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Christoph Meckel - Seven stories [Translated by Christopher Middleton, Brian Harris, and Margaret Woodruff]

2020.05.12 15:23 MilkbottleF Christoph Meckel - Seven stories [Translated by Christopher Middleton, Brian Harris, and Margaret Woodruff]

Published in The Figure on the Boundary Line: Selected Prose (Carcanet, 1983). See also his episodic novella "In The Land of the Umbramauts", a complete translation of which can be found in A. Leslie Willson's Contemporary German Fiction (Continuum, 1996).


From time to time Ucht tries his hand at magic.
Whenever he gets an idea, and Ucht has them all the time, he becomes at once its advocate and builder. He does all he can to get it into some appropriate and significant form, enabling it to be independent and to live wherever it wants without further fuss on his part. Ideas are not always a joy for Ucht. They often crowd him, fifteen, twenty ideas at a time with their extraordinary demands, all in a hurry, ready to wheel around and jump at him out of the dark in a rage if he does not drop everything else on their account. That has caused Ucht a lot of trouble. For the most part he finishes with them, if only to be rid of the squirmy, impatient, presumptuous little beggars.
Many ideas do toddle off as soon as they are fitted out with a shape and some powers of their own, leaving as snow kings, snail herders, or whatever they have turned out to be, going their own ways, and Ucht loses track of them and forgets. But there are the others! For days, for nights at a time, they will rustle and rattle around his house. Birds, for example, fly against his windows, squawking with rage, convinced that Ucht has left something unfinished with a wing, a claw, or neck feathers.
What can he do but take a particular version he had thought was finished, check it over again, remodel it, and throw it out the window, certain there is nothing more he can do.
That is all very difficult for Ucht, too difficult, almost.
All those houses that he has produced in the course of time, he should arrange them better, grouping them into villages instead of letting them be swallowed up by open country. He ought to give them hope with a few hotels and shops, ensuring some character with a park or a plan. All of those fish that he has invented merely because he had the notion, he ought to have started out by putting them in a single school. He should have begun in a small way with one kind, so that he would be able to say, 'That's my variety, yes indeed, I can swear to it, I'd know them anywhere.' But he has dozens of fish, some here, some there, dawdling about in all sorts of water. It is enough to make you lose perspective, if not your head.
Ucht has lost contact with his creatures. When he is out and about, it can happen that he passes through settlements where his creations have tried to find some cover. They just let Ucht go right on by without a word, giving little signals to neighbours across the fence. And behind his back Ucht can hear, 'There he is, just look at him, he's the one . . .'
Naturally Ucht has grown more insecure. Everything he encounters seems to blame him. Even things he has not created take advantage of the situation, gleefully pinning it all on him, smugly getting in his way at every turn. All the shadows and figures, those partial, nameless, uncertain, untried shapes clutch at him and cover him with accusation and ridicule. And only to have some way to shift the blame of their rancour and rage from their own souls. Only to have a place of their own that Ucht cannot embody for them. Only to be able to join in some grievance that would shift the responsibility of their own helplessness. Only because they need some fall guy, some stooge.
It has cost him many bitter hours.
Then one night there is a knock at Ucht's door, and a man is standing out in the rain, and he says, 'You, Ucht? There's this dolphin fooling around out on the coast who'd like to talk to you. He's waiting for you, impatiently. Okay? Right there on the coast.'
Yes, that's so, says Ucht, and thanks a lot, and gives the man some loose change for his trouble, closing the door behind him, his heart pounding. In a rush Ucht pulls out his lists, but they are sketchy, incomplete, and he cannot find the faintest trace of a dolphin. The thought that this might be a dolphin he has made upsets him, makes his blood run cold.
He'll sit right down, make a bird, no, a goat, uh-uh a cat . . .
No, something else.
He will get right on it, invent a dog and finish it tonight. He has had a lot of practice with dogs. He could probably give him an owl, Ucht knows owls inside and out, but a dog will do for now. Yes, a dog. The dolphin will take that as a sign of goodwill.
So, a dog . . .
But will they ever meet, could they understand one another in their different languages, especially there on the coast, with the roaring, crashing sounds of the sea. Ucht does not know, does not want to know. A dog . . . that's that. Really, he is so tired. They ought to play the dolphin some music, that would make him happy, put him in a good mood. Dolphins love music, but they hear so little of it. Once in a while a few measures might fall overboard from the dance band on some cruise ship, or they might snap up a snatch or two of a tune, a poorly played rendition of bad music, that is little more than nothing at all.
And when he stops to think about it. . .
No, enough of that. Ucht is going to the coast. He will clear up everything, right away. Any minute he will throw on his raincoat and start off. He will race through the sand, calling until he has found that dolphin. He'll set everything straight. Any minute now . . .


Previously translated (with two further stories) by Andreas Schroeder in Imperial Messages: One Hundred Modern Parables, edited by Howard Schwartz (avon, 1976)
Do not suppose for a minute that fiction the way I do it is a simple diversion. As little as whaling or planting crops. My inventions do not rely on any of the usual tricks and do not take advantage of people's gullibility or their lack of imagination. There is rarely a specific purpose in mind, either to insult or to disarm. My creations are aimed at no one, they are not assaults. Whoever envies me may feel insulted, but I can only add that being able to make things up is not enviable.
If I believe it would be of advantage here and now to have a band march through the beach resort, what is to keep me from it. But I would need impeccable reasons. Let us say the mayor has died, or some foreign lady, reeking of money and possessions, has just drowned unexpectedly in the sea -- then I have my grounds. The first row of drummers is just itching to step off.
Of course there are many who can invent and cast their spells without a second thought. Virtuosi, all of them, able to rely on vast repertories of ideas. As a rule they are enormously productive, they can climb any mountain four times over, and change freighters into submarines, and when the going gets rough, submarines back to freighters. They can captivate their guests by pulling islands out of inlets, village ponds, or puddles, and everything they do, in jest or boredom, comes off without a hitch. But with me, nothing ever comes of boredom.
When I am bored, I can work as long and hard as I like for some company, nothing happens. Not even a calling card.
Here is the thing with the rabbit. I could produce a rabbit, a respectable, nearly perfect rabbit. I know all the features. But what are rabbits to me. Personally I would rather have an elephant.
I could fabricate a donkey. But where from there. He would not have a purpose, he would be doomed to a miserable pointless life, probably starving or being beaten to death. And I would have to be travelling somewhere south to do him justice. That is why I prefer to leave him alone.

Tear Animals

(fragment of a letter)
'. . . and we haven't seen them for weeks. They left as they had come, without a trace.
'We first noticed when the jugs that we put out for them each evening in front of our doors remained empty and dry. We thought nothing of it the first time they stayed away, or even later, since we'd been indifferent to them from the start. Nobody knows how they lived. We never saw them eat anything. They were not shy, they ran around as if they were blind or totally indifferent to us and everything about us. But how could they find where we were, unless they had some sense of smell?
'There were several dozen in our neighbourhood, but they've never been seen anywhere else. Have you ever seen any? I personally watched one of them dash across a field and crash into a tree. It backed off and stared, astonished, then tried again to run through the trunk. When it crashed a second time, it just ran off around the tree without batting an eye.
'They had three legs, two in back, one in front, and black skin sparsely covered with hair. About the size of a fox. Does that give you some idea of how they looked? On their heads, two large bumps on which their eyes sat. The tears were probably in the bumps. The tears flowed constantly, even when the animals slept. They went to sleep wherever they were, in the road or next to the tear jugs, it did not seem to matter. Suddenly they would wake up in puddles of tears, stretch, shake themselves, lick their wet hides, and move a few steps to settle back to sleep.
'First we found traces of tears in the woods. We asked ourselves who might have been carrying water, and why. There were enough ponds and streams in the forest, no one needed to bring in water. Then we saw one of them. It was running along the path, it wasn't running away, it did not move slower or faster, it did not stop and it did not look up. It ran along our path with its head close to the ground, and we stopped and stared and talked about it at length and stood before our doors in the evening and told of it and spoke of the tear animals that others in the meantime had also seen. And soon we thought nothing more of them, just as you do not think about cats all the time because some are always around. We talked about them less and less, simply because we were basically indifferent to them.
'Then one time a few approached and stood before our doors, heads down, growling a little, softly, barely audible, a nasty-sounding growl. They didn't eat anything we threw to them, and then someone came up with the idea of setting out a bucket, and that must have been it, for they all crowded around and hung their heads over the rim and filled the bucket and ran away and the tears kept coming, leaving dark spots behind them.
'You can imagine that, can't you, even if you haven't seen them? We made a kind of joke of it, putting tear jugs in front of our doors, canisters, wash tubs, troughs, pails, anything, we'd find them all full in the morning. The tear water was colourless and just like ordinary water, except it had a strange smell, not sweet, not sour. We poured it out, our animals did not drink it, we did not drink it and had no use for it. It was totally superfluous.
'They did not cry about it! They did not howl and it did not look like they were suffering. They just let the tears fall silently, probably for no special reason. Naturally we did not know if they had particular troubles that caused them to cry like that, also it was not important, since they never howled or talked or paid any attention to us. They came regularly every night and filled the containers. They seemed to appreciate it. Sometimes they would growl, although you could hardly hear it, that was all.
'Now they are gone.
'At least, our containers have been empty for weeks. We don't even put them out any more. No one has seen the animals, and we ask ourselves where they have gone and what has happened and what can happen to them.
'You are asking what else we could do. Should they be forgotten? They lived here a while and are gone now, do you think that is reason to remember them? We have poured out the tear water, there isn't any left, we should have saved some of it, perhaps it had special properties that we did not know about. We never hunted or killed one of the animals or tried to eat them, and, in fact, it is useless to go on talking about them.
'They are gone. I do want to write it down, I'll write to you about it and let it go at that, I'll write that they were here, to you, and you can read it and keep it or throw it away. What else can anybody do in this case? Let me know if something occurs to you and if you are the least bit interested in them, even though they are not here any more . . .'

