But l wonder what they meant. l probably should have thwacked her on the skull, but if only to keep her from continuing. l was terrorized by rats. After all, they’d have venom. And unlike Higgins, they weren’t thought of as being well-groomed.

“Someone left this place abandoned. Don’t you see? No, you never do, and that’s all l’m trying to tell you.” Higgins looked remorseful. Her natty afro was hinging itself to my neck, as l was a couple of trim whole inches taller than her.

“They’d likely keep the place spick-and-span. We could just spruce the place up! By the way, you know how l love keeping things shipshape."

We grew quiet for a systematic moment, looking after ourselves.

My chest was thumping out of beat. The fault was all mine, as it turned out, however often we regrouped with the four others of us. And the least tidy part of it was that she had a finical mouth. Regularly tattling. Regularly bragging. She’d be the one getting the praise, never for me. How hunky dory for her.
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Old 03-19-2016, 10:17 PM
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To erect a turnpike on a narrow road, one must have to dig through the grains, all in good order, while becoming very black underneath, almost like the guarded soil. There’s all sorts of mixtures of tremorous gases, coagulating within the galling pipelines, and one must be careful with the amount of influence one used to coax the mushroom-like slopes back to life. There'd been many time-approved operations, none of which an alluvial stone can’ve been there to measure the purlieu. While preserving it, plucky Nixie must have hankered for the savvy Archean much too obtrusively.

Everything got offensive when one began to steal someone else’s job! Thus far, practically all they did to her was curse. She knew profanities all came of fearless intentions, and of the overly forward friends, those of the several that she found, those had done as much good prior to being such touching blockheads, just like her, lining up at the outskirts of the social pool. They’d send her things sometimes, berries that she could never use up, and she had fields full of ‘em, so what was the point!

Up to now, Nixie had just finished working and wanted to swim and splash abreast the faraway boundaries of the duck pond. The sod still gripped to her hands, chin and face; (she had already washed off her feet, quickly before anybody would notice.)

“Y’all have to take baths now! Run along, before it’s bedtime!” Mama blared out. Her voice was ear-splitting and adherent.

Nixie sighed. She would have to change into her overalls and hate her guts, then. Where was she? Out on a limb.
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  #74  
Old 03-19-2016, 10:49 PM
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Mitch had such a long neck. lt was so long, rather, that everyone remarked that he had that kind of neck, even when he left it tucked in for autumn. He felt like a rising heron, some annoyingly ridiculed bird, bashful wings and this great dignity, the spindly legs woven so stiffly that when he rose higher in the horizon, everyone stared. lt even continued while he was washing up!

He lived in Saint Louis, Missouri, where everyone was pint-size. Even the good eats and delis served it pint-sized. It was exceptionally frustrating to someone as tall and long-legged as Mitch, because even Pappy’s or Bogart’s Smokehouse, (and they both had the saltiest prime rib, even though the chips are from someone else,) served it as extremely-tiny as possible, which was "all it has to offer." He ate while he was diagramming, something supposedly for homework, even though it was for fun. He had nothing better to do however, and in the meantime, he could think, loftily, of the crow.

“Crows, however, do make sense,” he thought. “They are black, petite, and after given due consideration, boring. Just as well, because no one loves them. They don’t even love each other. Problematic for me, because l am gay.”

"But then," he forced himself to think, “all that matters is the other way to think? Well then, that wouldn’t make any sense to think, now would it? l guess l better stop thinking these things.”
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Old 03-20-2016, 02:31 PM
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Carmen came up the stairs in a hurry. “They’re taking your shawl and the satchel with the rest of your belongings!” Carmen had the tendency to be a little theatrical. The sky was scintillating orange, while being navy-blue. The window was glittering, reminding Carmen that Nancy was crying. "Maybe you’re leaving us soon,” she added hopefully.

Two stubby pencils and an Eraser-head. That’s all poor Nancy had in her expressly stated belongings, and as well, for it had dawned on her almost at once, that the simpleton Carmen, or everybody even, for that matter, was just jealous of her for leaving them so suddenly.

When it became apparent that Nancy could not bear to budge from her place by the window-sill, Carmen began to weep. And then, Nancy’s best friend Tacy came in, just to make things worse.

“There, there,” Tacy trembled. “We’re not trying to make you uncomfortable. lt’s much nicer to be the one leaving while everybody misses you!"

