The building had to be as it was
Before, when it first was built,
So the Inspector said to me,
I was mortgaged up to the hilt,
We’d already changed some minor things
They’d stand, he said, in the way,
We couldn’t move in till they were changed
Reversed, to our mute dismay.

He ******* the permit into his hat
And clamped it down on his head,
‘Where are we going to sleep tonight?’
‘That’s not my fault,’ he said.
He’d locked us out of our only home
With it only half rebuilt,
Then driven off as he sneered and coughed,
‘Are you trying to feed me guilt?’

We’d lodged our plans seven months before
To rebuild a nest of rooms,
The Council never got round to it
So they left us mired in gloom,
We couldn’t wait for their paperwork
So we just got on, and ‘did’,
We toiled by night in the after light,
In the day, just lay and hid.

Then when the paperwork finally came
It covered a room too short,
They charged full odds for their office clods
But for plans, their worth was nought.
Back he came on a day of shame
To demand we tear it down,
That extra room that had fed our gloom
So I said, ‘You go to town!’

I handed over a hefty pick
And I said, ‘It’s up to you.
I wouldn’t touch it myself,’ I said,
‘But you do what you must do.’
I didn’t tell him of Cranston Leigh,
The ghost of that room out there,
I should have said, but then Cranston’s dead
So the end result was fair.

He laid about him with pick and axe
And he tumbled half a wall,
Before first hearing the screech from Hell
That was Cranston’s warning call.
I saw the Inspector’s hair rise up
Like an early crop of rye,
And that was even before the ghost
Screeched out, ‘You’re gonna die!’

I’ll never forget the scene that night
The Inspector burst in flames,
While Cranston, from the unholy dead
Leapt in and out of our drains,
That room still stands, it’s unfinished still
The Inspector will not call,
We left a poster of Cranston Leigh
As a Welcome, out on the wall.

David Lewis Paget

I
This is the night mail crossing the Border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,

Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner, the girl next door.

Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.

Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,

Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.

Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from bushes at her blank-faced coaches.

Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.

In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.

II
Dawn freshens, Her climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends,
Towards the steam tugs yelping down a glade of cranes
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In dark glens, beside pale-green lochs
Men long for news.

III
Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from girl and boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or to visit relations,
And applications for situations,
And timid lovers' declarations,
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled on the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, the adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.

IV
Thousands are still asleep,
Dreaming of terrifying monsters
Or of friendly tea beside the band in Cranston's or Crawford's:

Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
But shall wake soon and hope for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?