End of the World

Legends tell of a man who will appear one day and, through the magical powers of his eyes, empty the world by looking. That is, his glance will be able to move things from their places, settling them intact behind his pupils and eyelids. This man, so it goes, exhausted by ceaseless, intensive observing, will have collected the entire world behind his eyes; and the shifted life will go on in his head, with its ebb and flow, fairs and moon phases. As itself or its own memory? Caricature or intricate echo?
And the man will absorb all sounds, speech, and music and will breathe all smells. In the end nothing will be left but him, covering and store of an inexhaustible world that can never die.
Railroads and bird flights whose paths cross over behind his eyes will keep watch through his pupils and eyelid slits for their origins and initial courses, for possible tracks and shadowy traces, but they will see as little, as astoundingly little as an insect might have seen through a porthole of Noah's ark. And if this man, aware one day of his own loneliness, tries to place something outside himself for company, a house, a dog, or a patch of flowers, his relentless, consuming gaze will anticipate the scene, restraining it even against his will, not allowing it out of his head.
His eyes, they say, will become great show windows where pieces of world celebrate their miraculous survival with cardboard houses and fragments of sky, holidays and dance halls, but no one will ever turn up who would see it all going on behind his eyelids, for they would be captured immediately by one of those glances and, however they might resist, they, too, would find themselves entering and descending through the eyes of this man into the realm of chime-playing and pear-plants inside his head.

The Lion

A lion came into my house at night and lay down beside me. At first I did not know that it was a lion. I heard something tapping and groping its way through my house, whose doors were open; I saw something wide and dark coming into my room, it snuffled at me, and lay down beside me. In the half-light I recognized, later, a lion. He was breathing deeply and regularly and he soon fell asleep, it seemed. From his mane came a smell of mould and leaves, wet fresh earth and a wild animal-smell which quite dazed me. I could tell that the lion was wet, the moisture dripping from his skin. He spread coolness all around him. To reach me, he must have swum across the big river near by.
It was autumn, cool winds were crossing the plain and they came fresh into my house that was still warm from the summer. They came from the high plateaux, or from the sea, and you could hear them, loud, in the night. That night I slept well. The lion, too, seemed to sleep quietly and well; toward morning, a warmth came from his body. In the twilight of morning I woke; the lion had got up and was standing in front of my house, where, when hours later I left my room, he was still standing, looking at the big river.
I beckoned to him and fed him with meat that I had in the house. I hoped that the lion would speak a few words to me now, but he was obstinately silent; true, he looked at me, from time to time, with his dark eyes, but it seemed he had nothing to tell me. Eventually, I gave up expecting him to speak to me. Often I talked to him in my language and I thought he showed signs of having understood me.
During the following nights, the lion slept beside me again. He spent the days near the house. Against the sun I saw him standing, black, on a hill and gazing in the direction of the sea; I saw him standing by the river and looking into the flowing water with his head bowed down. Sometimes he would trot through my house or lie in the sun against its walls, or across the threshold; he moved slowly and quietly. I went about my work as usual and met him frequently during the day.
Once, when I was about to leave the house for quite some time, I said to the lion: You must decide whether, during my absence, which may last for several days, you wish to stay inside the house or outside it, for I want to lock the door. Instead of answering, the lion lay down on the threshold, and I knew that I did not need to lock my house. I went away and knew it for certain. When I came back, during the late September rainfalls, the lion was lying open-eyed just inside the door. When he saw me, he came out of the house. In the house everything was as I had left it. I thanked the lion and put out for him some meat which I had brought with me.
The lion often sat beside me when I stood fishing by the river. He sniffed at the fish I caught and looked at me attentively. He accompanied me through the forest, when I went to cut wood (there were no lions anywhere here), and every night he slept beside me. Then the lion left me. The first snow was in the air. One morning, in the twilight, he touched me as he got up, to wake me, and he looked at me. I took this as a sign that he was leaving, accompanied him to the door of my house, saw him walk in the rain to the river, saw him swim across the river and grow smaller and vanish in the curtain of rain on the plain beyond the river.
This was the only thing which happened that year in my house by the river. I cannot remember any other events, except for those connected with my work, unimportant ones. Winter came and went. The cold hung green and rustling over the river, which was free of ice because of its strong current. The sky stood glassy clear and hung full of snow. I visited a few people near by and farther off; other people visited me in my house. During this time I did not see the lion.
In the spring I repaired the roof of my house, replaced half the roof beams with new ones, put new floorboards and flagstones down, and went about my work as usual. The log rafts drifted down the big river to the sea. I still hoped that the lion would come again to visit my house, but I did not expect that he would. At the beginning of the summer I saw a heavily cloaked man riding a donkey on the far side of the river, coming over the plain. On a long string an enormous red owl floated out in front of him, flying in circles high up in the wind. The rider was riding down the river. We shouted greetings and questions and answers across the river, but did not understand each other because of the considerable distance. It occurred to me that the rider might be somehow connected with the lion. When he had gone, I quickly forgot him. For several weeks, nothing happened; I went on doing my work. One evening in the summer there was a donkey standing on the other side of the river, holding a black fish in his mouth. Doubtless he could have caught the fish between his teeth while drinking. When the donkey saw me, he turned about with a few quick leaps and ran off across the plain. He took the fish with him in his mouth. Darkness was coming on, and I lost sight of the donkey.
Again for a long time nothing happened. The summer shone across the plain. I did my work, as usual, and had my pleasure in the warmth and the light. The windows and doors of my house stood wide open all night, so that a breeze could keep blowing through and drive away the heat which collected in the rooms during the daytime. Sometimes I thought of the lion and I thought of him with joy. But I did not see him again.
In the late summer, with the hot noon trembling over the plain, I saw the cloaked rider coming down the river near to my house. Tied to a string behind him walked the lion which had once been in my house. On the lion's back sat the enormous red owl, which was very much larger than the lion. The owl was holding the black fish in its beak. The lion seemed to be finding the owl heavy. He put his paws slowly down and walked with his head hung low. This little caravan came past very close to my house. Lion, owl and donkey looked at me, I was standing in the doorway of my house. The cloaked man turned his head and gave me a long stare with the white slits of his eyes. The lion looked at me the longest. I hoped that the group would stop at my house, perhaps to ask for some fresh water to drink, but it passed by and slowly vanished in the plain down the river. I stared after them for a long time. That day I missed doing any of my work.
I have never seen the group again. Neighbours who live miles away in the hills by the river also remembered having seen the procession that day. Nothing more happened. Sometimes I remember them; and on the days when I think of the lion, I often miss doing my usual work.

An Unpleasant Story

I received a telegram saying that I had won a valuable and distinguished art-prize: the award was to be made in Berlin, my presence was absolutely necessary, also as a pre-condition for my receiving the prize I had to bring all my possessions and display them personally. In spite of this condition I accepted the offer and travelled to Berlin.
The award took place in the auditorium of a public building. Enormous applause began as I walked on to the stage and bowed. A speaker, who was unknown to me, made a laudatory address, he spoke for an hour or more, but nobody could understand what he was saying, because uninterrupted applause drowned his speech. Finally he made his bow, pointed to me with an expansive gesture, retired amidst roaring applause, and I was alone on the stage.
All my possessions had been brought to the place in a small truck. (I didn't have many things), and now, one by one, they were deposited on the stage. I walked forward, held them up, each in turn, showing each thing on all sides: books, editions of the classics, bottles of turpentine and nitric acid, overcoats, socks, metal-cutters and a teapot, cylinders, knives, wooden sticks and copperplate printing paper, a typewriter, a blanket, a few bottles of old wine, also letters, photographs, and manuscripts. The applause was so enormous, increasing with every object I showed, that I made gestures to dampen it, and used the microphone to ask people if they would be a little more restrained. This request only made it worse, and all my movements, a smile, head shaking, shrugging, picking an object up or setting it down, only increased the applause still more. A gigantic room full of clapping, stamping and yelling, gaping mouths and heads wagging with senseless rapture, a humming, clucking, whistling, banging, roaring -- I stuck my tongue out, thumbed my nose, bared my teeth, spat, flung books, crayons, tubes of paint into the auditorium, and turned my back on the crowd; the applause increased still more and finally assumed such hair-raising proportions that I gathered up all my possessions, put them one by one behind the curtain, and, with the applause still increasing left the scene.
As the tumult of applause roared and swelled behind me, now without reason or orientation, enormous and deadly, I ran down the dim corridors behind the stage looking for an exit. I saw that my possessions were lying strewn all over the corridors (workmen who had earlier helped me had now disappeared), books dropped, tools flung down, papers trampled on, crumpled, and torn, clothes and pictures thrown on to heaps of swept-up paper decorations; I asked people who were passing by -- spokesmen, councillors, jurymen and suchlike -- to help me collect my things, but they neither helped nor gave any answer. While I was picking up the remnants of my possessions as best I could and taking them out of the building, a group of men appeared in the exit (or entrance), in their midst someone was moving, supported under the arms, and being pushed and tugged forward in the direction of the auditorium, and did not seem to be able to move with any will of his own, his legs dangled weakly crossing the floor, and a group of workmen followed, carrying boxes full of objects, books mainly, drinking glasses, a spinet, pictures, clothes and bundled manuscripts, evidently the possessions of a new prize-winner. For a moment I saw the drooping head, the face of a man, almost covered by a white collar, an uncommonly pale and blank face, and I recognized that it was a poet who was a friend of mine and who had recently died. I left the building as quickly as possible, stood beside my possessions on the pavement, and looked around for a taxi.
It was some time before one came and stopped for me. The driver helped me to pack the remnants of my possessions into the taxi. It was a cold, shining afternoon in October, my clothes were soiled and torn. I crawled into the taxi and lit a cigarette, the driver promised to take me to the airport.

