Having my way with Ulysses

The clock on the mantlepiece in the priest’s house cooed.

Down through the generations men built the night. In the beginning it was blindness and sleep and thorns that tear the naked foot and fear of wolves. We shall never know who forged the word for the interval of shadow which divides the two twilights; we shall never know in what century it stood as a cipher for the space between the stars. Other men engendered the myth. They made it mother of the tranquil Fates who weave destiny, and sacrificed black sheep to it and the cock which presages its end. The Chaldeans gave it twelve houses; infinite worlds, the Gateway. Latin hexameters gave it form and the terror of Pascal. Luis de León saw it in the fatherland of his shuddering soul. Now we feel it to be inexhaustible like an ancient wine and no one can contemplate it without vertigo and time has charged it with eternity. And to think it would not exist but for those tenuous instruments, the eyes.9:00 pm

Unportal my loves, let’s tell them the sin of my when.

cuckoo cuckoo cuckoo
cuckoo cuckoo cuckoo
cuckoo cuckoo cuckoo

There now. I’m very proud of you my sweets.  Please, no inner remorse of conscience. Not that again. Is it such a sin to yelp a perfect number? Sing the numbers of me, birdies, spring from my own mouth and boast the pride of my heart. Sin my foulness to God and the world and sing of nothing but me. Give my offering sweet canary birds, this ennead of night. Stand on the fourth twig of pride’s branch and let’s eat the fifth leaf. Yum Yum, tell my hour so I might open my mouth and swallow this now, the sin of when.

Intercourse, eyeball to eyeball.

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