Ormond Hotel (Shira Shirim): the altercation
with a truculent troglodyte in

still, “at the holy show I am”, where his went, “her white”, who promised her, letterwrit, upturned stoodup, idle whose sainted eyes, who left without having written her, burr, “By went his eyes”, two boots, to wit, she, to boot, I, drowsy, in silence, go, “amoroso ma non troppo”, “the rhododendrons”, one, foursquare, archaicmurmured one, plus one drop but none create, “all harpsichording”, pianosuspended, all repressing accusing lull, kidneychoaked, sings, “M’appari tutt’amor”, amorousness, inertia mashed torpor, but the music of this this, who promised her incisions, horsd’ouevres, isness of a previous horse, my stiletto in your falsetto, of course, no Stetson can, “With a cock with a carra”, cocksureheaded, sic, est, hic





Bernard Kiernan's premises (holocaust):
a blank period of time including a

dogsology, the Pilgrim’s Plagiar, Mu, Per che non pioggia, “Honorable members of”, fiction from non, four million fifteen thousand six hundred and, seventy six, I, too, have speech, a day’s anti vitae, fed lambaste, disloquacity, our butter breaded and, beatéduppéd, on a timid, figured page, revisederasedadrift, matriculated amiably, quando inver’ Madïan discese I colli, “Ho ho begob” he slobbed, deep-throated Engins belcht, “Arrah!”, squelch’d and splash’d the Gorgons disgorg’d, it is the blackbird of Darrycarn that Finn brought from Norway, “for he was a malefactor”, [italics mine], acque alzaof reviv’d Adonise calma, to emphasize “Kiernan and Co.”, by whose clues bloomed aplenty, in hiddened arhỳthms, erst wooéd, bolster up my memory, speak in postulates





cardrive, a visit to a house of mourning, 
a leavetaking (wilderness): the

Ora Pro Nobis”, for instance, consubstantial, “Clery’s summer sale”, for example, gratuitous, et lie sey-wrakis earundem, at least to all who heard, evanescent, he, who was hard pressed, hard on the head, in hand, and so forth, and wept, with thumbs a’thrummin, “Ora Pro Nobis”, so wrought with apparition, etiquette, et cetera, and tapestry, scantily, O Michaellike cocksbody, “The new I want,” the how the whomever, a hand in the morrow, shipwreck, “seawrack”, now nausea, escapes the whom and, spilled somehow, “All quiet on Howth now”, in summary, fertile lectern, finally, she participates, a wrested front, Western and, harder pressed, recited, “Ora Pro Nobis”, orbs abounding, “aimed the ball once or twice and”





eroticism produced by feminine exhibitionism (rite of Onan):
the prolonged

i.
or as the was by them a “sapience” homo fluxus the lust of whose “benefaction” reached elements inexistent whose “loose boyconnell flux” matched “acumen” reservoirs tooth and tithe as by them was said to scathe soothe or sour complaint too “lutulent” to have been highly esteemed with iteration every of which scarcely indebted all accident to all the up desires whereby countenance of corpulence could have loosed deceit of infidelity rused but the proverbial arousal not opulence not scarcely optimized but so bared the women remnants irreparable ineluctably steamdozed by then “Lacus Mortis” mutatis mutandis come si come sa i stati uniti et cetera circumventing aporia prescribed to have halved half a heifer’s





Note: "Sedici, Ulysses" by Christophe Casamassima is appearing in installments. Click here to read more stanzas from the poem. 
 
 
I have begun a project that addresses the crosscurrents between my need to make visual art and my awareness that my world view is shaped by reading (the instigator of empathy) and writing (a source of self-discovery). It has become increasingly critical for me to use words in my work in a meaningful and beautifully visual way. In this new piece I will engage not my own words but those of modernist master, James Joyce. Words once considered dirty; filthy; no better than household scum. 265,000 words so unclean that they were prosecuted for obscenity in the United States, and for 12 years after their first appearance in print, considered unfit for publication in the United Kingdom. I’m referring, of course, to the text of Joyce’s groundbreaking novel, Ulysses.

-- the first paragraph of Jessica Deane Rosner's artist statement for her "Ulysses and the Gloves" project. Click here to read the rest of Rosner's artist statement.
 
 
Ay, ay or no.  To
think of him, became in due
course.  And so on the
prowl evidently under
the mangle devouring
a mess of eggshells
and charred fish heads and bones on
a par with the mind.

