|
Does Havana Syndrome cause Lib Brain This poll is closed. |
|||
|---|---|---|---|
| Microwaves to the head |
|
2 | 2.30% |
| Mass psychosis caused by lib brain |
|
16 | 18.39% |
| Jeb! |
|
23 | 26.44% |
| CIA reverse psychology causing Havana Syndrome |
|
6 | 6.90% |
| Putin causes Lib Brain via Havana Syndrome |
|
9 | 10.34% |
| VOTE! |
|
31 | 35.63% |
| THE CIA PUT A CHIP IN MY BRAIN (RIP Norm) |
|
0 | 0% |
| Total: | 87 votes | ||
|
silicone thrills posted:I dont know if that really came through. I mean, i've said my peace to you in the metoo thread about it but D&D was insanely toxic towards people who believe Reade for a long time. Working as intended
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 02:55
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 26, 2024 23:09 |
|
|
Call me Ishmael Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse and nothing particular to interest me on shore I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can This is my substitute for pistol and ball With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship There is nothing surprising in this If they but knew it almost all men in their degree some time or other cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf Right and left the streets take you waterward Its extreme downtown is the battery where that noble mole is washed by waves and cooled by breezes which a few hours previous were out of sight of land Look at the crowds of water-gazers there Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip and from thence by Whitehall northward What do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging as if striving to get a still better seaward peep But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to counters nailed to benches clinched to desks How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here? But look! here come more crowds pacing straight for the water and seemingly bound for a dive Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice No They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in And there they stand—miles of them—leagues Inlanders all they come from lanes and alleys streets and avenues—north east south and west Yet here they all unite Tell me does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither? Once more Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes Take almost any path you please and ten to one it carries you down in a dale and leaves you there by a pool in the stream There is magic in it Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries—stand that man on his legs set his feet a-going and he will infallibly lead you to water if water there be in all that region Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert try this experiment if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor Yes as every one knows meditation and water are wedded for ever But here is an artist He desires to paint you the dreamiest shadiest quietest most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley of the Saco What is the chief element he employs? There stand his trees each with a hollow trunk as if a hermit and a crucifix were within; and here sleeps his meadow and there sleep his cattle; and up from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke Deep into distant woodlands winds a mazy way reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in their hill-side blue But though the picture lies thus tranced and though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this shepherd’s head yet all were vain unless the shepherd’s eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him Go visit the Prairies in June when for scores on scores of miles you wade knee-deep among Tiger-lilies—what is the one charm wanting?—Water—there is not a drop of water there! Were Niagara but a cataract of sand would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why did the poor poet of Tennessee upon suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver deliberate whether to buy him a coat which he sadly needed or invest his money in a pedestrian trip to Rockaway Beach? Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him at some time or other crazy to go to sea? Why upon your first voyage as a passenger did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity and own brother of Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus who because he could not grasp the tormenting mild image he saw in the fountain plunged into it and was drowned But that same image we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all Now when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I begin to grow hazy about the eyes and begin to be over conscious of my lungs I do not mean to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a passenger For to go as a passenger you must needs have a purse and a purse is but a rag unless you have something in it Besides passengers get sea-sick—grow quarrelsome—don’t sleep of nights—do not enjoy themselves much as a general thing;—no I never go as a passenger; nor though I am something of a salt do I ever go to sea as a Commodore or a Captain or a Cook I abandon the glory and distinction of such offices to those who like them For my part I abominate all honorable respectable toils trials and tribulations of every kind whatsoever It is quite as much as I can do to take care of myself without taking care of ships barques brigs schooners and what not And as for going as cook —though I confess there is considerable glory in that a cook being a sort of officer on ship-board—yet somehow I never fancied broiling fowls;—though once broiled judiciously buttered and judgmatically salted and peppered there is no one who will speak more respectfully not to say reverentially of a broiled fowl than I will It is out of the idolatrous dotings of the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse that you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge bake-houses the pyramids No when I go to sea I go as a simple sailor right before the mast plumb down into the forecastle aloft there to the royal mast-head True they rather order me about some and make me jump from spar to spar like a grasshopper in a May meadow And at first this sort of thing is unpleasant enough It touches one’s sense of honor particularly if you come of an old established family in the land the Van Rensselaers or Randolphs or Hardicanutes And more than all if just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot you have been lording it as a country schoolmaster making the tallest boys stand in awe of you The transition is a keen one I assure you from a schoolmaster to a sailor and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it But even this wears off in time What of it if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to weighed I mean in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that Well then however the old sea-captains may order me about—however they may thump and punch me about I have the satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or metaphysical point of view that is; and so the universal thump is passed round and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades and be content Again I always go to sea as a sailor because they make a point of paying me for my trouble whereas they never pay passengers a single penny that I ever heard of On the contrary passengers themselves must pay