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Aquaman

Cast: Jason Momoa, Amber Heard, Willem Dafoe, Patrick Wilson, Nicole Kidman, Dolph Lundgren, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, Temuera Morrison

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Abram Morrison

'Midst the men and things which will
Haunt an old man's memory still,
Drollest, quaintest of them all,
With a boy's laugh I recall
Good old Abram Morrison.

When the Grist and Rolling Mill
Ground and rumbled by Po Hill,
And the old red school-house stood
Midway in the Powow's flood,
Here dwelt Abram Morrison.

From the Beach to far beyond
Bear-Hill, Lion's Mouth and Pond,
Marvellous to our tough old stock,
Chips o' the Anglo-Saxon block,
Seemed the Celtic Morrison.

Mudknock, Balmawhistle, all
Only knew the Yankee drawl,
Never brogue was heard till when,
Foremost of his countrymen,
Hither came Friend Morrison;

Yankee born, of alien blood,
Kin of his had well withstood
Pope and King with pike and ball
Under Derry's leaguered wall,
As became the Morrisons.

Wandering down from Nutfield woods
With his household and his goods,
Never was it clearly told
How within our quiet fold
Came to be a Morrison.

Once a soldier, blame him not
That the Quaker he forgot,
When, to think of battles won,
And the red-coats on the run,
Laughed aloud Friend Morrison.

From gray Lewis over sea
Bore his sires their family tree,
On the rugged boughs of it
Grafting Irish mirth and wit,
And the brogue of Morrison.

Half a genius, quick to plan,
Blundering like an Irishman,

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Narrative [ My Perspective ]

Patrick Jonathan Derilus
Mr. Filie
Period 6/7
Poetry

My Perspective

Patrick Jonathan Derilus is a young boy trying to turn his life around by defeating the demons that continue to destroy him….His life is somewhat different from how society sees everything else….
Feeling as if he is a cursed child …Cursed as if he is forever trapped in a cold cell…”Understanding” reality and how things happen is one of the things that attempts to get the best out of him and ironically it is succeeding…
But Patrick tries to look on the bright side of things and persists to becoming the best of the best…but there are spawns in which the devil created that prevents the young warrior from doing so…
“Depression”, “Doubt” and “Self Confidence” are some of the demons capable of easily annihilating Patrick…addressing these entity’s…Patrick is half way through this mile run..
But not aware of what goes on in his Penetrable temple, Destruction carries on to running amuck..
Patrick can hardly make it through the day when these Demons try to pursue him…Blood is spilled, but the low class warrior is still persistently consistent…
The only things that keep him alive are “Hope”, “Faith”, and the little confidence he has left…Inside the doors of the devil, as a New Jack; Patrick was clueless on how and why he reacts to things a certain way…Also to the way he is to this very day…Feeling like he was being controlled by a puppet master, he foolishly is put into one of Satan’s traps..As years went by, Patrick slowly began to picking up things in his mind and how it worked…
He learned on how to adapt and respond to these subliminal messages… but in time, Satan is able to quickly counteract on anything Patrick optimistically attempted to do. Leaving him with loopholes that would destroy Patrick from the inside…”WHY DOES MY MOOD AND PERSONALITY CONTINUE TO FLUCTUATE…? ” Patrick asks himself. So many questions asked but none of them answered… Satan has Patrick right where he wants him. “If I can’t rid of Patrick any other way, I can only destroy him mentally in which Patrick is easily fooled” Satan says.
Once internally defeated, pessimistic venoms leak into the sanctum of Patrick’s temple and slowly it is melting...”WHY ME? ! ” Patrick asks. Having the ability to even think for himself, Patrick wonders if he shall continue to fight off these Demons or become feasted upon…”Words coming from another voice will not be able to help me” Patrick says. Solutions being formed in his mind are to making the evil Entity’s disappear for good by finding an antidote to purifying Patrick’s mind…
But believing they are “antidotes” is too good to be true…Satan has created a loophole for everything in order to rid of Patrick anyway he can… Then realizing Patrick is seemingly hopeless on what to do for himself to Destroy Satan, He comes to the conclusion that Satan cannot destroy what does not exist… “WHEN MY SHACKLES OF DEPRESSION ARE BROKEN, I SHALL FIND TRUE HAPPINESS” Patrick sadly says. But he does not believe he shall rid of himself… He believes he shall continue to fight this everlasting war with Satan until these Demons are extinguished from the inside...Until he is Mentally Strong and is at peace with his mind…Patrick has vowed to attempting to destroy “Depression”, “Doubt” and “Negativity” in order to becoming the Man that he intends to be…Trying to recover from his internal scars.

