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rain_herself
January 19, 2021, 6:06 pm to Public
why did i post that
I
V
rain_herself
July 29, 2020, 9:46 am to Public
without further ado, the longest sentence i could find on the internet. i didn't read it.
ow they’re going to see who I am, he said
to himself in his strong new man’s voice, many years after he had first
seen the huge ocean liner without lights and without any sound which
passed by the village one night like a great uninhabited place, longer
than the whole village and much taller than the steeple of the church,
and it sailed by in the darkness toward the colonial city on the other
side of the bay that had been fortified against buccaneers, with its old
slave port and the rotating light, whose gloomy beams transfigured the
village into a lunar encampment of glowing houses and streets of
volcanic deserts every fifteen seconds, and even though at that time
he’d been a boy without a man’s strong voice but with his’ mother’s
permission to stay very late on the beach to listen to the wind’s night
harps, he could still remember, as if still seeing it, how the liner
would disappear when the light of the beacon struck its side and how it
would reappear when the light had passed, so that it was an intermittent
ship sailing along, appearing and disappearing, toward the mouth of the
bay, groping its way like a sleep‐walker for the buoys that marked the
harbor channel, until something must have gone wrong with the compass
needle, because it headed toward the shoals, ran aground, broke up, and
sank without a single sound, even though a collision against the reefs
like that should have produced a crash of metal and the explosion of
engines that would have frozen, with fright the soundest‐sleeping
dragons in the prehistoric jungle that began with the last streets of
the village and ended on the other side of the world, so that he himself
thought it was a dream, especially the, next day, when he. saw the
radiant fishbowl. of the bay, the disorder of colors of the Negro shacks
on the hills above the harbor, the schooners of the smugglers from the
Guianas loading their cargoes ‐of innocent parrots whose craws were full
of diamonds, he thought, I fell asleep counting the stars and L dreamed
about that huge ship, of course, he was so convinced that he didn’t
tell anyone nor did he remember the vision again until the same night on
the following March when he was looking for the flash of dolphins in
the sea and what he found was the illusory line, gloomy, intermittent,
with the same mistaken direction as the first time, except that then he
was so sure he was awake that he ran to tell his mother and she spent
three weeks moaning with disappointment, because your brain’s rotting
away from doing so many things backward, sleeping during the day and
going out at night like a criminal, and since she had to go to the city
around that time to get something comfortable where she could sit and
think about her dead husband, because the rockers on her chair had worn
out after eleven years of widowhood, she took advantage of the occasion
and had the boatman go near the shoals so that her son could see what he
really saw in the glass of; the sea, the lovemaking of manta rays in a
springtime of sponges, pink snappers and blue corvinas diving into the
other wells of softer waters that were there among the waters, and even
