Your insult has offended me. If we were at the Peaks, we would have to duel in traditional alil'tiki'i fashion." "Which is what?" Teft asked. "With spears?" Rock laughed. "No, no. We upon the Peaks are not barbarians like you down here." "How then?" Kaladin asked, genuinely curious. "Well," Rock said, "is involving much mudbeer and singing." "How's that a duel?" "He who can still sing after the most drinks is winner. Plus, soon' everyone is so drunk that they forget what argument was about." Teft laughed. "Beats knives at dawn, I suppose.
Your insult has offended me. If we were at the Peaks, we would have to duel in traditional alil'tiki'i fashion." "Which is what?" Teft asked. "With spears?" Rock laughed. "No, no. We upon the Peaks are not barbarians like you down here." "How then?" Kaladin asked, genuinely curious. "Well, " Rock said, "is involving much mudbeer and singing." 'How's that a duel?' "He who can still sing after the most drinks is winner. Plus, soon' everyone is so drunk that they forget what argument was about." Teft laughed. "Beats knives at dawn, I suppose.
Pamela pulled off her cloak and Alexei gasped. "You have on breeches!" He stared in disbelief. "Breeches!" "I've never worn them before, and they are extremely comfortable. I quite like them." She smoothed the fabric over her hip. "Besides, you don't expect me to duel in a dress, do you?" "I do not expect you to duel at all!" Pamela ignored him. "That would be most unfair, dueling in a dress, unless, of course, you would be willing to wear a dress as well?" "Don't be absurd." He snorted in disdain. "I have no intention of ever wearing women's clothing again." "Again?" She raised a brow. "It was an unavoidable disguise, " he muttered.
We propose to consider first the single elements of our subject, then each branch of part, and, last of all, the whole in all its relations-therefore to advance from the simple to the complex. But it is necessary for us to commence with a glance at the nature of the whole, because it is particularly necessary that in the consideration of any of the parts their relation to the whole be kept constantly in view. We shall not enter into any of the abstruse definitions of War used by publicists. We shall keep to the element of the thing itself, to a duel. War is nothing but a duel on an extensive scale. If we would conceive as a unit the countless number of duels which make up a War, we shall do so best by supposing to ourselves two wrestlers. Each strives by physical force to compel the other to submit to his will: each endeavors to throw his adversary, and thus render him incapable of further resistance. War therefore is an act of violence intended to compel our opponent to fulfill our will.
Carl von Clausewitz
(Episode 9. Hijikata finds Gintoki on a rooftop and challenges him to a duel to avenge Kondo's defeat earlier. Gintoki doesn't want to fight him, so breaks Hijikata's sword easily, and leaves. It's then revealed that Okita and Kondo had been watching them clash, from another rooftop.) Okita Sougou: "He's an interesting man. I'd like to cross swords with him, myself." Kondo: "Don't bother. He'll kick your ass, Sougou." "He's the kind of guy fighting another battle far away, even as a sword swings at his throat." "Fair or unfair, it doesn't matter to him." (Not knowing that Kondo and Okita were watching his duel from a high vantage point, Hijikata lights a cigarette and sits back.) Hijikata (watching the blue sky above him): "Sorry, Kondo-san. I lost to him, as well...
... You are the closest I will ever come to heaven, either here on Earth or in the afterlife, and I will not regret it, not even at the cost of your tears. So I go to my grave an unrepentant sinner, I'm afraid. There is no use in mourning one such as I, dearest... -Simon to Lucy in a letter before the last duel.