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Wilson

Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Oh out near stonehenge, I lived alone
Oh out near gamehendge, I chafed a bone
Wilson, king of prussia, I lay this hate on you
Wilson, duke of lizards, I beg it all trune for you
Talk my duke a mountain, helping friendly book
Inasfar as fiefdom, I think you bad crook
Wilson, king of prussia, I lay this hate on you
Wilson, duke of lizards, I beg it all trune for you
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
I talked to mike christian, rog and pete the same
When we had that meeting, over down near game(henge)
Wilson, king of prussia, I lay this hate on you
Wilson, duke of lizards, I beg it all trune for you
You got me back thinkin that youre the worst one
I must inquire, wilson, can you still have fun?
Wilson, can you still have fun?
Wilson, can you still have fun?
Wilson

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The Beast: Chapter Two

She walked through the door
looking back only to see him fade
into the crowd of students
pouring across the plaza in front of the auditorium.

She watched him recede
vowing
that she would make a point of finding out
more about him.

There was the freshman boat ride in a few days
there was her next opportunity.

Suddenly a voice said:

'Wow, that was chemistry
if I have ever seen chemistry.'

It was Nancy, Nicole's roommate.

They had first met only the day before
when Nicole had arrived at the college for the week long orientation
which included of course
meeting one's roommate.

Nancy was already there in the room
when Nicole arrived her bags in hand
looking to see where she would she might spend the next four years of her life.

The two eyed each other momentarily
quickly sizing each other up after some long seconds
deciding that they liked one another.

Nancy was there on an academic scholarship
just like Nicole and they had been paired together
probably because they had somethings in common.

They seemed to be each other's type,
studious, quiet
and had settled in with each other comfortably.

Nancy falling in beside Nicole
was talking and saying:

'Who was that beautiful blond guy you were talking to. When he put his hands on you I almost died.'
Nancy was gushing.

'Blond? ' Nicole said, blankly? 'Who are you talking about? '

'You know the big blond who opened the door for you looking deep deep into your eyes, ' Nancy said giving Nicole her best dreamy-eyed girl look.

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Metamorphoses: Book The Seventh

THE Argonauts now stemm'd the foaming tide,
And to Arcadia's shore their course apply'd;
Where sightless Phineus spent his age in grief,
But Boreas' sons engage in his relief;
And those unwelcome guests, the odious race
Of Harpyes, from the monarch's table chase.
With Jason then they greater toils sustain,
And Phasis' slimy banks at last they gain,
Here boldly they demand the golden prize
Of Scythia's king, who sternly thus replies:
That mighty labours they must first o'ercome,
Or sail their Argo thence unfreighted home.
The Story of Meanwhile Medea, seiz'd with fierce desire,
Medea and By reason strives to quench the raging fire;
Jason But strives in vain!- Some God (she said)
withstands,
And reason's baffl'd council countermands.
What unseen Pow'r does this disorder move?
'Tis love,- at least 'tis like, what men call love.
Else wherefore shou'd the king's commands appear
To me too hard?- But so indeed they are.
Why shou'd I for a stranger fear, lest he
Shou'd perish, whom I did but lately see?
His death, or safety, what are they to me?
Wretch, from thy virgin-breast this flame expel,
And soon- Oh cou'd I, all wou'd then be well!
But love, resistless love, my soul invades;
Discretion this, affection that perswades.
I see the right, and I approve it too,
Condemn the wrong- and yet the wrong pursue.
Why, royal maid, shou'dst thou desire to wed
A wanderer, and court a foreign bed?
Thy native land, tho' barb'rous, can present
A bridegroom worth a royal bride's content:
And whether this advent'rer lives, or dies,
In Fate, and Fortune's fickle pleasure lies.
Yet may be live! for to the Pow'rs above,
A virgin, led by no impulse of love,
So just a suit may, for the guiltless, move.
Whom wou'd not Jason's valour, youth and blood
Invite? or cou'd these merits be withstood,
At least his charming person must encline
The hardest heart- I'm sure 'tis so with mine!
Yet, if I help him not, the flaming breath
Of bulls, and earth-born foes, must be his death.
Or, should he through these dangers force his way,
At last he must be made the dragon's prey.
If no remorse for such distress I feel,
I am a tigress, and my breast is steel.
Why do I scruple then to see him slain,

