waldopaper

Ghosts

Posted in Answers, Reality by waldopaper on June 6, 2014

What you see is real

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He wasn’t there again today,
I wish, I wish he’d go away…      — Mearns 

I walk… on Cemetery Hill because I live here.  I come out to admire the moon.  No one around tonight but there a light on the old camp ground.   Ach du lieber!  Was ist los do eye see?  Queen Elizabeth in a kettle! 

Such a sight wonders me. I am but a poor working girl from Hesse-Darmstadt bei Gott !  You stand there alight you giving me freight like a fire in a chamber pot. I am loyal American now and say without fear, what goes here?

I will admit resemblance is striking.  In fact I get that a lot.  It is a magic flying cauldron.  Do not call it a kettle.  Do not it a pot. Carlotta is used to it.  Call me Used Carlotta.  I do not only get juiced in it.  I do this night because I gotta.  This slop jar flies on Halloween to where ever there is a new queen of witches.  You bitches.  You were born to do this.   It has nothing to do with your fitness.  You are witness.   As I have seen for centuries, dear.   That’s what goes here.

Just what in hell are you saying?  My husband is off to the war.  Then the war come here right where I live, dear, got to shovel the mess by the door.  Dug graves and tomorrow a baby.   Nobody could handle the smell.  Neither could I but I lived here witch you calling me rot in hell.  I don’t deserve this shit.  Raging queen or flaming  English.  What eye see hear is not real.  Eye have had enough of real to know vot iss.  Squat behind lunette and take a piss vote goes here.

Before you get any answers, do you mind giving way for the dancers?  Reenactment of battle where gore does stream and  guns do rattle yesterday.  And though she feels as if she’s in a play she is anyway.  After standing so long at Tilbury I do not mind the beetles.  Now listen up Bessie for I have no care for your confusion.  Time is an illusion. Choreography takes rhythm from words and makes movement in fusion meme to dream of what ghost here.

My soul does magnify the chord and my spirit bath reduced to cod my flavor.  Lincoln come to call the tune.  Niggardly nose of his handmaiden.  Four be hold hence forth all generations will call me Bess said.  He that is writing has mangled me and wholly is his shame.  Not scattering the proud and sending rich empty away they will pay.  Volk ja meme socialist to this day.  Handle mocks the cradle fools the world by crowing like a rooster on a post near what goes here.

Now you can see the dancers.  Now you can give them the answers.  Meme and movement is written like a score with music steps an elephant on rubes and nothing more splattering horses and iron tubes   Seed little men,  Seed little war.  Now you can tell your story.  Now you know the score.  You were born to be a witness to those who can not see that witch is.  You can call it religion or you can call it magic.  Wrapping it in fish tales makes joke of the tragic ghost here.

I am woman here me roar inn slumbers two pig to ignore.  Men stepped down dusty Rodes hundreds of leagues from home or a few yards away he come pose below the loam maxing out child ballad snore.  Make comic of tragic a bad joke war told by boss to Rose Meade Thorn.  You Laffer suffer loss.  My boys now lie sleeping in metaphor the cost.  Blew jay weigh Peer point  Morgan raid three hundred substitute tears.  Grieving and graves goes here… for years.

You can not help but practice magic. Spear mint cover the tragic.  Religion is a metaphor and nation is a meme.  Fundamental flag flappers take it to extreme.  It grew to be the whore of war the world has never seen and you were the one who covered it,   We wall weight to discover writ of hey buses corpses flutter like lepidoptra to sea where you berry an opera.  Mind the music and the step and Washington beat candy.  That is what goes here to member ghost here.

Rose Meade Thorn is born tomorrow.  She will live to be fifteen.  Rose is the first flower this Thorn has ever seen.  But you are a rose in your own time and you are a white one too.  I was born in a year of revolution.  Germania sent me to you.   You can not stop what is coming.  It has already happened eye see.  Gloriana what can eye do to see right through call of due tea.  There will be another White Rose in Germany.  Heaven knows what grows here.     Do you?

Yes I do.  So do you.  German boys died under hot crescent moon and tangled tongues with demons witch we do not invoke.  Try turning it to wisdom by turning it to a joke.  The laugh is on us my dear.  Auch du liber alles ist hier.  Believe what can be is all ready bin.  Dump in it fate of your corporate state and ponder that if you will.  This Halloween night on Cemetery Hill in 1863 go there with me.  None of us intended to go there and the stars are not hours but ladies.

In their corsets like Pleiades. Wither Ghost Thou.

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