Having my way with Ulysses

Disguises, clutched at, gone, not here

No one has ever been so many men as this man, who like the Egyptian Proteus could exhaust all the guises of reality. 11:20 am

He lights the fuse and I see that flame dangerous, blue, a flame too close to the face light us, reveal our position.  Breathe it in.  Pause.  Blow it up to the sky.  A signal.  Time now.  A wild escape, light the fuse.  Hide. Then shattered glass and toppling masonry.  Ruin of all space and most particularly all time.  That’s gone.  And there’s death too.  As if death were not too.  Then, and lets be authentic now.  We are talking about the real here, no bullshitting around, the getaway happened under the disguise of the full blaze of day.  A wedding, honeymoon car, hide as a bride.  Easy.  People look and see a wild escape and imagine their own.  Ah well.  They all end the same.  Now our spurned lover is loveless, the wife is wifeless.  Again, the plain light of day washes over us all.  Think of all the landless now.  The exiles in America in particular.  The children of the children.  I think we have some Irish: American mutt.  They have forgotten.  Who?  Remember us, O Sion, we do not remember you.

Intercourse, eyeball to eyeball.