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William Butler Yeats

Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin

BOOK I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain

[...] Read more

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The Amber Whale

WE were down in the Indian Ocean, after sperm, and three years out;
The last six months in the tropics, and looking in vain for a spout,—
Five men up on the royal yards, weary of straining their sight;
And every day like its brother,—just morning and noon and night—
Nothing to break the sameness: water and wind and sun
Motionless, gentle, and blazing,—never a change in one.
Every day like its brother: when the noonday eight-bells came,
'Twas like yesterday; and we seemed to know that to-morrow would be the same.
The foremast hands had a lazy time: there was never a thing to do;
The ship was painted, tarred down, and scraped; and the mates had nothing new.
We'd worked at sinnet and ratline till there wasn't a yarn to use,
And all we could do was watch and pray for a sperm whale's spout—or news.
It was whaler's luck of the vilest sort; and, though many a volunteer
Spent his watch below on the look-out, never a whale came near,—
At least of the kind we wanted: there were lots of whales of a sort,—
Killers and finbacks, and such like, as if they enjoyed the sport
Of seeing a whale-ship idle; but we never lowered a boat
For less than a blackfish, —there's no oil in a killer's or finback's coat.
There was rich reward for the look-out men,—tobacco for even a sail,
And a barrel of oil for the lucky dog who'd be first to 'raise' a whale.
The crew was a mixture from every land, and many a tongue they spoke;
And when they sat in the fo'castle, enjoying an evening smoke,
There were tales told, youngster, would make you stare—stories of countless shoals
Of devil-fish in the Pacific and right-whales away at the Poles.
There was one of these fo'castle yarns that we always loved to hear,—
Kanaka and Maori and Yankee; all lent an eager ear
To that strange old tale that was always new,—the wonderful treasure-tale
Of an old Down-Eastern harpooneer who had struck an Amber Whale!
Ay, that was a tale worth hearing, lad: if 'twas true we couldn't say,
Or if 'twas a yarn old Mat had spun to while the time away.

'It's just fifteen years ago,' said Mat, 'since I shipped as harpooneer
On board a bark in New Bedford, and came cruising somewhere near
To this whaling-ground we're cruising now; but whales were plenty then,
And not like now, when we scarce get oil to pay for the ship and men.
There were none of these oil wells running then,—at least, what shore folk term
An oil well in Pennsylvania,—but sulphur-bottom and sperm
Were plenty as frogs in a mud-hole, and all of 'em big whales, too;
One hundred barrels for sperm-whales; and for sulphur-bottom, two.
You couldn't pick out a small one: the littlest calf or cow
Had a sight more oil than the big bull whales we think so much of now.
We were more to the east, off Java Straits, a little below the mouth,—
A hundred and five to the east'ard and nine degrees to the south;
And that was as good a whaling-ground for middling-sized, handy whales
As any in all the ocean; and 'twas always white with sails
From Scotland and Hull and New England,—for the whales were thick as frogs,
And 'twas little trouble to kill 'em then, for they lay as quiet as logs.
And every night we'd go visiting the other whale-ships 'round,
Or p'r'aps we'd strike on a Dutchman, calmed off the Straits, and bound
To Singapore or Batavia, with plenty of schnapps to sell

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Abdul Abulbul Amir

The sons of the Prophet are brave men and bold
And quite unaccustomed to fear,
But the bravest by far in the ranks of the Shah,
Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.

If you wanted a man to encourage the van,
Or harass the foe from the rear,
Storm fort or redoubt, you had only to shout
For Abdul Abulbul Amir.