Gulliver's Death

'It seems I used to eat more oats, didn't I?'
'Didn't I?' he shouts in his cracked voice, his earlobes quiver, peevishly he peers over his shoulder into the room and listens for an answer, but none comes. Bits of furniture swim past his gaze, chairs, vases, and ocean maps in the grey atmosphere, nothing else in the house moves. He can hear himself breathing, the gurgle of some spit in his throat.
His armchair has been placed by the window, the old man has been left alone. They know he likes to spend his afternoons at the window, doing nothing, a rug across his knees. They have put a small table within reach, there's a bell on it, and a cup of tea that has gone cold. They respect his wish to be alone, and besides, that is the best way to deal with him. He used to travel in earlier days, this gentleman, his travel reports were famed, he had them published and everywhere, even in Oxford and London, people used to talk about him and about his prose with astonishment, suspicion, respect, and sometimes in a tone that never should have come to the old man's ears. Dr Hogard, his personal physician and longstanding friend, called it blasphemy against Christian reason. Even just a few years ago there was much coming and going of visitors, scholars, mariners, men of letters and members of this or that academy -- he made no bones about throwing them out of the house. Waiting on the stairs the visitors could hear Gulliver's high-pitched voice bleating and giving orders for the riffraff to be driven away, with dogs if need be. For some time now he has been left in peace, and the days are quiet. That is as he wants it. Now he has time enough to occupy himself with his own person and his memories. Usually he spends the morning behind closed stable doors with his stallion, Clamys. Left to his own devices, he's as patient as a sheep. True, his disgust with humans has become more noticeable than ever. His tone is coarse, his answers, instructions and demands lack all tact. The sight of people makes him feel sick. At the least provocation he has a screaming fit and he stares at people as if they were rats. So people avoid his presence, even his wife only sees him when the doctor pays a call. James, the groom, is his one connection. So darkness may fall without Gulliver having touched the bell. Night is a circumstance that pleases him. The scent of rain and horse dung floats through the window, which is kept open a crack, day and night, to admit fresh air. Gulliver sits in the unheated room, it is December, and a damp gust of wind brushes over his sunken face. Sounds from outside, a footstep, the grinding of coach wheels, a door banging from over where the groom lives, are all beneficially remote, belong to the stillness of the night, have nothing to do with humans. The wind is rising. He likes to listen to it.
Occasionally his old weakness for reasoning comes over him. He picks excitedly at the threads of the chair and shakes his head. Did God really want us to eat white bread and drink tea? Wasn't it originally intended that man should be a horse, and therefore eat oats and lap water? Wasn't it originally intended that the human voice should be the whinnying of a horse, proudly and beautifully praising the glory of being created? Wasn't earth meant only for the Houyhnhnms? Gulliver gives a wry smile and clamps his toothless jaw shut. What a horrible joke, that I should be clever, but evidently not clever enough, and so little capable of forgetting myself and my creator, in whose ridiculous image I'm supposed to be created? People have told me I don't love humans and have never done so, never even loved myself. What's that supposed to mean? A reproof? Don't make me laugh: not loving humans, what do I care. I've clung to my contempt. That alone made it possible for me to become unlike humans, these ones around here. But -- what have I become, and whom do I resemble more than myself? And what am I? Ridiculous. His shapely fist knocks against the table, the bell tinkles faintly, the tea spills. This whole performance! Dr Hogard. And he keeps on coming back, although time and again I've thrown him out. Tea and valerian, he says. Tea and valerian and every other conceivable device to prolong this life a while. Yahoo! And me? Thoughtfully he rubs his back against the chair and peers across at the teacup. The question remains: Did I use to eat more oats than I do now?
Thoughtfully -- but nowadays he's not often so disposed. Usually he sits quietly in his chair and thinks he is a Houyhnhnm. When he sits quite still and no sounds distract him, his illusion is complete. His eyes focus on a point somewhere on the wall, or they drift, fixed and expressionless, through the rain and winter twilight outside the window. He is a white horse and dreaming of oats and straw. Or he moves, led on a halter by James, toward a point in the darkness where Houyhnhnms -- he can see them -- are on parade waiting for him. They will lead him into their palaces, so that he can be, perhaps forever, their guest, sharing in their conversations. Those are the happy moments of his old age. And the stillness of the night favours this dream of his, which he dreams with open palms and a sagging jaw.
After midnight James comes into the room. He crosses it soundlessly and touches his master's arm. Gulliver gives a start, jerks his head to the side. His elbow jabs James in the hip, but the smell on him of stables and horse-sweat calms Gulliver and he subsides into the chair.
'Yahoo, have you brought some oats?'
'Oats, sir?'
'Didn't I tell you to bring me some oats?' 'You must go to bed, sir,' says James, 'it's almost one o'clock.'
'To bed, to bed,' Gulliver parrots him, 'take me to Clamys.'
'That's not the thing, sir,' says James. 'You must go to bed, you must sleep.'
'Do as I tell you, Yahoo, and help me up.'
James lights a candle, helps Gulliver out of his chair and leads him down the stairs. Going to the horse at night, that's new, James thinks; oats, I don't know what he wants oats for. Let him eat them, for all I care, and choke himself.
'Stay here, sir, I'll bring your overcoat.'
Small and thin, Gulliver stands by the door of his house. Behind him the light of the candle flits across the wall and dabs over the darkness in the corners of the hallway. He gropes for the doorpost and props himself against it. He inhales the cold rainy air, in short breaths, through mouth and nose. The spaces between outbuildings lie gloomily before him. His legs are shaking. That's because of sitting so long, he thinks, no oats to eat, only tea and white bread. 'Your overcoat, sir.'
Taking small steps, supported by James, the old man scurries across the yard. The candleflame, angled sideways by the night wind, gives a faint light. The silhouette of a coach looms up, backed by the plank wall of the pigsty. Trees, sinister barren branches beyond the roofs, the sky dirty grey behind them, the wind in them, roaring. The wind plucks at wet leaves that cling to the ground. It throws a few plump raindrops into his face.
'A puddle, sir.'
Gulliver sloshes ill-temperedly straight through the stagnant water. Bedroom slippers, wet, idiot, Yahoo! It doesn't harm my old hoofs.
In the stable there's a vaporous warmth and the glorious scent of Clamys. The stallion steps heavily to one side and lets Gulliver approach him. He pats the warm, firm neck of the animal and strokes his skin. James places the candle on a stool. 'When should I come to fetch you, sir?'
'Go to bed,' says Gulliver, 'I'll be staying, till, hm, I'll be staying . . .' He rubs his nose impatiently. 'What are you waiting for, I can get myself to bed.'
'That's not the thing, sir,' says James, 'I should come and fetch you, it's night time.'
'Yahoo,' says Gulliver, and swallows some spit, 'what's this, are you contradicting me?'
'I'm not contradicting you,' James replies. 'Where do you want me to put the stool?'
'I'll put it where I want it myself.'
'Goodnight, sir.'
The candle flickers, behind James the stable door has closed. Suspiciously Gulliver listens to the groom's retreating footsteps. The straw rustles. 'Clamys,' he says softly, and pats the stallion on the neck, 'now where had we got to when we were interrupted?'
He places the candle on the brick floor and pulls the stool into the trampled straw beside Clamys. Slowly, spreading his legs, he lowers himself on to it. The hem of his overcoat brushes across the black horse-apples.
'Where did you say we'd got to?'
'I know, I know,' says Gulliver, 'you don't like these conversations. What? They tire you out. To talk is a horrible weakness, if one talks like a Yahoo. Enough, we'll do no talking today.'
'Listen,' says Gulliver, after a while; he listens, strenuously, his earlobes quiver, he turns his face toward the stable door and fingers his belt buckle.
'Can you hear that?'
'You can't hear anything . . .'
'You can't hear anything,' says Gulliver, satisfied. 'We can't hear anything. No footsteps, no screaming, no idiocies; nothing that could remind us of them. They're asleep.'
Gulliver leans forward and wags his jaw from side to side. The wind beats in gusts against the stable wall and roars in the roof.
'They're asleep,' says Gulliver, 'how nice. But in a few hours everything will have gone to hell again. They'll wake up and wallow like pigs, they'll be grunting, running around, doing this and that, you know them. They make sure they're alive and take care that nothing and nobody slips away from their line of business. What monstrous displays of boredom and folly! How vulgar the racket of it all! Kicking up a stink and doing business, day in day out. Horrible. I have to guzzle white bread, and you pull the coach. But now everything is quiet and they're peaceful as rabbits after feeding time. I've come to eat oats.'
'Why do I want to eat oats?'
He rises from the stool, stands unsteadily and makes a vague lunge in the direction of the trough. The horse's tail sweeps across his face. Gulliver sways, his legs buckle, his bony behind falls back hard on the stool. The candle flickers and chases the shadows from their positions, across the brick wall.
'You shouldn't do that, Clamys, you should let me eat oats, shouldn't you?'
He stoops, topples over and falls on his hands. The stool capsizes. Slowly Gulliver crawls through underneath the stallion, spit trickles from the corners of his mouth and drips on his hands, his earlobes are quivering, sweat appears under his wispy hair, he stops crawling and wipes it away with his fingers. These humans! They've confused Clamys entirely, they've confused me too. What's going on? Doesn't he recognize me? Of course he does, he recognizes me, knows who I am. Hm. Oats. He doesn't want that. Why? As if I was, was . . .
'Why I want to eat oats? You're asking, asking why I . . .' Gulliver shakes his head.
'Tea and white bread! How could I be a human, captain of several ships? That's what the doctor wants. I tell him: I don't want it. Terrible. Enough, enough -- these humans are wrong to feed me with white bread.'
Gulliver licks the spit from the corners of his mouth, groans, and pulls himself up by the stallion's left foreleg. He pats Clamys on his moist mouth. The stallion restlessly jerks his head aside and tries to back away from Gulliver. Gulliver falls head first into the straw. He shakes himself and places himself on all fours beside Clamys. A soundless laugh. Where had we got to? Gulliver bows his head and kisses the left forefoot of Clamys; the stallion shivers.
After a time, Gulliver stands up, props himself against the horse's body and tries to reach the trough. His outstretched hand manages to seize some oats. He stuffs the oats, trembling with greed, into his mouth; his jaws grind. He goes down on his hands and knees, crawls slowly around the horse, straw and horsedung are sticking to his overcoat. Just as he is on his knees and about to set the stool up, Clamys gives him a kick on the head. Gulliver falls across the stool, rolls aside into the straw, and lies there.
Still shivering, Clamys lowers his head, plunges his mouth deep in the trough and stands motionless, not eating.
Gulliver, captain to his majesty the lord of the Houyhnhnms, is boarding the royal ship. A horsehead is his figurehead, and the sails are made of brown Yahoo skins. Gulliver gallops across the gleaming deck and casts his gaze upon the calm sea. The servants of the king, two sorrel stallions, bow to him and fling wide the wing doors to the royal cabin. Gulliver enters and bows to the king. The king nods and invites him to be seated. The sea is calm, says Gulliver, we have oats and water for at least seven years on board, if your majesty would like to give the command to set forth. The king nods amiably and Gulliver bows. We shall now travel, says the king in a pleasantly resonant voice, as he studies the faces of the Houyhnhnms surrounding him, to the land of the humans. How shall we be received, captain? The humans, your majesty, Gulliver replies, are entirely capable of upsetting you and giving you grievous trouble. If you fear misfortune, turn away from this voyage. The king slowly shakes his head and replies: We shall be friendly with them. I do not doubt that you will treat with courtesy even the vilest of scoundrels, answers Gulliver, but I have told you, your majesty, in the lands you'll be entering, reason and toleration are unknown. We estimate, says the king with a smile, that in due time all living beings will bow to one another, do we not? Gulliver makes his obeisance and goes on deck, to give orders for the ship to get under way. The weather is clear and the expanses of the sea shimmer in the brilliance of the rising sun.
In the morning James enters the stable. Clamys is standing with his head hung low. Beside him, doubled up, Gulliver is lying. The stool is overturned, the candle has burned down, its wax spilled over the floor. Gulliver's face and hands are covered with dried blood. Oats hang from his half-open mouth.
submitted by MilkbottleF to shortstoryaday [link] [comments]

