What past consecutive causes, before rising preapprehended, of accumulated fatigue did Bloom, before rising, silently recapitulate?





sea, unseen, now, not there, though I go, “Thalatta!”, now nowhere, “The snotgreen sea”, seems to grow from my feet, unaware, still of the wake, on the verge, “The scrotumtightening sea”, my tongue, though terror, “Thalatta!”, grows fierce, ever mourning, ever somber, no want in tow, of the moor, the verge again, all I saw, mire, all over now, a raise of his razorblade, still, the sea, apart from what is seen, arise, “Kinch ahoy”, a rise in the tide, “knifeblade”, “Thalatta!”, what will be, what has been, what forever shall be, his reason being, none, “Thalatta!”, parting the scene, tightening, painting the scenery, “Ceasing”, into, and out of, “Introibo ad altare Dei”, instress, “Usurper”





a pier, a bridge to nowhere, “a disappointed bridge”, “no one here to hear”, a bride hears a point, in the distance, a bridge, now where? no, where are we now? one sees or hears a heart, in the distance, someone is dancing, here, do you hear? or see? a bride swings from a bridge, a bear, singing, in the distance, a bare bridge, heart, on a string, swung, “Pyrrhus, a pier”, the dancing airs, peers, stars from a badge, have you heard? in the distance, pairs of ears, dancing there, “a bridge is” a cross, a river, “across a river”, was there ever? a curse for your rearview mirror, disaster sings from a pier, “sir?”, are we here, or, in the distance, adhere, “sir?”, singing near a river, in which  bridges, early altered, appear to sing, isn’t over





we came hither, to thirst, cough, of turquoise, one leg, back, to the sea, at a gallop, sunrise, “seawrack”, her coy laugh, cliff, shells of the afterlife, “Diaphane, adiaphane”, one finger penetrable, ineffable, another a hearth, fraternity, of father and son, arise, trope of seacrest, each crash, iambic, penultimate Argonaut, now early, now transparent, fashioned of the now prostrate, “Diaphane, adiaphane”, form the warp, woof, one letter, strata, at a time, indulgent, one finger nearer, “deline the mare”, sea, horse, transubstantiate, wharf, of what day to come, “Diaphane, adiaphane”, too comely, Protagoras admits to colophon, “darkness I was too, made not begotten”, “gallop”, cliffthither, we made west





oil, voyage, "Voglio e non vorrei", sausage, boiled, "sunburst on the title page", one liver one kidney, one lover's awl, glowered over,  soulsevered, "watching it flow sideways", versed in wurst, vexed, reincarnation of rest, never cursed, eggs, aglio e oglio, all honoring, succumbing,  "Voglio e non vorrei", one leg of limb's wool, "dogsbody", gall of gravy's womb, down the hallway, lamb of God, adieu, a Dio con Dio, atomized incisors, scissors misspelled, inside our, out, cut one bladder of wombat, chew fissure, tissue, one ringworm lightly fried, light gravy, tongue to taste, Anglo-Saxon, waste not laxative, fixative, "Voglio e non vorrei", festive endeavors, exaltations, the bowels, transmigration fouled





The preparation of breakfast (burnt offering):
intestinal congestion and

alas, mosquito, hearsay glutton, “drooping nags of the hazard”, a mosque is built of the contrabass, verily “He’s dead”, alas, what his heathen sheep, with charity wrought, at long last, asleep in the slough, he is up there, to greet the dead, bah! ‘tis a neigh, neighborly sighs in the choir, “This is my body”, the blessing, unrehearsed, “Heresiarch”, he has searched for the letter, postmarked, reposed “massboy”, and researched in the sacrament, body missing from the text, two sluts, a dying horse, alas,  host of the apocalypse, host of all hosts, "This is my body", and blood, to brood over, take this, the sea’s private epicycles,  take this, all of you, your sanctity, apothecary, all of you, with missive clarity, of you, and eat it 

 



Note: "Sedici, Ulysses" by Christophe Casamassima appears in several installments. Click here to read the rest of the poem. 
 
 
The great sculptor Milton Hebald was interviewed in 2012. Hebald created a sculpture of James Joyce, which can be found in a cemetery in Zurich, Switzerland. Check back soon for a transcription of the interview with Milton Hebald. 
 