And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us But being paid —what will compare with it? The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvellous considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven Ah! how cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition! Finally I always go to sea as a sailor because of the wholesome exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck For as in this world head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is if you never violate the Pythagorean maxim) so for the most part the Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand from the sailors on the forecastle He thinks he breathes it first; but not so In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many other things at the same time that the leaders little suspect it But wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a merchant sailor I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates who has the constant surveillance of me and secretly dogs me and influences me in some unaccountable way—he can better answer than any one else And doubtless my going on this whaling voyage formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago It came in as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive performances I take it that this part of the bill must have run something like this: Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers the Fates put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage when others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies and short and easy parts in genteel comedies and jolly parts in farces—though I cannot tell why this was exactly; yet now that I recall all the circumstances I think I can see a little into the springs and motives which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises induced me to set about performing the part I did besides cajoling me into the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill and discriminating judgment Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island bulk; the undeliverable nameless perils of the whale; these with all the attending marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and sounds helped to sway me to my wish With other men perhaps such things would not have been inducements; but as for me I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote I love to sail forbidden seas and land on barbarous coasts Not ignoring what is good I am quick to perceive a horror and could still be social with it—would they let me—since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of the place one lodges in By reason of these things then the whaling voyage was welcome; the great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open and in the wild conceits that swayed me to my purpose two and two there floated into my inmost soul endless processions of the whale and mid most of them all one grand hooded phantom like a snow hill in the air I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag tucked it under my arm and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific Quitting the good city of old Manhatto I duly arrived in New Bedford It was a Saturday night in December Much was I disappointed upon learning that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed and that no way of reaching that place would offer till the following Monday As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at this same New Bedford thence to embark on their voyage it may as well be related that I for one had no idea of so doing For my mind was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft because there was a fine boisterous something about everything connected with that famous old island which amazingly pleased me Besides though New Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of whaling and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much behind her yet Nantucket was her great original—the Tyre of this Carthage;—the place where the first dead American whale was stranded Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen the Red-Men first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan? And where but from Nantucket too did that first adventurous little sloop put forth partly laden with imported cobblestones—so goes the story—to throw at the whales in order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit? Now having a night a day and still another night following before me in New Bedford ere I could embark for my destined port it became a matter of concernment where I was to eat and sleep meanwhile It was a very dubious-looking nay a very dark and dismal night bitingly cold and cheerless I knew no one in the place With anxious grapnels I had sounded my pocket and only brought up a few pieces of silver —So wherever you go Ishmael said I to myself as I stood in the middle of a dreary street shouldering my bag and comparing the gloom towards the north with the darkness towards the south—wherever in your wisdom you may conclude to lodge for the night my dear Ishmael be sure to inquire the price and don’t be too particular With halting steps I paced the streets and passed the sign of The Crossed Harpoons —but it looked too expensive and jolly there Further on from the bright red windows of the Sword-Fish Inn there came such fervent rays that it seemed to have melted the packed snow and ice from before the house for everywhere else the congealed frost lay ten inches thick in a hard asphaltic pavement —rather weary for me when I struck my foot against the flinty projections because from hard remorseless service the soles of my boots were in a most miserable plight Too expensive and jolly again thought I pausing one moment to watch the broad glare in the street and hear the sounds of the tinkling glasses within But go on Ishmael said I at last; don’t you hear? get away from before the door; your patched boots are stopping the way So on I went I now by instinct followed the streets that took me waterward for there doubtless were the cheapest if not the cheeriest inns Such dreary streets! blocks of blackness not houses on either hand and here and there a candle like a candle moving about in a tomb At this hour of the night of the last day of the week that quarter of the town proved all but deserted But presently I came to a smoky light proceeding from a low wide building the door of which stood invitingly open It had a careless look as if it were meant for the uses of the public; so entering the first thing I did was to stumble over an ash-box in the porch Ha! thought I ha as the flying particles almost choked me are these ashes from that destroyed city Gomorrah? But The Crossed Harpoons and The Sword-Fish? —this then must needs be the sign of The Trap However I picked myself up and hearing a loud voice within pushed on and opened a second interior door It seemed the great Black Parliament sitting in Tophet A hundred black faces turned round in their rows to peer; and beyond a black Angel of Doom was beating a book in a pulpit It was a negro church; and the preacher’s text was about the blackness of darkness and the weeping and wailing and teeth-gnashing there Ha Ishmael muttered I backing out Wretched entertainment at the sign of ‘The Trap!’ Moving on I at last came to a dim sort of light not far from the docks and heard a forlorn creaking in the air; and looking up saw a swinging sign over the door with a white painting upon it faintly representing a tall straight jet of misty spray and these words underneath— The Spouter Inn:—Peter Coffin Coffin?