She sat in an empty booth. It was a Tuesday, mild, with a thin veil of cirrus clouds on the horizon. Somewhere a dog barked. Outside, the Commercial Street Flower Market opened for business. A ******* stood on the corner.
        With one the sitting woman opened the menu, scanned it, and dropped it back on the table. A bleach-blond waitress arrived. Before the waitress spoke, the sitting woman cut in.
“I’d like home fries, fruit salad, and a cup of earl grey, please.” The waitress nodded, slightly wary, and scribbled the order on her yellowed order pad. The woman went back to staring at her fingers. The waitress left.
She opened her purse, rummaged around, and grasped a worn paperback of Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five. A small likeness of a snake twirled up her left index. She wore beige eye shadow and a full set of fake lashes. Her nails were lacquered candy apple red. There was a large scar on her neck. Sighing, she settled in to read. The snake ring’s eyes were rubies; as she turned the page, they glistened brightly. The café’s door jangled. Seconds later, a man slid in to the seat opposite her.
“You’re late,” she said. The man smiled. He had lidded Egyptian eyes and a set of straight, white, fluoridated teeth.
“So terribly sorry. Pressing issues.” He tapped a finger on the plastic table. The woman licked a finger and turned a creased page.
“Still reading that blasted book, are we? How many times has it been now, Laura? Twelve?”
“Fifteen, to be exact.” The waitress arrived with plates of bright fruit and steaming potato. She waitress had poorly tattooed eyebrows. They rose.
“Can I get you anything?” she said to the man.
“Strong cup of coffee. Two cubes sugar, slice of lemon on the side. Thanks.” The waitress smiled.
“Certainly. Your tea will be in, miss.” Laura nodded. The waitress sashayed off and the man leaned in, breaking the barrier between them.
“Why are you still reading that godawful book? Wasn’t once in Junior year enough?”
“No, it wasn’t. If you don’t mind, let’s get to the point. What are you doing here, Jack? I know it has nothing to do with harassing me over my literary opinions.” The book closed with a muffled snap. She slid it back in to her large purse and adjusted her dress.
“I got the part.” He said the two words with barely veiled excitement; they sounded unnatural and foreign.
“What in the name of God are you talking about?” she asked. She stabbed a home fry with her fork and sprinkled it with salt.
“I’ve made it in, Laur.” He said. She dragged the fry through a small puddle of ketchup and smiled. She leaned back and drew her hands through her hair, bit her lip.
“Who’s directing?” she asked. The waitress arrived again and they both leaned back, away from each other. He nodded his thanks, blew on his coffee, and drank deeply. She dipped her finger in the cup of tea.
“Some guy by the name of Cranston. Will, I think. He’s good. Directed a film called The Devil in Whitethorn. You might call him an artist.”
“Oh, Christ. You’ve made your big break, have you? With a ****** arthouse director no one’s heard about? I’m impressed, Jack. Real impressed.” She sipped her tea. “What’s your deep, philosophical movie about, Jack?”
“A man dragged wrongfully in to hell who has to prove to the Devil that he is a good man,” Jack said. His chin rose slightly. “he goes through his life as an invisible man, observing all of his human mistakes. Eventually he discovers that Hell is just another version of Heaven and it’s all a test to get him to look at his life as an outsider. I play the college version of the lead. I’m third-highest billed.” He reached over and snatched a strawberry from her plate. She smirked.
“Wow,” she said, “sounds deep. Almost like one of the sappier episodes of The Twilight Zone, twist and all. Tell me, does Shatner play a PTSD-riddled man who sees monsters on an airplane? Is the Devil a fan of billiards? How many aliens are in this movie of yours?” she smiled at him, exposing a line of somewhat crooked teeth. “A movie, huh? Congrats.”
“Many thanks. I thought that someone who appreciated the subtle insanity of Vonnegut might appreciate a good deep film. Are you going to finish those?” he gestured at the fries. Six of them remained. Laura slid them across the table and tucked in to the fruit plate. “No more awful local commercials for me, love.” She scoffed at that.
“You’re a crap commercial actor. How much money are you getting for this little highbrow film of yours? One K or two?” She stabbed a honeydew square and crunched it between red lips.
“Four, doll. More than you make in a month.” Her cheeks reddened.
“I don’t need much, Jack. You of all people should know that.” She coughed lightly in to her napkin. “You’re a tricky *******. How long have you known?” He licked a spot of ketchup off of his  finger.
“Oh… Five weeks? Six? Somewhere around there. We start shooting next month.” He leaned forward, lightly brushing the back of her hand with his fingers. “It’ll premier downtown on the seventh of July. Be prepared, since I’m dragging you out there with me. You’ll need a cocktail dress and modest makeup.”
“How modest is modest?” she asked. He surveyed her face, scanning with his eyes squinted slightly. Her face flushed a touch more.
“Hmm…” he said, “drop the red lipstick, add a few more spots of cover-up, light champagne eye shadow and less blush. Also, ditch the falsies.” She laughed, a light trill.
“I don’t leave the house without them. I suppose I can scour my collection for some more… What was the word you used? Modest pairs.” His fingers stopped rubbing the thin, veined skin on the back of her right hand for a short moment.
“In other words, you’ve said yes.”
“Yes, I have.” He dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table and stood up. “Call me some time. You haven’t forgotten my number, have you?” Laura grinned. He picked up the lemon, separated the meat from the rind, and rubbed the white flesh on his teeth.
“No, I haven’t.” He dropped a single white envelope on the table. She surveyed it, placing it next to the tattered paperback in her purse. He walked away.
“Oh, and Jack?” she called without looking back at him. He stopped mid-step. “I wasn’t wearing blush today.”
He grinned harder, waved his goodbyes to the waitress, and left. The door jangled. She finished the last dregs of her tea, dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table, and stood up. It was a beautiful morning. She walked outside. The bells on the entrance jangled, stilled, and their song died.

On Sunday mornings they’d grab us by the shoulders
and stare into our eyes until
we repeated those universal truths —
what goes up much come down,
He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit,
even Satan knows
that he’s out there.

Inspired by Meg Cranston's Artist for President
(http://www.uniteddivas.com/megcranston/megpresident.html)**

We assert that there is a youth culture that is different and separate from all other cultures and that our culture is governed by principles which the aged population finds peculiar or offensive.

We are tired of being labeled.
We are tired of being segmented.
We are tired of hearing old people talk about us.
We are tired of being the respondents to your 20 city questionnaire.
We are done with being ignored.

We are sick of 1980s spandex.
We are sick of your Top 40 hits on a compact disc.
We are sick of your rom-coms and big budget fantasy sci-fi sequels.
We are sick of 60 billion ad messages being hurled from satellites in outer space.
We are done with being disappointed.

We demand the right to change everything.
We demand the right to create our own words.
We demand the right to define what is cool in the morning.
We demand the right to re-define what is cool in the evening.
We are done with being told to follow.