 
 
 
premeditative defecation (holy of holies):
the bath (rite of John): the funeral

inchoate, splayed tannins, yield of Achilles heel, Barabas damned, calves, astray, Dedalus nodding, Ithaca, “His fidus Achates”, hailed, rainslit white forms, “red face: grey now”, “an empty hearse”, flotsam gravy, his last florin halved, for having saved, her eyes, ending, horizon, now theirs, ours, the hours, passing, “in paradisum”, how dying restrained the dead, how one rains, deciding, coughing nails, unarmed, carrying on, with fingers grieving inquiry, throng, ad hominem, “On Dignam now”, resting voices, houses, amplified in their names, raining, rising solos, each rendered meter, sustaining each one grave, each sorrow, resisting all matters lost and fettered, bygones, by now, gone, displayed in the bones, Gorgons    






(rite of Samuel): the advertisement of Alexander Keyes (Urim and

Adonai”, he pressed on, “Ohio!”, and so, it was over, “white bowknots”, I don’t know, he presented another, “It is meet to be here”, he paused, his mare bulging, a grass purge, “He wants you for the pressgang”, aloha, Gutenberg, “Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu”, plausible thoughts, “Long, short, and long”,  he plodded, “A perfect cretic!”, he spoke, “spells finis for a man”, he raised one finger, arranged images and made this suggestion, “Your hat is a little crushed”, but was inconsequential, his armature vanished, “The telephone whirred”, where by God is this telegram?, “The divine afflatus”, “Hop and carry one”, he divined, hopelessness, he broke into riddling, “Ohio!”, “As he mostly sees double





Thummim): the unsubstantial lunch (rite
of Melchizedek): the visit to
bread, amended, beef, sides of, demanding an all living death, draught, perfect gravity, good head by God, devourer of breath and life, by width of fire, framed, “Dollard”, the barfly’s wife, my pen, “Blood of the Lamb”, ales, askew, arms, my penumbra, “No-one is anything”, so he asked, “How much is that?”, who measures such sentences?, alas, with all this spun, yet another plumb, “Must be in a certain mood”, ponders the brood of a heap, waferheft, aliases, to be engaged with, gasbills, and glossolalia, “That is how poets write, the similar sounds”, heiferwaft, or centuries of smell, sexless with rescue, “Esthetes they are”, all he thought, he thought, sat, teeth?, not said so easily though, how, how thought, now, who





museum and national library (holy place):
the bookhunt along Bedford row,

absence of timbre, “Gulfer of souls, engulfer”, procedure of limbs, repeated, footnotes in the snow, “Minette? Tu veux?”, six companions, repented, Jesus wept, but what else?, their compendium of limbs, cylindrical, si piove tanta e bastanza, “ave rabbi”, corpus delictus et al, innocuous, “Dumas fils”, “ave rabbi”, mirror of thought, light be there let, “Stuck on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck”, paraskenia and acoustics, “Hesios Kristos”, Aeschylus, how snow falls upon the idea of a house, Plato’s apotheosis, “Horseness is the whatness of allhorse”, hence pathos, he, who too is I, horsesense, a blind eye, “ave rabbi”, anxious of sacrament, six characters, repented, unctuous, si piove molto ma non si piove sempre, ascolta





Merchants' Arch, Wellington Quay (Simchath Torah):
the music in the

pius, “Nisi Prius”, absimilis absilimus, “allow the ambulance”, qua sedici, neigh, chance and rechance, nonchalance, a viaggio, due a mano, adieu, the same road traveled twice, sempre da solo, what follows isn’t, extempore, “hasn’t an earthly”, Hammersmith is too south, double neigh, haha, “Dignam came out of Mangan’s”, haha he who is is, who laughed “von Sacher Masoch”, Leopold, is, declension, exsequens, cornered for Christ’s sake, qua qua ex qua, “Sulphur dung of lions”, deux mains, Padua in Dublin?, Tripoli?, “sure that’s only what you might call a pinprick”, quay nunc, nessuno qui ma noi, qua ciao, “behind him a blind stripling tapped”, queen to king’s archbishop, circa nulla, we, unalike, abscond, “Perche la sua voce...





Note: "Sedici, Ulysses" by Christophe Casamassima is appearing in installments. Click here to read more stanzas from the poem. 
 
 
Picture
But time between one and the other when was brief -- I mean the whens of waiting and of seeing heaven grow more radiant.