—Spouter?—Rather ominous in that particular connexion thought I But it is a common name in Nantucket they say and I suppose this Peter here is an emigrant from there As the light looked so dim and the place for the time looked quiet enough and the dilapidated little wooden house itself looked as if it might have been carted here from the ruins of some burnt district and as the swinging sign had a poverty-stricken sort of creak to it I thought that here was the very spot for cheap lodgings and the best of pea coffee It was a queer sort of place—a gable-ended old house one side palsied as it were and leaning over sadly It stood on a sharp bleak corner where that tempestuous wind Euroclydon kept up a worse howling than ever it did about poor Paul’s tossed craft Euroclydon nevertheless is a mighty pleasant zephyr to any one in-doors with his feet on the hob quietly toasting for bed In judging of that tempestuous wind called Euroclydon says an old writer—of whose works I possess the only copy extant— it maketh a marvellous difference whether thou lookest out at it from a glass window where the frost is all on the outside or whether thou observest it from that sashless window where the frost is on both sides and of which the wight Death is the only glazier True enough thought I as this passage occurred to my mind—old black-letter thou reasonest well Yes these eyes are windows and this body of mine is the house What a pity they didn’t stop up the chinks and the crannies though and thrust in a little lint here and there But it’s too late to make any improvements now The universe is finished; the copestone is on and the chips were carted off a million years ago Poor Lazarus there chattering his teeth against the curbstone for his pillow and shaking off his tatters with his shiverings he might plug up both ears with rags and put a corn-cob into his mouth and yet that would not keep out the tempestuous Euroclydon Euroclydon! says old Dives in his red silken wrapper—(he had a redder one afterwards) pooh pooh! What a fine frosty night; how Orion glitters; what northern lights! Let them talk of their oriental summer climes of everlasting conservatories; give me the privilege of making my own summer with my own coals But what thinks Lazarus? Can he warm his blue hands by holding them up to the grand northern lights? Would not Lazarus rather be in Sumatra than here? Would he not far rather lay him down lengthwise along the line of the equator; yea ye gods! go down to the fiery pit itself in order to keep out this frost? Now that Lazarus should lie stranded there on the curbstone before the door of Dives this is more wonderful than that an iceberg should be moored to one of the Moluccas Yet Dives himself he too lives like a Czar in an ice palace made of frozen sighs and being a president of a temperance society he only drinks the tepid tears of orphans But no more of this blubbering now we are going a-whaling and there is plenty of that yet to come Let us scrape the ice from our frosted feet and see what sort of a place this Spouter may be Entering that gable-ended Spouter-Inn you found yourself in a wide low straggling entry with old-fashioned wainscots reminding one of the bulwarks of some condemned old craft On one side hung a very large oilpainting so thoroughly besmoked and every way defaced that in the unequal crosslights by which you viewed it it was only by diligent study and a series of systematic visits to it and careful inquiry of the neighbors that you could any way arrive at an understanding of its purpose Such unaccountable masses of shades and shadows that at first you almost thought some ambitious young artist in the time of the New England hags had endeavored to delineate chaos bewitched But by dint of much and earnest contemplation and oft repeated ponderings and especially by throwing open the little window towards the back of the entry you at last come to the conclusion that such an idea however wild might not be altogether unwarranted But what most puzzled and confounded you was a long limber portentous black mass of something hovering in the centre of the picture over three blue dim perpendicular lines floating in a nameless yeast A boggy soggy squitchy picture truly enough to drive a nervous man distracted Yet was there a sort of indefinite half-attained unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze you to it till you involuntarily took an oath with yourself to find out what that marvellous painting meant Ever and anon a bright but alas deceptive idea would dart you through —It’s the Black Sea in a midnight gale —It’s the unnatural combat of the four primal elements —It’s a blasted heath —It’s a Hyperborean winter scene —It’s the breaking-up of the icebound stream of Time But at last all these fancies yielded to that one portentous something in the picture’s midst That once found out and all the rest were plain But stop; does it not bear a faint resemblance to a gigantic fish? even the great leviathan himself? In fact the artist’s design seemed this: a final theory of my own partly based upon the aggregated opinions of many aged persons with whom I conversed upon the subject The picture represents a Cape-Horner in a great hurricane; the half-foundered ship weltering there with its three dismantled masts alone visible; and an exasperated whale purposing to spring clean over the craft is in the enormous act of impaling himself upon the three mast-heads The opposite wall of this entry was hung all over with a heathenish array of monstrous clubs and spears Some were thickly set with glittering teeth resembling ivory saws; others were tufted with knots of human hair; and one was sickle-shaped with a vast handle sweeping round like the segment made in the new-mown grass by a long-armed mower You shuddered as you gazed and wondered what monstrous cannibal and savage could ever have gone a death-harvesting with such a hacking horrifying implement Mixed with these were rusty old whaling lances and harpoons all broken and deformed Some were storied weapons With this once long lance now wildly elbowed fifty years ago did Nathan Swain kill fifteen whales between a sunrise and a sunset And that harpoon—so like a corkscrew now—was flung in Javan seas and run away with by a whale years afterwards slain off the Cape of Blanco The original iron entered nigh the tail and like a restless needle sojourning in the body of a man travelled full forty feet and at last was found imbedded in the hump Crossing this dusky entry and on through yon low-arched way—cut through what in old times must have been a great central chimney with fireplaces all round—you enter the public room A still duskier place is this with such low ponderous beams above and such old wrinkled planks beneath that you would almost fancy you trod some old craft’s cockpits especially of such a howling night when this corner-anchored old ark rocked so furiously On one side stood a long low shelf-like table covered with cracked glass cases filled with dusty rarities gathered from this wide world’s remotest nooks Projecting from the further angle of the room stands a dark-looking den—the bar—a rude attempt at a right whale’s head Be that how it may there stands the vast arched bone of the whale’s jaw so wide a coach might almost drive beneath it Within are shabby shelves