2020.04.21 20:08 VirreyDeColombia'daki efsane sezen aksu tartışması part 2

By Ali on Monday, November 13, 2000 - 06:39 pm:Hulusi n'aber senin anani avradini sulaleni ecdadini gotten sikerim orospu
cocugu malak gibi emziririm attiririm agzina verir kulaklarini
oynatirim gotten sikerkene bagirttiririm essogluessek ibnenin pici kevasenin
dolu yarrak kafali gotoglani nereye tasindiniz seni sike sike yarragimda kil
bitti hala akillanamadin okuz hayvanoglu sipa insan tasindik diye bir haber
verir lan siktir deget ulan it amina amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin
emmeli gommeli bastigimin cocugu aptal zekeriyakoye mi tasindiniz sapsal
makafa fahise akrabasi beyinsiz pezevenk evladi senin anani avradini
sulaleni ecdadini gotten sikerim orospu cocugu olm altinda araba da yok
artik seni iyiden iyiye goremeyecegiz malak gibi emziririm attiririm agzina
verir kulaklarini oynatirim gotten sikerkene bagirttiririm essogluessek
ibnenin pici kevasenin dolu olmasa tasindigindan bile haberdar
olmayacagiz yani yarrak kafali gotoglani seni sike sike yarragimda kil bitti
hala akillanamadin okuz hayvanoglu sipa siktir deget ulan it amina amcigina
ayri ayri dudukledigimin emmeli gommeli bastigimin cocugu aptal sapsal
makafa fahise akrabasi beyinsiz pezevenk evladi senin anani avradini
sulaleni ecdadini gotten sikerim orospu cocugu neyse hadi bir yaz da yeni
adresini ve de telefonunu falan ver malak gibi emziririm attiririm agzina
verir kulaklarini oynatirim gotten sikerkene bagirttiririm ayriyeten
haberlerini de yazarsan fena olmaz tabii ki essogluessek ibnenin pici
kevasenin dolu yarrak kafali gotoglani seni sike sike yarragimda kil bitti
hala akillanamadin neyse benden simdilik bu kadar zaten sinirliyim okuz
hayvanoglu sipa siktir deget ulan it amina amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin
emmeli gommeli bastigimin cocugu aptal sapsal makafa fahise akrabasi
beyinsiz pezevenk evladi senin anani avradini sulaleni ecdadini bir de sana
kufretmek ile ugrasamayacagim simdi sabah sabah gotten sikerim orospu cocugu
malak gibi emziririm attiririm agzina verir kulaklarini oynatirim mal herif
gotten sikerkene bagirttiririm essogluessek ben isimin basina donuyorum sen
vakit bulunca yaz bakim hadi hadi ibnenin pici kevasenin dolu yarrak kafali
gotoglani seni sike sike yarragimda kil bitti hadi ben gittim sen oku
caninin cektigince hala akillanamadin okuz hayvanoglu sipa siktir deget ulan
it amina amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin emmeli gommeli bastigimin cocugu
aptal sapsal makafa fahise akrabasi beyinsiz pezevenk evladi senin anani
avradini sulaleni ecdadini gotten sikerim orospu cocugu malak gibi emziririm
attiririm agzina verir kulaklarini oynatirim gotten sikerkene bagirttiririm
essogluessek ibnenin pici kevasenin dolu yarrak kafali gotoglani seni sike
sike yarragimda kil bitti hala akillanamadin okuz hayvanoglu sipa siktir
deget ulan it amina amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin emmeli gommeli
bastigimin cocugu aptal sapsal makafa fahise akrabasi beyinsiz pezevenk
evladi senin anani avradini sulaleni ecdadini gotten sikerim orospu cocugu
malak gibi emziririm attiririm agzina verir kulaklarini oynatirim gotten
sikerkene bagirttiririm essogluessek ibnenin pici kevasenin dolu yarrak
kafali gotoglani seni sike sike yarragimda kil bitti hala akillanamadin okuz
hayvanoglu sipa siktir deget ulan it amina amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin
emmeli gommeli bastigimin cocugu aptal sapsal makafa fahise akrabasi
beyinsiz pezevenk evladi senin anani avradini sulaleni ecdadini gotten
sikerim orospu cocugu malak gibi emziririm attiririm agzina verir
kulaklarini oynatirim gotten sikerkene bagirttiririm essogluessek ibnenin
pici kevasenin dolu yarrak kafali gotoglani seni sike sike yarragimda kil
bitti hala akillanamadin okuz hayvanoglu sipa siktir deget ulan it amina
amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin emmeli gommeli bastigimin cocugu aptal
sapsal makafa fahise akrabasi beyinsiz pezevenk evladi senin anani avradini
sulaleni ecdadini gotten sikerim orospu cocugu malak gibi emziririm
attiririm agzina verir kulaklarini oynatirim gotten sikerkene bagirttiririm
essogluessek ibnenin pici kevasenin dolu yarrak kafali gotoglani seni sike
sike yarragimda kil bitti hala akillanamadin okuz hayvanoglu sipa siktir
deget ulan it amina amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin emmeli gommeli
bastigimin cocugu aptal sapsal makafa fahise akrabasi beyinsiz pezevenk
evladi senin anani avradini sulaleni ecdadini gotten sikerim orospu cocugu
malak gibi emziririm attiririm agzina verir kulaklarini oynatirim gotten
sikerkene bagirttiririm essogluessek ibnenin pici kevasenin dolu yarrak
kafali gotoglani seni sike sike yarragimda kil bitti hala akillanamadin okuz
hayvanoglu sipa siktir deget ulan it amina amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin
emmeli gommeli bastigimin cocugu aptal sapsal makafa fahise akrabasi
beyinsiz pezevenk evladi senin anani avradini sulaleni ecdadini gotten
sikerim orospu cocugu malak gibi emziririm attiririm agzina verir
kulaklarini oynatirim gotten sikerkene bagirttiririm essogluessek ibnenin
pici kevasenin dolu yarrak kafali gotoglani seni sike sike yarragimda kil
bitti hala akillanamadin okuz hayvanoglu sipa siktir deget ulan it amina
amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin emmeli gommeli bastigimin cocugu aptal
sapsal makafa fahise akrabasi beyinsiz pezevenk evladi senin anani avradini
sulaleni ecdadini gotten sikerim orospu cocugu malak gibi emziririm
attiririm agzina verir kulaklarini oynatirim gotten sikerkene bagirttiririm
essogluessek ibnenin pici kevasenin dolu yarrak kafali gotoglani seni sike
sike yarragimda kil bitti hala akillanamadin okuz hayvanoglu sipa siktir
deget ulan it amina amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin emmeli gommeli
bastigimin cocugu aptal sapsal makafa fahise akrabasi beyinsiz pezevenk
evladi senin anani avradini sulaleni ecdadini gotten sikerim orospu cocugu
malak gibi emziririm attiririm agzina verir kulaklarini oynatirim gotten
sikerkene bagirttiririm essogluessek ibnenin pici kevasenin dolu yarrak
kafali gotoglani seni sike sike yarragimda kil bitti hala akillanamadin okuz
hayvanoglu sipa siktir deget ulan it amina amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin
emmeli gommeli bastigimin cocugu aptal sapsal makafa fahise akrabasi
beyinsiz pezevenk evladi senin anani avradini sulaleni ecdadini gotten
sikerim orospu cocugu malak gibi emziririm attiririm agzina verir
kulaklarini oynatirim gotten sikerkene bagirttiririm essogluessek ibnenin
pici kevasenin dolu yarrak kafali gotoglani seni sike sike yarragimda kil
bitti hala akillanamadin okuz hayvanoglu sipa siktir deget ulan it amina
amcigina ayri ayri dudukledigimin emmeli gommeli bastigimin cocugu aptal
sapsal makafa fahise akrabasi beyinsiz pezevenk evladi yeter nokta.
By Mahmut on Monday, November 13, 2000 - 06:45 pm:
hlusi hatami anladim cok ozur diliyorum nasil psimanim anlatamam
amma illa ki bu isi kavgaya dookmeye gerek yoktu
evet her kadin da orospu ruhu vardir tamam
benim annem de de var
bunu farkedince sana hakl verdim anamin orospu oldugunu
ozur diliyorum herkesden
By Salla on Monday, November 13, 2000 - 06:47 pm:
bravo arkadaşlar şu sayfada bir tane aklıbaşında adam yokmuş yazı yazan
hepinizin bir kuyruk acısı var ve fırsatını buluca birbirinizi ısırmaya çalışıyorsunuz
gerçi bunu türk erkeklerinin genel abazalıklarının sanal ortama bir yansıması olarak da değerlendirmek mümkün
hadi salakçasına birbirinizle küfürleşiyorsunuz nie birbirinizin anasını bacısını karısını karıştırırsınız
bu size sanal bi orgazm falan mı sağlıyor kendinizi böyle mi tatmin ediyorsunuz
By KillananAnarchist on Monday, November 13, 2000 - 06:50 pm:
lam pustlar baska isiniz gucunuz yok mu lan hiyar agalari? sezen orospusunun gotuyle mi bozdunuz lan kafayi? amina kodumun karisi icin ne giriyonuz bir birinize ayip diil mi lan yigitler? aha suraya yaziyorum buraya benden sonra laf eden lavuun amina koyula. am kullanmayan bi yaratiksa gotten sikile.
By Spleen on Monday, November 13, 2000 - 06:55 pm:
Turk insani yaw... Ne dielim Mahmut ve Hulusi abilerimizin aalanacak haline gulduk!!
Lutfen alinmayin gerçek olan bu! hiçbi $ekilde yargilamiorum...
Bu arada bunlari burda yayinlatanlar nasi bi psikoloji içinde onu da anlayabilmi$ diilim...
not: bu sayfa butun icq aleminde dola$io; gulmek isteyen çok war tabi memlekette
By Katliam on Monday, November 13, 2000 - 06:58 pm:
ben burdakı tum konusanları bır kerecık zukeyım.bısı olmas zate sımdıkye kadar her hez herkezı zuktu.fılız sen amerıkada olduguna gore kendıne ıyı bakmısındır senı ıkı kere zukeım bısı olmas sanırım :)) hepınıse ayrı ayrı tesekkur edrım verdıgınız ıcın :))
By SuanaKadarKonuanlarnHepsininanasn sikiiim lem on Monday, November 13, 2000 - 07:04 pm:
lan bravo lan harbi bravo varya turkluumuzu bir kez daha herkese gösterdiniz piçin evlatları bi orospu yüzünden tartıştıınız şeye bak lem kadir inanırın oynadııı leyla ile mecnun filmine döndü mına koyum var ya suana kadar yazısından küfür cıkanların hepsinin anasını avradını sikiiim olmadı istanbul köprüsün de sikiiim ki hem avrupa hem asya seyretsinde kaliteli bi porno filmi izlemiş olurlar.bu arada filiz sende gelip tek siteyle bizim tc vatandaslıımızı ne yargılıyon alaala o kadar güsel site varken orospu cocuklarınınmı sayfasını buldun yaf burda ne kadar adam varsa orospu cocuuu lem bunnarı okudum yemin ediyorum utandım la olmaz böle bişey kelime hazinem %90 arttı valla lem hepiniz ananızı ve babanızı getirin bana hepsini sikiştiriyim grup yapsınlar sizde rahatlayın la birbirinizi sike sike pörsüdünüz la ananıza yazık beeeee onlarda kadın 50 yaşına kadar sikişmek ister 40 ında bırakmasın oalyı
By R on Monday, November 13, 2000 - 09:59 pm:
amına yarramı sokiim bu ne beeahh
By Sikiken fare on Monday, November 13, 2000 - 10:06 pm:
suanakadarkonuanlarınhepsininanasn sikiiim lem
senin ananın amına yarramı sokiim kokliim kız kardesin varsa onuda siikim kahpenin yeke evladı,ananın amına kafam girsin pustun dolu anası sikişmiş homo seksuel sanal alemde kufur kolay delikanlıysan ara bu numarayı ananın amına sokiim seni sikik piç genişlemiş gotveren top oglan seni aha bu numaram piçin dolu delikanlıysan ara piçç 03123527773
By Ceyda on Monday, November 13, 2000 - 10:12 pm:
bu safada yazan herseyi tamamiyle gormemezlikten geliyorum. siz ailelerinize bile laf atmaktan cekinmeyen zavalli, hasta ve sapik insanlarsiniz.Sizleri gorunce turklugumden utanmayi birakin, insanligimdan ve sizlerle ayni havayi solumaktan utaniyorum ve hepinize YAZIKLAR OLSUN diyorum...!!!!!!!!
By CetinTurk on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 12:36 am:
Iste benim halkim. Kufur hazinesi bu kadar genis olan ve bu kadar salakca konularda bu kadar atesli ve artistik bir sekilde kufur eden bir baska millet yoktur. Hepinizi kutluyorum, bu cercevelenmesi gereken
sosyolojik bir ornek.Turk insani, hepinizi gozlerinden opuyorum.
Bu arada Hulusi hakli bence.
By MeTaLCrAcK on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 01:11 am:
