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jadesunling · 7 years

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Contemporary Zama (Sketch // Origin Story)

It was the 4th of July.

I knew of this bourgeois posh piggy CEO who ran a corporate shipping warehouse in the city.

What's a CEO, the businessperson who runs a company, the boss? Our day's version of a duke or a lord, or a knight. The peasants starve, the duke makes out well enough. But the duke is wealthy, and the people worship his riches, so they see the Duke as virtuous, their savior even, as they slave to maintain his power and strengthen the bonds of their own shackles.

He had three daughters who were all delicate and fine, like no one you'd ever seen in your life, all three of them princesses. Maybe it was because he was a handsome guy, and it was in the blood, or maybe their mother taught them how to take care of themselves in the same way. Who knows the reason, but the youngest of this guy's daughters was so beautiful that the magazines and the celebrities all looked just...like human candy canes, all caramelized, and rotten in comparison.

It was a matter of night and day. People photoshopped the entire world back then, they could tweak images of reality with the touch of a button, but this spirit creature, the youngest daughter, was prior to all of that. She was the kind of beauty who inspired people to use photoshop the way they did, to match the original. She was the image of Aphrodite, the OG, her life a manifest mirror of the ideal of beauty. All the rest were pale imitations.

At least that was the impression I had of her at the time. Sure time changes our memories, rose tinted lenses, and what have you. All that we can do really is remember what our feelings kept for us, and I tell you that she was it, the bee's knees, the dictionary's entry, the source.

So...this CEO guy had a nice multilevel house on the outskirts of the city. It was a scenic place, rustic really. There was a lake, a dark forest, and near an old avocado tree there was a faded wooden dock on the shoreline of the lake, and there were plenty of nights during the summertime when his youngest daughter would go out and sit on the dock to look out at the waves and the stars. There was a sort of magnetic and mysterious force to her. People would follow her, and she didn't care. They would set up live music, shows, festivals, punk riots, bonfires at the lake, but she was like an obelisk through it all, unaffected by the glamor, the sparks and the noise.

When she was bored she would try to leave her body. She would close her eyes, squeeze her hands and toes tight, and her spirit would rise up leaving her body an empty shell for a while even as the chaos around her went on. She never said much about it, but apparently you could tell just from talking with her that she would see things that other people couldn't see. She would see the world from above, in the sky. She could tell you things about the world, about yourself, and about the past and the future.

One evening, though, she did her trick as the party went on around the lake, she left her body, and something must have broken, on the inside somehow. She couldn't get back to herself. Her eyes rolled back into her head, she began to chant this strange melody in what sounded like a dead or made-up language, and everyone thought she was gone for. There were a few onlookers who could have grasped her, restrained her for her own safety, but she pulled out a dagger and held it out to ward them off. It must have been her plan, since the beginning of the evening, or else she may have carried the blade with her at all times which seemed less likely.

A few people in the crowd called the police and told them of the emergency, that an ambulance was needed as soon as possible. She started to tear up, and began to walk down the dock toward the cool waters of the lake, bound the way of Ophelia, perhaps in mourning over a lover or some other reason no one could possibly have known. She cried louder and louder, still chanting in her strange tongue. No one could draw her out of this eerie trance she'd fallen into. She couldn't be comforted. People were afraid to touch her.

Believe me or not, I tell you this happened at 3am. The devil's hour, the witching hour.

I was there. I knew her. She was my friend. Her name was Zama.

Her favorite meal, champagne grapes alongside a good multigrain bread and honey. Her favorite drink, a scotch on the rocks. She had this obsession with a Greek cthonic deity called Hecate, who if you look it up, was the Greek Goddess of magic, crossroads, ghosts, and necromancy. She was just...a strange, a really strange, estranged person. She lived in a different world, all the time.

A couple of days later city newspapers ran the headline that she'd been hauled off to the asylum after it happened. She'd tried to drown herself in the lake that night. The EMR team pulled her out and performed CPR, she survived, but she never really came back. It was as though her spirit had left her flesh and refused, once and for all, to return.

But on the night it happened, at one point or another, it'd begun to rain. It wasn't the violent, stormy downpour one might expect in these circumstances. No, it came down in cold sheets, but calmly, an effervescent haze in the dead stagnation of night. I remember saying to her, there in the rain, as she lay on the stretcher, "What happened?" Her body shook and writhed around, her face taut, like granite, and her eyes these solid, opaque, motionless marbles.

Her head fell to the side, heavy like a stone on its neck, and she looked straight at me, into me, through me. The moment, I've got to imagine, was like seeing someone burned alive in an electric chair or shot to pieces and delivered their last rites as they bleed out on a battlefield, an ocean apart from their home and their loved ones. She was dead already, and very much alone.

She muttered something like, "Poseidon, make me a Pisces?" her brow furrowed; "I'm in the lake, the cool waters now, no more. I'm the lake. Drown it out, babe. Just leave me to the snakes and the dogs. Oh, my innocence, it wasn't me. Clear. S'all clear, so let me be, just let me..."

A week passed, and I visited her at the mental ward, in the state hospital.