ranged round with old decanters bottles flasks; and in those jaws of swift destruction like another cursed Jonah (by which name indeed they called him) bustles a little withered old man who for their money dearly sells the sailors deliriums and death Abominable are the tumblers into which he pours his poison Though true cylinders without—within the villanous green goggling glasses deceitfully tapered downwards to a cheating bottom Parallel meridians rudely pecked into the glass surround these footpads’ goblets Fill to this mark and your charge is but a penny; to this a penny more; and so on to the full glass—the Cape Horn measure which you may gulp down for a shilling Upon entering the place I found a number of young seamen gathered about a table examining by a dim light divers specimens of skrimshander I sought the landlord and telling him I desired to be accommodated with a room received for answer that his house was full—not a bed unoccupied But avast he added tapping his forehead you haint no objections to sharing a harpooneer’s blanket have ye? I s’pose you are goin’ a-whalin’ so you’d better get used to that sort of thing I told him that I never liked to sleep two in a bed; that if I should ever do so it would depend upon who the harpooneer might be and that if he (the landlord) really had no other place for me and the harpooneer was not decidedly objectionable why rather than wander further about a strange town on so bitter a night I would put up with the half of any decent man’s blanket I thought so All right; take a seat Supper?—you want supper? Supper’ll be ready directly I sat down on an old wooden settle carved all over like a bench on the Battery At one end a ruminating tar was still further adorning it with his jack-knife stooping over and diligently working away at the space between his legs He was trying his hand at a ship under full sail but he didn’t make much headway I thought At last some four or five of us were summoned to our meal in an adjoining room It was cold as Iceland—no fire at all—the landlord said he couldn’t afford it Nothing but two dismal tallow candles each in a winding sheet We were fain to button up our monkey jackets and hold to our lips cups of scalding tea with our half frozen fingers But the fare was of the most substantial kind—not only meat and potatoes but dumplings; good heavens! dumplings for supper! One young fellow in a green box coat addressed himself to these dumplings in a most direful manner My boy said the landlord you’ll have the nightmare to a dead sartainty Landlord I whispered that aint the harpooneer is it? Oh no said he looking a sort of diabolically funny the harpooneer is a dark complexioned chap He never eats dumplings he don’t—he eats nothing but steaks and he likes ’em rare The devil he does says I Where is that harpooneer? Is he here? He’ll be here afore long was the answer I could not help it but I began to feel suspicious of this dark complexioned harpooneer At any rate I made up my mind that if it so turned out that we should sleep together he must undress and get into bed before I did Supper over the company went back to the bar-room when knowing not what else to do with myself I resolved to spend the rest of the evening as a looker on Presently a rioting noise was heard without Starting up the landlord cried That’s the Grampus’s crew I seed her reported in the offing this morning; a three years’ voyage and a full ship Hurrah boys; now we’ll have the latest news from the Feegees A tramping of sea boots was heard in the entry; the door was flung open and in rolled a wild set of mariners enough Enveloped in their shaggy watch coats and with their heads muffled in woollen comforters all bedarned and ragged and their beards stiff with icicles they seemed an eruption of bears from Labrador They had just landed from their boat and this was the first house they entered No wonder then that they made a straight wake for the whale’s mouth—the bar—when the wrinkled little old Jonah there officiating soon poured them out brimmers all round One complained of a bad cold in his head upon which Jonah mixed him a pitch-like potion of gin and molasses which he swore was a sovereign cure for all colds and catarrhs whatsoever never mind of how long standing or whether caught off the coast of Labrador or on the weather side of an ice-island The liquor soon mounted into their heads as it generally does even with the arrantest topers newly landed from sea and they began capering about most obstreperously I observed however that one of them held somewhat aloof and though he seemed desirous not to spoil the hilarity of his shipmates by his own sober face yet upon the whole he refrained from making as much noise as the rest This man interested me at once; and since the sea-gods had ordained that he should soon become my shipmate (though but a sleeping-partner one so far as this narrative is concerned) I will here venture upon a little description of him He stood full six feet in height with noble shoulders and a chest like a coffer-dam I have seldom seen such brawn in a man His face was deeply brown and burnt making his white teeth dazzling by the contrast; while in the deep shadows of his eyes floated some reminiscences that did not seem to give him much joy His voice at once announced that he was a Southerner and from his fine stature I thought he must be one of those tall mountaineers from the Alleghanian Ridge in Virginia When the revelry of his companions had mounted to its height this man slipped away unobserved and I saw no more of him till he became my comrade on the sea In a few minutes however he was missed by his shipmates and being it seems for some reason a huge favourite with them they raised a cry of Bulkington! Bulkington! where’s Bulkington? and darted out of the house in pursuit of him It was now about nine o’clock and the room seeming almost supernaturally quiet after these orgies I began to congratulate myself upon a little plan that had occurred to me just previous to the entrance of the seamen No man prefers to sleep two in a bed In fact you would a good deal rather not sleep with your own brother I don’t know how it is but people like to be private when they are sleeping And when it comes to sleeping with an unknown stranger in a strange inn in a strange town and that stranger a harpooneer then your objections indefinitely multiply Nor was there any earthly reason why I as a sailor should sleep two in a bed more than anybody else; for sailors no more sleep two in a bed at sea than bachelor Kings do ashore To be sure they all sleep together in one apartment but you have your own hammock and cover yourself with your own blanket and sleep in your own skin The more I pondered over this harpooneer the more I abominated the thought of sleeping with him It was fair to presume that being a harpooneer his linen or woollen as the case might be would not be of the tidiest certainly none of the finest I began to twitch all over Besides it was getting late and my decent harpooneer ought to be home and going bedwards Suppose now he should tumble in upon me at midnight—how could I tell from what vile hole he had been coming? Landlord! I’ve changed my mind about that harpooneer —I shan’t sleep with him I’ll try the bench here Just as you please; I’m sorry I can’t spare ye a tablecloth for a mattress and it’s a plaguy rough board here —feeling of the knots and notches But wait a bit