cleaning up so well (jones_casey) wrote,
cleaning up so well
jones_casey

the irish keep gatecrashing / it goes on and on and on and on and on my darling

a prince might build a summer palace at la grenadiere, but certainly it will always be the home of a poet's desire, and the sweetest of retreats for two young lovers--for this vintage house, which belongs to a substantial burgess of tours, has charms for every imagination, for the humblest and dullest as well as for the most impassioned and lofty. no one can dwell there without feeling that happiness is in the air, without a glimpse of all that is meant by a peaceful life without care or ambition. there is that in the the air and the sound of the river that sets you dreaming; the sands have a language, and are joyous or dreary, golden or wan; and the owner of the vineyard may sit motionless amid perennial flowers and tempting fruit, and feel all the stir of the world about him.

"four of them were electrocuted," i said, remembering.

"five, with becker." his nostrils turned to me in an interested way.

"i understand you're looking for a business gonnegtion."

the juxtaposition of these two remarks was startling. gatsby answered for me:

"oh, no," he exclaimed, "this isn't the man."

"no?" mr. wolfshiem seemed disappointed.

"this is just a friend. i told you we'd talk about that some other time."

"i beg your pardon," said mr. wolfshiem, "i had a wrong man."

he reached his lodgings for the most part at two - with his walk of a quarter of an hour. he would wait for the last quarter - he wouldn't stir till then; and he kept his watch there with his eyes on it, reflecting while he held it that this deliberate wait, a wait with an effort, which he recognised, would serve perfectly for the attestation he desired to make. it would prove his courage - unless indeed the latter might most be proved by his budging at last from his place. what he mainly felt now was that, since he hadn't originally scuttled, he had his dignities - which had never in his life seemed so many - all to preserve and to carry aloft. this was before him in truth as a physical image, an image almost worthy of an age of greater romance. that remark indeed glimmered for him only to glow the next instant with a finer light; since what age of romance, after all, could have matched either the state of his mind or, "objectively," as they said, the wonder of his situation? the only difference would have been that, brandishing his dignities over his head as in a parchment scroll, he might then - that is in the heroic time - have proceeded downstairs with a drawn sword in his other grasp.

in your public life...
words that embody your presence are "inspiration, serendipity."

words that embody things that may be a part of you are "brain, bubble, clock, decadence, faith, hope, mask, scarab, space."

in your private life...
words that embody your presence are "celebration, chameleon, consort, devotion, fiction, guitar, master, monster, pentacle, rapport, revenge, ripple, rodent, scholar, skunk, victim, vortex."

words that embody the people or things that you interact with are "alchemy, challenge, clown, guru, killer, lyric, silence, soul, touch, water, work."

the card at the top represents one possible mask of your true destination. four of pentacles (power): cleaving to earthly power in the desperate fear that it will be lost. making yourself an obstacle to progress due to lack of originality and a desperate fear of change. believing that security and identity are based primarily on the possession of material things. coveting things and people. living in a cloud of suspicion and prejudice. love in the nineties is paranoid.

your sky is full of dreams
but you don't know how to fly
i don't have a simple answer
but i know that i could answer
there's something better
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