Frillies for Raoul. Raoul! Raoul’s hands feeling the opulent curves inside her deshabille. Yes. Feeling her fishgluey slime, the phlegm wherein our sulphur is decocted, turned to gold. The sulphur of the living male soul, yes, uniting body and spirit. This is a good one. Fire and air burning in the sweets of sin. Yes, end. Hot, dry, active, king red lion, crowned burning consuming corrupting the heaving what? embonpoint, the fishgluey green queenly lioness matter uniting, mingling, heaving with leonine sulphuric form. Young, living prima materia. No longer young, an elderly woman alive and joyful rushed from courtroom W-331 where the honorable and sober Judge Schapira had just called recess in the case of Deluna vs. Dickhoff et al, 10-2-14157-0SEA and hurried smiling toward courtroom E-713 where she may witness the equally honorable and even more sober Judge Lum express detached irritation caused by an inner yet unpressing need to defecate in the case of Oberg vs Knight 10-2-31223-4SEA. Burning in dung the prima materia, sulphur fixing and coagulating, volatile spirit, mercury, dissolving his fixed matter. The cheery matter of Denis J. Maginni, dancing instructor etc. mingled incongruously with his dour spirit. Tumescence, detumescence. Then birth, a child born every minute somewhere. Enough. End. The sweets of sin, for Raoul! Yes.
Sit to it. A charming day to begin. Sit down and take a walk. Yes, my protagonist a listless lady, no more young. Aged and virtuous and badtempered woman. I must write it without nostalgia. Throw in local color. All I know. The onelegged sailor on crutches just now? Angry. Growling. Not right for my little book. Post traumatic, you see, home from war, leg left behind. O Lord, look upon Thy servant laboring under bodily weakness. Cherish and receive the soul which Thou hast created, so that, purified by his sufferings, he may soon find himself healed by Thy mercy. Through Christ our Lord. A charming woman with such a, what should I say? Such a queenly mein. Did she commit adultery fully with her husband’s brother? Eiaculatio seminis inter vas naturale mulieris? Only her confessor would know and we never tell. Secrets. God created the sexual drive for more than procreation but why? The ways of God are not our ways. I’ve heard much from our good people. An aged and virtuous and badtempered woman wants to keep confessing. Bless you my child now get on with you. Bless you my child. Off you go. Amen. Amen now. I bear your secrets confessed. Now the book. A woman like Mrs. Sheehy, two boys. Young, delightful boys. Wonderful little schoolboys. Asked after Father Vaughan, his sermon on Pilate impressed her. Simple, respectable woman. He has been transferred again to another parish. He won’t be back. The ways of God are not our ways. But my little book. A woman perhaps like Mrs. McGuinness, stately like Mary, Queen of Scots. A pawnbroker, imagine that. Doing quite well these days. What time is it? The ninth hour. The death of Christ, his descent into hell. People are more open to temptation at this hour. More than any other time. I must be guarded. Protect my soul, God’s soul if one might say, created by God. We die a bit in this hour; our souls descend to hell. In this hour Adam and Eve, serpent plagued, were driven from the garden. Viperous temptations. And fasting. Don’t eat of the fruit. Don’t eat of anything. Nothing into the mouth. Respectful, grave, Mr. Denis J Maginni professor of dancing and much else surprises passersby with the contrasting effect of a serious disposition with tight lavender skinnyjeans. This is the hour schoolboys leave their lessons and raise their young mouths in play, young cries in the quiet. Schoolboys, good boys. What was that boy’s name? Dignam. Yes. Martin Cunningham’s request. Yes. Yes indeed. Oblige him if possible. Youthful bodies bounding in play. Good boys at school. Good little men. Grow up. Become like the young man and his young woman emerging from the shrubberies. God’s ways are not our ways. His face, flushed looking two ways toward terror and pity. Rubbing his groin in his pockets. Looks two ways toward desire and loathing. Rubbing his groin. A hooded reptilian face. poignant eyes, reptile like. Self-embittered: a shriveled soul. That tyrannous incontinence necessary to maintain our race on earth. Then death to so many, and so many unprepared. Through this holy unction may the Lord pardon thee whatever sins or faults thou hast committed then give them to Corny Kelleher to prepare for burial. I feel it incumbent upon myself to say a few words before I descend into excessive solemnity. I like cheerful decorum. Perhaps I will join them together, bride and bridegroom. Beautiful weather today. A charming day. Delightful indeed. A peaceful day.
Saw a good idea today, a rowboat with a sandwich board ad on it, anchored in the ship canal. Kino’s selling pants for $49.99. Not bad. Can spend that much just getting a pair altered. A good idea is a good idea. Better than hiring human directionals to carry the signs around like Hely pays for. Pays Boylan? Must be McGlade’s work. Those bring in nothing. Still, people will look at anything, even nothing. Stand and stare; other people will too. Or be like Maginni dancing around. He is his own ad. Can put ads for std doctors in urinals. Feel the burn? Somebody standing there can relate and oh Christ. What if he? Oh God no. No. He wouldn’t, would he? I don’t believe it. No. I can’t. I can’t think about that. What’s the time? The diameter of the sun as seen from. Oh God. Focus. As seen from earth is one half of a degree. 24 hours in the day divided by 360 degrees times 60 minutes to one hour times the radius of the sun or 1/4 of a degree. It moves by its own radius every minute. That’s the time. As seen from wherever on earth. No? What about parallax views? Never quite got parallax. Greek word. Should look it up. Parallel parallax. I feel like Molly with her met him pike hoses until I explained about the transmigration of souls and the stream of life. Life is a stream. Flowing and flowing. Not like time. Time doesn’t flow. What is it flowing through if it is flowing? Not flowing. Fluxing. Time a phenomenal flux. Fluxing along in the flux of life. Changes and changes. Like water. Who was it said that? We can’t walk into the same ocean twice. The ocean is different every time and we are different every time. Yet we stay the same. Stay the same by changing, dissipative structures. Like the Argo, not a toothpick on that ship the same as when it began, yet always the Argo. Look in the mirror, not the same hair, not the same skin, not the same cells as when we were born. We flux like the Ocean. Walk in to our death and come out of other waters in a new body. Not resurrected. Transmigrated. Only the soul is the same. Somebody asked Plato if the soul gets tired. Does it wear out like old pants? Can get new ones for $49.99. See? A good idea is a good idea.