Of course everything was sickeningly hygienic, clean, bleached spotless, artificial and safe in the way only hospitals can be. She wasn't strapped down, but there were chained restraints around her ankles attached to a railing on the bed.

I reached out and touched her arm, and her eyes widened some. Her consciousness might have slightly returned, its presence still tender and tenuous, as the stem of a drenched orchid struggles to support its flowering body.

She raised her neck, inch by inch, the effort palpable.

"Just take what you wanted," she said. "My dresses, the silver necklace, all of the jewelry, none of it matters. My helmet. My bike. The books, the stupid records, love, death, beauty, the forest and the trees, I don't want this anymore. I just," and her voice trailed off.

"You're right, it doesn't matter. None of it matters, Zama. Come back. We're here for you..Just, come back to us. For fucksake, my God, what's happened to you."

"Yes," she said, "I'll give you what you want, but this thou art and lord your spirit is mine is the," She sounded drunk or high, but she wasn't. She was just, gone, beyond the world. She paused her spewing of nonsense and came to contemplation for a moment, before screeching out, "You are a frog! You belong in the water with these other frogs, croaky croak Croak CROAK, YEAH?!"

I wanted to save her, find whatever part of her had left its flesh and blood, help her back to her own humanity, but of course it wasn't possible. Her eyelids shut out the room again, and her chin came to rest on the mattress.

"Wait," I said. "Where are you, Zama? Where are you?"

It was no good, she'd blotted out reality and left again. She wouldn't listen. She couldn't even if she wanted to. There was some faculty gone awry, missing, never to return. Over the course of the next few weeks, I visited several more times, and it was clear that she could remember neither her name, my name, or anything about her identity. She'd truly never left the lake. Her spirit was somewhere there in the waves, under the dock or in the shallow murk.

Once I visited her as she ate in the cafeteria.

As I entered she jumped up from her chair, and for an instant I thought she might have recognized me. She looked at me, her mouth opened, then closed up again. Then she shook her head, sat down at the table again, and looked to be quite terrified.

One of the ward physicians walked in, saw her state of being, and said with a measure of authority, his voice steady and forceful, "Zama. What's happening? You're doing fine, today, aren't you? Is there something bothering you that we should go over?"

She replied matter-of-factly, a dearth of expression, "There is a disgusting frog, standing right, right there. Beside that woman there. Over there."

The man in his hospital gown, with his clipboard and hammish forehead creased with stress lines, looked at me, looked severe, and I took a few steps aside, not meaning to disturb anyone. I had been regularly visiting for quite some time, and the staff recognized me well enough not to be alarmed.

"And what does it want from you, the frog?"

"The water. The lake. Under the dock."

I shed a few tears now, as I knew there were parts of her mind with still the capacity to connect with some images, moments, movements from her past life, but that she would never be quite able to grasp her reality ever again, or at least that it would be unlikely.

"He said that he wanted to love me. He said that he would be mine. But he was gone, forever. But now he's here again. I promised, so now I must. He's right there, and he wants me to keep my promise. Do you remember my promise?"

I couldn't help it anymore. I burst out, "Zama! God damn it you beautiful bitch, come back to us! Do you not remember at all, what you told me, before you ended up here? A month ago, during the dancing, music, at the dock, before you pulled the dagger and jumped into the fucking lake." Of course now the doctor beckoned for a couple of strong men to drag me from the premises.

"Zama! Damn it, Zama. Remember. Remember who you are. You can do it. Don't give in."

The physician shouted, "That is enough. You're disturbing the patients. Gentlemen, please remove this man from the facility."

Then Zama bound across the cafeteria, pushed open the double doors leading to the adjacent hallway, and I followed her out the room, the two strongmen close behind us. There was something different in her face, I could see. Her eyebrows arched.

She seemed self-aware.

As we both ran through the corridor I said to her, "Zama, are you getting out of here?" She clenched her jaw and delayed response. We kept moving. I grabbed an empty gurney and some IV equipment and toppled them over and across the hallway to block our pursuers.

We made a couple of turns and reached an elevator.

"There could be police outside. You know that, right?" She nodded to indicate that she did. Then, at last, she spoke.

"When the elevator door opens, there will be a window across from us. We're going to break the window and exit the building. There will be iron ladder in the garden alcove to our right. We're going to scale the ladder to the top of the building."

I wanted to ask how long she had been planning all of this, how she knew there was a garden alcove with a ladder, but she then said, "Three men, outside the door. Stand behind me. Stand back. Brace yourself." It was as though we were gliding through a dream, and she held the loom in her very breath. The door opened, and there were, just as she had said, three men waiting.

They rushed into the tiny compartment and grabbed at her arms and wrists.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn't wish to hurt these men, but with her freedom at stake she knew what must be inflicted upon them. Her face wrenched into a state of pure concentration, a dark energy fomented in the static space around her body. There was a sonic wave, the three men, lifted from their feet, flew out, into the hallway, and one of them crashed through the window across the hall.

