There's No Joy

Nothing To Defend Upon

Having descended , as I said before, to about one hundred feet from the surface of the earth, the little old gentleman was suddenly seized with a fit of trepidation ((huh I wonder what that word means, I better look it up. People must have been super forgetful back then, to be honest they still are and not much has changed it)), and appeared disinclined to make any nearer approach to terra firma ((huh that's funny and cool Terra means earth in Italian, Edgar Allen Poe must have studied it then as a kid and an adult. firma means signiature so Earth signature wow, fancy Edgar Allen Poe)). Throwing out, therefore, a quantity of sand from  a canvas bag,  which  he lifted with great difficulty, he became a stationery in an instant. (Oh Poe you are absolutely hilarious in this story) He then proceeded, in a hurried and agitated manner, to extract a side-pocket in his surtout a large  morocco pocket-book. This he poised suspiciously in his hand, then eyed it with an  an air of extreme surprise, and was evidently astonished at its weight.  (Oh this is too funny, how can one be so surprised at the weight of such a tiny thing in one's hand) He at length  opened it, and drawing therefrom a huge letter sealed with red sealing-wax and tied carefully with red tape(unusual type of tape, I am not sure but I don't believe red tape is being used anymore these days. I will have to double check that eventually sooner or later),  let it fall  precisely at the feet of the burgomaster, Superbus Von Underduk. (A very long and fancy name don't you think so?) His Excellency  stooped to take it up. But aëronaut, still greatly discomposed, and having apparently no further business to detain him in Rotterdam, began at this moment to make busy  preparations for departure; and it being necessary to discharge a portion of ballast to ensble him to reascend, the half dozen bags which he threw out, one after another, without  taking the trouble to empty their contents, tumbled, every one of them, most unfortunately upon the back of the burgomaster, (poor guy, my heart flutters for him)  and rolled him over and over no less than half a dozen times(wonder why half a dozen times?), in the face of every individual in Rotterdam. It is not be supposed,however, that the great Underduk suffered this impertinence on the part of the little old man to pass off with impunity. ((Huh-I wonder what that means)) It is said , on the contrary, that during each of his half dozen circumvolutions  ((another word I need to figure out what it means)) he emitted no less than half a dozen  distinct and furious whiffs from his pipe, to which he held fast the whole time with all his might, and to which he intends holding fast (God willing) until the day of his decease.

I closed the book having finished my notes of paragraph six of The Unparallel Adventure of Hans Pfaal. Gia tapped me on the shoulder, "Care for a slice of Pizza Ms. Peters?" She asked. "It just arrived. You reading still?"

"Yep. Yep that's me, Miss Peters always glued  to a book." I sighed.

"Which Author?" asked Miss Ilaris.

"Edgar Allen Poe." I said quietly.

"Fascinating, his stories are just as mysterious as the Greek  Myths of Gods and Goddesses from the island of Crete and from the regions in Greece, aren't they?" inquired Gia.

"Yea, except every Greek myth about their Gods and Goddesses have a way of permanent death."

"Maybe it was their way of telling children that it does not do to dwell on dreams, and yet forget to live their life?" suggests Gia sitting down next to Bloom.

"You're nervous; you're shaking. I can see it, Bloom, you're emitting so much gloom in your quivering body language. " says Gia in a low whisper.  "Tell me, what is bugging you right now?"