Texts: James Joyce, Eumaeus




A great deal of change out of

the missive which made him
nourish some
suspicions of
our skipper's
bricks disguised.  To
think of him and his gestures
being also clumsy as
it so happened, he had not
but the cream
of the pair of greenish
goggles which he beat a
retreat to
his main view.  To
seek misfortune, weather.

Texts: James Joyce, Eumaeus



But as I chew that quid.  You know I would

to a step in the
passage and we are held up to tally
with the show girl, as he was and
a large crowd had assembled to see the
greatest danger of
the lip: what's bred in the sweeper car or
you might just as well as a born
raconteur if ever there was a bit
like that from the house
will be in on it.  She put the first of
every chorus fluff that off.

Texts:  James Joyce, Eumaeus; Kenneth McGaffey, The Sorrows of a Show Girl



That was
the
first to
rise from
his hat
at the, for
the young man
he was
just
then, he had
heard not
so long as
I
chew that
effect.

Texts:  James Joyce, Eumaeus



Still no matter what
you say.  To
which sounded rather
a far cry.
I shouldn't think that
is, and then,
when the husband was
a fact the
weeklies, addicted
to stephen.

Texts: James Joyce, Eumaeus



The husband was a ship.  The sailor said,

in fact.  The sailor.  Seeing that the man
in his affections.  By the name, the name,
the name, the sailor said, in fact.  Across
the world, the sailor.  That's a matter of
a choice concoction labelled coffee on
the matter of a literary cove
in his affections.  So, in it.  Tattoo,
the sacred music of the thing.  Tattoo,
the keeper said, europa point, the end.
A figure of the.  At the lowest, near
the end.  The husband was a jew.  The mind.

Texts: James Joyce, Eumaeus



This Eumaeus Gnoetry was written during the Next Objectivists' "Ulysses" workshop. Click here to find out more about that workshop, and to read more writings created during the workshop. Click here to read more Eumaeus Gnoetry.
 
 
The wastages and way stations of the ocean
take the coast in small denominations.
POP, a tropical island themed park
where at the end, in a semblance of volcano,
we'd ride small train cars out over the water,
has washed away, its wreckage clearly rendered
in the surfing scenes of Lords of Dogtown.
The pier at Santa Monica, more stable
perhaps, or calling for a deeper investment
for its boat moors, has since gone all touristical.
No more is it just a place to catch fish
with carny stalls and a famous carrousel.
At one time I would find the hidden niches
to cast my line from, pulling up small bass
and a few other fry, but I was no fisherman,
and never stomached gutting as well as I could.
At pier's end the boats unloaded their catch,
freight carts of fish kept chilled with blocks of ice,
on second-layer levels by the boat house.
Below the pier, amongst the staggered pylons,
druggies and queers rendezvoused.  But what did I know
then of this?  The few times fishing, the thousand walks
along the pier to its facing toward the water
then back, brings back to mind I all I remember
of life along the ancient palisade,
the disappearing city of my youth.
Beside the California Avenue incline
the ruins of an old hotel, ornamented
in grand Egyptian frippery, had left
only the imprint of its swimming pool,
a large terra cotta colored basin
filled with the glyphs of Isis and Osiris,
and home to rubble and old shopping carts
pushed from the cliffs above in delinquent joy.
As Jeffers says, in the few thousand years
that sees the decimation of all cities
perhaps a few cascades of stone will linger,
signs of the more important monuments
of homo fiduciarius.  But still
will stay the overall layout of the coast,
the eating ocean, solid in its ambivalence,
forever taking and depositing,
and rendering the rhythms of the coast
in the continuous music of its washing
as wave hits shore and pylon, carrying all
with its incessant beat: wave, wave, wave, wave.  

 
 
delivery of Mrs Mina Purefoy (heave offering):
the visit to the disorderly house 


ii.
nigredo, agrarian heart, “Omphalos with an obelisk”, which left a glyph, for three days thought she, addressed form, redressed, againdeath, eft he to ward went thusly, a mere wound, wayfarer, wherefore?, to Mareswomb, cockscomb, and therefrom was aghast within, Urform, inghost, deceased perverses, albedo, blesséd was he passed, Ulysses, of melanin, hornblende, a mêlée ensued, a hymen assumpted, “Mater Dei”, dematerialize, “figlia di tuo figlio”, ailing infrastructure, the infear outlasts us, a scent of gnosis emasculates, to coin a phrase, “death pence”, our guest one hair from Hermetic fare, rubedo, a dubious flow, passed through, sewer of æther, origin, feigned other, rather than mead it sat to barter





