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Which is what bothers me abouthim, the guy my brother is apparently going to marry. Talk about secrets. Off Tommy goes to New York City for college, begging my parents to help him with money for four straight years, then after graduating at the top of his class— in studio art, of all things (not even a degree that will get him a job to help pay off the loans our parents took out for his education) — he comes home to tell us he’s gay, and before we can say anything, good or bad, runs off again and won’t return our calls. And when he does start talking to Mom and Dad again, it’s just short phone conversations and e-mails, asking for help, for more money.. "And we, Talamein and the mortal Mathias, declare this envelope no longer suited to the uses and purposes of the flesh.. The door had swung silently open.. With regard to what I have said above it is however well to remember that apart from selection and arrangement these things were taken down straight from the lips of Finnish minstrels how many adipex does it take to overdose and that the collection did not kill the minstrelsy; the ballad-singing still goes on (or did until the late war); those ballads here by chance crystallized for us are capable of, and still undergo, a thousand variations. The Kalevala too is by no means all the ballad-literature of Finland; it is not even the whole of the collections of L?nnr?t alone, who published as well another whole volume of them under the name of ‘Kanteletar’ the Daughter of the Harp. The Kalevala is only different in that it is more connected and so more readable, and it covers most of the field of Finnish mythology from the Genesis of Earth and Sky tothe departure of V?in?m?inen. The lateness of the date of the collection and publication is apt to make those with the (probably not entirely wholesome) modern thirst for the ‘authentically primitive’ doubt whether the wares are quite genuine. Read and doubt no more. Bogus archaism and the pseudo-primitive is as different from this as Ossian is from Middle Irish romance; and anyway the external evidence for the genuineness of these goods is more than sufficient. Indeed the lateness of the collection is very likely the actual reason why the treasure-house has remained unrifled; why its empty shell has not then been whitewashed, redecorated, upholstered in the eighteenth century manner, or otherwise destroyed. It has been left unnoticed to the care of chance, and to the genius of hard-worked uneducated men at the fireside, and has escaped the pedant and the instructive person. Moreremarkable still, even when collected and suffering at last the fate of reproduction in print, these poems have by luck escaped being roughly or moralistically handled. They have not been twisted into any shape of edification, and remain a very startling sort of reading to be so popular with those now most law-abiding and Lutheran of European peoples, the modern educated Finns. Something of a parallel can be found in the interest of mediaeval Icelandic priests and bishops in the fierce deeds of the pre-christian [sic] Scandinavians, and in the often scandalous adventures of Th?rr and ?dinn. As a matter of fact one does sometimes hear the Kalevala, and things like it, cited as evidence of the enduring paganism of Europe that (we are told) is still fighting a gallant and holy battle against the oppression of Christianity, and of Hebraic Biblicality. To argue about this would really be to stray far from my present point and purpose; but the temptation to say something about our attitude towards the ancient gods is too strong. Without disputing about the attitude of the Finnish people up to, say, about a century ago when these things were taken down (for I do not know enough about them), I am still quite ready to admit that without something approaching to an objective belief in the old gods we definitely lose something of the magic of all old tales, something in them is ‘all beyond our comprehension’; it is no good saying that the sea is still poetically boundless, for to the very people who can appreciate the poetry of the sea the roundness of the earth and the unfortunate existence of America on the other side of a strictly limited Atlantic ocean is most constantly and vividly present in the imagination; the heavenly bodies are by them above all most clearly realized not to be the heavenly beings. The organization and greater security of modern life: gentler social manners; a wealth of bodily conveniences, and comforts, and even destructive luxuries; tobacco, doctors, and police; and more (the one thing that is certainly worth it) freedom from the shadow of the darker crueller and fouler superstitions, we have purchased at a price — there are no magic islands in our Western sea and(as Francis Thompson says)‘none will again behold Apollo in the forefront of the morning, or see Aphrodite in the upper air loose the long lustre of her golden locks’. We are grown older and must face the fact. The poetry of these old things remains being immortal, but no longer for us is the intoxication of both poetry and belief. The holiday I suggested is a holiday from poetic and literary development, from the long accumulated weight of civilised tradition and knowledge, not a decadent and retrograde movement, not a ‘nostalgie de la boue’ — only a holiday; and if while on this holiday we half hearthe voice of Ahti in the noises of the sea, half shudder at the thought of Pohja, gloomy land of witchcraft, or Tuonela yet darker region of the dead, it is nonetheless with quite another part of our minds that we do this than that which we reserve for our real beliefs and for our religion, just as it undoubtedly was for the Icelandic ecclesiastics of old. Yet there may be some whom these old songs will stir to new poetry, just as the old songs of other pagan days have stirred other Christians; for it is true that only the Christians have made Aphrodite utterly beautiful, a wonder for the soul; the Christian poets or those who while renouncing their Christianity owe to it all their feeling and their art have fashioned nymphs and dryads of which not even Greek ever dreamt; the real glory of Latmos was made by Keats.. And they would do it again. I could hear it in his voice. I’d met his type before. Some people had a moral code. It might not have matched the current laws, but it was still a code. Mac and Leroy’s code consisted of one sentence: do whatever helps Mac and Leroy. It didn’t matter who got hurt. It didn’t matter that a person they stole from would have to do without or could’ve been injured or killed. If George’s half-eaten corpse were discovered this morning because she was murdered while walking home, they wouldn’t feel bad about it. They would simply keep going.
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I said,“I had to kill the garm. It was going to kill Harry Two. So I killed it. And I had no problem doing so,” I added firmly.. “Thimbleriggery and Fledglings” copyright © Steve Berman, 2010
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“Thank you, Masako-san,” she said, her voice throbbing. “You have saved my life. I am in your debt. I, and all of my kin, will always be here for you should you ever need assistance. We will never forget.” The woman rose. She did not wipe the dust off her knees. Moriya-san’s eyes blazed, and Masako lowered her gaze with fear and confusion.. Ida turned her little computer on, measured the rock. She laughed and snapped it off again..
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"Yes?". His lips tightened.“I’ll see you in ten.”. And Mahoney gaped how many adipex does it take to overdose staring at the screen the tech sat in front of.. And then Sten had his idea, inspired by the thought of Empire Day—and the Emperor, who loved a double-blind plan. "Nossir. We'd rather not, sir, unless that's your orders.". He would. I knew he would. I opened my eyes.
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