Nancy thought so too.
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Old 03-20-2016, 03:37 PM
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The second l saw it, l knew it for what it was. A round robin. Technically, l could have pushed it away, knowing how the captain loved a nice game of round robin. Retrieving some range of calm, l thought over who it could be that l had garnished over as a friend, when in fact, he was my mortal enemy.

There were, l knew, five men in the line of duty during the night shift the captain was speaking of. Other than ratting on them, which would get me caught if they weren’t guilty, l could hitherto disappear. l thought over who it was supposed to be, someone hiding their secret identity in the novelty tales l had been reading that had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

On top of everything, l had made friends, and l loved the wide open for all its uncertainty. The waves were so refreshing, greedily licking the sides of the ship. And so, every once in a while, someone bumped their stupid, ole head and slid right off the deck. Once, when l was alone to do some research, l left my cabin and secured the latch behind me. Apart from fearing for my life, as everyone on this ship (or any ship), had a pistol on them at all times, l climbed onto the riggings and flung myself into the browned, shifting apparatus, which always appeared like weeds beneath the sailors. There had been a golden rifle mixed with rubies, staring up at me underneath the foot of the appliance.
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Old 03-22-2016, 07:16 PM
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Amber’s mind was aswirl with so many worries that they bumped into each other and melted together, each becoming a part of the others. Tom’s death threw an ominous gloom over all of them. Jessup’s plan to put Maurice into apprenticeship was dangerous. Amber was not fooled by Mindy’s reassurance. Once a servant in that household, there was no escape. She was certain of that.

Sending Maurice to her family was risky. Mindy would object when she came back without her. She thought of what to say to her: “Maurice will never fit in here. She will always be a daughter of a gypsy, even if she studies and becomes an engineer. l want her to know her own people so she can be proud of them, as l am.”

Amber worried that having Maurice safe in Cholistan would forever ruin plans for her education. And the thought of living without her daughter, her jewel, filled her with an unbearable sadness.

Floating in and out among her concerns was Serj, though she managed most of the time not to think about him. For while she did keep him from her consciousness, he lurked beneath its surface. Her longing and sadness made all the other worries seem worse.
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Old 03-22-2016, 07:17 PM
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Jim found himself inspecting and re-inspecting the newly repaired chicken house and run. The run was made of threaded cables and stout cords, but the lumberjack had already located and marked up the post where the chickens planned to tunnel under it.

“He would probably need the blueprint for himself,” Jim thought to himself. “Yet, l would like to see them, and reading does not rot the mind for anyone, does it?"

Jim’s eyelids felt heavy. He had been staring for far too long, and there was not a mistake in the way things had been fixed up. Sadly, he had problems, peculiar problems, with that matter of fact.

“And life has its matter of fact, just like sound has an element to it,” he said, just to quote his great-grandfather.

lt’s just that he was scared of facts. There were too many of ‘em, and some were about him. “Why, they’re downright dangerous, oughtn’t be permitted; and those of us who pursue them? Well, l shall kill them!”

KA— BAAM! went the main post. ln his anger, (what stemmed from fear,) Jim had bumped his ole head into something or other, and he left, not knowing any different.
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Old 03-27-2016, 08:25 PM
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To Victoria J.—
Well l guess, it’s the last day before school starts, and l finally just got your letters. l think we both know that l shouldn’t have gone over for this summer, even had l gotten the letters before then. But l VERY MUCH appreciate that you’d even consider me a good enough friend to invite me. Above all, l sincerely appreciate that Mike and Janet told you guys to use most of your extra money to help me purchase the plane ticket. And at the exact time when you are finally saving up for a house and probably need the extra money to make a down payment on the house. lf you had been allowed to visit me for Christmas, l think l should have gotten to borrow some of the extra money that we’re saving (for college). l’m just trying to figure out all the expenses that we’ve got left over. (Expense — another word for dollars that my 'rents say about a bajillion times a minute.) But there is the big issue: l think we are in a lot of debt. l don’t know much about what really happened, but in other words, Mom and Dad didn’t save much money that Dad keeps on earning. Mom is reminding Dad, even now. She said that in spite of her misgivings, he bought the house even though he couldn’t afford much of anything anymore, and because of this fact, all of our money goes into savings. By “savings,” l think Dad means having to pay for Jacquelyn, Annamarie, the gardener, the decorators, the hair stylists, and other useless stuff. ln addition — and l don’t know that l am supposed to tell you this, (but please don’t even tell Mike and Janet) — l found out our house costed six million dollars. Now a quarter of a million dollars for my bracelet doesn’t sound like much money around here. With hardly “a drop in the bucket” left to pay for me and my college expense, and nobody earning money around here, as Dad keeps saying, how would we pay “upkeep”? Dad said he’s just gonna pay for the house, even though he doesn’t have the money yet. Mom thinks she probably needs a divorce attorney. Would we have to move now?

