'Where's our Kaiser?' The nigger disappeared. Around the bend the river poured its silver like some remorseful mine, giving and giving everything green and white: white sky, white water, and the dull green like a drumbeat of the slow-sliding forest, the green heat then, on some sandbar, a mirage ahead: fabric of muslin sails, spiderweb rigging, a schooner, foundered on black river mud, was rising slowly up from the riverbed, and a top-hatted native reading an inverted newspaper. Did the river want to be called anything? He asked the river. Ich spreche Deutsch sounded as genuine as his name in English, Koenig in Deutsch, and, in English, King. His voice sounded German, then he said 'river', but what was German if he alone could hear it? Felt poem of the river rar iso#Shin Megami Tensei Iii Nocturne Maniax Iso Torrent. Koenig closed his eyes, and he felt blessed. The lights between the leaves were beautiful, and, as in that far life, now he was grateful for any pool of light between the dull, usual clouds of life: a sunspot haloed his tonsure silver and copper coins danced on the river his head felt warm - the light danced on his skull like a benediction. If I'm a character called Koenig, then I shall dominate my future like a fiction in which there is a real river and real sky, so I'm not really tired, and should push on. He banked and leaned tiredly on the pole. It was when you pretended that you were a fool. I, Koenig, am a ghost, ghost-king of rivers. The Roar by Emma Clayton – Review – JPosted in: Just Reviews. Felt: Best Ever Albums The best album by Felt is Forever Breathes The Lonely Word which is ranked number 3,3. More (53.51MB) Carpathia (A Dramatic poem) More (151MB) (Delerium) poem.rar More (34.74MB) poem pentru parinti More (65MB. Poem of the River (1987) The Pictorial Jackson Review (1988) Train Above the City (1988) Me and a Monkey on the. The others had died, like real men, by death. He stroked his uniform, clogged with the hooked burrs that had tried to pull him, like the other drowning hands whom his panic abandoned. He knew it was noble, based on some phrase, forgotten, from the Bible, but he felt bodiless, like a man stumbling from the pages of a novel, not a forest, written a hundred years ago. But I have forgotten our journey's origins, mused Koenig, and our purpose. They had all caught the missionary fever: they were prepared to expiate the sins os savages, to tame them as he would tame this river subtly, as it flowed, accepting its bends he had seen how other missionaries met their ends - swinging in the wind, like a dead clapper when a bell is broken, if that sky was a bell - for treating savages as if they were men, and frightening them with talk of Heaven and Hell. Well, he no longer taxed and tired what was left of his memory he should thank heaven he had escaped the sea, and anyway, he had demanded to be sent here with the others - why get this river vexed with his complaints? Koenig wanted to sing, suddenly, if only to keep the river company - this was a river, and Koenig, his name meant King. He felt his reason curling back like parchment in this fierce torpor. A crab of pain scuttled shooting up his foot and fastened on his neck, at the brain's root. This was the last of the productive mines. Staying aboard, he saw, up in a thick meadow, a sand-colored mule, untethered, with no harness, and no signs of habitation round the ruined factory wheel locked hard in rust, and through whose spokes the vines of wild yam leaves leant from overweight the wild bananas in the yellowish sunlight were dugged like aching cows with unmilked fruit. Entering its brown mouth choking with lilies and curtained with midges, Koenig poled the shallop past the abandoned ferry and the ferry piles coated with coal dust. Autoplay next video Koening knew now there was no one on the river.
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