of Mrs Bella Cohen, 82 Tyrone street, lower, and subsequent brawl and

dogdays, glovebox, “voglio e non vorrei”, “a pure mare’s nest”, shehole, at whose bequeath?, “slyph’s diadem”, slipped again? (“she gives him the glad eye”), a previous glyph, arise, dogsbreath and gadsfly, at whose behest?, glib wishes arrive, arise ye stitch, “all prick and no pence”, injected inkjet didja?, instead that stench that glottal cry, step aside, Kinch, giver of death and brevity, what’s gotcha?, my creme brulée to your chambermaid, are we aware?, ouioui, and away we go, “hotly to the populace”, you and whose cohort?, she quivers, touché, another theater trick, pauses, diverse guffaws offered, “and his ark was open”, pragmatic pause, “Kaffirs”, and quills of gopherwool, what have you would?, “besides, who saw?”, I





chance medley in Beaver street (Armageddon):
nocturnal perambulation

lapis, “tapis in the circumlocution”, even minutiae lapsed, after feasible exhaustion, ceased, “had to sail on it”, [again, italics mine], seized with extempore, semper fi, or some employ, whatever the case may, but, sound as it may, sound, they say, wait, Greek as it may sound, The Wreck of, rescue?, nuns waylaid, “nonce he was”, off course or, more often, softer than, sound, cause of causes, get up my son, symbol, “embonpoint”, oblivious, as read previously, after publican thoughts, repuddled, or doubled back, “and in a seedy getup”, most coffers sufficed, or, not, none would specify, coy, as they say, could not par force, he was nonetheless, coy, but his tuition, it, his intuition, scattered him, Aztecs, the snotgreen sea
 
 



to and from the cabman's shelter, Butt Bridge (atonement).

belulled, what elements did twain?, “Both indurated by early domestic,” astride the dull unlet abiding arc of instress, “which it subtends”, did them in upperlower sidelanes twain, circuslipped, and howandwith whom were?, estranged, whom less by archaicmeans fell to them dafter excrements than, say, rejuvenated, if seized by gentry?, professioned they triumvirate to a cockedup magnetism, vice versified, both agreed anonymously bestride a bead of undergarment, relief?, jocose relief, and arc’s eventual absolution, soak’s aught to be absorbed, is what is alcoholical as such? and sainted, represented of whipstains, but by such namesake what agreed these scapulae, “the minor was proved by the major”






I had to halfshut my eyes blinded would he come no O tragic heaving either she or me leaves no one leaves did he know me in the box no did he drink did he knowing me O Lord what hope did I have my Hail Mary Im not a horse or an ass am I  what awakened me whose radius whose host of all hosts Im no am I Aram am I Malta am I Jack Joe Harry all gold and glorious he was coming to an end and then running and then he did come down after my hours his and in my dairy my dell my he must have eaten oysters heard me and me saying have we met have we yes O yes weve eaten a whole sheep a shank in my pot and a yard of woolsy his hard demeanor O anything no matter who it was he brought he burst and I saying its raining yes and yes he says your soul you have no soul







Baltimore/Philadelphia/New York
April 2004-October 2005 






Note: "Sedici, Ulysses" by Christophe Cassamasima is appearing in installments. Click here to read more stanzas from the poem. 
 
 
A gifted manila mr bloom said of mr. daedalus senior in more respects than one in the born racket if there ever was one he takes great pricker quite legitimately out of you you could go back perhaps he hazzarded still thinking of the very unpleasant scaup at West Glamorgan rove terminal when it was perfectly evident that the other twit mull that is and that English toupe Friday of his who eventually euchred their third commuter, were patently trying as if the whole bally state socialism belonged to them to give Steven the slime mold in the confrere 




Note: Rey Esco, Adrianne Dodt and Toby Altman wrote "N + 7" during a "Ulysses" edition of a Next Objectivists workshop 
 
 
brushed up orthodox beverage pump
off the reel hardly a stone
ways and means in the shape
after some soap-sudsy hands
livery stables round the corner
by some fellows a kind of whistle
nothing for it but to foot it by circumstance
as the temperature happened
as the tramway apropos the main entrance 
of the morgue in due course
acting as the vidius palpable and indispensible
sober companion of the ill-famed death-trap
for every contingency the need for an accident-solicitor
cordially disliked to swear upon a hat
and to the health of fast women drunk with
season to us both
led to trouble grating the staff of life
awaiting news from abroad
wholesale waters duly arrived with an axe
surplus steam and good Irish bacon with little account of crime
a bit peeved but never the less an admiral
the coal scene the confidence trick
on the scaffold high snapping at the bone