the wandering hairs of victims of drowning in some colonial shipwreck,
no trace of sunken liners of anything like it, and yet he was so
pigheaded that his mother promised to watch with him the next March,
absolutely, not knowing that the only thing absolute in her future now
was an easy chair from the days of Sir Francis Drake which she had
bought at an auction in a Turk’s store, in which she sat down to rest
that same night sighing, oh, my poor Olofernos, if you could only see
how nice it is to think about you on this velvet lining and this brocade
from the casket of a queen, but the more she brought back the memory of
her dead husband, the more the blood in her heart bubbled up and turned
to chocolate, as if instead of sitting down she were running, soaked
from chills and fevers and her breathing full of earth, until he
returned at dawn and found her dead in the easy chair, still warm, but
half rotted away as after a snakebite, the same as happened afterward to
four other women before the murderous chair was thrown into the sea,
far away where it wouldn’t bring evil to anyone, because it had. been
used so much over the centuries that its faculty for giving rest had
been used up, and so he had to grow accustomed to his miserable routine
of an orphan who was pointed out by everyone as the son of the widow who
had brought the throne of misfortune into the village, living not so
much from public charity as from fish he stole out of the boats, while
his voice was becoming a roar, and not remembering his visions of past
times anymore until another night in March when he chanced to look
seaward and suddenly, good Lord, there, it is, the huge asbestos whale,
the behemoth beast, come see it, he shouted madly, come see it, raising
such an uproar of dogs’ barking and women’s panic that even the oldest
men remembered the frights of their great‐grandfathers and crawled under
their beds, thinking that William Dampier had come back, but those who
ran into the street didn’t make the effort to see the unlikely apparatus
which at that instant was lost again in the east and raised up in its
annual disaster, but they covered him with blows and left him so twisted
that it was then he said to himself, drooling with rage, now they’re
going to see who I am, but he took care not to share his determination
with anyone, but spent the whole year with the fixed idea, now they’re
going to see who I am, waiting for it to be the eve of the apparition
once more in order to do what he did, which was steal a boat, cross the
bay, and spend the evening waiting for his great moment in the inlets of
the slave port, in the human brine of the Caribbean, but so absorbed in
his adventure that he didn’t stop as he always did in front of the
Hindu shops to look at the ivory mandarins carved from the whole tusk of
an elephant, nor did he make fun of the Dutch Negroes in their
orthopedic velocipedes, nor was he frightened as at other times of the
copper‐skinned Malayans, who had gone around the world, enthralled by
the chimera of a secret tavern where they sold roast filets of Brazilian
women, because he wasn’t aware of anything until night came over him
with all the weight of the stars and the jungle exhaled a sweet
fragrance of gardenias and rotter salamanders, and there he was, rowing
in the stolen boat, toward the mouth of the bay, with the lantern out so
as not to alert the customs police, idealized every fifteen seconds by