mueahehaehuaheuahueha ulan ne adamlarsınız işte turkiyenin gerçek yüzü muyhahahahahahahahahahhaha geberdim lam muhabbetiniz baya ii egaeuhae sizene olm elalemin orospuluundan kefaşeliinden alahlalla muuaheuhauehauehuaheuaheuaheuha
By Eminonu Ulku Ocagindan Cengiz on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 01:45 am:
Ceyda denen aydin'a
Sana mi kaldi memleketi kurtarmak. Iki zibidi atisiyor diye "Turklugumden utaniyorum" diye laflar sarf etmissin. Aklini basina topla, bir seyler yazmadan once yazacaklarinin nereye varabilcegini dusun.
Tamam mi guzel kardesim.
By CetinTurk on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 02:41 am:
helal olsun cengiz cim
bunlara boyle davranicaksin
kendi memleketini kucumseyenden
kimseye hayir gelmez
By URnowFAMOUS on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 04:03 am:
olm butun sirket okuyo sizi gidi komedyenler...zamanınızı boyle harcayın da nesemizi bulalım...AA'ya selam bu arada
By Sandman on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 04:49 am:
Muhahah çerçeveletip evime asıcam bu forumu ,
Bu arada
By Ali on Monday, November 13, 2000 - 06:39 pm: tarafından yazılan 2 sayfalık küfürü hayretler içinde karşılıyorum. Ali eğer tek nefeste söylemeyi başarırsan onu seni guiness rekorlarına kendi elimli götürüp sponsor olcem.
SaLakLar Ordusu sizi MUHhahauhauHHAUHA
By Lombardo on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 04:58 am:
Superman adamımsın koçum
gogo Superman
By Gotunuze Koyim on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 05:24 am:
emeumeumeeumeuemeumeumeue hay mına koyımm yaaaaa
By Suanankadarkonusanlarnhepsnnanasn skm lem on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 05:38 am:
By Devrim Akyuz on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 07:28 am:
Butun insanlara iyi gunler diyerek basliyorum sozlerime ve direk olarak konuya girmek istiyorum...
Turk milletinin tartisma bilgisine, gorgusune ve anlayisina hayran kalmamak elde degil. Bir arkadasimin cok komik, bir goz at dedigi bu siteye girince, neye ugradigimi sasirdim. Aslinda neden sasirdigimi anlamadim. Bu kadar ezik yetismis, kavga ederek hakli cikmaya, kufur ederek bir yere varmaya calisan, bu ezik toplumun evlatlarindan baska ne olabilirdi ki. Herhalde onlardan oturup, ulkemize yeni giren yabanci sirketlerin ve sektorlerin, pazar uzerinde ki etkileri hakkinda birer makale yazmalarini beklemek, kirmizi karlarin yagmasini beklemekle kadar aptalca olurdu. O onun anasina, digeride oburunun bacisina sovecek tabi ki. Aferin size, bravo. Ayakta alkisliyorum. Simdi siz benim anama da kufur edersiniz ama, ben bunu dikkate almayacak kadar ustunum sizden, o yuzden dilediginiz kadar kufur edebilirsiniz. Zaten bunu da ancak sanal ortamlarda yapabilirsiniz. Sizin kutuplarda ki ayilar kadar beyniniz yok. Bu sebeple bence en iyisi, sizleri kutup ayilariyla degistirmek olacaktir. eminim bu vatana sizden daha fazla katkilari olur (en azindan ulke tanitimi acisindan). evet sizleri buyuk gemilerle oraya gondermek en iyisi, Belki sizinde birgun kutup ayilari kadar beyniniz olur ve anne denen varliklarin kutsalliklarini ozumsuyebilirsiniz!!! ne dersiniz? Hos olmaz mi?
By N.M.E. on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 08:57 am:
Eheheh çok eğlendim arkadaşlar lütfen devam edin
By Mustafasandal on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 09:15 am:
cok ayip
By Nobody on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 10:08 am:
bu ne yaa???:)
By PolluX on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 10:10 am:
Ne lan bu. levent kırca yazmış sanki :)))By Atyaraa on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 10:55 am:
bir de ben gireyim bu olaya ayrıca size de gireyim hemde neyse töpe töpe ya sezen aksudan girdiniz ananızın amından çıktınız bir ben kalmıştım sülalenizi sikmedik ama sikmeyecem kararlıyım içinizde patlasın hemde ....neyse konuşmıyacam dayanıyorum ama nereye kadar ....8====D ----
By Bitter on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 11:02 am:
yaaa siz hepinis sapıksınız olum...kadir,mahmut,hulusi ve hatırlayamadığım tüm yawşaklara...aferm lan yani harbi lemanyak gibi olumş.ii güldüm sayenizde...asıl konu hakkında bişi sölemek gerekirse bence sezen aksu da salaan teki şarkılarıda çok uyuz kendisi de moron.
By Hokkabaz on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 11:09 am:
yuruyun be koclar breee kim tutar sizi be ...ulan cok yakinda artik sokaklarda group falanolaylari doner..butun millet interneti nasil gelisrim nasil para yaparim diye kullanirken bizim millet anca sikine derman etmeye calsir aleti...neyse ama hersey kendini tanimakla baslar o bakimdan aferim
bi de bu cengiz midir nedir bi tane sersem sikin mahsulu bi yagiz genc oglan vardi, yazmis millet vatan falan, ulku ocagi vesaire, bide akilli olun diye buyurmus..sss genc bak vakit varken aklini basina al derim ben, ocak dedigin yer it dolu biyer, it itten cesaret alir biliyorum tek basina herhangi bi baltaya sap olamyacagini anlayip milletin kuyruguna yapismis olabilirsin ama yine de kendie gel derim ben pembe yankalim, boncuk gozlu yigidim benim, hadi bakiyim
not:bence bu olayi baslatan ardadir, arda kendini bilir h.a.s.a.l.e.v (okul adi ardacigim gozlerinden optum aluminyum kafa seni)
By Rekif945 on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 12:46 pm:
gençliğin halinin böyle olmasına gerçekten çok içerledim. ben 55 yaşında bir sezen aksu hayranıyım ve sezen aksuya karşı olan büyük sevgim ilk karımdan ayrılmama sebep olmuştu...
sezen aksuya söyleyeceğim, bu siteyi ziyaret etmesn sakın...
gerçekten çok ayıp şeyler yazmışsınız
By LathendeR on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 12:54 pm:
götveren rekil945'e
kancık adam asıl soöylersen girer mal eleman
By Tarlabal cihat on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 02:18 pm:
lam polluX ayusu, levent kırca yı ne karıstıron la.. dallamanın önde gideni daa levent in ne yabtıını anyayamısıhın, git anna da gel dallama yaaaa
By Grath on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 02:19 pm:
ahuuhaauhuhahuauhauh ulan amma gerzek war ya sktirin gidin işiniz mi yok oolm küfürleşiosunuz bela mısınız iki saattir okuyorum kafam şişti ahlakım bozuldu akıllı olun da adam sansınlar
By Muahah on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 02:24 pm:
muhahaa yurdum insani rulz
ben bile kassam bu kadr küfür bulamazdım
By Oyabaar on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 02:27 pm:
lam tarlabal puştu!!!!
sen mi biliyon lan levent kırcayı ittt!!!!
ama bak ya pezevenk sen ne anlrsın levent kırcayım amua soktugumun
By Delibozan on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 02:30 pm:
lam akıl weren götverenler... siz bi yarraaa kap olsanız sate bunnnarı sonuna kadar okuyup yorum yabmassdınız ancuazlar... asabını bosmayın adamın siktirirler sora ata deveye alalalla
By Schuldiner on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 02:31 pm:
bence bu baştaki dialog (mahmut& Hulusi)bilinçli başlatılmış bişeydir.kanmayınız kandırılmayınız.araya amerikalı (kendini türk sanan biri)girmiştir.daha sonra olay kopmuştur.sanırım önümüzdeki bir kaç gün içinde bu sayfa silinecektir.vakit varken arkadaşlarınıza gösterin.pokeimamdan daha çok güldüm .allah da sizi güldüre.amin.
By Pikachu on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 02:32 pm:
Muahah yurdum insanı diyen agzina attiriyim senin got oolani.blamazsin tabi bu kadar kufur at boku larvası
sende ne arar o daarcık amcık kafalı ipne..
By Delibozan on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 02:34 pm:
lam orospunun am kılı pikachu.. sen daa ananın memesinden döllü sütü içerken ben küfür öretiodum la bebelere puştun her gün siktiii ibne..
By Lolo on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 02:51 pm:
mukemmel olmus.tebrik ediyorum.tum zamanlarin
en komik forumu olmus.hulusiyi de mahmudu da
tebrik ediyorum ben.ali ye ise nisan takmak
istiyorum.cok basarili, supper yerlerde yuvarlandim
gulmekten.baska bi forumda da daha bulusmanizi
temenni ederim.
By Wolftans on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 02:57 pm:
cok mustesna, biz ce yani
By Shorty on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 03:16 pm:
ulan hepiniz ahlaksız top heriflersiniz ulan bu sayfayı yayınlatan heriflerde deli
By Hortum on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 03:17 pm:
takdir ve tebrikle valla.
gece gece yerlere düştüm okurken.özellikle filize yazılanlar bitirdi olayı. ama yaratıcılığınız az. hep ana avrad sülale...
söz söylemek sanattır ve küfür de buna dahildir.birazcık beyniniz kullanın da her mahalle kavgasında söylenen şeylerin üstüne çıkın illa küfredecekseniz.
ayrıca sezen V8 motor olmuş haberiniz ola.
By Shorty on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 03:36 pm:
By Papatya99 on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 03:36 pm:
Cok sikicisiniz bence
By Heyyahey on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 03:47 pm:
abi öldüm gülmekten
allah size uzun ömürler versin ne diim ;)
By SexyGirl on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 03:47 pm:
Selam arkadaslar ben Aray
cok guzel kufretmissiniz. Ben mazosizt bi kizim. Eger sakincasi yoksa bunlari sizlerin agzindan dinlemek isterim. Bana kufretmeniz beni en cok mutlu edicek sey olucaktir. Once arkadas olmaliyiz tabi. Hulusi beyi ozellikle cok tanimak isterdim. Bana yazin beni arayin cok sevinirim. Telefonum 0532 2762205
[email protected]
By SexyGirl on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 03:50 pm:
Selam arkadaslar ben Aray
cok guzel kufretmissiniz. Ben mazosizt bi kizim. Eger sakincasi yoksa bunlari sizlerin agzindan dinlemek isterim. Bana kufretmeniz beni en cok mutlu edicek sey olucaktir. Once arkadas olmaliyiz tabi. Hulusi beyi ozellikle cok tanimak isterdim. Bana yazin beni arayin cok sevinirim. Telefonum 0532 2762205
By Mavigozluk on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 03:53 pm:
Helal olsun herkese..
Aliye ozel tebrikler.. herif super, bi gun ders mers versin millete kufur konusunda
(not: mahmut hakli)
By Mandalin on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 03:54 pm:
hahah bazilarinin isine yaramis bile sanirim burasi... cok komik gercekten baya hit alir bu site ne diyim... :)
By Magaraci on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 04:04 pm:
küfür etmeyi sevenler, karısından ottan boktan sebepten ayrılmış olanlar, levent kırca hayranları, oya başar düşmanları, amerikalı bakireler,diğerlerinden üstün olduğunu düşünenler, sezen fantazisi olanlar ve herkes dinlesin: internette saatlerinizi harcamayın. ister karınızdan ayrıldığınız için ister sevişecek bir erkek bulamadığınızdan ya da neden olursa olsun bunalımdaysanız işte önerim: mağaracılık sporuyla uğraşın. Gerçekten stres falan kalmıyor insanda. Ayrıca oldukça ucuz da bir spor. Türkiye'de yapan birkaç üniversite kulübü var. Hemen temasa geçin. Bana bu sayfadan ulaşabilirsiniz. Öptüm.
By Filizin Erkek versiyonu on Tuesday, November 14, 2000 - 04:23 pm:
harika super
yani ne desem bos
odevim var ama bu yaziyi dusunuyorum yanliz
Bence tam olarak TR
submitted by VirreyDeColombia to kopyamakarna2 [link] [comments]