Skrimshander; I’ve got a carpenter’s plane there in the bar—wait I say and I’ll make ye snug enough So saying he procured the plane; and with his old silk handkerchief first dusting the bench vigorously set to planing away at my bed the while grinning like an ape The shavings flew right and left; till at last the plane-iron came bump against an indestructible knot The landlord was near spraining his wrist and I told him for heaven’s sake to quit—the bed was soft enough to suit me and I did not know how all the planing in the world could make eider down of a pine plank So gathering up the shavings with another grin and throwing them into the great stove in the middle of the room he went about his business and left me in a brown study I now took the measure of the bench and found that it was a foot too short; but that could be mended with a chair But it was a foot too narrow and the other bench in the room was about four inches higher than the planed one—so there was no yoking them I then placed the first bench lengthwise along the only clear space against the wall leaving a little interval between for my back to settle down in But I soon found that there came such a draught of cold air over me from under the sill of the window that this plan would never do at all especially as another current from the rickety door met the one from the window and both together formed a series of small whirlwinds in the immediate vicinity of the spot where I had thought to spend the night The devil fetch that harpooneer thought I but stop couldn’t I steal a march on him—bolt his door inside and jump into his bed not to be wakened by the most violent knockings? It seemed no bad idea; but upon second thoughts I dismissed it For who could tell but what the next morning so soon as I popped out of the room the harpooneer might be standing in the entry all ready to knock me down! Still looking round me again and seeing no possible chance of spending a sufferable night unless in some other person’s bed I began to think that after all I might be cherishing unwarrantable prejudices against this unknown harpooneer Thinks I I’ll wait awhile; he must be dropping in before long I’ll have a good look at him then and perhaps we may become jolly good bedfellows after all—there’s no telling But though the other boarders kept coming in by ones twos and threes and going to bed yet no sign of my harpooneer Landlord! said I what sort of a chap is he—does he always keep such late hours? It was now hard upon twelve o’clock The landlord chuckled again with his lean chuckle and seemed to be mightily tickled at something beyond my comprehension No he answered generally he’s an early bird—airley to bed and airley to rise—yes he’s the bird what catches the worm But to-night he went out a peddling you see and I don’t see what on airth keeps him so late unless may be he can’t sell his head Can’t sell his head?—What sort of a bamboozingly story is this you are telling me? getting into a towering rage Do you pretend to say landlord that this harpooneer is actually engaged this blessed Saturday night or rather Sunday morning in peddling his head around this town? That’s precisely it said the landlord and I told him he couldn’t sell it here the market’s overstocked With what? shouted I With heads to be sure; ain’t there too many heads in the world? I tell you what it is landlord said I quite calmly you’d better stop spinning that yarn to me—I’m not green May be not taking out a stick and whittling a toothpick but I rayther guess you’ll be done brown if that ere harpooneer hears you a slanderin’ his head I’ll break it for him said I now flying into a passion again at this unaccountable farrago of the landlord’s It’s broke a’ready said he Broke said I— broke do you mean? Sartain and that’s the very reason he can’t sell it I guess Landlord said I going up to him as cool as Mt Hecla in a snow-storm— landlord stop whittling You and I must understand one another and that too without delay I come to your house and want a bed; you tell me you can only give me half a one; that the other half belongs to a certain harpooneer And about this harpooneer whom I have not yet seen you persist in telling me the most mystifying and exasperating stories tending to beget in me an uncomfortable feeling towards the man whom you design for my bedfellow—a sort of connexion landlord which is an intimate and confidential one in the highest degree I now demand of you to speak out and tell me who and what this harpooneer is and whether I shall be in all respects safe to spend the night with him And in the first place you will be so good as to unsay that story about selling his head which if true I take to be good evidence that this harpooneer is stark mad and I’ve no idea of sleeping with a madman; and you sir you I mean landlord you sir by trying to induce me to do so knowingly would thereby render yourself liable to a criminal prosecution Wall said the landlord fetching a long breath that’s a purty long sarmon for a chap that rips a little now and then But be easy be easy this here harpooneer I have been tellin’ you of has just arrived from the south seas where he bought up a lot of ’balmed New Zealand heads (great curios you know) and he’s sold all on ’em but one and that one he’s trying to sell to-night cause to-morrow’s Sunday and it would not do to be sellin’ human heads about the streets when folks is goin’ to churches He wanted to last Sunday but I stopped him just as he was goin’ out of the door with four heads strung on a string for all the airth like a string of inions This account cleared up the otherwise unaccountable mystery and showed that the landlord after all had had no idea of fooling me—but at the same time what could I think of a harpooneer who stayed out of a Saturday night clean into the holy Sabbath engaged in such a cannibal business as selling the heads of dead idolators? Depend upon it landlord that harpooneer is a dangerous man He pays reg’lar was the rejoinder But come it’s getting dreadful late you had better be turning flukes—it’s a nice bed; Sal and me slept in that ere bed the night we were spliced There’s plenty of room for two to kick about in that bed; it’s an almighty big bed that Why afore we give it up Sal used to put our Sam and little Johnny in the foot of it But I got a dreaming and sprawling about one night and somehow Sam got pitched on the floor and came near breaking his arm Arter that Sal said it wouldn’t do Come along here I’ll give ye a glim in a jiffy; and so saying he lighted a candle and held it towards me offering to lead the way But I stood irresolute; when looking at a clock in the corner he exclaimed I vum it’s Sunday—you won’t see that harpooneer to-night; he’s come to anchor somewhere—come along then; do come; won’t ye come? I considered the matter a moment and then up stairs we went and I was ushered into a small room cold as a clam and furnished sure enough with a prodigious bed almost big enough indeed for any four harpooneers to sleep abreast There said the landlord placing the candle on a crazy old sea chest that did double duty as a wash-stand and centre table; there make yourself comfortable now and good night to ye I turned round from eyeing the bed but he had disappeared Folding back the counterpane I stooped over the bed Though none of the most elegant it yet stood the scrutiny tolerably well I then glanced round the room; and besides the bedstead and centre