the green wing flap of the beacon and turned human once more by the
darkness, knowing that he was getting close to the buoys that marked the
harbor, channel, not only because its oppressive glow was getting more
intense, but because the breathing of the water was becoming sad, and he
rowed like that, so wrapped up in himself, that he. didn’t know where
the fearful shark’s breath that suddenly reached him came from or why
the night became dense, as if the stars had suddenly died, and it was
because the liner was there, with all of its inconceivable size, Lord,
bigger than, any other big thing in the world and darker than any other
dark thing on land or sea, three hundred thousand tons of shark smell
passing so close to the boat that he could see the seams of the steel
precipice without a single light in the infinite portholes, without a
sigh from the engines, without a soul, and carrying its own circle of
silence with it, its own dead air, its halted time, its errant sea in
which a whole world of drowned animals floated, and suddenly it all
disappeared with the flash of the beacon and for an instant it was the
diaphanous Caribbean once more, the March night, the everyday air of the
pelicans, so he stayed alone among the buoys, not knowing what to do,
asking himself, startled, if perhaps he wasn’t dreaming while he was
awake, not just now but the other times too, but no sooner had. he asked
himself than a breath of mystery snuffled out the buoys, from the first
to the last, so that when the light of the beacon passed by the liner
appeared again and now its compasses were out of order, perhaps not even
knowing what part of the ocean sea it was in, groping for the invisible
channel but actually heading for the shoals, until he got the
overwhelming revelation that that misfortune of the buoys was the last
key to the enchantment and he lighted the lantern in the boat, a tiny
red light that had no reason to alarm anyone in the watch towers but
which would be like a guiding sun for the pilot, because, thanks to it,
the liner corrected its course and passed into the main gate of the
channel in a maneuver of lucky resurrection, and then all the lights
went on at the same time so that the boilers wheezed again, the stars
were fixed in their places, and the animal corpses went to the bottom,
and there was a clatter of plates and a fragrance of laurel sauce in the
kitchens, and one could hear the pulsing of the orchestra on the moon
decks and the throbbing of the arteries of high‐sea lovers in the
shadows of the staterooms, but he still carried so much leftover rage in
him that he would not let himself be confused by emotion or be
frightened by the miracle, but said to himself with more decision than
ever, now they’re going to see who I am, the cowards, now they’re going
to see, and instead of turning aside so that the colossal machine would
not charge into him he began to row in front of it, because now they
really are going to see who I am, and he continued guiding the ship with
the lantern until he was so sure of its obedience that he made it
change course from the direction of the docks once more, took it out of
the invisible channel, and led it by the halter as if it were a sea lamb
toward the lights of the sleeping village, a living ship, invulnerable
to the torches of the beacon, that no longer made invisible but made it