Now the heroes were plenty and well known to fame
In the troops that were led by the Czar,
And the bravest of these was a man by the name
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

One day this bold Russian, he shouldered his gun
And donned his most truculent sneer,
Downtown he did go where he trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.

Young man, quoth Abdul, has life grown so dull
That you wish to end your career?
Vile infidel, know, you have trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.

So take your last look at the sunshine and brook
And send your regrets to the Czar
For by this I imply, you are going to die,
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

Then this bold Mameluke drew his trusty skibouk,
Singing, "Allah! Il Allah! Al-lah!"
And with murderous intent he ferociously went
For Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

They parried and thrust, they side-stepped and cussed,
Of blood they spilled a great part;
The philologist blokes, who seldom crack jokes,
Say that hash was first made on the spot.

They fought all that night neath the pale yellow moon;
The din, it was heard from afar,
And huge multitudes came, so great was the fame,
Of Abdul and Ivan Skavar.

As Abdul's long knife was extracting the life,
In fact he was shouting, "Huzzah!"
He felt himself struck by that wily Calmuck,
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

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Disobedience

James James
Morrison Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took great
Care of his Mother,
Though he was only three.
James James Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he;
"You must never go down
to the end of the town,
if you don't go down with me."

James James
Morrison's Mother
Put on a golden gown.
James James Morrison's Mother
Drove to the end of the town.
James James Morrison's Mother
Said to herself, said she:
"I can get right down
to the end of the town
and be back in time for tea."

King John
Put up a notice,
"LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
JAMES JAMES MORRISON'S MOTHER
SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
LAST SEEN
WANDERING VAGUELY:
QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN
TO THE END OF THE TOWN -
FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!"

James James
Morrison Morrison
(Commonly known as Jim)
Told his
Other relations
Not to go blaming him.
James James
Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he:
"You must never go down to the end of the town
without consulting me."

James James
Morrison's mother
Hasn't been heard of since.

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The Great Hunger

I
Clay is the word and clay is the flesh
Where the potato-gatherers like mechanised scarecrows move
Along the side-fall of the hill - Maguire and his men.
If we watch them an hour is there anything we can prove
Of life as it is broken-backed over the Book
Of Death? Here crows gabble over worms and frogs
And the gulls like old newspapers are blown clear of the hedges, luckily.
Is there some light of imagination in these wet clods?
Or why do we stand here shivering?
Which of these men
Loved the light and the queen
Too long virgin? Yesterday was summer. Who was it promised marriage to himself
Before apples were hung from the ceilings for Hallowe'en?
We will wait and watch the tragedy to the last curtain,
Till the last soul passively like a bag of wet clay
Rolls down the side of the hill, diverted by the angles
Where the plough missed or a spade stands, straitening the way.
A dog lying on a torn jacket under a heeled-up cart,
A horse nosing along the posied headland, trailing
A rusty plough. Three heads hanging between wide-apart legs.
October playing a symphony on a slack wire paling.
Maguire watches the drills flattened out
And the flints that lit a candle for him on a June altar
Flameless. The drills slipped by and the days slipped by
And he trembled his head away and ran free from the world's halter,
And thought himself wiser than any man in the townland
When he laughed over pints of porter
Of how he came free from every net spread
In the gaps of experience. He shook a knowing head
And pretended to his soul
That children are tedious in hurrying fields of April
Where men are spanning across wide furrows.
Lost in the passion that never needs a wife
The pricks that pricked were the pointed pins of harrows.
Children scream so loud that the crows could bring
The seed of an acre away with crow-rude jeers.
Patrick Maguire, he called his dog and he flung a stone in the air
And hallooed the birds away that were the birds of the years.
Turn over the weedy clods and tease out the tangled skeins.
What is he looking for there?
He thinks it is a potato, but we know better
Than his mud-gloved fingers probe in this insensitive hair.
'Move forward the basket and balance it steady
In this hollow. Pull down the shafts of that cart, Joe,
And straddle the horse,' Maguire calls.
'The wind's over Brannagan's, now that means rain.
Graip up some withered stalks and see that no potato falls
Over the tail-board going down the ruckety pass -
And that's a job we'll have to do in December,

