Having my way with Ulysses

You call it a festivity. I call it a sacrament.

IX. Do not write under the empire of emotion. Let it die, then invoke it later. If you are able then to revive it as it was, you have arrived in art, in the middle of the road. 12:07 am

Scene: [As McIntosh begins his return descent through the trap door, decreasing luminosity of ruby light burns inwardly.  The muses enter en masse from the grid.]

God [On the god mic]  And now, the 9 new muses present the 10 new commandments!

The Muse of Commerce:  [Stabbing herself through the heart] You shall have no other gods before me.

The Muse of Operatic Music: [Chained inside a water tank]  Create no images of any thing that is above, on, or beneath the earth. And nothing underwater.

The Muse of Amor:  [Drinking prussic acid]  If you do make images, you shall not worship them or buy them. You love only me. I get jealous and I’ll come after you, your children, your grandchildren, and their kids.

The Muse of Publicity: [Sucking on a pastille of aconite] My name is under copyright protection. Don’t invoke me.

The Muse of Manufacture: [Snorting arsenic] Only one day of rest, people, not two.

The Muse of Liberty of Speech: [Opening her veins]  Don’t talk back to your parents.

The Muse of Gastronomy: [Refusing food]  Don’t kill.

The Muse of Plural Voting:  [Casting herself under Jagannath]  If you’re married, don’t sleep around.

The Muse of Private Hygiene:  [Casting herself from the top of the Space Needle]  No five finger discounts.

The Muse of Seaside Concert Entertainments:  [Casting herself into a wine vat]  Don’t talk about people behind their backs.

The Muse of Painless Obstetrics:  [Asphyxiating herself in a gas oven]  Don’t lust after married people.

The Muse of Astronomy for the People:  [Hanging herself with stylish violet garters]  Just don’t even look at what other people have.

The Veiled Sibyl: [Leaping from Windows]  And don’t read fiction published on the internet; there’s no future in it.

Time all. There’s eleven of them.

Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater et Filius. O lust, our refuge and our strength. Through Yerd our Lord, Amen. And snares of the pox fiend. Thrust syphilis down to hell with him and those other licensed spirits who wander through the world. May Allah the excellent one your soul the night ever tremendously conserve.11:00 pm

Eleven.  Refresh.  Restart.  Resurrect.  I saw you at the place for the dead; I was walking Mackintosh of lonely graveyard. You saw me? What were you doing there, peeping? Looking for a fresh female to dig up you pervert? I’ve seen your type. You’ve been through hell you say? Well who hasn’t buddy. But it is eleven, time to rise. Time to walk these dusty roads and get the hell out of here.  Pull yourself up now.  It’s eleven and there’s a bit of rising to do before the next fall.  O felix culpa. The man in the brown mackintosh loves a lady who is dead.  Rise! Rise! Oh hell, I’ll see you round.

A star I see. Venus?

Say them all but tell them apart, cadenzando coloratura! R is Rubretta and A is Arancia, Y is for Yilla and N for greeneriN. B is Boyblue with odalisque O while W waters the fleurettes of novembrance. Though they're all but merely a schoolgirl yet these way went they. I' th' view o' th'avignue dancing goes entrancing roundly. 8:53 pm

[Scene:  Rehearsal for Circe.  Venus dressed as a heliotrope in furs is practicing the Dance of the Hours with the  Roygbiv Vance dancers: Rose, Sevilla, Citronelle, Esmeralde, Pervinca, Indra, and Viola.  The director is perched in the upstage grid and the stage manager and asm are in the booth. The nobleman, McIntosh, the newsboys, a hag carrying a bottle and Grace Darling are waiting stage right to rehearse their number: “O by the by that Lotion”]

God [On the god mic.  Always on the damn god mic.  Does he really need the entire house to hear him?  Really?]  I know the sun sets in the west Venus, I was the one who put it there in the first place!

Venus:  The hell you were!

God:  Nevermind the direction, this is theatre!  Our business is illusion.  We are representing truth, not telling it.  Who bloody cares if the sun is setting in the Southeast?

Venus:  I do! I need to absorb all the reality I can so my instrument can feel the very atmosphere of the scene.  How can I do that if you move the sun to the wrong place?