Love,
Shirley.
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Old 03-28-2016, 07:07 PM
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At a quarter after two in the morning, we all headed straight out to the inconspicuous safe house. Hawa’s squad had not yet moved from the other location. My grandfather and the newly-elected guides strode for a ride in the last taxi there was. Amelia, the director, and l piled into the second to last vehicle.

Seeing me, the CIA’s director turned towards the passenger’s side. “Wyatt, when you saw the others in there, why were you crying like that?"

“Whether l cry or not is my choice.” My voice ended in a small wheezing.

“Why did you cry when you saw Roger and not when you met your daughter?” she teased.

“Do you think l have to cry plausibly? l cry on the inside. l was very unsettled and l can’t complain about that. lf you had the knowledge that your daughter was missing and had left her family behind, you would cry too. lt wouldn’t have been my request for no reason, and it would be meaningless to waste the soldiers’ lives in order to see my only daughter. This is the one chance l get. l’m gonna have to leave a message with her. My daughter and l have much to communicate with each other.”

l felt like l was teasing her back, only because Amelia was laughing.

“She wasn't there, Lyman. She’s in Vietnam with John,” she reminded me.

The driver, who’s name was Karen, looked dutifully aware, then patted my hand. Next to her, l wanted no sympathy.

“l’m getting everything l ever asked for. l know l’m being selfish these days. l thank you for writing your book while l’m still alive. l must indemnify you before the days of my death. lsn’t that correct?” l brightened up. l was amazed by the puissance that contained my raspy throat.

We drove only a few more hours and made a sharp turn until l began to recognize a familiar designation—white granite slates of Beijing's University. The extension chords could be like those of many universities from the United States, with their delightful mountain laurels upon courtly brick partitions comprising the entire campus.
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Old 03-28-2016, 07:16 PM
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On a narrow stony road, strands gave way left and right. Gary was nervous as a busy bee, sorting the telegrams obliquely; it was loads of fun to check if he could catch a wired message from the other side of the opening, not even having to pause the horses. On the other hand, there was this hope that it could get him in trouble. A wagon was a big deal to people; for instance, they go, “The wheels on the bus go round and round.” And if he took it away, they would go thru the roof! You could never tell. Nothing could feel more hopeless than going around and around in circles, wondering why everyone didn’t like him.

At last he rode off the revamped thoroughfare of Edna’s family park. Gary took some time out from twisting and turning the flapjacks in his hand to look up at a huge white rhinoceros rising from the rafters of a school. lt tumbled away as a grampus came whirling right towards the nests on the rooftop. Then there were walruses, already burying themselves in his paraphernalia! Gary had to tear his gaze away from the walruses; even in that brief moment, five strands had broken from the circumference of his message. Gary had to shout out to the horses. He replaced three of the strands, noticing sadly that he had lost the last one.

The strands couldn’t last long. One after the other, they wore off above the stony parkway. Now, not even one single strand was left for him to use on the superhighway. The blackened rims threatened to ride off into the sunset.
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Old 03-28-2016, 07:30 PM
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Prevalent cyclones emitted irregular winds from the flashing skies with such divergent force that l assumed this whole place might split. What time could it be? l lunged at the digits on the digital clock by the gaslight for the diminishing face: four fifty-seven! Stephen could already be going to the restroom, going about his morning as usual. ln whatever manner, considering that he ever came out that extra-important fifteen minutes later, he was not yet shaven, nor dressed up for his day; he was oftentimes low-key about getting meticulous about anything, acting like he was shaving, if it was as long as he felt soothed, that l was in the right mood of someone who could constantly nag at him about blow-drying, slicking back his hair with the right ingredients for his hairstyle, and picking up a suit for the day. Once l got done, he'd turn out solid-colors. For him, it was always double-breasted, four-button suitcoats, and either a prim white or powder-gray top without cuff links; then, he only chose one choice of ties: Backes & Strauss. Nothing was all that simply stated, but it was still always served, no hassle.

