Tuesday, June 16, 2015

"Glorious tone he has still. Cork air softer also their brogue. Silly man! Could have made oceans of money. Singing wrong words" #Bloomsday

2004.08.03-18And a happy 2015 Bllomsday to all of you!

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Alas the voice rose, sighing, changed: loud, full, shining, proud.

 --But alas, 'twas idle dreaming...

Glorious tone he has still. Cork air softer also their brogue. Silly man! Could have made oceans of money. Singing wrong words. Wore out his wife: now sings. But hard to tell. Only the two themselves. If he doesn't break down. Keep a trot for the avenue. His hands and feet sing too. Drink. Nerves overstrung. Must be abstemious to sing. Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. For creamy dreamy.

Tenderness it welled: slow, swelling, full it throbbed. That's the chat. Ha, give! Take! Throb, a throb, a pulsing proud erect.

Words? Music? No: it's what's behind.

Bloom looped, unlooped, noded, disnoded. Bloom. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, in desire, dark to lick flow invading. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. Tup. Pores to dilate dilating. Tup. The joy the feel the warm the. Tup. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob. Now! Language of love.

--...ray of hope is... 

Beaming. Lydia for Lidwell squeak scarcely hear so ladylike the muse unsqueaked a ray of hopk.

James Joyce, Ulysses (pp. 236-237)

For a look back a Bloomsdays past, see below:




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