God: Look, you think it’s easy to move the sun around?  My joints are on the rack!

Jesus:  Dad?  Those distant hills seem coming nigh.

God:  I know, they needed to be closer for this scene.  Ignore them, the’ll stop soon.

Venus:  Listen God, I need the light to set in the west: it is a kind of reassuring.  I can’t.  I can’t work like this.

[A feather falls slowly from the grid, lands on Venus’ head.  She bursts into tears.]

Venus:  [Addressing the bird in the grid]  Thanks.  You’ve always brought me such peace.  You really are a promise of hope to me.  The girls too.  Sorry I got your names mixed up Indra, Viola.

Viola:  Don’t worry about it love.  Shall we go again?

McIntosh:  Do already!  The corns on my kismet are killing me!

Venus:  Who is that guy?

God: Jesus?

Jesus: Nobody knows, he just showed up.  Wait.  Where did he go?  Doesn’t he know it’s damn frustrating when people appear and disappear just like that!

God:  Never mind him, he was probably just a mirage.  Now Venus, the director wants you to practice in front of a mirror, hold his feather while you do it if it helps you.

Venus:  There’s no way I can do that.  I don’t want to see myself, that would shatter the reality I’m creating.

God: It’s hard I know, but still you learn something.  We all could stand to see ourselves as other see us. That’s the way to find out.  See yourself, scowl or smile, then ask yourself, who am I now?  Will you try it?

Venus:  Can I do it naked?

God: So long as women don’t mock what matter?

Well of all the

Yes, the viability of vicinals if invisible is invincible.11:50 am

McIntosh in the Macintosh.  I saw him.  But I didn’t hear him leave.  Where did he disappear to?  Not a sign.  I don’t know who he is.  Is that his name?  Has anybody seen?  Good lord, what became of him?  Suppose he was invisible?   If we were all suddenly somebody else.  I could be the invisible man, could go anywhere.  I could walk the earth until I find a rent in its flesh.  And then.  Then.  What if we are an imitation of an invisible universe?  Is time reversible in that then?  What if the unseen can be seen?  Are they here with me now?  Now all the time?  Suppose I were to reach and touch there, just there.  Can I feel them?  Can I hear them?  If I were invisible would I be inaudible too?  Would I be able to hear inaudible sound?  Wait.  What was that?  And is there already an invisible me in the invisible world?  Can I hear them speak to me now?  Shhh.  Listen.  Music I think.  Wait.  Breathing.  Is that you?  I think that is you.  Is that you?  Hlo?

Every Friday buries a Thursday

And would again could whispring grassies wake him and may again when the fiery bird disembers. And will again if so be sooth by elder to his youngers shall be said. Have you whines for my wedding, did you bring bride and bedding, will you whoop for my deading is a? Wake? Usqueadbaugham!

11:45 am

Shhhh. Whisper. Keep your voice down.  Don’t let them hear us.  Here, lend an ear.  See them?  The living?  They are dying but they don’t seem to know it themselves.  Shhhh.  Not long now.  Look at them burying each other, like ants but with coffins.  What a waste of wood.  Ought to just build one and give it a sliding panel.  Thank you come again.  Next.  Shhhh.  Whisper when you laugh or they’ll hear you.  How many are they?  12, no, 13. Nice round number.  Now who is that lankylooking galoot over there in the macintosh?  No need to wonder.  We’ll know soon enough.  Keep an ear to the ground. We’ll remember him when he gets here.  We will, anyway.  None of the living remember each other for long.  Hope you are well, see you in hell.  Out of sight out of mind.  Shhhh.  One of them heard us whispering around them.  Pretend to be air blowing in a whisper.  Shhhhhh.  Whisper.  They just don’t look natural, do they?  Sure they are alive?  Maybe we can smash pillows into their faces, see if they breathe.  Pierce a heart or something.  Just to be sure.  Shhhh.  Who wears purple to a funeral?  Shhhh. Illdyed.  Quiet.  Wind.  Shhhhh.  Be the wind.  Wonder when the new guy will show up.  It’s nearly closing time.