From Sly Uses: Having my way with Ulysses
Ithaca

2:26 am

Look at the stars if you can see them. I see clouds and darkness but I know the stars are there. No. I don't know that. I know that they were there. The little lights which I do not see in the sky but possibly you do, come from a past which possibly had ceased to exist as a present before its probable spectators (excluding myself) had entered actual present existence. That which I do not see might not be there now, most certainly is not there now, as by now they will have red-shifted position. All those stars running off, taking their planets with them. Ours too. Such a fearsome isolation, all this expanding outwardly from each other, temporality stretching between us. So lonely, having no contact with each other. Yet if we did, our loneliness would compound. We could look up at the stars (I at starless clouds) into distances numbering nine to the ninth power to the ninth power and find our double, as if in a mirror shining back to us: we are here too. The joy of recognition; the first sighting of a lover! And then, and then. And then we will understand in advance the impostvidibility of the past. We will know as if we have already harkened back in a kind of retrospective arrangement that we are already and always have been ever alone. There is our lover, shimmering through lakes of dreams, seas of rains, gulfs of dews, oceans of fecundity, simultaneously loving us back yet already gone. Infinity rendered finite. We would be as the new moon with the old moon in our arms, but our state of solitude is one where there can be no entry. They are gone. The world is gone.

 
 
Picture
This was his first and never-forgotten image of the city; those massive buildings that seemed to say We are here forever. Salman Rushdie, Joseph Anton: A Memoir
12:52 am

What made time? This is the western world I'm swimming in; within these waters I know deep in my gills that time was made. I open my eyes and see fish; perhaps you open yours and see flow. Maybe your temporality isn't something that can be said to have begun. What the hell do I know about that, I'm breathing water here. Your geographical location will tell your gills other truths. Maybe your temporality has no need of a beginning. So. What made time? This time, yeah? A god? A god made time? Nice work dumbass, you made something that breaks too easily. Your temporality is too fragile. It smashes whenever we make something formed from what is that word everybody knows? What's the point (ah the point!) of a temporality that breaks whenever we corrode sublimate smash something into nothing. Break it down boys. We can clear this place out in no time flat. Make quick work. Sudden, sometimes. But look at the materials: creatio ex nihilo, so what do you expect? Shows what you get when you make something from nothing. Must not have been much of a primary void. You want void? You want nothing? We have nothing. We have plenty of nothing right here. In this country. Right here. Go look at the sky just above our greatest city. That particular nothing ranks with some of our greatest and most terrible nothings ever to cleave time, and we've had some enormous nothings on our record. Millions of leaping final flames. Tear stained trails of them. When a world watches with hearts in mouths while receiving a nightmare's bad kick, what is the more grievous sight? The buildings falling? The dust clouds and smoke rising spreading filling smothering settling? No. It's the oh my god the towers aren't there. That. It was that. Remember that? That ripple of obvious entwined with inconceivable? It was visceral, that moment. That's the sight that cleaved time. There's what rent temporality. That monument of nothing. We look into that nothing. That hole in our sky. That hole in our temporality.  And we look into that nothing and name everything on the other side "before" and on this side "after."

Sly Uses: Having My Way with Ulysses
From Circe

 
 
Picture
Apply the tale, and you shall find, How just it suits with human kind. Some faults we own; but can you guess? --Why, virtue's carried to excess, Wherewith our vanity endows us, Though neither foe nor friend allows us. ~ Jonathan Swift "The Beast's Confession"
10:24 pm

My name is unpronounceable in your language.  And I would teach you mine but I can see from here you would stop at the first personal pronoun.  You would learn it by heart and carry it everywhere between your teeth and your cheek. You would root up the green grass and keep it only for yourself.  Well you would, there's no mystery.  You think this is my first time at the rodeo? You would be no better off than yourself, but you will never see past your own self baptism to realize it.  You.  Can you be sure of understanding my language?  You are of one mind and I see no help for you.  You'll be who you are and a bull's a bull for a' that.

Sly Uses: Having my way with Ulysses
From Oxen of the Sun


 
 
Who bleached the false-messenger?
--
Try it. You may mention my name.

When does the sun rise next week?

—Look here. Here they are. A friend of mine sent me.

Why am I so surreal just now?
—We woke this morning at seven o’clock.

What is the true meaning of resurrection?
--
He toured the wide world with Hengler’s Royal Circus.

What time is it?
—A beautiful language. I mean for singing purposes.


If the brown cow ate black grass what color would his dung be?
—Not as much as a farthing to purchase a night’s lodging.

To whom was the package sent?
—A few broken biscuits were all the result of his investigation.

What name would you never screw?
—The fill the ear of a cow elephant.
What the hell are you doing with your life?
—I seen him shoot two eggs off two bottles at fifty yards over his shoulder.

Who invests in vacation homes and makes lots of cash?
—Sounds are impostures, Stephen said after a pause of some little time, like names.

Why synthesize when you could analyze? 
—My little woman’s down there. She’s waiting for me, I know. For England, home and beauty.


What kind of cake would you die for?
--I seen a crocodile bite a fluke of an anchor same as I chew that quid.




Note: The second line of each couplet is taken from Ulysses ("Eumaeus" section).

Click here to read more writings by the Next Objectivists that were inspired by Ulysses.