You know how much a National Geographic is these days?--$13.99!

Saw "Inside the Medieval World" at the last minute at the supermarket checkout and threw it on the pile. "$13.99?!"  "Yeah," said the cashier. " You could get the History Channel for that." Which tickled me.

Been spendin' some time in the Middle Ages, might as well spend some dime. Been readin' Chaucer so the period was on my mind. (That was written unconsciously in rhyme (as this is written consciously) as Chaucer is, as Rap is, of which Chaucer's verse so much reminds (I'm stopping.))).

Opened up my hard won Nat'l Geo and opposite page 10, full page. The interior of Wells Cathedral in Somerset, which has been described as "the most poetic of English cathedrals." (I am staying rigidly on theme.) Can't reproduce the exact Nat'l Geo image but similar to this:

Same golden tone, absolutely gorgeous, had never heard of Wells Cathedral, made mental note to look it up, and continued thumbing through Nat'l Geo.

It was only then, with smaller images like this, that's the nave,

Nat'l Geo's is a full page and you lose perspective, that I...noticed. 

And Venus falls when Mercury is raised;

Therefore no woman by a clerk is praised.

A clerk, when he is old and can naught do

Of Venus' labours worth his worn-out shoe...

That's Chaucer's "Wife of Bath's Tale" and that cathedral nave up there is her "worn-out shoe," which you as her young lover, not her old "dotard" husband who can only write, must wear out, like Tyga:

Foreign shoes, these a new pair

Chains on, this two pair

Make your girl buy new hair

Wear that pussy out, like new gear

Hoe-"Do My Dance," Tyga.

Yeah! Tyga.

Like the Wife of Bath's fifth husband:

And now of my fifth husband will I tell.

God grant his soul may never get to Hell!

And yet he was to me most brutal, too;

My ribs yet feel as they were black and blue,

And ever shall, until my dying day.

But in our bed he was so fresh and gay,

And therewithal he could so well impose,

What time he wanted use of my belle chose...

Like John and the miller's wife in "The Reeve's Tale:

And on this goode wyf he leith on soore.

So myrie a time in years of yoore she'd not hadde;

He priketh harde and depe as he were mad.

Yeah! Priketh that nave harde and depe as you were mad. That's how CupcakKe likes it!

"Bang bang this pussy

...

I can make your dick stand up (are you ready?)

Like Statue of Liberty once we fuck (so hard)

That knave's nave up there is her "queynte", which that knave hubby best beat as CupcakKe's pussy,

What eyleth yow to grucche thus and grone?

Is it for ye wolde have my queynte allone?

Wy, taak it al! lo, have it every deel!

Peter! I shrewe yow, but ye love it weel;

Or else! That nave is her "bele chose"--which she gonna sell!

For if I wolde selle my bele chose,

I koude walke as fressh as is a rose

But I wol kepe it for youre owene tooth.

Ye be to blame, by God! I sey yow sooth.

Right CupcakKe?

Vending machine, vending machine
Can't eat it until there's money between, money between
This pussy is a vending machine, vending machine
Can't eat it until there's money between, money between
(Duck Duck Goose)

That nave is her...

And after wyn on Venus moste I thynke,

For al so siker as cold engendreth hayl,

A likerous mouth moste han a likerous tayl.

(For after wine, of Venus must I think:

For just as surely as cold produces hail,

A liquorish mouth must have a lickerish tail.)

..."lickerish tail." Liquor? I don't even know her!

Her...

Thou liknest it also to wilde fyr;

The moore it brenneth, the moore it hath desir 

..."wilde fyr." Her...

In wyfhod I wol use myn instrument

As frely as my Makere hath it sent. 

..."instrument."

Emphasis on "HER": It is HER instrument, wilde fyr, queynte, bele chose, tayle, worn-out shoe, HER lanterne, and since you olde dotard get all the cunt you want at eve--never the less light from her lantern--what do you care who else she give that thang to?:

Have thou ynogh, what thar thee recche or care
How myrily that othere folkes fare?
For certeyn, olde dotard, by youre leve,
Ye shul have queynte right ynogh at eve.
He is to greet a nygard, that wolde werne
A man to lighte his candle at his lanterne;
He shal have never the lasse light, pardee,

Yeah! Quit grouching and groaning. Bitch.

So, yeah. Wells Cathedral is the "most poetic"of English architecture, it is love poetry carved in stone, as Chaucer wrote poetry with quill and ink, as Tygr and CupkaKe compose on computer and Wells' nave

 leads right to is Heaven, the vagina--shaped just like one! Was this a good post?