2015.07.16 16:54 Koyoteelaughter Croatoan, Earth : Warlocks : Part 95

Croatoan, Earth : Warlocks : Part 95

We caught up to the others and continued to follow the receptionist in silence. No one felt the need to speak. These were not men and women who felt the need to fill the silence with chatter. I on the other hand craved conversation. I needed it. Silence was like a patient assassin to me, killing me slowly with boredom.
I busied myself with the study of the others. Of course, all I could see was the back of everyone's head. Leia and Margo kept their hair short. Leia had adopted the style after one of many fights where she was forced to cut it off. Margo though, her hair had been worn short for years. Her armor around the collar and shoulders was a little shiner than the rest, no doubt caused by decades of been swept by her locks.
Pemphero's hair was thick and dark and disheveled like Kenny Rogers when he was on a bender. It hadn't always been that way. On the Ignoc, it'd been carefully groomed and clipped. Right now, it was more nest than mane. The scraggly bits of beard I could see when he turned was in no better shape.
"Gorjjen was an oddity. His hair was peanut-butter brown, wispy, and stopped at his collar. It fanned out around his ears and hung loose upon his brow. He always looked as if he'd missed an appointment with his barber by about a week.
This brought me to William. William's hair was a thick mass of dark brown curls. Some attempt had been made to part id down the center, but his hair was to wiry, long, and thick to pull that look off. His hair bothered me. Not because of how he chose to style it but because I couldn't remember it at all. Try as I might, I couldn't remember ever seeing it before except in that memory where I killed him. I could remember him clearly. It bothered me that he didn't make any sense. He couldn't remember me. I couldn't remember him. I know I killed him, but here he is, still alive. I hated the gaps in my memory, but not nearly as much as the prospect that some of my memory's were false.
The corridor we were in was rather lengthy. I took advantage of it. I wanted to know who he was. I opened my mouth, and Leia beat me to it.
"Daniel's first memory of this planet before Baako was removed was of him in a flooded alley surrounded by the dead. What was your first memory?" She asked. She shot me a glance and there was a volumes in that look. I sometimes forgot how observant she was. To me, she was fragile and vulnerable and precious. She was something to be protected, but in reality, she was rapturous and lethal and a clever girl--a death dancer who saw far more than she let on. She was the edge of the blade, a kiss of steel, and the song of a well swung blade. Of course she knew what I was going to ask.
William mulled the question over, pursing his lips thoughtfully. It seemed a far more difficult question for him to answer than it was for her to ask.
"I don't have first memory?" He replied with a grimace. "I have first memories. It's all just a disjointed mural of memory fragments that span years and decades--maybe centuries. It's not an easy question."
"It's not a test. We just want to know who you are. Maybe I can give context. It's possible that I share a few of your memories. It could give you context." I said. "Or, it might give me context. The Lord knows I need it." I reached over and took Leia's hand. She looked at Mozzie then at me and let go, an apology in her eyes.
"Honestly, they don't really make any sense. In one of them I was flying through the air. The wind is whistling past me, roaring like a train. Something hit the air beside me and popped. There was a concussive blast that threw me sideways. I remember watching as the fire swept up my body, covering my head and eyes. I burned all over and while I screamed, it swept up and over me, burning away my parachute. And then, I was falling. I remember the pain of hitting the water and the overwhelming flavor of salt in my mouth as I inhaled it. It was an ocean or a sea. I think I died. In the memory, I died. I mean, I might have died. Maybe someone reprinted me like you guys talk about. I don't know. That's all I remember of that memory.
"That memory always bleeds from blackness into the smell of sulfur. It's less of an image and more of a memory of sensations. In another, I was cold and wet and trapped. Everything was darkness. I remember the feeling of insects crawling over me and in me. In that memory, I smell damp earth and pine resin. There was wood around me--rough and green. Water was dripping through cracks in the ceiling. I couldn't see anything. I think I was in a coffin. I think someone buried me. I have a memory tied to that one where I'm raking mud down on me. It ends with a crash and a flash like thunder and lighting. Two women are pulling me from the dirt. That's where that one ended. Like I said, they're all disjointed."
He shrugged in apology.
"Is that it?" Leia asked.
"No. One of my memories was of me being dragged behind a horse. My hands were bound. The man dragging me wore canvas britches. He left me in a gulley surrounded by mesquite and sage brush. I shot me in the side of the head with a shot gun. My memory ended there.
"In one of my memories, I was sharing bitter coffee with a woman and three kids. I'd just finished chopping firewood for her. I think we might have been on intimate terms. I'm pretty sure we were seeing each other. She showed me her breasts anyway. I remember that. It was pale and pink and sagged a little." He gave Margo a wink when he caught the look of surprise on her face. She turned away and made a point of avoiding him.
"In another memory, I'm drowning. I'm drowning in a muddy river. I heard the sound of a whistle when I came up for air." He laughed bitterly. "I've been hearing that whistle ever since. It's like an auditory hallucination for me." He shrugged yet again and sighed heavily. "Those are my first memories. My first stable memory though was waking up in a jail cell in a small town outside Memphis. They'd told me I'd busted into some black man's hut, beat him nearly to death, raided his larder, and stole his clothes. I think they were planning on hanging me if he died. Never got to find out for sure. They didn't put much value on black men back then. I served six months in jail, paid a small fine, and they let me go. After that, I just roamed around the world for a while.
"Every now and then, America would get in a fight, and I'd sign up to go kick some ass. I was garrisoned in Fort Smith, Arkansas when I learned what my tattoos could do. I think that was around 1867. I almost got to fight alongside Custer, but I took an arrow to the knee and spent a couple months learning how to use that leg again. I was worn out from fighting when that happened. One of my tattoos activates some kind of shielding membrane that surrounds me. I was tired from fighting. That's the only reason the arrow got through.
"I missed out on Wounded Knee as well--ironically. I spent most of the eighteen hundreds fighting Indians and Yankees. It was hard to keep my boots planted in one place back then. One day, I'd be content fighting with the Cherokees, then a year would pass and I'd be putting in for Arizona so I could fight some Apaches. I had the wanderlust, I think." William shrugged.
"When were you in Fort Smith?" I asked.
"1867. Why?"
"No reason. I was living with the Cherokees across the state line in Oklahoma at around that time. Funny we never met." I lamented.
"You're lucky we didn't meet. Back then I was a little prejudice of Injuns. I don't think you would have survived our reunion." He said without apology. Leia frowned and gestured for us to be silent so she could be heard.
"I'm not familiar with how you track time on the planet, but I have a question. You mentioned something called Wounded Knee?" She said, gesturing for William to respond. He nodded.
"When was that?" Leia pressed.
"I don't know. That was after I'd shacked up with Marideth, so . . . around 1891 or 92 I think."
"You were there." Leia accused, fixing me with a look. "You were there."
"Where?" I asked, confused.
"Wounded Knee. I have a memory of you watching it from the cover of a tree line. You were . . . hiding children wearing clothes made of skins and fur while men on riding tall grass zippers rode against men with plumage in their hair.
"I don't recall that." I said.
"You were there. I can see it." She said.
"Then that's twice we almost met." I observed, bumping William playfully with my elbow. "It's like we were destined to be reunited."
"Where were you in 1918?" William asked, ignoring me. He turned and put a hand on my chest to stop me from going any further. The other's stopped as well to see what he was about.
"Astrid's office is just ahead." Lylilly announced, perhaps in hope that we'd resume our pace.
"How the hell should I know?" I replied, scoffing. He wasn't playing games though. He really wanted to know." I thought about it for a moment and tried to find some kind of reference from my life I could tie to that era.
"I was in Germany at the time, fighting for the U.S. I was in a small village with Frenchies fighting Germans. I think it was Catigny. Why?"