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William Butler Yeats

The Wanderings of Oisin: Book I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain
On Gabhra's raven-covered plain;
But where are your noble kith and kin,

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Punch You In The Eye

I come from the land where the oceans freeze
Spent three long months on the open seas
Paddled 'til it seemed I could take no more
When my ship hit ground on Prussia's shores
How was I to know that day
That the winds had swept me Wilson's way
'Cause soon towards me from the East
Came Wilson and his men on multi-beasts
Well it seems he didn't like my face
And I quickly learned that Prussia was an evil place
They tied me to a chair with a giant clip
And held a piece of paper to my tender nip(ple)
Then they tossed the chair in a tiny shack
And told me not to worry 'cause they'd soon be back
But I loosened up the binds where my hands were lashed
And ran towards the cove where my boat was stashed
Singing "Oh Wilson, someday I'll kill you 'til you die
Oh Wilson, Punch you in the Eye"
When Wilson knew that I was loose
I'd surely be subjected to some real abuse
Maybe end up hanging from the nearest tree
So angrily I paddled to the open sea
But the sea was eager to beat me back
And the waves grew huge and deadly black
And the gray clouds rumbled over my head
And I feared in my heart that I'd soon be dead
[Solo over "Landlady" changes]
When the morning came and the storm had passed
And the dismal fog began at last
To open up before my eyes
And there I saw to my surprise
Chains and specks of islands curved
Where palm trees dipped and seagulls swerved
And I parked my kayak on a stone
And yelled across the ocean to his evil throne
I said "Oh Wilson, someday I'll kill you 'til you die
Oh Wilson, Punch you in the Eye
Wilson, kill you 'til you die
Oh Wilson, Punch you in the Eye"
[Solo over "Landlady" changes]

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Introduction Narration

Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Once upon a time there was a mountain that rose out of a vast green forest. and in the forest there were birds and lakes and rocks and trees and rivers. the forest was also inhabited by a small group of people called the lizards. the lizards were a simple people and they had lived in the forest undisturbed for thousands of years in utter peace and tranquillity. once a year when spring came, and the first blossoms began to show, the lizards would gather at the base of the mountain, to give thanks for all that they had. they thanked the birds and they thanked the lakes and they thanked the rocks and the trees and the rivers; but most importantly, they thanked icculus. icculus lived at the top of the mountain, or at least everyone thought so, for no one had actually ever seen him. but they knew he existed, because they had the helping friendly book. icculus had given the helping friendly book to the lizards thousands of years earlier as a gift. it contained all of the knowledge inherent
In the universe, and had
Enabled the lizards to exist in harmony with nature for years. and so they lived; until one day a traveler arrived in gamehendge.
His name was wilson and he quickly became intrigued by the lizards way of life. he asked if he could stay on and live in the forest; and the lizards, who had never seen an outsider, were happy to oblige. wilson lived with the lizards for a few years, studying the ways of the helping friendly book, and all was well. until one morning when they awoke and the book was gone. wilson explained that he had hidden the book, knowing that the lizards had become dependent on it for survival. he declared himself king and enslaved the innocent people of gamehendge. he cut down the trees and built a city, which he called prussia. and in the center of the city he built a castle, and locked in the highest tower of the castle lay the helping friendly book out of the reach of the lizards forever. but our story begins at a different time, not in gamehendge, but on a suburban street in long island, and our hero is no king sitting in a castle, he is a retired colonel shaving in his bathroom.
Colonel forbin looked square in the mirror and dragged the blade across his cold creamed skin. he saw the tired little folds of flesh that lay in a heap beneath his eyes. fifty-two years of obedient self-restraint, of hiding his tension behind a serene veil of composure. for fifty-two years he had piled it all on the back burner, and for fifty-two years it had boiled, frothing over in a turbulent storm inside of him. it had escaped through his eyes, reacting with the cigarette smoke and the fluorescent lights and slowly accumulating into a sagging mass.
He ran his dripping palm across the stubble on the nape of his neck and thought again about the door. he had discovered the door some months back on one of his ritualistic morning walks with his dog mcgrupp. it had started out as a typical stroll with mcgrupp bounding joyously ahead of the preoccupied colonel. as they reached the apex of the hill, he saw it and he knew it had always been there, and felt foolish for overlooking the door for so long. at first, he tried to ignore it, but he soon found that it was impossible, and slowly his newly acquired knowledge transformed his dreary life into a prison from which there was only one escape. and on this morning, colonel forbin stepped through the door.