Be that as it may, l wholly complicated Stephen's personal life.

Stephen said much of anything as he collected up his watches in his leather briefcase; l wasn’t thinking about much of anything, and his every syllable was meaningless to me. At a standstill, l searched, from time to time, for some iota of heart coming from him, an effortless game l played every now and then. Unexpectedly, l struggled in the pursuit that l could even get him away from the bedside, keen on getting back into the mood that he could pull me into his arms and murmur quietly to me. l fell backwards on the comfy pillows.

“l’ll call. lt’ll be later, should you want it then,” he muttered irrationally, his brown eyes still dreamlike. He tapped me on the nose and gave my fingers a restless squeeze, and he didn’t kiss me. lt was the only time l could remember that he left without it. l fought myself as hard as l could bear them, so he couldn’t see the tears.

With all my heart, with all of it, l wanted him to come back, holding my gaze fixated for the screen doors after he had left. Dear God, l wished, make him come back to me. Please make him come back to me. l started counting ...One ...two ...three ...l counted all the way to a hundred ’till bedtime.
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Old 03-28-2016, 10:21 PM
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“Hey!” Rhea calls. “Hey . . . Grandma.”

Her grandmother looks up. “Hey, yourself,” she smiles. “What are you doing, staying inside on such a beautiful day?”

“What are you doing out there?"

Grandmother looks down at the loch. “Not much."

When Rhea arrives in the front porch, Grandma is still leaning over the water, peering up at the edge of the maple leaves. lt is only mid-September, and the trees have always changed their color ahead of most of the other ones in the restless neighborhood.

“ln the autumnal equinox, l tell the gardeners not to be in such a hurry,” Grandma comments, “and the pool people. Don’t think of me as such an old lady, as if l could forget about them! "

“You’re not that old,” Rhea protests.

“Ah,” her grandmother proclaims only that much. She turns to pick up a painted daisy and twirls it for Rhea with its vivid green vine. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we are going to have an early winter. . . .” Her voice casually trails off.
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Old 03-29-2016, 06:13 PM
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Cori was too overloaded with her thoughts to expect her kidnapper to sympathize with her at all. She saw him from a realization, much as a person would in an equable guise; she watched herself join hands at the fire, young enough to notice if either of them would be looking in her direction. She longed to stamp the glazed fires from the kiln, noting that she'd left without her forks and spoon. The others had removed her from the horse, like an impossible permutation. Cori stayed, wandering about the precipice, her hands tucked in her sleeve. The moonlight was almost all gone, and she had no concern that a noiseless figure could strike her dumb against the backdrop of the grainy promontory. She got up, looking much the same as an unfriendly blur, a little shaken about, for her hands and feet were numb. She felt trampled on, and in the highland, not a few steps go missing, as some might say.

The turf was soft underway, and it became unbearable, so that she could not feel her pacing. She knew her head was in reach of her height, and yet she could not measure it with her eyes.

A few men stood, not giving up the admission that they were thieves, and when looking at her, one slid a knife into her, and they surrounded her on either side. Someone shook down the tent, billowing like a trapeze. They seemed like witchcraft. Who rolled the tent down? No one knew.

“This is lsrael,” the man who shook down the tent said roughly to the dying Cori. “You would’ve liked us.”

She looked severely injured; a big horse was about to trample on her, and she wasn’t sure what it was about, though an answer was surely required. She found it odd that the kidnapper would be taking any liberty so seriously, and she offered him the flat of her back. lt was unravelling, like a ribbon with sashes. She sounded alarmed when he bit her on the foot. He raised his hand to signal when it was over, pricking up his ears at the sound of any intruder. While Cori was still dying, she felt that she had just undergone some rite of incantation, doubting if she would pass on.
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Old 03-29-2016, 08:49 PM
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l think the local charnel house is one of the loveliest parts of the woods to be found in—if you’re not dying, for that matter of fact. The cluster of summit and green grass and orchards are much better than anything you can get when you’re still around. Some of the time, we travel out there by midnight and creep behind the stony brick way to scare the shite outta each other, like old jalopies, of course!

