I honestly don’t give a flying about what color their hair, as long as she wears transparent underwear when she waits for me, stripped down to them in her bed.
Because that was when the 1st pandemic of bubonic plague hit the Byzantine empire, the Kutrigur Bulgars moved into what is today Romania, and the kingdom of Funan dies out.
Dude, if you're going to chop off a Lord Byron classic, it should at least be at the end of a verse
She walks in beauty like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to the tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One ray the more, one shade the less Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow So soft, so calm yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow But tell of days in goodness spent A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent.
Darkness, headache, a sound behind me very familiar, the rush of water chasing shells further and further up on a shore, one sound which every highwayman who has sailed with Moroccan pirates is well familiar with.
I open my eyes, squint at the ache which tortures my frontal lobe. Slowly I get up, bruised and battered, and then I remember. The ship, it went down. I rise, on my knees first, I look along the shore, westward first, there’s nowt there, then eastward, and as much in this cardinal direction. I struggle myself to feet. Brush off the sand attached to my body, take hand to my forehead as if that would ease the pain, and then I struggle myself away from the waters, up towards the vegetation found 40 paces from where I recently lay landed.
An unfamiliar shore, of course, which only adds another question to my many; What happened? Why don’t I remember? Am I the only survivor? Where am I? All I know is that it wasn’t the Titanic, and I seem to be on a hot tropical island
The last memory of mine is having been stood courting the young lady, she with the face a goddess would be envious of, a face adorned with eyes such mesmerizing deep wells of Siren seduction, if a man was to loose himself too deep, well, not even Theseus - who after all both slay and found his way out of the Minotaur labyrinth – would have managed a return. And lips, oh those lips, a sweetest apple harvest for ones own lips be one fortunate enough to taste them. Behind a lace veil of lavender color was these fine features neither hidden, nor fully revealed.
She left me. Yes! The memory comes back now. Yes, her father called upon her. She left me before I found the moment right to lift that veil and pluck an apple of hers with my lips. Now I remember. I went down below, to the other, and in my desperation I began to drink the wine. Oh, no, now I remember. Nathaniel, as always organized a newly invented sport. Head first diving into a wine-barrel. I must have passed out. Did I win? What does it matter now?
I walk into the vegetation. I walk for what seems hours, pass parroting parrots, parry the hissing of a snake lowering itself from a tree, make a good detour round a stack which seems to be inhabited by finger sized devil-red ants, and then…. I’m back on the shore.
- Bloody hell! I exclaim. - I’ve done full circle
I enter the woods again, and walk for what again seems hours. Past a passage where something moves fast across in front of me and makes sound so loud it makes me uneasy about the size I recon it must be. And then…. I’m back on that bloody shore again.
- Jesus, shipwrecked Christ! I scream towards the sky. - Lord, isn’t it bloody enough that I’m wrecked of a ship, must I now spend my last day on this godforsaken sand with no chance of a fruit to feed me?
RE: hello
This thread is greatIt's filled to the rim with rock'n'roll