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The Man Who Stepped Into Yesterday

INTRODUCTION
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Once upon a time there was a mountain that rose out of a vast green forest. And in the forest there were birds and lakes and rocks and trees and rivers. The forest was also inhabited by a small group of people called the lizards. The lizards were a simple people and they had lived in the forest undisturbed for thousands of years in utter peace and tranquillity. Once a year when spring came, and the first blossoms began to show, the
lizards would gather at the base of the mountain, to give thanks for all that they had. They thanked the birds and they thanked the lakes and they thanked the rocks and the trees and the rivers; but most importantly, they thanked Icculus.
Icculus lived at the top of the mountain, or at least everyone thought so, for no one had actually ever seen him. But they knew he existed, because they had the Helping Friendly Book. Icculus had given the Helping Friendly Book to the Lizards thousands of years earlier as a gift. It contained all of the knowledge inherent in the universe, and had
enabled the Lizards to exist in harmony with nature for years. And so they lived; until one day a traveler arrived in Gamehendge. His name was Wilson and he quickly became intrigued by the Lizards way of life. He asked if he could stay on and live in the forest; and the Lizards, who had never seen an outsider, were happy to oblige.
Wilson lived with the Lizards for a few years, studying the ways of the Helping Friendly Book, and all was well. Until one morning when they awoke and the book was gone. Wilson explained that he had hidden the book, knowing that the Lizards had become dependent on it for survival. He declared himself king and enslaved the innocent
people of Gamehendge. He cut down the trees and built a city, which he called Prussia. And in the center of the city he built a castle, and locked in the highest tower of the castle lay the Helping Friendly Book out of the reach of the Lizards forever. But our story begins at a different time, not in Gamehendge, but on a suburban street in Long Island, and our hero is no king sitting in a castle, he is a retired colonel shaving in his bathroom.
Colonel Forbin looked square in the mirror and dragged the blade across his cold creamed skin. He saw the tired little folds of flesh that lay in a heap beneath his eyes. Fifty-two years of obedient self-restraint, of hiding his tension behind a serene veil of composure. For fifty-two years he had piled it all on the back burner, and for fifty-two years it had boiled, frothing over in a turbulent storm inside of him. It had escaped through his eyes, reacting with the cigarette smoke and the fluorescent lights and slowly accumulating into a sagging mass. He ran his dripping palm across the stubble on the nape of his neck and thought again about the door. He had discovered the door some months back on one of his ritualistic morning walks with his dog McGrupp. It had started out as a typical stroll with McGrupp bounding joyously ahead of the preoccupied colonel. As they reached the apex of the hill, he saw it and he knew it had always been there, and felt foolish for overlooking the door for so long. At first, he tried to ignore it, but he soon found that it was impossible, and slowly his newly acquired knowledge transformed his dreary life into a prison from which there was only one escape. And on this morning, Colonel Forbin stepped through the door...

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Virginia's Story

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.

When she was old enough she got married.

First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.

Agnes was my mother.

Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.

Anna was a maid and cook.

She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth

They were both good cooks

They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.

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Justice League

Cast: Gal Gadot, Henry Cavill, Amy Adams, Jason Momoa, Ben Affleck, Ezra Miller, Amber Heard, Connie Nielsen, Willem Dafoe, Diane Lane