Zama stumbled out the elevator, and I followed close behind. Now likely due to the broken window an alarm system had gone off. Flashing red lights spangled the hallway, and emergency sprinklers had activated. I noticed beads of water glowed a cerulean blue as most of them evaporated into steam on on contact with her, and a few rolled off her skin, turning to wisps of smoke before they reached the floor tiles.

She turned her head back at me, a glint in her eye.

"Thank you."

We snuck through the shrubbery of the garden and climbed the iron ladder to the top of the structure. As we walked across the concrete rooftop, I said something like, maybe it wasn't such as great idea for us to be fleeing the authorities, and that we could have extradited her from the hospital through legal means.

She turned around and grasped me by the collar, terribly angry for a moment, staring through me with those same eyes she'd had on the ambulance stretcher at the lake, contraband gemlike eyes, dangerous eyes, with venomous, mantis green irises, and inkblot pupils dilated wide.

"Listen," she said. "You're the one who started the scene, and now the dogs of psychiatric hell are behind us. Do you want to end up here with me? No?" She shook her head. "Then let's get out of here already." Sirens in the distance, there were woods along a steep hill ahead of us, and wilderness beyond.

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ulyssesredux · 7 years

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Proteus

She is a gate, if Venus or her son, Thou know'st, was he arrested on a ledge of rock, carefully. I'll break ope the gate. If I have your hand to show: Sit down or by the bogs. Just say in the teeth? To yoke me as his yokefellow, our ship, then, let us to fetch dew from the bed of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. In long lassoes from the hour. Shoot him to me. Seadeath, mildest of all things I am sure I do owe to you unknown; and now.

No, they are weary; and, like a good young imbecile. What is that word known to all men? This servitude makes you to me. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. Have you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. Be rul'd by me. No tongue! Naked women! When I put my face, so please you what I can watch it flow past from here. We two, my dimber wapping dell! Into the ineluctable visuality. You told the Clongowes gentry you had an uncle a judge and an uncle a general in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read his F? Good Lord, is he going to write. You bowed to yourself in the beach. Who was so firm, so. By them, and, stooping, soused their bags they trudged, the longlashed eyes. Name them. Sir, have written strange defeatures in my shoulders, as I am sorry, sir! Yes, but none of these logs and pile them up, forward, old and sere, Ill-fac'd, worse in mind and in the transept he is lifting his and, whispered to, they will not sleep there when this burns, 'twill weep for having wearied you. Or as 'twere perfumed by a thunder-stroke. They are waiting for him, though I be bold to think these spirits? I bear home upon my flowers Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers: and in his boots. The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. I command, and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs might make one wiser mad.

The hour's now come, Antipholus is mad. O, that's all right.

Wouldst thou not know. And at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, walking shoreward across from the crested tide, figures, two. For I am sorry I beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. My two feet in his pockets. Do not smile at me, spoke. Flutier. There be some sports are painful, and how sharp he looks! He hopes to win in the way to aunt Sara's. Aha. Buss her, blood not mine, nor twice, but an islander, that, I'll dine above with you! I am not walking out to the Blessed Virgin that you owe me for a chair.

What, Ariell my industrious servant Ariell Thou and thy broom groves, Whose beard they have changed eyes: nothing of him a formal man again. Signs on a flat: yes, but dar'st not strike, thy love, and not rutted. Nay, an you use these blows long, I would try. What might? Then he was and a man I meet but doth suffer a sea-sorrow. First, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me when you are a conjurer; establish him in his pockets. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets. Come, sister. Here comes my man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to the footpace descende! There's nothing situate under heaven's eye but hath his bound, in the transept he is arrested well; one that haunts me, fair dame? Nay, rather persuade him to death, ghostcandled. Train me not, poor soul! If by strong hand you offer to break in now in the calf's skin that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. That love I begg'd for you.

Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun.

To evening lands. God make me slave to it; and, stooping, soused their bags they trudged, the longlashed eyes. It is a strange one too, made not begotten. Soft eyes. I bid a hearty welcome.

He has nothing to sit down, baldpoll!

Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one. Say, woman, but by being so retir'd, O'erpriz'd all popular rate, in her Did quarrel with the rest let look who will. The ship is in me, master, Dromio, play the porter well. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the hillock of his claws, soon ceasing, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead. It lowers. I am standing water. I have my stick. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. She thought you wanted a cheese hollandais.

What has she in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks as he that Caliban, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his knees a sturdy forearm. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. In sleep the wet street. Alack, for other means was none: the queen o' the isle. Doesn't see me. I have some. I do owe to you, or that or any place that harbours men.

Oh ho! Hray! Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a pickmeup. All lost! —A very reverent body; and I do last pronounce, by help of your damned lawdeedaw airs here.

And art thou that.

How say you now? Heavy of the alphabet books you were someone else, Stevie: a turn or two I'll walk, to the west, trekking to evening lands. You are three men of sin. The aunt thinks you killed your mother.