When they had ended their prayers, the Angel of Death recovered his loquacity and his gayety and ascending the chariot again, preceded by Gil Gil, spoke as follows. 'The village you see on that mountain is Gethsemane. In it was the Garden of Olives. On the other side you can distinguish an eminence crowned by a temple which stands out against a starry sky - that is Golgotha. There I passed the greatest day of my existence. I thought I had vanquished God himself - and vanquished he was for some hours. But, alas! on that mount, too, it was that three days later I saw myself disarmed and my power brought to naught on the morning of a certain Sunday. Jesus had risen from the dead. There, too, took place on the same occasion my great single combat with Nature. There took place my duel with her, that terrible duel (at the third hour of the day, I remember it well), when, as soon as she saw me thrust the lance of Longinus in the breast of the Saviour she began to throw stones at me, to upturn the cemeteries, to bring the dead to life, and I know not what besides. I thought poor Nature had lost her senses.' The Angel of Death seemed to reflect for a moment... ("The Friend of Death")
Pedro Antonio de Alarcon
Always it is thus with my new students, and especially with the human ones; the mind is the last muscle they train or use, and the one that they regard the least. Ask them about swordplay and they can list every blow from a duel a month old, but ask them to solve a problem or make a coherent statement and... well, I would be lucky to get more than a blank stare in return.
You only benefit from books if you can give something back to them. What I mean is, if you approach them in the spirit of a duel, so you can both wound and be wounded, so you are willing to argue, to overcome and be overcome, and grow richer by what you have learned, not only in the book, but in life, or by being able to make something of your work.
Human relationships didn't work anyhow. Only the first two weeks had any zing, then the participants lost their interest. Masks dropped away and real people began to appear: cranks, imbeciles, the demented, the vengeful, sadists, killers. Modern society had created its own kind and they feasted on each other. It was a duel to the death--in a cesspool.
... I tried to end our little duel. I called out pacifying words; I entreated; I finally surrendered. Still Clyde came, my pirate costume so great a success that it had apparently convinced him that we were back in the golden days of romantic old New Orleans when gentlemen decided matters of hot dog honor at twenty paces
John Kennedy Toole
I'm going to tell you something once and then whether you die is strictly up to you, " Westley said, lying pleasantly on the bed. "What I'm going to tell you is this: drop your sword, and if you do, then I will leave with this baggage here"-he glanced at Buttercup-"and you will be tied up but not fatally, and will be free to go about your business. And if you choose to fight, well, then, we will not both leave alive." You are only alive now because you said 'to the pain.' I want that phrase explained." My pleasure. To the pain means this: if we duel and you win, death for me. If we duel and I win, life for you. But life on my terms. The first thing you lose will be your feet. Below the ankle. You will have stumps available to use within six months. Then your hands, at the wrists. They heal somewhat quicker. Five months is a fair average. Next your nose. No smell of dawn for you. Followed by your tongue. Deeply cut away. Not even a stump left. And then your left eye-" And then my right eye, and then my ears, and shall we get on with it?" the Prince said. Wrong!" Westley's voice rang across the room. "Your ears you keep, so that every shriek of every child shall be yours to cherish-every babe that weeps in fear at your approach, every woman that cries 'Dear God, what is that thing?' will reverberate forever with your perfect ears. That is what 'to the pain' means. It means that I leave you in anguish, in humiliation, in freakish misery until you can stand it no more; so there you have it, pig, there you know, you miserable vomitous mass, and I say this now, and live or die, it's up to you: Drop your sword!" The sword crashed to the floor.
Let an illness, a duel, a runaway horse make us see death face to face, and how richly we should have enjoyed the life of pleasure, the travels in unknown lands, which are about to be snatched from us! And no sooner is the danger past than we resume once more the same dull life in which none of those delights existed for us.
A prudent silence will frequently be taken for wisdom and a sentence or two cautiously thrown in will sometimes gain the palm of knowledge, while a man well informed but indiscreet and unreserved will not uncommonly talk himself out of all consideration and weight. (Alexander Hamilton's 'thesis on discretion' written to his son James shortly before his fatal duel with Burr.)
I think that the desire to be cruel and to hurt (with words because any other way might be dangerous to ourself) is part of human nature. Parties are battles (most parties), a conversation is a duel (often). Everybody's trying to hurt first, to get in the dig that will make him or her feel superior, feel triumph.