"June 6, 1944?" William asked, without answering..
"Normandy." I replied, pushing back the hair on my brow to show him the scar from the bullet that put me in a coma. I was with the Omaha landing."
"Utah." William supplied. "I was also at the Battle of Catigny as well." I furrowed my brow in confusion. That was four times we'd almost run into each other and on two different continents. It was feeling less like a coincidence the longer we compared ourselves.
"Where were you when Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans?" I asked.
"Bourbon Street." He replied. "You were there too, weren't you?" I nodded. "That was my first memory right up until the time the ships arrived. I was in an alley with water up to my knees and a dead people I'd just killed laying all around me."
"You two have been chasing each other this whole time?" Pemphero asked in surprise.
"I was in Cherryvale, Kansas when the fleet arrived. Where were you?" I asked. He hung his head and sighed.
"Coffeeville, Kansas." He replied, his eyes searching my face for some sign that I was lying.
"Is that close?" Margo asked.
"Twenty miles south of where I was." I replied. "Yeah. It was close. You've been following me this entire time?"
"Not on purpose. I just get an urge to move every now and again." William said, shrugging. "That's some shit right there."
"When Pem and I first met you, you said you were looking for an important man. Is Magpie that man?" Margo asked, jerking a thumb my way.
"I don't think so. Hell, he might be. I don't honestly know. I don't think so. The man I'm looking for is very important." William confessed. "I don't know who he is. I just feel that when I find him I'll know him." I shot the others a look and could tell by the look in their eyes that that they were most likely thinking the same thing as me. William was looking for the Emperor--just like the rest of us. I opened my mouth to blurt this out but Gorjjen shook his head and looked to the receptionist. I closed my mouth. He wanted this kept in house.
I nodded and drew his attention to the receptionist. She was waiting outside Astrid's door. He motioned for the rest of us to follow.
"You had no idea?" Leia asked.
"None." I replied.
"That means Prince Ogct was right about you and the Thaumaturge. There is a connection linking you to them." She said, sounding more excited than I'd seen her in months. "You really can find the Emperor."
"Ah, so good to meet you again, Baron. It has been a long time." A portly woman called as we entered the office near the end of the hall. Gorjjen dipped his head and turned back to the rest of us.
That has yet to be seen. I told Leia, giving Astrid the once over.
She wasn't fat, but she wasn't exactly skinny either. She had an energy about her that defied expectations. She was a honeyed blonde with long artistic fingers, pouty--almost Germanic--kissable lips, and glacier blue eyes. She was attractive, desirable, but not what most men would describe as hot. If I had met this woman and been unattached, I wouldn't have thought twice about taking her to bed.
"The Weapon Masters Pemphero and Margo." Gorjjen announced, gesturing to the two. "The Dame Malicious and adopted daughter of the late Daimyo, sibling to the last Grand Reaper, Tereza. Magys and Marco the Venetian."
He didn't bother introducing himself. It was apparent they already knew each other. Gorjjen turned back to the assistant and did her the dignity of introducing her to us.
"This is Astrid Momok, Rektor Fi's personal assistant. She is the . . . reactor powering Rektor's miraculous climb to the top." His smile was all for show. Everyone knew it. He gave William a look. William sighed and nodded. Whatever passed between them was beyond my ability to determine. I studied them both and shrugged it away. I guess I didn't need to know everything.
"How may Rektor Fi Industries help your distinguished party this rotation?" Astrid asked.
I don't what she said, but Gorjjen's back stiffened like drew a blade on him. I ran over ever word she said and still I had no idea what put him on guard. Whatever it was, Pemphero and Margo heard it or saw it too. Pemphero's hand twitch toward halo a halo he no longer wore. Margo's twitched toward a halo she was wearing. What they were reacting to, was again, beyond my ability to determine. I looked to Leia and saw her hand inching to hers as well. I ran over Astrid's greeting a dozen times in my head and searched the office for some indication of what sett hem off. Everywhere I looked, I found nothing that would have made me wary. I studied Lylilly. She seemed as oblivious as Astrid and I. Lylilly was relaxed and composed. Astrid prattled on, unaware of how close to the edge of oblivion she was walking.
"It's a matter of national security." Gorjjen replied. It and the small shrug was his way of apology. Astrid seemed to understand and nodded. She dismissed Lylilly with a flutter of her fingers. This seemed to relax the group a little.
"You're in luck. Mr. Fi wasn't feeling well and missed his appointment. He's just returned from his visit to the Med Bed." She said, moving ahead of them to lead them down the hall to the next set of offices.
"He's just returned?" I asked, catching her in a lie. Rektor Fi wasn't in a Med Bed. Gorjjen and the others had to have realized this. They had to know it was a lie, only . . . they weren't put on their guard like they were a moment before.
"Just this moment." She replied.
The others shared a look at this, and I saw Leia loosen her halo in its holster while Astrid had her back to them. I felt vindicated, only I wasn't sure why her little lie or anything she was saying was putting them in a guarded state. If they hadn't all reacted, I would be even more ignorant to the fact that something was wrong.
Something wrong? I asked of her.
Several things. Leia replied. She was curt in her reply. She's recently been attacked. I studied Astrid's face carefully, but the yellowing bruise wasn't on her face. It was on her throat. Astrid is a fixture around here. She's been serving Rektor for centuries. I've encountered her during the course of my duties on many occasions. She's totally devoted to him. She likes his art. She listens to his music. She caters to the whims of her employer in all things.
And, some thing has changed? I guessed.
She referred to him as *Mister Fi. On Rektor Fi's home world, they don't denote each other as Mister and Misses when they're showing respect. They use the terms Seg and Sog. The bruising and the change in behavior is what we look for when we're trying to spot the infected. Either she's had a falling out with someone, or she's infected. It's our job to be ready if it's the later. We're all familiar with Astrid. They,* she gestured to the rest of our group,* have noticed the change as well. Be on your guard.* She warned. I don't think this is Baako's doing.
I could use the MOI to check.
Do it. Leia ordered.
Astrid entered the passcode to open Rektor's door then moved ahead to open another. This one opened into luxurious office beyond. A handsome man stood before his desk and appeared to be waiting for us. I tried not to be too obvious as I reached for the MOI, only my hand never made it.
"Hello, Gorjjen. How's the wife?" Rektor asked politely. My hand froze half way to the MOI so stunned was I by Rektor's boldness. Pemphero's hands tightened on the staff he held, wringing it so hard it groaned in protest. He fixed murderous eyes on the impertinent man before him and started to sally forth. William laid a restraining hand on the man's shoulder, holding him back and Margo side-stepped to put herself in his path.
Gorjjen cocked his head to the side and considered the man before him, saying nothing. Pemphero ground to a halt, acceding to the intervention of the others.
Futuō me! Leia breathed in disbelief.
Holy shit. I murmured, completely in alignment with her sentiment. I looked to Pemphero to gauge whether or not I was going to be needed to hold him back, but William and Margo's intervention seemed to be enough. Why'd he ask that?
Maybe he was tired of living. Leia quipped.
"I was told you needed a consultation. How may I help the Order of Heid this rotation?" He asked, behaving as if he was unaware of his rudeness.
Get ready. Leia warned. He's covered in bruises. I slowly drew in my will, doing as she advised. It was as if he'd heard Leia's whisper of warning. Rektor's eyes swiveled Leia's way then jumped to me. It wasn't exactly a look of challenge, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew we were on to him.
His laugh caught us all completely off guard.
Start Part 10 Part 20 Part 30 Part 40 Part 50 Part 60 Part 70 Part 80
Part 90 Part 91 Part 92 Part 93 Part 94 Part 95 Part 96
Other Books in the Series
Croatoan, Earth: The Saga Begins - Book One
Croatoan, Earth: Tattooed Horizon - Book Two
If you feel like supporting the writer, I accept donations through My email is [email protected].
If you want more, just say so.
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2014.06.16 22:59 openminded2014 Bitcoin for passport and citizenship!! Rich people can now fulfill the tax heaven dreams easily...