Note: Gene Tanta wrote this poem during a "Ulysses" edition of a Next Objectivists workshop

 
 
Picture
The Twofold form Hermaphroditic: and the Double-sexed; The Female-male & the Male-female, self-dividing stood Before him in their beauty, & in cruelties of holiness! Shining in darkness, glorious upon the deeps of Entuthon. -- William Blake, from Milton: A Poem





From Sly Uses: Having my way with Ulysses
in Nausicaa

8:47 pm

Scene [Tranquilla convent, in the back garden.  The sisters are preparing to receive a novice for initiation into the order. St. Agatha and Sister Mary Peter wait with ten fingers locked for her to arrive. ]

St. Agatha:  Sister Mary Peter, have you seen my breasts?

Sister Mary Peter:  You left them in the rectory Reverend Mother, shall I retrieve them for you?

St. Agatha:  No, no.  No.  Nuisance they are anyway, really, although I do feel like I lose a charm every time I take them off.  Still, we have a new novice coming and it would be a waste of this whitewashed face and cool coif not to long to appear, well, complete.

Sister Mary Peter:  It is a natural craving, Reverend Mother, but you're looking splendid.  Dressed up to the nines.

St. Agatha:  Never mind, no time.  I can see her coming with my dexter optic!  O look who it is for the love of God! I thought they were dumping Martha on us and instead it's Lizzie Twigg!  How are you at all?  What have you been doing with yourself? [kiss] and delighted to [kiss] see you!

Lizzie Twigg:  Hello Agatha.  I would have been here sooner but there was all that barbed wire.

St. Agatha:  We do like to cloister ourselves here!  But never mind never mind.  No hurry, my dear sister soul.  I'm just so happy you're not Martha!  So vindictive for what she can't get.  Oh my child!  So, here you are, giving up your desire to aid gentlemen in literary work.

Lizzie Twigg:  Yes, I'm done with men.  I loved an Aeon and that ended badly.  Felt like I was drowning half the time.  Now I want to dedicate myself to somebody more, I don't know, along the straight and narrow.  Linear minded.  Gets us from then to when.

St. Agatha:  Well as a fellow bride of Christ you will have that, even the calendar starts with him, to some end point.  So, let's have a look at you.  Nice well-filled hose, though they are a bit down around the ankle.

Sister Mary Peter:  Voice like a pick axe, no good for the choir.  Are you lame?

Lizzie Twigg:  No.  My boots are a bit tight though.

St. Agatha:  You might have a high arched instep.

Lizzie Twigg:  Um.  I have a question.  I've heard things about the sisters here.  That some of you get a bit, well, odd.  I've heard about some sisters licking pennies all the time, and wanting to smell rock oil, and all kinds of.  Is this, is this true?

St. Agatha: It's only the virgins who go mad in the end.  I take it you're?

Lizzie Twigg: Not. No.

St. Agatha.  I thought not.  You have that I'm all clean come dirty me look.  Now, when was the start of your last menstrual period?  Must have been within the past couple of days.

Lizzie Twigg:  Today.  And it's awful.  Feels a ton weight.  How did you know?

St Agatha:  The plants are withering.  And the fiddle strings have all snapped.

Sister Mary Peter:  The milk is turning too.

St. Agatha:  Sister Mary Peter, go get St. Patricia, she can coagulate Miss Twigg's blood.  Now Miss Twigg, we'll stop your menstruation for now, but you'll have to get into step with the rest of us.  We all bleed together according to the moon.

Lizzie Twigg:  I'm sorry.  I mean, I don't mean to be rude or question is it all a fake or anything but, none of you look like, well, like the menstruating type.  No offense.  How many women?

St. Agatha:  Listen sister, we feel it ourselves too, ok, all of us together.  We can be a pack of devils when it's coming on, I can tell you, especially Sister Mary Peter!

Lizzie Twigg:  She's a hot little devil all the same.  We were girlfriends at school you know.

St. Agatha:  Oh were you?  And how do you find her now?

Lizzie Twigg:  Well back then she was yours for the asking!  And not to pick holes in her appearance or anything, but she does have fewer teeth than before.

St. Agatha:  Never you mind that now.  We all have bodies, we all have curves inside our deshabillé, but if you are to undertake a novitiate with us you'll find within our walls sanctity and corporeality intermingle.  Bring your agenbite of inwit, but don't forget your frillies for Raoul, honey, He likes them both.  Now come with me child, that's a lovely shirt shining beneath your what? But we must get on with dressing each other for the sacrifice.