Having my way with Ulysses

Dreams go by contraries.

For a Spectre has no Emanation but what he imbibes from deceiving A Victim! Then he becomes her Priest & she his Tabernacle. And his Oak Grove, till the Victim rend the woven Veil. 12:50 am

Follow me. Come on, follow. Follow follow follow. You know me, yes? Remember? Almost it.  There you go, you saw me in your dream.  I held up a watermelon for you to smell.  Now follow, come away from that badger hole, nothing buried dead buried in there. Now. Is it guilt or shame today? What do you regret, action or inaction? I know that answer. They both have a face and you will see who. Look. I say, look. Lapwing you are. As am I. So a lapwing be. Let us bury your agenbite of inwit in a nice deep grave and lead each other away.  I’ll teach you. I’ll show you how my sweet buzzard scavenger darling, you’ll fly and your foes will be beneath you as they every shall be. Word without end. Listen now. Don’t be Polonius standing behind a curtain, everybody can see your feet sticking out the bottom. You do remember what happened to him, don’t you? You think that bit of rag hanging over your conscience will protect you? Don’t you know anything about hiding? Listen. You’ve done things. We all know it. We see your clay feet. Your actions we all witnessed birthed reactions and those reactions reproduced.  You bury the grandmother deeds all you like, and lead us all away. Hop hop away, little bird, follow me this way. Pay no attention to that world behind the curtain. But the things you didn’t do. Came to a whole lot of nothing, no? Well mark my words babylove, that nothing will be the something that buries you.

(for all accounted him of real parts)

Thenne kynge Arthur and alle the Court made grete doole and had shame of the deth of the lady of the lake thenne the kyng buryed her rychely.10:08 pm

What is worse within your soul, guilt or shame?  Take a look now, will you?  Turn those avid shameclosing eyes inward and see what you think.  Our souls shamewounded by our sins cling to us yet more, the more the more.  Yes.  I see what it is for you.  For me, well obviously.  I feel it.  A failure of duty.  I am responsible, at least in part.  I feel it sometimes, troubled bits in there arising.  In my mind but where else really.  I deserve what I get, in part.  In part.  My boy, sweet boy gone.  And Stephen.  Is his guilt or is his shame?  I worry.  I feel for him a trouble arising in my mind.

Shame all put on before third person.

She can't move, there in the deepest part of the jungle she's trapped in a spider's web, or no, the spiderweb is growing out of her own body, the threads are coming out of her waist and her hips, they're part of her body, so many threads that look hairy like ropes and disgust me, even though if I were to touch them they might feel as smooth as who knows what, but it makes me queasy to touch them8:52 pm

You don’t scare Arachne.  Did you really think you scared Arachne?  Arachne is just startled, didn’t see you coming.  Why the face?  Under jaw stuck out, head back.  You look like you got a whiff of potted herring gone stale.  Never mind.  Arachne’s seen it before.  You are jealous of Arachne; it’s only natural.  Arachne’s talents intimidate even the goddesses, why not you.  You know Arachne will hold up a mirror and show you your crimes, as if you even need Arachne to do that.  Just look at you, guilt hanging all over you like nets or a fine veil.  Fine like what do you call it gossamer.  And what’s that Arachne smells?  In the air just now (why smell it only now? mysterious) ever so many millions of tiny grains blown across.  Smell that?  Took its time in coming, slow but sure.    Shame.  Arachne thought so.  Must be the heat bringing it out of you.  Must cling to everything.  Arachne supposes people like the smell of shame or they wouldn’t exude so much of it.  Like flies around treacle.

Magnetic needle tells you what’s going on in the sun, the stars.

