DF&Co: Whale Wheek 🐳
HARK YE HARK YE TO ALL MEN of The Co. “HE” SHALL ARRIVE AND WITH “HIM” THE THROES OF WANT AND OF WANE, AND IT COULDN’T BE CLEARER BEFORE THE NIGHT’S END THERE’LL SHOW “THE TRICKSTER™️” FOR 1000 SUMMER’S EVES “HE” KEPT THE WEEN AND AFTER A GIFT ONLY…
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Forwarded from DF&Co: Whale Wheek 🐳
Among the longleaf pines and cotton, amid the air’s slow death which cases it in an invisible mud during the summer months, he sat. With solitary light in solitary room under a solstice sky’s end and a new coming moon, the figure rose. From cane-back chair and plantation desk unfolding to a hundred compartments and with one green felt slab running across its board for ease of writing if not only for the way it looks, the man stood up. The hawk’s screaming cry squeezed through the tight mass that was the last totem of norm. “Let the Trickster come” he said. And then came the solstice of 2024
The Beginnings by Rudyard Kipling
It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late
With long arrears to make good,
When the English began to hate.
They were not easily moved,
They were icy-willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the English began to hate.
Their voices were even and low,
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show,
When the English began to hate.
It was not preached to the crowd,
It was not taught by the State.
No man spoke it aloud,
When the English began to hate.
It was not suddenly bred,
It will not swiftly abate,
Through the chill years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the English began to hate.
It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late
With long arrears to make good,
When the English began to hate.
They were not easily moved,
They were icy-willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the English began to hate.
Their voices were even and low,
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show,
When the English began to hate.
It was not preached to the crowd,
It was not taught by the State.
No man spoke it aloud,
When the English began to hate.
It was not suddenly bred,
It will not swiftly abate,
Through the chill years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the English began to hate.
Forwarded from The Conspiracy Hole (Brody Hyde)
Red Sprites with Lone tree. Friday night over Missouri.
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