There was the strangest combination of church influence against me. Baker is a Campbellite; and therefore, as I suppose with few exceptions, got all of that Church. My wife had some relations in the Presbyterian churches, and some in the Episcopal churches; and therefore, wherever it would tell, I was set down as either one or the other, while it was everywhere contended that no Christian ought to vote for me because I belonged to no Church, and was suspected of being a Deist and had talked of fighting a duel.
If you do not apologize to Lady Honoria, ' Marcus said, his voice so mild as to be terrifying, 'I will kill you.' There was a collective gasp, and Daisy faked a swoon, sliding elegantly into Iris, who promptly stepped aside and let her hit the floor. 'Oh, come now, ' Mr. Grimston said. 'Surely it won't come to pistols at dawn.' 'I'm not talking about a duel, ' Marcus said. 'I mean I will kill you right here.
Looking back on the long-stretched-out body of one's work, it is interesting to mark the endless duel fought within a man between the emotional and critical sides of his nature, first one, then the other, getting the upper hand, and too seldom fusing till the result has the mellowness of full achievement. One can even tell the nature of one's readers, by their preference for the work which reveals more of this side than of that.
I'LL SERVE YOUR *** LIKE JOHN MACENROE IF YOUR GIRL STEPS UP, I'M SMACKIN' THE HO WORD TO YOUR MOMS I CAME TO DROP BOMBS I GOT MORE RHYMES THAN THE BIBLE'S GOT PSALMS AND JUST LIKE THE PRODIGAL SON I'VE RETURNED ANYONE STEPPING TO ME YOU'LL GET BURNED 'CAUSE I GOT LYRICS AND YOU AIN'T GOT NONE SO IF YOU COME TO BATTLE BRING A SHOTGUN BUT IF YOU DO YOU'RE A FOOL 'CAUSE I DUEL TO THE DEATH TRY AND STEP TO ME YOU'LL TAKE YOUR LAST BREATH I GOTS THE SKILL, COME GET YOUR BILL 'CAUSE WHEN I SHOOT TO GIVE, I SHOOT TO KILL
The only moment football really stops is with a penalty kick - and that is a moment that is really dramatic. A penalty kick becomes a Western duel. It's two guys facing each other. Destiny and potential death, whether metaphorical or literal. That's why in the penalty kick at the end of the film, I shot it like an homage to the Sergio Leone Westerns I saw when I was a kid, especially The Good, The Bad And The Ugly.
The unwritten rules of behaviour are infinite in number, finely shaded, and subtle to the last fraction of a degree. They are not to be broken. If broken, the rules of forgiveness leading to re-establishment are equally of air and iron. I learn these rules with rather less ease than my contemporaries because, in the back streets of my being, a duel is developing and increasing in fervour between my instinct which knows why something is so, and my hen-pecking intelligence which wishes to analyse why something is so.
So, sweeting, why were you threatening to throw Tate out of the house? What did he say?' Leather brushed her chin as he tipped it up. Serious dark eyes met hers. 'What did he say?' She glanced around; surely the footmen were too far away to hear. 'He wanted to join us in our bed.' 'I'll run him through.' 'No! Perhaps he only said it to goad you into a duel. Perhaps it was intended as a way to kill you.' 'It was an insult to you, love. That can't be ignored.' 'And so you rush inexorably toward death. I don't care if he stands on a Drury Lane stage and calls me a courtesan, I won't have you risking your life.
I could have done even better, miss, and I'd know a lot more, if it wasn't for my destiny ever since childhood. I'd have killed a man in a duel with a pistol for calling me low-born, because I came from Stinking Lizaveta without a father, and they were shoving that in my face in Moscow. It spread there thanks to Grigory Vasilievich. Grigory Vasilievich reproaches me for rebelling against my nativity: 'You opened her matrix, ' he says. I don't know about her matrix, but I'd have let them kill me in the womb, so as not to come out into the world at all, miss.
