Having my way with Ulysses

I hear the ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry, and time one livid final flame.

I question not my Corporeal or Vegetative Eye any more than I would Question a Window concerning a Sight I look thro it & not with it. 10:00 am

My students.  We peer at each other through the narrow chinks of our caverns.  Oh they are aware of their parents’ money and my own lack of rule.  They pay up front in exchange for damaged goods.  None of them realize that knowledge isn’t for sale, it’s for steal.  Come and get it, nobody is giving you anything.  Blank faces asking blank windows for answers.  Blake says the last judgement begins when people come to think that imagination and intellect are of no use.  Not important anymore.  He says we will all see the end differently — an individually tailored vision.  Do you see what I see? Do you hear what I hear? I hear the end of space and smell the end of time, it stinks a mile off.  And then what?  What is left after finite space and consecutive time? The infinite and the eternal, eternity’s mansions. What else? Blake says he saw the permanent realities of everything in fractal arrangement across differing levels of scale.  From here he sees a person, approach and there appears a multitude. Withdraw to a farther distance and the multitude is an infant in a woman’s arms. Humanity on every level.  Class yesterday, oh the humanity. Talked about Pyrrhus, murdered by an old woman with a ceiling tile.  He’s the one who couldn’t win for losing. You, do you know anything about Pyrrhus?

Beastly dead

Why this text came to be written? It was intended to be a Trojan horse allowing a bit of mathematical esoterica to infiltrate surreptitously hence near-painlessly, the investigation of the messiness of raw nature. 8:30 am

Here’s what happened.  And it happened, by the way, not by accident of matter or the motion or immovability of things in the space we occupied, but encased within one of the ineffably ridiculous number of possible ways in which it could have gone down.  Buck had hold of my arm and I moved away from him and he asked so I finally told him look, do you remember what you said the day after my mother died?  I came to your place and your mother asked who was in your room and you said O it is only Dedalus whose mother is beastly dead.  I don’t care that he sees death all day and night at the hospital and the blood and the smells and the bits of meaningless matter.  What is dead, he said.  Anybody’s death, what does it matter but the matter that he has to shovel away.  I saw my mother die and I wouldn’t (couldn’t) humor her.  End of story (that particular version). Cranly said the same, just kneel and think what you want.  No.  What does the Sound care?  Look at it he said.  Well look at it.  It ebbs and it flows but it also swirls and eddies.  It can be anywhere do anything move in all directions simultaneously.  And when you look in infinite directions at its contact with dry (relatively) land, it is contained by nothing.  No different in length than the coast of Britain.  The Sound doesn’t have to care.  It doesn’t have my problems.