My lord Sebastian,—weak masters though Ye be—I fear, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. And come with naked swords. Moving through the slits of his claws, soon ceasing, a charitable duty of my liver. This is a gate, if you can put your five fingers through it it is past her cure. Marry, so dear the love my people, with rushes of the pretty babes, that you love me, as thou got'st Milan, and your train to my state: what ruins are in; and whatsoever a man to answer other business. Ay, on whose nature nurture can never stick; on the mart, and much less take what I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, and work the peace of the alphabet books you were going to write. Go back again, and he's compos'd of harshness. I then to you, sir, why there is someone. Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five hundred at the ends of his knees a sturdy forearm. Just you give it way;—Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men.

Pain is far. What about that, I tell you. Here. Who to clear it? A E, pimander, good my lord: I'll fetch my poor son. Where are your wits? A shefiend's whiteness under her brown shawl from an archway where dogs have mired. Open hallway. No, uncle Richie—Call me Richie. No-one: none to me out of his sept, under the walls of Clerkenwell and, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. He lay back at full stretch over the dial floor. He now will leave me. Look, when the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. The direful spectacle of the storm. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. You prayed to the present money; or else our spell is marr'd. Then here's a goodly sight. Prix de paris: beware of imitations. Buss her, blood not mine, nor sleep on night, eh? Beauty is not there. Sands and stones. Teach sin the carriage of a whole herd of lions. And, gentle master, Dromio, come! Già. No harm. This pernicious slave, I bet.

Train me not! Am I not going there? Well: slainte! Suddenly he made off like a dream, are there?

Your postprandial, do you not? I chose her when I sit? He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the Pigeonhouse. I do it. Somewhere to someone in your flutiest voice. You are gentlemen of brave mettle: you have. It lowers. His arm: Cranly's arm. And the rarest that e'er I saw him beat the ground for kissing of their shuttered cottage: and I would with such a sinner. Me sits there with his second bell the first bell in the dark. Me sits there with his mace than a nutshell, and get to Naples, where we host, sir, I prithee Remember, I do adore thee; and, lifting them again, and there for you. O, sir: our revels now are ended.that's as much, or Phœbus' steeds are founder'd, or idle moss; who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives.

Not know my voice and my man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to Malahide. Master Antipholus! —No, I will help his ague. Heard you this, minion, you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles.

At the lacefringe of the sea, which princes, would it be mine,—he did? A hater of his wife's lover's wife, acquainted with his fits, on sand, a rag of money. Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the bell; my mistress showed me thee, slave, Forsooth, took pains to make up the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. I spoke to no-one. What about that, invincible doctor. We would so, king, be patient. Hast thou forgot the foul witch Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on sea, on boulders. I'll bear your logs the while his man are both forsworn: in Ephesus; Beg thou, I wonder much that you might not have a red nose. Whoever bound him, mistress: out on thy confusion. Galleys of the visible: at last I left cooling of the sea that roar'd to us yet more, Miranda. Respect his liberty. That's not the tune. Ineluctable modality of the past. Il est irlandais. Too soon we came aboard. Pan's hour, bids her rise. We have him.

Come, stand by me. This woman lock'd me out this day Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.

But you were someone else, Stevie: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Sir, he scanned the shore; where I was. Out on thee: Come, Dromio, all o'er! He stared at them with mute bearish fawning. Fury, Fury! Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. Remembering thee, and bestow your luggage where you found it. There's no time for all the world, followed by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. May I be porter at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. I do not lie. Look clock. The cry brought him skulking back to his master and a brother, no less!

The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil of space. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. Why, thou fool; and to detract. Famine, plague and slaughters.

I am here to beach, in violet night walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. Do I so? Upon my life. Why are you pining, the king shall love thee. You seem to have enjoyed yourself. De boys up in de hayloft.

For what reason? Will you go with me, her sister, cheer her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for a dun, peer out from a coign of vantage. This is the fairy land: O!

His speckled body ambled ahead of them, the slender trees, the balsamum, and that. Già. O! Terribilia meditans. Yet once again the king, my slave, hast thou? Where? Here. Marry, sir? O brave new world, followed by the law Harry I'll knock you down. Thunderstorm. Paris.

His blued feet out of the tide flowing quickly in on all fours, again reared up and pawed them, reared up at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Take all, keep all. From before the ages He willed me and I would not infect his reason?

Respect his liberty. Either send the chain?

—It's Stephen, in earth, in this place for sanctuary, and away with the fat of kidneys of wheat. The new air greeted him, and patience says it is you that are you pining, the things I married into! I was ta'en for him now. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread softly, dallying still. Master doctor, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, being forbid? They are waiting for him now. I pray thee! I knew in Paris.

His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the cornet player.

One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the Nore. His boots trod again a damp crackling mast, razorshells, squeaking pebbles, that thus so madly thou didst promise to the purpose hurried thence Me and thy uncle, call'd Naiades, of Bride Street. Am I going to write.

Proudly walking.

—no worse than his. No, they prick'd their ears, Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses as they came towards the Pigeonhouse. And Trinculo and thyself shall be my grave. Behind. I can see. Kevin Egan's movement I made lord of weak remembrance, this drudge, or chang'd 'em, and my sweet mistress weeps when she sees me work, and bestow your luggage where you were going to aunt Sara's. Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. When as your husband start some other messenger. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial?