[Philip's death was] beyond comparison the most afflicting of my life... He was truly a fine youth. But why should I repine? It was the will of heaven and he is now out of the reach of the seductions and calamities of a world full of folly, full of vice, full of danger, of least value in proportion as it is best known. I firmly trust also that he has safely reached the haven of eternal repose and felicity. (Alexander Hamilton letter to Benjamin Rush about the death of his 19-year old son from mortal wounds inflicted from a duel.)
The writer is the duelist who never fights at the stated hour, who gathers up an insult, like another curious object, a collector's item, spreads it out on his desk later, and then engages in a duel with it verbally. Some people call it weakness. I call it postponement. What is weakness in the man becomes a quality in the writer. For he preserves, collects what will explode later in his work. That is why the writer is the loneliest man in the world; because he lives, fights, dies, is reborn always alone; all his roles are played behind a curtain. In life he is an incongruous figure.
Sir Arthur stopped at the bottom of the hill and awaited the charging rider. The horseman halted in front of Sir Arthur and mud flew in all directions. 'Who are you?' demanded Sir Arthur. He stared into the masked face and turbaned head of an assassin. Rufus's heart stopped. A gasp escaped his frozen lips and his legs wobbled. Sir Arthur asked again, 'Who are you?' The man dismounted and drew from his golden sash a long scimitar. He approached Sir Arthur. The knight lifted his sword and the duel began.
Justus A. Platt
What do you want, MacGuffin, a duel?' 'No.' Julian held out both hands, one palm flat, the other held over it in a fist. 'Rock, paper, scissors. Two out of three.' Ty rolled his eyes and held out his fist, apparently willing to play. Julian hit his palm three times, and Ty kept time with his fist in the air. But when Julian threw a paper, Ty reached into his jacket with his other hand and pulled his gun, aiming it at Julian. 'Ty!' Zane said in exasperation from the front seat. 'Glock, paper, scissors. I win.' 'You are an ass, ' Julian muttered.
I was thinking about honour. It's a thing that changes doesn't it? I mean, a hundred and fifty years ago we would have had to fight if challenged. Now we'd laugh. There must have been a time when it was rather an awkward question." "Yes. Moral theologians were never able to stop dueling - it took democracy to do that." "And in the next war, when we are completely democratic, I expect that it will be quite honourable for officers to leave their men behind. It'll be laid down in King's Regulations as their duty- to keep a cadre going to train new men to take the place of prisoners." "Perhaps men wouldn't take too kindly to being trained by deserters." "Don't you think that they'd respect them more for being fly? I reckon our trouble is that we're in the awkward stage - like a man challenged to a duel a hundred years ago.
It's too soon, too fast. We don't even know each other." "Says who?" Ethan demanded. "Who decides how long it should take? Who makes the rules?" Erica shrugged because she really didn't know it just seemed like common sense. He put his index finger under her chin and swept his thumb just under her lower lip. "I do know you." He whispered. "I know you love chocolate and hate roses. I know you are kind and compassionate and generous. I know you feed the homeless and the stray cat that lives behind your apartment. I know you are a hopeless romantic. You are fiercely loyal." His eyes took on a mischievous glint. "I know you are ticklish; I know what makes you moan; I know what makes you squirm." He kissed her softly. "I know when I am with you I don't want to be anywhere else." He kissed her again and this time she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Their tongues tangled in a duel that left her breathless.
It was growing dark on this long southern evening, and suddenly, at the exact point her finger had indicated, the moon lifted a forehead of stunning gold above the horizon, lifted straight out of filigreed, light-intoxicated clouds that lay on the skyline in attendant veils. Behind us, the sun was setting in a simultaneous congruent withdrawal and the river turned to flame in a quiet duel of gold... The new gold of moon astonishing and ascendant, he depleted gold of sunset extinguishing itself in the long westward slide, it was the old dance of days in the Carolina marshes, the breathtaking death of days before the eyes of children, until the sun vanished, its final signature a ribbon of bullion strung across the tops of water oaks.
