Having my way with Ulysses

Love or money

• Sirens

Ay mi pobre hija, se van a quemar juntos en el infierno.

4:08 pm

Irato

These two bitches been doing a shit job of things. I see luring but no devouring. Where’s the devouring? Why I leave girls to do a woman’s job? Move over, all of you, let me through. Mama’ll fix this mess. Lidia, ready to kill herself over that one just left. He’s on his way to a real sirena baby, go play sad music and cry. Stupida. Where’s your sanity? Stand up straight! God give me patience these girls make me crazy. Who told you to warm him up for somebody else to finish off? Did all her work for her. She’s a better singer too. She knows what sells. Think. Remember when she was selling clothes? And singing in bars. What do you think made her money, eh? Those old theatre rags don’t sells themselves, you see people lining up for that? It was the men. The men. The men she lured singing. Learn something. And Mina. Who you going to get standing there doing nothing? Look at that fatso there slapping that piano with his meat hands. He knows. Or that fake priest who helped him knows: put on tight pants when you sing to the girls. It’s not the voice it’s the body. Even a fatty like him. Come on chicas! Why is it taking men to teach you a job you should know by instinct? Listen to these guys:

 

They know their business, ya. They’ll eat you alive then drag your soul to hell and you’ll want more. Listen to their promises. Even I’d take my panties off for them. Get your shit together. Now Lidia don’t cry. An idiot who leaves just like that isn’t worth throwing yourself away over. Mi pobre hija. I just want you to get them to come to you, to see you with their own will. Now enough of this, you give me a pain deep in my heart. You have work to do and another one coming in. You get him, ok? Enough tears chica, you make yourself crazy over nothing and me with you. Now go.

The bright stars fade

• Sirens

The weaver-god, he weaves; and by that weaving is he deafened, that he hears no mortal voice; and by that humming, we, too, who look on the loom are deafened; and only when we escape it shall we hear the thousand voices that speak through it.... Ah, mortal! then be heedful; for so, in all this din of the great world's loom, thy subtlest thinkings may be overheard afar.

4:00 pm

Rallentando

They have the same effect on all of them.  Lure them in, smile, make them think they’re the only pebble on the beach.  Screaming laughter after they’ve gone.  God bless my deaf ears.  Those two Delilah’s in there don’t realize that they’ll be old crones soon enough.  Beauty fades, and fast.  Sucker them in, girls, better land one before he he he realizes what you are about.  Then God’s curse on the bitch’s bastard.  Ruffled their feathers it did, that that kid piano tuner, blind as he is, paid them no notice at all.  Proved their invisibility to them.  They don’t exist unless they think they have a man wanting whatever beauty they possess under those scales.  Play a man like a fiddle.  Look at Kennedy there, ignoring that one for all she’s worth.  That’s an art, boys, that takes some skill.  Drives them wild every damn time.  She knows what they want.  And that other one stretching over him with the clocks on his socks sipping that violet syrupy nonsense.  He’s a male version of them getting Doce’s best show, snapping her bra, ringing in the hour.  Let’s hear the time.  Twelve men a day or she’s not happy.  Flatter them, then cling with chipped talons and devour them whole.  Maneaters.  Customers coming in, two, middling in age.  They’ll take a table with a view: want to see, not be seen.  Married, likely.  They’ll watch and won’t realize their own deafness until they leave.  Poor bastards.  They’ll hear the music, though, and why not?  They have memory and anticipation, same as you.  Same as me.  I hear it.  I hear the music all the time: voiceless songs sung from within.  Sometimes I go for the old slow blues numbers: Ray Charles in the day; Eartha Kitt, Miss Kitt to you.  When I want to pick it up a bit I hear the big bands.  Benny Goodman and his orchestra doing Sing Sing Sing.  In my mind, mind.  I expect; I remember.  Feeling a little allegretto.  Going to run some Louis Prima between my ears for a while.

 

You’re bothering me.  Get out of my head, I have customers to serve.

None nought said nothing.