table could see no other furniture belonging to the place but a rude shelf the four walls and a papered fireboard representing a man striking a whale Of things not properly belonging to the room there was a hammock lashed up and thrown upon the floor in one corner; also a large seaman’s bag containing the harpooneer’s wardrobe no doubt in lieu of a land trunk Likewise there was a parcel of outlandish bone fish hooks on the shelf over the fire-place and a tall harpoon standing at the head of the bed But what is this on the chest? I took it up and held it close to the light and felt it and smelt it and tried every way possible to arrive at some satisfactory conclusion concerning it I can compare it to nothing but a large door mat ornamented at the edges with little tinkling tags something like the stained porcupine quills round an Indian moccasin There was a hole or slit in the middle of this mat as you see the same in South American ponchos But could it be possible that any sober harpooneer would get into a door mat and parade the streets of any Christian town in that sort of guise? I put it on to try it and it weighed me down like a hamper being uncommonly shaggy and thick and I thought a little damp as though this mysterious harpooneer had been wearing it of a rainy day I went up in it to a bit of glass stuck against the wall and I never saw such a sight in my life I tore myself out of it in such a hurry that I gave myself a kink in the neck I sat down on the side of the bed and commenced thinking about this head-peddling harpooneer and his door mat After thinking some time on the bed-side I got up and took off my monkey jacket and then stood in the middle of the room thinking I then took off my coat and thought a little more in my shirt sleeves But beginning to feel very cold now half undressed as I was and remembering what the landlord said about the harpooneer’s not coming home at all that night it being so very late I made no more ado but jumped out of my pantaloons and boots and then blowing out the light tumbled into bed and commended myself to the care of heaven Whether that mattress was stuffed with corn-cobs or broken crockery there is no telling but I rolled about a good deal and could not sleep for a long time At last I slid off into a light doze and had pretty nearly made a good offing towards the land of Nod when I heard a heavy footfall in the passage and saw a glimmer of light come into the room from under the door Lord save me thinks I that must be the harpooneer the infernal head-peddler But I lay perfectly still and resolved not to say a word till spoken to Holding a light in one hand and that identical New Zealand head in the other the stranger entered the room and without looking towards the bed placed his candle a good way off from me on the floor in one corner and then began working away at the knotted cords of the large bag I before spoke of as being in the room I was all eagerness to see his face but he kept it averted for some time while employed in unlacing the bag’s mouth This accomplished however he turned round—when good heavens! what a sight! Such a face! It was of a dark purplish yellow colour here and there stuck over with large blackish looking squares Yes it’s just as I thought he’s a terrible bedfellow; he’s been in a fight got dreadfully cut and here he is just from the surgeon But at that moment he chanced to turn his face so towards the light that I plainly saw they could not be sticking-plasters at all those black squares on his cheeks They were stains of some sort or other At first I knew not what to make of this; but soon an inkling of the truth occurred to me I remembered a story of a white man—a whaleman too—who falling among the cannibals had been tattooed by them I concluded that this harpooneer in the course of his distant voyages must have met with a similar adventure And what is it thought I after all! It’s only his outside; a man can be honest in any sort of skin But then what to make of his unearthly complexion that part of it I mean lying round about and completely independent of the squares of tattooing To be sure it might be nothing but a good coat of tropical tanning; but I never heard of a hot sun’s tanning a white man into a purplish yellow one However I had never been in the South Seas; and perhaps the sun there produced these extraordinary effects upon the skin Now while all these ideas were passing through me like lightning this harpooneer never noticed me at all But after some difficulty having opened his bag he commenced fumbling in it and presently pulled out a sort of tomahawk and a seal-skin wallet with the hair on Placing these on the old chest in the middle of the room he then took the New Zealand head—a ghastly thing enough—and crammed it down into the bag He now took off his hat—a new beaver hat—when I came nigh singing out with fresh surprise There was no hair on his head—none to speak of at least—nothing but a small scalp-knot twisted up on his forehead His bald purplish head now looked for all the world like a mildewed skull Had not the stranger stood between me and the door I would have bolted out of it quicker than ever I bolted a dinner Even as it was I thought something of slipping out of the window but it was the second floor back I am no coward but what to make of this head-peddling purple rascal altogether passed my comprehension Ignorance is the parent of fear and being completely nonplussed and confounded about the stranger I confess I was now as much afraid of him as if it was the devil himself who had thus broken into my room at the dead of night In fact I was so afraid of him that I was not game enough just then to address him and demand a satisfactory answer concerning what seemed inexplicable in him Meanwhile he continued the business of undressing and at last showed his chest and arms As I live these covered parts of him were checkered with the same squares as his face; his back too was all over the same dark squares; he seemed to have been in a Thirty Years’ War and just escaped from it with a sticking-plaster shirt Still more his very legs were marked as if a parcel of dark green frogs were running up the trunks of young palms It was now quite plain that he must be some abominable savage or other shipped aboard of a whaleman in the South Seas and so landed in this Christian country I quaked to think of it A peddler of heads too—perhaps the heads of his own brothers He might take a fancy to mine—heavens! look at that tomahawk! But there was no time for shuddering for now the savage went about something that completely fascinated my attention and convinced me that he must indeed be a heathen Going to his heavy grego or wrapall or dreadnaught which he had previously hung on a chair he fumbled in the pockets and produced at length a curious little deformed image with a hunch on its back and exactly the colour of a three days’ old Congo baby Remembering the embalmed head at first I almost thought that this black manikin was a real baby preserved in some similar manner But se (USER WAS PUT ON PROBATION FOR THIS POST)
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 02:55
|
|
|
500 good dogs posted:I simply voted for someone who wasn't a rapist, and if enough others had joined me, we wouldn't have a rapist president That's just loving crazy talk right there.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 02:57
|
|
not that complicated to me!