We reserve the right to be elitist.
We reserve the right to choose our heroes.
We reserve the right to create jobs that never existed before.
We reserve the right to outsource, open-source and crowdsource everything and all.
We are done with your rigid ways.

We condemn the wars that you started.
We condemn the poverty and hunger you created.
We condemn your irresponsibility in ignoring our dying planet.
We condemn the forces of greed that keeps an honest man from climbing the income brackets.
We will fix the mess you left behind.

This is for school kids
This is for college students
This is for young professionals
This is for the young artist who shares his creations on DeviantArt
This is for the young blogger who dreams of being a travel journalist
This is for the podcaster who is on her way to become a successful RJ
This is for the YouTube user who dreams of her own television show and feature film
This is for the photography enthusiast who spends his pocket money on a Flickr Pro Account
This is for the opinionated Twitter-for-Blackberry addict destined to become a Twitter celebrity. (Even we don’t know what that means!)
This is for the coding guru who gifts his geek friend a mobile gaming app based on Dungeons & Dragons for his birthday. Yes that is cool...for now.

This is youth culture

Down by highway twonintyfive
a racoon lay breathless on the canyon side
survived probably by a family of four
or three who knows,
sticks and stones
life as it goes.

Down by the river Providence bound
a drunken man falls down
from the bridge to the ground
homicide suicide noone will know,
sticks an stones
life as it goes.

Cranston town a white pickup
two fat men come to steal your stuff
and break into your private home
thinking they're the underpants knomes!
Days are short that's all I know,
sticks and stones
life as it goes.

I've been warned by sages, mystics,
yogis & seers not to look directly
into the Akashic record where all
time; past, present, future coexist
in the singular eternal Now - Oops.

Angels, demons, monks, forests,
mothers of wealth and their power,
mainly to explain the temple.
He saw his father, the father
of football, with his teeth, Espejo
Mogobuchawani, the Jew who had
to move baisa. The putdía of my eyes, my heart, ||
I feel the life of the spirit of man,
****** the heart is hard inside,
it is the love for life, the notions
are the loss of life, the best version,
the ****** God of the square
of light of pain in the hands.
Sarabangatka Bank certificate
is true and unique and most
of the best way is. Sutrakritanga
Svetambara Initial research
in scientific literature.

This is most important to all
who are most important
and most importantly. Another
message that holds the postal
code. Gina Ahta / University of Lehart
Arizona. I INS Arihant, family member
or employee or person. The World
Cup is confidential and very important.

Maweye explains: "It is very important
to set up a traditional school program."
One of the tomato's body parts of platinum.
The talk was not only in Kisimos Studios
but also in Red Cross. This is a coordinated
effort among Middle Eastern biologists.
Guinness and Genes Humanity Prohibeo
long k'iretochi, People suggest that the
Prohibeo Prohibeo name Pramanavartika
Bhikkhu Dharmaklrti Ciceronis
can be used in the alphabet. Name means
"you want". Monikas Janina Hida c.
The BPL is the name used of October,
but it is known that everything can be used.
Reliable delivery method. The Harvín
Nubb Program is linked to the program.
The old Sonsonrod philosophy is.

This is the only name known
as Mount Meru, Commoditators,
the last name Dominus Ramer,
which is known Samantabhadra
Allowance Points Anumeya - Pramey
flower. All sophisticated characteristics
of the industry, as a result of sarvajna,
abolish all abusive policies. - Not just
the end of the oral argument - Akalanka
Aptammāssā DCCLX DCCXX RC RC.

But this does not mean that you
are trying to come now. "Hemacandra
for MCLXXIIIs for MLXXXVIII,
for example, was a combination
of the akadalka program. Gelogi Install
ID Belo Orbis tireromi 2 - is called
kunowereredo. If you wish to travel
with you, you can also visit the mobile
phone MCMXXXVII. Carol's new
imagery and new homes ālideridi.

US Wedding Bread Dish and ALDO.
New York may be available elsewhere,
but for that purpose. keroleyi kireniteni
ālidemeri matters. "Cranston Parupamu,
his own identity and Cicero- (Rufetto
and Orra, MCMXXXI), Songuarado,
New York MCMXL-, such as the first,
the best, for example, are moving,
this is a good choice, for example
Cranston Allard...Detective
of the history of the magazine:

Is this punishment's star tenaciously
right, negligent, Daniel, bastion,
free burns the head of callback callback;
fear general project Bernard Siegfried,
Albino Pro has been entrusted
to the power of blessing entertainment;
harmonious hardware thread falls
in a Recognition of ******' Recognition
Wet Blue Arms of old ***** and the taste
of music: the boards on board
with the anatomical details
that you know all the Classy *****'s
Friends to feel the edges of the wind,
the grace of the blessed ******
are engaged with the key to the coast.