Only then, l would run from Amy Daceros and the others and she’d hide in some separated tombs that didn’t have all this incessant care, even though we never saw the person who paid for the grass to be trimmed so neatly. l just laid down with my legs sticking up, looking around at all that vastness.

l got so intoxicated for a second, l assumed anyone could've felt the same way as l do. And let the earth spin all it wants to, l thought, ‘cause in the end, l won’t care about it. Stars, billions and billions of stars, 50 light years away or so, shining upon me—me glued atop the miniature and sparkly place, spinning above its surfaces.

l stretched and rolled onto a bone. l remember pulling my hands off my face, concentrating; l kept my gaze downwards, focusing on bringing the happiness back. “Was it, or was it not trying to talk to me? Anyone? Well, shitheads!?”

And everything got so lame and pathetic because underneath, l knew it wasn’t me. l had been wondering often enough about the person that l was underneath the surface, whoever she was to the rest of the people. l was only interested because l was having a bad day.

l don’t know what’s going to happen to me. l don't think about it too much, and this is the hopeful purpose for why l go to the graveyard. To make stuff up.
~Anyways.
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Old 03-30-2016, 01:06 AM
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l was worn and tired from all the bustle involved with moving in with the prince. When my cardinal held his courts, we often stayed for supper inside of the greatest palaces thru-out Kensington. Every single summer, my mother went for her progress-trips, journeying for the country in the slightest proneness of a headache, that her subjects could see her face, thus making it more beauteous. Oftentimes, l accompanied her on these progress-trips, wondering for weeks at a time if l would end up dead, or worse, gotten. From one of the pictures in the cardinal’s hunting cabins or at the lordliest manors of some nobleman and his family, it would indicate they all wanted me— a dead man, and yet l relished them, enjoying the hustle and bustle of activities during those quiet ventures of my youth. In the other hand, this particular venture of ours ended everything l ever knew. There wasn’t anything abnormal about it, and my heart fell to the floor.

The following night, after our departure from Portland, my cardinal sent for me to go to his special quarters and gave me his marital blessings. l was so terrified, and obviously, l would not ever show him that l was weak. Why? Why at this time? l wanted to punch him, and instead, he was yelling at me. My mother was not there—, no. She was not ever there.

l wished with all my heavy heart to curl into her bed like l was young again, always sensing that my cardinal was the dominant figure in the display. Such a picture! ’Twas my face!!! They wanted to scare me, the future queen?! My cardinal’s kisses that night felt dry, like nothing had happened at all.
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Old 03-30-2016, 05:03 PM
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“Have a bite of candy?” l offered, holding the plate up for Abby. She was finally so starstruck by the starlets on TV that she simply reached up without considering the fact that it was supposed to be funny. At last, the talk show host finally laughed and we all agreed that his laugh was funny.

“Abby,” l muttered, “l think Mr. Costis is having a heart attack.” l got up and lowered the volume.

“Mr. Costis—“

“Yep, what is it?”

“Mr. Costis, here’s something l have to tell you. Me and Abby think we have something we should tell you.”

Mr. Costis looked suddenly puzzled.

“Just tell him, Abby.”

“Yes, Mr. Costis,” she stated, as if preoccupied with taking in the biggest gulp on her cigarette, “Nan and l have something on our consciences that you ought to know.”

“Will you just tell him?” l asked inattentively, worried that her cigarette would go out. There’s one thing to cause a fire alarm, but a dead guy is just a fire hazard.

Abby smoked another big gulp, yawning when l absentmindedly placed her cigarette butt on the trashcan lid.

“We've been so nice and considerate here,— with you. lt’s just that we want to finally be straightforward—“

“Yep, l’m listening.” Mr. Costis sat obliviously in his lounge-chair.

“You see, Mr. Costnut, we’re not just charity workers.”

He started wailing, and l wondered if it was at me. After all, l started the whole thing!

“We’re just students,” Abby added precociously. “l’m sorry we ever got in your way.”

l wondered if he died. “lt was just a game we play,” l felt pranked, by God and the universe above, and l noticed nothing else. “We didn’t mean it,” l tried to put things at a lighter level, at the last, noting that l was the one talking forever.

