Jun 23, 2019
The cloth edge of certainty has shredded down to this: God and love are real, but very far away.
April Bernard, from âThe Goingâ in Romanticism
Loading...
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Philippines
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
The cloth edge of certainty has shredded down to this: God and love are real, but very far away.
April Bernard, from âThe Goingâ in Romanticism
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
(excerpt) The Going, from Thomas Hardy's Poems of 1912-1913
Thomas Hardy, âThe Goingâ.
"The Going" by Thomas Hardy (read by Alan Bates)
Why did you give no hint that night That quickly after the morrow's dawn, And calmly, as if indifferent quite, You would close your term here, up and be gone Where I could not follow With wing of swallow To gain one glimpse of you ever anon!
Never to bid good-bye, Or lip me the softest call, Or utter a wish for a word, while I Saw morning harden upon the wall, Unmoved, unknowing That your great going Had place that moment, and altered all.
Why do you make me leave the house And think for a breath it is you I see At the end of the alley of bending boughs Where so often at dusk you used to be; Till in darkening dankness The yawning blankness Of the perspective sickens me!
You were she who abode By those red-veined rocks far West, You were the swan-necked one who rode Along the beetling Beeny Crest, And, reining nigh me, Would muse and eye me, While Life unrolled us its very best.
Why, then, latterly did we not speak, Did we not think of those days long dead, And ere your vanishing strive to seek That time's renewal? Â We might have said, "In this bright spring weather We'll visit together Those places that once we visited."
Well, well! Â All's past amend, Unchangeable. Â It must go. I seem but a dead man held on end To sink down soon. . . . O you could not know That such swift fleeing No soul foreseeingâ Not even Iâwould undo me so!
Source: The Poetry of Thomas Hardy
fraud
Iâm sure Iâve written of it before, but here we are 3/5/2019- counting since 8/7/2017. No matter how much I do, no matter what I do, no matter where I go or who I am, I will always know itâs because of that day. That is how time works I guess as what we have is seemingly linear, its the feeling of the way things change, they way they canât be the same, but that day so clearly molds the rest of my life, for the rest of my life. When I am anyone and the day starts and I put on my clothes and donât really do anything with my hair and get ready to be whatever Michelle the world needs her to be, Iâll know it inst everything, Iâll know I lost so much that day and Iâll know no one else will see it or understand it, Iâll know I think of you in every thought and I filter through it because the thoughts are something else, theyâre not a conversation, theyâre not something that needs to be stated. You are a huge part of me that no one can see, and if I describe you, it wont add up to the you I knew, and the you I have come to know. I think of us as a new person and I think of the way you are with me, I think of the ways you are with me and what you left with me, I think of what I left behind and what I wasnât able to do, I think of how we lost our battle, I think of what youâd think about this or that, I think of honoring you, talking with you, missing you, feeling disconnected because I havenât dreamed with you, time is our biggest separation now and it only gets bigger. So when I put on that Michelle- Shell that everyone seeâs I feel like a fraud, I feel like itâs all a discourse of something else that could have, maybe should have happened. I feel this intense confusion and sadness I couldnât do anything with except get dressed and do things with my time I can live with, otherwise I wouldnât be living at all, so I go and go and go, and itâs okay. Its not all bad, itâs okay, my gratitude keeps me going and fills me with a different kind of purpose or satisfaction about the life we share. How do you know when youâve let go of too much? Is that even possible as we donât get to keep anything, even ourselves, ideas of the âquantum youâ, its always shifting, and always becoming, but why does it feel so fake? I assume its because there is a part of me that is always hiding, and there is nothing I can do. I tried to find another group therapy, for that reason, but there is nothing here, I might try to make one, I made a flyer, but I didnât print or post it. Itâs a lot and Iâm not sure its a good idea, like a relapse wouldn't be.Â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
âThe Goner and the Goingâ
Iâd lost daddy and momma ought suggested I burn the pictures; I kept but this one, daddy, likewise his guitar.
Sheâd said as heâd strummed his. Maybe it was the twitch like lightning up his left cheek that betrayed his current predicament - a sin is a sin is a sin, right?
âFell in love with a girl,â yeah, an only, lonely but rebuttal; to what truly gnaws a fool inside, he sang like a wannabe god pretending to be something more than he was; wishing to be something more than he was; a betrayal and only to him and kin alike.
âI have you and thatâs all I need,â whimpered among an off-tone, âG,â and she knew, he knew, the hours keep slipping and a fatherâs dying wish as of yet, remained unanswered.
He knew, and she knew, given all the faults of the father, the son was still to be bested; weaker the phone and so easier to escape.
âYour fatherâs already gone.â
âThen itâs time I get going.â
    - L.C.
Allâs past amend, Â Â Unchangeable. Â It must go. I seem but a dead man held on end To sink down soon. . . .
Thomas Hardy, The Going