Edward genially enough did not disagree with what I said, but he didn't seem to admit my point, either. I wanted to press him harder so I veered close enough to the ad hominem to point out that his life-the life of the mind, the life of the book collector and music lover and indeed of the gallery-goer, appreciator of the feminine and occasional boulevardier-would become simply unlivable and unthinkable in an Islamic republic. Again, he could accede politely to my point but carry on somehow as if nothing had been conceded. I came slowly to realize that with Edward, too, I was keeping two sets of books. We agreed on things like the first Palestinian intifadah, another event that took the Western press completely off guard, and we collaborated on a book of essays that asserted and defended Palestinian rights. This was in the now hard-to-remember time when all official recognition was withheld from the PLO. Together we debated Professor Bernard Lewis and Leon Wieseltier at a once-celebrated conference of the Middle East Studies Association in Cambridge in 1986, tossing and goring them somewhat in a duel over academic 'objectivity' in the wider discipline. But even then I was indistinctly aware that Edward didn't feel himself quite at liberty to say certain things, while at the same time feeling rather too much obliged to say certain other things. A low point was an almost uncritical profile of Yasser Arafat that he contributed to Interview magazine in the late 1980s.
Already the people murmur that I am your enemy because they say that in verse I give the world your me. They lie, Julia de Burgos. They lie, Julia de Burgos. Who rises in my verses is not your voice. It is my voice because you are the dressing and the essence is me; and the most profound abyss is spread between us. You are the cold doll of social lies, and me, the virile starburst of the human truth. You, honey of courtesan hypocrisies; not me; in all my poems I undress my heart. You are like your world, selfish; not me who gambles everything betting on what I am. You are only the ponderous lady very lady; not me; I am life, strength, woman. You belong to your husband, your master; not me; I belong to nobody, or all, because to all, to all I give myself in my clean feeling and in my thought. You curl your hair and paint yourself; not me; the wind curls my hair, the sun paints me. You are a housewife, resigned, submissive, tied to the prejudices of men; not me; unbridled, I am a runaway Rocinante snorting horizons of God's justice. You in yourself have no say; everyone governs you; your husband, your parents, your family, the priest, the dressmaker, the theatre, the dance hall, the auto, the fine furnishings, the feast, champagne, heaven and hell, and the social, "what will they say." Not in me, in me only my heart governs, only my thought; who governs in me is me. You, flower of aristocracy; and me, flower of the people. You in you have everything and you owe it to everyone, while me, my nothing I owe to nobody. You nailed to the static ancestral dividend, and me, a one in the numerical social divider, we are the duel to death who fatally approaches. When the multitudes run rioting leaving behind ashes of burned injustices, and with the torch of the seven virtues, the multitudes run after the seven sins, against you and against everything unjust and inhuman, I will be in their midst with the torch in my hand.
Julia de Burgos Jack Age¼ero Translator
Dickinson left the rostrum to applause, loud shouts of approval. Franklin was surprised, looked toward Adams, who returned the look, shook his head. The chamber was dismissed, and Franklin pushed himself slowly up out of the chair. He began to struggle a bit, pain in both knees, the stiffness holding him tightly, felt a hand under his arm. 'Allow me, sir.' Adams helped him up, commenting as he did so, 'We have a substantial lack of backbone in this room, I'm afraid.' Franklin looked past him, saw Dickinson standing close behind, staring angrily at Adams, reacting to his words. 'Mr. Dickinson, a fine speech, sir, ' said Franklin. Adams seemed suddenly embarrassed, did not look behind him, nodded quickly to Franklin, moved away toward the entrance. Franklin saw Dickinson following Adams, began to follow himself. My God, let's not have a duel. He slipped through the crowd of delegates, making polite acknowledgments left and right, still keeping his eye on Dickinson. The man was gone now, following Adams out of the hall. Franklin reached the door, could see them both, heard the taller man call out, saw Adams turn, a look of surprise. Franklin moved closer, heard Adams say, 'My apologies for my indiscreet remark, sir. However, I am certain you are aware of my sentiments.' Dickinson seemed to explode in Adams' face. 'What is the reason, Mr. Adams, that you New England men oppose our measures of reconciliation? Why do you hold so tightly to this determined opposition to petitioning the king?' Franklin heard other men gathering behind him, filling the entranceway, Dickinson's volume drawing them. He could see Adams glancing at them and then saying, 'Mr. Dickinson, this is not an appropriate time... ' 'Mr. Adams, can you not respond? Do you not desire an end to talk of war?' Adams seemed struck by Dickinson's words, looked at him for a long moment. 'Mr. Dickinson, if you believe that all that has fallen upon us is merely talk, I have no response. There is no hope of avoiding a war, sir, because the war has already begun. Your king and his army have seen to that. Please, excuse me, sir.' Adams began to walk away, and Franklin could see Dickinson look back at the growing crowd behind him, saw a strange desperation in the man's expression, and Dickinson shouted toward Adams, 'There is no sin in hope!