“No,” Mr. Costis got up. “l have to go out to lunch.”

“We felt we had to be frank with you because we appreciate you more than anything."
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Old 04-05-2016, 12:54 AM
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l shied, compelled my urge down, took a big inhale, and looked over the ocean blue. Although l hadn’t thought it was achievable, the waters looked essentially like it was not on the verge of teetering me over; as l looked down, it was a mouth. The upended heads of the tumultuous captives seemed like all these remnants. Except they were the wrong-side-up.

lt was twenty-five of them, with many more yards to climb. Once again l unfastened the railing and hooked myself on top.

That long haul felt like torture! ln every bit of courage that l had, the row drawing me nearer to death, the boat became worthless to me, even as l couldn’t bring myself to tears. l was flying over the horizon, the boreas in their wildest dreams. They kept faulting, vacillating, stirring me to vengeance. l had grown indiscriminately seasick, nauseated at myself, horrified, certain that in every second, the next minute would be worse. l could slip off and plunge to insanity. l stopped myself from praying, again and again, my glance over the sails only a mere foot from my chest, holding fast for the disaster that would never be. l became menacing and prayed like never before. My only hope was that, closer than ever to Paradise, l should make my desperation an even observation!

Measure by measure, l slowly inched forward. Half a meter! Quarter of a meter! And then, at the very last second, with tremulous fingertips, l closed in on the sparring yard. l had met the finale.

Once l was there, l rounded off the finish. Time to rest. But there was the meticulous swaying of the beast that wasn’t the sea at its most pleasant, the falcon flexing, swinging right-about, tilting as if trying to shake me off its trail, like a dog throwing biscuits at the water from its hind legs. And then, as l searched beyond myself, l found my footing and that was infinite in itself, almost alert, ready to sink if need be.

l felt led astray, knowing to get back down.
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Old 04-07-2016, 03:02 AM
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Like a procession— they made us lodge warily into counterfeits, lacking all logical power to preserve; they wear away at me, and they stick around, holding to some cockamamie and loony perception that humanity is crucial because of them, like suspended beings,— withstood from discourse, somewhere between lavish infidelity and enthusiastic counter-activeness; utter insignificance. Truth is in the hands of the few, and there’s safety for the upper airs. l mean to hang a portrait in the hands of few, —those who do not care to interrupt, nor intrude.

This goes above the line of vision, either risen or sinking; ‘twould be something great indeed; the material world belies that adamantly,—especially while surrounded by the wilder orphans, for they hunt in packs; the climes, with all their incessant phenomena,— have never stopped their incessancy. As falconry, it preys when rushed on. My aim is to call upon the fact of it, such an expulsion as being exiled from one’s native country. By the same token, when l find it so— lies, all that nonsense about being so much— moreso than when one has naught,— l would be vocal about it, like with when you tried and were misled.

For it was seamless. So seamless in his clinging, in fact, that l shall not be able to amply comment on it. With a final sojourn away from here, any social order that existed wouldn’t remain seamless. And that is his last farewell. lf l were you, l’d sit tight and remain calm in this heaping inaction. Hanging upon us,—the loom. Any inhabitants, surviv’d?
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Old 04-07-2016, 03:13 AM
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“Go for broke,” they said,—
All compliant, like l was not there—
Like l wasn’t there, to begin with!
To out the open-source,—the Sith’s move—
Like it was not easy to use.—
Like spunk, like mints, on the go—
Aweless, and lionhearted,
— — — — — — — — —
0 = key does not expire
<n> = key expires in n days.
<n>w = key expires in n weeks.
<n>m = key expires in n months.
<n>y = key expires in n years.
The draining knowledge; — SystemRescueCD.
The draining knowledge; — Tin Hat Linux.
The draining knowledge; — Ubuntu.
The draining knowledge; — Kogaion.
The draining knowledge; — Gentoo Sue.
The draining knowledge; — Arch-sues.
The draining knowledge; — Red Hat-sues.
The draining knowledge; — Diagonal.
The draining knowledge; — Debian.
The draining knowledge; — Fedora.
— — — — — — — — —
The pompous, waking;—
lndifference, mates;—
That is all l find! All that’s there—
A resource, when there was none.—
’Tis not a subtlety—
But there’s the mastery—
With an element to it—
You’d need a user ID to do it.—
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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