Has there not been Over Man a long period of Time, when he was Nothing -- (not even) mentioned? Verily We created Man from a drop Of mingled sperm, In order to try him: So We gave him (the gifts) Of Hearing and Sight. We showed him the Way: Whether he be grateful Or ungrateful (rests On his will). 8:51 pm

Can a watch stop in despair?  Or from guilt?  Or worse than guilt, what about shame,  there’s a big difference between guilt and shame.  But let’s not talk about shame, let’s talk about me.  Everything depends on your understanding of me and how you create me.  I am your creature, my pet, and I am nothing without you.  Well, not nothing.  Even nothing is something.  Take yourself out of the equation and mathematically I’m still out there, if you insist on thinking geographically which I don’t.  But if you like, I’m out there in some other place from yours.  And I’m linear.  I cycle too, you’ve seen my periodicity but what are you doing standing under the starcase when I’m taking them two three at a time?  I’m circular then.  Spherical.  But that will move and change.  It’s a phenomenon.  I’m phenomenal flux.  Believe me.  Have faith.  Cross my heart and go to endlessness.  I’ll be endless duration.  I make the difference between creature and creator.  I am your creator, my creature, and I am nothing without you.  I am you.  We were never born and will never die.  We are eternity of being.  Lord I’m feeling, how do you say? I feel it like an ache at the butt of my tongue.  What’s that word. I just had it too.  I know it in my language, but it gets lost in translation somewhen between perception and articulation.  Well. You know what I mean.  Maybe it was just magnetism stopped the watch.  Wristwatches always going wrong.  Must be magnetic influence between people, his magnetic personality, and the watch felt it all the way to now.  Larger bodies have greater gravitation fields, perhaps it is her then?  It must be about magnetism.  It’s been the sun, and water flowing out, and fire burning things which worked only so long as people knew what each hour smelled like, sand, machines.  You try building a wheel that turns in perfect synchrony with the equinoctial circle.  If only a magnetic globe could be made to float nicely parallel to the celestial axis.  Yes, magnetism too.  Let’s say I’m that.  That now is magnetism.  The back of everything.  The watch felt it.  Like a sneeze coming.

Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee!

Neither vengeance nor pardon nor prisons nor even oblivion can modify the invulnerable past. To me, hope and fear seem no less vain, for they always refer to future events: that is, to events that will not happen to us, who are the minutely detailed present. I am told that the present, the specious present of the psychologists, lasts from a few seconds to a minute fraction of a second; that can be the duration of the history of the universe. In other words, there is no such history.10:50 am

Why is history a nightmare from which I am trying to awake?  I’ll tell you why.  We are consigned to the moment we choose to experience.  That’s it.  Done.  Once we’ve turned a moment of now into an event that’s past then that’s that.  Live with it.  All other possibilities are impossible.  History is a trap.  I’ll admit this to you, I don’t give a shit, I’m telling you.  I am paralyzed by my lot in time.  The pain of it.  I can’t help it.  None of us can.  You can’t either.  The events of my life have shaped me to what I am at this moment and I am afraid.  The choices I’ve made cannot be unmade.  And worse, the actions I choose not to perform can never be possible again.  No wonder I feel guilt.  No wonder I am estranged from the light.  Are you afraid too?  I’ll lay it on the line for you:  it is not just about the things I have done or not done.  History is nightmarish because the more choices I make, the more compounded are the infinities of possibilities that are no longer available.  Finito.  Untouchable.  Pick a slim number of things to do to say to never do to never say, and you leave an infinity unchosen.  I could have, I should have, I might have, I would have.  There is no waking from this nightmare.  I am trying but what if at that sweet moment of consciousness that nightmare gives me a back kick?  So I go back to lucid dreaming.  Deasy is waiting for history to perfect itself into deity.  But listen to that?  You hear that?  That shout?  That’s God.  There’s God.  A shout in the street is all the deity there is.  Come one, you know what I mean.  You can sniff out the truth.  Smell it.  When was the last time you shouted for any reason?  Joy, fear, rage, ecstasy, what have you.  Feel it now.  During that shouting moment, that tiny moment, in the space of that sweet bit of infinity in the palm of your hand, you have no idea of history at all.  No thought of it, no need of it, no influence from it, no back kick, no memory, no guilt, no remorse, no horrible regret, no nothing.  Shout and you are free.  You transcend.  You are the manifestation of God.