• Sirens

In the tenth book of the Republic, eight Sirens preside over the revolution of the eight concentric spheres of the heavens. "Siren: an imaginary marine animal," we read in one particularly uncouth dictionary.3:56 pm

Niente

Simon.  Simon.  You hear me.  It’s me again, into the porches of your ear I’ll pour.   You hear me, but nobody else does.  It can be our little secret honey.  Go ahead, busy yourself with me.  Blow out my ashes.  Once.  Twice.  There you go.  Now finger your tobacco a little.  Two fingers.  Good boy.  Mmm.  Fondle me with those two fingers maybe?  That’s it.  Yes.  How naughty of you, poor simple Simon.  Rub me a little more, my maidenhair.  Mina Kennedy can’t see you, and Lidia is pretending not to look.  Listen to her sing.

Yes.  A little Latina sabor.  A little something else too.  Feeling thirsty?  You can order a whiskey from her.  Mmm.  Don’t worry about skinny Dilly or Boody or any of them.  They have your five dollars and some change.  Never mind that now.  Just fill me up baby and listen to Lidia.  Dry in here.  How about some nice fresh water and a little whiskey to keep it company.  Here’s Lenehan.  Listen to him.  Your son’s been buying drinks.  He has an income he isn’t sharing with you.  Yes.  You need a drink after hearing this.  Go ahead baby, just a half glass.  Wet your whistle, I won’t tell.

Decoy. Soft Word. But look: the bright stars fade.

• Sirens

No life on earth can be hid from our dreaming.3:45 pm

[Scene: Lidia Doce y Mina Kennedy are hiding behind their bar counter drinking maté]
 
Allegretto
 

Lidia Doce:  Carajo como jodes!  What the hell’d you do that for?

Mina Kennedy:  Is that really a sunburn?  You just look darker brown.

Lidia:  Yes it’s a goddamn sunburn, what do you think?

Mina:  I don’t know, you just don’t look very red.  Oh wait, those are blisters.

Lidia:  Estupida gringa.  Burns only look red on pink people.  Hands to yourself.  Now, let’s pick some music, lure them into our green mirror.  Maybe some old chicha or cumbia, or reggaeton?

Mina:  More of that Peruvian crap?  Maybe later.  How about this:

 

Lidia:  Why this?  Purple.  What does purple have to do with anything?

Mina:  Nothing.

Lidia:  Perfect.  Anything, nothing, doesn’t matter.  We’ll say what we’ll say.

Mina:  Right.  The material is immaterial.  Besides, if you want purple, look around.  Look out that window:  Ned Lambert, Maginni, Boylan, Molly’s garters.

Lidia:  You been looking up her dress?

Mina:  Of course.  I look everywhere.  So do you.

Lidia:  Fine.  Fair enough.  I don’t even know what the damn song is about but whatever, we’ll use it.  Ok.  So.  Yeah.  Ha.   4/4 time signature.  Simple, common, and imperfect.  Perfect.

Mina:  We’ll divide it into 16 parts, obviously.

Lidia:  Obviously.  La la la la la lah.

Mina:  Then we stretch it, say 16 days.  Symmetry.  See what that gets us.

Lidia:  How does that get us anything?  Your helmet blocking your brain?

Mina:  It’s a matter of time.

Lidia:  That’s better.  Tempo.  Let’s tell some time.  And Mina, try to look human this time.  We don’t want them knowing we’re.

Mina: Yeah, no we don’t.

Lidia:  Ready?  Cleave!

I don’t think you knew him or perhaps you did, though.

• The Wandering Rocks

And toward a stairway, he and I, together, turned; and just as soon as I was at the first step, I sensed something much like the motion of a wing, and wind that beat against my face, and words: "Beati pacifici, those free of evil anger!"

I’ve tried so many people I can’t tell if I’m coming or going.  School for the children, money, insurance question.  Insurance later with Bloom, much kindness in him.  Poor Dignam, decent little soul, a bit low sized.  We’ll help his children up, and his widow, give them peace.  Down to me to arrange it.  Burned by gold heads appear above the crossblind of their usual window.  She won’t have to ascend and descend other’s staircases.  Descending the staircase, Nannetti, hailed his fellow council members ascending the staircase.  Dual mirrors in a shop window supervise Blazes Boylan, virile, energies rising, intercepting Bob Doran, emasculated, on the downward arc of his annual bender.  Jimmy Henry and Long John Fanning: they’ll give on the spot, no hesitation, no questions.  They’ll do it purely for goodness’ sake.