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We've Heard It All Before

Einstein, he said, nothings original
Find something new, That's easy for him to say
Took his whole life explaining his theory
Try squeezing your life into 3 minute songs like
"My love, your face is a symphony
You play the strings of my heart
Say that we never shall part
If you say goodbye, then I'll surely die without you"
Oh, we've heard it all before
Oh, we've heard it all before
Don't wanna hear it anymore
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've come a long way from mono to stereo
Mozart would freak at the crap on the radio
Hits all produced by computer technology
Stick it in one end, it comes out the other
"My love, your face is a symphony
You play the strings of my heart
Say that we never shall part
If you say goodbye, then I'll surely die without you"
Oh, we've heard it all before
Oh, we've heard it all before
Don't wanna hear it anymore
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
We've heard it, we've heard it (oy)
You plug us in and we regurgitate the hits
Bombard your senses with sound of microchips
Program it digitally into the top five
Brainwash your ears, is it tape or is it live?
Live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live
Oh, we've heard it all before, we've heard it, we've heard it
Oh, we've heard it all before, we've heard it, we've heard it
Don't wanna hear it anymore, we've heard it, we've heard it
Oh, we've heard it all before, we've heard it, we've heard it
Oh

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Knights Of The Never Never

When I rode with young Sid Kidman out across the Yarrowie Plain
In that year the Long Drought ended, and the northlands smiled again
As we took the old Tarcowie track and on to Booleroo,
His keen eye scanned the country, and we yarned of men we knew:
Mal Murray and Jim Spicer, of Jasser and Judell,
Bill Mitchell and old stagers whom I still remember well;
And he told of chance-missed fortunes when the game was in his grasp,
Of life along The Barrier with German Charlie Rasp.

Now, back in Kidman country where the grizzled bushmen are,
In many a stark out-station, o'er many a shanty bar,
The drovers' drawling voices talk about 'Old Sid' today:
'Bushmen like him ain't raised no more,' the grizzled veterans say,
For o'er the furthest saltbush lands his questing mind went out
To glimpse high opportunity where others saw black drought.
Shrewd-eyed, yet greatly daring, laughing he ventured forth
To stake his luck, his judgment 'gainst swift treacheries 'up north.'

'I mind the time I rode with him,' a wizened stockman says.
'He knowed that country like a map, an' all the tricks an' ways.
'Aye, and he knowed the cattle game.' The voices drone and drawl,
Till, 'The time I rode for Kidman,' is the burden of them all.
'Deserved his luck? Too right he did, seein' how he began;
But times like them don't come again for us or any man.
Them meddlin' airyplans an' sich brings old days to an end.'
And so they mourn, no magnate, but a bushman and a friend.

So the best-known bushman passes in the fullness of his years;
And, with his passing, so an olden order disappears
Sid Kidman, Jimmy Tyson - rugged princes of Outback,
Who sought their fortunes far afield along the arid track;
Strong men who, taking heart of grace, unflinchingly rode forth
To play a rough, grim game, and win, against the stubborn North;
To become a land's tradition, future figures of romance,
Busmen who fought and loved their bush; the men who took a chance.

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Sir Patrick Spens

The king sits in Dunfermline town
Drinking the blude-red wine;
'O whare will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship o' mine?'

O up and spak an eldern knight,
Sat at the king's right knee;
'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sail'd the sea.'

Our king has written a braid letter,
And seal'd it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.

The first word that Sir Patrick read
So loud, loud laugh'd he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read
The tear blinded his e'e.

'O wha is this has done this deed
And tauld the king o' me,
To send us out, at this time o' year,
To sail upon the sea?

'Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a'!
Our gude ship sails the morn.'
'Now ever alack, my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm.

'I saw the new moon late yestreen
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm.'

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
To wet their cork-heel'd shoon;
But lang or a' the play was play'd
They wat their hats aboon.

O lang, lang may the ladies sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand!

And lang, lang may the maidens sit
Wi' their gowd kames in their hair,
A-waiting for their ain dear loves!
For them they'll see nae mair.

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Sir Patrick Spence

The king sits in Dumferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
"O whar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knicht,
Sat at the kings richt kne:
"Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor
That sails upon the se."

The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he;
The next line that Sir Patrick red,
The teir blinded his ee.

"O wha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o' the yeir,
To sail upon the se!

"Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne:"
"O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.

"Late late yestreen I saw the new moone,
Wi the auld moone in hir arme,
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will cum to harme."

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heild schoone;
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang may their ladies sit,
Wi thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence
Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may the ladies stand,
Wi thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair.

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