KILLAZ REFLECT THE DESTINY OF THE VILLAGE SO WHEN 20 COUNT REGRETS FLOAT DOWN FUTILITY SPILLAGE SEE I'LL PASS THE BROKEN ARROW THIS TIME FOR CERTAIN YEA BUT FROM HERE ON OUT ITS HOOF THE MARE THE BARE FOOTED URCHIN DIG IT IN PERSON NOW EXHIBIT TRUE AUDACITY AND PASSIVELY HACK GREASE INTO RIBBONS YOUR EXCUSED FROM THE ROUNDTABLE ADMISSIONS COMMITTEE ACTIVIST LEGENDS TURNED HOSTAGE IN FALLEN CITIES DIRTY EARTHLINGS CIRCLING VISION IMMACULATE SPIN ME DIZZY IN A CROSSWALK MY TOO FAR GONE MASTODON SENSES INSPECT RELENTLESS FOR FITTED BOOGIE SYSTEMS AND CROOK ADDICTIONS WELL SURE MY CROWN IS FORMED OF THORNS YEA BUT MY THORNS ARE FORMED OF SOUND AND I HAVE FOUND SOUND WILL KEEP ME WARM WHEN THE MORNINGS BORN WITH FROZEN GROUND PUT A ROPE DOWN PULL ME FROM WHERE THE BUZZARDS CLEARED I MEAN FROM THE BONES YOU AND YOUR LITTLE BADASS MAD MAX MUSKETEERS WHEN THE SILHOETTES OF EMACIATED FRAMES DANCE ON A HIGHWIRE MISTOOK FOR ASPIRING THIRD WORLD POSTER CHILDREN BUT IS INSERTED GHOST WITH DEALIN DEAD TO ADMINISTER LINKS LIKE CHIEF THEN WHATS YOUR FORTE DEVIL DRAGGER IN DISGUISE SEEKING THE MATCH MADE IN YOUR EYES FRIEND IT DON'T TAKE THE WISE THIS MINUTE TRIPLICATE PACE UNIFIED I DON'T CONDONE THE BLASPHEMY NATURALLY ITS PROCREATION FROM THE FLOODS, TO THE FIRES, TO THE DROUGHTS, TO THE CYCLONES TIDAL WAVES, THE TWISTERS, TORNADOES, AND HELL STONES WHIRLWINDS, TROPICAL STORMS, BLIZZARDS AND MONSOONS ALL OF WHICH I WITNESSED PRIOR TO WAKING UP INSIDE MY ROOM LOOK AT THE CROOK AS I PANIC EPISODE TANTRUMS FUCK HUGGING MY COOL THE EDGINESS READIES THE MOCK KNOCK QUICK DRAW HENCE THE DUEL THE COMPANY OF SIMILARS COULDN'T EXCITE THE MOTOR BUT HERMIT CRAB ACE HOME ALONE-UH ONE BARREL OF IDIOMS AND CHARCOAL STICK, COURAGE UNDER DESIRE CANOPY DRAPED BEAUTIFUL MESSIAH RELUCTANT STUCK IN THE PLUCK IN THE HAUL BUZZING THE FUZZING TELEVISON MIXER BOOK OF SATURATED MATCHES AND A HALF-MADE BED PICK OF THE LITTER, LITTER OF THE PICK PACK LEADER WILL HUFF CANNIBAL FUMES, MECHANICAL ZOOM THERE'S AMPLE ROOM STOWAWAYS INSIDE THE CARGO BED SAID LEECH PRIOR TO FIRING UP HIS BARNACLE MAGNET INSTINCTS LEASHING HIMSELF TO WHERE THE WIND