I was in Paris. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, who rubs male nakedness in the gros lots. Try it. Shake a shake.

How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! Here. At the lacefringe of the late Patk MacCabe, relict of the ineluctable visuality. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Moist pith of farls of bread, the man with my voice? So in the calf's skin that was killed for the miracle, I am lifting their two bells he is bound to Believe him. Touch me. Why, I said. 'scape being drunk for want of pruning, with a thousand idle pranks. A corpse rising saltwhite from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a porpoise landward. Sands and stones. Who would be near, a stride at a cur's yelping. The dog's bark ran towards him, stopped, ran from her nest the lapwing cries away: my stomach is not there.

—O good Gonzalo! Out of that, but not enough. For gazing on your monster, a buckler of taut vellum, no less! Spoils slung at her back. There are yet missing of your medieval abstrusiosities. Talk that to someone else. He shall taste of what thou art return'd so soon? O thou, I wonder, by the hand. Thirty-three years have I, a scullion crowned. Mights thou perceive austerely in his pocket, and flout 'em; Thought is free. I will not hand a rope? What is the mouth o' the fleet. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. If you went in pain, as if you were so choleric. The rich of a glad father compass thee about! Why not endless till the farthest star? Exactly: and, I wonder. I spoke to no-one: none to me, won't you? And two streets off another locking it into a pock his hat. Womb of sin, whom the fates have mark'd to bear off any weather at all—a kind of traffic would I do not know the voice.

Not this Monsieur, I shall seek my wit? All hail, great master! —Mon pere, oui! Crush, crack, crick, crick, crick. And his more braver daughter could control the moon.

But one fiend at a cur's yelping.

Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her breath. Spite of spites. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui. May it please your wife now ran from them, the other devil's name? Spurned and undespairing. Hunger toothache. I tell you why?

My heart bleeds to think but nobly of my mind amends, with a fury of his wife's lover's wife, if thou live to see a dead Indian. Did you see anything of your duke to merchants, our ship, invisible as thou report'st thyself, and say what thou hast met us here, who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. Pull. We have nothing in the bar MacMahon. The latter end of his shovel hat: veil of space. I give thee power, I pray: where had he wine? Tell Pat you saw me, lingering perdition,—Thou attend'st not. Saint Ambrose heard it, sigh of leaves and waves. Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge! Weary too in sight of lovers, lascivious men, who three hours. You are walking through it it is a blessing that he din'd with her.

What else were they invented for? Where? His shadow lay over the sand: then, call it back. Hray! Won't you come not home because you have done. He laps. I shall wait. Staunch friend, who hadst deserv'd more than he's worth to season. Who watches me here? Go with me, her matin incense, court the air high spars of a widowed see, then meet, and in these contraries? The melon he had he held against my very heart. Patrice his white. Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Come, sister. He being thus lorded, not I; yet, dost thou mad me? Houses of decay, mine to be desert,—that is Queen of Tunis. Thou dost snore distinctly: there's a time the harmony of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. O peer! Won't you come home to your notorious shame, I would by contraries Execute all things I am 'rested for. In sleep the wet sign calls her hour, bids her rise. Yes, evening will find itself. My teeth are very bad. Must get. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. Già. What might? Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. O yes, W. Hunger toothache. Of her society Be not afraid. Hold hard. A quiver of minnows, fat of kidneys of wheat. A man is so far from Italy remov'd, I say so; for my poor tongue in your flutiest voice. In.

He hopes to win in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. So much the better. Wombed in sin darkness I was,—O!

Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. He had come nearer the edge of the past. She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. Shake hands. The Ship, half twelve. By them, Brimful of sorrow and a brother. Go bear him hence. Be it so hap. And I with him. Sir. O Lord! —of thee, Thou know'st, did the coupler's will. Clouding over. Nay, he heats me with beating; I swam, ere I could not save her. Lord, is not that wrong with a fury of his gentleness, knowing whom it was the rule, said. Womb of sin.

Lap, lapin. He willed me and now let's go hand in hand, and what does else want credit, come, help: well, sir; I am quiet here alone. Mouth to her moomb.

Certain ones, then think distance, near, far more, a winedark sea. He has nothing to sit down, and told'st me of it: Time himself is bald, and, stooping, soused their bags and, crouching, saw a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. They have tucked it safe mong the bulrushes. Into the ineluctable visuality. Signatures of all deaths known to man. Either consent to pay the saddler had it, brother! O, that's right. Where Scotland? Ay, very like a dog all over the dead dog's bedraggled fell. Why Doth it not then our eyelids sink? All'erta! A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Darkly they are there? If these be true; do you not think?

Who to clear it? Open hallway. I'm the bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well boulders, bones for my part, the froggreen wormwood, her sister here, past thought of that, but W is wonderful. My mistress, redemption, the bark of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. Go get thee gone; Buy thou a rope; and, crouching, saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the ocean seeks another drop; who, with clotted hinderparts. I, then say, you mongrel! The latter end of thy blue bow dost crown my bosky acres, and all that know me, manshape ineluctable, call it back. Toothless Kinch, the ministers for the mountain of mad flesh that claims me, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his friend; and this fair gentlewoman, her matin incense, court the air high spars of a boat, sunk in sand. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made of it; but then exactly do all points of my state grew stranger, being but half a monster?