This is a nice article I saw on Yahoo!;_ylt=AwrBEiF3V59TnxMAHdWh7IlQ
Open Yahoo Finance Open SearchCancel
‘Bitcoin Jesus’ Offers Passport, Tax-Free Tropical Paradise for Wealthy Clients Bloomberg By Jason Clenfield and Pavel Alpeyev 7 hours ago He's known as Bitcoin Jesus in the world of cyber-currencies. Though he can't promise you heaven, he is offering a haven: a condo in the Caribbean that comes with a new passport and almost zero taxes.
Meet Roger Ver, ex-U.S. citizen, ex-convict, millionaire investor, self-described libertarian and founder of Passports for
More from ‘Bitcoin Jesus' Calls Rich to Tax-Free Tropical Paradise
The ever-expanding universe of what you can buy with bitcoins includes a hotel stay in Rome, a kimono in Tokyo, and cable TV in the U.S. Ver, a pioneer investor in bitcoin startups, now says he can add citizenship to the list.
Specifically, that's the right to live in the Federation of St. Kitts and Nevis, two sun-kissed islands a three-hour flight from Miami. St. Kitts has run an invest-and-become-a-citizen program since 1984, making it the oldest of its kind, says the country's website.
More from Iraq Army Tries to Roll Back Sunni Militants' Advance
Plunk down $400,000 for real estate and you get a passport that allows visa-free travel to 120 countries. There are no taxes on personal income or capital gains and the islands' restrictive disclosure laws offer shelter from outside scrutiny, according to the Tax Justice Network, a think tank that studies secrecy jurisdictions.
Ver's website, in English, Russian and Chinese, offers a way to purchase a piece of that paradise with bitcoins. He says it will help people who are hemmed in by government restrictions on cash transactions.
More from Medtronic Is Biggest Yet to Renounce U.S. Tax Citizenship
"I'm going to China next month to explain to people that bitcoin is the easiest way to pay for things outside the country," Ver said during a meeting this month at the plush 51st floor lounge of Tokyo's Roppongi Hills.
Trader, Hacker, Boxer A trim 35-year-old with a crew cut, in a black polo shirt and slacks, Ver looked a little like an electronics salesman at a big-box retailer. Still, a crowd of followers hung on his every word. A former derivatives trader at Goldman Sachs Group Inc., a hacker, and a professional boxer were all there to pitch ideas or talk bitcoin with the master.
Ver got rich investing in bitcoin early and has become a regular speaker at industry conferences. He's provided seed funds for a dozen prominent startups including Kraken, an exchange where people buy and sell the digital currency, and Blockchain, an online wallet used to store it.
Bitcoin was invented in 2008 as a currency that could be used without government oversight. That's drawn people who want to trade illicit goods like drugs and guns. It's also gained support from libertarians like Peter Thiel, the billionaire co-founder of PayPal who plans to build an artificial island where people can do whatever they want. Ver's passport site, his latest venture, is a scaled down version of that ideal.
Evade Taxes "St. Kitts' government is much more libertarian compared with the U.S.," Ver said. "It's not even close. So all these early bitcoin adopters, of course if they have the means, they'd rather be a citizen of St. Kitts."
However they pay to get in, people usually seek out countries like St. Kitts so they can evade taxes, says John Christensen, director of the Tax Justice Network. The U.S. Treasury Department last month said the island's passports are being used to facilitate financial crime.
"To be blunt, we talk about places like St. Kitts as places where you go to escape from responsibilities," Christensen, an expert on tax havens, said by phone from London. "St. Kitts sells secrecy on the international market and, unsurprisingly, attracts all types of dirty money."
Gaining Citizenship Erasmus Williams, press secretary for St. Kitts, didn't respond to phone calls or e-mailed questions about the Citizenship-By-Investment program.
A woman who answered the phone at the Office of the Prime Minister said the program is "not a matter of buying passports, it's about gaining citizenship."
Nonetheless, no residency or visit is needed, just that $400,000 investment -- re-sellable after five years -- or a non-refundable $250,000 donation to the country, according to St. Kitts's official website.
For those who don't get the message the first time, the site repeats in bold print: "No personal visit required."
Still, wealthy Chinese have a tough time buying in because government limits on money transfers stop them from sending more than $50,000 worth of cash overseas each year.
"The processing agent in St. Kitts told me he feels bad for all of his Chinese clients," Ver said. "They have to reach out to all different friends and relatives and get them to all send the money in drips and drabs. Bitcoin solves all of that."
Anonymous Ledger That's because it was designed to be anonymous. While an online public ledger stores every single Bitcoin transaction, the entries don't include the names and addresses required for bank accounts.
In practical terms, a person in Beijing can buy bitcoins at home through BTC China, OKCoin or numerous other exchanges. With a few swipes on a smartphone, the money can then be beamed to St. Kitts with no government on Earth the wiser.
The U.S. lost its allure for Ver after he was sentenced to 10 months in federal prison after selling about 14 pounds of explosive without a license on the EBay auction site. The product, "Pest Control Report 2000," was basically a firecracker to scare birds away from cornfields, Ver says.
Locked Up "I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't hurt anybody. I had nothing but happy customers and the U.S. government locked me in a cage because of that," he said. "So I want nothing to do with those people. I don't want to support them. I want them out of my life."
Ver moved to Tokyo after finishing probation in 2006. He got his St. Kitts passport on Feb. 13, 2014, and abandoned his U.S. citizenship by the end of the month.
"I would have done it the same day if I could," he said. "They told me I had to have a one-week cooling-off period. They said, ‘Did you know if you renounce citizenship, you won't be able to serve in the armed forces?' It was like, ‘darn.'"
The U.S. is unusual in taxing its citizens no matter where they live. Recent laws requiring disclosure of foreign bank accounts has driven up the number of wealthy Americans looking to sever ties with home. A record 2,999 renounced their citizenship in 2013.
Although Ver's computer parts business made him a millionaire by the time he was 25, the real money came after he bought tens of thousands of bitcoins in 2011. They cost about $1 each then. Today they trade at about $600, according to the CoinDesk price index.
Bitcoin Evangelist Ver said he earned his moniker, Bitcoin Jesus, by telling anyone who would listen about bitcoin well before other venture capital companies paid any attention to the digital currency.
One of the people who got a dose of Ver's sermons was the agent who processed his application for citizenship, Paul Bilzerian. Bilzerian is a former corporate raider who moved to St. Kitts after long battles with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission and two stints in prison for securities fraud and conspiracy to defraud the government of millions.
The two men bonded over the belief they'd been targeted by U.S. authorities, according to Ver. Together, they started in April, Ver said.
Bilzerian, who is one of several-dozen licensed government processers in St. Kitts, declined to comment in an e-mail.
Their website says a second passport insulates you from governments that intrude on citizen's lives. The site also has testimonials from Ver and Bilzerian's son, Dan, a 30-something professional poker player with millions of followers on Instagram, where he posts pictures of himself with half-naked women, along with his gun collection. He didn't respond to e-mailed questions forwarded through his press agent.
"I value freedom more than almost anything else and a second or third passport provides me insurance just in case the U.S. government decides to value security over freedom," Bilzerian's son writes on the passport website.
submitted by openminded2014 to Bitcoin [link] [comments]

2013.04.27 21:26 upsidedownboy TIFU (well, a few years ago) and went on a date when I shouldn't have

Reading the other guy's crazy story about fucking the fat girl while on mdma made me think back to the greatest fuck-up of my earlier years. This story's become part of my group's lore; gets brought up way oftener than I prefer. Thought the tifu community might appreciate it. So, here goes... (massive wall of text alert)
So, I'm 16/17, almost finished comprehensive school (high school). There's a girl in my year who I get on pretty well with, she's not really part of the "in" crowd, seems to have a few nerdish interests, and isn't terrible looking. So me, having watched way too much TV, thinks = she should be my girlfriend. Now, I was always a bit awkward/uncomfortable around "the ladies", hadn't had any real contact with the other sex at this point, so maybe I was a bit starved for it. So we're sitting in the common room, it's a friday, there's a long weekend up ahead, I'm psyching myself up for it - just do it man, ask her out, fucking do it. Bell goes, end of the day FUCK I run up to her as we're all leaving, I'm like "hey, do you fancy seeing a movie tonight" "yeah sure" YES! "who's all going" FUCK! "um, I was thinking just the two of us....?" "um, okay" YES! I head home, catch my buddy on the bus, "she fucking said yes" I'm feeling like dirk fucking diggler.
I get home, there's a phone call on the landline, it's her. She says she wanted to say no earlier but didn't want to hurt my feelings FUCK! but we can still go to the movie as friends. I'm devastated but thinking a casual trip to the cinema might clear the air a bit, stop it being awkward at school on tuesday (!!). There's no cinema in our two-bit town, we have to get the train to a slightly bigger neighbouring one. 20 min on the train, polite small talk, a bit awkward. Feeling confused about the whole thing. We get to the cinema and see what's on. It's slim pickings, and it's after 9, films are starting. We need to see something, she's hemming and hawwing, I'm getting impatient, "let's just go see this one here". What did I pick? The remake of assault on district 13 -- why??
We're sitting in the dark, I'm looking over at her -- I know she's not enjoying this film at all. I'm feeling like crap -- this was a MISTAKE. What am I DOING here? I zone out and watch Laurence Fishburne shoot scumbag'[s for a while. It's nearly over, she leans over and is like "maybe we should leave if we want to get the last train home". I'm all it's cool babes we got all the time in the world. NOPE We get out, make a dash to the station, it's all locked up. FUCK! No idea what we're going to do -- this was before mobile phones. I locate a phone box on the street, and there's taxi numbers taped up inside it PHEW! so I get taxi and it drives up down the motorway back to our town, I sit in the front seat, she's in the back -- weird awkward silence plus standard taxi driver banter for like 20 minutes. We FINALLY get back to the town, he drops us off at the train station. I'm like THANK GOD this nightmare is over. I ask when her dad is picking her up, I thought she'd mentioned that earlier, she says she's actually walking home. She lives on the outskirts of the town, its a solid walk -- WHY DIDN'T YOU MENTION THIS IN THE TAXI?
I can't let this girl walk home alone, friday night, it's super late and the outskirts can be a bit sketchy. So I volunteer to accompany her, we're 15 min into our journey when the rain and hail starts. I give her my jacket. We're trudging along, both miserable and pretty wet by this point. The smalltalk is dying a death. We finally get to her house, she's like "thanks, do you remember the way home?" "yeah babes no problem for me!" NOPE I get fucking lost. I'm wandering around, starting to panic cos I've no phone or anything and I'm terrified of bumping into a bunch of pissed yahoos at this hour. Then the storm REALLY starts. Thunder, wind. It's a real, king lear on the heath storm. WHY DID I NOT TAKE MY JACKET BACK? I'm soaked through, lost. Finally stumble upon a shop I recognize, ok I can get my bearings. Find a road, navigate the tarmac back into town. The storm is still raging, like the universe is laughing at my poor, poor judgement. Get home at some point, wishing silently that I can crawl into my room on the quiet, my mom opens the front door sauced up, in the middle of a party, beaming "SOOOO how it go???" I'm mortified by the whole experience, just gotta get to bed, this whole thing's been a russian doll of regret.
Tuesday rolls around. It's pre facebook, so my mates don't know how things went. I get into form class. They're excited. How'd it go mate? Did you get a kiss?
not quite...
tldr: asked out girl, she said yes, then no; went on a "date" anyway. she got wet.
submitted by upsidedownboy to tifu [link] [comments]