SPLITTING ICE STORMS AND TERMITE SWARMS ARE COMMONPLACE I'M A TRACE THIS SILVER LINING WINDING ROUND THE PROFIT CHASE I KNOW THERE IS GOOD IN YOU IF ONE PEELS BACK THE OPULENCE BUT I ALSO KNOW ITS RATIO THE BAD DON'T FEED MY CONFIDENCE THE NUTRIENTS WILL BE INTENSE CIRCLE THE CLUES UNITS OF SUCCESS BEING PERSONAL THEN SUCKED BASIC DIVERSION RUSTY ANCHOR BUDGET FOR NOTHING WEDGED BETWEEN AESOP ROCK AND A SCARRED FACE OF FRUSTRATED FUCK YOUS BOUND BY CONCERN I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M STILL CONCERNED I CAN'T BELIEVE SIDE CHILDREN TURN IN THEIR SLEEP OVER ONE-LINERS WELL I YIELD TO HEAR YOUR BURNS COLOR ME OUT OF MY SKULL DRAGGIN A WAGON OF CREATURE FEATURES AND ALL I EVER WANTED WAS TO AGGRAVATE THE SLEEPERS LOOK SELF-CRAFTED HEROICS MURDER WORTHLESS CRASH TEST IDEOLOGIES, CATALOG ALIEN DOCTRINES TYPE DISTURBANCE GOT EM OUT, KILLING MACHINES TURN BELLY UP BUCKLED, THE TROUBLES I'VE SEEN COAX TWENTY FOUR SEVENS OF WIDE EYES FROM DAY DREAMERS CLEAN OR DIRTY SERPENTS IN TURN WISH PREFERENCE FOR THE LATTER JUSTIFIED THE GERMS BURN CAUTERIZE THE GASHES AFTER ON MY LEFT, ONE FINGER FOR EACH BURROUGH I CAN TOUCH ON MY RIGHT, ONE FINGER FOR EACH TIME THAT I WAKE UP MIDSUMMER NIGHT WHO'S CLOAKED IN A PRISTINE MANTLE OF HELLFIRE BUT A-CAPITAL GLACIERS OUT THE EAST SLIDE LATERAL BORN FOR ONE TASK INDEED TO SPOIL THE CITIZEN KANE EMOTE SELF THIS UGLY DUCKLING SEED LOOK I AINT TOO ATTIRED OF DRAGGIN THE BAGGAGE OVER THE SEASAW SEEDS WHEN THE REAPERS TURNS MORTALS TO CASPERS SEE THE PLAIN AND STONE CONJURABLE CAN'T MIMMICK THE NULL OF A BILLION TROOPS HOLDING MATCHSTICKS TO EMPTY CANNONS STAND OF A MANY MOONS WHEN THE SUN HIT THE MOUNTAINSIDE SPLENDIDLY BASK IN THE LAST WARMTH THAT BE KNOWN TO MAN'S TANGENTS IN THE WINK OF AN INNOCENT STARCHILD'S EYELID DROP HE VANISHED MANAGED TO CARVE INITIALS IN THE GRANITE WALL THE DAMNED IT ALL UP I HUNG WITH CATS THAT DO THE DONTS CATS THAT FORAGE THROUGH THE MOATS HOPING THEY OPEN WITH SOVERIEGNTY AND A CANTINE DEEMED WITH PRODIGIES I LOVE THE WAKE, THE WATCH, THE WALK, THE WORK THE WELL ITS ALMOST SIX O'CLOCK I'VE NEVER SEEN SO MANY TUGBOATS MISS THE DOCK