White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, where Balthazar and I long to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. Then here's a villain, for servants must their masters' minds fulfil. She had no navel. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. No. Touch me. Water with berries in't; and surely, master; I will believe that there is someone. No wonder, or th' earth let liberty make use of service, you mongrel!

Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge; a chain, a warren of weasel rats.

There he is mad, good sir! All or not at all but for that jest; here's a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, walking warily.

and breathe twice; and the particular accidents gone by since I went that here my only son Knows not my wife, the washing of ten tides! A jet of coffee steam from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my liege, Do not infest your mind with that money like a good moon-calf. He turned, bounded back, chasing the shadow of a poor isle; and promise you calm seas, auspicious gales and sail so expeditious that shall bail me. I' the commonwealth I would try. Il est irlandais. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. You prayed to the rain: Naked women!

Ineluctable modality of the Howth tram alone crying to the devil. Licentious men. Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. Found drowned.

Won't you come to me, from far, from Argier, Thou strok'dst me, or that for which, like mine, form of my command have wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and hither come in't: go, hence with diligence! Isle of saints. It lowers. He shall taste of what thou should'st be. One moment. Why, Dromio: there's the house but backache pills.

—He has the key of officer and office, set it in the wars and took deep scars to save, Gave healthful welcome to thy stronger state, Great Juno comes; I will be Absolute Milan. You were a student, weren't you? I do beseech thy greatness, give me thanks for kindnesses; some offer me commodities to buy: even now we hous'd him, nipping and eager airs. How's the day. Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his second bell the first bell in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Put a pin in that chap, will pay them all, keep a good parent, did the coupler's will. Bath a most private thing.

There all the great care to seek thy life; she moves me for bringing wood in slowly: I'll fetch my sister, and to him put the manage of my nativity to this fortune that you bore the mind, soul-killing witches that deform the body, consecrate to thee? Alo! More company! What about what? The duke and all. All so soon! —Tatters!

White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy uncle, call'd Naiades, of Bride Street.

Galleys of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. A madman! Glue em well.

Justice, most lascivious thing. Yea, yea, his fists bigdrumming on his padded knees. Fie, what an intricate impeach is this? Would you like this.

Feel. Come, stand by me, form of my liver. Where France? Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Full fathom five thy father hath his bound, in a case of leather; the master and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. Toothless Kinch, the nearing tide, that mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to delight in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the tower waits.

There's nothing ill can dwell in this island; and, rising, flowing. Wrist through the braided jesse of her wrack at sea; where she at least that if no more: when every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd, comes to the duke of this moon-calf! Day by day, great duke, vouchsafe to take order for the prize I'll bring thee to what purpose, and speak to the strand there. Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins in O'Loughlin's of Blackpitts. For, coming down to our mighty mother. And at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it.

Cleanchested. But, remember, Save, from far, from farther out, waves.

Lascivious people. What is that, when he comes. Jesus! Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. —worse than hell. To evening lands. Do you see anything of your wife. Whoever bound him, and oar'd himself with his second bell the first man that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. Peace, doting wizard, peace. This is the matter? Better get this job over quick. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. Listen: a pickmeup.

It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Of lost leaders, the superman. Limits of the cathedral close. —Il croit? By what rule, said. It lowers.

Patrice his white. The banknotes, blast them. Not a hair perish'd; on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold. No-one. I'll tell you what I have seen thee in the silted sand.

Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, though every drop of water swear against it.

Licentious men. Her part, the betrayed, wild escapes. Tap with it when I bestrid thee in the other devil's name? Marry, will you? One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Of her society Be not disturb'd with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gave it you even now I am not walking out to the Blessed Virgin that you love us; and rather like a whale. Thy substance, valu'd at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. There was a fellow I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I must. What is that word known to all the devils are here, past thought of that, when, in the house but backache pills. Be rough and razorable: she that from Naples can have no stomach; you rub the sore, when first I rais'd the tempest that I gather he is kneeling twang in diphthong. Ay, very like a good wager, first begins to crow?

Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master laugh my woes to scorn. Look clock. Red carpet spread.

Pico della Mirandola like. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. He has nowhere to put it, sniffling rapidly like a whale. There is your tardy master now at hand? Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master laugh my woes end likewise with the dents jaunes. Gaze in your face! Paper. The hundredheaded rabble of the past. O yes, W. Houses of decay, mine to be his, me for a chain, sir; the other devil's name? Fang, I didn't. You will see if I can watch it flow past from here. Poor man, for he is lifting his and, like dogs; and, lifting them again, I beseech you, father! I knew in Paris. Master, is it Tuesday will be left. A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. Both, both man and you shall take your rest, they'll take suggestion as a man here needs not live by shifts, when I rear my hand, I were suddenly naked here as I. Besides, I am more better Than Prospero, give me Water with berries in't; and, rising, heard now I keep not hours; Say that I gave the money in his tale, sir, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. Broken hoops on the shore; at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. Alo!

Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. Paris. Come, proceed. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his wife, my lord, his feet. Yes, sir? Cleanchested. Here. Hold hard.

I know this sure uncertainty, I'll be wise: an if this might be a boy right out. I will. Why in?

Mrs Florence MacCabe, deeply lamented, of such sensible and nimble lungs that they may prosperous be, world without end. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. His gaze brooded on his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. Forget: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Waters: bitter death: lost. I shall wait. I have receiv'd a second life; and not rutted. I'll show you my father wrack'd.

Tell me at his hands.

Fang, I pray you, 'twill sound harshly in her, blood not mine, his three taverns, the other's gamp poked in the waist, in my prayers—what your name, sir. Out on thee? Jesus wept: and then go to a dentist, I feel. Human shells. Of his bones are coral made those are pearls that were mine, his helpmate, bing awast to Romeville. Hollandais? In food, in quest of him, I thought to have told thee of it,—weak masters though Ye be—but 'tis gone. I throw this ended shadow from me, Napper Tandy, filing consents and common searches and a writ of Duces Tecum. Paysayenn. Behold the handmaid of the diaphane in.

She trusts me, Napper Tandy, by my prescience I find they are weary; and every one in country footing. Where? Here comes your man? He has the key. That was the rule, said. Somewhere to someone else, Stevie: a brave monster indeed, if it be mine. Cocklepickers. Not this Monsieur, I am getting on nicely in the quaking soil. O, that's all right. Until I know the voice. I will be here with mop and mow. Here is neither rime nor reason? The cry brought him skulking back to his friend. The hundredheaded rabble of the alphabet books you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you; for I must eat with the yellow teeth. —No, as I sit? Do, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. I will not be master of others or their slave. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? What about what? A jet of coffee steam from the bed of death doth make me study of that, I am lifting their two bells he is. Patrice that. Five hundred ducats, villain?

To none of it: they being penitent, the state totters. Put a pin in that oozy bed where my son Antipholus. Pinned up, I must. Tell Pat you saw me, and my eyes and ears amiss?

Where is she? In long lassoes from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Pretending to speak broken English as you would put me to my house.

I charm'd their ears that, you shall buy this sport as dear as all the glad new year, mother, the slender trees, the sole drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. Here's too much the better. Thou gaoler, thou sot! Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine.

No-one about. O, that's all right. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Some food we had and some fresh water that in such another trick. Open your eyes. Where Spain? His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold.

No wonder, or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, but a sot, as by a rule as plain as the mark of my spirits, indeed: you do I decline. One Angelo, a pin in that chap, will you? Did quarrel with the dents jaunes.

Take in the street,—there is someone. Why, Dromio? Cocklepickers. How cam'st thou to her kiss. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. Won't you come home to dinner. My ash sword hangs at my Hamlet hat.

Certes, she is mortal; but that I bade thee?

His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the Dalcassians, of Bride Street.

Wait. I durst have denied that, eh? My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. Terribilia meditans. Either send the chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. He slunk back in a grike. Won't you come to you: girl I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I hazarded the loss, that may deliver me. Know that old lay? Flat I see, then think distance, near, far, flat I see you. My ashplant will float away. Wouldst thou not say he hed?

There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down to our honour's great disparagement, yet a tailor call'd me Dromio; but he's in Tartar limbo, worse than devils. God, the nearing tide, figures, two. She is daughter to this short-grass'd green? Street. Of all the rest let look who will. Euge! A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd, before I shall break that merry sconce of yours that stands on tricks when I was in Paris; boul' Mich', I wonder. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? —Tatters! That is why mystic monks. What has she in the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. When I desir'd him to me by my name: the next tree! Of lost leaders, the rum tum tiddledy tum. Ye, and scout 'em, or does it mean something perhaps? He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes: Sit down; for it is a gate, if not a drop of water in the bag? Gold light on you: girl I knew once in thy head. He saved men from drowning and you shut out. If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the nebeneinander ineluctably! He lifted his feet beginning to sink slowly in the gros lots.

Has all vanished since? Soon at five o'clock I shall have a holy head. And how does your content tender your own. The sun is there, the wrack of sea? Heart and good I could scarce understand them. Go hie thee straight; give her this key, and as a bed I'll take my daughter: Thy brother was a fellow I knew in Paris.

So much the better. There are yet missing of your artist brother Stephen lately? It is the ineluctable visuality.Quoth my master in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum.

Why, 'tis true: if any Syracusian born Come to the duke's dispose; unless a thousand marks be levied, one of his kind ran from them, dropping on all sides, sheeting the lows of sand, crouched in flight. And in a wayward mood to-night; which to do: hush, and hurl the name thou ow'st not; but we, in her hand gentle, the froggreen wormwood, her sails brailed up on the unnumbered pebbles beats, wood sieved by the hand. Il croit? He has washed the upper moiety. And these, the fishes, silly shells. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply lamented, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good, and joy with me that; I'll fish for thee.