aluminum every fifteen seconds, and the crosses of the church, the
misery of the houses, the illusion began to stand out and still the
ocean liner followed behind him, following his will inside of it, the
captain asleep on his heart side, the fighting bulls in the snow of
their pantries, the solitary patient in the infirmary, the orphan water
of its cisterns, the unredeemed pilot who must have mistaken the cliffs
for the docks, because at that instant the great roar of the whistle
burst forth, once, and he with downpour of steam that fell on him,
again, and the boat belonging to someone else was on the point of
capsizing, and again, but it was too late, because there were the shells
of the shoreline, the stones of the street, the doors of the
disbelievers, the whole village illuminated by the lights of the
fearsome liner itself, and he barely had time to get out of the way to
make room for the cataclysm, shouting in the midst of the confusion,
there it is, you cowards, a second before the huge steel cask shattered
the ground and one could hear the neat destruction of ninety thousand
five hundred champagne glasses breaking, one after the other, from stem
to stern, and then the light came out and it was no longer a March dawn
but the noon of a radiant Wednesday, and he was able to give himself the
pleasure of watching the disbelievers as with open mouths they
contemplated the largest ocean liner in this world and the other aground
in front of the church, whiter than anything, twenty times taller than
the steeple and some ninety‐seven times longer than the village, with
its name engraved in iron letters, Halalcsillag, and the ancient and
languid waters of the sea of death dripping down its sides.
- 1 Likes
rain_herself
July 23, 2020, 5:12 pm to Public
E̵͖͉͉̾̾n̴̠̮̟̭̉̉̈̓t̶͍̰͋͐͊͝r̴̜̺̥̂̓̐̌ẙ̶̨͇̗ ̸͔͎̤̼͆͠ǹ̶̦͂͂̔͜u̸̧̗̅̽̀m̷̨̥̖͉̄̎b̴̤͔̂̈́̀̍e̷̪̘̍͐ṛ̷̰͉́̓͝ ̵̜͓̲̰̐͆͘1̵̬̉͌͐͠7̸̞͇̘̉̋̈́ͅ.̵̰̈̽̽̔
̶̼̣̝̥͗̀̚̚D̵̺̱̝͂̿̅â̵̙̩̽̿͘r̵͚͕̍̈͂̓ḱ̶̨̲͓͊̎̀.̶͉̳̺̍̉̀̅
̷̳͑͌͘D̷̢̼̘̫̅̈͝a̷̧̹͒ř̴͕̔̕͝k̴̬͒e̵̝̎̈́r̶̭̯͋̿̇̓.̷̯͎͓̋
̸̧̀͆̅Ỳ̴̲̜̎̒̈e̶̟̠̞̿ṱ̶̢̖͈̇̈́̐̈ ̵̥͉̪́d̷̻̾̒ȧ̷͖͐̏ṛ̴̘̑ḱ̴̯̱̱e̵̯͊̓͆͊ŗ̴̳͇̈́.̴̧̬̻̀͝
̷̨͎̿T̶̘̍̄̈h̶̰͙̻͋e̷͍̊͒͛̀͜ ̷͎̭̋ḓ̷̨̫̀͜a̴͔͈͐̈͋r̴͕̺̂͝ḳ̵̡̙̈͐̚n̶̩̦͉͐e̴͉̲͊ͅs̸̛͚͖̩̪s̸̻̽̄́ ̸̦͕̮͚̈́͝k̵̨͚̗̈͛͜é̶̦̈̄ĕ̵͇͓ͅp̶̨̛͒s̷̥̣̦͚̍͝ ̴̰̬̩̔́͌͜g̸̡̛̍͆͜ȓ̵͔̐o̵̢̹̟͋̂̕w̶̤͖̞̰͋̉į̶̲̻̈́̊̍̕n̵̘͉̅͒g̷̛̜͗.̸̥͎̋͑̔̕
̴͂͜P̷̹̳͘h̸̭̆̾̈ǒ̵̳͂̔́t̶̛̳̀ȍ̷̧̭͉ņ̴̯̪̇̉͗ ̸̦̎͆̂̚r̸͕̥̔̑e̸̡͉̭͋a̴̖͐d̸͚̱̅̉̾ĩ̶͍̗̣̃̅̌n̷͉͙̋̇̂g̷͈̮̈̿̚͝s̶̛̖͚͉̟̀ ̴̅͑͜n̷͈͝e̸̬̣̟͑͌̉͝g̵͉̬̰͒͛ȁ̴̙̗̈͛t̶̹̫̟̞̃͊̄͑i̶̫̜̪͛͋v̴̛͈͔͎͌̒͜ë̵̮̊̅.̵͙̅
̷͖͈̙͛T̴̲͖̫͊͛̈̕h̵̺̙͇̜̄̿ĩ̷̗̲̥͋̿͜͠s̵̛̛̯̋̈ ̷̫̉n̶̻͇̺̞͝ȇ̷͓͚̮͝x̵̘̓̈́̚t̵͕́ ̶͚̓͑e̴͓̲͑͊x̶͓̹̋̈́p̴̹̦͎̬̋ë̴̡͙͖͚́͆r̴͚̒̚i̵̪̝̻͙͐̚m̵̢͆͌̆̈́ȩ̴͓̙̎̽́̂n̵̩̗͎̾̿t̵̩̰̳͎̒̒̍͝ ̵͓͒͊͆s̷̱̩̟̹̑͋̈͠é̵̜͖̓̓͘e̵̞͇̟̬͆̓̑ṁ̷̤̬͆̂s̷̙̹͛̒
̸̪͕̍̑V̵͇̐͑ē̷̜r̸̦̩̤̍͜y̵̧̹͚̭̔̐
̵̩͍̘̥̅V̷̡̓̔̈͝ȩ̸͙̉̈̈́͝ṟ̴͖̭͠͝ͅy̸̠͎̥̽͆̀
̸͖̬̂͛̃͠I̶̝̾̀̔n̸̡͖̣̎̿t̴̡͇̬͑̌̂͘e̷͙͋̉́̃r̸̹̫̄͜ë̷͖̣̲́̓̎͋s̵̲̻̦̘̒̾͝ṭ̵̨̮̂͐î̴̼̳͖̑̒n̵̘̂̍͒͗ͅg̶̤̩̽͠.̵̰̼̲͌̌̒ͅ
̵̢͇̩́̓͆.̵̯̠̇̾͝.̸̼̈́.̶̲̯̹͋̐̎̐
̵̘̙̽̇W̷̠̣̽̀ḧ̷̤̎a̷̙͇͗̎͋t̷̘͎̥̝̃̓͝͠ ̴̡̮̱͗̕d̷͉̮̼͐̕ơ̶̲̘̳ ̶̜̆̊y̸̥̾̋ǒ̸̲̜̜͉̿͌͠ŭ̴͈͓̘͝ ̴͎̎ț̸̘͇̽̽w̸͔͉̍̎̀̒ö̶̱̣̩́̈́ ̶̲̹̟͊͗̎̀t̴̯̹́h̴̑̒̀̆͜i̷̺̟̾̀̌ṉ̷̺̎́̆̀k̵̺̏̆̃̾?̸̝̻̉͋̀
rain_herself
July 20, 2020, 4:04 pm to Public
thanks for welcoming me!
rain_herself
July 20, 2020, 2:11 pm to Public
hey there
- 2 Likes
- 3 Comments
dreamCritting said 2020-07-20 15:03:16

Hello, welcome to Planet Minecraft!

rain_herself said 2020-07-20 14:44:57

MEMES
YES
THIS IS GOOD!
Ah, I see you are a man of culture as well.
When the first comment on your wall is a prequel meme:
meemer

Papa Enny said 2020-07-20 14:33:58

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