|
tehinternet posted:No rapes is good. One rape is objectively not as bad as twenty. Nah, man, this sucks. Think of it this way - it's you who's been raped, or your daughter or son or wife or mother or father or so on, so forth, by this specific person, versus someone who raped twenty people. Would you in good conscience vote for them? It's about what we do in honor of Tara Reade, about her experience. She may have even voted for Biden, I don't know, a lot of rape victims voted for Biden, but that doesn't take away from the fact that it's asking something awful of victims. I had a public mental breakdown on inauguration day, just was crumpled up at a place I was picking up food at. I was having panic attacks during Kavanaugh's confirmation hearings. One rape is not a factor... it's a disqualifier. But again, he has multiple accusations against him, he's molested people on camera, etc., even this presumption has a flaw in it. Biden is very likely a serial molester, but, well, who's going to step forward after what happened to Reade?
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 02:57
|
|
|
Somehow with there being no non-rapists on the ballot, I still managed to check the box for one. I think we finally found some voter fraud! If you choose to vote for the rapist, don't prickle when people call you out
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 02:57
|
|
|
Augus posted:Call me Ishmael
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 02:58
|
|
|
lol
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 02:59
|
|
|
A big flaming stink posted:and continuing on with my edit, does there exist a point where both AWFUL and REALLY loving AWFUL are so horrifically bad that you cannot see a point in trying to figure out the difference? Do numbers not exist? Twenty is worse than one which should still be disqualifying, but not to dems, so here we are. Given the choice between one rapist and a serial rapist, who do you pick? Neither? Great. Did your choice win? Well, gently caress. Wish a whole lot more people felt like you guys do, but they don’t, so the choice was rapist and serial rapist. Be mad about it, you should be because it’a bullshit. But that’s what the choice was and being rightfully angry about it didn’t change the choice that we were presented with.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:00
|
|
|
Augus posted:Call me Ishmael
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:00
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:Who was the non rapist who could have won? Must be nice to live in fantasy land where the Perfect Leftist could have been on the ballot and saved us. In reality we had the choice between a rapist and a serial rapist. Who cares who wins, my man, when it's two rapists, we already lost. There's no winning now. You are under no obligation to give a poo poo who wins anymore. I know that's how I feel. I could care less what the Democratic Party does... all those drat superdelegates to prevent someone horrible from representing party, superdelegates you know they would've brought out of the closet if Bernie was going to win, same as them letting Bloomberg in the race... but Biden? An acceptable gently caress.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:00
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:Do numbers not exist? Twenty is worse than one which should still be disqualifying, but not to dems, so here we are. Given the choice between one rapist and a serial rapist, who do you pick? lol there were more than two choices on my ballot, buddy, I simply chose one of the non-rapist options but maybe they sent you a rapist-afficionado ballot for some reason?
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:01
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:No rapes is good. One rape is objectively not as bad as twenty. See, that's where you're wrong buddy. The Democrat Party is evil. Not dumb. They love war, rapists, and hate immigrants and other working people.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:01
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:Do numbers not exist? Twenty is worse than one which should still be disqualifying, but not to dems, so here we are. Given the choice between one rapist and a serial rapist, who do you pick? Just enshrine this post.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:02
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:Who was the non rapist who could have won? Must be nice to live in fantasy land where the Perfect Leftist could have been on the ballot and saved us. In reality we had the choice between a rapist and a serial rapist. what state do you live in?
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:02
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:“This wasn’t MY fault” I say with my head held high to the additional families murdered "I voted for the rapist who ramped up the child death camps as harm reduction" isn't the burn you think it is. You're absolutely right about something though: it's not you who's being held in a death camp. it's not you who's being forcefully penetrated by a superior. it's not you who's being forced back to work despite the danger. it's not you having your country overthrown by a US-backed junta. you chose this, you defend this, and you're not the one paying the price.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:03
|
|
|
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLvm16MKCpA
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:04
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:Do numbers not exist? Twenty is worse than one which should still be disqualifying, but not to dems, so here we are. Given the choice between one rapist and a serial rapist, who do you pick?