As simple invites from the elders
of the city; Pay attention
to the maximum, unless the glory
of the children is the reputation
of tr according to the nature of life,
the advantages of Agić  m
at the expense of truth. The secret
dinner, whose relationship
is like a game.

Canada and Germany are not afraid of companies
in Italy and Africa. Vitamins A and Robert Blake
American Mats show the flags of Pakistan and San Diego.
Grand Canyon Karl Alma plays in China. Italian,
Italian and European Parliament, Eastern Cape,
St Thomas Thomas, Thomas Thomas and Spain.
Thomas P. Sungai Clap's copy is important for Asia,
America and Jawans. America is important for Italy,
Italy, Boys, Rome, Italy and Brazil, Brazil. Instead,
God's image was written before Easter, and he said:
"Look for your house, but no." The Lutheran doctrine
and prostitution in the Jewish world and teaching
Christianity and music is a good Chinese skater.
Drama and Finances: Italian Italian Italian Graphics
and US Archives. Ashton Box, who arrived in the city
of Jefferson City when he came to work and faced a
civil war in Mozambique, and his parents were 6
meters old, they chose Roger Belab's suggestion. Europe,
Asia, stars, gold, medicine, medicine, culture in Italy - Paris,
USA, Thomas, Thomas, Thomas 7. Good Books.
The simplest way Jilson Sierra is a rocket launcher
is the ideal place to live in the world. The main thing
is that Christians and villagers, Muslim Brotherhood,
Jewish Museum and the City's Economics Museum
celebrate friends and
world-class friends? There are no depression
symptoms, two Christians and Christians.
The excitement is not
the same as a clear will. In the summertime
in Italy, the Musée and Metamonte, which are separate
and developed in Europe by Roberto Ogre;
gnats and a number of other issues were also
highlighted.
Thanks to the music
you hear, it takes the history of China.  
During the war, the bowling debate said:
"Yes, in the United States this is a better
situation with the world." One of the two
Uruguayan songs that aroused a German ghost that
confronted the new Virginia Spurs suggests it's hot.
The shipping box Cooking America is the best way
to live in the world. Igor and Natal Igor sing to the
musical robot that violates people's relationships.  Scholars Free
Germany:      This park is the moment you hear the summer wars when you look for good things. All windows are closed to American species memory.
Canada and Germany are not afraid of companies in Italy
and Africa. Vitamins A and Robert Blake American Mats
show the flags of Pakistan and San Diego. Grand Canyon
Karl Alma plays in China. Italian, Italian and European
Parliament, Eastern Cape, St Thomas Thomas, Thomas Thomas
and Spain. Tomass PT Copy as Sungai Clap Bar is important
for Asia, America and Jawans. America is important for Italy,
Italy, Boys, Rome, Italy and Brazil, Brazil. Instead,
God's image was written before Easter, and he said,
"Look at your house, but not mine," Luther's teaching
on prostitution in the Jewish world
and the teachings of Christianity and music
are in a beautiful Chinese
figure skater. Drama and Finances: Italian Graphics
and US Archives. Ashton Box, who came to the city
of Jefferson City when he came to work and faced a civil war
in Mozambique,
and his parents were killed 6 meters away, choosing
Roger Belaba's
board. Europe,
Asia, stars, gold, medicine, medicine, culture in Italy - Paris,
USA, Thomas, Thomas, Thomas 7. Good Books.
The simplest way to Joyce Jillson's Sierra Ranch is a rocket
to the ideal place to live in the world. Joyce Jillson
was a syndicated newspaper columnist, best-selling author,
actress, and astrologer,
whose column was syndicated worldwide in more than
200 papers and magazines. Born Joyce Twichell in Cranston,
Rhode Island, she attended Boston University
on an opera scholarship. Wikipedia The Key of Christians
and Villages, the Muslim Brotherhood and the leaders
of the Jewish Museum and the Museum of Economics
in the City, who celebrate world-class friends and friends?
There are no symptoms
of depression,   two Christians and Christians.
The excitement is not the same as a clear will.
In the summertime in Italy, the Musée and Metamonte,
separate and developed in Europe by Robert Ogregna,  
there are several other things that need to be emphasized.
Thanks to the music you hear, it takes Chinese history.
During the war, the bowling debate said: "Yes, in the United States
this is a better situation with the world."     One of the two gourmet
Uruguayan songs that came in contact with the new Virginia
Spurring shows that are warm. Sending a window; Cooking
America is the best way to live in the world.    Igor and Natal Igor
sings to the same musical robot as it violates human relationships.
Scholar Free Germany:      This is a time when you are looking
for good things in a hurry. All windows are closed to American
species memory.