The air at Damnation is hot and close, unbreathable with the weight of too many bodies. The regulars are squeezed up against the bar, banging their glasses on the gouged wood. I never used to come here
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Wendigo, Lamia, Salome, Bathsheba?? I had a quick read in Wikipedia about this mob. Interesting. I wonder how you know these things and are then able to use them in fiction. I'm impressed.
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? - William Blake 'The Tyger'
No I haven't searched the dusty archives for this gem. Gegu (my angelic guide) knows what I'm trying to say. He turns my head, makes me pick up a book, I flick through the pages, he says stop, and my eyes go straight to the line. mmmm, need more books, me thinks. Love ya work.
That is my absolute favorite Blake poem! I will now expose the profound weirdness of my humor by saying that I find this Tyger! Tyger! riff unbearably funny.
Absolute favourite! Gegu's clever. The riff? I wouldn't have known it was a spin on a Blake poem. Profound weirdness? Yes. Interesting. I always wanted to be ubearably funny. I've managed unbearable.
The book I got the poem from was handed to me by the owner of the local second hand book shop. He told me I'd like it, which is strange because I usually buy novels. This is like the Poe thing.
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"Her bra straps are showing and so are her ribs" sounds like a line from a song. I like it.
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Sung in a husky, scratchy voice and accompanied, no doubt, by a line about the bleachy smell of hair dye--this could be going somewhere!
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Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? - William Blake 'The Tyger'
No I haven't searched the dusty archives for this gem. Gegu (my angelic guide) knows what I'm trying to say. He turns my head, makes me pick up a book, I flick through the pages, he says stop, and my eyes go straight to the line. mmmm, need more books, me thinks. Love ya work.
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burning kites
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The book I got the poem from was handed to me by the owner of the local second hand book shop. He told me I'd like it, which is strange because I usually buy novels. This is like the Poe thing.
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