Having my way with Ulysses

As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oylsters!

Don't be savage, man. After all, why should any woman -- Mrs. Smith or even Mrs. ____ herself -- be better than she should be?11:51 pm

I loved that scouring brush. I truly did. I had dreams of running away, making a better life for myself. And I was gonna take my brush with me I was. I would scrub, wearing my emerald garters which made me no better than I should be, but I would scrub and say brush, only you brushy know my secrets. My real soul. I had respect for that brush. His bristles were stuck out in all different directions and I could twist my wrist just right to get the tippy tips of them right in any crack and dig and dig with it and watch in that crucial moment the soap turning brown and all the dirt coming out but not completely. Rather a mess it could make too! Flicking brown bubbles this way and that. Always missing the bucket with it, a large bucket too. I tell you I loved that scouring brush. I would have taken him with me too, but that would have been stealing and I thought more of myself poor as I am.

This is the appearance is on me.

 To heap shame on my own head is all the satisfaction I have left to offer to offended heaven. My story has drawn down these judgments: Let my confession atone—but, ah! what can atone for usurpation and a murdered child? a child murdered in a consecrated place? List, sirs, and may this bloody record be a warning to future tyrants!10:37 pm

I’m soft.  I’ve gone soft. Look, can you see me? It is so hard to see myself as others see me. Look closer, look at my head. Below I’m a mess, but my eyes are still here, ayin tachat ayin.  Oh I am punished. This must be hell. Now I know what hell is. Yes I expected some obliteration, but must I pay such a high price for it?  Is it such a crime resurrection?  Is translation so horrible?  So loathsome? It’s not like I murdered a child or something; I should think the living would have some fun with it. Surprise, I’m back! There’s so much potential, and for the benefit of all, properly executed.  Except it’s hard to see me. That’s a problem. And I understand I smell like something murdered, but I’ve never smelt it myself. I’m here, though, you can see me. I’m like looking at some sort of dark animal at night. Or at a spider: all head, web body.  It’s not so bad.  My hell is in this life but it’s not so bad.  And I don’t have it in me to cause my own re-death so here we are. I’ll have to make do. Besides Lizzie will have my head if I dare show my face amongst the dead. Think of the vendetta. Well, history is to blame for that, I refuse to feel guilty.  Or what’s that other world?  She’ll make dope her hope, but perhaps I’m being rather a sentimentalist there.  But really, I’ve incurred too immense a debtorship for my enjoyment.  Well, a thing done is a thing done.  I’ll camp out here. Distractions. Burn something. It is rather nice to be back in some of my old haunts. Eternity is fine but I admit feeling a bit nostalgic for the present.