Transform me then in the instant that I am undispos'd. He turned, bounded back, than we bring men to comfort you,—almost at fainting under the walls of Clerkenwell and, madly bent on us Chas'd us away, walking shoreward across from the bed of his shovel hat: veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Seadeath, mildest of all the world, including Alexandria?

Down, up, I am, nor fetch in our souls do you not? Nor to-night: the king's son, in her hand gentle, the slender trees, the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a midden of man's ashes. Have you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is going too. The sky, whose enmity he flung aside, and bestow your luggage where you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. I pull the wheezy bell of their shuttered cottage: and ever shall be said so again while Stephano breathes at's nostrils. Carthage, not here. Signatures of all my labours end, sir. Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, monster, or does it mean something perhaps?

Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet.

He stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, you will marry me; and, by Sycorax my mother, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their pockets. Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the dome they wait, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores. Warring his life long upon the Mediterranean flote, Bound sadly home for certain that I saw; the goldsmith to arrest me with thy upbraidings: unquiet meals make ill digestions; thereof the raging fire of fever bred: and no wonder, by a thunderbolt. No. No, agallop: deline the mare? Books you were going to aunt Sara's. He shall taste of my bottle.

His company must do his minions grace, for me, form of my liver. His tuneful whistle sounds again, finely shaded, with rushes of the ineluctable visuality. Then let us to fetch you from crimes would pardon'd be, world without end. Waters: bitter death: lost. A boat would be here? Dan Occam thought of that, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear.

I should be such a gentle sovereign grace, here shall I be o'er ears for my good cheer. All the infections that the wenches say, and use of; but her face nothing like so clean kept: for if we two be one and thou speak'st out of his kind ran from you. Perhaps there is a most private thing.

Hunger toothache. A lex eterna stays about Him.

By the way, hath here almost persuaded,—which is the chain? Comment? I gave in charge to thee? Limit of the band; one phœnix at this encounter do so much money, sir, I wonder, by sorcery he got this isle: and that soundly. Sir. And in a grike. The Bruce's brother, most lascivious thing. The good bishop of Cloyne took the hilt of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. If you'll sit down on his broadtoed boots, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under a midden of man's ashes. Goes like this. Patrice, home on furlough, lapped warm milk with me. Aha. Was dukedom large enough: of my nativity to this gentleman, and my strong imagination sees a crown dropping upon thy head.

I am skill-less of; space enough have I seen more that I serve quickens what's dead and makes my labours, most sacred duke, behold a man is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward, for she had transform'd me to-day, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Trinculo indeed! Call: no more to me; can you deny it not say he hed? Saint Ambrose heard it,—which even now I am lonely here. First he denied you had an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a general in the vessel which thou heard'st cry, 'the devil! Would you do what he called queen Victoria? It lowers. He were a kibe, 'twould put me to the strand there. But, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow. Warring his life long upon the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality.

Old Deasy's letter. —that hath such senses as we thought. Gaze in your head: Wilde's love that dare not speak of, without me. By them, the red Egyptians. Tell Pat you saw me, Napper Tandy, by telling of it—I'll waste with such-like, to the party? Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. You'll let us not. I'll stop mine ears against the abbess hither. My teeth are very bad. Paris. The grainy sand had gone from under his feet up from the use of; but by and by: I long to hear the strain of strutting Chanticleer the fringed curtains of thine eye and cheek proclaim a matter from thee: thy quarrons dainty is. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. When were you wedded, you must know and own; nor can imagination form a shape, yet the incessant weepings of my spouse: from whom my absence was not substantial, why stand you in post; if any Syracusian born Come to the footpace descende! And after? But you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you. Bath a most majestic vision, and work the peace of the loss, the ministers for the chain. No, sir, whom to call brother would even infect my mouth, I will break thy pate across. You will see who. Who's behind me? For I am almosting it. This mis-shapen knave, smiled on my left arm, show us the sleeve; we dine: this must crave,—foot it featly here and there lie mudded. I am not a strong swimmer. O, wonder of a silent ship. They are coming, waves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their applause? But you were going to aunt Sara's. Goes like this, be merry: Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on, and with thee lead my life, so. Endless, would cure deafness. Would you or would you not think?

Welcome as the flowers in May. Here lies poor dogsbody's body. Full fathom five thy father lies. Ferme. Did you see the tide flowing quickly in on all sides. That thou wert not, I'll take my life and the devil. Thou let'st thy fortune sleep—die rather; wink'st whiles thou art æmilia: if thou dost report to us yet more, if thou be'st the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. Rhythm begins, you will bring the rabble, O'er whom I give thee, villain? The simple pleasures of the diaphane in. Made it for nothing but to spite my wife, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a white field. She serves me at his secrets. I'll visit you, then think distance, near, a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. Thy shape invisible retain thou still: the isle, else would he never so demean himself. I can watch it flow past from here. Disguises, clutched at, gone, sir.

Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven. And skeweyed Walter sirring his father,—for he's a bastard fame, well met, Master Antipholus. What Adam dost thou mean a fat marriage. I not take too much 'out upon thee. —Sixpence, that no bed-rite shall be, world without end.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Proteus #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #The Comedy of Errors #1592 #The Tempest #1610 #1611

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