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:04
|
|
|
its gonna be funny if this dude lives in alabama or texas
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:05
|
|
|
Harik posted:"I voted for the rapist who ramped up the child death camps as harm reduction" isn't the burn you think it is. they were clearly held at gunpoint and told "vote for one of the two rapists or die" else they could see the other options available had they wanted to avoid being complicit in the crimes against humanity being committed by either of the rapist's cruel administrations
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:05
|
|
|
spacetoaster posted:Hmmm, yes. Voting for rapists is ok if they can win elections. That’s a take. I’m clearly pro-rape because given the choice between the two only realistic options, I chose the less bad one. And yeah, it is the position of a normal person considering something like 80+ million people felt the same. I wish I lived in your reality. 500 good dogs posted:I simply voted for someone who wasn't a rapist, and if enough others had joined me, we wouldn't have a rapist president That’s not reality, though, as much as I wish it was. The only people who even think Biden was a rapist I’ve ever talked to have been goons on the internet, so it’s honestly kind of nice to have people who see the same reality even if their decisions re: voting/not voting are vastly different.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:06
|
|
|
GreyjoyBastard, you coward, come in here and defend your hatred of Moby Dick.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:06
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:That’s a take. I’m clearly pro-rape because given the choice between the two only realistic options, I chose the less bad one. Hey, don't blame me. I'm not the one who voted for a rapist. Sell it to me. What was it, about Joe Biden, that really made you want to vote for him?
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:07
|
|
|
That post was the best thing on this page
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:08
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:That’s a take. I’m clearly pro-rape because given the choice between the two only realistic options, I chose the less bad one. Don't bother engaging, man. These people are not posting in good faith about their supposed concern over rape. (USER WAS PUT ON PROBATION FOR THIS POST)
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:08
|
|
|
Suck Moredickis posted:Don't bother engaging, man. These people are not posting in good faith about their supposed concern over rape. log onto your real account coward
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:08
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:Who was the non rapist who could have won? Must be nice to live in fantasy land where the Perfect Leftist could have been on the ballot and saved us. In reality we had the choice between a rapist and a serial rapist. what you are currently engaged in is apologia for giving your support to a rapist, on the grounds that you felt powerless to do anything but give your support to a rapist. there is a fairly easy workaround here. it is to admit that voting does not entail an act of moral conscience. that it is a matter of purely putting your support behind a power bloc that you feel will represent your ideals. christ knows I do not find Howie Hawkins a fundamentally moral human being, but as far as my vote advancing my political goals go, he made the best choice to do so. there is a reason this is not the angle taken by the most noxious people in this thread, though. they would (and did!) rather throw MeToo under the bus COMPLETELY than give up on the sole lever they have to try to compel your support: 'you are a bad person, if you don't vote for the democrat.' because if voting is not a matter of moral conscience, and instead a matter of trying to advance your political goals, you leave yourself open to a horrifying question. when was the last time the Democratic Party advanced any of your political goals, instead of spitting in your face and telling you "if you don't like putting Mexicans in concentration camps, vote for Trump."
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:09
|
|
|
Suck Moredickis posted:Don't bother engaging, man. These people are not posting in good faith about their supposed concern over rape. gently caress off.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:09
|
|
|
Suck Moredickis posted:Don't bother engaging, man. These people are not posting in good faith about their supposed concern over rape. speaking of people in D+D who got real weird about #metoo,
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:09
|
|
|
look i live in california and had no choice but to vote for joe biden
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:10
|
|
|
Tibalt posted:GreyjoyBastard, you coward, come in here and defend your hatred of Moby Dick.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:10
|
|
|
Good faith? Ok. Here we go. I voted for Howie. Specifically for his anti-war stance, but it was a nice cherry on top that he wasn't a rapist.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:10
|
|
|
Suck Moredickis posted:Don't bother engaging, man. These people are not posting in good faith about their supposed concern over rape. go gently caress your self. As a survivor, you are a deeply horrible and patronizing shithead and I hope you never truly have to face what living with that is like.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:10
|
|
|
Suck Moredickis posted:Don't bother engaging, man. These people are not posting in good faith about their supposed concern over rape. i think rape is bad and i'm not afraid to say it
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:11
|
|
|
where do you live op
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:11
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:That’s a take. I’m clearly pro-rape because given the choice between the two only realistic options, I chose the less bad one. A system that presents you with two bad options should not be a system that exists. Maybe you should advocate for overthrowing it instead of voting for rapists and justifying your decision.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:11
|
|
|
Know the limits of your stupid dumb gimmick, seriously.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:11
|
|
|
Suck Moredickis posted:Don't bother engaging, man. These people are not posting in good faith about their supposed concern over rape. This has to be the grossest thing I’ve seen on this website in a long time, jfc
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:12
|
|
|
I voted for Gloria la Riva and Leonard Peltier even though I knew they were not going to win because their platform is as close to what I want my government to be and neither one of them is a rapist. No, they didn't win, but I can sleep at night. It wasn't even a hard choice. Don't vote for rapists.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:12
|
|
|
tehinternet posted:That’s a take. I’m clearly pro-rape because given the choice between the two only realistic options, I chose the less bad one.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:13
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 26, 2024 23:09 |
|
|
Voting in a swing state doesn't really justify voting for a rapist either. For one, "swing states" are invented constructs. North Carolina where I live is a swing state, but they sure didn't get the memo because they've been going red since Obama stopped being in office. Indiana was a swing state for a hot second... just kidding. It's all meta-horseshit. Vote your confidence, instead of power tripping that your vote is deciding the course of the country. I voted otherwise straight blue in both elections I voted for the Green Party, and it sure didn't do poo poo for the most part, ah well.
|
|
#
?
Sep 26, 2021 03:13
|
|